#but it gives me some nostalgic ms paint feels

[andrewskennedy50]

Blog Post #1

Emma Rathbone’s article and Max Stossels's lecture brought some very interesting perspectives to the topic of social media. I appreciate Mr. Stossel’s approach to the topic of social media because it focuses on how human psychology, particularly in the developmental period of people’s lives relates to the effects of social media.

In Mr. Stossels’s lecture, his slot machine analogy helped me conceptualize how the effects of getting a “rush” from anything involving dopamine can all be extremely addicting. When I think about how social media affects me daily, I would be foolish to assume that this “rush” does not affect me somehow. Even on an app like Instagram, I find that sometimes when I make a post, I frantically return to it several times over the next few days to see how many likes it gets. Another example is that when I use Twitter and I reply to another user about a specific topic I disagree with, I feel anxious/excited feeling and check for a reply from them every ten or so minutes until it arrives. When social media gives me that “rush,” I find it hard to put my phone away and be present in the real world, even to watch a movie or share a meal with a family member.

Even though it is difficult at first, forcing myself to take a break ends up being really rewarding every time I do it by about the 3-day mark. I do this every year when I sail on a 3-day sailboat race from Port Huron, Michigan to Mackinac Island. On this race, I am on a sailboat with seven other people without internet access. The small space on the boat forces us to interact, whereas taking a “social media break” in your regular life you might do other introverted activities. On these ventures, it becomes much easier to get into the moment of things and I feel more clear-headed, but the sailboat race ends, and social media seems to always creep into my life again in one way or another. Giving up social media entirely would be difficult, and it would likely hinder access to people I have connections to, but I no longer live around.

Limiting social media in a logical and intentional way would likely be the most beneficial change for me. Some examples I would like to implement are removing all social media use before 9:00am every day and removing all social media from 8:00pm until bedtime. The time periods I mentioned are the times when I honestly would like to be relaxed and clear-headed, so that is why I chose them specifically. Mr. Stossel seems to suggest the reason that I might become more clear-headed is that we are constantly attempting to multi-task when we are glued to our phones. Once humans are forced away from their phones, they even score better on tests and retain information in general. As Ms. Rathbone puts it, “before the internet” people were allowed to be completely in the moment, even lost in it. Her article nostalgically paints images of inner peace, moments where we were all ignorantly bliss to the future where we no longer can be completely lost in the place where we are. Reading her article makes me ask questions like “if life was clearly so much better when social media was not in it, why are so many people unwilling to give it up?” and “what kind of harmful psychological effects could this bring to a species who have not had this tool for more than 30 years to adapt their brains to this type of connectivity and communication?”

How would you respond to those questions yourself? I would love to hear would you might have to say, so feel free to reply!

[mawshaye]

THIS ONE TURNED OUT BETTER! I love how these turn out and it's just relaxing 😌

commission info 🌼 kofi 🌼 redbubble

[yslkook]

WRONG (3)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you find yourself at the tattoo parlor more often as of late. also, jungkook hates lemon jelly filled donuts and is easily bribed by mint chocolate and macarons. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names, kinda toxic friendship

Sora’s unbridled passion for why she believes Jungkook is wrong for you has never irritated you as much as it does in this moment. You’ll never understand why she’s so adamant about the topic, when it’s not her decision. When she knows that you’ve been harboring a small crush on the man for years now, and you’re fairly certain he returns your affections.

When the man told you that he had put an orange heart next to your name, you knew it was real.

You don’t understand why Sora is determined to make things so complicated, when they don’t have to be. You don’t believe her claims that he’s a fuckboy, that he treats people like trash. He’s shown you the opposite. He’s so gentle with everyone, not just you. He’s blunt but he has a big heart under all of the leather and layers of black.

If there’s a word to describe him, it’s dreamy.

Which is why you’re so hurt that Sora refuses to give him a chance. After all, if she was your best friend, shouldn’t she offer him a chance for your sake?

It confuses you.

“I’ve heard so many bad things about him,” Sora says knowingly, swirling her glass of wine in her hands. You don’t feel very much like drinking, not when your stomach swirls in unease. Being in her apartment is nothing new, but right now, you’d rather be anywhere else.

“But what things? And from who? Jungkook is such a genuine guy and he hasn’t done anything for people to start rumors about him,” You protest, but your words fall on deaf ears, “And I like him-”

“I mean come on, have you seen him? The man radiates bad vibes. My friends have all said-”

“Bad vibes? You’re dismissing him because of bad vibes when I’m telling you that-”

“I’m your best friend, don’t you think I know these things?” Sora says, heat and arrogance in her voice, “I’m only looking out for you. It’s shitty that you’re dismissing me for a guy-”

“I’m not dismissing you-” But your voice grows smaller and smaller, something that you think Jungkook might be disappointed in you for.

“It sure as hell sounds like you are,” Sora sneers with a cold sort of tilt to her lips, “Listen. I’m just looking out for you, even if you don’t seem to appreciate it. I thought we were best friends. Friends look out for each other, but if you don’t want to listen to me, that’s on you.”

Something dry settles in your throat and something heavy settles in your chest.

“He’s not good news,” Sora continues, as if she can’t see your heart beginning to ache, “I’ll find someone who will treat you much better, don’t worry.” She pats your knee in a way that is supposed to be reassuring but you wince.

You don’t want her favors, but it’s too late for you to protest. Besides if you did, she’d feel awful and you never want to be the cause of her being upset. She’s your best friend after all. And what kind of friend would you be, if you upset her to that degree?

But still... you don’t want anyone else. You want the sensitive man who gets misty-eyed by powerful renditions of Beyonce songs, the man who texts you until you fall asleep, the man who asks you what color to paint his nails when he feels like it.

You kind of want the sensitive man dressed in layers of black.

You let Sora talk your ear off about all of the guys she has in mind for you, but you stop listening. You don’t understand this vendetta she has against Jungkook, the vendetta that she’s always had. But she is correct about one thing- she is your best friend and has your best interests at heart...right?

The four walls of the tattoo parlor that you’ve begun frequenting more and more often begins to feel more and more like a welcome place in recent days. You’ve always been friendly with the guys, especially Yoongi and Hoseok.

Even if Yoongi doesn’t work at the parlor, he’s here frequently enough.

Though Yoongi and Hoseok are some of your oldest friends, you’ve only come to the parlor a handful of times in the past. Once that realization hit you, you’d made it a point to stop by more often.

Why hadn’t you before?

They’re your oldest friends, but these days, you feel closer to Mina and Mei as well. While you do have other girlfriends who you see as often as your collective schedules align, it’s still different.

But still. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly belonged with anyone. You feel as if you’ve been floating through life, with Sora by your side (at least half the time, when she’s not spewing criticism over the man you have feelings for).

Thinking about it gives you a headache and makes you feel nostalgic for something that you never had. But maybe it’s something you can have.

“Hey, you,” Mei calls from reception, where she’s sitting next to Hobi who waves at you, “What brings you here? Finally gonna let me pierce you?”

“I brought donuts,” You shrug, “And I’m not ready for that surgical instrument to touch me, thanks very much.”

“You can stop by without the pretense of bringing sweet treats over,” Hobi says knowingly, “I mean none of us will complain about donuts, but you know that right? You can come by anytime you want.”

“O-okay,” You nod, your throat feeling a little dry.

“Now, come here and let me see what you got. If there’s a lemon jelly filled donut, save that for Jungkook. He hates them.”

“You got plans this evening?” Mei asks, grabbing her bright red purse that’s nearly the size of your head. Her purse matches her bright red nails and for half a second, you’re mesmerized by the glossiness of her nails.

“No, other than getting ready for tomorrow’s day of work-”

“Great! Wanna come with me to the tattoo supply store? I have to pick up more needles, grips and gloves.”

“Sure,” You shrug, a little excited at the prospect of a quick adventure for Mei, “I’ll just say bye to Hobi.”

He’s already watching you with mirth in his eyes, as if he knows what you’re about to say. “Hey, will you tell Jungkook I said hi?” You murmur, feeling your ears burning at his smug grin.

“Sure, I will,” Hobi grins, “I’m sure he feels bad about not being able to say hi to you himself. He’s had a busy day.”

“Understandable,” You nod, “I mean, you guys say he’s the best in the city, right? I’m sure he’s got a waitlist of people who want to be tatted by him.”

“Maybe someday he’ll tattoo you, huh?” He says mischievously to which you roll your eyes and feel your face heat up.

“He would be so lucky,” You scoff, as if the notion of Jungkook tattooing your body doesn’t make something flutter in your belly.

“We have this competition at the parlor where the person who makes the most tips has to buy the supplies on a monthly basis,” Mei says smugly, “Usually, it’s Kook but for the last few months it’s been me.”

That doesn’t surprise you in the least- Hobi has told you that Mei and Mina are both skilled in realistic and watercolor tattoos, as well as piercings. You think if you were ever to receive a tattoo from either Mei or Mina, you would tip them for the mere fact of them being so close in your presence for so long.

They used to intimidate you, when Hobi had first introduced you to them. Mina with her sleek bob haircut, and Mei with her long, glossy waves. Both of them had nose piercings and their ears were dotted in different hoops and rods. You’d only caught a glimpse of their tattoos a handful of times- Mei has a full sleeve on her right arm where Mina’s tattoos seem to be more hidden.

They’re just so cool and funny and smart.

“How did you all get the idea for the tattoo parlor? Like, was it a business decision or were you all friends before?” You ask curiously.

“Well… Jin, Mina and I have been friends since we were kids, our parents are really close. Jin had this dream of opening his own tattoo and piercing parlor for the longest time. Jungkook and Hobi joined a few months after we officially opened. It took a while, but we’re where we are now,” Mei says fondly.

“That’s incredible! You guys started from the ground up,” You say, in awe, “That parlor is your baby.”

“Fuck, yeah it is,” Mei grins, “What about you? What cool tech stuff is going on in that pretty brain of yours?”

“Um…” Your face heats up at the compliment, “I’m currently helping in developing this app for one of our clients, it’s specific for tracking and trending information related to chronic health conditions. It’s still in its infancy, but it’s been fun! And it’s job security, I guess.”

Mei lets out a low whistle, “Wow, you’re doing something like that by yourself?”

“No, I have a pretty great team,” You shrug, “Something like that definitely can’t be done alone.”

Mei hums, “You’re gonna be great, Ms. CEO.”

“Yeah right, I’d never want that burden,” You scoff, “I’m good right where I am.”

With both of your arms full of bags of supplies for the tattoo parlor (and some extras), you both walk out of the shop and towards Mei’s sleek, black car. It’s late, and you don’t really feel much like taking public transportation. But you’re nervous to ask Mei for a ride home for some reason.

“Hey, did you drive to the parlor?” Mei asks.

“N-no, I don’t have a car yet,” You reply, “I only just bought my condo and didn’t want to make another big purchase just yet. I want to start looking though…”

“Oh! I’ll drive you home then,” Mei offers once she starts the engine.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of out of the way from here,” You reply, folding in on yourself a little in the passenger seat.

Mei only waves you off. “Oh, please. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you to get home alone?”

You bite your tongue, as vivid memories of Sora claiming that she didn’t have enough gas in the tank or her asking for gas money for the ten minute drive from her apartment building to your condo flash in your mind.

“Thank you, Mei,” You say gratefully, “Let me know how much to Venmo you, for gas money-”

“Gas money? For a seven minute drive? Is that a joke,” Mei gasps, “What do you take me for?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked!”

“Asking me for gas money,” Mei mutters, “You said you want to start looking for a car?”

Her smile twists into something mischievous.

“Yeah, I have no idea where to start though…”

“Ask your boy, Jungkook. Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin work at a car dealership and they’re his roommates, I’m sure he’d be eager to help you.” Something in her voice is coy but you maintain a neutral face.

“Yeah… maybe I will,” You say thoughtfully, “Hey! He’s not my boy-”

“Alright, alright,” Mei relents gently, “But really, reach out to him. He’ll help you. So that those boys don’t scam you like the sleazy car salesmen that they are.”

When you see Jungkook next at the tattoo parlor which is conveniently on your way home from work (again with a box of pastries), you muster the courage to step into his office to ask him for help.

“Hi,” You say weakly, “Umm… I come bearing gifts. Got some of those mint chocolate brownie bars that you like, and those macarons-”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to bribe me, baby,” Jungkook says, smirking widely when your lips part in protest.

“If I was trying to bribe you, it wouldn’t be with mint chocolate. Disgusting,” You roll your eyes and squeal out loud when he lunges for you, giving you a teasing but tight back hug.

“Take it back,” Jungkook murmurs lowly in your ear. You hardly hear him, too wrapped up in the warmth of the big black hoodie he’s wearing. The soft, gentle scent of laundry and vanilla floats into your nose when you turn your head to press your cheek against his chest.

His heartbeat is faint against your ear. You wonder if he can hear yours speeding up.

“Mint chocolate sucks. It’s a fact,” You mumble.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” His voice comes as a low grumble from his chest and you swallow nervously. Before your nerves can get the best of you, he changes the topic. “Mei told me you’re in the market for a new car?”

“I don’t really know where to start, but I’ve already started doing some research,” You reply, pointing to your small backpack. You pull out a binder with meticulously colored tabs labeled in neat print that Jungkook raises an eyebrow at.

“What?”

“You just carry around a binder with your research on car purchases at all times? Is that what you do?”

“I have to be prepared!”

“Sometimes you just need a vibe check-”

“You want me to purchase an entire vehicle worth about a million and one paychecks based on just a vibe check? Is that what you did with your motorcycle?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook gives you a crooked smile, “And a little research. I guess.”

“You guess,” You mutter under your breath.

Jungkook has been more touchy with you once you had given him the go ahead all those weeks ago. He doesn’t show his affections with you unless you’re both alone, and it’s never anything more than hugs and the occasional brush of hands.

He’s melting you from the outside in, and you bask in his radiant heat. The thought of Sora’s approval doesn’t bother you, not when he hugs you like this.

But as always. Her disapproving voice worms its way into your head and you reluctantly peel away from him to sit on the faded burgundy couch with the box of macarons on your lap.

“So,” Jungkook says, immediately feeling the loss of your warmth in his limbs, “How can I help?”

tags: @kookdbean

MoM tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe

[dossi-io]

An introduction to DeVita

Do you want to learn all about the AOMG artist DeVita? This article will cover everything you need to know about the third female member to join the labels roster.

The content of this article is also available in video format, embedded at the bottom of this article.

Prelude

In early April of 2020, the Korean hip-hop label AOMG ambiguously announced that a new artist was signing onto the label. This label was grounded by the Korean-American triple-threat; Jay Park, who’s also one of its executives. This is a label with a very organic feel and artist-oriented nature, which stands out compared to many other music labels.

On April 3rd, the label’s official Instagram account posted a video. It was titled, “Who’s The Next AOMG?” where fellow AOMG members talked about this upcoming recruit. They sprinkled small hints and details by sharing their thoughts on the artist without mentioning who.

Around the world, fans immediately began speculating on who this could be. The major consensus was that it had to be the solo artist Lee Hi, due to reporting like this: “AOMG responds ‘nothing is confirmed’ to reports of Lee Hi signing on with the label”

A few other names got thrown in fan speculations like Hanbin (B.I), previous member of IKON, Jvcki Wai, and MOON (문) aka Moon Sujin. This despite a few of these already being signed to other labels.

On April 6th, three days later, the account was updated with a part two. This time dropping more hints, which would exclude many names from fan speculations.

On the 7th of April, the label’s official Instagram account posted a short teaser. The video sported an 80’s retrofuturistic setting, with a woman turned from the camera, dressed in all black, rocking braids, and some glistening high-heels. As it seemed to be a female, some were now certain that it had to be Lee Hi. A small few actually guessed correctly that the one who would be joining AOMG would be Ms DeVita.

Finally on April 9th, it was official! She debuted with the music video, from which the teaser clips was taken from, EVITA!, which accompanied the release of her EP, CRÈME.

What does the name DeVita mean?

The name DeVita, draws inspiration and meaning from two things. Firstly, Eva Perón – also known as Evita – who was Argentina’s former First Lady. When Chloe was learning about Eva’s life, it inspired her to combine “Devil” and “Evita”, thus creating “DeVita”. The name signifies the duality of how both Eva Perón and DeVita could be perceived. Either being a devil, or an angel depending on the eye of the beholder. Secondly, Salvatore Di Vita, a character from Cinema Paradiso, was also a source of inspiration.

An introduction to DeVita

Chloe Cho – now known under the artist name DeVita – was born and raised in South Korea, until the age of eleven. In 2009, she moved to Chicago, where she would learn English.

In 2013, she went back to Korea and participated in the third season of the show; K-pop Star. A talent show, where the “big three” (the three largest music labels in Korea) hosts auditions to find the next big k-pop star. However she didn’t win, therefore neither got signed.

Later on, she returned to Chicago and graduated high school. After reflecting on what she wanted to do next, she decided to make music. In 2014, her pursuit to become an artist brought her to the talent show Kollaboration. On this show, she performed covers and actually ended up being a finalist. Despite her talents, she did not triumph as the winner of the show.

Not letting these losses stop her, she started releasing music on Soundcloud. The earliest release I could find, Halfway Love (Ruff), was from 2016. Her catalogue consisted of both covers and original music.

One day, Kirin, an artist and CEO of the music label 8balltown Records, was introduced to DeVita’s music. He liked what he heard and the two linked up. In May of 2018, WEKEYZ, one of 8balltown’s producer duos released a track titled Sugar. This track featured both DeVita, and the AOMG rapper Ugly Duck. This was the beginning of many collaborations to come.

On August 28th of 2018, just a few months later, AOMG released Sugar (Puff Daehee Mix).

This was a remix done by Puff Daehee, the alter ego of Kirin. Along with this track, it was accompanied by a music video starring Kirin, DeVita, and Ugly Duck. For most people, this was their first time seeing DeVita.

DeVita continued doing features on many songs by Korean artists while creating a little buzz for herself. There’s one notable feature, which could be seen as an important milestone in her career. That is her feature on the track Noise, from AOMG artist Woo Won Jae’s project, titled af.

In a tweet a few days after the release of CRÈME, she shared the significance of this moment.

“I was still making minimum wage working at a restaurant back when Noise dropped- I wrote my part during my shift on the back of this receipt paper. This was about a year and a half ago. A little bit after that I got a call from Pumpkin at 3am Chicago time. He said Jay wanted to meet in Philly in 4 hours. They put me on a plane and the rest is history.”

The phone call she mentioned in her tweet, about Jay wanting to meet, must have been made around September 2018. Jay was performing in Philadelphia at the time. The moment they met in Philadelphia was actually captured through a photo of the two. However, this picture ended up getting removed later on.

Fast forward a few months and Jay had just released his Ask About Me EP. The project focused on a western audience, so he went to the States on a promo run. During his visit, he also met up with DeVita once again, as can be seen here.

Finally, on April 9th, her being signed to AOMG was officially announced and she debuted with her EP titled CRÈME. Her joining AOMG, looked like something that happened pretty naturally. The vast majority of artists she had collaborated on tracks with happened to be AOMG members. Getting comfortable with the AOMG family, likely made the decision to join crystal clear.

Artistically

Just a quick look at her body of work thus far, a majority of it is in English. However, she has no issues singing in Korean, as proven by her feature on Code Kunst’s; Let u in. The tone in her voice has this sort of mixture of many singers, a melting pot of sorts. It reminds me of Audrey Nuna, SAAY, H.E.R, some vocal riffs from Dinah Jane, and at times, just a tiny bit of Ariana Grande.

As an artist, she’s still in the early stages of carving out her own unique sound and style. There’s incredible potential here, but her distinct identity is not completely there yet. I see before me a caterpillar that within a couple years, will transform into a butterfly, with its own identifiable pattern to spread its wings out on.

From what she’s shown so far, I would say she seems most comfortable doing R&B and soul music. However, beyond a quick description I prefer to refrain from categorizing her. Mostly because artists generally feel limited when categorized. More importantly, because we have no idea what she has in store for the future.

Debut EP: CRÈME

CRÈME is DeVita’s “crème de la crème”. She constantly modified the tracklist to present her debut project in a way that held her personal standard; essentially presenting us her best tracks. The result is CRÈME, which consists of five tracks, with a runtime of fourteen minutes altogether.

This EP showcases the fact that she is a competent songwriter, able to write some soulful, emotional ballads. It is completely in English and all the tracks are written by her, telling both life stories of her own and that of others. A majority of the production was handled by her “musical soulmate”; TE RIM, but other notable names, like Code Kunst show up as well.

Tracks:

Movies, introduces the project in a very gentle manner. In the track, DeVita paints a picture of a criminal couple, getting a rush, by committing crimes together. The lyrics feel inspired by movies like Bonnie and Clyde. My initial thoughts were that, for some ears, it could possibly be “too” calm as an opener. It doesn’t demand attention the way EVITA! does. Simply put, it’s not a bad track. I would just have put this track later on in the EP.

EVITA!, is something different compared to what I hear from others in the K-R&B lane. I love the 80’s aesthetic in both the track and music video. Sonically, the nostalgic saxophone riffs, warm lush synth pads, thumping bass line, results in a trip back to the 80s. With this recipe, topped with DeVita’s “current” contemporary soul and R&B voice makes for an interesting combination. The music video had that futuristic 80’s look with the neon colors, and I loved how the guns she played around with looked a lot like the “Needlers” from the Halo franchise.  The title is once again just like DeVita’s name, an ode to the controversial Eva Perón. The instrumental was originally used by TE RIM, the producer of the track in 2017. His version has the same title as DeVita’s version and I recommend giving that one a listen as well, as it has a different feel to it. This track was definitely one of the highlights of the EP.

All About You, is a simple yet beautiful piano love ballad. Originating from her own tales of love, her vocals effortlessly capture what she felt during these moments.

1974 Live, is yet another ballad, but this time, with a calm guitar backing, playing a poppier R&B chord progression. DeVita’s voice is given a lot of space to be in the center of the track. As soon as I heard this track I became curious. What was the significance of this year, which would have her title the track as such? My questions were left unanswered… until the EP had marinated a while, when she tweeted: “1974 Live is about Christine Chubbuck”. In case you’re unfamiliar, Christine Chubbuck was a television news reporter, who made history in 1974. She was the first person to commit suicide live on air. According to her mother Christine’s suicide would on paper be due to an unfullfilling personal life. All throughout her life, she had experienced unreciprocated love. With this information tying back to the track, it becomes a lot less ambiguous and reveals a more cohesive narrative.

Show Me, is the final track of the EP, featuring immaculate production from the talented CODE KUNST. The sound is very moody, which fits her voice like a glove. This is my favorite performance on the entire EP, both lyrically and vocally. The lyrics present someone who’s fed up dealing with men, who talk the talk but don’t walk the walk. Now she’s looking for love with someone who’s honest and “real”.

With the project being a year old now, it has already gotten her nominated for both Rookie of the Year along with EVITA being nominated for Best R&B & Soul Track in the 18th iteration of the Korean Music Awards.

A majority of listeners seemed to enjoy the project. Many seem to be in love with her voice judging by the endless amounts of praise she has received, often described as painfully addicting, soothing, smooth, and so on.

I also asked a friend who’s a huge fan of Korean music, especially the hiphop and r&b scene to share her thoughts on the project. Here’s what she said:

"This whole project is empowering, in particular the tracks Show Me and EVITA! DeVita being a new artist, managed to impress me and many more listeners through this EP. As mentioned earlier, empowering lyrics with unique melodies and beats. Especially with the track EVITA! The fact that 1974 Live and EVITA! was referring to, two historically important women, is something that I love. This is one of my favorite EP:s of 2020 and DeVita is now included in my list of favorite artists." @Haonsmom

From what I’ve seen, only a few have been vocal about not really being too fond of the project. Some were left a bit disappointed, as they were expecting more hip-hop and R&B from an AOMG artist. The lack of “danceable” tracks was also a concern to some. Despite these criticisms, one thing was always mentioned; the girl has a beautiful voice and is obviously talented.

After listening to this EP, I hear a lot of potential. Being an EP with just five tracks, it definitely avoids overstaying its welcome. It’s brief enough to allow a listen through the entire project, no matter what you’re doing. My favorite tracks would have to be Show Me and EVITA!, but I found the whole project to be enjoyable. This EP is sprinkled with lovely vocal performances and simple but captivating production. I do still stand by my opinion that Movies would have fit better later in the tracklist if you’re chasing that mainstream ear.

I think the way EVITA! kicks you in the face, demanding attention, would’ve been a better fit as the opening track. In contrast to the other tracks, the energy level is unique, making the placement feel odd as the rest of the tracks have a chill vibe. All in all, this project gave me a taste of the “crème” but left me with a curious yearning for what this chef will whip up for dessert.

Bright future ahead

The addition of more female artists to the AOMG roster was much needed. Hoody was the first and only female member for about four years. This was the case up until late 2019, where she was then joined by sogumm, who had just won AOMG’s audition program called SignHere. Now funnily enough after DeVita, Lee Hi actually did end up officially signing with AOMG on July 22, last year.

Based on what I’ve heard during Devita’s Kollaboration days, she has improved immensely. This topped with her leaving the impression of someone passionate about their craft, bodes well for what's to come. She seems to be someone who'll constantly evolve.

Following an artist, at the early stages of their career, is something that I always find exciting. With such a lovely debut, I cannot wait to see what the future has in store for DeVita.

To view the content of this article in video format simply play the video embedded below.

Thanks for reading, watching. If you enjoyed this content feel free to follow my socials to stay up to date on when new content is posted.

https://allmylinks.com/dossi-io

Credits:

The first image in article: Original photo, pre-edit from @jinveun

Gif from the Sugar Puff Daehee MV: @moxiepoints

[bookandcranny]

Entertainer in a Minor Key

Pale light filters in through tears in the canvas. Rows of bleachers and folding chairs stand sentinel over a ring of sawdust, where in the center sits a wooden box with a star painted on the side. A prop chest or maybe a crate of old costumes, forgotten like the rest of it. Whoever left this place in such a state must have been in some hurry, Tanis muses.

Curious, she steps into the ring to investigate. The look of that box brushes against another of those deep-down memories and brings to mind a child’s toy chest. The big padlock is a bit atypical though. Mindlessly she reaches for the multitool in her back pocket and kneels to fiddle with it. As she fits it into the lock, the lid props open an inch and a round, blue eye peers out at her from the shaded darkness.

summary: When you’re traveling across the country on foot in a world overrun with every kind of horror movie monster the mind can imagine on an ill-fated quest to go beat up your former boss, it’s important to maintain a sense of humor, as well as an open mind.

content warnings: descriptions of violence and gore

length: about 9k words

The fairgrounds have been long since abandoned by the time Tanis stumbles upon them. A big top tent sways gently in the wind, its candy-colored stripes looking faded and grim under the shadow of the oncoming storm. A loose bit of canvas flaps against the dark mouth of the entryway in a two-four rhythm. Pap-pap, pap-pap. 

Tanis’ inclination is to duck inside before the lazy drizzle of rain has the chance to start falling in earnest, but first, the test. Rolling up the sleeve of her flannel reveals a list written on her forearm in black marker.

NO:

Abandoned houses

Dark caves

Graveyards

Wax museums

The last bullet point is underlined. Never again.

“Well it doesn’t say anything about old circuses,” she says to herself. “But that’s probably because I’ve never been to one.”

It’s not what she’d call an inviting looking place, but neither does it seem especially dangerous, and the longer she spends deliberating outside the entrance the colder and wetter she’s getting. With no sign of any other half-decent shelter to be found, she steps inside.

There’s something oddly nostalgic about this place, she thinks. Odd because she doesn’t remember ever going to the circus as a kid. Maybe it’s the smell: wood chips and an unidentifiable sugary sweetness that reminds her of playing on the playground behind the school, the ice cream truck that parked there during the summers, popsicles melting onto careless sticky fingers. 

Pale light filters in through tears in the canvas. Rows of bleachers and folding chairs stand sentinel over a ring of sawdust, where in the center sits a wooden box with a star painted on the side. A prop chest or maybe a crate of old costumes, forgotten like the rest of it. Whoever left this place in such a state must have been in some hurry, Tanis muses.

Curious, she steps into the ring to investigate. The look of that box brushes against another of those deep-down memories and brings to mind a child’s toy chest. The big padlock is a bit atypical though. Mindlessly she reaches for the multitool in her back pocket and kneels to fiddle with it. As she fits it into the lock, the lid props open an inch and a round, blue eye peers out at her from the shaded darkness.

“Oh, um. Hello in there.”

“Please let me out,” a voice whispers from inside.

“Aw, ‘course I will. It can’t be too comfortable in there.” After a tense minute of probing with the head of a screwdriver, the lock springs open. “There we go! How’d you even manage to…”

A bone-white hand crams itself through the gap, fingers skittering spider-like over the clasp. The lid creaks open and from within rises a doll, a slender circus clown with long ball-jointed limbs tucked into its chest, unfolding like the petals of a flower. It’s taller than Tanis by a head at least and its painted face looms over her with an open-hinged smile.

“Ah. I see now.”

“Ooh, thank you thank you!” the doll trills in the voice of a bubbly young woman. She raises her legs out of the box with the wobbly grace of a drunken ballerina, head bobbing above a moth-eaten ruffle collar, causing her eyes to roll from side to side in their sockets like pale marbles.

“No need to thank me. I just popped in to catch a show but it looks like I missed my window so I’ll just be on my way.”

She makes to leave the way she came but the doll leaps in front of her with surprising speed. 

“Don’t go yet. Play with me,” she says. “Oh won’t you please play with me?”

Tanis thinks about it, weighing her options. She reaches for the guitar case slung over her back. “Yeah, alright.”

“Really?”

“Sure, it’s been a while since I had a good jam sesh. What do you play?”

The doll freezes, then with the crackling creak of stiff wooden joints it bends its body backwards and begins rifling through the crate. She fishes through frilly costumes, loose kernels of stale popcorn, packing peanuts, and emerges with a bright red toy piano. It makes a bouncy, tinny sound as she strikes the keys.

“Avant-garde. I like it.”

“If you could do me the kindness of turning my key.” She turns around and points at a brass windup key jutting out of a whole in her leotard. 

In for a penny, in for a pound I guess. Tanis gives it a few twists. It clicks, spins, and the doll jerks forward, striking a shrill note. 

“Oh that feels so much better!”

She lays her rosewood fingers across the piano keys and this time a full, rich sound echoes from the little toy. Suddenly a spotlight shines down from somewhere above them, piercing through the shadows. Tanis’ blinks against the glare. She squints up at the rafters but can’t for her life figure out where the light is coming from.

“Nice trick. You’re a performer of many talents, Ms Clown.”

“Silly! My name is Caroline!”

She nods, strumming a few experimental chords. “Tanis. What’re you doing in a gloomy place like this?”

In lieu of a response, Caroline begins to play faster, and as she plays the circus seems to be transported back in time. The ubiquitous signs of wear and age fade before Tanis’ eyes and the empty tent begins to fill up with cheers and laughter and the awed murmurs of a captivated audience. When she tries to look at them, however, like a half-remembered dream the faces of both the patrons and the other entertainers alike are replaced by churning mass of blurry gray features.

“I was the secret show-stopper, the dancing doll! The ringmaster had me made special. But one day, the show was stopped for good, and I was left alone.”

No intonation betrays her thoughts, yet as she speaks the ghosts of the past begin to fade, returning the tent to its dour state.

Not sure what to say, Tanis replies, “That’s a shame. Is that why you were all shut up in that box?”

She takes her hands off the keys, but the music keeps playing. A new vision appears; the hazy forms of strangers, travelers like Tanis whose curiosity or search for shelter drove them to this place before her. They murmur amongst themselves as they peer and point at the oddity in the ring. Caroline reaches for them and they recoil in horror before vanishing like smoke.

“No one wanted to play.”

Tanis shifts uneasily on her feet. This is awkward. “Aw jeez, I’m sorry about all that. But things’ll look up soon, I’m sure.”

No reply. Tanis’ hands still. She doesn’t really feel like playing anymore.

“Anyway, thanks for the song but it sounds like the rain’s letting up so I better be on my way.”

The music cuts out. Suddenly all is silent but for the quiet clicking of the spinning key.

“You don’t want to play anymore?” Caroline asks softly.

She put up her hands. “No offense. I just gotta keep moving. I’ve still got a long way to travel, you see.”

Once again she tries to leave and once again the doll bars her way. Standing up from the piano she twists her dexterous fingers into Tanis’ shirt collar and lifts her off the ground.

“You can’t go,” she implores. “You mustn’t go. It’s so very dangerous out there.”

Tanis struggles in her grip. “Seems pretty bad in here too.”

“Oh but I don’t want to harm you! I only wish to entertain!” 

The spectral spotlights return twice as bright, causing the woman to wince. She kicks at her captor’s wooden limbs. The thing doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Come on now, let’s be reasonable and put-” Thunk. “Me-” Thunk. “Down.”

“You’re quite spirited, Ms Tanis! I’ve so missed having a lively audience.”

She spins her around and pins her up against the bleachers. Sneaking a hand into her back pocket, Tanis pulls out the multitool and jams the knife edge into her side. This at last gets a reaction from her. She makes a small startled noise, closer to offense than pain, and throws the woman to the ground. 

The fall itself isn’t bad, but she doesn’t relish the feeling of her guitar slamming into her torso. Tanis groans and pushes herself up while Caroline continues to fret over the pocket knife lodged in her. She pulls and pulls but it's gotten all twisted up in her frilly costume and every seam she tears with her tugging makes her whimper like a distressed child. 

Taking advantage of the distraction, Tanis picks up her guitar, the closest thing to a weapon she has on hand, and swings it at her head. There’s a satisfying pop as one of her marble eyes shoots out of its socket and rolls under the stands. The doll bends double with a piercing wail. 

“Sorry about this, Caroline. You seemed alright.” 

With that, she reaches over and rips the brass key out of her back. The clown-creature slouches, then falls to her knees. The hole in her back oozes with a trickle of something-- not blood, thankfully. Something darker and more viscous, almost like molasses.

Tanis sighs and plops down on the sawdust floor. She’s relieved to find her guitar not much worse for wear in spite of her rough handling, although she’ll need to replace a snapped string. She lays it gently back into its case and fishes out a marker from her sparse bundle of belongings. 

NO:

Abandoned houses

Dark caves

Graveyards

Wax museums

Circuses

She rolls the dancing doll’s key around in her hand. After a moment’s deliberation, she lifts the oversized toy up over her shoulder and drops her back into her box. She plugs the smooth chunk of brass back into the weeping wound; Caroline shudders but otherwise remains dormant.

“There we go, no harm no foul,” she tells her limp form. “You rest up now.”

Tanis has come across her fair share of monsters already but rarely has one shown so much emotion. Most of the beasties she encounters don’t seem to know more than the bottomless hunger that drives them. She hasn’t had much reason up until now to consider what they might’ve been before, but now that the seed is sewn, she can’t help but feel a bit bad for the poor thing. 

Loneliness is a bitch and to be a performer without any audience is a plight she’s all too familiar with. She remembers the desperation, the despair, the things it could drive a person to do.

With the weight of the case back on her shoulders and the firm earth back beneath her feet, the traveler sets off again.

--

It feels like she’s been trudging through the mud for an age and a half before she reaches the next human township. Her burdens feel twice as heavy today and she’s eager to find someplace to lay them down if only for the night. 

The quaint settlement is surrounded on all sides by a high wooden wall and there’s an exposed duct trailing around the perimeter, the stagnant water turned pink from where the red soil flooded in with the rain. A tired looking soldier waves to her from his perch above the gate.

“Hello down there. What’s your business?”

“I’m just looking for a place to stay the night. If you can point me in the direction of a boarding house or a shelter I’ll be right out of your hair, sir.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I can’t let you in until I know you’re not a monster.”

She scoffs. “You guys get many monsters that look like me?”

“You never know these days. Last month we had some…  troubles.” His expression turns dark. “We’re still recouping from our losses, you understand. Can’t take the risk.”

Tanis shrugs. Fair enough. “My name’s Tanis Lahey and I’m a traveling musician.” She gestures to her guitar. “I ain’t got much in the way of money and even less to barter, but I’m not expecting luxury, just a place to rest my head and maybe a hot meal to keep me going.”

“Where do you come from, Ms Lahey? And where are you going?”

“I come from over west; Ohm Town, Oklahoma. Destination: Bigge City.”

The guard scratches his stubbly chin. “That’s a hell of a trip, especially to make on foot.”

“I had a car but it broke down as I was crossing the state line. A pack of ghouls spiked the highway. I dipped out before things could get messy.”

He nods, only half listening, she suspects. She isn’t expecting sympathy for her tale; it’s hardly one of a kind.

“Any weapons?”

“Nothing but my razor sharp wit, sir.”

He levels her an unimpressed look. “What’s your business in Bigge? Family?”

She shakes her head. “Work, sort of. I’m meeting with my manager to renegotiate a contract.”

“Good on you. Good work’s hard to come by these days.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“You said you’re a musician, right? We haven’t got much for music here. There’s an inn in the center of town that’d probably put you up in exchange for a good show.”

He turns and makes a motion behind him for whoever’s working the crank on the other side and the gate begins to rise. The wooden creaking stirs a feeling of discontent in Tanis, too reminiscent of recent events.

“Thanks for the tip, I’ll be sure to do that.”

Finding the inn isn’t hard, considering it’s one of maybe four buildings that’s more than a pop-up shanty. Settlements like this aren’t so unusual: a group of refugees from an infested district cobbles together some cheap homes, a couple municipal buildings, maybe even a business or two, and most importantly, a hefty monster-proof security system. In a few decades if the place is still standing it becomes a destination for those unlucky few like herself who are caught out traveling the wilds and secures a tidy profit in trade and touristry, if you can call it that.

It’s clear however that this particular patch of civilization has hit some hard times, even by the usual standards. It’s almost startlingly easy for Tanis to strike up a deal with the innkeeper: room and board in exchange for a few hours of music in the pub downstairs, or until the night’s patronage dries up, and she even gets to keep the tips. 

“It’s been a hard winter,” says the manager. “Folks walk around as if in a fog or else mad as hell at every little thing, just looking for a reason to start a fight. Some music might lift their spirits.”

“That’s what I’m here for, ma’am,” says Tanis. “Just give me a few minutes to tune up and get my things in order.”

She guides her to her room and then leaves her be, telling her she’ll try to get the local rumor mill turning, get the word out about her before she takes the floor. Alone now, Tanis sets her things down on the bed and opens the case, falling on her ass for the second time today when out climbs none other than Caroline the dancing doll.

“You-!” She sputters and looks around for something to put between the two of them.

“Surprise!” The one-eyed puppet throws her arms wide, wiggling her hands for emphasis. “Oh wait don’t-”

Tanis lobs her shoe at her. It hits her in the face, but she doesn’t seem bothered, or else it’s simply that she’s not capable of expressing a very wide range of emotion with her painted on expression and nutcracker-like jaw.

“No no no, don’t be afraid,” Caroline insists.

Tanis reaches down to untie her other shoe. “I’m not afraid, I’m pissed. Serves me right for taking pity on you.”

“It was fairly foolish from a strictly objective standpoint, but also very kind.”

Her narrow shoulders tuck in close, creating an almost sheepish effect.

 “Nobody’s ever done a thing like that before. Nobody’s ever taken the time to play a song with me and listen to my story.”

Slowly, Tanis lowers the shoe.

“I don’t mean to harm you or cause you any trouble,” Caroline continues. “It’s only, you’re a terribly strange human, and I wanted oh so much to keep playing with you. I thought to myself, ‘if I can’t keep Ms Tanis from leaving, I’ll simply have to go with her’. So when you weren’t looking I curled myself up all teensy tiny and climbed in with your lovely instrument and away we went! In addition to my myriad musical abilities I also happen to be a fabulous contortionist, you know.”

She demonstrates this by tipping forward and pulling her legs behind her head in a position that would’ve been truly disturbing on a flesh and blood body. 

“No wonder my case felt so heavy,” Tanis grumbles, standing up. “Look, sweetheart, you can’t be here. This is a strictly no-monster zone. We could both get in a huge amount of trouble. Not to mention I’m still not positive you won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“Please don’t leave me! We can play more music together! Or, turn my key and I’ll show you another magic trick! We can play cards or do each other’s makeup. I’ll make you look like a tiger.” She shuffles forward on ball-jointed knees, pleading. “You’re the only one who’s not afraid of me.”

Tanis can’t help but smirk at that. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

“Oh I know, it’s because we’re best friends.”

She frowns. “No, no it’s… it’s a long story, hon.”

“I love stories!”

“Not a fun story, Caroline.” She shakes her head, rakes a hand through her short curls, growing longer and messier by the day it seems. “I’m not scared of you because I physically can’t fear any fear. Someone took it from me.”

She cocks her head. “Took… your fear?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that I guess. Sort of hard to explain.”

“Perhaps you should start with ‘once upon a time’. All the best stories start like that.”

Tanis sighs through her nose. “Agree to disagree but I’ll give it a shot. Once upon a time, in the far away land of Oklahoma…”

--

Once upon a time there was a young musician named Tanis. She worked in her parents’ bakery in a town where nothing ever changed, not in summer or winter, not in rain or blizzard or tornado. Even when the monsters came and the natural order of the world was turned on its head, for the most people still went on about their business as usual, just with an added tinge of constant dread, and even that wasn’t off-beat enough to endanger the status quo.

Tanis had big dreams of making it as a rock star and leaving her small world behind, but the people around her didn’t quite see things her way. Eventually she struck out on her own, intent on proving wrong all the naysayers wrong. Unfortunately, talent and raw gusto aren’t enough to make a star, and passion doesn’t pay the bills, as she soon discovered. 

After only just scraping by for more than a year, fameless and friendless, she was about to call it quits and head back home in shame when she was approached by a strange gentleman.

He called himself Mr Slyme, which maybe should have been a red flag on its own. But Tanis didn’t care. She was willing to do anything for success and he was promising her not only a paying gig but, if the show went well, an entire sponsored tour.

The very first time she stepped onto that stage she knew she’d gotten in over her head. In their dealings Mr Slyme had failed to mention that she’d be playing for an audience entirely of monsters. Still, if she shut her eyes while she sang the screeches and howling cries didn’t sound so different from the cheers of an adoring crowd. Skin warm from the limelight and stars in her eyes, she knew she couldn’t go back to the way things were, whatever the risk.

Mr Slyme was very pleased with her performance and had her sign a contract with his company right away. After that it was tours and autographs and show after show after show. Time seemed to blur together in a single crashing wave of euphoric adrenalin. She felt like she could go on like this forever.

Then, that last concert. The one where it all went wrong. A darkened auditorium and the metallic tang of blood in the air. She hadn’t thought to ask questions before stepping on stage, and by then it was too late. The ritual was already underway. 

It felt as though her hands were not her own. A chant bubbled up from her throat in a voice she could barely recognize. The lights were fiery hot yet her blood ran cold when she heard, above the hysterical clamour of the crowd, the word “sacrifice”.

Tanis was never entirely certain how she made it out alive. Maybe someone up there was still looking out for her, despite it all. All she knew was by the time she escaped she was in a bad state, her clothes in shreds, her hair coming out in chunks, her whole body shaking as the blood cooled on her skin, much of it her own. She got in her car and drove, no destination in mind except home. Facing her family might be the worst part of all, but there was nowhere else to go. 

She prayed that it was all over now.

The morning after her final concert Tanis woke up in a motel with a strange feeling of absence, like the tugging in your brain when you can’t remember what you’ve forgotten. She was jolted into awareness by the sound of her phone ringing, and when she answered she was greeted by the sneering, insidious voice of Mr Slyme dripping into her ear.

By refusing to see the performance through, he told her, she’d breached the terms of her contract. As recompense, he had taken something of hers. Something precious. 

Tanis wasn’t one to put her faith in the intangible, the mystical. Or, she hadn’t been back then. Even if she had paid proper attention to what she was signing she probably wouldn’t have given the clause very much thought, perhaps written it off as a joke. As it was, the sudden loss of her mortal soul wasn’t quite what she might’ve expected. No demons appeared in her motel room to drag her down into a fiery pit. To tell the truth, she didn’t feel very different at all. Still, something had changed.

As days went by Tanis began to notice herself becoming more careless. She burned herself cooking simply because it didn’t occur to her to not touch the hot pan with her bare fingers. Where pain used to be a teacher now it only made her indignant. The daily dangers of reckless drivers and unfriendly dogs and strangers coming too close to her as she walked down a darkened street no longer gave her any sense of unease. Several times she had to consciously stop herself from walking into a busy crosswalk simply because she couldn’t remember why the outcome might be undesirable. 

It may have been more tolerable, she thought, if she simply wanted to die. That’s what people tended to assume of her anyway in the wake of this new affliction. But there was no sadness or suffering in her, not even when she remembered the events of the ritual that she’d thought would scar her forever, only a slow creeping apathy which grew stronger every passing moment.

Against the odds, she did come to relearn fear, the basic mechanics of it if not the actual feeling, and stopped regularly endangering herself in such ridiculous ways. Fearlessness, she realized, didn’t have to equal reckless stupidity as long as she remained mindful of it. 

Still, this couldn’t go on forever. Mr Slyme wasn’t taking her calls, naturally, and so she set off for the one place she knew she could find him: the main offices of Slyme House Incorporated. 

--

“So, that’s me,” Tanis finished with a lackluster shrug. “I’ve managed to keep myself in one piece so far but it’s kind of difficult when you have zero sense of self preservation and there are monsters literally everywhere. I’m not sure what’ll happen to me if I die or if I even really care, only I figure if I do kick it I won’t be able to play music anymore.”

She gives her guitar an idle strum as she finishes tuning.

“Music is pretty much the only thing that ever made me really happy. If I couldn’t do that, I don’t know. I can’t feel fear but I can still feel happiness and sadness and all the rest.” She clenches her fist. “Anger too, definitely. I’m angry that I was duped like that, the kind of angry that I don’t think’s gonna let up until I put my fist all the way through Slyme’s ugly face.”

“I’m sure you’ll be quite good at it! You’re very strong.”

Tanis snaps out of her stewing, sparing a guilty glance towards Caroline’s empty left socket and the cracks still faintly visible through the tear in her leotard. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened back there. I’m not really used to meeting monsters that don’t wanna, you know, kill and eat me, and my fight or flight response is pretty much just fight at the moment.”

Caroline laughs, or rather, she vocalizes a robotic sounding “ahaha!” that must be her version of laughter. “I would never eat you. I don’t even have a digestive system!”

Tanis presses her lips together. “Right.”

There’s a knock on the door. 

“Oh shit, right, I’m supposed to play.”

Caroline jumps up. “I want to come too! Please please pretty please!”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She pauses, considers. “Unless… do you think you can pretend to be, you know, a normal doll for a while?”

“Pretend? I love to play pretend!” She claps her wooden hands together. “Lead the way, Ms Tanis!”

There’s an itching at the back of her brain that tells her this may be a mistake, the ghost of her good sense hanging on by a thread. But without concern for her own wellbeing her sympathy for the dopey doll takes the reins, and together they take the stage. 

It’s a sad crowd, both in terms of size and demeanor. Hopefully, she thinks, they’re deep enough in their cups to not question the windup automaton that stands before them.

“Good evening, folks, my name’s Tanis and this is Caroline the fantastic dancing doll.”

Caroline gives a robotic jerk and bows at the waist. It’s a surprisingly convincing performance, but then, it probably comes naturally to her. A few patrons give an amused chuckle at Caroline’s antics. Tanis takes it as a good sign and begins the first song.

Despite not having the time to rehearse, Caroline manages to play her part well, improvising along to the music the other provides with sweeping, exaggerated movements that hold the crowd’s attention. It’s actually sort of nice, the guitarist thinks, to share the stage with someone else for a change. Even if the “stage” is just the corner of a dingy inn stinking of bathtub booze. 

The atmosphere is infectious and after a few songs the crowd has doubled in number, everyone bobbing their heads or tapping their feet along with the music. It feels good. It feels better than most things have felt in a long time.

Halfway through the night Tanis breathlessly declares that they’ll be taking a break. In her excitement, she’d put some more pepper on those last few numbers than usual. The place is packed now, the staff happily passing around refills and lining their pockets. 

Caroline pretends to wind down to stop while Tanis takes a seat at one of the tables to recover. A server brings her a glass of water and she downs it in seconds. She makes a point of staying in practice while on the road but she’d forgotten how intoxicating it could be to play for a crowd, and one where no one wanted your head on a platter to boot.

While she flexes her fingers and rolls her neck in preparation for the next set, Tanis happens to overhear a conversation taking place amongst a group at the next table over.

“All I’m saying is, we know what it's after. Why are we sitting around when we could set a trap and finish the thing off once in for all?”

“If you’re looking for someone to be the bait, I call not it.”

“I don’t think something like that can be killed. My grandpa always says--”

“Nobody cares what the old man says, Jonah. I’m telling you, if it bleeds, you can kill it. That’s just common sense.”

“Excuse me,” Tanis pipes up. “Am I hearing you right? You folks are monster hunters?”

If she were looking, she would see Caroline’s head roll to the side, her good eye following her warily.

“Something like that,” says the woman at the table with a rumbling laugh in her throat. “I’m Luanne and this is Phil, and the kid is Jonah.”

Jonah, a young man with rusty red hair, grumbles under his breath. Phil gives her the barest nod of acknowledgment before launching back into his argument.

“I can’t get to sleep at night knowing those things are still out there, lurking around, feeding off our scraps all fat and happy.”

“If it keeps them from breaking down the wall and carrying us off instead…”

“What’s the point of the wall if monsters are just gonna get in anyway!”

“Ignore the boys. What’s your interest in monster hunting?” asks Luanne. “You thinking about quitting the music business? Trust me, this job doesn’t have as many perks as you’d think.”

“Nah, that’s not for me,” she says. “I’ve run into monsters aplenty on the road, but never on purpose. I just have a knack for getting into trouble, and I was hoping you could point me in the direction of someplace I could get myself a weapon. After tonight I might actually be able to afford it.”

“Don’t waste your money,” Jonah insists sharply. “Monsters can’t be killed, I’m telling you. You can hurt ‘em, sometimes real bad, but they just come back in a new shape.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means. I’m just saying.”

“What are you saying? You think it’s pointless?”

“No, man, you know I’m not. Just that we need to be looking for long-term solutions instead of just shooting or building walls that’ll fall down in another few years. We’re not cavemen. We ought to be studying monsters, finding out what makes ‘em tick.”

“And where are you gonna find a monster to study?”

The younger stammers at that, coming up empty. Tanis smirks against the lip of her glass. Have you ever tried playing music for them until they follow you home?

Soon her time is up and she takes the stage again. By the end of the night she’s collected a hefty bit of coin and she’s more than ready to retire. A couple of the lingering townsfolk meander over to try and make conversation as she finishes collecting her dues, the trio of ameteur hunters among them.

“Don’t quit this music thing,” Luanne tells her. “If you get yourself killed tracking some beasty the world’s gonna be down a damn good singer. You write those songs yourself?”

“Some of them. Most of them are covers. People don’t usually seem to care one way or the other, and writing’s not really my forte.”

“Don’t say that, kid. You put on a hell of a show. Especially with that whole dancing doll shtick.” She gestures at Caroline who’s playing dead on the floor. “Where’d you find this crazy looking thing?”

“Oh, well, she- it used to be a circus prop. I just kind of found her.” Sticking with half-truths feels like the safest bet. She has no idea how she’d explain her away otherwise.

Phil nudges Caroline with the heel of his boot. “Kind of creepy if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Phil.”

He grunts and turns away. Caroline pops her head up and makes a face behind his back.

Biting back a laugh, Tanis says, “Sorry to cut this short but I am beat.” 

She hefts the doll up over her shoulder-- she’s not exactly lightweight, but no heavier than the big bags of flour she would drag out of the storeroom for her mom in the mornings.

“Can we count on catching another show tomorrow night?”

“Sorry, I’ve got to be on my way first thing in the morning. I’ve still got a long road ahead of me.”

“That early? You’re sure in a hurry to get out of dodge.”

There’s something strange about the way he says it. Tanis frowns. 

“I just like to get an early start. With that said, goodnight folks.”

She hustles Caroline upstairs and shuts the door tight behind them. The moment she does, the doll springs up, fully animated once more.

“That was great fun!”

Tanis huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

--

Under the golden lamplight Tanis sorts her bounty of bronze and silver coins into neat piles. Tonight was a better night than most; the folks here aren’t exactly wealthy but with so little trade coming and going what coin they have hasn’t been going anywhere except perhaps into the hands of the bartender, who’s probably faring even better than she. 

After a moment’s deliberation she pushes a stack towards Caroline. It’s not quite an equal share but then, she reasons, what’s the doll going to spend it on anyway? Even so, the thought of keeping all the spoils to herself doesn’t sit well when Caroline’s certainly put in as much work.

“For me?” she asks.

“Yup. You did good tonight and no one suspected a thing. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Caroline, if possible, looks even more joyed than is her default state. “I won’t!” 

She then tips back her head and pours her earnings down her throat. Tanis can’t claim to understand the creature, but whatever makes her happy.

“I’m ready to turn in. What do you wanna do about this… whole arrangement here?” she asks, yawning as she nods towards the bed.

“Not to worry! I don’t require sleep, nor desire it. If you need me I shall be in your instrument case.”

Her brow wrinkles with a frown. “You sure? It looks like kind of a squeeze.”

“I’m used to resting in boxes. Frankly I prefer it. I suppose you could say it’s in my nature.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She sheds her outerwear, stripping down to tank top and boxers. The weather’s due to turn before she makes it to Bigge, she thinks; might be worth it to invest in a real coat, maybe some nice thick socks. “‘Night, Caroline.”

“Goodnight, Ms Tanis!”

She puts out the light and closes her eyes. Sleep comes easy, tired as she is, and as dreamlessly as it has been ever since that fateful final show. Nothing short of a new apocalyptic event could get her up once she begins to drift, which is why she’s unpleasantly surprised to find herself awake not a few hours later. That, and the gun barrel tucked underneath her chin.

“God, this better be good,” she groans as the bliss of well-earned rest leaves her.

In the dark she can’t make out the figures standing around her bed. She reaches for the lamp and the shotgun at her throat cocks a warning.

“If you’re here to rob me, couldn’t it at least wait until morning.”

“We don’t want your money, hellspawn,” a voice rasps.

“Well,” says a second. “I wouldn’t say no to--”

“Shut it!”

Tanis recognizes the voices now. The monster hunters, Phil and Jonah, and she’d bargain that’s Luanne hanging back blocking the door.

“What’d I do to you guys? You didn’t like the music or something?”

“Quiet!” Phil shouts. “I knew there was something off about you the moment I saw you, so I decided to do a little investigating. Why don’t you say it again, how ‘no one suspected a thing’.” He gives her another jab with the cold metal of the barrel. “Who were you talking to, all alone in your room? Ain’t nobody here. What devils do you answer to, you traitoring rat?”

Tanis puts up her hands. “Whoa whoa whoa, I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”

“I said quiet!”

“You asked me a question.”

Phil continues, “You’re not a monster, not all the way through anyhow, I can tell. But you’re not all the way human neither. I can see it in your eyes. Empty eyes. And that doll of yours, that’s your familiar, isn’t it?”

“Are you gonna let me answer this time or--”

He smacks her hard across the face. She hisses in pain-- that sensation certainly hasn’t run empty.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, bringing that darkness in past our walls. But now at least we got that live bait we’ve been missing.”

There’s a sudden sound of movement, a scraping against the bare floor from across the room that makes Tanis’ aggressors freeze. It’s Luanne who breaks the tense silence.

“Uh, fellas? What was that?”

On cue, Caroline rises from her makeshift bed with the gravitas of a movie vampire awakening from its crypt. Tanis should’ve expected she’d be the type to relish in dramatics. She cocks her head, surveying the scene around her, and then without further preamble grabs the closest person-- poor unlucky Jonah-- and thrusts him out of her way as casually as if she were rearranging the furniture, crashing him into Luanne and sending them both into the wall.

“No more songs tonight,” she says cheerfully. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Luanne staggers and pushes the young man off of her, thrusting a large hunting knife in the monster’s direction. “Get back, creep!”

“Silly billy, knives are dangerous. Not to me, of course, but to you.” 

She knocks the blade out of her hand. Jonah drops his own weapon before she has the chance, his hands trembling too hard to keep his grip.

“Hey!” Phil barks. Caroline’s head swivels towards him. “Maybe I can’t hurt you, but I can sure hurt your master here.”

He grabs her chin and presses his thumb to her swollen lip, swiping up a drop of blood. 

“If it bleeds, you can kill it,” he murmurs under his breath like a mantra. 

“Silly,” Caroline repeats, taking a step closer. “That’s not my master, that’s Ms Tanis!”

The hunter’s eyes move frantically back and forth, from the doll to the woman. He affects a false bravado and demands, “Then who- who do you answer to, monster?”

“Oh he’s quite dead,” she replies. “I killed him!”

Before he can react, a hand shoots out and grips the man’s neck. His companions, recovering some nerve, shout and grab at her from either side. Their combined weight unbalances the dainty doll but, with her grip unrelenting, she takes their leader with her. His finger locks on the trigger but the panicked shot goes wide. A chorus of frightened screams sounds from outside-- the manager and another couple guests that had gone to fetch her when they heard the sounds of a fight.

Tanis leaps from her bed to wrestle the larger man off of Caroline. The other two have her arms pinned down and for a moment she goes very still, but as Jonah leans in to investigate, a bizarre whining noise sounds from deep in the doll’s throat and a stream of coins begin to shoot out of her mouth. Jonah screams and falls backward clutching his face, Luanne soon to follow.

“What demon do you serve!” Phil howls. 

Tanis grimaces as spittle flies into her face. “You are really stuck on that, huh?”

She grunts and puts all her strength into shoving the man over, cracking his head against the nightstand. 

“I don’t fucking serve anybody.” She spits. “Asshole.”

When the manager finally gets the door open, the scene is not a charitable one. There’s a man unconscious on the floor with a probable broken nose, his friends scrambling for the door in terror, a bullethole in the ceiling, while the traveler and her seven foot living wind-up toy stand amidst the chaos.

“Okay, I can explain.”

“Is that blood,” the manager deadpans, going pale.

Indeed a sizable puddle has formed around Phil’s head where he lies. Tanis sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I didn’t mean to hit him that hard,” she mutters under her breath. “I mean, he deserved it, but still.”

She nudges him with her foot and hears a faint, gurgling groan.

“No worries, he’s still alive.”

“I don’t care about that!” hisses the manager. “Shut the window, fool! Monsters can smell fresh blood from miles away!”

Tanis looks to Caroline as if to say, Did you know about this? Caroline shrugs.

“I think that’s just a myth.”

There’s a loud, guttural shriek from somewhere outside the inn, followed by the shuck shuck shuck of claws piercing the walls, coming rapidly closer. A toothsome muzzle crams its way through the window and starts snapping blindly at the air. The onlookers scatter, and even Tanis has the wherewithal to leap back and out of the way of those grasping jaws. It sniffs wolfishly and a long barbed tongue protracts from its maw, flopping onto the floor.

“Geez louise,” Tanis remarks. “Just can’t catch a break tonight. Caroline, can you, I dunno, talk that thing down?”

“I shall try!” 

She walks over to where the creature’s head remains stuck in the window. 

“Pardon me, but you are being very disruptive and I--”

The monster’s tongue lashes out and smacks her in the face. It probes into her exposed socket and, apparently deciding that whatever the doll has in place of blood is good enough, begins straining to pull her into its mouth. Tanis yanks her away just in time.

“Oh dear, that was not very polite.”

“Why’s it wanna hurt you? You’re a monster too!”

“You’re a human, and those other humans were hurting you.”

“Huh. Fair enough.”

The wooden panels around the window begin to strain dangerously as the bloodsucker starts to push through.

“Okay, we gotta go.” She rushes to collect her things and then, with a sigh, grabs onto Phil’s unconscious body to drag him out of the room. “Help me pull.”

Caroline does so, but not before asking, “Are we rescuing this man? Even though he wanted to hurt you and called you nasty names?”

“Yeah,” she huffs. “It kind of sucks, but that’s just what people do.”

Together they drag Phil into the hallway and slam the door behind them, though it’s anyone’s guess how long it’ll hold. Hopefully the pool of blood will keep the creature occupied for a short time while the other guests evacuate. Luckily there are few of them, so a short time is just enough.

Drawn out by the commotion, townspeople begin to pour out of their homes and into the street. In the chaos and confusion, nobody seems to notice the traveler and her doll fleeing the scene. 

Tanis makes a beeline for the gate. “I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I’m ready to get the hell out of dodge.”

“Will they be safe?” asks Caroline.

Tanis stops and stares at her. “What?”

“With that large bitey fellow on the loose? Will the audience be alright?”

It’s hard to divine much emotion from Caroline’s wooden features, but in this moment Tanis can tell she’s being sincere. 

“Why do you care about something like that?”

“It’s a good entertainer’s responsibility to make sure the audience is happy.” 

She points at the crowd that’s forming in the town square: a handful of soldiers-- if they can even be called as much-- with their meager armory of shotguns and spears and some assorted farm tools, and the huddled mass of paralyzed civilians trying to think of where to run to. Many are still recovering from the last attack of this kind. They don’t have the means to defend themselves the way they need, nor to flee the way they should, and the resident monster hunters are either unconscious or god-knows-where.

“They don’t look very happy.”

“What am I supposed to do about that? No, really, Caroline. If you’ve got an idea, I’m all ears. Just because I’m fearless doesn’t mean I’m suicidal.”

The doll seems to think on this for a moment before she simply says, “Turn my key.”

Tanis gives her a dubious look. “The key that makes you act like even more of an evil Looney Toon? The last time I did that you kinda tried to kill me.”

“I did not! I wanted to keep you from the danger.” She actually sounds offended at the accusation. “I wanted to keep you safe in my circus forever. I couldn’t understand why you would want to go out into the big scary world, where people are unkind and ever so unhappy.”

She doesn’t frown necessarily, but she hangs her head, one lonesome blue eye staring into her own. 

“But when you sing, you make people happy. When you make them happy, you are happy too. I do not think you want to run away.”

Tanis watches Caroline. She listens to her speak. She groans, frustrated to realize that, against all odds, the big goofy clown doll is right. “Turn around.”

Caroline claps her hands with glee as Tanis grips her key, still faintly tacky to the touch. She turns it once, twice, thrice, until she can’t turn it anymore. The doll spins around with a revitalized sort of glow and begins bounding towards the beast as it bursts through the wall of the building. 

What else is there for Tanis to do? She follows after her. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, this is the greatest show on what’s left of earth!”

A spotlight shines from nowhere, brilliantly illuminating the daring dancer. As the soldiers’ weapons glance ineffectually off the bloodsucker’s hide, Caroline overtakes them and kicks it square across the face, causing the beast to stagger a few steps backwards. 

At her command, a swarm of chattering windup dolls appear out of the night. Spectral and red-eyed, they pile their porcelain bodies on top of the ravenous creature. When crushing one knee-high nuisance doesn’t yield any blood or ichor, it hisses its displeasure and tosses the rest off. It stomps and snaps them until they return to nothingness, but the attack disorients it, enough for Caroline to gain the definitive upperhand. 

She seizes it by the scruff, wrenches its mouth open, and rips out its long propping tongue. The beast howls in ear-splitting pain, more of that syrupy dark substance dripping from its fanged mouth. Caroline pulls the tongue taught in her hands and cracks it against the creature’s forepaw like a whip. She faces the townsfolk.

“And now, a spectacle unlike you’ve ever seen! The dancing doll tames the ferocious beast!”

She evades another snap of its jaws and climbs atop its back, straddling it and wrapping its own tongue around its meaty neck. The monster begins to rear back, swiping at the doll with its claws. Those grasping paws, clever enough to scale walls, find purchase on her leg.

“Uh oh!” the doll remarks.

It flings her to the ground.

“Caroline!” Tanis yells. “Just kill it already!”

“Oh but where’s the fun in that?” 

Nevertheless, she pulls back her free leg and jabs her heel into one beady black eye with a gruesome squelching noise.

“Now, for my final trick, I’ll make this rude fellow disappear!”

The mystical spotlight goes out, in fact every light in town goes out, and from somewhere Tanis can hear the sound of a drumroll. When the lights return, the monster has indeed vanished, replaced by a pile of ichorous innards which have been strewn about the town square. A few members of the “audience” begin to retch.

“Ta-da!”

It’s probably not the reception she was hoping for, but there’s one person in the crowd clapping. The fantastic dancing doll takes a sweeping bow, more gore sloughing off and onto the cobblestone below.

--

“So that’s a town we can never go back to.”

Caroline pouts, as much as she can. “I thought it was a lovely show.”

Tanis shrugs. “You can’t please everybody.”

She’s back on the road, strumming a few notes on her guitar as she walks along. She’d offered to hold onto it so Caroline could have some more wiggle room as she rode along on her back. The extra baggage wasn’t exactly ideal, but despite single-handedly taking down a monster twice her size, traversing wide open spaces still made the doll nervous after so long spent confined to one place. It was the least she could do for her, she figured.

Besides being a real powerhouse when it comes to fighting humans and other monsters alike, Caroline had become an invaluable addition to Tanis’ little traveling act. She made more than twice the tips as she usually did when Caroline was dancing along to her songs. Everyone was always so perplexed: how did she make that doll move like that? It was almost like she was alive!

Yeah, almost. She snickers to herself. 

“Are you thinking of a joke? May I hear it?”

“Nah, just getting lost in my own head again,” she says. 

Privately, there’s another reason she’s glad to have kept Caroline by her side. It’s strange, she thinks, to have found a companion in a creature like her. A friend, even.

“Where will we be touring next, Ms Tanis?”

“For now we just keep heading east.” She glances back at the doll. Her head is poking out of the case, watching her again. It’s probably a good thing she’s physically incapable of finding that as creepy as it undoubtedly is. Instead, she just shoots her a sideways grin and says, “You know, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘miss’. Just Tanis is fine.”

“Okay, Ms Just Tanis!”

“Oh so she’s got jokes.”

“I know lots of jokes. What’s big and grey with lots of great big horns?”

“I don’t know but I hope it’s not following us.”

“An elephant marching band!”

God, that was terrible. “Ha. Good one, Caroline.”

“I know more!”

“Why don’t you hold onto those for now. Wouldn’t want to waste ‘em all on me before you’ve got a proper audience.”

“I will, but not because it would be a waste. Even if I was to never have another show, I should enjoy telling them to you very much.”

It’s quiet for a while after that, and Tanis, more than used to the solitude, has almost forgotten about her passenger until she pipes up once more.

“Ms- Pardon me, Tanis. What’s that tune you’re playing?”

Without hardly noticing Tanis’ hands have been feeling out the shape of a familiar melody, a slow and sentimental thing.

“Ah, it’s just this old country song I used to practice with a lot when I was still just learning. It’s funny, I can’t actually remember the last time I played it. I wanted to be a rockstar for so long, you know. But then once I was on my own again, after everything, it’s these sort of songs I ended up coming back to.”

She expects Caroline to request something more cheery, but she merely settles her head against her shoulder and lapses back into silence. For the first time since that night Tanis finds herself thinking of what the peculiar doll had told her. She had said that her singing made people happy. What did that mean for someone like her who was always happy anyway? Or seemed to be, that is.

Does my singing make you happy, Caroline? Is that the real reason you started following me? 

Softly, uncertain as the kid at her first audition she could barely remember being, Tanis lets her voice rise.

“This world is not my home

I'm just passing through

My treasures are laid up

Somewhere beyond the blue…”

[withhowsadsteps]

love and sunsets (Matt - Blinded by the Light)

I sat down and just wrote whatever came to my mind. But there's not too much Matt stuff going on so I thought I'd give it a try. Try to enjoy, I guess

edit: i fixed some misspellings, because apparently i cant write today, sorry if missed any!

-

At first even Matt's smile made you furious. You did not even know him too well, but he seemed to have women waiting in a line just to get fucked by him, both in the physical and not-physical ways. You thought he was the biggest heartbreaker you had met so far, even worse than some of the biggest jerks at your school. Javed asked you countless times to be his plus one at Matt's parties, because Javed's parents trusted you but you didn't go.

Until one night. Javed seemed to have a bad day when he stopped you after one of Ms Clay's writing classes. "Come on, y/n. Please. Just one time. I'll owe you", he begged you until you agreed. For him. He was your best friend, how could you say no? You promised yourself that you would make sure not to even try to get to know Mr. Artist. So you sat near Javed through the whole night and said only a few words here and there, but never anything to Matt. He realized that you were avoiding him and little did you know, that he started planning his strategy to get you speaking. He wanted to be liked, so he wanted to find out what was it that kept you away from him.

You didn't even know why but you slowly started opening up to Matt's parties. You still didn't talk to Matt, expect maybe a 'hi' here and there, just not to seem like a total bitch. But you had to admit, he had hell of a music taste and some of his friends were actually really nice, including the drummer of his band. "You know I basically wrote one of the songs Javed gave you guys", you blurted out one night to the drummer, smirking. "Javed would've told me", you heard Matt say behind you. Fuck. How did you not notice him being there? His cologne usually filled your nostrils as soon as he was around you. Nothing wrong with his cologne otherwise, but it was HIS cologne and that alone drove you mad. "And why would he tell you", you spat out, spinning around and raising your eyebrows. He smirked smugly, "Oh, so you can speak?" You wanted to slap that smug smirk from his face, but remained calm and actually smiled to him. "Something wrong with not wanting to speak to you?" He shook his head a little bit, his earing shaking with his movements. He was about to open his mouth once again, but some blonde cut him off, basically attacking him and licking his face clean. It was your turn to shake your head and get away from the situation.

You did not want to admit it to yourself, but after that night something changed. Matt started acting differently around you. He did not let any of his flings stay by his sides, he made sure none of the drunken guys laid their eyes on you when he saw you get uncomfortable, but the thing that suprised you perhaps the most were the genuine smiles he showed only you. No smirks, no smugness. Just genuine smiling. You did not understand why. "What the hell is wrong with him? Does he think I'll fall for him?" you asked and turned to look at Javed, who laughed a bit. "Well, to be honest, you two would be a match made in heaven", he said and winked at you, making you punch him on his shoulder. "Y/n, I mean it. He asked which song you wrote, and let me tell you, his eyes brightened up. He loves that song", he continues with a more serious expression on his face. You felt your cheeks heating up, you felt embarassed for some reason. You should've kept your mouth shut. The song was pretty cheesy, a break up song. Sad, nostalgic. You had been in love once before and you had your heart badly broken. Maybe that is why you disliked Matt so much? Maybe you were jealous that he could find love easily, because everyone wanted him? And here you were, alone?

You were walking towards your home when you felt someone grab your hand and turn you over. It was Matt. He looked like he had been up all night. "You look rough", you told him bluntly, making him chuckle a bit. "I need you to write me another one", he said, "please". You tried to spot any hints of lies or mockery from his expression, but you didn't find any. "I can't, sorry. That was a one time thing" you told him. You weren't as heartbroken anymore, how could you write another song when there were no feelings to pour on the paper. "I'll take you out to the finest restaurant in town if you help me, I'll make sure everyone knows who wrote it", he continued. You promised to whatever you could.

After months, you still didn't have a song for Matt. You were getting to know him better now. You, Javed, Matt and his band started hanging out a lot more during the summer. You stayed outside until the sunrise and you hated to admit it, but you fell for Matt. When you actually looked at his face without so much prejudice, you saw just how beautiful he was. The colors of the countless sunsets and sunrises painted his face beautifully, sometimes leaving you breathless. But the thing that knocked you off of your feet, metaphorically, was when he played you your song. Everyone else had already returned home, but you wanted to take in the crisp air of the very early morning. He had his acoustic guitar with him and he sang to you. And then he drove you home.

A few nights after that you saw him with a girl in his arms. And that is when the feelings hit you again and the words seemed to write themselves on the paper. The song was about falling in love under the sunsets but not getting loved back. You wrote it to yourself and didn't mean to give it to Matt. He would instanly realize that you had fallen for him, and you couldn't let that happen. You forgot to hide the song, though. And the next day Javed found it laying on your nightstand. He waited until you went out of your room for some time and quickly put it in his backpack.

You sat on your spot on the hill and closed your eyes, enjoying the warm rays of the evening sun. The day had been beautiful, one of the warmest days England had to offer. You thought you were alone, since Javed was helping his dad with something and the band had practice. But soon you heard someone sit right beside you. "Thank you for the song. You made me wait thouh" You opened your eyes quickly, horrified. How did he get the song? You couldn't turn to look at Matt and you kept your mouth shut. "Why didn't you tell me? Y/n, please, look at me" he said. You bit your lip and tried to say something, but all you could do is let a tear slowly travel down your face, followed by another one. How could you tell him that seeing him with another woman made you sad when you didn't even let him know how you felt about him? He was quick to cup your face with his hands and wipe the tears away. "You were wrong about not being loved back" he whispers and presses his forehead against your head. You stayed like that for what must be at least half an hour, just looking at each other's eyes, not knowing what to say. You were just about to say something to break the silence when he pressed his lips against yours, very gently and softly, pulling you even closer.

Everyone always says that they fell in love at the first sight, but in reality, love comes slowly and then it hits you very hard.

[slitherbop]

what were the inspirations for the original version of hot dagn? i feel like it was kinda inspired by homestuck even if hot dagn had an entirely different plot tho. looking at the original comic and the poster (it makes it kinda like a real movie) you made for it makes me feel nostalgic considering it was created 7 years ago... :0

The inspiration for Hot Dagn was indeed Homestuck.. but more from CYOAs I also read at the time, cuz I started it with the intention to feel like it coulda been an interactive comic by all the weird things the characters did but was completely controlled by me just doin my own random nonsense, the CYOA comics that influenced it were Ruby Quest, Waterworks, Prequel (I loved the silly but mysterious feeling that comes with simple visuals and unsuspecting protagonist with an unknown evil) I..UUHHH it has weirder inspirations tho that seem like they shouldn’t fit together but these r things I really did absorb back then and be like I make camics, Baman Piderman, Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, Anastasia, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, Repo: The Genetic Opera, The Oz book series, Adventure Time, some flash game I played as a teen that I can’t remember, video games that are off, the feeling that listening to music like Anamanaguchi or Creature Feature back to back gave me LMAO I think I’m forgetting things but that’s what I remember, my idea for Hot Dagn now is less of a feeling of ms paint CYOA comic I read kinda Nostalgia, but more like a fever dreamish point n click game I played as a kid in computer class Nostalgia YA KNOOW. But it could be anything that gives me the feeling! You could get Hot Dagn on VHS video. Hello, my name is Slitherbop. Welcome! To the woorld of Hot Dagn! Can you imagine it.. Anyway thank you very much for the ask I’m glad my ol comic made u feel that way, your Epic , sorry this is long

[frenchlangdon]

this isn’t what i wanted

(Part 5 to everything i wanted)

everything i wanted masterlist

A/n: it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted a chap! I just haven’t been motivated to write. I did write the first half of this like a month or two ago and I got stuck so I decided to just do a time jump. Also this chapter is like extremely messy, I apologize! I have no idea where I’m going with this but I hope you enjoy this somewhat! ALSO!!! Happy 32nd birthday to Cody omg he’s getting old 😂

—

“Do you feel your heart beating?” Michael would ask this question numerous times a day, being alive, feeling alive wasn’t really what you were focusing on at the moment. Guilt was overshadowing every emotion. You couldn’t shake it, it was making you physically sick. You once again were selfish and this time it ended up killing Xavier. You couldn’t forgive yourself for that. Sure you had wanted to be alive again and you thought you would have done anything for a second chance but if you knew it would’ve cost Xavier his life, you wouldn’t have done it.

You nodded, not looking at Michael. You were still processing everything that happened. It had been a week since you saw Xavier burst into flames. You were on edge ever since. During this whole week your body would start to shake and you’d completely lose all control and start to sob uncontrollably.

“Would you ever do that to me?” You finally looked at him. Your eyes stayed glossy, your eyes were like an overflowing fountain. You hadn’t stopped crying the whole week and you had a constant headache because of it. “No my love. I could never hurt you.” He smiled softly at you as he cupped your cheek. He looked at you so tenderly. He truly adored you. “I trusted you, Michael.” You let out a small whimper, trying your hardest not to let the tears escape. “But you betrayed my trust and you hurt me. You took away the only person who meant something to me. Just like those witches took away your Ms. Mead.” He blinked at your statement and stood back. “I did that for us. So that we could be together. Didn’t you want that?” His voice was small, genuinely hurt, he stood there watching you, studying your face. “I only want your love.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Why me, Michael?”

“That day we met, I was pulled to you. You’re telling me it wasn’t like that for you? Once I saw you I knew I had to have you. We were made for each other. You’ll see, I promise you.” His eyes pleaded with yours. Your mind was completely scrambled, you weren’t able to think straight, your emotions had gone completely haywire. You were in a very luxurious living room, with very expensive art hanging along the walls, the furniture was designer you just knew it. Maybe if the circumstances were different you would have observed every detail of this room but there you sat in an expensive lounge chair with slightly puffy eyes and Michael crouching in front of you wiping each tear that trailed down your cheek. “Please give me a chance.” He whispered, his bottom lip trembling, he was just as miserable as you were. He truly didn’t think you’d be this affected by what he had done. He just wanted you all to himself and he thought you wanted that too, he was blinded by his own fantasies and ideas. “I really liked you. And you screwed it all up by killing him!”

“He was already dead!”

“What did you do to him then?! I need to know Michael. Let me know if I’ll ever get to see him again. Please. Because I have no fucking clue what to think. I-I don’t know where he is, if he even is anywhere. Just tell me! Stop acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t brush something like that over! You just can’t!” You finally snapped, your face was red and tear stained. Your headache was now throbbing. “I-” He paused, not knowing what to say as he looked down to his lap. “No you can’t see him, he’s gone.” He looked back up into your eyes. Your heart shattered at those words, he was now completely wiped off of this planet. And nobody except you and Michael knew. “I need to be alone.” You mumbled. You turned away from Michael and rubbed your temples. “But I-.”

“Leave me alone Michael!” You yelled out.”

He closed his mouth immediately and vanished.

Now you were wishing you could disappear like before. Just go invisible, never to be seen again. You drew your knees against your chest and cried.

—-

“Pineapple pizza, your favorite.” He murmured as he sat the pizza box down on the table.

You had given him the silent treatment for few months . You would venture outside on your own every other day, exploring the new world. It was completely different than when you were alive before. Michael has gotten you a phone so y’all could keep in touch. He spent almost half a day teaching you everything you needed to know about it. That was the only time you did speak to him, only when you had a question about it. You quickly got the hang of it and you left him alone.

You found yourself taking pictures of the beach, the white sand, the blue waves. Then you started taking pictures of people, couples who were cuddled up together. You took one picture that you were very proud of, it was of a couple laughing. The wind blew the girls hair back just a bit, the sun shone perfectly on their faces, the blue water in the background. You always had a little thing for photography so you were excited to find out there was a built in camera in the phone.

After taking pictures you laid out in the sun and listened to some of the current music, of course some Whitney Houston or Queen would slip in at times and you’d feel nostalgic and remember those days.

You remember jamming out to Bohemian Rhapsody with Xavier in his van. You were going to the beach with him and you remember exactly how you felt that day, the way the sun felt on your skin, almost like how it feels now. The way his fingertips would ghost over your skin, tracing little shapes. The way his lips touched the shell of your ear as he whispered dirty promises. The feeling of him filling you up in the back of the van. His groans and the way he moaned your name.

God you missed him. You kept your eyes closed and tried remembering his smile. You loved his smile. It was so beautiful. He was so beautiful.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You looked up to see a tall and tan shirtless man standing in front of you. Your jaw almost dropped at the sight of him. He had striking blue eyes, brown slightly curly hair, and extremely sexy stubble.

You pulled your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, “Can I help you sir?” You raised a brow.

He smirked as he glanced at your bikini clad body. “I’ve uh, lost my dog. He’s a German shepherd mix. He has a blue collar…?”

You shook your head as you maintained eye contact with the good looking stranger. “No, I’m sorry.”

“What’s his name? You know, just in case I see him around?”

“His name is Zues.” He paused for a moment. “What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Y/n.” You blushed at the stranger.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Y/n. I’m gonna go now… I’ll see you around.” He winked at you and began to jog down the shore. “But I didn’t get your...name!” You called after him.

You were left completely stunned and for some reason amazed by the stranger.

Thirty minutes after the encounter you decided to head back to the house, you decided your escapism had to come to an end for the day.

You were greeted with Michael standing at the bar with his hands tangled in his hair and a frustrated look painted on his face. “What’s wrong?” You spoke to him for the first time since last week. He gazed at you for a second before looking to the ground. “Just work.” He mumbled out. Work. You knew exactly what his work was. He told you everything a week after he brought you here. You felt compelled to comfort him, so you walked over to him and embraced him. He tensed in your arms but slowly melted into it. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your neck. “You know somehow I still feel attracted to you. After everything.” You whispered against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He said softly, his voice cracked a bit. You knew he was. You knew by the way he gave you space, the way he was patient with you, how he would look at you with sorrow and guilt whenever he caught you crying. You just knew in your heart he didn’t mean for it to end up like this. “I know you’re not a monster, Michael.” You pulled away and wiped the tears from his face. He leaned in and kissed you. His tender lips against yours felt like heaven. It felt like time had stopped, but he then pulled away. “I love you so much. I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll never let anything happen to you, I promise.” Michael looked deep into your eyes, holding your face in his hands. Your hands wrapped around his wrists as you kept staring into his eyes. “I’m holding you to it then, Michael.” You smiled. He pecked your lips. You were somewhat ashamed of how attracted you were to him, after all the shit he’s done. How could you? But how could you resist, you thought.

You were done denying your attraction to him, you were left a miserable and needy mess.

“Show me how much you love me.” The sparkle in your eye and the tone of your voice let him know exactly what you meant. He picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to his bedroom. He laid you down carefully on his bed. He left kisses all over your jaw, trailing down your neck. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He muttered against your collarbone. You moaned in response. “Just wanted to worship your body. Show you how much I want you.” His hands trailed up your sides and landed on your breasts, palming and squeezing them. He untied your swimsuit cover up, his eyes raked over your body, trailing up your torso and landing on your eyes. He leaned down to kiss you, “Michael.” He halted his movements at the sound of your voice, he pulled back slightly and looked at you utterly confused. “What if you stopped doing what your father wants. What if you did what you wanted? What if you stop all of this end time stuff and we can live a normal life? Grow old together. Just be in love.” Your hands went to his face, your palms lying against his cheeks. “What if it was just you and I?” You smiled, you thought you were getting somewhere with him.

“You know I can’t do that. I have plans, a prophecy to fulfill. This is my purpose.”

“But you don’t know that. You don’t have to destroy the world and turn it to dust. You can stop it all. Right here right now and just live with me.”

He just stared into your eyes. “I can’t.” He whispered softly. “Do you love me, Michael?” Your voice trembled. You were desperate to try and stop him.

“You know I do.” He scoffed. “If you truly love me, then you’ll stop this. You’ll quit. Because this isn’t what I wanted. I want you to not be so hard on yourself. To be carefree and happy. To not have to worry about witches and warlocks. I want us to live out the rest of our lives without having to worry about Satan's plans and agenda! Don’t you get that you’re just living in his shadow? I mean come on. You’re not doing what you want to do right? You’re doing what he wants. Let him go and be with me. Just be with me.”

“I want us to be carefree and happy.” Your lips ghosted over his as you spoke.

—

Tags: @xscarlett-rosex | @hoeposey | @mrsnegan25 | @astrobabezblog | @joesliebgott

[shi-daisy]

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Yet again we've arrived at Ulquihime week! Gotta confess I'm not much of a Christmas person but I do look forward to December for my OTP week. Everyone puts so much love and effort into their entries that it's hard not to be excited. Okay so today's theme is Crossover and I wanted to pick something that wasn't likely to be repeated by someone else, so leave it to my nostalgic mind to go 'What about a Winx Club crossover?' Thus here we are! This little one-shot is based on one of my fave childhood shows and one of the first villain ships I ever had. (Yes, my 10-year-old self hardcore shipped Darkar & Bloom) 😅 Hope you like it! (Spoilers for some aspects of season 2 of Winx Club. I'm taking from the 4kids version of the show and Nickelodeon special btw. And some mild spoilers for the second movie.)

Also for those who do know the winx cast and want to know who is who in the crossover here it is.

Orihime- Bloom

Ulquiorra- Darkar/Avalon

Tatsuki- Stella

Shizuka- Layla

Ichigo- Prince Sky

Isshin- Errendor

Sora- Daphne

Unohana- Faragonda

Okay now that's all set, here's the fic!

@ulquihimeweek​

Ulquihime Week- Day 1 Crossover

The Phoenix and the Dragon

Orihime awoke in a dimly lit room. She didn't remember much, just going into Professor Schiffer's office and then...'And then he changed and turned into the Phoenix.'

"I can sense you. Just come out of the shadows already." She muttered.

Ulquiorra obliged, no longer looking like a human but in his true form as the Shadow Phoenix.

To her he didn't look much different, his skin was paler but his other features remained the same. He had large dark wings and a tail, along with tear markings.

"I should've known it was you. We get warmed about a Shadow Phoenix and next thing we know a new professor shows up at our school."

He chuckled. "Yes well, that didn't occur to you as we bonded, Ms. Inoue."

She lowered her head in shame. Since Ulquiorra arrived at Alfea he had become her favorite teacher, and even offered to teach her about her home kingdom, Sparx, which had been destroyed when she was just a baby.

"Is that why you brought me here? To taunt me?!"

"No, darling. I have other plans for you. Or should I say us?"

"I'll never collaborate with you!"

"You say that now, but you might change your mind after I explain my plans to you."

She frowned, but at the moment there was nothing she could do. Orihime sighed. "Fine. I suppose I can listen to you for a while."

"I appreciate it. First I must ask you something. What do you know about me, Orihime Inoue? Who do you think I am?"

"Headmistress Retsu told us you were once human. That you came to the underealm to try and find the shadow fire, but that it's power consumed you and that now you're seeking to take over the magic universe.

I also know that you came to our school and posed as a professor until now..."

"The headmistress is a wise woman, studious too since she appears to know my origins well, the one commonly excepted that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Indeed, I was once human, that I came here to study the Shadow Fire, but it's power didn't overtake me. For you see, I willingly submitted to it. I'm the one in control, always have been. And while I do wish to take over the magic dimension it is not for my own gain."

"Why else would you want to take over?"

"I want this dimension to change. I want to tear down the structures that bind its kingdoms. I've wanted that since I was a human.

You see, darling, the structures of this dimension are so very ancient and so very obsolete. The squabbles between kingdoms have led to so much war, to destruction, to sadness... Just look at what happened to Sparx."

"My kingdom was destroyed by the ancient witches. Not by war."

"You're right, but your kingdom had a close ally. An ally that should've saved you from the witches, yet instead bargained to have them take your kingdom and spare them. The king of Eraklyon made said bargain."

Orihime grew dizzy. 'No, no it can't be! Ichigo's father wouldn't do that! This is a lie!"

"You think I'm lying, don't you?"

"Of course you're lying! King Isshin wouldn't do that, neither would Ichigo!"

"Analyze the situation, darling. Eraklyon was your closest ally, and yet they didn't suffer any damage as Sparx was destroyed. Your parents vanished, your brother died saving you, your planet is now an icy wasteland. Yet Eraklyon stands as the richest land in Magix. As for your little prince, he was merely a child when this took place, but I don't doubt he'd keep it a secret from you, he has done so before."

Orihime felt as if her skin was catching fire. She hated to be reminded of that lie, to think back when Ichigo had hidden his royal lineage and engagement to a princess. She'd forgiven him, of course, and they were a couple once again, but deep inside she still distrusted him. And a part of her did think Ulquorra's words were true.

'Maybe that's why his father disapproved of us. Not because I'm a princess of a destroyed kingdom, but because my kingdom's destruction was partly his fault...'

"You see, darling. That's only one example of plenty I can give you. All of these realms need someone truly wise to rule them."

"Even if I believed you, that doesn't mean I'll join you. I don't want to kill anyone."

"Who said anything about killing? There are plenty of ways to dethrone a ruler. That's what I crave to do darling. Imagine it, a dimension without destroyed kingdoms, without arranged marriages, without squabbles for the throne. We'd be the only rulers, the royals would be our regents, they'd have to abide by what we demand."

Ulquiorra's eyes glowed green as he spoke. She had seen him like that before in his humanoid form. His eyes always sparkled as he thought her class about History and asked them to be part of the change.

"Ulquiorra, I think it's wonderful that you're trying to make the universe better, but I fail to see why would want me to join you. I'm no leader."

Orihime felt Ulquiorra's cold hand gently lift her chin. "Orihime, you're the only person I've ever met worthy of wearing such a crown.

The reason I posed as a teacher at Alfea wasn't to further my plans, or to steal the codex but to observe you. In just a few months you made such great progress that I couldn't help but be convinced you were worthy of sharing my crown, of carrying the dragon flame, of ruling over Magix.

You came from Earth yet quickly adapted to this dimension, to its power and its costumes. You're kind, fierce, strong, I couldn't ask for a better queen."

He noticed Orihime's pale skin turn bright red, and her sliver eyes grow misty. "No one's ever really praised me like that. Thank you."

He smirked. "I'll be sure to do so more often in the future then."

With a snap of Ulquiorra's fingers, her bounds disappeared. Orihime stood up, directly facing Ulquiorra.

He took her hands in his and directly stared into her eyes, silver meeting emerald. "Orihime Inoue, will you join me in my quest to bring peace and order to the magic dimension?"

It wasn't easy, she didn't want to leave her friends, her school, or even Ichigo. Even after what she learned it felt wrong to vanish without a word.

'But it must be done. Tatsuki-chan will be free to choose who she marries, Nemu-san won't be forced to follow the path her father wants for her, Shizuka-chan won't have to take the throne of the harmonic nebula...even Ichigo would now be free to make his own choices. This would be for the best.'

With a beautiful smile and newfound determination, Orihime finally responded. "Yes, I will."

"Then it is done, our power is now bound."

She could feel a surge of dark magic taking over, but it wasn't unpleasant. Her characteristic blue fae dress was now black and her fairy wings had turned grey. Orihime also noticed Ulquiorra's form slightly changed, his dark wings now had accents of green and he resembled his humanoid form a little more.

"It's the bond." He told her after noticing her confusion. "Light cannot exist without dark and vice versa. As such my darkness had to take some of your light and your light had to take some of my darkness."

Shadow Fire & Dragon Fire were united at last. Orihime was certain that now she and Ulquiorra would be unstoppable. 'We'll fix everything soon.'

"What shall we do now?"

"Since I've acquired all the pieces of the codex, I was thinking we could go to the Relix dimension. Your parents might've vanished there after the destruction of Sparx."

"My parents...I never thought it'd be possible to reach them."

"It is, my darling. We'll bring them back and then return Sparx to its former glory. After that, we can finally reshape the magic dimension into what it should've been from the beginning."

For the first in a long while, Orihime felt like she was doing things right. It would take her friends some time to forgive her, but she knew in time she would join them again. 'I'm doing this for all of us. For me, and for him.'

She gently kissed Ulquiorra's cheek, he blushed at the gesture. "I was not expecting that."

"I'm still a little miffed at you for pretending to be a professor but if we're to be in harmony as rulers this is a good place to start."

"Then I guess I should do my part too."

Ulquiorra wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a passionate kiss. Orihime quickly blushed and playfully shoved him as he let go of her.

"Show off."

"Guilty as charged."

"Y'know, I remember seeing paintings back on earth with dragons and phoenixes together as a couple. Do you think that was a prediction?"

"It could be, after all, the most enduring romances are likely to echo through many universes."

[mikurulucky]

Holy shit, the details in the ENA shorts...

The whole look of Ena’s world gives off so many weird nostalgic vibes for me. Like, it feels like those weird mid 90s edutainment games that had Macromedia’s logo plastered onto the credits (a LOT of edutainment pc/mac games from then were made on Macromedia Director and their file formats were basically related to Shockwave which was related to Flash).

The music reminds me partly of the MIDI music from pc games at the time, and partly of Earthbound and some of the surrealist aspects remind me a little of LSD Dream Emulator.

The pixel dithering used throughout both Extinction Party and Auction Day is a near perfect approximation of the dithering methods used in 90s pc games right down to the color choices for it, the animation style reminiscient of the many Quicktime fmv’s that could’ve only be programmed on a freaking 90s Macintosh, even the font screams old school Macintosh.

Most modern pixel art recreates the more polished methods and looks of early 90s MS-DOS games or the graphics of the SNES, or in-game Playstation graphics if more colors and less saturated palettes are used. But FMV graphics are a wild card, but tend to be more consistent in the simplified cartoony cinematics in budget games directed at kids, sometimes with some odd color choices when 3D backgrounds and assets are involved as opposed to hand painted backdrops, considering we’re dealing with a palette of 256 colors.

And I could go on about the varying audio quality in the dialog, which was EVERYWHERE in 90s gaming considering CDs and floppy disks could only carry so much audio data at the time, so you had to bitcrush a LITTLE bit, but some games, you could notice a change in quality in various parts. I’ll just leave it at that though, this is getting WAY too long.

In short, I feel like Joel G and the people who collab’d with him went above and beyond with these aspects of the ENA shorts’ overall aesthetic and atmosphere. It feels both incredibly surreal and weird and yet oddly nostalgic in a roundabout way, making one think of all the strange computer games we used to play as little kids.

[recentanimenews]

How the Composer of Liz and the Blue Bird Used Math Equations to Write a Soundtrack

This interview was originally published by Ricky Soberano on November 7, 2018

This article is part of Crunchyroll News' KyoAni Month celebration. Check out the rest of our KyoAni features HERE.

  Liz and the Blue Bird is not a typical anime spin-off film. An off-shoot of Sound! Euphonium, the film offers a different aesthetic, different tone, even a different set of protagonists than the main series. Liz explores the intimate and delicate inner worlds of two girls, Mizore and Nozomi, who were secondary characters in Euphonium. The world of this film is one built with small gestures, the sounds that fill an empty room, and, of course, a lovingly crafted soundtrack. This wasn't composer Kensuke Ushio's first time collaborating with director Naoko Yamada–the two worked together on A Silent Voice two years prior–and the connection between the two creators is electric. Soundtracks are commonly associated with the word "accompaniment," something that supplements rather than complements the rest of a work, but Ushio was involved with Liz in a much deeper way, down to shaping the very themes of the film with Yamada. 

  Ushio's score makes prominent use of the piano, but as you listen other sounds come to the forefront — shoes upon pavement, hands striking the top of a desk, the clinking of science classroom beakers–through these sounds an entire world blooms around us. Visuals and narrative can only show us what happens in specific segments of time, but the use of these everyday sounds pulls us into the world. It's easier to feel what it's like to spend every day at Kitauji High School. Ushio's soundtrack and Yamada's film work together to weave a world of light and sound, a place that feels at once real yet too delicate to ever enter. At Anime Expo 2018, I had the privilege of meeting and talking with Ushio about his work on Liz and the Blue Bird.

  Liz and The Blue Bird marks your second collaboration with director Naoko Yamada. Could you explain how your working relationship began?

  So I was doing solo work in Japan and Yamada just happened to hear my music. She became a fan. She reached out to me to collaborate together.

  Were you a fan of Yamada-san’s work before as well?

  Yes, I was.

  For whatever it's worth, here's Naoko Yamada posing with Kensuke Ushio, composer of Koe no Katachi. pic.twitter.com/9oQQZqt0oR

— Nachi-sama (@NaChiKyoTsuki97) November 11, 2017

  I’ve read that you were closely involved from the very beginning with forming the core themes of Liz and the Blue Bird which is a bit unusual for a composer of anime. Could you describe the level of involvement you had in the planning of the film with Ms. Yamada?

  We discussed things before the storyboards or even the music was made so we had that talk about core themes as opposed to other composers. They would normally add the music towards the beginning of the production. Myself and Yamada-san, we discussed and planned everything out before we went into producing both the storyboards and composing the music. I loved creating a core concept.

    Could you talk a little bit more about the themes of disjoint and coprime?

  So one of the core themes for the movie’s sound was a story about two girls who are together at first but slowly drift apart as things go along so we’d like to address how that happens and what leads to it.

  The way that the idea of coprime works is that you have two series that starts with an integer — for example, four and five. They’re very close at first but as you go further along in the series, they get farther and farther away. That’s one of the reasons we thought the idea of coprime would fit into the context of the story itself.

  That’s really beautiful.

From the sound of footsteps being used as percussion in a song to the noise of classroom objects folding into the background music, ambient sound plays a special role in this film. How did you capture all of these noises and what was your purpose in leaving them in every part of the film?

  One of the things that we thought when applying all of this is that we didn’t want people to realize or understand the idea that these girls were slowly drifting apart from each other just because it’s such a sad occurrence. That was one of the core parts as well when we were planning out how to do and use the sound effects.

  We also wanted to show that there was no one else around in the world. It was just those two girls. There wasn’t really anyone else to help or support or anything like that.

  One of the main ideas that was always in my head while making the soundtrack was to use only the objects that they could actually see, such as in the tables and desks in the classroom, and the seats, even the beakers in the science rooms and all of that sort of stuff. We went to the actual school that the film is based on and we went around to all of the objects just to get all of the sounds and make it even more authentic.

    For what it’s worth as a viewer, it really brought me into the world, the very small world of these characters. You and Yamada worked with sound director, Yôta Tsuruoka on A Silent Voice and are together again for this film. Could you explain Tsuruoka’s role and how he affected the sounds of Liz and the Blue Bird?

  So for us, Tsuruoka is 20 or so years older than us. He is always someone we can rely on — someone that gives their all in that perspective — so for us personally his presence was something that allowed us to go ahead with what we needed to do and if anything came ever up, we could rely on him to help us out. He is a really, really great person. I love him.

    There are numerous times in Liz and the Blue Bird where the music and imagery invoke a nostalgic, difficult to describe sentiment. With such hard to describe abstract feelings, how did you and Yamada make sure that you were both on the same page for the emotional feelings of the movie?

  So, the fact that we’re very close in age and grew up enjoying the same sort of music ... that helped us stay on the same wavelength during the projects. Our similarities just ensured that we were always really close in mindset. We can talk about over ten years of music that we both enjoy. It’s a really cool thing. I thought we united and bonded.

  As for the soundtrack's sheet music itself, we made that through a process called decalcomania (note: an art technique where paint or ink is pressed into a folded paper to create symmetrical designs) which the way we’ve made that, is a way of representing how the two girls, that sort of disjoint between them and that gradual separation. We took that and used that as the base for the soundtrack as well so that’s one of the reasons why it ended up with such a nostalgic tone to it.

  Some of the sheet music created using decalcomania.

  Within the decalcomania you’ll see different objects represented by different colors, the beaker, the piano, the desk scraping sound. For example, the footsteps are synchronized to the music. The footsteps had an actual tempo. The tempo is 99, 100, 101. These are coprime numbers. The footsteps tempo is always a coprime number but also we slightly moved the tempo because we are humans and not robots, so we can't perfectly match it. So, at the very end of this film, you saw this lovely on-screen situation — I cannot remember the tone but for a second the footsteps are completely synced. Just the footsteps. This was so unexpected, even for me, hearing that the footsteps ended up in sync together. It felt like a genuine miracle that that happened. It was a joint moment.

    The disjoint becomes joined. I know that Liz and the Blue Bird just released recently but do you and Naoko Yamada have any plans to work together in the future?

  I hope so! After finishing A Silent Voice, we thought "we can do more." This is a result. After finishing Liz and the Blue Bird, we thought again, "we can do more."

  Beautiful. One more thing: Do you have anything you’d like to say to the fans of you and Yamada’s work in the West?

  The reason why I think Liz and the Blue Bird is entertaining is maybe because ... you’re crying. I think it’s a really nice story so I hope you like it.

After I saw this film, after the production was finished, I cried. But I cannot find the words to express myself. I wasn’t able to understand myself what I was feeling — sadness or despair — but at the same time, I did sort of understand what was being felt in the first place. I’m hoping fans abroad will be able to go through that same experience. Maybe realize something that they haven’t before.

    Cayla Coats is the Editor-in-Chief of Crunchyroll News. She tweets @ceicocat

Interview by Cayla Coats, additional contributions by Ricky Soberano.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[shewrites02]

An Oakland Summer | Erik Killmonger x Black Reader

AN: So I can’t find the post that inspired the story but as you read it many will know exactly which one I’m talking about. If anyone could link the post or tag the blog I would greatly appreciate it. Also this is super rough I just wanted to put something out to get the creative jucies flowing, please tell me what you think and if a pt.2 is in order 

Summer always seemed hotter in the hood than in the suburbs. Like the heat every thug toated seemed to contribute to the tempature. Like every hot bullet put into a black child's chest warmed up the block just a little bit more. And lord knows with school out , and trouble so easily found on these streets, bodies dropped every day... At least thats what mama would tell me and my brothers every June.

But she wasn't home very much. Was always out working one of her three jobs so she left it up to my older brothers, Trell and Myles, to watch out for me. That usually consisted of dragging me to the basketball courts, so they could tell mama they were watching me when really they were arguing over fouls and jump balls.

"We got next!" Erik announced as he walked onto the court.

"Aye, E what's good nigga? We ain't seen you in a hot minitue." Myles shouted as he daped him up. Wide smiles graced their faces.

"You Know how it goes." Erik mumbled as he went to dap up the rest of the boys on the court.

Around here 'you know how it goes' was usually a euphemism for 'I've been selling on the corner'. but no one ever focuses too much on it. Here selling dope was a rite of passage, making boys into men. Word around here was Erik was saving up to go to M.I.T in the fall. A thug with a cause was the term used by most.

The boys played a couple games, before deciding the sunset meant it was time to go home. When the game wrapped up trell invited Erik over.

"There's a block party, my unc is hopping on the grill. Mommas first day off since school let out so you know she cooking. everyone supposed to be there."

It didn't take much to persuade him, especially after the mention of free food. The four of us, along with everyone else that lived on our street, headed toward our house. The sound of old school R&B and rap increased in volume the closer we got. You could smell the Bar-B-Que all the way at the basketball courts, givng us another reason to come home.

Once we reached the house everyone dispersed. Majority of the younger kids ran off to play in the broken hydrant that spewed water all down the streets and the slip n slides some had set up in their front yards, while the older kids headed straight to the grill to make their plates. Me, my brothers, and Erik went to greet my mom.

"Oh Erik, How are you?" My mom exclaimed as she embraced him into a tight hug.

I couldn't help the contorted and confused look on my face as she did so. I Barely knew this kid let alone my mother knowing him so where this affection came from, I had no idea. Maybe it had something to do with the three empty twisted teas that sat infront of her seat at the domino table.

"I'm Good Ms. Robin."

My mother ran her fingers through the loose tinderls of hair that escaped Erik's bun while he was playing basketball. A clear expression of dismay painted on her face as she pursed her lips.

"Oh Hunny, we gotta do something about this hair!"

"I know, I've been looking for someone to twist it Ms. Robin but don't nobody wanna do it for me!"

I chuckled. I may not know much about Erik, but I do know that any girl on this block would be dying at the opprotunity to touch that boy's hair, he was just very selective about who he chose to deal with.

"Oh CoCo will do it!" She oh so cheerfully exclaimed as she grabbed my hand to pull me in between the two of them.

"You twist?" He inquired

I shrugged.

He looked over me, his teeth biting his bottom lip ever so slightly. Sweat still glistened on his forehead although the sun wasn't shinning bright anymore. It was as if he were trying to determine if I were worthy enough to touch his precious hair.

"Ight."

Erik sat between your leg, his elbows rested lighlt on your thighs. He wrestled with sparking his blunt before finally the blue flame singed the end of the rolling paper. With one hit you could feel Erik's body relax into yours. He extended is arm above his head, now aligning the blunt perfect with your field of view.

"You smoke?"

You politely declined but told him to go ahead, and with no hestiation he took another hit. You freed his hair from the very sloppily thrown up ponytail it was in, allowing his dreads to fall where they may and move as the wind blew by. You rubbed his scapl astonished at not only how moisturized and soft his hair was, but how long he had allowed himself to go without a retwist. With a hesitant sigh, you dipped into your jane carter nourish & shine and begin to twist his hair.

For a while yall just sat in comfortable silence. Enjoying the blaring of old school R&B hits from a couple houses down. At some point you even caught Erik humming along to Bel Biv Devoe's Poison. Yall watched the neighboor hood kid's play in their front yards with water hoses and slip n slides and every couple of minutes or so you would hear the beakon of a mother calling her kids inside.

"You ever miss that... being that young?" You inquired totally enamerd at the pure joy that was so clearly painted on all these kids faces. truth be told it had been a while since you had really felt that. Something about it was all very nostalgic.

You could tell Erik had been caught off guard by your question. As he should be. Afterall isn't wasn't like yall were best friends or even friends at all. You were just who retwisted his hair for him.

"Nah." His voice only slightly above a whisper. It made it difficult to make out over the loud squeals and laughs of the children. His body had tensed a little, even despite being more than halfway through his blunt. "I ain't really had that."

He hit his blunt again, this time taking a longer swig than usual. You could tell by his shift in body languge and the dart of his eyes, his childhood wouldn't be a topic of discussion. You allowed the two of you to slip into yet another bit of comfortable silence as the song 'racks in the middle' filled the street.

You lightly rapped the words beneath your breath. Something about Nipsey Hussle always hit different with you. Like you felt his words deeper than just in your heart, you felt it in your bones.

"You a Nip fan?" Erik chuckled some, clearly astonished at your little prefromance.

"Ain't everybody in Californina?"

"You right. You Right."

You twisted the last of Erik's dreads and placed them back up in a neat bun. He let out a small grunt as he stood up then dropped his blunt to the ground stepping on it.

"Aye, nigga you killing the earth!" You protested. Demanding that he pick what was left of his blunt up and dispose of it properly.

Erik laughed, although he thought it was ridiculous he heard the passion and dared not to threaten it. He picked up the blunt and tossed it into the trash that was a few steps away.

"NIp got you feeling like you can save the world?" He teased.

"Naw you got that when you graduate M.I.T." You joked back.

Erik craked a slight smile, almost like it had been a while since he was able to freely speak with no one having certain expectations of him. He bent down a placed a small gentle kiss on your lips all while sliding a 50 in you back pocket.

"Stay up." He mumbled, giving you a wink as he wiped his bottom lip with the back of his hand, and walking away.

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy  @lostennyc @https://lostennyc.tumblr.com/

[heathendolan]

Little Luke McIver (G.D)

Summary: Kindergarten teacher Grayson Dolan is the only one who can crack the shell of Luke McIver, your newest case in social work. So you’ll need him to stick around.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone, this is again a newer branch for me; it’s mainly focused on the relationship between (y/n) and luke and then luke and grayson instead of being complete romance. if that isn’t for you, i totally get it!!! but it was again fun to step out of my comfort zone and try something. extended author’s note

Warnings: PLEASE READ!!! child abuse, social work, a little bit sad. if any of this bothers you PLEASE don’t read, i really did my research to be as precise as i could be!! but it could still be triggering !!!!!

Word Count: 15.2K+ || masterlist

It hadn't changed a bit.

There, a hundred yards away, stood your beloved elementary school in its glory: chipping paint, rusted sign, and all. You weren't one to deny yourself of a smile. It had been eons since you'd visited this place, but it was still nostalgic and vivid and bursting with memories; you'd hardly stepped foot on the property and you'd already spotted the pole Caleb VanDyke stuck his tongue to in third grade.

You crept up the sidewalk with your binder tucked under your arm, hopped about in your heels, and narrowly dodged the forbidden obstacles--cracks--etching the dull pavement. Along the sidewalk were mementos, engraved and painted in the cement, dating all the way back to the early 1980s. It was tradition for the kindergarteners to add their addition with their teeny, tiny, creative brains, and you nearly gasped when you stumbled upon your own handprint, embedded near the benches, basking in the hot August sun. You slumped down to your knees and flattened your hand (now ginormous in comparison) to the shallow crater and marveled. Marveled at how quickly twenty years had slipped on by without you ever noticing the size of your hands.

"Crazy, innit?"

You jumped to your full height, wobbled under the instability of your heels, and smoothed out your pencil skirt with dusty hands. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you turned to face your attacker.

"Jeez Hun, I didn't mean to scare you!" the lady cried, pressing a hand to her heart and enveloping you with the other.

"Mrs. Hoffmann! Oh my god, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, don't apologize, that was completely my fault!"

"No, seriously, I am so jumpy that I just-"

At once, you both realized how unnecessarily kind and apologetic you were being and huffed a chuckle. "My, how you've grown," she simpered, cupping your face between two hands before tugging you into one of her famous bear hugs. You smiled into her shoulder and realized she hadn't changed that much, either; you'd seen her all throughout high school when she popped by the boutique you had worked at, and aside from a few more pairs of crow's feet and some greying roots, she was practically untouched, well into her late forties. She was kind and had a heart twice the size of anyone you'd ever met. And she was beautiful; she always had been. "You're so old now," she said. "Making me feel like some ancient ruin."

You giggled and shook your head. "Not a chance, you're still kickin'! It's going to be so weird counseling little mini-me's," you gushed, wrapping your arms around yourself. You stared at your feet and smirked at the handprints of classmates you'd graduated with. "I feel like I should still be wearing light-up sketchers, not these... death traps," you laughed, kicking your heel up.

She chuckled and slipped her arm around you and escorted you into the entryway. Almost instantly, your brain bloomed with memories upon memories upon memories. "Do you know where you're going, Honey?" she asked as the two of you pulled up to a fork.

You nodded and waved her goodbye with a promise to catch up soon, and then dashed away, beelining for your office.

Your office. What a phrase.

There, you frowned at the blankness, the blandness, the bareness of the walls and decided two things: one, that you had to redecorate this cell, and two, that you would be the best elementary counselor this world had ever seen.

-

Easier said than done.

"Luke, hi!" you cheered as Cory, Principal Larson, coaxed a boy, maybe five years old, into your office.

A few weeks had passed and your job, so far, had been less than flashy. You'd resolved tearful playground disputes and consoled cafeteria tantrums and, well, not much else. It was a blur of meetings, hissy fits, and really bad school coffee. You'd made a mental note to buy your own Keurig.

But Luke was different, and you could see that right away.

Cory hung in the doorway, nearly barricading Luke in as the kid fought his way around the large man. Luke already had tears sprung in his eyes, a pitiful frown, and an overall, seemingly permanent, aura that oozed with fear. His tiny hands were fisted by his sides and his curls dangled protectively over his big doe eyes and something painful, something piercing, poked at your heart when you realized Luke needed your help a lot more than any of those kids on the playground. Luke really, really needed your help.

So, you bounced out of your chair and scurried over to Luke and bent at knee level and swept a warm hand over his shoulder. "Hey Luke, can we talk for a little? Not too long, I promise" you pleaded softly, hoping to catch his eye. But Luke was staring at the floor, blankly, stubbornly. And a tear rolled off his nose. "I've got it from here, Mr. Larson," you whispered, nodding up at Cory.

You held onto Luke's hand as you shut the door, careful to make sure he didn't just bolt right out. "Wanna sit in the beanbag?" you smirked, thumbing to the cushy, plump seat tucked in the corner. It was every kid's favorite. Luke looked at it longingly before shaking his head, hopping on the rigid desk chair far, far away from you, and staring at the ground again.

Luke was small. Smaller than most of his class, you'd assumed, with his skeletal arms and equally skinny legs. He wore a grey Power Rangers shirt that practically dwarfed him and brown cargo pants that rode up his ankles. His shoes were a dull, gunky yellow with dozens of holes and, from the looks of it, Luke's feet were bare of socks. Luke was textbook poor.

And poor-spirited, it seemed as well. You'd seldom seen a kid so quiet. You were so busy studying him you'd hardly realized minutes had passed on the clock without a single word exchanged. No, Luke just sat there, cowering under your gaze, staring at the ground. Luke was well practiced in the art of silence.

And that just wasn't okay, nor was it natural. Kids had technicolor brains bursting with imagination and creativity and words. Kids would scream and shout and run amuck and yell; kids would talk--if you let them.

"Luke," you began, fumbling for words that could fill the dreary silence that suffocated your office. "Luke, what's your favorite color?"

Luke looked up at you with his big doe eyes and a quivering lip and sat on his hands. He kept looking at you, tears in his eyes, tremor in his jaw, and stared. Stared for minutes. Stared for hours, it felt like. You weren't going to rush him, Luke should take as long as he wanted.

But then he was sniffling, and a pitched, strangled whimper echoed from his mouth and you wondered how you could possibly fix this.

C'mon, you went to school for this. Speak!

"Luke, wanna know something cool?" you asked, leaning over the desk as he tucked in on himself. "This room? It's the safest place in the world."

To that, Luke's cries cut off. He was now just staring at you with his big, big brown eyes and waiting.

"I'm serious, this place is protected," you nodded.

In the smallest, most broken voice, Luke asked, "From what?"

You smiled your kindest smile and said, "Can you keep a secret?" He looked to either side of him, made sure the coast was clear before he nodded. "Luke, this place is protected by magic," you whispered. "Fairies and wizards. Swear," you said. Luke's doe eyes got even rounder. "So we can tell secrets and no one will find out. Soundproof," you explained with confidence, knocking on the wall theatrically. "Which is why I can give you this, and nobody will ever know."

You dug in your drawer and pulled out a sucker and tossed it his way, watching as he marveled at the little treat plopped in his lap. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/L/N)..." Luke breathed, stuffing the candy in his pocket.

"You can call me (Y/N)," you grinned. "But only my friends get to call me (Y/N), okay?"

Luke nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

With the full understanding that these things take time, that Luke needed space--and by the looks of it, a lot of space--and that he would work his way up to trust, you asked, "Luke, can I see you in a couple days? Would that be okay?"

Luke didn't answer, he simply leaped from his chair and darted out the door, and left you with a low, low spirit.

-

"Hey," Cory mumbled, tapping on your door. "Get 'im to crack?"

You grimaced and shook your head. "No, I didn't. It's going to take time--and I mean time. He hardly breathes in the same room as me," you groaned, digging your fingers into your scalp. "Scares me to think about what might be going on at home."

Cory sighed. “Yeah, the kid’s a little... I mean, the teachers notice it, you know? I know you know, you’ve dealt with this stuff before,” Cory shrugged, frowning at his polished shoes.

But you hadn’t dealt with this stuff before. You were fresh out of your master’s with minimal experience. Your internship was borderline bogus.

“Yeah, I don’t know, stuff never gets easier,” you mumbled.

And that wasn’t entirely a lie. You imagined you’d feel the same way about Luke as any of the other kids whose shells needed cracking, whose homes needed relocating. No one wanted to deal with this stuff, this heartbreak of a job. But someone had to.

“Just... keep me updated, alright? Let me know if you need help with anything,” Cory said. “And I’ll let Luke’s teachers know what’s going on. I mean, it’s only kindergarten but you never know what tricks Mr. Dolan is pulling,” he chuckled, smirking to himself.

A thick glob of spit lodged itself in your throat at the mention of a ‘Mr. Dolan’, and you began coughing and wheezing and making a scene at once.

Growing in a town that size with a family as known as the Dolans were, there were only two possibilities for who ‘Mr. Dolan’ could be. Grayson, and Grayson.

You’d hardly been keeping tabs, but Ethan had boomed as a traveling photographer and Cameron was most definitely not a ‘Mr.’, and Sean was still the superintendent of the district (and had hired you). And, unless there was a new clan of Dolans in town, ones that weren’t half as gorgeous, you were very, very stressed.

You hadn’t seen Grayson since a small town, Christmas-break party. Limited interaction was how you liked it; Grayson made you (and the rest of the Long Valley population) clutzy, stuttery, and blushy—a few of your least favorite things to be.

It was nothing more than the fact that Grayson was gorgeous. And kind. And so, so polite. Every mom spent their Sundays praying their daughters would woo him and their sons would follow in his golden boy footsteps. He was Long Valley’s most beloved and there was no shame in admitting that you had also fallen victim to his spell; everyone loved Grayson, and that was that. But of course, that fucker picked something as absolutely adorable as Kindergarten education.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay? Here, drink some water,” Cory urged, patting your back and sliding you your water bottle.

Red in the face, you hacked before saying hoarsely, “All good.”

Not all good.

-

"Mrs. Hoffmann, hi!" you cried, stepping into the coffee shop and greeting her with a hug. She buried you in the warmth of he fur-lined parka and you accepted it with appreciation; this October had been particularly chilly in New Jersey with its barren trees and its frosted lawns, and cold meant the need for, well, coats. Your thoughts drifted back to little Luke McIver with his Power Rangers shirt and his brown cargo capris and his canary yellow, many-holed shoes. He needed a hug from Ms. Hoffmann and her big parka.

"Ugh, how are the roads?" she asked conversationally. "Are they slippery? This morning it was just pouring, I'm almost afraid it'll freeze over."

You nodded along. "No, yeah they were slippery. I nearly drifted pulling into Cozy Corner just now," you expounded, pointing to the entrance near the coffee shop.

She shook her head with disgust. "Guess you can't hope for a late winter here in Jersey. I'll for sure be getting a pumpkin spice latte with this weather."

And so, you sat down with your mugs in hand and huddled in the overstuffed loveseat and chatted for hours about the new boutique that had popped up on fifth street and the old bowling alley being torn down. She was, without a doubt, one of the kindest people you'd ever met: she bought your coffee and tipped 50%, offered up her coat as a blanket for the two of you, and complimented your very lazy outfit. This was no surprise to you; this woman was magical, and you'd known it since you were five. It felt like an honor to even sit and chat.

"So, I have to ask and I don't mean to offend, promise," she started. "but what exactly are you? Like, at the school? Do you work outside of the school too? I feel like such a loon, but I've really fallen out of the times-"

"Ms. Hoffmann, please," you snorted, laying a hand on her forearm that was dancing all about.

"And would you quit calling me Ms. Hoffmann! Call me Nancy, Honey."

"Okay, Nancy," you giggled. "I went to school and got my masters in counseling psychology and a bachelor's in social work. So, I work as both in the school. So, if a student were to be dealing with mental health issues, I could, you know, help them out as any counselor would, but if their problems are stemming from their home life, well then I move about and-"

"Hun, you know I'm in the system, right?" she smiled gently.

"What? You're kidding," you gaped. "You're a social worker?"

"Well no," she laughed. "No, I double-majored in elementary education and social work and then when I got out, I decided I'd just be a teacher for awhile and get my feet on the ground, and then I fell in love with teaching. I absolutely love the kids and after I got tenured, I just... I never went back to fulfill that part of the degree. I kind of wonder sometimes, what it would have been like, but I've never regretted it. Of course, it would have been fun if Steve and I could have fostered some kiddos," she smiled sadly. "Or had some. But, things don't always work out in your favor, I guess."

Her eyes glassed over and she clasped her hands tightly under the coat, fisting a wad of the material. It was a tragedy what happened to the Hoffmanns; a few years into their marriage, Nancy miscarried once, then twice. There was only so much gift baskets and get well soon cards could do. She was lonely without kids, that much was obvious. You supposed being a kindergarten teacher was as good as it could have possibly gotten for a woman with her circumstances, but they always left after nine months and change. It wasn't the same.

You grabbed her hand from under the coat and rubbed a thumb over her knuckles.

She laughed breathlessly and said, "Not that- not that we should delve into something so cynical, I-"

You lifted a hand to her to stop her unnecessary apology. "Mrs. Hoffmann-"

"Nancy."

"Nancy, this is my job, being a shoulder to cry on. Never apologize to me for such a trivial thing as uncorking your emotions. We all need to, sometimes. Be my guest," you urged.

And she did. She talked about the ache to buy Christmas toys and back-to-school supplies, how she ached when she received graduation cards from past students and Christmas cards from past families. Ached when people told her to 'get a dog, it's basically the same thing.' Ached when Steve played with little ones and looked so natural, so right. Ached when students accidentally called her mom.

"You're so good at this," she sniffled, wiping her nose with her macaron's napkin. "The words just come pouring out, I haven't told anyone this stuff in years."

You nibbled on your lip, feeling that certain pride that comes with intimacy. "Sometimes I can crack shells, sometimes I can't," you admitted. "There's a student, and I just... can't get him to budge. Not an inch."

She frowned and patted your leg soothingly. "He'll come around. Kids are weird, sometimes," she giggled. "Like Grayson Dolan was telling me about this girl, Piper Conrad, just flopping on the carpet and making a snow angel in the middle of class and- why are you blushing?"

Heat was boiling your face at the mere mention of Grayson Dolan. It was pathetic. "Blushing? I'm not, I'm- this pumpkin spice is just really seasoned, the nutmeg in it is just-"

"Grayson Dolan," she gasped, piecing the bits together. "Oh (Y/N), tell me about it. That man's a hunk. Didn't you graduate with him? I get it, I really do; if he weren't half my age and miles out of my league and I wasn't married I would just-"

"Nancy!" you cried with laughter, shushing her confession. "Nancy, I don't like him. There's nothing there, he probably doesn't even know I exist, it's been like, seven years since I've seen him."

She smirked and nodded sardonically. "But he will. Just you wait until we have a workshop day, oh you are so-"

"I am so nothing! You pipe down, missy."

"Right," she laughed. "Well, let me buy you another coffee for your troubles, listening to this old hoot cry a hurricane, and let's head on out. I think the roads are going to freeze over, after all," she frowned as looked out the window. "Hopefully this latte will keep you warm in place of Mr. Dolan."

-

On Thursday, Luke was again seated in his rickety, uncomfortable chair in the back corner, far as far could be from you. He was wearing his brown too-short pants and his grey too-big Power Rangers shirt and his ochre too-many-holed shoes again. No socks, big brown eyes, and a raw bitten lip—Luke looked about as sad as you’d think.

“Luke, how have you been the past couple days?” you asked quietly, approaching the subject as gently as you’d approach a tortured animal.

Luke looked tired. And lost. And cold; New Jersey’s lawns were crisp with frost on that October morning with a thick mask of fog settling in the air, and the school had yet to crank the heat on in an effort to save money. Of course, this typically wasn’t a problem—most kids had jackets, or at least sweatshirts. You suspected that might be a problem for Luke.

Luke didn’t answer you.

“Luke?” you coaxed.

He tucked his lips under his teeth and clenched his tiny little jaw and visibly fought back tears.

And he sat like that for the whole hour. You would have sat there the whole day with Luke, waiting, pleading with him to let you help him, but Luke had lunch.

When the bell chimed, he hopped off his seat and dashed towards the door, but paused. “(Y/N)?” he whispered, his voice crackly and dry.

“Yeah, Luke?”

“Mommy said fairies don’t exist,” he sniffled, hand on the door handle. “Mommy said you lied to me.”

Your heart wrenched deep in your chest, the physical symptoms of heartbreak bustling within you. Luke looked at you with his big doe eyes and you looked back with all the sadness in the world and then, then you noticed.

You noticed that the collar of his oversized tee had slipped down to expose his shoulder, which had an enormous bruise. It was green and violet and nearly theatrical in size; it was nauseating, this bruise on little Luke’s shoulder.

With a shaking voice, you asked, “Luke, where’d you get-“

Luke beelined out of your office and into the hall. You scooted out of your chair and crept behind him, desperate to just get this one secret out. That would be all it took; one admission and Luke could live such a better life.

But as you rounded the corner, you found Luke wrapped around the leg of Grayson Dolan, sobbing profusely into his dress pants. Grayson had a hand on his head, ruffling the curls that dangled above his eyes with the most sympathetic of frowns. And then, Grayson ducked to eye level and enveloped Luke in a bear hug—one as gentle as himself—and nodded along with his warbles.

“Luke, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Grayson pleaded, searching the boy’s eyes.

Luke grabbed ahold of Grayson’s tie and buried his nose into his chest and shook his head. Luke then heaved a deep breath, scrubbed his eyes of well-deserved tears, and bounded off to the cafeteria, grey shirt flowing behind him.

And Grayson stood and watched him scamper all the way down the hall. And then Grayson rubbed at his eyes and turned back into his classroom and closed the door.

-

Luke was sobbing, absolutely bawling in his stiff, creaky chair, and you had absolutely no way to help.

And you felt like such an idiot, because you went to school for this damn it. Seven years of education in counseling psychology and your first patient wouldn't even talk to you after four sessions. But he was crying. And you were doing nothing.

Panic rose in your throat as you realized how useless, how absolutely incompetent you were sitting there, watching Luke wail in his seat. You'd tried; he had stumbled into your office by the guidance of Cory once more and promptly sobbed. You asked him gently, then firmly, why he was upset, what was wrong, how you could help but Luke was deaf to your pleads and questions.

With hardly any direction, you did something thoughtless. Completely, ridiculously senseless.

You hopped from your seat--abandoned Luke in your office--and sped to Grayson Dolan's room down the hall.

You weren't thinking (clearly), you were just doing, acting, hoping something, or someone, could tear down this child's indestructible walls. Because you hadn't stopped thinking about that bruise--that monstrous bruise--since you saw it, and you wanted him to get help. You wanted this kid to have all the love in the world.

So, you clacked down the hall in your heels and scampered up to Grayson's door, knocking tentatively and then urgently. From outside the door, you called, "Grays- Um, Mr. Dolan, I- I know this sounds crazy, but-"

The door swung open to reveal Grayson a pair of wide eyes and a slackened jaw. "(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? Is that-?"

"I really need you to just, just come with me," you begged, verging tears, grabbing ahold of his forearm and tugging him behind you.

Grayson stumbled behind you, his shoes slapping the linoleum, and rushed up to your side. "Damn, you can walk fast in those heels," he panted to your left. Panicky tears sprung in your eyes and you curled your hand into a fist tight, tight, and pinched yourself a painful distraction. "Hey, what's going on?" Grayson murmured, slow and deep and warm.

You scrunched your face unattractively and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I- Mr. Dolan-"

"(Y/N), it's me. Grayson," he muttered sternly, grabbing your arm and halting the two of you.

You pulled at his hand and said, "No, we need to keep going, I-"

"(Y/N)." he commanded, sternness wired hard in his voice.

You whined oh-so-pathetically and shook your head. "You're going to think I'm such an idiot because I can't do my own job, like I'm over here asking you to do my-"

"You work here?" Grayson asked with a knit in his brows.

With exasperation, you sighed, "Yes. Yes, I'm a counselor and Luke McIver is sitting in my office and-"

"Luke McIver?" Grayson breathed. Without hesitation or a need for any explanation at all, he encased his hand in yours and dragged you down the hall, wordless and worrisome. Tailing behind Grayson (who was obviously handling this much better than you were), you snuck into your office and watched with wonder as he folded himself smaller than Luke, who was still gasping for breaths.  Grayson tucked himself up by Luke's side, wrapped his hands around Luke's forearms and rubbed soft circles in his boney flesh, and said, "Take a deep breath, we aren't going anywhere."

Luke's jaw clamped shut and the last few tears rolled down his rosy cheeks and he nodded his head. Luke felt safe.

His eyes, as doe-ish as they typically were, were soft around the edges. They were usually pried wide; his eyelashes tickled the tops of his brow bones and his beautiful brown irises drowned in a sea of white. He looked alert, always, and his blinks were few and far between. Now, Luke just looked tired. Like he'd never had a chance to just relax. And vulnerable, too. In a good way.

Grayson smiled to him and Luke smiled back. "Luke, we need to talk to you, and we need you to talk to us," Grayson murmured, rubbing a hand down Luke's shoulder.

Luke nodded. Grayson peeked over his shoulder at you and gestured vaguely for you to join them in their little huddle, so you slipped next to Grayson and fell on your knees and left your hands in your lap, far away from Luke. You weren't going to push your luck.

"Luke, how did you get that bruise on your shoulder?" you asked softly.

Grayson grabbed ahold of Luke's shaking hands. Luke said, almost robotically, "I was on the monkey bars and-"

Grayson shook his head. "Luke, please don't lie to me."

Luke's lip quivered and his face crumpled and he collapsed on Grayson's shoulder, burrowed his head into the crook of his neck and cradled himself, let Grayson hold him and just cried. Cried like he deserved to, cried like he wanted to, cried like he had to. Cried so long you had to sneak into the main office and call for a substitute teacher for Grayson's kindergarten class. And that was okay. Luke needed this.

You slinked behind your desk and clicked your pen, dug out your notepad and waited. Waited for Luke to calm down and unfold himself for you--for Grayson.

"She doesn't like when I come here," Luke muttered into the cloth of Grayson's dress shirt.

"Come where, buddy?"

"(Y/N)'s," he whined. "I told her, I told her that it was protected by fairies and wizards and she- she hit me right- right here," Luke blubbered, tugging on his Power Rangers shirt and exposing the battered skin of his skeletal shoulder. Grayson's face fell even more, his eyes downward and his face low. "And she- she told me that- she told me that (Y/N) lied to me and she took my sucker and she stomped on it and- and- and-"

"Luke, is that the only time she's hit you?" Grayson whispered.

"No, Mr. Dolan."

Your throat bobbed with emotion as you scribbled down notes furiously. Your handwriting was godawful and your hand was cramping but you wouldn't stop writing this child's story for the world. Even if it really, really hurt.

"She doesn't like when I come to school, either. She said that- that I shouldn't get all this food and all this heat and that I don't need to be away from home for seven hours. And she-"

You shoved all that emotion down and took the validity out of his words and just wrote. Just wrote, detached and factually.

Grayson had to suck up all the tears, had to soak in all this tragedy first hand. Luke was staring at him like he had all the answers to the world, like Grayson could solve his problems with his bare hands. And Grayson had to act like he could.

After hours of cries and admissions and a whole lot of heartbreak, the final bell chimed in the hall. Grayson turned to you in question, a tear slipping from his eye.

"Luke, can you sit in here for just a second? Just a quick second, we'll be back," you asked, looking at the boy with a cautious smile.

He nodded and you slipped into the hall, beckoning Grayson as you went. Shutting the door as gently as you could, you turned to find Grayson with his head guarded by his hands, his shoulders shaking. "He can't go back," he croaked with a crack in his voice. He lifted his face and it was blotchy and red and tear streaked and he said, "He absolutely cannot go back to that monster."

"I know, I know," you muttered, staring at your heels. "I- I need to make some phone calls and talk to some foster cares around the-"

"No," Grayson interrupted, steel in his tone. "This kid needs someone he can trust. I'll take him."

You laughed in disbelief, shaking your head. "No, that isn't how this works. First, I have to call Morris County human services and have them head over to Luke's house and take his mom into custody, and then I have to go over to Morris County Human Services and find him a caretaker for the next 72 hours.”

"So what, we just drop this kid off? Leave him completely alone? I just told him we wouldn't go anywhere," Grayson growled, flaring his nose.

You pressed your hand to your face with frustration and sighed. "No, I- I couldn't do that to Luke. I don't think I can take him into custody for too long because I'm a conflict of interest, but I'll take him until we can get a judge to sign off on a permanent foster care or a-"

"Luke doesn't need a temporary family. Luke needs a home," Grayson hissed.

Irritation built in your chest and you pinned him with a hard glare. "Do you think I don't know that? How do you think these things work, Grayson, we just throw him into a house, no legal document, no nothing, and send him off?"

"Well, of course not, I don't know what-"

"You're right, you don't. I might not seem like I know what I'm doing, and you've been the best help, but I know what to do now," you spoke evenly. You reached for your office's door handle but Grayson flattened his hand against the wood.

"So what, you're just ditching me? I can't help Luke through this? Last time I checked, I was the only one who could get him to talk, (Y/N). And I just told him I wasn't going anywhere," Grayson fumed, his voice low and cold.

You glanced at your toes and let the wheels turn in your head, round and about, until you sighed and threw caution to the wind. "Okay. Listen, you can... you can come check on him later tonight at my place and whatnot, you can even come to the court hearing. But if he finds a new home, I don't- I can't promise anything, Grayson. This isn't up to me; if it were, I'd just give you the fucking kid."

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped a hand around your shoulder, warm and firm and big. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you muttered. "Here's my phone number... and my address..." you mumbled, rifling through the packet of notes you'd scribbled down while listening to Luke and tearing out a stray paper, jotting down both messily. "Now, I really need to get in there and make some phone calls."

-

There you stood, in Morris County Human Services, hand in hand with little Luke McIver. He was willing to hold your hand, which in itself was a feat, but distantly; the two of you were connected by the full lengths of your arms apart. He was staring at the kid's corner in the waiting room, watching an eight-year-old rumble around with dozens of colorful blocks longingly, frowning. Just as you were about to invite him to go play, a county social worker peeked their head out from the hallway. "Ms. (Y/L/N), come with me, please,"

You looked down at Luke and tugged on his palm, tilting your head towards the lady. "C'mon Luke," you encouraged, taking a step in her direction.

The two of you followed her into the narrow corridor, shuffling behind her as she led you past dozens of rooms. "Luke, you can take a seat in this room," she smiled, popping open a door. Inside was a room abundant with toys, games, and books galore. It was prismatic and bright and Luke looked at it with a glint in his big, big brown eyes and hurried inside. And then Luke plopped on a chair in the center of the room, sat all still, and the social worker shut the door before you could promise Luke that he could play with those toys.

"Ms. (Y/L/N), I'm Emily Bradshaw and I have some terrible news," she hushed, leading you down another hall, and then another, halting at a dead end in a secluded corner.

You weren't in the least surprised.

"Luke... has some bad luck, to put it lightly."

I know.

"There's no one we can put him in for custody. His dad's out of the picture, Uncle's a crack addict, Grandparents are dead, his other Uncle's in jail for felony charges and... well, we can't give him back to his mom, obviously. Not after what you told me," Emily murmured. "We don't have a single--and I mean, not a single--person available for this little guy."

You touched your forehead with heartbreak. "No siblings, right?"

"Nope."

"I- Emily, can I take him for the night then?" you asked, biting down on your lip nervously. "He's so fragile, Emily. He hardly trusts me, and it took weeks to get him to even talk in front of me. I don't want him with anyone else, he'll be absolutely scarred."

"(Y/N), I'm afraid you'll have to. Obviously, you can't take him longer than 72 hours, you're a-"

"Conflict of interest, I know. I- I'll look through the records and see if there's anyone in the system worth calling. This is just terrible," you breathed.

"You're telling me. I know this stuff happens all the time, but it never gets easier. God, poor kid," she whistled, scuffing her shoe on the linoleum floor. "You've got him until Monday, cause we can't collect him on Sundays. So, Monday at... 5:00 PM. Just- I know you don't need to be told, but just take care of him, okay? Kid's been through more than we know."

With that, the two of you walked your way back to Luke's playroom and knocked on the door, creaking it open. Inside, Luke sat on his stool, the room left completely as it was.

With a frown, you and Emily crept over to him and squatted to his level. "Luke, I'm going to take you to my house for the next couple days, is that okay?" you asked, tucking the bulk of your hair behind your ear.

He nodded, slipped off his chair, and grabbed your hand.

-

"Luke, just for tonight, we need to go get some PJ's for you, okay?" you offered, glancing in your rearview at Luke, who was strapped in the middle seat of your car.

"It's okay, I can sleep in this," Luke mumbled, playing with his fingers and glancing out the window. He was talking about his massive grey Power Rangers shirt and his teeny brown cargo pants.

You winced and stared at the road again. "Nope, we're getting you some super fuzzy PJs. And hot cocoa."

"What's hot cocoa?" Luke asked.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned in the mirror. "You'll have to wait and see, Luke."

Inside the store, you stood in the kid's section, ogling the quality of each fleece lined item. You surfed through nautica-inspired, dinosaur patterned, and hot-wheel styled pajamas, entirely lost on what Luke liked best.

"Luke, which design's your favorite?" you asked tentatively.

"It doesn't matter," Luke mumbled, not even bothering to look from where he sat in your shopping cart.

So you grabbed all of them. And a huge, sherpa blanket, and a set of socks and underwear, and then it dawned on you.

"Luke, we're getting you some new clothes, too."

Ignorant to his declines, you ransacked the whole department of hoodies, long enough pants, tees, and finally, a new pair of shoes. And then, you wheeled him to the checkout, paid, and left for home.

-

Maybe: Grayson: It's Grayson, I'm coming over.

You: Bring hot cocoa I forgot to buy some at the store.

Grayson: Okay. On my way!

Your house was oddly fit just for a kiddo. You'd know; you grew up in this house.

Your parents, after a few decades of living in a town as quaint as Long Valley, wanted a little more excitement and up-and-left to New York City once you dashed off to college. They used this house as a summer home, seeing as they'd paid it off, and spent their springs and falls and winters in the boisterous, cluttered metropolis of NYC. You'd only ever be willing to visit.

It wasn't that you hated the city, no, most certainly not. But it was loud. And cramped, yet so big. You loved the familiarity, the peacefulness, the home-ishness of your little Long Valley. So, after completing your masters, you headed back home and paid your parents what they'd take and redecorated your old childhood bedroom.

At the kitchen island, you sat with Luke, bowls of Kraft Mac n Cheese in hands, forks shoveling the noodles by the mouthfuls. It was alarming how fast Luke was eating his dish; he hardly left time for breathing.

"Luke, there's more in the pot, you don't need to-"

You cut yourself off when you realized he was not listening, just eating his meal anxiously, like you'd take it away at any second.

The doorbell rang throughout the building and you hopped off your seat and slipped into the foyer. Greeting Grayson, you said, "Hey, did you bring the hot-"

"Already got it," he said, waving a family-sized tub of the powder. "And some games. How's he doing?"

Glancing at the hallway that led to the kitchen, you shrugged. "Can't really tell. It seems like he doesn't know what's going on, so he's fine. I took him to the store, bought him some new clothes, got him some PJs. But I forgot about the hot cocoa I'd promised him, so thank you for bringing some," you finished, stealing the container from his hands.

"Well, that was nice of you..." Grayson mumbled behind you, following you out to the kitchen.

"What, you think I'm some heathen?" you smirked, eyeing him over your shoulder.

"Mhm, don't act like you weren't the one who put twenty boxes of Orbees in the school's swimming pool our senior year," he snickered, lifting a brow.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, a flame licking the back of your neck. "I can't believe you reme-"

"Hey Luke!" Grayson called, scooting past you and pressing his elbows against the kitchen island.

Luke was sitting there, staring at his empty bowl of mac n cheese in a melancholic state. "Hi Mr. Dolan," he said in that raspy, weak voice of his.

"Luke, you want more Mac n cheese? And some hot cocoa?" you prompted, grabbing the bucket of pasta. Without an answer, you scooped a helping into Luke's bowl and paraded to the refrigerator for some milk to heat. "Gray, you want some?"

Grayson looked your way with a funny grin and said, "Yeah, I can just eat it from the pan."

You shook your head and repressed a smile. "You are gross."

"Why!" Grayson defended, laughing. With a shrug, he said, "I'm saving you a plate, and I'll definitely eat the rest, anyway."

Once you had fixed everyone a mug of hot cocoa, you ushered the boys into the living room where Grayson excitedly dug out a hodgepodge of games, toys, and books. Spreading everything out on the rug, Grayson prompted, "Alright Luke, I was thinking I could teach you how to play Candy Land. Is that okay?"

Luke looked at you, and then at him, and then nodded.

"Cool. So basically Buddy, you get one of these little guys," Grayson said, gesturing to the colorful figures lying dormant in the container. "And you hop on the color of the card you draw, and we go back and forth, and we see who wins. Okay?" Luke nodded. "And there are traps. So, when you draw a card like- like this one," he explained, grabbing a piece with a lollipop on it, "then you get to move to the spot that has the lollipop on it. Which can be good, unless you're ahead of that spot, then you have to move back. It's really fun," he gushed, folding his legs crisscrossed. "I think you'll like it. What'd'ya say?"

Luke looked at the board, studied it hard, and then nodded his head. "Okay."

Gleefully, Grayson shuffled the deck of cards and plucked two characters from the cardboard box and you realized, almost instantly, why he became a kindergarten teacher. He was a kid at heart.

"(Y/N), are you playing?"

You thought about all the things you had to do, all the paperwork you had to fill, all the phone calls you'd have to make for tomorrow, and said, "Yes."

Grayson smiled at you eagerly. "Perfect, three makes it way more competitive anyway. The more the merrier, you know?" he said, reaching for his mug of hot cocoa.

You looked over at Luke's mug and realized he hadn't drunk a drop of his treat. "Luke, you can have some of your hot cocoa if you haven't yet," you smiled, edging his cup towards him.

He looked at you long and hard, his eyes blown wide, and glanced between you in the drink. And then he looked at Grayson, almost for permission, and lifted his skinny arms and grabbed the mug with both hands. He lifted it to his mouth, oh-so-cautiously, and took a tiny sip.

And then he smiled, grinned comfortably.

"This stuff is- this stuff is really good," he said, setting it back. "Thank you."

You looked at Grayson with confusion and said, "Luke, you can have the whole cup if you want."

"I can?"

"Yeah," Grayson smiled, rubbing a hand down Luke's back. "Drink up, Bud."

And Luke did. And you three played Candy Land for hours, Grayson and you both being far too competitive and Luke hanging on for the ride. You won once, Grayson won twice, and Luke won at least five times. Luke's smile just kept growing.

"Alright Luke, I think it's bedtime for you," you said after a bit of celebratory hot cocoa.

"Want some help getting into your PJs, bud?" Grayson offered. Luke shrugged a lame shoulder, his eyes flickering between the two of you.

"Hey, give me some skin," you giggled, bending at the knee and raising your hand for a high-five from Luke. Tentatively, he lifted his hand to yours, smacking it feather light. "You killed it in Candy Land today."

"Sure did," Grayson laughed. "We'll play again soon. C'mon Luke."

And off they went, into your guest bedroom.

You crept back into the kitchen and grabbed your binder full of documents and splayed them all out on the table, organizing them into piles. You loved this job. You realized it when Luke's big wide eyes lit up at the sight of a Licorice Lagoon card and his character clobbered all the way across the board and he just looked happy. Happy like you'd never seen him. And that made all of this heartbreak a little less awful.

You were ruffling through your binder for names of available foster carers with your pen wiggling between your teeth when Grayson tiptoed into the kitchen. "Hey, how was-"

Your voice fell silent when you looked up to find Grayson crying, feeble with his arms tucked tightly around himself.

"Gray, what happened?" you asked hesitantly, twisting your body and giving him your full attention.

He whimpered pitifully and glided over to you, clearly shameless when it came to crying. He laid his forearms on the kitchen island and looked at you through his soaked eyelashes and screwed his eyebrows together and said, "I don't think I can forget that."

You reached out and carefully laid a palm on his arm. "Forget what?"

Grayson wheezed a deep breath and shielded his face with a hand. He mumbled, "There's a reason he wears that giant shirt every day." Grayson wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, "It was like I wasn't even taking off a shirt. It's like, an outline of the shirt, made of bruises. Tan lines, but instead of pale skin it's just green, and blue, and purple."

Unconsciously, you dug your fingernails into the firm flesh of his arm and clenched your jaw, willed yourself from tears.

"And that's no exaggeration. I don't think there was a spot untouched on his skinny, skinny body. His whole torso is just-" Whine. "Covered. I thought I was going to be sick. And he turned around, and his back was no different. It was like this- this fucking monster he calls 'mom' knew exactly how to hide it. Give him a t-shirt big enough, and it'll cover all the marks. God fucking damn it," he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pinched at his skin, nails deep enough to really hurt, and lowered your head and cried. Let the tears fall with the realization that no number of board games and no amount of hot cocoa could make up for his trauma, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Luke McIver was a punching bag and a kicking post.

You sat there with Grayson and cried quietly. You prayed Luke couldn't hear you; he deserved all the sympathy in the world, but he looked up to Grayson, and you hoped he didn't give up on himself with how sad his circumstances were.

Grayson walked around the island and engulfed you in a hug. You'd hardly registered how strange this might be, hugging a guy you'd barely known since you needed one so bad. You can't just watch these things and shut everyone out. You would start to see that kind of darkness in everyone.

"I'm sorry," Grayson said, his jaw working against your shoulder. "But I really needed a hug."

"It's okay," you said, your head bowed into the crook of his neck. "I really needed one too."

"Can I stop by tomorrow?" Grayson asked.

Yes, he could.

-

Tomorrow meant Friday, and Friday meant school. You didn't have a whole lot of direction when it came to getting kids off to school, but you figured you would do what you typically did; had him hop in the shower, laid out his clean clothes, and fixed him a bowl of cereal. After a few minutes of thought, you packed him a lunch, just in case his lunch account had frozen along with the rest of his mom's assets.

"Luke, are you okay with a turkey sandwich? Or do you want salami?" you shouted into the refrigerator, raiding the drawers for your lunch meat.

After a few moments without a response, you called out, "Luke?"

Panicky, you pulled yourself out of the refrigerator and hurried off to check on him in the guest room. Inside, he stood sopping wet, dripping on your carpet with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Upon your arrival, he twisted to look at you. "Where are my clothes?" he whispered, looking around the room.

You pointed to the pile stacked on a chair near the bed. "Right over there, Silly," you giggled.

"No, my clothes," he said.

"The grey shirt and the brown pants?" you asked.

He nodded.

"Do you wanna wear those instead? I thought you'd like to wear something warmer, I have a hoodie and some cozy sweatpants on that chair cause it's going to be pretty chilly today," you elaborated, beginning to stress. It was far too cold to wear that Power Rangers shirt and that Power Rangers shirt alone, and you hadn't bought Luke a jacket. You made a mental note to do so.

"But those aren't mine," he said.

"Yes they are, I bought them for you."

"All of those?" he gasped, his eyes bugging at the outfit. And that was just sad.

"All of those, and a few others, too. Now, come on! We gotta get going to school, do you want some help getting into your clothes?" you offered, walking over to the chair and grabbing the stack.

Luke shook his head and you gave him the pieces, leaving the room and fixing his turkey sandwich. By the time you'd packed everything, Luke was waiting silently with his backpack taut on his shoulders. The hoodie was a bit big, but Luke was tiny for his age. The sweatpants looked about right, and the shoes seemed to fit okay. He hardly looked the same in different clothes.

"Ready?" you asked.

Luke was.

-

As your lunch break neared, your foot began pedaling faster in place. You worried about Luke on his first day back: did he miss his mom? Did his clothes really fit? Did he even like turkey sandwiches? After a plethora of anxiety-ridden questions, you hopped from your seat and dashed off to Grayson's classroom.

You knocked on the door softly and waited with a bitten lip. Grayson creaked open the door and you found that the classroom was, in fact, empty, excluding the six-foot tall man hovering in the doorway. "Oh," was all you said. "I thought maybe Luke was here."

Grayson grinned toothily and said, "No, they just went off to lunch and recess, but I'm glad you stopped by."

He opened the door and ushered you in, shutting it and following you inside. "Ramen?" you asked, scrunching your nose as you noticed the cup of noodles sitting next to his school-issued desktop. "How can you eat that after college?"

He smirked and grabbed it, loading a forkful of the stringy, golden noodles into his mouth. "Never get sick of it," he said through bites.

"Charming," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "How's he doing today?"

He munched for a second before nodding, setting the cup of noodles down and sitting on one of the very tiny desks with his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. "Good. Great, even."

"That's good!" you exclaimed, smiling big.

"It is good," he agreed. "He even talked to a few classmates, which is new for him. They said they liked his shoes."

You weren't sure whether you were devastated that Luke hadn't any friends or ecstatic that he was trying, and that the other kids liked his shoes. That was a personal achievement. "I've been told I'm a fashionista," you drawled, flicking your hair over your shoulder.

"I can tell. You're always wearing those pretty skirts of yours," Grayson smirked, cocking a brow.

Butterflies burst in your stomach and you prayed a blush didn't stain your cheeks. But, judging by Grayson's obvious smugness, you looked just as bashful as you felt.

"Thank you. Um..." you squeaked, not knowing what else to say.

Grayson chuckled at your discomfort and looked out the window. "It was really nice of you to buy him all those clothes. It's too cold to be wearing those- those rags he was wearing before."

You nodded, following his gaze to the gray, gray sky that was brewing something awful outside. "I didn't think he'd fit in one of my sweatshirts," you joked.

Grayson looked at you and grinned kindly. "I don't think he'd look half as good, either."

Your face broke out in a smile and you said, "Okay, stop, you're doing this on purpose," with a laugh.

"Oh definitely, you're cute when you blush," he pushed, enjoying the upper hand far more than he should.

You stared down at the floor and begged the warmth in your cheeks to subside before saying, "You always were a flirt in high school."

Gobsmacked, Grayson gasped. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "No, you're thinking of Ethan, my twin idiot."

You shook your head. "I don't think so, you had everyone at your beck and call..." you trailed off, giving him a lopsided smile.

"Again, Ethan."

"No, it was you, I know that for certain. Grayson Dolan: Long Valley's Golden Boy," you teased, your hands dancing in the air. "Everybody loved you."

Grayson scratched back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders, flattened out his tie. "Yeah, maybe, but I've closed the yearbook. Now I'm just a kindergarten teacher; don't think that makes me too popular," he chuckled, clamping his hands in his lap and grinning up at you.

"You're definitely popular with the kids--if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a little kid sleeping at my house tonight," you said.

"That's way better than homecoming king," Grayson smiled, all warmth and honey. "Knowing I saved a kid from some garbage parent like his."

You nodded thoughtfully, staring back at him. In an effort to preserve the lighthearted mood floating through the air, you joked, "Can't be better than scoring the game-winning touchdown against Rocori though, right?"

Grayson's head fell back with a laugh and he shook his head. "Nothing could be better than that. Should've seen their head coach's face when I caught that ball," he smiled with his teeth full in display.

"I guessed so," you giggled back.

"So what, did you keep tabs on me in high school or something? That's a pretty particular thing to remember, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he smirked, running a hand through his fluffy mane.

Though you were painted in pink, you rolled along. "I already said everybody loved you, Grayson."

The door busted open, dozens of kids flowing through its tiny entrance, clambering about with their squeaky shoes and their uncoordinated legs. "Does everybody include you?" Grayson asked over the roar of the children.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned with mischief. "Mind if I stay for a bit? I still have half an hour of my lunch and I kinda wanna see Luke in his natural habitat."

"Be my guest," Grayson smiled.

Luke ambled in last, a little pep in his step and a boy jabbering off his ear. Grayson looked as surprised as you.

"Everyone get in your seats, please," he instructed, working his way over to his desk. Glaring playfully at you, he said, "I didn't even get to eat my ramen."

"A shame."

Dropping his styrofoam cup in the garbage, he dusted off his hands and hurried to the front, rolling his dress shirt's sleeves up to his elbows. Without much to do, you slinked your way to the play area and seated yourself in a comically small chair, one clearly fit for a five-year-old.

"Alright everyone, could you please grab a pencil from the center of your desk? We're going to learn about shapes," Grayson announced, his eyes drifting around the room.

Your eyes flickered to Luke who in return was staring at you with his big doe eyes. Nervously, you waved a hand, worried of boundaries once more, and felt a certain sense of pride when Luke waved back to you.

"So guys, let's practice. Can anyone tell me what this is?" Grayson asked, gesturing to the giant triangle fixed on the smart board in the front.

Nearly all the kids' hands shot up, excluding Luke's. There he sat, towards the back, with his hands tucked in his lap.

"Kyra?" Grayson called.

"A triangle!" she cheered, dazzle in her eye.

"Very good, Kyra," Grayson smiled, tapping the board and switching the shape. "And this one?"

Again, Luke sat statuary.

"Tyler?"

"A square!"

You couldn't help but frown as you stared at Luke, lonesome and quiet with his big brown eyes staring blankly at the screen.

"And this last one? Luke?" Grayson asked, eyes weaving through the sea of hands to find Luke.

Luke sat quietly, his chest rising and falling quickly. After a few seconds, all of the students twisted in their seat to stare at him with beady, pressuring eyes. Almost reflexively, Luke spun and looked to you for help. 'Circle,' you mouthed, breathing out the word inaudibly.

"C-C-Circle," Luke spat, grabbing the sides of his desk.

All of the kids turned forward once more and waited for Mr. Dolan's confirmation. "Awesome job, Luke," he said with the proudest of smiles. "Now I have a worksheet for you all and I want you guys to bring it back to class on Monday after this weekend, signed by your parent."

Luke again strained his chin over his shoulder and you nodded back, assuring him you'd sign it, or help it, or just be there.

-

Your Fridays were typically reserved for wine night at your friend Carina's house, but you had no such plans with a five-year-old sitting on your couch. So, you were a little lost on what to do.

"Luke, do you want a snack? I'm not sure what we have in the cupboards, but..." you trailed off, bounding into the kitchen.

You had no use for pudding cups or fruit snacks up until this point, and to your knowledge, all you had was a ginormous can of hot cocoa. You scoured the pantry and found some surely stale Reese's Puffs and prayed he didn't notice once you doused them in milk.

Luke eyed the bowl skeptically, glancing between you and it before eventually scooping the cereal into his mouth. After that, it was a race to drain the bowl, and he was slurping away at the milk. You hardly cared about manners.

Grayson: Can I come over?

Instantly giddy at the idea of Grayson being in any close proximity, you texted him and assured him that would be fine. Luke was still tongue-tied, and you assumed it'd be that way for a long time. Perhaps he'd never grow out of his shyness, and that would have to be okay with you.

Looking at the little boy sitting on your couch, chomping on a spoonful of cereal like it could be his last meal, your heart broke. There was so much you didn't know about him, so much you didn't know about what he went through. You doubted anyone would ever know the full truth besides him and his 'mom.' Just thinking of her in a maternal sense made your tummy lurch sideways; she should have never even considered kids.

But, in some twisted light, you were so glad she did. You'd take a bullet for this little guy on your couch. And you didn't even know how that happened so quickly.

Grayson's knuckles rapped against your front door and you jumped from your spot on the couch beside Luke to allow him in, but by the time you'd gotten there, Grayson was already standing in your foyer in a pair of joggers and a hoodie. It was somewhat strange seeing him out of his office clothes. Frowning, you said, "How did you get-"

"You should really keep this door locked all the time," Grayson said sternly, abandoning his shoes on your welcome mat. "For your safety, and for Luke's."

You rushed over and locked the door behind him, feeling a little naive. "Luke's upstairs, I was going to start on that worksheet you gave everyone today but now that you're here, you can do all the hard work," you grinned.

He rolled his eyes playfully and elbowed your side. "I work all day with little kids and I come back to your place to slave away?"

"Exactly," you laughed. "besides, bold of you to assume I know my shapes."

Grayson chuckled and swept past you, hurrying over to Luke. You heard them greet one another, Grayson's excitable baby voice echoing throughout your house. Content with their situation, you whisked away to your room to raid your closet for something more comfortable. Then, you returned to your kitchen and began searching in your big stack of files for names in the system that would qualify to give Luke the home he needed.

G. Hammend... R. Harick... I. Helpin... Your finger followed down the column, each name seeming drearier and more hopeless.

"Mr. Dolan?" you heard from the other room.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Is (Y/N) your girlfriend?" Luke asked.

Grayson promptly began coughing uncontrollably, hacking and wheezing, and a chill ran up your spine, heat baked the back of your neck. No, you weren't Grayson's girlfriend and his flirting was harmless, but you were curious to know what he'd say, so you leaned in closely and listening keenly to Grayson's next words. "Uh, um, uh Luke it's- it's more complicated than that," Grayson spoke, his voice raspy and cracking.

"How?"

Yeah, how?

"Well, um, I- I don't know how to explain that, Luke."

"Why?"

A giggle escaped past your lips at Luke's determination and Grayson's obvious struggle. "I- I, um,-"

Grayson's stuttering was cut short by a soft rumble overhead followed almost immediately by a burst of lightning. You frowned and glanced at the window, fully aware of the forecast but hopeful that it would blow over. From the looks of the blackened sky, it wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon. Soft pellets of water began showering your room and it's thin shingles, heavy enough to pierce through the silent air. And again, another bit of thunder rolled in.

"(Y/N)?" Grayson called. "You okay?"

As if you'd be in any harm in your own home during a thunderstorm. "Yeah Gray, I'm good. Are you okay?"

There was silence and then a shuffling of footsteps. Then Grayson walked up behind you and said, "We have a problem."

You wheeled around in your chair and furrowed your brows. "What?"

"Luke's afraid of thunderstorms," he whispered, avoiding your eyes.

You slid off your seat and padded into the living room to find Luke tucked in the cushions of your couch, tears streaming soundlessly from his big doe eyes. Your heart wrenched beneath your ribcage and you hurried over, sliding into the spot beside him and grabbing his hands that were shaking in his lap. "Hey Lukey, you doing okay?"

Luke nodded robotically, his nose bouncing and the tears rushing down his face.

"Luke, how can I help?" you asked, stroking the side of his head.

His body went rigid and he shook your hands off him, scooting a few inches away. You felt rejected.

"Hey Bud, do you wanna keep going with our math? Get your mind away from all this noise?" Grayson offered, lifting up his worksheet.

Luke shook his head, tucking in on himself and wrapping his own frail arms around his own frail legs.

"We could maybe watch some TV?" you proposed, cocking your head towards the flatscreen. It seemed like Luke's ears might have perked up at this. He stared at you silently with his big brown eyes and asked for permission, even though you'd just offered. "Yeah, we can watch some TV," you said. "Do you like cartoons?"

Luke just stared, but you got the message. You'd learned his mannerisms over the past twenty-four hours. Flicking on the television, you surfed through the channels in search of a good cartoon before landing on Scooby-Doo.

"Have you ever seen this show?" Grayson asked, nudging Luke.

He shook his head, and you three fell in silence, watching the show chase across the screen.

Lost in thought, you began to wonder if this would be the case for every kid, or just Luke. Would you always take the kids in for 72 hours? Or was Luke just special for you? How often would this happen? Was Grayson always good with the little kids? Could he be a reliable source if you couldn't get them to budge?

Probably not, you decided. You felt incompetent and useless and downright stupid caving and fleeing to Grayson for aid. Not that you regretted it.

Would Grayson ever talk to you after this? Was this just for Luke, or was there some friendship between you two? Or maybe something more?

Probably not, you decided again. Sneaking a glance at him, engrossed in the show, you decided, definitely not. He might not be Long Valley's golden boy any longer, but he was still far, far out of your league.

"It's definitely the bank teller," Grayson said with complete certainty. "He's hijacking his own bank so he can take all the money but remain seemingly innocent."

You stifled a giggle and eyed him incredulously. "For sure, Gray."

"It is!" he whined, pointing at the screen excitedly. "You just wait and see."

"Luke, who do you think it is?" you asked, bumping him with your elbow.

Luke looked between the two of you and then said, so quietly, "Whatever Grayson said."

-

As the night dragged on, so did the storm. Eventually, the power surged out and left the three of you sheathed in blankets, surrounded by candles, and playing Candy Land in the dim glow. Conversation was limited and gentle; Luke was exceptionally scared, though he was too nervous to voice his concerns. So, he just sided up next to Grayson and shielded himself under Gray's big, long arm.

"Grayson, there's no way you're driving home in this weather. You can't," you said with finality, craning your neck to sneak a glance at the buckets of water blurring the sky.

Grayson nodded in agreement, moving his figurine several spaces forward. "Yeah, I don't think so either. Can I sleep on the couch?"

After a moment of thought, you nodded and hopped from your spot under a mound of blankets to fetch him a few pillows. Glancing at the clock, you noticed it was nearing the bedtime you'd given Luke, so you waddled on down to the living room to deliver the mournful news. "Lukey, it's time for bed."

It seemed Luke was unordinary in every sense because he didn't fight you on it. He simply unwrapped Grayson's arm from around his shoulders and glided past you to the guest room.

"He's a quiet one," Grayson noted, tugging his blankets tight on his body.

"Yeah," you agreed quietly, staring down the hallway Luke had slipped through. "I don't know if that'll go away or not."

"I'm going to go read him a bedtime story," Grayson said, his voice gentle and kind.

As he trailed after Luke, Where the Wild Things Are in hand, you decided that maybe everything about Grayson was gentle and kind. You saw it in the way he talked to children, the way he never raised his voice, the way he laid a hand on any person he talked to, his palm huge and warm and soft, just for reassurance. Grayson was a gentle giant with his intimidating stature and his ginormous muscles; he'd never hurt a fly.

You listened to Grayson's voice float through the air, speaking of monsters and trolls tucked in the thickets of trees, and felt a flutter in your chest.

At last, you heard Grayson mumble his goodnights and the creak of footsteps on your hardwood. He hobbled his way to the couch, plopped down, and patted this seat beside him. Sheepishly, you tiptoed over and flopped into the space next to him, your blanket tightly secured around your figure. After a few beats of silence, of you two just staring at each other, you said, "I don't know who is worthy of taking in that boy."

Grayson shook his head, his lips pursing for a moment. "I don't think anyone is. Well, anyone besides you."

You stared down at the cushions with their plain brown fabric, scrunching your brows together. "I don't think I'm very good at this, actually." He snorted about you and you shot him a glare. "I'm serious."

"Maybe, but you're wrong," he argued loftily. "I don't think that kid has ever felt so much love in his life."

You shrugged a limp, lame shoulder. "Probably not, but that's just because any love is better than none. I just don't think I'm handling this well. I'm not sure he really likes me."

Grayson smiled crookedly and cocked his head to the side. "I think he likes you. You guys can talk without even speaking," he noted.

A smile worked its way onto your lips. "Yeah, there's that. But... I'm not trying to take it personally, the kid's been through way more than we know. But I just wish he liked me. It feels like he just tolerates me," you breathed, scratching at your arm.

"Well, he agreed with me that you're pretty, so there's that," Grayson smirked, watching you duck your head in embarrassment.

"Well that's nice of you two..." you muttered, tugging your sherpa around you tighter.

"No, it's just a fact. You're pretty, (Y/N)."

Suddenly, your blanket was entirely unnecessary, because your body was overheating with this romantic attention from Grayson Dolan himself. His eyes burned your skin and his body, a few inches away from you, was like a furnace. "You're pretty, too."

It came out croaky and strangled, but you meant it. You had eyes, after all.

Grayson chuckled, his dimples full in display. "Thank you," he whispered.

Then, you were sharing an awkward beat where he was looking at you and you were staring at the ground with complete determination. And then, you were hopping from your spot and hurrying into the kitchen to grab your binder, ignorant to Grayson's laughter.

"You need to help me find someone worthy of fostering this kid," you breathed, discarding the blanket altogether.

And so the two of you sat there well into the night, flicking page after page, name after name, hopeful to find a soul kind enough for a soul as vulnerable as Luke's.

-

It had to still be night when you awoke, startled, to the shadow of a boy standing in your doorway. You'd seen enough horror films to know that this meant imminent death, but after rubbing your eyes once, twice, you noticed it was just Luke.

"Hey buddy?" you called out, folding yourself upright. "What's up?"

Luke was holding the blanket you'd purchased for him a few days ago in his tiny hands, his knuckles white. "The storm," was all he whispered.

The storm. The wind was whooshing and swirling in every which way, tossing branches into each other and smattering rain against your rooftop. How do you fix that? You couldn't just ring up Mother Nature and tell her to calm down.

"Um," you mumbled, glancing around the room. "Do you- do you want to sleep in here?" you offered, patting the spot beside you. Luke stood and waited for about a minute before slowly creeping toward the empty half of the bed, hoisting himself up on it and peeling back the covers. He turned his back to you, crumpled his knees into his chest, and lied there silently. You had half a brain to screen him with his blanket and tuck it around his small, small body, and then the two of you went to sleep.

-

Slow like a sloth, you opened your eyes and blinked slowly, lazily, letting them adjust to the sunlight pouring through the windowpanes of your bedroom. You'd hardly registered that your jaw was tucked on top of a little boy's head, or that your arm was secured around his tiny frame. He fit perfectly in the cave of your belly, the two of you just a large ball in the middle of your bed, blankets and all.

You lifted your head to see Grayson standing in your doorway, his shoulder pressed against the door frame easily, a smile on his lips. "Morning."

Grayson Dolan standing in your doorway when you first wake up. Now that was a concept high-school-you would have snorted at.

"Morning," you whispered, careful not to wake up Luke. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. I was thinking we could all go and get breakfast at the Gingerbread Café," Grayson offered, still gazing warmly at the nest in your bed.

"God, that sounds amazing. Okay, let me get dressed and-"

"No! You have to go in your PJs! That's like, law," Grayson argued instantly.

You glanced down at yourself in your reindeer, well-worn pajamas and shrugged. There was no use arguing; you'd never get out of those pajamas unless absolutely mandatory.

You nodded and unraveled yourself from Luke, shook his shoulder gently, and then zipped out of your home, into the Gingerbread Café and played the best game of iSpy over bacon and eggs.

-

Again that afternoon, you sat on your coach, rifling through sheet after sheet of names of foster carers.

"I don't even recognize one of these names," you whined, flipping a page.

"Me neither," Grayson agreed.

Luke was tucked in the corner of the living room, legos crowding the floor in a clutter. He'd actually been playing with them, to both Grayson's and your astonishment.

"And you don't have any like, social worker friends? Nobody that you know?" Grayson asked, lifting a brow.

"No, I'm brand new to this, Grayson,"  you defended. "Literally the only person I've met in this town that knows anything about social work is Nancy Hoff-" You dropped the book of files you were holding, your blood surging through you. "Nancy Hoffmann! Oh my god, how could I forget Nancy! Oh my god, oh my god," you squealed, jumping to your feet.

"Nancy Hoffmann does social work? No way," Grayson gasped.

"Yes! Yes, she said she's in the system, go look, please, please, go look!"

"N. Hoffmann, right under I. Helpin," Grayson grinned, gazing up at you with hope, hope, hope in his eyes. "Are you going to call her?"

"Yes," you stated, digging out your phone and beelining for your room. "I'm going to call her right now."

And you did. And Nancy was so excited to take care of a little one, especially a little one like little Luke McIver, that she started to weep. And you started to cry. You could have flooded the whole room with your tears. And you absolutely hoped and prayed Luke's life would look up.

-

Later that Saturday night, once Luke was in bed and you and Grayson sat tight on your couch watching reruns of vintage Scooby-Doo episodes (and trying desperately to guess who the villain was each time), Grayson turned to you and asked, "Wanna get ice cream sometime?"

His words alone sent a chill down your spine, cold and then hot, warmth sticking to the back of your neck. "No," you blurted.

And you could see the hurt flinch on his face, the emotions vivid in color on his sleeve. But there was a problem.

"I feel- I feel like it would look... unprofessional, right now, to date a coworker, especially after I royally fucked up with this whole Luke thing. Call it a Fluke," you giggled nervously, biting your lip. "I- Grayson, you know I would love to, you can probably tell how nervous you make me, but this seems just... It just seems unprofessional, especially when I still have Luke in my custody."

Grayson's eyes softened. "Well, what about when Luke's out of your custody? Can we get ice cream then?"

Your hands twitched nervously in your lap. "I... we would still be coworkers, Grayson," you whispered, holding onto your willpower by a thread.  

He inched forward, invading your space in a way that left you gulping.

"We would, wouldn't we? We'd be coworkers just like half of the teachers in this school that are married to other teachers," he murmured, inches from your face.

His body heat radiated onto yours and you worried for a moment that you'd melt right into that sofa. "You think about it," he finalized, smirking and rising from his seat. "Or, sleep on it. I'm heading home."

He thundered into the foyer and slipped on his shoes and glanced back at you, who was hiding behind the hallway's bend. He grinned, shucked on his hoodie, and headed outside.

Were you just going to let this go?

Certainly not.

You dashed out behind him, waving your arms in the headlights of his car manically, acting like a real loon. You skipped over to his car and waited for him to roll down his window, itching to just spit it out. "I don't have to think, I'd love to get ice cream with you, coworkers be damned."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he chuckled, grinning up at you. "I'll see you tomorrow to introduce Nancy and Steve to Luke. Sleep tight, (Y/N)."

-

You awoke again with Luke cradled under your arm and a knocking at your door. Grayson was undoubtedly up at the crack of dawn every day, which would explain why he was pounding on your door at eight in the morning. Both groaning, you and Luke rolled out from under the covers and padded lazily through the halls, separating at the living room where Luke crawled into the nest of blankets jumbled on the couch as you traveled to the entryway to let Grayson in.

"Hey," he announced when you dragged open the door. Glaring at him, you wordlessly spun on your heel and shuffled into the living room. "Don't tell me you're mad because I woke you up," he laughed, on your heels.

You opened your mouth to protest when Luke said, "Yes."

You and Grayson exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. "Luke has spoken, and I agree. Yes, Grayson."

You hobbled over to Luke and curled up next to him on the sofa, stranding Grayson alone to stand and watch.

"What time are we all heading over to Nancy and Steve's?" Grayson mumbled to you, eyeing Luke cautiously.

You sucked in a breath and decided that this was a good time to introduce the idea to Luke. "Lukey," you announced. "we think we found you a good home for a little bit, okay? Would it be okay if we met with them later?"

Luke looked at you uncertainly and said, "No more sleeping with you?"

Your heart dropped into your stomach with the reality that Luke may have gotten too attached--that you may have gotten too attached. "No more sleeping with me," you mumbled, your lower lip jutting out reflexively. "I- but Luke, I'll still visit all the time, promise. And we'll still have our weekly counseling sessions, and-"

"Will Mr. Dolan still visit?" Luke asked, staring at you, his eyes flickering momentarily to Grayson.

"I..." you trailed off, unwilling to make that promise.

"You know it, Kid," Grayson said, squatting to Luke's height. "I'll be over with Candy Land all the time."

"So what do you say?" you asked, grabbing for Luke's hand.

Luke squeezed back and said, "Yes."

And so you went to Nancy's.

The Hoffmann's yanked open the door before you could even knock, dressed in their best formal gear, and you glanced down at your jeans and hoodie and winced. This was why you weren't very good at this stuff. "Welcome!" they cheered, ushering the three of you inside. Nancy gave you a sidelong look as Grayson filed in behind you, a glint in her eye.

Luke was holding onto your hand tight, tight, tight, and you bent down and picked him right up, setting him on your hip. "Luke, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann," you introduced, pointing to each of them respectively. "Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann, this is Luke McIver." Luke clung to your sweatshirt's fabric, fisted the material and pulled himself closer. "Don't be shy Luke, say hi," you said.

They waved brightly, big smiles on their faces and Luke waved back.

"Everybody can come to the living room, we have fruit snacks and pudding cups," Nancy said.

You knew they'd be better than you already.

-

On Monday, the five of you (Luke, Grayson, Nancy, Steve, and you), caravanned to the Gingerbread Café with a court document in your briefcase with plans to head over to court after, skipping school entirely, much to Luke's (and your) excitement. Once you arrived at the courthouse, you met with Luke's assigned social worker, Emily, the judge, and that was it.

Standing in the echoey area, the judge asked, "Are all parties present?"

Glancing around at the tiny, tiny group, you giggled. "Uh yes, Your Honor," you said with complete seriousness.

"Who is the legal guardian in question?" she asked, scanning over her document. "Is Alexa McIver here?"

You bit on your lip and said, "No, Your Honor, she's currently in custody."

"Alright," she nodded. "Who is the present carer, and the preferred foster carers?"

"Um, I'm the current carer and Steve and Nancy Hoffmann are the foster carers," you said, pointing to the couple standing beside you. They waved giddily, hardly pressured by the legalities.

"Okay," the judge said, a lack of formality in her tone. "Let's get this show on the road."

The judge handed over a packet, 'In the matter of the welfare of Lucas McIver: CHIPS/EPC' titling the top. Beneath it was what seemed like hundreds of documents, all waiting for their own special signature from their own special foster parents, Nancy and Steve Hoffmann.

And after half an hour of "sign here"s and "initial here"s, the judge turned to Nancy and Steve and said, "By the law of Long Valley, I formally grant Steve and Nancy Hoffmann full foster care custody of Lucas Christopher McIver. Court, dismissed."

And you turned to Nancy and found her with tears in her eyes and you turned to Luke and found him with one big, toothy grin.

"Time for ice cream, everybody!" Nancy squealed, throwing her arms around you tightly.

You shared a smirk with Grayson and said, "Definitely."

"(Y/N)," Luke said, tugging on your pants.

"Yeah Luke?" you said, ducking to his level.

Luke leaned in close and cupped his hand around your ear. "My favorite color is yellow."

-

You sat at Moo's with a cone of cookie dough ice cream in hand, chatting with livelihood with the group. It was, by definition, perfect. Grayson kept sneaking glances at you, looking away when you caught him, dimples dotting his cheeks. Nancy and Steve demanded--and more miraculously, received--a full autobiography from Luke himself, as shy as he was. What his favorite class was (which, to Grayson's dismay, was not any of his, but instead gym class), what his favorite animal was, and so on.

Luke offered you a taste of his delicious cookies 'n' cream ice cream (in exchange for a lick of your own, of course) and grabbed for your hand a few times. It was bittersweet to have him be so affectionate right as you were about to let him go.

When five o'clock rolled around, the Hoffmanns said, "Staying true to our legal work, we are removing Mr. McIver from your custody," with all formality and then some.

Giggling, you nodded. "Take 'im away, coppers."

Luke turned to you and wrapped his arms tight around your neck and you kissed his cheek and willed yourself not to cry. This was so, so good for him.

"Do you guys need a ride home?" Steve offered, seeing as you all banded together to get to court and Moo's.

You opened your mouth to graciously accept when Grayson said, "Nah, we can walk."

Looking at him excitedly, you clamped your mouth shut and nodded, a ditzy grin on your mouth.

"Right," Nancy chuckled. "Well, we'll be on our way then, bye everyone!"

"Goodbye Luke, see you tomorrow!" you cheered, waving him away.

Watching the car zip out of the parking lot, you sat beside Grayson, your senses heightened with anxiety. "And then there were two..." Grayson joked, leaning back in his seat. "Ready for our date?"

You turned to him and shook your head, gleeful and nervous. "Yeah, I could use another cone," you giggled. "Even if it's freezing out and we have to walk home now."

"I'll keep you warm," he smiled, propping his chin on his fist.

You were sure the butterflies bursting in your stomach or the blush staining your cheeks was more than enough to keep you steaming hot.

-

As you walked down the pavement, slow as snails, Grayson tangled your fingers together. It was adrenaline inducing, holding hands with Grayson Dolan. You had your third helping of ice cream in your hands, licking stripes of it and scuffing your shoes down the sidewalk.

"What is that?" you asked, pointing to the cone in Grayson's hand.

"I don't know, actually," he shrugged, swiping his tongue across the treat. "I couldn't read some of the names so I just pointed to whatever looked promising."

"What do you mean, you couldn't read the names?" you giggled, your brows furrowing. "They're right on the glass."

Grayson nodded, fully aware of that. "I know, but I have dyslexia, I can hardly read at all," he snorted.

"You have dyslexia? I didn't know that," you said, licking a long dribble of ice cream.

"Yeah, why else do you think I teach kindergarten? I'm constantly relearning the alphabet," he joked, snorting and smiling to himself.

You giggled and said, "Well, I don't know, maybe just to make vulnerable elementary counselor's swoon," taking a jab at flirting smoothly.

He looked at you with a blush and a grin. Silence fell over, but not the uncomfortable kind. You could walk sidewalks as the sun set and eat ice cream for the rest of your life with Grayson. The thought alone stirred the frenzy of butterflies in your belly.

"You know, I always thought you were gorgeous in high school," Grayson murmured, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Oh, shut up, no you didn't," you groaned, smacking him with your shared fist.

"No really, I did! And you went to prom with Alec Jenson and I was so mad," he moaned, throwing his head back for dramatics. "I beat myself up over it for like, a month."

You shook your head, gazing far off in the other direction. "You're a terrible liar."

But Grayson wasn't lying, and he made sure you knew it. He halted in place, tugging you back to him. "I'm not lying, I'd be an idiot not notice someone like you," he breathed. "And I definitely know that now."

You bit down on your lip to contain an enormous grin, one the size of the sun glowing in the distance, and looked into Grayson's soft honey eyes. Time slowed down, the world dimmed around Grayson, and all those other cliches. And then, he was dipping in close and kissing you with sugar-sticky lips and soft and gentle, just as you'd imagined. Absent-mindedly, you went to weave your arms around his neck and then realized you had dropped your ice cream in order to do so.

"I-" you panicked, eyes wide and glancing down at the ground. Grayson's shoes were splattered with your cookie dough ice cream, wet and sticky. "Oh my god, I'm so-"

A boom of laughter sounded from Grayson and he shook his head. "They're already messy. Now get back up here, I'm not done kissing you."

You were more than happy to oblige.

-

A year and change later, you tapped your foot outside of the Hoffmann's home, Grayson by your side with party hats adorning the crowns of your heads. You had a cake in your hands and Grayson held four gifts, each stacked wonkily on each other. "Think they went out for his birthday?" Grayson asked, his breath fogging in the chilly December air.

"No, they told me they'd be here! God, it's fucking fr-"

"Hey!" Nancy greeted, pulling open the door. "Sorry, the oven was going off and Steven couldn't find the-"

"It's okay, don't worry," you giggled, stepping inside the home. "It wasn't too cold." Grayson leaned over and pinched your side, confronting your lie. "Where's Lukey?" you asked, your head moving about to look for him.

"He's in the living room surrounded by presents. Steve and I went kind of overboard," she chuckled.

You wandered into the living room after setting the cake down on the kitchen table, eager to spend some time with your favorite little boy and even more excited to give him his gifts. Grayson and you had also spoiled him with lego sets, hot wheels tracks, and a homemade ice cream maker. And, well, something else.

"How's the birthday boy?!" you greeted, opening your arms for a very hyper Luke to jump into.

He wrapped his legs around your waist and pulled you as tight as he could against him, his cheek pressed into yours. He had definitely grown since the last time you held him; you could barely handle the weight.

"Good!" he yelled.

"Luke, inside voice," Steve chastised from the couch, a familiar grin on his face.

"Right, sorry," he said.

"Do you want to open some presents or what, Kid?" Grayson offered, setting down the tall stack.

Luke nodded giddily, detangling himself from you and seating himself on the carpet. One by one he plucked the wrapping paper off, his gasps getting bigger and bigger with every present until he reached the last one. "What's this?" he asked, spinning the fabric in his hands.

"It's a Power Rangers sweatshirt," you said, gesturing to the item. "If you don't like it, we can return it."

"Just like my old one," he gaped. "Is it my old one?"

"No," Grayson explained, "but it's the same design, just warmer. And it'll fit you nicer."

Luke nodded and then slipped the clothing over his head, stuffing his arms through the sleeves. There he was, seven-years-old and yet so, so different. He still had his big brown eyes and his messy, floppy curls, but his face was full and his body was healthy and his mind was creative and open. He was Luke McIver as you'd always wanted to see him; human.

Before you could cry, you said, "Luke, you look handsome!"

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

"Sure do, Honey. Now, we have one last present for you," Nancy said, exchanging a look with Steve.

She handed over a little envelope to Luke and he pulled out a slip of paper. "Would... you be... our son? What does that mean?" he asked, reading slow and brokenly.

Your hands flew to your mouth with excitement and love, and you decided crying was the only option at that point.

"Luke," Steve began, grabbing his wife's hands. "Luke, we want to be your parents. Like, forever," he chuckled.

"I thought you already were?" Luke said, glancing around the room with confusion.

"No, Honey, you get to choose if you want us to be or not. We completely understand if not," Nancy said, her voice quavering.

Grayson pulled you into him and you could tell he was holding back a spout of tears. He kissed the top of your head and waited.

"Oh. Well then, yeah. Yes," Luke said.

And by the following Monday, he was little Luke Hoffmann.

[britishassistant]

Mr. Hale’s Art 301

August— Before Class

7 Months Earlier

Peter needed to remind himself more often that, high schooler or not, Lydia Martin was a force to be reckoned with.

She and the rest of the original Hale-now-McCall pack vowed revenge on him not long after he revived, but all went about it in different ways.

Scott McCall simply punched him in the face and left it at that.

Stiles Stilinski somehow managed to find and break into his apartment and sprinkle crushed wolfsbane into enough garments and towels that Peter was still wary when he was getting ready for the day.

When Allison Argent was alive, she repeatedly left arrows bearing her family sigil in both his home and places he frequented— presumably, like Stiles, to violate his sense of territory and just to show that she could.

Derek just brooded and looked by turns murderous and guilty whenever his uncle was in the room before he left town, though his stint as Alpha could be called punishment enough.

Lydia Martin, however, played the long game.

He still wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed it.

Somehow, despite Peter never sending in his resume or going for an official interview, Lydia Martin had arranged for him to become Beacon Hills Middle School’s new art teacher.

She’d even managed to have a touching, heartfelt story printed on the front page of the Beacon Hills Daily about the miraculously recovered coma patient attempting to give back to the community via imparting his gift to impressionable young minds.

How she’d found out he was capable of art despite all of his portfolios and most of his dissertation research burning in the fire was also a little beyond him, but he digressed.

Scott appeared so moved by the article that any attempts to suggest that Peter wasn’t actually going to take the job resulted in the alpha’s claws and fangs coming out in a way that promised either a maiming or expulsion from the McCall pack entirely.

And Peter had too many irons in too many fires to allow that to happen.

So he’s standing in the front office of Beacon Hills Middle School, contemplating the rictus of existential pain on the face of something he thinks is meant to be a beaver.

It’s one of the better methods that he’s devised so far of blocking out the scent of emerging hormones, social anxiety and too strong body spray belonging to over 300 adolescents that are sleepily beginning to shuffle into the halls of the building.

While waiting to meet the Principal and Assistant Principal of this farce of an educational facility at 6:30 in the fucking morning.

So yes, Lydia Martin needs to have a closer eye kept on her in future.

For the good of man- and werewolf-kind really.

Finally, finally, he’s able to hear a man’s footsteps walking towards where he’s been waiting and politely avoiding the leering gaze of the elderly secretary. For some reason the man’s heartbeat, as choked by cholesterol as it is, sounds vaguely familiar.

“Well, well, well. Long time, no see, Hale.”

A portly man with a large bald spot has swung open the door and stands there with his hands on his hips as though he’s in some kind of soap opera. He has the beginnings of jowls and a shiny badge with the words ‘Assistant Principal’ on it that smells like it’s recently been polished. He’s also got a look of cocksure smugness on his face that seems out of place for some reason—

Peter’s mind supplies an image of a gangly teenager with overlarge glasses, a perpetually resentful expression, one ill-fated month with a fedora, and several pathetic attempts at a beard.

“Tommy!” Peter exclaims, smothering as much delight into his tone as he possibly can. It’s galling that he has to work for this sniveling toad, but he’ll be dammed if he lets the scum of his high school know it. “It’s been ages since we graduated, how have you been? You seem to have done well for yourself.”

Tommy’s face drops into the nostalgic expression of sour resentment that Peter so fondly remembers. “It’s Assistant Principal Thorne to you, Hale.”

He turns sharply on his heel. “You’re late— not a promising start. Follow me.”

‘Because you kept me standing out here for 30 minutes while you primped for your grand entrance, you miserable tapeworm.’ Peter thinks, but does not say, plastering on his widest devil-may-care smile on his face instead.

Memory serves him well despite his brief sojourn into the great beyond, because Thorne’s face twists further in response before he feebly tries to not look like he loathes Peter’s guts.

He is lead into a warren of corridors that end in a door that is marginally nicer than the others, with the plaque ‘Principal Melinda Johnson’ on it.

Thorne knocks on it, and opens it when a pleasant female voice bids they enter.

The Principal is a professional, pleasant woman with cropped hair and prominently displayed family and wedding photos on her desk. She looks him in the eye when shaking his hand and tells him honestly that she is honored to have him on board her staff, without a whiff of arousal to be found in her scent to Peter’s subtle relief.

She is clearly more used to dealing with the administrative affairs of the school as her speech about her school and students makes it evident that she is laboring under the slightly misguided assumption that her successes as a parent have translated to successes as an educator.

Thorne continually shoots his boss dark glances that were overlaid with the warring stink of contempt and arousal.

Peter kept a disgusted snort to himself. The toad really hadn’t changed since high school. He’d been like that around Talia, loathing her for her position as Student Body President and objectifying her in the same breath.

It was one of Peter’s most cherished memories, watching his sister casually verbally tear the covetous little bastard a new one when he tried to suggest that she was somehow unsuitable for her position due to her “womanly concerns”.

It was just a shame she’d shot down his suggestions to tear Thorne’s gaseous black sedan a new one as well.

“And once again, Mr. Hale, may-I-say that your decision to come in so early for your new position shows remarkable promise for your future teaching career.” Principal Johnson enthuses, oblivious to the mutinous glares of her subordinate.

“Early, ma’am?” Peter inquires pleasantly, feeling the prickles of both righteous outrage and not-quite-so righteous homicidal urges at the sight of Thorne’s now sickly grinning face.

“Oh? Well, I thought Mr. Thorne had sent you the package that outlined the time slot for your class this year–1:30, wasn’t it Mr. Thorne?”

“12:30, Principal Johnson, just before A-lunch.” Thorne replies in a tone that does very little to disguise how smug he sounds.

Peter needs to clench his hands slightly to force his claws back in.

Don’t rip his throat out now. It’s too quick. Too painless. Wait until McCall’s pack is suitably weakened, then tear apart this farce of an educational facility while the toad whimpers, and string his guts from the rubble.

Maybe total his car beforehand just to rub salt in the wound.

Peter smiles sheepishly, making sure none of his intentions for the school or certain members of its incompetent staff are visible. “Unfortunately, my apartment’s mail system is a bit byzantine; it wouldn’t surprise me if one of my neighbors ended up with my packet and forgot to return it to me.”

“Oh dear! Well, I’m sure Mr. Thorne can easily print you off another copy, can’t you, Mr. Thorne?”

“Mr. Thorne” curls his lip and then attempts to straighten his expression into a genial smile at the small frown that flits across Principal Johnson’s face.

Peter keeps his look of boyish, charming innocence, and begins to plot exactly how he can have the assistant principal removed from office, and maybe even from the great state of California.

He’s got to amuse himself somehow during this torment, after all.

Peter wishes he’d been able to go home and at least nap for one of the six hours between his meeting with the principal and when he was due to start his class.

But no. Assistant Principal Thorne decided it was imperative for him to meet every member of the faculty that the school building had to offer.

After the third lunch lady and the fourth janitor, the adults began to blur together into an amorphous mass of names, ink and stress-soaked scents, and awful, awful fashion sense.

Really, Peter should be commended on his self-control for not ripping out Thorne’s throat in the boys’ locker rooms then dragging the body outside to claim that it was a random vicious mountain lion attack.

But he digresses.

A couple do stand out.

The gym teacher—Brody or something— who starts out acting like he belongs on McCall’s high school lacrosse team, before breaking down in hysterics over his ex-wife and children. The long-suffering faces of his students suggest that this isn’t an uncommon occurrence.

The mathematics teacher— a Ms. McGrath—who reeks unpleasantly of resentment and poorly concealed fear. She is in the Derek Hale School of trying to control people via shouting and threats, though hers are more geared towards grades than bodily harm.

The english teacher— Mr. Joshua Nord— is a name Peter takes the trouble to remember simply because he appears to be the least afraid of his own students. He could be tolerable company or the one most likely to stand up to Peter if he gets bored and decides to make his own fun.

By the time 12:00 rolls around, Peter already feels exhausted. He hasn’t even had to deal with any of the actual children yet.

He was suddenly very glad for Principal Johnson’s insistence that he only hold one small class this year, as though exposure to too many middle schoolers at once would send him back into a coma.

Still, at least the scents of paints, inks and clay was familiar enough that it loosens something in Peter’s chest a little.

Funny, the things you don’t realize you miss until they’re suddenly returned to you.

He decides to peruse the back rooms, see exactly what he’ll be working with and how much he’ll need to compensate for budget limitations.

It’s mostly cheap paints, crayola color pencils, crayons, markers, a few sharpies, and some watered-down india ink, but at least there’s a decent set of lino blocks, some traditionally “craft” materials, and several air-sealed bags of clay that make him grin in anticipation.

A pair of small footsteps approach his classroom, and the door creaks open.

Peter contemplates emerging, but none of his students should be here yet. The footsteps that creep into the room are cautious, hesitant, ready to turn and run at any moment.

There’s a couple of high-pitched whispers of “It’ll be on the desk!” and “Quickly, quickly!” and Peter shifts so that he’ll be able to spy on the intruders into his territory through the glass window in the back room door.

The brown hair that rests on the child’s shoulders reminds Peter of a beagle’s floppy ears. The bags under her eyes (it’s usually a her with that sort of hairstyle) only furthers the similarities as she looks around wide-eyed on her twitchy, overly-cautious journey to his desk, clutching a brightly colored piece of plastic.

There’s a scent of heavily applied makeup emanating from near the door, combined with high-pitched snickering, suggests that her lookout is most likely a girl as well.

The child finally gets to his desk, and Peter rolls his eyes at the sound of rustling papers.

Really, how does this child ever sneak anything past her parents or older relatives? It’s almost cartoonish how obvious she is— she makes Stilinski at his most discombobulated seem subtle and discrete.

There’s a soft scratching sound, and the scent of graphite. So a basic graffiti prank then. He hopes she at least does something more creative than a simple penis. Though it could make for a good first critique project...

The acrid burst of Sharpie ink gives him pause. Well, either she’s going above and beyond in the call of duty or, as the repetitive sound of the mark making suggests, she’s looking more to conceal something than to add.

Peter’s lips curl into a slow smirk.

The pencil scratches a few more times against the paper before the girl loses her nerve and barrels back towards the door of the classroom, bumping into her lookout, and the two sets of footsteps pound off down the hall, nervous giggles floating in their wake.

Peter lets himself out of the back room, and rearranges the freshly photocopied syllabi and scattered codes of conduct. He pauses to take in the results of the intruder’s meddling.

The smirk widens.

This promises to be interesting.

[xx-rainbowkitty-xx]

hai! i’m opening up nostalgic ms paint furry commissions ^_^ more info below the cut! also, reblogs are very very much appreciated to spread this! thankz :D

all ms paint commissions come with:

- flat color (no shading)

- a transparent and flat bg version

- that style reminiscent of old furry art! :D

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fullbody - $6 USD

can be anthro/feral! you may specify the pose if you wish, or i can choose one for you! if you don't specify a pose, i'll just assume you want me to choose.

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doodle page - $24 USD

a page of 5-7 doodles of your character(s)! can be anthro/feral. i'll choose the poses here, but feel free to give me some info on your character's personality if you want! up to three different characters can be put on one page.

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TOS

1. my artwork is not for commercial use. you may not sell or reproduce the artwork i make for you. the only exception to this rule is if both parties agree on a form of commercial use beforehand. 2. you may not claim to be the one who made the image i produce. 3. you can reupload the artwork i create to your own gallery on any website, but i must be credited in such uploads. 4. using the commissioned artwork as an avatar, in a forum signature, or as a roleplay image on public websites is okay so long as i am credited somewhere visible. 5. i reserve the right to decline any commission without explanation. 6. unless you tell me to keep the commission anonymous or private, i will upload the finished artwork to furaffinity and deviantart.

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how to order

to order, please send me a message over tumblr’s instant messenger with the type of commission you want and all applicable character refs. once we've agreed on the commission, i will give you my paypal where you can send me the payment. alternatively, you can contact me at chi#4107 on discord (which is probably faster too), but i'd prefer if you sent me an ask that you're adding me so i know you aren't a spammer or something xD expected turn around time should be less than 2 weeks, sometimes a matter of days!

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that’s it i think!! thankz for reading!! ^_^

[brettyimages]

Never gonna give you up, I want candy, You spin me round and Living on a prayer please? :)

thank you for asking!  These are such lovely nostalgic questions and I gave some of them really long answers so sorry about that

never gonna give you up: how old were you when you joined the internet?So I remember feeling like we were one of the last families in my class at school to get a computer and at first it was definitely just a MS Paint and Word document machine.  My first memories of the internet are of things like Busted’s websites and playing online dress-up games and that sort of thing, which would make me about 9 maybe?  My granny had a computer and an internet connection before we did though so it was probably a year or two later, when I started high school, that I started spending all my time on Green Day forums and MSN Messenger and MySpace/Bebo.

i want candy: chocolate or sweets?Chocolate, although pick’n’mix does still fill me with nostalgic joy

you spin me round (like a record): favourite modern cover of an older song?I have lots of favourite covers but because I don’t listen to a lot of ‘modern’ music I guess that narrows it down.  Here’s some:- Come As You Are by Prep School- Only You by The 1975- New York New York by Digital Daggers- Chelsea Hotel No 2 and Summer Wine and The Happiest Girl In The USA by Lana Del Rey 

living on a prayer: which was the song of your childhood?This is a really broad question because I’ve always gone through really intense phases and I can’t define my whole childhood with just one song!  So again, here’s a few:- Somebody Put Something In My Drink - Ramones: I remember this and Lou Reed songs on a cassette my dad played in the car when I was little and I liked this but was frightened by Lou- Viva Forever by Spice Girls: this was the first single I ever owned, I convinced my grandparents to buy it for me in the supermarket when I was 4- Pure & Simple by Hear’Say: embarrassing but they’re probably the first band I was ever obsessed with?  They were the first of those reality TV pop contest shows and I got really into following them even though I don’t remember actually watching from week to week- She’s In Fashion by Suede: this is mostly just to make me sound cooler after the last couple of choices but I got a CD free with some pop magazine when I was 6 and it has every late 90s boyband you can think of on it, some Eurodance tunes, and then, inexplicably in the middle, Suede.  I accumulated quite a few of these free CDs and got rid of a lot of them when I realised I didn’t really care for any of the songs but I kept this one because I liked this one weird song by this band who, for all I knew, might never have had another hit, and I’m glad I did- What I Go To School For by Busted: they were my next big obsession and my gateway band for rock and alternative music growing up.  I had this as a cassingle and my poor grandparents who had a tape player in their car had to endure it on repeat for a whole holiday- Complicated by Avril Lavigne: like the above, but this time instead of cute boys pulling faces in school uniforms, it was a girl in a tie with a skateboard and 9 year old me thought she was cool as fuck.  She’s also the first person I ever went to see in concert so she’s important- Come With Me by Special D: not a rock song at all but a really tacky early-00s dance song.  It was probably a weird thing for me to be into as it doesn’t sit comfortably with the above two, but my best friend and I were in love with this song.  I used to go to her house for tea once a week when we were 10 and we’d eat pasta and draw and watch movies meant for girls much older than us.  She inhabited a world of hairspray and lipgloss sets and we used to take shots of water and pretend we were dancing on the bar like we were in Coyote Ugly.  When we got to high school we emerged as completely different people and I left all of that weird trashy pre-teen glamour behind forever- American Idiot by Green Day: probably my last big obsession before I entered my teens.  American Idiot came out just as I started high school and they really helped to define the friends I made and the person I became for that first couple of years and beyond.