#i am BEYOND SORRY for responding so late but know that i've been thinking about your writing all day

[vaaaaaiolet]

real quick before i let liz break my heart again as i write this reblog:

we will need that energy going forward because this was painfully time-period accurate. and also WONDERFULLY written.

i don't usually read f/f fics, but you mentioned once this was one of your favs and it didn't take me long to find out why. take your fast car is written with a very endearing, honest narrative voice that i think couldn't have come from a place other than very close to your heart.

THIS FIC SHOULD BE A MOVIE!!

beautiful. clear. SO witty. your writing put me seamlessly into reader's shoes. GAHH the buildup leading up to the party, the dreams, the growing feelings that reader definitely, for sure, must be hallucinating for her coworker because who wouldn't feel that way for leah??

the heartfelt progression of reader's relationship with leah, from admired coworker to acquaintance and "friend" to something possibly more, echoed high school tropes so much that i cheered when spin the bottle started!! and the 7 minutes from heaven segment AGHHGGHS MY HEART side note i adore how you wrote chris :,)

THE AFTERMATH.

the sting of leah's supposed rejection hit me in the heart. i was wondering right along with reader, did any of that mean anything to her?? and the BREAK ROOM FIGHT OH MY GOSH i got snapped right back to that daunting grade school feeling of fear. you had my eyes PEELED to every word of that scene.

bittersweet endings are my very favorite. this fic had one that i'll be thinking about for a long time. hetero love is beyond privileged to not have to deal with the fear of societal rejection a queer relationship can bring.

"Wait," she says, and you turn to face her one last time. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I… I lo-" "I know," you say, cutting her off. "Don't say it." You climb into your car, but before closing the door, you say, "but just so you know, I would've said it back."

the sunset line right above the sunset lesbian flag divider??? i don't know if that was intentional but WOW that had me swallowing lumps in my throat.

absolutely phenomenal work as always, liz, and i felt every drop of love you poured into writing this fic. i hope all your sunsets are just as beautiful as your prose :)

take your fast car and keep on driving

pairing: fem! leon kennedy (aka leah) x reader

cw: wlw, use of homophobic slurs, obscure resident evil characters (no, i did not just make all of those names up), angst, light smut, forbidden love, secret relationship.

summary: you are a rookie in the rpd, and so is leah (re2r leon but as a woman). you like her but you know you shouldn't pursue a relationship because this is 1998 and you're the cops.

a/n: this is a commission for @porcelainseashore! also, the title is a line from fast car by tracy chapman bc i like to cry to that song (and she's a (presumed to be) queer woman so it seemed to fit).

wc: 5.3k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

Leah. You've never met anyone quite like her before.

Like you, she's new to the force, fresh out of the police academy. It's the first thing you bond over.

In the break room, she gives you a soft smile while she lingers by the kitchen counter, waiting for her instant coffee to finish brewing. The gurgling of the machine fills the brief silence between you.

"It's your first day too, right?" she says after you attempt a "hey" that comes out as nothing but a heavy exhale.

"Yep." It's all you can come up with.

"You seem nervous."

"A little. You know, don't wanna fuck anything up on my first day." Like this conversation. You keep the last part to yourself.

"Don't worry. It took me like three tries to get the buttons straight on this shirt. Jill- Officer Valentine had to help me fix it."

And somehow you're jealous. Leah seems to have no trouble making friends since she's already getting chummy with a STARS member. You'll be relegated to the losers club while she gets to sit at the cool girls table - if there is such a thing.

Most of your colleagues are men. Lieutenant Marvin Branaugh, your direct superior seems nice enough, Chief Brian Irons is a bit off-putting, though. And the STARS members: Officers Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Richard Aiken, Rebecca Chambers - and of course, Captain Wesker, who reminds you of a cartoon villain in the way he carries himself. Most of them are relatively nice to you. Jill has a hardened exterior but a soft heart; Chris is a typical jock and a natural leader; Brad is a bit of a knucklehead; Richard is his slightly smarter counterpart; and Rebecca, who's even younger than you, is an absolute sweetheart. Not to mention, Forest Speyer, Joseph Frost, Enrico Marini, and Barry Burton. You consider putting pictures of them on flashcards with their names on the back so you can learn them all.

Then, there's Leah who has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes her name stick firmly in your mind.

She walks gracefully, steadily in combat boots identical to yours and her blonde hair sways in time with her steps. Her pants fit perfectly, especially around the ass. But you try not to stare - you feel gross doing so when you catch the guys ogling her when she turns her back to them.

You wonder if they stare at you too when you're training in the gym. Lieutenant Branaugh puts an emphasis on staying fit in case the day comes where you need to chase down criminals or dodge gunshots during a shootout. A significant amount of your day is spent doing paperwork.

But for an hour a day, you do push ups and curl ups and pull ups (in that order) to 98.6 FM or a CD if Chris remembers to bring one down with him.

"Chris," you hear Wesker snap at him, "This music is atrocious. Go get a CD, a good one."

And with an exaggerated huff and the sound of metal weights hitting the hard floor, he does as he's told.

"He's kinda hot," Leah says from next to you while she stretches her calves.

"Who? Chris?"

"Yeah," she says, decidedly.

"You can have him. I'm not into meatheads."

"I'd like to see the head of his meat."

"That's disgusting!"

"Are you going to sit there chatting all day?" Marvin asks. "Or are you going to get in the ring?"

You both shut up and stand up.

There's nothing to fight over, but you can be competitive when you want to be. Leah seems intent on impressing Chris who's half-assing his workout both to stick it to Wesker, who is satisfied by his choosing Made In Heaven, and to watch you and Leah duke it out.

Nobody can resist a little girl-on-girl action. Leah has many things over you - her charm, her beauty, her laugh, and her body when she pins you to the mat. It's one, two, three slaps of her palm against the mat to crown you the loser, but she gets distracted, and only you can see the mask slip because you're staring into her eyes when it happens. You want to drown in her ocean blue eyes. Her pupils widen and then her eyes themselves in response, like she's shocked by her own feelings. And then she shakes herself out of it.

You blink and she's standing again, holding out her hand to help you up. And then, like she was never even there, she's gone, rushing in and out of the locker room so quickly that you don't cross paths despite your lockers being two apart. You, on the other hand, take extra time to consider the possibility that you've hallucinated her existence entirely.

But, does it even matter? 

Leah starts showing up in your dreams. She's the intermission between being completely flunking your math exam and missing your flight to Paris (the recurring stress dreams). One night, you're eating lunch in a cafeteria and she sits across from you. The next, you're at a Halloween party and she wears a sexy cop costume, which is not that far off from her real uniform. It's the third time she shows up that you kiss. It doesn't go any further than that because you wake up to your 7:45 alarm.

What the fuck was that? 

You have a book called The Secret Meanings Behind Your Dreams which was a gag gift from a friend. You flip through the pages and find explanations for dreams about falling, teeth falling out, pregnancy, but none about kissing your coworker. You decide it's better not to dwell on it.

You file the thoughts of her under the category of things that you don’t have the qualifications or the time to psychoanalyze. There’s probably some sort of bullshit Freudian explanation but you have crime to fight (aka paperwork to do).

You’re grateful for the distraction when it approaches you in the Main Hall of the RPD. It's almost the end of your shift when Richard approaches you. Out of all the RPD members, you feel like he's the closest thing to a friend you've got here.

"Do you have any plans this Friday?"

"Work, per usual."

"Well, yeah," he half-laughs, "I do too. But, uh, what about after work?"

"After work, nothing."

"Cool. Brad and I were thinking about seeing a movie and maybe getting drinks, and he also invited Leah, so I think she's coming too."

The mention of Leah makes you perk up. You could give or take the whole going out on the town after a long week of work.

Leah, speaking of Leah, you spot her across the hall, chatting and laughing with Brad and Chris.

"Cool," you say, staring right past Richard.

"So, uh, do you wanna come with?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." It's less an acceptance to his invitation and more giving minimal responses.

Richard says some combination of "cool", "okay", and "see you tomorrow". Or something like that. You wouldn't know because you're barely paying attention to him.

You realize it's a double date when Richard puts his arm around you. You're enthralled with Saving Private Ryan. "It should win Best Picture," you remark later. But it doesn’t. But right now, you try to play off the fact that he startled you with an awkward laugh. The theater is too dark for you to tell if he's blushing or not, but his embarrassed "sorry" says he is. But before he moves away from you, you lean into him, and you swear you can hear him sigh in relief. He's nice. This is nice.

But more importantly, you watched Leah do the same with Brad and she's your leader just as Brad is Richard's.

No, for you, she's your muse. She's the goddess that you pray to. 

When they kiss, you follow suit. He tastes like the buttery popcorn you've both devoured, but it's not bad. It could be worse.

It’s forgettable, washed away by the beer you drink at the dive bar two doors down from the theater. 

"Do you wanna take this back to my place?" Richard asks.

"I would but I have to get up early for church" is the first excuse you can come up with.

Richard seems to believe you, which is most likely because he wants to believe this isn't rejection. "Oh! I didn't know you were religious."

"I am, yeah," you say, and hope the rubber chicken test prepared you for the difficult task of keeping a straight face in a moment like this. You think you notice Leah stifling a laugh across the table because she knows.

But her eyes only flit to yours for a second before Brad asks her the same question.

"I actually have a date to church tomorrow morning," she says, smiling at you.

Brad believes her because he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. Before the awkwardness permeates too far, they leave together.

"So, church on a Saturday, huh?" Leah asks with a knowing smirk.

Finally, you both exhale the giggles you've been holding in together.

"God," you say, putting your head in your hands, though still laughing, "How long do you think it'll take for them to realize?"

"I dunno." She shrugs and sips her beer. "But hopefully sooner rather than later so I don't have to make up an excuse not to go on a second date."

"No second date for you guys? You seemed to be having a good time back in the movie theater."

She shakes her head. "I was until he started kissing me."

"Bad kisser?"

"Awful. Tongue down my throat and all."

"Ew."

"How about you and Richard?"

You shrug. "He's nice. And his tongue was not down my throat."

"That's good." She leans a little closer, like she's going to reveal a secret to you. "But you don't seem like you like him that much."

"I mean, I like him as a friend."

But nothing more. "Well, I should be going," you say, picking up your purse. "It's getting late, and, as you know, I have church."

"No, you don't." She rolls her eyes. "But you do have brunch."

"I do?"

"Yeah, I'll pick you up around 10:15-10:30? Depending on my hangover."

"Sounds perfect."

You and Leah each devour a plate of waffles in a diner voted Raccoon City's #1 Breakfast Destination '97 according to a poster outside.

"Mm," she ponders the taste of her coffee. "Way better than what the RPD has."

"I'm beginning to think they might just be giving us packets of dirt instead of coffee grounds."

"Where else are they going to put all the dirt they dig up outside?"

"It's so goddamn weird that they have a cemetery. It's like they're expecting us to die."

"I feel like I'm already dead. My head is killing me."

"Mine too. I don't even think I had that much to drink."

"Me neither, and thank god - I wouldn't want to end up in bed with Brad."

"You think you would've gone home with him if you were drunker?"

"Maybe. I tend to make stupid decisions when I'm drunk."

But, so do you - one of which includes playing spin the bottle with the RPD's finest.

"We used to play Kings mostly 'cause no one had a table that we could play beer pong on," Brad says when Chris asks him about high school parties back in his hometown.

"We can play Kings if I can find a deck of cards."

"No, we can't, dumbass, unless you have cans hiding in the back of your fridge," says Forest.

"What do you wanna play, Forest? Spin the bottle?" Chris asks sarcastically.

"I thought spin the bottle was a game made up for movies. I didn't know anyone actually played it," Rebecca chimes in from the corner, holding a soda rather than a beer because she 'felt bad drinking underage' even though Chris offered her one.

"You bet your ass people actually play it," Chris says. "How else would you kiss your crush when you're an awkward 15 year old?"

"Truth or dare," she says with a roll of her eyes to say it should be obvious.

"We could play truth or dare," Brad suggests.

"No, we should play spin the bottle," says Forest.

"If you wanna kiss me that bad you can just ask," Chris says.

"Why don't we play both? Then, if the bottle doesn't decide in Forest's favor, he can dare Chris to kiss him," Jill says.

"I'll remember to pick truth in that case."

You play spin the bottle first, which results in Forest giving Richard a peck on the lips, Richard passing it on to Brad, who goes for more than a peck with Jill, and Jill, pulling swiftly away from him, kisses Leah.

And it comes to Leah who lands on you. Of course she does. The first kiss is chaste, but when you take your turn and the bottle lands on her, it barely falls short of passionate.

The bottle is Leah's again and if it were possible to rig this game you might've believed someone had because it points in your direction.

A collective - and juvenile - "ooh" comes from the group. It's the same one you hear from a classroom of 7th graders when a teacher tells a student they need to "speak to them".

Rebecca, clueless, asks, "What?"

"They have to play 7 minutes in heaven."

"What's 7 minutes in heaven?"

"The two people have to go into a separate room for 7 minutes and they can do whatever they want."

Leah looks at you, you look at her. Hesitant, nervous, and curious.

"My bedroom's down the hall," Chris says, pointing towards it. "No snooping, no stealing, and if you break it, you replace it. Got it?"

"Yes, Officer Redfield," you say sarcastically.

Leah stands up, giving Chris an exaggerated eye roll, and you follow her down the hall. You can hear them whispering their predictions and fantasies about what you'll get up to behind closed doors.

But eventually, the games go on in your absence. You remain unaware as you sit on the edge of Chris' unmade bed next to Leah.

It’s just you and Leah Kennedy in Chris Redfield’s bedroom, the world is still and the lights are low, but you watch a decade fly before your eyes in a single moment. It’s fancy dinners and home-cooked meals, an apartment in the city and a house in the suburbs, the balcony, the backyard, the wedding, the honeymoon, the family portrait. 

"So…" you begin, expecting her to set some sort of ground rules, expecting you'll end up conversing for the duration, maybe giving each other a friendly peck on the cheek. But, she looks at you, her eyes flicker as they quickly run up and down your body, and she takes the leap.

Her lips are soft and sweet with cherry-flavored chapstick, and like Katy Perry, you liked kissing a girl. But, there are no boyfriends to mind, and despite being tipsy and technically still playing by the rules of a game, there is something real about the way she kisses you. It's heated and hungry, urgent due to time constraints. You can't stay in this room all night - not because it's Chris', but because no one can know about this. You can't tell them that when her tongue meets yours it's the first time you enjoy the taste of beer. You can't tell them about how she tucks her bangs behind her ear so they don’t obstruct her view of you when she pushes you onto your back and her hands travel from your waist to your bra and stop when Chris opens the door. Leah is quick to sit back up, to pretend, but not quick enough. He knows, but for whatever reason, he keeps his lips sealed.

When you return with your head down to hide your reddened cheeks, Brad says, "You two must've been having a lot of fun in there since you missed the timer on the microwave going off."

"We just talked," Leah says.

"Uh-huh," he says, "Talked."

"You guys were totally getting it on in there," Forest says.

"I would've paid to see that," Brad says.

"You can admit it," Richard says. "We won't judge."

"There's nothing to admit," you say.

Jill throws you a sympathetic save by announcing, "You missed Rebecca having her first kiss."

"It's not that big of a deal," Rebecca says, timidly.

"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" Chris asks.

"I didn't say that."

The group decides to transition to truth or dare, and you're relieved to have the attention taken off of you and Leah. The boys become distracted by the sight of Jill's tits when Brad dares her to flash everyone. You decide to leave before you end up naked.

While you wait for a cab outside, Leah turns to you. "Can you keep what happened between us a secret?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks," she says. "You're a great friend."

A friend. You longed to be accepted for so long, but now the word sounds like rejection. The word taunts you while you struggle to fall asleep.

Just friends. The way you told Leah you felt about Richard after you made up an excuse to not go home with him. 

Leah avoids you at work the next week. No one seems to care except Chris, who asks you privately, "What is up with the two of you? You were going at it in my bed last weekend and now you won't get within 20 feet of each other."

"Nothing. We were just drunk on Saturday, so that whole thing happened, and we've just been busy with separate work this week."

"Uh-huh. You were just drunk? Nothing else going on between you two?"

"That's like asking if you and Rebecca have something going on. We just kissed because we were playing a kissing game."

He doesn't press further, though when he turns to walk away, you call after him, "Wait, Chris…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone, though. I don't want them making a big deal out of it."

"I won't."

He keeps his word.

Leah used to eat her lunches with you, you'd both meet in the break room at 12:30 sharp, but now, you sit by yourself. Until Friday, 12:20, you find her sitting across from Jill, talking and laughing.

"Alright, I've gotta get back to work," you hear Jill say before she leaves the room. There's only one exit, so she inevitably crosses paths with you. She's the first person to give you a warm, genuine smile that week. It makes you feel human and real, and it gives you the confidence to talk to Leah.

When she spots you, she hurries to pack her things up and leave.

"Leah," you say. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

And you didn't. That's not why she avoids you.

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Her shifty eyes and wavering tone give her away - not that it wasn't already obvious.

"Yes, you are."

She looks around the empty room before lowering her voice, "Fine. If I admit it, will you let it go?"

"How can I 'let it go'? We went from making out on Saturday to-"

"I told you not to talk about it."

"You told me not to tell anyone else."

"Same thing. You're just making it worse."

"How?"

"You're reminding me of it, and I don't want to think about it."

"Why? I thought you liked it."

"I did. I like you."

"I like you too."

Her face softens for a second, going from forced agitation to poorly-hidden bashfulness, but ultimately, she looks disheartened. Because you both know this can't happen.

"I wish it were different."

"You wish I didn't like you back?"

"No, I wish this world was different. I wish Raccoon City was different."

"Me too, but why should we let it stop us?"

She sighs, purses her lips, and turns her head. Finally, after a moment of contemplation, she says, "Okay, but we have to keep it quiet. When we're at work, we're just friends." She pauses and her lips curve into a smile. "And tonight, after work, when I take you out to dinner, we can be something more than friends."

"Deal."

She glances towards the door to make sure you're alone and gives you a grin that's almost conspiratorial before kissing you on the cheek.

"That's against the rules!"

"Oops," she says with a shrug.

You sneak a kiss on her cheek to 'get even' and she walks out of the room with an extra pep in her step. You notice her trip on the laces of her combat boots, too far away to hear you stifle a laugh, but you see her shake her head, feeling embarrassed by her stupid mistake despite being alone in the hall. She's not used to being lost in thought like this, not used to liking someone in this way.

That night, you play a mixtape you and a friend made together back in high school when your only problems were silly crushes on boys. You remember her gushing over a guy you thought was mediocre at best while the sound of Kiss Me amplified her giddiness, and you remember how you comforted her when he broke her heart while Linger covered up the sounds of her crying. 

You wish you could call and gush over your date and have her calm your nerves over the phone, but you know you shouldn’t. You could say you were seeing a boy but a lie like that would violate the rules of girl talk. You decide to keep yourself company. 

You drive separately and meet at the restaurant. It's relatively crowded with the typical hustle and bustle of Friday evening downtown.

You split two dishes and Leah pays. Like you, the waiter seems allured by her.

"Before you leave," he says to Leah in a hushed voice as if you can't hear what he's saying from across the table. "I just wanted to let you know that you're very beautiful."

"Thanks," she mumbles with a half-smile. Polite, but nothing else lies behind it. No desire.

"And," he continues. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

"No thanks, I'm unavailable."

"Oh? Where's your boyfriend on this fine Friday night?"

"No boyfriend."

He doesn't quite get it. Not until she reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze when she takes it in hers. She smiles at you, warm, and then at him, proud.

"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, and you can almost hear the roll of his eyes. "Well, I left my number on the check, so you can call me once you're done 'experimenting'."

Her face turns sour while her eyes remain on him, softening when she meets yours. You walk out hand-in-hand now that you're beyond the point of hiding. Most people pay no mind, thoroughly absorbed in themselves and their dinners.

You take the bottle of wine to go, since you each had only a glass at dinner as neither of you planned to drive home drunk on anything but each other. You're grateful that Leah invites you to share the rest at her apartment since you didn't bother tidying yours. It's better she comes over when the floor of your bedroom is visible, and not covered in a layer of dirty clothes.

Her house is neat and minimalist to a degree that makes you think it's always this way. Her wardrobe, which mainly consists of multi-purpose basics - white t-shirts, blue jeans, and an array of leather jackets - lives on a single-rod stand-alone clothing rack. With her level of organization, she doesn't need to hide all of her things behind a closet door.

You are the only thing she hides. 

But when you enter her bedroom together, she keeps the lights on. She wants to see all of you, to know you. She wants to put your picture in a locket and let you dangle around her neck, swinging like the pendulum of a clock in time with her heartbeat.

You unravel under her touch slowly and then all at once. She kisses you from your lips to your core with meticulous reverence and savors your taste. When you struggle to catch your breath, she holds you like you're bleeding out and your dying words are sacred to her.

Leah teaches you how to return the favor by letting you practice. It is a hands-on lesson. By the time you fall asleep, your lips are wine-dark and barely tired. She holds you close to her heart like a rosary while you sleep soundly.

You roll out of bed stealthily and search her kitchen for breakfast. There isn't much. She seems regimented in most areas of her life and health-conscious. There is a disappointing lack of Lucky Charms cereal in her cupboards. There is a carton of eggs, so you scramble a few for you both. You brew coffee too.

"Something smells good." You hear Leah's voice from the hallway before she appears in the kitchen. She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind.

"I took the liberty of making us both breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. In fact, I could get used to this."

You take a sip of your coffee before you decide, "It's better than the kind they keep in the RPD break room."

"I think anything is."

You try to kiss her and she turns her head. You fear she'll claim the night before was a drunken mistake - it would be the same lie you told to Chris. Obvious in a way that makes it more infuriating than saddening. But she doesn't.

"Mm-mm," she says, shaking her head. "When I said anything is better than the RPD coffee, I didn't mean my morning breath."

"I don't care," you say with a smile and lean in again to kiss her.

She laughs when she playfully pushes you away. "At least let me brush my teeth before you kiss me."

"Fine," you concede and settle for kissing her on the cheek the way you do when no one is looking at work. Even in locker rooms you have to be vigilant. You doubt Jill or Rebecca would say anything unless you were doing something truly salacious. But it isn't unheard of for one of the guys to take a trip through the women's locker room under the guise of "hearing something suspicious" or "accidentally walking in there", sometimes without any excuse at all if it's Irons who has done this on multiple occasions.

Your secret relationship makes you feel like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs. And like teenagers, you both can't wait to grow up and break free of the rules that hold you back from being together. But, you live under the tyranny of societal norms that you can't outgrow on your own.

Not when you have Brad and Richard who find you in the previously-unoccupied hallway.

"It's only a kiss. It's not a big deal."

"Not here."

"No one's going to see us."

But they do.

"I should've known you two were a couple," Brad says.

"Yeah, a couple of dykes," Richard says.

They laugh like bullies on a playground. You thought they would have learned by now. Aren't you supposed to get wiser with age? You're too stunned to say anything for a moment, but you make a conscious effort not to look at Leah. Not yet.

"What's going on over here?" Forest says, peeking around the corner.

"We just discovered there have been two queers hiding among us," Richard says as if he's speaking about foreign spies or ghosts.

"Yeah, they were totally getting it on out here," Brad says.

"Aw, I can't believe I missed the action. Could you give us a little replay?" Forest points at you two like he's the director of a porno.

"Go take your sorry ass to the video rental across the street if you want something to watch," Leah says with unwavering confidence.

Yours wavers. You never got the thick skin they promised you. You put all your strength into holding back tears. Something else burns behind Leah's eyes, though, you can see it. Her icy blue eyes somehow hold fire. 

"Wow, a feisty bitch," Forest says, "or should I say butch?"

All her training led to this moment, but you step out of the ring in fear.

"Sorry I get more pussy than you, Forest," Leah says. She wouldn't normally engage them like this. It's personal. It's you.

"Shit. Pretty good one," says Brad.

"Ugly bitches usually have some brains, so it makes sense," says Forest.

It feels like middle school until it becomes physical. Richard pushes Leah, so she hits him in the nose hard enough to make him bleed. Forest lays his hands on her and likely knowing that she can't take all of them at once, especially when you're standing by in shock rather than fighting beside her like you should be (a thought you only have later), she pulls her gun on him.

Chris, who has won every sharpshooting contest STARS has held since he joined, hears the commotion and runs in with his own gun trained on Leah.

"Put the gun down now," he says.

And terrified, she points it at him.

They both stare each other down for long enough for you to draw yours and fire it because you know if he shoots her, he won't miss. 

You would kill for Leah. 

The bullet hits no one but the picture of Brad on a poster that hangs on various walls of the RPD. Which would be kind of funny if that's what you meant to hit.

Leah turns to you in shock which allows Chris to easily disarm her, knocking her gun out of her hand and kicking it out of her reach. His gun is aimed at you now. He can shoot you and get away with it, and he knows it. His finger hovers over the trigger but something in him holds him back.

"Put the gun on the ground or I will shoot you," he warns you instead.

You put it down and hold your arms above your head. All five of you are placed in separate rooms. There are not enough interrogation rooms to hold you all, nor are there enough cops that are not involved in the situation. Each of you is placed in handcuffs, but you are first. You never thought your handcuffs would end up around your own wrists.

You should be arrested. For once, you are grateful for the way Chris pities you.

"I wasn't going to shoot," is the first thing he says when he walks in. The second is, "you're lucky your aim sucks".

"I really thought you were going to kill her, and I was just scared. I swear, I'm not like that, usually."

"I know. And that's why you're not going to jail." He pauses before adding, "But you're handing in your gun and badge."

Everyone else gets a slap on the wrist. You wonder if it's a literal slap when you see Brad walk out of the interrogation room looking like he's on the verge of tears, but you find out from Leah that the combined interrogation of Chris and Jill will scare you straight.

"Pun intended?" you ask.

"No," she says, but a hint of a smile peeks through.

She tells you that she hates goodbyes before she hugs you. You open your driver's side door and she stops you.

"Wait," she says, and you turn to face her one last time. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I… I lo-"

"I know," you say, cutting her off. "Don't say it."

You climb into your car, but before closing the door, you say, "but just so you know, I would've said it back."

The sunset doesn't look as beautiful when you drive off into it alone.

[nhularin]

you got me looking for attention

PAIRING riki x reader GENRE highschool AU, best friends to lovers, she fell first but he fell harder type of dynamic, fluff WARNINGS none i think? not my best work LOLLL not proofread WC 0.6k ANNOUNCEMENT the nwjns series will be updated daily since i literally have nothing to do durinf summer break

❕series masterlist

September 30, 1998

"i like you, riki"

your head was rested against his forearm, with the voice of your homeroom teacher muffled in the background. there they go again niki chuckled to himself, finding your words strangely amusing

in a seemingly endless loop, you poured out your heart, to niki time and time again. at his house, on your (platonic!) walks at night and now in class. each time, he responded with a laugh, a sparkle in his eyes, and a lighthearted remark that danced in the air. with each passing moment spent together, your infatuation for him grew, intensifying the butterflies that fluttered wildly in your stomach.

at first, you found comfort in his laughter, feeling proud of yourself for being the reason of his momentary happiness.

but as the confessions persisted, doubts began to sneak in. "am I bothering him?" you wondered , guilt and doubt creeping into you.

days turned into weeks, and you found yourself growing even more weary of pouring your heart out to someone who seemed uninterested. with a heavy heart, you resolved to stop with the confessions, fearing you were only annoying niki, a playful game that he enjoyed. you longed for a connection that went beyond friendship, but jeopardizing what you both had right now is far from what you wanted

eyes wide you picked up what the hell does he want at 2 am? not that youre complaining of course, you would sacrifice your favorite snacks just to hear his voice.

"hello?"

"ah, yn" you heard him whisper from the other side, his voice deep and raspy "i didnt think you'd pick up"

"whats so important that you have to call me so late at night, mr ' i-am-an athlete-and-need-my-beauty-sleep' ?" you joked, knowing that the boy will scold you for keeping him up so late later at school

"shut up" a smiled etched on your face and light laughter tickled your ear "i know its not the best thing to do over call but its about your confessions" your heart raced. is this it? is he going to reject you like you've always dreaded?

"You know... all those times you confessed, I laughed it off not because I wasn't interested," he confessed, his voice laced with a mix of nervousness and sincerity "but because I couldn't believe someone like you could ever like me. i mean, you are you and i am me"

silence filled the air

"ah.... im sorry for calling, but i've been tossing and turning thinking about.. you. youre a real headache y'know"

your eyes widened, unable to process what niki said. your heart leaped with a mix of surprise, relief, and a newfound hope. this is it. this is it.

"youre such a jerk" you laugh playfully, the past doubt and insecurities washing away at his words "you got me looking for attention while leaving me question everything"

in that moment, nikis laughter transformed into something deeper, his confession reaching across the wall that had kept them apart.

and with a smile illuminating both of your faces, you bid your goodbyes, promising that you will talk at school the following morning and knowing that from that day forward, your laughter would ring with a newfound meaning.

two souls, once blind and in denial to each other's affections, now found comfort in the affection they shared.

[knoxic]

How to be a High Lady? part 2

Eris Vanserra x Mate!Reader

Summary: Reader's first meeting as a HL, Rhysand makes some comments and reader chews him out, then smut🤭

wc: 2k

warnings: Feysand slander, cursing and a shit ton of dialogue

a/n: the way there's so little of Eris here...sorry😔 but I'll make up for it if I make a part 3, with just the two of them, maybe their domestic lives and doing High Lord & Lady things in Autumn, idk maybe smut?

part 1

How they met

Their morning was slow, starting with lazy cuddles in bed followed by an easy breakfast. Her daily meditation helped gather her thoughts and feelings about the meeting ahead, when she focused on it, she could see flashes of messy handwriting and a dark room.

Dressing for the meeting took longer than she'd expected, Eris being the last one to finish so he could match her dress, it had turned into a habit now for him to combine his vest with her dresses or corsets.

After getting through her first meeting, their arrival this time was easier, not caring if people were staring at her or whispering behind her back, she knew today would be tough and her mind was set straight. They were the last ones to arrive, which was weird, she'd made sure they weren't late. The meeting started smoothly, but it didn't remain that way.

"I'm just saying, it'd be better if we cooperated..." Feyre chimed in when no one agreed with Rhysand's words. After hearing those contradictory words she couldn't not intervene.

"No offense, Feyre, but I don't think you're the best person to say that." She said, hoping that it wouldn't cause Rhysand to come for her neck yet. Feyre was stunned for a moment, clearly taken aback.

"And why is that?"

"We can't cooperate if the other part is deceitful."

"Are you calling my High Lady a liar?" Cassian roughly uttered.

"No." Her voice was steady, not showing any traces of fear, because this time she was, in fact, fearless. "I'm saying, how can we know if you're trustworthy when most of your court doesn't even trust you? How can we trust that you won't ruin our courts, like you've done before."

"Again you go speaking of my court." Rhysand growled. "You've been High Lady for a day and think you know everything. Tell me, you seem so sure of what goes beyond my wards... have you been in my court before?" Every word he spoke carried an generous amount of venom.

"No, and I have no desire to do so."

"Then how the fuck do you know so much? Are you a fucking witch or what?" His eyebrows danced showing how pissed he was, apparently not knowing everything seemed to have that effect on him.

The possibilities of what could happen depending on what she responded were running through her head, her first response would be to deny but if she did and they figured it out, which they probably would eventually, she'd be a treacherous witch and that was...

"Yes. I am a witch." The silence in the room was deafening, her ears were ringing, "And so far, my powers have only showed me objects in need of help, faes, humans... courts. I do what I can to help them–"

"I've lived in Night Court for centuries, I helped them, I made things better, I ruled them, you have no right to suddenly decide the way I rule my court is not enough, you don't know." Rhysand growled.

"But I do," her words were firm, matching his tone, "They're not my people and its not my court, but they need someone to care for them, most people in Hewn City have never seen the sky above their heads because they're trapped under a fucking mountain. Have it ever occurred to you that there may be innocent people living there? Children, like your son–"

"Watch it–" Azriel spat. She changed courses.

"Have it occurred to you that maybe they despise you because you never showed them empathy? Instead of trying to gain their approval by providing you could be a good High Lord, you locked them up." She never faltered, every word was spoken loud and clear.

Night's High Lord was fuming, if yesterday she thought his eyes promised death, now they were death. Sharp pain ran across the thick walls she built around her mind, as if claws had just taken a hold of her brain, causing her eyebrows to furrowed as a sharp gasp left her mouth. Thankfully, she spent years working on her mind and everything beyond, and with a strong spell to protect her body, it wouldn't be so easy for him to get through her mind.

"Rhysand!" Eris hissed, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She needed to act before Eris attacked him, it wouldn't be pretty.

"If you wanted to see it for yourself, you could've just asked." She teased, but it was true, she would've showed him if he wanted her to. She opened her walls and launched him every memories she had of his people, every small shot her gift had shown her of them.

Rhysand's mouth twitched, his frown deepening. She wasn't sure if it was from being unable to break his way through her mind or because the image she told him about was true. Feyre's expression soured and she could imagine that they were having a mind conversation right at that moment, maybe he showed her the images too.

"That's not true" She said. Was that not enough?

"But it is."

"Certainly you've been wrong before." Rhysand uttered, his voice close to a growl.

"No. If it's shown to me, it's true." If they still didn't believe, she might as well tell them how it works, "If I see something, it's because it has happened or will happen soon, I'm able to differentiate them and when I can prevent them from happening, I do. What I showed you has already happened– has been happening for centuries."

"Have you seen things from other courts?" Tarquin's voice was hesitant, "Summer?" He eyes the other High Lords, all of them silently agreeing with his question.

"Well, yes. I saw Spring's downfall but it was too late, and–" Eris' hot hand on her arm made her look at him, searching for any traces that could show he wanted to maintain secrecy, she found none. "Autumn's genocide."

"That's why you took over..." Tamlin whispered, looking at Eris who gave a simple, almost imperceptible, nod in response.

"How long have you been seeing our court in your..."

"Memories. They're memories, from other people, from now and from the future. A couple years, at first I tried to gather information about what happened there but... it was well hidden."

"Oh–"

"Why'd you never say anything? If you were oh so worried about them." Mor sarcastically spoke. For someone who knows what is like living there, she's embarrassingly hypocritical.

"Would it have changed anything? By the time I stopped looking for them, Feyre was already here. Things changed–"

"And she became High Lady, did you not think you could have talked to her, if you're so sure I wouldn't have done anything." She should be cautious, but then, she had been playing with fire for over a century now. She was almost vibrating with the need to speak what she really thought, but her neck was at risk.

"What, little witchy lost her words? Or did your gift make an appearance?" Rhysand smirked at her. Fuck it.

"Feyre was barely fae at the time and being honest... she doesn't even have that much credibility does she?" His smirk fell, the room filled with dense darkness, hands tried to grasp at her but were pushed back by the wards she'd silently set around herself and Eris, knowing they'd come for him too. It was ancient magic, not that easy to break.

"Rhysand! Stop!" A chorus of commands for him to control himself. Eris' and Helion's power lit up the spacious room, the latter using his powers to hold and push Rhysand back, extremely bright light making the room clear again, after all, he was in his home court. In the midst of darkness, Eris had pulled her to her feet to stand behind him, their hands wrapped around the other's waist.

"If you can't control yourselves I suggest you leave, go fight somewhere else!" Helion shouted.

"Helion, I think this is a matter for our meeting, if she knows things, we should hear." Kallias spoke calmly, not trying to set any of us off, he glanced in Rhysand's direction, who was being held back by Feyre with a hand on his arm. Helion seemed to ponder Kallias words, eyeing her and Rhysand and their mates.

"Fine, behave, or I'll ban all of you."

"You can't possibly think I'll just stand and whatch her talking about my mate like that!" Rhysand spat incredulous, Feyre tapped his arm to gather his attention.

"Let's listen to what she has to say." Feyre said, looking back at her friends, trying to hold them back, Mor leaned back against Feyre's chair, where she'd been since they arrived, she'd gladly stand back and watch as Cassian and Azriel ripped Eris to pieces.

"Bullshit, obviously." Their General uttered, still staring her down until Eris blocked his view of her.

"Alright, continue..." Rhysand spoke, staring her up and down before sitting back in his chair, Cassian watched him before stepping back, Azriel still glared at her as he did the same. Clearly Rhysand had just told them to back off. "Go on. What were you saying about my High Lady?" She calmly pulled back from Eris, gently grasping his hand and pulling him so they could sit back down too, taking a deep breath before signing their 'enemies' certificate.

"Your own 'Inner Circle' doesn't respect her commands, how would she change the way a whole city runs?" Rhysand banged a hand against the arm of his chair while Feyre's mouth fell open, his growl echoing through the room before he lunged forward.

"Out, now!" Helion stood up and pointed to the door, "Now, Rhysand."

Rhysand was practically foaming when he left, snatching a hand around Feyre's waist before winnowing out, the other three following quickly after giving her nasty looks, if she didn't know them, she'd think they were cursing her. The tense atmosphere in the room was rough to bear.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice asked her. Viviane.

"Yes."

"That was really brave, badass." She smiled.

"Brave indeed, I can't tell if you're lucky or just that powerful. I don't know how you're still alive..." Thesan laughed incredulous.

"She wouldn't defy him if she didn't know she could take it." Eris smirked, squeezing her hand in reassurance. While she was bragging about her, she noticed Helion with his fingers massaging his temples.

"We can leave if you want, I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable," talking a look around the room she noticed all of them looking at her, "any of you."

"I think Rhys needed someone to throw the shit he does to his face, none of us were really able to do it, you did, and it was nice to watch." Tamlin said, amusement written all over his face.

"I agree, the Inner Circle has done and said things we don't agree, but any time we tried to mention it they'd just turn the situation over, would pretend it didn't happen that way or that it wasn't so bad. Rhysand and Feyre both need to see that they're not as good and right as they think they are, someone to humble them could be of use." Tarquin smiled lightly and gave her a wink.

"Do they really not respect her? I had seen signs of it but... they seem so close that I just brushed it off." Helion waved a hand while speaking.

"Is not that they don't respect her, I think they just don't take her seriously. I mean, compared to them she is still a child, she grew up too soon but she's still immature. I don't know why Rhysand made her a High Lady but it doesn't change the fact that, he gave her the title, she didn't know anything about being a High Lady and barely knew anything about our world. Maybe she'd make a good one if she knew what to do, but she just sits and lets her judgment be set by what Rhysand says." She seemed to have a talent to make people go quiet. After a moment of silence, everyone pondering what they just heard, Day's High Lord spoke.

"You're definitely something."

[yridenergyridenergy]

Hi hope you doing well I wanted you to help me if you can cause it is beyond my power,I'm so sorry for making trouble for you and thanks anyway

Hello everybody, wish great things for all of you

I don't know how many people will read this ,I think nobody care about what I think and what i want so I thought that this place is good to talk,I'm actually don't like to talk I always think I will take people time

I live in a small town in iran ,well I think having dreams for me was always sin japanese rock really changed my life, I had goal after that but it seems I'm always so weak for having dream ,I really liked buck-tick songs their songs was really life saver I really liked atsushi voice after that I listened to dir en grey songs it was very special and different also seeing people like me for the first time made me really happy cause toshiya's personality was really same as me ,after few weeks I watched Nippon budokan dir en grey 2014 at YouTube and I saw fans happiness at the live and from that day I think that I want to be a rock star at japan and wanted to see all of them ,I told my parents that I want to play electric guitar but they didn't allowed me at first and I was so sad after 6 months they told me that if you want to learn first you should learn classic guitar so I went for two years and now after two years I found that at the beginning they just wanted to play with me and they didn't wanted me to play guitar and didn't want to let me go to japan ,now the only think I have is my tears ,when I talk about rock that makes them angry I wrote this to ask you fans if you can tell the dir en grey that there was a girl that wanted to be a guitarist I really want to be a guitarist and I need help ,I am very limited, so I ask for your help

Hello! I sincerely apologize for the delay.

I've been pondering over this ever since you sent me this plea. It would be odd for someone else to send your message to Dir en grey, because then it's more like hearsay and it could seem like a story.

Your best option would be to communicate with Kaoru via TheTheDay, I think. Because he is a guitarist, but also because I think he's more likely to read fan messages and maybe respond. Shinya is guaranteed to read such communications too, but he might not reply seeing as it is a personal message rather than a question, and he's a drummer.

TheTheDay is run through the co-yomi platform, so I don't think overseas fans had as much difficulty registering on that than with the freewill-online sites.

Being a rock star is quite the dream to have! Few people make it into a band, and even fewer actually taste popularity and success. It's never too late - you can at least keep it as a hobby and explore your avenues. Good luck!

[thornsnvultures]

Already There

Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x plus size!fem!reader

cw: slight angst, 950 words

a/n: a short follow up to my fic Ooey Gooey after Bucky leaves with Sam. I've had this 2/3rds written for like 5 or 6 months now 🙃 finished up the rest of it for @the-slumberparty 's week two prompt: Write a drabble/one shot as a continuation to one of your previous works. Based on the song "I'm Already There" by Lonestar. divider by @/firefly-graphics

Bucky can't sleep. Anxiety seeping through his bones. His body isn't used to being on the road for this long anymore.

Sitting at the edge of the too soft, too small bed in just his boxers. Even though the room is cool he's covered in sweat from a night of tossing and turning.

Bucky runs his hands through his hair and thinks of you. How your warm smile can wipe away all his worries. It's why he starts every day with you at the general store. And why he feels your absence so strongly now.

He wants to see you.

It's been days but it feels like years. His phone is a brick, built for making emergency calls out in the middle of nowhere, not video calls like Sam's fancy new iPhone. It still has an antenna for fuck's sake. Until you, Bucky didn't have a reason for a real cell phone. He knows Sam wouldn't mind Bucky using his but Bucky's not waking him up so he can tease him about giving his sort of girlfriend a call at one am.

So Bucky sits there, contemplating. He scratches his stubbled jaw, worrying at his lower lip. Would you even pick up this late at night? You said you'd answer no matter what, but this is different from his usual 9am calls when you're already up and most likely at work.

"Fuck."

Sam stirs behind him on the other bed but doesn't wake. Bucky throws on a pair of sweats and heads for the door to the balcony, grabbing the brick on his way out.

The cool night air wraps around Bucky his sweat slick skin feeling tight as he closes the sliding glass door. There's not much of a view, just the parking lot of this old motel and the fog dense trees beyond.

But the moon, she's nearly full and so, so bright.

Bucky takes a deep breath and dials your number, pushing away thoughts of whether or not he deserves to hear your voice right now. It doesn't matter, he can be selfish for a moment.

The phone rings twice and in those short seconds Bucky's heart rate skyrockets almost painfully until, finally, you answer.

"Bucky?"

The breathy way you whisper his name makes his stomach tighten. It's a moment too long before he responds.

"Hey."

"Everything okay?"

Bucky can hear your sheets rustling, the switch to your lamp clicking on as you presumably sit up in bed.

"Yeah...yeah I'm sorry for waking you. Just couldn't sleep."

He hesitates, the frayed drawstring hanging from his sweats unraveling even more as Bucky plays with it while he takes a deep, shaking breath.

"I -- uh, I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh."

You sound surprised. Bucky hesitates.

"I'm sorry, it's late I'll let you get back to sleep."

"No! No, it's okay. I'm glad you called."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, Bucky," your giggle makes Bucky smile, feel that warmth spread through his chest again like it did the last time he saw you. Filling him to burst with that one sound.

"God I miss you, sugar. Sam's keeping me up all night with his snoring."

"Oh, no. Is it that bad?," you gasp in mock horror.

Bucky smirks as one of Sam's snores rattles through the glass door behind him.

"The worst, sugar. He could wake the dead."

"Should'a sent you off with ear plugs, huh?"

"Mm, you'll have to remind me next time."

Bucky pauses at the prospect of a "next time", of leaving you again when he's just got started loving you like he's wanted to for what feels like forever.

"I miss you, sugar."

"I miss you too, Buck," he can hear your sweet smile. It makes his heart ache.

Bucky's throat feels tight. He didn't know how much he needed to see your beautiful face every day until he left.

"Is it silly to feel this way? Like I can't breathe without you here."

"It's not silly," you sniffle on the other end of the line and Bucky almost regrets saying anything.

"I can't wait to feel you again. Take you in my arms and not let you go."

You laugh into the receiver and Bucky can't stop from smiling.

"Sam will have to pry me off you with a crowbar to get you off me and back to the Mill."

"He's welcome to try," Bucky practically snarls.

"I love you, Bucky."

He swallows the lump in his throat, taken aback by your sudden admission.

"I know you're having a hard time, but I'm right there with you, sleeping under the same moonlight and wishing you were right here with me. It's not silly. You're not asking for too much. And I miss you way more than you miss me."

Bucky scoffs at your teasing and wipes at his eyes. "No way, sugar.

"Prove it to me when you get back, then. Show me how much you missed me when you see me again and we'll decide then."

"I love you, sugar."

"I know. Make it back home safe so I can have you all to myself."

Bucky adjusts his sleep pants, imagining all the ways he can have you just how he wants to.

"Get some sleep, Buck. I need to know you'll be safe out there on the road."

"I will. I promise."

"Good. Good night, handsome.

"Goodnight, sugar."

Bucky hangs up, giving the antenna a satisfying click shut. He takes one last look at the moon before heading back inside and crawling under the covers. For the first time since before his accident, Bucky falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. And he dreams of you, bathed in moonlight.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I really really hope I don't end up coming off as rude in this, but I found your account from the Hades tag (the game--which I suppose I don't really have the same negative feelings for, both because I'm neither greek nor religious and thus am very disjointed from the frustrations expressed ) and seeing as the designs were the main talking point (I know I'm oversimplifying her I'm so sorry if this comes off as rude) I was curious as to what would be a respectful depiction of Greek mythology. Greek mythology has always been something I enjoyed reading about, but knowing that a lot of my exposure to it has been heavily westernize one way or another, I was wondering if I could ask for I guess more insight? I might not share the same feelings (due to again having grown up unreligious and thus trying to compare how I might feel if my own chinese mythology was given the hades treatment isn't exactly far becaue to me they really are just kinda like prompts in my mind--though I'm not sure how wrong it is for me to think like that) I do wish to understand it because your culture religion and mythology isn't a prop. It deserves the same respect every other culture/religion has/is getting. sorry for the lengthy ask, but it's perspectives like you're I want to hear more about though I've struggled to really open up to them because often time the discussions felt hostile (that said I am conflict adverse so this is probably a me problem.). On a final side note (and this is definitely where I am about to sound really stupid/bigoted but I really have to ask because my conscious will not leave me alone about it) but would it be ignorant for a person such as myself to find enjoyment from a game such as Hades less because of it's mythological roots though they are a factor and more for the story it's decided to tell (for what is honestly when I really do think about it) using the greek mythology "props"? Like enjoying it seperate from the source material?

Hello and apologies for taking so long to answer! Two consecutive hours where I exist undisturbed is very rare in my life during this period, so please, again, forgive me for replying a month later. 💜💜💜

A second anon question I got about the same issue:

I appreciate both of you for asking. Identifying the problem in the context of your situation, and what you don't know is a great step forward (and I am very sorry I wasn't able to respond to you earlier). For those who don't know, this blog, despite the salty content, is all about peaceful discussion and understanding.

I think answering the first anon ask will also cover the first. Let me start with one point and elaborate on the rest:

"On a final side note (and this is definitely where I am about to sound really stupid/bigoted but I really have to ask because my conscious will not leave me alone about it) but would it be ignorant for a person such as myself to find enjoyment from a game such as Hades less because of its mythological roots though they are a factor and more for the story it's decided to tell (for what is honestly when I really do think about it) using the greek mythology "props"? Like enjoying it separate from the source material?"

Neither I nor any other (sane) Greek would like to police people in a way of stopping their enjoyment of media. Like other Greeks, I have also played Hades and liked it. I believe we can enjoy the present media and still advocate for better media in the future. We can all be more aware, and push for gods and heroes to be treated like the cultural figures they are, and not as products of late-stage western capitalism.

Greek gods and heroes cannot be separated from their culture and still be the same since they no longer carry their stories or embody the same values. (This goes for every cultural figure.) What would be the point of Heracles if your only exposure to him was that "he is an ancient strong guy who kills monsters"? There is a whole story to him beyond that, what makes him "Heracles", a hero that Greeks hold as a symbol even in our days. Without his story, he's no different than an average modern American superhero.

To the first anon: If you were to explain any Chinese hero or deity to me, you would still need to explain all the "surrounding" elements, like the world domains, the monsters, what is "respectful" and what is "not respectful" to do within the context of the Chinese culture. You wouldn't just drop the figure in question and expect me to understand everything, right? And for this reason, I don't think it would be fair to this figure and the Chinese audiences to just drop this figure separated from Chinese culture in a super American setting. As you suspected, it would leave a bad taste in the mouth of religious and non-religious people who know this figure.

There is some effort from Western media to incorporate these elements into their stories but it's done superficially through the classic Americanized lens. This doesn't allow the audience to feel these values and stories within a different context. The producers will do anything so (mainly Western) audiences don't feel alienated by exploring a foreign culture - but this entirely misses the point of exploring a foreign ancient culture.

I don't want to be entirely absolute here and say that no modernized depiction of these figures is good. It was even a fresh take a few years ago but now the market is so saturated with this presentation that even the audience who "loves Greek myth" is only exposed to this, and misses all the nuances of the ancient Greek context.

To its credit, the Hades game incorporated some ancient elements successfully (the gods offering their favor and getting vengeful when ignored, or having their own "human-like" interactions without getting reduced to the presentation of "petty humans"). This is more than what most westernized media has achieved but I still feel we only got crumbs compared to what we could have.

For me and some other Greeks, the game would be considerably elevated by the use of actual Greek culture, in addition to its cool story. By "actual Greek culture" I mean ways of interaction, clothes (not just the standard white chiton), music, etc. It looks like most western media fears that the Greek gods inside their culture will be "too foreign" for their audiences, which treats the audiences as if they're dumb and frustrates the already tired Greeks because god forbid we ever are "too foreign", "too unapproachable" to rich/western foreigners.

As always, depictions of heroes and gods from other cultures should be kept. The very recent phenomenon of westerners just deciding to "re-paint" the Greek gods Nordic pale or West African dark - according to their social sensitivities of the time - is a decision they took alone and without any consultation of Greeks. It's a decision that treats the Greek gods like props, as well, precisely because people of the original culture were never asked, and they are negative about this type of change. This decision was taken with the same brass the western colonizers used these same figures to set harmful standards for the colonized peoples and other nations they deemed "lesser", like the Greeks of their time themselves.

As we are not expected to change Maori, Chinese and Congolese gods' appearance (symbols, clothing, phenotype (or "race" as it is in some countries)) same goes for Greek gods. We grant all gods this standard because we recognize that they're - among other things - symbols of the overwhelming majority of the indigenous people of their land. Many USians mistakenly equate Greeks with the Western colonizers and the US culture, a thought that feeds their ownership attitude which I've spoken about many times in the past and i won't elaborate further on, for the sake of your sanity xD

Finally, if one struggles to place the Greek gods in the context of an actual religion, I think it would help them to read ancient hymns for the Greek gods (which are widely available online, in English at least) so they can see firsthand the veneration they were/are worth to their worshippers. Reading plays like the Bacchae or Alcestis, or parts of the Iliad and the Odyssey where the gods are present will show the magnanimity of the gods within the religion.

I'd also encourage them to recall examples of being present when their family or friends expressed veneration towards a deity (be it the God of Abrahamic religions, the Chinese pantheon, the Hindu pantheon, and so on) and try to imagine the same veneration towards the Greek gods. Studying Greek Orthodoxy is another way to understand this veneration. Since many ancient Greek elements remain in our Christianity, in it one can find many of the old type of respect. (Saint veneration replaced the deities' worship, the Greek type of offering worship, prayer to a home altar with offerings, road altars, funerary customs and processions, etc). If one is already familiar with Christianity this study would be a good middle step, in my opinion.

Having the context for each Greek myth figure one uses can be challenging but big studios should be able to hire specialists and offer proper representation. "They want the pie whole and the dog full", as we say here; they want quick profit with the least possible effort. They know that if they just name-drop some stuff western audiences will believe they have done deep research because previous media never invited them to engage deeply with the Greek heritage.

No culture is "uncomplex" and "easy to learn". Ancient Greek culture, like all, needs significant study to fully grasp. People should not expect to know it all after one Wikipedia reading. There's always more to learn and more context to be understood. The good news is that if you speak English and have an internet connection, translations and analyses of ancient Greek texts are super accessible to you.

It shouldn't be expected from all people to become experts but if one "loves Greek mythology" and their knowledge is PJO level, I am sorry but this person doesn't really know what they "love". A decent amount of study, at one's own pace, will enrich and deepen engagement with the Greek myths. Once you gain more knowledge, you understand why it's needed.

For the second anon's question, "What would be a proper representation of a Greek god", I have mostly answered it in the above paragraphs, but I would also like to add something culture-wise. Since the Greek gods in the media can exist in various eras, one should not divorce them from the Greek element. The Greek gods are an expression of the ancient Greek collective, therefore it wouldn't make sense for them to have lost all touch with Greek ways of thought and attitude. If they were Americans, they wouldn't be WASPs, or Native Americans or Black Americans. They would be more like First Gen Greek Americans. They would love (to a healthy degree) and mention their culture because that's where they came from and that's what they represent.

[maidragoste]

hello! i hope your day has been well!!

its me again, I've come to rant....

this show has driven me to the point of insanity and not in a good way. its the common cause of bad writing good scenery. like the writers focused more on the surroundings and costumes and hair then the actual plot and the actual writing and dialect that needs to take place.

aemond is actually a crazy man, like not him forcing everyone to march to the riverlands knowing daemon resides there instead of trying to garner other areas that could go head to head with them OR instead of getting more men. also not him putting alicent in her place because she helped create the patriarchal environment so now she has to deal with the fact she's raised horrible men.

also if aemond is that way with his mother, imagine if he had a wife?? i'd be scared for her. like alicent needs to slap him because i would lowkey. she slapped aegon so much as a kid, she forgot to slap aemond to keep his ego at ground level.

daemon having hallucinations for a tenth millionth episode is too much for me bro, like he needs more help than i do. like he's actually crazy and not him thinking it was simon doing it when its alys.

also alys having to give daemon life lessons is crazy to me. like thank goodness shes like 100 stuck in a young body because her wisdom must prevail and she looks young so people will listen ish.

not rhaenyra kissing mysaria like what is actually happening?? like too many heart to hearts, like they're good, but what do they add??

aemond wanting to actively kill everyone is beyond me like he's the real villain. like he doesnt care about the small folk and parades dragon heads like he's at a festival like he would make a bad ruler. i'm starting to think he's maegor the cruel not even with teats just maegor the cruel lol. like he is on a kinslaying spree.

aegon was even scared of aemond though he claims not to remember im sure he does and didn't want aemond to know because he knows his brother would kill him to silence him. like if the maester didn't walk in...

alicent realizing her dad is the only one who gave her power is wild and gwayne inadvertently telling her she failed as a mom was tier like she lowkey did in a way bro. like daeron is kind because he didn't grow up with your kids and your nonsense. like idk how helaena is even surviving because poor girl.

this whole show is so bad, but i have to watch to the end type of bad like it's not like i read the books yet to make the comparison so i'm not like uh "ohhh but in the book!!" like these are general observations that anyone can make about the show. it's not good and if i was the author of the book...i'd be a little pressed at all the fillers and them saying there's gonna be a 3rd season when this one has too many fillers....

sorry for the entire essay, and thank you for being a good listener and active responder!!

hi anon, how are you?

I was late in responding because I am sick and I only saw the episode today hahaha

I think I didn't suffer so much with this episode because I read your ask first so I already knew what was coming xd

I feel like I shouldn't laugh but the comment that Alicent should have hit Aemond made me laugh a lot 😭😭

About the hallucinations, I'm glad I was right that there was going to be a hallucination with Viserys, but I can understand why so many hallucinations are getting boring, and I didn't like it so much that Viserys is saying dialogues that he already said in the first season. they could have invented something

I'M WITH YOU. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW DAEMON SUSPECTED SIMON STRONG. POOR LORD, HE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO HIM 😭😭

honestly i didn't expect to like alys but i like her dynamic with daemon

I don't know how to feel about the kiss, a part of me already saw a tension between them and I like that they confirmed rhaenyra as bisexual but I don't know how they are going to continue with this plot

I honestly don't know what to think of Aemond's writing anymore ☠️☠️ I feel like even the maester doesn't trust him

I loved the conversation about Daeron (I'm just a girl who gets excited at every mention of him). I felt sorry for Alicent, I really don't think Gwayne wanted to make her feel bad 🥺

My friend and I also thought that the show went bad (we also read the book) but we still continue watching it because we already started it and we want to see some things that are to come

Thank you for writing to me and I hope you are well 💖💖

[greatideas-badwriter]

SasuSaku: Sacrificed To The Banished Prince Ch. 7

For the first time in her life, Sakura actually felt as though she was useful and wanted. She had a purpose, and that was to rescue Prince Uchiha from his curse.

'It'd be easier if that curse wasn't so human-like,' she thought to herself while walking by Akuma's side through the halls of the manor. It was the middle of the night, but he didn't care if she'd normally be sleeping at this time. She didn't dare say something, either.

"You're still quiet, Mouse. When will you loosen your tongue? I've become bored."

Sakura's gaze fell to the ground as they continued their leisurely stroll, "I'm sorry. Is there something you wish to speak about, Akuma?"

The demon remained quiet momentarily before he suddenly pressed the Haruno woman to the wall, leering down at her with glowing red eyes, "Tell me, Sacrifice. If you could have anything you desire, what would it be?"

Her limbs trembled fearfully as she pressed her palms to his chest. She didn't dare try shoving him away because it'd only anger him further. "D-Desire? I am happy with what I have now."

"You must be joking. You have nothing but temporary riches and a weak fiance who pretends to care for you because it's in his best interest. How can you be happy?"

"Akuma..." She breathed, sucking in a gasp when one of his hands wrapped loosely around her throat so his thumb could lift her chin. In a moment of desperation to calm his irritation, she answered honestly, "Truthfully, I never imagined having clothing or a bedroom like these. I never thought I'd be treated so wonderfully by others. All my life, that's all I've yearned for, so I don't know what else I could possibly want."

That same odd expression that'd been showing up lately crossed the demon's features. He searched her face with a frown before whispering in a tone reminiscent of one Prince Uchiha often used, "If I show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, would you develop a will to live?"

'What did he just say?' Sakura was only confused for a second before realizing that his goal was to ruin the prince's plans of being rid of him.

She changed the subject, "What will happen to you?"

"Have you grown to care for a demon?" The woman couldn't respond because she was too lost in his red eyes. Akuma quietly said, "I'll return to purgatory, where fate claims I belong."

"P-Purgatory?"

"That is what I said."

Even someone with little world knowledge or experience, like Sakura, could tell that Akuma was not keen on the idea. Cautiously, her fingers loosely clutched his shirt, her green eyes searching his handsome face, "Is being only allowed to live at night truly your preferred existence?"

"It is not."

"Then why-" "If this body becomes weakened and vulnerable when the full moon is high, I may be able to fully eradicate the cowardly prince and have it for my own."

'What?! Prince Uchiha never mentioned that!'

Before Sakura could verbally respond, Akuma continued, "Back on the topic of desires. You've pledged to do as I request, have you not?"

She nodded, averting her eyes nervously, "O-Of course, in exchange for you not bringing harm to anyone else."

'I don't think I'll like where this is going....'

One moment, Akuma was staring deep into her eyes, making it hard for the woman to breathe because she was so anxious and unsure of what the uncontrollable demon might do. Then, he was carrying her princess-style down the hallways until they reached the baths. Sakura's face warmed immediately when she was placed on her feet once more, and Akuma began unbuttoning his shirt. 'What is he doing?! I've never seen a man naked before.'

"Start the bath. I wish for you to attend to me as a maid might their master."

"You want me to, um, wash your hair?" Her fingers fumbled as she did as ordered. The sound of the man undressing made the hairs stand up on her arms though it was getting warm and steamy in the bathroom from the hot water.

Akuma chuckled amusedly, "Won't you look at me? This is the body of your intended, is it not?"

Sakura squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head while listening to him get into the rapidly filling tub. She was terrified to steal even a glimpse.

"Ah, my innocent little pet. Fear not," Akuma mused, "I won't force you into anything...At least for now. There's still too much unknown about your past."

When he made it known that the coast was clear, the pinkette dared to creep her eyes open before relaxing upon seeing the water had risen to the prince's upper torso. He grinned devilishly, "If you allow your eyes to wander like this, I'll have no choice but to make you mine."

'What is he talking about?' "Am I not already yours? You said that I belong to you." Cautiously, Sakura wetted the man's messy black hair, applied the expensive soap to it, and began to massage the substance into his roots.

He allowed his head to fall back, red eyes locking onto her wide green ones. He seemed genuinely intrigued, "Surely a woman of twenty-two years understands the meaning of truly belonging to someone. Are you being coy?"

Sakura was not being coy. In fact, she was completely lost. The average woman was taught about reproduction and marital duties when they first reached puberty; that way, they understood the reason behind the studies they were given on how to run a household. All of this was, of course, in preparation for the marriage they'd one day experience. Sakura was never expected to be anything other than a victim for her family, so the only schooling she'd received was how to read and write. That was when she was very young, and her mother was alive. After her mother's death, that all stopped. As a result, the woman was blissfully ignorant of all things sexual and intimate.

'I feel like a child that's too young to understand what an adult is speaking about.' "I'm...."

"Let us speak of other things lest I have a lapse in self-control."

"Yes, Akuma."

Being around this demon each evening was taking its toll on the pinkette. It wasn't that he was abusing her. In fact, other than forcing her to be in his company and referring to her in derogatory ways, he treated her better than any of her family members had. No, it was the confusion and insecurity in the knowledge that this was an actual demon, not a human.

"You're surprisingly adept at this," the topic of her thoughts breathed.

She snapped out of her deep thoughts and looked down to see Akuma had closed his eyes and relaxed with his arms on the lip of the tub. Her fingers were still massaging his scalp. The steam and warmth suddenly made her exhaustion more apparent. Her inhibitions weakened as her eyes drooped, a small smile tugging at her lips.

When she spoke, it was quiet and gentle to not disturb the calm aura of the room, "Until I arrived here, I had no one attending to me. It's been difficult adjusting to Miss Ino."

The demon remained quiet and still. She felt he wished for her to continue speaking, so she did, musing absently while continuing to wash his hair, "I feel so incredibly blessed to have had the chance to meet everyone here, even you. Regardless of how this experience comes to an end, I'm grateful that I had the chance to leave home for the first time."

"When I was young, my mother told me about so many things. She was a traveling dancer, so she visited many countries and experienced various cultures. I remember my favorite story was about her first love."

Sakura began rinsing Akuma's hair of soap, her actions and words more natural now that the anxiety had faded, "It wasn't with my father, of course. She wouldn't tell me her love's name but said it was love at first sight for them both. He was a member of the traveling group she was a part of."

She giggled, tilting her head whilst admiring the prince's elegant features, "According to her, it was like they could communicate without speaking as soon as they were introduced. I remember her telling me to look for someone who can be my friend first and my lover second when I'm of age, like how it was with them."

"If it was love at first sight, then they were never friends. These ideals are thick with naivety."

"Huh?"

The man's eyes remained closed, but he responded, "If one truly loves another, it is impossible to be friends."

Sakura disagreed entirely. In fact, she was so offended by his blatant insult to her mother that she almost said so but instead clamped her mouth closed and focused on finishing up so she could go to bed. 'What would a demon know of love?'

In the morning, Sakura was surprised to be joined by the prince at breakfast. She fumbled to her feet in order to bow, "Good morning, My Lord!"

"Did we not agree to call one another by name?"

Her face warmed as she nodded and sat down across from him at the large table, but she said nothing, 'He seems to be in a terrible mood. I should try to distance myself to not upset him.'

They ate in silence, though Sakura found the environment too tense. It was difficult to stomach anything with the heavy atmosphere that reminded her so much of home she could almost be sick. Prince Sasuke barely spared her a glance, but she did catch him glaring at her a few times before she completely lost the ability to lift her eyes from the plate. Outwardly, she was meek, pale, and trembling in fear. Inside, her mind was running swiftly.

'I had to have done something wrong, but what was it? Will he call off the engagement and send me back to my family?'

"The announcement of our engagement will be in three days at the castle. The king will hold a ball in our honor. We will leave tomorrow morning, so prepare yourself for travel."

Sakura lowered her head in response, wordlessly confirming her intention to obey. For the rest of the day, the pair avoided one another. At night, Akuma visited but allowed her to sleep instead of waking her for once. The next morning, Ino dressed Sakura up in one of the new dresses the prince had purchased for her and escorted her out to the large carriage.

"Are you not accompanying me?" The pink-haired woman asked with a frown when her handmaid began exiting the carriage after verifying she was properly seated.

Ino paused, smiling reassuringly, "There isn't enough staff here at the manor for any of the maids to come along, My Lady, but rest assured the royal family will take great care of you during your stay."

"Oh...Okay. Thank you," Sakura nodded. Ino was the closest thing to a friend she had in this life, though the pinkette wasn't foolish enough to believe the blond would put up with her pathetic antics if she wasn't ordered to by the prince. Still, that blanket of comfort would be missing amidst this trip.

The door to the carriage reopened moments later, making the poor woman jump in surprise. Prince Sasuke entered, wordlessly sitting across from her. She was so bewildered that she wasn't able to bite her tongue in time to not ask, "We're in the same carriage?"

Dark eyes flashed up to lock onto hers, making her want to shrink away in fear, "Is that a problem, Lady Sakura? I'll ride horseback if you're uncomfortable."

To Sakura, it sounded like he was threatening her not to be high-maintenance and rude, so she shook her head with wide eyes, "N-No, it's fine. I'm sorry."

Neither said another word as they began traveling. Sai and a few other guards were riding horseback while the coach was up front, outside the carriage.

The trip to the royal palace took nearly an entire day. Sakura and the prince exchanged very few words the entire time, leaving the poor woman's nerves on edge. She was too afraid to ask what she'd done to cause the sudden shift in behavior. When they were ordering dresses, Sasuke was quiet, calm, and warm, but now the silence was ice cold and calculating, like he wasn't missing a single thing she did.

By the time they arrived at the palace, it was the middle of the night. Sakura didn't expect a welcoming party because of this and suspected it was her fiance's intention to avoid such a thing by having them arrive at such an odd hour.

Though Akuma didn't to also appear upset with her, he quietly exited the carriage first and offered his hand to aid in her own exit. She nervously accepted the polite gesture, releasing his hand the moment her shoes were on the ground.

The demon's red gaze lifted from her face to behind her. She also heard approaching footsteps, so she turned, only for strong arms to envelope her in a strong hug, "Welcome, my soon-to-be niece!"  

[bakughosts]

hi eli!! i'm sorry in advance if i come across as too much, but i'm just so excited to see you active on here! i wanted to tell you that you're one of the writers i've always been excited to see post or update, and your fic, i like to call myself wound but i will answer to knife, is one of my absolute favorite bakugou fics!! i think i was just getting into bnha, and reading fic for it, when you posted it on ao3 and. the literal impact it had on me as a reader and eventual bakugou writer. major.

like—first of all. i love kiri bunches. so i really related to reader being in love with him lmaoooo. but reader and bakugou's dynamic? absolutely delicious. the way reader slowly falls for bakugou, the way bakugou is in love first, quietly, the way they bicker but come together, despite all of it... i could scream!!

and even beyond their relationship, the way you wrote reader's loneliness, her guilty feelings for kiri, her hurt seeing him and mina, her friends, together despite knowing she should be happy for them. ahhh. you write the complexity of these emotions so well. and i love the conversation she has with mina in chapter three. i've read fic where reader characters in similar situations, where they're meant to be friends with another character who's dating the person they have feelings for, express/feel jealousy so ugly, so cutting, that it makes you think--how could they be friends? but you wrote mina and reader in such a kind, generous way. it only reinforces the work you've done building reader's personality, her character. she cares for her friends. she doesn't want to hurt them, doesn't want to create rifts. it's what made her lose out on kiri, and it's what she let go of to be with bakugou.

“Kept me waiting long enough,” he says, and yeah. yeah. she did, in more ways than one. but he waited. 🥺 and bakugou's so soft in this fic. he's so. so!!! and that "what else do you love about me?" scene always gets me kicking my feet and giggling, blushing and heart skipping a beat 🥺🥺🥺💖

anyway—so sorry this is so long!!! i could say more but!! i'm sure this is already overwhelming!!!! i hope that you're doing well, that you're having a lovely week, and wishing you a weekend filled with rest and joy 💞

I know it has been forever since u sent this but omgggg this ask is one i come and reread when i am feeling underwhelmed by my writing…. Literally im so glad you like the Mina and reader part djjdjdjd and you’re RIGHT sometimes the jealousy in fics like this can be really cutting and like… severe. Which is honestly understandable!! Jealousy is an extremely difficult emotion to control and it can make you do some terrible things. But yeah i really wanted like… to show that they’re Best Friends like they wouldn’t want to hurt each other ever, even if that’s to the detriment of themselves. So I’m really glad that came across !!! Mina is so important to me and i miss writing her so much

Ugh there is so much in this ask that makes me feel so warm <3 thank u so much for reading and sending this in (even if i am responding super super late!!) i hope you are having a wonderful day and that u know how much it means to receive asks like this!!!!!!!! U r doing gods work……

[silent-sanctum]

Hi, I hope you're doing well! Do you think you would be willing to write Jotaro with a partner who was cheated on in a previous relationship? (Only if you're alright with it)

Hello anon! Sorry if I just got to your request but there's actually a fic I'm planning to write that includes the prompt you sent, so I hope you won't feel like I've ignored or retconed your request ^^ However I do have a very short snippet of said fic that's really long in comparison to this that I'd like to offer as consolation~ Hope you enjoy~~

word count: 1k

“The snow’s pretty, right?”

It was sudden… but it wasn’t startling. What used to be just him staring back in the clear reflection now had someone else standing by it, the pure white-covered landscape beyond making both their mirrored faces a bit indistinguishable. He didn’t have to turn his head right to acknowledge the woman currently beside him.

Jotaro had no reason to respond and so he kept silent with an open ear. “Just the way little pieces of crystals would flutter down onto the ground to create a scenery as beautiful as these snow-capped terrains.”

Why is she telling me this? Still affixed on her reflection, the lady was someone already accustomed to this place. The simple cream yukata patterned with subtle floral imagery hugging her form was enough to tell him that. Next to her, he stood out like a sore thumb in his winter coat and hat.

And still, he remained wordless.

But with the way the woman didn’t comment on it, it seemed that she didn’t mind the lack of answers. “You must think this is weird for a random stranger to walk up to you suddenly talking about the beauty of nature.” Her reflection turned to him with a smile. “But it’s something I do ever since I booked my stay here.”

So she is a guest. Jotaro found it admirable from how calm she approached him, he would’ve thought she worked here as a hostess of sorts. “Men, women, non-binary, children, or the elderly… anyone really.”

“Why?” One word too late to realize he had spoke his thought out loud. It caught him off-guard when she made a little sound of surprise. Tucked in their pockets, his hands closed in on themselves.

She still smiled nevertheless. “I just like talking to people. I like getting to know how they’ve been and what goes on around them. It’s hard to enjoy simple stuff like that from where I’m working.” He nodded. Somewhere in the middle of her words, he had shied his gaze away from the glass and onto the floor instead.

“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?”

Yes? No? He wasn’t so sure himself. Mindless conversations irritated him to a high degree, never finding the point of starting them when nothing productive or insightful came out of it. Jotaro had been the receiving end of such multiple times before so he knew when to leave.

But for some reason, he couldn’t classify her sentences as “mindless”. He did admire the intrinsic details of the winter environment and she did too. She answered questions he had and hadn’t asked and he appreciated the clarification.

It was something different. It made him curious.

Jotaro shook his head, finding some form of comfort in the tips of his shoes. It’s fine. Keep going. The woman chuckled. “You know. it’s okay to say that you are-

“I’m not.” 2 more words fled his mouth in an instant, so abrupt that even she got startled from it.

“My bad then mister,” she said with that sense of optimism intact. “It’s just that you weren’t replying back as much as I spoke, so I tend to catch my words before I end up rambling.” His mind drew a blank, not knowing what to say in return.

Jotaro nodded again. A reliable gesture of acknowledgment.

“Honestly, I like your silence.” He looked back to the reflection beside his on the glass. “Because even if you don’t say anything, you listen regardless. I’ve been with too many people who don’t and the world becomes deafening that others outside can’t hear me speak to begin with.”

He had his attention trained to this stranger, head angled so slightly towards her as he increasingly grew intrigued by her words. I know how that feels.

The woman gaped, caught in a moment of realization. “I’m sorry! I ended up rambling my thoughts.”

Another nod.

“Well it’s not like I’m going to hold you back any longer. You’ve yet to make yourself at home after all.” He furrowed his brows, turning to glance at her direction for a second to decipher what she meant, only to put two-and-two together when she stared at his current outfit.

I haven’t been to my room yet.

“Get comfy. I may be new too but I bet you’ll enjoy your stay here.” The woman was about to make her leave and out of the curiosity of his mind, Jotaro turned to look at her for the first time throughout their interaction.

And there she was, staring up at him with her ever-present shine.

In a second, Jotaro took in all of her appearance- dark brown locks done in a loose chignon. fair skin without a blemish to touch, the natural blush in her cheeks the same color as her full lips, deep shining irises that was so captivating that he couldn’t stare for long before it became too much, and the cherry blossom pin holding her hair together.

Unreal. It was almost uncanny.

This woman couldn’t be real.

Whether the preoccupation with his inner dialogue bothered her or not, she remained undeterred by his silence. Turning on her heels, she looked at him with a beaming smile and waved. “See you around!” To that, he watched her walk away with nothing to say back.

Jotaro was left alone to his devices just as it was mere minutes ago, still in his casual winter wear on the same spot he stood on. And yet one short conversation out of the blue felt like something around him shifted in the subtlest way possible.

And it took less than 5 minutes of a stranger’s time to spark that muffled sense of wonder in his brain.

What was it that she said? About wanting to know what goes on in the lives of others? The idea bore similarities to a minor mystery case he’d likely write about, more so when the subject was of the lady with the blossom pin.

If the world permitted it, by any means, he wouldn’t mind encountering her again.

“See you around…”

[stalebagels]

what’s your ranking of the talk show hosts?

Oh, thank you for asking. I am so sorry for the essay I am about to write.

Highest to Lowest:

Conan O'Brien / Craig Ferguson - I put these two in the top spot because if you asked me to choose only one of them to watch for the rest of my life I wouldn't be able to do it. Both of them are people that I watched with my dad occasionally through my childhood so maybe I'm a little biased on that front. They're probably the only two hosts that I ever cared to watch interview anyone because it never felt boring to me even if I didn't really care about the interviewee or know who it was. They were both unique and just seemed like genuinely good people both inside and outside the studio (and to add to the bias a little; I got to meet Craig at one of his Fancy Rascal tour shows last year and he was so fucking great. I was so nervous going into it because I was worried he wouldn't be the same as he was on TV as is the case for a lot of celebrities, but he went above and beyond for everyone. He signed everyone's posters and merch even though he didn't have to (I got a poster signed) and he actually took the time to have a full conversation with everyone individually and make sure everyone was comfortable. He's a wonderful dude and I wish I could go back and talk to him again.)

Stephen Colbert - When I first started watching late night shows (back when the pandemic first started), the first shows I ever sat down and watched a full episode of on TV were Stephen and Conan. I had absolutely no idea who Stephen was because up until that point I hadn't really cared enough about politics. I grew up in a heavily conservative small town with a heavily conservative family in the south where the word liberal counted as an insult, so you can imagine we didn't really watch a lot of late night shows. Stephen's show helped me make sense of things, helped me work out what my own feelings were, and provided an escape from the hell that was lockdown. He was the one that made me give a shit about what's happening in this country first, and after that first sit down I ended up going back and watching old episodes of The Colbert Report and The Daily Show (he also led me to Jon in that regard, since I had no idea either of those shows existed) and found that I loved his style of comedy. I really do wish I had discovered him sooner.

Jon Stewart - The only reason I didn't stick Jon and Stephen in the number two spot together (as well as John Oliver) was because Stephen was primarily responsible for my interest in politics - basically he was for me what Jon was to everyone before he retired - and was the one who led me to Jon in the first place. It took me a while, but once I finally went back and started watching old clips and episodes of The Daily Show; once again I wished I had discovered him sooner. I wish I had his righteous, angry optimism to look forward to every night, but a lot of the things he's said and done on the show still hold true today. Plus, his fight for the 9/11 first responders bill to get passed was absolutely inspiring and an example we should all follow when it comes to pushing for change and holding our leaders accountable. I didn't realize he started out as a stand-up comedian, but I've since watched as much of it as I could get my hands on because he's just an incredibly smart and funny dude in any situation.

John Oliver - I hate to put John so low on the list but I didn't want to cop out and put him, Jon, and Stephen all in the same tier lol. I'll be honest, I can't really remember the first time I watched John's show. I think it must have been on YouTube at some point during lockdown or even right before, but ever since the first time I watched it I was hooked. I learn so much from him and his show and I always look forward to his next episode. Generally, I don't really watch guest interviews unless I really care about whoever is there, but since John doesn't have guests it was much easier for me to sit down and watch the entire thing without getting bored or distracted. He does an incredible job of informing his viewers about a problem that - chances are - they had no idea existed beforehand and the amount of research/investigation he and his team do inspire me to do the same. It was really weird watching his stand-up and seeing him in regular clothes and not a suit though lol.

Jimmy Kimmel - I think this might... be a controversial take. His was the third show I started watching during the pandemic - I think Stephen took a break at some point and I decided to try watching Kimmel to fill the time - and I found that I actually quite liked him. His monologues felt natural and easy, and he had a lot of his family and friends on his staff which I admired (plus Guillermo). His humor is kind of the same as my dad's though (sort of), so maybe that's why I liked him off the bat. His beef with Matt Damon is hilarious, his pranks are generally harmless and funny, and he seems very down to earth and generous for someone who makes a goddamn lot of money. Plus, I watched a clip of him back during the Tonight Show fiasco where he came on Leno's show and shit talked at him about backstabbing Conan, which earned some respect from me. I don't know a lot about what he did on the Man Show because I don't think I would touch that with a ten foot pole (and from what he says neither would he), but he seems like a good guy. (Although I will say I generally only stay long enough to watch the beginning of his show like the monologue or unnecessary censorship since I don't care about musical guests or interviews).

Seth Meyers - Again I hate to put him down so low, but I have to be honest and say I don't actually know a whole lot about him. I watched him on SNL sometimes with my dad when it was on, but it wasn't very often. I never watched his show during the pandemic as I was mainly focused on juggling Kimmel, Colbert, Fallon (gag) and Conan. Honestly it wasn't until Strike Force Five came around that I really started paying attention to him. I like that he involves his writers and his staff in a lot of his bits, and he seems like a lovely person. Unfortunately, though, he is down here a little lower but I still enjoy watching him even if I haven't watched a lot of his content. (His stand-up special is on my list, though)

Jimmy Fallon - This is a weird one for me. I watched Fallon a couple of times during lockdown and even before then I knew who he was because everyone hated him. It was on a whim that I decided to watch his show one night, and I wasn't really impressed with what I saw. That said, I didn't hate it - and when the Rolling Stone article came out I was very disappointed. And the fact that he just never addressed it publicly and carried on like nothing happened rubbed me the wrong way, and every monologue I did see afterwards just.. wasn't even puff-of-nose-air funny anymore. He became much more annoying to me, even during the podcast. The only time I found him funny were the Strike Force Wives games. Otherwise he just became painfully bland, and it's a shame because his original late night show was actually pretty decent in comparison to The Tonight Show.

As for Corden and M*her; if they were being chased by hundreds of angry geese and asked me to let them in my house for shelter, I'd shut the door in their face and laugh.

So, if you got to the end of this long ass clusterfuck, here are two pics of Craig and I at the tour :) and once again, I apologize.

[wellsbering]

PSA

Right now, I'm getting a lot of asks about fundraisers. I am trying to find proof that each fundraiser has been vetted before I share it, so that way people will know it's real and will actually donate. If a fundraiser hasn't been vetted, I will try to do my own research, but I live in the United States and I do not know Arabic, which makes it difficult. The best I can do is look for other social media under the same name and see if the fundraiser is also linked there, or directly contact the person behind that account and ask if they are running the fundraiser. Even then, there's a chance that person's account was hacked, so it isn't foolproof. I have shared some fundraisers like that, but now I try to wait until they are confirmed to be real before I share them.

I'm trying to be extra careful for two reasons: first, people are more likely to donate to a fundraiser that has been verified by a trusted source (like 90-ghost, nabulsi, etc.). Second, there have been a lot of people flinging about accusations of "scam rings" lately, and I don't want to give those people any ammunition. But I still feel terrible not responding to people who have asked me for help.

For now, I'm working through each ask carefully to try to make sure that I am amplifying people in need and not redirecting money that SHOULD go toward them to a scammer taking advantage of this tragedy. Please note that the vast, VAST majority of asks I've received have turned out to be real fundraisers. The only fake ones were the "on my last pen" insulin messages that pre-date the current genocide in Gaza.

If you know for a fact that someone is lying, or directly impersonating a real person with a real fundraiser, please send me an ask so I will be more likely to see it (I can't check the reblogs on every single post, there are just too many). If you don't have a solid reasoning for accusing someone beyond "I think everyone asking for money on the Internet is a liar" though, just don't reblog the post. It's that simple.

Later today I'll compile a list of the people with vetted fundraisers who have contacted me, and I'll share them here as well as on my other social media. In the meantime, I have to sit here and do my boring 🤢job🤢 so that I actually earn money that I can give to people's fundraisers.

Also, when I get a lot of asks, I try to queue them so that they post all throughout the day. That way, they can reach people in other timezones who normally use tumblr while I'm at work or asleep. I have non-fundraiser posts queued as well so people know I'm a real person still blogging about my interests and not just a bot or something (and to space out the fundraiser links more, because if people just see a wall of 10 GoFundMes in a row they're more likely to ignore them).

To everyone who contacted me from Gaza: I am on your side. I want to do, and I will do, everything I can to help you. Even if it feels like the world is ignoring you, I will not, and there are many people around the world who will not ignore you either. I pray that you and your family and your friends will find safety, and live in peace. I pray you will be healthy and find happiness and good food and a comfortable home to live in. You deserve a much better life than what you are living right now, and I am so sorry that you are in this pain.

Translated to Arabic with Google translate, I hope this makes sense:

إلى كل من اتصل بي من غزة: أنا إلى جانبكم. أريد أن أفعل، وسأفعل، كل ما بوسعي لمساعدتك. حتى لو شعرت أن العالم يتجاهلك، فأنا لن أفعل ذلك، وهناك الكثير من الأشخاص حول العالم لن يتجاهلوك أيضًا. أدعو الله أن تجد أنت وعائلتك وأصدقاؤك الأمان، وأن تعيشوا في سلام. أدعو الله أن تكون بصحة جيدة وأن تجد السعادة والطعام الجيد ومنزلًا مريحًا لتعيش فيه. أنت تستحق حياة أفضل بكثير مما تعيشه الآن، وأنا آسف جدًا لأنك تعاني من هذا الألم.

[laurasbailey]

original anon here, i'm real grateful to you and everyone else for taking the time to respond and share your input!

i'm usually better at distancing myself from online spaces, i've just kinda "relapsed" lately and went on a self-destructive deep dive ☠️ like..."i've been checking reddit", kind of self-destructive. what a long break does to a mf, i guess

i do agree with what you've all said & I'm aware that it's basic common sense in fandom spaces and beyond - if i've been enjoying c3, there's no reason to let someone else's opinion bother me. i think one of the issues is…if there's stuff that i've been enjoying less on my own, and then i see negativity around that same stuff, my brain tends to take it as confirmation that it's true lmao and i find myself suspecting that i would enjoy a sandbox-y vibe a lot, but that's not happening with the characters and story that i've been invested in since the beginning. am i making up problems in my head? definetly, and i'm actually a bit ashamed to admit that, but hey

all that being said, i absolutely love those same things you've mentioned (the focus on the ladies, this romance, the high stakes and having ashley full-time) and more, even as i have less context for it being unusual since it's my first campaign! and i obviously agree that it's not anyone's game but theirs. i wouldn't wish for them to cater to anyone's desires but their own and i'm 100% sure that what i loved from the beginning is common in every campaign - the joy and fun we get watching them enjoy themselves

truly, the negative thoughts are more related to getting too bogged down thinking of the story itself, in a way, and wishing i could see these specific characters chill a bit and explore…so basically the ticking clock problem haha i generally worry they're never gonna get to talking or resolving interpersonal issues before the campaign's over and they're not the main party anymore

sorry for the lenght of this and for bringing it to you out of the blue haha i've been overthinking on loop and since literally no one i know watches the show and i don't want to be annoying to them, i'm annoying on the internet. again, thank you so so much!!

i think i get where you’re coming from and i think you’ll enjoy c1 and 2 if that’s the case! there’s definitely a lot more meandering, and c2 doesn’t even start tackling what i would consider “the main plot” until like 50+ eps in lmao. meanwhile c1 has the high stakes of c3 but the main plot starts early and stretches for a long time.

i think since i’ve experienced both of those campaigns already, c3’s shortcomings don’t worry or bother me enough to care too much. whether the plot “sucks” or it’s “too fast” is really not that deep to me bc i just love the show in whatever form they’re willing to give it to me. it’s still funny, emotional, well-acted, etc regardless, and that’s the reason i watch to begin with, which could be different for you! also i’ve made my peace with the fact that we probably won’t get a ton of character focus this campaign, and while that is disappointing, i think being realistic helped me be chill about it all.

for other people, it’s the opposite and they expect every campaign to be like the one they like and they throw a tantrum when it’s not. if people are content to do that, that’s on them! c3 might not be for you, or you could have more of an appreciation for it after watching the other campaigns. it seems like you’re going to keep talking yourself into not liking it, whether it’s true or not.

you could always try watching another campaign and take a break from c3 stuff? it might be helpful to engage in something else if you’re stuck in a spiral of searching for the negativity. and if you do end up hating c3, it’s not a big deal either. it’s the people who don’t shut the fuck up about hating it that are annoying as hell lmao

[creepypasta-archive]

Jeff the Killer: Recall

by Mikeyboi1225

Some story i found. Sorry i'm not adding my detailed descriptions as usual i've been running on fumes lately CW// Murder i guess. too long to read rn Click here for the unedited original story

Summary

After a nearly fatal car accident in the dark of night, a mysterious boy wakes up in a hospital with no memory of who he was before. His amnesia isn't the strangest about him: his face is scarred beyond recognition, wounds that didn't come from the accident. Taken in by the driver who hit him, the amnesiac settles into a daily routine. But when his memories begin to slowly return, a darkness begins to stir.

This story was inspired by two songs, one which tells the story of a monster who didn't know how to be anything else, and another where the singer looks upon his past misdeeds and seeks redemption for them. If you aren't fond of redemption stories, I recommend looking for an X Reader. There are plenty to be found. My goal in writing this tale is to take the Creepypasta characters I grew up with and tell a new story all my own. If that's the kind of thing you go for, then you've come to the right place.

If you enjoy the story, be sure to give it a kudo, and let me know what you think in the comments!

Chapter 1: The Accident

Walter Jefferson was tired.

He'd had a long, hard day at work. It was December 11th, and the Oakwood County Post Office was a busy place in the weeks leading up to Christmas. He'd gotten off at 10:30, and he was almost home. As he made the turnoff onto the road that led to his house, his cellphone rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw that his wife Margaret was calling.

"Oh, I'm in for it now," he chuckled to himself. Walter answered the call, putting Margaret on speaker.

"Hi, Maggie," he answered cheerfully.

"Hey, Walter," replied Margaret. Unlike his, her voice was wide awake. "It's almost eleven at night. You haven't been abducted by aliens, have you?"

"As a matter of fact, I have, honey," he replied. "They've got big teeth and antennas, and they're pulling out all kinds of terrible devices. I think they're gonna probe me."

"Right," answered Margaret with a chuckle. "Can you tell them that if my husband isn't home in fifteen minutes, I'll have to blast their flying saucer out of the sky?"

Walter laughed with amusement.

"I'll pass on the message, honey. See you in a bit. I love you."

"I love you too, Walter," Margaret replied with a dramatic smooching noise. "Drive safely."

"I will," answered Walter, and hung up the phone.

"Always so worried about- OH MY GOD!"

Walter slammed his foot down on the breaks with all his weight. Someone was crossing the road. The pedestrian had appeared out of nowhere. Walter swerved to avoid him, but it was too late. The vehicle slammed into the figure like a rhinoceros, sending the body rag-dolling over the top of the car. Walter could hear it thumping as it rolled over the roof.

"Dear Lord," choked Walter as he tore off his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car.

He ran to the lifeless body in the road and rolled it face-up. It was a young man, around sixteen years old. He had on a white hoodie and black dress pants. The clothes were bloodied and battered, and blood oozed from the boy's skull.

Walter's stomach churned. He knelt and checked for a pulse. The boy was still alive! Walter ran to his car and grabbed his phone, frantically dialing 911. The voice on the other end responded quickly.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My name is Walter Jefferson, and I am at the intersection of Shaw and West! I just hit a guy with my car. He's alive, but he needs an ambulance!"

"Sir, please remain calm and stay on the line. Help is on the way."

"Thank you," answered Walter gratefully.

The young man's eyes fluttered open. He focused on Walter.

"Wha- what happened?" he asked weakly, his voice scarcely a whisper. "Where am I?"

"Oh, God," croaked Walter. "He's awake."

Walter dropped to his knees, taking the boy by the hand.

"I am so sorry," whispered Walter. "You're going to be alright, I promise. Help is on the way."

The young man's eyes lost focus, and he drifted out of consciousness.

Chapter 2: The Ambulance

"Look at me, buddy," said the paramedic as he gave the boy a shot of morphine. "Keep looking at my eyes, okay?"

The young man's eyes kept fluttering. He opened them and focused on the paramedic.

"Who- who are you?" he pleaded, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

"My name is Mark. I'm a paramedic, and we're taking you to a hospital. I gave you some morphine to help with the pain. How are you feeling, buddy?"

The patient' s eyes closed.

"Woah, buddy," called Mark, gently slapping the patient's cheek. "Don't do that to me, alright? Just keep looking at my eyes.

"O-okay," slurred the patient.

"Good," replied Mark, smiling. "What's your name?"

The kid looked puzzled.

"I don't- I don't remember," he answered. His brow was furrowed deeply. Suddenly, his eyes grew wider than they already were.

"I can't remember my name! I can't remember anything! Why can't I remember anything?"

The patient tried to sit up, and then cried out in pain. Mark lowered him back onto the stretcher.

"You don't want to do that, buddy," Mark cautioned. "You've got some broken ribs. Just be still and stay calm. Jeffrey, hand me those sedatives. We need to calm him down."

The boy gasped twice, once from pain and once from realization.

"What is it, buddy?" asked Mark as he prepared the sedative shot. "What's the matter?"

"Jeffrey. . . my name. . . I remember. My name is Jeff."

He tried to sit up again, but Mark stopped him.

"Nice to meet you, Jeff. Can you lie still for me, Jeff?"

Jeff nodded his head obediently as Mark injected him in the shoulder with anesthesia.

"Everything's going to be okay, Jeff," said Mark with a soothing tone. "You just go to sleep."

"Uhhnn. . ." Jeff tried to speak, but before he could form the words, he had drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 3: Room 114

"So, he just ran into the street?" the officer asked as he wrote Walter's account of the event down in a notepad.

"Yes," answered Walter, rubbing his hands together nervously. He sat in the waiting room of the Oakwood County Medical Center, telling his story to a policeman. "I didn't even see him until he was twenty feet away. I tried to brake, but it. . ."

Walter shook his head. The situation seemed surreal. Had he actually just struck a teenage boy with his car? It didn't seem possible.

The officer put a consoling hand on Walter' shoulder.

"You did a good job calling 911. Too many folks would have just panicked."

"Walter!"

Walter looked up to see Margaret running to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. He stood up from his seat and embraced her.

"Is everything okay? Are you hurt? What happened? I was so scared, Walter!"

The officer stood, pocketing his notepad.

"I have everything I need for now, Mr. Jefferson. The department will contact you if we need anything else."

The officer turned to go, giving the couple a moment alone. Margaret buried her face in Walter's shoulder, wetting it with her tears. Walter struggled to find the words. He took a deep breath.

"Right after I hung up," he began, letting the momentum of his thoughts carry him along, "a kid - a teenager, I think - ran out in front of me."

"Oh, God," whispered Margaret.

Walter pressed his forehead against her shoulder, holding himself together despite the attempts of every one of his atoms to break down.

"I hit him, Maggie," he whispered into her ear. "I. . . I hit that kid. I don't even know if he's alive or not."

Margaret tightened her grasp on Walter, running a hand up and down his back to comfort him.

"It was an accident, Walter. He'll be okay. I'm certain of it."

Walter sobbed once into her shoulder, and clenched his teeth to keep himself composed.

"There was so much blood on him, Maggie. I-I've never seen so much. His clothes were soaked."

"Shhhhh," whispered Maggie, cradling the back of Walter' s head in her arms.

Just then, a nurse walked over to the waiting area.

"Walter Jefferson?" she asked, reading off her clipboard.

Walter pulled reluctantly away from Maggie, drying his eyes with his shirt collar.

"Yes, that's me," he replied.

"The boy is out of surgery. The doctor would like to see you. Please, follow me."

The nurse turned and walked into the hallway. Walter started after her, but stopped as he felt Maggie's hand on his shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault, Walter," she said reassuringly.

"Thanks, Maggie," he gratefully replied with one last look at his wife before following the nurse.

The nurse led Walter down a maze of hallways and doors. At length, she stopped in front of a door, Room 114. The metal "4" appeared to be falling off. Walter prayed that wasn't a bad omen.

"Wait here," ordered the nurse.

She walked off in the direction they had come, leaving Walter standing alone before the door of Room 114. He fidgeted nervously as he waited. Walter glanced into the room to see what he could see. He could just barely see the young man - his victim - lying in the hospital bed. His head was wrapped in gauze, but that wasn't what drew Walter' s attention.

Walter started into the room. He tried to stop himself, but he was in a trance. Step by step by step, he drew closer and closer to the sleeping patient. Soon, he was standing at the head of the hospital bed, looking down at the comatose teenager. The boy slept peacefully. His chest rose and fell with each breath. Walter stared down at the boy's face in horror.

My God, thought Walter. Did I do this to him?

The boy's face was horrifying. His eye sockets were scarred with gray patches, and his eyelids were mangled so that they appeared to be open. His cheeks were marred with deep gashes that curled upwards from his lips, twisting his face into a hideous, demonic grin.

At that moment, the boy's eyes focused on him.

"Walter Jefferson!"

Chapter 4: Good News, Bad News

"Walter Jefferson?" asked the doctor a second time.

Walter cradled hid chest in his hands. The boy's eyes darted off in another direction, then another. He was asleep. He hadn't looked at Walter at all.

"Yes," Walter replied, breathing heavily. "I'm Walter Jefferson."

"I'm sorry," the doctor apologized, looking at Walter with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Dr. Walton. I examined the patient as soon as they brought him in. There are a few things that you need to know."

Walter cleared his throat and nodded his head.

"Tell me."

"Fortunately," the doctor began, "there were no vital organs damaged in the accident. Now, he's got four broken ribs, a fractured clavicle, and a concussion, but he'll live."

Walter took a deep breath of hope and glanced over his shoulder at the boy.

"That's good. That's great!"

The doctor nodded.

"It is. Less so is my second piece of news."

"Go on," prodded Walter.

"The concussion seems to have caused some damage. According to the paramedics who brought him in and what little I could get him to say, the patient is amnesiac."

The color drained from Walter's face until he was paler than the boy.

"You mean he. . . oh God. . ."

The doctor nodded again.

"Unfortunately, he seems to have forgotten nearly everything about himself. He has no idea who he is or where he's from. We don't even know if he has any family we need to call," explained Dr. Walton. "The only thing we could get out of him was his name."

"What is it?"

"Jeff."

"Just Jeff?"

"He only remembers his first name."

Walter collapsed into a chair next to the hospital bed and put his head in his hands.

"So I took his face and his memories," Walter sobbed.

Dr. Walton cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean 'took his face'?"

"The wounds on his face," said Walter. "You can' t exactly miss them."

Dr. Walton cleared his throat.

"Those wounds aren't fresh. They're scars, and they certainly didn't come from the accident."

Walter looked up.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Those scars are old. He's had them for at least a few years," replied Dr. Walton.

Walter looked back at the face of the sleeping patient.

"Then where did they come from?"

Dr. Walton shrugged dramatically.

"That, along with everything else about him, is something we'd all like to know."

Chapter 5: Waking Up

His mind was blank, totally bereft of the thoughts and details that made up a person. He found himself swimming through a sea of emptiness. The dark, icy waves grasped and tossed, and he fought to keep his head above water.

Up ahead, he saw something floating, like an inner tube. He swam towards it, praying that he wouldn't sink. Three feet from the tube he lunged, but missed. The tube was thrown a little further away by the churning waves. He lunged again. This time, he caught the edge of it.

He clung to the tube for dear life, pressing his face into the side of it. As he did, he noticed a word painted on the side. It was written in rough, scratchy letters that dripped red down the side: Jeff.

His name. The only memory he had left, and the only thing keeping him above the churning sea of despair. He looked down through the hole in the tube's center. He froze.

A hideous face grinned back at him from the water. Its features were twisted into a lopsided, nightmarish smile that went beyond frightening. Its eyes were wider than seemed possible, and edged with dark circles that added a manic hunger to them.

The fiendish face spoke.

"You can't escape me," it said. "I'll find you again. Now, go to sleep- er, I mean, wake up."

Jeff blinked.

"WAKE UP!"

Jeff bolted upright in his hospital bed, breathing heavily and covered in cold sweat. The window was open, letting the sunlight in. His head felt like a blacksmith had been using it for an anvil. He tried to look down at himself, but his head wouldn't move. His neck was in a brace, and his collarbone burned when he tried to move his head.

Must be broken, thought Jeff.

He moved his hand along his chest. There were thick bandages.

Ribs broken as well.

Just then, a nurse came into the room, rolling an IV drip along with her. When she saw Jeff was awake, she smiled warmly and waved.

"Good morning, Jeff," she said with pleasant sweetness. "I'm Nurse Elayna, and I'll be taking care of you."

Jeff found himself looking at Elayna for a long time. She had a headful of curly red hair and deep blue eyes. She was very pretty. Finally, he forced himself to speak.

"Hi, Elayna," he said. "Where am I?"

"You're in the Oakwood County Medical Center. Do you remember what happened?" she asked.

Jeff sighed.

"I don't remember much. My name. I remember bits and pieces of the accident. The headlights. The pain. And the angel."

Nurse Elayna looked puzzled.

"Angel?"

"He was there," assured Jeff. "He was standing behind the driver who hit me when he called 911. He was so tall. He said. . . he said. . ."

Elayna stood by the IV drip expectantly.

"What did the angel say?" she asked encouragingly.

Jeff shrugged, which led to a sigh of pain.

"I don't remember."

Nurse Elayna nodded compassionately.

"That's understandable. You have a concussion. It also seems that, as a result, you have amnesia. You've lost your memory. Well, most if it."

Nurse Elayna exchanged his IV bag and then turned to face him.

"Can I get you anything, Jeff?"

Jeff looked back at Elayna.

"There is one thing," said Jeff quietly. "Could you bring me a mirror?"

Nurse Elayna pursed her lips and looked away.

"The doctor will be in soon," she answered. "He will be able to take care of that for you."

Before Jeff could respond, Nurse Elayna hurried out of the room.

Chapter 6: Breakfast at the Jeffersons'

Margaret was having trouble getting Walter to go back to bed. It was Saturday, the day after the accident, and his Christmas vacation had begun. And he was absolutely miserable.

They had gotten home from the hospital at 3:30 AM, and they had gone straight to bed. Or, at least, Margaret had. Walter had turned on the television and plopped down on the couch. He stared blankly into space, ignoring the TV. At five in the morning, he had finally come to bed. He had slept until seven. He simply couldn't get the boy - Jeff - off his mind.

"He doesn't remember anything," Walter had told her. "He knows nothing about himself. That's on me."

"No, it isn't," Margaret had told him. "You can't blame yourself for an accident. Anyone could have hit that boy. It just happened to be you."

Now, he sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock. Margaret walked over and sat down next to him.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked.

Walter shook his head.

"How about some coffee?"

Same response.

"Visiting hours start at eleven," said Walter. "I'd like visit him sometime this week."

He fixed her with a pleading look.

"Will you come with me? I want to talk to him. To Jeff."

"Of course I will," she said, taking his hands in her own. "I am just as worried about that boy as you are. I just want you to stop beating yourself up. Skipping breakfast and depriving yourself of sleep aren't going to help him. You know that, right?"

Walter turned his head to look into her eyes. His own, she saw, were filled with tears. He took a deep breath.

"I know, Maggie," he said. "I'm. . . scared, is all."

"I know you are," she told him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "I am too. But it's going to work itself out. I know it is."

Walter wiped his eyes and kissed her back.

"What would I do without you?"

"Fall on your face," she answered. "Now sit tight. I'll make you some scrambled eggs and coffee. You're going to eat, understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Walter as Margaret stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Chapter 7: Reflections

Dr. Walton stood outside Room 114, looking in at his patient. The boy called Jeff was awake, staring straight up the ceiling. Not that he much choice, considering the condition of his eyelids.

Poor kid, mused Dr. Walton. Who are you? And what the hell happened to your face?

Dr. Walton pushed the door open the rest of the way and entered.

"Hello, Jeff. I'm here with your eye drops," announced the doctor. He approached Jeff's head and looked down at him with a wide, friendly grin. "How are you feeling?"

Jeff looked up at him and grinned weakly. It was strange, since the gashes in his cheeks made Jeff appear to be grinning already.

"How would you feel if you got pancaked by a station wagon, Doc? Because that's about how I feel."

Dr. Walton laughed encouragingly.

"Given the circumstances, that makes sense." Dr. Walton held up the bottle of eye drops. "How about we take care of those dry eyes, big guy?"

Jeff widened his eyes for Dr. Walton as the latter squeezed a drop of moisturizing fluid onto each eyeball. Jeff's eyelids squeezed together as best they could.

"Isn't it Elayna's job to give me the eye drops?"

"Well, yes," said the doctor. "But I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd check up on you myself."

Dr. Walton pulled a chair over to the head of the bed and took a seat.

"Jeff, what can you recall from the other night? Do you remember anything from before the accident?"

Jeff sighed.

"No. Nothing. I was. . . I was crossing the road. I remember that. I don't remember why, though. Then, I was on the ground. The driver was calling for help. And, I saw the angel."

Dr. Walton nodded his head.

"Elayna told me about that. This angel, what did he look like?"

"It's pretty fuzzy," admitted Jeff. "He was very tall, at least seven feet. He had these huge billowing wings, and glowing eyes that pierced the darkness."

Jeff paused and frowned at the doctor.

"It was a hallucination, wasn't it?"

"That's possible," answered the doctor. "You did hit your head pretty hard. But I've never been one to rule out the metaphysical."

Dr. Walton gestured to Jeff's bandages.

"After all, you survived a head-on collision at forty miles-per-hour. If that isn't divine intervention, I'll turn in my doctorate."

"Maybe," said Jeff absently. His eyes stung, and he moved his eyes around beneath what remained of his eyelids to wet them. "Hey, Doc?"

"Yes, Jeff?"

"There's something I need you to do for me," Jeff told him, "and I won't take no for an answer.

Dr. Walton cocked his head to the side.

"What would that be?"

"I want you to tell me what's wrong with my face."

Dr. Walton frowned.

"What makes you think something's wrong with your face?"

"Drop the act," said Jeff. "I know something isn't right. Elayna wouldn't give me a mirror earlier. Plus, I've been feeling it all morning. It feels wrong. It feels like leather, not skin."

Jeff pointed to his eyes.

"And judging by the lack of any scabbing, I'm assuming that this isn't road rash across my eyes."

Dr. Dalton folded his hands.

"Jeff," he replied frankly, "Legally, I can't tell you no. However, I can warn you. Your current state is fragile. If you get too worked up, you might hurt yourself."

Jeff frowned. Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"That bad, huh?"

"No, Jeff, that's not. . ." Dr. Walton's voice trailed off. He bit his lip.

"Look, Doc," began Jeff. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "I'm scared. I woke up in a strange place. I don't even know who I am. And I certainly don't remember what I look like."

Jeff sniffed. A tear ran down his cheek. He dabbed at it. His fingers ran down along the ridge of the scar there, until they reached his lips. Jeff returned his gaze to the eyes of Dr. Walton.

"I want to know what this ridge I feel beneath my finger is. I want to see why my eyes don't close. I want something. . . a face to put with my own name. Can you understand that?"

Dr. Walton was speechless. Before him on the hospital bed lay his patient, a boy with nothing. He was so vulnerable, and there was only one thing in the world he wanted. But, Dr. Walton was afraid to give it to him.

Who was he to stand in Jeff's way, though? It was his duty to abide by his patients' wishes. With a reluctant sigh, he relinquished his humanity.

"Alright, Jeff," said Dr. Walton. "If that is what you want."

Dr. Walton stepped into the bathroom for a moment. When he returned, he held a plastic hand-mirror. Jeff watched him approach. It was a slow, dutiful march, like an executioner walking to the scaffold. Jeff didn't know whether to feel nervous or excited. He determined that his beating heart was a result of both.

"Here you go," whispered the doctor as he handed Jeff the mirror.

Jeff accepted the mirror from Dr. Walton and held it up before his face.

Jeff gasped at what he saw looking back at him. He had no eyebrows. His eyelids were a tattered, blackened mess that made his eyes appear wide and hungry. The rest of the flesh was white as milk, and as rough as crocodile leather. His cheeks were marred by three-inch gashes that curled up across his face like the tendrils of an evil kraken hiding beneath the surface. The wretched, ruined face seemed to grin malevolently at him from the glass.

"Oh, God," whispered Jeff. ". . . oh God."

His fingertips traveled the length of a scar, then up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. His fingers splayed across his features, and he lowered the mirror.

"Dear God. . ."

Dr. Walton rested his hand on Jeff's shoulder.

"I'll give you a moment alone."

Jeff barely heard his words. They sounded distant, like he had spoken underwater. This had been what Jeff was afraid he would see. The face he had seen in the mirror was the same face that had stared up at through the inner tube, the one from the sea of darkness. The demonic face from his dream had been his own.

Chapter 8: The Waiting Room

"Walter Jefferson, here to visit Jeff. Room 114."

Walter stood with his hands at his sides. The nurse looked up Jeff in the computer.

"Give me just one moment please," said the nurse as she stood and went into the back.

Walter waited awkwardly, drumming his fingers against the countertop. Soon, the nurse was back.

"He's being cleaned up right now," she told him, "but he should be ready in a few minutes. Just have a seat, and someone will come and take you in."

"Thank you," said Walter.

Walter turned away and walked back to the waiting area. He plopped down in a chair next to Margaret and picked up a magazine, which he perused absently.

What will he be like? Will he hate me? Will he blame me for what happened to him?

Walter didn't know what to expect. All he could do was wait and hope for the best.

Just then, a horrible thought occurred to him.

"Maggie?"

"Yes, Walter?" asked Margaret.

"What's going to happen to Jeff?"

Margaret looked at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"What if he has a family? He doesn't remember anything. He won't be able to contact anyone. He'll be all alone."

"Don't worry," urged Margaret, putting a hand on his shoulder. "His family is probably looking for him right now. They'll come for him."

Walter didn't look satisfied.

"But what if he has no family? What if he was already alone? He's at least sixteen or seventeen. What if they just ship him to a foster home until he's eighteen?"

"Walter," whispered Margaret soothingly, "everything is going to be okay."

Walter took a breath.

"I hope you're right."

Just then, a nurse walked over and stood in front of them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson?" she asked.

"That's us," said Walter, standing to his feet.

"Jeff is ready to see you."

Chapter 9: A Chance Meeting

Mark headed into the break room for lunch. He took his sandwich and root beer from the refrigerator and turned to go. As he did so, he nearly collided with a nurse who was coming behind him.

"Sorry!" squeaked Mark, bending over to pick up the paper bag he had knocked out of her hands.

As he handed her the bag, their eyes met. Hers were a gorgeous, vibrant shade of blue. Her locks of bright red hair were just as distracting.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the bag from him.

Mark couldn't tear his eyes off the girl. She cocked her head to the side and grinned.

"Are you in there?" she asked.

"Yes," said Mark, snapping back to reality and clearing his throat. "Sorry. You have. . . very pretty eyes."

The nurse laughed.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Mark replied. "Hey, wait a moment. Aren't you Elayna Johnson? Jeff's nurse?"

"Yes, I am," she answered. "How did you know?"

Mark's face darkened considerably

"Jeff's the talk of the hospital," answered Mark distastefully. "The amnesiac with the mysterious scars, and all that."

Elayna looked shocked.

"They aren't making fun of him, are they?"

"Not that I know," said Mark. "But I'm no lover of gossip either way. He's just a kid."

Elayna fixed Mark with a curious look.

"You talk as if you know him," she noted.

"I don't, exactly," replied Mark, scratching at his short brown hair. "I was with the team that brought him in, though."

He shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess I feel responsible for him, or something. You should have seen him. Helpless, afraid. You'd probably feel the same way."

Elayna nodded her head.

"I know what you mean. I've been taking care of him all week."

"Oh, yeah?" asked Mark. "How's he doing?"

Elayna frowned.

"Some days are good. Others, not so good. He's very quiet. I don't know if he's thinking, or if he just doesn't have anything to say."

Mark echoed her sad look.

"What does he do all day?"

"He mostly just stares at the ceiling," she said. "Sometimes he'll touch his face. Like he's trying to remember."

She looked at Mark.

"I think he's lonely."

Mark furrowed his brow.

"I might visit him," he said. "I'd like to see if I can't cheer him up."

Elayna smiled from ear to ear.

"I bet he would like that."

Chapter 10: Face to Face

He couldn't get it out of his mind. The image of his face haunted him like a vengeful phantom. His pale and leathery skin, bloodred lips, lidless eyes, and vicious smile stared back at him everywhere he looked.

He was a monster.

No, you're no monster. You're beautiful. Now turn that frown upside-down, dummy!

"Huh?" asked Jeff out loud. He looked around the room for the speaker. No one was there.

Did I imagine that? wondered Jeff. I gotta get out of this hospital bed.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. A nurse poked her inside the room.

"Jeff," she said sweetly, "you have visitors."

Jeff creased his forehead.

"Who?"

The nurse swung the door open and walked inside. Behind her, a man and a woman entered hand-in-hand. The man was in his late thirties with short hair and a clean-shaven face. The woman had long, flowing brown hair and a pleasant, but nervous, smile.

"Jeff," said the nurse, "this is Walter and Margaret Jefferson."

"It's you," said Jeff. "You're the one who hit me."

Walter froze. Margaret squeezed his hand encouragingly. He took a few steps forward. Jeff watched his steady approach unflinchingly.

"Come closer," said Jeff.

Walter knelt by Jeff's bedside, placing his hands on the edge.

"Son," he began, voice cracking, "I. . . I'm sorry. I didn't. . ."

Walter wiped his eyes.

". . . I didn't mean for this to happen. If I could go back, I-"

"Stop."

Walter cut off immediately. He didn't move a muscle. Jeff had spoken so suddenly, Walter's thoughts were scrambled.

Jeff took a deep breath, and grabbed Walter by the wrist.

"Mr. Jefferson," he began, "look at me. What do you see?"

Walter looked at Jeff, unsure of what to say.

"I see a teenage boy," he offered in reply.

Jeff nodded his head.

"And what more than that?"

Walter looked over his shoulder at Margaret. She had one hand over her mouth. Tears were welling up inside her eyes. He looked back to Jeff.

"I don't understand."

Jeff reached up with his free hand and ran a finger along his cheek.

"Yes, you do."

". . . scars," Walter managed.

"Bingo," said Jeff. "Ugly ones. And who knows how I got them? It must have been horrible."

Jeff pulled Walter a little closer.

"Could you live with yourself if you looked the way I do?"

Walter's heart was beating faster. Was Jeff angry with him? Where was he going with this?

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's entirely possible I wanted you to hit me," answered Jeff. "What if I stepped in front of you on purpose?"

Walter was speechless.

"It was no one's fault, Mr. Jefferson," continued Jeff.

He let go of Walter's wrist and took him by the hand.

"It just happened. No amount of blubbering on either of our parts is going to change that."

Tears ran down Walters face as Jeff spoke. Jeff hadn't just forgiven him. Jeff had told him that he had dine nothing wrong. Walter couldn't find words to describe how grateful he was. All that he could was squeeze Jeff's hand and cry his tears of joy.

Margaret approached the opposite side of Jeff's bed.

"Jeff, when they release you, how would you like to come and stay with Walter and me for a little while?"

Jeff's blinkless eyes widened.

"You. . . you want me to stay with you? Like. . . at your house?"

"Of course!" replied Walter joyfully. He looked up at his wife, and their eyes met. She winked at him. He smiled back.

"But. . . why?" asked Jeff. "I'm. . . nit exactly good company."

"Nonsense!" argued Margaret. "You're a sweet boy, and we would love to have you around. Besides, it's the least we can do until your real family comes for you."

"My real family. . ." repeated Jeff.

He had thought about them a lot over the past week. He didn't know who they were, or if they even existed. But he had wondered who they might be. He wondered if they were looking for him right now.

"What do you say?" asked Walter.

"I. . . I would love to," said Jeff.

Margaret leaned over and kissed Jeff on his gauze-wrapped forehead.

"We'll come to visit you every day until then," she said.

Jeff yawned, a huge yawn that nearly sit his head in two.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm. . . very tired all of a sudden. . ."

The nurse stepped forward.

"I think we should let him rest."

"Of course," said Walter, letting go of Jeff's hand. "Go to sleep, Jeff. We'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll see you then," mumbled Jeff as he began to drift off.

Margaret and Walter turned to follow the nurse out into the hall.

"Mrs. Jefferson?"

Margaret turned to look back into the room.

"Yes, Jeff?"

"Didn't the nurse say your name was Margaret?"

"Yes," she said. "Margaret Katherine Jefferson. Why do you ask?"

A headache nagged behind Jeff's eye, and he put his hand to his temple reflexively.

"I. . . I think I knew someone named Margaret. Someone close to me."

Chapter 11: Interesting Developments

"Erika Langford, twenty-two years old. Cut up in the middle of the night."

Agent Vince Brewer stood over the body of the victim, hands tucked away in the pockets of his suit coat. He regarded the crime scene with a somber expression. He had seen hundreds like it before, but it never got any easier. Still, not everyone had what it took to do his job.

He gestured to the sheets, which had been ripped from the bed, and an overturned lamp.

"There was a struggle," he noted. "She was awake when it happened."

"We guessed that, too," replied the officer in charge of the crime scene. "The killer came in, probably startled her awake, struggled with her, then shoved a knife in her gut. Slashed her face a little bit for good measure, too."

"It sounds to me like you guys have this under control," replied Agent Brewer with some annoyance. "Why contact the Bureau?"

"There's the kicker," replied the officer. "Right this way."

The officer led Agent Brewer across the room, careful to avoid disturbing the crime scene. Agent Brewer was just as careful. The officer stopped, gesturing to the window.

"This is how our killer got in."

The window was open, and the curtains were drawn. Bloody handprints lined the fabric. A few were plastered across the windowsill, revealing that the window had served as an exit as well as an entrance.

Agent Brewer's eyes were wide with surprise. He clenched his jaw and turned and stormed out of the room, taking long and deliberate strides. The officer hurried to keep up with him.

"There's more!" he called.

Agent Brewer ignored him and continued. He marched out through the front door, down the porch steps, and around the house. He didn't stop until he could see the window from the outside. The moment it came into view, something else did. It was difficult to see in the dying sunlight, but it was there.

Agent Brewer had taken down many a serial killer in his career with the FBI. One thing he had learned was that, to some of them, it was a game. They loved to play the game, and they loved to be recognized for playing. They lived for the coverage their dark craft received, for the names the media gave them. So, to facilitate this, some killers left behind a calling card. Agent Brewer had seen this particular calling card many times over the past three years.

The officer ran up alongside Agent Brewer and stopped to catch his breath. 

"Now you know why we got ahold of the Bureau."

Agent Brewer clenched his fists as he approached the side of the house. The walls were painted white. There was no missing the message scrawled beneath the window. It was written in bright red letters. The medium had dripped, leaving long run lines beneath each letter.

"What is that written in?" asked Agent Brewer, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

"What do you think?" retorted the officer.

The message was simple. There were three words and nine letters in all, and each letter was capitalized. 

GO TO SLEEP.

Agent Brewer closed his eyes. He felt like someone had punched him right between the eyes. 

"That's it, ain't it?" asked the officer. "That's the Grin's handiwork, right?"

Agent Brewer opened his mouth to respond when something moved out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head to look. It had been a momentary flicker of movement.

"Did you see that?" asked Agent Brewer.

"See what?" asked the officer. "All I see is some bloody graffiti and an open window."

Agent Brewer looked down at his feet. He noticed that his shadow had lengthened considerably as the sunk sank. His hat had almost reached the top of the house.

Agent Brewer wasn't wearing a hat.

"I need a moment alone," said Agent Brewer, turning to face the officer."

The officer furrowed his brow, but nodded. He didn't feel like arguing with a Fed today.

"Suit yourself, agent," muttered the officer as he turned to go. "See you back inside when you're ready."

"Thank you," said Agent Brewer, who returned his attention to his shadow once the officer was out of sight.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

His shadow seemed to lean forward from the wall. It shrank, contorted, and lost all shape, like a two-dimensional cloud of smoke on the wall. Soon, it was no taller than the agent, and it began to take human form once more: flowing trench coat, wide-brimmed fedora, and a walking cane held in the right hand. Two miniscule spheres of red light gazed out at Agent Brewer from where the figure's eyes should have been. It was a living shadow, standing there against the wall before him.

The shadow man replied with a deep, gravelly voice that seemed to echo from every surface, even the ones in Agent Brewer's mind.

"I came to check up on you," replied the shadow. "You are busy?"

"Am now," answered Brewer, waving his hand at the bloody message.

The shadow studied the message for a moment.

"Hmmm," it mused thoughtfully. "The Grin. A dangerous killer. Certainly not someone you want running around free."

"Don't give me that," scoffed Agent Brewer. "You probably know who he is already. You've just been holding out on me for three years."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," whispered the shadow. "I keep many secrets."

"So why are you here?" asked Agent Brewer, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I come bearing a gift."

The shadow stepped forward, away from the wall, now taking up three dimensions. The shadow man held something out towards Brewer. It was something sealed in plastic. Brewer stepped forward to get a better look.

It was a blood-spattered kitchen knife.

"The murder weapon," explained the shadow, "used to kill Erika Langford."

Agent Brewer reached out, accepting the sealed knife from the shadow man. He held it up to the dying light, studying the blade. It was covered in scraped marks, beaten, battered, and bloodied.

"Where the hell did you find this?" he asked.

"One gift at a time," replied the shadow, holding up an ebony finger and wagging it back and forth. "It should suffice to say that something has happened on my side. There's been an interesting development. I'm curious to see how it will play out."

The shadow man turned his back to Agent Brewer. He began to melt back into the agent's shadow, silently and swiftly.

"What about the Grin?" called Agent Brewer.

The figure was gone, but one final reply came whispering from within the shadows.

"Look for him."

Chapter 12: Merry Christmas, Happy New Life

Notes:

Salutations, my lovely readers! This chapter is long overdue, but now that I have finished my education I think can get on a regular schedule.

You can expect updates on Jeff the Killer: Recall every Friday evening, the good Lord willing. As for my other works, I will be updating them as time allows. I have many original projects in the works, as well as a potentially big opportunity on the way.

Eyes up. The Mysterious Realm is unforgiving!

Margaret.

He tossed and turned in the bed, eyes darting back and forth beneath his mangled eyelids. His pale, slender fingers grasped at sweat-soaked sheets. His feet kicked at some unseen foe, something watching him from the darkness.

Jeff's dreams were getting worse.

Margaret.

In a realm beyond this one, Jeff sat on a cold floor, knees drawn against his chest. His lips trembled as he whispered the word over and over.

Margaret. Who was she?

He ran his fingers through his wild hair. They came back wet with sweat. Jeff clenched his fists, searching desperately for memories that weren't there. 

Who was Margaret?

"Who cares?"

Jeff jumped to his feet. The new voice was familiar, unpleasant, and it startled him.

"H-hello?"

"Hello."

Jeff spun around, throwing up his hands to protect himself. The voice had come from behind.

"Wh-who's there?" Jeff demanded.

From the darkness, a shape began to manifest. It was horrible, a beastly silhouette. Its crimson eyes glared hungrily at Jeff from the shadows.

"We are. No one else."

Jeff trembled. The creature's eyes demanded his attention; he couldn't look away, though he tried.

"Who are you?" Jeff croaked.

The silhouette seemed to slither through the darkness, eyes never blinking, never straying. It inched forward, little by little, until those horrible eyes were just in front of Jeff's.

"How could you forget me?" the shape asked. There was almost genuine hurt in its voice, as though it was sad that Jeff didn't recognize it.

Suddenly, Jeff found himself seized in an icy, crushing grasp. Frigid tendrils of shadow wrapped around his body, pinning his arms helplessly to his sides. He struggled, but it was moot. Wicked glee glinted in the crimson eyes of the beast as the shadows of its face began to swirl and pull aside. Within, a new face peered back. Jeff gasped.

"Beautiful, aren't I?" it asked.

Jeff squeezed his eyes shut. His mangled eyelids did nothing to conceal the horror that now held him in its clutches. He screamed, a scream that went beyond the dream.

Then, he was sitting upright in bed, chilled sweat dribbling down his sides and neck. His hands trembled at his sides. He raised them before his face, flexing his fingers to make the shaking stop.

He had been having the same dream for a while now. His mind went back to Christmas Day. The Jeffersons had been there. Mark and Elayna had been there, too. Even Dr. Walton had stopped by. All of them had gotten him gifts.

"Oh, geez. . ." Jeff had muttered, sinking lower onto the hospital bed. "I wish you hadn't."

"Nonsense," Margaret had said with a wave of her hand. "Now get to opening."

Walter and Margaret had gotten Jeff a long, insulated leather jacket that went down well past the knees.

"To keep you warm when you finally go outside," said Margaret.

"And look here," said Walter, pointing to the chest. "It comes with a reflector. Now you can cross the street at night."

Jeff was silent for a moment. 

"I love it," he said at last, running his hands over the leather. He enjoyed the way it felt. "Thank you both."

"My turn," said Elayna, presenting Jeff with a box wrapped in snowmen and reindeer. Inside was a portable CD-player, complete with headphones and a few CDs ready to go.

"I know how much you like music," she told him. "Now you can listen as often as you want."

Jeff looked through the CDs. They were all groups Elayna had introduced him to, that he loved to listen to: Linkin Park, Skillet, and more.

"Thank you so much," said Jeff, hugging Elayna around the neck.

"Anything for my little work brother," she replied with a giggle, hugging him back.

"You've still got one more," said Mark. He plopped a very small box down on the bed in Jeff's lap. The box was about the size of a TV remote. It was wrapped in simple red paper, with a little green bow holding it shut.

"What is it?" asked Jeff, turning it over in his hands.

"Only one way to find out," replied Mark, smirking and crossing his arms.

Carefully, Jeff slipped a finger under the edges of the tape, pulling it away little by little.

"Oh come on, we're not saving the paper," protested Mark. "Open it up!"

Jeff caved and ripped the paper away with a flick of his wrist. His mouth fell open. His voicebox cracked in two. Words tried to form on the tip of his tongue, but something powerful kept them at bay.

The present was a little box, bound in a faux leather material and hinged in the back. With trembling fingers, Jeff opened the box. Inside, his expectations were fulfilled tenfold. There rested a pair of sunglasses, with firm black plastic temples and thick dark lenses.

"I. . . I. . ."

"Look, I'm not saying you need them," stammered Mark, "just that, you know, with the sun, and with your eyes, and with the drops-"

Jeff's arms were around Mark before he could stammer out another syllable, his face buried deep in his friend's shirt.

". . . thank you," was all Jeff could croak through the raging torrent of feelings that swept over him. Mark put an arm around Jeff's shoulder in turn.

"You're welcome, little buddy."

Jeff pulled away from his friend's embrace, turning his eyes upon the room. Within the four light blue walls of the hospital room were the only five people in the world Jeff knew. They cared for him, and he for them. Warmth. Peace. Gratitude. Companionship Belonging. They all seemed to surge within him simultaneously.

No!

Jeff jolted, arcing his back and grabbing at his temple. 

"Wh-what?" he mumbled aloud.

"You okay, buddy?" asked Mark, reaching out. Jeff's vision swirled. He saw Mark's face, Mark's stupid face, giving him that coddling look. Why, he ought to reach out and grab Mark by his skinny little neck. . .

A wave of shame and horror shot through Jeff like an electrified bullet. Those thoughts were evil, twisted and monstrous. They couldn't have been his. At least, he didn't want them to be his. 

"I. . ." Jeff struggled. He could feel his eyes shaking in his sockets. Darkness was coming.

"Easy there," said Dr. Walton, hurrying over. "He's just exhausted. Give him some space, Mark."

Jeff had felt cold hands as they took him by the wrist, and colder hands as they took him by the mind.

That had been Christmas. For the first time he could remember, Jeff had known joy. Something had taken that joy from him.

Jeff seized the pocket mirror from his nightstand, staring intently into the crystal glass. His twisted reflection looked back at him. He bit his lip timidly. He hoped, he prayed, that a dream was all it had been.

[kirric-the-fan]

There's a problem with Tropical Rouge Precure.

So I've been watching precure of late, and something odd started happening when I got to Tropical Rouge: I frequently zoned out or mentally switched off from the story during the episodes, particularly in the first half of the season, which isn't something that had happened with other series in quite the same way.

I've been thinking about it, and It's taken me a little while, but I think I've figured out exactly why (and it's quite interesting from a writer's/narrative perspective.) (And if you've been struggling to get into it yourself, you might benefit from watching EPs 30 onwards)

Tropical Rouge's issue, is that it lacks driving narrative, which for a series with motivation as its theme, is a massive faux pas. It commits the cardinal sin of being boring.

This mainly applies to episodes 1-29. The issue is, we have the setup of Gran Ocean being in danger from the witch of delays and her minions, Laura being sent away to find the pretty cure, and then...nothing. She just sort of hangs out in the human world occasionally stopping the Yaranedas, and seems to forget about her home entirely.

This situation isn't helped by the lack of character development too- there's barely any in the first half of the season (at least, any that sticks), and while the activities the tropical club get up to are fun, it ends up becoming a bit too dull and repetitive monster of the week stuff as a result.

It's also the only precure series where I've got halfway through, and I still can't remember all the cures human names because they've been that forgettable. In fact, beyond Laura and Manatsu, I still couldn't remember the others names!

(For context, the only cure whose human name I've forgotten before is Chiyu, and that was a. After I'd watched the series and had seen other series too, and b. Because I mentally got stuck on Saaya and forgor (sorry Chiyu! Blue cure blindness. But I did remember you weren't called Saaya. I just couldn't remember your actual name!)

Returning to Laura and her lack of action: okay, it'd be understandable from one point of 'she's been told to find the pretty cure, and they'll help', but then like, yeah okay they don't know what they're doing. But Laura never pushes the matter, and it comes across like she doesn't care about what's happening to her home, and then we don't care.

All it would take is Laura to be a little more invested in protecting her home, maybe berating the cures for being so inept (maybe implying they're unmotivated), and the Cures seeking to respond to that, to add that connection and driving narrative through the season.

Ofc, the response from the cures would be that actually, they don't know how to be cures, or save Gran Ocean either, and while trying to get stronger and save a whole kingdom would be overwhelming, focusing on what they can do in the moment, and what's important in the moment will play to their strengths, keep them growing, and keep them going through. (And preserve their motivation). Which ties back nicely into the tropical club and its activities. Those activities would also naturally boost their cure skills (which I'm surprised we didn't see more of), and doing a wide variety of activities like that should naturally boost each of their character development (which is another bugbear, as it seems almost non-existent before episode 30. Like there's very little beyond the character's introductory episodes that seems to stick.)

Like, character-wise, Laura could still be keen to become the queen, but it could be used as more of a mask for her missing home. It would make her character a bit more likeable, as she is in danger of coming across as too obnoxious sometimes.

Before anyone says 'It's a kids show, it doesn't need a strong narrative', please know I am comparing it directly to other precure seasons: every single one is a kids show, and every single one (I have seen so far, 14-15/20) has had some cross season purpose, or even a distinct per-episode storyline (another point where Tropical Rouge seem to be weak. Even where the club is setting up activities for other clubs, there seems to be limited consequences or payoff for things going wrong/right. There's not so much to get invested in early on from a narrative point. It tends to be a bit wishy-washy, which isn't good, and a sunny upbeat coating can only go so far.)

So yeah. I think the most frustrating thing is that the potential was there, but the writing seemed to almost like constantly stop short.

Which for a series about motivation...

...almost feels like they were lacking it.

(And one additional comment about the movie: there was a moment in the movie, which I thought seemed to sum up all the series issues very well: when they all start singing towards the end, the characters do nothing but sing. For almost the whole song, all we see is them. As perfectly stationary characters, singing. There's no movement besides their mouths. It's boring, it drags, and it was the perfect opportunity to be showing all the MC's memories of the place the song was about. A simple narrative/directing choice that would have added depth and connection to the scene. And they didn't. I don't know whether it was a cost-cutting measure for whatever reason, but the sheer lack of any movement or emotion in the scene (beyond the actual vocal work, which was very nice. But if that's not well conveyed onto the characters, then what's the point?) kills it. It was immensely frustrating, and made me wonder if there were moments like that which dragged down the TV series pacing too (not that I specifically picked up anything like that during the watch, I will caveat that. )

TL;DR: Tropical Rouge lacks driving main storyline, has weak character development in the first half, and there is a moment in the movie that has cheap directing choices, which makes me wonder if that happened at times in the series too contributing to pulling it down.

Shorter TL;DR: Setting's great, storytelling; not so much.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

Hello i have read your entire collection of fics and i gotta say. Wow . what a Talent for the Grime. im not a 2doc girlie unfortunately but I've been softened. won over. I can now see 2doc and go "well that's very interesting. I wanna see where this author goes w it" instead of the general feeling of he would Not fucking say that. bc the truth isthat maybe he would . say those things he says in your fics etc. You understand. Most of all i have an appetite for grime and i have had it Saciated. i saved the plastic beach fics for the end bc i knew they'd be the ones id be more predisposed 2wards and while i was right i will say -> paula fic sweep. i love ms cracker she's such a cunt. as a dyke well all i can say is come 2 bed sweetheart your horrible mean gross standoffish attitude is wasted on a rockstar like stuart. I haven't read a hotter woman in a while Congrats. um but yeah also the plastic beach fics i left some comments bc oysters got to me Bad i never fully felt the impact of plastic beach from a murdoc perspective w such INCISIVENESS and POWER just the fucking spiraling horror of putting yourself in that position out of desperation and PRIDE??? god. GOD. and then the fic you have pinned. the fic that.made me check out your ao3. god . ive been in bad relationships that hurt me greatly and i had to keep seeing the.person. It was So cathartic. the mixing of 2ds identity w murdocs the enmeshment the. The

sorry 4.the.long ask im a little drunk but you HAVE to know you have got a NEW BIG FAN

i wanna see.more of your noodle and cyborg noodle :( noodlez mean so much 2me and 2d and noodle in seething coast got to me so fucking bad. russ' small role also got me weeping but not as much as 2d and bday girl noodle ending did. your 2d is perhaps the most interesting read ive seen on the character so far .

This message brought so much joy to my night, as did your comments on AO3! I apologize for my lateness; I absolutely intend to respond to them over there (as far as my intentions go for the foreseeable future I will always respond to comments or asks, so long as anyone is kind enough to stop by! It just takes a few days sometimes, whoops) but I'm so enchanted by the ephemeral nature of the drunk message, I've got to let you know I've seen it, haha.

I love the sentence "unfortunately, I am not a 2Doc girlie" as it feels quite backwards from the other side of it. I would say, being someone who has written exclusively 2Doc stories for their fanfiction career and runs a bizarrely devoted 2Doc blog years longer than they ought to have, being a 2Doc girlie is an unfortunate thing to be. I wouldn't blame you having apprehensions! If you can believe it, when I got into Gorillaz I would avoid the shipping element altogether and skip past any 2Doc that popped up along my way; I also felt a sense of... neutrality to profound disinterest toward it, and had things gone differently after I may have bowed out without any lasting words exchanged and moved forward along the fandom line, as so many do. I felt some sense of shame, I think, to admit I was reshaping the characters by my own wants, but I accept now that this is what Gorillaz fandom is; the nearer to canon one can go in tone, the better, but there's a point where the road forks (splinters into four forks, and four more further down, really) and for the sake of your own stability and consistency, you have to make a decision about that character's path. Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling! Hopefully that doesn't bore you to tears, but your message made me think about it all again, and I enjoy doing so!

Thank you for reading everything, good gravy, it's a tall order and I'm just-- I am beyond flattered. I am beyond humbled. I am moderately embarrassed by some of the early writing, but I'm incredibly touched nonetheless. I am especially grateful for Paula to make her way into a loving home, biting and spitting all the way. Stuart is not and will never be equipped for the job. ("It's rotten work, especially if it's you," only Paula's not asking him to do it and she's sure as shit not offering it in return. God, I love that woman.)

Thank you. I don't know if it's too sappy and too sincere to say, but I think we grow in sincerity, I think we are emotionally and mentally fed by honesty even to a degree of discomfort, and so I swallow that embarrassment and say... you naming those stories, sharing your thoughts, sharing with me a connection and a sense of caring for Oysters, Ampersands, Seething Coast-- the stories that I cared most for, stories that drew the most from myself even when I tried to obscure it, stories that still sit close to the breast-- that is special. That really means more to me than a comical reply can express. I'm really glad that these scenes meant something to you and that they get to live in another person. That's the horror and the prize of writing, it's the thing you dread doing wrong and losing in the void; but to hear months or years later that it's found someone, and they felt something for it, and they're not embarrassed for you that you've stumbled through making something like this from these characters, that's all you can dream of. That's everything. It matters very much. I can't say I have anything new on the horizon for Noodle (...and I can't say what I have done in the past few months is anywhere near cresting the horizon) but this message gets my heart thu-thumping and has me mulling her over. Maybe one day we can revisit the mess again. If you'd like to listen, this song always makes me think of Stu and Noodle, specifically on that illusion of solid ground in the years after Plastic Beach. I listened to it sometimes to get in the mood to write them.