#i want to talk but its just me bitching and lamenting about every possible thing.

[reinhxrdt]

Im just in a really weird/bad/stupid headspace and idk, i dont have an outlet for anything. I get mad when people are "there for me" or just offer to listen bc like, ok, and? I dont wanna sound ungrateful to people who do give a shit but i just dont feel like caring about me is helping at all

[100hearteyes]

Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ F*CKING HIGH ❜

with Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas.

Request: Hey! Maybe prompt 52. When Creeper get shot and Mayans don't know reader but when hé was high on medication he call her at Vicky's House ? 🙈Something really Fluff ? Thanks!! I love ur writings 😊😊

BY ANON

Warnings: none.

Word count: 1.6k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author, I found it on Google.

Masterlist.

The books over the table with a lot of notes scattered around them are starting to give you a horrible headache. You don't know how many hours you have been studying, but you're sure that it was daytime. When you focus your gaze on the horizon, through the window, you're aware of the streetlights turned on outside and the dark sky above Santo Padre. It's your final week to complete the MIR and you have left just one exam. The last one. So, when Creeper told you he was going to travel to Las Vegas for a couple days, you have to recognize that you felt a little alleviated. You want to spend the maximum time possible with him, but you also have to study, but both things aren't compatible. Even so, he should be at home already.

Checking the time on the clock in your wrist, you snort getting up from your chair to pick up the books and your pens. It's enough study for today and you're really hungry. After cleaning the table, you fall down on the sofa turning on the TV and looking in your phone for something to take away. Cooking it's not an option today. Choosing the local pizzeria for excellence, you're about to make the order when an incoming call interrupts your plans. Reading his name on the screen, you answer quickly.

“Babe!”

“Maaaaamaaaa”. He sings, making you frown somewhat confused sitting on the sofa. “Heeeeey, maaaamaaaa”.

“Are you… high, Neron?”

“Yeah… Fuckin' high… for you, my loooove”.

“What the hell? Where the fuck are you?”

“Mama, I want you here. I need you here, maaaama!”

“Ner—”.

“I am… close”.

“Close from what?”

“Border, mama. Close to the border. Come with meeee. I need my nurse, mama, pleaaase”.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Your heart is racing, jumping off from the sofa, running to your shared room.

“A guy shot me, mama. But don' worre', I'm okaaaay”.

“Neron, send me your location right now!”

“Mama, mama, mama, are you comen'?”

“FUCK, NERON, OF COURSE I'M COMING. SEND ME THE FUCKING LOCATION”.

“Don'... Don' shout at me, mama”.

From nowhere, you can hear him crying like a child. Even if he's high, that shit breaks your heart into pieces. Stopping next to your bed rubbing your forehead, barely gulping, you try to calm yourself.

“Are you alone?”

“N—No…”

“The bul—”.

“It's out, mama… I wan—want you here with me. I'm okay, mama, I'm okay… Come with me. Don'... leave me, don' break with me, mama, please”.

“Send me your location, okay? Could you do that for me?”

“Yeah, mama… Are you comen'?”

“Sí, Neron, I'm gonna get dressed, okay?”

“Okay, mama… I love you. I love you, mama. I truly love you, I swear”.

“I know, mi flaquito”.

Hanging up the call, you take some second to breathe calmly before looking for some clothes to put on and grabbing the medical kit when you're ready. They better have something to eat, or there will be more than one man shot. Leaving your house, your phone rings with a notification. The address of Vicki's house. You have heard about it, and you're not surprised at all. According to your boyfriend, this is the favorite place of Mayans. You don't know them, not yet, but you can imagine why they like it this much. Keeping the kit on the back seat, you step in your car turning the engine to follow the instructions recited by the gps.

When it says that you have reached your destiny, you focus through the Camaro's front window to find the house, looking exactly as he described you one day. Going out of the pilot seat and carrying the medical stuff in your right hand, you go upstairs practically jumping them to hit the door with your palm. A girl with brown hair, big eyes and almost naked welcomes you, pushing her by a side before she can talk.

“Hey, hey! Wait! You ca—”.

Coming into the living room, you finally meet his other family. They were drinking and laughing until you appeared, now staring at you confused. The one who you recognize as El Presidente gets up from his chair, the other two are pointing at you with their guns, warned by the bitch behind you.

“I'm from Tijuana, you can't scare me con una pistolita”. (With a gun). You spit with a strong mexican accent, containing a sarcastic laugh.

“Who are y—”.

“MAAAMI, MAAAAMIIIIIIII”.

Hearing your boyfriend calling you, you don't give them a single chance to let you introduce yourself, running upstairs following the laments of Creeper between moans and pleased begs. Disgusting. Opening the last green red door, you finally reach him. The medical kit falls from your hand shocked. Taking a step, you tour his silhouette lying on the mattress. Being shirtless you can see the bandage covering the bullet hole, with some blood trespassing the cotton, and the sling holding the other. His face isn't much better, with some scratches on his left cheek and his temple. The most disturbing is watching him crying like a scared child, trembling and trying to sit up on the bed.

Before the other mexicans can reach you, you're already kneeling on the bed not knowing where you're allowed to touch him and where not.

“Mami, I missed you”.

“You're an idiot, you know it, rai'?” You ask him with your eyes filled with tears, gently caressing the other cheek, while he nods.

Leaning forward you kiss his shaky lips once and again, before feeling his right arm surrounding your waist.

“Let me see the shot, okay?” Whispering, you get up from the bed to take the medical kit, under the look of the men waiting on the door.

“The doctor put it out, disinfected the wound and stitched it up”. El Presidente says, making you frown your eyebrows.

“The doctor, or the vet?”

“Wha—”.

“Answer before I fucking punch you”.

“The vet”.

Of course, it's not the same. Even the medicines that give you in the MIR are stronger than the ones for a veterinarian. Opening the kit over the bed and wearing a pair of blue gloves, you lean on Creeper to take off the bandage and the gauze, narrowing your eyes to see every stitch on it. It's… acceptable, but you could have done it better. Wetting some cotton with iodine, you clean the blood around the suture with soft moves to not hurt him more. Your boyfriend is assorted on how concentrate you look taking care of him.

“Do you know what you are doing, niña?” The oldest one rests his body against the frame.

“'Amma real doctor, not a veterinarian”. You respond without turning at him, but at your kit to find clean gauzes and an adhesive bandage to cover the sewn hole again. “What happened with the other, Neron?”

“Dislocated”. He just says gulping with parted lips.

“What did they gave you for the pain?”

“Just some pills, mami…”

“How many hours ago?”

“Almost ten”. El Presidente replies in his place, making you twist towards him.

“Okay, Creep', I'm going to prick you some morphine”. He just nods.

Grabbing a needle wrapped on a security plastic, you open it to fill it up with the transparent liquid from a small glass bottle. Hitting it softly with two fingers and letting some of the medicine spill on air, you lead the needle to his bare skin over the wound. Nailing it slowly until the metallic part has disappeared inside it. Then, you push the plastic container until empty. Taking off the needle and keeping it again inside its paper, to throw it later, you close the medical kit.

“You need to rest, okay?”

“Mami, stay with me, please… Don' go”. He begs you crying low and holding your hand as strong as he can.

“You need to rest”. You repeat raising both eyebrows and nodding with your chin one time, caressing his grip with your fingers. “I will talk with your friends for a moment. Ain't going anywhere, mi flaquito. Not without you”.

“I love you, mama. I really do”.

“I love you too, Creep'”. Smirking at your boyfriend, you kiss him again having a little more of caring to not hurt him. “Sleep, flaquito”.

Placing the medical kit over a desk, you leave him closing the door, killing with your eyes the men in front of you.

“I'm hungry, so you better find me some dinner”.

“First, tell us who you are, because he's high enough to confuse himself and believe that he's the fucking Messiah”.

“I'm his girlfriend, pendejo. And you're gonna be a dead man if you don't bring me my fucking dinner”.

El Presidente chuckles rubbing his chin, before nodding, seeing you disappear through the opened door again. Coming back to the bed, you can notice that your boyfriend isn't crying anymore, smiling like an idiot. Sighing you lie down by his side, wrapping his body with both arms, letting him find a comfortable posture under them. You can feel his lips kissing your right forearm somewhat sleepy, purring like a cat. Definitely, he's too high.

“Mami, I love you…” He whispers when you begin to caress his neck with your fingertips. “You are the love of my life…”

“Yeah, you already said it… like a lot of times”. You laugh softly, turning towards you with a soft grimace of pain on his face.

“Love you it's my favorite thing”. He mumbles stunned because of the smile on your lips.

“Mine too, babe. I love you more than anything”.

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[collecting-stories]

The Truck - ep. 08 - Georgia

Summary: You stop by on break to visit Daryl at the auto shop. The Jeep is almost done being repaired.

A/N: I think basically I’m writing an even slower burn than last time.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“I think ya ain’t as smart as ya tell me ya are,” Daryl joked as he caught sight of you walking into Dale’s Autobody shop, still in your uniform from the diner. Three days after Christmas and you’d been working as many hours as Patricia would give you. Both you and your mom trying to stay away from the house and each other  as much as possible.  

“I most definitely am. Why?” You asked, ducking your head down into the car he was working on when he sat down in the front seat. A newer model Nissan he’d been cursing since the owner brought it in.  

“Cause I tell ya all the time not ta come in here and where are ya?” He asked, looking over at you.  

“It’s not my fault, Axel said you said you’re almost done my baby.” You teased. Axel had told you over ordering his lunch that Daryl had mentioned to T-Dog that he was nearly done the work on the Jeep. Took a while, he had lamented, but he was finally, almost done. “Heard you’re glad to be rid of me.”

“Ain’t what I said,” he replied, “said I was glad ta be rid a that fucking jeep. Pain in my ass.”  

“Now I know you’re talking about me.”  

Daryl’s expression changed for a brief second, eyes fixing on the faint pink lines on your cheek. Barely noticeable but they hadn’t been there before Christmas. “What happened?” He tapped his finger against the same spot on his face to indicate what he was asking about.  

“Just a cat scratch. Hershel’s got a couple to keep the mice away and I couldn’t resist trying to pet one.”  

“They’re nasty creatures…yer lucky he didn’t take yer whole face off.” He replied, climbing back out of the car again. “Ya on break?”

You shook your head, “I picked up a shift from Amy, I got an hour to kill before I start for her.”  

“Ain’t I lucky.”  

“So, is my car really almost fixed?” You asked. You pulled the rolling stool over from the work bench and sat down, spinning once.  

“Just about.” He replied.  

Daryl hated to admit it but he’d been dragging his feet on the project and when he realized that he was nearing completion and your car would be fixed he was half tempted to break it all over again. Sure, you liked stopping in now, chatting him up before or after a shift, bumming rides, showing up at his house to spend your afternoons sitting under the car park. But once the car was fixed you wouldn’t need him to entertain you anymore. You could go to your friends houses or anywhere really, but you didn’t have to hang out with him. He wasn’t going to tell you yet but he’d let it slip to T-Dog and once one of them knew they practically broadcast it.  

“You working late?” You asked, wheeling yourself over next to him.  

“Why, ya don’t know anyone else with a car?”

“Why bother them when I have you?” You tilted your head back to look up at him and smile. You looked like a little kid with your eyes closed and a smile wide enough that he could see all your teeth.  

He rolled his eyes at you and reached over, swiping his greasy finger down your nose and making you jump suddenly at the contact. Your eyes opened and you slid back against the car. “Careful ya don’t scratch her.”

“Did you rub grease on my nose!” You whined, trying to rub it off with the back of your hand but only making more of a mess.  

Daryl shrugged, “ain’t nice ta tease.”  

“Do you have a bathroom here?”  

He pointed toward the back of the shop and you got up, headed for the bathroom to wipe the grease off your face.  

In truth Daryl wasn’t the only one who wasn’t looking forward to the car being fixed. Your throat felt like it dropped into your stomach when Axel told you that Daryl was almost finished the car. It sent you thinking...if Daryl told Axel did that mean he was glad it was almost finished? Was he looking forward to having you out of his hair finally? You scrubbed the grease off your face and frowned at your reflection. You didn’t want this to end.  

“So, ya need a ride later?” Daryl asked once you came out of the bathroom.  

“Yeah if you don’t mind.” You replied.

“Nah,” he shrugged as if he was indifferent toward driving you home, “ain’t got nothing better ta do.”  

-

You hung around a little while longer before you headed back to the diner for work. The whole night you felt distracted by Axel’s news from earlier. You were desperate to get some advice from Maggie but there wasn’t much she could offer, Glenn didn’t need any persuading to be madly in love with her. They’d been together since the 6th grade winter dance and there was no doubt in your mind that nothing, not even Hershel’s stupid rules, could keep them apart.  

Glenn and Maggie were the exception to the rule. Daryl wasn’t tripping over himself to profess his love for you. Half the time you weren’t even totally sure that he liked you. There were glimpses of something that might’ve been something but trust you to choose someone so hard to read. You spent the whole dinner rush trying to think up less costly ways to spend time with him that wouldn’t annoy him or make him feel like you were some stupid kid. The word kid alone was not necessarily something you wanted him to associate with you.  

The idea sparked when he pulled up outside at the end of your shift, parking his truck by the door. You ignored Lori’s comment about Dixon’s being bad news. She ‘went to school with him’ and somehow that had made her the only reputable source on him, at least in her mind. Coupled with the fact that it was Daryl driving you home you were just happy to be done work.  

“I hate the dinner rush,” you complained as you pulled the door shut and leaned against the seat. “This lady bitched me out over the table having a mark in it, meanwhile her kids were dunking every fucking sugar packet, jam packet, and salt packet into their cups of water and then splashing them all over the table!”  

“Musta really boiled yet blood if it’s got ya cursing.”  

“I can curse.”

“I’m sure ya can.” He teased.  

You pouted, arms crossed over your chest as you slumped in the seat and Daryl reached over, jabbing you gently with his fingers against your side when he stopped at a streetlight. You laughed from the sudden sensation and pushed his hand away.  

“I’m not allowed to curse at home but I can curse.” You insisted and he only shook his head, smiling.  

“Think yer a little too sweet ta be hanging around me.”  

“Nonsense. I like hanging out with you.” You replied, “which reminds me-“

“Yeah, what now?”

“How would you feel about teaching me some basic car stuff? I don’t know anything about cars and I’d really like to learn.”  

It was the plan that had finally occurred to you halfway through your shift. You didn’t know the first thing about changing oil or fixing a tire. Hell, you couldn’t even fill it with air if you wanted to.  

“Yer dad never teach ya how ta handle a car?”

“No, I don’t even know how to put windshield washer in it.”  

“A’right, I’ll teach ya. After I finish working on yer car.” He replied. You had only been considering yourself when you formulated your master plan but Daryl couldn’t help the brief flutter of excitement that he felt thinking you’d decided to ask him to help. Even if it was just so you could navigate the basics it still meant that you would willingly be spending more time with him.  

“Seriously?” You asked, smiling over at him.  

“Yeah, why not? Ya should know how ta fix yer car.” He replied, “simple stuff…still gotta make money.”

“I might get so good I’ll steal your business.” You replied.  

“Sure ya could.” He pulled up where he always did, your house visible from his spot parking along the sidewalk. It was dark, just the post lantern by the front of the driveway on. “Yer parents ain’t home?” No cars were in the driveway.  

“My mom’s already left for work.” You shrugged, opening the door to the truck.  

“She be gone all night?”

“I can stay by myself, promise.” You laughed to make a joke of it but you usually spent the night in the living room, talking to Tara or Maggie until they eventually went to sleep. You hated being home alone.  

“I ain’t got anywhere ta be.” Daryl shrugged, offering some company.  

“You don’t mind staying?”  

The inside of your house was exactly what Daryl had expected. A far cry from the worn down, dirty home that he lived in with his father, this was pristine. As if no one had ever sat on the furniture or lived in the house. There weren’t any family pictures but there was Christian art in its place. Tasteful, Martha Stewart-esque Christmas decorations were highlighted through out the living room and kitchen, both spotless.  

Daryl pulled a face at the décor at you laughed, “my mom went on a pier one kick a few years ago trying to outdo the Walshs.”  

“Can’t complain, it’s nicer than mine ever was.” He replied, looking over the table top tree, “yer dad at work too?”

“No. I mean, he’s away. Visiting family.” You said, heading into the kitchen, “my mom works overnight at the hospital, she’s been doing a lot doubles lately though. I’ll be right out, I’m gonna change!”  

Daryl nodded but didn’t say anything, flicking on the rest of the living room lights to get a better look at the room. The only pictures that weren’t nature landscapes or birds were on the mantle. A church directory photo of you and your parents from this year and your senior portrait, the traditional black off the shoulder look with a rose in your hand.  

“I hate that picture,” you complained as you came back into the room. “I look hideous.”  

“Don’t think that’s possible but I ain’t gonna argue.” Daryl replied. “Least I ain’t the only one who don’t have family pictures up.”

“My mom hates candid pictures. She’d never hang them up.” You settled on the couch and watched as Daryl walked back to the door to kick his shoes off. “I don’t have beer but there’s soda in the fridge.”

“I ain’t ever drinking beer ‘round you again. Yer a terrible influence. Ain’t Glenn Hershel should be worried ‘bout.” Daryl teased, coming over to sit beside you.  

“What? No! I am not a bad influence!” You laughed, “I’ve never done anything wrong in my whole life.”  

“I been witness to a few things.”

“No one will believe you.”  

“Ain’t that the truth.” He said, thinking briefly that no one would even believe he was here right now, sitting your house with you while you clicked through channels. He’d be hard pressed to convince them that you had even bummed a cigarette off him, especially if they saw the sweet looking church photo of you with your parents.  

“So what kind of car things will you teach?” You asked, ignoring the channel you’d chosen and turning more toward Daryl.  

“What kinda car things ya need ta learn?”

“Everything but how to drive?” You replied, biting your lip.  

“Well I ain’t seen ya drive so I can’t cross it off the list just yet.”

“I’m a good driver.”  

“Yeah? You working tomorrow morning?” He asked, looking back toward the TV.  

“No, I’ve got off.”  

“Alright, I gotta pick up my check in Woodbury, I’ll let you drive me for once.”  

“In my Jeep?”

“Hell no, ya ain’t getting in that thing ‘fore it’s fixed. You can drive the truck.” He replied. The truck was his brother Merle’s originally but Merle was in jail and he hadn’t spent the last three years fixing every inch of it to have it running like new. It might’ve been Merle’s to begin with but that old Chevy was Daryl’s pride and joy. He didn’t let anyone get behind the wheel, not even Rick or T-Dog, but he was offering it up to you.  

“I’ll be the best driver you’ve ever seen.”  

-

Taglist:  @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare  @mainokutan @qrangr  @twdeadfanfic @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon  @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano @cathwritestragediesnotsins @siren-queen03

[soft-glitch]

Through Thick And Thin

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Type: hurt/comfort, platonic fluff

Word count: about 2700 words

Author’s notes: this year was a mess. But I’m grateful for a few things that happened to me in 2020. One of these things is getting into the Sonic fandom, which helped me find joy in being creative again. Another is a budding friendship with someone really cool, that I can only hope will last for a long time.

This fic is kind of a gift to that person for New Year’s Day. To everyone, but especially to you O, I wish a happy new year and many good things to come.

- - - - -

It was not an easy morning.

Shadow had always been an early bird. He never needed much sleep compared to other mobians, thanks to his bio-engineered origins. This was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the days.

Being able to stay up most of the night during missions proved useful more than once. On the other hand, when ugly thoughts would assail him and sleeping them away was not an option, well… It was suddenly much less interesting.

On this last day of December, the hedgehog could not shake uneasy feelings. Between Eggman’s plotting and his own personal issues Shadow always had rough times, but this year had been… a lot.

Walking silently in the empty corridor, careful not to wake up anyone in the household, the dark mobian reached the kitchen and started preparing hot chocolate. Since most of his friends knew about his sweet tooth he didn’t bother hiding it anymore, and Rouge always made sure they were stocked up on cocoa.

While waiting for the milk to warm, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The eerie calm of early hours often made Shadow slightly uncomfortable. Despite his introvert side enjoying the peaceful solitude, it was also a moment where his thoughts would simmer in his mind, either awoken by confuse dreams or simply emerging as the day started. He would often put some music or read a book to avoid thinking too hard about it.

Didn’t always work, though.

Taking a deep breath the hedgehog felt some relief at the sweet scent of chocolate. He took a small sip before moving to roll himself in blankets on the large couch. With a long and noisy yawn he reached for the remote and pointed it at the large TV screen in front of him. Maybe there was something nice to watch while waiting for his roommates to get up.

- - - - -

When Shadow opened his eyes again, sunlight was gently glowing through the translucent curtains of the living room. Which meant it was probably kind of late already. It seemed he fell back asleep at some point.

With a frown, he rubbed his dishevelled quills and took a look at his phone. Almost 11am, and no sign of Rouge or Omega... This was odd, especially since they planned on spending the New Year’s Eve together.

That’s when he noticed an envelope lying on the small coffee table, next to his now empty mug. It was plain kraft, with a small card inside that only offered an address and the words “At noon, don’t be late hun”.

Obviously from Rouge. She loved putting mystery and drama in everything she did. Shadow huffed and shook his head.

Irredeemable.

Did that mean his friends got up without waking him and prepared some kind of surprise? However silly it was, this simple envelope brought some warmth to the hedgehog’s heart. He got up to take a quick shower and prepare for the day, a small smile peeking at the corner of his lips.

- - - - -

The location was one Shadow didn’t particularly recognise, a small intersection in a popular part of the town. Since Team Dark lived in a suburban area and their job at G.U.N was usually all over the world, his knowledge of the city was lacklustre. Right as his phone displayed 12pm a text popped up on the screen.

Rouge Right behind the shoes store, a cafe.

The striped mobian rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. Even for something as simple as a New Year between friends, the bat couldn’t help making some kind of fun game to play. Shadow would gladly proclaim it futile and childish, but he actually enjoyed these quirky adventures his best friend always peppered in his life.

What he saw next filled him with pure joy. Of course Rouge wouldn’t choose a random cafe to meet. She had to make it extra one way or another, and she just knew how to please him.

The Gentle Garden Chao Café & Flower Shop

Almost giddy at the idea of having some sweets surrounded by chao, the ultimate lifeform stepped into the small establishment. A quick glance around made him happy beyond words: soft muted lights and warm colours complemented vintage furniture, large potted plants adorned all sides of the place, and —most importantly— chao of every kind were all over the place, either walking, being cuddled by clients or sleeping on small pillows.

In the back of the room was a large counter, behind which a massive chalkboard displayed both the cafe menu and prices of various flower arrangements.

Before Shadow could go and talk to the barista, a familiar face caught his attention. Rouge was there, sitting nonchalantly and sipping some drink in the most ostentatious way possible.

The hedgehog smirked and sat in front of her.

“So...?” he started with a raised brow. “So what? Did you think I’d let you stay home for this special day?” Rouge huffed between two exaggerated sips. “It’s just New Year’s Eve, not an anniversary or something...” Shadow said, glancing at the table.

He realised an order of white chocolate cappuccino —his very favourite drink— and forêt noire —one of his favourite sweets— were set in front of him. For a second he felt something rise in his chest. A mix of gratitude and that odd yet pleasing vulnerability he could only feel with his closest friends.

“I know it’s just the new year.” the bat leaned on the table, her eyes both tender and serious. “I also know you haven’t been doing great lately. It’s been a difficult time, and of course it won’t magically be over as midnight comes, but...”

She looked in the distance, her eyes piercing through the windows and their cold winter lighting. Shadow could very clearly feel the bittersweet essence of her expression. This year had also been hard on her.

“We’re in this together, y’know.” she resumed, turning a gentle smile towards him. “And while I can’t resolve every problem we have, I can at least invite my emo bestie to enjoy some chao and indulge in sugary treats!”

The hedgehog chuckled at this, then raised his cappuccino mug. “Let’s have a good time, then. To us bitches.” he said with a knowing grin. “To us bitches!” she exclaimed happily. ”Now drink that ‘ccino, we have chao to cuddle.”

Some laughs and friendly banter later, two chao had found their way on Shadow. One was sleepily nested on his legs while the other was playing on his head, brushing his quills curiously.

“You really have your way with them, just like Omega...” Rouge remarked. She loved the little creatures very much, but she never seemed to attract them as easily as her two partners. No one really knew why and she honestly didn’t mind. It was fun enough to observe them from a distance: no risks of ruined haircut or having one mess with her wings.

“This is the best.” the hedgehog whispered, his voice full of emotion. His friend chuckled. Shadow was endearing in many ways, but his love for plants and creatures was unparalleled in an extremely wholesome way.

“Did you ever consider adopting one?” she asked before biting into her remaining pastry. Shadow’s expression became slightly somber as he looked at her. “I…” he sighed and scratched the sleeping one’s head. “I always wanted to, I guess. Even on the Ark, once we learned about them with Maria, we used to pretend having one. There was a plush, I don’t remember its name. We would play parents, bring it along for walks across the Ark, this kind of things.”

Rouge nodded sympathetically. Maria was less and less a sensitive subject as years went by, but Shadow was still defensive about these memories. Sharing them was one of the most intimate things he would do, and she felt honoured every time it happened.

“Maybe one day.” the hedgehog shrugged with a tired smile. ”Right now our lives are too dangerous. I can’t raise one properly as long as we keep fighting and going on missions Chaos knows where. – Let’s hope we get Eggman and his clique once and for all, then!” Rouge said with a grin. “Can’t wait to have you pester us with photos of your ugly little baby.”

The genuine laugh that followed made the bat beam with happiness.

- - - - -

The very specific atmosphere of New Year’s Eve was not lost to the two mobians as they strolled in the city. Streets were bustling with activity, but in a way that felt distinct from other winter holidays. The ambient anticipation was less frantic, almost… solemn. Instead of rushing for gifts and food, people seemed determined to enjoy the final hours of this year.

Shadow found it interesting, not without its charm. He was more used to strolls in mountains, lonely forests and small paths undulating through fields. The buzzing activity of the city was something else —very nice, though. Plus Rouge knew every neighbourhood surprisingly well, and offered him little fun facts and stories about all sorts of buildings and places.

“It’s a real shame we don’t get more free time between G.U.N and Eggman.” the bat lamented. “There are so many nice spots I’d love to visit with Omega and you. – We do have vacations once in a while.” Shadow replied. “Yeah, but they’re either ruined by some apocalyptic event or by an intense need for rest.” she sighed. “We can’t enjoy the Museum of Arts if we’re falling asleep every two paintings.”

The dark mobian nodded. Technically Omega and him didn’t need a lot of sleep, but being world-saving heroes brought its own kind of mental fatigue. Moments of calm and respite were too few and far between.

“Well. Next time we have some days off we’ll organise a Team Dark afternoon.” Shadow offered. “An exhibit or two, some games at the arcade. Maybe a small concert at a cafe. – Oh my. Hun, I’m impressed to see you take this kind of initiatives.” the bat replied.

The hedgehog gave her a friendly nudge. “Shut up, can’t let you make all the decisions. – I don’t see why not.” Rouge shrugged with a knowing smile.

They suddenly stopped. Without really realising it, the duo had reached the large avenue leading back to their house. As they exchanged a glance, Rouge winked. “Omega must be waiting for us. Let’s move!” she said cheerfully.

- - - - -

An immediate wave of relief filled Shadow as soon as they passed the front door. “Finally some warmth.” he sighed, removing his large coat and thick scarf. “I was expecting your lowered body temperatures.” Omega’s robotic voice answered from the kitchen. “Hot tea and biscuits are ready for immediate consumption. Made with love.”

Rouge snickered and Shadow repressed a chuckle.  Both knew Omega was absolutely unable to cook anything without setting fire to it, so the biscuits were probably store-bought. They still appreciated the gesture greatly.

Everyone gathered around the table, remembering stories about the now-ending year and its numerous developments. Adrenaline-filled fights, obscure investigations and exhausting assignments went alongside hilarious mistakes, glorious teamwork… and even celebratory moments with all the other heroes of Mobius.

“Okay, but the award for the best party of the year still goes to Knuckles’ surprise birthday.” Rouge said confidently while helping Omega put on a colourful crochet beanie. “Ughh please. Let’s not talk about it.” Shadow groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. “It was extremely fun. The fireworks accident made it over 200% better than any other celebration.” the robot insisted. “Oh right, I almost forgot about that!” the bat laughed. “Poor Knuckie, having to deal with a fire hazard on his cherished island…”

Memories of the furious echidna shouting frantically brought a grin to Shadow’s face. “But!” Rouge added, ”I mostly remember someone having a few drinks too much and— – NOPE!” the hedgehog exclaimed as he brandished his hands. “No talk of this specific event shall happen in this house. Ever.”

Omega tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his smaller friend. “It is a shame I did not record it for ulterior viewing.” Shadow’s glare was so intense the former badnik recoiled slightly.

“Oh well, it’s all in the past now.” Rouge mused teasingly. ”Good times, good times...”

- - - - -

The closet was absurdly full of useless trinkets and Shadow was very, very close to “fix” it with a Chaos blast.

Of course he wouldn’t, knowing how preciously Rouge kept all those odd items from her past. Jewels, foreign souvenirs, postcards, old plushies, photographs… All her memorabilia was kept there, in a mismatched mess mixed up with cleaning supplies, spare beddings and various tools.

“They should be somewhere near the bottom!” the bat shouted from across the flat. The hedgehog growled, his eyes desperately scanning the clutter in front of him. Finally he found what he came for.

Fairy lights. The essential accessory to any LRCS —Living Room Camping Session.

Shadow walked back to the main room, where a drying rack and several chairs formed a structure covered by sheets and blankets. Omega was evaluating whether the improvised tent was big enough for him. “It is perfect, Rouge. We will be able to fit within the designated comfy area.” he said before crawling underneath the colourful construction.

The hedgehog carefully hung the string of lights around and inside the tent before plugging it. Rouge grabbed some snacks and scuttled against the large robot, who fiddled with the remote until a title screen showed on the TV.

“Are we really watching this?” Shadow asked hesitantly. “Shadow. We all know your inclination for romance between organic beings. Please come cuddle so we can start the movie.” Omega said. “Don’t tell me you suddenly decided to hate cheesy fiction, sweetie.” Rouge added. “I would rather perish than lose your snarky remarks and teary-eyed spee— – Alright, I get it, I’m coming.” the hedgehog replied with a frown. “This better be good, though.”

It was everything but good. Outbursts of laughter and incredulous stares followed one another as the movie —a romantic parody of the famous blockbuster Attack On Mobius— kept getting more and more absurd. Omega threatened to turn himself off as he struggled to find any reasoning behind what was happening, and Rouge almost choked on her pop-corn near the end of the second part.

When the credits started rolling, the three buddies snuggled together. The winter night cold was no match for a group hug and thick quilts. Shadow eyed his phone and hummed.

“It’s almost midnight. – Does that mean we have to prepare a wish?” Rouge asked in a sleepy voice. “We don’t have to.” the hedgehog replied, glancing at his two friends.

Has to be an odd sight, he thought. A haphazard team with so many differences, united by pure luck in a challenging world. Chilling together in a makeshift tent in the middle of a flat like nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the warm feelings. Being surrounded by such amazing souls for whom he really mattered. Knowing all the affection and dedication hidden behind that seemingly cold name, “Team Dark”.

“I wished for a pony.” Both Omega and Shadow looked at their bat friend with tilted heads. “What? They’re cute, I dunno.” she shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “What would you guys wish for? – Dual plasma swords.” the robot replied. “Maybe I should ask Miles when we cross paths again.”

Rouge rolled her eyes, then shouted curse words as she realised midnight was mere seconds away. Omega startled, making the whole tent fall on the team. The striped hedgehog quickly covered his muzzle with his hands, trying to suppress an irresistible laugh. No matter how hard life was, no matter the obstacles in his way, one thing was certain as the year came to an end.

Friendship was all he could wish for.

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

hello, PLEASE tell me your aroace analysis of the black parade album, i would like to see it 👀👀

What up guys, I just passed a vet med practice exam and I’m aroace and emo as fuck so let’s do this

 First off, I will preface that I know that this wasn’t quite MCR’s idea of the album, but art is interpretive and I will at every possible opportunity rub my grubby little aroace hands all over that shit. This is also gonna get long so here’s a read more

 Okay so first off, let me just exclude the following songs from this interpretation simply because they are exactly as they appear: The End, Dead!, Welcome to the Black Parade, Sleep, Teenagers and Blood. I can’t find anything to really psychoanalyse in this regarding the aroace experience so much as they are about the emo experience. And also, as a heads up, I feel this may teter more into aromantic interpretation than asexual simply because that’s how I roll, baby.

Let’s start with ‘This Is How I Disappear’, there’s something in here that strikes me as ‘coming to terms with being aroace Very Badly’, that first onset of panic when you realise ‘oh crap, I’m not allo’. I didn’t have the ‘hell yeah no sexual/romantic attraction oh wait there’s a word for that?’ realisation often stated online, I was in a lot of denial, especially when I first started listening to this album.

The lines “And without you is how I disappear/and live my life alone forever now” really strikes this message to me. The gnawing sense of loneliness and isolation when you first realise that you’re not like everyone else, that ‘living a life alone’ is both what you want from life and dread, as an amatonormative society drills into every one of us that love and relationships is what makes us important in life, and without it we will simply disappear. The line hits home the pain of questioning, the horror of when you realise this is who you likely are before you can truly accept it. It’s not a pretty part of being aroace, it wasn’t for me, but it is an important one, and the lines always hit home to me in this era.

Added on to this is a sense of how we’re seen in media. Consider the line “Who walks among the famous living dead”. There’s a real push in amatonormativity that love and romance is what makes us human, what makes us alive, and without it, we’re not human. Therefore, by extension, the aromantic narrator is ‘not alive’ by these standards, nor is their community they’ve yet to find. This is also doubled down by the monster symbolism throughout the song; especially when I was younger, aromantic (and asexual) coded characters in media were always the bad guys, the monsters who could only be stopped by the unstoppable power of love; the narrator is lamenting how this part of themselves seems monstrous, evil to society, when really that isn’t true, and this evolves over the course of the album.

Let’s move on to The Sharpest Lives. This is less aroace specific, but it certainly seems like a downward spiral of the narrator, which carries on from the self-loathing of Disappear. There’s really only 1 line I want to talk about here: “Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands/Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo”. This is an obvious allusion to Romeo and Juliet, but it turns on its head the usual story of Romeo and Juliet being in love; Juliet doesn’t love Romeo, she just loves the beat, and Romeo is taking it too far. This speaks to another experience, not exclusive to aromantics, but definitely strongly felt in it, when someone misinterprets the relationship or your feelings and tries to push for romance when all you wanted was a good time. I had an awful experience of this myself, so I’m claiming this one for the aroaces.

(As an aside, I got into MCR around the same time we did Romeo and Juliet at school, so imagine little me, not knowing she’s aroace and sick to death of talking about romance at school and hearing this line. To say I lost my shit was an understatement. I ADORE that line.)

Next up is ‘I Don’t Love You’. I’ve talked about this one before on my blog, but this is the song that really gives it away to me that this album is very strongly catered towards aroaces. “But it’s a break up song!” No, it’s not, if you look at it from the correct angle. Also I’ve gone to further lengths with other break up songs so try me bitches (See: Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls being about disregarding amatonormativity rather than breaking up with someone. It’s so damn obvious too)

Here’s the short of it: I Don’t Love You is actually about falling out with a friend because you had entirely different ideas as to what it was you wanted from your relationship. The aro narrator wants it to remain friends; they’re happy with where they are, and doesn’t want it to change. The other ‘person’ in the song is alloromantic, and wants it to become a romantic relationship. The most important line for this is the most important line in the song: “When you go, would you even turn to say, I don’t love you like I did yesterday”. Let’s focus on the word choice here: ‘Like I did yesterday’. When allos talk about love, they talk about the amount; if this was about falling out of love, it would reflect that, that the other person in the song loves them less, not differently. The narrator is lamenting that their friend no longer loves them as a friend; the friend’s view of love has changed, they love them romantically, and less as a friend as a result, and the narrator’s insistence on remaining friends has highlighted this.

What’s more, I don’t think this is the first time the narrator has gone through this. Admittedly, I misheard one of the lines for years and I insist the line is “Another time was just another blow” but I’m not American so we don’t have dollars, and this is about me and my interpretation of the album so we’re in this ride together and I’m driving so lets do this. The song is very pained, you can hear it in Gerard’s voice, and there’s so little about the pain of losing a friend, especially when they wanted romance from you, that this song really speaks to.

What really gets me though is how the narrator is clearly still struggling with being aroace too. Let’s consider the line “Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading”. The narrator clearly isn’t at ease with their identity yet; maybe they wish they could keep their friend, but their placing their boundaries down, even though its costing a friend. These boundaries are important, and its important for our friends to respect them too. And listening to, and singing along to, this song really makes me proud for the narrator in a sort of self-love kind of way when you couldn’t love yourself.

Final matter on this song: the narrator still thinks of them as a friend, which is tearing the narrator apart. Yes, the line “Don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay” might make you think differently, but I believe that’s the narrator setting their boundaries; they’re not going to become an item just to please their friend and make them stay. Instead lets look at “Better get out while you can”. The narrator sees that their different views on the relationship is incompatible, and suggests they ‘fall out’ before their friend gets too caught up, and the rejection pains them both even more.

Now for House of Wolves. Not a long to say on this one, but I see it as being about media and ace exclusionists. See, the song flips between another character seeing the narrator as an angel and as a sinner simultaneously; just as how the media depicts asexual/aromatic/aroace people as non-human, that our sexuality (or lack thereof) makes us incomplete (the sinner aspect), while exclusionists say that we must be loved by the same media (and by religion too) for being aspec (the angel aspect). The song flip flops between them very rapidly, a state of confusion that felt very poignant for me when I was questioning in the height of the ace discourse.

Okay Mama is just here not for interpretation but because my English teacher once told us to analyse songs for her to mark as revision for exams and she loves long songs and kept making us analyse them so I analysed Mama and handed that in and got an A*. So Mama said AroAce rights that day.

Disenchanted is another strange one, filled with lines that mean more to aroace interpretation than the song itself. It spoke to me most when I was on my year out, having failed to get into uni despite good grades, still struggling with coming to terms with being aromantic, and dealing with severe anxiety. All in all, it was a year of disenchantment. It’s a good song. So what about an aroace interpretation?

The main thing about the song seems to be pretending to be someone you’re not. And really, when talking with family who expect you to be allo, how can you be anything but? I was told in this time that ‘Girls only go to university to find a husband’, which is many levels of wrong, but that thought always sticks in my head with this song. Moreover, I always think of break up songs with the line “You’re just a sad song, with nothing to say”, because they ARE just sad songs with nothing to say; and yet we’re expected to love them, because it’s a universal experience. There’s never been nothing to them.

But really, the line “I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree, so I can watch all my heroes sell a car on TV” is what really spoke to me. You spend school years being told that these people are sexy, you’ll want romance one day, and you have to agree or we’ll bully you mercilessly for it. The kids at school knew who was aroace before they knew what aroace meant. And we grow up watching heroes we relate to on TV, the fantastic loners who don’t need a significant other, only for fandom and the shows themselves to pair them up, make them “sell cars on tv” and sell out what made them special to us. And it hurts. And this song reflects that so well. In this song, the narrator is reflecting back on the years lost by hating themselves, slowly coming to terms with being aroace.

And finally, Famous Last Words. This is the real tipping point where the narrator feels comfortable with themselves, and finally confronts the friend from ‘I Don’t Love You’. The song is sung by one person, yes, but it feels like a dialogue between the friend, who still wants to hold a romantic relationship with the narrator, and the narrator who’s finally had enough. The introduction is from the friend, their thoughts on the narrator and how they know that they’re not going to win, but maybe they can make them feel bad for it “But where’s your heart?”, the friend is accusing the narrator of being heartless for being aromantic. But here’s the thing:

The narrator’s accepted who they are. “Well is it hard understanding? I’m incomplete.” The narrator accepts that they’re aroace, that to the friend, they are different, they don’t experience romance. The pain that they felt in the first few songs, of being the living dead and disappearing, makes them feel incomplete still, but they’re finally secure with being aroace enough to declare that, while they aren’t fully there yet, “I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” The narrator knows who they are, and they’re no longer afraid of it. Even when the friend tries to backpedal “Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiving” the narrator knows that the friend isn’t worth the pain anymore “Nothing you can say can stop me going home.”

That’s also why the lines about ‘love’ in this song are so important too. “A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak” “A love that’s so demanding, I get weak”. The narrator is explaining that, for them, romance is demanding; it’s not easy, and it’s not worth it for them, it’ll tire them out. The first quote can also speak of their friendship now; it’s so demanding, the narrator feels that if they stay, they may not be able to speak up for themselves any more. They have to friend break up, for both of their wellbeings.

And finally, the last verses “Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” is the final attempt at kicking the narrator, harking back to “the famous living dead”. But the narrator refutes it by insisting that they’re not afraid to be alone anymore. And the song ends with the narrator winning, leaving the friend for good, for a better life.

 And that’s the aroace interpretation of Black Parade.

And it’s 2200 words long fuck

[heli0s-writes]

V. The damn truth

Summary:  What is the damn truth?? AKA time to get those feelings out and stop being weird y'all. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N:  So I thought this was the last chapter, but it looks like we got one more, kiddos. More Cincy adventures and another further away. And more Steve time.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

In the morning, you brew coffee and pour it into one mug set out next to two others. You’re surprisingly the first up, senses dulled and head lightly rickety with a loosened brain from last night’s whiskey. Venturing to the garden, you sit cross-legged on a chair and watch Buckeye roam across the grass, rubbing his back over the silky blades still damp with morning dew. 

It’s all green and lush under the summer sun as your eyes trail over to the steps leading down, disappearing into the glass sliding door of the lower living room. The tablet tucked under your arm gets propped up on the glass table and you begin to work. Even in summer, it never ends. 

I’m a way, you’re glad for it because it keeps you busy and tethered to something resembling a schedule. Would you rather lie in bed with Buckeye eating pretzels watching Netflix? Yeah. But your therapist keeps telling you its not healthy .. so… 

Your fingers are clicking away, focused on one window, typing notes into another when the rattling doorknob draws your attention to Steve exiting the house with a mug in his hand, blowing gently on the surface. 

“Hey.” He calls, looking up, then greets Buckeye with a scratch on his wet rump. 

You give him a smile because you don’t quite know what to say, choosing instead to watch your dog pad off again, as if him sniffing the same spot in the yard is more interesting. 

Steve sits down in the bench next to your chair, freshly showered in jeans and a grey t-shirt-- too small, as always. You’re fresh, too, changed into a pale blue jersey romper. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Mhm,” You reply, but can’t help the way your eyes return to his chest where you rested your head just five hours before. 

Last night ended on a solemn note. The two of them went back to their room and you and Buckeye upstairs, all heavy-hearted and tired of reality. You remember dancing, and crying, and kissing. You remember feeling so shredded, thinking about them. You remember Steve’s warm lap and Bucky’s beard rubbing against your palm. 

 “C’mere,” Steve calls softly, reaching his hand over and tugging on the waistband of your outfit. You comply, carefully balancing the cup in your hand and sit down in his lap again. Your tummy is flipping, because Steve Rogers nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and wraps his arm around your waist. The denim of his jeans rubs against your thighs as he shifts and sets your coffee cup down. 

Change flutters all around you now, after taking flight last night. It hovers and clings, seeping into your skin like the humidity of morning. You’re not sure where or how to begin talking about this strange relationship, because you’ve never entertained the possibility of its arrival. 

Yes, Captain America is a thicc ass bitch and you’re hot for him, but Steve Rogers is your friend and you care for him more than you want to see if he’s actually a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. You can’t even start to think about Bucky right now, or else you might cry again. 

And certainly, to probe the intricacies of their relationship in order to carve a space for yourself is something so unbearably selfish you would never dream of doing it.  

“What—um, what is—” You pause because the rest of this sentence could push your friendship in any way and you’re fearful of every way. 

“Don’t think about it too much.” Steve comments as you tense inside of his grasp, “We try not to.” Then, he laughs, “I suppose that doesn’t help you feel better, huh.” 

Your arms wrap around yourself and they come to rest on his forearms. “I like what we have. I don’t want to get between what the two of you have. It’s… a massive, wonderful thing-- deep, and—” 

Steve shushes you, “Buck and I really do like you. You’re not intruding on anything.” And then, he turns you so that he’s facing your side and not your back. One hand slides up your face and then his mouth is on yours … and is it too stupid to say that when Captain America kisses you, fireworks pop off in your brain and some patriotic tune   starts blasting itself in the background? 

He tastes like coffee and freedom. Breath warm and sweet like a breeze on the 4th of July— saltwater taffy and the outdoors. There’s an eagle screeching proudly in the distant void of your mind. 

Suddenly, Steve pulls away and you’re sure your face is stuck in some tragically half-frozen mask of sheer dumbstruck. 

“Are you humming America the Beautiful right now?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Huh.” You respond, dazed, “I thought that was just in my head.” 

He tilts back laughing and takes you along with him, your shoulder crashing into his chest and your head knocking into his as you flail, trying to catch yourself. Steve holds on tightly, fingers digging into your arm and thigh—and when the hell did he get fresh and put his hand there? Sly fuck. 

“Wanted to do this for a while now.” He grins as he pulls your face down onto his once more. It is a shock to you that Captain America, the Star-Spangled sunofabitch, can kiss like it’s his damn job. His tongue is in your mouth.  Your heart feels like a gerbil spinning wildly on a wheel and might burst out of your chest any moment until— 

The rattling of the doorknob for a second time this morning catches you off guard. You yank back, fearfully aware that Steve’s spit is glistening on your lips. And goddamn, it is hot. 

Bucky joins with a mug of coffee in hand and slides the door shut. He steps past the doormat and plops down on your old seat, crosses his left ankle on his other knee and stares off into the yard as if he’s there alone. As if you’re not pitched over and crushed against his partner’s chest while one of his hands is so high up your thigh it’s practically on your ass. 

“Morning,” he grunts, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Mornin, Buck.” Steve replies breezily, and you can feel his mouth twist into a smile against your collarbone. “How’s your coffee?” 

Bucky takes another sip impassively, ���Pretty good. A little burnt. How’s your lap?” 

You shoot up and nearly knock the whole table over as you brush your clothes off with a nervous laugh, “Well! I’m going to… Jesus. Christ. Uh. Let’s uh. Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes and we can go get breakfast. Or church. Fuck me with a broom.” Your brain is a bag of ferrets thrown into a dumpster fire. 

The door slams shut as you nearly break the entire frame running inside and Steve sends Bucky a shit-eating grin before patting the thigh you were just on top of. 

“You gonna come take her place over here, or what?” 

— 

Breakfast is weird. It’s weird like The Twilight Zone is weird.  

You’ve opted to leave your hair down for today, letting as much of it cover your face as possible because if either one of them looks at you, you think you might just combust. You’re ready to go back to being a bastard at any time now, but your nerves are wringing themselves into knots. Another pancake gets cut into a triangle by your fork. 

And then Steve steals it right off your plate. 

“You candy-ass mother-!” You yelp defensively. 

“There she is!” He replies, stuffing it in his mouth and pointing at you with the prongs. Bucky only raises his eyebrow behind a glass of water. “I thought we were past this.” Steve urges. 

No, making out on the patio is not equivalent to a conversation about joining a relationship as the fucking third partner, you think. Your eyes say as much as you glare at your plate and then up to Bucky, pleading with him to help you. 

“Don’t look at me,” Bucky shrugs, “I wasn’t the one playing tongue hockey with ya.” The fork in your hand clatters as you shove your face in your palms with a groan. Absolute filthy bastard. He’s chomping on hashbrowns open-mouthed as he looks at you expressionlessly. Could anyone be more annoying? Probably not. 

“Well, she did tell you she loved you twice.”  Steve points out, “So maybe I’m not the one who should be playing tongue hockey with her.”  Never mind, apparently Steve can be more annoying. Figures. 

The neckline of your romper is now pulled completely over your face until only your hairline is visible. Inside of your albeit thin, but somewhat safe space, you groan as your entire body rises to sweltering degrees.  

“You guys are bullies.” You complain. 

“What’s that, hon?” Steve asks— and you can just hear him smiling. “Didja say somethin’?” 

“I think she called us bullies, Stevie.” 

“Bullies?! Sweetheart, you made us listen to Sad n Sexy Santa for two hours on the drive here and would not stop screaming until we let you sing along.” 

You’d never imagine Steve Rogers as someone who would so easily distribute pet names like this, but apparently once you cross the bridge of sucking on each other’s face, they don’t stop coming.  

Your stomach is fluttering unbearably, but you snark back anyway, “Sad n Sexy Santa  is a true effort of musical talent,” you proclaim, still glaring at the darkness under your romper. “Christmas songs sung in a minor key changes both the tune and the connotation of their lyrical content. Have you ever thought that “All I Want For Christmas Is You” could be so unsettling? Didn’t think so!” 

A sharp tug is all it takes for your head to return to the world and Bucky’s arm fixes the wide collar so that your bralette isn’t exposed for the entire café to see. “Stop being a baby.” He scolds. 

“You !! Baby !” Nice. 

They both sit back against the opposite booth, arms crossed, smirking, as you pretend to enjoy your meal under their scrutiny. Oh, how the tables have turned, you lament. This is just divine punishment, after two months of being the most infuriating person to them, now they’re giving you a double dose of your own medicine.  

“I love eating breakfast by myself.” You announce out loud, reaching over to take some of Steve’s bacon, “Love getting three plates just for me.” 

Bucky’s laugh makes your ears go bright pink the same time your teeth crush the sliver of meat in your hand. 

-- 

The Cincinnati Zoo returns you to sweeter childhood memories of elementary field trips where the kids went ballistic and the adults spent most of their time counting heads. Your parents never partook in chaperoning, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it. 

Today, the weather is overcast, and upon the first drop of rain, Steve goes inside a merchandise store to buy two umbrellas. He returns just a bit too late and there is already a huge downpour, soaking half of Bucky’s arm who’s standing over you, acting as a shield when the awning of the building across the store isn’t enough.  

“Get over here!” You’re yelling, tugging on Bucky’s sleeve and stomping your foot, “What’s the point of you getting wet just so I don’t get wet? You’re so stupid!”  

Steve watches him relent with a smile as he opens his umbrella and tosses the second one to Bucky. Then, the three of you trek through puddles and make your way to the covered exhibits. 

Fiona the hippo is asleep in a little alcove of her aquarium, head tucked away. You explain to them the majesty of Fiona’s sonogram, birth, and her subsequent celebrity, but they don’t understand her like you do. They can’t even see the damn creature, Bucky scoffs, but you glare at him and he rolls his eyes away. 

You coo and tut, waggling your finger when her tail flops side-to-side and her back legs kick. When she has a bowel movement in her sleep and it disperses into the very water she’s resting in, you back up and gag, pushing Steve and Bucky away. 

“Alright, let’s go look at some other chonkers.” You proclaim as you lead them to the manatees.  

 Three enormous, alabaster, and smooth-skinned sea cows float serenely in the murky blue. Two of them have green heads of lettuce clenched between their flippers and are chomping away, bits of leaves floating around their heads like vegetable halos.  

You press your hand against the glass and sigh. Steve and Bucky step closer, looking down curiously when you wipe at the corner of your eye. “Look at these giant fuckers.” You whisper, “I haven’t known peace like that since I was a fetus.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “God, you’re dramatic.” 

It’s quiet in the chamber with only the faint splashing of the rain falling on the water outside and plunking drips from your umbrella onto the concrete floor. Between a family’s departure and before the next one’s arrival, Bucky pushes you up against the glass and kisses you in front of an audience of marine mammals and Steve Rogers’ smirk. 

“How’s that for peace?” He mutters, mouth still pressed against yours. Your heart is thumping in your ears like a battle-drum. Bucky snags your bottom lip with his teeth and licks the sting away.  

“I think you—” you gulp, feeling your bottom lip snap back into place and giving it a slow suck just to see if it’s still there, “maybe need to consult a dictionary. But—you know, good try...” 

-- 

They are relentless. 

In the café while eating greasy cheese and ham sandwiches and cold vegetables, they take turns knocking their knees into yours, grazing your thighs and legs. 

Between the big cats and the painted dogs, Steve squeezes your waist and rests his hand there until you shuffle away.  

Under the shelter of a tree by the elephants, Bucky blows on your ear and laughs when you shriek in surprise. Good God Almighty. There are goosebumps all over your skin even though you are burning. 

-- 

Bucky drives home after deftly fishing the keys out of your bag. He could have thrown a grenade in there and you wouldn’t have noticed, being too distracted by the big and daunting reality of being… whatever it is you are now.  

Currently, Steve rides shotgun, glancing back to you once or twice every few minutes as you gaze out the window. The rain only let up a couple of minutes ago as all three of you exhausted every open exhibit at the zoo. Your feet are blistered from the repeated chafing of your toes against the wet front of your sandals, and the bottom of them hurt like the devil.  

A tiny buzz alerts you to the phone tucked away in your pocket. 

Natasha: So, you guys fucking yet?  

Your heart leaps into your mouth. 

You: What the fuck!!!! Did you plan this? You have cursed me, Natasha. I am broiling in the deepest layer of hell and they are feasting on my bones you asshole!  

Natasha:That’s too kinky even for me. Enjoy being feasted upon. Later.  

Steve twists his head around like a goddamn owl and looks at you, “Everything okay?” 

You refuse to meet his gaze, “Uh-huh.” 

Bucky finds your eyes closed tightly the rear view. “Are you actually shy ?” He ponders, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. When you say nothing, he continues, “I would have never guessed if I hadn’t seen it first-hand. Today.” 

“Be quiet.” You groan. 

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he chides, pulling into the driveway. “You’re a pretty good liar.” 

“You’re a pretty good liar! Heh!” You sneer back, imitating the way his voice might sound if he inhaled a lungful of helium. When the car stops and Bucky shuts off the engine, he turns around through the middle console and sends you a fanged grin, reminiscent of the way he snarled at you the first time he came to your apartment. 

Then he’s out the door, closing it with a quiet bang. Steve whistles lowly and looks over his shoulder, “You’re in for it now.” 

-- 

Bucky throws you into the pool.  

He at least has the decency to take your phone out of your pocket before he chucks you in like a dead fish. Since it’s drizzled all day, the water is cold as all fuck and when it hits your back the shock stifles the scream wrenched from your throat. 

You resurface with a shriek, teeth chattering as you break the water and try to swim to the edge. You can barely get your hair out of your face before an enormous splash creates a wave that slams itself on the top of your head. Another cannonball goes into the blue and by the time your eyes are dry enough to see what the fuck is going on, you’re sandwiched between them and the cold slips right out of your skin. 

Steve’s hands have faithfully returned to your legs where the opening of your romper floats around in the chilling water. The tips of your toes are pointed, and your mouth is barely above the splashes of chlorine licking at your chin. Bucky and Steve are standing flat on their feet, barely wet at their collarbones. 

“Better hold on, ‘less you’re interested in drownin’.” Bucky teases. A mouthful gets spit out onto his neck and for a second you think maybe that point is worth it until Steve picks you up by the waist and dumps you two inches left and the water goes right over your head. 

You scramble and splash, regretting not taking those swimming classes seriously because all you can do is (sort of) float on your back and doggy paddle for about three minutes. Bucky chuckles when you finally relent and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your burning face into his sopping hair. 

“Is this your idea of getting me wet.” You mumble as your cheeks scorch against him. Steve is behind you, kissing your nape until you lean back onto his shoulder too, both inflamed and anxious by their rapt attention. 

“Is it working?” Steve asks, and your silence is enough of an answer all on its own. You feel as if you might be brave enough to look up into Bucky’s eyes, maybe kiss him again, but a third and final cannonball crashes into the tranquil waves and then Buckeye breaks the water with a series of grunts and pants.  

His fat head bobs up and down as he paddles about, tongue hanging limply from his jaw. As he makes his way past the three of you staring blankly at him, Buckeye gives Steve’s face a long, slow lick.  

You swear you can hear Captain America faintly call your dog a “goddamn cockblock”. 

-- 

Steve is in the shower when you snuggle up with Buckeye on the couch. A thick wool blanket covers your bare legs as you lean over, placing your head on your dog’s coiled body. He’s still a little damp from pool water, and the velvet grey of his coat is speckled with dark splotches. From downstairs, Bucky arrives, wet hair behind his ears and quietly lifts your dog up and places him on the sofa couch across from the coffee table. He smells like peppermint body wash.  

The sudden thought of him wearing red and white and kissing you under a mistletoe wriggles into your brain and you could scream. Instead, you steel yourself, scold the fantasy until it leaves.  

Your head lays on Buckeye’s former seat, dampening the leather, staring up into the ceiling.  

Bucky wordlessly smooths the blanket over your legs, sits down on the floor, and props his head up on his arms until he’s looking into your eyes. “Hey,” he says, biting on the tiniest bit of his bottom lip in a way uncharacteristic of him—nervous, careful. “Y’know, if this is too much—say somethin’—I’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.”  

A smirk tugs the corner of your lip and he huffs at the sight of it, waiting for a comment but still, he feels uneasy. You’re not looking at him, not yet, at least. It’s still up in the air if you’ll laugh or cry; your emotions have become overwrought when thinking of them. The quips here and there have been tiny little bandages over the aching wound. 

“C’mon,” Bucky whispers, “Thought you were gonna be bastard about it.”  

“Sorry…” You mutter, turning to face him. A single tear drops out and rolls over your nose bridge, plunking down onto the leather. “I think I am... feeling both overwhelmed and…” You close your eyes, trying to find your words. “I think I’m also feeling inadequate.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows, creating fine creases on his forehead. 

“I guess as a normal person, now faced with something … very serious-- two entire lives that have started  way  before me and will last long after me, I’m just wondering how exactly I will fit? It’s certainly selfish... ” 

“It’s not.”  

A jerk of your mouth catches his gaze, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You laugh, knowing fully well that the statement sounds silly because he’s right in front of you now, as he’s been for the past few days. And your comment makes it seem like he’s leagues away. “I want you to be happy. I think you‘ve spent so long not being, I just want you to be happy.”  

Against your better judgement, you turn until your entire body is facing him and brush your fingers along his chin, then trail up until you are holding onto the side of his neck, thumb under his ear. Bucky smiles that lopsided boyish smile at you, set in the angular, firm face of a man, and closes his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

He opens them, letting the gray-blue dance over your features. You feel brave again, because Bucky Barnes is inches away, looking at you like you could be part of his world. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his softly. He is already a part of  your  world, more ingrained than you ever thought could be in the short time you’ve known him.  

You kiss him again. For good measure. And then again, for luck, maybe. “You know I meant it, last night.” You sigh against his mouth, “I do love you two.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky dismisses it playfully as he lifts himself up just a little more to hover over your face, turning so that his mouth slants on yours just right. “No time to talk now, darlin’.”  

He scrubs his beard against your neck, and you start giggling uncontrollably at the way it tickles. His nose brushes against your ear and his tongue traces your jaw before he peppers kisses up to your mouth. His fingers tap a staccato of morse code up and down your sides as you squeal.  

Who knew The Winter Soldier could be so... cute? 

“I’m ready for a nap!” Steve calls from the hallway, stopping short of interrupting the moment. “Think all of us can fit on the bed?” 

“Steve, man, it’s like evening time.” Your voice is muffled against Bucky’s face once more as he takes the opportunity to kiss you again. 

“I’m trying to find an excuse to lie down,” Steve grumbles. You hear his footsteps stop behind Bucky as he peers over his shoulder and into your upside-down face. “Will ya come to bed or not?” 

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you hide behind Bucky’s hair. “Well, fuckin’ twist my arm...”  

-- 

Steve sleeps like the dead. It’s comical how he sprawls out and snores softly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t, now that he’s retired. 

You and Bucky have moved to one side where he lies with one arm tucked behind his head and the other one under yours. He tells you Steve usually isn’t so ridiculous, sleeping very lightly and wakes up at the slightest noise, but now there’s a conversation being carried centimeters away from his face and he’s not stirred at all.  

Bucky smiles at this, says thank god, he needs it. 

“He’s gonna be up at three bouncing off the walls.” You warn. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. He’ll sprint fifty miles and go to bed.” 

“Jesus, why?” 

“Super serum bullshit, and because he’s a show-offy asshole.” 

“Aren’t you... also serum-ed?”  

“Yeah, but I also love my bed.” 

At that, you whistle, “Man after my own heart.” 

His face lights up as he turns to peer at you resting on the crook of his arm, leaning so that the top of your head is barely on his chest. “Oh yeah?” The silly conversation takes a turn when Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, finding excuse to let his fingers roam along the edge of your eyebrow, trailing down until he’s past your cheek, further down to your shoulder.  

It’s his left hand that’s touching you, the cold metal of the appendage sending shivers down your back. You can’t help but gaze at the way it reflects the setting sun slipping through the cracks of your blinds. 

The hand under your head is shifted until he’s propping himself up on it.  

Your mouth goes drier each time he squeezes your arm, closing your eyes to concentrate on the contradicting sensations—your warm body, his cold hand, quickly losing its chill. He travels down, down, until his palm is on your hip, then your thigh, then, ghosting between your legs. 

Against your back is Steve, sighing softly. 

“I feel like I’m living out the thirst tweet ‘bout your arm.” You mutter, eyes closing with a tremulous shudder. Bucky laughs, fingers diving between your thighs, hand wrapping over one. 

“You got a thing for getting choked, too?” It’s a joke, but he pinches your flesh and when your tummy flutters, you suddenly grow a bit afraid of your own desires.  

Behind you, Steve stirs. “Don’t let him do it.” His gravelly voice pipes up, muffled by the pillow his cheek is pressed against, “He toes the line of erotic asphyxiation too closely.” Then, he turns, spooning you, and falls back asleep. 

Why the fuck does Captain America know anything about erotic asphyxiation. 

Bucky is laughing again, pulling you to his chest before he stills. “I wouldn’t. Unless you really wanted it.”  

“Jesus would you stop.” You mumble, but peek up at him anyway, lips parting in anticipation. He gives it to you, curling his hand around the back of your neck and murmuring nonsense into your mouth. Witticisms that you quickly bite off with a teasing snap of teeth. Bucky pulls away with a sound of surprise. 

“Oh, kitten. You got claws, huh?” 

You show him your canines. “Always had ‘em, bee-itch.” He doesn’t know how a person can make the word  bitch  into two annoying—maybe endearing— syllables, but you’ve done it. 

Bucky laughs joyfully, smothers his face into the pillow like he doesn’t want you to see, because Bucky Barnes’ reputation as a stone-cold motherfucker has been completely ripped to shreds in your hands and he is trying desperately to retain some semblance of it. 

You grab his face, grinning, eager to see that winsome smile of his.  

“Fuck, I like you.” He says with a chuckle. 

“Aw, don’t be a bee-itch, Buck.” Steve calls from your back, apparently not asleep after all. “Tell ‘er the damn truth!” Your spine picks up the humidity of his breath, shivers running all the way up to your neck when he kisses your shoulder blade with sloppy presses of his mouth. 

In the sunset glow, Bucky groans dramatically as you and Steve wait, smirks shared between two utter bastards, he thinks. He groans and groans and when he’s out of one long breath he picks up another. 

“Fine, fine.” He relents finally, letting you bask in the glory of that gorgeous wide mouth, stretched so sweetly. He laughs.  

“I love you too. Twist my fuckin’ arm.”  

Next

[justasparkwritings]

May: TinyDoubt

Previous: April’s The Wild Lillies 

Pairing: None

Genre: Creative Angst

Rating: PG13 

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Swearing! 

Summary: Creative block is alive and well as you stare at the figurines in  front of you, your only comfort? The voice in your head challenging you to soldier on. 

Notes: I tried to channel my deep deep writers block for this. Do I hate it? Maybe. Do I feel all those things about my writing? Oh absolute. Is that inner voice how I talk to myself? You bet it is. Is the title so good? Yes, yes it is. 

Paintbrush

Sculpting clay

Carving tools

Dry hands

Paint under fingernails

Hair swept back

Slick drying on cheeks

Shoulder’s tense

         Should’ve sprung for the expensive chair, the one that holds my legs back and supports my core.

       It isn’t too late, I could still spring for it after this batch sells… if I sell it.

       I sigh, glancing at the clock, 5 minutes to midnight. How long have I been sitting here? When was the last time I ate or drank anything? Too long. I’ll feel it tomorrow, the ache in my joints, the exhaustion in my body, limbs sore, eyes worn out, all craving nourishment and rest.

       Gently, I place the figurine on the clean expanse of my drying rack. Thin and leucite, it supports the variety of creations I’ve been making, each in a different state of disarray. None have ended up being perfect, none are worthy of completing, except maybe, just maybe, this one.

       Standing perfectly still at 3inches, somehow, in the bright light of my desk lamp, magnifying lens on its second highest setting, I had perfectly sculpted the manicured swoop of hair. Each strand carved delicately, the part off center, the lingering hair nearly over the left eye, all made from modeling clay. It had taken days to perfect the lift, the arching bow from one side. In its naked form, it looks immaculate. But I know I can only succeed if the coloring is perfect, if the glasses I made, labored over, filling with resin in raspberry pink, fit properly over the new ears I carved days ago.

       Ears were always the easy part, a simple structure on the head, never taking more than a pin-head size of clay. Noses too, tiny and dainty drops, always done in the middle of creation.

        Staring at this latest iteration, I can’t help but wonder if this is worth it. Meticulously drawing every line, breaking my back mixing yellows to get the golden shade and all the highlights, not to mention the truly painstaking part of it all, hands. Is it worth it, the weeks spent making this tiny, tiny creation, only to deem it unworthy, and left incomplete?

        Yes.

        Yes, it is.

       It’s always worth it, despite what the odds tell me. There’s always that voice in my head, telling me that not only is my skill appreciated, but worth something. The last set sold for five times the asking price. This set could double, triple that… Maybe if it did well enough, I could transition to this, full time. Though the thought of working on perfecting miniatures for 12 hours a day sounds quite possibly like hell.  

        This isn’t hell, or horrible, you’re too hard on yourself.

        The voice in my head tells me. Laughing, I counter that statement. “I am not, they’re all shit,”

        They are not.

        “I should’ve stuck with wood carving,” I grumble.

        You cut yourself pretty badly the last time-

        “I know I did!” 

       I can’t tell if I’ve fully lost it, or if this conversation is going to lead to a creative breakthrough. Though based on my running internal monologue, which yes is voiced by Nicole Byer, I am due for a serious heart-to-mind pep talk. It’s not that I haven’t scolded myself recently, or lamented about how completely incompetent I am, how horrific my work is, or how I am wasting my youth sitting at a cramped desk with coffee I’ve reheated four times. I haven’t had the full ‘this is meaningless, stop wasting your time perfecting the shades of blonde on this plastic and clay figurine and go figure out the next steps in your career’ in at least three weeks. I suppose, staring at these in complete monstrosities, that a conversation with myself regarding what I’m doing is far more enjoyable than listening to my father droll on about how I am in command of my destiny.

        Because I’m not in control.  If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here making TinyTan figurines, crying when the paint dries a different color than my swatches or weeping when a miniature dot of adhesive gets stuck on the outside of the clay and chars the entire piece in the oven.

        So I’m not in charge of my fate.

        You make your own luck.

        “Alright, I didnn’t ask you.”

        Who did you ask then? Jimin? Yoongi? Oh wait, they don’t have mouths and they’re made of plastic!

        “See, they don’t have mouths because they fucking suck and I should give up.”

        They’re probably better than you think, you’re just too close to it.  

        “I think that’s actually incorrect and there is nothing wrong with how close I am to these figures,”

        You are though

        “What do you suppose I do? Capture their souls? Summon them with a knock off The Power of Seven Will Set Me Free, while I hold their tiny little plastic hands?” I throw the ball of clay I’ve been rolling onto the table, the small glob sticking to the side of a larger block I had been carving from.  

        Do you always have to be so difficult?

        “You’re inside my brain! You know how creatively frustrated I am! And you know how absolutely fucking bitchy I get when I’m upset!”  

        Why are you frustrated?

        I groan, standing up from my chair and walking to the kitchen sink. The hot water scalds my dry hands, melting the clay and paint off, the extra judicial scrubbing peeling back layers of grime I’d let build in the last 10 hours.

        Why are you so frustrated? Is it because you aren’t good enough? Are you scared it’s going to be your senior year showcase again, where that girls sister didn’t understand you collage and made snarky comments?

        I dry my hands, unwilling to answer the questions my mind was asking.

        If you don’t talk about it you’ll blow up like a volcano…

        “Because! Fuck, because I can’t get any of this right. I just got the hair done, and that’s taken me two weeks. All I’m doing is chipping away, carving away, fucking up and starting again. When I’m not working on it, all I’m doing is thinking about it. They haunt me in my sleep, their little round bellies body rolling to Mic Drop, trying to get me to eat the mini quiches they’ve carved their initials in. My life is consumed by these tiny fucking figures and it’s making me absolutely hate them.”

        Hate them?

        “Whoever decided TinyTan needed to be a thing,”

        Shouldn’t you be mad at whoever told you to create your own versions of them?

        “Oh, so you want me to be mad at myself? Aren’t I already?”

        Okay, point made.

        “I just stare at them, their little body parts, heads on a platter like the Addams Family.. Everything I make is ugly, everything I make isn’t good enough. Every curve, every cut… garbage.”

        Do you want to quit?

        “Give up on my project?”

        Yeah, say fuck it, toss them out, never come back to them.

        “I, should’ve gotten into doll houses,”

       Why?

       “They’re easier, the rules aren’t as rigid, it’s an interpretation and you can do that 1000 different ways,”

       So quit, move to doll houses, sell all your tools. But, answer this, what happens when you get upset or frustrated making doll houses?

       I sigh. “I don’t quit craft projects.”

       … didn’t you just say you wanted to?

       “I don’t quit crafts. Relationships and friendships, that’s another story. But art?”

        Then why are you bitching?

        “I just,” I sigh, slumping into my couch. “If I finish them, and they don’t turn out, what kind of artist will I be? What does that say about my craft? My ‘talent’?”

        What kind of artist do you want to be?

        “This Socratic method is really fucking annoying.”

        I’m your mind, stop doing it if it bugs you so much

        “I just, what does it say about me if they aren’t any good?”

       I’m not sure it says anything about you as a person.

       “Me as an artist?”

       I don’t know if we can answer that.

       “Maybe you’re right,”

        About?

        “Maybe I just, I’m too hard on myself. A set of figurines isn’t going to break my hobby… even if it’s broken my spirit,”

        If it’s broken your spirit, why keep doing it?

        “I love the finished product, but I love the process more,”

        Then keep going.

        The thing about the voice inside my head is that no matter how hard I try to lie to it, it always knows. It always comes back with wisdom and truth, shining a light on exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.

        “Tonight?”

        No bitch, you need sleep. TinyTan will be there tomorrow.

        “Is this when we sing Zero O’Clock while we brush our teeth?”

        Only if you want to.

        I rise from my couch, slipping my apron off, putting it on my crafting chair and clear my throat.

       “Oo- and you’re gonna be happy,” I sing as I move through my apartment, miniatures drying, waiting for another day of scraping, molding and painting, my broken spirit stitching itself back together as the clock resets. 

Next: June Pride

[meibemeibelline]

part 3 (FINAL) of highlights from that 32k word doc i wrote when i marathoned gazette songs (2012-2018)

PART 1 | PART 2

once again:

This is a combo of thoughts on music, lyrics and other random things I wrote while listening. Not every song will be featured, sorry.

I sometimes directly quote translations and when I do, I’ll specify whose it was. Here are the masterposts of lyrics by Heresiarchy , Defective Tragedy and Trauma Radio

I will write song titles for which there are warnings in bold and all caps

So this part will be a bit different because mental health and The Band became really prominent themes in their music in a way it wasn’t really before, so rather than simply writing about songs as they come, I do (attempt to) connect some dots between songs and albums

Also this is REALLY LONG (~5k words)

If you read any of these posts, thank you <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: murder (In Blossom), reference to abuse (In Blossom), suicide/suicidal thoughts (Kagefumi, Deux/Blemish), reference to PTSD (Incubus). Overall LOTS of discussions about mental health.

buckle up folks it’s gonna be a long one

So I listened to Division according to the limited edition version where the songs got split into the ‘story-like songs’ and the ‘hype songs’. Just while we’re on that, I like to think that Vein is the story part because these songs (the blood) are meant to go TO our hearts, while Artery, which is the ‘raw emotion’, is the heart doing the talking and supplying the oxygen that will do its thing. LIKE HEADBANGING.

“Ibitsu is not the first song they’ve written about changes in the music industry, but it’s quite different from others like 13Stairs[-]1 and Dim Scene. They were quite angry about the state of things, lamenting it. But here, Ruki is writing his and the band’s place in all of that. It’s like in the other two songs he’s like, “wow look at all this rubble. This sucks.” But in Ibitsu he’s writing about how he’s also in that rubble and thinks about what HE feels about it in relation to himself and the GazettE. And I find that quite interesting. Also hell YES imagery – skies as ideals, the world around them collapsing into ruin, the band as a flower amidst the rubble that can’t reach the sky. It sounds like he’s trying to navigate how he’s supposed to move forward when his ideals and what’s happening in the industry oppose each other quite a lot. He doesn’t reach an answer in this song and ends by asking whether it is actually in ruins or whether he’s just afraid of change, I think.” - interestingly, he uses this same imagery in Kuroku Sunda Sora to Zangai to Katahane to write about anxiety and not feeling good enough.

Quick disclaimer on KAGEFUMI: I do want to say first that I’m talking about this purely as a piece of art. Not as in, like, “this is peak romance”, but just as an artwork I can have Opinions™ about, even if they’re possibly in disagreement with that of the creator. “The shadow tag metaphor for a couple committing double suicide meaning that they’re ‘becoming one’ and being together in death is A Lot. There’s an incredibly strong belief in an afterlife where they can be together makes (what Ruki describes) this stronger bond between them that literally lasts or even transcends the boundaries between life and death, rather than a tragic end (unlike Tokyo Shinjuu). Musically, I love this song and think it’s gorgeous, the way it’s sad yet hopeful. We over here with that bittersweet stuff again but lyrically it’s a WILDLY different route than others before it.”

“Yoin is such a heavy end to disc 1. The ending lines, “The sea of loss / Understanding of helplessness / That day we grieved” about the Tohoku earthquake/tsunami and the nuclear disaster is just so ……. And not only that, but how even though people still struggle to survive, people are moving on like it’s a thing of the past. It’s SO heavy.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

“I think [Derangement] is about a massive internal struggle between wanting longing for the past, knowing it won’t come back, but also wanting to destroy the past out of self-hatred. There are aspects of the past, perhaps ambition and drive for example, that are good, but other parts that are not. It’s almost like a continuation of Remember the Urge but like…angrier and with more hatred towards his own past rather than only the longing of it. Which is also really interesting.” – this is definitely one of the themes that comes up A LOT from now, ESPECIALLY in Ninth. We’ll get to that.

“IS KAI GOOD??? That man is NOT human. I swear to god his drums in Required Malfunction are INSANE. ANYWAY, this song is about how people cannot be perfect and we all have flaws, especially in the context of relationships. I like that even though people argue and butt heads sometimes, there’s that Japanese verse where he sings “Let’s send a song without stains / to that innocence without lies / so you can swallow those wounds” and the last lines “Because you are always here, I can advance” to mean like…them being together can ultimately make them better and it can be a good relationship (if they work on it, imo). Also, I love the language he uses here – viruses and malfunctions and inputs – a very non-human way to write about human relationships.” (Cr: Trauma Radio)

(Dripping Insanity) “Solitude drenched in red laughs / in the insanity dripping in silence” is SUCH a good line yes hello I appreciate this. (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“EYYY HAVEN’T HEARD FORBIDDEN BEAVER IN FOREVER. At first I was wondering if this might be judgmental but honestly? I think this is satirical, especially from the line “May the truth you spew on taboos going frantically around / Shred the rhythm of high society”. Like the fact they’re gossiping about a famous woman who has a lot of sex and just TARNISHING her name bc of it, to Ruki, is a load of bullshit. Also, some of the lyrics in the chorus are funny coming from Ruki – “She has a sex addiction / Bang! Bang! / Cute luv machine” – like he does NOT ever write like this and this song is just a huge satirical joke I’m YELLING.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“The transition from Malformed Box to Inside Beast >>>>”

“[Inside Beast] is definitely about having a ‘beast’ inside you that’s like all your demons and ugly feelings and to let them all out. He wrote about demons in Derangement, but the way he writes about acceptance is like…empowering and freeing. Not necessarily through words but through the music and just how hard this song slaps.”

“I really love the lyrics of [Until it Burns Out] and its whole thing about valuing the time they have as a band and to be together making music precisely because it’s going to end someday, and it’s going to be their last shot at living their dreams, which is to make music and perform TOGETHER as the GazettE. Like that’s so meaningful, and powerful in the way they just…grab it by the fucking throat. Breaking down the walls that hold them back, TOGETHER, towards the future in which they see their dreams. Like they’re not letting this be the end. They won’t allow it. UGH. UGHHH. The middle eight is so beautiful and I love the lines “The light that colours this irreplaceable scenery / burns the significance of standing here into me / Until the last” like they just love performing SO MUCH UGGGHHH FEELINGS”. (Cr: Trauma Radio)

“[REDO] IS SO GODDAMN SENTIMENTAL I’M IN MY FEELINGSSSSS. Kai being the composer, I can’t help but feel this is him paying homage to jazz, which is the music his mother plays and he loves her so so much. I’m probably reaching but THAT’S JUST HOW I FEEL.”

“EVERBODY SHUT UPPPP IT’S LAST HEAVEN TIMEEEE. It’s so gd gorgeous and sweet. I’M GETTING REALLY EMO WHAT THE FUCKKKK. BRUH. BRUUUUHHH. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL //THROWS. SHUT UPPPP. TOO MANY SKY, STAR AND FOREVER REFERENCES FOR THIS TO BE OKAY BITCH. This is Ruki’s love song to the cosmos, wishing to be eternal like the stars but acknowledging that all he can do is chase it knowing his life will end, BUT THAT THEY DON’T HAVE TO GRIEVE BECAUSE THEY WILL MEET AGAIN IN THE AFTERLIFE BECAUSE IN SOME WAY WE /ARE/ ETERNAL. IT’S LOVING AND INNOCENT AND WISTFUL. This song is the goddess to all the GazettE love songs. THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK. “The distant sky, this infinite moment / I now wish from the visible stars / in this youthful merry-go-round / that continues to turn endlessly / I want to be eternal like you” – is just…such a beautiful image. “Let’s stay like this, having dreams we cannot reach / Long road which leads to the calm hill / I go, leaving my sadness behind / Good night…my beloved / Last heaven of mine” – it’s yearning but it’s the yearning for LIFE. And to leave behind sadness…Ruki very rarely writes about pain like this. And to call the ‘beloved’ his last heaven, the last thing in his life that’s just THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO HIM AND THE THING HE WANTS TO BE ETERNAL WITH goodbye………GOODBYE. “Love without shape changing day by day / Close together / we become / one shooting star” – AAAHHH AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH. Also, for him to say ‘memento mori’ which means “Remember, you must die” in the middle eight of a song about wanting to be eternal just gives the entire sentiment a new meaning ;-;” (Cr: Trauma Radio)

“There’s a particular sound to Division and Beautiful Deformity (but more in BD). It sounds like rushing water. Loss in particular sounds like this. Like, the sound isn’t just ‘dark’ and ‘heavy’, it moves A LOT and there is sooo much emotionality in the songs on this album. It’s really dynamic.”

“The Stupid Tiny Insect revisits the theme of inner demons. Specifically, in this song it sounds like negative internal self-talk. It’s interesting though, the way that Ruki writes it as an entirely separate being to how he writes inner demons and whatnot in other songs, where it’s either another entity within a person that is part of them OR just…themselves. Here, they are VERY separate, and that probably allows him to feel and express rage instead of helplessness or confusion. I also love the reference to pretending to be okay – “I get high on delusion / And act as if I made them die out / ‘Just like a summer moth to a flame”.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“IN BLOSSOM is pretty fucking brilliant lyrically imo. It reminds me a lot of 32 Koukei no Pistol in that a protagonist who was abused/neglected by the parents kills them, and in the latter’s case only, also themselves. Some other differences: In Blossom is WAY angrier (and a lot more loaded) and the protagonist is trying to ‘make their own life’ (even if the way they choose to do that DOESN’T WORK), whereas the narrator in 32 Calibre Pistol was mostly lamenting that they’ve ‘lost their way’ and deep-down were wishing for their family to be happy together. I can’t say WHY that is. But it’s interesting that in In Blossom, the abuse just…DESTROYED their concept of family that they used to believe in entirely, and the fact they cannot separate themselves from their abusers neither by dying nor killing them is A Lot. So, they try to free themselves and ‘get hope’ by killing their abusers as revenge (“Die away, along with these wounds I’d counted”), but it doesn’t bring them happiness or heal them (“Even if I slash so much it’s unparalleled by the wounds I’d counted, it still starts to ache / It doesn’t even fight off the decay, much less heal me”). It’s very much saying that despite pain, revenge is not the answer. I also love the line “They adorn vividly – have blossomed beautifully / The sun that has started to set makes sure of it” to describe the wounds as the narrator kills their abusers and their loss of sanity as they do so.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“To Dazzling Darkness is about that moment when a concert is over and the lights start to come on. It’s so gorgeous. This is sort of like, the other side of Until it Burns Out. If UIBO is about the band then TDD is about the fans, and the band’s place in the world. I love the imagery in the first verse – darkness is usually associated with bad things, but here darkness is peace, escapism and unity that are part of the happiness of a concert, while the light symbolises the continuation of life. The scenery here is the same scenery in UIBO, which is the scenery of a concert that this band cherishes. There’s also the acknowledgement that time is fleeting and nothing is forever. Like, this is really the other side of the coin and I love it.”

“Dogma defines their new (2015) sound so well, which is HEAVY AND DIRTY AS FUCK. Like, it is SO conceptual and experimental and the painting is just GORGEOUS. I love the harpsichord in this song – as the predecessor of the piano, it was used in a lot of churches and religious music in the Baroque period (1600-1750ish), so using it here in a song where the band is likened to idols (the religious type) is super cool. And to combine it with these really low and heavy guitars just gives the DARKEST image.

And there’s so much going on in the lyrics – MANY MOTIFS, MANY MEANINGS. They bring back the concept of darkness as a symbol for escape from harsh life and of unity during concerts. As for death, Reita has an iconic quote where he said something along the lines of: “we often say in lives ‘to die’, but what we actually mean is to live. Live and be free”. I see death for GazettE as a kind of transformation – and end, yet also a beginning to become something or someone new.

Ruki hasn’t really mentioned god since Ogre in Dim, in which he basically wrote “idk if God exists but I don’t really care – all I need is me”. But here he likens the band to an idol of worship. We as the fans worship the GazettE, and they are also gods to us, their followers, in the sense that they provide us with life and unity (referred to here as death and darkness, respectively). The GazettE as a band brings darkness and death to the world (with their own meanings, of course).

This is also a song about the band breaking away from current gods and dogmas of the music industry, and from its greed. I also love the line, “The rite I must face is cloaked in darkness and isolation” – this process of their journey to finding their truth is lonely, and no one but them can do it for themselves. To do so also isolates them from everything they once knew. It’s them navigating what is expected of them by the masses and those they work with vs doing what they want without getting shunned for it.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

 “DAWN IS ABOUT REDISCOVERING THEMSELVES. I love the number of metaphors he brings back in this song – 13 stairs, death, merry-go-rounds and again dogma. Death here is about the transformation of them as a band, which occurs at the top of the 13 stairs to the gallows. And I find that so interesting because he uses the image of gallows (eg: 13 Stairs[-]1 and Forbidden Beaver) as like…an actual Death that means the end of a genre or a person’s reputation, but here it’s a place of transformation. In Last Heaven, the merry-go-round is a symbol of life – it comes back here but this time it’s red instead of blue (youthful) and is paired with the image of a mad banquet with emotions running wild (ie concerts). Basically, this is about the band’s life and, like, their life being about concerts. My favourite part is “Overcoming a period of confusion, I took those stirring emotions / And hung them up high on the 13 stairs” because there’s also the line “I’ve already had a lethal dose of misfortune / The ruined gallows towers above me” -> WE WENT THROUGH SOME SHIT BUT WE FOUND OURSELVES AND SURPRISE BITCH, BET YOU THOUGHT YOU’D SEEN THE LAST OF ME.” (Cr1: Heresiarchy, Cr2: Defective Tragedy)

Not from my notes directly but I feel like the difference between Bizarre to Juuyonsai no Knife (ie the only two songs about Real juvenile criminals) is a REALLY good representation of how Ruki’s lyrics have changed over the years. He went from taking perspectives of people who perpetrators of violence (to write horror stories, imo, but also to generally Explore their minds through art) to making comments about society and how systems affect people in real life. Not to say he doesn’t write about killers anymore or that social commentary is NEW for him, but just…a big change in what’s PROMINENT.

“Interesting that Wasteland is next, which is about Justice on the Internet. I know Ruki has always been really critical of the internet and the kind of social processes that occur online (see: Nakigahara) and here it’s about morality and justice, but more importantly the way it’s about crowd mindsets and CONTROL. And he just summarises it SO WELL in the first verse: “The thousand eyes that can kill even God / Transform into rebels that lust for control / If the time comes when right and wrong disappear / It will all end with a blood-red moon”. There’s also the line “Innocence gives way to sinful judgment” ie the innocent go along with their ways or it’s the innocent (the weak, as he says later) that are scrutinised. And I think about this a lot considering…some other fandoms I’m in >.>” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

(INCUBUS) “The song is a lot of wondering what they did to deserve their trauma and how they want the dreams/nightmares to go away. I do like that at the end of the song they come to the conclusion that they cannot change what happened and decide “fuck the why”, accepting they didn’t deserve it. Even though the narrator is still stuck in the maze (of trauma), the letting go of asking why it happened is like, a really important step in healing. Because it’s the end of self-blame. So, I hope narrator can heal :( “

(DEUX) “My dumbass never realised this but the music of Deux itself has DUALITY. Metal with solo piano. IT REALLY TOOK ME FIVE YEARS TO REALISE THAT HUH. It’s about two conflicting selves (which to me sound more like intrusive thoughts, considering Blemish’s VERY LOUD “These days I’m better dead”) and the effect that has on like, your emotionality and how it leads to loneliness. His use of nightmares in this song is fascinating – the Japanese word he uses (sakayume) is like…a reverse dream, like if a child has a nightmare you tell them it’s a sakayume so it means what happened in their dream definitely won’t happen AND something good will happen instead. And this is something Ruki prays for.”

(Ominous) “The imagery is really dark in this – “A prayer crushed under wreckage / Reflects in your eyes as you start to fly / I see you in the sky thick with shadows / Spinning around with nightmares” – there’s a desperate attempt to fly and get better and do Well but still they’re surrounded by darkness and nightmares, unable to escape. “Don’t forget that a heart cannot die / Don’t forget that dreams aren’t predictions of the future” –There’s hopefulness in a heart not dying yet a very strong despair when he says dreams don’t predict the future, not even reverse dreams. “It steals away my still-unformed future, and whenever I step forth / I can’t see a thing in that shadowed sky / My screaming can’t save anything / when I’m killing myself with sadness” – oh that hurts, that hurts A LOT. He wants to fly but he can’t. This is just SO MUCH. And they didn’t even have an instrumental outro, IT JUST ENDS WITH ACCEPTANCE OF HOPELESSNESS AND DEPRESSION.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“The drums in Goddess uggghhh UGGGHHH. AND THE GUITAR TOOOOOO. Lyrically, this is really a mid-point between depression and healing. It’s A Lot. He writes about his suffering, wanting to make something of his mistakes and his sins and actually WANTING TO LIVE. But it’s so sad that in the end he still feels really helpless – the subtle changes between “I want to become the stars that fill the silence” vs “I can’t become the stars that fill the silence”. But I think that on some level he knows what the next step is. He wishes in the last two lines, “If only I could share my grief that can’t be put to words / If only I could face reality and live accepting my crippling despair”. THAT’S THE FIRST STEP!!!! THAT’S A STEP!!!! TO HEALING!!!! “These bleak thoughts are my sacrifice that will one day begin to thaw into a selfless, smiling heart” – this line is fucking LOADED. Like, he sacrifices his bleak thoughts by expressing them and by making art out of his pain in hopes that he will be able to acknowledge and accept his suffering and his pain as a means to heal, as a way of allowing him to have a selfless and smiling heart. Like, this is SO much of what his art is about and what it has been for SUCH a long time it makes me so emotional that this is what he’s saying about his own lyrics.” I realise too that the goddess is likely the same goddess from Blemish. I’m still unsure what to make of it because Blemish ends in Ruki writing he doesn’t wants to be reborn, and not abandoned. But here he ends with wanting to heal. Wanting to move on and live.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO UNDYING.

“WHEN HE BROUGHT BACK “SLEEP, COUNT ME DOWN AGAIN” >>> God, this song is so powerful. THERE ARE SO MANY CALL-BACKS TO DOGMA. I SHOULD’VE KNOWN THIS BUT STILL. BITCH WHAT THE FUCK. It’s a direct continuation of Ominous (“I won’t arise from this”). I think in this song he’s becoming that figure that is flying in Ominous, and the one that is surrounded by nightmares and shadows – the first verses are about how the future is drenched in misfortune yet we must continue to live (and suffer, but WE CAN AT LEAST BE A BIT HOPEFUL). Ruki says this YET HE IS STILL DREAMING, EVEN AS THE END COMES (“My heart starts to disappear along with the spirit of my words / And though it knew the end was near / It dreamt of things it shouldn’t want / And even now I am still—“). There’s also his mentions of sins again that he continues to drown in :( But overall, this song is really about living despite all the pain, which is really meaningful after Dogma ended on such a note of hopelessness. There’s so much power in this song.” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

“Vacant doesn’t necessarily sound like a romantic relationship breaking down as much as it is about making a mistake and being unable to fix it between you and someone else (or other people), even if Ruki said he wrote it with a band’s image in mind. But the gist is is that there is yet again a struggle within the self (“Self-condemnation distorts the answer / And I lose sight of what I should be / Because of those unconscious actions / I can’t even dream”). The line “In the pain of not being able to tie back the undone thread / The traces left by stopping time keep piling up” really got to me – being stuck in time and constantly wishing for something that was and being hurt by the fact it’s gone is something I personally relate to. But even as the narrator is stuck in time, their grip on the past is loosening – they are forgetting, memories fade, and they lose their strength (“Vacant, you are withering”).” (Cr: Heresiarchy)

(Faling) ““Together, embracing the same pain: it’s only temporary / Don’t forget that this is not the end / So come on, let’s open our eyes and fall / We just believe in ourselves to die / Sometimes it’s okay to be broken” THIS MEANS SO FUCKING MUCH AFTER THE AMOUNT OF TIMES RUKI ENDED DOGMA SONGS WITH HOPELESSNESS AND AT BEST “WE HAVE TO KEEP LIVING AND SUFFERING AND BEING IN PAIN” BUT IN FALLING, PAIN IS TEMPORARY. PAIN IS TEMPORARY. WE WILL HEAL, BITCH. WE WILL GET BETTER, BITCH.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

Can’t find my notes bc it’s somewhere else in my Tumblr drafts but basically: I consider Mortal, Utsusemi and Sono Kore wa Moroku like a Depression Trilogy™ in Ninth. Mortal is about depression, loneliness and loss but like, tying it to a singular person or event in which the narrator felt grief. Utsusemi is about loneliness and depression as well, AND RUKI USES THE CICADA SHELL METAPHOR, WHICH IS THE SAME AS CRUCIFY SORROW (ALSO ABOUT DEPRESSION, BUT SOMEONE ELSE’S). But then, Sono Koe wa Moroku is THE turning point and where he first mentions (in this album) and actual DESIRE to heal and like, ON HIS OWN. IT’S ABOUT BEING STRONG FOR HIMSELF AND THAT MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL. And as I mentioned before, Falling also ends on a hopeful note about sadness not lasting forever – it’s like he’s prefacing the album with the fact sadness IS temporary and that there IS a turning point.

“Babylon’s Taboo is interesting…so apparently Babylon is a figure of western imperialism and capitalism in the Rastafari movement (an afro-centric anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist movement from Jamaica). The narrator is COMPLETELY aware of the oppression and injustice that goes on around him but confesses to doing nothing. I interpreted this as complacency to violence, which Ruki has written about before. Also, he describes a starry sky (which I presume represents wealth and happiness) as a lie, and that they are actually black eyes that watch and look down upon you. In the context of anti-capitalism, my interpretation is that the ‘guaranteed fate’ he writes about is the life-long struggle to attain wealth and happiness – we are doomed to dedicate our lives to this, futilely, to no end. and there’s nothing we can do about it. Another line that stood out to me most is “all I need is sanity but uncertainty will do”. this, along with the rest of the song, implies that the narrator is PRETTY DAMN SURE that we’re all fucked so like....HAHA COOL.” (Cr: Defective Tragedy)

(Two of a Kind) Okay so…another motif I noticed in this album is an I and a You. And I know this sounds weird considering almost EVERY SINGLE GAZETTE SONG uses first and second pronouns, but mental health is SUCH a prominent, overarching theme in a way no album concept has been before, hence why I’m saying this. Two of a Kind is really solidifying this for me, but they appear in almost every song (but the You is known as ‘she’ in The Mortal). This pair are connected in an extremely emotionally intimate way. For one, they share pain and understand each other’s pain. Secondly, the narrator falls into depression after they’re gone. A part of me thinks it could be a past self and a current self, considering Ruki’s said this album involved the Most introspection from him and Falling writes about sins and past mistakes again. So, it could be a way of separating a past and current self – a past self that was perhaps lost, and made mistakes, but ultimately creates his current self.

But it could also be another person, as this You figure is also a source of light – someone Ruki shares his wounds with, in Two of a Kind. If it’s another person, it may also make sense that the depression and loneliness written about in The Mortal and Utsusemi is triggered by someone extremely close leaving him. Either way, it is this understanding and connection between the I and the You that also bring hope for the future and I REALLY love the way that hope is conveyed in the chorus of Two of a Kind. There’s so much light in it compared to the parts of the song where ruki calls himself filthy and ugly, and when he writes about negative feelings that never go away and bleed into this other person. but i think this other person understands it, and that’s why he can move on.

“Abhor God is a REALLY dark and heavy take on MOVING FORWARD. Like there’s so much rage in the way he writes about killing his lust, pride and anxiety and stringing up his nightmares in a noose, yet so much power in how he moves forward and sings victory with his music and his art. This is likely connected to Ninth Odd Smell and Uragiru Bero - where he writes about the band’s history and his imposter syndrome as an artist despite the band never going to die just because of that. He contrasts ‘too fast to live’ and ‘too young to die’ like, he’s really in a sort of purgatory where he’s constantly making too many mistakes to be happy but has too much to do for him to give up. So it’s here that he chooses to keep going no matter how weak the beat is. Imagery-wise this feels like.....continuing to live not because you have happiness to look forward to but just out of sheer willpower. Like it’s just so angry. Angry at the world, at yourself, but carrying that anger to try to be better and move forward.”

“And Unfinished is about the fans being his reasons to live and IT MAKES ME VERY EMOTIONAL THAT THIS IS HOW THE ALBUM ENDS!!!!!!! WITH HOPE!!!!! AND MOVING FORWARD!!!!! THEY LITERALLY ENDED THEIR ALBUM THAT’S ABOUT THEM ‘MAKING THEIR MARK ON THEIR WORLD’ WITH LIGHT AND HOPE AFTER LIKE TWO STRAIGHT ALBUMS OF /DEPRESSION/. EVERYBODY GO HOME WE LOVE HEALING IN THIS HOUSE.”

AND THAT’S THE END FOLKS!!!! if you made it here thank you so much for reading my ramblings and i appreciate u so so much <3 i hope you learned something new about the gazette’s music (i sure did - it’s why i went on this marathon in the first place!!) and again i have a list of posts i might write (which will definitely be shorter than these) so! yeah! anyway!! it’s past 11pm and i have no more brain cells. thanks again love ya have a good day/night <3 <3

[liunaticfringe]

Lucy Liu is chuckling quietly on the other end of the phone line as she muses over the question inspired by the title of her new series, Why Women Kill.

"I don't think every woman could be pissed off enough to actually become a killer," the 51-year-old actor says, referring to the SBS series about three women living in different decades who must each decide how to deal with infidelity. "But does it make you think about the times where you've been really angry at someone – like, what it would take? Maybe."

She adds with another giggle, "Obviously I've never gone to that extent, but I've had many opportunities in my career to carry out death sentences. So I guess you could say, for good or bad, I've been able to get it out of my system somewhat!"

Lucy – who recently wrapped a seven-season stint as Dr Joan Watson to Jonny Lee Miller's Sherlock Holmes in the modern-day TV revamp Elementary (2012-19) – is talking to Sunday Life from her New York City apartment, where she's been busy trying to keep her four-year-old son Rockwell amused during the city-wide COVID-19 stay-at-home order.

"New York is usually vibrant, because it's a walking city, but now everyone is wearing masks and avoiding each other," she laments. "It's difficult because Rockwell likes to be moving around all the time. It's just impossible to have him not put things in his mouth when I turn my back!"

Why Women Kill is creator Marc Cherry's latest series to showcase a female ensemble. He started out in 1990 as a writer and producer on the The Golden Girls and its short-lived spin-off, The Golden Palace. He also co-created the female-driven sitcom, The 5 Mrs Buchanans, went on to create the Golden Globe-winning series Desperate Housewives, and followed that up with Devious Maid.

Why Women Kill is a 10-part series detailing the lives of three women living in the same California home over three eras: Beth Ann (Ginnifer Goodwin), a '60s housewife; Simone (Lucy Liu), an '80s socialite; and Taylor (Kirby Howell-Baptiste), a present-day lawyer. There's bisexuality, open marriage, adultery, a closeted spouse, an overdose, a front-yard brawl and a choking incident involving meatloaf – and that's just the first episode!

Ultimately, the show examines how the roles of women may have changed through the decades, but their reaction to betrayal remains the same.

The actor had just wrapped Elementary when Cherry called to pitch her the character. "He said he really had Simone in mind for me, then he walked me through the actual storyline," she recalls. "It definitely changed a little bit from what we talked about at the start, but during the writing we got to know each other more and I felt like he had a great way of telling a story.

"I also loved the idea of Simone living in the '80s with the hair and shoulder pads, and what the relationship to the cheating is for each character, as it has an unexpected ending."

The daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, Lucy was raised in the Jackson Heights neighbourhood of Queens, in New York City, and initially planned to pursue a degree in Asian languages and culture at the University of Michigan.

But she also secretly dreamed of becoming an actor, studying old Charlie Chan movies, and finally raised the nerve to audition for a supporting role in a college production of Alice in Wonderland in her final year.

Lucy was astonished when she landed the lead role, and it was all the encouragement she needed. As soon as she graduated, she broke the news to her parents that, despite her freshly inked college degree, she was moving to LA to become an actor.

After appearing in a string of TV shows including E.R. (1995, three episodes) and Ally McBeal (1998-2002, 79 episodes), she landed film roles in Charlie's Angels (2000), Chicago (2002) and Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003).

Lucy looks back and sees her young self as more guileless than driven, hardly the Asian trailblazer breaking stereotypes in Hollywood that she's become.

"I think I was just too naive and didn't know what was ahead of me or what I was going to be up against," she admits. "I had some idea when I got to LA, because a friend of mine would have 10 auditions in a day or a week and I would have maybe two or three in a month, so I knew it was going to be much more limited for me.

"But then I got really lucky with a few jobs, which put me in rooms for auditions where I looked like no other woman in the room. I thought, ‘I don't even understand why I'm here, but I'm going to give it my all.'

"I think when you are somewhat the black sheep, you don't really have anything to lose, because they are not necessarily looking for you. So you may as well go for it!"

Some reviewers have compared Why Women Kill's catty Simone to uber-bitch Alexis Carrington (Joan Collins) in the iconic '80s soap opera Dynasty. "I didn't really watch Dynasty because I couldn't relate to it as a child of immigrant parents, and I didn't understand that kind of wealth and the claws coming out to scratch you," says Lucy.

"But as you go on in life, you start to understand a little bit more what that pop culture was. When I started doing Charlie's Angels and went back to that era to see the representation of those women at that time, I realised they weren't just all kitschy, but they were also incredibly smart and sexy."

As friendly and accessible as Lucy is, she's also full of pride when asked about her son. Has she used some of their isolation time to introduce him to her voice work as Viper in the animated Kung Fu Panda films? Definitely not, the protective mum replies. "He doesn't know what I do. All he thinks is that I'm an artist and I'm a mommy – and that's enough for now."

Rockwell was born in 2015 via gestational surrogate after Lucy made the decision to become a single parent. "Elementary was the longest job I ever had and it gave me the ability to stay in one place, because we were syndicated and we knew we were going to be making a certain number of shows," she explains.

"So that was also the impetus for me to think, ‘Maybe I can have a family of my own.' It wasn't like I was making bad decisions before that, but I had made the choice to prioritise my career. Then, one day, I just felt like it wasn't enough. I didn't want to look back in 30 years and realise I was still having the same conversations about my job every day. I wanted more."

Lucy gets emotional while talking about how motherhood has changed her. "It's almost become this cellular feeling of connecting to the universe in a way where you understand the idea of the cycle of life and the responsibility of having another being who is a part of you but outside of yourself. It's a very different feeling to doing a project where you know you will finish and move on. This is a life-long decision that changes your life and prioritises things in a very positive way."

Given how candidly she has spoken about going it alone as a parent, it's surprising how little she's volunteered about her personal life. She explains it is all by design: she has never spoken publicly about her relationships, although online stories have flagged a handful of boyfriends, including a three-year relationship with actor Will McCormack that ended in 2008, and a relationship with Israeli-American shoe tycoon Noam Gottesman in 2010.

"I've always been very private and I fly under the radar as much as possible," she says. "I do that in a very specific manner. I don't bring people I'm dating to any public event because it's a big responsibility that I'm not sure anyone wants.

"Your work is your legacy and you want to be able to do more each time, and change so you can continue to have some kind of value," says Lucy, who has also been a producer and director. "You don't want people thinking of you as just someone who dated someone and getting distracted from your work."

For now it seems Lucy Liu's legacy is doing just fine, thank you.Lucy gets emotional while talking about how motherhood has changed her. "It's almost become this cellular feeling of connecting to the universe in a way where you understand the idea of the cycle of life and the responsibility of having another being who is a part of you but outside of yourself. It's a very different feeling to doing a project where you know you will finish and move on. This is a life-long decision that changes your life and prioritises things in a very positive way."Given how candidly she has spoken about going it alone as a parent, it's surprising how little she's volunteered about her personal life. She explains it is all by design: she has never spoken publicly about her relationships, although online stories have flagged a handful of boyfriends, including a three-year relationship with actor Will McCormack that ended in 2008, and a relationship with Israeli-American shoe tycoon Noam Gottesman in 2010."I've always been very private and I fly under the radar as much as possible," she says. "I do that in a very specific manner. I don't bring people I'm dating to any public event because it's a big responsibility that I'm not sure anyone wants."Your work is your legacy and you want to be able to do more each time, and change so you can continue to have some kind of value," says Lucy, who has also been a producer and director. "You don't want people thinking of you as just someone who dated someone and getting distracted from your work."For now it seems Lucy Liu's legacy is doing just fine, thank you.

[rplinkhoward]

Laven Secret Santa

Sorry this is so late. Originally was gonna post this yesterday but I got sidetracked ^^”

(So, this is dedicated to @bakausagirabi25. I was your secret Santa, and this was actually an idea that's been rolling around in my head for a while while I was writing my Parent Cross and Child Allen snippets. This is the perfect excuse to explore the idea of Allen actually having feelings for Lavi rather than Link in my original story. I hope it's not too uncomfortable, I know not a lot of people would probably like this kinda thing but…well, I hope you like it! For a frame of reference, this is set in a ModernAU and based on the alternate universe I created for my DGM fic series. Lavi Age: 16. Allen: 14.)

Allen was just about to sit and watch T.V. after getting home from school when he heard the door slam open and a very upset, red-head storm through the entrance and run up the stairs. Allen, who was holding a can of pop in one hand and a massive bag of chips in the other, stared up at the stairs where Lavi ran up to. Then he looked over at Cross sitting in his recliner, who seemed just as confused and concerned.

"I thought you were the one who usually had the teen angst. Did you guys decide to switch it up today and not tell me?" Cross asked while inwardly debating if this situation called for him to get up and 'be a dad' or if it was just a random case of 'fuck the whole world and everyone in it' teen rage that would dissipate on its own.

Allen gave him an annoyed look, mumbling under his breath that he wasn't that angsty and that Cross was a senile old man before he set his snacks down on the coffee table. Then he began to walk upstairs to investigate what was wrong with his friend. Well, ok, he wasn't necessarily a friend…I mean he was…but closer? A lot of people would probably use the term brother to describe their relationship, but Allen never thought it fit properly.

When Bookman was away on business, Lavi would stay with Cross and Allen. He even had his own room because of this. It's been this way ever since they were little, well, really ever since the first day they met. It was after Mana's accident, and he had just gotten used to living in the same space as Cross when he was forced to meet Lavi. Yes. He was forced. By Cross. Why? Because Cross thought that Allen needed to talk to kids his own age (which if he was being honest, he did because he seldom interacted with kids his own age before living with Cross) and Lavi wasn't necessarily…good at making friends. He had Kanda and Lenalee, but there were times Lavi got to be a little…overwhelming. Lavi was quite the hyperactive little kid when they first met (and he still was at times), and though he scared Allen half to death when they first met, the two connected almost instantly.

Allen would never forget how Lavi took everything in stride. His weird eye scar. His arm. The lack of responses Allen gave Lavi because he didn't know what to think about this new world he was thrust into without warning. It didn't faze him at all. Lavi just took one look at Allen and decided that they were going to be 'bestest best best friends,' and that was that. Lavi infused light into Allen's world, a light that he was afraid he would never see again after Mana's death.

The two were inseparable from then on. Attached to the hip. Every time they were around each other, they were touching each other in some way. A hand thrown over the shoulder, leaning up against each other, holding hands, one of their heads laying in the other's lap. Where one went, the other followed. If one was in the bathroom, one was sitting outside, blabbering about something. If one was crying, the other quickly followed suit. Many times they slept together even though they both had separate rooms. If Lavi decided to do some stupid stunt, Allen was always right there, his right-hand man. If one was sick, the other was curled up alongside, also ill.

They were a package deal, alright. They were dubbed 'Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum,' 'Double Trouble,' 'Thing 1 and Thing 2', among many others, most, of course, came from Cross. There were many times Cross swore they were twins separated at birth, which could be plausible considering Allen used to have reddish-brown hair before the accident.

Despite all of that, Allen never considered the two of them to be 'best friends' or 'brothers.' What they had was something different. It was a lot deeper, but Allen could never find a word fit to describe it. As Allen stood in front of Lavi's door, hearing the muffled screaming coming from behind the door as the other screamed into a pillow, he felt his chest ache and his eyes sting.

"Lavi, are you ok?" Allen asked, trying to reel in his own emotions. The last thing they needed was for both of them to be an angsty mess.

"Go away!" Was the answer he got. Ow. That sure stung. Especially since that was the first time Lavi told him to go away when he was upset. They'd never done that to each other before, it didn't matter what the other was going through. There were times where Cross or Anita had to separate them because they fed off of each other's emotions, but that happened very seldom. They were only taken aside when the other was in hysterics (mostly Allen) because it was easier to handle one kid in hysterics instead of two.

Well, Allen wasn't going to go away. No matter how much Lavi wanted him to or even after he got an answer. His heart wouldn't let him. So, Allen turned the doorknob and walked right in, against Lavi's wishes.

"Allen! Leave!" Lavi barked out. He was lying down on his bed, his back facing towards Allen. Allen ignored him and instead strode over to lay down beside Lavi, his arm circling around the older's body, his chin resting on his messy, red hair. Allen knew he already lost the fight as he felt his own tears silently roll down his cheeks as he laid with the other who was hugging a pillow, shaking. Allen didn't know if it was from sadness or rage, but he wasn't going anywhere. He was going to ride alongside Lavi on whatever rocky, stormy seas he was traveling on until the waters calmed again.

A small whine left Lavi's lips as he felt the other wrap himself around him, and he felt all of his composure break. The wall he attempted to build up to keep Allen away from him broke, though he knew it was futile to build it to begin with. He knew if the roles were reversed that he would do the same thing. So, the two laid there together for some time, having their little shared cry fest. One knowing why they were crying, while the other didn't.

As Lavi began to calm down, the other following suit, he choked out, "She rejected me…"

She? Rejected? Whoa, hold the phone! When did Lavi have a crush on someone, and why wasn't Allen told!? Well, shit, I didn't know it could do that, Allen thought to himself in surprise, shock, and a little bit of hurt. I mean, they told each other everything, and yet Lavi left out this detail!? Ow!?

"You didn't tell me you liked someone!" Allen huffed, his cheeks puffing up in anger as he smacked the top of Lavi's head, "When were you planning on telling me that!?"

"Ow!" Lavi yelped before he turned over to glare at Allen, his own cheeks puffing up in anger though he didn't look threatening at all. It was hard to look threatening when your eyes were puffy and red.

"I wasn't going to because you're too young to know what love is," was Lavi's statement.

"Too young!? What kinda crap is that!? I'm only two years younger than you, ya jerk!" Allen raged, but the anger was short-lived. There would be time for that later. Right now, he wanted to know who rejected him and why. Allen wanted to know whose butt he needed to be kicking, no matter what kind of rejection Lavi experienced. He didn't know why, but he was actually quite pissed off at the idea of Lavi loving someone, and he didn't know why.

"Well!?" Allen asked.

"Well, what?"

"You can't just say she rejected me and not tell me who it was or how they rejected you! Obviously, it made you upset! So!? Out with it! Who was it!?"

"It was the curly blonde girl in my class. Her name is Brittany-"

"Oh my god, Lavi, you didn't! You fell for her!? Brittany from the cheerleading squad!?"

"Yeah? So?"

"So!? Dude, she's a total bitch! I could've told you that! Anyone on the team could've told you that! She goes through guys like I go through mitarashi dango! She's totally toxic! How could you fall for her!?"

Lavi sighed and turned his back on Allen, "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, come on, Lavi, don't be like that! Look, I do get it, but you also should be logical about it! She treats her boyfriends like crap. Why put yourself in a position like that!?"

"Because it's love. Love makes you stupid and blind to the other person's flaws," Lavi huffed before burying his face in his pillow.

"Alright. Fair. So, how did she reject you?" Allen asked, gearing up for a fight. He already knew the rejection was probably not good, judging from what he knew of this girl. Allen was also super annoyed that Lavi would choose someone like her of all people. I mean, if he was gonna go for a girl over him, at least pick someone worthy! He didn't just think that…

"How do you think?"

"I can think of many different possibilities, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"I asked her out by reciting one of William Shakespeare's poems…Sonnet 18," Lavi lamented.

Allen resisted the urge to groan. Oh, dear gods above, out of all people, Lavi decided to quote a love poem, William Shakespeare no less, to her!? Granted, Allen couldn't understand anything Shakespeare himself, but even so, he would've appreciated it! Especially if it came from Lavi of all people. Lavi was terrific when it came to quoting or reading books. He transformed reality around him every time he read aloud, even if it was something totally dull like some textbook. Lavi made it fun! Besides, Lavi excelled in the drama club, and Allen knew that Lavi wouldn't have just read the poem, he would've acted it! Allen could feel himself seething with rage and jealousy at the fact that this she witch had to be the object of Lavi's affection. Allen would've melted into goo if Lavi performed a poem just for him! The only thing that girl ever appreciated was something glittery and diamond-encrusted!

"It was after practice…and I recited it in front of her friends like a total, lovesick, dumb ass," Lavi laughed scornfully* before continuing, "And when I was done…she laughed at me. It wasn't that soft, airy, kinda laugh either, like an awkward, nervous laughter. She was cackling at me and asked me why I would think she would go out with someone like me. Some guy with an eye patch that was a total factoid, nerd that always read books and hung out with losers…." Lavi recounted forlornly.

"Lavi…" Allen breathed his hand ghosting over the redhead's shoulder in sympathy. He could picture the scene clearly. He could practically feel the way Lavi's heart must've been beating as he recited that poem allowed towards his crush. How it pounded against his ribcage like a wild beast thrashing against a cage wanting freedom. He could feel his palms sweating and the tension in his body, hear the smallest of quivers in his voice. Then he could hear her hideous cackling, the mirth in those disgusting, puke green eyes (or at least that's the color it looked like to Allen). He could hear her nasally voice spitting out those words at Lavi and feel the ache in his chest before his heart dropped down to the ground. Broken. Splintering into pieces, like a plate being thrown to the ground.

"Then her friends laughed at me to…I didn't notice until after she rejected me that one of them was filming the whole thing..."

"I'm sorry…" Allen breathed, his eyes filling with tears once again. His heart hurt…a lot, but he couldn't imagine the magnitude that Lavi must be feeling.

"She told me that no one would ever love an ugly freak like me and that I should just hole myself up somewhere and die," Lavi whispered, "Then I walked away."

Allen gasped, "That fucking bitch…."

"She's right, though…I mean, there hasn't been a girl yet begging me to go to prom with them. I'm not necessarily Mr. popular…"

"That's not true! I'm sure you got plenty of girls who would want to go to prom with you! They're just too nervous to ask you!" Allen responded, holding back on saying that he would personally love to go to prom with Lavi.

"We're best friends, and we live together. You're supposed to say that," Lavi said with an eye roll.

"No, it doesn't! As your best friend, it's my job to tell you the truth, and I am doing so! Brittany doesn't know what she's missing! None of the girls at school know what they're missing! I can say that because I actually know you and I can vouch for that! You're really smart and funny! You always come up with the best ideas-!"

"That's not what Cross thinks. It's a miracle we didn't kill ourselves years ago, …especially when we decided to ride down the stairs in a box. Or that time in the summer where we tried to jump into that cheap pool we had from the roof," Lavi interjected.

"So!? Cross is an adult! It's his job to hate fun!" Allen huffed.

"There is a difference between fun and doing something that could possibly severely injure or kill you."

"Pfft whatever, you're changing the subject!" Allen interrupted before continuing, "Anyways, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me…you're really smart, funny, you come up with great ideas, you are an amazing performer, you have a cool eye patch, you're dreams of traveling the world are super interesting, your body is amazing-"

"I look like a skinny twig-"

"YOU MEAN YOU HAVE AN AMAZING BODY!" Allen yelled over Lavi's interruption, "You have the clearest, most beautiful green eye I have ever seen! You're compassionate, you are a great friend and like the best cuddler on the planet. If they're all too blind to see it, and if you're too blind to see it, then I guess I'll just date you myself!"

"Huh?" Lavi asked.

"I swear to God Lavi if you ignored me all that time-"

"I was listening, I just think I misheard you. What was the last thing you said?"

Allen blinked in confusion before stating, "You're really smart?"

"No! The last thing, not the first thing!"

"You're the best cuddler?"

"No! The very last thing you said!"

"If they're too blind to see it, then I guess I'll just-" Allen repeated before his face went a dark shade of red in realization. Oh my god, he literally just said that.

"Well, it's been a great talk Lavi, but I just realized I have a place to go to! Y-Yeah, a place far away…like under a rock-I mean a house! Yeah, Lenalee's house! I promised that I would do something with her at her house because she lives in a house and yeah! Bye! Feel better soon, " Allen stammered as he tried to make a break for it. Before Allen could fully get off of Lavi's bed, he felt the other grab his leg to keep him where he was.

"Wow! Lenalee lives in a house!? Who would've thought!" Lavi stated sarcastically before he turned serious again, "So, what is this about dating me yourself?"

"It's nothing! It just slipped out. Ya know how it is. Just being a supportive bro. Cuz that's what bros do. Yep. It's only two dudes being bros. Bros being dudes. Nothing to read into too deeply, ya know, "Allen continued to stammer.

"Yeah, because it's totally a dude thing to talk about how beautiful the other dude's eyes are, "Lavi deadpanned.

"Hey, two bros can totally compliment each other's eyes. It's not just a chick thing. Don't be like that," Allen stated.

"Fair. But telling the other bro that they'd date them?"

"It's a compliment!"

"See, I thought that, but it's obvious from how red your face got that it's not just a compliment."

"…."

"…."

"I have a skin condition…" Allen offered weakly.

Lavi gave Allen a knowing look. Allen sighed and flopped back down on Lavi's bed, his back now facing him, "Let it go, Lavi."

"Do I look like Elsa to you?"

"Hey, don't be bringing my girl Elsa into this! She is a queen!" Allen snapped.

Lavi rolled his eyes and poked Allen's side, making the other jerk in surprise.

"So…you would date me?"

"…Yeah…so?"

"In a platonic way or like in a…ya know…in the other way?"

"What do you think!?"

The two fell in silence for a long moment.

"Are you disgusted by me?" Allen asked.

"No. Why?"

"Well, I mean, we live together. We're like brothers."

"I think of it more as best friends helping each other out. I mean, where else would I go when Gramps was on one of his trips?"

"Still…isn't it wrong?"

"Life is too complicated to be evenly split down in the middle into right and wrong. Especially when feelings are involved. So, I guess it depends on how you feel. When did you begin to feel differently about me?" Lavi asked, turning around, so his back was facing Allen's.

"I don't know…I don't think my feelings ever changed. It always felt different to me. Ever since we first met," Allen explained, "I didn't really think anything of it because it seemed like you were mostly into girls anyways."

"Yeah…well, I only chased after girls because it seemed like you were set on being with Link for your entire life. I didn't think I had a chance, or that you'd ever look at me that way. I mean, I was always jealous of Link. Ever since you two became friends. Even after all these years. There was no way I could compete with someone like Link," Lavi admitted.

"Yeah, he does make pretty good sweets," Allen admitted, as he turned around to face Lavi's back, "But my stomach isn't the only way to my heart. If someone asked me…I'd have to say that you were my first love. Even if I didn't have any idea what that word meant at the time. I still don't think I even know what it means."

"So…what do we do now?" Allen asked after a few minutes of silence went by.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"…I want to see where this leads…" Allen responded hesitantly. He was afraid of what Lavi would say.

Lavi hummed softly and turned around, so he was face to face with Allen once again. The two of them stared at each other, Allen looking shy, while Lavi looked back in certainty. Lavi sure looked a lot braver than Allen, but that was always Lavi. It wasn't often that the redhead looked uncertain. When he set his mind out to do something, he always seemed so confident that it was going to work out in the end, even if it was clearly a stupid idea. Allen could remember countless times where they were about to do some silly stunt, and he would look over at Lavi warily to see the other's look of determination. Seeing his face like that always calmed Allen in the end because no matter what happened, he knew that they would be ok. If they ended up getting hurt from their latest stunt, he knew they would be ok because he had Lavi right beside him.

So, though Allen was shy and uncertain of how to go about this new relationship dynamic they created, he knew it was going to be ok. No matter what happened, even if they eventually broke up or whatever, it was going to be ok. They were going to be ok, and nothing was ever going to change about them because of this.

Lavi moved closer, close enough that their noses were touching, his eye flitting up to meet Allen's to check his reaction, to make sure Allen wasn't getting too uncomfortable. Allen wasn't uncomfortable per se, but his heart was pounding like crazy to have Lavi this close to his face. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but with this new context, having Lavi this close had a whole different meaning.

Then Lavi's lips connected with Allen's shaking ones and-oh! It's like in that moment everything connected so perfectly together, like all the confusion Allen felt over what their relationship exactly was, was finally solved. All that weird tension and confusion he felt fluctuating over the years finally dissipated now that he had an answer.

As Lavi eventually pulled away, much to Allen's reluctance, he asked, "Did that feel ok?"

Allen's response was to move towards Lavi to do it again. He wanted that bliss again. That clarity. He wanted to feel the way their bodies connected together so perfectly. Lavi didn't mind; in fact, he was over the moon that Allen didn't pull away in disgust. He was glad that it was reciprocated, that it didn't make things awkward between them.

"Can you recite that poem for me?" Allen asked after a few minutes of silence as they enjoyed each other's embrace, occasionally kissing each other or another part of the other's body. Just merely enjoying this newfound relationship they created.

"Hmmm?" Lavi hummed lazily. The lack of oxygen to his brain making him dazed, and his head buzz happily.

"The poem you recited to Brittany. I want you to recite it to me. Please?" Allen asked, his head tilting to the side. He wanted to see how animated Lavi would get reciting it again. He wanted to see the love in his eyes as those words floated out of his lips. Allen wanted to see that love directed at him. To appreciate that love. The love that was meant for another but was rejected. Such lovely feelings deserved to be recognized.

"Sonnet 18?" Lavi asked. Allen could see the other search the air, mentally trying to find the compartment the poem was stashed in in his brain. Allen always loved to think of Lavi's head as a computer of sorts with how much information he managed to squirrel away in it. Once Lavi located what he was looking for, that beautiful green eyes paused like a computer arrow finding the article, word, or picture it wanted to click on, then the little window popped open with the information Lavi sought for.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

  So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." Lavi recited, his voice taking on an old accent that Allen heard used when he talked with Bookman and on occasion when Lavi was expressing a large amount of emotions. Neither of them would tell Allen where that accent came from, keeping it a secret that only Bookman and Lavi knew. Even so, Allen still loved it, how soft it sounded, like the wind gently rustling the leaves of trees. He loved the way Lavi would roll his r's a little bit. To Allen, it sounded almost of Scottish descent, but he couldn't be sure.

Allen admired the way Lavi's eye glittered as he recited the poem, the way the glitters would fade momentarily as his eye darkened in love, in lust, passion. Sort of like a flickering flame. This is one of the biggest reasons Allen loved to hear Lavi when he read aloud or performed a piece; he loved the light that would flicker in Lavi's eyes, the emotions sparking and coming to life.

"How was that?" Lavi asked.

"That was adorable. I can't believe she rejected you with that. She wouldn't know what love was even if it hit her in the face," Allen said happily, his cheeks alight in flattery.

"So, you understood the full extent of what that poem means?" Lavi asked, deciding to quiz Allen.

Allen's happy face dropped to one of embarrassment. No, he didn't understand a single word that Lavi said. He really sucked when it came to reading and comprehending what he was reading in general. To him, Shakespeare spoke in total gibberish. It was still romantic to see Lavi spouting off said gibberish, though.

"No…" Allen admitted.

Lavi sighed, knowing that Allen probably wouldn't, "Thought so."

"So, what does it mean?"

"The speaker is basically comparing their beloved to a summer's day. Near the end of the poem, the speaker talks about what makes their beloved different from a summer's day. Summer always ends and moves on to autumn, but the speaker tells their beloved that their beauty will always last, unlike summer," Lavi explained.

"Awwwhhh…you're a total Romeo."

"Pfft, Romeo?"

"Yeah, you know, like Romeo and Juliet?"

"Well, I would hope I would be less stupid."

"What do you mean? Why is Romeo stupid?" Allen asked.

"Oh my god, did you learn nothing from your English class?"

"I learned stuff! I learned that English makes my brain turn to mush!"

"Oh my god, Allen…" Lavi sighed.

(Ahhh, I hope this was fluffy enough where not everything was too angsty! I hope you enjoyed it <3)

[3milesup]

I know you’ve shared the song-fic prompt with your other account, but I want something BoB related, so here I am^^ I’d like to know, what you would make of the song Ruby Lee by Bill Withers and David Webster (can be webgott, but doesn’t have to (; )

Aaahh, my dear, thank you so, so much!! I admit I didn’t know the song but I love it and this was pretty delightful to write!

Webgott it is :D although, if it turned out to be more about Joe than David, somehow, I am sorry! XD and I don’t know if it’s any good, really, they are damn hard to write! Oo But anyways, I tried to deliver^^

Of one night, one desire, three thousand miles and a few more barriers in between.

Staring at shadows on the wall

Wish I knew of someone I could call

Someone who might understand it all

 He had never thought that, of all people, he would come to miss Joe Liebgott the most. The simple yet so complex, snarky, stubborn illiterate with more fight in him than could fit in his skinny body, with a dark edge to his humour and to his views on life and war, so unlike all David had ever known and believed… Yet, he would trust him with his whole existence anyday, and feel safe.

Sometimes, he felt the urge to call him. Then he realized he had no idea what to say. What about his life could possibly be interesting to a Frisco cabbie? People he’s surrounded by that don’t understand, cannot understand, because they never left their homes, the worst way the war has touched them was the rationing they both lamented about and made it their martyrdom, as though the price for freedom and peace in the world was them drinking half as much coffee as normal, they bought a war bond and made it sound like they singlehandedly took out half of the Wehrmacht… Or those stupid books that are just words and words, heaps of splendid words that don’t mean a thing, and he can’t see the purpose anymore? He didn’t feel like complaining about the hardships of literature studies to a man with two jobs to make ends meet.

He wanted to know how Joe’s life had turned out, how he was coping, but he knew, if he asked, he was going to get showered in deflection and biting sarcasm he really could go without.

Still, he missed Liebgott to deep, dull ache in ribcage. The smirk that ever so seldom turned one shade warmer and formed a true smile to die for. Horseshoe arch of fringe that David sometimes wanted to brush back just to run his fingers through that softness for a moment. Unreadably dark eyes, piercing and spellbinding, always fiery with some inner turmoil.

He’s so beautiful.

David took a deep, steadying breath, startled by the intensity of his thought more than anything else. He literally felt a tingle running through his body, watering his mouth, tightening the throat, clenching his chest and… God, Web, breathe, in and out… and then further down the thighs to the toes. He squeezed his eyes. Cold, pale marble beauty, incandescent flame within, it was all he could see, all he could think of and yearn for… He rolled over and embraced the pillow.

Lieb… If only I knew you are doing fine, that you sleep at nights and look forward to each new day, that you have plenty of reasons to laugh and someone whose heart swells at the sight…

That you haven’t lost the last broken remnants of innocence that day.

 Shadows travelling down his walls announced the break of dawn and he felt sick at the thought of lectures, musty smell and suffocating silence of the library, with not a soul to talk to about it, to help him figure out how he could go from loving something with utmost devotion all his life to resenting it, and what to do with it now.

Maybe he would listen, even just for a while…

One thing he knew for a fact, however hard their monotonous professor would try to engage him in a discourse analysis, all he was going to think of this whole cursed day was the luscious curve of red lips made to be kissed numb and his desperate mantra – the Northern California dialing code.

  Someone’s lying with me in my bed

Some stranger who don’t understand my head

Wish it was you lying here instead

 He had never thought that, of all people, he would come to miss David Webster the most. The pretentious know-it-all, always wide-eyed and agape like a child in wonder, Christ, how Joe itched to punch that stupid mouth half of the time – the other half, when he wasn’t itching to shut it in another way… He’d never let the fleeting thought take a concrete shape: that of a soft touch, a breathless gasp, speechless awe in those large, deep, blue, ocean-like eyes.

Never until now.

He groped in the drawer of the nightstand for the smokes and a smudged saucer that had been abducted from its fellow dishes to keep Joe company in forlorn hours of darkness. What with driving the cab in the morning and till late night and working in the barber shop in between, he should have used the few free hours to get some rest, but he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep.

Not with all the dirty pictures that his mind, in its lovesickness, decided to paint him. They mostly involved certain parted lips quivering with pleasure, strong arms wrapped around Joe keeping him grounded, connected… He ran his palm over the front of his boxers, shivered, biting at the cigarette filter, and grabbed a handful of bedsheet, instead. He didn’t really want to come, which was highly unusual. His only reason for sex were frustration and need for release. This, whatever it was, felt different, and he wanted that spine-tingling tension to last.

He took a deep draw and exhaled with a sound close to a quiet moan. Silhouette underneath the blanket shifted by his side. Poor thing was used to sleeping in the smoke-heavy air, not that she had much choice, after all…

Absorbed in his fantasies, he forgot to flick the cigarette. Ashes dropped on the bedding; he brushed them off, cursing under his breath, and glared at the dark smears. Some good old bitching heading his way, come morning…

Suddenly, it sadly occurred to him he would never know what Webster might have to say on smoking in bed. He was quite sure it would be worth an exasperated eyeroll, a half-hearted “Jesus, Web, really…” and an ostentatious tasty drag (blowing smoke in his face before pressing their mouths together, because damn, they would be at it every night, Joe was sure of that as well). Something was also telling him David wouldn’t further whine about it or try to get him to ditch it, and maybe, in return, Joe would do it less often. Just cause. Web would deserve that much for not being a dick.

He caught himself smiling.

He was fond of her in a way, yes. Yes, she annoyed him. But it wasn’t that kind of fond annoyance he only felt around Webster.

It was a special bond - despite the rift between them, deepened by the month in that freezing hell, which made all their contrasts stand out even more. Still, for better or worse, Web was there: under Sobel’s reign of terror, all the way from England to Holland.

He was at Landsberg. He saw it all, he saw Joe Liebgott fall to pieces.

Joe didn’t remember much detail from that day, it was all one hallucinatory blur he refused to believe was real at the time, though the knot in his guts and reek burning in his nose long after he’d left that nightmare of a place were very much proving him wrong… But one thing he could clearly recall were those unreal eyes watching him with genuine pain that surprisingly didn’t irk him up, didn’t feel like pity or concern.

He held that gaze for a few moments, a part of him wanted to reach out and meet him halfway, but he didn’t know how, couldn’t find a single word that would have any weight, and Webster just turned away.

 He stubbed the cigarette butt out on enamel saucer and lit a new one.

 David was there, saw the worst of him. And he never reported, never asked more specifically about that shady order, never brought it up again. Although he disagreed, because of course he had to disagree, Joe felt that he understood, deep down. He’d heard about Webster holding the German baker at gunpoint – on a better day the image would have made him chuckle. So even he had a hard edge, underneath all those polished looks and speech and manners; he was however fighting a war, and they were on the same side: Web on his high horse, Liebgott in the dust and mud, but still, on the same side of hatred.

Now, he wished they were on the same side of love, too.

[prorevenge]

Act awful all year? Don't expect your re-election or an award!

 This is going to be quite long, so apologies in advance - its a little bit of a two revenge in one, TLDR at bottom. Names changed and all that jazz, her first name is SUPER identifiable so from now on she will be called....Jane.

So, some background - Jane and I met in University when we joined the same nerd club. We became fast friends in the first year, so much so that when it came around to second year we decided to move in together. That was a whole mistake in itself but thats more badroommates territory. A year into our friendship, the committee of the Nerd club was going through its election period and we put ourselves up for two positions, me being top dog and her being second in command, and we got the positions! All was right with the world, I was exited to run the club with my best friend by my side, thought it was going to be a really good year!

Spoiler: It was NOT a good year. Between September and April, she:

Angered three people so much that they quit an event committee that Jane and I were on - all three told me it was because of how badly she treated them, ie belittling them and saying the work they did was crap.

Talked shit about 90% of the clubs membership, including members who had been there years

Complained about having to take part in club events and tried to pawn attending the events off on other people

Would take tasks off of me when she didn't feel I was completing them to her standard, and then get passive aggressive at me for making her do "all the work"

Consistently rude to most of the membership

At one point, rude to our friends within the Union (MASSIVE no-no, if we want to do ANYTHING at all the Union needs to be on our side, they're essentially in charge of all clubs)

Straight up yelled and swore at members on various different occasions, which almost triggered a formal complaint!

I can't stress enough how awful she was. Yes, she ticked all the boxes and was good on paper, but she also upset pretty much everyone in the club in the process, AND a good few people in the Union. Safe to say, even though she was volunteering as lot of her hours into this, she was acting like a real piece of work throughout the whole situation. At one point, she even said she was only doing as many hours as she was so she could get an award at the end of it (this award is basically given to the best committee person that year, in any club and in any position, and it helps if you have a shit ton of hours in your club) which I thought was a bit skeevy. So, since she'd slowly been pissing me off all year, I decided that I was going to try for it instead!

And try I did - I became 150% involved in club activities, including staying late at night to get work done. I made friends with every person in the Union, and was there so much that even the people that didn't know me at least knew my name. I dedicated the majority of my time not doing Uni work to doing club event work, and when the award sheet came around I knew I had done at least as much as Jane had, if not more - and I knew she wasn't going to win. You see, me being friends with the Union people payed off - I had a chat to a few of them, before they decided on who got the award, just about some club events. We got onto the topic of talking about the awards, and someone says "Only one of them would be happy for the other, if they were to win." Immediately faces turn sour, and I just shrug - "It doesn't matter who wins, all that matters is we've improved the club this year: )"., which is something I did/do truly believe. However, her being so rude throughout the year came back to bite her, and I'm sure they took her attitude into account when voting for who won the award.

Cut to the award show, and I can tell she's at least semi-confident she's going to win - she's been talking for the past week about all the hard work she's put in, and lamenting about how she hopes all her efforts haven’t been wasted - obviously hinting at this award that was coming up. Night of, and it comes to announce the award - what do you know, they say my name instead of Janes! I go up, get my award, and come back happy as a clam to a very put out looking Jane. I was told later on that when I went up to get the award, she glared daggers at my back - shockingly not happy that her friend won a well deserved award! And when she took pictures of the Clubs awards at the end (we won a few big ones for a big event we held) she slyly moved my award out of the way so as not to take a pic of it. Cool Jane, you be petty - but I'm not done yet.

Next up was the election period - and once again, Jane wanted to be second in command. Of a club she has done nothing but moan and shit talk the whole. entire. year. I won't be there this year, you see, so she thinks she has free range of the club and can do what she likes with it. A lot of the membership are also graduating, so its unlikely anyone will step up to also run for second in command and beat her. She may be Satan come to earth, but a Satan second in command is better than no second in command. This way, she can still get some sort of award next year - she's been in the committee of a club for two consecutive years, that counts for something!

Until...I find someone to run against her. Because of course I do!

What’s even funnier is that she dismisses the person at first - lets call him Sam - smugly stating that no one would vote for him many times. Sam has been president of a society before, ISN'T widely hated by the clubs member base, and honestly would be a kind of alright second in command. So, instead of going around being as diplomatic as possible when talking to members about the elections, I'm probably too honest. Yes, Jane did such and such as second in command, however she did yell at someone during that event. Oh yeah, Jane has gotten that new game for us which is great, but I think we might have gotten some more if she didn't tell the guy who donated it to us to fuck off. She's really good about doing the paperwork and keeping things running but she doesn't like to come into club meetings so you might not see her much etc etc etc. Just giving people the full, unbiased truth about her - not telling them to vote for Sam, but not painting a pretty picture about Jane either.

Well, queue results night - I've been told the results beforehand, and we are having a club party to announce them. A good majority of the membership showed up to watch what would happen - most of these people were the ones Jane has yelled at or rubbed the wrong way, so they mostly wanted to come to make sure she didn't get in. Jane herself looked fine, like I said she had dismissed Sam as someone who could run against her as she deemed him "incompetent". I made sure to drag that part on for as long as possible and left the second in command position until last. I'm trying to subtly look at her from the corner of my eye when I announce:

"So for second in command next year, you guys have elected - Oh, it's pretty close, but overall, Sam is the winner! Sam is your new second in command!"

Que clapping from every member of the room. Except Jane, of course! She's already up, out of her seat, and storming out. Sends an angry message saying she's not coming to club again, how all of her hard work has been for nothing, how I steal the credit for everything, yadda yadda yadda. I expected as much, to be honest, which is why I lied when I said the voting was "close"

​

It wasn't. The votes were 10 to 40.

TLDR: Best friend and second in command acted like a bitch all year to members of our club and myself - I made sure that I got an award that she felt entitled to, and that she 100% would not be re-elected into the position by making sure someone she hated got the position instead.

Bonus little revenge: When she went home for the summer, she was trying to take 2 of the clubs awards with her as she thought she "deserved them" for her hard work (read: Was jealous I got an award and wanted one too, even though they 100% belonged TO THE CLUB and not to us as individuals). I vetoed that shit real quick, took them from her hands when she tried to take them home, and locked them in a display cabinet in the Union. No awards for you! :)

(source) (story by RAVENGEisSERVED)

[parkerstylesperalta]

making art is therapy bitches

I got inspired by my own sadness tonight and wrote a little something with Tom. 

Warning: lots of angst. mostly angst. a slight hint of floof. also, 1.5k of shitty writing. 

my first fic type thingy ever! woohoo!

A year and a half. Time heals all wounds, they said. But the cut still felt sore in your chest every time Tom’s name popped up on your screen. How’s school? It was innocent enough, and with him being in a relationship there was nothing you could do about your aching heart.

Tom and you had broken up on not so good circumstances nearly a year and a half ago. It was a bad break, and both you, him, and your friends felt the shockwaves of the aftermath. After years of friendship and a long-lasting relationship, the end shook up your life. You didn’t talk for a long time, then fought, and then were friends, more fighting, then strangers again for a while. The back and forth of your feelings towards him gave you whiplash.

So Valentine’s Day obviously was a rough one, when you woke up to a text from him. Nothing mentioning the holiday, just a text talking about your major in college, and what you’d been up to. But on social media, his girlfriend was posting about him and the comment on her photo that he left broke you just a little further. Why, if he had moved on to someone else, was he choosing to continue to talk to you? You wanted to ask him- to call him out and just know why he felt the need to continue with you when so much in your lives has changed. It didn’t feel fair. It wasn’t.

You talked for almost three weeks, and constantly. What’s the winter storm at home putting you through? Any new auditions coming up? Simple. Nothing new. But it hurt- it felt normal. Consistent responses, and every day. Things progressed to talking about your career, your hopes and dreams. What made you want to pursue this field? I need advice about something. It felt like the good old days when you were together, and life was different.

A drunken night out led you to confess to your friends your constant back and forth with Tom, and your best friend nearly lost it at the news. You pulled up the texts and showed her. If she knew, she might as well know it all.

“y/n, what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed.

“He fucked you over, babe,” your friend hiccupped. “You’re just going to be sad.”

“I think I still love him, I mean how can I not? He’s texting me about nothing but at the same time I feel like its everything because its how we talked when we were together,” you drunkenly rambled.

“You’re always gonna love him, he was your first.”

“I know. Its stupid. She’s there now and he obviously doesn’t need me or love me anymore soooo,” the words slurred together.

Your best friend laughed. “It’s not stupid. And bitch… why would he be texting you all the time... and on Valentine’s day... if he didn’t care anymore?”

 Two weeks earlier…

Tom sat on the couch, phone in hand, Harrison on the other side of the couch and Harry laying on the ground in front of the TV. Fifa blared as loud as possible and Harry cursed out Harrison for screwing him over in the game at the end of the round.

“Alright Tom, your turn,” said Harrison, handing him the controller.

“Nah mate you play another. I’m good for now,” he said, not looking up from his phone.

Harry flipped around to look at him. “You’ve barely played tonight. Stop texting Annie for five minutes and play, Tom.”

Tom sighed. “You should be glad I’m not playing. Because if I was, you would not be winning right now. And i’m not texting Annie, for the record.”

“Then who the hell are you talking to? You haven’t stopped staring at your phone for a damn week,” Harrison called out.

“Nobody,” Tom flushed angrily.

“Oh shit,” Harry chuckled and looked over at Harrison with a smug grin.

“What?”

“Its y/n, isn’t it?” Harry teased. Harrison’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Why would I be-“ argued Tom.

Harrison leapt across the couch and snagged Tom’s phone out of his hand.

“Aye! Fuck off!” Tom protested, reaching for the phone while Harrison blocked him from grabbing it.

“No way. It is y/n! Since when are you two talking again? Does Annie know? Shit- you aren’t doing anything stupid right?” Harrison quizzed.

Tom groaned. “No. I am not being stupid, okay?”

“So what does this mean?” Harry smiled.

“Nothing!” Tom sighed. “Nothing. I just… I don’t know. Annie has just been really frustrating lately and… y/n is always here for me. Even after I fucked with her head.”

The boys groaned in unison.

“Mate, you can’t just go back to her when your new girlfriend isn’t doing it for you. That’s fucked up,” Harrison lamented.

“I know. I’m not going back to her, okay? It just feels good to talk to her like we used to. It’s never really been that way with Annie.”

“So you still love her?” asked Harry.

“Of course I do,” Tom confessed.

 And back to the night on the town…

 You felt your phone vibrate slightly on the counter, and you looked down to see a call had just ended. Quickly you grabbed it and went to the call log.

“Shit. No no no no shit!” You panicked.

“What?” you best friend asked.

The call log showed your last activity-

One call with Tom. Two minutes and fourteen seconds.

You froze. “I… butt dialed him. I just fucking- HE HEARD ALL OF THAT CONVERSATION, Y/F/N!”

“Oh no.” your best friend processed what had happened.

“Oh no?! This is a BIT MORE than oh no. This is, I’m dead. I’m absolutely dead and should go lay on the street for the buses I’m dead. Oh my god.” You began to pace the bar.

“y/n it’s okay! He probably could tell you were drunk and is just gonna ignore it. Or maybe he didn’t really hear everything!” she reasoned with you.

You felt sick to your stomach. “I need to go home.”

The uber back to your apartment was quiet and uncomfortable, and the driver blasting 80’s rock at its fullest volume did not help your situation no matter how catchy Africa was.

When you arrived at your apartment building, you had almost sobered up minus some lingering fuzziness inside your head. You walked up the two flights of stairs, and as you were turning the corner to your room you rifled through your bag for your key. They clinked as you pulled them out and went for the keyhole.

“Hey.” A voice behind you made you squeal in fear.

“Fuck!” you flipped around quickly, only to be met by messy brown curls and eyes you hadn’t seen in a while.

You paused. “What.. what are you doing here?”

“Hi to you too, y/n,” Tom smiled shyly. “I uhm… I got your call.”

Your heart sank to your stomach. “…course you did. Listen, Tom, I was drunk and emotional and I am so sorry that you had to hear-“

“I want to talk.” He stepped closer to you and cut you off.

“Why? So I can be even more embarrassed than I am already?” you huffed.

“Annie and I broke up. A week and a half ago.” Tom spilled.

“And..?”

“Y/n I know that I fucked up. Bad. But I can’t stop myself from wanting to talk to you and be around you like we used to. And I know that I in no way deserve that from you. I just want that drunk voice in your head that I just heard to be the real y/n that I know. I miss you- and I don’t expect anything from you but I just needed you to know that. It wasn’t her.” He rambled.

“What wasn’t her?” your voice cracked and betrayed you.

“She wasn’t… I didn’t start dating her because it was her. I started dating her because I didn’t have you and I needed someone. But it’s always been you that I want.”

You stayed silent.

“I know that’s fucked up.”

“It is.” You agreed.

He ran his hands through his hair. “I should’ve… fuck I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.” Tom turned to leave.

You grabbed his wrist to stop him and he turned around with wet eyes.

You took a deep breath.

“I’m not saying that any of this is okay, or that I forgive you, or anything.” He bowed his head further. “But- I miss you. I’m stupid and I miss you.”

“So what does that mean?” he questioned.

“I think… I think you need time. You need a while to figure you out, and maybe after that, I’ll be here,” you said.

“Time,” he smiled.

“I mean we’ve had plenty… what’s a little more?” you chucked a bit.

“Thank you, y/n,” he said sincerely.

“Boy, you have nothing to thank me for yet.”

He smiled and grabbed your hand. “Thanks for butt dialing me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and slipped your hand out of his. “I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Okay. Night, y/n,” he agreed with a nod.

“Night, Tom,” you said, turning the key and walking inside.

A month passed, and after that time the texting became a coffee date. And the coffee date turned into dinner, and dinner turned into five. Time heals all wounds, they say. And even after a deep cut, you finally agreed with that.

  tagging my queen @wazzupmrstark bc she’s my boo hi

[thephillyphiles-blog]

Let’s start at the beginning (or another cool title if I think of one):

Chapter 1

It’s an oppressively hot July day in Philadelphia and my friend Cara and I are in my parents’ backyard, seeking refuge from the heat in the pool.  We’ve both been traveling this summer and have a lot to catch up on--work, friends, diets we have read about and are considering trying for 24 hours and then quitting.  But when the conversation turns to our love lives, as it inevitably does, we hit a lull.  Not only are we both single, but we’ve both always been single.  As in, never had a boyfriend or anything resembling a relationship.  And I suspect with near certainty that we are experiencing similar dry spells, the kind that go on so long you begin to wonder if you’ll ever actually have sex again.  We’re both 27 and, in our world, this lack of a romantic past makes us outliers.  Almost all of our friends are in serious relationships; Cara has been a bridesmaid in more weddings than many people will attend in a lifetime and most weekends I’m a fifteenth wheel.  

The two of us have spent countless hours lamenting our singlehood over takeout and true crime miniseries, but on this sweltering summer day, the tone is different.  Instead of the usual “why us?” the question we asked each other was “why not us?”  We’re both cute and fun and smart, we have years of therapy under our belts so we’re very in touch with ourselves, and we are generally down-ass bitches.  (For the record, Cara is an absolute smokeshow, but she has no idea how beautiful she is, I just wanted that down on the record).  Each of us is a great catch!  So, like, why the fuck are we single?

I have to imagine this question is posed countless times every day in the greater Philadelphia area--even though my world is populated by couples, singles are everywhere, hopping from bar to sweaty bar, flooding intramural kickball leagues, and, most of all, frantically swiping left and right on dating apps.  Like all singles my age, I am constantly bombarded with questions from family members about my relationship status.  Am I putting myself out there?  Am I projecting good energy?  Am I staying open minded?  Am I sure I’m not a lesbian?  But none of those inquisitors has anything to actually offer me because in 2019, dating takes place on our phones where anonymity reigns and, for the most part, profile pictures are the deciding factor.  It is a confusing landscape that offers little comfort to women in their mid (cough--late) twenties who are forced to contemplate things like egg viability and maternity leave long before we’re even ready to consider having our IUDs removed.  Which is why on that July day in my parents’ backyard, Cara’s frustration-turned-motivation piqued my interest.

If you have ever been desperate enough (guilty) to search “how to find a boyfriend in Philly,” then you know there is a real dearth of useful information.  Multiple publications have recommended smiling as you walk down the street as a way to meet people.  Um, have you been to Philadelphia?  So we want to go find the answers for ourselves, not only to seek our own romantic experiences, but also to help our fellow singles gain a foothold in this rocky terrain.  It’s not not like Sex and the City...right?

2019: Dating in a Hellscape

I really can’t say for sure whether dating in 2019 is much worse than it was for previous generations, but I can confirm that it sucks.  If my tone has not been clear thus far, let me say it in black and white: I hate dating apps.  I genuinely believe that they work for some people, in fact I have friends who found their spouse on apps like Bumble and Hinge.  But for me and others like me, they just don’t do the trick.  Perhaps it’s the somewhat concerning level of anonymity, or maybe the fact that the internet encourages us to present an image of ourselves that isn’t exactly accurate.  I, for one, rarely look as good as I do in my five best pictures, and I struggle to convey who I really am in a few short lines, opting to seem like a “cool girl” (see, eg. Gone Girl), rather than an anxious nerd who can rant about politics for hours on end and has an encyclopedic knowledge of Vanderpump Rules.  The times I have actually attempted talking to guys on apps, I’ve been left with a bad taste in my mouth, feeling hollow from a modern-day simulation of a conversation.  It feels forced and I feel phony.

So for those of us who can’t seem to connect on dating apps, what is left to try?  I have been going to the bars in Philly for the better part of a decade, stomping the dangerously uneven pavement in uncomfortable heels, clad in too-small tops and ripped jeans that cost more than I could reasonably afford.  I’ve joined intramural teams, writing classes, even a sketch comedy troupe for a very short stint, and here I am, still at square one, no wiser than when I started.  Like so many others in this city, I am at a loss so, spurred on by my poolside conversation with Cara and emboldened by a near-willingness to give up completely and retire to a life on my couch watching The Office for the 19th time, I am going to get some answers.

The Plan (in beta, anyway)

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want to do this thing.  My overall goal is to take a research-based approach to love and dating as a whole in Philadelphia.  This encompasses a lot and I’ll hopefully be able to narrow it down and find my voice somewhere along the way, but for now, here are a few things I’m thinking:

Bars: Philadelphia is known for its many distinct neighborhoods and the seemingly countless bars that line their streets.  I want to go to as many as I can and see if the last remaining vestige of traditional analog dating has anything left to offer--can you really meet someone in a bar in 2019?  I’ll try to find out.

Apps: Have I been missing the answer right in front of my nose the entire time?  Maybe I’ve been too hasty in my dismissal of dating apps, or perhaps I just haven’t tried the right one.  So, yeah, I’m going to swallow my pride and make profiles on all of them so I can report back to you.

Singles Events: I just groaned typing that, but I’m afraid I have to give it a shot.  I know it sounds cheesy and very early-2000s, but if they wouldn’t still do them if singles events like speed dating never worked.  Right?

Friends of Friends: Is it possible that the reason I haven’t found someone is that I’ve been too afraid to ask to be set up?  Cue the nervous sweats because I’m going to ask my friends if they know anyone I might be interested in.  Oh god, I’m lightheaded.

I will explore all of these methods and give an in-depth review of my experiences.  I also want to go a step beyond meeting people to answer questions about intimacy, love, gut-feelings, and much more--which means first dates are up for grabs and I will try to come up with as many different date ideas as possible to see what works.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Since this is all still very nascent, I have a few things left to figure out; for example, how to go on a dating app without just closing my eyes and swiping left.  As I ready myself to take a sledge hammer to my comfort zone, I’ll follow up with a little more about myself, what I’m looking for, and why the fuck I’m putting myself through this.  In the meantime, send me all of your questions, ideas, feedback, and more.  If there’s a particular activity or place or tactic you’d like to see me try, I’ll do it (within a modicum of reason).  As I can only give you one straight single woman’s perspective, I plan on dragging my friends into this, so don’t hesitate to ask questions I alone cannot answer.  And even if you’re not single or not looking, just stick with me and, at the very least, you’re almost guaranteed to see me make a fool out of myself.

hmu:

Twitter: @thephillyphiles

IG: @phillyphiles

Mail: thephillyphiles@gmail.com

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 26

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2100+

Date posted: 20 Jan 2018

A/N: Y’all can thank @trevorcollumns for this part actually being completed. She’s become a nagging motivation and I love her to pieces for keeping me inspired with this fic. She refuses to let my interest move elsewhere, and I’m really thankful. Cya soon, my bitch. You can nag me in person soon! 

The skull stares at you. It’s black empty sockets screaming with a loneliness that is not only striking, but fearful. Like the creature it once was continues to lament over its last moments alive. Jaw dislocated and limp, but cries so loud they’re deafening.

Ryan is right, the remnants of the animal before you hadn’t fallen to an ordinary predator.

The grooves carved into it’s features wander like footpaths traipsed through familiarity, smooth and deliberate when unwrapping the skin from bone. Intelligent. Not clusters of claw marks in sets of threes and fours, and not the aftermath of clumsy teeth trying to keep a hold - but created with a precision that you just can’t place.

Can’t place, at least, until an outstretched finger touches the bone. All at once the base of your skull is left searing, a prickling pain that glides smoothly up the centre of your head, right over until coming to sting at the bridge of your nose. Along with it comes a heat that circles your neck, the hollow of your throat closing with the pressure of unseen fingers.

“Fuck!” You recoil instantly, shuddering and hoping to pass the discomfort off as a reaction to the cold. The word slips from your lips before you can catch a breath, Ryan placing a cautionary hand against your lower back to stop you from toppling out of the crouch you’re folded into. “You’re right, this isn’t an animal… But why wouldn’t whoever it is take the head?”

“Y/N, come on.” Ryan gives you a concerned look. “Why’re you freaking out? I was kidding about the murder mystery thing. It’s probably just left over from a camper who needed a good meal.”

“In this weather?”

He doesn’t have a response.

Letting the hand he has against your back guide you into sitting, your legs guard the sides of the skull. You can’t help following the grooves; pressing their image against the memories you have of those adorning the window frames of Motbury, and decorating the bodies you’re now too familiar with.

“Why,” you ask again, reaching out to the bone again and pulling it into your lap, “would someone meticulously remove the head of a creature, skin the skull, and not take it with them? Surely a hunter wouldn’t chop off and clean the head before taking the body away. That doesn’t make sense.”

He struggles, uncertain of what answer you might possibly want. Taking the skull from you, Ryan turns it over in his hands, examining the clean separation that had seen it removed from the spine in the dimming evening light. “Well,” he says, “maybe he didn’t need it.”

-

 The feeling of cobblestone pounds against the soles of your feet. Hard and aching in the cold. Bitter with every slap of your shoes as you run. The orange glow of streetlights trace the path you carve through the town, chasing the shadows you leave behind and playing in your hair. Scampering between your legs and leaping across the stone you bound over. Glinting against the black ice that has already managed to trip you twice, ground kissing the skin it’s left bruised across your hip and thigh.

Ryan’s confusion still rings in your ears. His alarmed expression, of which you had left in the snow as you’d rocketed to your feet and started moving, haunts the darkened spaced between houses and shop fronts.

“What, Y/N? What’s wrong - wait, where’re you going? Y/N, slow down. Y/N-”

He’d snatched out, crumpling to his knees as you’d darted away.

Instead of explaining, you’d thrown him an incoherent response and reminder for him to join dinner that night with nothing else on your mind besides racing thoughts and a need to find Detective Dooley. To hurl definitive evidence at his feet and demand that he acknowledge the grooves that match those found clinging to buildings. To force him to address the links exposed by the timeline you and Michael had slaved over. To make him see, once and for all, that the removal of the head and the slaughter of animals oh so long ago has to mean something. It just had to.

 It had to.

 The skull, minor in its existence, brings the three factors they’d been scratching their heads over together with clumsy a bow. Solidifying the concept of a copycat killer so much so that Jeremy will be unable to argue, and parading the fact that that whoever had been killing livestock hadn’t upgraded to children, but had kept a clear line between those he hunts. One for food, and one for fun.

It isn’t much, but it consumes you. Taking over your being and vibrating in your limbs, stretching tight across your icy cheekbones. But it’s more than the relief of a definitive copycat that spurs you on. Ryan’s comment had stirred something inside you. Flipped a switch and brought blinding possibilities you hadn’t yet considered.

 If the killer didn’t take the skulls of animals because he didn’t need them or want them - he must have had a reason for collecting the heads that he does.

 Your rampant thoughts, along with your being, collide into the figure in front of you. So dizzy in your mind that it takes you a moment to register the shock, the man is already grunting and skirting past. Swallowed again by the night. A shake of your head sees the panic dislodge and recognition take its place.

“Jeremy?” you call, waving a hand above your head and stumbling after him. “Hey, wait up. You’re just who I’m looking for.”

He doesn’t. Instead his head tucks deeper into his coat, shoulders hunched. The quickness of his pace is hard to match, but you manage.

"Slow down, J, I need to talk to you," you plead, catching his arm. But he still doesn't stop, shaking free and powering on into the snow. Recoiling, stung, you jam your hands into you pockets. "Are you kidding me? C’mon man, stop messing around. This is important."

“Then why don't you go and tell Ryan?”

The words burn, lashing out and leaving your skin raw.

“Excuse me?” you demand faintly, “what does Ryan have to do with anything?”

"I just figured," he starts, finally facing you with an expression set in stone, "that considering how close you've gotten, he's all you need."

“I'm trying to talk to you about the case, Detective. You know, the one where kids are dying? And you think now's a good time to go digging around in my personal life?”

"Why not?" he asks hollowly, and you take a step back. “Why shouldn't I treat you like everyone else in this town? I’d be covering all the bases like you want me to.”

“Jesus Christ, Jeremy!” you snap, infuriated at the man who cowers from your anger for a brief moment. “What the fuck is your problem? Just because you fancy Ryan doesn’t mean you get to be an ass to me!”

“Fancy Ryan?” He almost laughs, but stops himself, instead settling for bewilderment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stop it.” Your eyes narrow at his defence, in no mood for his denials. A sharp gesture of your hand cuts his confusion, letting it fall noisily to the floor. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” You’re seething, body desperate to pace and yet feet remaining rooted to the cold, frozen ground. Through the dark you struggle with his expression, equally hurt by his scowl as he is with your own. “Jon already told me that you’re interested in him. Which is fucking fine, and I get that you’re hurting in this situation. But don’t you dare go around being an absolute asshole to both of us, just because you can’t get what you want. We have a job to do, and I’m your friend.”

He’s shaking his head, eyes wide and mouth pouted open. This time he can’t stop the laugh, harsh and mocking in the night’s biting air. “You’re kidding? You think I don’t like you guys hanging out because I’m in love with Ryan?”

You stop, accepting his simple explanation with a tight nod. You resist the urge to shuffle guiltily, uncomfortable with confronting his feelings with such volatile accusations.

Jeremy’s jaw sets, fists balling by his side while he turns bitter. “Oh, you’ve caught me. I’m interested in him, alright? Really really interested.”

A rattling sigh bounces from your lungs, falling flat in the snow. You knew this would be inevitable, and sucking in a breath and as much confidence as possible, you start the conversation you’d rather not have. “Look, Jeremy, Ryan and I-”

“I’m interested in him because he’s a person of interest, you fucking moron.”

The words stop, clinging to your tongue and scampering back down your throat before you can comprehend his vicious growl. “A person of interest? You mean-”

“I mean that you’ve been trying to date a god damn murder suspect.”

“Oh.” The shock expelled from your lips forms with a gentle pop, and with it his expression softens. Regretfully he gathers his apologies, rubbing them comfortingly into your arm. Tears well, but you don’t let them fall, feeling them thicken in your throat. “Wow J. I- I just… I can’t believe this.”

“I know, Y/N, it was hard for me to accept too, but-”

You jerk away, skin stinging from his touch. Recoiling, a few stumbles steps see the fountain greet the back of your knees, accusations like daggers. “I can’t believe you’d think your closest friend could be a part of this. That he could hurt children. After losing his own, for god sakes. What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s like - It’s like you don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, sure, lost his own, wha- you’re not listening, are you? Because you just obviously know him better, huh? All that time you’ve spent together, all those nights stumbling home arm in arm - yeah, I fucking know about that because we’ve got men watching his every fucking move so he doesn’t kill another kid - it must mean that you know him better than me? Bearing in mind, Y/N, you were the one that dated a god damn serial killer and refused to accept it, not me. And it got people killed.”

Your spine straightens, bite so lethal he shrinks away. The sharp breath sears through your lungs, mind reeling from the night that haunts your dreams and forced you to run from all that you love as he jams it into your hands. It’s your turn to ball your fists, clutching your coat close with the enraged whip of wind. It takes all you have not to launch across the space and punch him, to refrain from falling to your knees and screaming like there’s no tomorrow.

When you speak your voice is low, far more threatening than intended, but appreciated all the same. “Yeah, I guess I do know him better.”

Jeremy wants to snap back, but you don’t let him.

“I must do, because I know what type of person he is, Jeremy. And he’s a damn good one. And I also know what obsessing over a case does to people like us. I was too blind to see Charlie for who he was, because I was too busy focusing on someone else. Someone innocent, remember? I chased him to the point where he couldn’t handle the hounds and killed himself. Do you remember that, huh? Remember when we charged into his apartment and found him hanging, then got the call that my sister was dead all in the same hour?”

Jeremy doesn’t speak, as frozen as the world around him. If he could swallow his comment, he would. He’d forgotten the raw hurt, the agony in your eyes whenever you’d talk about your sister - and hadn’t realised it was still as fresh as ever. He can’t look at you anymore, glaring at his fingers as they slowly blotch purple. And you don’t look at him, either. Can’t stand his guilt, can’t stand seeing him the way he was all those years ago, watching your sister’s blood coat his hands after he’d done all he could to save her.

“I won’t let you make the same mistakes I did, Jeremy. I won’t let you drive yourself, or Ryan, into madness, just because you don’t know how to stop and see a bigger picture.” You turn to leave, stopping only to spit your final remark into the street you’re desperate to escape. “Oh, and once you’re done condemning Ryan you might want to talk to him, seeing as he’s just found the evidence we need to link the killer as a copycat to the Widow of the Woods story.”