#dont let them snuff you out youre the only light left

[qt-kt]

It's me and my playlist about Light against the world

[chiangyorange]

i have a couple for the wmas thoughts :] (you dont have to do them all)

1. the big leo small leo fight in the kitchen

2. mikeys possession and painting

3. mikey training with draxum

4. donnys time travel notes

normally i would choose the time travel to annoy tf out of u bestie sean but;

fleo and leo fight, the beginning

(v excerpt taken from ch1 v)

He dodges just in time as a scalpel imbeds itself into the calendar. Leo lunges for the nearest kitchen knife and prays that Mikey won’t be mad at him. He flicks the counter light on and sees the future version of himself standing in the shadows. “Dude, what the fuck?!” The hulking figure throws out his arm, a line of blood running down the side of it from where he likely pulled the IV out and- IS THAT THE FUCKING STAPLER??? Leo dives out of the way as the stapler hits the cabinet with a loud thud. Leo hears his older self grunt and reaches at his still healing side.  “Woah, you’re gonna rip your stitches old man!” He hears his future self growl at him and starts to charge at a high speed. Leo chuckles hysterically, “Oh this isn’t a safe space suddenly.”

future!leo is the personified version of throwing a wrench in the system. literally.

the hamatos roll with the punches SO many times but this fight was really me trying to give off that point of, "this is a person who is shaking up the recently established status quo and whatever he does is going to change that."

i really wanted to drive home that him coming back? not predicted, maybe not intended either? who knows, the present hamatos definitely fucking dont

then cutting to fleo's pov

(v excerpts taken from ch2 v)

Leonardo wakes up with a searing pain in his shoulder.   There’s dim light in the room with brighter lights beaming through the windows, but all he can focus on is the tightness radiating from what’s left of his arm. He looks over, yep that’s gone. The entirety of his prosthetic arm is missing, only leaving the metal implant behind, broken and melted. His eyes scan the room around him looking for the sword he knows he won’t find.  He takes a deep breath to suppress the urge to cry. They took away the last things that were from his brothers. He doesn’t even have anything from Mikey.  Now he’s trapped, truly alone on a godawful hallucination of whatever Kraang ship he’s been taken to. 

you have to remember that fleo was taken the MOMENT he died, hell, even here he doesnt even remember that he DID die

“Ow, fuck!” he hisses. He leans against his arm and grumbles into the pillow to put pressure on the resulting wound. Leonardo stands himself up and takes a deep breath in. He lets it out and blindly opens a drawer and grabs whatever can fit in his hand. He stops and crouches away from the window when he sees movement. He looks out and sees a younger version of himself walk past and to the kitchen. They say the past haunts you but come on, this is getting ridiculous. He sees the false image of himself hanging up his photo. Dread pools in his stomach because he gave that to Casey. If that photo is here then they must have captured him too, somehow. The figure stands up taller and Leonardo responds in kind.He takes the scalpel, tucking the medical stapler in his waistband and throws. The image dodges, diving towards the countertops and flicks on a light. Leonardo only blinks as the lights hit directly into his eyes. “Dude, what the fuck?!” 

its been explained in post, but fleo, as he stands right here, is under the assumption that the kraang took him and doing literally all they can to snuff out the rest of the resistance/punishing him as the leader/everything BAD

fleo tore out an IV (which OW.) which is an indicator of "i dont give a shit about what happens" then immediately grabbing anything and everything he can as a weapon, an indicator of "all i want to do is take as many kraang down as i can"

its reckless, its desperate, its not inherently self destructive, but it is apathetic in its most senses of the term.

here i dont want to say "fleo wants to die", but rather "if im going to go out, im gonna go out fucking fighting like the rest of my family did". its a dignity thing there fleo is trying to control his own demise as a last fuck you to the kraang

“Leo?” Mikey’s image calls to his younger self. He looks up at him, “Leo?!” “Be surprised later, he’s VIOLENT.” The two of them start to turn and run. 

but thats not happening here. the audience KNOWS that hes safe and this line of thinking is only going to get more dangerous if he isnt stopped.

He sees out of the corner of his eye something being thrown at his feet. Before he can react, it hits his ankles and someone collides with his side. He falls hard directly on his bad shoulder and his vision goes white with pain. Rolling to his back, he digs his hand into the bad shoulder and wills the pain to go away. “Sensei!” He hears through the fog.He feels a hand on his shoulder, the one he's not holding, and flinches hard back onto his feet. Leonardo breathes hard as it grows uncomfortably silent. His vision slowly comes back to him and what he sees is… “Casey?”

and he is. and then he remembers.

He remembers the final act of the rebellion. He remembers April’s hands pushing him out of the way as she orders him to keep going, commander’s orders. He remembers the injury to his side and falling to the ground. He remembers being on his feet running uphill with Casey supporting him just like now. He remembers wishing that April was there with them. He remembers being surrounded, and then immediately being saved by Mikey. He remembers the time gate, and how the speculation needed to be reality. He remembers the brilliant gold that took his remaining brother. He remembers throwing Casey into the time gateway. He remembers fighting off the Kraang. He remembers the heroic image he hopes is the last thing Casey sees of him. He remembers the feeling, the thoughts that he will join his brothers soon. He remembers his world lighting up in a bright light. He remembers- “I don’t understand.” He admits. 

from living in constant chaos, his hear in his throat, losing friends left and right in the last act of the resistance, of course he would be confused as shit.

its an overwhelming kindness after years and years of heartache, of grief, of loss and now youre telling him hes safe? after 2 decades of a living hell, he can breathe again?

its going to be overwhelming.

Leonardo looks around the room, actually looks for the first time and sees his younger self wincing and sitting up from the wall he was thrown at. On the floor is the calendar and the scalpel he threw, the newly hung photograph’s frame tilted at an angle in a comical manner. Mikey stands over his younger self with an ice pack in hand looking at Raph pensively. A textbook by his feet and notes that that’s what tripped him before he snapped out of it. Wow, now he really feels like shit.

and then he starts to feel like he's intruding on something that was meant to be peaceful.

he escaped hell, but hell followed him.

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 6

first | previous | next

Volkan takes something from Felicia.

contents: immediate aftermath of noncon, noncon touch, knife stuff, victim blaming. Ao3 link here.

---

The cement floor was cold and unyielding against Felicia’s body.

She lay on her side, body curled inwards, and the hard press of her shoulder against the ground sapped the warmth from her skin. Her wrists were bloody where the metal cuffs dug into them, and her back was chafed raw from—she shuddered and blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Her breathing was the only sound in the room, and the echo of it overtook her senses. In and out. Her chest rose and fell, the burn along her collarbone pulsing with heat with each inhale and exhale. She could smell sweat and blood and something else, the faintest trace in the air, and she took in the sensation and refused to do anything with it, refused to allow her mind to follow the path it led to his body over hers, crushing her, and the pain lancing between her legs—

She blinked again, and her gaze fell on her pants still lying discarded next to her, and something within her mind slipped into place.

I'm going to die down here. Then: He said he wouldn't kill me. Then: I can't trust a single thing he says.

She grabbed at the pants and dragged them towards her with a shaking hand. Her breath caught in her chest as she pulled the pants over her sore legs, and all at once it was his hands, running down her thighs, slipping the last of her clothing off her, digging fingers into her hips as he slammed into her—

She took a deep breath and forced herself to sit up.

The movement rocked her body with a fresh wave of pain, stomach churning with nausea. Her nails scraped against the cement as she clenched her fists and her chest heaved with half-formed sobs, gasps and cries locked up tight within her.

Then she moved again, and a sharp stab pierced deep in her abdomen, and everything crashed down on her. She was chained up in a basement with a man who wanted nothing more than to watch her shatter, and she had no clue where she was and no one knew where she was and there was no way they could find her and what the fuck could she do? What could she do? How long could she outlast him, when she had no clue what he wanted from her beyond her pain and anguish? How could she hold firm and wait for rescue, knowing it might never come? How could she free herself, when he was always ten steps ahead of her and every attempt she made just delighted him further?

She couldn’t stay here, and she had no way out, and any minute he was going to come down those stairs and hurt her again and god, she didn’t want him to ever touch her again but she couldn’t do a thing to stop him—

Her gaze fell on the wall across from her, and the row of knives that hung gleaming on the rack.

She rose to stand on unsteady legs, her body trembling with exhaustion. The chains connected to her shackled wrists ran to an anchor on the ceiling, but were slackened enough to give her some range of movement. She took a tentative step, and another. Each step brought her closer to the wall of knives, and her heart was in her throat and his body was crushing hers against the wall and his cigarette was hot against her skin and the sharp blades were slicing away every last defense she had, and with her next step the chain stopped her short.

She was close. She was so close, the knives were right there and she strained against the chains, shoulders protesting and wrists chafing anew as she twisted and contorted herself, desperate for some angle that would bring her that much closer, because she was going to die if she couldn’t get one of those knives.

The clang of the basement door opening shot through her like a blade to the heart.

Volkan’s footsteps were heavy behind her as he walked across the room. She tried to ignore him, tried to focus and stretch and grab the knife right in front of her, but she could feel his eyes on her and all she wanted was to curl up and crawl out of her own skin.

“What are you going to do if you get that knife?” Volkan’s voice was light, tinged with sardonic amusement. “Are you going to kill me?”

Felicia’s face burned. The knife was so close. Then Volkan stepped closer and plucked the knife from the wall, his gaze never leaving her. Mingled rage and terror swelled up inside of her as he stood there, eyes tracing down her half-naked body, the ghost of a threat in the knife in his hand. He smiled, and a tug of magic jerked her chains back, sending her sprawling on the ground.

She scrambled back with clumsy movements, heart hammering, and he advanced on her with an air of utter unconcern. He crouched before her, and for the first time she noticed the bottle clutched in his other hand. The thick liquid within swirled as he held it out to her. “Drink.”

She didn’t move. “Why would I trust anything you give me?” Dread pooled in her stomach. If he wanted her to drink it, it would happen; she was powerless to stop him.

He rolled his eyes and uncapped the bottle, taking several large gulps. “I told you I wasn’t going to kill you. It’s just nutrients and liquid, Felicia.” He held the bottle out to her once again. “You must be dehydrated from all that crying. Drink.”

Indecision warred within her, mistrust and desperation and the creeping knowledge that any move she made was only delaying the inevitable. She took the bottle and drank. The liquid was cool and refreshing with the barest taste of fruit.

As she finished the drink, Volkan shifted closer to her and laid a large hand on her thigh. “Not sure why you bothered to put these back on,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing the seam of her pants along her inner thigh.

His touch, deceptively gentle, sent a fresh wave of revulsion through her. She jerked back, the empty bottle slipping from her hands as she struggled to cover herself and get away from his hands. “Dont—” Don’t fucking touch me. It sounded so stupid, so pointless. But there was nothing else left to her.

He let her recoil, watching her with a thoughtful tilt to his head as she wrapped arms around her bare chest. Then he spoke. “Why do you think I brought you here?”

Because you’re cruel and controlling and calculated, and you can’t stand that I dared to fight against you. Because the only way you know to get what you want is to snuff out anyone who opposes you. Because making people feel small and hopeless gets you off. She swallowed. “Because you’re bored?”

He laughed at that. “I’m bored? So, what, I go grab some fucktoy off the street to keep me occupied?” She flinched at his blunt words. “No, that’s just a bonus. But here, let’s get you out of those heavy shackles.”

Caught off-guard by the sudden shift, she didn’t resist as he detached one of her wrists from the chain and brought it close to him. The manacle around her wrist fell away with a brush of his magic, and in its place he slid a new cuff. Thin, delicate, it was more like a bracelet than a tool of imprisonment. She shuddered as he fastened it around her wrist, and felt the slightest shift, something almost imperceptible that stirred within her and was smothered.

Her breath was thin and shaky and his hands on her skin sent tension thrumming through her. “What are you—”

“Shh.” He barely acknowledged her as he pulled down her other wrist, discarding the manacle and replacing it with an identical bracelet. As it closed around her wrist, she definitely felt something; it was as if some part of her was quieted, as if each breath she drew couldn’t quite reach her lungs. She couldn’t place what it was, but something had changed.

Volkan was watching her, saying nothing, idly twisting a ring onto his finger. She looked at her own wrists, the raw skin now partially revealed beneath the thinner bracelets she had on—and with a jolt, she realized she wasn’t chained to anything. She couldn’t help but glance back at the rack of knives behind her, and when she turned back to face Volkan, he was smiling.

The knife was in his hand again, the glint of sharp steel drawing her eye. Her muscles tensed, every inch of her body on high alert, ready to fight or flee, and then he lifted the knife and sliced his own palm.

She blinked, her mind sluggish to process the red blood welling up from the wound he had given himself. Her gaze lifted from his palm to his face, and his expression showed no hint of pain. His other hand shot out to grab her by the wrist, dragging her close and pressing her palm into his own bloody hand.

“Heal it.”

The blood was warm beneath her touch, the scent of it overwhelming. “If you needed a healer, why wouldn’t you just hire someone—”

“I didn’t tell you to ask questions.” His voice was steel as he pressed her hand more firmly into his own. “Heal it.”

Rage flared up in her at that, sudden and hot, because how dare he drag her down here to assault and torture and then demand she perform magic tricks for him? She wrenched her hand free of his grasp. “Fuck you, why would I heal you after you—”

“Heal it, or I’ll break every single bone in your hand.” He grabbed her once again, and she was acutely aware of how tiny her hand was in his, how fragile the bones of her fingers were in his iron grip. The anger in her was extinguished as quickly as it had flared up, replaced with a stomach-churning dread. What game was he playing now? What was he getting out of this? What would it cost her to play along?

She took a deep breath, let her eyes drift shut, and reached for the magic channeling through her—

And found nothing.

The vibrant hum of magic always present in her chest was silent, absent. She reached again, but it was like grasping at thin air. The blood welling from Volkan’s hand beneath hers was blood, nothing more, no sensation of skin or muscle or bone or life.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, expectant. He raised an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?”

“I—” Her breath caught in her throat. Now that she was aware of it, the absence of magic within her felt like a gaping hole in her chest. She took another breath, shakier this time, and deepened her focus. “Just hang on—”

“I am going to hurt you if you can’t heal this.” Volkan’s hand shifted under hers until he was gripping her, his palm pressing her wrist back further, further.

Panic bubbled in her. “I’m trying! I am!” Her other hand grabbed his, feeling around the wound. She may well have been feeling her way around a pitch-black room.

Volkan’s eyes were hard, and his hand pushed her wrist further back. “If you can’t even do this one simple thing,” he said, “I’ll kill you right here and now and find someone else.”

“Please!” She hated the way her voice squeaked on the word. Fighting back a sob, she tried to jerk her hand free from his, but his grip was crushing. “I don’t know what’s happening!” She tried again to heal him, and it was as if she was trying to breathe in a room that was rapidly running out of air.

Then his grip on her loosened and his eyes crinkled in a smile. Before she could comprehend, he pressed her fingers gently into his palm, and then—

Magic coursed through her, but she couldn’t control it or direct it, she couldn’t dam up the flood pouring through her, she was being swept along the current, flowing from her body to his—

A bright stripe of pain across her palm, and muscles and tendons and skin knitting back together, and then the flow was stoppered again.

Breathless, Felicia wrenched her hand back. Volkan was studying his palm, the skin smooth as if it had never been sliced at all. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Did that hurt you at all?”

“What did you do?” Her shoulders were heaving, head spinning with magical exhaustion. “What did you do to me?”

“Doesn’t that sort of healing usually hurt both parties?” He flexed his hand. “I didn’t feel a thing. How about you?”

Her own palm still burned with the last pangs of healing, the familiar sensation heightened by bitter absence of magic otherwise pulsing through her. “What did you do?”

He met her eyes at last, and he was smiling. “I took something from you.”

A chill came over her at his words, his eyes, the persistent lack that ached her body, and then she was struck all at once with a sharp awareness of the cuffs he had slipped onto her wrists. She tugged at them with frantic hands, refusing to look away from Volkan. “You—”

Her words cut off with a yelp as he grabbed her wrist and jerked her forward, sending her sprawling against him. Conscious of her bare chest dragging against the fabric of his shirt, she tried to pull back, but he held her in place as if she were nothing. His face was inches from hers as he spoke. “Can a healer heal themself?”

She froze. “What?”

“You’re a healer.” He pressed the knife against the palm of her hand, crushing her wrist in an iron grip. “Can you heal yourself?”

It was such an absurd question, she would almost laugh if she weren’t terrified. It was one of the first things anyone who studied magic learned about. No, she couldn’t heal herself, no more than she could feed herself from nothing, or rest her body without sleep. The energy for healing had to come from somewhere other than the person being healed.

And he knew that. He studied magic, he owned a hospital, he knew that wasn’t how it worked. And he was asking her this question with a blade to her skin sharper than anything she’d ever known in her life, and he’d taken something from her that left her gasping and fumbling and empty and unable to feel a core part of herself, and she couldn’t pull herself away from him. “You know I can’t,” she managed to say.

He jerked his hand, and she saw the red of blood welling up from her palm before she felt the pain. Her hammering heart pulsed the blood from her hand, and he studied it a moment, a harsh thumb pressing into the wound.

Then her skin prickled, and that same sensation coursed through her of something being drawn from her, almost as if her blood itself was flowing to his will. The pain in her hand burned hotter, hotter, crescendoing into a bright flash of agony, and then nothing.

The wound on her hand was gone, the skin as smooth as if it’d never been cut in the first place.

“Looks like you can,” Volkan said, tracing a finger over the unmarked skin.

She jerked her hand back and clutched it to her chest, heart racing. Her palm ached dully, and her head was fogged with a post-magic haze, and through the exhaustion all she could think was he’s doing something to me. “What did you do?”

“I already answered that.” Volkan’s expression was less a smirk and more a smile of genuine delight. “I can’t believe it actually worked.”

Panicked, unwilling to sit there and let him rip her magic from her like it was nothing, she threw herself back from him and scrambled to her feet for the wall behind her, and the row of sharp knives in their stand.

She made it two steps before a strong hand wrapped around her ankle and jerked her down, sending her slamming into the cold concrete floor. Her skin scraped against the ground as she fought the pull of him dragging her back—and then her leg exploded with a pain so acute her vision blackened a moment.

“How about this?” Volkan growled in her ear. Blinking spots from her vision, Felicia struggled to make sense of what she was feeling. Her mind slowly filtered in the sensations—the weight of Volkan crushing her, grinding the knife into the back of her knee until it hit bone. Her chest heaved, and he ripped the knife from her leg in an arc of blood. “Can you heal something like this?”

She shook her head, not at his question but at the entire situation. It wasn’t real, it was too much—but he was wrenching her head back with one hand as the other prodded the wound, drawing magic from her again until the skin reknit itself in a twist of pain.

Lightheaded from the inexorable drag of magic through her, she focused on breathing. Her mind couldn’t process an injury of that magnitude, muscle and tendons split down to the bone and then healed faster than her nerves could fire. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet it was happening, and she was helpless to stop it.

She didn’t—couldn’t—fight back as Volkan attached chains to her new cuffs, manipulating the metal until she was hauled to her feet and balanced on tiptoes before him. His eyes swept up her body once and he grinned, raising a blood-streaked hand to cup her cheek and smear the red across her skin.

She flinched from his touch, dancing back on her toes in a desperate bid to escape his hands. “Why?” she bit out.

“It’s just a little something I’ve been working on,” he mused, his hand sliding down from her cheek to trace along her waist, the curve of her hip. “I thought, if it were possible to harness a healer’s energy and channel it through someone else…but I needed a healer to run some tests with.” The knife flashed in the harsh light before he stabbed it into her side up to the hilt and dragged it down.

She screamed, the sound choked and hoarse, and barely had time to think that’s too much, I can’t heal that, he’s killing me before he was forcing the wound to heal in a blaze of bright pain. Harnessing her energy, as he’d put it. The force of it left her feeling hollow, spent.

“That’s the only reason you’re alive right now, you know.” One finger traced a line where the wound had been a heartbeat before, a delicate touch that made Felicia shiver. “If you’d shown up that night at the docks and hadn’t been just the thing I needed, I would’ve just killed you.” His hand moved to cup her breast and her chest heaved with a pent-up sob. “That boy I was buying was a healing student, and he would’ve served well enough. But you, with all your talents, throwing yourself into my arms like that even after our encounter at the masquerade...you were just made to be used like this.”

His words bolted through her with an almost physical force, and she jerked herself back. “Fuck that,” she snarled, and lashed out with a knee. Teetering as she was on the tips of her toes, there was no force behind the blow, but she had to try.

A smile ghosted his lips as he watched her struggle, and then he wound his hand through her hair, gripping her head in place as his face lingered inches from hers. “How long did you study healing?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin.

She turned her head away as best she could, the fight already leaving her. Maybe I can just make myself uninteresting to him. His hands were in her hair, on her body, and the sensation sent a tremor of fear through her, an echo of the horror of what he had already done to her. She swallowed. If I become uninteresting, he’ll just kill me.

At her silence, Volkan released her hair and slid his hands down to the waistband of her pants. “That program is usually...six years, isn’t it?” She was frozen in place as he worked open the fastenings and began to slide the pants down her legs. “Pretty grueling. Covers a lot of material.” His breath tickled her legs as he worked the pants down, and she knew she should kick out at him but she couldn’t even breathe.

He pulled the pants the rest of the way off and stood to face her again. She shivered as the cold basement air hit her naked body. Pulling her close to him once again, he smiled. “Seems like a lot of work for you to end up ruined by me.”

Naked before him, paralyzed by his touch, her mind was unwillingly awakening to just what this truly meant for her. He was going to keep her and use her like this, again and again. Through her dawning horror, she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I’m not—”

“You are.” One arm wrapped around her in a mockery of an embrace, his lips at her throat like a lover’s kiss. His free hand brought the knife to her collarbone, resting the blade just above the bright burn, not cutting. “And I’m looking forward to exploring everything you can do for me.” He pressed the knife in until her skin split under the blade, and she screamed.

[violets-arepurple]

Red Snow (How Tommy became a vampire)

It was a cold night and Techno really did not want to be out. Phil had insisted he leave the house for something other to feed, he said it was to make sure the townsfolk weren't suspicious of his presence and when put so practically Techno had no choice but to agree. And that's how he'd ended up in this situation everytime he visited town the kid, Tommy was how he introduced himself, would come and pester him no matter how late at night, no matter how cold. If it wasn't for the kids such obvious humanity Techno would have thought he was just like him. Today, or tonight rather, Tommy was talking about two records he'd found tossed away. "Dont you have parents or something you can pester." Techno hadn't ment to sound so harsh but he hadn't fed in a while and quite frankly Tommy was putting himself in danger just being in his presence. But judging by the unwavering happiness on the kids face he didn't seem too offended. "Of course not big man, they gave up on looking after me years ago." In all of Techno's efforts to play human he'd forgotten just how cruel mortals could be, the idea of casting out a child, even one as excitable as Tommy just didn't sit right with him maybe it was a left over scrap of humanity but he couldn't help feel sympathy for the kid or least that's what he told himself when he left suitable winter clothes in the alleyway Tommy had turned into a home. At this point Tommy had moved on to a different topic something about a cow he'd gotten attached to but Techno was more focused on the stranger eyeing them suspiciously from a pub down the street, for a human he'd be to far away to identify but as someone verifiably not human it wasn't much of a task but that was likely the reason he was being watched Techno thought to himself. Whilst the man himself posed little threat Techno was more worried about the fact that if he was discovered then Phil and Wilbur would also be discovered or at least under suspicion as they were the only ones Techno associated with, well aside for Tommy but the kid was so obviously human that not even a fool could think for a second he was anything but. By now it was late even on Techno's standards so he began to usher Tommy towards the little alley he called home decked out with a thick blanket he didn't need to know the origin of. With that taken care of Techno headed back to the manor in the woods. Another night without feeding he'd have to take care of that soon, find a way to distract Tommy long enough to get a quick meal without the kid ever knowing. A record player perhaps, Techno thought to himself, the kid was quite excited about those discs.

As winter carried on so did Techno's visits to the town no matter how much he insisted he was just checking out new pray Phil would always give him the same knowing look that would cause Wilbur to give a small chuckle at his insistence. It didn't matter that he happened to keep the kid company and it didn't matter that he made sure the kid had food and clothes he was just blending in with the town. So when Tommy didn't immediately run up to him to talk his ear off Techno was suspicious. He went to go investigate Tommy's alley and found it ruined with the records seemingly tossed on the ground clearly someone had attack Tommy but not taken anything of value, the town was also strangely empty. Techno quickly dispelled any notion of another of his kind being to blame, Techno or Wilbur would have sensed them and if they hadn't Phil certainly would have, the town was very clearly their territory and no creature was foolish enough to take on one of them let alone all three. As Techno pondered the situation he heard calls that struck icy fear into his still heart.

"NO PLEASE, I HAVENT DONE ANYTHING"

Techno knew that voice he'd recognise it anywhere, he got closer.

"So the little traitor wants our mercy?" The towns people were gathered in a circle with venom and spite making up it face. "You've sold us all out to that leech, and you expect our mercy! Don't make us laugh" The footprints in the snow where intermingled with blood, Tommy's blood. Tommy's cries grew louder at this point, Techno couldn't see what towns people where doing to Tommy but he knew their intent was to kill. "WHAT LEECH? I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN" Tommy was full on sobbing at this point, his questions only made the people angrier. "WHAT LEECH? WHAT LEECH! THE ONE YOU WERE GOING TO ALLOW TO FEAST ON US, THE ONE YOU BETRAYED YOUR OWN KIND FOR!" Tommy could only gargle at this point, whilst this was happening Techno approached the crowd an icy quite fell over them only disturbed by Tommy's wimpers. Techno was furious how dare they hurt one of his own! How dare they take out their cowardice on him! And how dare they believe Tommy could do something like selling them out, he was a rare light among mortals and they intended to snuff him out. Techno lashed out he didn't know how many died and how many ran away, he didn't care. now it was just Tommy, Techno, and a growing red stain in the snow. And Techno was terrified Tommy was dying and he couldn't stop it, this child who had gone out his way to be kind, this child who was paying the price for a crime he hadn't committed was dying and he couldn't stop it, he didn't even know how to turn him. All Techno could do was gather the boy up in his arms and hold him, try to bring him comfort, make his last moments was kind as possible, kinder than the life the boy was given. Tommy's breathing was shallow all that could be heard was faint sobbing from Techno, blood staining his hands and shirt where he'd tried to help but he couldn't. Tommy was dying and it was his fault. Suddenly a presence was behind him something powerful, something familiar .

"PHIL"

"Hey mate, I got a bad feeling so I came to check on-Oh god.."

When he'd sensed Techno's distress he though they'd been found out and would have to hide for a few centuries. He wasn't ready to find Techno sobbing over the near corpse of a child. He noticed the carnage around them.

"Techno, did you-" Techno's sobbing only got louder as he looked up at Phil.

"Dad, Dad please it's my fault, please he didn't know, it's not his fault, Dad please save him." Techno was begging, Tommy had to be saved he'd give up his own power if it meant he could live.

"Techno calm down what happened"

"Dad please just save him, I promise I won't be irresponsible again, please just help him."

Techno was hyperventilating at this point. It was almost painful for Phil to see the young man he thought of as a son reduced to this state.

"Son I'm not sure what I can do he's pretty far gone." Phil placed a hand on Technos shoulder, he couldn't help but stare at the boy cradled tightly in Technos arms.

"Turn him."

"Techno, I- "

"Phil please, I'll take care off him, anything please" Techno's voice was cracking and he was hiccuping every other word. Phil had no choice.

"Ok, pass him here mate" Techno whispered something in Tommy's ear as he passed him to Phil. Normally Phil would hesitate to turn a human but he had a feeling, that he'd only had twice before, this was the right decision.

[pynkhues]

linocut anon here. my fingers are fine, but this was definitely the worst ive accidentally stabbed myself while doing a cut! gonna buy some cut proof gloves today. sucks about the publisher doing that. if you dont mind me asking, whats the novella called? id love to read it.

Follow up to this post.

I’m glad your fingers are okay, anon! Cut proof gloves definitely sound like a good idea! My thumb has sort of half-healed at this point? I took the bandage off yesterday and it’s blistered around the cut, so it’s pretty gross, haha. I....probably should’ve gone to hospital instead of fixing it myself because I am 100% sure it needed stitches, but alas. 

And yes! I’m happy to share! Sorry I didn’t earlier – I wanted to wait until the publisher fixed the spelling of my surname, because I get enough confusion about it already (mostly because people think it’s a joke, haha, RIP me).

It’s called Drift and it’s only about 8k words. In it, a young woman is going through a difficult time, having just been made redundant at her job and hitting a rough patch with her boyfriend who’s overseas on a trip they were supposed to be going on together before she lost her job, but then she discovers that her new housemate can levitate and becomes obsessed with learning how to do it herself at the detriment of everything else in her life. 

It’s basically an extended metaphor for procrastination, haha. 

You can buy it as an ebook for $3 here if you’re interested. I’ve put the first scene behind a cut though in case you want to read that first!

-

So they pour another drink, something sweeter this time, blush pink and syrupy that’ll sit thick on their teeth by morning. Hest grimaces at the taste before leaning over to try and swap it for Annie’s beer. It’s no good though – even dead asleep, Annie’s grip is tight.

“I kind of like it,” the New Girl says, snapping her lips and wiping the dust from the shoulders of the bottle. They’d found it somewhere under Hest’s bed, in a forgotten pile of crusty knickers, ripped off dress tags and sun-bleached receipts. She can’t remember where she got it from, or even when, which probably isn’t the best sign. She hasn’t drunk this sort of thing since high school.  

“I feel like I’m drinking some Alice potion shit, y’know?” New Girl continues. “Like it’s about to go all Wonderland up in here.”

“The potion doesn’t take Alice to Wonderland,” Hest replies, sighing when Annie yawns and rolls over, taking the beer with her and spilling it all over their ugly carpet in the process. “It makes her tiny, and then she almost drowns in her own tears.”

The New Girl seems to consider this, turning the thought over in her thoughtful head. Not that Hest knows if she’s thoughtful. Not yet anyway. She only moved in two days ago, and Hest and Annie’s luck with social-media-tree flatmates hasn’t exactly been great. At least New Girl had paid two weeks in advance and didn’t give off a totally drug fucked vibe.

“Do you watch anime?”

Not totally drug fucked vibe.

Hest squints in New Girl’s general direction.

“What?”

“Anime. Sailor Moon, Pokemon, Dragonball. Those Japanese cartoons.”

At Hest’s look, New Girl continues.

“There’s a subgenre of it, right? It’s called Magical Girl, and it’s like, transformative, you know? It’s school girls who are usually total wet blankets, and have like, nerd friends and they’ll find a wand or an eyelash curler or a magical moon cup, and as soon as they use it, they become this amazing warrior princess, destined to save the universe.”

A car drives past the window, briefly lighting up the room, casting an eerie glow across the two of them, and it almost makes Hest want to snuff the candles. To let all this light swallow her whole right before the darkness does. Or, well. Maybe not. Maybe she’s just trying to play at romantic. Make this dimness a choice, instead of a fact of not being able to pay an electricity bill. Her eyes slip shut. She rubs briefly, furiously, at the bridge of her nose.

“Point?”

It takes New Girl a minute to respond, and it’s enough for Hest to finish her sugar piss champers and pour herself another. Annie’s snoring now, softly, the sound more of a hoarse, humming breath than anything, and Hest has to resist the urge to shove her awake. This whole thing had been Annie’s idea anyway, a night to welcome New Girl into the fold, to try and curb some of the issues they’d had with the last flatmate, who always bitched that Annie and Hest left her out, which, to be fair, they did. Often deliberately.

She was really annoying.

“I don’t know,” New Girl says with a laugh, shrugging. She scrunches up her nose, holds the bottle up. “This kind of feels like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a magic girl thing.”

Hest snorts.

“What?”

“What?”

New Girl squints, mirroring the look Hest had given her not two minutes earlier.

“You made a noise.”

New Girl’s tone is sharp, and it’s enough to surprise Hest. Even after just two days of knowing her, it doesn’t seem like her. New Girl, with her ratty, faded pink bob, and enormous doe eyes and boyish form has seemed sort of effortlessly chill and effortlessly cool and also neurotic and high strung, but in a sort of chill, cool way. Like Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind had had a baby with Steve Buscemi in Ghost World and it kind of, somehow, ended up looking like every character Zoe Kazan has ever played in a movie.  

“Magic girl thing,” Hest supplies, waving out an aimless hand. “You sound like you walked out of a teenager’s tumblr blog.”

“Saying tumblr blog just shows your age,” New Girl says. “It’s just tumblr.”

“Funny, I thought actually knowing the plot of Alice in Wonderland showed it more.”

New Girl rolls her eyes at that, and at least it’s enough to make Hest laugh.

“Whatever,” New Girl says. “You’re not even that old. Like - - whatever. All I’m saying is, like. Magic, y’know?”

Hest laughs, quip ready on her tongue, only there’s New Girl, sitting, somehow, a foot off the floor, her legs stretched out in the open air, her hair floating, impossibly, around her head.

“Magic,” one of them repeats, Hest isn’t sure who.

[roughentumble]

i watched the poughkeepsie tapes and, ignoring everything else about it, i seriously legitimately at the end of the movie went "huh, thats a cool twist. the serial killer is the one making the documentary," but i cant.... find anyone else saying as such online

like!!!!! to me, it makes so much sense. the obsession with filming, the occasionally odd interview questions("do you [admire him]?", the entire interview with Cheryl), the fact that he's already proven to be someone who taunts the police and likes to insert himself/make his presence known somehow, it feeds into how "intelligent" and "good at hiding his tracks" they said he was, it adds a beautiful layer of irony at the end when the cop is like "man when yr documentary comes out we're gonna be watching the theaters, he'll come see it, mark my words," it explains why there was so much graphic footage that would NEVER be allowed in a documentary, and it could also explain the MISSING TAPES(he kept some of them in order to have footage for the documentary)

also i figured at the end, either cheryl's death was faked and then he went and picked her up(although that seems a bit elaborate), OR she did actually kill herself, because he left AGAIN and didnt take her AGAIN and she was too devastated to handle it.

plus, if he's that vain and intent on documenting his story and his crimes WITHOUT getting caught or revealing personal information, then surely a long movie where you hear about all his crimes, step-by-step, and also all the cops are admitting that he's a genius who gave them the run-around and saying they might never find him, where we learn nothing about who he is in the slightest except that he was so good at murder, would be pretty appealing to him.

so like you can imagine my surprise when i dont see ANYONE else mentioning it lmao. so after that i gave it another thought.

admittedly, it does raise a few issues.

1) the cheryl interview. the weirdness of some of the questions couldve just been awkwardness in the face of someone so clearly and extensively traumatized. she didn't fall over herself with joy about how "you came back for me!!!" but with how hardcore he trained her, i think he could easily get her to act like she doesnt know him. in general, her acting here works for being read as both "abuse victim and no other reason" and "youre pulling a con and im in on it but i dont know the plan and im Flighty and Nervous(and also an abuse victim)."

the "i dont know what you want me to say," is completely applicable whether he's the killer or not. she's either saying "i dont have an internal barometer yet for what answer you specifically are looking for from me, so i dont know what to say," or shes saying "im frightened that if i answer that im happy to be home youll be mad at me for saying i missed it, but if i say im not happy to be home itll make your documentary unconvincing, you didnt fill me in on what you wanted from me(possibly on purpose to distress me) and im scared of the repercussions of me making the wrong choice." the stuff at the end about how she loved him makes just as much sense if its not the killer, but when i saw it i read it as a semi-coded message. "i love him(you), and i know he(you) will sweep me away from here soon, *makes heavy eye contact with the camera man*"

2) the mother didnt recognise him, and no one recognised his voice from the tapes. this ones a big sticking point, but if hes so meticulous at preparing crime scenes and has such a wide array of tools and "toys", he must have a decent amount of time and money on his hands, so he couldve possibly hired a dude off, idk, craigslist to interview the mom. as for his voice, he was only ever shouting and growling in the tapes, but the interviewer was very quiet and softspoken whenever he did speak. possibly that was enough to make him sound different? he was shown using sign language at one point, so maybe he hired an interpreter and signed questions to obscure his voice, so the voice we hear when the interviewer speaks would actually be the interpreter's voice.

3) i guess, thinking about it, documentaries usually have a whole crew, not just the guy doing the interviews but a lighting guy and a sound guy and a camera guy and an editor... but again, he doesnt lack the resources to do time-consuming and expensive tasks, so i dont have a hard time believing he'd be able to cobble together a small crew, just bare-bones enough to technically function.

actually, if he had something to mount it on, he wouldnt need anyone to hold the camera, and he could set up the lights and sound himself before he starts each take. and i cant imagine he'd let anyone construct his magnum opus except himself, so he'd do the editing. itd be work, but he could probably pull off being a 2 man crew(him+either an interpreter, or a craigslist interviewer.)

4) if he did, indeed, take the missing tapes in order to use them in the documentary, then as soon as it was played somewhere, theyd find out this was previously unseen footage and theyd know he was the killer. BUT if he gave them fake info and didnt leave any dna, they might not be able to find him. BUT ALSO itd be nearly impossible for them to not get him on surveillance footage, so he'd have his image spread around like wildfire. but then again, this issue could be solved by just saying "ok he used footage from the tapes in police custody. the other ones were special, possibly mementos or future breadcrumbs to taunt the police with."

idk. idk!!!!! i think my theory holds up. i think it makes a lot of sense, and also its literally the only reason i can think of that such graphic scenes would EVER be allowed-- or put-- in a documentary... because he doesnt care about censors or ratings(like pg-13 sort of ratings) or legality. all he cares about is showing off and preserving his legacy. he led the cops to the house because he wanted them to see the tapes, yaknow?? he wanted someone to see them.

like!!! the interview segments, while not perfect, were good enough that i felt more than a little jarred when we just straight up saw mr. serial killer decapitate someone. and not, like, a good jarring, like how horror movies are supposed to be upsetting. it just brought me out of the experience and felt so fake it was almost goofy. it was preposterous. (and also the effects were a little cheesy/plasticy in that scene, so that didnt help.)

a regular editor, putting that clip in, unblurred? who. who on gods green earth would ever do their job that poorly

a vain serial killer who wants people to see his creepy snuff films putting in that unblurred clip? extremely logical. makes sense.

[cazador64]

Electric Lifelike

Emma pulled her old jacket tigjt around her body "it was a diffrent time." She turned the gun over and over in view of Elise. She held the butt of the large pistol to her "kristabelle may be gone but their is still hope" Elise felt the heft of the gun in hands "not many of left aftef Gillette wyoming fell" Emma rolled up her right sleeve "the Enforcers gave me this there." A row of numbers tattooed on her forearm stood out. She tucked the 45. Pistol into her worn pack "what was it like back then?" Emma sighed trying to think back to that cruel time "death,war,fear,families sluaghtered every waking second is all their was." She thrust a yellowed paper at her before the sounds of sirens ecgoed down the alley "go go,you must find Kristabelle!" Emma shoved her throught the make shift door.

She faced the police "suspect 145607 you are under arrest for attempts to harbor criminals." They stepped at her quickly. She tried to deploy her talon guantlets but they had cuffs over her hands before they could. She felt a needle jab into her side then nothing hut darkness.

Elise finally stopped running after a dozen blocks of pale stucko houses "how am i supposed to find her?" The paper clamped in her sweaty hand. She sat on the dirty curb to catch her breath while she unfolded an old map of the midwest. A large faded red area on the map was labled unexsplored "great a map of a place ive never been." The city of Sheridan was labled on the map as an abandonded city. She would start there if she could leave new york without injury or arrest. The sound of the police hover cars roared over head twords the massive complex to the south.

Elise peaked between the boards of a fence too see a small junkyard of old hover cars, a small shack on the far side looked empty, she could cross the lot without heing seen. She slipped between the splitery boards to trip over a fender in the knee high yellow grass "search the lot" she saw a hand full of officers in all black biomech armor. They spread out into a search pattern to find her "search ever car but keep an eye out for homeless." The leader with a rescue shotgun called to the six others. She crawled up against a tipped over parts van "shoo kid!" A toothless woman with sunk in eyes swatted at her from the busted windshield "shhh please!" The woman opened her mouth to yell. In a fit of fear she grabbed the womans throat hard to snuff out her yell "please please be quiet!" Elise pleaded reaptedly as the womans eyes rolled back. She dropped the body then manuvered into the stench filled rear of the windowless van. She lay on a stained matress that reaked of bloody urine "check that van!" A muffled voice yelled. Elise pulled a crusty bug infested blanket over herself "anything?" The swealtering heat made it hard to breath under the squirming blanket "just a dead squater". Their footsteps moved away from the van until the sounds of their cars gave her the go ahead. She wheezed in a fit to get to fresh cool air that didnt sting her eyes "oh god oh god oh god" she struggled not to puke realizing she killed a person. She ran through the rest of the lot into a field running along side the poor drug ridden south side ruins.

Tents,make shift houses, rusted out cars,and massive piles of trash sprawled out farther than she could see, the mass of millions of flies made it even harder. She kept her pack in front of her with her arms tightly wrapped around it "hey baby how much for you?" A man smoking sonething out if a tin car reached at her but she picked up her pace. Ahead stood a few somewhat intact buildings where a cleaner community was established. The trash wasnt as bad in the cleaned up street but flies still swarmed in thick heavy black clouds "welcome to middle south side." A man in a tattered sports jacket greeted her with a blackened smilr as she passed him. The sun was starting to set making people scurry into an old hotel "miss i dont mean to be pushy but please come inside beford it gets dark." Elise noticed the whole of south was either lit by massive bone fires or inside so she jogged in too. The man in the sports jacket closed the heavy door then slide a couple sets of rebar into slots along the door "your not from here so im betting you dont know about them?" She shook her head looking around the lobby "well them are predators that are effected by bright light,they only hunt at night" she follwed him and a few others as they barred the wibdows. He looked at her with sweat running down his nose "they come from any place thats dark with a hunger that cant be filled" he switched on a small collection of fans "they are taller,faster, and the most dangerous creatures on this earth, im glad your inside where its safe."

Something slammed into the door "help us!" A couple begged before a loud yipping drowned them out "why didnt you let them in?" She looked at his finger pointing at the bottom of the door. A pool of blood spread out "them got to them." She numbly sat at the remains of a bar where the children sat. They were watching cartoons on a badly worn out vhs "best we keep them from drawing them in." A woman craddling a bad deformed baby stated with a smile. Elise found it hard to smile back seeing these people lived in crouded dumps with no hope of any comfort.....

[littlemisssquiggles]

as a fellow pinehead, i dont personally ship rosegarden. i have no problem with it, but i just wish there was more content that focused solely on oscar instead of his relationship with ruby. i appreciate your blog since you actually make a lot of stuff pertaining to oscar specifically, i just wish it was more common ;w;

Inthe fandom or in the series? I’m assuming it’s the series because I think there’sa good bit of Oscar-themed stuff in the Pinehead community like art andtheories =D

Asfor the series…I…well----IfI’m being completely honest Flame, even though I’m a big Rosegardener, Iwouldn’t want Oscar’s entire story revolve only around hisgrowing relationship with Ruby either. Though I enjoy every last Rosebud bonding momentthe series tosses my way, if Oscar’s character comes to only focus on his bondwith Ruby and nothing else then it would unfortunately fall into the same issueI had with Oscar’s story with Ozpin.

Whatintrigued me the most about Oscar as a character was his potential. What drew me towardsOscar wasn’t his connection to Ozpin but how the writers were going topotentially tell his story as this newestaddition to the hero cast while going through the transition of being theperson that’s meant to become Ozpin’s successor. I was intrigued to see how thewriters were going to handle Oscar’s development while juggling his conjoinedstory with Ozpin and any shared relationships the two might have with othercharacters.

However, thus far, one could make the debate that Oscar’s story and personality has mostly been forged by his ties to other maincharacters meaning that his overall presence thus far has mostly served todrive another character’s narrative while not really touching much on his own.

If it’s not Ozpin then it’s Ruby and if it’s not Ruby then it’s Jauneand there hasn’t been much attempt to fleshhim out beyond that. This justifies why C9 upset me so much. Rather than havingthe episode focus on how Oscar handled taking in Jaune’s accusations againsthim from C8 or even showing both Jaune and Oscar’s feelings in the episode as aforeshadow to them growing close as potential teammates. Instead, we only gotJaune’s perspective while Oscar’s was completely omitted from the episode, toldto have happened off screen which left some Pineheads very dissatisfied.

Oneother complaint about Oscar in V6 C9 that I’veseen is that the Writers used him as a plot device to drive development forJaune as opposed to what C8 set up which looked like Oscar’s feelings weregoing to get touched upon. As much as I’ve gotten over some of my gripes aboutC9, Oscar going from being depressed in C8 to being perfectly fine in C9without much on-screen address will always remain jarring me.

WhenI review C9,somehow I feel like there was supposed to be a short 12-13 minute standaloneOscar-centric episode between the events of C8 and C9 that would’ve explainedwhat happened with our farm boy after he went missing in Argus that got cutfrom the season. V6 was originally announced to have 14 episodes before reducingto 13. I feel like if the CRWBY had gotten the chance to do the original 14, wecould have gotten that Oscar-centric episode that tied into C9. But…that’sjust me assuming things.

Notsure how long you’ve been following my blog Flame but forthose who’ve been reading my musing posts since V5, I’ve been gunning for Ozpinto be temporarily taken out of the story solely for the possibility of theWriters finally  given more depth toOscar as his own person outside of his story with Ozpin.

InV5,Oscar mostly took a backseat to Ozpin. I went into V5 thinking we would get to seemore of Oscar’s own personality as he learns to become a huntsman whileconnecting with RNJR and simultaneously training to fill the big Wizarding shoesthat he was meant to take over. Instead what we mostly got was Ozpin stealingthe screen time rug from underneath Oscar’s feet pushing him to the back as wegot more of him than Oscar.

Oneof the common critiques I heard for Oscar is that he’s been treated like a body suit forOzpin---a new face the old Wizard could wear while the Writers didnothing to develop Oscar as his own person.

Asa Pinehead,I hated hearing that complaint about Oscar because obviously there was more tohim than just a body for Ozpin to take over when he saw fit, as most Pineheads seeOscar. However, I unfortunately couldn’t blame other fans for thinking that waysince…well…the show hasn’t really done much with Oscar within two seasonsadmittedly. Not really.

Evenwhen Ozpin is out of the story, we still didn’t get to learn much else aboutOscar. With Ozpin going into isolation, I was hoping V6 would have been the season wegot more insight into Oscar as his own person. Did we? Well the verdict is stillout on that since the season isn’t complete yet. But if I had to answer thisquestion based on what the volume gave us within the last ten episodes, theanswer would be a disappointing no. Though the set up for Oscar’s growth wasdefinitely there, it didn’t exactly go anywhere...at least...not yet, maybe there’s still a chance. 

I mean we still gotthree whole episodes left for our precious farm boy to shine like gold brighter thana supernova but I can’t help my slight skepticism based on this season’s run with him. Nonetheless I am curious to know what the full payoff of this season is going to be like for Oscar.

After all that’s happened this season in ties to Oscar and Ozpin, how is it all going to end?

This is why I started toying with the concept of Oscar returning from the dead as immortal after sacrificing himself to protect someone he cared about, like Ruby.

This way the Ozma legacy would continue with Oscar without the threat of him losing himself in the process. We all pretty muchanticipated Oscar eventually taking Ozpin’s place within the hero team but thisway, Oscar doesn’t have to change who he is. 

He can still be his own person, cementing what Ruby told him in V6 C4. 

“...I’m just going to another one of his lives, aren’t I?”“Of course not, you’re your own person.”

If immortalized, Oscar can still be himself and thus,we as an audience can still be given more opportunities to learn more aboutOscar as himself. Oscar can still fulfill his destiny as one of the Wizards ofLight but still make it his own by having his experience and final outcome be different from his predecessors.

Istill stand by my hunch that Oscar is meant to be the one to end it all. Endthe vicious cycle of reincarnation. End the curse. 

It would be such a cool twist if Oscar met the God ofLight in the Realm between Realms and begged the God to grant him immortalityso that he could end the suffering of Ozma and the past Wizards; instead usinghis newfound power to protect the lives of the people who matter the most toOscar all the while fighting to stop Salem as her true adversary.

Jinn said that in time Salem wouldmeet her adversary but when you look at it like this, was Ozma ever trulySalem’s destined foe?

Think aboutit. Ozmawas originally Salem’s lover. Her former companion and the father of her children.Though they became sworn enemies who fought against each other, a part of mewould like to believe there is a part of Salem and even Ozma that stillharboured love for each other.

What I love about the Fairy Tale romance is that they shared a deep love so strongthat Salem was even able to tell that it was Ozma’s soul from behind the faceof Diggs when they reunited the first time. Salem loved Ozmaso much she even recognized him in the body of another man. That’s powerful.

Iknow Salem hates Ozma now but imagine if all that hatred she feels is just herlove corrupted by the burning destructive magic that turned Salem into thewicked witch she is now. As a matter of fact, there is something I’ve wonderedabout Salem. If Salem was able to sense Ozma’s soulfrom inside Diggs due to their love, if Ozma’s soul is to disappear completelyfrom this world…would Salem feel it?

Likelet’s say my theory about Oscar coming back from the deadalone as himself immortalized with Ozpin and essentially the culmination of allthe other Wizards over the centuries, including Ozma, going off to the afterlifeto rest in peace…would Salem feel Ozma no longer being a part of Remnant?

I know this conceptseems farfetched but somehow I’m picturing Salem as being the type of person who holds a grudgefor a very long time but the minute they discover that the person they’ve hatedfor so long is gone---truly gone forever, suddenly all that anger and ragedisappears as their true feelings forsaid person start to resurface.

Likepicture Salem being alone in her lair when Oscar is revivedand she suddenly senses Ozma’s soul disappear.Like even though they’ve been apart for eons, somehow through her corruptedheart there has always been something that still connected Salem to Ozma. A little light oflove. Though Salem did her best to cover that light, still it remained.Taunting her. Bothering heruntil she had no choice but to snuff it out sendingher forces to kill the source of that light.

Butjust like life, the light would always return until one day, the light finallydisappeared and unlike the previous times, it felt different.

Imagine…how Salem would feel tolearn that Ozpin---Ozma is gone. Truly gone. Somehow, I can just picture Salembeing in her lair of darkness when she suddenly gets a feeling of the windbeing knocked out of her. She then clutches her chest as she realized whathappened. He’sgone. He’s…actuallygone. No longer did she have the light that connected her to Ozma. 

He…was gone again and for a second time, Salem found herself in a world withoutthe man she defied the Gods for. And for the first time in years, what she feltwasn’t pure rage. But a familiar sadness that she hasn’t felt since the day shefirst lost him and when Salem looked at her reflection, she was surprised tonot see herself but the face of a young woman crying for the loss of the manshe once loved for the second time in her lifetime.

Thatcould really interesting. I doubt we’ll get something like this for Salem inthe canon but it could’ve been something interesting to send off her characterstory for this volume. After all, we haven’t seen her since C4 but c’est la vie.

Ithink it would be really cool if the adversary Jinn foreshadowed Salem having isin fact Oscar. And if Oscar becomes an immortal justlike Salem, incapable of dying just as her then that would make him her true adversary as opposed to the original arrangement with Ozmaonly reincarnating in the bodies of likeminded souls.

Butas always, these are only my theories. I feel like we have a higher chance ofseeing Ozpin come back or the Merge occurring than Oscar actually changing thecycle with his sacrifice to be the last reincarnation.  Buuuuut I’m still going to play with the idea.Whether it becomes canon or not, I really like my Oscar Immortalized/ The Last Wizard of Lighttheory too much to let it drop. Can’t wait to discuss it more next week.

Inthe meantime, I’m really glad you enjoy my content Flame. Thank you so much forappreciating my stuff and putting up with my bazillion and one Pinehead headcanons XD 

I’dlove more Oscar-centric content too, mainly from the actual show. But we got threeepisodes remaining m’friend. Who knows? Maybethe CRWBY Writers might surprise us with something truly Oscar-worthy.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[butterflysmoke]

This house has torn me apart from the inside out. And youd think I'd be strong enough by now to know better than to let them shred what means the most to me. Yet here I am. Writing this to tell you I've given one too many chances. And that's the truth.

It's like one day you wake up and nothing is glazed over or sugar coated anymore. This isn't child's play. You know? All you see is the raw version of shit. And then it hits you. It hits hard how much the things around you have really changed or have become more clear. And you realize that where you're at is unhealthy. It's truly a slap in the face. Like hello girl in the mirror wake the hell up the fight isn't over yet. And that's when it's time to make vast changes and hope for the best. Its either make a jump that scares the shit out of you and better yourself... or sink into a hole you cant dig your self out of simply because your surroundings are only getting worse. But that's life. You can choose your outcome. Stay stuck or better yourself.

Living in this house I've learned so many things. Each thing heart breaking in it's own way. I looked at these people like family just to watch them literally stab me in the back every way they could. From stealing to lying to going behind me trying to take the one person I won't let go of. I've learned that even when I'm broken I can still fight. I still stand strong in what I believe in and I dont back down from the things I love. However I have also learned that I am easily shaken. Easy to tear up. I use to be stronger. But I've come to realize a person can only break so much before there's nothing left to break and the only thing left is what you're fighting for. It's a hard picture to look at when you get to the point that all you see is what they did.

When you were down they kicked you. When you were broken they opened every scar and poured salt in every wound making it impossible for you to heal. When you were scared and couldn't find light they smothered you with stress and things you couldn't possibly handle on your own. But that's what it is to live in a house where people only want what you have and nothing more. They are just there to test you until there's nothing left. Until you've given up.

Living in this house has made me think. Its brought me out of my box and it has tested everything I am. It may have broke me. But it hasn't killed me. And that's what will save me in the end.

You can not heal in the same place that made you sick. So move forward and don't hold back from that jump no matter how big you may think that jump is... anything is better than staying stuck in a place that is only sinking.

I started looking at this house like a nightmare. Like something I've become afraid of. I stay in my room thinking that if I stay here nothing could harm me. But the thing is everything is harmful when stuck in your own mind. How horrible it is to be the one to damage yourself for the fear that someone else might do it before you do. How horrible it is to be afraid of seeing daylight in fear that someone might try to take it from you. But that's life. People take the things that are most beautiful from you because they themselves cant create something with the same kind of beauty. And that's the nightmare in us all. Crippling fear of other people and what they may or may not be capable of doing. How hard it is to stand up for your self and decide otherwise. That you're the boss of your life that no one should keep you locked inside your own damn box. You think you're being safe but the truth is you're just running from what you think might get you if you dont run. It's a fucked up rollar coaster you've put yourself on and the thing about this ride is it doesn't end until you've finished getting sick over and over again. It doesn't end until you get use to every curve and youve learned to open your fucking eyes. This roallr coaster just keeps going faster and faster the rails shake and rattle as you pass through each battling chapter until you've reached your own breaking point. And then it stops and then it breaks down and theres no starting over. And that's when all you can do is look back at the crash and fall of what you've let yourself become all because of other people. Now I'm not saying this to be the ass. I'm saying it because we let everyone lead our lives. So when is it that we stand up for ourselves and stop living for other people? This isnt their happy ending. It's yours to claim. That's the thing about this house. It has crippled me into thinking that it's okay for people to keep me in the dark. But the thing is I have always loved the light. And I shouldn't let people snuff out the things that make me happy. I shouldn't be afraid of other people. Yet here I am sitting in my room writing this in Hope's that someone might get something out of the unfortunate mistakes I have made. Dont be a me in your book. Be a you.

♡ butterfly smoke

[pinkwatchblueshoes]

Garvez Fluff

Just a little quick fluff that I desperately need to see but wont. Margaritas and Mix Ups Penelope Garcia told herself not again. After an intense but platonic relationship with her best friend Derek Morgan, she knew she couldnt care so deeply for another person when they could, and eventually would, just up leave her. Penelope often beat herself up for feeling this way because she loved Savannah and little Hank but her heart could only take so much after all the losses the team had gone through. She already had enough worry for her family and team as is. Newbie was trying his hardest to chip away at her "fluffy armor" as he called it. What killed Garcia was that she found everything he tried so endearing but she always stopped herself before she got in over her head. On top of everything SSA Luke Alvez was another gorgeous strong superhero, just like Derek, yet totally different. His smile knocked her off kilter, but a man like that would never look at a woman like her she lamented. After a particularly hard case Garcia was staying late to finish paperwork so she could spend the entire weekend focused on de-stressing and relaxing, NOT thinking about the young women of this case. She was pulled away from her computer screen with a knock on her lair door. "Still here?" A familiar deep voice asked. "Obviously." She snarked back but Luke only smirked at the feisty blonde. "I would ask if I could join you but you'd just say no so I'll just take a seat anyway." Penelope only snorted knowing he was just as stubborn as she was. When she finally finished up and shut down her computer and its many screens she found him intensely studying one side of her office that held pictures of friends and family, even hand drawn pictures from Henry. Garcia could see the sadness behind his dark eyes. Was this case just as bad for him? Or was he missing someone, his family? The offer flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Do you want to go get a drink?" Luke turned to her surprised. "Really? I-I would love that." "Good lets go." Penelope grabbed her purse and Luke followed closely to the elevators. As they descended to the garage level in the elevator Luke's stomach growled loudly. "I'm sorry about that." He said embarrassed. "Do you think we could go somewhere with food also?" "Soo needy Newbie." Penelope groaned but smiled letting him know she was kidding. Little did he know she was starving as well. "Well lucky for you I know a little Mexican joint with the best margaritas and they serve dinner late." When they arrived the hostess recognized Penelope right away. "Oh Miss Penny!! So good to see you. Your table is available." Penelope blushed. "Come here often?" Luke chuckled quietly. Once seated the server arrived right away. "Your usual Miss Penny? Peach Margarita and the veggie fajitas?" Penelope's face got even redder but nodded yes anyway. The server turned to Luke expectantly. "You know what? That sounds delicious. I'll have the same." Luke turned to see Penelope's shocked face. "Hey it must be good if you come here often and have a usual. I trust you." Penelope couldnt stop the warmth that the statement "I trust you" put through her, even if it was just a food choice. Plus she knew Luke ate meat and drank beer so he was going outside his comfort zone for her. "So how is miss Roxy?" Penelope started with a subject she loved. "She's good. I'm leaving her at the sitter's tonight since its so late. She misses you though. I swear she knows who the dog cookies are from when I give them to her." "Well as long as she enjoys them I'll keep making them." Penelope said with a smile. There was a silence but Luke was just smiling at her, then the food arrived breaking the moment. The conversation was surprisingly easy and comfortable for Penelope. She laughed hard when Luke told her about helping out a older neighbor with some chores who then came on to him. Being the nice guy Luke was he was stuck dodging her advances until all the chores were done. "I think I like Mrs. Corgin." "Of course you would. You'd love anyone who gave me a hard time." "True." The teasing was light and fun. Penelope appreciated his sense of humor. But what really touched her was when they accidentally got on the topic of work and this last case, he listened patiently as she described having to go through the victim's lives intimately to only see them dead in the crime scene photos feeling like a failure for not saving them. Luke reached over and held her hand as she wiped her tears with her other hand. "Its never easy when we lose victims but I know those women will be remembered because of you Garcia. You are the most caring person I know and the heart of the team. You keep us going time and time again." Penelope just stared at him with awe. After a few minutes she realized they were still holding hands and oddly she didnt want to let go. As it got later the pair reluctantly parted ways. She left him with a quick hug because if she held on longer she might not let go. Penelope spent the rest of the weekend replaying the night and actually looking forward to Monday morning. When she arrived at work she put down her purse and coat in her office and headed to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. She saw Luke talking to JJ and Spencer but as she approached with a smile Luke's eyes grew wide. Even before Penelope could say good morning Luke mumbled gotta go and quickly left. Penelope visibly deflated but quickly recovered so JJ and Spencer wouldnt ask. The snuff hurt her more than she cared to admit. "How was your guys' weekend?" JJ told her about Henry's soccer game and Spencer rambled on about a new book he read and wrote a paper on for fun. Later that morning JJ visited Penelope in her office, she leaned against Penelope's desk and asked how she was. "Fine." "Uh huh." JJ wasnt convinced. "And how was your weekend? You left before I could ask." "Fine." "Okay spill." "Its nothing." "Its not nothing." "Oh yes it is. Clearly from Luke's reaction this morning, the completely meaningless dinner we had together was nothing." "Oh sweetheart." "Please dont oh sweetheart me JJ. I know. I know that I got my hopes up and I knew it was stupid to do so yet here I am again. A guy like that would never be interested in a girl like me. Dont worry JJ, I'll be fine." "You need to talk to Luke." Before Penelope could respond her computers and her phone chimed indicating a case. Penelope gave the team the details of the case. Prominent local figures were being kidnapped, killed, and left in public areas in Phoenix, Arizona. Penelope managed to ignore Luke, even when he asked a question she answered addressing the group rather than him. Prentiss closed the meeting with the traditional order of 'Wheels up in 30'. Penelope quickly headed back to her lair but with the high heels she was wearing Luke easily tracked her down. "Hey can I talk to you real quick?" "You're on limited time Newbie." She replied not looking him. "Garcia stop. Stop please." Luke gently put his hand on her elbow halting her. "Please listen. I want to apologize for this morning." "Why? Nothing happened." "Penelope look at me." Penelope did but showed no emotion except annoyance. "I, uh, well I just wanted to say." Luke stumbled over his words and rubbed the back of his neck. "Damnit I wanted to do this better." Penelope was now confused. "Luke its fine. You better get to the jet." "No its not fine. Let me explain. I ducked out this morning because you walked in on me talking to JJ and Spencer about our date." "Our date?" "Yeah well, no I mean it wasnt a date per se but I was wondering if we could go on one? Together I mean. A date." Penelope's confusion faded away to giddiness. She'd never seen Luke Alvez so inarticulate and it was because of her! "Are you asking me out, Newbie?" "Yes." Prentiss appeared down the hall. "Alvez, let's go." Luke looked bummed but moved towards the elevators. "Dont answer yet, just think about it." Penelope was sure she looked like a fish with her mouth gaping open. Later in the day after the team landed in Phoenix she got a text from JJ. -Told you. What are you going to say? -I'm so confused. -Why? Dont you like him? -Well yes but what was going on this morning? -Penelope you're a smart girl. He was embarrassed, nervous to talk to you. Now call him and tell him you'll go out with him when we get back. Even though Penelope had trouble believing that Luke Alvez was nervous around her she took JJ's advice, well sort of. She didnt call him, but he called her pertaining to the case. After she finished answering his questions about the victims' backgrounds she stopped him from hanging up. "Wait Luke." "What no newbie?" Luke chuckled nervously. "Were you serious?" "Very serious Penelope. Why do you think I've been trying so hard to get you to like me? I loved spending time with you just us Friday night. I have to admit I wish I wouldve been much more smoother with it all." Penelope finally let out a breath and laughed. "Well that was pretty bad." She teased. "Yes it was, but I'm glad you know now. Anyway I better get back to the team." "Hey Luke." "Yeah?" "I can't wait till you get back." Penelope couldnt contain her smile. "Is that a yes?" "See you soon Luke Alvez." "See you soon Penelope Garcia."

[acsversace-news]

This week’s American Crime Story review takes a look at the latest episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.” Spoilers follow.

The Victims

Jeff Trail made a brief appearance last week before being brutally murdered. On this week’s episode, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”, we get to see Jeff’s story. This episode isn’t so much about Jeff’s murder – we’ve already seen that after all – as it is about the heartbreaking trajectory of his brief life. If last week’s episode, “House By the Lake”, served primarily as a bait-and-switch moment to show us what this season of American Crime Story was really about, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is the episode that truly underlines the thesis. It’s also the best episode of the season, without question.

First, however, we spend some time with Gianni Versace. In his first appearance after being absent for two episodes, Versace is in Italy in 1995. He tells his sister Donatella that he plans to come out during an interview with the  LGBT-interest magazine The Advocate. Versace had never publicly spoken about his sexuality, and now, in 1995, he feels the time is right.

Donatella is not happy – she reminds Versace that they’re opening stores in countries where homosexuality is a crime, and she worries that the rock stars and actors and royalty Versace dresses may no longer want to be associated with the Versace brand. She also reminds Versace that when Perry Ellis was diagnosed with AIDS, people stopped buying his clothes.

This is the overall theme of “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” – coming out of the closet can be devastating. The lives of Gianni Versace and Jeff Trail are contrasted this week, and despite their similar sexual preferences, the two men’s experiences couldn’t be more disparate. By episode’s end, Versace will have come out comfortably, whereas Jeff will end up the first casualty of Andrew Cunanan.

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell

What makes The Assassination of Gianni Versace such an ultimately heartbreaking season of American Crime Story is the way it takes the time to introduce us to its victims. Yes, the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman were tragic, but we never really met them as characters last season. The show kicked off after they had already been killed.

Technically, Versace begins after its victims have been murdered as well, but the show’s backwards-moving narrative device has the power to resurrect these characters from the dead. Only to snuff them out again. “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is particularly brutal in this regard, because it spends almost its entire length introducing us to Jeff Trail; we want to stop the clock and keep him alive longer; stop him from showing up at David’s apartment to meet his cruel fate. But we can’t.

Andrew Cunanan arrives in Minneapolis four days before Jeff’s murder, and proceeds to bully his way into David and Jeff’s lives. David is sympathetic, but Jeff clearly wants nothing to do with him. Jeff is a former Naval officer working a dead-end job, filled with regret. When we meet Jeff here, we see him talking with a new coworker who was also in the military. When the new employee politely asks why Jeff left the Navy, he snaps. “I made the decision!”.

This leads to a flashback to 1995, two years before Jeff’s murder. Jeff is relatively happy with his life in the Navy, but he also lives with the fear that sooner or later, the secret of his sexuality will come out. This fear intensifies after he saves another gay sailor from being beaten by a group of other sailors. This one event triggers the path of the episode, as Jeff grows more and more intense and nervous that he’s going to be found out.

In one particularly disturbing sequence, Jeff learns that there’s a chance that another gay sailor is going to identify other homosexuals in the Navy. This sailor apparently doesn’t know names, but can recognize his sexual partners via their tattoos. This story sounds utterly made-up when you remove yourself from it, but for Jeff, in the middle of it all, it has a ring of truth. His solution is to try to cut a tattoo off his leg with a box cutter; an action that doesn’t go according to plan.

Later, Jeff’s paranoia reaches a fever pitch, and he attempts to hang himself. This, too, doesn’t go according to plan, and Jeff eventually ends up at a gay bar, where he first meets Andrew Cunanan. Once again, we want to stop the clock; to warn Jeff that befriending Andrew will be the biggest mistake of his life. But Jeff is alone, in need of comfort, and Andrew – in his own manipulative, sneaky way – can offer it.

During the course of the evening, Jeff tells Andrew he plans to conduct an interview with the show 48 Hours about gays in the military – an action Andrew thinks is a mistake. “The Navy are going to witch hunt you, Jeff,” he says. But Jeff feels he has to go through with it. The interview Jeff gives is brilliantly contrasted with the interview Versace gives to The Advocate. As Jeff meets in a cheap motel room in secret, hidden in shadows, Versace is seen in a well-lit, expensive hotel. His interview with The Advocate frees him, while Jeff’s 48 Hours interview simply makes things worse. There’s no catharsis here; no emotional weight lifted from Jeff’s shoulders. Instead, he recounts how he saved the gay sailor’s life earlier in the episode, and adds: “It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought about taking it back, just so people wouldn’t know about me.”

Back in 1997, in the days leading up to Jeff’s murder, the situation between Jeff and Andrew grows more and more radioactive. Andrew is in Minneapolis, under the assumption that he, Jeff and David will spend time together. But Jeff wants nothing to do with Andrew. We learn that Andrew once sent a postcard to Jeff’s father in a feeble attempt to out Jeff to his parents, which has only made the relationship between the two men more strained. Yet Jeff is still nice enough to let Andrew stay at his apartment for a night while he crashes at the home of his pregnant sister.

The idea is for Andrew to vacate the premises before Jeff gets home, but Jeff finds him waiting there, at which point Jeff’s rage simmers until he can’t keep it tamped down any longer. He accuses Andrew of ruining his life, and says that he wishes he had his old life in the Navy back.

“They don’t want you,” Andrew says. “They never wanted you. I want you.” When Andrew adds: “I loved you–”, Jeff snaps, cutting him off and shouting, “No one wants your love.” It’s in this moment you can see the wheels turning behind Andrew’s eyes. You can see the decision slowly forming; the decision to kill Jeff. Andrew realizes that he can no longer manipulate Jeff; no longer use his lies to bend Jeff to his will. In other words, Jeff has become useless to Andrew, and in Andrew’s mind, there’s nothing left to do but end his life.

“No One Wants Your Love”

Andrew is mostly in the background in this episode, and that’s for the best. After two weeks in a row of his excessively destructive behavior, the character has long overstayed his welcome. Darren Criss continues to do great work on the show, but it was wise for American Crime Story to shift the focus away from him this week.

The star of “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” is obviously Finn Wittrock, who gives an honest, heartbreaking performance as the increasingly conflicted Jeff Trail. As a character, Jeff bottles up most of his emotions, and Wittrock does good work playing up all that simmering angst and rage. He’s even better when he lets the emotions come to a head and snaps, such as when he yells at a co-worker, or at Andrew.

Director Dan Minahan, who also helmed last week’s episode, goes light on the stylish touches this week. There aren’t as many dramatic flourishes in camera movement or placement, and that’s not a bad thing. Perhaps sensing that this week’s script, by Tom Rob Smith, was powerful enough as-is, Minahan knew it would be better to keep the direction subtle and let the actions speak for themselves.

We’re now moving beyond Andrew’s murders. The following episodes will travel back even further into Andrew’s life, and peel back the lies and deception to show us who he really was. One can’t help but think this makes The Assassination of Gianni Versace a front-loaded show, where all the true action happens in the first five episodes, and the back-half of the season is more subdued. Still, American Crime Story has a few more tricks up its sleeve.

Stray Observations:

– You can watch an excerpt from the real 48 Hours interview with Jeff Trail here:

– You can read the real Advocate interview with Versace here.

– While this episode is primarily focused on Jeff, the scenes we get with Andrew stand out due to Andrew’s desperate, unsubtle attempts at control and manipulation. At one point, Andrew and David go to a club to meet friends from David’s work, and Andrew spends the entire evening being loud and abrasive, constantly trying to get the upper hand.

[onesp1cyboi]

ahem ok i said 10 notes but i actually rly like my writing so chapter 1 of my book (”Parasite” altho thts a working title tbh)

little bit of background, i’m calling it an anti-romance rn tbh bc it takes romance tropes and then goes “fuck u” n is basically a call out for abusive actions tht rnt always seen as abusive ft. flower meanings, magic and stuff

um also it’s based in shanghai, which is where i grew up, so. if any references go over people’s heads, pls pls pLS dont hesitate to ask about them!! i’ll edit those in later if needed, and i’m 110% open to any criticism

Most people describe it as falling. I more or less walked backwards into it.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s this glorified train wreck of emotions known as love. Oh Chris, you might be thinking, don’t be so cynical about it! To which my only reply is: wait and see! I think my general feelings toward romance are totally understandable.

It started at the beginning of the summer holidays. XinTianDi was packed with people from all over, tourists and locals alike swarming in and out of malls, onto small side streets and tight alleys. It all brushed past me, sitting at a small table a few textbooks strewn around me, half-filled cup of coffee balanced on the opened pages of an outdated science book, an empty plate decorated with cake crumbs lying haphazardly on top of my half-open pencil case.

I wasn’t studying. I told my mom I would when I left my apartment (dad was already at work), although she wouldn’t have cared if I told her I’d gone out to drink myself half to death and run away to some exotic land halfway across the planet. I don’t know why I bothered to lie to her, considering she didn’t care for anything I said anyways. She’d probably appreciate it if I did run away from home, because that would mean one less mouth to feed, and an extra room in the apartment she could convert into something new.

Mom always liked new things.

I sighed, picking up my cold cup of coffee and knocking it back, letting the gritty contents slither down my throat to an uncomfortable stop in my stomach. I put the cheap porcelain cup back on its tiny useless plate, gathering up my books. It was the summer holidays, I had better things to do than pretending to be productive.

I fished my phone out of my pocket, checking for texts. Nothing. I didn’t let it disappoint me; most of my friends had gone overseas for the holidays, to timezones totally out of sync with my own. The few friends who were also stuck in Shanghai for the summer break tended to sleep in past lunch as well. I was alone until noon.

Stuffing my backpack with my books, I stood up slowly, letting my legs stretch out. It was only 10 in the morning, but I’d been sitting in the coffee shop forcing bitter caffeine down my throat for the better part of 3 hours. I swung around, stepping into the foot traffic surging around the soft oases of the restaurants and cafes dotted here and there throughout the entire downtown area. I remembered the first time I’d gone out without my parents or friends, the crowd had thrown me this way and that, forcing me in and out of the tide of people. Now, however, I was able to stick to the border, never touching or interacting with anyone else, besides a few bumps against my shoulders. My friends told me it was because I tended to look like I was on the warpath when walking alone, brows narrowed in a threatening glare, lips curled up in a near permanent scowl. I always thought it was a good thing.

I broke out of the stream near the entrances to one of the malls, joining the slow and steady trickle of people coming in and out of it, marching up the stairs. I didn’t look up, staring at my feet, glare heavy. Step after step, slow and tortured. I was tired. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t know where I wanted to go.

A cold rush of wind blew over me as I stepped through the glass doors into the mall. I untied my hoodie, blood red, from around my waist, pulling it on as I walked, pointlessly, aimlessly. I felt like it too; pointless and aimless. I was tired. It wasn’t unusual for me to feel awful when I was like this. I found myself making my way out of the back of the mall, feet stomping hard against the ground, the shock almost painful through the soft soled sneakers I was wearing.

I came back outside, flipping my hood up to hide my face, slinging my backpack in front of me. I took off into a smaller alley, unzipping the small pocket in front of my bag and curling my fingers around that sleek cardboard box of self-destructive relaxation. I breathed out a sigh through my lips, allowing myself a small, quirked smile as I opened the box, hidden safely in the space between two buildings. I leaned against the wall, sliding a cigarette between my lips, pulling my lighter out of the box and lighting the cancer stick quickly.

I didn’t do this often, but the feeling of smoke in my lungs was comforting, warm. I breathed out, watching the smoke fly into the air in front of me like a thin, grey ghost, a vision of my own soul flitting into the wind, fading into nothingness.

I took another drag.

The end of the cigarette glowed a soft orange. For a second, I was tempted to snuff it out into my skin, but the moment passed, another ghost lost in the wind, and I filled my lungs with smoke again.

I moved to step out of the shade of the buildings, out onto the streets again, when I spotted her. She was chattering in quick Chinese to the vendor of a small street side flower shop, a bouquet of roses in one pale, soft hand. She wasn’t small, probably about my height, but the way she held herself made her seem placid. It was weird compared to the way she spoke, confident and sharp. The shopkeeper looked amused, his attempts at bargaining with her more playful than anything. My eyes flitted quickly across her body, from the way her dark, nearly black hair hung over her round shoulders to her to the narrow curve of her waist. She was wearing a pastel blue summer dress, a tan bag hanging off her shoulder matching the roman sandals on her feet. There were flowers printed on her dress, the impression of roses in pink and yellow floating over the fabric.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, turning her head to the side, and my breath caught in my throat. Like me, she was an expat, but she looked mixed, maybe part Chinese? Her narrow eyes were dark, but warm, inviting. Her cheeks were dusted a light pink, lips painted glossy red. I felt my own cheeks darken as she turned away to face the vendor, the cigarette between my fingers all but forgotten, the light on the end already expired.

She was beautiful.

I turned away, determined to hide in the alley again, but then again…

It was summer. Summer meant change, adventure, something different and new. Maybe this could be a change for me.

I crossed the street.

She didn’t notice me, still arguing with the flower vendor, but I figured I’d try. I dropped my cig onto the pavement, kicking it subtly into the road. I wished my breath didn’t smell of smoke, either, but maybe she’d overlook it.

The vendor noticed me. He quickly turned away from her, trying to speak in slow, broken English.

“Buy flower?” he asked, English accented and barely understandable. I nodded.

“I’ll buy her the roses if the price is really that…” I started to reply in Chinese, pausing to glance over at the girl. She was giving me a flat, unimpressed glare, nose puckering as the smell of the smoke flew over her. I turned away quickly. “Difficult.”

The vendor beamed, nodding ecstatically. “Very difficult! Women, you know.”

“Excuse me? These flowers are incredibly overpriced,” she spat out, shaking her head. Well. My entrance obviously wasn’t as good as I’d hoped it would be.

“How much is he selling them for?” I asked, in English this time. She sighed, running her fingers through her long, thick hair, slightly wavy, curled around her face like a picture frame.

“Too much. I’m not paying 120 yuan for a couple of flowers off the side of the road,” she replied. “And I don’t need you buying them for me either.”

I huffed a slight laugh, scratching at the back of my head. Well. Guess I should’ve expected that. “Sorry, I guess?”

She smiled at me, sighing in what seemed to be frustrated adoration. “You really wanna pay for them?”

“Uh,” I muttered. 120 yuan. For a girl I’d never met before. Christ. “Sure? But, can I know your name? Since I’m gonna be buying flowers for you and all.”

“Wynona Lynn,” she replied. “You?”

“Chris.”

“Just Chris?”

“Christopher?” I answered, shrugging.

“Last name, stupid.” Ouch. She obviously didn’t like me.

“Lee.”

“Was that so hard?” she quipped with a smirk, grinning at me. The vender coughed, giving the two of us a pointed look. I pulled the 120 out of my wallet, handing it over in defeat. The girl, Wynona, smiled at me.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, fingers wrapping around the stem of one, gently tugging it out of the arrangement. She held it out to me. I took it from her, the thorns digging into my fingers when I wrapped them around it. I didn’t wince.

“Thanks?” I muttered, confused.

“I should buy you lunch,” she remarked. “You free today?”

“Is this a date?” I shot back, not wanting to be one-upped by some random girl I just met.

“If you want it to be.” She punctuated it with a wink. I felt my cheeks grow warm, fingers tightening around the stem of the rose.

“Uh…” Shoot. I couldn’t think straight. “Ok?”

“Date then?”

“Please?” I winced at the high, desperate pitch of my voice. Thanks a lot, puberty. She probably felt sorry for me. I couldn’t imagine what else she’d find attractive about me; I wasn’t tall, or handsome. Maybe she thought I was cute, in a kind of pathetic way. That had to be it.

She hummed, smiling at me. “Meet me at Starbucks at 12, then?” she asked. “I gotta go home and drop these off, so I can’t stick around for now.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” I stuttered. Ugh. Her smile made my brain stop working. It was frustrating. “Starbucks. Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“See you,” she said. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. I couldn’t blame her. I’d laugh at me too. She turned away from me, beginning to walk away, but paused. “Oh, and one more thing,” she started, turning to face me again. She walked up to me quickly and pressed a kiss against my cheek, before taking off again, blending quickly in with the crowd. My hand moved up to my cheek, fingers brushing over where she kissed me. The vendor wolf-whistled, cackling. I stared after her, even when her flower print dress vanished from sight.

~*~

I hunched over in my seat, letting my phone drop into my lap. I’d sat back down in Starbucks, forking over more of my money to fuel my growing caffeine addiction and the power-hungry capitalist society that caused it. I took another sip of my quickly cooling cappuccino, tongue already sensitive from the first burning taste I’d had of it. The rose Wynona had given me was lying on the table in front of me, bright red petals looking out of place against the dusty, dirty green-tinged grain of the table I was sat at. The dark stem was still brighter and more alive that the wooden table it was lying on, green leaves shuddering in the slight wind offered by the whirring fans above me.

My phone buzzed in my lap, snapping me out of my daze. I picked it up, glancing at the message.

bae😩 💦  said: have fun!!~~ <33

Jerk.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. I glanced up quickly, catching a glimpse of her pale face before her dark hair covered it again and she breezed in front of me, sliding into the seat across from me.

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked, smiling. I could feel my cheeks heating again, the dimples at the corners of her lips causing me to feel things I never thought possible.

“Uh, no. Nah. I had nothing to do anyways, so. No.” I smiled at the end, awkward and too wide, but I wasn’t really sure what else to do. She grinned.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed. “Ok! C’mon, there’s no way I’d take you on a date to Starbucks. I’m not a cheapskate.”

“Wow, we’re going on a proper date?”

“It’s only because I’m craving good food. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She snorted, reaching over the table to grab my arm. “Are we going then?”

I knocked back my coffee as I stood. It still burned a little going down, and I choked on it as it went, but we were already out of the cafe, despite my spluttered attempts to tell her to slow down. I chucked my coffee cup in a bin as we ran, shoving my phone back in my pocket and attempting to make sure I had all my stuff on me.

We slowed down in front of a large shopping mall, Wynona’s cheeks a little pink with exertion. She was panting lightly, breaths passing in bursts through her plump red lips, quirked at the ends in a sly little smile.

“Why did we run?” I huffed, doubled over and clutching my stomach. I was pathetically horrible at sports. My everything was aching from the mild bit of exercise, and I was starting to hate my decision of going on a date with Wynona.

“Why not?” she replied. I realized she was holding the rose she gifted me, twirling it between her fingers. She seemed to be whispering something to it, pressing a quick kiss against the petals. The red of her lips matched the red of the flower, and she looked like she was glowing when she turned back around to face me. I straightened, standing up stiffly in front of her, trying not to let it bother me that she was almost taller than me. She tucked the flower behind my ear, brushing my hair away with her hand. My face felt hot again.

“If you keep blushing like that, the rose’ll match your face like it matches your hoodie,” she quipped. I scowled, reaching up to take the flower out of my hair. She batted my hand away, grinning. “I’m kidding! You look cute with it, ok? Just keep it there.”

“Thanks. Really wanted to look cute today,” I grumbled, pouting. She pinched my cheek.

“Keep pouting like that and you will,” she replied. I sighed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I forced a smile, trying as hard as possible to make it look uncomfortable. She rolled her eyes. “Perfect.”

She led me to a small restaurant, one of Shanghai’s many attempts at being trendy, with rustic wooden furniture and dark but warm lighting. She looked like she belonged there, under the gentle glow. She led me inside, guiding me to a secluded seat in a brighter corner of the room. The dark felt a little claustrophobic for me, but I didn’t want to say anything, seated here across from her, watching the yellow light bring a strange glow to her eyes, exposing freckles and lines of gold that were shot through the brown.

“You’re pretty,” I mumbled, staring into her eyes. She blushed, coughing lightly, hands immediately shooting to her lap as she searched for something to toy around with, avoiding my gaze. I smirked, leaning back. “You’re prettier when you blush.” She kicked me under the table.

She opened her mouth to say something back when the waitress came over, asking us if we were ready to order drinks in slightly accented English, handing us menus. Wynona glared at me, taking one of the menus and quickly flipping it open. She scanned the drinks quickly while I ordered a soda, settling on a rose tea.

“Rose tea?” I commented.

“I like flowers,” she replied, smiling.

“Evidently.”

She hummed in response, shutting her eyes as her ankles tapped lightly against mine. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you like?”

“Oh.” I shrugged, thinking about it. “Music, maybe?”

“Music, maybe. That sounds like a fascinating interest. You’ve really got me on the edge of my seat here.”

“Shut up, ok. I just. Never thought about it before, I guess. I like reading? And music.”

“You play any instruments?”

“Piano and guitar. I’d love to learn drums but my mom would never let me. At least with piano and guitar she can have me play songs at whatever get-togethers she’s having with her friends without me being a pain in the backside or anything.”

She was staring at me.

“Uh. Um. Sorry,” I stuttered. “I tend to ramble.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s cute,” she giggled, reaching over to snatch at my fingers. “You know, you could go on,” she mumbled, playing with my fingers.

“Uh. What? About music?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh. Uh. I sing sometimes? I used to write songs and stuff, but I guess I don’t really have time anymore, and I never really liked the songs I was writing either.”

“Why not?” she asked, lacing her own fingers through mine, glancing up at me. She looked genuinely interested.

“The lyrics never sounded right. I always felt like I was faking it, like I was being fake deep, and it never really reflected the points I actually wanted to get across. Like, sometimes I wrote love songs? But they just had cliched metaphors and were never really personal to the people I was writing them about.”

She looked surprised. “You’ve dated before?”

“Uh, yes? Should I… not have?”

“You struck me as a sweet innocent bean, new to the ideas of dating and relationships,” she quipped, pulling her hands away from mine to clasp them at her chest, cocking her head and sighing. “You would be my conquest, and I would show you how relationships work, and we could become the power couple of the century. You’d be the Anthony to my Cleopatra.”

“What.” I’ll admit, I was offended. “I’ve dated before! I didn’t walk up to you and start flirting without any idea of how to flirt at all.”

“A kid can know how to flirt without actually having flirted with someone. You ever watched movies?”

“I hate movies.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Really? Wow, never knew I was getting with Holden Caulfield reincarnate.”

I scoffed. “Rude. I’m way cooler than Holden Caulfield.”

“I’m surprised you picked up on that reference.”

“I’m surprised you made it.”

She blinked in surprise before grinning. “I had to read it for school.”

My face fell. “It’s one of my favorite books.”

“I knew you were a nerd! I knew it!”

“I already told you I like reading,” I retorted. “And I play piano. Of course I’m a nerd.”

Wynona was laughing, her hands reaching for mine again. She laced her fingers with mine, eyes squinted shut, wrinkling at the edges, her nose scrunched as her lips parted to let a small sound fall out. My heart melted.

“You’re really pretty. Please stop. It’s rude.”

She huffed, still laughing.

“It makes you flustered, so no,” she replied, grinning. She reached over to me with her free hand, snatching the flower from behind my ear. I’d forgotten it was there. “You know what roses symbolize?”

“Oh no, you’re one of those people who speaks ‘flower.’”

“Red roses symbolize love and passion, but in a bouquet the meaning can change. One rose means love, 12 shows gratitude, 50 shows unconditional love.”

“50? Who the hell is buying 50 roses?”

“Romantic couples.”

“Oh.” I paused for a second. “Wait a second, you gave me one rose-”

“I don’t love you. We just met, that would be ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.” I cocked an eyebrow at her, fighting down the blush that was threatening to bloom across my cheeks.

“I would’ve given you an iris or something, it’s more appropriate, but I didn’t want to buy you a flower out of nowhere when you wouldn’t understand it,” she sighed, propping her head on the hand with the flower, the rose hanging limply out between her fingers.  

“What does an iris mean?”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, smiling at me. “I mean, since you payed for my roses and all.”

“Heh, yeah.” An awkward kind of silence built between us, Wynona still playing with my fingers. The waitress came over, placing our drinks in front of us. Wynona shifted, sitting up again, her hand leaving mine, the rose dropped onto the table. She picked up her cup instead, blowing lightly over the steam wafting off the rosey pink drink, her lips resting on the edge of the cup.

For a second, I wished I had a camera. I wasn’t much of an artist, but she looked beautiful. She smirked at me, and I knew I was blushing, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

[slovenlyrecordings]

A ton of reviews just in courtesy of Terminal Boredom (they still hate 10" records):

ANMLS s/t LP Chilean street punko's who love to shout together - a lot and often. Reminiscent of 80's Spanish language boot-stompers Cicatriz, Eskorbuto and the like, but with added filth-blown guitars that are left tryna' cut through layers of amp cone dust and a seeping to the surface 70's rock cockpunch. The hardcore leanings and gang vocals calm a tad as the sides play on and I'm starting to hear echoes of John Reis riffage in the aptly titled "Instrumental" and the flip's opener, "V'amanos De La Ciudad". Thanks to "Pirata" they practically give you an Oi anthem at the end. Sort of a shock to see Slovenly head in this direction, as I'd expect the band to hook up with Lengua Armada, Sorry State or some other stateside stable of cellar dwellers. Is Ruleta Rusa still active? These cats should team up with them for a US stretch. Either way, I have no real knowledge of international hardcore (outside of Italy), so I'm gonna' shut up now and let you dig in on your own.(RSF)

The Cavemen "Nuke Earth" LP "Nuke Earth" is the third time these sleaze-Zealanders have been found rifling through the rubbage bins of garage shock past to toss a full platter. The best tracks within float to the surface - kinda' like pull tabs or smoke butts floating in the fetid water of a gas station squeegee bucket - and scramble about, attempting to create something along the line of a budget-punker's K-Tel collection. These cavemanish boys crank things off with "Lust For Evil" a tune that's got one boot planted firmly in the Oblivians camp and the other can be found kicking the 'Tards squarely in the gonads. Leather-jacketed riff warriors, hopped up on CPC (get it?!) and unleashing dueling leads and hostile vibes aplenty. "Janey" lightens things a tinge with some boozy balladry and organ rottens the rock during tunes like "Batshit Crazy" and "Concrete Town" in a way that could bring both Lost Sounds lovers, Spits fanatics and tattooed MCD car-show greasers lovingly together for a sock hop. Duster-huffers will rejoice to the dum-dum Dictator clunk of "Chernobyl Baby" and "Thug" which reeling in a meaty Gizmos/Penetrators spew. "Dont Wanna Hang" strips veneers in guitar frazzle and New Bomb Turk velocity. It's like having the Las Vegas Shakedown start up again, right there on your very own turntable! The parts may be aftermarket, but there's gonna' be some paunchy yet pleased turkeys around these forums real soon. (RSF)

ぐうたら狂 Gūtara KYŌ s/t 10” Damn, this here is a firecracker! What lies within these grooves are obliterated Teengener-ized riffs, and demented psycho-wails, all walloping upside the punk velocity of something akin to prime 80's Gauze. "Drive" got a lead that's reminiscent of a garage slop take of an old Soundgarden tune (I'm dead serious!) and it's pokin' out of a deteriorating Stalin bootleg. "Daydream" and "It's Gotta Be You" ride along hardcore gallops, rendered futile due to some of the gnarliest production filth since Tim Kerr was knob twisting. The shining light in all this scree would be the soulful belter "Romance" that kicks off the flip. This gold star doom rocker features strained crooning and a truly putrid solo that's - of course - blown all to snuff. It wouldn't feel outta' place on that 'Tokyo Flashback' sampler at all. Fo' real tho' - this platter could clear the sinuses of the most jaded of High Rise fan. Hell, Gutara Kyo is good enough to make me overlook the fact these songs are pressed up on the lamest of all formats (the dreaded 10") with a goddamn dumb 45 hole. Hey Pete, knock it off! All snark aside, I'd still tell folks to buy this, even if it was only available on floppy disc. Scum Stats: 100 copies pressed up on red and black splatterwax.(RSF)

Hand & Leg s/t LP Greek duo doing their best impersonation of that gluey/Krauty/fuzz-buzzy sound that the French has dominated for the past decade. This co-ed bass and drums act strips their music down to the bleached bone, leaving the sorta' repetitive weed-wacker chops and threadbare beats that Wire fans should froth over. Standout tracks like "Dogshit Country" lighten the low plod load a smidge, letting the high strings shine as if Godheadsilo was taking on a Volt tune. "Bloody Hole" closes us shop in a full two minutes of tone drone and irritated wail before the "song" proper takes flight within a spattered cacophony of pie-plate thwack and chanted vocals. Soothing to one's skull as This Heat. Dig yer feet in the sand, people. Scum Stats: 100 on clear vinyl.(RSF)

Häxxan "The Magnificent Planet Of Alien Vampiro II"" LP Nasally Israeli psych-boogie, for the moderne youth market. The press release mentions playing with Ty and them Fuzz comparisons are pretty on point in these here grooves. They also trot out bratty, childlike pop tantrums that should speak to the Burgerooligans that follow these updates as well. What you mostly get on this is quiet/loud dynamics pushing out a Black Angels/Frijid Pink hybrid. There's quite a bit of local flavor in their guitar pyrotechnics, so world-beat freaks and psych aficionados should perk up. Most of it makes for a fine fried background rock, but nothing is really sticking to my maw. A couple of tracks do stand out - "Circle Of Quantum" and "Snakes In My Hair" - both nearly seared my eyebrows off like the best moments of C.A. Quintet "Trip Thru Hell" with swirling, woozy leads and vocals lost in the arid desert wind. The whole ride is easy to digest and makes for decent afternoon accompaniment, but gotta' say I wanted more like those two aforementioned tracks. Better than the countless Ty & Dwyer clones we've had to weather so far. Better than the King Gizzard knock-offs to come. Let's just be happy today.(RSF)

Νόμος 751 (Nomos 751) s/t LP Electroshok-rockers that clatter along like a Grecian Metal Urbain. Drum machine robot riddims and twisted rockabilly riffs fighting against various space trash splatter and the occasional Spits-take on skate punk. There's a Grande Triple Alliance vibe rippling underneath that's hard to shake as well as more than a couple nods in the early Red Mass direction I use to enjoy (long before that act stank it up with Mac Demarco's hair-footed guest spots). I should ramble more about the tracks involved, but my janky-assed computer's 'bout to crash for yet another twenty minute interval - so I'm just gonna' go pogo about like some metaloid mutant instead. Give 'er a go!(RSF)

Proto Idiot "Leisure Opportunity" LP How the hell did the Hipshakes connection escape me?! Proto Idiot is way less Oblivian and way more Adverts than the 'shakes ever were. This here's a jagged pop-gone-puke to tunes like "Better Way Of Life" and "Angry Vision" - the sorta' stuff Jaytard did solo and that Useless Eater kid slung about. Comparisons to Devoto-era Buzzcocks seems apt, and there's a tad of 'Chairs Missing' up in here too. Honestly, either this is a love letter to the entire UK punker past catalog or I'm just an asshole who thinks so 'cuz of the English accent. Hey - it's the GG King Of The UK! Still, I'm perplexed that I never knew the Hipshakes were related. I'm bad at this game. I'd way rather party with this Proto Idiot than those stuffy shirted Protomartyr's out there. Good Fun. 'Nuff said. Scum Stats: 100 on green vinyl.(RSF)

Subsonics "Flesh Colored Paint" LP In this time of reunions around the corner for every wang-dang-doodle of a band that falls under the Budget Rock blanket, it shocks me to no end that Atlanta's Subsonics have never even given up. I've evidently been in the dark for nearly a decade (Sorry Slovenly/Sorry Subsonics.) as "Flesh Colored Paint" is their eighth full length. The band continues to do what they do best - muggy southern stomp filtered through Marc Bolan flutter and a Cramps-ian cha-cha heel strut. This sorta' glitter shimmer fits snugly nestled in the crotch region, somewhere between American Death Ray, Danny & The Darleans and so on. They've always been in my peripheral and I've witnessed them bring quite a solid live revue in my times, but they've never seemed tough enough to break me during my boozy-fueled heyday. NOW - on the other hand - being older, wiser and actually warming up to the voice of Brian Ferry - this stuff is pretty damn sharp! I'm fully locked down on the track "Begging Hands" here, which proves beyond any doubt that these swingers are as big of fans of Radley Metzger's 'Score' skinflick as I am. Elsewhere they beat on the traps like a Black Time light, less set on grate and more on the grind. "Die A Little", "Cold Cold World" and "In The Black Spot" ride in the Velvet's lil' Reed wagon, possibly playing at the wrong pitch. "I Must Be Poisoned" and "I'm The Most Popular Boy In Town" are cut from the same girl group worship and sequenced catsuit that Kid Congo stitches together with his Pink Monkey Birds. "Permanent Thaw" fires off that Black-Angels-Death violin scrape along its woozy train track clack and tunes like "Why Should Anybody Care At All" feature squirrelly, ragged soloing, as if front-mouth and string-slinger Clay Reed was dry humping his gee-tar on the studio floor (and chances are, he did). A good party platter for the red eyed sect. Now while we're at it, let's wax up them early WorryBird CDs!(RSF)

The Monsieurs "Deux” LP Knowing how much I loved Tunnel Of Love - one of the finest bombastic blowouts to cross my blurred vision in the early aughts - I feel like a lamestain for sleeping on this act for so long. Well, I fixed that over the past few months. Here I am, warming by the fire during this wintry bluster and ingesting another fine Andy MacBain release. Between this stuff and the Andy California EP, he's keeping Slovenly's Gladiators on the garbage rock radar (not that they ever really fell of it in the first place). The opener "Burning Flame" and "I Will Run" are straight up crash/bang shards of garage violence and if you said to me these were lost Tunnel Of Love tracks, I wouldn't argue it one bit. Things chill and take pop-ier turns within tunes like "Suburban Girls" and "At The Hop". Not saying cutesy levels of pop, but there's a definite whaff of catchy albeit retched perfection ala' Nobunny or Ramones girl group grabs. The femmes on deck keep Andy's cock-swingin' machismo at bay, adding great touches of Toody-esque back ups, forceful fuzzed power chords and abusive can bashing. "Get Right Get Ready" is rears a Karp riff and shoves it, clawing smack into the face of some delirious Dollrod slop. That's not a bad place to be - crawling around in a metallic Danny Kroha muck. Wrapping this fast lil' fucker up is "My War", which brings all the above elements to a broil, splattering about like a scorched Love cover turned beat-punk brat psych and going gloriously wrong. A wooly ride. Will ride again. Scum Stats: 100 copies on orange.(RSF)