#but truly whichever of them first came up with the name it's just so so funny to me

[justallihere]

Okay, I did some laundry, I've had lunch, I've breathed fresh air and taken some deep breaths (did not touch any grass because it's covered in snow), and we're back. My wrap up thoughts of Onyx Storm are below! Be warned it's chock full of spoilers, and these are all my honest opinions. I haven't even given this a rating yet because I don't really know what I want to rate it! Nothing's really in order so sorry about that. But I look forward to hearing everyone else's thoughts!

I loved that the importance of the bond between dragon and human was emphasized so heavily in this book. That Asher called Aimsir Lilith's first love, Violet telling Tairn he's the gift of her life, that even Halden knew that the true barrier to her would be the dragon bond - and especially that when Xaden channeled again, in a way that he knew would irreversibly damn him, he did it for Sgaeyl. To keep her safe, because she chose him before and above everyone else.

I adored the Riorgail of it all. They were open and honest with each other, saying I love you practically every other breath, declaring their loyalty and devotion to each other in front of anyone who would listen. I loved that we got them as a team, facing stuff together and trusting that what they couldn't the other could handle it.

On the other hand, it may just be me but they didn't quite feel like themselves. Maybe because it was the first time we've truly seen them be public about their feelings, but they didn't feel like the same Xaden and Violet from the previous two books. Xaden felt so intense that everything he said gave me anxiety, devoted to the point of obsession. I would actually call Violet morally gray here, but it came out of nowhere; there wasn't a great transition into that change in her character, none of the hesitation or guilt I'd expect.

In short, they kind of felt like my Xaden and Violet and not canon? I loved them, but I'm not sure it matches what we know of them from FW and IF and the change in character didn't feel entirely smooth.

But Xaden IS her sword!!!!

The worldbuilding was ridiculous. Violet was dropping facts left right and center like the details of the aristocracy and politics at play were common knowledge - and maybe they are in world, but if they're that obvious then I feel like those details should've been worked into earlier books. I felt like I was floundering trying to keep up with all the new names and titles and roles.

In the same vein, the lore about magic made no sense. So only the Continent has magic but why? Was it drained from other places? Does it only occur naturally in certain areas? Dragons don't have magic that exists within them - they also draw from the source which? Hello hypocrites much? That was another thing that was said so casually, but that should've been one of those things we learned in Fourth Wing, at Threshing or right after.

There was too much happening with the plot to the point that I lost it completely. The trips to the isles were overwhelming. I know the venin and the irids were tied together, but those two things competed so much that I kept forgetting about whichever one we weren't talking about. Literally just. . . forgot about the venin there for a bit in the middle. We were looking for a cure but we were looking for Andarna's kind but we were trying to stop the venin and we were also gathering allies and making trade deals and none of those points were fleshed out completely.

The ending was vague and confusing in a way that made me frustrated instead of interested or anticipatory. I read the last two chapters three times and I still don't know what the fuck was going on there. So the Sage is. . . Fen? Is Garrick the one who also turned? Bodhi? Brennan? Ridoc? Fuck if I know. I understand the point of the marriage, to give Violet control over Tyrrendor legally, but I'm also pissed at the way it happened.

I know we don't want anyone to actually die, but I literally didn't even flinch when Mira's throat got cut open because I figured she'd be fine. There were no important deaths. Trager and Quinn didn't hit that hard. Not putting any of the main characters in significant danger makes the stakes feel lower than they should.

The fan service made me roll my eyes. I get it to a certain extent, but there were several times when I legitimately kind of felt like RY had been in fandom spaces or someone on her team was just feeding her popular theories to include.

The marked ones having second signets was. . . not my favorite choice, because logistically it doesn't make much sense. We should statistically see at least one of them go mad from the power instead of developing a second signet. And I actually think if that had been included it would have been more interesting! I'd like to see the reality of the risks that were taken to make the rebellion happen, but instead they just got really really lucky a bunch of times?

The use of the word Riorgail in print sent me to the fucking moon. No.

Violet's second signet. . . I don't want to talk about it.

Actually no I do. Since when are signets based on situational need and not who a person is at their core? Was that not what we were told previously? Am I tripping? I don't mind the power itself but I am confused.

Professor Riorson had me on the ground laughing. What the hell was that. There are enough barriers to their relationship, and that one felt too forced (but great fodder for smutty fic).

The characters and their relationships are the standout of the book and the series. I already said I loved Xaden and Violet here, but I also loved their friendships and how real especially the relationship with Brennan and Mira and Violet felt. The humor and the quips and the squad's constant support of each other was wonderful.

I'm holding onto those Sloane and Dain crumbs like a teddy bear you all have no idea. I love them.

Aaric being the one with precognition I didn't see coming, but I surprisingly liked it! I loved him stepping more into his role as prince and seeing how cunning and smart he really is.

Halden was unnecessary but I live for possessive and jealous Xaden.

Overall I think the pacing was crammed and the worldbuilding left me with more questions than answers, but did I still like it? Yes! I don't think it's my favorite in the series but it still was an enjoyable read. I'll want to read it again at some point I think, but not immediately!

[ichorai]

stitch ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

words ; 8.7k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, foul language, lucky being lucky, a lot of kisses, coryo's paranoia, he's much more toxic this chapter someone pls save reader (aka doomed by the narrative), i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; thank you for all the support on this series so far! if i've planned this out right, there will be two more parts coming after this one!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Considering you survived numerous explosions and a metal-pipe lodged in your abdomen, you weren’t looking all that bad. Though you were still badly aching, the injuries you had sustained during the bombings strayed away from your face, save for a few small cuts and bruises that would heal in no time. It made it easy for you to pretend like everything was okay as you donned a crisp, ironed, academy uniform. A new one, that wasn’t stained with your blood and the arena’s dust.

All the doctors had advised you to stay at the hospital to rest and recover. But with the games starting in mere hours… you couldn’t leave Wovey alone. You made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

After surprisingly little begging, your mother caved and signed the release forms for you, on the condition that you’d stay on a wheelchair for the entire duration of the games—or until you were fully healed. Whichever came first. 

Coriolanus came early that morning, looking more tired than the last time you saw him, and promised your mother that he’d take care of you with a charming smile. He kissed your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, before wheeling you off to the academy. The warm, fresh wind was refreshing against your face, billowing your hair to and fro.

“I gave her rat poison,” Coriolanus said as he pushed you along. 

The suddenness of his words startled you into a flabbergasted silence. You stared straight ahead for a few moments, lips screwing to the side, trying your best to remain calm. Then, you gritted out, “What in Panem made you think that was a good idea? If Highbottom finds out… it’ll be over for you, Coryo. That’ll be grounds for worse than expulsion.”

“Lucy Gray has to win. She can’t—on her own. I had to give her something.” Coriolanus’ hands flexed on the handles of the wheelchair. 

“I can’t cover for you forever, Coryo,” you whispered, words almost lost to the wind. But he heard.

He narrowed his pale eyes at the back of your head. “You won’t tell, will you?” There was a biting edge to his tone.

“You’re an idiot if you think I would.” You pressed a hand over your bandaged abdomen, obscured by the vibrant red fabric. “Besides—if you go down, I’d go down with you. With enough secrets of yours I bite down on… that makes me an accomplice, too.”

Lucky Flickerman’s eyes were wide as saucers when you showed up to the academy in a wheelchair. He fluttered over to you with a reporter following close behind him, shoving a camera into your face. You loved him, truly, but it was hard to tell apart the Lucky that appeared in front of cameras and the real Lucky your mother was best friends with. A myriad of questions fell from the mustached man’s mouth, and you only managed to answer one and a half of them before Sejanus appeared, and Lucky turned to him to ask him questions about his missing tribute.

With a roll of his eyes, Coriolanus pushed you down a ramp (one that hadn’t been there until just a few hours ago, when they heard news of you coming in a wheelchair), and settled you in front of a monitor with your name on it, in the middle of the rows of seats. His was by the very edge, much to both of your dismay.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he told you, enveloping one of your hands in both of his. He kneeled down in front of you so he’d be at eye-level.

You nodded, but pursed your lips. “Why did you tell me? About the…” You trailed off, worried someone would overhear. But he knew what you were talking about—the rat poison.

He tried his best to give you a genuine smile, nudging his knuckles beneath your chin. They felt cold against your skin—a stark contrast to what the wind outside had felt like. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Enough secrets of mine you hoard, the more you’re tethered to me.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. Your lips parted, but no words left your tongue.

Dipping forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Let’s hope this is over quickly.”

Let’s hope they all die quick, he might as well have said.

“Mmh,” you told him, sparing something akin to a smile. Though, it might’ve looked more like a grimace. Coriolanus’ head was far too preoccupied to notice. You felt sick, and glanced around at all the other students who were taking their seats. Lucky was making his way to the front to get some final touch-ups, flashing you an encouraging wink.

A minute later, he waved away the makeup artists and brandished a microphone from thin air. You almost rolled your eyes—his amateur magic tricks were certainly getting better and better.

“Okay, everyone, places! We’re about to go live! Just because we’re not hosting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Help me out here, alright? Don’t get lost behind your screens. No yawning, no gum-chewing—keep your chins down, heads up, shoulders back, people! And—do remember to smile. It’s why we have teeth.”

Lucky began grinning from ear-to-ear as a demonstration. 

His teeth are far too white for his face, Coriolanus thought as he settled into his seat. A shade brighter and I’d surely go blind.

With a hand raised, Lucky began counting down with his fingers. He announced himself with his usual charming flair—and when the music started thrumming, low and ominous, he began wishing everyone a happy Hunger Games, before rushing off to stand behind all the students. 

The large screen in the center of the theater lit up with a shot of the tributes walking into the arena. Several dozens of smaller screens surrounding it gave the students a wide plethora of different angles. 

Your throat went dry upon seeing Wovey and Lucy Gray emerge from the entrance tunnel holding hands. They smiled at each other—one of the smaller cameras managed to catch it just perfectly—all soft and encouraging. Peacekeepers pushed the two onward with the barrels of their guns and they were forced to separate. 

“Stand on your marks or you will be shot,” the announcement system buzzed.

Some of the tributes sobbed. Some of them hardened with determination.

The cameras panned around—until one of them landed on a hanging body, strung up by bloody ropes. Your eyes widened when you recognized him as Sejanus’ tribute.

Was he dead?

His chest gave a hunkering breath, though shallow and wheezy, and you dreaded to think about how much pain he must’ve been in. 

“Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he’s off the streets,” Lucky said into the microphone. The audience of students behind you burst into sporadic cheers and bouts of laughter.

This must’ve been the last straw for Sejanus, as he got up from his desk and just about chucked the entire monitor across the theater. It fell against the stage with several clutters and thunks. Many of the students nearby flinched. 

“YOU’RE MONSTERS!” he screamed, face wrought with anguish. “ALL OF YOU!”

With that, he stormed out. Perhaps if you weren’t confined to your wheelchair or in a great amount of pain you would’ve followed him, you thought. But maybe you were just making excuses for yourself.

Sejanus was a brave man with a rash head. You were neither brave nor rash.

Lucky began to count down again. And just as he reached one, a loud, buzzer-like sound rang through the arena. Echoed into the theater from the monitors.

The tributes began running every which way. You had your eyes fixed on Wovey. At first, she seemed to jaggedly step towards the center, where a selection of weapons were laid out. But she thought better of it once she saw all the commotion and scuttled back to the rows of seats as fast as she could. She climbed and climbed, and your chest was heavy with the idea of her falling, or of someone following her. Nobody did, thankfully.

There you go, sweetheart. Hide.

The last you saw of Wovey was the top of her small head before she disappeared behind the dusty seats. Good.

Then, you turned your attention to Lucy Gray, running around and screaming for Jessup. You briefly glanced back at Coriolanus, who was looking incredibly tense. His entire face seemed to be set into a deep frown.

What is she doing? he mouthed, mostly to himself. Run!

Immediately, buzzes rang out through the theater as tributes were slowly eliminated and disappointed students got up from their seats. You tried your best to avert your eyes from all the blood and gore. The screams, however, you couldn’t escape. A girl three seats away from you puked all over the floor, much to Lucky’s irritation.

To your relief, Lucy Gray managed to find Jessup amidst the chaos, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hole in the ground—into the tunnels. A few angry tributes were following after them at a worryingly quick pace. Lucky made a rather smug comment about the gamemakers being prepared enough to have security cameras installed in every nook and cranny, even after the bombing “disruption”. 

You let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when Lucy Gray managed to crawl into a room through a flap in the door, Jessup hot on her heels. The tributes cursed and yelled, but no one dared follow in after the two in fear of getting hurt while trying to get in.

“Thirteen tributes remain,” announced Lucky. He looked to you and gave you a wink. “Reaper still looming large on top of the charts while Coral and her pack try to make a play. Little Wovey has done an excellent job of scaling the broken columns and hiding beneath what’s left of the seats. Let’s hope we see her soon.”

You glanced at your monitor. There were options to send her food or water if need be. But not yet. You had to be resourceful with the donations you had.

“Six tributes gone in minutes. If they keep it up at this pace… we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Many hours passed. It was incredibly quiet for a long time—save for Lucky moving off to the side to do some reporting of the weather. Some students even fell asleep by their monitors. 

You were growing tired too, lids heavy with exhaustion and head bobbing up and down a few times. You tried to keep yourself awake, paranoid that something could happen to Wovey if you were to accidentally doze off. To your relief, you snapped awake when a hand rested on your shoulder and Coriolanus kneeled down beside you, offering a bottle of water. It felt wrong to be drinking at your leisure when the tributes were probably parched right now. 

You took the bottle with a grateful mutter of thanks and took a hefty swig.

“How are you feeling? Your wounds okay?” His hand moved up to gently smooth over the back of your head.

“I think so,” you replied, before grimacing. “I don’t like watching this, Coryo. I never have.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I can take you back, if you want. To the hospital.”

“No. I have to stay,” you protested. He seemed relieved at this, not keen on leaving any time soon. 

With a curt nod, he gestured back to his own seat. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”

“You should focus on your tribute, Coriolanus,” you told him, brushing the back of your fingers along his jaw.

“My tribute didn’t have a metal pipe sticking out of her a day ago,” he whispered. “You’re priority number one. You always will be.”

“Well, I’m fine. Lucy Gray, however, is much more at risk,” you replied airily. “If my Wovey can’t win… I’d really rather see her alive.”

Those pale eyes of his searched yours.

“I love you,” he said. It was abrupt and sounded as if someone was strangling it out of him.

“I love you, too. Get back to your seat before Highbottom finds a way to get mad at you,” you told him. With a pointed jerk back to his seat, you heavily emphasized, “Again.”

With a squeeze of your shoulder (you tried your best not to grimace, since he pressed right against a large bruise on your collarbone), he rose back to full height and headed back to his monitor. 

The arena was still silent, even an hour later. Just as you were beginning to seriously consider taking a nap, there came a rustling from the rubble. Lamina, the other district two tribute, rose from behind a large stone slab, and approached the hanging Marcus.

His blood from all the exposed wounds he’d acquired had slowly dripped down his body and formed a frighteningly sizable, semi-dried puddle down below. It was a wonder how he hadn’t already succumbed to his wounds. 

Lamina climbed up the broken stone columns to make her way to him. There were several dried tear tracks on her face, and her nose was very red. Lamina stroked Marcus’ head, and he seemed to jerk alive with her touch. His chest rose and fell in a broken, staggering motion. 

“Please…” he croaked. “Please…” 

He dissolved into gentle sobs.

When Lamina raised her hatchet, you tore your eyes away and looked downward. There came a sick squelch as she struck him and the audience gasped. Lamina cut at his bonds and watched his body crumple down to the ground. Donations for Lamina began to steadily climb higher.

Pup Harrington, Lamina’s mentor, decided to take it upon himself to be the first one to send his tribute a drone with water. Dread settled the pit of your stomach when the drone buzzed in through the broken rooftop of the arena—but it didn’t seem to slow down. No, it only accelerated faster and faster the closer it got. Lamina gave a little shriek and ducked just in time—the drone crashed into the stone column and exploded into a thousand metal parts. The glass water bottle fell down below and shattered by Marcus’ now-dead body.

How were you supposed to send Wovey water now? Perhaps you’d send her food instead—that way, it wouldn’t shatter and go to waste if it hit anything. You scrolled through the options on your monitor. Apples would be a good choice. Plenty of water in them. But you held back—Wovey might’ve been asleep underneath those seats.

A few more hours passed by, slipping well into nightfall. You took a vial of prescribed morphling from your bag and downed it in one go. You could feel it buzzing through your system almost immediately, numbing the sting of your still-healing wounds. It just so happened that Highbottom swept down the steps then, eyeing you behind those spectacles of his. You shuddered and leaned your head down onto the table. The drugs were making you incredibly sleepy.

Highbottom stopped just behind Coriolanus. “You can’t save her by watching,” he murmured to his most loathsome student. “What do you want from that girl?”

“Nothing,” the blonde gritted out. “I want her to live.”

“Mmh. And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose.”

Coriolanus’ eyes squinted at nothing in particular. “I believe I’d be entitled to it.”

“Of course you do,” Highbottom retorted, tone heavy with condescension. “And who do you think makes the final decision for the prize you so covet, Mr. Snow? Wake up. Even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t see a single dime. So… ask yourself this: how much do you care if she lives now?”

Coriolanus was gripping his hands into fists so tight that they turned a ghostly-white.

“And I know… if the young and talented Y/N wins that prize… it’ll go straight to you. Isn’t that right?” Highbottom’s lips twitched in amusement when Coriolanus stiffened. “So it seems that neither of you will be seeing that prize, Mr. Snow.”

His jaw twitched, and he snapped his head to the scowling dean. “You can’t punish them because of me. That’s not fair. Y/N doesn’t deserve that.”

Highbottom let out a gruff laugh, quiet enough for nobody to notice. Mostly everyone had gone home or was asleep, anyway. “It’s not like Y/N would have won anyway—not with that quiet little runt. Kid was doomed from the very start. Take a good look in front of you, boy. Take a look at those tributes—and then you come and tell me what’s fair.”

The very last word was practically spat at him. The dean turned on his heel and marched off. 

Still, hours passed by silently. Lucky was clearly growing agitated with the fact that things were moving so slowly. He’d already had to cancel two dinner appointments.

When Volumnia Gaul stepped into the academy, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders, you were already half-awake. She stood beside you menacingly, and you startled into full alert with a small noise of surprise, the bright blue of one of her eyes boring right into you. She said your name then, all low and elongated. You could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. Still groggy, your blurry peripheral vision told you that practically every one had retired for the night. Save for a few straggler students and, of course, Coryo. You noticed, with muted interest, that every single screen was frozen on an image of the Panem crest, rather than the security camera footage inside the arena.

“I can smell the morphling on you,” she muttered, brows raised. “You should go home. Get some rest. Change those bandages of yours.”

You glanced down at your abdomen—a grimace made its way onto your face when you noticed that your uniform (new, mind you), was stained with a fresh bout of blood. You’d bled through your bandages. With a frown, you uneasily swallowed. It didn’t seem like Dr. Gaul was going to accept no for an answer.

“I, uh—” She noticed the way you began to angle yourself to Coriolanus. He’d fallen asleep by his monitor, in a similar fashion to you.

Her mouth pursed in mock-sympathy. “Coriolanus wants to stay. Watch over his songbird. I suggest you find someone else to wheel you back home.”

Your lips parted in surprise. A part of you wanted to protest, but you were far too tired to argue. “I can get myself home,” you told her. “Good night, Dr. Gaul.”

A creaky, amused titter fell from her throat. “Your little one is good at hiding. A shame she’s not going to make it.”

A wave of nausea rolled over you. You determinedly fixed your gaze on the ground and began to push yourself out of the academy. Volumnia watched you go with narrowed eyes. Once she was sure you were gone, she made her way to Coriolanus. 

The boy had a job to do.

Bobbin’s blood was still all over his hands. Dried, now. Dark with time. Dr. Gaul stitched up the gash on his left shoulder blade—he wondered if you had been in this much pain when you woke up in the hospital. But it was different, because he was slashed by a little boy, and you fell onto a metal pipe. Coriolanus wasn’t sure which one was better. 

Not that it was a competition. It was all Sejanus’ fault anyway, he concluded.

He had wanted to sprinkle bread crumbs on his dead tribute’s body. What a waste.

Once Dr. Gaul had sent him off back home with his wound tightly bound, he staggered out with a heavy chest and tear-stained cheeks.

And he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. He brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection. 

This should be mine, he thought. I should have this. I deserve this.

And then, another irrational thought crossed his mind as he rang the doorbell. 

It will be mine.

The doors swung open—which mildly surprised him, considering it was very late at night—and your mother peeked her head out. She eyed him with part confusion, part surprise. Then, she caught sight of the blood on his hands. The door widened to let him through. 

Almost immediately when he stepped in, your mother roped him into a warm embrace. He inhaled and choked on air. And then, he dissolved into a fit of wracking sobs. She crooned and stroked her hand along the back of his head.

“What’s this, Coriolanus? Whose blood is this?”

He hiccuped and drew in a staggered breath. “It’s… mine. I got into a fight with a classmate about the Games. It got violent and bloody—Dr. Gaul fixed me up.” He emphasized a wince and gestured to the wound on his shoulder. He let your mother fuss over him, demanding to take a look at the gash. Reluctant, he unbuttoned his uniform again to let her see.

It seemed the commotion was enough to wake you up, because you had limped to the top of the grand staircase with sleepy eyes and messy hair. 

Once your mother caught sight of you out of bed, she pulled away from Coriolanus to chastise you, but her words fell on deaf ears. You mumbled out your boyfriend’s name in confusion, before leaning heavily against the bannister to slowly step down, wincing with the movement. 

Coriolanus was quick to move upstairs, meeting you near the top, as you had only managed to descend a handful while he jogged to you. He cupped your face first, smoothing his thumbs over your jaw the way he always did. And when you spread your arms, he just about fell into you, his nose dropping down to the junction between your neck and your shoulder. His entire form trembled with his cries, muffled into your skin. 

It was as if he’d been reduced to a child all over again. Eating paste, salty with his tears of hunger. 

“Coryo,” you whispered, gripping at his waist. “Coryo, please tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

He hesitantly withdrew his damp face away from your neck. “Can we… talk privately?”

With pursed lips, you looked down to your mother at the bottom of the staircase.

She cleared her throat tiredly. “I’ll leave you two be. But no funny business, understand? Y/N needs to recover.”

With a serious stare in Coriolanus’ direction, she turned and marched off to the Northern wing.

“Come on,” you told him. “Let’s go to my room.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. His arm wrapped over your waist to help you up the few steps. “It’s so late, and I just barged in and interrupted your sleep—”

“Coryo, you’re covered in blood. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

Once in your room, you shut the door and leaned against it. Coriolanus made his way to your bed and sat on it, face buried into his hands.

“Does this have something to do with Dr. Gaul?” you asked, watching him with keen eyes. 

His head snapped up and he regarded you curiously. “How’d you know?” 

“She told me to leave. And all the screens were… frozen.” With slow steps, you limped across your room to sit right beside him. “Whose blood is that?”

Coriolanus was silent for a long while. So long that you wondered if he even heard your question at all.

“Don’t—don’t hate me. I need you.”

“I won’t hate you. I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop it, Coryo. You don’t get to decide whether I l—”

“It was Bobbin.” He effectively cut you off, rendering you speechless. “I killed him.”

You stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “The… the district eight boy?” With each passing second, your eyes grew larger and—wetter. Coriolanus had to turn away. “You were in the arena? Dr. Gaul made you… oh, Coryo.”

“Sejanus went in to see his friend.” The last word was sneered out in a rather demeaning manner. “The tributes started attacking us. I… I hit Bobbin with a rock.”

He left out the gorey details. How he kept bashing Bobbin’s head in even after his body stopped twitching. How it felt… powerful. 

“It was self defense, then,” you murmured, drawing closer to brush your lips against his shoulder, just above his sutures.

It was, at first. And then it… wasn’t. Coriolanus pursed his lips. 

“Bobbin… he was Wovey’s friend, I think.” Your voice wavered, and you blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he frowned. He didn’t like how much you cared for her, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made him. It was like Highbottom said… the kid was doomed from the very beginning.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, voice as soft as silk.

“I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll be here for you.”

“You’re too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re always just so… good. How do you do it?”

There was a considerable silence before you reached over to take his chin between your fingers and force him to look at you. “I’m just trying my best. And you are, too. Don’t discredit yourself, Coriolanus. You’re good for me. You always will be.”

His pale eyes flickered. Then, he kissed you. Slow and soft, begging for more but—you pulled away with a hum before he could press further against you. 

A distinct coldness fell over his expression. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. About Bobbin.”

You studied him for a few seconds. Watched the way he folded into himself with such caution. Compartmentalize and shield the most ugly parts of himself away from you. It was a defense mechanism of sorts. You knew it all too well, and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why do you always think that I’ll go about and tell the world everything you say to me? Do you not trust me?”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I do. I do, of course I do. You just—you know everything there is to know. You can destroy me completely, and it’ll be my fault because I let you in—because I let myself fall in love with you.”

Your features twisted into one of shock. “Is that what you think? That I’m seeking to destroy you? Bring you down? What—Coriolanus, why would I do that? Do you hear yourself? How many times do I have to say that I love you until you realize that I mean it?” 

“You can love me and still betray me. They’re not mutually exclusive.” There was a terse silence that stretched thick between the two of you like taffy. His brows furrowed together and he stared angrily down at the ground as he frustratedly worked his jaw. “I’m not saying you will betray me. I’m saying you could. And that… that terrifies me.”

“I won’t. You said it yourself, remember? I’m tethered to you. I’m an accomplice—I know too much,” you said, exasperated. “But there is nothing I want to take from you. I gain nothing from stabbing you in the back. I just—I want for us to be a normal fucking couple!”

Coriolanus hung his head. With another sharp breath, he nodded several times, as if he was snapping himself out of his own thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

When your countenance softened inexplicably, Coriolanus let himself slowly tear his walls of paranoia back down. His hands returned to you then, far more hesitantly cradling your face, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs as he kissed you. It was familiar and comforting, yet simultaneously all too much.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you panted into the kiss, trying to break away as your lungs screamed for air. “I miss you. It’s been so long since we just… existed alone together.”

He nodded—because how could he say no to you?—and helped you settle back onto the bed. Let you hold onto him, let you trace mindless shapes into his arm. Watched as your eyes fluttered shut and you fell back into what looked like a restful sleep. Envy curled within the confines of his chest. Sleep graced you so easily. Why did everything come to you so easily?

Nonetheless, he dipped forward to brush his lips against your temple, before gingerly pulling away. You stirred with the jostling, but stayed deep asleep. With that, Coriolanus made his way out of your room, clicking the door shut as softly as he could, and descended down the stairs. He left your house with a heavy chest and a throbbing shoulder.

Early the next morning, your mother came to the academy with you to watch the end of the Hunger Games—and to be there for moral support, she’d told you. She wheeled you in with a bright smile, greeting all the staring students with a friendly confidence. Once she brought you in front of the very same monitor as yesterday, she kissed the top of your head before flitting away to speak with Lucky, who was all smiles and charm. You overheard him saying that he was confident the games would come to a close soon. Your mother said something in reply, but their voices were drowned out by the swell of students entering the theater.

Coriolanus walked in only a few minutes after you, Tigris on his arm. The two of them made their way to you—Coryo was stone-faced, looking more tired than ever. Tigris appeared more worried than anything, but she was just about glowing in her new pink dress, all sharp angles and pristine fabric.

“You look beautiful,” you told her genuinely once she drew closer to you and took both your hands in hers. “I love your outfit. The color suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, flushing a pleased rouge hue. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been impaled by a metal pipe,” you told her with a slight grimace. “But, you know… no better way to fix that than to watch children kill themselves through a screen.”

The two cousins laughed dryly at your sarcasm. Tigris then enthusiastically told you that the dress she was making for you was ready—and you grinned and told her you were incredibly excited to come see it. With that, she nodded and left to take her seat amongst the stands, wishing the two of you good luck. 

Once she was gone, Coriolanus reached out to grasp your shoulder. Your talk with him last night plagued him for hours and hours when he should’ve been asleep. 

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, leaning into his touch when he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “You look tired, Coryo.”

A wry smile. “Slept like a baby.”

It was a lie, and you knew it. You frown-smiled at him nonetheless.

He bent at the waist, tilted your face up to meet his, and kissed you square on the lips. Some of the students in the stand wolf-whistled, and it felt distinctly like Coriolanus was putting on a show for them, and for the cameras. And you were, well—you were an unwilling actor.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and gestured to his seat in the corner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Likewise.”

Coriolanus found himself wondering if you were hiding something from him. Why did it feel like you were drawing yourself away? Were you planning on sabotaging him?

Before he could dwell on it anymore, you gently nudged him off, as Lucky was beginning his opening remarks once again. He talked about the mystery behind Bobbin’s death (sending a cold tremor up Coriolanus’ spine), but moved on rather quickly to the stats board. 

The few remaining mentors settled down and the rest of the students in the stands quieted to watch the games continue. 

Not fifteen minutes later, commotion started brewing between Jessup and Lucy Gray. It was hisses and twitches from the boy at first, but then grew into explosive anger and panicked aggressiveness. Frightened, Lucy Gray began to doggedly run away from her friend, crawling out of the rubble-strewn tunnels and back into the main arena. 

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata, Jesssup’s mentor, said. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hazy screen. There seemed to be foam collecting at the corners of Jessup’s mouth as he chased after Lucy Gray, demanding to know what she’s done to him. The hazy memory of Lucy Gray at the zoo mentioning a bat bite resurfaced into your mind.

“It’s rabies,” you told the two. “The foam in his mouth. He’s got rabies—the bat bite in the train, remember?”

Coriolanus and Lysistrata’s eyes both widened. 

“The same district folding in on itself!” Lucky announced into the microphone, and began rattling off some more unnecessary commentary.

“Send him water!” Coryo demanded Lyssie. 

“What?” she asked, watching in horror as her tribute tried to make a grab for Lucy Gray, but she ducked away just in time.

Impatient, Coriolanus stood up and leaned over her desk with gritted teeth. “Remember the posters in the war? Rabies—it makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone!”

Lyssie’s mouth opened and closed. “That’ll scare him!”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on her monitor. “It’ll get him away from her. Jessup is done. And you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

With a tight frown, Lysistrata reached forward to order a water drone. Lucky was preening with all the action.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus breathed out once her order processed through. 

“Nothing to be proud of,” she said, scowling at the screen.

Lucy Gray was begging for her friend to snap out of it as she climbed up a fallen stone pillar, and screamed when a water drone came whizzing right past her ear, crashing into Jessup. Glass went flying every which way. The water had done its job scaring him—Jessup yelled and tittered with the sudden force. He fell backward and toppled right off the pillar. His body made a sickening crack as it came in contact with the ground. The audience exploded into cheers. 

Horrified, Lucy Gray slid down the pillar after her barely-alive friend, hands shaking. A terrible sense of guilt washed over you.

“Jessup?” she asked, shaking his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You watched over me, now I’m watching over you. Sleep now, Jessup. Sleep.”

Jessup’s death was slow and painful. Lyssie sent a bitter glance towards Coriolanus, before storming off. 

But the horrors weren’t yet over for Lucy Gray—Coral and her pack appeared from behind a large pile of rubble, cornering her like coyotes would a lamb. They sneered and jeered at her.

You turned to look at Coriolanus, seeing his face crumple with desperation. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment.

“Use your donations!” you called over. “She won’t fight, Coryo. You know that!”

With a frantic nod, Coriolanus snapped his gaze back to his monitor, and hurriedly pressed down on eight drones of water for his tribute. 

“Mentors allying together in such troubling times!” Lucky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Will it be enough to save the songbird?”

The little machines whirred into the arena at alarming high speeds, and crashed into the unassuming tributes surrounding Lucy Gray. She ducked and covered her head with shaking hands as water and glass and metal parts flew every which way. 

“Hey!” one of the mentors exclaimed. “You can’t attack the tributes!”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus retorted back, looking extremely relieved. Then, he looked back at you, and mouthed, thank you.

Taking advantage of the knocked down tributes, Lucy Gray rushed forward, grabbed a glass of water that remained miraculously unshattered, and ran off to hide behind another fallen pillar. You remembered that Coriolanus had given her rat poison—a part of you wanted her to use it to survive, and the other part of you hoped she wouldn’t ever touch it in fear of people finding out about Coriolanus cheating. That would spell the end of him.

Coral and her pack roused with groans and aches. They moaned about losing Lucy Gray, before setting their sights on Lamina and pursuing after her. It was a shame to watch her go, you thought, remembering the kindness she did for Marcus. She was stabbed in the abdomen (reminding you of your own bound bandages), and fell into a crumpled heap beside her district-mate.

While they were all busy going after her, one of the smaller screens caught Lucy Gray appearing back from behind the rubble, placing the full water bottle back on the ground. She hurriedly reached over to dump water out of any of the other bottles that hadn’t broken. 

Lucy Gray managed to escape Coral just as she began to notice what she was doing, darting up some broken stairs and into a duct, latching it shut so they wouldn’t be able to follow her in. Lucky made a sullen comment about how there were no cameras set up inside there.

Coral and the pack retreated back down to survey all the water Lucy Gray had dumped out, save for the one single bottle. You wondered if said bottle was filled with rat poison, by any chance. 

Since you had your gaze focused on one of the smaller screens, you hadn’t even noticed little Wovey emerging from a row of seats not too far away from where Lucy Gray was hiding inside the duct. 

Your eyes frantically turned to the main screen when one of the pack members exclaimed, “It’s Wovey!”

“No, no…” you muttered, leaning forward in your wheelchair, ignoring the painful sting in your side. Wovey was quick to disappear back under the seats, scampering between rows and small gaps under fallen rocks so that they couldn’t follow after her. Twisted relief clawed at your chest and you heaved for breath when they muttered defeat and decided to go back down to the ground. The group began to dissolve into an argument, which thankfully kept them otherwise occupied from going back to hunt after other tributes. To none of your surprise, Coral ended up stabbing Mizzen right in the chest. 

“And who do we have here?” said Lucky when the main screen changed to show a coughing girl emerging from her hiding place. “Ah! It’s Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Dill staggered towards the water bottle. Uncapped it and drank a few small mouthfuls. She coughed and wheezed. Lied down slowly, chest still rattling with coughs. It had to be poisoned, you concluded. To die right after taking that drink… it was far too much of a coincidence. Lucy Gray must have used the poison. You didn’t dare chance a glance back at Coriolanus, afraid you’d see cruel victory in his eyes.

Reaper ran out a minute later, calling out for Dill as he rushed to her. “Dill? Hey, what happened? Dill! Dill, wake up!” 

And when he realized his district-mate was dead… Reaper let out a guttural scream. It echoed and ricocheted around the arena for everyone to hear. You frowned and tucked your arms closer to your sides.

To your surprise, Reaper began to move the dead tributes’ bodies to where Marcus and Lamina were. He laid each of them carefully beside one another. Fixed their positions and brushed the dirt away from their face. Dill first, then Mizzen. Then Bobbin by the entrance—to which none of the other mentors knew who killed except Coriolanus and… you. 

Reaper tore down the long Panem flag hanging from the arena’s wall. The students burst into boos and derogatory yells. He dragged it over to the makeshift morgue and draped the dusty fabric over the corpses. 

There was a lump in your throat as you watched him stand over the bodies he had so meticulously arranged. He gave the tributes one last shred of dignity when the Capitol—you included—had so monstrously stripped every bit of it away. You twisted in your chair to look at your mother in the stands. She had a hand over her mouth as she watched on, looking every bit as choked up as you.

Reaper gazed straight into one of the cameras and spread his arms. “Are you gonna punish me now?” he asked. “ARE YOU GOING TO PUNISH ME N—”

His yells were suddenly cut off by a breaking news announcement. They still echoed about the theater, and you still could hear Reaper’s strong voice in your head. 

Volumnia Gaul sat stiff and menacing on the large screen, her single, beady blue eye seemingly ablaze with a cold fury.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss. One that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.” The screen changed to display a horrifyingly graphic image of Felix’s dead body covered in bruises and unhealed gashes. This was met with gasps and cries from the crowd. “Out there in the districts… they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games!”

Scandalized murmurs spread throughout the theater. 

Your lips parted with shock. What was the point in having the Hunger Games without a victor? You turned to look at Coriolanus, who was looking every bit as distraught as you. 

A rainbow of destruction, Gaul had said. He knew exactly what that meant. With a tight expression, he sat up and ran out of the theater. You watched him go with utter confusion, calling out his name, but your voice was drowned out over the sea of upset students.

Where was he going? To plea his case with Dr. Gaul or Highbottom? Or… no, he’d told you about the snake muttations Gaul had in her lab—while you were drowsy and delirious with pain, but you could remember it faintly—how they were rainbow in color, fast as lightning as they struck down Clemmie. Did that mean those snakes were going to be set loose in the arena? 

Your heart skipped a beat. Wovey could hide from the other tributes, sure, but small, fast, and most likely deadly snakes? She wouldn’t stand a chance. 

And what of Lucy Gray? What was Coriolanus planning on doing for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Coriolanus came running back in, sweaty and breathless. Just in time, because Coral and her pack were beginning to close in on Lucy Gray, stabbing spears through the vent flap. One of the boys down below the ducts began to cough and sputter, not in an unsimilar fashion to Dill, before collapsing down to the ground with a shudder, blood pouring out of his nose. 

Rat poison. You were sure of it. 

They stabbed at the duct some more until it buckled and broke under her weight, and she came crashing down. Hurriedly, Lucy Gray stumbled up to her feet, climbed over the dead body, and ran as fast as she could away from Coral. They were hot on her tail. Everyone watched with bated breath.

And then—the loud whirring of a carrier came descending down the center of the arena. A large, blackened cylindrical tank was being lowered into the center through the broken rooftop. You let out a shaky breath of petrification. Inside must’ve been the snake muttations Coriolanus told you about. 

The few remaining tributes stared at the tank with wide eyes, too stunned to move. 

“I’d wager that that is going to be no good.” Lucky smiled as he stared at the screen. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?”

Both the arena and the theater lapsed into utter silence. 

Until—until little Wovey peered her head up from the seats. She’s so frail, was your first thought. Slowly, she began to climb out of the rows and hopped down broken pieces of stone to get back to the ground. 

“Wovey—” you found yourself saying aloud. Many eyes drew to you. “No, no, no…”

You watched as the little girl walked towards the large black tank with wide eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her grimy hand. Reaper was warning Wovey to keep away, but the little girl was still moving closer.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Can we go home? Please…”

“Fuck! Fu—shit, fuck! No, Wovey!” you frantically yelled as if she could hear you. Desperate to get her to stop going towards the tank, you looked down at your monitor.

Not many donations… 

But enough to send a drone.

Maybe if you sent food—it’d distract her. Keep her away.

And so you began placing an order for a food drone, much to Lucky’s commentary delight. With shaking hands, you pressed confirm.

But there was one thing you hadn’t considered. 

You hadn’t considered the drone coming in from directly in front of Wovey—with the tank right in its way. A whizz, a blur of silver metal, and murmurs of shock from the crowd. The machine drove itself against the glass tank and broke apart into a thousand pieces. Small red apples went flying every which way. Wovey stopped in her tracks for a moment. 

It was a temporary relief.

A crack formed in the tank. And then—another splinter within the glass. And another, and another, and another. They formed a terrible sort of spider web. 

“No,” you whispered, lips quivering. It was all your fault. “Oh, no.”

With that, the glass gave way to its fractures, and burst apart in a cascade of glittering shards. The snakes came tumbling out just as Dr. Gaul had said: a rainbow of destruction. They took down Wovey first as she screamed, slithering over her small body until you saw no part of her left. You had fallen silent, but your entire body ached as you violently shut your eyes, eliciting a hot tear to streak down your cheek. 

“Not candy! Down goes Wovey!” Lucky announced, though he winced with an apologetic glance in your direction. “Sorry, Y/N.” 

The rest of the snakes were quick to pick off Coral’s pack, and then Coral herself, who cried out that all those lives she took… they couldn’t have been for nothing.

They slithered around Reaper, who sat strongly by the pile of bodies he had arranged. He died alongside them as the serpents closed around his throat.

And that just left Lucy Gray.

“All colors lead to Gray!” Lucky announced, overly pleased with his wording.

Coriolanus smiled, victorious. “She’s—she’s won. It’s over. She’s won! Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow,” said Lucky. He pointed over to Dr. Gaul, who was watching from the theater’s stands with crossed arms. 

The students all murmured and gasped. Coriolanus looked around helplessly.

“Dr. Gaul, she’s won!” he asserted. “It’s over, let her out!”

Volumnia stared at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

And then… Lucy Gray began to sing as the snakes slithered their way to her. They coiled over her ankles and into the ruffles of her dress. Over her arms and around her stomach. Along her back and draped on her shoulders. She sang and sang, her voice strong despite the itchy dryness in her throat.

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus Creed demanded. 

Coriolanus set his jaw. “Must be the singing. It’s calming them.”

“She can’t sing forever,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Everyone in the audience watched, enraptured, as Lucy Gray sang her heart out, wrapped in iridescent snakes. You let out a shaky exhale, and another tear slipped down your face. Watching Wovey go was one thing—you didn’t want to watch Lucy Gray die, as well.

Anger rose in your throat. 

You turned your wheelchair away from the screen—away from your damned monitor. It was your fault Wovey was dead. You wouldn’t watch Lucy Gray die, too.

“LET HER OUT!” you screamed at Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus flinched and stared at you with wonder, along with the rest of the student body. You bared your teeth in a pained snarl, and you let the tears freely fall. They were scalding against your skin, along with the multiple cameras that had turned right to you. “She won. Who’s going to donate to your Games next year if they know you’ll just kill their victor off? Let her out, Gaul!”

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus pleaded, nodding at your words. “Let her out.”

“Get her out!” Tigris chimed along. Your mother voiced the same sentiment a second later, her face shining at you with pride. 

One by one, students began yelling at Dr. Gaul to get Lucy Gray out of the arena until practically everyone was chanting along.

“Nobody’s going to watch your Games without a victor!” Snow told her over the swell of voices. 

With a sharp scowl, she raised her hand. Almost immediately, the crowd fell into silence. 

“Get her out,” she quietly grumbled to one of her assistants.

Lucky clapped and announced excitedly, “She’s won! Lucy Gray has won! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th annual Hunger Games!”

Victory music began playing throughout the theater—trumpets and drums and bells echoing into his ears as the students rushed down from their seats to congratulate him. Shaking his hand, slapping at his back, ruffling his hair. Tigris was at the front of it all, smiling at him so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t split into two. She wrapped him into a warm hug and he held her tight, laughing into her shoulder as the weight of realization fell against him.

He’d won.

Once he pulled away from his cousin, he pushed through the packed crowd to get to you. You were on your feet already, though your weight was leaning heavily against one of the handles of your wheelchair. You were positively overwhelmed by all the commotion around you. 

He held your face with both his hands and kissed you in front of everyone. The cheers grew louder and louder, and Snow pulled away smiling wider than he ever remembered smiling before.

But when he looked at you again—truly looked at you—there were still tears spilling from your eyes. They didn’t look quite like tears of joy, either.

“She was thirteen,” you sobbed, curling against him. “Coryo, she was thirteen. It was my fault. My fault.”

Caught up in his own victory, he’d very nearly forgotten who you were talking about. It took him another second to realize that you were crying over Wovey. Irritation clawed at his chest and he frowned at you. You should’ve been congratulating him—not thinking about your silly dead tribute. What were you expecting? Hadn’t you known this was coming?

Nonetheless, he held you to his chest with empty words of comfort murmured into your ears, rubbing a palm up and down your back in a placating manner. He kissed your forehead and the crowd swooned with the romance of it all. 

You jerked away from Coriolanus when you felt a distinct pain shoot up your stomach. You looked down, noting the darker red blotch in your uniform. 

It seemed like you’d bled through your bandages again.

taglist: @nicksolemnlyswears, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @marjorieisreading, @emlovesya, @dallaav, @sillyskeletonpatrolghost, @sunshine-stars-12, @intoomanyfandom-s, @eclipixels, @unclecrunkle, @wotcherpeak, @dangelnleif, @freyafriggafrey, @scaraslover, @tiaamberxx, @dracuno, @c-losur3, @ashy-kit, @innercreationflower, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @mymadokamagica, @24kmar, @cowboylikerhian, @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo, @curled-hair-red-lips, @har-rison-s, @aoi-targaryen

[ashleyysimsss]

A FIVE GENERATION LEGACY FOR THE SIMS 4:

A 5 generation legacy by yours truly!! 🙈

Sometimes I feel like a 10+ generation legacy challenge can be too much, but don’t always want to stop right in the middle of one. I’ve made a short legacy challenge that can be used to pass the time by quickly, or just something short and fun you can do!

I tried to make it mostly base game friendly, but some of them (especially the aspirations) do have packs. However you are more than happy to alter the rules to suit you in the best way!!

I was inspired by unique flower names, so I’ve used them accordingly to the color of the gen!!

I am by no means a professional and this is my first time doing something like this, but I’m pretty happy with how it came out!! I may add a second version with more generations down the road, but I’m pretty burnt out right now 😅

The purpose of the last gen being “brown” is so that if you’d like to continue the legacy and or go into normal gameplay, you can do so without worrying about crazy heir colors etc :)

The “optional” categories are something you can add or replace! <3

Anyways I know this caption is long so i’ll finish up… if you do this legacy and decide to post it, tag me! I would LOVE to see!! (however it is with the intention to play it on your own personal gameplay time without pressure to post) 🥰

You can also use the hashtag: #blossominglegacy on whichever platform you post on! 🫶🏻

I’ll be posting my gameplay of this over on instagram with this account: @ashleys.gameplay

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah I just know Eddie was being weird in our kitchen🤣 what was that like? I love this story it’s so cute😍

Hiiii lovey!! Yeah he was 10000% being weird but truly the man can’t help it. I’m so happy you like the story!! I hope you enjoy this convo between you and him when you came into the kitchen!💖

-find all things At First Sight here✨

“So…your name is uhm..Gizmo? That’s…cute…do you uh always look so-” “Angry? No he’s actually really sweet he just is very protective of me and his space….did…did you rearrange my coffee mugs?” “Holy shit…you’re so pretty…oh uhm sorry..yeah I uh put them in order by color so it would be easier for you to find…whichever one you…want to use.” “Oh…thanks…so do you want milk or sugar in your coffee?” “Black is fine…you smell nice.” “Eddie…you’re uhm…a little-” “oh shit sorry I didn’t mean to get so close…I uh really appreciate you letting me take you to work.” “It’s no problem…can I ask you something though?” “You can ask me anything.” “Right uhm so…this is supposedly love at first sight…what’s going on with you and everything right?..so…so does that mean when I would look at you in the hallway in high school and when I walked up to you and said hi that day…you didn’t see me?” “I…I don’t remember…you from high school…” “oh…wow..okay I didn’t uhm…I didn’t expect that to…uh…can you excuse me for a moment?” “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I was an asshole back then and I had my priorities all messed up and I wish I could go back in time and change things but I can’t.” “So you’re saying you never actually saw me until I took my car to the shop?” “Yes…but trust me if I could change it to where I saw you back in high school I would because maybe…maybe you’d feel the same but then again maybe this is exactly what I deserve…for being an asshole…I’m destined to love someone who doesn’t feel the same.” “Don’t be so dramatic Eddie…no one deserves to love someone that doesn’t feel the same…no matter how big of an asshole they were in high school…I’m sure you’ll…move on from this eventually.” “What if I don’t want to move on from loving you? It’s…it’s not a bad feeling.” “Oh…well maybe you won’t have a choice? Maybe you’ll just wake up one day and the feeling won’t be there anymore and you’ll be able to look at me and not get that silly grin on your face and you’ll be able to go back to your life before you ever saw me.” “Oh sweetheart…there’s no going back to life before you…there’s only life after you.” “Right…uhm well we should get going…here are my keys.” “You…want me to drive…your beetle?” “Yeah? So I’ll have a way to get home after work…” “Yeah that makes sense…okay let’s roll doll face.” “Don’t call me that.” “Sorry…” “It’s okay…bye Gizmo have a good day momma loves you…oh shit how will you get back to Dustin’s?” “I’ll walk.” “What? You can’t-” “It’s fine the fresh air helps clear my mind.” “Okay..if you say so.”

[veryace-ficrecs]

Shawn/Juliet Fic Recs

Happy Holidays to whichever one you're celebrating tonight! I'll be lighting my menorah! ♪(´▽｀)

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

You Are My Lighthouse (I'm Drowning in the Darkest Ocean) by RobinsonsWereHere - Rated T

While investigating a private case, Shawn gets drugged. His first solution, through the haze of overstimulation, is to climb Juliet's fire escape. It's not exactly the best possible solution.

Shawn Spencer's Softest Cells by huckleberryzenon - Rated G

Spencer hadn’t made a "Lethal Weapon" joke in seventeen minutes. In fact, he hadn’t made any jokes at all. If Lassiter were the type of person to worry about Shawn Spencer, fake-psychic-slash-all-around-major-pain-in-Lassister’s-ass, he would find the lack of crass pop-culture references deeply concerning. But he was not, so... A.K.A., Shawn gets shot accidentally with only Lassie and a former-umbrella-seller-slash-current-drug-dealer for company. Soft Cell is more relevant than they have been since 1986.

The Smartest Dumb Person She's Ever Met by ObsidianCreates - Rated T

Shawn moves in, and Juliet notices some things that call into question how her boyfriend truly solves his cases. But if he's actually so smart, so perceptive, why doesn't he just show so?

Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose) by ObsidianCreates - Rated T

Jules finds a notebook where Shawn wrote a few situations from his childhood, and it makes her question everything she knew about Henry and about Shawn's childhood. Along with Gus and Lassie she investigates further and learns that Shawn's father was much, much worse than any of them truly realized. And when Henry finds out about their little investigation, a confrontation that's been boiling for weeks leaves behind bloodied knuckles, a broken nose, and the shattered respect of the entire SBPD.

the robbed that smiles steals something from the thief by EclipseWing - Rated G

That one in which Shawn is a con-artist, a liar and a thief. AU - Shawn found himself a job before he came back to Santa Barbara. Unabashedly Shules.

it's so exhausting on this silver screen by Anonymous - Rated G

It's not like it isn't cool. It's good for party tricks, recalling names and birthdays, picking up on things nobody else ever picks up on. It's even given him a job, a livelihood. So yes. He appreciates it. But that doesn't mean it also isn't a hindrance in ways he never signed up for.

On Shawn Spencer, good friends, and why an eidetic memory isn't quite as exciting as it sounds.

The Invention of Lying by Treesinthewind - Rated G

Shawn doesn’t call, which is strange. She never expected him to respect her dictum that she needed space. [Post-Ep for "Right Turn or Left for Dead."]

Worth Staying For by cosette141 - Rated G

It's Christmas Eve night and something is bothering Shawn. Juliet is determined to find out just what. Shules. A little fluff and a little emotional h/c all wrapped and tied with a little bow.

Does It Count as Eavesdropping if You're Comatose? by Emachinescat - Rated T

They say people who are comatose can still hear what is going on around them. This is what Shawn heard. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 28: coma

[soulnottainted]

How about :3c for whichever romantic f/o this fits best: “God. You look adorable/etc. (when you’re blushing).” | AND/OR | A smiles fondly when B starts to blush and draws them closer, allowing them to hide in their embrace. (-dragonsmooch)

@dragonsmooch @jocelynships @featherstiitch

FIRST DRABBLE WITH BORIS! It took me a couple hours to write this and I hope you'll like it! Some dialogue my friend Adam aka featherstiich threw at me last night and I needed to incorperate it somehow too!

tw: slight mentions of alcohol, smoking, death

A heavy sigh escaped the PI as he took a long drag of his cigarette, papers and notes scattered on his desk. If he wasn't an investigator, he would've looked like a maniac: the scattered papers plus the rings under his eyes from lack of sleep would suggest it so easily if he was spotted on the street. For the most part though, he was stuck inside his tiny office which he split for the other half being his living quarters. Four of the six totems he had collected thus far. Who knows what hell would be unleashed if they were all put together. That wouldn't happen though, as Boris made the decision early on, that once all of them were found, they'd be hidden some place to not fall into the wrong hands.

In the meantime, it was a doozy of a time trying to locate totem number five. A guy name Sly Tony mentioned that he captured something in his basement. Boris though he was off his rocker, but come tomorrow night he would see what was going on over there. If Sly was truly telling the truth, the creature could lead Boris to the next totem perhaps. But tonight however...

A few soft knocks came from the door, which made Shuster almost jump out of his chair.

Damn, take it easy, will ya, you ol' geezer? It's just the door, just loud enough that a baby could've knocked! God, I need sleep.

His lanky form begged him not to get up, but his brain insisted otherwise. It was either a client who was at the door, or one of the employees from Louie's down the street, who liked their regular so much that they offered to deliver his pizza pies to his door whenever he called for one. Not many had that luxury, and Boris didn't have many of 'em, so he would take that luxury any day. Disheveled, he went to answer the door, not even bothering to grab his coat or hat for appearance's sake. That would've been a mistake because of who was on the other end of the wall. Before he could turn the knob, he heard.

"Boris?"

When Boris heard who it was, it snapped him out of his zombie-like state like he had been hit by lightning. He scrambled to grab his trench coat, almost knocking the coat hanger down in the process and threw his hat on. He tried not to turn to cause suspicion by his guest, but Boris hurried over to a small mirror on top of his sink to adjust his tie, to not look like a man who had been up for almost 48 hours trying to get close to a lead, thriving off of coffee alone.

"Just a minute, doll!" he called, "Almost ready!"

"No rush," he heard her insist back through the door.

Dammit, he forgot. Out of all things to forget...

What day of the week even was it? She said it was for Fri...Oh. It was Friday already. Shuster you sonnofa, she's a one-in-a-million gal and you forgot you had a date with 'er! Don't make her wait any longer!

With one last look and pulling down his fedora a tad, he turned and made his way to the door for a second time, this time opening it to reveal her. And oh...she was a beauty!

"Hello Boris," the soft, quiet, but light voice swirled the PI's mind before warming his heart. Kelsey bashfully clasped her gloved hands across her stomach. She wore a dark green coat with brass buttons overtop a hint of a mint dress underneath. Matching earrings adorned her, silver cat eye glasses framing her rounded face.

Being exhausted didn't let a grin differ a centimeter from Boris' lips at the sight of her, "You're prettier than Miss Monroe." A slightly calloused hand made its way to gently cup her cheek, the detective stepping closer to have Kelsey hid in his much taller shadow.

A soft laugh made both her dimples show, as well as a slight blush washing over them as she brushed the compliment off, "I'll never beat the likes of Miss Marylin." Ever since he met her and before that, she had insecurities of her bigger body. Unfortunately, sometimes, it gnawed and ate at her, any compliments passing her by like a taxi ignoring a patron who desperately needed a ride home.

"No?" Boris asked surprisingly taken aback, before the hand that held her cheek went to lift up her small chin to look into his eyes, "You look adorable, stunning, when you blush. You give her a run for her money, Angelcake. Plus, your beautiful figure in front of me? I don't know how you haven't been kissed to death yet, doll. It surprises the hell out of me, that's for damn sure."

There we go. That made her cheeks bright pink!

Shuster chuckled softly. He found out it didn't take much to make her this way, but it was endearing to him. Many women wanted Boris over the years, making themselves known to him so quickly and longingly, but he was never interested. Temptation was something that he didn't mess around with. Sure temptation could overthrow him when it came with a slug of whisky and another cigarette, but when it came to dames, he never bit the bullet.

It was ironic however that Kelsey and Boris had met at the hell hole of temptation, the Kitty Kat Club. A seductive voice insisted from inside the club to Boris who was smoking against the brick wall outside, to come on inside and dance with her. People had been disappearing from the club for awhile at that point, and Boris knew for certain that the lure the woman gave him was one step in the process for never being seen again.

And then Kelsey with a few of her friends could be heard, about to go into the club. Clearly Kelsey didn't want to be there, but she wanted to appease her friends who wanted her to have fun, let loose, and drink. Once the group went inside, the detective watched from afar, sneaking into the club to see what would happen. One of the seductive women who ran the club handed her a drink and Kelsey took the slightest sip.

Then things took a turn, as Kelsey screamed for help before passing out. The drink had been laced with a sleeping agent and the beautiful women around her, including her friends, transformed into she-devils, ready to pounce and devour their newest victim. Luckily Boris took care of the she-devils one by one, also spotting the fifth totem, a vase, on the liquor shelf behind the bar. When it was dead silent, surrounded by the bodies of the supernatural women and also the dead victims that had been the audience for the singer Madame Murie, the detective ran over to the latest victim. He checked her pulse. She was alive. Scooping her up into his arms and then retrieving the totem that belonged to the Strengoit legion, he brought them back to his office. From there, Boris took care of Kelsey until the affects of the poison wore off.

The rest was history, as Kelsey befriended Boris, knowing now that supernatural evil existed. There wasn't any turning back now, and Boris led her into that understanding together. And then he fell for her...oh so quickly. He didn't think it would ever happen. Now the two were on their 6th official date, among the many times Kelsey would stop by his office on the way to the laundromat or the market every week.

"I'm surprised you didn't fall for one of the She-Devils that night," Kelsey said quietly, awkwardly smiling, the insecurity in her voice despite the PI's sickeningly sweet words making her cheeks go into a reddish tone.

"She-Devils?" he responded, putting a hand on his hip, the bottom of trench coat giving a slight sway as he did so, "Angelcake, at least try and say someone possible. They're the farthest thing from ya— "

Then he leaned closer to her face, just near the tip of her ear, hands holding her shoulders so she couldn't hide in his coat just yet, knowing she would try and do so. Shuster's voice became almost whisper in tone, "and that's why I love you so much. You've got a golden soul under that sunshine smile and body. They had nothing. "

He could hear Kelsey's breath hitch, which made him hum in amusement at her sweetness.

"Yeah," she responded, finally remembering to breathe, "Yeah you're right..."

As predicted, Kelsey tried to get closer and hide her face in the crook of Boris' coat, and at a moment's decision, he let her right on in.

"I mean...they tried to drug and kill me," Kelsey continued, murmuring into the fabric, "Those...Those broads from below never stood a chance."

The sudden insult from her made the PI laugh out loud, making it reverberate and echo as Kelsey had her ear pressed to his chest. His arms wrapped strongly around her figure before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "See? That's the kinda self talk I wanna hear from now on, hon." Then he opened his coat so he could reach down and peck her cheek, which made her giggle slightly. "Now doll, you ready to take a walk on the town?"

"Mm. But Boris?"

"Yeah doll?"

"When we get back, you're gonna sleep. I can smell the amount of coffee under here. And I'm gonna stay just to make sure that you do."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, but if you don't get any sleep, I won't visit for two weeks."

"Well damn," the lanky detective patted her back as the two huddled together just outside his door, holding her close to him in his embrace, "That would be quite the let down, wouldn't it? Well...alright. I guess I fold my cards."

Not even a second later, his hand cradled the back of her head, lifting it to kiss Kelsey ever so softly.

"Thank you," the petite lady pulled back, smiling up at him, with all the care in the world, her blush in all that time now red as a tomato, "Now lead the way. You know the city better than I do."

Boris kept an arm wrapped both her shoulders as he led her down the stairs and out the front door, and then down the front steps outside. He gave her a wink and another kiss on the head, "You got it, Angelcake, you got it."

The two of them walked into the night, lit by the soft glow of the street lamps. Uncertainty flooded Boris' future, but he knew that if this lovely lady stayed in his life, things would look up. They already have. Whatever happened with the totems, Boris would make sure Kelsey stayed as far away from that whole situation as possible, when the time were to come. For now, his mind had been fully taken off the case for the first time in a long while. It would do him good to do so. He was a good man, but also a mad man for what he had gotten himself into with all the mess of the damn totems. Kelsey offered him sanity, just by her company being alongside him: that was a deal he could never refuse.

[jebewonmorelike]

Let's Win This Love; Pt. 2 (Keita's Ending)

part 1: let's win this love (keita & matthew x planetmaster/idol!reader) wc: 900 warnings: some swears; sad keita with a happy ending :) pronouns: none used; n/a summary: planetmaster/idol!reader goes to look for keita after the finale episode of boys planet ~bp masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ this was a request for our mega talented, adorable keita. i'm glad i got to do a part 2 to my previous one-shot; i think you'll like this ending. i'm so happy with our final lineup guys. jay, keita, hyeonni and phanbin are my only regrets. i wish all of them so much luck-- great opportunities will come out of this for them and i hope everyone continues to think positively! i think when zb1 debuts, i'll rebrand the blog to the group but until then we shall remain boysplanetmorelike :) thank you all for a great month and let's look forward to the next 2.5 years of a most likely pretty successful zb1!

"Hey."

Keita looks up at you from where he's sitting, knees hugged loosely to his chest as he leans against the wall of an empty back hallway in Jamsil Stadium. Tears are rolling down his face fairly elegantly and he hurriedly attempts to wipe them away when he meets your gaze.

"Sunbaenim," he greets with a break in his voice. You sit down next to him, mirroring his position as you tuck your knees to your chest. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his eyes water up again before he can get it out. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? There's nothing to be sorry for," you affirm, a sad smile forming on your lips. You try to brighten his spirits a bit by joking, "It's not like you stepped on anyone's shoe again."

Keita laughs through his tears, drying his eyes with the back of his hand again. You can't help but notice how truly exhausted he looks.

"If there's anyone that should be sorry, it's all of us," you say, a gentle hand finding its way to his shoulder. "We'll be missing out on one of the greatest talents here. It's just not fair."

He smiles sadly, shaking his head humbly to dismiss your compliment. "No, no-- thank you, but I don't think I'll be missed by anyone much."

"You'll be missed by me," you say definitively, watching as his eyes widen at your personal sentiment.

You can tell he's not quite sure what to say. "I--... I will?"

You nod, laughing softly at the stunned expression on his face. "Every time I announced another name out there, I was pretty devastated it wasn't yours."

Keita nods slowly. "Oh."

"I really thought for sure you'd make it, Keita. Over the past few weeks, I've been thinking about that solution I came up with for your little dilemma during the First Mission," you continue, trying to keep your heart beating at a steady pace and maintain your cool composure. "And I realized I really wanted you to win."

Keita nods even slower, expression unchanging. "Oh."

You grimace awkwardly at his lack of reaction. "Should I not be saying any of this?"

"Oh shit, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," he exclaims finally. "I legitimately thought I wasn't awake for a moment. Actually, I'm... I'm still not sure that I am."

A grin spreads across your face, biting your lip to keep from squealing at how cute this boy is being. And to think, you had almost written him off as an evil shoe-stepper forever.

But after he got you those flowers at the Kill This Love evaluation... after you'd run into him at the corner store a week later and he bought your water and ramen for you... after he wore that goddamn adorable red Loverboy bunny hat for his Zoom stage...

"You are," you say. "I promise."

Keita's eyes light up, smiling in absolute awe of his turn in luck. "Really!?"

"Really!"

His brows furrow suddenly, eyes littered with concern. "But... What about Matthew? You said you'd go out with whichever one of us debuted."

"I did say that," you agree, nodding thoughtfully before beaming at him as the solution comes to you. "But I didn't say when that debut had to be."

"Oh my god," Keita whispers after a moment. "I think I fit that criteria."

Your laughter illuminates the empty hallway once more. "I think you do, too!"

"I am a no-good, dirty, rotten shoe stepper though," he counters with a playful smirk.

"Mm," you agree with a nod. "You are. But I've decided I think I actually needed to be humbled like that on national television. I think you were really doing me a favor by tripping me and making me fall on my ass in front of Asia's greatest entertainers."

"You know, you say you're over it, but I'm just not sure if that's the case," Keita says, shaking his head in disbelief.

You smile, punching his arm softly. "I'm just kidding. I'm grateful for the experience though--it's the reason I remembered you! Honestly, I'd consider letting you step on my shoe whenever you want."

Keita's head falls to his hands as he laughs, a rosy blush tinting his cheeks as he looks back up at you. "I might just take you up on that."

You stand up, extending a hand to Keita and helping him up to his feet. He nervously shuffles a bit, smiling shyly at you.

"I'm sorry again that you didn't make your second debut tonight with ZB1," you say, hands clasped together at your waist. "I know it's not nearly as exciting, but... would you be willing to make your second debut as my boyfriend instead?"

Keita's face scrunches up in the most joyful smile. "That was so lame."

"I know, I'm so sorry," you relent, looking up at the ceiling and cringing at yourself.

"It would be an honor," Keita says, nodding as his bottom lip tucks between his teeth.

"HEY ARE YOU GUYS GONNA KISS ALREADY OR WHAT!?" You and Keita are ripped from your moment as a recognizable voice shouts from down the hallway.

Whipping around frantically to see the perpetrator, you groan when the boy making his way toward you comes into view.

"I have to get to my Uber and you guys are blocking the way with your little webtoon-worthy confession scene," Zhang Hao calls, rolling his eyes at you. "So if you're gonna make out or something can you just let me through first!?"

You and Keita glance at each other knowingly before shouting at the same time a familiar phrase:

"ZHANG HAO, I SWEAR TO--."

[hbyrde36]

No Vacancy

Chapter 8: Reservations

WC: 4437 | R: Explicit | CH: 8/12 | AO3 | Now Complete!

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7

*STEVE*

The reality of being with Eddie, really being with him, was even better than Steve could have imagined.

Each night, as soon as the bar closed the other man would rush home, shower away the sweat and stale beer from his skin, and slide under the covers next to Steve in whatever bed he had chosen to fall asleep in that night. 

Usually whichever one they hadn’t wrecked the night before. 

Steve truly was a heavy sleeper. It wasn’t unusual for him to snooze through the entire process, waking only when he felt the press of Eddie’s naked body against his own, or on one memorable evening, waking to find Eddie already between his legs, teasing him with lips and tongue until he was begging for more.

After, they would spend a little time together cuddling in the dark, with Eddie quietly telling him about his night, or sometimes delving into heavier topics when the past started to weigh on his mind, until Steve inevitably dropped off to sleep again. He always tried to fight it, to stay awake as long as he could, to spend as much time with Eddie as possible, but his daily early wake up calls for work made it a losing battle.

Steve didn’t mind the interrupted sleep. He was more than happy to endure a little tiredness in the afternoons, easily offset by the occasional nap. It was worth it for the new sense of happiness in his life. 

Eddie seemed to feel the same, waking early to simply watch from beneath the sheets as Steve got up and ready for the day, and to accept a kiss goodbye before he rushed out the door.

Not only that, but—as Eddie eventually admitted one day—that particular habit wasn’t a new thing. The kissing was, obviously, but apparently Eddie had taken to watching Steve in the mornings in secret while he was still, quote, “working his shit out.”

Eddie called himself a creep for it but Steve thought it was cute, incredibly sweet, and he  promised to only tease the other man about it a little.

Steve went back to having his lunch breaks at home in their room. 

Until Eddie had a night off It was their only time to catch up while both of them were fully awake and coherent. Though, sometimes—most of the time, talking turned into flirting, which led to making out, which led to Steve being late back to the beach when he couldn’t resist getting on his knees for his ridiculously hot boyfriend. 

A boyfriend who wouldn’t let him leave until he came too. 

Steve wasn't used to being met even halfway with his level of intensity and devotion by partners in the past, but Eddie—for all his talk of being new at this, and nervous that he would fuck up being in a real relationship—was happily and effortlessly meeting him exactly where he was.

It was perfect.

Except for the fact that the very first night, when their relationship was mere hours old, Steve accidentally found out something that had the potential to ruin it all, and he was kind-of really fucking stressed out about it. 

He hadn’t even been snooping!

It was a complete accident that he’d noticed at all. 

He’d been sitting in the back, at the desk in Chrissy's office behind the check-in counter, reading and minding his own business, when the fluorescent lights overhead began to hurt his eyes. As he looked away from his book, blinking hard and stuffing a blank sheet of receipt paper between its pages to hold his place, he just so happened to glance down at the open register sitting in front of him on the desk, and he couldn't help noticing that a few of the names listed under reservations sounded—familiar.

Anne Elliot, Frederick Wentworth, Charles Musgrove…

Steve furrowed his brow, setting his own book aside to examine the ledger more closely. He flipped to the next page, and the next, encountering more and more familiar names as he went.

Charlotte Lucas, William Collins, Charles Bingley, Jane Bennett, George Whickham.

More than half of the rooms in the Buckingham were supposedly spoken for by famous literary characters.

Steve’s pulse quickened as he considered the implications. 

The chances of these being actual paying guests who just so happened to share their names with the cast of several romance novels was extremely slim. 

Zero. 

The chance was zero, if he was honest with himself.

Frantically, he rifled through Chrissy’s top drawer until he located the keys she had shown him earlier—the housekeeper set that would let him into any room in the motel—and after jotting down a few of the corresponding room numbers on a post-it note ran from the office, through the lobby, and out into the courtyard. 

He slowly approached the first door, knocking on it with shaking hands. When there was no immediate answer he tried again, this time announcing himself as a member of staff and praying that someone would come to the door. 

Predictably, they didn’t, and Steve held his breath as he fitted the key into the lock and turned the handle. 

The room was unoccupied, its air stale. No signs of life. No unmade bed. Everything neat as a pin, and not so much as a drop of water in the bathroom sink. 

He quickly stumbled back out and made his way to the next room, already knowing what he was likely to find, a conversation he’d had with Robin a few weeks ago about the motel’s broken no vacancy sign running back through his mind. 

The second room was, unsurprisingly, in the same state as the first. 

Steve locked it back up and trudged back to the lobby, not even bothering to check the rest.

It’d been a lie. 

A set up, from the very beginning. 

Robin, and clearly Chrissy was in on it as well, had set him and Eddie up, forcing them into close proximity in the hopes that–

In hopes that what?

That they would magically click and get together… like they were now?

It’d been a torturous route to get there, and Steve could feel the beginnings of anger towards his best friend start to come to life in his belly, but at the same time…

At the same time, it’d worked, hadn’t it?

He could have done without having to watch Eddie hook up with other men, but if they hadn’t been made to coexist like this, Eddie might never have given him the time of day, might never have looked past Steve’s hair and his old reputation and saw someone worth knowing. 

Steve tried to remain calm.

He could imagine a far off future where one day he might look back on this situation and laugh about it. Things had worked out in the end. He was happy. They were happy. Maybe this wasn’t the big deal his rising panic kept trying to tell him it was.

Except he was pretty sure Eddie wouldn’t see it that way. At least not at first. He was pretty sure Eddie would freak out about this, actually, and it might destroy everything they were building between them before the first layer of cement had even dried.

For the final hour of his time covering the desk, Steve agonized over what to do. He wanted to scream at Robin for putting him in this position almost as much as he wanted to thank her for it.

The part of him that valued open and honest communication was telling him he needed to come clean to Eddie at the earliest opportunity, while the more pragmatic and insecure part of him was sure the best thing to do was pretend he never noticed, not say a word about it to anyone, and just hope Eddie never found out. 

He locked the door at 9pm on the dot and went back up to their room, doing his best to stay awake until Eddie got home from the bar, all the while trying to put when he’d learned far out of his mind. 

It would be fine. 

They’d both been gullible enough, and distracted enough to have not figured it out for this long.

Surely he could continue to keep Eddie distracted long enough to figure out a plan.

It worked for a while. 

Even with the challenges of their off-schedules and the fact that Eddie hadn’t had a night off since they became official, they were somehow managing to build a relationship that was only getting better, and deeper by the day. It was all too easy for Steve to forget that they were sitting on a knife’s edge. 

It was almost two weeks before Eddie finally got a break. A coworker who’d been down with a nasty cold was finally feeling better, and to make up for the rash of back-to-back shifts his boss offered him a long weekend off, as long as he was back for the 4th of July holiday when the bar would be overrun with patrons looking to pregame the town’s annual fireworks display. 

Steve had just gotten in from work himself, surprised to find Eddie still home and felt awful when Eddie excitedly told him the good news, that they could finally go out on a real live date! Unfortunately, Steve had already agreed to watch the motel again so Chrissy and Robin could go out. 

He expected Eddie to be upset or disappointed, but the other man was just as invested in the girl’s relationship succeeding as Steve was, and didn’t mind putting his plans for them off for one more night. 

“As long as you don’t mind me coming with to keep you company. I could even pick us up some dinner. Bring the night-out to you?” Eddie asked.

In answer, Steve threw his arms around Eddie's shoulders, pressing their lips together—a move that was more smiling against his mouth than an actual kiss, but he couldn’t help it.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Steve asked when they pulled apart. 

Eddie tugged him right back in by the waistband of his swimsuit to nip at his bottom lip. “What, kissing?” He teased, grinning. “No, I've got a good amount of experience with that.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, baby. I’m sure.” Eddie laughed softly, reaching up to push a stray piece of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Why do you always ask me that?”

“Because you’re kind-of incredible at the whole boyfriend thing.”

“Doesn’t mean I know what I'm doing. It just means you make it easy to l-l-like you.” Eddie stuttered, a light blush blossoming across his cheeks as he paused to clear his throat. “You are very likable, Steve Harrington. Fuckable too, so it’s in my best interest to keep you happy. I’m just being selfish really.”

“Lucky for me I like it when you’re a little selfish.” Steve leaned in to kiss a line up the side of Eddie’s neck, stopping only to breathe his next words into the other man’s ear. “Using me for your own pleasure.” 

He slid a hand down Eddie’s front, palming him where he was already growing hard in his jeans.

Eddie shuddered, a low groan slipping out of his throat.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish, sweetheart. I know you want to shower before you relieve Robin from her post.”

Steve hummed noncommittally, nosing along Eddie’s skin. “If you got in the shower with me I’m sure we could manage.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, his own hands beginning to wander down Steve’s back. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

The night was going well.

So well that Steve was thinking crazy shit, like maybe it wasn’t insane to want to tell his boyfriend of a whopping two weeks that he was in love with him. 

Too well. 

He should have known everything was about to blow up in his face. 

Eddie had gotten them takeout from a nice Italian place not far from the motel. Chicken parmesan, pasta, and the most amazing garlic bread, all eaten picnic style on the floor while they sat on a blanket Eddie had pulled from the back of his van. They were inside the lobby of course, Steve had a job to do and needed to be able to hear the phone, but Eddie still made it feel romantic as hell– dimming the lights and lighting a few candles. 

Steve couldn’t remember any of his exes ever going to this much trouble for a simple date night. 

When they were just about done with their meal Steve’s plate slipped sloshing red sauce all over the front of his softest baby blue polo shirt. He cringed knowing he’d never get the stain out. 

“Club soda.” Eddie said. 

Steve quirked a brow at him. 

“What? You bartend long enough you learn a few things.” 

Steve was still skeptical, and a little curious. It must have showed.

“The girls at work do it all the time when they get ketchup and shit on their white uniform tops. It works, trust me.” Eddie slapped a hand over his heart. “There's a bottle of soda water in the fridge in our room, why don’t you go splash some of that on there and get a fresh shirt? I can keep an eye on things here for five minutes.”

Steve smiled softly and gave his very thoughtful boyfriend a kiss on the cheek before heading off to do just that, completely forgetting that it might not be the best idea to leave Eddie in there alone.

He was gone a little longer than he meant to be, but the shirt he’d been wearing was now practically stain free and currently soaking in detergent in their small bathroom sink. When he did return, the remains of their dinner as well as the blanket had been cleared away and Eddie was nowhere in sight—probably off in the back throwing their trash away.

Smiling to himself, Steve stepped around the counter to look, only to stop in his tracks at the doorway to the back office when he spotted Eddie sitting at Chrissy's desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and the register book sitting open in his lap.

No. No-no-no. 

Steve’s heart stopped, his chest growing painfully tight.

Eddie didn’t notice him at first, and Steve’s eyes scanned again over the papers as he tried to think of a way out of this. It took a moment for him to realize what he was looking at—an overflowing stack of bills, many of which were printed on pink paper and read Final Notice across the top in big bold lettering. 

Steve sucked in a breath. Was the motel in trouble?

Eddie spun suddenly at the sound, and any hope Steve had of salvaging the situation died as he looked into the other man’s eyes and found—not the warm, soft, inviting gaze he’d grown accustomed too—but something much sharper, guarded and closed-off.

“Did you know about this?” Eddie hissed.

He was trying so hard to project anger, but Steve could see what else was there too, swimming just under the surface—fear, mistrust, heartbreak. 

Eddie had seen the book. He figured it out just like Steve did and was taking it exactly the way he feared. 

Still, Steve tried to play dumb. 

“Are those all overdue bills?” He asked, and didn’t even have to fake the puzzlement in his voice because this he had definitely not seen. 

“Yes, Steve, as a matter of fact they are, which begs the question—if our friend's motel is doing well enough to be overbooked then why are they having so much trouble keeping the lights on?”

“I… I don't know.” 

Again it wasn’t really a lie. Steve truly hadn’t known Chrissy and Robin were having so much financial trouble until this exact moment. Robin had made an offhand remark that they could use the money when he insisted she let him pay, but he never dreamed it was this bad.

“Okay.” Eddie narrowed his eyes, slamming the register shut with a loud snap as he scrutinized Steve's face. “And what about this? Are you gonna try to tell me you don’t know about this too?” He waved the hefty book around as he spoke, before tossing it at Steve’s feet.

“It’s not what you think.” Steve blurted out quickly.

No lie was going to help him get out of this. All he could do was tell the truth, and hope for the best. 

Eddie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, you did.”

“Eddie, please, I–”

Steve stepped over the book, rushing forward into the room, ready to plead with Eddie to hear him out but found the other man shrinking away from him. The sight of it made his eyes burn.

“What kind of game is this?!”

“It’s not! Eddie, listen to me–please. I didn’t know until two weeks ago, okay? I promise, I didn't know until that first time I watched the office for them.”

“Right,” Eddie snorted.

“I swear to you that I had no idea. This was all the girls.” 

Steve was begging him to believe, to understand. He raked both his hands through his hair in frustration. It was all falling apart right before his eyes and he had no idea how to stop it. 

“What does it matter anyway?” Steve went on, trying to reason it out with him. “We've been having a good time together, haven't we? We’re happy—It worked out!”

“A—good—time.” Eddie repeated, dragging each word out. “Is that all this is to you, a good time?”

“You know it’s not.”

“I don’t know anything, Steve.” Eddie spat. “I told you. God, I fucking told you everything—this is why I don’t trust people!” He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his face hard before looking back up to meet Steve’s eyes again. “If that's… If it’s true that you only just found out, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve never felt so powerless. All he wanted to do was take Eddie in his arms, hold him, tell him how much he meant to him, but he knew his touch wouldn’t be welcome right now. 

“Because, I… I was afraid you'd react like this.”

Eddie scoffed, turning away. He started gathering up all the paperwork he’d pulled out, trying to shove it back into a drawer but no matter how he turned the pile it just wouldn’t fit.

Steve tried again. “I didn’t want to lose you when we only just–” 

“Fuck it.” Eddie snapped, letting the mess fall to the floor. 

Steve wasn’t sure if the comment was aimed at him or the stack of unwieldy documents but he did know that if Eddie walked away, he might never get him back.  

“Eddie, please don’t do this. I…” Steve trailed off, the rest of his words–his confession–dying on his tongue as he saw the tears in Eddie's eyes. 

“You what, Steve?”

Steve’s mouth fell shut, his own sight beginning to blur. He didn’t know what else to say, but he could not tell Eddie he loved him for the first time in the middle of a fight, no matter how much he wanted to. It wouldn't be right. 

“I don’t know what’s worse, my boyfr—you lying to me? Or my supposed best friend lying to me and setting me up like this. You know she wouldn't let me pay? Why wouldn’t she take my money if they needed help? I would have… “ Eddie cut himself off with a hard shake of his head before pushing to his feet, stepping wide around Steve to throw himself through the doorway. “It doesn’t matter. I-I gotta go.” 

Steve hurried after, following him all the way to the lobby door, shouting at his back. “Please, I’m sorry!” 

Eddie paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, me too.” He said, and walked out without ever looking back. 

Steve stood frozen, watching through the big front window as Eddie stomped up the stairs to their room, only to come back out a minute later with a bag slung over his shoulder before climbing into his van and speeding away.

He was still standing there staring out the window at the parking lot when the girls appeared, walking back from their date. It had to be getting late. Steve should have locked up a while ago but he couldn't seem to move. 

Robin spotted him through the glass and came rushing inside with Chrissy not far behind, all smiles and giggles until they saw his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Robin said, her eyes searching the room around them. “Where's Eddie?”

“He left,” Steve said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded far away and hollow. 

“What happened?”

“What do you think happened?!” Steve yelled, finally coming back to life as he threw his hands up in the air. “He found out! He knows this whole room sharing thing was some scheme to set us up, and worse he thinks I was in on it!”

Robin gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, Steve–”

“It’s my own fault. I should have told him when I figured it out, but I didn’t, and now I lied to him too.”

“Wait, you knew?” Chrissy asked.

“Word of advice? Use made up names next time, not characters from Jane Austen novels.”

“H-h how was I supposed to know you'd recognize them?” Chrissy sputtered.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rob, why didn’t you tell me how bad things were? I’ve got savings, you know I'd do anything to help.”

“I mean, we’re a little slow but it's not that bad.” Robin said a wrinkle forming between her brows. “I let you pay, didn't I?”

“I’m sorry, obviously Eddie shouldn’t have been going through your stuff, but I've seen the stacks of bills. You don't have to keep hiding it from me.”

“Stacks of… what do you mean?”

Steve kinda wanted to shake her. “Seriously?”

“She doesn’t know, Steve,” Chrissy said quietly, turning to face Robin with wide worried eyes. 

“I didn’t want to worry you. You were already so stressed about running this place. That's why I've been taking meetings at so many different banks. The loan isn’t just for improvements, it’s to pay off all these other bills too. I think if I could just consolidate it, I could manage it, but we keep getting denied and I…”

A sob fell from her lips as Chrissy’s face crumpled, and Robin didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around her. “Babe, you should have told me. I hate that you've been dealing with this alone. We should have been trying to solve this together.”

Chrissy buried her face in Robin’s neck. “I know, I know and I'm so sorry.”

Steve tried to fade into the background and let them have a moment, waiting until they pulled apart before he said anything more. 

“Eddie was upset about that too, that you didn’t tell him you were in trouble, didn’t let him pay or help. I think he was as upset about that as he was about the–uh, the other thing.”

“Oh god. He probably feels like we both betrayed him,” Chrissy cried. “This is all my fault, Steve, I’m the one who pushed for this. I should have known better. I just—I wanted to see him happy, and I really thought you two…”

She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished though Steve heard her perfectly.

“I know. So did I.”

“What do we do now?” Chrissy asked. 

“About Eddie, or about the motel?” Robin said.

Chrissy nudged her in the ribs. “Both!”

“I’m gonna go after him.” Steve said, it’s all he’d been able to think about since the moment the other man drove away.

“Do you even know where he went?” Robin asked.

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Steve locked eyes with Chrissy and saw the moment it occurred to her too. 

“Uncle Wayne’s,” they both said at once. 

Robin chewed on fingernails as she looked between the two of them. “Steve, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, you already had to chase him down once and that was before you were even together. If he ran away from you again…”

Steve understood what she was getting at, and he couldn’t blame her for it. If someone runs from you, twice, you should probably let them go—if only for your own sake. 

But she didn’t know Eddie like he did. 

She didn’t know the way he’d open up to Steve in the early hours of the morning about his greatest fears, or how he’d witnessed the abuse of his mother at the hands of his father as a child. How bittersweet it had been for him when she left. Because deep down Eddie had known it was for the best—-for her, but she’d still left him behind. His mother, the one person who was supposed to love you no matter what, had left him behind like a least favorite sweater, too worn out and with too many holes to be worth mending or salvaging. 

Chrissy went quiet, looking torn between wanting to somehow defend her best friend who wasn’t there to defend himself, and supporting her girlfriend. 

“I hear you, Robin. Okay? I do, but I know him.” Steve wrapped his arms around his own waist, as if he could hold himself together by physical force if nothing else. “He feels tricked, betrayed, lied to. We did lie to him—all of us. And maybe it’s not the right thing to do. Maybe I'm being an idiot going after him and I'm only going to get hurt, but I need him to know that he's worth going after. I need him to know it was real, even if it’s over.”

Chapter 9

Thanks forever to @penny00dreadful for being the best friend, cheerleader, and beta in the whole fucking world 💜

Taglist: @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @brbsoulnomming @epiclazershark @estrellami-1 @lokfae @raisedbylibrarians @impala314 @meganwinchester @kacatshi @warlordess @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @garden-of-gay @meela86 @gregre369 @finntheehumaneater

[deepdreamnights]

A musical CreepyPasta

Based on my short story, here.

Prompts and Process under the fold.

Prompts:

Image: 1980s movie poster painting, night scene, two identical men stand next to each other, they are wearing identical red shirts and blue jackets, one holds a fire axe in one hand, the other has a machete, the scene is mysterious and tense, a vast haunted forest rises behind them. Moonlight and deep shadows, mystery/horror movie vibes, their faces are in shadow, expressions dispassionate, looking in opposite directions

The image is a standard multi composite of several gens, with color correction, over painting and typographical elements.

Suno:

Style Prompt: halloween ambient music, organs, theremin, dramagic male voiceover on top, echos, remixing

Lyrics Prompt:

[creepy intro] [sinister bridge]

[male narrator, spoken word] I know I wasn't supposed to. But I went into the woods. Another me came out. We seem to be equally suspicious that the other is the imposter. I keep checking him for roots and he keeps doing the same to me. Is it a double bluff?

[drop] [bridge] [nightmare flute]

[narrator, spoken word] Is he gaslighting me into thinking I'm the never-was thing and he's the human being with organs and anxiety? Is he truly unaware he's a mockery given shape? If he can be unaware of it, I can be too. [build] [narrator, spoken word] That's kind of a lonely thought, really. [drop]

[Syncopated Bass] [organ]

[narrator, spoken word] It's been several days and the tests are all inconclusive. We both bleed normal blood that doesn't turn into a spider and jump to the ceiling when you touch it with a hot wire. We know the same trivia. We pretended to know the same stuff we forgot that we were embarrassed not to remember. We both got uncomfortable at the exact same time when we walked into the cathedral.

[drop] [Syncopated Bass] [organ] [swell]

[narrator, Sprechgesang] It's been several days and the tests are all inconclusive. We both bleed normal blood that doesn't turn into a spider and jump to the ceiling when you touch it with a hot wire. We know the same trivia. We pretended to know the same stuff we forgot that we were embarrassed not to remember.

We both got uncomfortable at the exact. same. time. when we walked into the cathedral.

We arm wrestled and didn't tie somehow, but we weren't sure if winning meant he was more likely to be fake or less likely.

I worry that we don't really know anything about accursed other selves from the woods.

[break]

Wikipedia has been less than helpful.

[drop]

[narrator, amused spoken word] Mom claims she knows which one of us is her 'first boy' but refuses to tell us on the basis that she loves us both and thinks we should get along.

He thinks she can't tell and is too embarrassed to tell us. I think its because she wants to double her chance at grandkids. The difference in opinion is interesting, but is it a sign of an imposter,

[break]

or the divergence of our experiences?

[drop]

We've decided to flip for the job.

I won. So I don't have to find new work.

I don't know if that's a win.

[flute bridge]

I think the curse is that neither one of us is an unnatural imposter out to kill the other. Or else whichever one of us is the monster has realized they don't think my life is worth killing to steal.

[water samples] [water sfx]

I know that when I think about a gush of sea water and blasphemous screams roiling from the empty hole that should contain bone and brains, it just seems like a lot of trouble and effort.

Where do you get a rusty fire axe anyway?

[build] [build] [drop] [musical tone shift, bright, upbeat]

[narrator, chuckling] I think I'm going to start going by my middle name.

[gentle instrumental bridge]

[theramin-flute duet]

[narrator] Another me just showed up on our doorstep. [narrator] He's caked in mud, sticks and twigs in his hair, babbling about harrowing experiences. I'm fixing him some tea while the other-other me hands him the pamphlet we made just in case. [narrator] Now he's telling us about the Night King. [break] Like we don't know. [music resumes] I need a bigger place. [outro] [end]

[outro]

[modelbus]

Ayup! I saw that your requests are open so I was wondering...if you have time, could you possibly write something about CC!platonic!Wilbur x GN!aromantic!teen!reader and they have a cute sibling relationship? Maybe after reader comes out to the public, they get hate for "ruining" romantic ships that fans created with reader and someone else (can't think of any specific person so it could be reader's best friend they've had on stream a couple times) and Wilbur stands up for them?? As an aromantic who craves and adores this type of content, it kinda bums me out that I can't seem to find it anywhere. (sorry if this is too long or too specific, i just really like the way you write). Could be headcannons or a oneshot, whichever is comfy and easiest for you. Whether you'd like to ignore or write, it's up to you, feel free to do with this what you will. Have an amazing day/night! :]

Happy Pride month!! Here's some headcannon things! I used "Alex" as the best friend's name because it's pretty androgynous and can be used for any gender.

I've been crazy busy recently, and so caught up with other things, but hopefully this offers you the content you wanted <3

Pairing: CC!Wilbur x Gn!Aro!Reader (Platonic)

Abashed Aromantic

Wilbur is absolutely pissed when he sees the sheer amount of hate you're getting on Twitter.

He wants to make a statement right then, but you convince him it's fine and that the love you're getting from the community greatly outweighs the hate.

It takes a lot of convincing to get him to stand down though, he's just so upset that people would dare be mad at you for who you are.

"Are you sure you don't want me to say anything? You know I'd gladly tear into them. It's not right-"

"I know, Wilbur. I'm sure." You say softly.

Wilbur nods, then pauses and starts again, unable to help himself it seems.

"They're all full of shit anyways-"

No matter how much hate you get, you keep telling him it's okay, so he respects your boundaries and doesn't say anything.

Even as your dm's flood with threats and messages about how you're ruining "ships" for your fandom, you stay quiet, hoping it'll just go away.

That is, until the hate goes too far, to the point where not even your Moderators can manage all the hateful messages on streams. Some slip by, and, of course, those are the ones you manage to read.

It's meant to be a peaceful "just chatting" stream when the donation comes through, somehow making it past all of your mods.

The stream donation sound sounds out over your headphones, and you perk up, waiting for text-to-speech to read the message aloud.

"I can't believe you're ruining all of our ships by being aromantic. You really would've been perfect with Alex. Fuck you." The robotic voice reads out. For a voice that's usually so comforting, ice-cold hurt races through your veins at the message.

It's just too much. You were trying so hard to ignore all the hate, ignore how the ship name for you and your best friend trended for days after you came out, but you can't anymore. And all because of something you couldn't even control.

Silence falls in the stream. That is, until Wilbur speaks up. You had almost forgotten he was in a call with you, so swept away in the donation.

"Who said that? Who was that?" He asks. Wilbur didn't get truly mad often, but in this moment you're glad you're not the one he's pissed at. "To that person and anyone else who thinks that message is okay, fuck you. That's not okay."

"Wil-"

"No. It's not okay." You snap your mouth shut, realizing that there's no stopping Wilbur. Even though you tried to stop him, a part of you can't help but rejoice at him speaking up for you, protecting you. "You aren't ruining anything by being yourself. Hear that, chat? Get that through your heads."

You scan chat, waiting anxiously to see their reactions. For the first time since you came out, it's overwhelmingly positive. True relief comes rushing through you, like a breath of fresh air.

"Now. Where were we?" Wilbur asks, nudging you along. "We were talking about bees, right?"

Later, you thank him, but Wilbur won't even let you thank him. He just keeps saying that it was "his job to protect you" and to "fuck the haters."

He makes sure to post a Tweet about it too, once you give him the okay to.

...and he makes an Instagram post with just photos of you two. Just to make it very clear.

In order to make sure you're entirely okay, he insists on having a movie night and binge-watching all of the Marvel movies in order. Popcorn, snacks, blankets, and all.

(Wilbur is upset at himself for a while after because he felt like he should've done something sooner, but eventually he's just glad to have put an end to the overwhelming hateful messages you were getting.)

And, of course, he makes sure to not let anyone give you shit after that. Even the slightest hint of hate towards you has him loudly proclaiming how amazing you are.

"You're aromantic, right?"

You pause at the question from the other streamer before answering carefully. It's your first time talking to them, and it's in a MCC no less. "Yeah."

"Oh. That's... interesting."

Maybe it's the tone of their voice, but something about the statement rubs you the wrong way. You shake your head, planning to move on, but Wilbur jumps into the conversation.

"Damn right it's interesting. And only in the best of ways." He proclaims.

You smile to yourself, thankful for Wilbur every goddamn day.

"What's your Ace Race time again?" He asks you. "Isn't it ridiculously fast? You're just so good at MCC, you'll have to carry this team. You'll get us the points there for sure, probably single-handedly get us to victory-"

[toxicsludgeyaoi]

Toxic Sludge Yaoi Tournament: Ivantill (Alien Stage) Vs Drake (The Music Freaks)

(Vote for whichever ship you like more.)

Propaganda under cut. Note: spoilers for these medias may be below.

Ivantill propaganda

"SO BLAAAACK BLACK AS IT CAN BEEEEE.... anyways. These two are so.... <333. They're stuck in a music competition where if you lose you die. Ivan doesn't show much emotion but truly comes alive when he's around or talking about Till. Till is rebellious and is often beat by the aliens holding them hostage. Till is also in love with a girl named Mizi. Who is in a relationship. Yeah.... Ivan tried to escape with Till, and they almost made it out, but Till went back for Mizi and now they're stuck. Till and Ivan are going against each other in the next round of the competition and I'm so scared guys"

Drake propaganda

"There is literally a 0.1% chance they'll get in because it's a random YouTube gacha life series but I swear ITS GOOD!! It has good voice acting and good animation (especially once it gets to ep5 and onward), it has really good characters and writing (albeit very cliche)I swear!!. Oh well. A delusional demonic soul can hope

Also, Jake is the protagonist, so we know a lot more about him than we do about Drew, which means his actions might seem more "justified" because we're more aware of his background. And also, he just has more background in general so it's a bit easier to summarize his story. But there are multiple sides to this bond

So basically, Jake and drew are both complicated characters with their own issues. They were both best friends who weren't fully honest with each other and who recently "broke up" in the finale. They both did good and bad and bad-but+understandable things that ruined their relationship.

I am honestly kind of tired, because I have summarized the plot of TMF more times than I could count on my fingers, but I suppose I'll have to work up he strength, otherwise literally no one will even bother voting them. (If it gets into the bracket in the first place)

So basically, Jake got bullied in middle school for his passion for singing. Afterwards he got really insecure of himself, since the bullying was most definitely heavy. He didn't have any friends, until drew came into his life. Drew didn't know about Jake's passion for music, but out of fear for being made fun of again, Jake decided not to share that part of him. Drew was also one of those bullies who made fun of the schools music club, and called them freaks, though he never knew JAKE liked music, so. Jake basically was desperate for a friend and would sacrifice his real identity to simply please drew, especially since Jake KNEW drew bullied music lovers, while Drew never knew about Jake's passion and continued to obliviously make fun of the Music club, HOWEVER. later on in the show we realize that Jake faking his personality around drew would inevitably ruin their relationship. Howevereuif

Drew himself most likely has a form of separation anxiety and attachment issues, and he canonically has control issues evident by many of his actions. We don't know why yet, we can make theories, and it's probably gonna get revealed in season 2, but many people theorize his parents are neglectful so he seeks attention from others, as well as has underlying anxiety related to others leaving him. It's just a theory though, however it makes sense. In the show, we see him making fun of the music club, and Jake making fun of the music club with him too, because Jake is scared that drew will leave him if Jake is revealed to be one of those music freaks. This is toxic because Jake simply can't be himself around drew. But there's more reasons why they're toxic. Jake lied to Drew about who he was, which most definitely hurt Drew because he felt lied to and he felt manipulated, but st the same time drew was ALSO manipulative and possessive over Jake, and he was the one to make Jake feel like he can't be himself in the first place, so it's toxic both ways (but it's a little kore toxic coming from Drew's side). 

Now why is this a ship? I'll also have to explain this (before summarizing more of the plot hehe) basically Drew's possessiveness and clinginess could be perceived as him being romantically attracted to Jake, as well as the fact that he blushed when the topic of him being jelous of Jakes new friends came up, and he didn't even deny it, he just said "shut up!" Ok gay plum. It's also a ship bc of his attached they are though they're definitely toxic. It's not canon, and Drew's feelings are probably never going to be officialized, however, a demonic soul can hope.

Now onto further plot summary (what I summarized before was just the some of the backstory summarization, nothing else, were barely getting started): at one point, Jake joins the music club. Bc of his girl crush. OK YES Jake has a canon girl crush, which kinda ruins this ship it though this ship is prolly one sided anyway lmao. But doesn't matter. Basically Jake is crushing on his girl daisy, and at one point when a band competition is announced, Jake really feels appelled to sign up for their schools music club, however because of DREW, he felt like he COULDNT. so instead he sang an emo song on the rooftop, and then got caught by daisy. Daisy told him that he shouldn't let hid talent to go to wastel and that he should join the music club, and Jake impulsively tells her hell join the club. However he regrets it bc he feels like DREW, someone who's supposed to be his BEST FRIEND, is going to make fun of him for it. This is not healthy bruh. But anyhow - he still decides to join the club, and then he tells drew about it, but says that he joined the band JUST so he could perform at the competition and "win daisy over" because he's been meaning to ask her out. He has to use excuses in order to feel safe performing his passions, wow. Jake still feels the need to hide his passions, and he tells drew that he's just doing it for daisy, and after the competition hell simply leave the club. However all of that is simply lying. Jake lied to much, because of his insecurities, which caused further damage in his and Drew's bond. Jake actually WANTED to be a part of the Music club, the exact one drew would make fun of, Jake actually felt like family there. However obviously he couldn't open up about it to drew. So as time goes on in the show, drew starts feeling more and more obviously jealous. He also gets more and more progressively depressed and distant, because of the jealousy. Jake starts spending more time with the music club, while drew doesn't WANT him to be at the club, drew wants Jake ti be right by his side. And gets quite annoyed with the lack of attention he's received from him. Angsty jelly bf. Jake however never tells him that he's pursuing his passion and drew should be proud of him!!. Bit uhshhdidodd

More time passes, the competition is nearing, and drew is getting really really tired and jelous of Jakes lack of attendance in his life. Drew then proceeds to try and manipulate Jake into getting out of the music club, and got him to say a bunch of hurtful things about the club as well, so drew tried to convince both Jake AND himself that the music club is actually the one manipulating Jake into staying eitt them and spending less time with drew. Oh also I forgot to mention - they were all at Drew's house, by "all of them" I mean drew and Jakes other friends I'll call the jomies (Jake x homies). So basically one of the jomies decided to record the bunch of hurtful things Jake said about the club, y'know that drew pressured Jake into saying. Drew didn't record nor did he know about one of the jomies recording Jake but yeah. Drew still wanted to manipulate Jake into leaving the club anyway.

So long story short, one of the jomies proceed to send the recording to the music club, so the music club felt understandably upset at Jake especially since they've all been bullied in the past and had their trust broken, and so basically drew indirectly broke Jake and the music club up. Though this worked in Drew's favour because he WANTED the rift between them to happen. But also remember drew never knew about Jake's passion. For singing. 

Later on stuff happen, yada yada, Jake apologizes to the music club VERY, VERY publicly (the whole school heard them), and drew gets annoyed yet again, because like I said, drew is a jelly bf, he wants jakey all to himself, he is tired of Jake constantly talking about the music club, he feels like Jake cares more about the club than he does about HIM. which sucks because drew is very hungry for attention dye to his possible crappy home life. After Jakes apology, when the music club decided to forgive them, drew decided to get into an "argument" with Hailey, one of the music club members (by argument I mean drew literally just started yelling at her lmao). Then Jake decided to break up the fight. I also forgot to mention that Jake cares boh about the jomies AND the music club. He wants to be friends with both of them. But jomies and TMC don't. So then drew and Jake start arguing and yada yada I'm EXTREMELY tired my head hurts I don't think I can continue blabbering.... but UHM. Basically drew felt manipulated and betrayed. Jake was manipulated. They were both manipulative due to their own issues, and they both struggle deeply in this toxic bond. What is more toxic yaoi than that?"

So much angsty love breakup songs fit them, it hurts /pos

Never thought I'd write this much about a random gacha life series dam (pls watch it even though i practically spoiled everything)

[andthingsleftover]

(Droolish treat for dtblrtot! Sorry this took forever, I had troubles coming up with a prompt 😭 Hope you enjoy!)

Foolish truly didn’t think much about the new house he recently moved into. Sure it needed some good old elbow grease and renovation work, but he wasn’t gonna complain about some old wallpaper when his last apartment literally had to get some health inspectors involved. He’s gonna take what he could get. Though truthfully, what his new neighbors had said had put him on the edge a bit. When he first moved in, his neighbors call came by to welcome him and give him some housewarming gifts like casseroles and some trash bags. He thanked them all the same, but he couldn’t help but grow curious on when some of them commented on his bravery for choosing that house. When he asked what they meant, they all clammed up. Something about not wanting “negative energy” to come their way and left Foolish with more questions then answers. Now he can’t help but go back to that whenever he hears a sudden creak in the floorboards or when the windows rattle at night. He tried to be rational, its an older house so there were bound to be loose floorboards or something like that, but it would all happen at specific parts of the night that he grew more and more anxious every day. One night, Foolish couldn’t sleep for whatever reason. Maybe it was the previously mentioned anxiety or he’s still in that weird funk where he can’t sleep in a new environment, who knows? He’s done all of the “can’t sleep” rituals he could find online to help him, but none of them worked. Once it was past 2 am, he gave up and decided to just go with it. Maybe he can hop online with some of his other late night friends and play valo until the sun comes up. But before that, he needed water. With a quick step in his foot, Foolish went down to his kitchen and got a glass of water from the tab. As he turned around, something flashed in his eyes that made him jumped and drop the glass in his hand. He closed his eyes and expected to hear a shatter, but he heard nothing. He slowly opened his eyes to see the glass floating just a few inches off the ground. "Careful, man. It's too early for this shit." A male voice echoed in the room, but Foolish was all alone in the house. None of his friends lived near by and they definitely didnt sleep over.

The glass slowly raised in the air and floated over to his dining table to where it was gently set down. That's when he saw him. Skin pale and transparent, hair blond and curled, clothes ripped and tattered on his body, dried scabs and blood all over his body. Dull green eyes turned to look at him, "So you're the one who bought my house, huh?" Foolish could feel his knees tremble under him, but he still felt inclined to speak, "Y-your house?" he stuttered. The ghost in front of him smiled and held out his hand, "Yep, my house. Name's Clay, or Dream, whichever you prefer. Good to meet ya, new housemate."

0.0

Oh this is so cool! I kinda want to continue it - this is such a good setup. Thank you for your lovely halloween present!

[the-greatest-story-untold]

Dear Sunshine,

~ 06/06/23, Tue

(long post)

Or as everyone knows you as, Haechan, bearing the meaning of Full Sun.

Or for those who are more intimately closer to you, to whom you are Donghyuck/Donghyeok.

The first (Sunshine), my own name for you, a title delegated all to myself, though the word itself is universal and I am sure many have adopted this as their own term of endearment for you. You who is the epitome of this namesake. The light that has entered my life when before, the word had never meant anything more than just some letters joined together.

The second (Haechan), your professional title, your stage name, your idol essence, your performing act. The name thousands know you by. The name adored and shared among millions. The fullness of the namesake that has spread its meaning across the hearts of so many all over the world. The familiarity to the name but yet, still a gentle reminder of detachment because of its world-renowned status.

And lastly (Donghyuck/Donghyeok), your own private identity. The beginning of the story of the growing star before it became the full sun it has become today. The true you, I would hope. The name I honestly dare not utter; as no matter how relatable you’ve become to me, the name still serves as a reminder that I am never truly close in distance, physically or otherwise.

Whichever it may be, it still refers to only one of you. 

I am assuming it has struck 12 midnight where you are (and looooong past it). You are either asleep, or more likely up on Bubble, IG perhaps, or just on one of your many devices. Maybe you are reading well-wishes from those you love, your family and friends. Maybe you are scrolling through the heaps of birthday wishes flooding your social media feeds from those who love you all around the world.

What is my letter but just one more, right?

I feel like I have so much to say. Words are always in my head, running around and popping up into focus now and then. I’ll scroll through social media and see clips and shots of you, and words flitter and pop. Words I feel like I’d want to share with you but the magnitude of them is just too much to process at the moment. 

So my task now is to try to do that. To organise the words fluttering about and reign in the feelings running amok. I hope I do well. Let’s begin.

Haechan, my Sunshine.

Before knowing you, ‘sunshine’ never truly held any meaning for me, except for what it was meant for; the light emitted from the sun.

When I first knew of you, introduced to me as ‘Haechan’, again, there was no resonance with the name. I did not know the story behind your name.

Interesting how meanings behind a name and how prophetic they can be, could really draw you into the story of somebody, doesn’t it?

Because that was what happened when I got to know about you.

My story began in 2019. I was already familiar with NCT and her concept, but I did not know much about you. Although, I did understand that you were the youngest in NCT 127. I also understood the concept and expectations of a maknae, and anticipated you to behave as such. (Which you did.)

Back then, my only experiences with groups’ maknae had been that of SuJu’s Kyuhyun (he is so ahjusshi compared to you at this point, let’s not deny this), EXO’s Sehun (who had always been this ‘too cool for school’ dude in my eyes), and BTS’ Jungkook (another ‘too cool for school’ child). Kyuhyun began my formulation of the ‘Evil Maknae’ and although Sehun is far from being as devious as Kyuhyun (in my opinion), he was sort of dubbed as ‘difficult to manage’ too. Jungkook was the Golden Maknae who could do no wrong even if he was.

Then, there was you. I did not know what to make of you. The maknae (of other groups/within Kpop) had never really caught my attention before. They were often just there for entertainment purposes. But you? You did catch my attention. And as my brain scrambled to get what information I can about you, an obvious archetype that came up was that of the maknae.

But you were still different. The ‘maknae’ archetype was not why you caught my attention. And for a while, I continued to scramble for my thoughts and opinion on this young man who has so undeniably got my undivided attention.

My first true recollection of you was actually back in 2018. I didn't really want to count that because that memory thread aligned more with Mark’s graduation rather than ‘you’. But I still recalled fans being upset and lamenting about your separation. (It was then that I learned about ‘MarkHyuck’ - and subsequently your real name ‘Donghyuck’ - and the idea of shipping. We shall not go down that road.)

Then you had the unfortunate incident of injuring your ankle, which caused greater despair within the fandom. Sentiments and emotions were especially high as you missed NCT’s first ever live concert with NCT 127’s Neo City: Seoul – The Origin (a mouthful to say and a hassle to write/type, seriously). It was fair to say the fandom was especially concentrated on your well-being. Throngs of well-wishes continued across social media through the months you recuperated and recovered. 

But yet, I still did not know much about you other than that you were the maknae, and you were close to Mark. I knew of course that both you and Mark were part of Dream too. But let’s face it, at this point, the only news thread in the Dream vine was Mark’s graduation. I too knew you had been around since SM Rookies and the MMC days. But that was old news.

So if you were to ask me to recall what exactly about you made me drawn to you? I could not answer. Till this date, I still can’t think of what about you caught my attention.

However, I can tell you what had caught my attention: clips of your solo dance before ‘Good Thing’ during The Origin tour.

Because boy, you returned from an ankle injury and was launched into a world tour and then managed to deliver such a solo with such grace and ease? Many of your fans were ecstatic at your return, grateful you are back at full health. But dang, you dived back into work and did not play around. You took your return seriously and embraced it fully. 

I have never been drawn to dancers before. My biases or my cause of interest have always been vocalists. And this tracks all the way back to my 90s boy bands phase (if you haven’t figured out that I’m that old…). 

So imagine my surprise when I was very very drawn to all the clips of you dancing in that solo. And subsequently, when you came to my country for a concert, and I actually witnessed you dancing, let me tell you that that concert experience was a turning point in my life.

It was my first concert of any type whatsoever and it being a Kpop band (which also, in all honesty, was the first Kpop band I truly invested in and paid attention to), says a lot about how NCT changed my life. It was not drastic but looking at my life receipts, it was my riskiest and bravest purchase and decision, ever. 

I’ve said this before, in my old blog posts and my conversations with friends who deemed it their worth to listen to my regaling Kpop tales; when I entered the Origin concert, I had came for Taeil (the man who drew me into NCT) and watched for Taeyong and Mark (the only ones who I had been able to recognise). And by the end of the concert, I was a true fan – a dubbed NCTzen. But most importantly, I was starting to understand what the fans meant by ‘bias’. Because boy, though I denied it then, I was drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Eventually 127 ended their first world tour. But yet, another world tour awaited you: The Dream Show. 

As aforementioned, I was ready to be an NCTzen; I was committed to support the entirety of NCT and her ludicrous concept and projects. That included exploring beyond NCT127 and venturing into its next major unit: NCT Dream. 

My journey with NCT Dream … is another long novel on its own and a narrative to explore in another time. But I have to admit it was my journey into NCT Dream that got me to know more about you, Haechan.

NCT Dream Haechan is, in my opinion, different from NCT 127 Haechan. Where you are maknae in NCT 127, you play an entirely different role in Dream. 

You are expected to be, dare I say it, petulant and childish with 127 as it is expected of a maknae to behave as such. You whine more, you act cute more and get things your way because the older guys relent to it. You are, as popular (fan)fiction describes it, “bratty”. Endearingly so, as seen by how your hyungs absolutely give in to your shenanigans, scripted or not. 

But with NCT Dream, there is a shift in the presentation of your behaviour. If this was conscious or not, scripted or natural, I will never know (and it is not my prerogative to know). But either way, there is a shift. 

I think this was why I ultimately started paying attention to Dream; and often than not, started paying more attention to you.

Paying attention to Dream meant listening to your tracks. Being the main vocalist for the unit, I hear you more. All the online accolades and praises for your vocal uniqueness were no lies. I heard the difference in your timbre. I hear the colour of your voice when you sing with Dream. And I love it. 

Paying attention to Dream also meant supporting your comebacks. With 2019 passing, and me having attended Neo City: The Origin on 22 July, the first Dream activity that came along was ‘We Boom’. And with every pun intended, that album came booming into existence: It was loud, it was daring and it was a statement. And I love every bit of it. I paid attention to every single member and will honestly say, I became an official ‘Dreamzen’. Everything about that era was giving me energy I loved. And when it was released that you will be returning to my country for a world tour? I was genuinely ecstatic. Where I was nervous and hesitant with The Origin, I was absolutely sure I had to go to The Dream Show.

Alas, I did not manage to get good tickets (restricted view) and subsequently, when the end of 2019 came about, the world pandemic happened. I was gutted when it was official that The Dream Show was cancelled. Never before did I feel so despondent at seeing a refund processed in my bank account.

At this point, perhaps due to the emotional drawback or the anxiety of an upcoming world pandemic, I turned to you (and your members).

I learned what your name meant (Full Sun), and I learnt what your fans were called (sunflowers). Suddenly, everything yellow or orange, or any associations to sunflowers and the sun, made me think of you. Specifically, I remembered your smile and your warmth. And though everyone (even I) refer to your precarious childishness as ‘brattiness’, it was actually this very behaviour that made me relate to you. I eventually realised, this was not ‘bratiness’. You were simply mischievous. Which I, myself, have a knack to behave as such. 

I am 'a little bit' on the mischievous side myself, growing up. I got into plenty of trouble as a child... but as I grew up I learned to tuck that mischief away in official settings such as school and the public. But as I crossed into teenagehood, ‘mischief’ became forgotten and something else morphed out of it. My family called it ‘being rebellious’, and I bought it. I was berated and chided for it, and worse, made to feel guilty for it but without understanding why. And through the ending years of my teenagehood and the beginning of my adulthood, the guilt stayed with me and fostered something else in me. I still functioned though, never truly conscious of this ever-growing ‘something’ in me that was just getting fed by guilt-tripping and societal pressure on what it is to be an adult, a woman. And when I got to adulthood, I already had baggage on me, which I had (barely) succeeded in hiding… by tucking, pushing, prodding, and forcing it into this very ever-shrinking box in me. Till one day it wouldn’t fit anymore, and that box (that was supposed to contain ‘things’) just disappeared, and a very ugly ‘something’ came bursting out and overtook everything.

<<This may be my midnight ruminations, or the result of finally becoming comfortable with my thoughts and words as I delve deeper in reflection. I hope you don’t mind me sharing.>>

As you have read, I did not grow into what I term a ‘wholesome’ adult. I did not ‘have my shit together’. 

I am sure you have heard or read so many moving stories of how you, your members, your band, had saved someone from a dark place in their life. And sometimes, I so badly want to say that was the case for me too.

In a way, perhaps. I have to admit, I did find a safe place in NCT for a while. Be it 127, with your found-family vibes. Or NCT Dream with your friendship forever familiarity. Even WayV and their pets had made their way into my heart. I won’t deny NCT2020 was my favourite era and today, I am very grateful I had been fortunate and blessed to have witnessed it. 

But regardless of what it was, what kept me drawn to NCT was you. Your warm personality, your kindness, your passion, your softness, your loving attributes, and yes, your mischief – your love for fun, your inclination for affection, your joviality. I see a glimpse of my old self in that. And I don’t know if that old me is still somewhere in me or if it has morphed into something I am fearful of (I still need time to process that).

In the meantime, I am glad to be able to see the sun in you. And I know it is not easy. So many things aren’t easy, I would think. But I just don’t know which one you’d relate to the most: It must be so difficult to be so happy and so passionate all the time. To be so hard working and committed to what you love. To be sufficiently happy as yourself and also happy as what is expected of you (you are human too, and experience the ups and downs of life… but as an idol, it is a profession that expects perfection from you. And given the happy, mood-maker personality that is associated with you, that must make it harder sometimes to find the balance of being genuinely happy because it is where you want to be versus being happy because your professional image demands you to be as such).

During this birthday, please remember that you have been my definition of sunshine and happiness for as long as I have been your fan. I want to thank you so much for that.

But please remember, you do not have to be forever happy and grinning for the sake of fans. I understand you have been tired for a while now. If it helps, do take a break. It may cause some fans to be upset, yes, but it is far more important that you gather yourself and take time for yourself too.

Something that has kept me going, is the saying (paraphrased) that “you cannot serve from an empty vessel. Rest and self-care is important because when you take time to replenish your spirit, it allows you to serve others from the overflow”.

I love this quote; it is from Eleanor Brownn. And as a social work associate (and through my young adult work life, a case worker in the social sector), this saying has been an essential reminder for me to know when to stop pushing forward because I need to, so that I can rest and recollect myself before I continue to push on. And I hope it resonates with you too on some level.

From the bottom of my heart, I truly want to thank you again. Should I ever be lucky enough to meet you, I will never know what to say, what to do, or even how to act in front of you (or anyone else in NCT for that matter). Language barrier aside, we have quite an age gap too. But regardless, I will continue to love you, and ‘bias’ you, as the young ones so eloquently phrase it. I may face judgement for it, but at this point, I’m accepting that I am happy watching you dance and play, and of course, listening to you sing. (Like a little brother bear...)

Please continue to be passionate in your art for the longest time. You don’t have to be an idol, but never let go of what you love. 

Be happy, for yourself and the ones you love. Don’t lose yourself in the hub-bub of the entertainment world and remember yourself, your family and friends. I know you feel that fans are important, but at the end of the day, we are just here to supplement and support you. Remember that what you do must be for your own drive. If you get tired, remember to take a rest and refuel. Genuine fans know how to take a step back and give you your space, because they respect you. 

Finally, treasure all the memories you make, good or bad. You will learn from life, even if she is a tough teacher. I am not from your world, and may never be able to put myself in your shoes or imagine the challenges and difficulties you face. But as a human being, I empathise that you can have difficult and even dark days. 

Have a good rest (tell this to all your hard working members… all of them), and happy birthday. I hope you wake up to a beautiful day, sunshine.

With love,

Just another birthday wish.

[bloodcrosses]

After reading the discourse about directors in the MCU, I'm going to tell you about how Christopher Nolan came to be hired for Batman Begins. This is relevant, trust me.

Nolan and screenwriter David S Goyer (there was a time when Goyer actually wrote good stuff, like the first Blade movie) approached Warner Brothers with an idea for essentially a do-over of the the Batman franchise.

If this were Feige and co, they would have given him it straight away. Hey, he directed Memento! People liked Memento! What could go wrong!?

WB didn't do this.

They asked Nolan to direct Insomnia, modestly budgeted movie with a starry cast of Al Pacino, Hillary Swank and Robin Williams (who is fantastic. His dramatic roles are truly amazing. A shame he didn't get to do them more often) to prove he could handle working under a studio and with big names.

He turned out a solid thriller and developed a working relationship with Warners Brothers.

He proved himself, so he got the job.

Feige and Co, after their first few successes with Jon Favreau and Joss Whedon, decided to just start handing franchises to whichever indie director came and asked. They didn't think to say "prove you can work with us".

And that's how you end up with utter messes such as Thor: Love and Thunder.

Here endeth the lesson.

Oh and fuck the MCU. There. I'm done.

[deputygonebye]

@manhattanopus || Taken from here. 

she   stood   alone   inside   an   old   drug   store   where   the   shelves   were   mostly   barren   aside   from   some   headache   relief   medication   and   a   few   bags   of   chips   —   ugh   sour   cream   and   onion   —   she   hated  sour   cream   and   onion.   but   she   grabbed   them   to   help   silence   the   deep   growl   that   came   from   her   stomach.   she   thought   she   was   alone   until   she   saw   movement   out   of   the   corner   of   her   eye.   she   quickly   ducked   behind   the   counter,   thinking   it   was   a   dead   one   —   but   then   she   heard   the   ding ! of   the   door   opening   and   feet   stomping   not   dragging.   she   peaked   over   the   counter   to   see   a   man   standing   right   there   with   his   back   facing   her.   she   figured   maybe   she   could   sneak   past   him   and   out   the   door   —   run   for   the   main   road   and   keep   running,   but   as   she   took   a   step   her   ankle   that   was   wrapped   in   duck   tape   due   to   being   sprained   pretty   badly   had   rolled   under   her   and   caused   her   to   lose   her   balance.   she   fell   backwards   and   he   had   her   already   made.   she   sat   on   the   floor   with   hands   up.           ‘   uh   —   hey.   ’        what   a   stupid  thing   to   say,   she   thought,   but   she   didn’t   do   well   under   pressure   and   he   had   a   big   shotgun   in   his   hands.            ‘  i   don’t   have   anything   useful   —   swear.   ’

Shane said he would go. Alone, a solo mission that seemed to be an attempt to rectify a wrongdoing of his past. Whichever one it was, he wasn’t sure. So many sins committed - guilt felt over them all - it was better that way. Leave and be fast about it, the drug store was within distance from the camp, a little trail just off the main pathway. With Rick still healing over his extended hospital stay, his first couple of days surrounded by the undead, Shane considered it right that it was he who went. He didn’t trust Daryl enough to come alongside. He didn’t want to risk the safety of Glenn - poor kid could barely hold his pistol correctly, let alone aim and shoot with perfected accuracy. Soon to be taught by Shane, just not yet, the former deputy was stunned at how well the outside of the store looked. Grime covered, but with the doors still on their hinges, he opened and closed them as quickly as he could. Distance made between himself and the Walkers - minutes until they caught his scent - by himself. Least so he had assumed, it was only until he heard a sudden crash that such a thought was remedied. 

Shotgun aimed and finger ready to pull the trigger, what wasn’t an animated corpse turned out to be a woman. A young one - the Apocalypse aged every one those days - a little nervous, perhaps. Shane didn’t lower his weapon, even after her voice broke their shared silence. Backstabbing and treachery the name of the game, he was going to make sure that it was he who came out alive, should any tricks be played. Shane was certain. 

“Where’s the rest of ‘em?” He asked, eyes scanning her to see if she truly was as empty handed as she claimed. “Your friends, you got any others hidin’ in the back? You lie to me, and I’ll make sure that I’m the only one walkin’ out those front doors.”

Shane licked his lips, coming to the conclusion that, yes, she didn’t carry anything of true use. Her hands bare and her placement on the floor interesting, her ankle seemed to be in just as tough a shape, healed in a fix of tape and hope. She didn’t look the murderous type, anyway. 

“Your ankle - what happened?” Shane queried, stepping closer to her, gun still drawn but baritone much softer around its edges. “What the hell’s that? Duck tape? You ain’t bit, are you?”

[thatapostateboy]

the empress and the hermit for whichever rook you'd like!

answered for my main Rook Eva - female, elf, Shadow Dragon rogue

The Empress:  What does family mean for Rook?

Family is one of the core things that drives Rook. It’s what she fights for, what she’ll give everything for.

Her first memories are of being with her mother and father in the Denerim Alienage, listening to her mother sing songs that she learned on her travels before she settled down, begging for stories from her father who worked as a shipwright out of docks. They had very little money, but she never doubted how much she was loved.

When that was all torn away from her by Tevinter slavers during the Blight, her family extended beyond blood to a Qunari boy named Magnus, who was a slave in the same household as her in Minrathous. Despite the size difference, he became her little brother, defending him from their master, teaching him the songs her mother taught to her, promising him a home with her family when they managed to escape. And years later, when their opportunity came, after the untimely death of their master, it was ultimately Magnus that saved her, giving himself up to be arrested on suspicion of killing him so that she had a chance to get away and find her parents again.

For a time, family was the Shadow Dragons who took her in when she began to fight back against the chains she had once been held in herself, hiding as a ward of the Mercars, then it was simply Varric; a man who really taught her what kind of person she wanted to be, helped her hone her skills and impulsive nature into someone who could one day maybe be a hero.

And when all is said and done, once she can return home to Denerim, now a woman grown, and find peace in the fact that her parents are truly gone, but she has managed to find her way home after saving the world, the family she now has is more than enough to fill her heart.

Emmrich, the father figure she never expected. Sisters in Harding, Neve and Bellara. A sibling in Taash. A brother in Manfred. And love with her husbands Lucanis and Davrin (and Spite), and the family they build together, with Assan of course.  

The Hermit: When Rook is alone with their thoughts, what do they think about? Is solitude a blessing or a curse for them?

If someone were to ask Rook, she would say that she is fine being alone, in fact; she prefers it, either to work or to relax. But that would be a complete lie.

When she is alone with her thoughts, when there is no company to be found and sleep evades her, she finds her thoughts plagued with guilt.

When she was forced from her home as a child and separated from her mother, the last thing her mother did was make her promise to find her way home to Denerim one day. Holding onto that promise kept her alive in the face of everything she went through, drove her to hold hope in her heart that she would find a way out of Minrathous, no matter what it cost and make it home.

But once she was free of her chains, she found that it wasn’t that simple. She had the opportunity to help others like her, to fight back, and even when it became a matter of not just fighting with the Shadow Dragons, but saving the damn world, there is something that eats away in the pit of her stomach, feeling like she has turned her back on her mother’s final wish for her.

When the guilt becomes too much, she’ll find her way to the Lighthouse kitchen and drink whatever she can get her hands on to help her sleep; often interrupted by Lucanis who is also awake, seeking distraction in each other’s company.

Rook Tarot Card Ask Game