#i still want that high of that joy of being enthralled by something

[ghost-in-a-cup]

I'm worried my depression is getting worse cause no book or show or any media give me that joy that high that obsession and love for it as past fandoms, I just read go huh that was good then poof no lingering love no want to just be surrounded by people who love and go insane over the things as much as I do. I don't even like reading fanfiction these days, I uninstalled my manhwa reading apps and didn't care all that much even though I loved a lot of them

[princessbrunette]

you’d always been a nerd, there was no doubt about that — it’s only now you were older, you were known as a nerd who was filling out her bikini top, and jiggling in her bikini bottoms. now, unlike yourself — you sit on a little boat out on the water with the infamous pogues.

it was jj who invited you here. it was always jj — he’d been enthralled to see the sexy little thing you’d grown into adulthood as. he’d spotted you whilst working at the library, frowning over a file book of library card entries with cute pouty lips and reading glasses that he wanted to cover in cum. hed always thought you were cute at school, but now he just had to have you. he’d used his charms on you, and now you were nervously tucked into his side, ‘making friends’ with his friends as he’d described it. “gotta get ya out there, there’s a whoooole life to be lived outside these books, you know that?”

he was burrowing through his backpack, leaning over on the boat beside you to find the weed he’d packed, clearly set on corrupting you for fun.

“its the best of the best— like, perfect for a beginner—” he rambles, dumping things out his backpack struggling to find the small baggie of prerolls he’d prepared.

“jesus, jj do not corrupt the poor girl.” john b bites back the entertained smile, lifting his head from where he lounged in the sun to look at you. “you sure you’re okay with this sweetheart? can totally… you know, stick to what you know.” he shrugs, sympathetically and you shake your head, wide eyes finding the blondes.

“its okay, told jj i’ve always wanted to try. he said he’d hook me up.” you smile politely, still a little shy around the group.

“yeah but he’s being weird about it.” kiara glares at her friend with her nose turned up, nudging him with her foot nearly knocking his balance off. “dont be a creep.”

“look i’m not being a creep, alright! ‘said she wanted to try, and i’m being a good citizen and simply helping this sweet young lady out dabbling in just a lil bit of herb okay so i don’t wanna—” he dives headfirst into another one of his rants, but is quieted by your gasp when a couple of items fall out his backpack, including a gun.

“nice work.” pope shakes his head and your eyes widen, looking around wondering why no one else is concerned.

“why do you have a gun, jj?” you scandalise and he picks it up casually, flipping it in his hands making you shuffle away, jaw agape.

“gotta protect my people, what’s wrong wi’that? look i’m a pro at usin’ this thing— set up a little target practice in john b’s backyard and lemme tell you, i have quite the aim.” he waves it around making you stiffen up, touching his bicep to stop him from being so reckless.

“god, you must be careful with that thing. they’re dangerous jj! i read that these pistols just go off at random all the time, you could seriously hurt someone and i don’t wanna be the person who gets shot by accident! do you even—” you freak, and he turns his body to you shuffling closer and silencing you.

“shh, shh, shh, shh — hey. it’s all good. i would never accidentally shoot a pretty girl. trust me, i’m so careful.” he smirks, bringing the tip of the barrel to your lips making you freeze with wide eyes. to keep you there as he speaks, an arm slings over your shoulder, his clammy hand gently grasping the back of your neck. you know you should be scared, the boy seems reckless and unhinged — and worst of all, his friends seemed used to it which tells you he does this shit all the time — but something about it made your cunt throb, dampening your bikini bottoms and subtly pressing your thighs together as you felt your skin heat up.

maybe it was all the books you read, but you’d always loved a bad boy.

“seriously bro? you’re scaring her.” kiara complains, leaning across and yanking the pistol out his hand and shoving it back into his backpack.

fast forward a few hours, and you’re back at the chateau, the only ones inside in john b’s bedroom. you’re looser, high and relaxed from the joint jj had talked you through smoking — and now you were laying your head on his bicep, his free hand down your panties rubbing your copious juices into your swollen clit.

“cant believe you’ve never been touched like this, mama. been missing out on heaven, right?” he grins, leaning down to kiss at your cheek when your eyes flutter closed, so out of it and blissful.

“mm… wanted this since…” you trail off, lips parting and brows furrowing when he curls his finger inside you.

“nah, go on. since when… tell me how long this pretty pussy’s been horny for papa j.” he dirty talks so well you clench hard around him, working up the courage. it didn’t take much, the intoxication and lust making you brave.

“since you put the gun to my lips.” you admit quietly and his jaw drops gleefully, speeding up his fingers.

“seriously? damn i knew you were gonna be a freak. it’s always the quiet ones, always dude.” he celebrates to himself before staring down at you adoringly. “man, i’m gonna have so much fun with you, pretty girl.”

[jimmypesto]

Also, prompt 26 for the Belcher siblings because familial love is just as important?

the belcher siblings + falling asleep on each other!

“Nuh-uh, Tina! No way. We go to bed when we hear mom and dad unlock the door and not a second sooner. That’s tradition!”

Tina sighs. It’s not a tradition that she ever agreed to, but there’s no point in mentioning that to her steamroller of a sister.

Really, Tina’s happy to be babysitting. She’s getting paid (barely) to spend time with Gene and Louise, which she would be doing anyway, and her parents get to go out for Valentine’s Day. Win-win.

Besides, being in charge is a welcome distraction from the fact that she received zero presents today. Unless the dollar store chocolate from her mom counts, which it does not.

Even Tammy had gotten flowers! Jake Castellanos plopped them unceremoniously on her desk during study hall, and she hadn’t shut up about it all afternoon. Not that Tina is bitter or anything! It’s fine.

“T, are you seriously still upset about this dumb Valentine’s thing?” Louise asks.

“Do you realize candy goes on sale for ninety-nine cents tomorrow? Ninety-nine cents! They’re practically giving the stuff away!”

From somewhere deep inside, Tina tries conjure up some excitement. Just a few years ago, she would’ve been thrilled by this news. Now, it’s like it doesn’t matter to her at all. High school has changed everything, stripping the childlike joy out of facets of life she hadn’t even realized she loved.

“Sister, no man is worth losing candy over!” Gene chimes in. “Anyone who says otherwise is nothing but a dirty liar!”

Louise nods, squeezing Tina’s shoulder.

“Gene’s right. Once we use up all of your allowance on chocolate, your fragile heart’s gonna heal right up. Guaranteed.”

Tina smiles. Finally. It feels like it’s the first time she’s done that all day. It’s not the thought of the candy that does it, either.

“I guess that sounds fun.” She says.

She does usually end up having fun with her siblings, even when they’re simultaneously causing her stress. Tonight, they even let her pick out a horse movie to watch.

“You guess?” Louise demands. “Try extremely fun. Life altering-ly fun, if you’re doing it right.”

There’s no sense in debating Louise when she gets like this. She’s getting what she wants tomorrow, and that’s it. Case closed.

“Okay.” Tina agrees. “Can we press play on the movie now? It was just getting good.”

Gene looks suddenly panicked, like there’s something urgent he’s dying to say.

“If you play with my hair!” He blurts out, clearly embarrassed to be asking. “Sorry. Mom usually takes care of my bedroom routine, but since she’s not here…”

Tina brushes a hand through his bangs, letting her fingers sweep across his scalp, and he hums with relief.

“Thanks, T.”

“No problem. I guess I am Mom for the night, aren’t I? Does that mean I get to drink wine? Ha. Just…just kidding.”

“Good one, Tina.” Louise says. “That joke would’ve killed with the rest of The Babysitters Club.”

Tina looks at Gene, wondering if he can explain the reference, but his eyes are shut as she continues to comb through his hair. With an impressive lack of groaning, Louise flips the movie back on. It looks like the farmer’s daughter will be able to save the farm after all!

While Tina watches, her hand moves subconsciously through Gene’s hair. The repetitive motion soothes both of them, and she catches Louise looking over once or twice with what might be jealousy.

“You…want me to do yours, Louise?” Tina asks. “I have two hands.”

Louise scoffs.

“What? Me? Want my hair played with? Uh…no thanks. Absolutely not.”

“Suit yourself.”

As the clock hits eleven, she notices both of her siblings finding it harder to resist sleep. Their eyelids droop, and Louise’s snarky comments about the movie grow less frequent. Perfect.

Gene goes out first. Too enthralled by her film, Tina doesn’t notice until his weight hits her like a sack of potatoes.

One down, one to go. She thinks.

“Hey, Louise?” She asks, keeping her voice steady. “Do you remember that time when we were little, and Mom and Dad took us on that hay ride?”

Louise eyes her with suspicion.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how you fell asleep, and Dad carried you to the car.”

Like magic, exhaustion passes over Louise at the same time the memory does. Tina can tell she’s recalling the feeling of drifting in and out of consciousness, looking up to see Dad smiling every time her eyes fluttered open.

“Tina!” Louise cries, betrayed, when a yawn slips out. “Did you just trick me into getting sleepier?”

“Maybe. Did it work?”

Louise scowls, but Tina’s method proves effective in under five minutes. Her head falls onto her sister’s shoulder, a murmur of satisfaction escaping in her sleep.

Bingo. Tina thinks.

With both of her distractions gone, her mind wanders back to the problem it’s been obsessing over all day. The only difference is that it now feels much smaller. Funny how that works.

Louise reaches a hand out in her sleep , and Tina takes it. On her other side, Gene snuggles in closer.

All in all, she feels she’s accomplished a lot tonight. She’s proven herself a worthy adversary for obstinate siblings, and she’s even managed to overcome her disappointment about Valentine’s Day.

As she looks to either side, though, she realizes how naive she’s been in other areas. How could I have thought that high school’s changed everything? She thinks.

With Gene and Louise both slouched on top of her, one thing is overwhelmingly clear: there are certain things that getting older can’t even touch.

[karizard-ao3]

My son (9) read Assassination Classroom recently. I read only the first few chapters and couldn't get into it, but he was enthralled. He hates handwriting anything because he still struggles with penmanship, but he was so excited about the series that he would laboriously copy down character stats onto a notepad. The ending made him cry. I was sitting next to him on the couch, working on a wip or maybe playing a game, when he said, in a trembling voice, "Mom?"

I looked over at him. Tears were pouring down his face. "[spoilers]," he said. "I want to stop reading. I'm so sad."

But he couldn't stop reading so he kept going and he kept crying. And he was still thinking about it days later.

I didn't think much about it at the time, because at this point, I've been deeply affected by so many pieces of media that I take it for granted. I cried at the end of the new Pixar short, Carl's Date, right there in the middle of the theater. I was a broken zombie for days after the end of Attack on Titan. My brother finished Attack on Titan and had to go lie down for a while before we could talk about it.

But, this morning, I found one of the note pages where my child had so enthusiastically copied out a character's details, and, left with a moment to think because he's away at his dad's for a month, I realized that this is maybe the first time he's become really invested in media. Like, he's had favorite shows and whatnot before, but I don't think he's ever let himself become so fully immersed in a story before. And I started thinking, what a beautiful and human experience it is to lose yourself in something that another human being has created, to have it find something inside you that connects you to it in such a deep and profound way that it makes you feel visceral joy and sorrow, that you want to talk about it and think about it and wrap yourself up in it. How lovely that a work does not have to be high brow or genius (in general, I haven't read Assassination Classroom to make that call for it) to get you in its grip and light you up. What a joy of being alive.

Bringing this back around to fanfiction, this reminds me of something else I've thought before. Being a fan of post-apocalyptic dystopias to begin with, and with the news over the past few years being the way it has been, I've thought a lot about society collapsing, and the future anthropologists (if there are any left) who will study our society. And imagine if all they have left of us is a remnant of the internet (I'm not a computer person. I do not know if this is even possible) where they find AO3, a digital library of tributes to original works. The original works themselves are gone, or lost behind a paywall, but the fanfiction is there, and the future anthropologists and historians and digital archaeologists (I made that up, as far as I know, but why not?) base all their understanding of how we engaged with and created stories based on our fan writing. What would they infer about us and Attack on Titan based on studying our Eremika fics? Would they read our "ancient classics" and be consumed by the characters like we were? Will they write essays about the many faces of Eren (is he a fuckboy or a simp? A toxic daddy or a pathetic goofball?)? Will they speculate about whether Eremika or Jeankasa is the true pairing? What can our portrayals of Mikasa reveal about our society's internalized misogyny? Surely they'll be able to tell from the comments and author's notes that these stories are based on other media, but what if fanfic is all that's left? Isn't that interesting to think about?

God, sorry, I went off on a tangent. It's just so exciting. Art and creation is so exciting, and the idea that these pieces of our minds can live on and change people even long after we're gone.

In conclusion, I just think it's all so neat.

[prettiestpancakes]

I just love that Minecraft is a post-apocalyptic game so much.

I love that it take place in a world that has pulled itself together after being meddled with. A world that acts as proof that no matter how many horrid, unknowable monsters the human mind may summon into existence, nature will accept them with open arms.

Crumbling structures are overtaken by plant-life. Towering metallic guardians show acts of kindness to the tiny rural communities in which they reside. Alien fungi form vibrant ecosystems in the dark caverns where they first took root.

And all of that is pierced with the highs of exploration. The idea that discovery lies within the unknown - the caves, the forests, the depths of oceans. This is something so primordial to us, as humans, the knowledge that every next corner can hold something gorgeous.

This is why in the End Poem it says:

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works.

Because I think Julian Gough understood that this is the central appeal. The primal joy of it all. That is speaks to something in our bones.

I'll write a full-fledged analysis of the End Poem at some point. I really want to. But I guess my point is...

I love the peace that Minecraft radiates. Even now that it became so much more complicated that it was back when I played actively, I think it is nearly impossible to make it lose the charm that was so thoroughly baked into its core.

It's a story about wondering, I guess. That's what makes it so enthralling to me. Wondering a world that was once broken, that still remains scarred, but has all of the mind-blowing beauty you expect from a fantasy story. I really do love it.

[newmusickarl]

5-9’s Album of the Month Podcast – Episode 7 Out Now, Episode 8 Coming Soon!

The August review episode of the 5-9 Album of the Month Podcast will be arriving shortly and as ever I will take a seat alongside 5-9 Editor Andrew Belt and Check This Out’s Kiley Larsen to review five high profile album releases from the past month in music, and ultimately name one as our Album of the Month at the end of the discussion.

For the upcoming August episode, the five albums we will be discussing are:

WEEDKILLER by Ashnikko

Death Is Nothing To Us by Fiddlehead

STRUGGLER by Genesis Owusu

The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons by The Hives

No Joy by Spanish Love Songs

If you want to listen to the July episode or any previous episodes simply click the link below, but also be sure to follow 5-9 Blog on Instagram and Twitter for more news and polls relating to the podcast, along with other great content like film reviews, sports articles and more.

Listen to the July 2023 episode here

Album & EP Recommendations

The Noble Art of Self Destruction by Holding Absence

Welsh post-hardcore outfit Holding Absence have been on an incredible run ever since their formation in 2015. Quickly garnering a legion of fans off the back of their epic self-titled debut and 2021’s bold, cinematic effort The Greatest Mistake of My Life, expectations were certainly high for this eagerly anticipated third outing. Simply building on what has come before rather than reinventing the wheel, The Noble Art of Self Destruction shows why Holding Absence have rapidly become one of the UK’s most heralded alt-rock bands.

Propelled by atmospheric sonic backdrops and Lucas Woodland’s passionate vocals, it’s a record simply packed wall-to-wall with the soaring anthems we’ve come to expect from Holding Absence. With each track seamlessly segueing into the next, it’s an expertly crafted rock record with highlights including recent single A Crooked Melody, heartfelt centrepiece Honey Moon and dramatic grand finale The Angel In The Marble.

Listen here

Still Love by Teenage Wrist

However, if you prefer your rock music rawer and scuzzier, then look no further than this third album from Californian duo, Teenage Wrist. Despite being around for almost 10 years, Still Love has been my first introduction to the band, leading to a thorough deep dive through their other two albums in early August. Whilst I’m not sure yet that this is their best record, I can say the pair of Anthony Salazar and Marshall Gallagher have certainly upped the scope of their sound on this latest effort.

Featuring a host of guest features from the likes of Softcult, Sister Void and Heavenward, the duo have stripped back the production and dived further into the grungier elements of their emotive sonic landscapes. It all makes for an enthralling listen, with the title track, Something Good, Cold Case and Sprawled just some of the highlights here.

Listen here

Hazeltons by Justin Vernon

When I first hit play on this project, I was pleasantly surprised with what was presented to me. It initially seemed like Vernon had finally come full circle, returning to the quiet ambient folk of his classic albums For Emma, Forever Ago and the self-titled Bon Iver record, after years of bold experimentation. However, what I soon found out was that Hazeltons is actually a project from way back in 2006, one that was originally granted a very limited release and is now being heard by the masses for the first time. So a new/old project if you will, with many Bon Iver fans only now discovering this batch of songs.

The chances are if you are a huge fan of those early Bon Iver projects, like me you’ll be blown away by this one. As Vernon’s inimitable vocals reverberate against the stripped-back acoustic arrangements, it offers moments of haunting beauty to the level few other artists can muster. Whilst early Holocene cut Hazelton offers a gift for fans and piano ballad Easy hits a hard emotional gut punch, the stunning, nearly 9-minute epic Song For a Lover (of long ago) is the undisputed star of the show.

Listen here

KEIR by Keir

From a timeless lost project to an outstanding debut now, and there were few more impressive first outings in August than this one from rising star, Keir. An artist I first discovered through Dot to Dot Nottingham several years ago off the back of his mammoth single Squeeze Me, the genre-defying singer-songwriter has only gone from strength-to-strength since then.

Now with this long-awaited debut finally out in the world, here’s hoping more people get to discover Keir’s unique ability to have you rocking out one minute then solemnly lamenting the next. This range of versatility is on full display across this impressive self-titled, from the dramatic opening crescendo of Lemonade to the seismic closing act of Shame. With the quirky, operatic Voices and heartfelt singles Time (is a healer), Say Love and Confession also standing out along the way, this is a huge pop debut that I just can’t stop spinning.

Listen here

UTOPIA by Travis Scott

Following the horrific Astroworld festival incident which saw 10 people die and hundreds more injured, rapper Travis Scott had rightfully been condemned for his crowd-antagonising antics that had played their part in causing this highly preventable tragedy. At this point I had assumed Travis’ career was over, but at the end of July he would release his fourth album and intrigue boosted by a wave of internet buzz simply got the better of me. Although UTOPIA is noticeably patchy and at times awkwardly feels like an attempt to reconnect with an audience that has rightfully left him behind, there are some fascinating moments to be found here too.

With a mountain of guest features including heavyweights like Beyoncé, Drake, Kanye West, Daft Punk, The Weeknd, SZA, James Blake, Kid Cudi, Pharrell Williams and many, many more, Travis pulls out all the stops here. With exquisite production and more than a few moments that channel Ye’s 2013 classic Yeezus, Travis doesn’t shy away on songs such as HYAENA, MODERN JAM and CIRCUS MAXIMUS. However, the album’s highlight for me is MY EYES, which is the rare moment in which Travis does openly address the Astroworld tragedy, with the song further elevated thanks to a couple of extraordinary features from both Justin Vernon and Sampha.

Listen here

Modern Day EP by Bloxx

And finally on the EPs front this month, London-based indie quartet Bloxx made their welcome return with their first new EP since 2021’s Pop Culture Radio. Much like their output till now, it is a collection of five songs that showcases the band’s talent for writing catchy hooks and memorable riffs, with the opening trio of Modern Day, Television Promises and Runaway particularly great.

Listen here

Also worth checking out: Sundial by Noname, Ooh Rap I Ya by George Clanton, Learning How To Live & Let Go by The Xcerts, Volcano by Jungle, Austin by Post Malone

Tracks of the Week

The Notion by Spector

A band that continue to do no wrong, 10s indie icons Spector recently released new single The Notion alongside a string of UK tour dates, possibly hinting that album No.4 is on the way. As ever it is Fred Macpherson’s poetically written lyrics that are the star of the show, with the poignant refrain of “There will be good days, but maybe not always” leaving a lasting impression. Also worth sticking around for a soaring guest guitar solo from friend of the band, Blood Orange’s Dev Hynes.

Listen here

Space Invader / Alphabet City by The National

The National’s ninth studio album First Two Pages of Frankenstein may remain one of this year’s biggest disappointments, but thankfully the band have shown signs of recovery with a pair of intriguing standalone singles. Alphabet City boasts some tender orchestration whilst Space Invader is for my money the best song the band have put out this year, a 7-minute tour de force led by some truly stirring instrumental passages.

Listen to Space Invader here

Deep In The Night by Future Islands

From the moment those opening synths chime in, it’s impossible not to get swept away by this dreamy new cut from Baltimore outfit Future Islands. Their last album, As Long As You Are, was one of my favourites of theirs to date and this latest single already has me anticipating their next record. Beautifully steeped in sentiment and carrying a natural timelessness, it’s an instant favourite in their catalogue for me.

Listen here

Punk’s Dead by SOFT PLAY

Five years since their last LP and one name change later, SOFT PLAY (formely known as SLAVES) finally returned this month and boy did they return in emphatic fashion. Propelled by surging riffs and frontman Isaac Holman’s anger-fuelled vocals taking aim at “PC babies”, the most pleasantly surprising moment comes when Robbie Williams turns up for a melodic cameo during the final bridge. Best experienced with this wonderfully OTT video!

Watch it here

Are You Awake? By Lauren Mayberry

Swapping pulsating electronics for a stripped-back piano ballad, CHVRCHES’ Lauren Mayberry recently released this stunning debut solo single. Subtly constructed yet still packing a powerful punch, it’s a noticeable direction change from her day job and an intriguing taster for her forthcoming first solo record.

Listen here

I Want To Be Your Only Pet by Bombay Bicycle Club

Due for release in October, the sixth album from Bombay Bicycle Club continues to be one of my most anticipated records for the final part of the year. This latest single has only heightened expectations further, thanks to some hypnotic vocal harmonies and some seriously addictive buzzy guitar riffs.

Listen here

Fire of Mercy by Hot Chip & yuné pinku

And finally this week, Electronic legends Hot Chip have recently teamed up with Malaysian-Irish producer yuné pinku for this blissful end of summer anthem. Typically excellent from Hot Chip, it’s a heartwarming track based on William Blake’s Songs of Experience.

Listen here

Also worth checking out: Ozone Scraper by DJ Shadow, iBD by Mac Wetha, Feels So Good by Haiku Hands, S’old by Taking Back Sunday, Headlights On by Wild Nothing featuring Hatchie

REMINDER: If you use Apple Music, you can also keep up-to-date with all my favourite 2023 tracks through my Best of 2023 playlist. Constantly updated throughout the year with songs I enjoy, it is then finalised into a Top 100 Songs of the Year in December.

Add the playlist to your library here

[sunnywalnut]

I wish I knew what healthy meant.

I wish I could trap it in a jar, set it on my shelf and watch it move. Watch it grow and thrive and live without ever having to get my hands dirty.

I wish I knew what love meant.

Not obsession, or the lies of which I'd been told. Where I'd be noticed across the room and they'd whisper to themselves "That one. That one is mine."

I wish to be loved like the moon.

To be praised and adored, to be able to bring a kindness, a way of rest for your weary soul.

But what is the moon, without Her sun? Without Her stars? Is She nothing but lonely? Or does it make Her strong?

Perhaps the distance between the Stars and the Moon is not for the lack of love, but for the fear of being close. Of catching fire on something that might not even burn.

Would I burn?

What is burning, if not desire?

I desire what I can't have. I strike the matches that burn my fingertips, again and again, wishing, hoping, waiting that one day, it might stop before it comes close.

My love does not burn out.

But yours might.

Yours has.

My countless lovers, my countless friends and comrades, again and again have winked out of existence like dying stars, burning fast and bright only to disappear in a burst of brilliance and rage.

Always leaving me wondering, wishing, waiting for answers.

Is it me?

Am I the problem?

Am I the problem with my muchness? With my countless worries, with my desire for affection, desire for love? Desire to be held close, to be held gently, not for fear of breaking but at the awe that is me?

Or is it that I always find myself in company that needs and never wants?

Take, take, taking all that is me, all that they need and never want, all that I give because yes, I love you, but oh how tiring it is to be loved.

To be needed in a way where I am giving, giving, always giving.

I thought I'd finally found getting.

I thought I'd finally figured Love out. Figured Healthy out.

But you were just as bad, just as toxic and enthralling, a tab on my tongue, a high that lasted for mere minutes before leaving me crashing downwards.

I wanted to be wanted.

You needed to be needed.

And I needed you.

I drank you down like a bottle always in my hand, cool and crisp and clear.

This is love, I told myself. What it is, to be loved.

But the thing was, I had never been in love before.

I had not known the feeling, the wanting of being close, the tenderness of affections and genuineness.

I had not known the joys of my name, spoken on such sweet lips, or waking up to your face and messy hair, the calm waters of security.

If only it had stayed that way, My Love.

My love, my love, I need my love back.

Thank you.

I do not need you. I do not love you. I do not want you.

I wanted to be wanted, I do not need to be needed.

You never did need me, as I thought you did. I was not your lifeline or your One or your Love, as you'd lead me to believe.

Perhaps it is wrong of me, to write you off so quickly.

Perhaps I still hold some guilt of my own for asking so much of you.

But I do not think asking to not be ignored is "too much."

I tried to not ask, I tried to not need, to not want, and yet...

You still ended up using me.

I might not know what Healthy is, but I know what it is not now.

I know Toxic has many faces.

Many are sweet, and soft with bleary eyes and messy hair and the most fragile voice that can speak your name in the most loveliest of ways.

Many are harsh and indifferent, cold and angry that can flip on a dime, as I'd come familiar with in time.

And some.... Some don't realize that they are.

Some need to be needed, to be wanted, to be obsessed over.

Some are lost, looking to be found in a way I cannot help.

Some do not want to be spoken to gently.

Some do not want company while they sit, or help to pick up the broken pieces.

Some are stuck, wanting to be whole but never knowing how to piece themselves together. Never wanting to ask for help, never trying for fear of getting it "wrong."

Some leave, only to come back when they are "better" because that is the part of them they wish to show.

And perhaps I do need more.

Perhaps I am a lot.

Perhaps I can be "too much" and "too little."

But I am also kind.

I am also strong and resilient and fiercely loving with devotion like no one has ever seen before.

And perhaps... Maybe.. I have found someone to help me see it in a light I never have before.

[abvndonedbydisney]

[ mitch marner, cis man, he/him. ] ✧･ﾟ is that [ SIDNEY CONWAY ] who just stumbled into town? rumour has it that they’re the [ TWENTY-THREE ] year old child of [ CHARLIE CONWAY ] from [ THE MIGHTY DUCKS ]. i’ve also heard that they’re [ RESILIENT ] but [ SELF-SACRIFICING ] and have [ 2 ] siblings. i could almost swear i heard [ SOMEBODY - JUSTIN BIEBER ] playing when they appeared.

full name: sidney conway.

nicknames: sid or ‘sid the kid’ by his father - because he was named after sidney crosby.

gender: cis man.

pronouns: he/him.

sexuality: bisexual.

age: twenty-three.

date of birth: october 13th.

zodiac sign: libra.

aesthetics: the sound of blades scraping against ice, a shaky exhale visible in the wintery air, bruises worn as badges, messy brown locks of hair hanging in one’s eyes, the heavy burden of burnout gifted kid syndrome.

parents: charlie conway from the mighty ducks.

siblings: two adopted siblings.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

despite charlie conway having lost faith in the spirit of the mighty ducks, he continued to embody that same spirit throughout his life. after graduating high school with honours despite having to find a balance between studies and sports, he was selected to partake in the nhl draft. he ended up being selected as the second overall pick in the league by the minnesota wild where he was taken on as a prospect. during this time he decided to do a bit of online schooling while he attended training camp before being sent down to the team’s ahl team for a temporary stint. but it wasn’t long before charlie’s skills displayed were enough to have him called up to the wild. it was surreal for the nineteen-year-old, but he was able to adapt and find a place on the team fairly easily.

but certain things came with the sudden fame and attention that were difficult for him to resist the temptation of. one of those things was attractive fans. charlie ended up having a one-night stand for a few but didn’t bother to think about the implications of sleeping around. this resulted in a happy accident, one of the women he slept with texting him that she was pregnant. she wasn’t prepared to become and mother and neither was charlie, but the other options provided weren’t something either of them wanted to look into at the moment. when sidney entered the world, charlie was at the peak of his rookie career but one look at his son made him want to try to make things work.

while the mother of his child didn’t necessarily feel the same way, charlie was determined to make sure that didn’t matter. the boy’s mother stepped in and was there to practically raise sidney, bringing him to every home game that she could when she wasn’t busy working. sidney grew up idolizing both his grandmother and father. his grandmother’s warm heart and empathy and his father’s work ethic and dynamic nature were things he hoped to embody one day. sidney ended up being nudged to follow in his father’s footsteps at a young age, entering peewee hockey at the age of five. while the sport had been something that enthralled him, he learned quickly he enjoyed being a spectator more than actually playing. but that was something he was afraid to tell his father, fearful that he would only end up disappointing him.

sidney’s lack of honesty resulted in the sport consuming his entire life. all he did was attend school, eat, sleep, and practice. every day began to blur. one of the only things that made his life a bit easier was the presence of his two adopted younger siblings, his father wanted to expand their family but still lacked the desire to settle down with anyone. the only other thing that strangely brought joy to his life was another sport: figure skating. he would often spend extra time at the rink just to watch his fellow skaters who rented out the rink for practice sessions. there was something about the gracefulness mingled with the complexity of the sport that drew him in, wishing he could’ve had the chance to pursue it rather than hockey.

but at this point in his life, he felt as if it was too late to turn back from the lie he had spun for himself. everyone believed he liked hockey and that he was good at it. he was a strong two-way forward and captain of his high school team. after high school, he was gifted with the same opportunity that his father had been and was selected for the nhl draft lottery. he was picked first overall by the anaheim ducks, something his father’s career and success no doubt affected. he felt like he wasn’t worthy of all he had been given but he kept that to himself. not to mention it was harder to fool people on his team that he enjoyed what he was doing. one day the mask would fall and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when that day finally arrived.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

his ex, the child of connie and guy. they ended on bad terms after sidney left for the nhl.

any other mighty ducks (original movies or game changers) based muses.

[hanagutierrez]

statement 

My main source of inspiration for the past few months has been my own mental health. I have struggled for my entire life with general anxiety and social anxiety, resulting in selective mutism as a child and difficulty expressing myself and my emotions in a way that other people can understand. As I got older I began to struggle with self-image and my relationship with my body, which I am still learning to work through. Art has always been an escape for me to focus on something other than whatever is going on inside my head, and I began to use it as a tool for self-expression as my skills developed. As I focussed on different aspects of my inspiration (for example, my anxiety or my discomfort), my art styles shifted and changed to accommodate what I had the ability to do, and what I wanted to say, from more abstract styles to surrealism to poetry and written word.

Lately, I have been admiring the works of Sarah Ball, whose portraiture strikes a certain chord in me. Pieces like Elise (2021) and Seyon (2021) depict the subject in a manner that is so simple and easy to look at but still are mesmerizing. With plain, flat backgrounds and shiny, detailed eyes, the paintings depict an anguish that still manages to portray almost an absence in the subject, which resonates with me as someone who experiences dissociation on a near-daily basis. Similarly, works by Arafin Sajedi depict a similar absence in the subject, despite her works being much more vibrantly coloured and detailed, often with realistic, shining eyes that look tear-filled, portraying a sort of misery. Her piece Like a Queen (2013) has been stuck in my head since I first saw it a few years ago. 

Photography is a medium that I have been interested in and fascinated by since I was a child, though I never went further than taking a few photos in my neighbourhood. Works by Leonardo Pucci, in which he often has faceless subjects that are turned away or partially hidden from the camera, and Vivian Maier, who became known posthumously for taking photos without anyone knowing, inspire me in depicting the inherent loneliness that comes with human existence. I have a passion for finding joy and beauty in the mundane, and I would like to use photography to portray the beauty of domesticity. 

I am interested in exploring poetry more as a means of speaking through my art. Constance Merritt has been an inspiration of mine for several years, particularly her poem Invisible Women, Dancing from 2003, as well as Erica Jong and her poem Narcissus, Photographer from 1971. I love how their words flow from simple prose into detailed and enthralling stories. Mitski’s lyrics hit me in a similar way; her words are blunt, but tell part of a story that leaves the listener wondering. (My favourite song of hers is Class of 2013, which I first heard about a month before I graduated high school. The lines “Mom, am I still young? / Can I dream for a few months more?” have stuck with me since.) In Merritt’s, Jong’s, and Mitski’s works, I admire how they all keep their words light and easy enough to read without exhausting the reader with overwhelming words, while their themes are very intense. I would like to involve something similar in my writing, especially while using my mental health as inspiration. 

In all my research and exploration, I have been collecting ideas like dust. I have experimented with new mediums like digital art and embroidery on canvas. I have been sketching ideas and lines of poetry on scrap papers, searching for reference images, and daydreaming constantly, getting lost in my own head while exploring the mountains and valleys of ideas and possibilities. 

As I mentioned earlier, I have been using embroidery and sewing on canvases lately, and I would like to use that more in the future, possibly in tandem with my poetry and other art styles that I would like to explore more, and I believe as I grow as an artist, my art can also evolve and develop as a coping skill for my health.

[redbeansoups]

Move-In Day

Cove Holden x Reader

In which Cove Holden helps you move into your brand new dorm, and wishes you farewell before your freshman year.

Takes place after Step 3.

*

Like it or not, your life has always revolved around one Cove Holden. One bright-eyed, silky-haired, infuriatingly endearing Cove Holden. It’s always been him, in everything you’ve done, forever a spectator and participant in one. You have never known a time without him: your classmate, neighbor, best friend and boyfriend-extraordinaire.

Even now, as you edge into adulthood, Cove Holden is all you know: seated beside you with one hand on the wheel, wavy hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes longingly on yours. He catches your gaze, and offers you a smile, full of sincerity as always.

The journey upstate had been a long time coming; a goal, ever-present, but inching along so slowly that you’d opted merely to brush it off. But as the summer of your senior year came to a close, your move-in day had sprung up on you like an unpleasant (albeit somewhat enthralling) surprise.

Cove, forever a gentleman, had insisted on driving you all the way. You’d argued against him, only to be shut down–and quite firmly at that. “If you’re going to be moving so far away,” he’d told you one night, “then the least I can do is go and see you off.” He was a much better driver than you anyway, you’d reasoned with yourself, and it’d be nice to have another pair of hands to unpack. The idea of flying alone didn’t quite appeal to you either, so, after hardly a moment’s hesitation, you’d agreed to let him tag along.

College, all the way up north–you can hardly believe you’d come so far. You’d dreamt of this for years, spent months drafting application essays and crafting resumes. Years of preparation and research, though, hadn't seemed to brace you for the anxiety to come.

Even now, sitting in the car with Cove, hands intertwined, the idea feels more like a dream than your living, breathing reality. But the car trudges along, movements never once faltering for your thoughts.

You’d be on your own soon–a stray left for dead. You’d be nowhere near Sunset Bird anymore.

Lost in thought, it takes you more than a moment to grow cognizant of your surroundings. The scenery has shifted, the sky around you having faded to a pale purple hue. The change in atmosphere is instant. High-rise buildings litter the skyline; the shopping districts, no longer limited to a single street, bustle with activity.

It feels, beyond anything else, unfamiliar.

Isolating.

Realistically, you are far from alone. Derek, having gotten his scholarship, lives right down the hall. Your parents and sister are always a call away, and your friends have never failed to remind you of their presence. And Cove, despite being far from technologically adept, is still a better texter than most–and a relatively consistent one at that.

These thoughts, at least, are reassuring.

But the fear remains–and all you can do is try and work alongside it.

You turn to Cove. The window has been rolled down; you feel the cool evening breeze against your skin, fresh and foreign all at once. His hands are running mindlessly through his hair, detangling the inevitable wind-induced knots. Your eyes flit down to his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, then lower down to his scar, the pale white mark running gently down his forearm.

Sitting there, so unaware of himself, sunset illuminating soft features–Cove is beautiful, in every possible way.

You smile, content.

*

The hours pass, and before you know it, you find yourself on campus for the first time.

You tap the keycard to your door, and it opens with a soft click. The two of you are met with the sight of the dorm, the yellow-tinted wood somehow even less impressive than the photos you’d seen online. Barren walls, popcorn ceilings, worn-down linoleum from decades past. Sparsely decorated as it may be, the room puts you at ease.

You let Cove move past you to enter. “What a joy.” You scoff at the drawl in his voice. “Where’d you say your roommate’s from?” he asks, his shoulders nudging the door wider. His set of boxes is significantly larger than yours, and he looks smaller than ever with the stack cradled against his chest.

“Florida,” you answer, following his footsteps.

“Oh.” He sets the cardboard down on the ground, the impact resounding with a solid thump. “I hope they won’t mind the mess we’re about to make.”

That draws a laugh out of you; you think back to all the times you’ve stepped into his room, only to find it a complete bird’s nest. “They’re not moving in until tomorrow.” Another thump resounds as you drop your own load. “We have time to clean. But don’t mess things up too bad, please. I’d like a good first impression.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes, and, cracking open the first box, begin the arduous process of unpacking.

*

“Well,” Cove says finally, brushing dust away from his hands. “I think that was the last of your stuff.”

Setting the last of your books in place, you take a moment to revel in your surroundings. Despite his messy tendencies, Cove had done a pretty good job–with your assistance, of course. All your clothes had been folded neatly up in the closet, and your posters were hung all over the walls, like a delicate reminder of home. On the desk sat two small photo frames; one with you and your family, and one with you and Cove.

“I guess so, huh,” you mutter.

There’s a weight in the air around you, and you bow your head.

There’d been too much to discuss. Hell, even now the topic was one you wanted nothing more than to avoid. The ‘what-ifs’ had littered your mind for months now, hanging over you like a constant reminder. And though Cove had tried his best to dispel them, they’d inevitably come back–and with a vengeance. You didn’t know what the future held, nor did you know whether the two of you would last. Uncertainty riddled your mind: what if he grew bored? What if the two of you lost interest? What if, after all your time together, the physical distance became too much?

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder. The gesture is light, gentle–a welcome pressure.

The tension dissipates.

You sigh, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes you’ve come to recognize as sadness. And there’s a warmth behind your own that threatens to grow hot, to liquify and pool before you. You choke back the urge to cry, stifling yourself by clearing your throat. “You’ll text me, won’t you?”

He chuckles softly at that, thumb stroking circles into your skin. “Of course. I’ll call you so often you’ll grow sick of me.”

“I’m counting on it, Cove.”

You give him one last hug, inhaling his scent and pressing your cheek to his chest. He smells like Sunset Bird, a mixture of the ocean and the beach and all the pleasantries that come along with it. His pulse, slow and steady, beats in your ear.

Devoting the moment to memory, you angle your head to plant a peck on his cheek. “Thanks for helping me move in.”

He grins at you. “Of course.” The expression sparks something strange in you, something equal parts melancholy and equal parts pride. You so badly want him to stay–you want to reach out, pull him down into the bed and sit right atop him so he might never escape your grasp.

“I love you,” you whisper, part-plea and part-farewell; you see the pain in Cove’s eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, shoots you a smile. "I love you too."

You smile, and breathe him in just once more. Then, with one last teary kiss, you let go, and wish him a safe journey home.

You’re on your own now–

But you know he’s with you, always.

*

A/N: Another self-indulgent piece as always, because I've fallen in love with one Cove Holden. My freshman year of college starts soon, and I guess my worries culminated in this piece. Thanks for reading, though–I hope this was alright! Any reblogs or likes are appreciated!!

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @katiebellf @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430

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[themangolorian]

ketterdam unsolved

For @kanejweek Day 3: Adventure (robbery & piracy, outer space)

Pairing: Kaz x Inej

Warnings: for some explicit language

Summary: (modern au) ketterdam’s version of buzzfeed unsolved (not what i expected when i started out) but you don’t have to watch bfu to get it, it’s just a modern ghost hunting au with a twist

“If this is going to work, then Kaz needs to be the skeptic and Inej the believer.” Wylan kept saying in various reiterations without ever explaining why.

“This isn’t going to work.” Jasper repeated.

“Shouldn’t that be Kaz’s line?” Inej smiled dazzlingly his way.

“Wylan is right.” Kaz finally spoke, his voice unwavering rough stone.

Silence fell over the room. They’d been bickering over the roles for several minutes and Kaz had kept his peace until now.

“Even if he doesn’t know why.” Kaz continued, effectively erasing the satisfied smile from Wylan’s face.

Jesper stuck his tongue out at Wylan in retaliation, but Wylan actively ignored him.

“Jesper, you’ll be manning the camera.” Kaz said, then, a moment later: “What was that?”

“Nothing, boss,” Jesper shot back enthusiastically, though they’d all clearly heard him mutter a second ago: “You’ll regret that when you see the footage.”

Kaz nodded in satisfaction. It wasn’t that they didn’t all rile him up intentionally once in awhile; it was that you didn’t do it during a job.

After all, if they were going to steal the Lantsov Emerald from a high tech security vault inside of an allegedly haunted castle while playing at being amateur television personality ghost hunters, they were going to need full concentration throttles ahead.

“What about me?” Nina pouted.

“You, my dear,” replied Kaz liltingly, holding up a skimpy yet utterly expensive looking gown, “are tonight’s distraction.”

Nina grinned devilishly, but Matthias only groaned.

“Let’s get to work.” Kaz murmured.

*******

Later, on the set Wylan and Jesper had constructed to look like some old timey investigator’s office, Inej studied the hastily thrown together script with wrinkled nose.

“This dialogue is terrible.”

“Oi.” Wylan feigned hurt surprisingly well.

“It’ll have to do,” Kaz agreed without actually agreeing from where he sat behind the desk at her side.

“This week on Ketterdam Unsolved, we dive deep into the mystery of the Haunted Castle of Ravka,” Inej tried but failed to say without cringing.

Kaz’s lips twitched. “The most awful part about it all is that they’re going to fall for it.”

Inej glanced his way slyly. “Oh yes, truly horrible.”

Kaz focused for just a second too long on that smile before forcing his gaze back to the script.

Jesper zoomed out of the shot. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

********

The castle’s wide open hallways were cold and foreboding, and Inej found herself shivering from more than just the temperature. For all her skepticism about the script, she might be the only one of them other than Matthias who truly believed the castle was haunted.

Glancing past where Matthias stood guard (she didn’t know how Kaz had managed to accomplish that one - stand in security guard for a nationally recognized security company seemed even beyond his capabilities), the thought did little to comfort her.

Knowing she was being stupid, she still felt like eyes were watching her. Kaz, of course, noticed instantly and used it decidedly for their sham of a show.

“Don’t mind my friend here,” Kaz said in that awful voice she barely recognized, “she’s just positive we’re going to be murdered here tonight.” Kaz laughed into the camera Jesper was pointing at them. He sounded like a total idiot.

Inej stared at Kaz, hoping she was conveying the proper amount of derision.

“Everyone loves to taunt ghosts, until they’re being haunted by them.” Inej said as much for Kaz’s benefit as for the camera’s and that of the bemused tour guide showing them around before leaving them to their antics for the night. If only he would just leave already...

Kaz only laughed mockingly back, which riled Inej up even more. But she knew her lines.

“Keep it up, big guy, and see what tonight has in store for you.” She managed to say, this time without wincing.

The tour guide began leading them to the rooms where they had been instructed to keep to during their overnight ghostly vigil but failed to notice the way their eyes were memorizing every layout, every window, every door.

*******

When they had finally been left alone, charmed out of the castle as the tour guide had been by Nina’s wiles, Inej let out a deep frustrated breath.

What had seemed to be an interminable smile fell from Kaz’s face.

“Jesper, you take the east wing. Wylan will be waiting at the gate. Don’t alert the guards, but Matthias is on stand by if you do.”

Kaz didn’t have to say a word. Inej knew to follow him just by the look in his eye.

“Did you see the way the guide kept glancing at the door to the main study?” But Inej knew she didn’t have to ask.

“I’m betting that’s our target.” Kaz agreed, leaning lightly on the walking stick he had swapped out for his usually more dramatic cane. For the “aesthetic,” Jesper had said.

Inej didn’t bother to ask why Kaz had sent Jesper and Wylan in another direction. Kaz always had his reasons.

“It’s likely a pressurized vault.” Inej muttered, thinking carefully on what they had learned on their tour.

Kaz fished something out of his pocket and Inej’s eyes went wide. Then she smiled, taking the hefty false emerald out of his palm. “Our friend, Mark.” She laughed.

“Exactly.” Kaz didn’t smile but the twist of his lips was unmistakable. He was pleased with her reaction.

He was not so pleased when they reached the outer chamber of the vault. Inej had never seen such high tech locking mechanisms. There was no way they were getting in.

“What now, big guy?” Inej tried for levity but Kaz’s face wad screwed up tight. He was-

“Scheming face.” Jesper let out a low whistle, sidling through the door behind them.

“Definitely.” Inej shot back, watching Kaz take apart the puzzle that was invisible to the rest of them.

*****

The break-in to the vault had taken them the better part of the night. Finally, just before dawn, they had retired back to the window lined room and their sleeping bags to await the arrival of the tour guide who would check them out of the castle.

Wylan had fallen immediately into a deep slumber and was snoring across the room next to Jesper who was fiddling with the video camera, but Kaz was still too pumped full of adrenaline with their success. He could feel the hefty weight of the emerald in the inner lining of his jacket where it could not be detected even if they were searched.

He gazed fondly, if with a blank expression, over the room full of his crew. Then- his eyes found Inej.

****

“It’s a murder well.” Kaz was crowing enthusiastically to the camera, his voice an overexacting exaggeration.

Kaz raised one eyebrow at the TV as he walked into their crowded headquarters. Jesper, Wylan, Inej, Nina and Matthias were laying haphazardly across the too small sofa watching the footage Jesper had captured just a few nights ago.

“Holy shit, dude, this is how they murked traitors back then.” The on-screen Inej babbled while the in-person Inej groaned and covered her face.

“Shh, this is my favorite part,” Jesper exclaimed, tossing a handful of popcorn kernels her way.

“Oi.” Inej barked, beginning to tussle over the popcorn bowl as on-screen Kaz and Inej laughed a little too hysterically at some scripted joke.

“What business?” Kaz leaned on his cane as they call came slightly to attention before relaxing again.

“Just enjoying the fruits of our labor, Dirtyhands,” Nina laughed joyously as she popped what Kaz knew to be very expensive gourmet chocolates between her lips while ignoring Matthias’ longing glance.

Inej extricated herself from the pile of limbs of their friends to join Kaz behind the sofa. She was grinning wildly and bouncing on the toes of her feet. “So?” She seemed even more excited at the prospect of CEO Rollins’ downfall than Kaz was.

Kaz nodded his head curtly and Inej beamed. Kaz got the distinct sense that Inej wanted to launch herself at him and was disconcerted to realize he quite hoped she would follow through when-

“Awwww,” Nina was exclaiming in a loud sweet voice.

Both Kaz and Inej looked up at the same moment at the TV screen to see Inej as she had been the morning after their heist, in the castle, sitting on a window ledge with her eyes closed letting the sun bathe her in warmth and light.

Something was wrong. There had been no filming... There shouldn’t have been any filming then. The camera began to pan out and Kaz took a stilting step forward, though by then he knew it was too late to stop what was about to happen.

The room went still. Even Jesper had stopped his constant squirming. That early morning, Kaz had been sitting on the floor just diagonally to Inej. He remembered the exact second his eyes had landed on Inej then, the way his breath had quite literally trapped itself in his throat. He remembered possibly even better now as he watched himself on screen, past him watching past her with something akin to absolute enthrallment on his face.

No one moved except for Inej who Kaz could see, from the corner of his eye, looking from the screen to him. He could almost make out the disbelief and - was that joy? He wanted to believe that was joy - on her face.

Suddenly the camera on screen was being whipped around and Jesper’s face was filling up the entire screen.

“Told ya you would regret putting me on camera, boss.”

The screen went black.

[tewwor-a]

Hahm Dal 

pspspspsps it’s time for me to indulge in yet another creative outlet. if you like this i will take that as a sign of interest and hurtle myself into your dms.

( tw: mentions of abuse, terminal illness, death )

47 years young, cis male ; he/him, demisexual

ability: physical restoration ( only applies to inorganic material / larger objects take greater time to restore / knowledge of inner workings can help decrease time ) & deconstruction ( able to take revert inorganic object to it’s previous / worsened state )

Dal grew up in a family that viewed the patriarch a bit too seriously. He was a daddy’s boy, always looked up to his father that taught him how to be a ‘man’. When in reality, all that son of a gun was doing was warping Dal’s view of the world to enact his own insecurities and childish behaviors — pass along that generational trauma that was constantly swept under the rug.

His parents fought often, and there were times where things got physical. All his mother did was take each and every degrading word without lashing back, and that tore at Dal. He still acted like the son his father wanted to see, but he took the time to listen to his mother as well; to understand her views and reason, and relate to the tenderness he also had within him — just like any other person did.

Yet the strain in his home created the perfect breeding ground for him to learn how to compartmentalize like a champ. Over time, it seemed like his emotions became stunted. He wore a stoic mask day and night, but it wasn’t a façade to him. Not for a very long time.

How Dal came about his powers remains blurry at best. Something had broken — a toy, glasses, whatever — and the fear of being reprimanded when father dearest came stumbling home aligned something within him. The object seemed to mend itself back into perfect condition. Enthralled, but aware of the potential, he managed to keep quiet about it throughout his time at home. He’s seen how exploitative his father can be if anything could benefit him in any way, shape, or form. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to endure being the rotten apple of that man’s eye?

A few stunts were pulled once graduated from school. Half of his tests of skill rewarded him with some quick cash ( even became quite the salesman ) and the itch for bigger, grander scales soon whet his greed.

At least, it started to but then some romcom bullshit happened and he fell stupidly in love with a kleptomaniac and.. well, ideally the rest would’ve been history. They could’ve gotten married, gone on some high stakes operations, lived and breathed gold and gems.. but half of that never happened. The most that did occur was their marriage and a few treasured successes. Quick to fall in love, quick to marry — no one could’ve seen what ailing future was in store of his wife. 

To watch her health deteriorate in such an aggressive manner isn’t something he’ll ever recover from. Of course, he remained supportive and tried his damndest to keep morale up however he could, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not even the coveted power he held at his fingertips — the one she had so gleefully gushed over the second time they met. 

What good was he if he couldn’t fix the one thing he cherished and loved?

Dal said his last goodbye on a sweltering summer’s evening. It was her last wish to be freed if she ever succumbed to being unresponsive for an extended period of time. And what better day to do it when her most favored weather was in play? Her death was marked at 9:32 p.m. The same time they had met all those years ago.

Things were never the same after that. Dal feel so out of tune with himself, most considered him barely alive. Even the use of his power stayed dormant for years to come. The reminder of her always too strong for him to find any comfort or joy he once experienced. Perhaps that’s the reason why it warped in such a manner. For when he did make use of it again, things weren’t restored properly. Rather, things began to deteriorate instead. Nothing past the worst existing condition of an object, but the discovery of how his ability mirrored his own condition ( emotions and all ) was.. well, laughable. 

Time never did heal his grief completely, but it’s made things bearable. Dal runs a little electronics repair shop that doubles as a drop-off for other things to be fixed as well — firearms, artifacts, etc. so long as it can be moved without being seen. Anything bigger and/or more precarious that needs to be restored in another location is also doable, but the client is responsible for covering his traveling expenses. 

[discotreque]

LwD 2.05: An Embarrassment of Dooplers

So I was a little nervous about this one! I hadn’t heard any spoiler-spoilers, but screeners have been out for weeks now, and I’d heard a bunch of individual, vague, non-spoilery hints about (1) big character moments, on the scale of a mid-season finale even though the show’s not taking a mid-season break; and (2) an ending that would make me cry.

I guess I imagined something relatively serious and dramatic, like “No Small Parts”? This show makes me cackle with laughter and giggle with nerdy glee and “d’awww!” at heartwarming friendships every week, but it’s only ever made me cry once—and then I was impressed that they were going to get there from the wacky hijinks we saw in the brief teaser.

The lack of a cold open made me apprehensive too—in my experience, that’s typically a sign that there’s so much plot in the rest of the episode that they need that extra scene—but after ~21.5 minutes of aforementioned hijinks, I was having so much fun that I’d completely forgotten about the alleged tear-jerker at the end…

…and they were not the tears I was expecting.

I didn’t think I’d be smiling and crying!!!! That was wholesome as SHIT!!!!!

I almost can’t believe they earned that—but they totally did.

After a Mariner–Tendi episode and a Boimler–Rutherford episode, we’re back to the “usual” Season 1 pairings… except the relationships between these characters have changed since Season 1. Mariner still feels thwacked in the abandonment issues by Boimler bailing for the Titan, and Rutherford’s having a tiny little existential crisis about losing an entire year of his life.

Both of which are extremely understandable and very heavy situations—and both of those situations get resolved because everyone in them is vulnerable with each other and honest about their feelings—AND that honesty and vulnerability brings both pairs of friends closer together. Are you kidding me?? I would watch SEVENTY seasons of that shit. Put it in my veins.

Onto the notes:

So basically Dooplers are Tribbles, but for cringe comedy instead of slapstick? Ohhhhh boy.

Look at Ransom the diplomat, tossing his own fork on the floor! I like that he’s actually a pretty competent Starfleet officer, despite also being a completely ridiculous person.

Wait a second, is that—OH HOLY SHIT, THE DOOPLERS ARE VOICED BY RICHARD KIND.

It makes sense that B. Boimler would find William annoying—who likes seeing their own flaws reflected back at them? And who could be a better reflection of one’s flaws than one’s literal duplicate?—but most interesting to me is that it implies on some level, Bradward knows the stick up his butt is a flaw. (Does William?)

Why does the Cerritos model have working phasers?!?!

I’m loving hot pink as the currently en-vogue colour for “dangerous sci-fi energy” in animation (cf. almost every previous episode of this show; Into the Spider-Verse; other stuff I can’t remember right now). As a former child of the 80’s, I’m living for it… but as a former teenager of the 90’s, I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to age as poorly as the harsh neon green of The Matrix, every Borg appearance on Voyager, and like 80% of the websites I made in high school…

SKANTS! SKANTS! SKANTS!

That fake-out joke with the fly-by over the Cerritos model was in the season trailer weeks ago, and I was so enthralled by that handsome lady that the sticker coming into frame still got me good 😂😂😂

BECKY Mariner????? omg yes

Some top-quality Boimler screams in this one. Poor Jack Quaid must drink gallons of throat-coat tea when he records.

One of the great things about Star Trek to me is that you never know what you’re going to get from any random episode. A murder mystery? A road trip? A spooky thriller? A cheesy romance? Broad comedy? Body horror? Didactic political screeds shrouded in tissue-thin science-fiction metaphors? Brain and brain, what is brain??? And after this many years of watching, you’d think I’d be hard to surprise. But if I ever told you I thought I’d see a Blues Brothers–style car chase through a frickin’ shopping mall on an episode of Star Trek, I would have been straight-up lying to you. I loved it, it worked for me, my jaw was on the floor and I was clapping with joy—but I’m definitely comfortable calling this one “unexpected.”

It’s CAPTAIN SHELBY!!! And an ancient babydyke crush rose from the depths of my childhood subconscious… (Also I think her Number One is based on the original makeup—eventually deemed too complicated—for Saru? Now that’s a deep cut.)

In 20th-century Trek, you almost never got to see what was going on inside a starship from the outside. Even after they switched from physical models (where it was next to impossible on a single episode’s budget) to CGI (which was still in its infancy, still not exactly cheap, and still broadcast in SD anyway), it was a rare thrill to see any meaningful interior details in an exterior shot. Disco’s modern VFX have given us some tasty, tasty treats in that department, but nothing quite as sublime as all the pink Doopler light glittering through the Cerritos’s windows.

Mariner says she’ll take her contact Malvus down with her, and threatens that they’ll end up “in the same cell.” Malvus is a Mizarian, a species introduced in TNG’s “Allegiance,” in which Captain Picard is held in a mysterious prison with one. I think I see what you did there, McMahan?

Bartender… so hot… lesbian circuits… overloading…

The Tendi and Rutherford C-story was, well, a C-story within a 22-minute episode, so there wasn’t much to it, but the one scene that mattered actually mattered a lot. I’m ambivalent on whether they should end up romantically involved—I’d prefer they don’t, but they’ll be one of the cutest couples in Trek history if they do—and as long as they keep that pure, sweet friendship between them at the heart of whatever else happens, I’m on board.

Carol Freeman was already one of my favourite captains before this season, and she’s been steadily moving up the list. The quiet throughline about her ambition to be on a better ship has been fascinating so far, and it’s starting to actually make me feel a little conflicted: I’m of course rooting for Captain Freeman to recognize her worth, make Starfleet recognize her worth, and become the ass-kicking captain of a hero ship that she’s clearly ready to be—but that almost surely means she’d be kicking ass off-screen, because LwD isn’t about those kind of adventures, and I’d be devastated not to have Dawnn Lewis on the show every week. So I’m kind of on the edge of my seat about this one!

I had so many favourite jokes this week I put them in a separate list:

“Even the replicated water on the Titan tasted better” is a low-key brilliant dunk on people who can’t shut the fuck up about the cooler places they used to live.

“Ooooh, they have a Quark’s now! That used to just be an empty lot where teens would make mistakes!” ← That’s literally me every time I go back to where I grew up. I felt so Seen™ I almost hid under a blanket.

“I would never go down the stairs!” (evil grin) (goes up the stairs)

The “well, shit” expressions from Mariner and Boimler as their crashed car sank right into the water… which started to bubble innocuously… and then the bottles of Data bubble-bath popped up, paying off a joke I thought had already been paid off—that was the one that woke up my poor cat this week. Just exquisite timing.

“YOUR PAGH IS WEAK, AND IT DISGUSTS ME!” “I don’t even know what that is, but I don’t like your tone!”

“Okona’s in there? He’s not even Starfleet! This is outrageous!” made me shout “NO!” at the screen like I was scolding my cat for scratching furniture. (She did not wake up that time.)

Best background joke: the neon sign at the dive bar advertising FREE SHOTS & BEERS. (Get it? Because they’re on a Federation starbase? Where nobody uses money?)

And of course Quark merchandised DS9.

This wasn’t just a standout episode of Lower Decks, this was a brilliant episode of Star Trek, period. The Dooplers, though extremely silly, are nevertheless also a clever sci-fi metaphor for real and relatable personal/interpersonal issues, and an effective plot catalyst for meaningful character growth from all four of our ensigns and the captain.

The jokes were hilarious, the action was kinetic, the A-, B-, and C-plots linked up thematically, the visuals were consistently and thoroughly gorgeous, the character beats—between Mariner and Boimler, Tendi and Rutherford, Mariner and Capt. Freeman—were all genuine, heartfelt and wholesome, and the references to other Trek canon were both deep and deeply affectionate.

Only 15 episodes in, and this series knows exactly what it is, exactly what it wants to do, and knows that it can knock our socks off doing it. Mike McMahan has said in recent interviews that the back half of S2 (and the apparently almost-fully-written S3) is a straight line uphill in quality from here—which surprised me at first, because McMahan seems like a pretty chill dude who doesn’t normally brag about his own work like that.

But then the Prophets sent me a vision of my space dad Ben Sisko, who reminded me of the words of 1930’s baseball player Dizzy Dean:

“If you can do it, it ain’t bragging.”

[Thanks to cygnus-x1.net for the screenshots this week—I was too lazy to do my own.]

[joshstambourine]

What Friends Do pt. 2

Warning: Cursing

Word Count: 2954

Synopsis: Josh and Jake are surprised when an old friend stumbles back into their lives, taking their world by storm with old feelings, new feelings, and problems they never would have expected.

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader x Jake Kiszka

Jake laid in his bed, blankets wrapped around him tightly as his eyes just lingered on the ceiling above him. He didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t want to be continuously stuck staring. Something though just wouldn’t let him sleep tonight. In a smooth movement Jake turned to lay on his side with his eyes closed, it only lasted for a moment as they soon opened again to look at the clock beside him reading 2:42 AM. Not all that late no but certainly late if you cuddled into bed at 10:30 pm, this fact made Jake let out a low groan in annoyance. 

‘What is going on with me tonight?’ Jake wondered to himself, as he moved to sit up straight. He began rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Jake never had this much trouble sleeping usually, of course he wasn’t quite like Josh who was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he’d normally be out within twenty minutes.

Looking around the dark room, Jake eventually reached out to turn on his side lamp. The light blinding for a brief moment, but Jake's eyes adjusted as he made his way to his feet. In nothing but boxers he made his way from his bedroom to the kitchen, if he was going to be awake he was going to enjoy it at least. Jake opened a couple of cupboards and began to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

Back against the counter he began to take a small sip, but was interrupted by the sound of his phone chiming from the living room where he normally left it to charge. His brows furrowed a little, ‘Why is someone texting me so late…?’ He wondered to himself, moving towards the living room. Jake planted himself on the couch and his legs kicked up on one end with his head at the other.

Unknown Number

(Received 1:43 am) Hey Jake! It's (Y/N) sorry to text so late, but I just wanted to make sure I sent you a text before I forgot. It was really nice to see you guys today! Hopefully we can get together sometime soon!

Clearly an email was what the notification sound was actually for but Jake chose to ignore it. Jake moved to take another sip of his whiskey as he contemplated whether or not he should bother responding. It felt like forever since they had seen each other let alone spoken; he knew well that he had changed as a person and that more than likely she had as well. This (Y/N) wasn't the same girl he had fallen head over heels for in high school.

It was easier to tell himself that than to really believe it unfortunately; his mind quickly pulled him back to how her eyes had met his earlier. Jake felt like (Y/N)’s eyes were full of so much love as she looked at him… but was he only imagining it? Jake felt like he had been staring at the text for hours by the point he decided to toss his phone back to the side.

Taking a bigger swig of the drink, Jake began to push his hand through his hair, thinking about the few memories her scent had trudged up into his mind. To Jake’s surprise he could still envision the old her when he closed his eyes, he supposed that old habits were harder to get rid of then he would care to admit.

A small memory slipped into view of (Y/N) as she walked ahead of him down a beaten down path in the woods. Summer sun making her skin sparkle, she lightly turned to look back at him with a small laugh. A ratty black Janis Joplin t-shirt hung over her shoulders, it was something that Jake could always remember her wearing. A lit cigarette smoldering between her fingers as she cheerfully took a drag. The sight made him wonder now if (Y/N) still smoked, Josh and her had started around the same time after a friend of theirs stole a pack from his dad. Josh had since quit knowing how much it was ruining his voice. With how crisp (Y/N)’s voice was he had to imagine that she must have given the terrible habit up.

(Y/N)’s smile brought him to another moment, he could see clearly in his mind’s eye as Josh spun her in the middle of the kitchen while they were trying to make dinner. Jake was there, but at the time he kept to himself… leaving Josh alone with her to enjoy their time. (Y/N)’s eyes were always so full of joy when she was with Josh. 

The laugh that left (Y/N) soft lips was slowly drowned out by the sound of heavy rain, his view becoming one of her standing in the middle of the rain, completely drenched but laughing as she danced alone to the music she seemed to always have playing in her head. A sudden picture of (Y/N) standing before him in a drenched floral gown, her voice filling his ears, “Jake?” He could picture her uttering, with a saddened look in her eyes.

"Jake?" Called her sweet voice again, this immediately caught Jake's attention, he quickly turned to his side. Music played loudly overhead, his gaze fixing on (Y/N) who was suddenly dressed in a black lace dress that fell just below her knees. “Are you listening?” (Y/N) asked him.

"Huh? What did you say (Y/N)?" Jake quickly responded with a shake of his head.

(Y/N) let out a little laugh, "I asked you if you wanted to dance?" She repeated to him, wearing a soft smile. (Y/N) was so beautiful at this dance. Jake could remember that he had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, the way her dress fit, the way she had done her makeup, even the way she chose to wear her hair, it was all so perfect.

Ah… Jake was at the spring dance again.  

His eyes moved to take in the sight of her outstretched hand. Jake could recall being a little frazzled, though he couldn’t quite remember what he had been looking at beforehand that made this gesture so surprising. It took a second but soon a wide smile came across Jake’s lips, "I'd love to!" He said eagerly. Taking her hand as he felt his cheeks go a soft pink, "oh… wait, what about your date?" He slowly asked. Both (Y/N) and Jake came with different people to that dance,

"Ah, he went to find a spot to smoke a little while ago." (Y/N) softly mused, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He’ll probably be back soon but I just wanted to take this opportunity.” They would find out later that both of their dates had ditched the party together to hook up. Right now however, (Y/N) held tight to Jake's hand as she led him out to the middle of the gym that doubled as a dancefloor when the school saw fit.

Looking back, it was beyond cliché that it was the song that played, some might say meme worthy but of course it was Wonderwall by Oasis playing over head as Jake had his first slow dance with (Y/N). Jake could remember how nervous he was as he placed his hand on her side, unsure if he was holding her too tight. (Y/N) seemed to have no issue placing her hand on his shoulder with a friendly smile across her lips. It was a lot of awkward shuffling at first, Jake unsure where to look, and (Y/N) only smiling when their eyes did meet. 

Jake realized now that she could tell how nervous he was, the way she had begun to sing along with a serious look in her eye was all to make him chuckle a little. Even back then (Y/N)’s voice was something magical to listen to. The sound of it made Jake relax a little; he was completely caught up in the way her lips moved. His own lips would curl into a smile when she would close her eyes and become entirely enthralled in the music. Jake always frowned when he remembered just how sweaty his palms had gotten, and even more wistful when he thought about just how much tighter he wanted to hold her hand in this moment.

This wasn’t the last slow dance Jake had shared with (Y/N). In fact he always made a point of dancing with her at these kinds of things, because frankly, the times Jake shared with (Y/N) were some of the best moments he'd end up having at the school dances. 

Of course also getting to watch Josh and (Y/N) pick the most outrageous songs to dance poorly to was also an astounding highlight of everyone's night.

As that dance came to a close, neither of them pulled away very quickly. Jake just stared down at (Y/N) with gentle eyes, and she stared back up at him with a warm smile. Jake knew that he didn’t want to let go of her hand yet, that he loved the feeling of her fingers being laced with his. “Hey (Y/N)?” Jake lightly started,

(Y/N) was already looking at him, and responded with a light, “Yes Jake?” 

“I…” he started, trying to muster up the courage to tell her how he felt, but Jake just couldn't do it. At the time he was so filled with self doubt that he couldn’t imagine her ever feeling the same towards him, “I’m… sure Josh would probably love a dance too.” He tells her weakly, immediately beating himself up on the inside. 'What was that…?' He remembered thinking to himself; when Jake was laying in bed later that night he would think about all the suave things he could have said instead.

(Y/N) gave a nod in agreement, "Yeah you're probably right…! His date seems to be off with every other guy tonight." She utters, looking across the room at a blonde girl dancing with someone who clearly wasn't Josh. "Thanks for the dance, Jake!" (Y/N) said in a sing-song way, her hand lightly running down his arm, "I'll see ya in a little bit?"

Jake gave a weak smile, and an enthusiastic head nod "y-yeah, of course! See ya later…." He uttered. Finally releasing (Y/N)’s hand just to watch her walk off through the crowd. Even then Jake felt like he could never compare to Josh; that (Y/N) would choose Josh over him every single time.

Those memories were always difficult to even just graze over, especially after everything else that would happen later. Jake could feel his heart get heavy as the scene began to change. The music was still playing loudly in the gym, he could hear it despite standing in the middle of the parking lot. Jake had come outside to look for his date, she had never come back from the washroom and being as naïve as he was, he hoped that maybe she went outside for a smoke. Instead he found a tearful (Y/N) sitting on the hood of his car. 

(Y/N) sat slumped over her one knee while the other leg dangled down, she was smoking a half finished cigarette and looking at the ground. All Jake could remember thinking as he approached her was. ‘Where on earth are her shoes?’

(Y/N) was almost always barefoot and this was no exception.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Jake called out lightly, gaining her attention rather quickly.

“Oh… hey Jake…” she responded in a half hearted way, returning to take another drag of her cigarette. 

Jake frowned as he heard her say his name in such a sad way, “What’s up? You sound upset…” He lightly asked, coming to sit beside her on the hood of his car.

(Y/N) shook her head a little, “Ah… Alex is gone.” She stated, referring to her date whose car was indeed missing from the parking lot now. Jake furrowed his brows a little, he couldn’t believe that Alex would just take off without a word --- of course he figured out why later, but at this moment it burned him up a little.

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Jake told her honestly, beginning to scratch the back of his head, “If it makes you feel any better I think Lindsay is gone too…” He muttered, referring to the girl he had asked last minute to the dance.

(Y/N) was quick to look at him with her brows furrowed, “No that doesn’t make me feel any better!” She exclaimed, “I have to beat up a bitch now.” She was quick to say. (Y/N) despite being the same age as Jake always seemed to be so protective of him; Jake really couldn’t say that he hated that fact even now. 

Jake laughed a little as she said this, “It’s okay (Y/N)...” he sighed, “I knew she wasn’t really that into me from the beginning.” He shrugged, trying not to seem all that bothered. Jake always tried to seem put together when it came to being around (Y/N) but things like this always were a blow to his self-esteem. 

(Y/N) shook her head clearly unhappy with this news, “Jake, you definitely deserve better than her anyways.” She tells him, taking another deep inhale from her cigarette. “You’re way too good of a guy to be treated in such a shitty way.” She tells him with smoke pouring from her lips, still slightly shaking her head.

Jake watched (Y/N) with a small smile, he was happy that she thought that of him anyways. “You really think so…?” He lightly asked.

(Y/N) gave an enthusiastic nod, “Of course I do! You’re handsome, funny, and charming.” She tells him seriously, turning her focus to him. “You deserve someone who loves all that about you---  someone that loves everything about you.” She told him with a smile. 

He gained a little bit of courage, his gaze becoming focused on the moon. “Do you love everything about me…?” Jake asked, it was a forward question of course, but he wanted to know.

(Y/N) seemed to raise a brow, surprised by his asking. Her arm quickly came out to pull him into a headlock, “Of course I do! That’s what friends are supposed to do!” She laughed, “And then make fun of you mercilessly for being such an amazing person.”

Jake had to stop himself from frowning in that moment, giving a weak laugh; he should have known that would be her answer. “Yeah I guess it is huh…” he uttered, moving to place his hand over hers, his thumb brushing over her soft knuckles.

(Y/N) looked over at him, she must have been able to tell that her answer didn’t quite suffice as she began to give a lopsided expression. She just couldn’t resist taking another puff before saying anything though. Jake couldn’t help but shake his head a little, “Why are you doing that?” He lightly asks her, causing her to look at him quizzically.

“Doing what?”

“Smoking.” Jake said sternly, he always hated seeing her or his brother smoking. “You know it's terrible for you.” He continued.

“Well fuck Jake, I didn’t realize you cared so much.” (Y/N) laughed, as her arm on him lessened its grip. “They're just addicting, I don’t know what to tell you.” She admitted, tossing the remainder to the ground.

Jake would shake his head at that moment, “You’re an idiot.” He told her.

“Hey! I just told you I loved everything about you, you don’t need to be so mean about it.” (Y/N) responded loudly, she clearly knew he was right… but oh how she hated being wrong.

“If you’re ever going to get into music you’ll need your voice you can’t just fuck it up by smoking that garbage.” Jake continued to scold, recalling the look she gave him. It was a look that really expressed how she felt about getting into music… a strong disdain.

“Y’know Jake… not everyone wants to get into music like you.” (Y/N) told him pointedly, “Some of us have other dreams.” She continued, with a hate filled look. Thinking about it made Jake upset still, he knew how heavily (Y/N) was being strong armed into music by her family at the time… she didn’t need him to add to it. (Y/N) recoiled her arm, bringing it to sit on her lap. 

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I just don't---” Jake could recall starting, hand moving to take hers.

All of a sudden Jake’s eyes had snapped open staring at the ceiling of his apartment, sun pouring through the curtains in an inhumane way --- he had fallen asleep. Sluggishly he sat up, running his fingers through his slightly knotted hair while he searched for his phone with the other, ‘what time is it…?’ he wondered, knowing he had to meet with Josh for eleven… or twelve Jake’s time.

Jake cradled his phone in his palm, seeing the time was 10 am. That was a relief at least. He also noticed a new text.

Josh

(Delivered 9:30 am) Okay so hopefully it’s cool but I invited (Y/N) to tag along at 11! If it isn't… well sucks to suck I guess.

The sight of it made Jake let out a light drone, falling to lay back on the couch again. “...Well fuck.” He uttered.

[dotdupont]

✦ ANYA TAYLOR JOY, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER ✦ DORTHEA “DOT” DUPONT the TWENTY-SIX year old has been in Hidehill for HER ENTIRE LIFE (MINUS A FEW YEARS AWAY) and was a ACQUAINTANCE to Jade Parker, the missing first murder victim. Whispers on the streets are that the ESCORT AT THE PLAYPEN who lives in HIDE SQUARE. She is said to be ENTHRALLING and HISTRONIC but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. 

tw for drugs, alcohol, neglect

— dot was born in hidehill to two shitty parents who were the worst and got knocked up by accident. dot had a lonely childhood because her parents ignored her in favor of alternating days of fighting and fucking. they were that “we fight hard but love harder” toxic ass couple. two hurricanes of people fueled by alcohol and drugs

— she lived in hadley park but her dad worked as a farmhand in hagfield. dot used to get dropped off and picked up there by the bus in elementary school so she told everyone that her family was wealthy and owned the farm until she got exposed by a mean girl in front of everyone disney channel style oops. lying is a constant in dot’s life. she’s a habitual liar and will lie about literally....anything. at any time. just to fit in

— she was a needy child and her classmates were cruel to her since she was an easy target. dot watched the cool kids with an almost pathological desire to fit in. she learned to mimic the popular girls and seem likable and sycophantic when in actuality she went home and ripped the heads off her barbies that looked like them because she also had this jealousy and resentment under her manic desire to be like them

— dot left hidehill after high school to pursue theater but just made a series of bad decisions that ultimately led her back here two years ago. with money being tight she got a job as an escort. she’s good at charming men and romanticizes her clients at epic proportions. she is the type to beg a married man to leave his wife for her

— usually she has terrible taste in men. ran away with a boyfriend when she was sixteen. slept in motels where the freeway ended and went until they ran out of cash. he once left her at a rest stop when he saw her flirting with the cashier inside for free cigarettes. then when she moved to new york to pursue theater, she slept with her male roommates and caused a lot of drama among her housemates. she’s also been married. actually, she married a decent guy in a whirlwind thing when she was twenty-five but the marriage dissolved in months and she’s divorced

— she’s a big child and insecure mess. she wants people to like her and if you don’t she crumbles as a person and reverts to childhood dot, drawing on the walls and stomping her feet in a desperate bid to get her parents’ attention. dot thrives on dysfunction. she throws tantrums. she breaks china. she cries. she pulls the plush from stuffed animals. basically she’s a big drama qween

— she enjoys partying and is usually always on something. she’s pretty hedonistic. a big gossip and very nosy. sympathetic and emotional but usually makes things about herself. still lies a lot. she sounds like a hot mess and... :/ she is <3 besides being violently reckless and insecure though she’s a good time! so let me plot something up with her and ur beautiful bbys or i will b sad (threat)

wanted connections can be found here