#i just feel bitter and dead. and nostalgia for bitter and dead times

[joni-witchell]

OH, DUH ITS THE FULL MOON LMFAO

I'm SOOOOO fucking emotional today...like...I literally feel like someone else is inhabiting my body today.

Usually it's that NOTHING is inhabiting my body lol but today...we have a guest! And her name...crybaby jones

[virtualreader]

under the stars

rickgrimesxfem!reader

summary: somehow the night watch shifts got jumbled, resulting in a maybe-not-so-forced proximity with the married, appealing leader of the group.

word count: 2,2k.

genre: smut, and a lil' bit of angst.

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, masturbation, adultery, etc. (not proofread)

a/n: this was requested by an anon, I really hope it is what you wanted, enjoy!

+18 content below, minors dni, nsfw, please do not read it if you're uncomfortable with this topic!

The night sky laid before your eyes. It was the only thing that had improved with the outbreak. There were plenty of stars that night; they had always been there, but you just couldn't see them.

Contemplating the bright stars made everything seem right as if you were still enjoying summer nights in your backyard. But you were not. You were on watch.

The silence around you was only broken by the crickets and the occasional distant howling of the wind. The moon above shone brightly, casting eerie shadows around you, and the first dewdrops settled down onto the wisps of grass.

Suddenly, you heard a twig snap, and your heart skipped a beat. You turned around and saw Rick approaching you, his brows drew together as he asked, "Whatcha doing up there, y/n?”

“Watch duty,” you spoke simply.

Rick found it strange; he could have sworn that it was his turn tonight. As a matter of fact, it was. However, Glenn had asked for you to cover his shift, as they would not return until late into the night.

"Wasn't I supposed to be on watch tonight?" he asked, shifting his weight to his right leg.

You observed him from your perch atop Dale's RV. His hands rested on his hips, and a substantial amount of blood stained his clothes. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his torso, highlighting the physical exhaustion he must have been experiencing.

"Were you?" you rubbed your forehead. "Glenn told me you couldn't make it here in time for your shift.”

"Mind if I stay?" Rick asked. "I won't be able to sleep a wink anyway, and I think you could use someone to talk to, don't you?”

After accepting his proposal, Rick climbed up the handrails to sit beside you. With your feet hanging off the vehicle, you felt the cold breeze hit your skin, but it didn't bother you as much as you thought it would. Instead, you welcomed the refreshing feeling, which provided a momentary escape from the tension and stress of everyday life in this new world.

You observed Rick as he took in the view, his expression softening as he relaxed, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the world around him.

As Rick sat beside you on top of the RV, you both found yourselves lost in a conversation that went on for hours. It was a rare moment of tranquility in a world filled with chaos, and you were grateful for it.

"You know what I miss the most from the old world?" he asked, breaking the settled silence.

You looked at him, nodding to encourage him to continue.

"Coffee," he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "There was something about that bitter taste that just made everything better. It was like a warm hug in a cup, and it's something that you just can't replicate with anything else." He paused, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "I remember how people used to line up for hours just to get their hands on a cup of coffee from their favorite shop. It was a social event, a way to connect with others over a shared love of caffeine. And now, it's just gone.”

You kept on talking for a while, exchanging memories from the time before the apocalypse. Although it felt like only minutes had passed since he arrived, you found yourself opening up to him, telling him about your life before the dead walked the earth.

You reminisced about renting movies every Saturday night, a ritual you followed religiously. You described dancing around the house with a broom in your hands, singing along to your favorite 80s songs. You explained how you would wander the neighborhood streets for hours with your dog, even on rainy days.

Rick's eyes drifted towards the horizon, and you could see the sadness etched onto his face. "I miss it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I miss my family, my friends, my job…everything. I miss everything."

You placed a hand on his shoulder, offering comfort. "We all do, Rick. We all do."

"Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it," Rick said, his voice heavy with emotion. "All the fighting, all the pain…for what? Just to survive another day?"

You turned towards him and rested your hand on his arm. "It's worth it, Rick. We have to keep going, for ourselves and for the people we care about.”

"You know," you began, hesitating as you tried to gather your thoughts. "I've been thinking a lot about the world we live in, and how chaotic and violent it can be. It's easy to feel lost and alone like we're all just struggling to survive. But then I look at you, and I realize that you make me feel safe, protected, and cared for." you said, voicing the thought that had been brooding in your mind. "And I believe I speak for all of us when I say we appreciate you as our leader.”

Your cheeks blossomed with red as Rick’s enlarged pupils bored into your soul as if he could read through you. His mere presence was enough to put you in a fight-or-flight mode, making you aware of an attraction you had not acknowledged before.

Rick Grimes was not chosen to be the group leader - it was a role that he fell into almost organically. His rise to leadership was not unexpected. He had always been a man of great integrity and his strong moral compass meant that he was a natural choice to lead the group. Rick's unwavering commitment to the group's survival and his ability to remain level-headed in times of crisis meant that he quickly gained the trust of his peers.

The graze of a hand in your tight startled you, averting your eyes from the sky that had you entranced, to Rick's face. He took advantage of the moment and reached out to gently caress your cheek. You felt a rush of emotions as your heart began to race.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as Rick leaned in closer, responding to the adulterous desire you had ignited within his heart. His breath felt hot on your skin, and you could hear the beating of your own heart as your lips met in a passionate kiss, finally acknowledging the feelings that had been brewing between you for days. Though the world may have been gone, at that moment, everything felt right.

As you embraced the married man, your heart was racing with excitement. You could feel his lips on yours and his arms tightly wrapped around you. But as you both pulled away, a sudden realization dawned on you. What were you doing? You were kissing a married man, and his wife laid just a few feet away, sound asleep. The guilt and shame crept up inside you, and you couldn't help but feel regretful for your actions. It was clear that this was anything but right.

“I-I’m sorry. I should not-” you breathed, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words. You looked down at your feet, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You had always been good at thinking on your feet, but at this moment, your thoughts were scattered and disjointed.

"Don't do that," he said, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. You tried to look away as if avoiding his gaze would excuse your immoral actions. But the hand he had on the side of your face prevented you from doing so, gently forcing you to look at him as he confessed, "Don’t apologize for something we've both obviusly wanted for a while now.”

And as if he knew what was going through your mind, he added, "Please don't worry about Lori," his voice soft and comforting. "Our relationship had decayed well before you and I met, so don't beat yourself up. If anything, that responsibility rests on me." His words were like a balm to your soul, a soothing reassurance to your worries, easing the fears that had been gnawing at you.

As the night wore on, you found yourself ogling at Rick's physical appearance. You couldn't help but notice the veins on his arms or the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the feeling of desire for him was overwhelming. You knew that your actions were wrong, but in this world, who was there to judge? You leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, something was different. This time, you knew that there was no going back.

When he turned you over onto your back, your heart raced with anticipation. You felt his hands slide down to your hips, gently but firmly holding you in place. As your lips remained locked in a passionate embrace, you couldn't help but shiver from the cool metal of the RV's roof against your skin. You felt a deep connection as he looked into your eyes, his gaze burning with desire and affection. In that moment, you knew that this was more than just physical attraction, but a true emotional bond between two people.

"Don’t make a sound," he muttered pulling away as he placed a finger over your mouth, hurriedly getting free from his dirty shirt. You had to be indeed quiet as to not be heard by the rest of the group, especially his wife.

After struggling with the zipper, you finally freed yourself from your tight-fitting pants. As you did, Rick's mischievous grin grew wider, his eyes lingering on the laced panties that you were wearing underneath. The silky fabric felt smooth against your skin, and you couldn't help but blush as Rick's gaze lingered on you. The enflaming feeling of a light gust of wind grazing your cunt sending a shiver down your spine.

"God damn it," Rick whispered. "You look so good beneath me.”

Rick began exploring your body with his hands, savoring every inch of your skin. He slowly lifted your shirt above your braless chest. You let out a soft moan as he ran his tongue over your nipple, causing your back to arch lightly at the sensation. His touch was electric and you couldn't resist the urge to pull him closer, wanting to feel more of him against your body.

Your hands whirled in the back of his head, feeling the texture of his coiled hair in your fingers as they intertwined with it. You felt a rush of passion as your lips connected once again, savoring the taste of his. Your fingers fumbled with his zipper, your eagerness growing with each passing second. His tongue met yours in a frenzied dance, both of you desperate for more.

Once you’d made your way to his hard cock you caressed his bulge, feeling it grow with each passing moment, and you looked up at his face, anticipating his reaction. A muted growl escaped his mouth as he quivered under your touch. You continued to stroke him, your movements becoming more and more deliberate as you worked him closer and closer to the edge.

“Shut up, you’re gonna get us caught.” you ordered him after he moaned loudly , smugness emanating from you.

“That’s gonna be hard if your hand stays there any longer, pretty girl.”

His hands slipped under your panties, the circling movements of his fingers over your clit delivering shockwaves through your entire body. You couldn't help but gasp as you felt your walls tighten around his fingers, and the pleasure continued to build with each passing moment.

Rick's voice was hoarse as he leaned over you, his eyes dark with desire. "You are so ready for me," he whispered, his fingertips tracing a path down your body until they reached your entrance. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he teased you, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't help but feel like a dirty girl as he continued his ministrations, but you didn't want it to stop.

He entered you slowly, his fingers teasing your entrance until you were begging for more. When he finally filled you completely, you gasped from the intense pleasure that coursed through your body. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and you knew in that moment that you were completely his.

The way he moved inside you was a dance of passion, each thrust taking you higher and higher until you were flying. You clung to him, your hands running over his back as you surrendered to the rapture that he was giving you.

As you both reached the peak of ecstasy, he crushed beside you, his body slick with sweat and his chest heaving. The warmth of his skin against yours was both comforting and exhilarating, and you couldn't help but snuggle closer to him, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

As the night turned into dawn, the two of you lay entwined on the roof of the RV, the cool breeze of the night forgotten. The guilt that had been plaguing you had subsided, replaced only by a feeling of contentment and euphoria. It was a moment that you knew you would never forget, a moment that would forever be etched in your memory as a reminder of the beauty that could still be found in a world filled with chaos.

Perhaps the scintillating night sky was not the only great thing the outbreak bought into your life.

[leclerqueensainz]

A Family of Three (C.L 16)

Part. III - Heroes, Princess and Fewawi.

⚠️ Warnings: Distress (Charles is very sad talking about losing someone he loves), mention of maternal abandonment, issues with parents, and postpartum depression, among other triggers. However, there is also a cute interaction with Vincenzo for the first time, so that's a step forward.

Enjoy the reading!

P.S.: This is entirely based on Charles's point of view.

Word Count: 4,332.

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April 19, 2019 - Monte Carlo, Monaco.

When my father died a few years ago, I thought I would be prepared for any loss I would have endure later on. I anticipated losing other people, of which I had no doubt, but I swore that nothing could shake me as much as losing my hero.

When I lied to him about securing the Ferrari contract because it was his dream, and I wanted him to rest in peace, knowing that we had achieved it, that all the effort he had put into my future had been worthwhile, I thought nothing else could hurt as much as knowing he would never have the opportunity to see me don a red racing suit and drive a Scuderia car.

When I was given permission to drive the car carrying his casket, and I drove through the city so my father could bid a final farewell to the place he lived and loved for so long before taking him to the cemetery, I thought nothing could destroy my heart and burn every cell of my body as much as that did.

I was wrong.

But I should have known better. I should have understood that no pain would be enough to call someone's soul.

The news reached me two days ago on Monday when I was still in Shanghai after a race. Marie, my ex-girlfriend, called me in the middle of the night, and I couldn't fathom why she was calling me when we hadn't spoken in six months since the breakup.

My heart had raced before answering the phone, and a thousand thoughts crossed my mind—whether she was drunk and missing me or if she dialed accidentally. If she just wanted to talk because she had a bad day and Jules didn't answer when she called. I could expect anything and think of any possibility, but never these words. "Jules is dead." That's what she said right after my hello. There were no tears, no pauses. Just a broken and lifeless voice. A dead and cold voice.

Marie hadn't called because she was drunk or had a bad day and had no one else to talk to. It wasn't nostalgia for the six months we had been apart. It wasn't to tell me she loved me, as I had dreamed so many times before.

Marie called because our best friend, my godfather, was dead. No tears, no pauses. Just shock. It was direct. It was terrifying.

I wanted to know what she was talking about because Jules had left after the race, and he was fine. He was happy with the position and wanted to return to Nice to celebrate with the family. She didn't answer me. And I wondered if she had a baby or if it was a playful way to start a conversation with an ex-boyfriend. But she didn't laugh like I knew she would if she were joking. Then I felt it. The silence that told the truth. I had lost Jules, too.

So I shouted into the phone, said it wasn't funny, I was late, and I didn't want to participate in that cruel game. Denial. "Come to Monaco, Charles." She said and hung up.

I never wanted to have answered. I never wanted to pack hastily, wake up Pierre, and tell him we had lost him. I didn't want to arrive in Monaco and see the faces of my brothers and my mother painted with grief again. "I'm so sorry, my love." That's what my mother said when I fell to my knees and allowed myself to cry in front of my family as she hugged me. "It will be okay." That's what Lorenzo said. But we both knew it wouldn't.

I thought I wouldn't feel the sense of helplessness and bitterness when putting on a black suit again. I thought grief would be something I could handle. But it wasn't.

I begged anything that existed not to take anything else from me. I couldn't bear to make the same journey to that church because of another funeral. And I didn't want the experience of that shadow that left me shattered again.

I didn't want to overcome another loss; I didn't want to wonder why the pain didn't pass and didn't seem enough. I didn't want to try to understand or hear people saying that he would be in a better place and everything was God's purpose.

God. Why did he seem so angry with me? Wasn't losing my father enough? Why did he need Jules, too?

knowing that the only certainty of life is death, why didn't God bring an easier way for those who remain to overcome it?

There was no more my father; there was no more Jules. My heroes were gone, and I was left here. Why was I left?

I was being selfish and wise. Nevertheless, it was what allowed me to feel at the moment. I was alone, without those who once helped me become who I am. There was no one else to advise or guide me. And even though I still had Lorenzo or Arthur, I felt lost, like a drifting boat.

When the car parked in front of that church, I asked my family to proceed. I need a few minutes. I gathered the courage and strength to enter that place once again and face what I already knew would be the cause of my nightmares in the coming days. "Confront your demons," everyone says. But whoever coined that phrase never understood the complexity of the dark and bitterness-filled hole that grief brings.

I stared at the church from behind the car window. The same car in which I had once smiled with my best friend for having won it and carrying the Ferrari brand on its bodywork. The same car where I cried when I thought about how my father would have reacted to seeing me come home with it, and Jules hugged me and said it didn't matter where he would be; he would be selling and proud of my achievements.

And now I'm here inside. I'm inside this car, once again, in front of this church. However, without the consolation of someone I love this time. I'm inside this machine, summoning the courage to enter the funeral of someone who once comforted me for a loss.

I'm here summoning the courage to say goodbye to another of my heroes.

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January 20, 2023 - Nice, France.

I park the car in front of an old, low-rise building. Beside me, Marie watches closely as Cecilia steps out of the car in front of us. I can feel her nervousness and notice her hands tightly gripping the cuffs.

I know exactly what she's feeling, and a part of me is proud that I still manage to understand her body language even after all these years, but I try my best to downplay it since it's a delicate moment for both her and me.

After the meeting, Cecilia made a request that we expected but still caught us somewhat off guard. She wanted us to meet Vincenzo that afternoon. And that's where we are now—parked in front of the building, which I assume is where Cecilia lives with Vincenzo.

"What if he doesn't like us?" Marie asks softly. And I think she's posing the question more to herself than me.

"Hey! He's going to adore us!" I say, and she looks at me. Her eyes are wide with fear and anxiety. "Marie, it won't be easy initially, but we've discussed this before. Let's take it one step at a time. Don't think of Vincenzo as our future responsibility for now; think of him as a piece of Jules we will meet, okay?" Her eyes fill with tears, but she nods and smiles.

I take her hand, still clenched into a fist, and slowly bring it to my lips, gently touching it. Her hand opened, and I saw the half-moon red marks in her palm. She sighs in surprise, and I smile, trying to convey reassurance, even though I'm as terrified as she is deep down.

"We'll make it, my dear. Trust me," I say, and she agrees.

She subtly motions for me to release her wrist, but before I can feel my stomach sink with her rejection, her hand grabs mine and squeezes—a firm grip with a lot of meaning. My eyes go from our joined hands to her face, and this time, she has a small, reassuring smile on her lips.

"Let's go, Leclerc! Let's meet the legacy of our best friend."

(…)

"Sorry for the number of stairs! Our elevator hardly ever works," Cecilia says when we finally reach her apartment door after climbing about eight flights of stairs.

I lean against the wall next to the door and pull the air firmly into my lungs. On the other hand, in the last step, Marie depends on the railing, trying to laugh her heart out and normalize her breathing.

"Jesus! How do you manage to do this every day?" She asks Cecilia, who laughs and shrugs.

"Try doing it with a child in your arms; you'll guarantee it's much worse," she says, and Marie laughs lightly.

"So, good for you that you'll soon be free from going through this, right?" I speak, and the smile once painted on her lips fades.

Marie clears her throat, making me take my eyes off Cecilia and look at her. She is giving me a reproachful look, and I muster all of myself not to roll my eyes.

"Cecilia, do you want to go in first and talk to Vincenzo for a bit?" She asks, and Cecilia agrees.

"Good idea! Be back in a minute," she says, searching for the key inside her bag until she finds it and inserts it into the door lock. Before she turned the doorknob to open it, she waited for me for a full minute.

"I'm not asking you to like me, Charles," her tone is profound, and I stare at her with the same intensity. "But know that while we are in my house and front of Vincenzo, you won't talk to me like that, and you won't disrespect my pain in front of my son. I know I can't expect much from you because you're a man, and you'll never understand the situation with any view other than a man's." She turns entirely to me. "None of this is a walk in the park. Not for any of us. And this is the saddest thing I've had to do since I spent 12 hours in labor alone in a hospital while still mourning the father of my child." Tears overflow in her eyes, and I swallow hard.

"I messed up, and I messed up a lot. But I pay my penance every day for it. While you could feel the pain of mourning at your doorstep, I had to get up every day to feed and change a child who depended on me, and for a long time, I considered him to blame for everything." She lowers her gaze, shame and regret in her words reflecting her being. "They said it was postpartum depression, but I always knew better. I always loved Vincenzo, but I will never be able to look at him without seeing the reflection of my mistakes." She wipes the tears streaming down her face with the backs of her hands. "I will live eternally with these ghosts haunting me, but I won't let my son go through this." She says and turns, opening the door and entering right after.

The door closes with a soft thud, and I look at her. I don't know how I should react or even what I feel in the face of Cecilia's declaration. But even without knowing, shame points at the pit of my stomach. It's a shame because I wonder what Jules would say if he could see me now. And I think about my father for the first time in a long time.

"She didn't say that for you to feel bad, Charles," I'm drawn by Marie's voice. Her expression is serious, but her tone is gentle. "But she's not entirely wrong. You'll never understand her, not just because you're a man, but because this situation is far beyond any understanding and empathy you and I can have." She says, and her gaze shifts momentarily before returning to me. "I think the only one who could understand her is no longer here." She whispers the last part, and I continue observing her and digesting her words.

I also wonder if Marie has ever felt like Cecilia, not for the same reasons; that's obvious. But for different reasons, has she ever felt so alone with no one to understand her motives?

And then, I remember when I found out she had left a few days after Jules' funeral. I went to her apartment in the center of Monaco, and when I arrived, the landlord told me she had moved two days ago. I remember the emptiness that filled me: the pain, the loneliness, the mourning.

I had questioned many times why she left and abandoned me, even though she had nothing left with me and no obligation to try to restore what was broken inside me. But at no point did I wonder what she felt.

Jules died, and Marie and I no longer had a relationship. Her parents were never real parents. She had no one else but me, and even though I felt lonely and abandoned, I still had family who felt my pain.

So, is that it? Is that why she left? Because she thought she had no one else? Did she go through all of this alone?

"Please, Charles. Don't do this," she says, and I stare at her.

"Do what?" I ask, confused.

"Don't try to decipher if there's more to what I said than what I said," her gaze is as intense as Cecilia's a bit ago. "This is not about me and certainly not about you." And with these words, she ended the subject.

I wish I could retort and ask her, but that wasn't the moment, and I had already messed up enough for today. So, I nod in understanding, and she relaxes her shoulders and clears her throat.

Marie walks towards me in small steps, my trained eyes on her movements. She stops by my side, leaning against the same wall as me. Her face turned to the stairs where she was before.

"I'm sorry," is what I say because that's what I feel. Marie looks at me, and a faint smile adorns her lips.

"It's not your fault," she looks back at the stairs, and I follow.

We spend a few more minutes facing the cold steps, both immersed in our thoughts until I hear a slight maneuver coming from inside Cecilia's apartment. The door opened, but there was no one there.

"Hi!" A childish voice says, and I look down, seeing a tiny being with dimples and chubby cheeks staring at us. "I'm Vitiendo."

I feel my body freeze, and everything around me seems blurry. The little one looks at me with big brown eyes, just like Jules'. My heart races inside my chest, but still, I try to pull the air as deep as I can.

I crouch down, getting as close as I can to Vincenzo's height, and he keeps looking at me with big and curious eyes.

"Are you a friend of Daddy?" He asks, and I nod.

"Your father was my best friend," I say, his eyes light up. "I'm Charles. Nice to meet you, Vincenzo," I add, extending my hand for him to take.

"Will you be my best friend too, Shal?" he asks, looking from my hand back to my face.

I feel my eyes welling up, and a smile grows on my face.

"Yes, Vincenzo. You'll be my best friend," I reply, and he throws himself into my arms. I was startled and remained still momentarily, feeling his little arms tightly wrapped around my neck.

I instinctively hugged him back when I finally realized he was hugging me.

Tears I tried to hold back streamed down my face. It's Jules' son who is in my arms now. And it's him to whom I will give my word and my life to protect, no matter what happens. Just as Jules once did for me.

I lose myself in the feeling of that hug. I lost the sense of familiarity I felt at that moment. It's as if I've been transported back a few years, and the person in my arms is my best friend. I close my eyes tightly and suppress the urge to say everything. I never had the opportunity to speak to Jules one last time.

I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry. Thank you for being my hero. Stay.

I don't know how long we've stayed in this position, but I've returned to reality, or at least part of it when I hear a sniffle and a half sob behind Vincenzo. He must have heard it, too, as he squirms slightly in my arms, urging me to let go. He then turns to his mother and Marie, who are watching us, tears in their eyes.

Many things are happening on Marie's face, but for the first time since we learned of Vincenzo's existence, fear is not a part of any of them.

I watch her eyes shine with inspiration as she looks at the little boy in front of her, who looks back at her with sparkling eyes. They stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds, until Vincenzo tilts his head in confusion.

"Hi!" he greets with a shy smile. "Are you a princess?" I let out a low laugh, and Cecilia joined me. Marie bends down to his level. Her right hand slowly traces Vincenzo's face as if she wants to capture every feature.

"You look just like your dad," her voice falters with emotion, and Vincenzo extends a hand, mimicking her movements.

"Were you also a friend of Daddy, Princess?" He smiles openly, and Marie quickly nods with closed eyes, savoring the affection Vincenzo is showing.

"Yes, my love. I was excellent friends with your daddy," she says in a soft voice, and just as he did with me, Vincenzo throws himself into Marie's arms, who holds him instantly and presses him tightly against her.

I approach the two and give Marie a sideways hug, running my hands through Vincenzo's small curls.

(...)

"And this here is my Lawi Hamilton car," Vincenzo shows me another one of his toy cars when we reach the small room he shares with his mother. "It's my favorite," he says, and Marie laughs beside me when I can't hide my grimace.

"And a Ferrari? Don't you like Ferrari?" I ask him, and he leaves me confused for a few seconds.

"Fewawi? Is that the red car that breaks?" He innocently asks, and this time Marie bursts into laughter. I nod and give her a dirty look. "Fewawi is cool, Shal. But I like Cedes," he says, his eyes sparkling with the name of Mercedes, and I can't help but smile.

"Alright, I'll make you change that over time. At least it's not Redbull," I say, and Marie shakes her head, the huge smile still on her face.

"Edbull is the best! I like Edbull!" He says, and I choke on the air.

"But that's not possible!" I am incredulous, and Marie already has tears in her eyes from laughing so much.

"Don't be mad, Shal! I'll like Fewawi too, I promise!" Vincenzo extends his pinky finger towards me, and I catch it with mine, crossing them in a promise.

"I think that's great because you're going to spend a lot of time in the Ferrari box with me, little man," I say, picking him up, and he laughs.

"And are we going to meet Lawi Hamilton?" He asks excitedly, and I nod with a smile.

"Well, he won't be in the Ferrari box, but we can go to the Mercedes one; how about that?" I ask, and Vincenzo lets out a scream of happiness and hugs me tightly.

"Thank you, Shal! Are you coming too, Princess?" He turns to Marie, who looks at me awkwardly, unsure what to answer.

It has been a long time since Marie walked through the Paddock; the last time was months before Jules' death when we both ended our relationship. And I understand that for her, it might be a bit challenging.

"The Princess will go when she's ready," I say, looking at Marie. "And when she's ready, we'll both be there to hold her hands and ensure she doesn't feel scared, right?" I ask, shifting my gaze from Marie to Vincenzo, and the little boy in my arms jumps, making me hold him tighter to prevent him from falling.

"Yes! And can we take mommy too, Shal?" I feel a shiver down my spine when he asks me. I look at Marie, who stares back at me with wide, sad eyes.

I don't know what to answer. I still need to understand my position here. Vincenzo will live with us, but I don't know who or how we would break this news to him. Even though I don't like Cecilia and disagree with her parenting methods, I still don't feel that this conversation should come from me but rather from Cecilia, who is still the boy's mother.

No child is ready to leave their mother, especially one so young. Cecilia is Vincenzo's world. The only absolute truth he knows, and I don't want him to lose that, even if it's something enforced.

"How about we check if Mommy has finished making dinner, Little One?" Marie asks, lifting the rug where Vincenzo is sitting. "Will you help me find the kitchen? This house is still a maze for me, and princesses can't wander in mazes without royal guards and knights in armor to watch over them, right?" Marie gestures and puts her hands on her chest, pretending to be a distressed damsel. Despite wanting to laugh at her horrible acting, I feel grateful she thought of something so quickly to distract the boy from his question.

"Yes, Princess! I'll protect you from monsters and bad guys!" Vincenzo says, striking a pose as a brave hero, making us laugh. "Shal, floor!" I understand what he means and bend down to safely put him on the floor.

Vincenzo takes Marie's hand, pulling her towards the door. She follows him briskly, and I stay in the room for a few more minutes, looking at the toys Vincenzo had left on the floor.

His question still echoes in my head. The feeling of wanting to shield him from any pain overwhelms me, but I know it's impossible for him not to suffer from Cecilia's future absence. I wonder if she is not going through the same, for I've known him for less than an hour, and I can't imagine being away from the boy for too long. Then I remember what she said earlier, her bitter words against herself, and how she doesn't want Vincenzo to be haunted by the ghosts of her mistakes.

And remembering the feeling I had earlier with him in my arms, this may be the universe's way of telling me that even though I no longer have my heroes around me, I still have the opportunity to be someone's hero.

And there, sitting on Spider-Man's play mat, holding the toy cars in my hands, I begin to understand, or at least I think I do. If I already love him, having just met him, it's clear that this is a nightmare for Cecilia. She has to leave her son, her only companion because guilt and the consequences of her mistakes always haunt her. Sacrificing her right as a mother rather than offering her son's happiness and future might not make her a terrible mother. Perhaps it's the only thing she has done right in her entire life.

"Come on, Shal! Many monsters want to take the Princess!" Vincenzo appears at the door, and I quickly get up, running towards him. After all, I can't let such a tiny being fight against so many monsters alone.

🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨🇲🇨

Hello! After months, I brought another part translated into English! I apologize for the delay, but it's truly challenging to translate into another language. This weekend, I will translate the other parts :) See You!

Tag list:

@woofgocows

@livinglifethroughfanfic @allthisfortommy

@kyomihann

@numafarawayglxy

@ushygushybaby

@lara03

@alwaysclassyeagle

@ru-kru @pjofics

[iluvshinytwink]

Just For Me - Jude Bellingham

"Who's this video for?"

"Just for me."

Scenario: While clearing out his camera roll, he comes across one of the many videos he's took of you before you two broke up.

Now Playing . . . Hollywood's Dead (Unreleased) by Lana Del Rey

a/n: RANDOM DISCLAIMER!! 😱😱 this is slightly related to another post in my blog called "Are We Still Friends?" Check it out if you'd like. I'm just here to sprinkle more salt in the wound, will u guys ever get a part 2? only god will know 🙄

No matter how many times you delete, forget, and ignore the memories would still be there, in your mind. Memories couldn't be erased, it was stored in your mind and nothing will change that. Nothing.

Jude scrolled through his camera roll since his storage was piling.

He scrolls up to a certain part of his camera roll, it was filled with numerous photos and videos. Curious, he clicks on one. He shouldn't have clicked on it, now he was going to relive the memories he wanted to forget.

A blurry photo was displayed in his phone, you were in the photo, smiling with food stuffed inside your mouth. Though the photo itself was blurry, he could see you properly, he could see the smile he wanted to see for several weeks clearly, he could sense the laugh that he heard after the photo was shot. And he could feel his heart breaking away.

Though he felt the pain and he could hear the protests of his mind telling him he should delete every photo, every video-- he didn't. He couldn't bring himself too.

He continues scrolling through the photos with a sloppy smile as the tears began to well.

Then, while scrolling he comes across a video.

Jude comes up to you with his phone, recording most probably and with his flash on. You were on the couch on your phone, you looked at your boyfriend already trying to hide your smile.

"Say hi." He smiled at you, phone in his hand. "Hi." You waved and he laughs. You laugh with him. "Who's this for?" You said in between your giggles. "Just for me." He said softly.

A bitter smile wraps his lips, his eyes soften.

Sometimes, you're the reason why you're hurting. Sometimes, you don't even realize it. Someday, you'll look back to those memories and know that you were the happiest there. Someday, you look back to those memories and pray to god that you'll experience it again.

The room was empty and it was dark, but in the midst was a lonely, lonely man dwelling on his memories.

He scrolls to another video even though tears were running down his cheek rapidly. I guess, something in him wanted to remind himself that he once loved and that he would never love again.

"Taste test!" You were behind the camera this time. Jude in the video looks at you with a smile, a sandwich in his hand. "Eat it." You said, the camera slightly shaking. Jude laughs before taking a bite into the sandwich. The camera goes closer, into his face. Jude bites his food, fighting a laugh. "How does it taste?" You ask. Jude throws a thumbs up with a muffle of agreement. You burst into laughter, camera rapidly shaking before the video ends.

The smile that stayed on his face on that video sent a sense of nostalgia through his veins. He smiled from ear to ear and he couldn't stop smiling, and that was all thanks to you. Now, with you gone, the smile that's seen on his face was wobbly, shaky, and sad. He felt his lips quiver and he sets his phone somewhere along his empty bed. His body crashed to the mattress and he sobbed.

Simple moments like saying hi to a camera or eating in front of it were moments he missed the most.

But, if you ask me I don't think he missed those simpler, calmer moments. If you ask me, I think he just missed you.

Welcome back to deluluhours.exe restaurant, i know u didn't ask for it but have a platter of angst 🤞🤞

Hope u enjoyed this!! Fun fact, i finished writing this when i was supposed to be studying for my math exam ☠️☠️ clout over grades i guess

Anyways smash that like button and subscribe for more BANGERZZZZ like these 💞💞

[chemdisaster]

cat dad au fic! in which kitten comforts scar. few things you need to know for context - "the isaacs" is a silly name scar gave to the heroes who would bully him, kitten uses a bunch of neos, of which i'm using xit/xitself in this fic, and for a few years when scar first found kitten he was under a lot of stress with work and they both had a bad time. that is all

"I like this one." 

Scar hums as Kitten hands him another picture. In this one, the two of them are dressed up as Hotguy, both laughing as a tiny Kitten points a fake arrow at his chest. Touching his finger to the cascading reds and oranges, he inhales the smell of memories and watches the echoes flash by. 

"I have captured you, Hotguy! Give up if you know what's good for you!" 

"No! Never! You won't catch the tail end of my whiskers, Catguy!"

"Not if I use my special bow! You're dead, Hotguy! I will capture you and I'll—"

As joy rings out in the silent air of reminiscence, a smile warmed with time spreads on his face.

"Yeah. I like this one, too."

Carefully setting the photograph aside, Scar moves on to the next one. With Ari out this afternoon, he and Kitten spontaneously decided to clear out some old boxes—and the nostalgia is hitting like nothing else. 

Surrounded by various papers and bundles and scraps, they sit side by side on the floor of his room and exchange quiet comments as they pass around mementos of years past. The atmosphere is peaceful, hushed, and looking from the tiny kitten on the photographs to the grown up cat next to him, Scar can't help but marvel at how long it's been. 

He never thought he'd get here. 

Stifling a laugh into his palm over the picture of small Kitten with a rubber fish and a beard of foam, Scar adds it to the growing collection. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he looks over at Kitten—

And his heart skips a beat. 

Centred in Kitten's padded hands is an assortment of crumpled papers, familiar as anything Scar wouldn't like to recall. Delicately smoothed out and held together with years old tape, the grid pattern has faded away, but he doesn't need to see the scribbles to immediately recognise them and everything that came with.

 

Art of Kitten that xit was never meant to see jumping at him from the frayed scraps, Scar asks, "Are those...?"

"Hm?" Kitten makes a noise that's more cat than anything. "Oh, these? Yeah, you—you drew them for me, didn't you? I remember I kept finding them in your bag."

"Yeah, I remember you kept going through my things like a nosy feline," Scar jokingly gripes. His grin thins at the edges, "I—I do remember these, yeah."

Drawing on patrols, sketch after sketch to block out the mocking, the insults—getting the drawings ripped from him and torn into tiny pieces right in front of his eyes. Sinking to his knees and cradling the pieces in his hands, tears littering the floor.

He kept them as a reminder of his failures. He never thought they would ever become anything more.

"Why were they torn?" Kitten asks after a while of Scar silently staring at his lap. "Did you not like them?"

Scar doesn't reply. Kitten knows about the mistreatment his old team would put him through, but somehow it still feels shameful, even after all these years, to acknowledge that it happened. That he let it happen, and let it go on for as long as it did because he was too weak to stand up for himself. 

Too bad to realise how that weakness was impacting the people around him.

"Scar."

"I did like them," he says suddenly, vehemence splitting from his tongue. "I liked them so much. It's just, I would always draw on missions and I'd get distracted and, well," Scar shrugs, smiling like it's all right past the bitter lump in his throat, "the Isaacs didn't like that."

"Oh."

He doesn't know why it means so much to him. They're only drawings. Stupid doodles of Kitten to chase away the self-loathing that never really left. They're not even good. And yet here he is, decades past and still getting emotional over things that don't matter. It doesn't matter.

He doesn't matter.

"I thought you were the one who tore them," Kitten blurts out. "I thought you didn't like them, and that's why you tore them. I," he breaks off, his tail curls around his legs. 

"Back when I was a kid, I thought it was because you didn't like me."

Guilt grips Scar's chest. All those years ago, when Kitten would curl up in front of a closed door—the drawings were an attempt at something good. To show him how much he appreciated him when words wouldn't come. And he ruined that, and now he's ruined what was meant to be a simple cozy afternoon.

He ruins everything, he's always known. Somehow it still hurts.

 

.

.

.

.

.

Kitten is worried about Scar.

Has been for a while now, and the torn drawings are only the start of it.

The few years during which little bits of tape would stick to his claws were hard on them both, and even years later xit can't stop the cold dark grey of abandonment from creeping up when xit thinks of that awful time. Staying up late waiting for Scar to come home, only to fall asleep and wake the next day to an empty flat—it was soul-sucking.

But he healed. He's not there anymore. Lately, he's not so sure about Scar.

A good few minutes pass before xit decides to speak up.

"It was really hard for you back then, wasn't it?"

Focus sinking into nowhere, Scar jerks as he breaks out of his daze. 

"Huh, what?" 

"Those first few years. When it was just you and me. Taking care of a child while working the way you did at the time can't have been easy," Kitten probes. He doesn't expect anything but the deflection he's come to know, and he wishes Scar would be honest with him. 

He wishes Scar would be honest with himself. 

"Well, I mean—there were some rough patches, yeah," his friend stammers out. "But—"

"You would cry yourself to sleep."

Scar's head shoots up, the dark bags under his eyes never seemed more prominent.

"I heard. Every time."

He looks down, "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologise," Kitten says quickly. "Just...we keep talking about what it was like for me, yeah? But we never talk about what it was like for you."    

Abruptly, Scar gets up and walks over to the bed, sitting down, rocking back and forth as he pulls his sleeves over his fingers. 

"It's—it doesn't matter. I'm okay now."

Kitten follows, clambering up next to him and peering past the curtain of brown hair at the face hidden beneath. 

"I'm not sure you are."

Scar's expression crumples for a split second.

"Don't worry about me, Kitten," he says. "I'll—it's not your job to look after me."

Kitten scoots closer, xits tail lays itself over his back. Scar doesn't speak and xit doesn't either; words are difficult and xit's content to sit here staring at the old wallpaper, making out dirty kitchens and wine-stained floors in the peeling vinyl. Stillness can hold all the sentences within its grasp, he's learned—he'll never ask for more than what the quiet can give him.

Outside, damning clouds begin to gather as a shuddering inhale stumbles its way out of Scar's lungs.

"Sometimes it felt like it was all for nothing."

The confession breaks the silence, but does not break the gentle swishing motions of Kitten's tail against his spine. 

"It was just—so difficult," he continues, letters spilling out of his mouth like an avalanche of wretched revelations. "Nothing was working. I spread myself thin every day and I still just constantly felt like I was doing it for nothing. And I'm—I'm sorry."

Scar's hands thrust upwards, he trips over another inhale. 

"I tried so hard to do what was best for you and I just ended up hurting you—every time. And I just," he bends his head, swipes at his eyes, "maybe I'm not meant to be good. Maybe it would be better if I just...wasn't."

His features twist, eyebrows inching higher on his forehead; he looks devastated, wrought with grief for what could have been, what he should have been and everything he never was. Decades of regret play in the creases of his skin as he tugs on his hair, blinking rapidly in the way he always does—the way that always fails. 

Kitten was never one for words, but in this moment he thinks that maybe what he struggles to give is what Scar needs. He needs to exist, and touch not meant to hurt can only do so much.

Stillness can hold all the sentences within its grasp, but phantom promises won't stitch up an age-old wound.

"Scar, you did—so much for me," xit says, and Scar's back jumps in a tremor. "For so many people. I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

Eyes squeezed shut, the other emits a low noise, "I hurt you." 

"You talked to me and gave me drawings and found me a therapist. You did more to help than anyone else ever could."

Scar shakes his head, shakes it like Kitten's words are incomprehensible, impossible to believe, and maybe they are. Leaning forward, trembling hands lifting to press to his chin, he curls in on himself, shoulders hunching like a plea—a plea for Kitten to stop saying things that he can't, won't let himself believe are real.

Kitten does not relent. 

"Look, I know you have this fear in you that you'll hurt anyone you rely on but that's not true. You deserve support, that's what we're here for."

"No, I—these are my own struggles, and I—I can deal with it—" 

Scar's voice bounces up like marbles off the wooden floor; the tears he's desperately wiping off his cheeks render his assurances anything but genuine. Clouds descending in the streams of his despair, he's never looked more damaged.

"You took care of me for so long," Kitten says softly, reaching out for a man who won't let himself accept that love never had to be earned. "Let yourself be taken care of, too."

As his friend continues to shake his head in denial, he thinks of a rainy evening, a door left ajar, a room filled with muffled sobs—and he thinks of two friends, both hurt by the world, both having found healing within each other. 

"I like your ears. Remember?"

Scar slumps, defeated. Loud, uncontrollable weeping tears through him like a wildfire and Kitten pulls him close, rubbing a clawed hand over his back, muttering, "Relax. You don't have to be strong all the time."

Raking his claws over quivering vertebrae, listening to choked cries get suppressed against his rumbling chest, he leans back against the blankets and pulls Scar with him, carding thin fingers through long brown strands as his friend settles, trembling, atop his body. Scar's hands are freezing cold, the wire under his feet looms ever farther down below— 

And Kitten knows in this moment that all that he needs is for someone to make sense of him. And xit knows that, finally, xit understands.

And when Scar drapes himself over xit in an instinctual, unguarded yearning to be near, xit drops xits head into the crook of his neck and doesn't look up and begs that this moment would never end. Kitten's heart may not shine, but he would give all the gold in his possession to mend the cracks of Scar's tainted soul.

And as he drifts to a doze with his friend in his arms, he thinks back to the torn drawings—taped together, hidden away as something to be treasured. And xit thinks, maybe broken doesn't have to be forever. 

Under Kitten's hold, for the first time in years, Scar starts to believe that maybe everything he did wasn't for nothing.

[noemitenshi]

Troy Otto x Alicia Clark s8 AU - Their first meeting

am thinking about this again

specifically though the first meeting between troy and alicia post s3. now to half-way fit it with canon, it needs to happen after s7 as i understand it, since alicia is thought to have died at the end there (though as we find out in s8 that is not what happened...).

Ok so Alicia passes out (forgive me, I have not seen the ep in question but for like story reasons it should happen in a store). Alicia passes out. Troy happens upon her while on a supply run. He sees a body lying in the aisle, he goes over to make sure s/he isn't a threat - the way in which he does that is that he kicks the body and waits for a response.

the only thing that happens is that her head lolls to the side so that troy can see her face and he goes "alicia?!"

He can't even put into words what he's feeling now. Definitely surprised (a bit also like fate is laughing at him) and it has him thinking back to the ranch and madison and nick. His brother and father and all of that. Unbalances him completely. He hasn't been thinking of that period in his life for a while now. And while his emotions have a hard time settling, he's already checking for a pulse, unsure if he wishes more to find one or none.

There's relief when he feels the fluttering heartbeat. And his hands are already busy, checking for further injuries before he can even decide what he wants to do now. So he goes 'guess i'm helping her'.

He isn't quite sure why, his emotions still all over the place. Nostalgia (both toward the ranch/that period when the clarks got there before everything went to shit/missing jake and his dad and nick) but then also still bitterness/disappointment/hurt over what madison did to him (over nick just standing by). He very much feels his lonliness in this moment, or more the missing of other people. And he isn't quite sure if he intends to help alicia as a way to get back at madison or if his intentions are more benign. he doesn't care, either.

Whatever it is, the end result is the same. he takes her with him and manages to nurse her back to health.

She's non-responsive for a long time but at some point she wakes up. Very disoriented, she thought it was her end when she passed out. And then first she sees she's been taken care of. sees troy's back and is like 'oh he must've helped me' kinda surprised someone did but also deeply thankful and then he turns around and she goes "troy otto?!" all confused. startled. just a whole world of huh what when how why and troy goes "alicia clark" very much emphasiszing every syllable and then "what are the odds, huh?" and she goes "i thought… youre dead" and the second part is very quiet. whispery and he goes "yeah your mom tried her best" with like a head tilt and maybe "guess you can tell nicky he isnt the only deathproof one…" and then alicias face does a 🥺-face and he knows thats not good "nick… he…" she stops and shakes her head. blinks maybe. "he died"

and troys face does something complicated and then he goes "how?"

and alicia isn't quite sure how to answer that. doesn't feel like telling the story (thinks troy would have *things* to say about it and she does not feel like having him judge it/mock it. not this). so maybe she just says "shot." and troy can go "and the one who did it?" with a look in his eyes. and she can shake her head again bc. she doesn't want to remember. also prob doesnt want to be remined of how shed been after nicks death and troy sounds like hes out for revenge so. she just goes "you saved me" Troy huffs a little laugh as if saying *evidently*. And alicia tells him "thank you" honestly He gets all busy then (as if a bit bashful) telling her how long she was out etc that she won't be able to travel for a while still by his estimate. And then maybe some kind of ... almost casual "Madison's gotta worry a bit longer..." (he's totally fishing for information haha without like saying it. hoping alicia will confirm whether she traveled with madison before.) And Alicia tells him she's dead too And then they sit in silence.

And this is how they start.

[thieves-oasis]

@tes-summer-fest day 7 - Companion or Fallen

‘Everything is Unimportant’

- Emirsyn Favel

Summary: A former member of House Dagoth recalls his time in the fallen house, contemplating the man he was thousands of years ago.

Word count: 752

———————————

I do not pity those who were killed for being in House Dagoth. Perhaps in my thousands of years of existence, I have grown out of the need for pity in any circumstance. It does not matter to me if they were traitors or not as my opinion unimportant - everything is unimportant. The way that the Dunmeri people remember that House has been set, and my displeasure with the stigma surrounding it will not change that it is a House of traitors in the eyes of Morrowind. I could thrive knowing that I was one of the few to survive, let that be my guiding light in this meaningless existence in hopes that somehow holding the name Dagoth makes me a martyr even though I still breathe through ash-cursed lungs. But I do not. My name is simply another check on the list of complicated things that I chose to remove from my identity rather than beg whatever gods living or dead to keep relevant.

I was not always like that, however. Relevancy used to matter more than identity. In some ways, it still does. I have had my time of playing the roles of hero and villain, and neither of them suited me. Frankly, I have no desire to continue searching for a role that suits me just to once again wring the title dry until it is withered and lost all meaning.

Many eras ago, things were different. It was a time where a title was all anyone wished for, everyone was simply an actor waiting to be casted on the newest play. These days, the play continues even though it has been going on for too long, and neither the starting line nor the finish line are anywhere in sight. Time has clouded my eyes and all I see now is a never ending purgatory where the starring role is given the golden spotlight that is the sun, and the supporting cast shines just as brightly. There are times where I remember what lines I had rehearsed and how they pulled the concepts of fear, jealousy, and honor together to create the perfect diplomat ready for casting… Moments where I can almost feel the warmth of another body standing next to mine on the stage only to pull myself down and once again merge with the comforting cold of a theater that has been empty for decades.

At times, I wonder how my past self would react to who I have become. I am wealthy, comfortable, and to my knowledge, still breathing. Perhaps he would not even be able to grasp a change so drastic - he, who was once so lively, filled with hope for the future, is now cold and bitter, with no regards for any soul-bound husks that walk this realm or the next. Despite knowing that he will never be on this level of consciousness again, I still feign empathy at times just to pander to him as he may be watching from behind the curtains.

That man had wished for so long to gain immortality at the beginning of the first era, and when he finally reached a state beyond life, I was born even though I festered below the surface. Before the war, he had spent my time with a clan of his peers - vampires that lived beneath the surface of Skyrim. To him, his first death was the most brutal and yet he still remembered it fondly for the longest of times. But time has a way of dimming fond memories, and years later, the tides of war swept away any chance at nostalgia while also managing to wash me onto the surface.

Just as my House is lost to history, so is that man. Despite living for centuries before the fall, he is remembered only as a traitor that assisted in the murder of Azura’s Champion. It’s for the best that he is remembered that way - or rather forgotten. If he is to be remembered, let him be remembered as one of many men trapped beneath the rubble of war, under the tomb of a dead god alongside the corpse of Morrowind’s forgotten Councillor. Let the Dunmer bask in their ignorance and leave the actor and his troupe to rest in the eternal hellfire of Red Mountain’s core. And let me continue walking in his blasphemous flesh while they worship their false gods forged by my death. It makes no difference to me as what I believe is unimportant.

Everything is unimportant.

[aihoshiino]

I think that Viewpoint B and 45510 say something about Ai herself, both stories dive deep into her character. can you elaborate on it

The side stories are really interesting to me because like — IDK how intentional this was on Akasaka's part but they feel like a really deliberate study in contrast. They both have the same basic setup of a B-Komachi member looking back on her time on the group and her relationship with Ai from the perspective of them as grown adults over a decade out from Ai's death. The most immediate contrast is tonewise— Viewpoint B is a quietly sad and melancholic piece sort of tinged with nostalgia, especially with how Rie Takahashi chooses to perform Kyun in the audio drama adaptation of it. By contrast, 45510 is sooooo angry and bitter and Nino is so hostile and angry even years later when she really should have started moving on with her life. Not that there's a timeframe or schedule for grief, obviously, but to be this actively resentful and contemptuous of a person who has been dead for fifteen years... bitch will you PLEASE get your gay ass to therapy already!!!

When it comes to Ai, though, what strikes me is the consistency. Just like how both stories are about B-Komachi members reminiscing, Ai spends both stories reaching out and trying to connect with them and we get a whole lot of juicy thematic stuff as a result.

In 45510, Nino isn't connecting with the 'real' Ai— her equivalent of Ai & Kyun's talk is her passively taking in one of Ai's old videos, feeding on the "Ai of B-Komachi" she's still obsessed with. Even in this one-sided, sanitized form though we see over and over during the stream that Ai is doing everything she can to try and connect; she gives stumblingly earnest answers to the questions she picks out from the chat and even outright says that even though it scares her, she wants people to understand her and see even the parts of herself she hates. The purity of this wish is so strong that even Nino, who hates Ai so much that she accuses her of lying about things that Nino knows for a fact are fucking true begrudgingly admits those are Ai's true feelings and that she had finally listened to them for the first time in her life.

That's why the ending is such a gut punch. This tentative peek into the cracks in Ai's armor is enough for Nino to go looking for more of her only to react with such shock and disgust when she is faced with this full image of the real Ai reaching out to her via the blog that all she can think to do is irrevocably destroy it. It's just as Nino herself says— she's a woman more devoted to "the idol, Ai" than anyone else. That's why she can't allow Hoshino Ai to exist.

Viewpoint B contrasts this at almost every step of the way. Not only is Kyun's moment of connection a two-way street but it's with Ai herself, in person. Once again, we see Ai going out of her way to reach out and try to connect and for a brief, shining moment, someone actually reaches back. It's just for one evening but she and Kyun actually connect on a real human level; Kyun not only gets a peek at the real Ai's pain and human vulnerabilities but she accepts her, sympathizes with her and even seems to like her, poking at and teasing her to get more of those honest reactions out of Ai.

I literally just realized now as I was typing, but Kyun coming across Ai's "Lying Me" lyrics is a direct parallel to Nino finding Ai's blog draft. Both of them stumble across Ai pouring out her vulnerability into words but while Nino has to destroy it... Kyun accepts and uplifts it. In a lot of ways, Kyun is one of the people Ai has been looking for her whole life: a person who sees the real her and accepts it, regardless of how ugly and tarnished it is. It doesn't surprise me at all, then, that Ai went on to consider Kyun her closest and dearest friend in B-Komachi even years after that one fleeting conversation.

Both sidestories highlight something really important about Ai that I think is kind of slept on by a lot of surface level reads of her— I see a lot of people (as I've previously discussed) centering lies and lying when discussing her to such an extent that they treat it as though deception is in of itself her end goal while completely failing to think about what her motivations actually are.

What both 45510 and Viewpoint B really emphasize is that lying is, for Ai, just a means to an end, a survival tactic that was forced onto her that she doesn't know how to unlearn. Ai lies because she has lead a life that has caused her to believe she has to, because the 'real her' is so ugly and unacceptable that her only choice is to cover it up with pretty lies.

The real driving core of Ai's character is loneliness, desperation and hope. Over and over and over we see Ai trying to reach out to people, desperately trying to connect to them even in the face of repeated and absolute rejection. In 45510, she is heavily implied to have written the truth about Aqua and Ruby in the blog post that Nino deletes, all but putting her still-beating heart into the hands of girls she knows hate her but still choosing to take the chance on trusting them if her exposing her vulnerability will convince them of her sincerity.

Ai never loses hope. No matter how cruel the world is to her or how cruel each individual person is to her, Ai does everything she can to love and accept them, to make them feel supported, recognized and cared for even if it's only for a moment. In its own way, isn't that "love"?

[thorns-in-daisy-fields]

I was messing with a poetry concept I was digging last night and came out with something totally different. It quickly grew into a story, and I really had fun with it. I'm nervous about posting it because it seems different than a lot of the writing I read, and I find myself worrying about what other people might think. I'm reminding myself that this is what my pen name is for. I created this little platform for myself so I could share my work with people. Even if it only resignates with one person, inspires one person, etc, I've already succeeded. The rest is water under the bridge... Yes, this paragraph is more for me than anyone else. The poem is bellow the cut

Every time life brings me 

to my knees,

I raise a glass

to the god

who made me.

-

I toast to The Sadist

who pulled me

out of clay

with his own two 

drunken hands

only-

and only-

to break me down

time 

and time 

again.

-

I toast:

cheers 

to my shame,

cheers 

to my suffering,

cheers 

to my struggle,

and cheers 

to my hopeless search

for redemption. 

May it sit like poison 

on your tongue,

so that your twisted addiction

may end.

-

-

To say I'm bitter

would be an understatement.

My creator's

obsession with tragedy 

has left me 

skinned up

between the covers

of dead men's books.

-

I want nothing more

than escape

but

he craves the sick

nostalgia

of tales

that came

long before mine,

so he sews seeds

of the past

into my soul,

so that my pain 

may bloom

into a garden 

of familiarity 

for his leisure.

-

-

Riddled with 

this curse of

noxious desire,

and 

desperation 

I've lept

out of that tower

with Icarus,

fully knowing 

my fate.

-

Riddled with 

this curse of

noxious desire,

and 

desperation 

I've followed 

in Orpheus'

footsteps

once 

or

thrice

all too aware

of what I'd still

lose

-

Riddled with 

this curse of

noxious desire,

and 

desperation

I've become so familiar

with moral perfectionism

and sacrifice 

that Jesus and Prometheus 

came to know

my name.

-

Yet 

while they learned

to recognize me,

I lost the ability to name

the person

looking back at me

in the mirror.

-

More days than not,

I feel more myth

than man,

like just another

poor fool

locked to their fate

because

this god of mine

is making a Legion

of me:

a Legion of fools and 

tragic heros. 

-

More days than not,

I'm more a scambled apparation

of these myths

than anything else. 

Who was I today? 

Who was I yesterday?

Who will I be

tomorrow?

- 

The answer is usually 

something like this:

IcarusOrpheuseuridicemedusajesusPrometheussisyphusAtlasachillispatroclusNobodyTooMuchToConceptualizeNotEnoughToRecognizeIdontevenknowtheirnameortheirnameortheirnameortheirnameortheirnameortheirnameortheirnameor---

-

-

-

-

The Sadist tells me 

these tears of blood,

are beautiful 

as he kicks back,

arrogant with satisfaction. 

-

He smirks

as he asks me

how many deaths

I'll have to die,

and how many ghosts

I'll have to meet

before 

I collect enough lessons

amungst the grief

to set myself free.

-

-

And once again,

life has brought me

to my knees,

so I raise a glass

to the god

who made me.

-

I toast to 

The Sadist

who pulled me

out of 

clay

with his own 

two 

drunken hands

only-

and only-

to break 

me 

down

time 

and 

time 

again.

-

I toast:

-

cheers 

-

to my shame,

-

cheers 

-

to my suffering,

-

cheers 

-

to my 

-

struggle,

-

and 

-

cheers 

-

to my 

-

hopeless 

-

search

-

for 

-

redemption. 

-

-

May it

- 

sit 

-

like 

-

poison 

-

on your 

-

tongue,

-

so that 

-

your

-

twisted 

-

addiction

-

-

-

-

may 

-

-

-

finally

-

-

end.

-

[toringo]

i would love to hear about your thoughts on what henry thought of william, or how his opinions changed throughout the years. did he despise him by the end of it all? or were there still some bittersweet thoughts lingering there?

Depending on the version, the answer changes. Let's start with the game version because there is the least to say about him.

Despite me being an intense Helliam/Willry shipper, we know way too little about them to say just how friendly they were. In the game lore alone, I like to think they started as business rivals and Henry admired William and his work and must have liked him enough to perform with him on stage as partners. Maybe he was a bit put off by William's cold and deflective nature, but he… enjoyed him, enjoyed the time they spent together and the things they created. After he finds out that it was William who hurt his daughter for whatever petty reason, he would obviously hate him and I don't think that the hatred goes down with time. I just think that with time he gets sadder about this. I think that he wants William to die and suffer but he holds just a bit of guilt-inducing sympathy for him, nostalgia, the slightest note of longing.

Book Henry and William? Oh, they go WAY BACK. Become business partners early on, maybe even meet in college. Henry adored William when they were younger, he was Henry's best and only friend. Later, when they open Fredbear's it only becomes more intense. This version really wakes my Willry sensors. I think that book Henry loves his wife, loves his son but, shamefully, he puts William above them. Charlie above William. William - he associates with his animatronics, and he loves them (hates when they're broken, below his standards, and needs to fix them immediately). He loves William. He might not show it properly, but he does. William is very distant and so is Henry and he thinks that they're comfortable like that, being close from afar. It's comforting, they're on the same page. Until they aren't. He knows it was William when Charlie is taken, but he keeps quiet and isolates himself from everyone else, even his close family. Makes himself think it's possible to fool death. William stays at his side, and it hurts the most. I don't think he ever grows to hate William in this one, he wants him dead but only when he is about to die. He is desperate lonely and confused. He never gets to understand why William's done what he's done, he never gets a chance. I guess he is bitter, who wouldn't be, but he loves his 'faithful partner'. He puts the bare minimum into thwarting his evil plans which he himself doesn't understand and leaves, hoping to see him on the other side.

MY HENRY THOUGH. UMM. They meet in college and are polar opposites. Hate each other's guts at first but then slowly grow attached. It's a quick rival to friends. But at the friend stage… William confuses him, more than anything. Unbearably pessimistic and such a damn perfectionist, a bit too similar to Henry on that. It takes him some time to understand he's got a crush, he isn't even the first one to confess, even though he wants to. He and Will are very lovey-dovey in their own, weird, introverted nerd way. Attached at the hip. Until William dumps him for one of his friends of course, and gets married and has a kid that could not possibly be made after they broke up. So. He is heartbroken, resents William more than a little, and is desperate enough to feel pathetic at each turn. He tries to move on and gets a family, but it doesn't make his feelings go away, it only makes them worse. They become friends again later, partners, and it seems like that would be it, his heart still aches but he could get used to this. If not for the fact that William is acting as if the feeling is mutual, giving in at times only to give him the cold shoulder the very next second. He is annoyed with him and loves him so much, still. Later he goes from pity for him after 83' to a desperate need for closeness after Charlie and then blazing hatred when he finally finds out. And beyond all of that, there is this neverending pining and hurt. He sometimes is tempted to let go of the revenge, to crawl back to William and be with him. He never does, he ultimately also puts Charlie above.

[twistedtummies2]

Year of the Bat - Number 9

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’ve been counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January.

  TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “So, it wasn’t all for nothing.” Number 9 is…Beware the Gray Ghost!

This is one of the greatest and most renowned episodes of the Animated Series…but as of these recent years, it’s also become one of the most difficult to talk about. In some ways, this episode is even more profoundly impacting now than it ever was before. It’s funny, because the reason(s) for this, I’m sure, will be lost on many future Batman fans; they will never know just how big a deal this episode was when it came out, and how big a deal it is now in this given year. Thankfully, however, those points will not detract from the greatness of this story on its own terms, and a great story is exactly what it is. In this episode, Batman finds out about a series of bombings, committed by a mysterious villain simply referred to as “The Mad Bomber.” He recognizes the crimes as being almost identical, in every way, to the attacks of a fictional villain in a TV series that Bruce Wayne loved dearly as a child, “The Gray Ghost.” To try and solve the case, Batman gets help from the Gray Ghost’s original actor, an aging performer by the name of Simon Trent. Simon has seen better days, as the combo of his typecasting and other personal issues have led to him falling on hard times, and he’s grown bitter about the role that once made him a household name. Batman must find a way to not only stop the Mad Bomber, but reinvigorate Trent’s spirits, as he teams with the Gray Ghost himself to end the crime spree.

Much like the later “Legends of the Dark Knight,” this is an episode that essentially pays homage to Batman’s roots, but in a much more subtle way. I guess I can’t go any further without bringing up the big point: the voice of Simon Trent. It’s none other than Adam West: the original 1960s Batman. The creators of B:TAS were huge fans of the original Adam West series, and odes and homages to the show are sprinkled throughout, some more obvious than others. Trent’s character is one of the biggest examples, as his fictional foibles are a sort of exaggerated mirror of how West’s own career and life went after the 60s series ended. It goes even deeper than that, however: the Gray Ghost himself is a thinly-veiled parody of The Shadow, a character I’ve mentioned many times in the past, who was one of the main inspirations for Batman as a character. (The first Batman comic ever made was an outright ripoff of a Shadow story. No joke, look it up.) Even the villain of the piece feels more like something out of the Shadow than your typical Batman tale, let alone the silly sixties. It’s a double-homage, in a sense, to two great influences on the creators of B:TAS.

This is also what makes the episode hard to watch now: Adam West has been dead for only a few years now, yet, and Kevin Conroy’s passing is still even more painfully recent. You can’t watch this episode as a Batman fan without feeling a sort of pang, realizing not only the significance of two of the greatest Batmen in history onscreen together, but the fact that both are no longer with us. In a weird way, though, that makes the episode even more powerful, because of what the whole story is really about: nostalgia. The way nostalgia effects all three of the main characters in the story – Batman, the Gray Ghost, and the Mad Bomber alike – is a BIG part of this story. Trent is someone who tries to shun the past, who feels pained when he looks back, and has to come to terms with the fact the world has changed, and he has to change, too. He’s haunted by the role that made him once iconic, while also dealing with the issue of being seemingly obsolete, no longer sure of who he is or what his life has truly become. The Bomber, meanwhile, is the opposite extreme: without giving away who it is, it’s someone who clings TOO CLOSE to the past, and to the things they loved in youth, and that obsession drives them to toxic self-destruction, not to mention acts of cruelty and spite. It’s probably not a coincidence that Bruce Timm, one of the show’s creators – a fan of the 60s series – plays this character; a sort of self-parody in the form of the world’s most unsettling fanboy.

It's Batman himself who shows the value of nostalgia and the balance of where it needs to fall: he clings close to his past, as we know, and the Gray Ghost character and series is revealed to be no exception. But he doesn’t allow these things to rule him or destroy him. For people who grew up with Kevin Conroy and Adam West alike, this episode shows just what made both of them such special actors, and reminds us of why both of their respective takes on Batman were so interesting, while also providing a fascinating story that combines all kinds of tonal elements to create an intriguing and entertaining tale. But above all, it serves as a lesson in the dangers and the values of what we keep close in our memories. I think it’s fair to say that everything about this episode – it’s actors, it’s inspirations, and the series it hails from – will be a treasured, nostalgic memory for many years to come.

Tomorrow we move on with Number 8! Hint: “But they share my unique face! Colonel Whathisname has chickens, and they don't even have moustaches!"

[jamietxrtt]

.

“Ted.” Beard’s voice could never be described as particularly forceful— nothing about him really could— but right now he wills it to be clear and strong. “You remember that night I called you, right after I got outta jail?”

Ted forces his way through another shaky breath. “...Yeah.”

It wasn’t right after he got out, really. The first thing he did when he got out was try to make his way home. It wasn’t until after he got the door slammed in his face there, after he tried and failed to find a couch to crash on nearby, after he couldn’t find a job, after he’d spent several miserable weeks sleeping on the streets in the dead of winter— only then did he call up Ted.

“You drove twelve hours round trip that night,” Beard recalls. “All the way up to Peoria then back down again. Just off one phone call.”

Ted’s still hunched over, his hands balled into fists and shaking, but he gives a weak laugh. “Uh-huh. Was a younger man then. Not sure I could pull that kind of all-nighter now.”

Beard pushes on. He has a point to make. “There’s one part about that night that’s always stuck with me. More than the rest, anyway.”

Ted hasn’t stopped shaking, but he manages to lift his head now, looking Beard in the eye. “Yeah?”

“You remember we had the oldies station on to keep you awake. Both of us belting our lungs out to the songs we heard on our parents’ records as kids.”

Ted smiles at that, a real smile, and Beard lets the satisfaction of that bolster him— Ted has always been a sucker for nostalgia. At the time, those old 70s songs they charmed themselves listening to felt like a world away from the present. Now, they’re old enough to start having nostalgia about their own 20-year-old nostalgia. Christ.

He’s never quite been able to put it into words, to Ted or to anyone else, but that night had seemed nothing short of magical to Beard. It had felt like decades since the last time he laughed that hard, watching Ted croon along in his best impression of [some lame 70s artist idk]. He was warm, and with a friend, and even the greasy fast food hamburgers they’d picked up tasted like ambrosia with how hungry he was, and it felt like he was leaving every single ounce of hardship and hurt behind in Peoria as they drove away.

That feeling wouldn’t last in the coming weeks, when Beard struggled and crumbled and the whole thing culminated in that godforsaken stolen car incident. But for that one night, he truly believed it.

Before that night, Beard had always been rather lukewarm on those old 70s songs that accompanied him along in his childhood— most of them were tied to childhood memories, and not all of them were particularly pleasant memories— but even despite that, he and Ted both knew every single word to most of the songs that came on the radio. And the sight of Ted shouting at the top of his lungs along to them, loopy and giggling as they approached five in the morning, just about wiped any bitter taste left out of Beard’s mouth.

“That was a good night,” Ted says now, quietly, his voice shaking with unshed tears. But he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” Beard agrees. “It really was.” He takes a breath. “You know, the part that’s— that’s really stuck with me?”

Ted nods, his smile broadening, already clearly seeing where this was going. “Dolly,” he says simply.

“Bingo, Ringo.” Beard finds it in him to mirror Ted’s growing smile back to him. “God, that was perfect timing.”

Ted laughs. “It really was. I’d have half a mind to think the DJ pulled that one on purpose.”

“I hope he did.”

They’d been on the road, somewhere in the middle of Missouri, when the sun started to rise. Even though they’d been shouting and laughing their way through the night, something about the clouds of pink and orange starting to creep their way over the horizon brought both of the young men to silence. And then, just as the blue of the daytime was starting to take over the purple of night, the most perfect song in the universe began to play on the radio.

It’s been a long, dark night, and I’ve been waiting for the morning…

Ted had broken out into a huge grin. “Aw, man,” he’d said. “I love Dolly.”

Beard hummed along an agreement, but couldn’t bring himself to say much, charmed by the appropriateness of the song. I can see the light of a clear blue morning, Dolly belted out, right as the blue morning did indeed open up in front of the two of them, urging them to leave everything painful behind them. Everything was gonna be alright, and everything was gonna be okay.

“You know,” Beard says, back in the present in the hotel room with Ted. “Now, every time I listen to that song, I always feel twenty-five again. Convinced that all the bad times are over and the world is nothing but my oyster.”

Ted laughs. “Me, too. Somethin’ about music, man. It’s got magic in it.”

“Sure does.” Beard looks down at Ted’s hands. They’re no longer shaking, so Beard takes them in his own.

“Ted,” he starts, his voice more serious-- he’s getting to the crux of it now, and he has to make sure Ted understands. “You know I owe you more than God himself.”

“Oh, come on, now.” Ted tries to slip his hands out of Beard’s grip, but Beard holds fast. “None of that.”

“It’s true.” Beard shakes his head. “But even if it weren’t, you know I’d still be here, yeah? You didn’t owe me anything when you drove straight through the night to pick me up and take me home. Me and Rebecca, and Roy, and everyone else— we’re not doing this out of any kind of obligation, okay? Or pity, or fear, or— or any of that. We’re doing this ‘cause when someone you care about is struggling, you hop in a car— or a plane— and you go to them. Surely you understand that. You have to. You’re the one who taught it to me.”

Beard’s worried he’s misstepped, because Ted’s hands are shaking again, but when he tries to let them go, Ted clings on tighter.

“I’m not used to this being the other way around,” Ted blurts out, and it’s clearly an admission, his eyes blown wide with fear. “I’m supposed to be the one who helps people. Not…”

“Not the one who needs help,” Beard finishes for him. “Yeah, I know, Teddy. I can feel it. But love never flows just one way, does it?”

Ted chuckles lightly. That’s a line he’s used on Beard, multiple times, throughout the past fifteen years. There’s been several times, now, where Beard has twisted himself up in sudden worry that Ted doesn’t understand how much Beard cares about him— not when Ted shows it and says it so easily, and Beard is so quiet about it. But every time he’s come to Ted about it, stumbling his way through half a sentence before his throat chokes up and keeps him from saying the rest, Ted’s been quick to assure him that he knows— after all, he always says, love never flows just one way.

Ted’s head flops down onto Beard’s shoulder, seeming to accept his own words being used against him, and Beard wraps his arms around his friend’s shoulders.

“Teddy,” Ted echoes, muttering it into Beard’s shirt. “Been a long time since you called me that.”

Beard hums into Ted’s hair. “Hm. Sure has.”

The melody to Clear Blue Morning is still bouncing around in Beard’s head. Everything’s gonna be alright.

Ted takes a breath.

It’s gonna be okay.

[maya-matlin]

If you had to pick 5 Degrassi ships that weren’t endgame to be endgame which 5 ships would you pick & why?

1.) Zoe & Grace: Obviously. All of the elements were there for the two of them to not only have a very serious loving relationship, but to end up together as well. I feel like they both grew so much because of knowing of each other and consistently shared these really deep moments that.. they honestly didn't with their official endgames.

I can't explain it. They were so messy and complex, but I feel like that's the way it's supposed to be? Zoe/Rasha and Grace/Jonah weren't terrible, especially Zoe's relationship with Rasha, but something was always missing for me. Rasha and Jonah mostly seemed to exist so that Zoe and Grace could have love interests. So you're happy to see Zoe and Grace find people that seem to suit them, but the passion and the intensity that is usually present for the straight ships is kind of absent. I feel like Gracevas were very well set up to end up together only for that to get jerked away at the last minute so that the writers could make a tone deaf point about how queer people shouldn't be so "stereotypical" and assume someone's sexual orientation because they dress alternative and are willing go along with sleeping with you without ever letting on that they're straight. The writers will pry lesbian Grace out of my cold, dead hands.

2.) Joey & Caitlin: I don't have nearly as much to say about these two, but basically Joey and Caitlin were brought back for TNG specifically to continue the Jaitlin romance. Or beyond Joey taking in Craig, what the hell was the point? I feel like season 3 and most of season 4 attempted to show how the two had matured as a couple and were committed to sharing a future. But then fucking Kevin Smith self inserted himself into Degrassi and started romancing Caitlin for reasons. Gross.

3.) JT & Liberty: There's no doubt in my mind that they would have found their way back had JT not died. There was a lot of pain and bitterness over the pregnancy and Liberty giving away their child, but their love for each other never faded away. It hurts to remember how close they got to their happy ending once for things to end so tragically.

4.) Sean & Ellie: I'm sorry, but these two will always make much more sense to me than Sean and Emma. Sean and Ellie instinctively got each other and offered each other unwavering support and love during both good times and bad. They were too healthy for Degrassi. I low key think one reason Sellie was written off with "forget Ellie" is that there was no real reason Sean would realistically prefer Emma to Ellie other than nostalgia and because the narrative said that first love relationships > everything.

5.) Craig & Ashley: I just love them, okay? Craig doesn't need or deserve an endgame. Especially not seasons 5-8 Craig. But something about them worked. I don't feel like Craig ever felt for any other girl one shred of the way he felt about Ashley. I like to think that eventually, they found their way back.

[cherrycursed]

police interview.

where  were  you  on  the  night  of  christopher  wilder’s  disappearance ?

a  big  part  of  her  wanted  to  tell  the  truth  ,  let  the  words  spill  out  that  she  was  right  there  ,  a  few  steps  away  as  he  plunged  into  the  waters  that  would  swallow  him  whole  .  she  had  never  seen  somebody  drown  …  well  ,  maybe  when  she  was  a  temporary  lifeguard  at  the  pool  and  a  little  kid  had  jumped  in  with  no  flotation  devices  .  but  when  that  had  happened  ,  there  had  been  flapping  ,  arms  moving  as  water  splashed  and  screaming  …  it  attracted  attention  .  she  had  always  thought  that  drowning  must  be  something  that  caused  a  commotion  but  chris  …  he  had  gone  under  the  water  as  if  he  belonged  there  .  when  the  depths  of  devils  lake  had  swallowed  him  ,  there  were  no  sounds  ,  no  screaming  …  no  arms  grabbing  into  air  or  water  .  he  was  just  gone  .  "  i  went  to  the  party  with  my  boyfriend  ,  kai  wilder  .  chris  was  there  too  but  he  didn't  ride  with  us  .  everybody  was  at  that  party  ,  "  she  didn't  like  thinking  about  it  ,  something  unpleasant  and  bitter  about  nostalgia  .  all  the  good  memories  for  her  were  tainted  by  the  bad  ,  the  horrible  …  the  ugly  .  she  twists  the  pen  in  her  hands  that  had  been  lame  on  the  table  atop  a  piece  of  empty  paper  .  "  then  some  of  us  went  down  to  the  lake  and  chris  came  too  …  we  were  drinking  and  doing  normal  teenage  stuff  …  "  including  a  game  of  dares  that  they  had  stupidly  never  mentioned  .

when  was  the  last  time  you  saw  christopher ?

she  knew  if  she  just  told  the  truth  she  could  put  an  end  to  this  search  ,  that  if  she  just  explained  the  horrible  accident  that  had  taken  place  then  she  could  be  free  of  the  deep  discomfort  she  felt  over  the  hope  of  others  .  she  was  angry  ,  bitter  ,  stubborn  ,  hopeless  but  she  wasn't  a  cruel  person  …  it  made  her  feel  sick  to  the  bottom  of  her  stomach  any  time  someone  suggested  he  was  alive  when  she  knew  he  was  deader  than  dead  ,  somewhere  at  the  bottom  of  a  body  of  water  .  the  image  of  how  she  pictured  him  had  been  haunting  her  since  the  night  of  the  alumni  evening  …  imagining  him  all  pale  and  bloated  ,  expressionless  and  gone  .  "  he  was  at  the  lake  with  us  .  he  was  talking  to  people  ,  laughing  and  joking  …  there  was  a  lot  going  on  ,  i  don't  know  who  he  was  talking  to  last  …  "  all  of  that  true  because  she  hadn't  been  paying  attention  then  but  she  definitely  had  when  he  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  lake  ,  that  signature  smile  on  his  lips  .

what  was  your  relationship  with  christopher ?

"  he  was  my  boyfriends  brother  ,  "  she's  able  to  say  that  one  fast  ,  the  relationship  something  she  had  been  accustomed  to  …  the  degree  of  separation  provided  by  it  ,  erasure  .  but  then  she  swallows  ,  "  but  he  was  also  my  friend  .  a  really  fucking  good  one  .  a  really  amazing  kid  ,  "  she  pauses  ,  "  he  should  still  be  here  right  now  .  "

[felteverywhere]

here’s a plot wishlist of things i’m thinking about lately but would prefer to plot than write opens for. i’d also prefer to plot on discord but it’s not entirely necessary since obviously i’ll be writing on this account. some of them are kind of variations of the same thing but i think it makes it clear what kind of stuff i really love lmao. if you like this i’ll im you, but even if you like a lot of them it would be amazing if you could whittle it down to 2-3 tops. reblogging and messaging people when i’m online in the morning!

hot & heavy by lucy dacus inspired — the angst of your first love, homoerotic teenage best friend angst coming back to haunt you, bitterness and nostalgia mingling in the worst way, you hate her and you still love her after all this time. optional: period piece (70s, 80s, 90s, early 00s), a dead friend dragging them back to town, one of them is still closeted. 

fear street inspired — small towns where dark, horrible things have happened and keep happening but not everyone can afford to clear out, young people taking on a legacy of evil in the name of love, the truth of the past being unearthed, the loss along the way. optional: period piece (90s), we can run with something similar to fear street in terms of why the killers exist or come up with our own thing. 

college sleuths — a body found in a classroom or maybe an old unsolved mystery, a small campus cradled by woods and hidden from the world, a desperate need to uncover what everyone else wants to cover up, a righteousness or maybe an obligation to the dead, an eventual game of cat and mouse as they creep closer to the truth. optional: literally everything i listed can be tweaked, i just love the idea of a pair of people (even reluctantly) solving a murder. 

scooby doo inspired, college cryptid/supernatural hunters  — they’re the only ones who believe and maybe that’s okay, could be a mumu/could utilise npc characters if we’d like a group. optional: more of a buffy style scooby gang who are solving problems/include creatures in it. 

dark academia, the secret history inspired  — 

zombie apocalypse romance... with a twist on top of that — what’s more romantic than finding your soulmate at the end of the world? well, i guess if she’s also an unhinged person who will murder humans too, if they cross her. finding out she killed her last s/o somehow doesn’t phase you. basically: muse a has met someone after so long alone but muse b is a little crazy and they get into shenanigans. 

thoroughbreds inspired — unsettling girls forming a strange bond in rekindling a childhood friendship, uncomfortable step fathers, murder as a tool to solve problems rather than a ghastly act, taking blame as a romantic gesture. gifset for fun inspo. 

a return to the hurt/comfort fanfic tag. i’d like to explore deeper things while also dealing with the relationship between two characters. optionally but not limited to: grief, abuse (tentatively and with discussion about parameters), child custody issues, divorce, etc. 

this post but like no really, let’s write it. 

people who believe they are impossible to love pushing away the one who is demanding that they let them in!!!! not strong enough by boygenius vibes also 

an affair happening in a position of power, in a place it absolutely shouldn’t, where everything could turn to crap if they gave in but... they really can’t help themselves. people who are slaves to their own feelings no matter how toxic they are with one another. bad people being so passionately and deeply in love that it destroys everything. oh also this. 

still would kick things over for a normal people plot. i’ll never be over it!! never!! gifset for visual. shame and regret almost overpowering love but not quite, hurting each other, miscommunication, all the things. “i'm not a religious person but i do sometimes think god made you for me.” it should be illegal for someone to say that but jeez i am obsessed with it. 

someone truly deranged and evil and bloodthirsty and the only one who can stop them, but also the only one who can understand them. the only one who knows them. the only one who loves them? ah?

figure skating partners for carling i beg on my knees. fc optional i honestly might change her regardless. 

more song inspo without long winded thoughts: reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine, taken by muna, holding back/crowded places/waiting game by banks, forever winter/tis the damn season/cowboy like me by taylor swift but also really any taylor swift song. 

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Hideout - Jonathan Crane x!Sister Pt. 3

Author's note; Wishing all the happiest of New Year! Image Credit; Edward Addeo

Summary; Lillian Crane is on the run. Out of luck and out of time, she only has one place left to go. After turning up at her brother's high-rise apartment she hopes to just lie low for a little while. Can Jon help his little sister outrun international authorities, or will the past, present, and future all find their way into her hideout?

When Lillian opened her eyes the following morning she went stiff at the sight of the white blanket that wrapped around her body. For a moment she had forgotten nearly all of the events that had led her to this room the previous night. She squinted through the light peering into through the curtained windows and rolled over, feeling around within the mountain of plush pillows and sheets for her phone. Nearly dead and with no messages of importance she noted the time to be a quarter past 9 a.m. Upon remembering the charging cable stuffed deep into her backpack she swung her legs over the edge of the raised mattress and took her first steps of a new era; fugitive in hiding. 

After nearly tripping on them as she made her way to the door she looked down to find a pair of light pink slippers sitting neatly by the foot of the bed. She took this small detail to confirm that Jon in fact, did seek the companionship of a woman. She laughed and rubbed her face as she entered the hallway. Noise echoed from the kitchen as she made her way down the  hall to see her brother, with his back turned to her, tending to something on the stove. The smell of breakfast sausage and fresh coffee caught her off guard seeing as she hasn’t eaten anything but cheap diner food, frozen meals, and fast food for weeks while dealing with the stress of her new situation. She could hear the soft sounds of the Gotham’s morning news come through the speakers of the small TV that was luxuriously fitted into the walls of the kitchen. She moved closer with a sense of hesitation, though she couldn’t figure out why. Without turning around Jon broke the figurative silence. 

“I made coffee. Cups are above the machine. Use the white ones.”  Lillian cleared her throat and replied, “Thanks.” She, now more quickly after being invited into the space, made her way to the coffee maker and helped herself. Adding just a small spoon of sugar and stirring it in. Just enough to cut the bitterness but not much else. It was another thing that unwillingly bonded the Crane siblings, they both took their coffee black, unless they bothered to put in the extra effort to add just a single serving of sugar, and given the bewildering night they had just experienced, they could be bothered. 

“This is great,” Lillian complemented her brother. It was the best coffee she had drank in a long while. She usually preferred the expensive lattes and drips that her salary afforded her but, like many other things as of late, that preference, unfortunately, wasn’t being accommodated. At first, she felt comfort and nostalgia for the drink found in the Denny’s coffee pot at 2 o’clock in the morning. It reminded her of her days in high school when she would run off with her friends to the outskirts of town. Now, she preferred exhaustion over that filth. 

“I get it from a roaster on 14th,” Jon explained. Since she had entered the room he had only spared a glance at the TV set when the meteorologist to run down the weekend forecast and then returned his gaze to the stove. After taking a seat at the breakfast bar, still talking to her brother’s back, Lillian asked, 

“Don’t you work today?” With no time for contemplation, he said 

“I called and told them I wouldn’t be making it in today.” 

“Why?” She asked only seconds later realizing exactly why he had done so. 

“Why do you think?” The doctor asked sounding as if he was asking a child why they thought a rainbow had spread across the sky just minutes after a thunderstorm. She stayed silent. Guilt filling her and staring down into the dark abyss that she held in her hand. She saw movement where Jonathan stood and she snapped her eyes up to see him holding two plates, both consisting of scrambled eggs, sausage and a piece of wheat toast with a thin coat of jam. Her eyebrows perked up just enough for her brother to notice her understated excitement. He set the plates down over the bar. One in front of Lillian and one in front of the empty seat to her left. Before he could finish retrieving utensils and seating himself in the open chair, Lillian had finished the piece of bread that once rested on her plate and began eyeing her brothers. He set the paper towel and then the fork gently by her right hand before doing the same for himself and finally finding his seat. Lillian took a proper bite of her food and turned to her brother. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly to the side of his face before returning to her meal. He finished his bite and began to pick up his mug when he responded. 

“I had extra.” 

—

The pair had finished their meal and after refilling their coffees, Jon began to load the used cookware into the dishwasher. Lillian didn’t know how to bring up the shampoo or the razors or the slippers she had found since her stay here began but her curiosity ate at her, still surprised at the possibility of her brother, her quiet, stoic, just plain weird bother, could actually have a girlfriend. In what may have been the most complex way of raising the question she stuttered out, 

“What’s her name?” Jonathan slowed to stop what he was doing and turned to look at the girl. His brows furrowed and he ever so slightly cocked his head. 

“What?” He said sharply. 

“The girl you have over,” she continued, “what’s her name?” He stood up straight from his hunched position over the open appliance and his hands, one clutching a dish towel, fell to his sides. 

“What are you talking about?” The same tone as before followed these words out of his mouth. Lillian took in a breath and fixed her eyes on her brother softly as to not annoy him any further. 

“The girly shit in the bathroom, and the slippers. I was just curious. How long have you been seeing her?” She said trying to hide her excitement. He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes in a way only Jonathan Crane could. He turned back to his task and Lillian retuned her look of guilt, yet again, to her coffee. 

“I was just curious, I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said quietly but before she could finish her sentence her brother spoke with an annoyed huff. 

“There is no woman.” 

“Then why do you have fuckin’ pink razors,” she laughed nervously and continued to drink her coffee. Holding the cup to her face almost felt like a shield from whatever Jon would say to her. 

“I was at the store, and I just got things that I figured you’d need. In case you had to leave them behind.” The room fell silent all but for the TV still lit up above the counter, now it was rolling ads for a local window washing company. Lillian let out a sharp, but relieved breath, through her nose and took another drink. Her small, hushed laughed caused Jonathan looked back at his sister while finishing with the dishes. She looked at him and spoke with the tenacity of a professor asking her students what the true meaning of the universe is. 

“Slippers?” 

—

After minutes of comfortable silence between the two, Lillian remembered her phone charger that sat in her bag still resting by the door. She rose and went to search for it finally retrieving it out of her pack. She might as well take her belongings to her new room soon, since it was apparent she would be here longer than she anticipated. This was supposed to last a few weeks - a month tops - but after her expedited appearance in Gotham, she feared this ordeal would go on much longer. The last she had heard before leaving her apartment was that agents stationed in Germany had found the location of two members of the Black Cobras during a raid. Since learning this, the rest of the small organization had feared that these two may give up the identities and whereabouts of other members. That, in collusion with INTERPOL’s networks already gaining a renewed interest in the group, caused alarm bells to sound and those still free of custody had to take more extreme measures than the originally agreed upon “laying low.” 

Lillian gathered her belongings loosely in her arms and tugged the rest behind her in the suitcase into her bedroom. After a short moment of assessing all that she had brought laid out on the clean white bed, she felt a wave of sadness boil up deep within. She stared into nothing and allowed herself a small moment of regret and longing for the life she had left behind which she in some way hoped to go back. Could she go back? What else did she know? In all, what she had brought from her small apartment nestled on the outer streets of Paris were 3 changes of clothes, her notebook, laptop, the few bottles and jars of bath products that she scooped off of the bathroom counter on her way out, a hair brush, wallet, passport, a few pens and pencils already at the bottom of the old backpack, a few other odds and ends including charging cables, headphones, sticky notes, and a flash drive, and finally, her small stuffed bunny named, well, bunny. She had been given this toy upon her birth from her mother. No matter where the young girl went, even today, the bunny never left her. Through all the running, the hiding, the restless movement, every home Lillian had occupied had also sheltered Bunny. So, when she got the call that one dreadful evening that she needed to evacuate, the first thing she packed, of course, was Bunny. 

After standing and reflecting for just a minute more, she now turned to carefully stack her few lasting toiletries on the dresser beside the bed. Upon moving she took a startled step back when she saw Jonathan standing in the doorframe, silent and watching. 

“Christ. Knock much?” She huffed and returned to her task. Jonathan remained in his place and said in a coldly, 

“I didn’t think I had to knock in my own home.” The girl rolled her eyes and began sifting through her packs once again in hopes of finding anything else she may have missed. Jon took a few steps into the bright room and looked down at his sister. A small change, barley noticeable, came across his face when he examined her. Pity, almost. With an only slightly relaxed tone than before he offered, 

“You can do your laundry down the hall, there is a basket in the closet.” Lillian spared a brief look at him and hummed a short breath in acknowledgment. When she moved to gather the basket that would carry her rain-dampened clothes to the washer, Jon took her spot in front of the bed with her belongings spread out. 

“Is this all you brought?” He asked bluntly. His sister, a much more emotive speaker replied in an offended huff, 

“Yes it is.” Trying to keep her annoyance at bay, she refused to look at him and forcefully shoved her few articles off the bed and into the basket. As she picked up the basket, her brother spoke again, this time in his best attempt at a softened voice, 

“If you need anything, I can take you shopping tomorrow, or I can get it for you. If you didn’t want to go out.” She slowed her movements, frustration falling away from her as quickly as it arose and looked up at her brother’s still stoic, unmoving gaze. Loosening her grip on the plastic basket she nodded shyly returning her gaze to the floor. It pained her ego enough to even show up at her brother’s door, and having to rely on him to get her basic necessities hurt in a way she hasn’t felt since living under her father. Jon stepped forward, not wanting to continue this display of emotion any further and gently placed a hand on the center of Lillian’s back. The touch shocked her and sent a shiver down her spine. Quietly, and as gently as the man could, he said, 

“I’ll show you where the laundry is.” A gentle guidance led Lillian out of the bedroom door. The soft delicate touch never left her until they made it to the machine.