#both with humor and with pure glee at how perfect everything was

[kingdomoftyto]

We've binged the whole first season of the AA anime over the last couple days and it was so freaking good you guys

[dreamkidddream]

I really enjoyed your writing on the ADA members with a younger sibling like partner <33 I was wondering if you could write the same scenario but with Chuuya and Fyodor? Except the younger partner in question has a rough past and cheery/joking personality similar to Dazai(?) I'm super excited to see more of your writing!! c:

Hi anon! Thank you for the compliment and for reading (here’s the scenario for those that want to read it)! The only difference is that instead of this reader being pure, they’re going to be like a mini Dazai (or at least similar to him). One change that I did make was that Reader isn’t as suicidal as Dazai (ie. constantly trying to find a way to end their life), but Reader is ready to go whenever and wherever, whether it’s on their terms or not. Reader is gender neutral and hope you enjoy!

Also ayyyeeee my first time writing for Fyodor! Hope I did him justice cause his part took a while lol

TW: Mentions of suicide, dark moments (Reader is a bit sadistic, but nothing graphic is mentioned) small spoilers for Dark Era arc and Season 3

Acting as a Younger Sibling with a Rough Past and Personality Similar to Dazai with: Chuuya and Fyodor

Chuuya

Well he was extremely disturbed to say the least. Okay extremely may be over exaggerating, but the way you acted got underneath his skin bad

You reminded him too much of Dazai, minus the suicide attempts and the animosity towards him. Although that didn’t stop the morbid jokes from happening

“Hey Chu-Chu, what did the librarian say to the guy that wanted to check out a book on how to commit suicide?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!-“

“Go away, you’re not going to bring it back. HA! A knee slapper, am I right?”

He wondered if Dazai got to you first like he did Akutagawa, and if he did, that was just another reason to strangle him

You were his partner, and you were young. So seeing the way you interacted with everyone and everything with such a pessimistic attitude while still being cheery was alarming

Not to mention how easy it is for you to just readily accept death at every turn. You’re the literal embodiment of “guess I’ll die” and it drives Chuuya up the wall every time

He remembers the one time an enemy held you hostage how you were so cheerful to finally be rid of this joke you called a life, and that you told the guy who was holding a gun to your head to “put it between the eyes, it looks 10x better that way.” And “don’t be afraid to blow my brains out either! But you do you, but I think it’s a rather stylistic choice if I do say so myself.”

The man thought you were trying to distract him at first, but when he figured out that you were serious he honestly got so nervous he was ready to just let you go and suggest therapy lmao

After he handled the situation, he took you directly under his wing. Sure, you were already his partner, but he was really going to look out for you including outside of work. If it meant that he had to “babysit” you, then oh well

Plus he didn’t want to face Mori if he just let you die while under his care

You realized what he was trying to do when you two would go off to “collect information” and would be doing the complete opposite. “Hey, I’m kinda hungry, let’s take a break and grab a bite to eat.”

“I thought we had to get this info back to Mori ASAP. Not that I care if he’s mad, he’s been holding out on me and this is the perfect way to take revenge.”

“Holding out how?”

“I told him that since he’s a doctor he would be the perfect teacher to show me some new techniques.”

“...on?”

“Torturing, duh! My methods are getting kinda stale, and I do want to perfect my craft after all. I want to be good at something before I kick the bucket, Chu.”

Poor man is honestly in so much distress because of you please help him

And the way you interacted with the other members was both entertaining and horrifying to watch at times. Majority of the time, you were this happy go lucky kid with a dark sense of humor (you still made people smile, although sometimes it was tense or apprehensive, but whatever a smile is still a smile). But when you were having a bad day or a mission was going wrong, everyone knew to steer clear of you.

A new recruit tried to cheer you up one day, telling you that “it could always be worse”. You then got pulled into the office with a very angry Chuuya and a mildly disappointed Mori.

Chuuya finally had enough after months of this occurred. It was like a never ending cycle: except your behavior was getting increasingly more reckless and dangerous. It was driving him crazy trying to figure out why you were this way and if it was any way to snap you out of it

He wasn’t a stranger to death, he’s seen it with his own two eyes, end even killed people with his bare hands. But the huge difference between you two is that he didn’t particularly enjoy killing, if it had to be done then he had no problems doing so; it comes with the job y’know? But with you, you took actual pleasure in killing. It filled you with a sick sense of glee, and it even made his stomach turn

The bond between you two grew from just a typical work relationship (as far as working in the mafia goes). He knew that from underneath your rather concerning persona, you were just troubled. Someone or something made you this way, and while he had his own troubles growing up, he was able to deal with it and overcome his issues. It just seemed like you just...gave in to yours. And it made him feel pity for you.

You didn’t mind Chuuya at all. You actually liked being his partner! He was pretty much the only person that you didn’t feel a need to harm or kill. And he was fun to be around, when he wasn’t being such a party pooper (I mean what’s the point of being in the mafia when you can’t purposely spill some blood every now and then for fun?). The only thing you didn’t like was how he would try and get you to talk about your past. You honestly didn’t see a point in it, it’s called the past for a reason, why didn’t he understand that?!

But no matter how many times you would shut down or try to change the subject, he would always try again, and again, and again. It was very annoying. And you didn’t like to talk about it. Why didn’t Chuuya understand that?!

Eventually, his pestering worked. One day after a rough mission when he had to patch you up, you opened up to him. You didn’t immediately tell him everything, but you gave him small insights to what happened, to what lead you to be this way

You could tell that he was grateful that he was finally getting somewhere with you. And you yourself was surprised that your dynamic didn’t change. He didn’t look at you with sympathy in his eyes, he didn’t baby you, he wasn’t disgusted by you, everything was normal. The only difference is that Chuuya told you that it was okay to talk to him, and that you shouldn’t be scared to approach him (psh you scared, yeah okay)

Chuuya felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders once you opened up. You were still a bit sadistic (but you did tone it back after the recruit incident, and after you saw how repulsed he looked, so you just did everything behind closed doors now) and had your cheery persona on, but it felt a little bit more real now. It felt genuine. It gave him a good feeling to see some spark in your eyes instead of the full he felt himself getting used to. And he would never say it to you, but it also gave him a warm feeling with him being your role model (you knew but didn’t want to burst his bubble yet)

Your change wasn’t very noticeable at first, but that’s okay. No one needed to know, it was fine with just you and Chuuya. You still felt the desire to just be done with life, but it wasn’t your focus whenever you were with him. You hadn’t made peace with your past yet, but you felt you could one day with him by your side. He was someone that you didn’t knew you needed (or wanted to admit to), but it worked out in the end. You had doubts that you could or would ever change, but if you did, growing to be someone like Chuuya would’nt be the worst possible outcome

Plus, whenever he did run into Dazai with his new sidekick, he is 10000% bragging about how much better and cooler you are, with him being the superior between them both. He can’t WAIT till you guys can whoop their ass

Fyodor

Well weren’t you such an interesting character

To see someone as young as you ready to just leave this world in an abrupt way was intriguing, and he realized that he could use this to his advantage. Maybe even give you something to gain in exchange

He found you hiding inside a disgusting abandoned building (a fitting place for a rat if he would say so himself), drenched in blood. Fyodor didn’t necessarily care why, but he was curious about one thing: why were you smiling? Your eyes were so lifeless, yet here you were smiling so bright, as if you weren’t covered in someone’s blood

Fyodor found himself smiling down at you. Did you think he was prey, that he was going to be your next target? He wanted you to try, he wanted to see what you were really capable of

“Tell me, what is going to be your next move? Do you wish to attack me?”

“If you do something that I don’t like, then yes, that’s the plan. Why are you here Mister? You wanna have some fun too?”, your smile turned into a smirk, twirling your very sharp knife in your hand. “You’re not even from here, so why are you trying to bother such an innocent kid like me?”

He matched your smirk, “You are from innocent, child, even a blind man can see that. To see just how full of sin you are. This wasn’t your first atrocity that you committed nor would it be your last. Which is a shame, it might be too late for me to cleanse you of your filth.”

Oh, he was going to be very amusing to mess with. But you weren’t stupid. Something wasn’t right with this man. No one would walk up to someone with copious amounts of blood on them, holding a weapon that caused said blood, while berating them about being “full of sin”. What was his ability? Did he have people with him? Was the building surrounded or booby trapped? These questions swirled around your head, all while he just kept smirking at you. He was pissing you off, who the hell did he think he was?

But you kept your anger at bay, plastering a cheerful smile on your face. “Sin? Cleanse me of my filth? I guess I do kinda stink but who exactly do you think you are, some type of God?”

“That’s exactly what I am. I’m here to free this world from this wretched curse that has been brought upon.”

...huh? Did-did he escape from the asylum or something? Did he seriously believe himself to be a God (not even a prophet but an actual God)? Seeing your confusion, he continued on, “The curse of ability users. They plague this Earth, and they need to be eliminated.”

“Why is that? What’s wrong with having abilities? Hellooooo, some people’s abilities are actually pretty cool! If you just have a terrible ability, it’s your problem, not the world-“

“Why not let me show you why it’s indeed a curse?”

“And how would you do that? You must be crazy if you think I’m going anywhere with you. I may be dangerous but I’m not dumb!”

“You poor, misguided soul.”, he tutted at you. “Look at where you have ended up at. These people with these so called “cool abilities” have failed you, have they not? Yet you still idolize them, not believing that they are the reason for your misfortunes. If they were truly your idols, they wouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself, to live among the rats. They left you to rot, do you not see that?”

He was hitting too close to home, he was getting too personal, too close. He didn’t know you at all, you’re a complete stranger to him, but why did his words hold some truth to them?

“Come with me, and I will prove to you first hand why this has to be done.”, he was now physically close to you, staring you deep into your eyes. “It would be such a waste for you to die without knowing the truth, wouldn’t you agree?”

You didn’t have much, he wasn’t wrong. But if he could take you somewhere with real food and not scraps you had to fight to find, and to have real shelter, then fine. You agreed. And if you felt that something was up, you’ll just kill him, run away, or both

After he took you away, he kept to his word. It seemed like he was really was telling the truth, you getting first-hand experience like he promised. It was scary that he was right, but you were also indebted to him. He not only allowed you to live in luxury (at least it was luxury to you considering what you had before), but he opened your eyes to what the true problem is. He gave your life a new purpose. If you two were able to successfully complete his goal, then your problems would be gone forever right? You would finally be able to feel a sense of peace, and you can’t wait till that could happen

You and Fyodor, after he opened your eyes, bonded easier than in the beginning. You were smart enough to not fully trust him after leaving with him, but after just a couple of pulled strings to cause certain things to happen, you slowly melted and molded into the way that he planned. You would be an excellent pawn in his grand plan, and you would do well in keeping him entertained at the same time

You were a joyful child, even when carrying out his dirty work, you did so gleefully. After joining the Rats in the House of the Dead, you tried to spread that joy among the other members. They didn’t find it very amusing, but you didn’t care and neither did Fyodor. You were far too important to let go of now

You were always by him, it seemed. Always in the same space, whether he was planning his next move, and playing the cello, you were always there with this look of awe directed at him. Every time he would catch you staring, he would simply chuckle and softly reprimand you about, “how rude it is to stare, but you simply can’t help it.”

He even taught you how to play the cello!

You sounded terrible but practice makes perfect

As time went on and the end goal seeming to be closing in, he came to see you as more than just an expendable tool. He found out about your past, but simply proved to you once again why you two had to make sure the curse was ridden as soon as possible. No one wanted a repeat of what happened to you to happen to anyone else, so the mission had to be success. Failure was not an option

Fyodor didn’t see himself as a cruel man towards you. He just didn’t mince his words and he made sure that you were dealing with the truth, and not some lie that was attempted to be twisted as reality. If anything, that was the way that he showed that he held some compassion for you, he wasn’t willing to let you be lead astray from the truth again, not while he was here. You had somehow wiggled your way into his mind, where he had been accepting of your close bond, and he took that into consideration

Once his goal is achieved and he has truly made his place known as a God, he’ll make sure that you gain your rightful place among him as well. You were worthy in Fyodor’s eyes, and as long as nothing came in between your bond and the end goal, then everything will work out. He will make sure of that.

[t-lostinworlds]

Green-Eyed (Tom Holland)

A/N: This was supposed to be short but I got carried away as always. I don’t think this is the best I’ve written but I’m hoping it’s not as shit as the usual aha. Also to the anon I’m sorry if this took a lil longer than expected hun. Hope you still like it! <3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Requested:

Warnings: A dick-ish (if u squint) jealous!Tom and typos.

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

"Pretty please?" Tom dragged out his last word as he rested his head sweetly on your shoulder, sporting his best puppy-dog eyes with bottom lip pouted to make it harder for you to resist him.

You groaned in dismay as you threw your head back on the couch, eyes screwed shut to try and ignore the face of your handsome but very annoying best friend. "Why me Tom? And why'd you ask me this so fucking last minute?"

Tom has decided to tell you just now that there's a charity gala tomorrow, and that he wants you to be his plus one. Countless of a-list celebrities would be there to support different causes, so imagine the upmost dread you're feeling just thinking about joining Tom when that wasn't even your type of crowd, when you've never been to an event like it to begin with. Plus, you know he will have friends there too, if he hangs out with them, what would you do then?

The event tomorrow starts at six p.m., and he's just told you this now, clock showing eight-thirty p.m., who would not be annoyed? Better yet, who wouldn't be terrified?

"You're my best friend, you're the one I want to the there with. Come on, it's for charity, you never say no to charity."

This motherfucker...

You turned to him with a glare, arms crossed over your chest at his foul play. "You're not playing fair you know that."

Tom sat straight back up, body turned fully to face you, eyes still showing the same gleam as he pressed his palms together, resting it under his chin to beg. "Just please? You won't feel left out I promise. I'll be right there with you all night." He reassures as if he was able to read your mind, but being friends for long enough, you had no doubts that he probably could, to an extent of course.

Let's be honest, there was no way you'd say no. One, it's for charity; and two, it's Tom for heaven's sake, you never can. But the fact that you are simply unprepared to go to an event like this, it's daunting.

"I don't even have anything to wear."

Tom only chuckled sheepishly at that, hand coming up to rub on his shoulder, a nervous tick of his you've grown to adore, even if you've been trying so hard not to.

Got to have those boundaries.

"Uh, I already bought you a dress and Christine is going to help you with everything else. So please say yes." He shot you the brightest smile he could muster, one where it showed his rows of teeth with his eyes all crinkled. You blinked at him in deep surprise.

He already had this thought out huh?

"You are unbelievable Holland." You grumbled.

Tom chuckled in response, smug grin in play as he wriggles his brows at you. "Now, will you do me the honors of coming to the gala with me Y/N?" You rolled your eyes at him, sighing in disbelief but nodded anyway.

"Fine."

And just like the kid that he is, Tom threw his hands up in the air, shouting a 'yay' in pure glee before wrapping his arms around your rigid form to give you a tight squeeze, you playfully pushing him away in feign annoyance.

You were still nervous. How can you not be when you have no idea what to expect during this gala, who you were going to meet, but with one look at this stupid boy—who is also a big celebrity which you tend to forget—beside you, you felt yourself relax a little.

How bad can it be?

***

"Wow."

Tom gushed, the phone he had on hand lowering ever so dramatically, tearing his eyes off of the screen to scan you from head to toe. You felt your cheeks warm at his reaction. "Does it look okay?"

"Okay? You look fucking gorgeous. I knew I picked the right dress." He exclaimed all proud, sauntering over to you looking incredibly handsome himself, the color of his suit—not exactly matching—but coordinating with yours just right.

"You did."

Best believe you're the last person to stroke this man's ego, but you have to give credit where credit is due, he did pick the right dress.

It was a short, red satin dress with the waist embezzled with a silver crystal belt. The back was bare along with a plunging v-neckline to match, making it look sexy and classy at the same time. And the fact that it fitted you perfectly, it made you feel elegantly beautiful in the most sophisticated way.

How has Tom managed to get you the perfect size? He "borrowed"—his choice of word when you insisted he stole it—one of your dresses and used it as a guide. A clever boy.

Your hair was up in a messy bun, small curls falling freely to frame your face, one that sported just enough make up just to enhance your natural beauty and not make it look superficial.

"Damn, I can't take my eyes off of you." Tom muttered under his breath, eyes still glued to your figure and you can't stop your heart from skipping a beat at that.

Whether he meant to say that out loud, you don't know, unable to decide if he was playing with you in a best-friend-banter kind of way or if there was an underlying meaning in his tone, but you can't seem to think about that now. Not when the nerves were already eating you up inside out just thinking about the event, thinking about which celebrity you were going to meet and if you weren't going to make a big fool out of yourself, so you cleared your throat.

"Tom quit ogling we're going to be late."

Tom shook his head with a shy chuckle, blush prominent on his cheek as he made way for you with a curtsy. "After you mi lady."

"Thank you Christine!" Tom called out before both of you were out the door, him helping you in his car like the gentleman that he is and then driving towards this most awaited gala.

***

You were actually having fun.

Tom has introduced you to a few of his 'famous' friends and you were delighted to see that they were just as sweet and kind. You've met a couple artists here and there too, just casual conversations, one after the other, you and Tom going through it together as he's never left your side the moment you two arrived, just as promised.

That until he decided to get you a drink.

Standing in your place you looked around the extravagant hall of the humongous mansion—or castle more like it—admiring the huge chandeliers that adorned the ceiling along with the beautiful murals that coated the space. You were busy appreciating the artwork that you didn't notice someone was approaching until they spoke.

"Hi, I'm Calum." Startled, you let out a small squeak as you looked for the owner of the voice, eyes meeting brown ones and you felt your whole face heat up once you recognized who it was.

Calum Hood from 5 Seconds of Summer, the band you've been a big fan of for how many years now.

You shook his hand with a shy smile, whole body going timid once he gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Oh, hi, uh Y/N, and yes I know who you are. I love your new album."

"Oh really, thank you so much." Calum chuckled with a grateful nod, eyes looking at you in a way that's made the butterflies in your stomach tingle a little.

"I don't mean to come off weird but I saw you just standing there and you look really beautiful and I needed to say hi." You blinked, surprised at his words.

What kind of fanfiction is this?

You flashed him a sweet smile, a small giggle coming out of you as you responded bashfully. "Thank you. You look really good too."

The conversation just took off from there. You asked him about their new music while he asks you anything mundane that comes to his mind. You keep on laughing at something clever or stupid he had said, proximity just close enough to prove that you were having a great time. When you finally calmed down, Calum cleared his throat, hand rubbing behind his neck nervously.

"Mind if I get you a drink?"

Before you could even do as much as move your mouth to give him an answer, a deep voice spoke just behind you,

"I'm sorry but she already has one."

Your head snap back to see Tom, face stern with jaw clenched tightly, a certain glint coating eyes. The obvious anger you can see yes, but there's something else mixed with it, one you couldn't pinpoint as to what exactly it is yet.

"Ah, Mr. Tom Holland. Nice to meet you mate." Calum greeted politely, the bloke already knowing that you came here with Tom having that you've told him.

"Likewise." Tom's lips only quirked up just a tad bit as he took Calum's hand with a tight grip, not too obvious but you noticed it nonetheless. Calum only chuckled with a knowing nod, giving Tom a certain look— like he realized something you haven't—before turning to you with a charming smile.

"I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you Y/N." Calum says as he pulls you in for a warm hug, your arms wrapping around him with a small squeeze in return as you responded with just as much delight. "You too Calum."

You watched him walk away, Calum giving you one last look over his shoulder with a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

"Well, there goes my daydream of being a musician's girlfriend, touring around the world while singing their songs in the crowd and being their number one fan." You joked, but Tom didn't find even the tiniest of humor in your statement. In fact, it only made him angrier, nostrils flaring as he gave you a pointed eye roll.

You furrowed your brows at him, utter confusion covering you from head to toe at the look of pure disdain on your best friend's features. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing." Tom shrugged, eyes never meeting yours since the moment he got back from fetching you a drink, said drink that's in his hand but by the looks of it, he has no plan on giving it to you, not even his full attention.

"Well, it surely doesn't look like it's nothing Tom." You frowned at him in concern, hand going up to give him comfort but he blatantly rejected the gesture.

"Let's call it a night, I'm not feeling well." He grumbled, not even waiting for an answer as he quickly turned on his heel and walked away. You tried your best to catch up with him, following closely behind with nothing but bewilderment plastered on your face, still oblivious to the reason of his sudden change in attitude.

"Tom, slow down a sec." He ignores, still walking at a fast pace, not having any sense of empathy at the fact that you were wearing high heels. That's when you felt your anger boil too.

"You know what. Fuck it, if you're going to be a bitch for no goddamn reason then I'm taking a cab." You hissed, and that made him stop. Tom took one deep breath before turning sideways, offering you his arm to hold, gaze still avoiding yours at all costs.

You rolled your eyes and moved ahead, too much pride coursing through you to let his bitchy attitude slide, making sure to bump his arm purposely as you quickly made your way to the parking lot with Tom now following you.

***

The ride home was silent to the point that it was deafening, Tom not paying you any mind as if you weren't there at all.

You now understand that he was angry at you, fuming even. If the way his face was practically red up to the tips of his ears, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him wasn't a dead giveaway, then, the tight grip he had on the steering wheel and the speed the car was going, would be.

But as to why exactly that is? You have no fucking idea. As far as you know, you did absolutely nothing wrong.

Letting out a deep sigh, you turned your body to face him fully, just wanting to get this over and done with. "Tom, tell me what's going on."

"It's nothing." He muttered under his breath, eyes dead set on the road ahead. You scoffed. "Don't fucking lie to me."

"I said it's fucking nothing now leave me the fuck alone." Tom barked, the car lurching forward at his sudden burst of frustration.

You were never one to sit still and take bullshit, especially when it's Tom being a dickhead. When that happens due to whatever reason, you're for sure the one the first one to call him out on it. Besides, him driving this fast while angry is never safe.

"That's it, pull over."

"What—"

"Pull over or I'm going to open this fucking door without hesitation." Tom groaned, fully infuriated but did as told knowing you were nowhere near playing, just the tone you had, he wasn't going to risk it.

Once he put the car in park you shot him a glare, voice stern as you ordered. "Get out of the fucking car Tom."

He didn't say another word of protest as he harshly took his seatbelt off and got out of the car, slamming the door shut to make a point of how mad he was.

You were glad the place where the gala was held was detached from the city, a forty-five minute drive to the nearest highway, so the road was pretty much deserted, nothing but endless trees in view. The only source of light was a couple of street lamps, the car's headlights and the bright, full moon that shone high above.

You followed him out and in front of the car, leaning your weight on the hood as you stared at the tensed back of your best friend.

"Now tell me what the fuck is going on with you." When he didn't even do as much as turn around you growled in warning.

"Thomas."

"Alright!" With one deep breath, he finally turned to face you, jaw still set as he shoved both of his hands in the pockets of his slacks, a two-second pause before he finally spoke.

"I'm just frustrated, angry and fucking annoyed." Tom's voice turned low, his eyes casted on the grass where he was standing on, just two feet away from your place on the car.

"At me?"

He sighed, taking sharp intakes of breaths before finally lifting his head up to meet your eyes, so many emotions swimming in his brown ones with a frown on his lips to complete his whole troubled look.

"No, not entirely at least. I'm just, I left you for a second and when I came back the next thing I know you're having such a great time, laughing and flirting with this Calum guy—"

"Calum Hood."

"I don't fucking care what his last name is." Tom snapped, and that's when everything fell into place for you, lips pursed as you tried your best not to break into a smile.

"What is so wrong with me flirting with him Tom?"

The boy lets out a exasperated sigh at that, hand coming up to run through his hair in frustration that it made a curl go astray, a tasteful sight to you especially with him all agitated.

"I just didn't like the way it made me feel okay? Just seeing you laughing at his jokes, getting so close to him at times, just seeing you with someone else I just, it's just—"

"It makes you jealous?" You finished his sentence for him, your heart pounding due to excitement, warmth filling you up at the thought of your best friend getting riled up just thinking about you with another guy, because you feel just the same when you see him with another girl.

"Yes goddammit! It makes me so fucking jealous!" Tom exclaimed, all fucks thrown out the window as every feeling his been bottling up for years now comes bursting out, spilling right on the brim. "It was hard as is trying to fend off these guys who can't stop staring at you, who won't stop hovering over you because by the gods above you look absolutely breathtaking tonight. I really can't blame them because you stole the whole room, but it doesn't make me feel any less frustrated."

"Frustrated on what Tom?" You asked softly, his gaze cutting off with yours as he lets out a sigh, hands falling limp on his sides as he looked up at the starry sky.

"Frustrated because I wanted nothing more than to pull you closer to me, to wrap my arm around your waist to make them back off, but I couldn’t, I had no right to. I wanted to make them see that you're there with me so they need to fucking scram, but what power do I have? I'm just your best friend." Tom was pacing now, going on a full on rant with his hands swinging about to express his emotions and you let him. You sat still and watched as he pours all his heart out, watched with a stupid wide grin on your lips.

"But I want to be more than that Y/N. I don't want to be just your best friend and tonight just slapped me in the fucking face that I genuinely don’t want to be with anyone else but you. But then you went and said that you wanted to be a musician's girlfriend, it just made me so mad and hurt and just—" He stopped himself, head hanging low as he tried to regain his breathing.

You shook your head at the boy with sigh. "I was kidding Tom. I don't want to be a musician's girlfriend; I want to be an actor's, the one who plays Spider-Man to be quite specific."

The way his head shot up so quick to look at you in pure shock made you laugh, hopeful brown orbs staring you down as he made his way towards your spot on the car. You uncrossed your legs as you let him in between them, let him move even closer until his hands took home right on your waist, giving them a tender squeeze as a smug grin slowly formed on his lips.

"You mean—"

"You know, Andrew Garfield, I heard he's single again." You shrugged casually, teasing smirk in play, your little revenge for him being kind of a dick just earlier. Tom's head fell forward to land on your shoulder, arms wrapping fully around your form with a proper whine.

"Y/N."

You let out a hearty laugh, cupping his face with both hands as you pull him off of you, just enough to be able to look at those lovely brown orbs, his bottom lip all jutted out making him look unbearable adorable.

"Of course I meant you, you idiot. There no one else I want to be with other than you Tom." A sweet chuckle escaped Tom's lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, vicinity rightly close to be able to let the tips of your nose brush against each other.

"How are you so beautiful?" Tom sighed in pure adoration. You didn't respond with words, you just tilted your head a little to place your lips right on his, satisfied breaths ringing in your ears as the two of you cherished the feeling that you've been craving for far too long, mouths fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces, a kiss filled with nothing but utter bliss, pure love.

"I love you." Tom whispered the moment you pulled away, eyes showing not but sincerity and you felt your heart grow ten times its usual size. You hummed, fingers playing with his hair on the nape of his neck fondly. "And I love you, you jealous dork."

With a few more kisses under the moonlight—some sweet and chaste, some not so much—the cold air finally got to the both of you, making your way back inside the car with wide smiles, unable to wipe them off.

"Let's go back to the gala?" Tom grinned, left hand steering while the other sat warmly on top of your thigh, a gesture so sweet until he decides to give it a teasing squeeze every now and then. "What, so you can reintroduce me to everyone, now as your girlfriend and not your best friend?" You joked to which Tom only shrugged with a hum. "I don't see why not."

You shook your head at your man, squaring your shoulders as you said nonchalantly. "I mean, if you want to it's okay. The matching pair I have under this dress can wait."

Tom choked at that, tearing his eyes off the road to give you a swift glance to see if you were serious or not. You only shot him a knowing wink in response, lips curved up teasingly, but nowhere did it show on your face that you were lying with what you just said.

That's made you arrive back home in lesser time that's for sure.

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog & Leave a Comment if you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! <3

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands​

[tessadoesstuff]

B’Yachad (ביחד) - Togetherness - Oneshot

Kit Fisto and his family take some time to celebrate the new year and being together on Concord Dawn.

“Shanah Tovah [1], Master Fisto!” Kit turns away from his older daughter to find the voice that calls to him, finding Zatt at from the entrance to the marketplace. Kit watches with a bemused smile on his face as the 18-year-old Nautolan padawan dodges between several Vode going about their shopping. Zatt is still wearing the tunic he usually wears when he spars, and he’s just out of breath enough that Kit would put credits on him coming straight from a sparring session with Bant. Zatt does have a bag on one arm, and Kit can see the sleeve of a white robe[2] for later though, so he doesn’t comment on Zatt’s state of dress.

“Shanah Tovah, Zatt! Where’s Bant?” Kit waves at the younger Jedi as he manages to catch up with him.

“Master Bant went ahead to your house. She said she was going to go save the challah from your husbands, or your husbands from the challah. She wasn’t exactly clear which one.”

“Zatt!” Shel’ya squealed from where she was standing beside Kit. Kit’s daughter’s hand was still securely gripped in his hand, mostly because if he let her go, Kit was certain she’d dash off again. “Zatt you’re not dressed good.” Shel’ya pronounces, and Kit can’t stop the laugh.

“She’s right you know. Did you shower before coming over?” Kit adds, and Shel’ya beams with the power only a validated five-and-a-half-year-old has. Zatt flushes.

“I was sparring with Katooni and we kind of lost track of time. But I brought a change of clothes!” Zatt holds up the bag with him. Kit grins in response, silently filling away that Zatt has been spending a lot of time with the Tholothian girl.

“You’re supposed to wear white! Aba says it’s important.” Shel’ya chirps at Zatt, who gives her a fond smile.

“I see you’re wearing your white today.” Zatt crouches and bops a finger against Shel’ya’s nose, which she rubs in irritation. Kit gives a fond chuckle.

“Putting clothing on was a battle this morning, let me tell you.” A battle that had taken Kit, Rex, and Bacara to fight, and even then, they had been forced to call in reinforcements. But it was a battle well worth fighting if Kit does say so. Shel’ya is in a plain white top decorated with a little bit of lace around the sleeves that one of Bacara’s Novas had made as a present for her. It matches Kit’s white robe for the day. Her pants come down past her knees, and they’re a white fabric decorated with the colors of both Rex and Kit’s battalions. Her shoes have little white bows on them.

“Ms. Sabé helped me pick out something white that was still comfy!” Shel’ya chirps, and Zatt laughs, before taking Shel’ya’s free hand in his.

“Well then, we should probably get going, right? Master Bant and Bacara will be so mad if we’re late.” Zatt swings Shel’ya up, and the younger Nautolan gives a cackle of glee as the three of them make their way through the marketplace. They walk down the market for a way, swinging Shel’ya between the two of them. Kit takes the moment to enjoy the space he’s in. He has always enjoyed the marketplace here on Concord Dawn, it’s full of the feelings of love poured into nearly everything created by the Vode, and the happiness and never-ending wonder those same men feel when they handle what their brothers have created. The joy is infectious. Zatt can feel it too, given the way he’s reflecting the happiness back out into the world.

“Bees Roger!” Shel’ya squeals as they come to the right stall, and attempts to wiggle out of Kit’s grip again. He gives a fond eye roll and hands her over to Zatt.

“Why don’t you guys go pick out some apples?[3] The Almakian ones if they have them, Corellian if not!” Kit calls to them as the two younger Nautolans head off toward where the imported fruit stall is.

Don’t lose my daughter! Kit sends through the Force after Zatt, who simply sends the impression of an eye roll back. He’s very much still a teenager in many ways.

“What would you like today.” Bees Roger deadpans at Kit, his expressionless face still managing to convey disinterest. Somewhere along the line, Shel’ya had labeled all of the Rogers after what they produced, and it had stuck around.

“Do you happen to have any of the Opaline Honey you were perfecting left? It’s a family favorite.” Kit comments.

“Roger Roger.” Bees Roger nods, and then he takes a glass jar and begins to bag it up. Kit reaches into his pocket, counting out the credits to pay the droid. “I have to say, your family has great taste. People tell me this is my best one.” Roger accepts the credits and hands the bag over.

“It certainly is.” Kit grins back at him, before heading over to where Shel’ya is certainly arguing with Zatt over the correct amount of fruit they’ll need.

---

“No, no, let it poof for another five minutes!” Rex finds himself saying as he reads the recipe in front of him. It’s written in what is clearly Kit’s handwriting, except that what they have is a holo on their datapad of the recipe written on a separate datapad. Kit had confirmed before he left that the original recipe had to be prepared underwater and that he had adapted one that could be consumed by humans during his padawan days.

“Let it what for another five minutes?” Bant sends him a look of outrage from the other side of the kitchen, where she was about to move the dough.

“It says in the recipe to let it poof for twenty minutes. It’s only been fifteen.” Rex gestures to the holo in front of him.

“A real scientific process, the poofing.” Bacara chimes in from where he’s seated in a chair against their kitchen wall, Natua sitting on his lap and trying to grab at his beard. His voice is totally deadpan, and it reminds Rex of three years of sarcastic messages in the CC chat. Rex finds a grin tugging at his lips, despite his best intentions.

“This is one of the most chaotic recipes I have ever seen!” Bant protests. “Who writes poof? Do they mean rise?” She asks, her voice not wavering from its vaguely incredulous tone.

“Kit.” Both Rex and Bacara chime in at the same time from opposite times of the room. Rex absolutely does not mouth ‘jinx’ at his husband. At all.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Bant responds with a sigh. Rex watches as Bacara rolls his eyes, then bounces their Natua on his leg, the year-old Nautolan giggling with pure delight. There’s a moment where their youngest daughter has all the attention in the room, as Bacara makes cooing sounds at her and bounces her up and down to a gentle rhythm. Rex coos at her from a distance and watches out of the corner of his eye as Bant smiles fondly at the three of them. The moment is broken when the timer that Rex had set for the poofing goes off, and Bant moves back to the dough, grabbing the bowl off of the counter.

“What’s next?” She asks Rex, who looks down and reads off of the recipe.

“It says to take the dough and to roll it into one long string of dough about 3 inches wide.” He reads off, and Bant nods, removing the dough from the bowl and dropping it on the cutting board in front of her. She begins to knead the dough, folding it over on itself and pulling it outwards, creating a narrower and longer shape with each movement of her hands.

“We can help, you know,” Bacara calls out from his chair, where he is holding Natua up a little higher, so that she can tangle her hands in his shirt, resting her little lekku against his shoulder.

“Ba’vodu, please just hold your baby.” Bant deadpans back at him. Because she did spend time training with Kit though, she chimes in with an addition at the last minute. “I am rescuing this challah from you, do not make my job any harder.”

“Hey!” Bacara verbally bursts into a protest, even as he avoids shifting Natua.

“After you’ve got it into the right thickness, it says to start from the outside a coil inwards, until you have a half-sphere[4] of dough.” Rex reads out in hope of cutting off their prior chain of thought. The chuckles he gets make it clear the effort did not go unnoticed, but they both humor him.

“Honestly, this recipe is so ridiculous.”

---

Kit pulls out a chair between Bant and Rex’s chairs at their table, sliding in. It was a bit of a squeeze to fit Shel’ya’s booster seat, Natua’s high chair, and seats for Bant and Zatt around the table, but looking around at his whole family sitting around the table, Kit doesn’t mind one bit

“Shanah Tovah.” Kit states, pecking Rex on the cheek.

“Shanah Tovah, Master!” Bant responds, reaching over kit’s head to set the freshly baked round challah at the center of the table. There are plates of sliced apples and bowls of honey between each pair of chairs, and the main course of fish[5] that Rex’s Torrent boys had dropped off rests next to the challah.

“And a good year to you too!” Bacara comments from where he’s sitting on the other side of the table next to Zatt and Natua. He’d never gotten entirely comfortable with even the spoken portions of Nautila, choosing instead to use a translated version of their phrases in basic.

“Aba.” Shel’ya interrupts from where she’s sitting on Zatt’s other side, between him and Rex. “Aba that challah is the wrong shape.” She protests as she settles into her booster seat, crossing her arms to express just how displeased she is. Kit laughs, and Zatt jumps in to explain before he can.

“Shel’ya, the challah is round because a year is round too – it starts in the same place it began, every year.” He says, punctuating his last two words with pokes to her forehead, and she giggles and tries to swat them away.

“So, it’s because today is a special day?” She continues her questioning as Bant sits down in her seat between Kit and Natua. “Like why we all have to wear white?”

“Yes. The white clothing represents our rebirths in the new year.” Zatt starts, then visibly realizes he’s talking to a five-and-a-half-year-old and then starts again. “Because in the new year, we each have a chance to try to be good again.”

“And the apples and honey are so the new year is really sweet!” Shel’ya chimes, clearly excited to know that fact. There are giggles all around the table in response to that, and Natua laughs when everyone else does, so Kit misses whatever Zatt responds with. Instead, he simply basks in the happiness everyone is feeling, letting the Force carry it through him, and he doesn’t even try to stop the grin that rises to his face in response to being there with the ones he loves.

1 Shanah Tovah (שנה טובה) literally is a new years greating, meaning 'may your new year be good'

2 White on Rosh Hashana is traditional to symbolize rebirth in the new year, and the ability to start over as a better person in the next year. 

3 Apples and Honey is a traditional part of a Rosh Hashana meal, as the apple is symbolic of the relationship between the Jewish people and God, as back in ancient Israel the apple was considered a rare fruit and the Israelites considered their relationship with God to be unique. The honey symbolizes the Jewish people's commitment to making the relationship sweet in the new year.

4 The challah prepared for both of the high holy days is round, symbolizing the round nature of time, and the cycle of the year going round and round again.

5 A fish meal on Rosh Hashana symbolizes fertility and abundance.

The OC characters were created by and are owned by My lovely friend Poptarts

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 129: Stuck Together

“I’m afraid right now.”

And here, after almost a hundred and thirty episodes of waiting, do we finally see that Lars can make a change.

The Good Lars was a great start, with Lars opening up enough to suggest that he might take a risk and let the Cool Kids know something real about himself. But he never makes it to the party, and as we learn here, it wasn’t because he was abducted. I Am My Mom proves that those events didn’t transform Lars, as when the going gets tough his instinct is self-preservation over all else. But these two incidents in quick succession, combined with his capture and uncertain future, yank him kicking and screaming into the realm of sincerity.

But not at first. After Aquamarine starts the episode off with Steven, reminding us of the recent plot and her all-around awfulness, Lars is discovered just in time to prove that he’s frustrating as well. It’s a different shade, as Aquamarine is a bully at every opportunity while Lars lashes out as a reaction to feeling pathetic, but he has the chance to be an ally when Steven needs one the most, and it’s lousy that he chooses spite.

Don’t get me wrong, Aquamarine is worse for sure: there’s no reason to further ensnare her captives now that they’re on the ship, and the process is uncomfortable for the humans and Topaz, but she orders it anyway. She goes back on her word by refusing to return Lars, which is predictable given they’re already in space, but still displays her lack of honor. She’s not even good at telling jokes, unhelpfully explaining that her fake tear is her gem. And while Lars evolves over the course of the episode, the idea that she would do likewise is silly enough to fuel the episode’s best sight gag.

Still, I’ll give her this: considering how she revels in lording over Topaz, and considering Topaz not only disobeys her but attacks her, Aquamarine has a single quiet moment of empathy when she chooses to let bygones be bygones. It’s the lowest of bars, as she only does so after breaking Topaz’s will and on the condition that Topaz follow her commands, and saying that “we’ll never speak of this again” shows that she wants this toxic status quo to remain forever, but this is a character who takes glee in cruelty, so it’s fascinating that she doesn’t leap at the chance to punish Topaz further. It’s the tiniest speck of affection you could hope for, and it doesn’t come close to “redeeming” Aquamarine, but it’s there, showing that even this little monster has an ounce of depth.

While Lars might have similar jerk vibes, railing against Steven and refusing to even try and break free, it’s just his starting point. Stuck Together crystallizes the loop that has defined Lars up to this point: he’s mean, then he gets some sympathy, then he seems ready to change, then he’s mean again. But there’s a big difference this time, and it’s not just the setting: after putting up with it for the entire series, Steven is done with Lars’s nonsense.

When Lars blames Steven for the alien invasion, Steven doesn’t even apologize, instead saying that of course he’s the reason aliens invaded, but he did everything he could to help and Lars should’ve escaped better. This is huge, as it not only breaks with Steven’s usual patience for Lars’s behavior, but comes at a time when Steven is feeling so low that we might expect more than ever for him to wallow in his failure. We then get into miscommunication: first Steven calls Lars worthless, meaning well but feeding into Lars’s insecurities, then Steven does a shoddy job of explaining a shoddy plan (how the heck was Lars supposed to lasso anything on the other side of the room?). This is not his best self, but if he was thinking things through he probably wouldn’t be on a ship hurtling towards the Diamonds in the first place.

Between the stress of recent events and his frustration with Lars, Steven snaps in a way that’s reminiscent of, well, Lars: short-tempered and impulsive and frazzled and loud. Lars admits at last that he’s always been driven by fear, and that Steven’s enduring faith in him only makes the problem worse. In the same way Lars thinks baking is lame because he likes doing it and he’s lame, he takes it as a given that he’s a wuss, so hearing anyone say otherwise is annoying rather than encouraging. But by explaining it aloud, the flip of personalities begins to form: now Lars is pepping up an ornery Steven, and Steven completes the puzzle by admitting his own fear.

It’s not as simple as Lars becoming Steven and Steven becoming Lars, but both take major cues from the other. And when Lars goes further in his tentative enthusiasm, Steven cuts him off by revealing a brilliant new wrinkle in their relationship: because he’s an optimistic kid with parent figures who have always sugarcoated the bitterness of life, he appreciates the one person who's willing to talk about how much things can suck. And in this new era of his life, where it’s become clear that the sugarcoating extends past white lies and into major secret territory, it’s more important than ever to have a friend who tells it like it is. There’s been an underlying notion in their entire relationship that Steven wants to help Lars out, but it’s so much more meaningful to hear that Steven hangs out with Lars because Lars is a crank. 

This doesn’t mean Lars was perfect the way he was, or else his arc wouldn’t involve him changing. But there’s a huge difference between changing because it’s what makes other people comfortable and changing because it’s good for your soul, and this would be a very different story if Lars only grew to make Steven’s life better. Instead, it takes Steven showing Lars the value of his flaws for Lars to see enough value in himself to want to improve. 

We wait just long enough on Topaz for her voice to matter most, threading the needle between emotional beat and punchline. Martha Higareda sells her change of heart in no time, showing the first instance of a same-Gem fusion having the deep relationship we’ve seen from cross-Gem fusions like Garnet; perhaps our ornery rubies are closer than we think when they form Big Ole Ruby, but we haven’t seen any evidence of it. 

In lesser hands it might be hackneyed for the stoic character to reveal a soft heart, because the gentle giant is a bog-standard “don’t judge a book by its cover” trope. But this is our fifth episode in a row featuring Topaz as a wordless brute, first as a silhouette and then contrasted with a talkative brat of a partner. Are You My Dad in takes her into monster movie territory, complete with bloodcurdling music and tree-clearing stomps when she reveals her body full of writhing captives, and squeezing Jamie’s head in I Am My Mom is the most visceral threat we’ve seen a human face on the show. This isn’t just some big galoot opening up, it’s a Terminator showing she was a real girl all along.

A big reason why this works is that we don’t go full cloying, instead tempering the reveal with humor that’s both inherent (we don’t expect Topaz to get this emotional) and specific (using Steven’s pants to wipe the tears away). Instead of swinging for a Big Moment that exposes Topaz’s turmoil in a dramatic fashion, the mood is quiet and sweet. Topaz isn’t just a softy, she’s sort of a dork, and that extra bit of characterization for someone we’ll never see again in the original series is what makes Steven Universe so great. Effort always matters!

After seeing Steven help not one but two people begin to change, we see that he’s still stuck in his own rut of martyrdom: he plans to send Lars back alone and continue along his sacrificial path. Perhaps there’s a level of rationality to this, as if they both escaped then the ship would turn right back around to Earth. But Steven isn’t operating on rational thought, and he hasn’t been since his friends were first endangered: going to the Diamonds as Rose Quartz might secure his friends’ safety, but at the cost of near-certain death, so from a pure odds perspective it’d be better to go to the Zoo incognito where known allies like the Zoomans and Famethyst could help out. But he’s acting out of a misguided sense of duty, so he doesn’t express any tactical purpose for sending Lars away, instead repeating the idea that he must pay for Rose’s actions.

The perfect response to the downside of Steven’s selflessness is Lars presenting the upside of his selfishness. It might not be brave to run away, and Lars might only be on the ship in the first place because he ran away, but he’s right: if Steven doesn’t want to be punished for his mother’s mistakes, he shouldn’t have to be. It might be the easy way out, but we just saw Steven praise Lars’s ability to cut through the BS and find the truth, and here we see a prime example. And for just a second, Steven thinks about it.

But then Aquamarine barges in, because Steven isn’t allowed to learn his lesson quite yet. In the same way corruption is the Diamonds’ greatest sin, attacking many of their own troops to spite their foes, this is perhaps Aquamarine at her worst: it’s one thing to bully your enemies, but cruelty to a partner is a step beyond. Contrast has defined Topaz and Aquamarine from the moment we saw their shadows, and this is the final stage. We already knew one was big and the other was small, one was quiet and the other was chatty, but both acted as a single front with different but united antagonism. Now one is an ally and the other is an opponent, one is cute and the other is vicious, and while Topaz might have the upper hand in a physical fight and the heart to do the right thing, Aquamarine only needs her words and her ruthlessness to win the day.

This is the last we’ll see of Topaz and Aquamarine until the time jump, and it’s surprisingly brutal. We got a test-run of this story with Holly Blue Agate, another cerulean tyrant dominating a larger, friendlier force (this time in terms of size as well as numbers), and it ended with our new friends overcoming their oppressor. Not this time. Aquamarine emerges victorious, while Topaz splits up and slumps away in defeat, and that’s it until Steven Universe Future gives the latter a happy ending at Little Homeschool and the former a new role as Team Rocket villain.

Topaz getting her brief burst of joy snatched away sets the mood for our Homeworld adventure. We’ve long known that the Crystal Gems are a stubborn group of rocks, but at least they have the freedom to change if they wish. Homeworld Gem stubbornness is reinforced by a society that persecutes anyone that doesn’t fall in line, from the outcast Off Colors to the Diamonds themselves. 

But the mood of this arc is also set by Lars, because like the ending of Stuck Together, this is a story about Lars being taken away from Steven. But it’s also a story where Steven helps Lars change, and with change comes a glimmer of hope.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

A great showcase for Steven and Lars, and a great coda for Aquamarine and Topaz. There’s not quite enough going on for it to make my favorites list, but it’s up there.

Top Twenty-Five

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

When It Rains

The Good Lars

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

I Am My Mom

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Doug Out

Are You My Dad?

Stuck Together

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(No promo art for this one, so I went with Jastea’s gorgeous take on Topaz.)

[perspective-series]

Switched Perspective (23)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, guilt, fear

Surprise, it’s a day early so we can post the very last chapter tomorrow!

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters and the prequel!)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Er, sorry about the door.” The girl in purple and teal said. “It was her idea.” She pointed to the other girl.

“I...whu…” Thomas dropped the spatula in his hands with wides eyes, the utensil clattering to the floor.

“I’m Mandy, this is Arc.” Mandy, the one in red and blue gestured to herself and then her companion with her thumb.

 Arc waved with a smile. “Hi!”

 Virgil simply stared at them, as everyone else was. “I-I’m sorry, what? How did you even…” He glanced down at the door.

 Arc grinned. “We’re witches!” She said as if that explained everything.

“And we’re here to make things write.” Mandy smirked, making a quill appear briefly in her hand. The others didn’t seem to catch her drift, so with a sigh Mandy made the quill disappear.

“What does that even mean?” Thomas looked confused.

“Aww, don’t read into it.” Arc teased, playfully elbowing Mandy. The two witches giggled at their own inside joke, not caring to explain their multi-dimensional, fourth wall-breaking humor.

“The witches are real.” Roman said breathlessly, torn between wonderment and terror. 

“That...that isn’t possible…” Logan sat there, trying to comprehend what was happening as he gaped like a fish. 

At the sound of their voices, Mandy let out a gasp, taking a step forward and grabbing Arc’s arm. She pointed at Patton’s hands. “Oh my goodness, look at them. They’re cuter than I imagined.”

 Patton held the two closer to himself as the two witches came closer. Looking at them both warily. Arc’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, you’re right.” She sent the two of them a smile. “Hello Roman, Logan. It’s nice to finally meet you two.” She paused. “Oh, and it’s great to meet you guys too!” She said, looking between Patton, Virgil and Thomas.

“How do you know who we are?” Logan asked warily.

“And why’d you curse us?” Roman got straight to the point.

“‘Curse’ is a strong word.” Mandy put her fingers in a steeple formation. “This is more like… a gift gone awry. Have any of you seen the movie ‘Ella Enchanted’? It’s about a girl who’s fairy godmother gives her the gift of obedience. Sounds like a great idea, but ends up backfiring. Repeatedly.”

 “In other words, we really were just trying to help you guys.” Arc finished and Virgil let out a humorless chuckle, bringing attention to himself. 

 “Yeah, well, fat load of good all this did.” He waved towards all of them, indicating their sizes. “You know, none of this would have happened if you had just left us alone.” Virgil growled through grit teeth. 

 Arc frowned. “We can still fix this.” She walked over to Thomas and held out her hand. “The scroll, if you could, please Thomas.”

“...I left it in my bedroom.” Thomas said, almost in a daze.

“Then go get it.” Mandy waved him off with an eye roll, watching the human trip over himself to get the scroll. “Honestly, you all keep leaving your props in the most bizarre places. You didn’t even put away the ice cream yesterday.”

Roman blinked. “We didn’t?” Not that it was his responsibility, being only a few inches tall, but...still. That was a lot of ice cream wasted.

“Here’s the scroll, your majesty.” Thomas panted, running back into the room to hand it to Arc.

 Arc laughed. “Arc is fine, Thomas, neither of us are royalty.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Mandy preened, looking pleased.

Arc ignored her. She looked down at the scroll moving it so Mandy could see it too. “Alright...I’m thinking we change that?” She pointed.

“Perfect.” Mandy pulled the quill out from thin air again, crossing out the text and scribbling something else down. “All set, the terms of your contract have been changed.”

“Changed how, exactly?” Logan pressed, always a stickler for details.

“All of you are no longer required to be friends.” Mandy explained, her quill disappearing. “But in exchange, you do have to live together.”

 Virgil blinked. “I’m...I’m sorry, what?”

 “Basically,” Arc continued. “You don’t have to be friends but you have to be civil and agree that you, Virgil, won’t move when you return to your original height.”

“Any questions?” Mandy asked, taking the scroll and shoving it back into a flustered Thomas’ hands.

“Well, actually-”

“Good!” Mandy cut Roman off. She raised her hand, and with a puff of smoke both witches were gone as quickly as they appeared.

 “What...What the hell was that!” Virgil exclaimed. 

 “Virgil…” Patton warned at the language and his tone. Virgil shook his head, trying to calm himself down. But it wasn’t really working.

 “This is insane, how does this even help us?!”

“It gives an opportunity for redemption.” Roman huffed. “Now suck it up and make up already you two.”

 Virgil bit his lip, looking over at Logan, knowing Roman was talking about the two of them. Or, really, more specifically himself. He sighed. “You’re right…” He took a step closer to the human turned borrower and found himself unable to meet his eyes as he began to speak. “Logan…” He thought back to his previous conversations with both Roman and Patton. “I messed up.”

“Indeed.” Logan agreed.

“Logan.” Thomas gave a warning tone, still clutching the scroll.

Logan sighed. “I have committed many errors as well.”

 “I want to be clear that I really don’t want you dead.” Virgil said, closing his eyes for a moment. “I just...I let my anger get the best of me and I did things to you and-and you, Roman, that I’m not proud of. That I regret.”

 Patton smiled, his heart welling up inside his chest. “Aww, kiddo…” He was proud of him for trying to make things right.

Roman didn’t meet his eye.

“That is...welcoming to hear.” Logan admitted. “Though I hypothesized such a mindset, your actions at times made me suspect otherwise. It is at least of benefit to know that your actions were not intentionally fatal.”

“...but they were fatal.” Roman couldn’t help but mutter.

“I beg your pardon?” Logan turned to him.

“Virgil, you still-” Roman took a deep breath. “You could have killed Logan. Me. Us. And I really do think that wasn’t your intention, but… it just kept happening. And I just want to know why I wasn’t enough to stop it.”

 Virgil’s eyes widened and he could already feel the tears start to roll down his cheeks. “Roman...I-” Virgil bit his lip as he looked down at the ground. “None of this is your fault Roman. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for not being able to stop me, I’m not your responsibility.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

 “I think, the truth is...I’m still scared.” Virgil admitted quietly.

 “Kiddo?” Patton asked but he already knew what Virgil meant.

 “I’m still scared and I forced it to turn into anger because I could finally do something about it.” Virgil added on, possibly even quieter this time.

“It’s a survival mechanism.” Logan’s eyes widened in realization. “A side effect of the …. Traumatic events.” Logan paused. “For which I am responsible.”

“I scared him too.” Roman admitted.

“You didn’t resort to cages.” Logan sighed, knowing he was fully responsible. “And you didn’t mistreat Virgil as I did.”

 Virgil finally looked up and met Logan’s eyes. “A large part of me is still scared that you’ll put me back in that cage.” Virgil closed his eyes. “Especially...after what I’ve done today.”

 Patton felt his eyes water at the sight of Virgil so scared. He knew all too well what Virgil was dealing with in terms of feelings.

“I understand your fears.” Logan admitted, knowing he still felt a similar fear that Virgil would reach out and grab him at any moment. “But Virgil, I can assure you that is not the case. I do not feel a need for revenge against you, at any size. I simply want safety and peace between us. I am sympathetic towards your plight and already intended to return that device at my earliest convenience, once I can again lift the contraption unassisted.”

 “I...want to believe you.” Virgil admitted but his heart still beat rapidly inside his chest. “It’s just hard.”

“I...think that’s what this is for.” Thomas spoke up, looking again at the scroll. “Perhaps that’s why you two are meant to agree to be roommates- so you can have time to understand each other.”

 “That makes sense.” Patton agreed, looking over Thomas’ shoulder to see the scroll too. “Remember guys, those witches changed the rules. You don’t have to be friends and make up right this minute. You just have to agree and promise you’ll live together.”

 “I...guess you do have a point.” Virgil admitted. Still, the thought of interacting with Logan at his normal size again was giving him anxiety already.

“Well, what do you say?” Roman looked between the two. “Can you two suck up your pride for once?”

Logan rolled his eyes at Roman’s comment, but took a step forward. “I am willing to coexist.” Logan declared, sticking out his hand. “I promise to be understanding to the best of my ability and provide a safe living environment.”

 Virgil hesitated before reaching out and gently taking Logan’s hand between his two fingers. “And-And I promise to give you a chance and to not move away.” 

 “Aww, this is so pure.” Patton whispered in glee.

[sweetsmellosuccess]

The Best (and Worst) Films of 2019

In many ways, 2019 served as a crucible, and no more so, at least cinematically, than with the venerable superhero flick. After a deluge of big studio films on the subject of capes and spandex (the MCU includes 22 films since the 2008 release of Iron Man; the nascent DCU, running it fits and starts has seven), we saw the explosive close-out of the previous “phases” with Marvel’s Avengers: Endgame; as well as the rise of pseudo art-house comic book film, Joker, in the same bloody year.

The talk on Film Twitter  —  the living definition of ‘tempest in a teacup’ —  was all about those films, and Martin Scorsese’s now legendary take down of the genre by referring to the super hero films, collectively, as  “theme parks.” But in truth, there were many, many other films that came out during the year, some of them utterly brilliant, some of them ridiculously awful. Here are my picks for both, with some of what I wrote about them at the time in my review.

10. Avengers: Endgame

“There are so many small but noteworthy details -- opening the film with Traffic's "Dear Mr. Fantasy"; the name drops, and special shout-outs to comics' fans; the small character beats that allow each protagonist more than just a quip or two; the closing credits, which give singular notice to the stars who have been there from the beginning, and wisely do not use the signature Marvel trick of teasing out the next film, which gives the series, at last, a sense of real closure, if only temporary -- the film feels as if it has been created and calibrated with the utmost care. For a film destined to break the bank no matter how shoddy they might have made it, Marvel has poured enough genuine soul into it to earn its inevitable bounty.”

Full Review

9. Her Smell

“In some ways, the film takes on a sort of Raging Bull aspect, Martin Scorsese's classic film about a boxer's rise and fall, only to turn the ending on its head. In Scorsese's picture, we see Jake LaMotta, now fat and retired, attempt to break into showbiz as a comedian, the scenes draped in cutting sardonicism. Perry gives Becky a much less punishingly ironic turn, but instead a hero's journey, venturing away from the abyss into something a good deal less grandiose and realized.”

Full Review

8. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

“It's also a film about the versions of the stories whose ideas lend depth and valor to our otherwise nondescript lives, the things we hope make us the heroes of our own narratives. In this way, Jimmie's story is conflated with that of the city itself, and the palpable sense of loss he feels about his family's house is mirrored in the city's own loss of identity.”

Full Review

7. Under the Silver Lake

“Mitchell fairly stuffs the film with portents, symbols, and runes, some real, some imagined. Squirrels mysteriously fall dead at Sam's feet, a parrot in his courtyard keeps calling out something he can't decipher, a dog killer stalks the neighborhood, and graffiti strewn about the area calls out to him. Films are always encoded with symbolic meaning, utilizing visual language to instill emotion and establish significance for the audience (think of Spielberg's girl with the red coat in Schindler's List, or James Dean's red windbreaker in Rebel Without a Cause), Mitchell's film gives us so many options, almost everything can be read symbolically, which perfectly captures the paranoia his character feels, and the pointlessness of trying to make sense of it at all.”

Full Review

6. Marriage Story

“Noah Baumbach’s latest film, about the dissolution of married couple – played extraordinarily well by Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson – will no doubt get comparisons made to Bergman’s brilliant Scenes From a Marriage. But whereas that 1972 film concerned the relationship itself, its highs and lows and metamorphoses, Baumbach’s film is much more about the logistics, legal and otherwise, of ending a very much shared life together.”

Capsule Review

5. Midsommar

“Viewing Aster's films is a bit like walking into an art installation -- quite literally, as he populates his frame with stunning compositions and art-focused mise en scene, as with the beautifully designed wooden structures of the compound, or the exquisite murals and art displayed on the building's walls (a huge shout-out to his production designer, Henrik Svensson, and the art directing crew) -- but, as with Hereditary, behind all the sumptuous, hand-crafted beauty, there is a cruel, brutal core of humanity's continued savagery. If art represents the best sort of impulses of humankind, in Aster's hands, it becomes yet another facade, hiding -- or in this case, exemplifying -- our instinct for vicious barbarity.”

Full Review

4. Parasite

“By the end, as it swerves inexorably into blood-soaked violence, the film reveals to be a bit of a con itself, drawing us in with its enticing humor, then opening up into a much darker vision, before ending on an emotional note of surprising vulnerability. Through it all, Bong shows a mastery of odd tones, from the opening comedic salvo, to the final emotional beats.”

Capsule Review

3. Uncut Gems

“It’s one of those pressure-cooker films, where the steam builds more and more intense as Howard gets in and out of trouble through his ability to constantly shift the playing board. There’s a scene about midway through, with various aggrieved characters coalescing at once in his office, as he’s trying to have a speaker phone conversation with his doctor, that’s so stressful, you will want to avert your eyes and remind yourself of the exit signs.”

Capsule Review

2. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

“It's also an unexpected joy to watch the nonchalant swagger of Pitt match up with DiCaprio's more high-strung ministrations. Two of the biggest film stars alive playing mostly washed up TV actors may stack the irony, but both of them settle in so well into their characters, you can't help but admire the result. Rick is a dude whose ego has gone from tumescent to shriveled -- he parks his car miserably in front of one of his own old movie posters -- but beneath all his hubris and despair, he actually has a lot of talent. As always, it's pure joy to watch Pitt smoke up a screen, a middle-aged Redford speaking every line with a sinfully breezy smile, whose confidence extends around him like the golden hue of his deep suntan.”

Full Review

1. Knives Out

“More than the plot itself, an ingenious and kinetic thing that's as satisfying as a hot bowl of soup on a raw and windy day, there's the sense of joyous chaos from the cast. Those scenes where the family is all together, in the drawing room and continually at each other's throats are so delicious, they should come with a napkin. The interplay between vets like Shannon, Johnson, Curtis and Collette is filled with fractious energy, the characters revisiting age-old disagreements ("Your kid's a brat!" -- "Your kid is a Nazi!") with sadistic glee. Even when they band together, in moments, against what they believe to be a common enemy, it's clear the harmony between them is more Iggy and the Stooges than Beach Boys. In short, Johnson has devised a perfect ensemble of dreadful characters and set them all against one another in a narrative fishbowl filled with lye.”

Full Review

Other Worthy Mentions:

Amazing Grace, American Factory, Apollo 11, Bacurau, Birds of Passage, Charlie Says, Cold Case Hammarskjöld, Dark Suns, Dark Waters, Ford v Ferrari, Greener Grass, In Fabric, John Wick 3, Jojo Rabbit, Luce, Midnight Traveler, Ms. Purple, Pain and Glory, Rewind, Something Else, Terminator: Dark Fate, The Farewell, The Hole in the Ground, The Irishman, The Lighthouse, The Nightingale, The Report, The Souvenir, The Vast of Night, This is Not Berlin, Us, Varda by Agnes, Vitalina Varella

Best Upcoming Releases of 2019

The Personal History of David Copperfield

The Burnt Orange Heresy

Bad Education

First Cow

The Worst Films of 2019

5. Greta

“In short, Jordan turns Greta into a Michael Myers-esque boogeyman, everywhere and no place at once, almost a phantom, but for her high heels and French condemnation. In this way, the filmmaker loses his grip on his material.”

Full Review

4. Ma

“Apart from a truly absurd script, director Tate Taylor's film performs ungainly political gyrations -- asking us to root against a survivor of sexual abuse and humiliation for trying to gain (albeit misplaced) revenge on her attacker. Sort of a rape-revenge thriller set upside down, such that nothing makes any ethical (or emotional) sense. It quickly becomes an awkward mishmash of impulses, wanting to provide cheap scares while fostering a deeply schizoid sense of sympathy, while managing to fail mightily at both.”

Full Review

3. The Dead Don’t Die

“Jarmusch's proclivities have always leaned toward such lightly affecting material -- as if the act of actually generating emotion is somehow vulgar and unseemly -- which has also endeared him to his faction of fans. For everyone else, though, it doesn't leave much to look at. Filmed without fanfare (albeit with a few more special effects than usual, and a kind of cool splattering of sand-like mist when the zombies are beheaded), and with the intensity knobs all turned down to their lowest setting, he continues his sous vide-style of filmmaking. Whether you like the dish he's serving, or want to throw your hands in the air and go somewhere else for dinner is all in your temperament. Whatever you choose, you can be certain the same menu will be available the next time you venture back.”

Full Review

2. Dark Phoenix

“The clearest loss, however, is with the story itself -- its legacy struck deep in Marvel lore -- once again being studio nitpicked, and focus-grouped to within an inch of its life. If Endgame audaciously proved a superhero movie could rise toward an emotionally satisfying arc, this failed attempt proves the opposite is also true: Chronic incoherence, even if spread out among a multitude of titles over 20 years, just feels like a soulless money grab. Adding to the sense of this film's slapdashery, the trailer features lines and moments unused in the actual cut, which is never a good sign.”

Full Review

1. Lucy in the Sky

“The film is meandering and pretty much pointless, a major flaw that Hawley himself indicated in his introduction (“we work as hard on the bad ones as we do the good ones,” he told the audience in an example of supreme foreshadowing. Portman does her best, but the film sputters pretty hard, and is never able to justify itself.”

Capsule Review

Other Dishonorable Entries:

The Aftermath, The Curse of La Llorona, Gemini Man, Glass, Hellboy, Joker

Inexplicably Overrated: Joker, The Dead Don’t Die

Biggest Welcome Surprise(s): Ford v Ferrari, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Most Bitter Disappointment(s): The Lodge, Wounds

Film That Critics Got Wrong: Waves

Best Film I Saw Last Year, Period: Scenes From a Marriage

[alien-from-pluto-writer]

The Mystery of Ghosts

@alexprompts 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

There was a bitter sweetness in death, especially one a soul was not ready for. To be dragged down into the depths of hell by the soothing hands of Death, eyes wide as their soul struggled to release their latch on the world of the living and surrender to the warmth of the in-between.

Edward had seen this happen far too many times, and each time it made his still and lifeless heart ache. Once every lifetime, in the very same cemetery in which Edward’s body had laid underground for several centuries, Death tried to retrieve the heart that had been taken from him.

Though Death had no physical heart, he could still love as fiercely as any soul that had been claimed. And that fierce love was always directed to the same woman.

Not exactly the same woman, but a reincarnation of Death’s stolen love.

Edward had watched Death and Life battle each other over a love that had crossed the borders – Death begging for his love to be by his side and for an end to his sentence of solitude, and Life declaring him a fool before wiping the memory of the woman and leaving Death to suffer alone.

Edward hated that he knew what it looked like when someone was erased from another’s memory. Especially one that was loved so dearly. Their eyes glazed over, arms going slack by their side as they stared at nothing, not a single emotion flashing across their face – empty.

And each time it happened, Death cried.

Death wept and sobbed into the cold and dead earth in which no life grew, shoulders shaking beneath a dark robe made of his own sadness and misery. Like a heavy curse, everything around them darkened with Death’s pain, flowers curling in on themselves and petals turning brown, sky darkening as thunder clouds crossed the sun, the grass drooping from the quiet.

Life didn’t care for Death’s misery, only brushing off a shoulder which held no lint and flashing a withering glare at the destruction Death was causing.

This time, Edward knew it would be no different.

The woman strode into the cemetery, eyes searching for what had called her there. Mind whirling as she tried to subdue the roiling anger in her gut, to see past the cloud of grief clouding her eyes. Confusion and a sadness with no apparent source made her head spin as she walked past headstones and roses.

It seemed to have become a tradition to wear a red dress on the day of her attempted departure, to let it be her own kind of beacon among the black and grey. Her black hair left gentle kisses along her bare neck as the wind pushed it behind her, revealing the face for which Death had fallen in love with.

Each time, grey eyes scanned the red roses as she walked deeper into the cemetery, and when reaching the same bush as last time, she would carefully snap off a rose. Edward knew from her eyes that she didn’t know why she had done that, the furrowed brows lowering further as a small cut let blood flow across her skin.

She had been as careful as she was with all things, she hadn’t cut herself, and she had no reason to bleed.

But Edward knew that was part of the curse – it had to be, for it happened each time.

The woman moved on, feet carrying her to a nameless headstone further down the path, not noticing that her shoes had stopped making noise on the gravel minutes ago.

She was in Death’s hands now.

Edward could almost see the layer of darkness lift from the cemetery, the roses brighter and birds louder and happier. Too bad it would end in only minutes, plunging it back into a smothering darkness.

Red dress swaying around her knees, she stopped in front of the grave, peering down at its emptiness with a sorrow that could rival Death’s. Her mouth moved, and yet again, Edward tried to hear what she said, but couldn’t. He never could.

A man appeared over her shoulder as if tearing through the fabric of the world, and Edward saw him before the woman did.

Death’s brown eyes were brighter than they ought to be, a smile playing on the edge of his lips, sculpted face glowing with something life could never create. He was handsome. With smooth, shoulder-length black hair, thin body fitted with black pants and a flowing white shirt, Edward had often thought to himself that the woman was very lucky to have stolen the heart of such a man.

The woman turned to Death, not even flinching as she searched his face with unrestrained curiosity. Death too searched her face, a softness filling his eyes as his eyes fell on the familiar pin in her hair – the one had given her on the evening of their first date when he had snuck her between the barriers of existence to see the Fall of Souls.

“I have a feeling this is for you,” the woman said, offering him the rose. Her voice was soft and elegant, even with the underlying tone of confusion.

Strange. Last time she had simply let it fall from her fingers and hit the earth with the sound of shattering hope, petals turning to dust as if Death had drained the life from it.

Even Death was surprised.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the rose with hesitant slim fingers, voice cracking only once. Both Death and Henry stared at the rose in confusion, there was something different about it.

Edward should have been paying attention to which rose she picked, perhaps things had gone differently from there. Maybe that was all it had to be all this time, a different rose. Was Life’s sense of humor that cruel, did each time he leave laughing, knowing that something that simple would be their undoing?

Death startled as the woman raised a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide as she smiled and let out a soft laugh.

“I remember.”

Death looked ready to burst into tears, his own laugh leaving his body and christening the air. His cheeks were rosy with a sweet blush that made him even more handsome.

The woman cupped his face with her hands, dark skin against the pale of death, leaning forward to press a single kiss against his lips. Letting their foreheads rest against each other, Death wrapped his arms around her middle, the both of them letting their eyes drift closed to soak in the warmth of their reunion.

Where was Life? Normally he was here by now, smile and eyes filled with glee, ready to rip them apart again. Had he finally chosen to let them live with their love? Would Life really be that cruel to take this away from them again?

The empty gravestone gave way to the ground, the earth ripping open with the sound of an old creaky door. Stone stairs slowly formed, leading down into a lantern lit stairwell, the walls slowly revealing paintings of angels and humans and demons. Marble railing pierced the earth from below and sprouted into the air like trees.

The perfect entrance to Hell for two lovers.

“Follow me,” Death whispered, his voice raw and filled with emotion, hands trailing from around her waist to her hands.

She smiled, following without hesitation as Death guided her down the stairs to the safety of another world. Another world filled with a freedom no place on Earth could give, glowing with a love that Life did not hold, smelling of their sweet love. Their laughter echoed along the walls, a taunting to those left behind, the air lifting as the happiness and pure joy settled in the air.

If their laughter alone was enough to lift the dead of a cemetery, Edward couldn’t even imagine what else they could do.

As quickly as the entrance had formed, stairs were sucked back into the earth, stairs slowly fading and earth building back up to normal level, leaving only a small patch of slightly fresher grass. Something about it told Edward that they’d left that last detail on purpose just to taunt Life now that they believed they were finally free.

He stayed staring at the empty gravestone from where he had been watching the entire time, several plots over, trying to work out the thoughts running through his head. His mind had been a whirling chaos even before he had died, and after it had seemed to have gotten even more chaotic, and nothing about this situation seemed to be helping that.

He had gotten used to watching their dance to misery, knowing with melancholy that time and time again it would come crashing down upon them. The possibility that he never saw them again made his dead heart ache more than he thought possible.

Edward - too caught up in his own thoughts - didn’t notice the man step out of thin air until he let out a curse so foul it would have once made Edward’s mother scream.

Whirling towards him, Edward noticed that Life didn’t seem to even notice him standing there. But then again, Life had never been able to see him the other countless times he had interrupted the lovers, he definitely wouldn’t now.

Still, Edward let a smile spread across his face at the growl that escaped Life and at the reminder his presence had brought – he was too late. He only hoped that the delay had been sufficient enough time for Death and his heart to get away.

Taking in Life, Edward couldn’t help admire his beauty as one might admire a rose in a garden – though he assumed that if such was said to Life, he was sure that his soul would be freed of the cemetery and left to drift aimlessly through the in-between with no tether.

Life’s eyes were darkened by his lowed brow, anger clouding the burning amber, lips pulled into a sneer by strings attached to his vicious thoughts. Short curly blonde hair, chiselled cheeks and nose, similar to that of Greek sculptures, made him remember those paintings that used to hang in his mother’s foyer. And how much he had been unable to stop staring at them. Though the black slim jeans and oversized band t-shirt that Life wore quickly disputed that comparison.

Edward startled when he found Life looking in his direction, a blush spreading across his cheeks despite the knowledge that he could not be seen.

Looking behind him, Edward saw nothing that may have taken Life’s interest – though maybe he was being too judgemental and Life had some kind of fascination with a wilting tree that the gardeners had long given up on making look nice.

“What are you looking at?” Life drawled with a raised brow.

What?

Turning to again look over his shoulder, he saw no one else had magically appeared there in the span of ten seconds. Who was Life talking to? Some other deity that Edward’s death hadn’t permitted him to see?

Looking back to Life, he found him staring expectantly at him. Not through him like people usually did, but directly into his eyes with a stare that could rival his long passed Aunts – who he is certain killed someone with only a look.

“You can see me?” Edward whispered, as If he were afraid of both answers – which he would’ve liked to have said he wasn’t at all.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Life laughed bitterly, turning away to mutter under his breath about how stupid humans were, resting his glare on the empty headstone. His shoulders were held tight with rage, scowl etched onto his face with an artist’s hand.

He hadn’t ever seen him before, no matter how close Edward had gotten to him. And how did he not know that he was dead, surely being Life it-self permitted such knowledge?

“Because I’m dead.”

Life turned towards him, a scornful laugh escaping his lips, “I knew people were stupid, but really, come on, you’re not dead you bloody idiot.”

Edward blinked, dumbfounded, as Life turned back to the empty gravestone muttering to himself again.

The possibility of him being insane hadn’t occurred to him before – which in and of itself was concerning – but it certainly did then. If Life said he was alive, surely he was. Right? Was this all some strange delusion his mind had created? Had he lost his mind to an inescapable fog of chaos, abandoning his lovely home to roam a graveyard all hours of the day, watching people as they wept, reading names of gravestones and imagining their lives to pass time? Among the people of the town was a rumor muttered on laughing lips, musing of what exactly was wrong with the man that wondered among the resting dead?

He had strangely adjusted to the harsh truth – or delusion – of death, in a manner that he doubted was normal. It had only taken a few hours for it to sink in, him quickly accepting that dying from a heart attack young but still being able to walk the ground of Earth sounded no more real than the unicorns of fantasy novels - it was the truth. Something in his head had . . . told him that he was dead.

And he had believed it – yet another concerning matter.

As Edward had a minor internal meltdown, Life kicked pebbles at the nameless headstone with tense arms crossed against his chest.

Real mature.

Though he quickly learned that Life was anything but mature, made entirely of teenage recklessness, as he had picked a stone from the ground and cocked his arm back, ready to throw it at the nameless headstone.

Edward grabbed for Life’s arm, only thinking of the pure disrespect that action alone was, and the disbelief that Life – who humans assumed to be nice and sweet – would do such a thing.

He didn’t think that his hand would go through Life’s arm.

Life froze, arm still and tense with quickly restrained force, eyes staring at Edward’s hand where it had gone through and appeared out the other side. He could almost see the cogs inside Life’s head grind to a halt, a veil of confusion spreading across his eyes like the closing curtains of a stage.

Edward, personally, didn’t understand Life’s shock and was only relieved that his hand had indeed gone through his arm because that meant he was actually dead. Not insane - yet, at least.

Life swallowed, frowning, eyes darting between Edward and his own arm which still held the rock.

“I – How?”

“What? I told you I was dead,” Edward shrugged, and then internally slapped himself the moment he realised what he had said. That could be taken in a way he hadn’t meant, Life could see it as an insult and throw him into the in-between which he very much did not want to ever experience. As strange as his reality had become, he liked it much more than the rumoured abyss of insanity. He may as well have pissed on Life’s head and blamed a bird.

“I shouldn’t be able to see you,” Life muttered, eyes slowly shifting to Edward’s face and arm falling limp to his side, slim fingers still holding onto the rock he had planned to throw. “I’m not using magic.”

Edward had no idea what he was talking about, his passing had only given him so much knowledge about this side of the world, and didn’t bother trying to understand. He was more preoccupied in trying to get Life to put the rock down so he didn’t throw it.

“You shouldn’t throw rocks at graves, you might be aiming for that one – which is terrible in the first place – but what would happen if you hit another’s grave by accident? That is incredibly rude and disrespectful, never mind the fact that you should be leaving them alone, and you – are you even listening to me?” Edward asked, taking in Life’s amber eyes that seemed to be staring intensely at his face with a look that clearly said he hadn’t at all been listening.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Edward quickly realised that while Life may be handsome, he could be incredibly infuriating.

“I’ve been trying to tell you not to throw rocks in a bloody cemetery!”

“Not that you idiot,” Life sneered. “I shouldn’t be able to see you, you’re dead and I can’t see passed spirits unless Death allowed it and was present or if I was using magic, and neither of those things is happening.”

Handling his death had been so much easier than this.

Why did weird stuff keep happening to him?

[robotnik-mun]

Fleetway Robotnik is Pure Evil

And I’m not just speaking figuratively when I say that. 

Now, everyone knows the origin of this guy- once upon a time he was the kindly scientist Dr. Ovi Kintobor, a close friend and mentor to Sonic, who had an ambitious plan to use the Chaos Emeralds to create a machine that would rid the planet Mobius of evil forever via a machine called the Retro-Orbital Chaos Compressor. 

This well-intentioned project however would go horribly awry, as an accident (later revealed to be less of an accident than thought) would result in the device malfunctioning and Kintobor being caught in the subsequent explosion. The evil gathered by the Chaos Emeralds would be released and infused into Kintobor, transforming him into a new being called ‘Ivo Robotnik’, as evil as Kintobor was kind. 

Robotnik would subsequently put his intellect towards conquering Mobius, clashing with Sonic several times before managing to banish him several months into the future and conquering the planet in the interim. 

And what is Mobius like under Robotnik? Well, it’s absolutely miserable. All male Mobians are conscripted to work in long, torturous hours at factories. Those that fail to comply get used as batteries for the badniks. Like outside the factories is little better- to sum it up, every law is punishable by death, and it’s near impossible to really live WITHOUT breaking the law. The only people who thrive are the corrupt officials that make up the upper echelons of Robotnik’s society, the people who run the prisons and the factories or who build weapons for him. Everything is an edifice in veneration to Robotnik, and the penalties for insufficient admiration are dire indeed. In short, it’s not unlike North Korea, sans even the pretense of doing everything ‘for the people’. 

And that’s just the way this particular Robotnik likes it, for out of all the myriad versions of Robotnik out there, this one is the one who can be said to be driven purely by sadism. That is because out of all the Robotnik’s out there, this one is legitimately the closest to being an actual DEMON. 

Think about it- this Robotnik is not a human. Even if we ignore the no-ears thing, he’s essentially the Hyde to Ovi’s Jekyll- every single buried, nasty little thing about Ovi given flesh and life and the dreadful will to carry on. This guy is every ugly little thought and urge Ovi ever had, and he’s in the driver’s seat. 

It ties into so much of his behavior and why his society is the way it is. Using organic laborers isn’t a means to an end for him, the means IS the end- everything in his empire is designed to make people as downtrodden and hopeless as possible, and he revels in every last moment of it. He deliberately programs his robots with personalities that are as sadistic and bullying as his own, and makes them JUST self aware enough so that he can enjoy watching them die while singing his praises. 

Chilling, isn’t it? 

Likewise, this ties into why Robotnik has Grimer make so much stuff for him- it’s not that Robotnik is incapable or less skilled than Grimer. It’s more likely that he does so to be willfully lazy and because he gets a kick out of having someone do it FOR him. Sure, he could do it all himself, but it just feels SO much better knowing you can make someone else do it. That Grimer is all too happy to be his willing slave and punching bag is simply a bonus. 

No where is this Robotnik’s raw, petty malice on better display than during the Robotnik Reigns Supreme arc, wherein Robotnik gains the power of the seven Chaos Emeralds and makes himself into a legitimate GOD in the process. He uses this newfound, Godlike power to torture Sonic over and over, with all the enthusiasm and glee of a sadistic child mutilating a fly. 

Finally, he decides to re-write reality so that Sonic is never born, and what does this world of no Sonic look like? Much like the original, only even MORE oppressive and downtrodden than before. Robotnik could have easily used his power to make everyone obey him without question, but what he chooses to do is create a world of intense, everlasting suffering. Both so that he can revel in Sonic’s anguish and loss... and because to Robotnik, this is ideal. 

Fleetway Robotnik’s vision of perfection isn’t a lifeless world of steel and robots like his SatAM counterparts, nor is it a glitzy monument to his ego the way Eggman’s tends to be. His ideal world is pretty much a place where EVERYONE is as miserable as he can possibly make them, at least until he can device a new way to make them even more miserable than that. It’s a place of arbitrary rules and arbitrary punishment, a place where you can die simply for trying to live a little. It’s as close to a hell on Earth as you can get. 

There is no reason for it beyond the fact it makes Robotnik happy, because in Fleetway? He really IS made out of evil. 

And we are shown how this is also to his detriment. Fleetway Robotnik is shown as being pathologically incapable of not indulging his worst impulses. Rather than finish Sonic off when he has the chance, he chooses to try and psychologically break him with his deific powers. Because he of this, Sonic is eventually able to maneuver himself into a position where he can successfully counterattack against Robotnik and rob him of his powers... because Robotnik just COULDN’T resist digging that knife in a little deeper. 

Now, it must be noted, that this Robotnik isn’t the only one to exhibit sadism and self-destructive tendencies- ALL Robotniks and Eggmen love to gloat, and his SatAM counterpart likewise can’t seem to resist kicking the dog at every given opportunity, and his hatred for Sonic grows so out of control that it leads to his own end. It needs to be said that though that even compared to his counterparts, the Fleetway model is especially prone to indulging in petty, spiteful and pointlessly malicious behavior, and whereas the SatAM Robotnik had to build to the point where his hatred completely overtook his sense, in Fleetway Robotnik it was always present. 

There is an interesting moment in the book wherein Robotnik’s malevolence to the point of self-destruction is pointed out, wherein she spells out how Robotnik’s inability to NOT be evil and cruel is what leads to his defeat more than anything.

There is however a slight flaw to this- Robotnik actually CAN’T choose whether or not to be evil. He was born of evil and is made of the stuff- it’s not a matter of whether or not he chooses evil, but rather HOW evil he chooses to be. Because as I said, this Robotnik is not a human, but is really more of a constantly mutating construct born from the Chaos Emeralds.

He is, in short, Pure Evil.

The moments wherein he demonstrates humor or even humanity tend to be very small when compared to how he is overall, and my conclusion is that these moments and facets of his character are the lingering influence of Kintobor on his being.... and even that really isn’t enough. 

So yeah, I submit to you that Fleetway Robotnik is the Robotnik that comes closest to literally being ‘Pure Evil’. Whether that makes him the MOST evil is subject to interpretation. Confused? Well, the thing about being ‘Pure Evil’ in its literal term is that ultimately, there is no choice involved. And what makes evil so horrible is that it’s ALL about the choice. 

But that’s a debate for another day, and I’ve said enough already. 

[probably-not-star-lord]

Just Roommates (Scott Lang x Reader)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Scott but expect more fics with him cause I love him so much!! Also I’m sorry that this is kinda bad cause I’m legit so used to writing for cocky, inappropriate Peter Quill lmao.

Request: OH MY GOD FINALLY SOMEONE WRITING FOR SCOTT. can i please have an imagine where scott and the reader live together and when cassie comes to visit she and the reader get along really well and scott falls even more in love with her? lots of fluff please! love your work x

Warnings: swearing, FLUFF

-

You and Scott have been roommates for a while now. You started living together when he first got out of prison, Luis being a good friend to both of you and hooking you up with roommates. You needed someone else to help with rent and he needed a place to stay, it was perfect.

You stayed by his side when he struggled with finding a job to support his daughter, Cassie, and you were certainly with him when he became Ant-Man. Scott always has your back and you have his, living up to the expectations of a great friend and a stellar roommate. But there were still a few things you didn't know about each other. For instance, you’ve never met Cassie. Scott tells you about her all the time and it makes you so happy to listen to they way he shares stories about is daughter. You want to know Cassie really badly, but it’s just never worked out for you to meet her.

Scott would love nothing more than for you to meet Cassie as well. He’s only just super nervous about. You were his roommate and his friend, but there’s always been something more. He doesn't see you as just those things and a part of him has been crazy about you since the day you met. So what happens if Cassie doesn't like you or you don't like Cassie? Then he’ll be forced to disregard his feelings and he’ll never be able to tell you how he really feels.

Today was a casual Saturday. It wasn’t Scott’s weekend with Cassie and you were disappointed because next time she comes you’ll be out of town. You sit on your bed with a bottle of nail polish beside you, painting your toes a light shade of blue. Outside the door, you can hear Scott banging on the drums and you laugh to yourself quietly.

“That man is such a dork,” you mumble. A smile creeps up to your lips as you think abut Scott. You've always had a thing for him, despite his awkwardness and nerdy sense of humor. If anything, those are the qualities that make you like him even more. 

The doorbell rings, pulling you from your thoughts. You cringe, knowing if you get up you’ll smudge your toes that are almost done drying. The doorbell rings again, but this time you hear speedy footsteps follow and you’re grateful Scott got off his ass so you don’t have to. Chatter echoes throughout the house, centering at the kitchen. You’re curious about who’s here and are desperate to investigate. So the second your nails are dry, you dart out of your room and follow the noise.

Around the kitchen table sits Scott and Cassie. Your heart leaps with joy: you’re finally going to get to meet her! Scott looks up at you and grins brightly. “Hey Y/N!”

Cassie turns her attention to you as well, the little girl perking up in her seat with wide eyes. “She’s pretty...” she whispers. Your smile widens and you make your way over to her.

“You must be Cassie.” She nods. “I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” she replies. “My dad talks about you all the time.”

Scott laughs nervously, a hint of blush on his cheeks. “Peanut...” Cassie just shrugs in response and continues smiling up at you. “Maggie had to drop her off because she was called into work for the rest of the weekend. I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course!” you exclaim. “I’d love to have Cassie here for the weekend.”

“Hear that, Peanut?” Scott says. “You can hangout with Y/N and I.” His phone rings, disrupting the conversation. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.”

“No worries,” you tell him. You bring Cassie into your room. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess in here. I was painting my nails.”

“Really? Can you paint mine?” she asks excitedly.

“I’d be happy to! Which color do you want?”

She glances down and peers at the color of your nails. “The same color you have.” You nod in response and grab the color from off of your bed, setting up an area on the floor.

A long while passes as you paint Cassie’s nails. The two of you talk a little bit about school or Scott and definitely share some laughs. She even opens up a bit to tell you what Scott has said about you and you’re happy to hear everything he says is really nice. You put the blue bottle back into the bin with the others and clasp your hands together.

“All done! What do you think?”

Cassie wiggles her toes in delight, grinning down at them with a giggle. “I love them!” To your surprise she wraps her arms over your shoulders and pulls you in for a hug. “Thank you Y/N!”

“Any time, kid.”

“I’m gonna go show Daddy!” She shouts, running out of your room to meet Scott. You get up from the floor and lean against the doorway, able to hear their conversation. “Daddy look at my nails!”

“Wow those look great, Peanut!” he exasperates.

“They look just like Y/N’s,” she says. “She’s the coolest.”

You hear Scott hum in response. “So you like Y/N, huh?”

“I love her!”

“That’s good...” he yammers.

“Do you love her, Daddy?”

“Huh? Oh yeah...I guess I love her. I mean she's my roommate-”

“No do you like love her love her?”

“Yeah...” Scott sighs. “I think I do. It feels like she's not just my roommate.��

“I know,” Cassie states. “I can tell she loves you too.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “She does? You really think so?” She nods in affirmation. “So then should I ask Y/N on a date?”

Cassie squeals in excitement. “Yes!”

“Well, I don’t know, Peanut. I probably shouldn-” Scott is cut off by Cassie pushing him towards your door. You quickly jump out of the doorway and sit on your bed like you weren’t listening to their conversation. Hearing them make their way over to you, you smile to yourself. Scott’s in love with you.

“Y/N! My dad needs to talk to you,” Cassie delivers, giving him one last shove into your room before walking away. Scott stands in the doorway, shifting awkwardly in place.

“I hope Cassie hasn't given you too much trouble or anything...”

“Oh, of course not! Cassie is super sweet.”

“She said she likes hanging out with you.”

You laugh lightheartedly, the tension in the room building the more the small talk continues. “I like hanging out with her too,” you say. “I can’t believe you hid her from me all this time!”

“Well...you’re just so awful with kids I didn't want to let her anywhere near you,” Scott jokes, causing both of you to chuckle. He thinks about how excited Cassie was to meet you and how she looks up to you. The way you took such good care of her today and were happy to spend time with her makes him fall in love with you even more. “I’m glad you two get along because there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“You’re gonna ask me out.” You smirk, crossing your arms.

Scott’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“I heard Cassie tell you to come in here so you can ask me on a date.”

“Shit...” he groans.

“Scott, it’s fine,” you laugh. “I’ve actually liked you for a while now. I’d be happy to go out with you.”

“Really?” You nod. “Uhh...awesome! Okay that sounds good...” he stutters, unable to put the proper words together to make a sentence. You get up from the bed and plant a firm kiss on his lips to cut off his yammering. He’s taken aback at first, but then he quickly gives in and deepens the kiss. The kiss is warm and melts your heart, filling it with pure joy.

You hear Cassie cheer with glee from the hallway, causing you and Scott to immediately pull away from the kiss. He presses his forehead against yours and the two of you chuckle at his daughter dancing with happiness at the fact that she was the one able to finally get you two together.

[donnerpartyofone]

#4

In 2018, with the help of some concerned and informed people in my life, I discovered that I’m probably pretty autistic. The driving factors were not what you might expect (I didn’t, anyway)--chiefly, a kind of persistent clumsiness, disorientation, organizational difficulty, trouble learning certain practical tasks--but it helped explain a lot of things about me that one might otherwise consider “quirks”. I had always taken for granted, for instance, that I have a lot of trouble recognizing faces, including ubiquitously famous actors, or members of my own family. I have also been accused from time to time of taking things “too literally” (to which I usually reply something like, “But this is literally what’s going on in reality, how does literalness make it dismissible?” I really don’t get it). Also, most typically, I have never liked being touched. “You’re just like Dave Letterman!” my dad chortles, an interpretation I don’t mind. I think it might also be pretty autistic of me to be so averse to family. I don’t have the slightest inclination toward maternity, which one could guess from the previous passages, but it’s more than neurosis. I know intellectually that people care about their families; the same way most people burst with pleasure at the sight of a baby, any baby, they also respond automatically to the very idea of blood relatives. As a kid, I was always baffled by the obsession other kids seemed to have with their cousins, or how in love they could be with their grandparents. In my world, you obsess over people to whom you have something to say; people who share your taste in art, your politics, your philosophies, your passions and phobias. I don’t understand relationships that are based on blood alone, on being trapped in the same place and time by virtue of pure circumstances.

Today, as my friends are all having babies one after another, I find myself strangely fascinated by them. Some of these people have struggled all their lives to find a sense of belonging or purpose, and having children has given them a sense of meaning beyond anything they previously hoped for. As someone who continuously struggles to find a sense of purpose, which I base exclusively on my intellectual and artistic pursuits, I’m amazed by the idea that I could potentially put all my existential confusion behind me if I were willing or able to become a mother. I can estimate how profound it must feel to create life, and then to become responsible for turning that life into something good. But, I remain unable to attach meaning to the idea of something being “a part of me” on a purely biological basis. I have insurmountable trouble thinking of my biological predecessors as being “where I come from” on the identity level. I can’t imagine being so sentimental about being an organism in a colony of like-organisms, not the way I am about people who have brought me experience and taught me to think.

So, even if I were without the mother-related trauma heretofore detailed, I still think there is something about who I am as a person, that would have made me recoil from my grandmother. My mother’s mother was the platonic ideal grandmother, a plump, pleasant old lady with a syrupy southern drawl who seemed to have stepped out of a cookie commercial. Excessively generous with money, food and affection, she presented as a person any family would welcome in their household. However, I always detected something oppressive about her. I was raised to be guiltily dutiful toward her, so as a child, I thought my suspicion and repulsion was just a problem with me. It must make me an asshole, that I don’t want her to hug me with her entire body for such a long time that I can’t figure out what’s going on anymore and I’m suffocating from the heat. I must be a dick, that I don’t want someone chasing me around, staring at me, posing me and jostling me like a baby, which I haven’t been for years. Maybe it was my problem, that I didn’t want her to burst into the bathroom and shriek with glee at the sight of me on the toilet trying to take a single solitary piss. Maybe I was just being a jerky teenager when I froze in horror while my grandmother sat next to me at the dinner table, gazing smolderingly into my eyes like a lover and caressing my hair non-verbally when I was perfectly capable of having a respectful adult conversation.

As I grew up a little more, I began to pick up on the fact that she drove both of my parents nuts. All of this motherly pageantry was incredibly manipulative, and really a way of controlling people. The creepy coddling I received as her granddaughter was really something she did to everyone. She was bright, incredibly shrewd really, a person whose hard work and frugality produced a self-made millionaire, though this didn’t reflect in her humble home. She was a dyed in the wool republican who was capable of watching the Daily Show with appropriate delight. Actually, she had a weird sadistic sense of humor; I always thought she got a little too much joy out of seeing little boys get smacked in the nuts by speeding baseballs on America’s Funniest Home Videos. That probably bothered me because of how she unforgettably screamed with laughter at my flinching when she took me to get my ears pierced. Everything indicated that, regardless of her age and conservatism, she wasn’t a vulnerable, senile old biddy, but a keenly intelligent woman very much in touch with the real world. This made it endlessly disturbing to me that she so insisted that everyone around her act like a little baby, adults and children alike, so she could rule us all as the ultimate mommy. Her aversion to grownup conversations and self-reliance was a way of forcing everyone into a Rockwellian time capsule in which everything was predictable and hygienic, in which mother knows best. Literally any admission of imperfection could trigger an outburst that would enslave everyone to the process of cheering her up. I recently heard a story about a Christmas visit during which she and her husband were lavishing attention on my brother as if I wasn’t even there. Concerned that I might be lonely, my father suggested that they include me in this play session. At this recommendation, my grandmother burst into hysterical tears, and my parents had to spend the rest of the night apologizing for accusing her of being neglectful.

Eventually, I learned little by little that she was more than just a prototypically clingy old lady with a keen talent for doling out guilt. It was a little weirder than that, and ultimately, a lot darker. First, there were the things I had heard about my mother’s life as her daughter. I remember a story my mother told about a birthday party that her mother threw for her when she was little, sometime in grade school I think. Her mother said that she had hired a gypsy woman to tell everyone’s fortunes, which was extremely exciting. A little carnival tent was set up in the back yard, and all the kids lined up to hear about their futures. When my mother’s turn came up, she walked in, only to find her mother in there in a turban talking with a corny accent, as if her own child wouldn’t know who she was--let alone any of her friends. My mother told this story to explain how embarrassing her mother was, but what I picked up from this was less a funny story about how parents traditionally humiliate their kids, and more like evidence that my grandmother’s identity is completely rooted in her position as an apex matriarch, well beyond anyone else’s intelligence or control.

The way she infantilized me was not an ordinary byproduct of having a grandchild, but something she did to everyone in her life, historically, up to and including my adult parents. She certainly continued to do it to me as an adult, and she insisted on a childish sort of positivity that I could barely muster. I thought, if she wants us to have a relationship, I should talk about my life, which sometimes includes complaints--or simply categorizing things as just-ok, or business as usual. Of course, she found this extremely irritating for some reason, and would pressure me to change my story with declarations like “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SO MISERABLE!” One Christmas when I was really in a bind, I called to thank her for the holiday check she had sent me, saying that it gave me much-needed help in making my rent at that time. “Oh...well, I thought you would do something nice with it,” she said in a strange tone that let me know she was sort of angry with me for some reason. I had to sort of bend the truth into a story about some special treat I supposedly got myself in order to get her to cut it out.

A better example of what was really going on with her also had to do with Christmas. You know Christmas: If you’re a little kid, you get up at about four in the morning, you beeline for the tree and try to peak into the openings in the wrapping paper, you wake up your parents either by force or by the shockwaves coming off of your person, you all open presents together in a sleep-deprived daze, and you’re basically all back in bed by 10am. Well, this might happen with my mother, but once my grandmother was awake, a ritual began. First, she would get out her camera, and follow my mother back into the bedroom. There, my mother would get back into bed, and pretend to be asleep. Then my grandmother would take a picture of my mother “waking up.” Then, another picture of her theatrically delighted expression when she “remembers” that it’s Christmas. Then a picture of my mother entering the living room and exploding with joy when she sees the tree for “the first time”. Then pictures of the presents being opened, then etc...this whole completely artificial passion play of my grandmother’s little family having the perfect Christmas.

Much, much later, I would find out what all this debasement was probably really about. It had to do with my great aunt. I knew that this woman, who I have rarely ever met in my life, and her daughter both suffer from brutalizing clinical depression. The daughter actually has an electronic device in her brain that acts like a pacemaker for depressive episodes. I had never even heard of something like that before, but it made perfect sense to me that this person and I would be in the same gene pool. Naturally, though, my grandmother would not have found such a dour defect so sympathetic. My grandmother and her sister seemed to have some kind of amorphous feud going on. My grandmother complained relentlessly that her sister refused to spend enough time with her, and I usually thought about how unfair she was being to a woman who has had cancer multiple times, whose energy is leached away by depression, and whose daughter is also routinely sick and almost uncontrollably suicidal. Apparently there was a history of slights and passive aggressions between the two women, though none of it topped the thing I ultimately learned about their family. At some point in their lives, my long suffering great aunt admitted to her sister that she had been raped by their father. I never knew the man, but he was supposed to have been sort of a son of a bitch, and there were other reasons that this made all the sense in the world to me. I remembered a story about how, after he died, his daughters found years’ worth of private writing that he had produced. It sounded like they were really raunchy violent western stories, which my parents were naturally interested in seeing, until they discovered that my grandmother had burned it all. “It was PORNOGRAPHY!” she declared. It’s a little hard to tell whether she was simply appalled by this rather un-Rockwellian artistic deviance, or if she was especially bothered because she knew him to be real life predator. In any case, it would have been impossible to know, because when her sister confessed that their father had violated her, my grandmother basically gave her the finger. Or rather, she gave that whole upsetting topic the finger, and then insisted that her poor destroyed sister continue to be her faithful companion as if none of it had ever happened. “It’s so painful!” my grandmother cried when her sister refused her most recent invite to brunch, and it took everything in me not to say, “Yeah, well, can you think of any reasons by yourself why she might not be fucking dying to hang out with you all the time?”

So it became clear to me why my grandmother might be so controlling and belittling, why she might try to force everyone into a performance of endless childhood, why she might expel from her life anything that smacks of imperfection. It still remained very difficult for me to just suck it up and be what she wanted me to be, not so much because I’m especially proud of my personality--a personality that in every way would repel her if I were to reveal my private world of crime, horror movies, pornography, fetishism, occultism, anti-capitalist sentiment, and of course, suicidal ideation. I also had trouble being the granddaughter she needed because of this autism of mine; it doesn’t make any sense to me to dissimulate, I’ll never become a smooth enough liar to pretend to be somebody’s innocent little baby, even if it would benefit me to do so. Making things up makes no more sense to me, than it does for someone to say “I love you” without meaning “I’m impressed with your personality, your intelligence, your culture, your morality, your humor, your...” It doesn’t make sense to me for someone to say, “I don’t care who you are, I love you because you’re my baby.” I made my best efforts in her last years, but nothing will stop me from feeling guilty toward her for the rest of my life. The way that she died fucked me up so badly that I’m only beginning to realize it now.

[tongueincheekywrites-blog]

maybe one day the sun will shine again

Niall Horan fell in love with a girl named Annabelle. He got to call her Annie. Only very special people get to call her Annie. But now, as he sits on his bed alone in the dark, he reminisces in his past adventures with her. And remembers that now, he has to call her Annabelle again. 

Her name was Annabelle.

Niall remembers everything about her like he remembers warm ups on the piano.

She was blonde, radiant, bold, and beautiful.

Oh god was she beautiful.

Niall remembers the day his eyes first bestowed on her beauty.

---

Hyde Park. London. 12:33pm.

There she was, her white puffy skirt flowing as she twirled around in the grass, a smile of pure glee present on her face. No one around her, no one who could have caused that smile.

She was simply alone. And simply happy just from the sun shining, the birds chirping, and feeling the earth move under her feet.

And to Niall, that was infectious.

It was as if she was the sun.

With her radiant blonde hair, the shiny glow of her arms, and that smile...

It’s her smile, Niall thinks, that captivated him most of all.

It just screamed the pure essence of being happy without a care.

Maybe Niall could help bring that smile out in her more.

So he tried.

“Excuse me?”

Or he was going to. Before she got his attention first.

He turned. “Yes, miss?”

She giggled. And he tried to soothe the butterflies in his stomach, biting his lip.

“Why were you staring at me?”

Oh boy, he’s caught now. What’s he suppose to say? He barely knows the girl, how’s he supposed to not sound like a total creep, when all he’s thinking is oh you see, I was staring at you because well... I literally think you were born from the angels, with actually rays of sunshine in your soul. That’s why I was staring.

It is a better line than what a fuckboy might say on Tinder, but still! He can’t say that!

So he settled on something basic.

“Oh. Just thought you were pretty. Sorry.”

She huffed a laugh. “That’s boring.”

“Boring?”

He’s boring, for calling her pretty? Was it too typical? Should he have really gone with his poetic statement of her being equivalent to sunshine.

“How so?”

“Anyone can call me pretty. So that’s boring.”

She’s strong with her words, and just flat out speaks her mind. And he loved that. Loved that she had no filter. Didn’t feel like she needed one. Had that total ‘take me or leave me’ attitude. It was admirable.

“Well... I was going to compare you to being like the sun. But that’s kinda lame,” he laughed nervously.

“Comparing me to the sun because of my blonde hair is pretty basic.”

“That’s not why,” he immediately butts in.

“Oh?”

She’s curious now.

“It’s your smile. It glows. You smile just for yourself, just because you’re happy, and content just living. And to me, that’s beautiful.”

Hearing his words, she smiles so big. Like a thousand angels just came soaring in.

And Niall feels like he just won the fucking lottery.

She extends a hand for a shake. “That’s cheesy, but I like cheesy. I’m Annabelle. If you get lucky enough, maybe I’ll let you call me Annie.”

He laughs, not being able to get enough of her adorably confident attitude. “Alright, Miss Annabelle. I’m Niall.”

Shaking hands, he immediately notices how soft and velvety her skin is. Pretty sunshine smile, soft skin, boy Niall isn’t sure how much more he could take. His heart was practically beating out of his chest, and he could hear everything thump of it in his ears.

“You’re not from here are you?”

Niall blinked at her question, but then her realized something. Something odd, but oddly made him so, so happy.

She doesn’t know who he is.

There’s no expectations of him. He can just be him. He can finally try to be as free as she appears to be.

“Nope, I’m from Ireland.”

“Huh...” she trails on. What made you come to London?”

“For work.”

“Work?”

He’s nervous now. Maybe finding out what he does will suddenly spark a connection. But he can’t lie to her. Starting even a friendship, let alone a potential relationship, off with lying always ends in flames.

“I’m a singer.”

“Neat! You’ll have to sing for me sometime!” She winks.

And that was that. Maybe she did know who he was, and was just ignoring it or didn’t care. Or maybe she flat out just didn’t know.

Either way, he was excited.

Excited to finally see what it was like to be free like her.

And see what gets that smile across her face to really shine.

---

Four months later... Niall doesn’t want to say he’s in love.

But he’s pretty sure he is.

Niall doesn’t think he’s ever felt so goddamn happy in his life. Annabelle, well, now he gets to call her Annie.

So, Annie...

Oh Annie was something else.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn she was actually sent from heaven, and is here to bless the earth with just her smile alone.

Annie is a ballet dancer. Wanted to be ever since she saw The Nutcracker at age 3, so her paps--what she calls her dad--enrolled her right away, as a single father wanting to do whatever possible to make his little girl's dreams come true. Annie doesn’t have a mother. She was adopted from Belgium. She has a dual citizenship, and Niall thinks that’s pretty neat. Her favorite music is classical and jazz, so Niall ends up figuring out that’s probably why she had no idea who he was when they first met. But on their second date, she did end up admitting to googling him, which terrified him, until she said I like “Fool’s Gold” a lot! Very soft and sweet. And oh man, that made him so happy. Not just the fact she liked his favorite One Direction song, but the fact that she couldn’t give a damn if she was dating A-List celebrity Niall Horan, she liked the person, not the identity.

She was pretty damn perfect.

It was 6pm, and a knock was heard at Niall’s apartment door. He knew it would be Annie, knowing her rehearsals on Wednesday usually end at 6pm, but he couldn’t help but play with her a little bit.

“I’m not looking for any groupies, but thank you for stopping by. I appreciate you being a fan!” he says through the door, laughing a bit as she plays along too.

“Oh heavens! Niall James Horan just rejected me! How am I supposed to go on?! All I wanted to was tour with him in lingerie, and feed him chocolate covered strawberries. Just wait until TMZ hears about this!”

With that, he opens the door, looking down at her (she was a bit on the shorter side height wise) and plants a little, sweet kiss onto her forehead.

“Don’t need groupies when I got my little ray of sunshine right here.”

And there’s that smile once again, the smile Niall thinks he’ll never get sick off.

She steps inside, immediately throwing off her shoes and throwing herself onto the couch with a huff.

“Long day, love?” he sits on the cushion by her feet, lifting her legs and placing them over his lap as he sits.

“The longest. So. Many. Twirls. I think I’ll need to just cut off my toes for all the pain and blisters to go away.”

“Can’t be that bad. Here, let me see.”

He takes off her socks, revealing swollen, bruised, and blistered feet.

And okay...

It was that bad.

“Oh Annie...” he begins to rub her feet lovingly. Just the way she likes. “Maybe we should see a doctor, yeah?”

“No, no, no.” She immediately shakes her head. “They’re going to look at my feet and say ‘no more ballet’, which isn’t ever going to happen. I will dance until I’m old and grey, I promise you that.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, admiring how much love she has for what she does. But if it gets unbearable, you have to tell me, so we can go to the doctor, promise?”

She extends her pinky for him to take. “Pinky swear!”

He locks their pinkies, neither pulling away even after the official shake was made.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks.

“A very fine cuisine tonight. I call it ramen,” he replies, smiling as she giggles at his humor. He begins standing up to get everything for the meal together, before he is pulled by his pinky to the pained feet girl, who’s now pouting at him.

“What is it, Petal?”

He’s smirking. He knows what. But just loves seeing her get all flustered.

“You know what, Horan.”

“Not sure I do, Petal.”

The red in her cheeks gets even deeper. Not only because she’s flustered, but because he’s using that petname. Petal.

He remembers the first time he called her ‘Petal’, and how she swooned over it, stuttering a bit,  and unable to stand completely still.

So using it constantly, especially when teasing her, was pretty fun, he’ll admit.

“Niiiaaaalllll.... Stoooooop,” she urges, hiding her face in her hands, embarrassed. He laughs, putting his fingers through her hair comfortingly.

“Oh come on, Petal, don’t hide that pretty face from me. You gotta tell me what you want, otherwise how am I supposed to know?”

She puts her hands down and in her lap with a huff. “Kisses Niall! I want kisses!” she practically screams jokingly at him.

And with that, he ends the teasing and connects their lips together. She quickly puts her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in even closer if possible. After a few long moments of their lips meshing together, he pulls away, the both smiling at one another.

“All you have to do is ask,” he says sweetly, before peppering her forehead, cheeks, and face in tiny little kisses.

She giggles loudly. “Okay! Okay! Go make food, I’m hungry.”

He stands straight up, bowing in front of her.

“Yes, your majesty.”

---

Five months later. 3:15am. Niall’s apartment.

Niall couldn’t sleep. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep again.

Because she’s gone.

Annie... well, he can’t call her that anymore.

Annabelle...

Annabelle was gone.

---

It was a week ago.

She came home around midnight. Storming into Niall’s apartment, angry and teary eyed.

There was a recital. For Swan Lake. The production Annabelle’s wanted to be in since she was six. And she got the role, and he remembers her three months before, coming home and running into his arms, screaming how she got it and she was going to be Odette/Odile. And he was so proud, so proud of her glowing self and how thrilled she was at her own accomplishment.

And he promised to go.

It was on his calendar.

She reminded him everyday.

But he didn’t show up.

The one recital. The one show she had, of her proudest showcase yet, and he didn’t even bother to come see it.

So here she was, standing before him, angered and on the verge of tears.

He couldn’t blame her. He really couldn’t.

“You didn’t show up...” she says, the sparkly swan queen makeup being smeared as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“I know, Petal, I know. But please let me explain and-”

“There was a seat all set front row for you. I had security out front waiting, in case things with fans got hectic. I kept waiting and waiting, kept making excuses in my head, like maybe you were running late because you ran into people who wanted a chat and a picture, or maybe traffic just sucked, but... you never came. At all.”

She was full on crying now, sitting on the couch, the same couch where he’d pepper her with kisses and make pinky promises with her.

She was now sitting on it.

Crying.

Because he broke a pinky promise.

A big pinky promise.

He slowly sits next to her, wanting to give her every right to be upset and let it out. He hesitates, before putting a hand on her back, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. She may really not like him right now, but he knows it’s touch that soothed her when she’s upset.

After a few moments, he speaks up.

“I was on my way to show up. But before I could even leave to go, management was at my door.”

“W-What?”

She looks over to him, her face puffy and tear-stained.

“Yeah... even got you flowers,” he gestures to the pink roses on the table, all wrapped up in a gold bow. “Was going to give them to you after the show, and say my petal really bloomed today.

He lightly chuckles at his own remark, and she can’t help but chuckle too as tears continued to fall.

“But then...” he continues. “There was a knock on my door, and before I knew it management is telling me to stay home. I tried to argue and fight with them over it, but they weren’t bugging. Even blocked your number from my cell service so I wouldn’t call you, and try to secretly get there.”

“What the hell?” she’s stunned to say the least. How did they even find out about her? They’ve kept it very lowkey. Occasionally, there would be press about it, but very minimal. Why was it such a big deal anyway? Why couldn’t he go to one recital to support his girl?

“I don’t even know. But it gets worse.”

“It gets worse?”

He sighs. “They told me, publicly, I can’t keep dating you. But only publically. Privately I can do whatever I want, but publically, they’re making me date Lily Collins now.”

“I-I don’t... understand. Why can’t you publically date me? Why are they blocking us from each other? What’s wrong with me?” She’s crying again, and god does he really hate this.

“Petal, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. Never was, and never will be. They’re idiots. Always making us boys do the stupidest shit to try and boost our image. Don’t let Harry and Louis come out, wouldn’t let Zayn dye his hair when he was still in the band, and now they’re making me date Lily in the public. Wanting to try and keep us relevant.”

She rubs her hands over her face, smearing her makeup even more in the process.

There’s silence for a while as Annabelle processed this, taking it all in, and then, what she says next is the last thing Niall wanted to hear.

“I think we need to be over then.”

“What?” his eyes widen, because no, no, no. That’s not what he wanted. No, not at all.

“That’s too mentally exhausting for me, Niall. And talk about painful. I can’t watch you date a girl out on the streets, and then come home to me, while I stay in hiding as your secret girlfriend. It’d be too painful for me. I don’t want to go through that,” she looks at him with sadness, it’s not something she wants either.

Neither want it, but as it all processes, it’s decided it’s probably for the best.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

And that was that.

---

And now he can’t sleep.

Because his mind won’t turn off.

Won’t turn off all the thoughts and memories of her.

How she scrunches her nose when she shakes her head, how she loves writing poetry in art galleries, how she somehow manages to read dozens of books while dancing at rehearsals, how her brown eyes glimmered at him with the deepest kind of love the first time she saw him perform, how she just loves kisses, and being called Petal, and making pinky promises, and how her laugh fills a room with joy more than the best song in the world can.

And her smile.

Her sunshine smile.

How every time she showed that smile around him, he swore he could feel warmth actually radiating off of it and onto him. How no matter how shitty the day was, that smile would bring him back to a place of calm and simplicity.

How her smile was just quite literally sunshine.

How she, quite literally, was sunshine.

So he stands from his bed, rubbing his eyes, and walking over to get his guitar and sitting back down again.

He’s gotta get this out.

Just so he can sleep.

So, he began singing.

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

So I hung my head and I cried

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

When I awake my poor heart pains

So when you come back and make me happy

I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

And as he finishes the final note, tears streaming down his face, he thinks to himself.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

My sunshine will come back.

And love me again.

---

AN: sorry if the past tense/present tense changed too many times! I wrote this at 5AM and was very tired, but had to get this story out while the ideas were flowing! So yeah.... okay see ya! xx

[graceivers]

Review #43 - Until It Fades

Until It Fades Author: K.A. Tucker Genre: Contemporary Romance, Single Parent, Sports Rating: ★★★★ Recommendation: give it a shot; might read again Summary: Catherine Wright is a young, single parent working as a waitress while trying to make ends meet. On a fateful night, she ends up saving the life of one Brett Madden. Brett is a star hockey player and the son of an award-winning actress, but after the accident and his career hanging in the balance, the only thing he can focus on is the woman who saved his life.

Female Lead: I liked Catherine. I liked that despite having nothing, she left her family when she turned eighteen and found a way to make it on her own. I liked that there was obvious growth and maturity in her character given that Tucker utilized flashbacks to illustrate what kind of girl she had been as a teenager compared to the woman she became. I liked that she was logical and realistic and obviously a great mom to Brenna. I liked that she was hardworking and didn’t want to accept payouts from anyone. Yet despite all of this, there was nothing that particularly stood out to me about Catherine. She was normal, yes, and that was a good thing. But she was described as humorous at one point, and I didn’t think she was that funny if at all. There was obviously a particular tone that Tucker went with for the entire novel, and that was fine and great. However, I felt Catherine’s character sometimes felt a little one-note because even after all the stuff I did like about her, she still ended up becoming a Cinderella-type character—a damsel in distress that was saved by the amazing and rich Brett Madden. Did her hard work and perseverance deserve recognition and even some reward? Yes. Giving her such a fairy tale through Brett, however, kind of seemed to me like all her determination was negated, and that she couldn’t have made it on her own and gotten all of her dreams without Brett and his money entering her life. Male Lead: Brett Madden was pretty perfect. Star hockey player for the Flyers, the son of Hollywood royalty, obviously attractive. Even with the accident that could have taken away his ability to play hockey at an elite level, he had everything going for him. While I did love all of that and his obvious interest in Catherine, this character too felt a little one-note. Brett had no flaws. Seriously, come on, man. He barely struggled with the accident and all his injuries. Tucker barely touched upon the psychological effects of losing his friend and teammate. And of course, he healed right back up and went back to his grand life as a star NHL player. I mean, okay. If you want a dream guy, Brett is totally him. And sure, I get maybe that his perfect character counterbalances Catherine’s who has made her fair share of mistakes. But come on. There has to be something he’s bad at; he has to have some kind of flaw. Aside from the injuries and the fact that it was Catherine who saved his life, Tucker really wrote Brett as Catherine’s knight in shining armor. Subsequently, Brett turned into a Disney Prince more than anything. Plot & Writing: If I could sum up this entire book so you don’t waste time reading through my rant-filled paragraphs in this section, I would say this about Until It Fades: TROPETASTIC FAIRY TALE. That’s it. That’s all this book is. Was it good and did I enjoy it? Yes. But Jesus, the whole thing was just a pure and literal fairy tale by the book. My veins were bursting in both a good and bad way from the course of the story. Every time I thought the story couldn’t get anymore ‘magical’ than it already was, it did. Much to both my glee and chagrin, it did. It always did.

Obviously, the main focus of the story was Catherine and Brett’s relationship. So… this relationship was borderline instalove for me even though some people classified it as a slow burn. I can make an argument that the relationship was in fact both. It was instalove because basically right after Brett meets Catherine when her identity as the woman who saved him is revealed, he more or less says that he’s in love with her. Eh… I saw the gratitude angle, and so did Catherine; when Tucker completely ignored that definite possibility of the mixture and entanglement of those two emotions and just went with the fact that Brett was magically in love with her, I became skeptical and not completely sold. But then again, he was a perfect character, so of course he fell in love with the unlikely girl who saved his life. Right. Then, their relationship may also be classified as a slow burn due completely to Tucker’s writing and pacing decisions. The fact that the author wrote this book solely in Catherine’s point of view, which I did not find wrong or problematic at all, contributed to the fact that people considered the romance a slow burn because we only saw her side of things and her side of things rightfully was hesitant and weary and unsure about how someone like Brett Madden could possibly fall in love with her given her past. Naturally then, the romantic aspects of the relationship didn’t really start until probably halfway through the book. I’m just glad that given the slower pacing, Tucker didn’t jump to some kind of proposal/engagement/marriage in the end. They already moved in together kind of quickly; the former would’ve been overkill.

The beginning of the book, the flashbacks, and that whole storyline with the teacher, yeah, it kind of made me uncomfortable. That was probably more or less the intention given the kind of person Scott Phillips was. I personally could’ve done without the flashbacks; I thought I got enough of that story through the present anyway. Kudos to Tucker for inserting that segment where the journalist woman went on that rant/spiel about how Catherine was absolutely the victim in that situation where an older and disgusting man took advantage of a teenaged girl in his position of power. This is why student/teacher romances are not my favorite, even if they’re set in college.

I also question Tucker’s choice to keep Catherine and Brenna in Balsam permanently even when Brett comes into their lives. When it was her on her own providing for her daughter with no means to move elsewhere, I understand that she had little if any choice but to stay in that town. But the way Tucker made Catherine come to peace with the place that tore her to shreds and was nothing but cruel to her, I did not get it nor did I appreciate it. Catherine obviously deserved better and more than what that wretched town put her through. And then when Scott came back… Yeah, maybe there was strength in her coming to terms and accepting what had happened and moving on. But, with Brett in her life, I mean, the inn was a dream that could have taken place anywhere. I did not like the fact that Tucker made that dream house in Balsam part of the fairy tale. Nothing about Balsam was a fairy tale, and Catherine and Brenna did not deserve to stay in a town like that. Favorite Part(s): Everything Brenna. She provided the more lighthearted and comedic moments of the story, and I appreciated it. And then… okay. If you truly accept the fact that Catherine and Brett’s story here is just pure fairy tale, then I have to mention those little moments where they’re totally enamored by each other. Brett all but pleading with Catherine to call him for anything and everything after they met; the intimate scene at Brett’s place during the rainstorm; Brett making Catherine’s dream come true and just loving her wholly and unconditionally. That is fairy tale at its finest. Final Thoughts: Like I’ve said plenty of times above, Until It Fades is a fairy tale. Catherine is a damsel and Brett comes to her porch step with charm and adoration and wealth/resources that make Catherine’s dreams come true. I mean, if we all get one fantasy, this is mine—a guy like Brett coming into my life and falling in love with me the way he did with Catherine. Alas, life does not work like that (unless it does?!) and the lack of flaws and realism in this book ultimately work against it. Still, I recommend reading Until It Fades so long as you can recognize and not get completely upset at the book for the dream that it is.