#it makes sense to have drawn some more horror focused things lately

[chibishortdeath]

I got a new sketchbook since I filled one recently :3c. Shout out to suddenly getting a ton of energy and drawing bizarre fanart at 1 am 💀💀💀.

I’m putting the more violent ones under a cut even if the post is already tw tagged because of the subject matter being a bit dark d(^^ ).

Along with explanations for all of them of course!

⚠️tw for self harm and burning past this point⚠️

First one (before the cut) is just some pose practice. Simon’s just sitting, all sad and mopey. There’s also a little chibi doodle of him in the bottom corner and a little pose armature in the top corner for a pose I didn’t even end up drawing whoops lol. I feel like I drew his face a little differently than I usually do in this one :O. Idk how that happened lol.

This one is to show the differences in anatomy between each game! The curse takes a lot out of him, poor guy, so he’s a bit less jacked than usual 😔. Well, more specifically he doesn’t have as much of a layer of protective fat anymore. And he’s also very tired :(. But yeah, this is just a reference I’ll look back at to keep this detail consistent! I was going to put scar reference on it too, but I completely forgot and eh it mighta made it kinda hard to make out anyway d(- - ).

I drew this side profile of Simon while watching a video talking about lost media stuff. I think the image I based it on was something Saki Sanobashi related, idk I just liked the vibes of the hair being blown back by wind and got inspired :). And yes I know that Saki is probably a hoax 💀💀💀💀💀, I didn’t have much interest in it tho tbh, besides just hoping something lost gets found in general. Lost media videos are honestly great for putting on as background noise when drawing :)

Simon is totally me when I have a crisis and cover my face with my hands, but make sure one eye is visible and miraculously out of shadow for dramatic effect!!!

Ok spookier stuff time, first of the below the cut drawings. This one is based on how sometimes vampires are depicted as being able to drain someone from long distances or beyond the grave. Dracula is mean, and Simon is suffering from the curse, the usual. Augh I actually need to do things cause I keep thinking of a cool scene of Simon having a weird Dracula nightmare and then waking up to see it wasn’t a dream, and that’s tropey as hell, but it’s spooky!!! Do you see my vision?

This is a depiction of like what happens with a game over or something :O. Like an absolute worst possible outcome: Simon dies and Dracula is unsealed and fully regenerated. I basically just took is Simon’s Quest design and then rehydrated it and tada, Dracula is no longer a skeleton— He ends up looking way more like Vlad the Impaler in this outfit hmmm. Also, unrelated, but a friend of mine mistook Dracula for Jesus in this drawing 💀💀💀.

Oh boy, edgy depictions of uh a lot of not being very kind to yourself themes. Idk how else to describe this one other than ya know when you get really mad at your past self for making a mistake or the wrong decision that you could’ve only known about in hindsight? Also in part the fear of actually becoming a vampire at the end of all of this? And I guess a bit of feeling like it’s your own fault, you’re the one that keeps shooting yourself in the foot, but I feel like he’d also attribute getting hit by Dracula in the first place as his fault too… hmm just a lot of very sad things going on, this one was definitely a later 1 am time drawing, maybe 1:40 or something. I think what I draw at night is further proof to not trust you when you’re tired; I get weirdly existential at night and then it’s totally fine in the morning. Simon! Just sleep! Stop overthinking!!! You’ll be ok!!!

This one I debated putting up at all cause it’s graphic and not finished (TwT ;). But it was a rare drawing of Simon smiling that didn’t look uncanny, which is kinda ironic because Simon this is not the time to be smiling—! That is also wayyy too far for just the Dracula ritual, you really only need a tiny amount to open the seal, but I’ll cut him some slack cause he is a bit at wits end by this point. I’d say maybe he’s smiling because he thinks he finally won, but tbh I thought of it more like when things are just so bad you start laughing. Like Dracula just rose from the altar and the morbid irony of it all is just so absurd, the irony that you did everything right and fought tooth and nail (Dracula’s to be exact lol) to stop it and here it is happening anyway. I wanna give this guy a weighted blanket and a bowl of warm soup—

These last two are based on what could’ve happened to him. The Grey ending is pretty much usually considered the “worst”, but they’re all nearly interchangeable, especially in the Japanese version. For example: the western release really makes the Blue ending seem like he died and didn’t kill Dracula, but it’s a lot more that he just died doing it in the original, which is to say that it’s kinda like the Grey ending just with a different eulogy— Anyway, the Grey ending is the only one that doesn’t show Simon at Dracula’s grave, so I’ve always taken it as he didn’t make it out of the castle basement. And well, setting Dracula on fire is a pretty common way to kill him so uh um, R.I.P. I’ve got a couple ideas for alternate comic endings to say the least. I might honestly just depict all of them and leave it entirely up to the reader which one happened because it doesn’t change much— Though this also has me thinking of how him surviving would work now. The curse would definitely have left some lasting effects, you don’t just magically stop having been rotted, sleep deprived, and whatever else it did. Idk I picture him being like Renfield levels of lost it afterwards if that makes sense… that could also be a pretty solid explanation for why his story isn’t told correctly and the cycle repeats with Maxim later; it’d be a pretty traumatic thing to talk about tbh. Ok but yappersvile over, next doodle 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Aside from the burnt doodle that’s uh same explanation as the above (R.I.P.), the other two are just a little head angle and expression practice and one tiny one towards the top that’s Dracula being all spooky ghost vampire, but I didn’t like how it was looking and gave up on it 💀💀💀. It’s very hard to draw a vampire attacking someone and not have it look kinda awkward or unreadable. Tbh I struggle putting two characters in one image anyway because I have to draw the anatomy lines for both of them and they end up getting really hard to tell apart when one is behind another, one character suddenly isn’t proportional compared to the other, or you find out one of them isn’t tall enough for the pose you had in mind (>~< ). So anyway Dracula was accidentally way too short all of a sudden and I couldn’t figure out how to draw his torso without making a completely incomprehensible blob behind Simon oof.

Okie, it’s lunch time, bye :3!

[444lpblue]

Heavenly Delusion #2 - Two Confessions

Screenplay: Makoto Fukami Storyboard: Itsuki Tsuchigami Episode Director: Kai Shibata Animation Director: Tooru Iwazawa, Yuuko Yoshida, Itsuki Tsuchigami, Haruo Okuno, Mayu Gushiken, Kai Shibata

I'm two weeks late as Saturdays just aren't very good days for me in terms of watching anime in general. I was planning on catching up and just writing about episode 3, but this episode was too amazing not to write about genuinely. I'm not going to mince words about it; this episode just kicked ass. It's easily one of my favorite episodes of the year so far. The first half featured some of the best lighting I've seen in anime for a dark scene like this. It's scary, thrilling, and makes you feel as if you're in a horror video game, not knowing when the monster could attack.

The cinematic aspect ratio change contributed greatly to the change in tension and threat level of the situation and made your eyes solely focused on the screen. I'm not truly familiar with Kai Shibata or Itsuki Tsuchigami, but both of them came together to create an amazing action scene that is complemented by Waki's beautiful and in-depth composition.

Waki's control over the usage of light is genuinely mind-bogglingly great, from creating a lurking sense of danger amidst the darkness to the flashy impact sparks of a monster attacking.

There are so many things to talk about just in this whole scene against the Hiruko. I haven't even mentioned the camera rotation usage. The slow turn of the camera creates a feeling of something creeping toward you with your eyes being naturally drawn to a pitch black background and is a great showcase of anticipation. On the other hand, when the Hiruko attacks, faster movements of the camera emphasize the imminent danger.

The sound design was great for the entire episode, as it has been throughout the series. The quiet ambiance during the fight scene increased the creep level to a maximum, and the impact sounds of the Hiruko attacking remained sharp without being overpowering or unfitting for the scene. The silence when the landlady is sliced by who she thinks is her son is also well-executed, keeping within the established ambiance. It's quick, and the suddenness of it creates a more impactful moment than any loud swinging sound could. However, the great sound design is not to this Hiruko scene. In a simple scene where one of the kids at the facility is climbing up a pillar and falls, the sound of the fall is not exaggerated. Instead, it's a brutal and blunt sound that truly makes you worry for the kid. It's just one of the simple scenes that shows you the consistency of this show in almost every element.

As a manga reader, I already know what will happen to the story. Therefore, I don't have much to say in terms of the mystery setup and questions they have developed in this episode because I don't want to spoil anybody. However, as a manga reader, I'm more than satisfied with what we have gotten in this adaptation so far. It's been a thoroughly amazing experience and has even forced the sloth that is me to write up on this episode, which I was planning to skip and just do a write-up for episode 3. But most importantly, I hope you guys are enjoying it too. If you're curious about my thoughts on the pacing, it's completely fine with me. I've heard some people think it's going a bit too fast, but I don't think so. The way the story is told feels natural to me, and compared to many other anime adaptations, it's near perfect, which is a huge credit to Makoto Fukami. I didn't even really have space to talk about the second half which is simply me trying to tell you to just go watch and please experience it yourself.

[tarotnoob]

PAC: What's your vibe?

Please choose whatever pile you're drawn to, and I will give a read on your vibe and any additional messages.

Pile 1: Les Miz

Pile 2: Rocky Horror Show

Pile 3: Wicked

Pile 4: Rent

Pile 1

Pile 1

You don't have to be introverted, but there is a sense of someone who has gone inward and seems to be doing a lot of self-work or has been very focused lately on private creative projects. You may also fluctuate in confidence because I see a lot of strong will and determination, but I also see a bit of caution. It does put out a lot of Virgo energy, I suppose. There's a sense of working hard, of having the ability to dedicate yourself single-mindedly to a goal or project or situation, but it's almost like "I want to succeed, I will succeed" but with a dose of self-criticism or self-analyzing that might bring up some feelings of doubt, wariness, fear. I think in the end, you'd be the type to push through it regardless of how big the task is. I also feel like you are put in a position of or prefer to do things alone. I don't see you as the type that when you're working on a creative project that you need to be in a group or work with others nearby. I think you focus better when you're by yourself. There may either be doubts around your creative or work abilities or doubts around the image you have of yourself, particularly the physical.

I just get the sense that sometimes you can be overly critical of yourself or even be a bit overcritical of the way others' look, too. I do feel like the results of your hard work, whether it's inner or outer or both will result in some type of abundance - whether if you're working on your physical body or a work or school project. There is the sense that you will prosper or blossom or flourish from this experience. I think people may see you as somewhat stoic based on your energy or facial expressions, that you may have a difficult time always expressing what you're feeling or thinking.

For some of you though I feel this is becoming specific, you recently would have withdrawn from something as there's a sense of stepping away to rest or think (based on four of swords and hermit), 8 of pentacles makes me feel that there's something happening right now where you are hyper-focused on a single event/project/situation. It would be very likely that you are physically alone or have isolated yourself in regard to this thing - and for me there is also a feeling that it's related to something physical. Like I see someone plotting out the logistics of how you can make something happen or work. You might have had to withdraw because whatever's happening is going to require a lot of work or all of your attention to get accomplished. There's also some skepticism involved about the outcome? Not really about your abilities, it's like just... as if several things have to line up within your plan to work out the way you want. I don't really hear "long shot" but it's as if not everything is within your control. An example might be if you were scheduling a trip to work on a project or if you're left to your devices to figure out the details of a work trip but maybe there might be word that the borders for x country could closed. So you're proceeding with your travel plans - down to the detail - with the knowledge that it might not even work in the end. Or there's a sense of beating the clock. I also feel like it could be as if someone has scheduled time out for a surgery - whether it's medical or even more of a cosmetic thing. I don't know why I feel especially drawn to someone who's getting cosmetic surgery soon.

It could also be someone taking a break from something they've put a lot of work into lately. Or maybe it feels like you've put a lot of work into something you love lately but it's not working out exactly how you want so you've pulled away emotionally or physically to reflect on the matter.

As a vibe though if I were to describe you as a person - I do feel someone with single-minded energy, at least when it comes to things you care about or are passionate about. I definitely feel this is your attitude toward work or personal creative projects or abilities. I think you're more on the introverted side or even if you have extroverted tendencies you'd still want to be alone when it comes to focusing on something. I don't see you as the type to reach out to others and invite them over for a group chat. It's more like you prefer to handle things all on your own. Why do you do this? There seems to be some type of fear or doubt here - maybe because you don't feel like you can burden others or trust others or you feel wary if you can rely on others. This could be about feelings or literally you're a bit of a perfectionist or kind of bossy. Like you wouldn't expect others to be able to do it the way you want so you do it yourself. There is a feeling of detachment from others in this way. Kind of reminds me of Scorpio or Virgo guys I guess and in my head that's because I feel an earth quality here of distancing the self from others but it has to do with not being able to relate to them in some way because you've put your self a bit higher than others, look down on them sometimes. It's almost as if you think sometimes you can do better or produce better by yourself. A bit of a loner, a bit of something like arrogance but it's... got a sense of emotional detachment to it. But I see you as being hard workers. I can see if I was someone with a strong work ethic and then I see my coworkers goofing off or slagging their work off onto others, I'd get frustrated, too, and start developing that "I'm better than them bc I work harder and faster" type of attitude, and then you wonder why no one really wants to invite you to lunch.

You have an eye on the prize mentality. Maybe anything that distracts you from that goal you see as a threat. This may be true for your spiritual life, as well. It may just be you're hyper focused on inner work right now, not sure if you feel you're seeing results or if it will work out. Some of you may be trying beauty or love or abundance spells. The overall sense is that you're pouring a lot of energy into something that would (mostly) solely benefit you.

And there's nothing wrong with that as there are times we need to focus on our self or our own goals, no judgment. IF I saw you at a party which probs wouldn't happen anyway, I'd see you as withdrawn, a bit serious looking, a bit aloof or stoic - but you might also have a very severe thing going on with makeup or style, something about the way you look or dress would be meant to intimidate others or sort of "hide" yourself. I think sometimes you feel like you have to present yourself as a tough cookie. But, you have your reasons for it.

Adding this after realizing I could've just chosen a character from the show you picked if you are aware of the plot.

In terms of a similar vibe from this show: valjean or javert, maybe even eponine but i get more "virgo" vibes from valjean

---

Pile 2

Ooh this is a nice vibe, very chill. Fun that you got two self-care cards. I feel a really good attitude from this pile. You like to have fun, you cherish your friendships, you know what it means to love yourself. More so, I feel like you understand that in life an important thing is to have fun or share experiences with others. Pile 1 was completely the opposite with two "hermit"-like cards, whereas here, a lot about what would make you happy is to be around other people, having a good time, not so much drama but you aren't uptight. There's an innocent nature about you so it makes me feel like yeah you don't overthink things - well you may but not to the point you would disappear off the planet. The hanged man makes me think of someone who's a bit laid back, who has a healthy perception of life - but like I said, I feel that's because you already have a sense of what brings you joy.

I also see someone who's got a lot of inner confidence or at least has accepted who they are on some level. As in, even if you're a bit weird, you've embraced it. You're like "yeah I'm weird, but so what?" and then go and find other weirdos to hang out with. I'd like to think your someone who has learned not to care about what others think although some of you may simply be oblivious as to what others think - as in someone who lacks self-awareness. What? I exist? People notice me? I do feel like you're optimistic. I don't want to say naive, but you just have a very fresh feeling. If you were a BTS member, I'd say you were J-Hope. Or, as a flower, it'd be something really bright, fun, sweet - like a daisy or sunflower, something you'd find in a wild field, but very pretty and fresh-looking. If you were interested in a wedding, perhaps you'd want to have a more rustic ceremony, like, near a field or your flowers would be more wild. You also would have a very accepting and welcoming vibe for others. I don't think you give stand-offish vibes. I do see that a lot of this energy does come from a spiritual way of thinking. There is thought process behind how you approach life or people. And I still come back to you've just come to a point that you easily recognize what makes you happy or feels right or good to you and you would follow your heart. The lightness here very much feels like a soft air sign like a libra or even an aquarius, but also a sweet water sign - so maybe a pisces or cancer. You don't have to be, just trying to hit that vibe. This vibe is very "sweet." Very refreshing, like, a sorbet or refreshing ice cream on a hot day when you're walking along the boardwalk.

I would defo want to hang with you because you probably have the ability to lighten other people's moods. I feel like you take into consideration other people's moods. If you knew a pal was going through it you might invite them out for ice cream and listen to them rant and then try to hype them up or distract them with jokes or silly stories. You feel very thoughtful of other people. I also feel like you're really good with boundaries. I just feel like you have a lot of control over your emotions and your energy. So yeah, you seem really sweet and fun and well-balanced spiritually. Like you could be one of the featured characters in a meet-cute type of story or something, lol. You could even be a bit nerdy, too, with hobbies that others might say are related more toward "children" but you just like simple things. You know, like, hey you're 28 and rewatch powerpuff girls episodes. Because they're simple and fun and it's not difficult and even makes you feel nostalgic. But if you were a PPG, you'd probs be Bubbles while Pile 1 might be more of a Blossom.

Vibe you share with a character from Show: haha is it an insult to say Rocky? when they're having a fun time, I'd lean toward Columbia. So yeah, a bit of Rocky/Columbia vibe.

---

Pile 3

For pile 3 what comes to mind is goddess energy. I was going to say unironic girlboss but this isn't necessary someone who's savvy and strong business-minded. It feels more mentally fierce and geared toward a strong sense of passion and justice, or at least a lot of compassion for others. But, I also feel some badass energy.

For a lot of you, I feel like you already have found your path or rather there is some type of idealism or idealistic vision that you have of how the world should be or how people should be treated. Pile 2 I talked about how they didn't care what others thought but it was more in a sweet down to earth way. This is a bit more fierce in terms of energy, more like an aggressive air sign or assertive fire sign. Actually any of the more "assertive" versions of the signs. I see this as gemini, aries, capricorn - it doesn't matter really. There's a degree of sassiness to this energy is what I'm trying to say, but also a sense of determination that you're going to do what you see as the right thing to do and I don't really feel like you're the type to let others mess with you. It's funny you got freedom and I'm looking at the page of swords and for the first time ever, noticing the flock of birds up in the sky.

It might be that you have the ability for yourself or others to cut ties with negative ways of thinking or seeing the truth of a matter. It would make me think of the queen of swords except it's the empress, so you're able to think clearly and make decisions clearly concerning matters of helping others or taking care of yourself, but you also have the heart of the queen of cups. In fact, you probably embody the qualities of all the queens combined. I also feel like some of you may be taking a trip soon but it would be to a relaxing destination or one that has a diff vibe than where you are now. Like if you're landlocked, you go to a beach. You have a really different way of looking at life that probably a lot of other people do not. It may be that things tend to work you up more than it might others.

There is definitely an emphasis on a skill or ability that can free others from their burdens - besides just being a compassionate person - but something about what you do or maybe if you're a creator can also help others, if it's that you're an artist or a writer or musician, but you could also simply have some type of career that serves to help others. This could be a pile for teachers or psychologists or social workers, as well. I feel strongly compelled to say helping others in some way will be a significant part of your path/journey in life because you seem to put a lot of mental energy into thoughts of that nature. I just see you wondering sometimes what you can do to make life better for yourself or people you love or people you don't even know - but you may still be trying to sort of grasp how to connect it altogether. Even though some of you already know what you want to do. I've tried to think of realistic examples/comparisons for the other piles in terms of characters or celebs... it's kind of lame but I was thinking of Emily in Paris because I was trying to think of someone who wasn't so obviously an artist. In fact, I found her rather entitled and presumptuous but - maybe someone like Angelina Jolie or Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez or Greta Thunberg. I mean those are pretty extreme examples, but you get the idea. You may have been drawn to Pile 2, though, because I also feel a smaller message is someone who understands the importance of self-care and self-love. So it may also be that there is a "motherly" unconscious feeling in you to take care of others, to teach others about self-care or that you are currently focusing a lot on self-love and self-care. Something about what you do in life would be able to teach others to consider how they can be or feel empowered. In particular, you may have a venus placement that has a strong affect on your career or a sign that's in libra or taurus that seems to motivate you in that direction.

It is more of a serious vibe here, but if you're a mix of pile 3 and pile 2 then it's alright bc you'd also know how to have fun. If you don't then well, I guess I see a lot of single-minded energy being put into this one particular focus right now (oddly pile 1 had that quality), and I don't sense that there is awareness of ANYTHING else right now but just this sense of freedom or freeing others and self-love or love. For me that vibe is a bit intense even if I'm kind of like that - would I hang with myself? Probably not, lol. I want to hang with pile 2. I could also see this pile as having a lot of writers or people in communication fields. And yeah clearly this would be heavy on the empath pile. To an overwhelming degree. You may try to help or save everyone, from animals to broken people. I do definitely also feel for some of you that relationships to younger people will be relevant whether it's children or siblings. Regardless of gender, there's definitely a caretaker vibe. You may be considering adopting kids? Or teaching kids, helping kids. Getting them out of troubled situations or ways of thinking. You'd be good child therapists or therapists in general but... unique therapists. Not traditional therapy because there's a lot more compassion/emotion involved in how you would do it.

So I guess a lot of your life/energy right now is a lot about your path/goals. And maybe that vibe just means you're really in the zone right now with something related to your life path... and that's all you're about right now. I mean, there's nothing else showing up to me except that being what's important right now...

Another message about what's going on more than a vibe is that you could be in a situation that is negative and you're the one in need of help from others because there's a self-love or romantic issue - like a toxic relationship you need help being freed from... or maybe in particular you saw someone (probably a female figure) in life who was also restrained in some way and seemed to you that they needed to be "freed" from something... but that's a bit deeper than just a vibe, so - but hey... you at a party, I would see you as, kind of intense, possibly engaged in an argument or very serious conversation about politics or religion or even celebrity gossip. You're not a wallflower. You're probably very attractive, but you could be naturally beautiful or even athletic. There's something very unique about you, you would seem very strong to me, maybe even intimidating. Like, you would probably do a lot of sideglaring even without realizing it. You may find a group of people you like and that's enough for you. I don't see you as super welcoming and open to new people, so at a party you wouldn't really be looking for new friends, but if you did talk to someone else there'd be a serious, sort of... not snobbish but like yeah kinda way that you'd speak. Keep in mind I'm relaying this from my pov of you at a party - so we'd probably never even have a convo unless you were in the way of the drinks and I said "can i get through" and you'd just move and continue with your convo. And I'd feel like your energy was just a tad too on the intense side for me to warm up to you, but hey - this would probably be my pile, so do we really want to hang out with someone as intense and opinionated as ourselves. I don't think you mean to come off that way because everything points to you being a compassionate person at heart - however I think it'd come out (in personal relationships) in the form of tough love. You care about people but you wouldn't sugar coat your words. If someone asked for an honest opinion - you would give it within reason. Not the full out harsh version, but pretty close. I guess I would talk about your love life, too, as probably you date a lot of "projects" with the hopes of fixing or helping them. It's probs a phase you grow out of, though. You may even do some volunteer work already, too. Yeah, so that's your vibe.

I'm adding this after realizing I didn't even think about how the message relates to the show you picked, but a character who shares a similar vibe to you: probably elphaba, maybe (guuuh-linda) glinda... I'm even just realizing the empress reminds me of glinda... or elphaba, really... elphaba especially had that intense vibe where she was only focused on her side of the story and it was always about how she thought she could help others and, in theory, the characters took issue with her deciding that for them... but yes elphaba. she was always so focused on her own thing without a whole lot of awareness of other things until too late... and even that path card fits her so well because she had this idea of what she'd accomplish in school, saw injustice, and found another path that was opposite from where she started - really it's kinda weird how the cards mirror the plot. but hey it gives you an idea.

---

Pile 4

Gives me Jonathan Larson vibes. Did you watch Tick, Tick... Boom yet on Netflix? Story for you. I saw this show on off-broadway a thousand years ago. When I went to see it, Joey from New Kids on the Block was playing the main character. I have a picture of him with his arm around me somewhere. Rent has always been a fav of mine; in fact, it pretty much is the reason I had this silly idea as a kid I might work for the village voice; i did end up getting a journalism degree and I used to go to NYC a lot - anyway. I watched the Netflix show which made Jonathan look... kinda like a jerk, but how awful it would be to have a successful show after so long and you don't even live to see it? He must have been under so much stress and pressure.

And maybe people who were born in the 2000s+ won't ever really get the context of the 90s, but it was a big deal to talk about AIDS and no one was talking about being gay or cross-dressing or bisexuality, etc... it probably seems very trite now to talk about bohemia and art and principles and fighting the man... but like it was amazing to me back then. I even dressed up to school as Maureen for a Halloween event bc I didn't give af, lol. I had such a crush on Maureen. I still love Idina. I've seen Rent several times. I didn't get to see the original cast as I was pretty young - but I saw Idina in Aida, and the original Roger was also in it. Anyway, that's my personal anecdote for this pile. I loved tick, tick... boom, too. I love those songs, especially that one song he apparently took so long to come up with... the "come to your seeeeeenses..." pretty sure I have the playbill somewhere, i'll have to look for it.

oh right, so... vibe check. first of all, you have excellent taste.

heavy on the water vibe with king of cups, surrender, advocate... a sense of patience and putting the work in or investing time into something; wisdom and clarity could make you think of queen of swords but really i just keep seeing king or queen of cups vibes here. but with the swift action or decision making of air. so a lot of you may be water-heavy chart people or have big water placements or water moons. you seem like empaths, for sure. a lot of the wisdom you have comes from your compassion and your desire to help. you'd be a great listener, you'd give the kind of advice where it feels like you genuinely want what's best for the person. you wouldn't speak harshly. the surrender makes me think of hanged man, which for me is pisces vibes or 12th house or just a really go with the flow attitude.

it's possible you were drawn to pile 3 and i say that bc a lot of their vibe was about being focused on freeing others in some way and here we have an advocate type who puts plans into action based on compassion. you're probably a big effing softy who sobs pretty easily whether it's sad movie moments or watching animals get rescued on tv. i feel like if you were a bts member you'd be yoongi or jk - but when they're being soft and sentimental. especially yoongi though bc i see him as someone very calm, very able to give cool advice on what to do but he also would show how he cares, etc...

it does seem that in life your path would involve helping others in pretty much any conceivable way; you have a strong sense of intuition or maybe even psychic abilities; you might be naturally gifted at manifesting as anything you put effort into that you want, would seem to manifest as you also understand the importance of surrendering - as in you put in the work and automatically know or feel that the universe will align and provide you what you want; plus it's probs bc the universe recognizes your pure intentions. even though there's a lot of water here, there's something very grounding about your energy. probably bc you come off as very cool and calm and unbothered but i don't get detachment here. i get someone very loving and caring. (it's 01:01 on my clock as i just stopped to look). even your oracle cards are blue, lol. which can also be - besides water - be about the throat chakra, so specifically the way you think, communicate, write may reflect your compassionate nature. i also see you as tremendously patient. you don't try to rush things. a lot of your power is in the ability to grow things properly. i also see this image of someone like creating this garden and growing it with care and then even putting fence around it to protect it. there may be something you've been working on or creating that you feel very protective (and even proud) of that feels very special to you. i do feel strongly that if you are, that it's going to come back probably even better than you expected just bc the universe seems to favor you or is pleased with you for how chill and good-hearted you are.

i've been trying to relate every pile to a character in the show... i guess if i HAD to pick as i wasn't entirely sure whom... probably Angel? Or Tom Collins... the other characters can have more of that nervous or selfish or outgoing type of energy but this person would feel more warm and compassionate - so sure, Angel. these people are very rare so really I can only thing of Yoongi... and he is a Pisces, so I do get heavy water sun or water moon... or pisces. but you'd probably have a bit of air and a whee bit of earth.

and as i was also doing with the other piles - if i saw you at a party. your vibe would be very chill. you'd probably just be chilling with a group of your closer friends or other chill folks, maybe closer to the music or one of those people who sit on the couch and play guitar or sit around the other musicians. you'd be more on the introverted side, but you'd be enjoying the company of others, letting others do most of the talking and interjecting when you want or it's a subject of interest. you aren't shy at all. you're just chill and don't feel the need to hear yourself talk. i find your emotional iq to be super high, so you'd be able to read the moods or feelings of others with just a glance. i imagine sometimes this can be overwhelming. you would pretty much never engage in drama though i can imagine it being drawn to you or people would go to you for advice about all kinds of things. you may even have a "dad-like" energy to you regardless of gender. someone who feels very solid but empathetic. i would totes chill with you and probably crush on you as your energy would be exactly my type. not that that's what you want, i'm just saying your energy is really lovely. i also see you as someone who's a hard worker when it comes to things you care about. as in you can be quite dedicated to what you like or are passionate about but sure i suppose you can also come across as lazy or lethargic at times. you are likely highly creative and put emotion into such works. i think the way you speak or what you say conveys a lot of your emotions. as in you're a very emotional speaker, you probably speak quite passionately about things when you do want to speak up. you may be particularly weed-friendly - but some of you aren't, you're just chill. probably usually kind and respectful, maybe soft-spoken. i feel like you're quite firm though, you should have decent boundaries with folks as you're more mature than others. though some may view you as a pushover, it's more bc you... can indulge others at times bc you can have sweet moments or be "sweet" or fond of certain folks.

i do see you as someone who makes emotional investments into things, like people or projects. your emotions don't rule you as i find you a bit earth-minded, too... but i'm just saying your path seems to be in line with things you feel intuitively drawn to through... what you feel passionate about in life. so i do see a bit of pile 2 and 3 here. the advocacy of pile 3 and the ability to enjoy life or indulge in what you find fun or being chill and just having a good time.

[voicesfromnowhere]

Day 2 - Guitar - @hellcheerweek

Read on AO3

Rated 16+ , nothing explicit, suggestive themes towards the end

Watching Eddie play guitar was one of Chrissy’s favorite things to do. She’d learned that different guitars gave Eddie a different persona, in a sense. His Warlock, aka his baby, gave him a swagger and confidence that would rival any big band Eddie had shown her. He would jump around the stage while his fingers flew across the frets, bringing out notes in quick succession that seemed impossible to achieve. It made Eddie look like he’d ascended to another dimension.

His older, slightly beat up electric guitar made him a bit more serious. Eddie would typically play that guitar when he was coming up with new ideas or just wanted something to do with his hands. He’d told Chrissy that it was the first guitar he’d bought on his own in a pawn shop on his first big trip with Wayne back in the day. When Eddie held this guitar, he seemed at ease and nostalgic, simply relaxed and hoping for good ideas to flow.

Last, there was Eddie’s acoustic guitar. The wood was a deep black and at some point Eddie had emblazoned the words “THIS MACHINE SLAYS DRAGONS” on it. He’d told Chrissy it came from Woody Guthrie, one of Wayne’s favorite musicians, who’d done the same to his guitar back in the day. The guitar had even been Wayne’s but once Eddie had shown interest in playing, Wayne had told him to make it his own. Chrissy could see a young, curly headed Eddie in her mind painting the guitar with concentration, wanting to make his uncle proud of him. Knowing that each guitar was special in its own way is why Chrissy was feeling nervous at this very moment.

She was holding the acoustic guitar carefully in her arms, afraid that one wrong move would ruin it as she sat like a statue on Eddie’s bed. They had been casually talking about the difference between all three guitars when Chrissy had mentioned that she kinda wished she could learn how to play. It was at that comment that Eddie’s eyebrows had raised, surprised that she would genuinely want to learn. He’d placed the guitar in her lap and run off to grab a pencil or something before she could even stop him, which is why Chrissy now found herself in this precarious position. Not wanting to accidentally drop it, she placed the guitar flat on her lap, facing up. She ran her fingers delicately over the strings, hearing them make quiet sounds as they quivered at the slight movement.

“Got it sweetheart.” Eddie burst back into the room with a pencil and a piece of paper in his hand, making Chrissy jump at the sudden sound. Noticing her flinch, Eddie smiled softly in apology. Sitting beside her, he set the piece of paper gently on top of the guitar. He’d drawn lines on the paper and began enthusiastically explaining himself.

“So, imagine these are the strings of the guitar,” he gestured to the lines, hands quivering in excitement. “And this thick one is the top string. The strings each have a letter name, right? If you start from the top and go down, it’s E, A, D, G, B, E. Got that?”

Chrissy was nodding while biting the inside of her lip, holding back a grin. Truthfully, she’d only heard about half of what he said, her attention instead focused on how cute Eddie looked when he was this excited. His hair flew into his face and he hurriedly swiped it out of his eyes. She realized a beat too late that he was waiting for her answer.

“Oh! Uh, yeah! The strings are E, A… uuhhh… then B?” She glanced at him sheepishly only to find him looking at her proudly. It took her breath away.

“E, A, D, G, B, E. It helps if you have a fun saying to go with the letters. Wanna hear mine?” He grinned like cat as she nodded again. “Eddie Eats Dynamite. Good Bye Eddie.”

Chrissy’s shoulders shook as she silently chuckled. “Very metal of you.”

“No comments from the peanut gallery.” He tapped her nose with the pencil eraser and Chrissy stared at him in mock horror. Holding up one hand and placing the other on the guitar, she made a promise.

“I swear that I shall be a good student and pay attention Mr. Munson.” Chrissy pretended not to notice how Eddie’s jaw went slack and how his eyes, slightly darker than before, roamed over her figure as she called him ‘Mr. Munson’. She also pretended not to notice how her thighs clenched together under the guitar as he watched her.

“Fine, you’re forgiven. But one more comment and you’ll find yourself in detention Miss Cunningham.” Before she could even process what the idea of detention with Eddie did to her, he was moving on and asking her to repeat the strings back to her.

After about ten minutes, Chrissy had the basics down. She knew the names of the strings, how to label the frets, and how to read very basic tabs. She now knew what a C-chord, G-chord, and F-chord looked like on paper. She was also discovering that knowing what they looked like on paper was completely different than actually being able to play the chords on the guitar. Trying to put her fingers in the perfect positions for a C-chord seemed easy in theory, but she was having trouble keeping one finger down while placing the other two. Forgetting their earlier banter, Chrissy was now consumed with concentration, her face scrunched up as she focused on her goal. However, she was quickly becoming frustrated.

“I don’t know how you do this Eddie! This one chord is almost impossible!”

“Here let me help sweetheart.” He softly came behind her, sweeping her arms into his and covering her hands with his much larger ones. Chrissy’s frustration fell away immediately at the contact, her brain no longer caring that she couldn’t manage to make the simplest chord of them all. Her body flushed and the feeling of Eddie’s fingers guiding her own made her mind conjure images of other places those fingers had been on her own body in the past.

Fighting her own internal dialogue, she attempted to pay close attention and was pretty successful. Eddie unknowingly made this extremely difficult when he swept her hair behind her ear so he could murmur instructions to her, pulling her closer into the space between his legs to hold her more naturally. How could he not see how distracting he was?

Once Chrissy’s fingers were in place, Eddie gently let go and told her to strum. Her eyebrows furrowed again, knowing this was either going to sound okay, or absolutely terrible. Taking a breath, she squeezed her fingers tightly around the neck of the guitar, and gave the strings a quick strum with the other hand. The sound from the guitar was… well, to be fair it wasn’t anything great, but it was a sound that was close to a C-chord. Hearing her somewhat passable attempt made her heart flutter with excitement. She looked back at Eddie, thrilled that she hadn’t completely failed, her cheeks hurting from how big her smile was.

Before she could even ask how she did, Eddie’s lips had found hers in a hungry kiss. The kiss was quick and hard, with Eddie’s hand coming to grip the hair at the nape of Chrissy’s neck while his tongue swept along her bottom lip. The fire simmering low in her belly licked its was through her core, igniting the desire that had been building throughout the entire lesson. As quickly as it started though, it ended, with Chrissy whimpering as he pulled away from her. Her chest was heaving with heavy breaths and she leaned in, wanting to chase his lips and capture them again. Needing more, Chrissy moved the guitar off of her lap and sat it onto the bed. With her newfound freedom, she quickly turned to face Eddie and threw a leg over his lap to straddle him.

“I thought you said that you were going to pay attention Miss Cunningham.“ Eddie whispered the words into her neck as her hands smoothed down his wild hair.

“That was before the teacher chose to kiss his student Mr. Munson. Guess you’ll have to give me a detention after all. Maybe you can even tutor me on what the proper fingering looks like for other chords.” Hearing him groan at the playful suggestion, Chrissy tightened her grip on his hair.

“What am I going to do with you?” Eddie spoke the words along her jawline, making her shiver.

Watching Eddie play guitar was one of Chrissy’s favorite things to do, but watching Eddie play her like a guitar was even better.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hello there! Which country/ countries do you think would love a s/o who is into cottage core? What about dark academia? Ooh! What about some aesthetics that you like??

Hello, Lovely~!

I regret to say that when I first started working on this ask, I was only going to delve a little bit into each of your questions, but my heart insisted on expanding each answer for you, and... Well...

I'll be dividing this into two different posts, as everything together is far too long to put into a single answer. ^_^;

In general, I don't think the Nations would be particularly attracted to someone for their aesthetic per say. In order to approach this, I instead tried to picture which of the Nations would likely mesh best with said aesthetics, and a few scenarios were born.

First up is Dark Academia, which kind of veers a bit more into the gothic/horror vibes than I was anticipating, but came to absolutely love as I went along.

Hope you enjoy!

Dark Academia:

Austria

Roderich has always been a perfectionist, often spends hours practising each day.

He's often finding inspiration for his compositions in seemingly the most mundane moments, has ruined many a journal and napkin with his frantic, sporadic writing, scribbling away in shorthand with almost a manic zeal.

You never fault him for it; he breathes music, each inhale and exhale just another crescendo and decrescendo in an ever-changing, uncharted symphony.

Recently however, he's lost his footing, loses his sense of direction even in his favourite concert halls.

You often catch him falling asleep at the piano, rehearsing long into the night, the calluses on his fingertips broken and crusted with dried blood.

The room is always a mess now; spilled ink coats crumpled, scattered music sheets, wax from the candelabra has melted down and solidified on the runner, one of the chairs has been broken in what you pray was an accident.

In the passing, fleeting, yearning moments when he steps away from it all, those rare moments when you coax him to eat and drink, to bathe, to sleep-

He rambles almost incoherently about the perfect symphony- frenetically, feverishly- pleads with you to help him, to ground him, to rid him of the thrice-damned refrain.

He is haunted- nay, plagued- by the song, obsessively begins to rewrite over-and-over again, cursing himself, cursing his limitations.

It kills you to see him in such a state, a witness to the near discordant harmony of anguish and ambition.

You ache to stop him, to ensure this spectre never haunts another living soul.

But you've heard it yourself, just enough to know you can't stop him.

It took only a few, hypnotic measures for you to succumb to its spell, to this dangerous, intoxicating melody that will do anything to be heard.

Belarus

Natalya is hiding something from you, something that has her constantly looking over her shoulder, has her more guarded than ever before.

You knew from the very start that she keeps secrets, knows things that you can never know- and frankly never want to know.

She drew you in with her layers, a softness buried deep, hidden behind a sharp tongue, guarded by a sharper blade.

At first glance, there is no gentleness to be found, no weaknesses to perceive.

She is quick.

And sharp.

And lethal.

Yet you knew, as you know now, there is far more to her than meets the eye, a quiet kindness and vulnerability that can only be earned with time and patience.

She used to reveal that to you, so often in fact that you had forgotten what that brusqueness even looked like.

To see her resorting to her old habits alarms you, terrifies you, has you glancing over your own shoulders even while running your usual errands.

She sneaks out a lot more these days, slipping away into darkened alleyways, disappearing into the fog and the night.

You follow her, aching for answers only she can provide, only finding more questions with every step.

A sense of urgency and desperation creeps across your skin as you walk faster, and faster, and even faster still.

You have to know.

You have to know what secrets she's hiding, why she's hiding.

In this one instance, you can't let her go on her own, can't risk her shouldering this burden of knowledge alone.

You have to help her; you have to know the truth.

She leaves behind codes written on wrappers of her favourite biscuits, messages and warnings alluding to something she's anxious that you keep out of.

Her fears only fuel your curiosity, and it isn't long until you're breaking into her safe, pouring through half-burned file folders and unmarked floppy discs.

You'll find the truth here somewhere, just as you're sure you'll figure out where she's disappeared to for the past nine days.

You continue your search for answers- both hers and your own- and know they're following you now, just as they followed her.

This is a dangerous game, and the more you learn, the deadlier it becomes.

But she's counting on you, wherever she is.

You will not rest until you find her and- together- finally expose the truth.

England

Arthur teaches you the power of words, a lesson you learn too late.

He lures you in with a bashful smile- always such soft smiles- and the perfect words.

He weaves them with practised ease and expert care, wields them as weapons only whenever truly necessary.

He always knows exactly the right words to say to you, never once stutters or second guesses, always speaks with a soft confidence that is just as beguiling and bewitching as his smile.

He introduces you to older and older texts, pages yellowed from age, the little sunlight entering the room scarcely offering enough visibility to make out each letter, to identify the source of the musty, metallic scent mingling with the dust and ancient leather.

When realisation finally strikes its fatal blow, you nearly drop the book in your alarm, its tawny sienna script striking you violently with nausea.

You frantically rush for the door, only half-aware of the creeping ivy, of the growing mist, focused only on your flight.

You're so close to escape before he's stopping you, crafting the perfect cage with a soft voice, gently luring you back in again-

Again and again as he has always done before.

Always such pretty words, always that soft, knowing smile.

You never think to question his isolation, never think to ask why he only meets you in empty corridors or forgotten rooms, never think to learn why no one else seems aware of him.

Every doubt that does come to mind, any question that arises beyond your obsessive, frantic studying-

Everything fades from thought with just the right words, whispered oh-so-gently.

It's only when you happen across an old, nearly forgotten legend that you begin to pull apart the deception, expose the hidden layers, read between the lines, and finally comprehend the gravity of your circumstance.

Words have power, he has told you- warned you- countless times.

He has always used such pretty words, such perfect words-

Words meant to charm and bind you.

Madagascar

Sakina talks in her sleep, during those few nights when your schedules sync up.

You're used to her long, odd work hours, and have long grown accustomed to her dedication to the Lab.

But she's been... off, lately.

There's a restlessness in her tapping fingers, a sense of apprehension and tension hanging around her as she pours over old reports, haunted eyes constantly drawn back to the shore.

So little of it makes sense; you've learnt enough through your time together to vaguely understand the abstracts from the dozens of articles littering her study, but you don't understand the chaotic mess of half-finished formulas and unfamiliar symbols covering her whiteboard, nor do you see the correlation to the dozens of newspaper clippings she has taped sporadically about the room.

She's taken to reciting equations in her sleep now, constantly has nightmares about... It.

She's sleeping less-and-less, has exhausted your coffee stockpiles, repeatedly begs and warns you to stay out of the water.

You're desperate to understand what is stealing her away from you, desperate for answers, desperate to save her from whatever precipice her research has led her to.

She's so lost to her research that she scarcely notices your presence over her shoulder, never seems to notice when her desk is rearranged from your own reading.

Slowly, you are starting to understand her frantic scribbles, are starting to understand the connection between all the journals that, once, seemed to have no correlation whatsoever.

You have your suspicions, you have your doubts.

Yet you can't argue with the years of evidence, can't argue the facts right in front of you.

You desperately try to convince yourself that you're wrong, that she's wrong.

But the more you learn, the more certain you are of the truth, the more you begin to dread the very thing she's been studying all along.

Thanks for the request, Lovely! I hope you enjoyed, and keep an eye out for some cottagecore soon~

[laughingphoenixleader]

Here’s another full-fledged fic, friends!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Rating: G

A/N: This one’s set the night of Season 3, Episode 3: The Holocrons of Fate. This is my vision of how Kanera dealt with the whole K-disappearing-for-six-kriffing-months thing. Enjoy and feel free to leave feedback if the Force calls you to!

@kanerallels <3

Hera Syndulla can’t wield the Force.

Not even a little bit.

But even so, she’s been told that she has a real talent for sensing other people’s emotions.

It started when she was a little girl—a knot in her stomach or some tension in her lekku would appear out of nowhere. She’d suddenly feel frustrated, sad, or afraid without understanding why. Except for times during puberty and her time of month—unfortunately, Hera wasn’t exempt from actual mood swings—those feelings that came out of the blue were never hers at all. When these unexplained emotions appeared within her, Hera would come to find out that someone close to her was struggling with something that had induced the exact feeling that Hera had experienced. So, she was often able to figure out what the people around her were feeling before they understood it themselves. It even, on occasion, happened with complete strangers.

Over time, she even became capable of knowing whose wave of emotions she was being hit by. Everyone’s felt slightly different. Emotional intensity varied from person to person, as did how they felt their emotions. Some beings felt their emotions pounding in their temples, others carried their stress in their shoulders, while others’ feelings made knots in their stomachs materialize. Hera became such an expert on discovering how each person was feeling that she’d often greet a friend or family member by asking why they were feeling so angry, sad, or afraid. The closer she was to a person, the more sensitive she was to their emotions, and the stronger they felt to her.

Hera has never been as in touch with anyone’s emotions as she is with those of Kanan Jarrus.

During the six months when he distanced himself from Hera and the rest of his family, she had always known when the nightmares had come. But he had never come to find her like he used to when the terrors struck. Hera could feel the pull to him—it was always present, no matter how she denied it—growing inside of her until it was almost unbearable, but she had steeled herself and remained where she was (usually the pilot’s seat). She spent plenty of nights staring off into the stars like she and Kanan used to do together, feeling the pain of doing nothing gnawing at her soul. But her respect for Kanan’s desires and needs outweighed it all. She knew him better than anyone else, so she could tell that he didn’t want her help right then. If he had, he would have come and found her. He had to come to her on his own time.

For six months, Kanan hadn’t wanted her help. He hadn’t wanted her.

Hera had to keep telling herself that this hadn’t broken her heart.

When she feels the sickening wrench of panic in her chest while sitting in the pilot’s chair on Atollon, though, she knows in her core that this time is different. This time, he needs her.

In an instant, she’s jumped to her feet, placed her datapad on the floor of the cockpit, and is slamming the button on the Ghost’s controls that opens the door to Kanan’s cabin. No one but her knows that any of the cabin door locks can be overridden from the cockpit, and she plans on keeping it that way.

She’s in his cabin in a flash, heart racing and Kanan’s fear coursing through her veins. She can hear him tossing and turning in the dark as she presses the button to turn on the lights. The dark-haired Jedi in the bottom bunk is drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his thrashing form. His scarred eyes are shut tightly. Hera realizes that, though he returned from his self-imposed exile several days ago and lost his sight six months ago, she hasn’t seen him without some sort of blindfold or mask covering his eyes since the incident. His face is twisted into an agonized expression.

Hera runs to his side. “Kanan,” she tries to call him from whatever world of horrors he’s trapped in. “Kanan, wake up!”

The Jedi’s whole body immediately responds to her voice, turning towards her and stilling slightly. Kanan’s always told her that he loves the sound of her voice. So she keeps talking.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

Kanan’s face twists again, and he seems to look around searchingly, though his eyes are still closed. His body is shaking, his fear palpable.

“It’s me, Kanan, I’m right beside you; you’re safe.”

His eyes fly open.

Kanan’s eyes, eyes that Hera could have stared into forever (though she had usually done her best not to think about that), eyes full of beautiful, vibrant aquamarine, are now pale and colorless.

Hera scolds herself for the lump in her throat that forms. It doesn’t matter. This shouldn’t upset me. Am I really that shallow?

She shakes off the sudden wave of sorrow and focuses on Kanan.

“Hera?” he calls for her, still searching. His face fills with panic again. “Where are you?”

“Look at me—“

Hera stops short.

That was how she had always drawn him from his nightmares before. Look at me, she’d tell him. I’m here. She’d turned the light on for this exact purpose when she’d entered, forgetting for a moment that everything had changed.

She’ll have to get creative this time.

“I can’t!” Kanan cried. “I can’t anymore, Hera, it’s gone—“

“I know, I know—“

“You’re so far away,” his voice breaks as he speaks.

Hera moves closer. “No. I’m right here, Kanan.”

“No,” he says miserably. “You’re gone—you left me—everyone left me—I’m useless, I’m broken, no one needs me anymore—it’s too late—“

His voice, full of anguish, breaks again and his body shakes with tears that he is no longer able to shed. Hera forgets that he broke her heart, that he left them all, that the deepening relationship between them had suddenly become nonexistent. The man she loves is hurting, and she’s going to fix that. Or, at least, help him through it.

She goes back to the door, turning off the lights so she’s forced to see how he sees. Then she climbs into the bunk beside him.

His body is racked with sobs as she places a hand on his cheek. He gasps at her touch.

“Kanan,” she says in her most soothing, reassuring tone—the one that has never failed to calm him before—“do you feel me?”

“Hera,” he whispers, filled with relief, and sounding…awestruck, for some reason.

“It’s me,” she tells him comfortingly, emphasizing her next words. “I never left you, and I never will.”

Kanan begins to mumble her name, one of his hands finding its way on top of hers, the other holding onto her forearm for dear life. The way he says her name always makes her heart race, though she’s never really understood why. No one else pronounces it like that…the way he speaks out the two syllables somehow sounds and feels like a caress. He begins to speak hastily; desperately.

“I can still fight for the Rebellion—I have the Force, it’ll help me see—I’m not truly blind because I can see myself.”

“I believe you, Kanan,” Hera presses her forehead against his. “You’re not useless. We’re never giving up on you.”

Kanan feels her arm, touches her shoulders, his hands seeming to be on a mission to make sure she’s really there. When they near her lekku, Hera moves them away. He’s touched them before, with her permission. That first time he did was the best nights she’d ever had…and so was every other night he’d done it again. Now that he’s been gone for so long, and he clearly doesn’t want her…

Focus on your mission. He needs you—right here; right now.

Hera slips out of her thoughts and feels Kanan place his hand on the side of her face for a moment, then take her in his arms and hold her close. He presses his forehead to hers. Their closeness makes Hera’s heart attempt to catch up to Kanan’s pounding one.

Slowly, his body relaxes. His heavy breathing evens.

Hera relaxes, too. More than she has in six months.

She hasn’t let herself realize how much she’s missed the complete safety she always feels in his arms. She lets him hold her, tucking her head underneath his. Kanan makes a noise of discomfort, and she smiles softly, placing her forehead against his again. This has always been the position they’ve used when comforting each other. Kanan sighs contentedly.

Eventually, he stirs, and she knows he’s emerged from the nightmare.

“Hey,” Kanan greets her, the panic gone from his voice, gentleness and awkwardness taking its place.

There has never been awkwardness between them. Not like this.

Hera lifts her head from his. “Better now?” she asks him.

He shudders. “That’s an understatement.”

Hera strokes his cheek in reply. The last six months had seemed to fade into oblivion during the last few minutes, but now she feels the shards of pain return.

Will he ask me to leave?

“Hera…” he says her name for the thousandth time that night. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds quietly.

They don’t move from their positions.

After a moment, he continues tentatively. “You don’t have to stay.”

Hera can still feel the remains of her anger towards him from several days before cutting into her, but the image of his tortured face and voice from earlier are seared into her mind.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently.

His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

She laughs softly in spite of it all. Though her hurt and anger is returning, she’s delighted that he wants her beside him.

“I’m staying.”

Hera realizes that he’s been holding his breath when he resumes breathing again. His pulse speeds up, though it isn’t pounding frantically like it was earlier.

The night he’d come back, they’d had their worst fight to date. Once they were alone in his room, she’d tried—Kanan would chastise her for using that word—to hold her emotions back, to be understanding, but her hurt had led to anger, and it had burst out of her, as it often did. Words had spilled out of her, words she’d bottled up inside her for the last six months. She’d said things she knew she’d regret, things that she could see cutting through him. But her own pain had blinded her in that moment. She’d kept going for those six months, never stopping long enough to deal with her hurt, so it had only festered. Kanan had been defensive, stony-faced, his arms crossed, and that had only enraged her further.

Then, today, after several days of avoiding each other, Maul had attacked the Ghost. Throughout the experience, Hera’s lekku had burned with the knowledge that her last interaction with Kanan, besides a short phrase here and there, had been full of biting words and simmering hurt.

She’d spent the hours after Kanan had rescued her and the others contemplating out what to say and how to apologize. She’d been in the middle of doing so when the wrench of terror sent her straight to his room.

The fight had ended with her snapping, “Don’t pretend you still want me. You proved that that wasn’t true when you abandoned me—abandoned us for half a year.” Her voice had broken against her will. “You didn’t even say you were leaving. Or when you’d be back.” Then she’d slammed on the button to close her door in his face, blinking furiously to hide the scorching tears in her eyes. Hera had slid down the wall, then spent the rest of that night finally letting the tears she’d held back spill out of her.

“You…you want to stay?” Kanan now asks her uncertainly. “Everything you said several nights ago—it all makes sense, and I’m so sorry.” His earnestness and guilt rolls off of him as he continues. “I understand if you don’t forgive me; I know I hurt you—I was gone for so long—“

Hera interrupts softly. “I forgive you.”

He stops his uncomfortable, awkward squirming.

“You do?”

His tone is so full of uncertainty and hope that Hera’s heart melts.

“I do,” she tells him gently. “For everything.”

Kanan begins to protest, torture and regret emanating from his voice, even as Hera can feel some of the tension begin to drain out of him. “No, Hera, you shouldn’t forgive me so easily. I don’t deserve that. After all these years, I just left. The way I made you feel…” Kanan’s voice wavers before he continues. “I thought that the Force was telling me to spend time alone—that was my excuse. But I distanced myself from the Force, from you, from everyone—and I don’t even know why.” He shakes his head, incredulous at himself, then desperately starts to explain. “I couldn’t handle any responsibilities or obligations. My feelings took over—I thought I was useless, that I was a failure because of my blindness—my depression overwhelmed me. I was lost—lost again, like I was when you found me on Gorse.” Kanan’s still holding her, but his embrace feels almost fragile, like he’s afraid that she’ll rip herself away from him at any second. “I thought I had grown since then, that it would never happen again. It wasn’t just that I lost my vision—it was that Ahsoka is gone, that we lost against that Sith Lord—” Kanan heaves a sigh, one heavy with self-hatred. “And now I’m making it about me again.”

Hera listens intently. He’s clearly been carrying this within him for too long. “It’s all right,” she reassures him quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says in a rough voice, one filled with sincerity and raw emotion, and Hera’s broken heart skips a beat. “And I know that that doesn’t seem true, because I still stayed away.” He’s quiet for a moment. Hera can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he works to verbalize and explain. “I couldn’t face you. Not when I felt so lacking, and you’re so…so capable, so impactful, so successful.“

Hera nearly protests at this, but she stays silent for his sake, knowing that her interruption won’t be helpful to him right now.

“I was ashamed. Ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed that I didn’t sense Maul coming, that I didn’t stop him somehow. And…I couldn’t face the pain of not being able to see you. I didn’t want to hold you back or burden you, or make you feel like you had to let me tag along on missions. I thought that you were better off without me in your way.”

Hera’s heart is reeling and rejoicing at the fact that she is still wanted, that he never really rejected her, but she also knows that he’ll only keep spiraling downward if she doesn’t interject at the right time—which is now.

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” she tells him sincerely, though the still-angry side of her screams that that isn’t true.

“I’m just trying—I just want you to know that…that I still love you, Hera.”

The earnestness in his voice and the admission of “I love you” does it. Hera can feel her shattered, rejected heart begin to heal. What he says next only soothes it further.

“The depression drowned everything out—but sometimes I would hear your voice, or see your face in my mind, and that kept me from losing all hope. From giving up on everything.”

Hera’s heart swells, and tears spring up in her own fully whole eyes. She places her forehead against his again. His breath catches, but he finishes speaking. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why you would, after how much I hurt you. I…I can tell you’re heartbroken, Hera.” His body starts shaking again, as if he’s living inside of another nightmare. “And knowing I did that to you—just because all I could think about was myself and what I needed, rather than what you and the rest of the crew needed—“ Hera can feel the unshed tears again as he begins to apologize, again and again, until he loses the ability to speak. She gently cradles his head, stroking his disheveled hair, her own healing heart throbbing at his anguish. She brushes her thumbs over where the tears would be, if everything were different.

“I’m too full of mistakes,” he sobs. “You deserve much better than someone like me.”

Hera decides that now she’s on a mission—a mission to stop her Jedi’s spiral of self-hatred.

“Listen to me, Kanan Jarrus,” she tells him in a firm but kind tone, as she continues to stroke his hair. “You’re no worse than anyone else. We all make mistakes. We’re all selfish at times. Even those of us who devote our lives to helping others sometimes hurt them instead. Caring about someone means helping them move on from their mistakes and make it right. What kind of people would we be if we never gave others a second chance?”

His dry shaking begins to stop, and Hera can feel him listening in rapt attention.

“You know I don’t give up—and I never gave up on you. I never will. Yes, you’ve hurt me, but I care enough about you to forgive you. Who you are right now is worth forgiving. You’re worthy of forgiveness, of my choosing you, even though you aren’t perfect.” Hera’s words seem to hit hard, since Kanan’s breath catches again. She continues genuinely and tenderly, “Even if I met the most perfect person in the galaxy, I’d still choose you instead. You’re truly good, Kanan.”

After a moment of silence, Kanan whispers, “You really mean that?”

Hera lifts his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course I do. And I really do forgive you. If you’ll forgive me for hurting you instead of listening to you over the last few days.” Now her own voice is colored with remorse. “I should have been there for you, helping you readjust.”

“But, Hera, I understand why you were angry. I deserved it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Hera points out. “Will you forgive me?”

Immediately, he replies, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Then his hands move for the first time since his nightmare. He places one on her cheek, while the other moves to the small of her back. Hera’s heart begins to pick up speed as his face nears hers. “Is it all right if I…?” he asks in a whisper, ever respectful of her boundaries. In answer, Hera moves her own face closer to his, and their lips meet.

Six months is a long time.

But the longer you’re deprived of something, the sweeter it is when you finally get to experience it again.

The first thing Hera feels is the warmth. It spreads throughout her whole body, especially her lekku, chasing away the emptiness and loneliness that became the new normal in Kanan’s absence. One of his hands caresses her cheek, while the other pulls her close, resting on the small of her back. She pulls the band from his now-destroyed ponytail, slipping it expertly onto her wrist (she’s had plenty of practice) and threading her fingers into his hair. She can feel him smile into her lips when she does so, which makes her smile in return. Kanan seems to get a burst of excitement, a delighted gasp escaping him. Hera pulls away just enough to ask, “what is it?”

He responds, his voice charged with enthusiasm and love,

“I got to feel you smile again.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over Hera, her heart squeezing at the overwhelming amount of sweetness infused into that small sentence. She presses her lips to his again, beaming just for him. Kanan laughs giddily, a sound of pure joy.

Hera hasn’t heard him laugh in so long.

So she can’t help but laugh with him. A moment later, his thumb begins stroking her cheek more urgently. She gently breaks the kiss to ask, “What is it, love?”She can feel his giddiness rise at the term of endearment, which makes her beam again. He murmurs in a voice filled to the brim with gratitude, “Thank you, Hera. For forgiving me. I thought that I’d lost this. I thought that I’d messed up too badly to ever earn your affection again.” Misery seems to overwhelm him at the thought.

“There’s no need to earn it,” she assures him, placing her other hand, the one not entwined in his hair, on his chest. “Honestly, I couldn’t take it from you if I tried,” she confesses.

“Are you saying that you’re hopeless, Hera Syndulla?” The cocky slyness, which had made up the Kanan Jarrus that she first met all those years ago on Gorse, fills his voice.

She rolls her eyes, then remembers that the lights are out, and that he can’t see her anyway. And yet—

“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”

“You earned it,” she deadpans.

He laughs again and somehow pulls her closer, so that their foreheads are touching again.

“There’s the Hera I remember,” he declares, tenderness and the classic mischievousness returning.

She showcases her own mischievous streak in her reply. “Missed me, love?”

“Every second,” he answers tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” she tells him, warmth filling her tone and her soul.

That sly mischievousness again. “Especially my sense of humor, right?”

“Actually, that’s what I missed the least,” she switches back into deadpanning.

“Hey!” he protests, his tone a convincing one of feigned offense, but then it makes way for the trademark slyness. “But you did miss it.”

Hera groans. “That is not what I said.”

“You’re not denying it,” Kanan teases.

After a moment, he declares, “I’ve finally found the one benefit that comes with being blind.”

“What’s that?” she asks, resigning herself to whatever nonsense he’s about to spill.

She can hear the grin in his voice. “Now I can’t see it when you glare at me.”

Hera rolls her eyes, then says in a playful tone, “But you can feel my anger in the Force, right?”

Kanan’s silent for a moment. “It’s impossible not to.” He shudders, mortified at the thought of it.

“Kanan Jarrus, you’re a Jedi Knight and a veteran of the Clone Wars, and you’re afraid of me?”

He lets out a huff of laughter, like the answer is obvious. “You bet.”

Hera’s voice is devious. “You should be.”

“Everybody should be. You’re terrifying, Hera.”

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly, her forehead still pressed to his. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Come on, I never exaggerate.”

After a moment of silence on Hera’s part, he amends reluctantly, “okay, I usually don’t exaggerate. You’ve seen how the kids and I look at you when you’re furious with us.”

Hera considers this. She always knows that when she gives members of her crew that glare, they’ll do whatever she says. Usually. “Maybe I should use it on whoever’s trying to attack us sometime.”

“You should. Just to see what would happen.”

She laughs. “I don’t even need a blaster. No armor can protect those stormtroopers from my death glare.”

“You better believe it,” Kanan murmurs, stroking the small of her back.

“I sure am glad you’re not angry with me anymore,” he adds after a bit of comfortable silence.

“Me too, love.”

Chills ripple over him at the term of endearment, and she chuckles lightly, a bubble of joy rising inside of her at how much he treasures her little ways of showing him how much she loves him.

Hera has no clue how long they stay like this, stealing kisses, sharing little touches, slipping in and out of conversation (complete with plenty of smiles and eyerolls). What she does know is that the distance between her and Kanan has disappeared. The emptiness and feelings of being incomplete have been replaced by fullness and completeness. No, they aren’t as close as they were before Malachor, but Hera has faith that that will change over time. What matters most is that she knows that Kanan is happier than he’s been in a long time. Eventually, they drift off into sleep, still holding each other close. Their dreams are peaceful, for there’s no room for nightmares when nothing but long-awaited contentment fills them both to overflowing.

When morning comes, the members of the Ghost Crew don’t need to be able to sense each others’ emotions to know that things have finally changed for the better.

The family is whole again.

[venusluvrr]

The Psychological Horror Manhwa “Killing Stalking” is not a Romance, but an Emotional Series Depicting the Codependent Relationship Between Two Ill Individuals

Content Warning!!: contains mentions of sexual abuse (rape) and mental illness.

Killing Stalking is an immensely twisted webcomic series, mainly popular within the Yaoi community for its boy on boy focused plotline. The story follows characters Yoon Bum (Bum), a shy, scrawny young man with a haunting past filled with abuse, and Oh Sangwoo (Sangwoo), a younger man who also has a quite damaging upbringing but masks it perfectly with his vibrant, extroverted personality. After being saved from a rape attempt during his time serving in the military, Bum develops a crush on his saviour, Sangwoo, from which an unhealthy obsession starts to arise and he eventually finds himself locating and breaking into the man’s home one day when he’s out. When he does, he discovers a terribly injured woman being held captive in his basement, and with further evidence, soon comes to the realization that his crush is actually a serial killer -- hence the name “Killing Stalking,” as Sangwoo kills and Bum stalks. For a very specific reason though, Sangwoo decides not to kill the man that had been stalking him, and instead holds him hostage in his custody. From here, the story goes into exceeding depth of the abnormal, toxic, and manipulative relationship the two form during their time spent together. By just the mere description of it, it’s a bit concerning to know that a large portion of readers still support Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship. In other words, they believe they truly loved each other and that the story was not only horror fiction but a romance as well. One could easily come to this conclusion by basing their relationship on the few parts within the novel where they showed affection towards each other -- for example when Bum allows Sangwoo to hug him to sleep when he suffered through the night, or my personal favourite, when Sangwoo buys Bum a stuffed frog keychain after finding out that he had an affinity for such creatures. But we cannot simply dismiss the underlying factors of their relationship because of some cute things they did that made our heart melt -- Sangwoo still abused Bum at his leisure which makes those moments quite meaningless in the sense of it all. What Sangwoo and Yoonbum shared can’t be classified as “love,” because even with their peculiar bond and endearing moments, the psychological damage they both endured played a bigger part in the way they perceived each other.

Many toxic relationships start out lovely and glamorous until the couple have become comfortable enough to start revealing some bad habits, but in Sangwoo and Bum’s case, they were already off to a bad start, as the reason they remained with each other was solely for reasons pertaining to their poor mental health.

At the time Sangwoo saved Bum in the military, Bum still suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) -- a disorder he inferrably developed due to the fact that he grew up being constantly physically and sexually abused by the people around him. People with this illness may easily develop an infatuation for a person who shows them even the least bit of care; It can reach the point where they begin to idolize them and see them almost as a perfect human being -- which is exactly how Bum viewed Sangwoo after he helped him to escape a rape attempt. The likely specific term for what Sangwoo was to Bum is a Favourite Person (FP). To an individual suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, their FP is everything -- their self-worth, identity and emotional dependency all rely on this one person, making them the center of their lives. In contrast to this sincere fondness, the only reason Sangwoo kept Bum alive was because of the man’s resemblance to his late mother -- the one person in his life who he truly loved. While his father was abusive and negligent, his mother tried her best to care for her son even while her own mental stability wasn’t so great either. Even though it was implied that he was responsible for the murder of both his mother and father in high school -- getting away with it scotch-free because of how perfectly executed his plan was -- he still shared a special bond with the woman, allowing her existence follow and continue to torutue him mentally as he grew older. When he saw Yoonbum, he felt as if she had been somewhat resurrected, or at least he could pretend so by dressing him up in his mother’s clothes and making him cook and do the chores; He also played the husband role by abusing and assaulting Bum just as his father did to his mother -- mostly just out of his own nature. Sangwoo had his own issues, “mommy issues,” and he initially needed to keep Bum alive so he could fulfill his own longing desires. Knowing the man’s character though, things wouldn’t end there and instead headed down a very gruesome and frightful path.

The very reasons that the two were drawn to each other we’re even more evident the longer they lived under the same roof. While Yoonbum continued to recall the perfect image he had of Sangwoo in his head, Sangwoo continued to manipulate the man in order to satisfy his own needs. A healthy relationship cannot be based on deceit, because one person will end up victimized instead of loved.

Oh Sangwoo is a sadistic sociopath with a history of kidnapping, abusing, raping and torturing innocent people, and because of his illness, he shows feels and shows no remorse for his actions and even proceeds to kill off his victims as they pleaded in objection. What some people don’t understand is that when Sangwoo met Bum, the only reason he treated him differently was not because he thought of him as special, but because he had a personal agenda that included making Bum think that was the truth and that he was indeed the favoured victim among many. It’s no surprise with the man’s manipulative personality that he would enjoy planting a lie in Bum’s head to make him stay and continue to do as he says, and this is confirmed whenever he returned back to his old destructive habits even after showing the man acts of affection. Yes, Sangwoo spared Bum’s life, clothed him and fed him, but as their bond grew, his narcissistic attitude was still more apparent than ever.

Upon meeting Bum for the first time, Sangwoo didn’t hesitate to aggressively break his ankles to prevent his mobility, he left the man within the dark confinement of his basement for a certain period of time before letting him out only after he had gained his trust. He made him sit in a chair to wash dishes and make dinner because he could no longer stand. Sangwoo also constantly dragged Bum down with derogatory words and statements every chance he could get, this included calling him a “retard,” and referring to him as a “disgusting” and “filthy” human being. As confirmed by the author, Sangwoo is also heterosexual, which is further proved by the homophobic remarks he made towards a significantly older man who was sexually attracted to him while murdering him with Bum’s aid. This fact alone is another one that should justify a strong point that demonstrates the true hostility of their relationship -- Yoonbum never gave his consent to have sex with Sangwoo, nor did he allow it to happen because “he wanted it.” He specifically used phrases such as, “No,” “Stop,” and “It hurts,” implying that sometimes there was no mutual agreement when they had sex and Sangwoo had actually raped him several times.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder have been reported to have difficulties seeing the faults in their partner -- this explains why Bum still held on to him. He chose to stay when he had the chance to escape, and with tears rolling down his face from excruciating pain he still told Sangwoo he loved him. In a scene where Bum is left alone with the police as they investigate the suspicions they have surrounding him, he questions them saying, “Could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?” As he believes nobody but Sangwoo could answer yes to those two questions, convinced that Sangwoo really does have feelings for him. It’s saddening to know that the poor man had successfully been lured into a trap, and because of his mental health it would be much harder for him to realize it.

To the readers that think, “Sangwoo and Yoonbum needed each other,” -- You’re not completely wrong. They did need each other in the way that they found somewhat of a saneness from each other’s presence, each using one another to each other’s benefit. But being together at the same time built on their insanity, as the presence of Sangwoo’s mother seemed to grow even more prevalent with Bum, who resembled her, also in the picture, and Yoonbum growing so unhealthily attached to Sangwoo that he constantly feared of abandonment and turned the sociopath into the only source of his happiness. They needed each other, but not for the right reasons. They were attached to each other, but there was no love, otherwise it would reflect throughout the story. One of the most debate-worthy scenes that challenge this fact is when Sangwoo is reported by an old lady in the hospital, the one that had ended his life, that he was calling out Bum’s name throughout the night as he lay in his deathbed. Those were his final words, and Yoonbum’s final word was also Sangwoo’s name before he was very well implied to have been hit by a car while he chased an illusion of the man he “loved.” Even I almost felt that this was solid proof that even through the tough and terrible of their relationship, deep inside, the two really were in love but could not express it in the right way due to their mental health issues -- after all, what someone makes of their final moments before death is much more meaningful than most of what they've done in their life entirely. But I came to realize that the only way I could support this relationship would be if they had met in an alternate universe where they did not suffer from such dreadful childhood trauma that made them into the hurting individual they had become before meeting each other. As difficult as it is for me to picture the two with different partners, it would be best if the two had not met at all as they only fed into the severity of their conditions.

[babygirlizz]

izzie’s favorite movies and tv shows of 2020 (aka the worst year ever)

another year, another movie and tv show review. this year has, to put it simply, sucked. 2020 has been so terribly awful that sometimes the only light you can see are the absolute bangers of movies and tv shows that came out this year. with that being said, some of the movies and tv shows didn't come out in 2020. if the are mentioned in this post it is because they either: had a season come out this year, i found them this year, or they became popular this year.

SPOILERS: it may not come as a surprise but just in case you didn't realize, there will be many spoilers ahead, read at your own risk.

tw // death, suicide, drug use, mild adult language. if any of these things might trigger you, i strongly urge you not to read this post.

there is no specific order of these shows and movies, i'm just writing as they come to mind. if you enjoy any of these movies or tv shows, or if you have any suggestions for me, please let me know!

TV SHOWS

1) Santa Clarita Diet

Okay, so I know this show doesn't have anything to do with 2020. But, I found this show in 2020. I put it off for a while, thinking it wasn't my style of a show, but boy was I wrong. I loved this show. Sheila Hammond (Drew Barrymore) is a normal suburban wife and mom. She is a real estate agent with her husband Joel (Timothy Olyphant). She struggles with the fact that she isn't very adventurous. This all changes when she throws up an insane amount at a house showing. She then finds herself craving adventure, and craving human flesh. Yeah, she's a zombie. Not only is this show super hilarious, but it also shows the growth that they have with their characters and their family. I'm also team Abby (Liv Hewson) and Eric (Skyler Gisondo).

2) Outer Banks

So, I'm from NC. And, watching this show at first bothered me because I can very obviously tell this show isn't actually filmed in the obx, and the geography isn't exact, but once I got past that, I loved it. John B (Chase Stokes) is a teenager that lives in the poor side of the outer banks. He has a friend group called the Pogues which consists of JJ (Rudy Pankow), Pope (Jonathan Daviss), and Kie (Madison Bailey). They absolutely hate the Kooks, which are the rich kids. A while after John B's dad gets lost at sea, presumed dead, the group finds some evidence that may solve the mystery, and make them rich. In the process, John B falls in love with a Kook names Sarah (Madelyn Cline) whose father Ward (Charles Esten) may have a little more to do with the mystery than he let on. Through friendship, murder, and secrets, the gang may just figure out what happened to John B's dad.

3) Love, Victor

Alright. I loved loved loved Love, Simon. I also really loved the book "Simon vs. the Homosapien Agenda." So, when I heard about this show, I was so excited. Victor (Michael Cimino) is a teenage boy that moved to Creekwood with his family. He meets Felix (Anthony Turpel) who lives in his building. He also meets Mia (Rachel Hilson) and they begin dating. But, he also meets Benji (George Sear). While trying to get used to a new school, new friends, and a new relationship, Victor finds himself questioning his sexuality. With the help of Simon (Nick Robinson) and his friends, Victor finds it in himself to finally come out, and he admits his feelings, for Benji. This is such a good show, but I was so upset when season 1 ended on a cliff-hanger.

4) The Haunting of Bly Manor

The sequel to The Haunting of Hill House. Now listen, haunting of hill house was an absolute banger. When I saw that Bly came out I nearly died. I was so excited. But, I was alone in my apartment and also a lil bitch. So, I had to wait a week until I was home with my family to watch it. Now, I was so excited to be scared, and there were a few jump scares and ominous moments, but this season was more centered around the story line of Dani Clayton (Victoria Pedretti) and her new life in a foreign country. When seeing an ad for a live in job as an au pair. When she gets there, she meets the two young children she’ll be looking out for and the other workers of the house, including the gardener, Jamie (Amelia Eve). Throughout her stay at Bly she begins to notice weird behaviors from both children and by the end of the series she sacrifices herself for the children. Sadly, this story is being told by Jamie who Dani had fallen in love with during her stay at Bly. Now I was somewhat upset about the lack of horror, but was still very intrigued and drawn in by this series.

5) Julie and the Phantoms

Alright, at first I was not gonna watch this show. I thought it looked a little too young and childish for me, but everyone was talking about it on twitter so I had to. I. Love. This. Show. This show centers around Julie (Madison Reyes). Julie is a teenage girl who, sadly, lost her mother. The one major thing she shared with her mom, was their love for music. Since her mothers passing, she gave up music. This is until, dead musicians from the 90′s show up in her garage. Luke (Charlie Gillespie), Alex (Owen Joyner), and Reggie (Jeremy Shada) all tragically passed away in the 90′s after eating bad street hotdogs. When Julie finds their CD in her garage, she decides to play it and they come back in ghost form. But, only she can see them. With their help, she finds her confidence to play music again. Also, she has to find away for them to stay because they’re slowly disappearing. 

6) Derry Girls

Bitch. I love this show. And yeah it didn’t come out in 2020. Shut up. I found this show recently after watching the cast on the holiday special of the Great British Baking Show. I loved the actors so I had to watch the show. This show focuses on Erin (Saoirse-Monica Jackson) a 16 year old girl that lives in Derry, Northern Ireland in the 90′s. Alongside her is her cousin Orla (Louisa Harland), her two friends Clare (Nicola Coughlan) and Michelle (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), and Michelle’s English cousin James (Dylan Llewellyn). During these years, a lot of people in Ireland struggled, especially because it was during wartime. Even thought this show isn’t focused heavily around the war, it’s amazing to see these teens live a fulfilling life while struggling with the state of their country, and the lack of money that their families have. 

7) Elite

HA. This show did have a season in 2020 so leave me alone. But bro, I love this show. At first, I didn’t watch it because I thought I could only watch the dubbed version in English, which I hate. I hate dubbed shows they look so weird. But, once I found out I could watch this show in Spanish, I fell in love. But, sadly, theres too damn much to talk about in one little post. It’s crazy. But basically it just follows the lives of teens in high school that are trying to survive. And no, not in the “I’m surviving high school,” sense. No, people be getting murdered. 

MOVIES (tbh i didn’t find a lot of movies good this year lmk which movies u liked this year and maybe i’ll like them!)

1) All the Bright Places

After the death of her sister, Violet (Elle Fanning) is devastated. She closes herself off, and has her parents get her out of doing school work that involves working with others. But, as time goes on, they realize she may need to start to move on. Violet then meets Finch (Justice Smith) who is enamored by Violet. He suggests they do a project together. While finding and visiting some of the smallest wonders of their state, they begin to fall for each other. While you are focusing on Violet and her mental health, you tend to miss some of the signs that Finch’s mental health isn’t great either, but by the time you do, it could be too late. 

2) Dangerous Lies

Hmm. This was weird for me. I had only ever seen Camila Mendes in Riverdale, and honestly, not a fan. So, Katie (Camila Mendes) and her husband Adam (Jessie T. Usher) are struggling with money. Katie decides to take a job working for an elderly man, and eventually gets her husband hired there as well. Unfortunately, he dies, but for some odd reason, leaves the house and all of his fortune, to Katie. As they get comfortable in the house, they begin to uncover some very weird and dangerous lies. 

3) The Devil All the Time

Ok. Iconic. You got so many hot men in this movie. Bill Skarsgård, Sebastian Stan, Tom Holland, Robert Pattinson. C’mon now. That’s crazy. But, this story is so long and in depth that I wouldn’t even know where to begin. This movie is a bit disturbing. It involves murder, sexual assault, killing of animals, and so much more so if that’s an issue for you please do not watch this movie. It was also quite long, but it was still good.

4) After We Collided

Okay just listen. I was that teenager. I read wattpad stories and was, embarrassingly, addicted to After. This was not a great movie per say, but it was After. This is a sequel to the movie After. This movie centers around Tessa (Josephine Langford) and her recovery after her breakup with Hardin (Hero Fiennes Tiffin). Theres sex, alcohol, bad acting. The whole nine-yards. But c’mon, they’re so cute together.

5) To All the Boys p.s. I Still Love You

Okay it was a good movie. I enjoyed it. This movie focuses on Lara Jean (Lana Condor) and her boyfriend Peter (Noah Centineo) and their relationship post the first movie. But of course relationships aren’t super steady, and John Ambrose McClaren (Jordan Fisher) shows up. Yeah, John Ambrose, from her letter. They become closer and Lara Jean has to decide who she wants to be with. Spoiler, it’s Peter. BOOOOOOO justice for John Ambrose McClaren, he deserved better. 

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (12)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: the moment of truth 🌹series masterlist 🌹

It was pitch black outside; the only light surrounding you from the stream of your headlights and the cast of stars gently illuminating your path huddled by acres of trees. The countryside was untouched by the pollution of the city and it was almost unbearably quiet amongst the woods, with only low hum of your engine and the faint chirping of crickets outside the crack of your car window to fill the emptiness around you.

The ink hastily written on the scrap of crumpled paper curled up in your hand was smudged. You couldn’t quite make out if it was a six or an eight in the address, but your GPS had long abandoned you several dirt roads ago, so you supposed it didn’t matter much anyway. There was nothing else around for miles. 

When you finally pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse, there was no relief. It looked like something out of a horror film. The paint was chipped on the walls, the name of the metalworks company faded under years of weathering and neglect, tiles of the roof were gathering in piles on dusted, dirt roads. There wasn’t a single light in sight.

You swallowed as you turned off your engine. The headlights stayed on, reflecting on the single silver door. It was rusted along the hinges and looked completely untouched.

You had half a mind to call James to help ease the steadily increasing rate of your heartbeat, but he had been very clear when he asked you to turn off your phone and leave it behind at home. He couldn’t risk anyone tracking your location, so he said. He was acting so strangely lately, but you could sense the heaviness weighing on him.

You didn’t have much in the range of weapons in your car, not that it would have done you much good, but you stuck your keys between your fingers as you pushed open the side door. The air was brisk, sending a chill up your spine as clouds of dried dirt puffed up in clouds with every step you took. You crossed in front of your headlights until you paused in front of the warehouse.

With a heavy inhale, one you weren’t sure you’d let go of anytime soon, you turned the rusted knob and locked your car. The lights flashed off, leaving you surrounded in darkness.

You quickly hurried inside, more afraid of the darkness of the countryside than the unknown of what laid beyond the door. The slam of the door to its hinges behind you was louder than you prepared for and you winced as it echoed through the rafters.

You glanced up to find a group of people stood at the center of the room, all huddled over a long metal table filled high with piles of papers. Their heads turned abruptly in your direction.

One of them separated from the crowd, relief evident on his face as he quickly jogged in your direction; hair bouncing around his shoulders with every step, a half smile on his face though it struggled to reach up by his eyes. Ocean blue, and swarming in something darker, something pulling him under.

James.

But it wasn’t him you were looking at.

The inside of the warehouse was like something out of one of those spy movies Peter used to marathon on Saturday nights. The walls were lined with monitors, some filled with maps of the city, others with profiles and mugshots of men you recognized as friends of your husband, but the one displaying live security footage outside of your home caught your eye. 

You could see the driveway, the row of plain, well-kept bushes lining the pavement, the lights on above the garage. One of the security men you snuck past was on a lap around the perimeter and stopped to take a drag of his cigarette before he tossed the butt unto the grass.

An unpleasant shiver swept up your spine; cold and detached, and it nestled deep into your stomach.

“What the hell...” you exhaled, hardly able to take it all in.

You felt a hand graze your arm and you flinched, shocked by the sudden touch before you realized who was behind it. You turned to find bright blue eyes watching you cautiously as James chewed on the healed scar at the center of his bottom lip. He glanced sadly down at your hand, noticing the keys nestled between your knuckles and you quickly released them, slipping them into your pocket.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” he said quietly and there was a slight tremor in his voice, a nervousness, as he looked back to the group of people watching him from the metal table ahead of them.

“James, what’s going on?” you asked and he forced a smile to his face, one that was meant to reassure you, though he could hardly muster it.

“Come with me. I promise, I’ll explain everything.” He extended his hand to you, open and waiting, patient, and you studied the lines in his palms, lines you’d come to be familiar with, and suddenly you weren’t sure if you knew much of anything at all.

Still, you took his hand blindly as he guided you further into the room. He pulled out a chair for you at the table, just ahead of a particularly high stack of papers. You didn’t say anything as you glanced around at his friends and took a seat.

The tall, blonde man with broad shoulders and the clear line of muscles visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt wore a slight frown on his face, though the way his eyes drifted to James protectively suggested he was concerned more than he was angry.

Beside him, slumped down into a chair of his own, was a dark-skinned man with a large, toothy grin, and dimples in cheeks. He smiled at you, like he knew something you didn’t, and you suspected that was more than the case because he was almost giddy with excitement, shifting in his seat and stealing looks at James.

“We don’t have much time before Rumlow finishes up in Harlem,” a red-haired woman to your right said.

You narrowed your eyes, recognizing her short, rounded nose, pointed stare, and perfect curve of a cupid’s bow on her lips outlined in dark red. She was familiar -- they all were -- like you’d seen them in passing but couldn’t place exactly where.

She pointed to a monitor behind you and you turned to find grainy footage of your husband sitting in at a table surrounded by men in suits you recognized from one of the dozens of parties he’d dragged you to over the years. It was from a Chinese restaurant in Harlem you got takeout from once with Peter. You gritted your teeth as you watched him clap a hand on the man beside him, throwing a wad of cash onto the table.

James nodded to his red-haired friend, pulling up a chair in front of you and turning it to face you properly before he took a seat.

“Where am I? Why am I here?” you asked tensely, unable to tear your eyes away from the monitors. You watched as one flickered from your living room to the hallway outside your library, to the staircase leading up to your room. Empty, haunted, in your absence.

A ruffle of papers to your left stole your attention and you found yourself staring at the blonde man with a file rifling through his fingers. A picture of your husband slipped out from the center and fell to the table. Even in his mug shot, his eyes held a kind of possessiveness, an arrogance, that transcended the page.

“Why do you have security footage of my house and—and Brock’s old RAP sheet?” your gaze flickered to the man sitting in the chair, watching you with a familiar kind of look in his eye, and then to the woman who was busying herself behind her laptop. You turned to James. “Who are these people?”

You could feel your breaths increasing in pace, the panic that was starting to take hold, but you stifled it down, buried behind closed doors and cement until it suffocated under the surface and all that remained was a vagrant stare and a jaw wired to stone.

James brushed his lips over with his hand, a heavy breath before he spoke again.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to say this.”

“Try,” you muttered out, voice like sandpaper.  

You didn’t realize your hands were clenched onto the bottom of the metal chair until your fingers started to ache. James’ eyes wavered down to your grip and he nodded quickly. Your heart was pounding so painfully, you wondered if he could see the thump of it through your chest.

He dug his hand into his pocket, let out a breath that looked near painful, and slowly set a shiny, golden badge onto the table. The shine of it reflected in the dim lighting of the warehouse. You dug your hands into the metal edges of the chair until you felt a sharp burn. 

“My name isn’t James Karpov,” he exhaled. Blue eyes flickered up to yours, gaging for a reaction on your face he wouldn’t find. He glanced back nervously at the blonde man pacing behind him before he continued. “I’m a special agent with the FBI and I’ve been undercover in Hydra for over a year now.”

Your features hardened over like stone, a protective layer to shield the surge of a storm thundering inside of you; the answer to a question you’d been suspecting for a while without realizing it.

You’d seen the way he flinched at his own name, how he got that kind of solemn look in the blue of his eyes when you talked about your husband, about wanting to escape it all, how he’d promised for things to be different when this was over, if he had more time. Pieces started to fall together and somehow you were still more lost than you’d been in years.

He paused, watching you, waiting for a flicker of the woman he knew to break through the blank stare currently consuming your features, but when nothing came, he let himself exhale. You focused on the soft footsteps of his friend pacing along the wall behind him. It was comforting to use his steps as a metronome, something to ground yourself because you could feel your world pulling apart at the seams.

It was a single string at the very edge of everything you knew. It only took a moment for it to unravel, within an admission of a name that was not his own, and soon the floor at your feet was covered in the broken pieces of what you believed to be true. Tattered and tangled threads.

“It started after Jack Rollins was murdered in lockup. I was assigned to this case to gather evidence against Rumlow and his men, so that we could dismantle Hydra completely; prevent it from ever coming back again,” he continued, his voice even, almost matter-of-fact, and it didn’t sound much like your James at all. It was too clinical, too rehearsed, and you could feel the sharp twist of a knife embedding itself deeper into your chest with every word he spoke.  

You listened quietly as he told you of when he first learned your name on a single page in the back of your husband’s file, how he’d known who you were before you even stepped foot into Brock’s office that first evening. He told you how he’d been assigned a cover, a new name and a history, to replace the role of Jack Rollins within Hydra as their enforcer. He’d been Brock’s right hand man for over a year and he was playing your husband like a fiddle.

“Director Fury thought it would be beneficial to the case to, um,” he released a heavy breath, as if the action in itself hurt him, “…to get close to you. He thought you might know more about Hydra’s dealings than you realized and he’d hoped you’d open up to someone who, um, you trusted. Seems he was right.”

You didn’t allow him see the way your heart caved in; jaw clenched, impossibly still, even breaths, and yet the floor had dropped from under you and you were free falling a hundred feet below. Lost to an abyss from which you were certain you’d never return; darkness barreling in and taking you home. It was where you belonged, wasn’t? It was where you had lived for years. Back to the fractured sense of safety, to the shadows lurking in the corner, to the eggshells under your bare feet made of broken glass. To lies and manipulation and deceit and ruin.

You wondered when it happened, when he’d been officially assigned to claw his way into your heart as if you were nothing but a pawn in the scheme of his mission. You wondered if it was before or after he’d gifted you A Farewell to Arms and if it was even his at all; if the scribbles in the margins belonged to his youth or if it was the carefully constructed design of an analyst with the sole purpose of hooking straight through your heart and sinking you to the ocean floor.

That moment was the beginning of it all; when you showed him your library, your most sacred place to a stranger, but it had felt so right at the time.  

Was the first moment you’d felt safe with him a complete lie?

There was always a comfort in being with him. A place for you to let down your guard and the walls you held up like stone around your heart. Beyond everything else, the one thing you knew about James Karpov was that he was safe. His presence was the only thing that allowed you to let go of the fear of the shadows of you home and the monsters lurking in the corners. He was a shining light in the darkness that had consumed your life.

You were young and naïve when you met Brock. You were eager for love and fell easily into his carefully constructed trap, overlooking obvious warning signs and the flaws of a man obstructed by the character he played.

For only a moment, you wondered if it had happened again, if you had become so foolish to allow yet another man to manipulate you and spin himself into the version of a man you’d desire until he could rip the floor out from under you just to see you squirm.  

A pang burned in your stomach, something stubborn and instinctive, one that urged you to just look at the man in front of you, to notice the way blue eyes nervously sought out your own, to see how his hands were trembling and his voice was strained, to notice that he was scared with every word he spoke. But your world had fallen apart and you could only do so much to stifle the scream bubbling its way through your chest.

So, you held your tongue as he told you about the orchestrated meetings in Brooklyn, how his friends -- his team -- had helped plan what you thought were coincidences but turned out to be carefully constructed operations. Moments when you’d light up upon seeing him, a wash of warmth to your chest on even the coldest winter mornings, and it was a lie.

You realized then why you recognized his friends; it was from the outskirts of coffeeshops, sitting under sunglasses and baseball caps, hiding behind newspapers in the distance. The quiet observers in your life pulling away at the last shreds of dignity you had.

“I was assigned a job,” James said tensely, clenching at his hands, wringing them painfully in his lap as he stared down at the cement under your shoes, “no different than jobs I’ve had before. Take on a new name. Be a new person. I’ve done… terrible things to preserve my cover, things I am not proud of. I’ve hurt people because Rumlow ordered me to. It was part of the job. I kept telling myself that, anyway. Didn’t seem to matter that I never killed anyone he put a hit on, that the Bureau stepped in to relocate my targets and hand me a look-alike that was mutilated just enough so Rumlow could have his proof and I could keep my cover. The blood on my hands is still real.”

There was a lump in your throat, one that burned and ached and was on the verge of choking you completely. You wanted to scream, or cry, or run until your legs gave out completely, but instead, you were paralyzed. Frozen in place. Stone of a statue. A single touch would crumble you.

“But you have to know it was never an act with you, Y/n,” he urged, desperation in his voice. You could hear the grief in his words, the slight tremor in the dissonance, the fear that you might reject him in favor of a man who does not exist.

You could hardly meet his eye.

He paused, watching you for a moment, waiting, longing, for you to tear your stare away from the wall beyond his left shoulder, hoping you’d find your way back to him as you always did, but you gave no inch. You held yourself still, unreadable, and he exhaled a breath that must have weighed immensely on his chest.

“After a while, I started meeting you in Brooklyn when the team wasn’t around, when there was no one to listen in and no agendas to fulfill,” he started, a little softer now as he slumped back into his chair. “I started staying at the mansion long past when I should have, just reading with you in your library because it was the only place I felt like myself anymore. I started forgetting that on Sundays in Brooklyn, I wasn’t who I said I was. You don’t know how easy it was for me to spend time with you and just let myself believe for a while that I really was James Karpov…”

Jaw wired shut, clenched, and you did not respond.

He sighed, a careful look back at his team and he continued.

He told you about the red-haired woman, Natasha, who turned out to be the sales associate from the boutique downtown where you’d bought the lavender dress. She smiled at you in acknowledgement when the heat of embarrassment stung in your cheeks.

You realized that the two men were the same Steve and Sam he’d tell you stories about on your Sundays together; old friends, brothers. A single grain of truth in a web of lies. 

“I knew, even before the gala, that my feelings for you had started to cloud my judgement,” he said slowly, laced with guilt, and your gaze flickered up to him, surprised, though he didn’t notice. You watched the shame seep into his features, his hands clenching at his pant legs. Steve and Sam turned away awkwardly as he continued, “I nearly told you everything that night. When we danced on the balcony and we almost--”

Kissed.

You remembered it well. You had committed the night to memory; to the way his hands felt pressed so delicately to your hips, the gently sway of your bodies, the subtle scent of his shampoo and how warm his breath was as it touched your skin. It was a dream, a fairytale, and you wondered if it was just that; a moment meant for the stories in your library, far away from the cruel realities you’d come to know.

James sighed, a hand brushing over his forehead, pushing away the hair from his eyes and exposing the blush in his cheeks. He was staring down at the floor, chewing painfully on his lip. He didn’t notice the way your features had started to soften, your lips slightly parted as you watched him, heart racing.

“I didn’t know how to make it stop… the way I felt about you,” he confessed, a pained kind of humor in his voice. “I’d never compromised myself like that before. I’d always been able to separate myself completely from the case, where a mask and a new identity like a costume and manipulate my targets without remorse, draw on their strings and tug at their levers. It was my job.”

You flinched; subtle, but as you unclenched your jaw you noticed a pair of green eyes watching you from behind a sweep of auburn hair. She smiled encouragingly before you turned back to James.

“But I never did that with you, Y/n, I swear it on my life,” James pressed, raking his fingers through his hair though it fell back into his eyes. “You… you found a way to push yourself through the cracks in these walls I built up and brought out pieces of myself I hadn’t seen in years. You made me smile again, and gave me something worth fighting for outside of my own damn ambitions, made me believe in a world where things could be different – kinder, maybe. You made me want to be myself again instead of these characters I so often lose myself in. You made me want to relearn who I was and stop hiding in the identities of my enemies.”

He rubbed at his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his nose, and exhaled a breath that provided no relief. “Steve almost threw me off the case entirely when he found out I’d started crossing lines between my cover and the man I wanted you to know me as.”

Your heart skipped at that, eyes flickering up to blue and you watched as he struggled to find his words. He was breathing heavy, hands constantly raking through his hair and there was a slight shakiness as he clenching them back into fists at his side. You’d never see him like this before. Scared.

“Please understand, I couldn’t tell you any of this,” he sighed, scratching his nails along the thighs of his jeans. You noticed rather quickly that he stopped trying to meet your eye. “You have no idea how much I wanted to, how much it was fucking killing me that I couldn’t, especially after--”

He clenched his teeth, stopping himself before he could say it, but you knew what he meant; the night he’d put himself on the line for Peter, how he’d kissed you through broken lips and everything changed. It was evident in the way his friends turned away, giving him space, red tips on the end of Steve’s ears.

“The director thinks I’m a damn fool for bringing you in on this,” he continued, “but, I trust you, Y/n, even if I just destroyed any trust you had in me. I know you and I know you want to see Rumlow brought to justice. I know you want to be free of him and for Peter to be out of Hydra’s control. I still know you and... despite all this, I promise, you still know me, too.”

He seemed to have finished as he allowed a deep, unsettling silence take over. You could vaguely hear the soft ticking of the clocks hanging high on the wall and the exhales of breath coming from across the room. He glanced back at his friends nervously, who offered him nothing but clenched jaws in return, before coming back to you.

“Say something... please,” he asked timidly, desperately.

There was something unpleasant churning in your stomach and you weren’t sure what it was; dread, humiliation, betrayal. Maybe it was something more like the edge of relief, so close you could just barely touch it but it wasn’t yours quite yet. Just beyond your fingertips but still there, still visible, waiting.

You swallowed, letting your hands unclench from the chair and you looked up to find his friends busying themselves with the paperwork on the table; various files on your husband and the company he kept.

You glanced over to the door, the weight of your keys heavy in your pocket. There was a pull urging you to the door, whispering in your ear like a siren’s call to leave, to run and never look back, and fall straight into the darkness you knew. It was familiar at least; a demon you knew by name.

But as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you, watched the way he hung his head in shame, accepting the worst of his fears that in your silence you’d rejected everything you now knew him to be, that call urging you to run seemed a little further away. Drowned out by the overwhelming urge to draw him into your arms, you could no longer hear the voice beckoning you away from the man you’d come to adore, perhaps even love, even if he was a man you weren’t sure you truly knew at all.

“I can’t, um, back off the case,” he started, clearing his throat as his words seemed to give out before he could continue, “but I can give you space. You won’t have to see me unless I’m around your husband. I’ll do what I can to keep my distance but—”

“Stop.”

He froze, head lifting abruptly at the sound of your voice. It was then you realized his eyes had glossed over, reflective with unshed tears, his lower lip nearly chewed raw.

You held his gaze for a moment, searching for the man you knew him to be within the shades of blue you’d come to know so well. The darkest part of yourself wondered if there were pieces that reminded you of your husband in there, if he held the same qualities that allowed Brock to manipulate you and lure you into a false sense of security and love and affection before he ripped it away.

But you’d seen the way James smiled at you from across the room. You’d seen the way the lines around his eyes wrinkled when he laughed. You’d seen the kindness nestled into every touch upon your skin, a warmth in his embrace you hadn’t known in years.

You’d seen grief consume him; pain and the guilt sweeping over his features as he told you the truth of who he was. Facets of a complicated man who was more than just one thing; subtle moments one could not easily fabricate.  

James was not just the man who lied to you. He was not only a man with a name you did not know and a history wiped clean. He was also the man who reminded you what it was like to laugh again, who reminded you that you were stronger than what Brock led you to believe and that you carried more worth than what your husband assigned to you. He was a man who took a beating that could have killed him to spare your sixteen-year-old cousin and gave over every Sunday he had just to listen to you talk and run errands around Brooklyn. 

He was messy and complicated, flawed but human. In the years you’d fallen under Brock’s spell, nothing your husband ever faked even compared to how James treated you. Brock had made himself to be perfectly designed, an impenetrable lie.  

James had been the one to break through his cover of his own volition. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose in doing so; the case, his team, his career... You wouldn’t dare allow yourself to wonder if you were within that list.  

You took a deep breath, steadying your gaze. “I have questions.”

His eyes widened, surprised, but he nodded quickly, brushing his palms on his thighs. “Anything. Anything you want to know. Just ask.”

“So… you’re not Hydra." It wasn’t a question, but you were still seeking confirmation.

“No,” he confirmed quickly. “I’m not.”

“You’re not a hitman. You don’t kill people because Brock tells you to.”

“I’ve killed,” James replied sincerely, “but never for him. I was an army ranger before I was recruited by the FBI. I don’t take a life unless I have to.”

You nodded, trying to find your ground again now. Those were the easy questions, ones with answers you already suspected to be true. It was the next ones you were about to ask that held answers you were truly afraid of. You pushed out a deep breath through your lips, though it trembled on its way out and you felt the shake of it deep in your lungs.

“The copy of A Farewell to Arms… was it yours?”

The question startled him, eyes narrowing for a moment before a soft smile curved at his lips. “Yes. Sam made fun of me relentlessly for digging through my ma’s house for it. I can’t say it had nothing to do with the assignment, because you did open up more after that but... I didn’t do it just because I thought it would help our case. I just thought you'd like it.”

You nodded, taking in his answer. It didn’t relieve the ache in your stomach, but it was something. A piece of the beginning was still intact.

“How much of it was real?” you asked, surprising yourself. The words stumbled out before you could stop them and it wiped the smile from his face almost instantly. It was like a punch straight to his gut, the wind knocked out from under him.

You swallowed, gripping painfully tight into your sweater and trying to avoid ocean blue eyes and the curious stares of his friends. You needed him to say it, needed to hear it out loud, or you might collapse within yourself entirely.

“The times you’d call late at night and we’d watch dateline over the phone or when we bought the lavender dress downtown or dancing on the balcony at the gala. All you did for Peter, every Sunday we spent together... Tell me it wasn’t just for the cover... to get closer to me so I’d tell you secrets about Hydra I didn’t know I had. Tell me it was real... that it was really you and not some character you played. Tell me you’re real. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until James – not-James – threw himself down to his knees in front of you. His hands reached up to your thighs before he froze, hovering, because he didn’t know if it was okay to touch you anymore.

“Sweetheart, please, look at me,” he begged. He finally sat his hands against your thighs, just in an effort to ground you and when you didn’t flinch away, seeming to relax as your heart rate softened, he began to trace delicate patterns with his thumbs.

“Everything -- and I mean this -- everything was real between us,” he implored. There was a redness in the whites of his eyes, a subtle tremor of his lower lip as he tugged it between his teeth. “There were some circumstances that allowed me to run into you when maybe I otherwise wouldn’t have, that let me spend more time with you, but I swear on my life, nothing I ever said to you was scripted, nothing I ever felt for you was forced. Every second I spent with you was the happiest I’ve been in years. I won’t lie to you again. Not ever. Please believe me when I say that what I feel for you is real. It's always been real.”

Sniffling back tears, you let him brush a hand up over your cheek to wipe the wetness away. His lower lip tugged between his teeth in concentration, purposeful to keep the rough edges of calloused palms from touching your skin. He was so gentle, so tender with you, and it was entirely your James, even if he wasn’t.

“It was real, honey. The important parts, those were all real,” he whispered, his voice so achingly sweet it made your heart clench. There was a desperation in his voice, like the very foundation of his soul was etched into every word, his heart sitting within the dissonance. “I am still the man I was yesterday. I’m still him, sweetheart. You haven’t lost me.”

He smiled sweetly at you, though it didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. No, his eyes were filled with a remorse that consumed him whole. The guilt always sitting on the surface, the hesitation in his hands but the longing in his stare, the pain in the pleasure; it made sense now.

When you set your hands on his forearms, it startled him, his eyes darting down to where your touch met. Without a word, you let your hands wonder along his arms, sliding up his shoulders, his neck, to finally cup the sides of his face. Rigid muscles relaxed as you passed them by, his body caving into your touch with ease as his eyes fluttered closed, like he was sinking into the palms of your hands.

You just needed to feel him, remind yourself that he was real, that he was solid and tangible, and right under your fingers. The slight bristles of his beard scratched under your palms, the wrinkles of a shirt creased in his drawers, the divots in his skin from old wounds.

You let out a heavy breath, grazing your thumbs along his jawline, over the healing scar on his right cheek and the discoloration that had long faded to a soft, light pink. Marks of a man who was everything you always believed him to be.

“I don’t know what to call you,” you confessed, a whisper of a smile touching at the edges of your lips and you felt it in your palms as he choked back a sob of relief, jaw trembling under your touch.

He nodded, his hands coming up to rest on your own as he turned his head just slightly enough to press a kiss to the heal of your palm. His eyes were red and glossy, but there was a smile on his lips; it was aching and tired, but it was swollen in relief, like yours.

“For now, just call me James.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your name.”

“It is, actually,” he countered, with a nervous chuckle. He gently pulled your hands from his face and set them into your lap, though he didn’t let go. “It’s technically on my birth certificate and it’s just a coincidence this identity and I shared it in common, but it’s not what my friends call me. It’s not what I want you to know me as when this is finally over.” He paused, a deep breath in a beat later, “I would... I would give anything to hear you say my real name.”

You took in a deep breath, trying not to focus on the gravity of what he said, but it hit like an anvil to your chest. You wondered what his name was, how he might act around you without Brock hanging over your shoulder, how it would feel to be with him in the light of day; no restrictions, no hiding in the shadows, nothing holding you back from one another.

“You… you still want this— us— when the case is over?”

James paused, a sad kind of heartbreak in his eyes that you would even ask such a question. He nodded slowly before he lifted your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed sweetly at your knuckles. “I told you, honey, everything between us was real. I’d give you my whole life if you asked.”

A tear slipped past your eye as a breathy laugh escaped you, a strange mixture of awe and surprise and relief washing through you. You stayed there with him, reveling in the feel of his hands encasing yourself, the touch of his lips to your fingertips, watching as he started to come back into himself, as the guilt faded from his eyes and he was smiling at you with that flicker of light in in the blue of his eyes.

James pulled up a chair beside you, freeing his knees on the hard, cement floors, and you tugged yourself closer to him; thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He was still yours.

“So, what happens now?” you asked, glancing to the papers on the table curiously.

“Now,” a voice called from behind him, deep and commanding, and Steve stepped forward, setting a file on the table ahead of you, “you help us bring down your husband.”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued, and pulled the file into your lap. You thumbed through the pages, eyeing the transcripts, glanced over names of men and women, over the date in the top left corner and the address of the pier scribbled in James’ handwriting.

You set the file back on the table. “You’re planning a raid for the shipment at the end of the month.”

It wasn’t a question and Steve seemed surprised by how quickly you’d gathered that from the information he presented you with. There was no doubt in your mind, you’d do anything they asked if it meant putting Brock behind bars where he belonged.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, hand seeking out James’ and he squeezed it back lightly.

“That we’ll decide when the opportunity presents itself,” Steve responded. “In exchange for your help in this and frankly, all the evidence we’ve gathered based on your unknowing intel… uh, James,” Steve cleared his voice, clearly having to remind himself to use the cover’s name, “has arranged for your immunity.”

Wide eyes met his and he offered you a shy, reassuring smile. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You always assumed that the price it took to bring your husband down meant sinking the ship with you inside. You knew he held a number of charges over your head; it was why you stayed complicit for so long. But now...

“You just have to sign the papers,” James said, sliding a pile of folders across the table to you. There were two stacks and you looked at the second suspiciously before James answered your unspoken question. “I got the judge to sign off on immunity for Peter, too. It was part of my condition before I handed over the shipment log for the raid next month. Wasn’t that hard of a sell, honestly. Peter’s a good kid.”

Lost for words, heart pounding tight in your chest. “You-- what?”

James nodded casually, a slight purse of his lips like he hadn’t just doused you in a relief you hadn't known in years. “Yeah, well, no jury was ever going to convict him anyway, but I figured it was best to cover our bases. I told you I’d watch out for him, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to let you down on that promise. Plus, a kid as good as Peter didn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this. The judge could see that pretty easily.”

He was smiling softly at you but you could hardly breathe. You knew he cared for Peter. It was obvious the night he took a brutal beating for your cousin, but this was something else entirely. This was something far beyond his cover, the identity he wore like a mask, this was him at his core; a man who was true to his word, a man who was decent and kind and good.

He was your James, regardless of his name or the badge he wore.

Without the proper words to thank him, you surged forward, despite his friends standing at the table surrounding you, and kissed him. Hands pressed to his cheeks, lips communicating what words could not, and you only pulled away when you felt him searching for a breath.

His cheeks were burning pink, eyes a little wide as he nervously glanced up at Steve, who had conveniently turned his back. Natasha was smirking in the corner as she attended to the files in her hands, and Sam was sprawled out in the chair across the table, sparing no expense and grinning wildly as he winked at James.

“So, we bring down Hydra,” you said with a proud smirk upon your lips and James’ whole face seemed to light up. “We put Brock behind bars. We end this.”

Steve stepped out from behind the shadows, a hand extended in your direction. Stone cold expression melting into a soft smile, the blue of his eyes kinder than the façade he put forth.

“It’s good to have you on board, Y/n.”

[itsclydebitches]

How do you think the civilians of Atlas and Mantle are going to react when Team RWBY+ see them again? Some of them fell onto the island alongside them so do you think we'll see them give the group a talking to if they aren't dead?

Honestly, I don't expect them to show up at all. Given RWBY's history of ignoring significant details — something that been exacerbated in the last couple volumes — this feels like the sort of event that yes, should be taken into account... but won't be. In the RWBY world where we've got things like Amity miraculously being ready to go, or Raven's arrival at Tai's having yet to come up, it's hard to imagine a story where the nameless, nearly faceless crowed of extras is both remembered and incorporated into the future story. If we can't trust in RWBY's writing to manage the big questions and far more significant details we've dropped over the years, it feels like the small potatoes of these civilians stand little chance. RWBY is going to forget about two major characters — Pietro and Maria — as well as an army of thousands, but it will remember and incorporate the twenty-some nobodies blown up for Cinder's dramatic entrance? I personally doubt they've made it into the writer's room, let alone the Volume.

Combine this with the fact that, frankly, keeping them in the story would be hard. Unless Volume 9 is centered around the group trying to rescue these stragglers — perhaps focusing on that theme of every life being worth saving; they still have a chance to help these people at the very least — then having them around would be a pretty big drag on the plot. It would bloat the cast again when, for better or worse, it seems we've cut down to six. Presumably none of these people are fighters, making their presence in any battle a hinderance. They don't even know anything about magic, the Gods, and the like, making their arrival in what's presumably a spirital-esque place rather... complicated. Again, unless RWBY is turning philosophical and wants to tell the story of ordinary people suddenly lost in an "impossible" place and creating personal hurdles for our cast (unlikely imo) then I expect they'll just be shuffled off screen. Likely they won't come up at all or, if they do, we'll get some line about how Cinder's blast killed them all. Cue drawn out fandom discussions — of which I'll be a part of! lol — about how they should be alive after falling into the void if the heroes survived too (most, after all, fell without aura) and a close examination of the scene to prove that some definitely were alive when they went over... but the discussions will end with an acknowledgement from half the fandom that we're just left with this plothole and the other half saying that this will definitely make sense later on. Just learn to be more patient. Or, perhaps we will get one or two new characters to serve some particular purpose, like Forest served his purpose of talking up Ironwood's horrors, and then, like him, they'll be quickly killed off. Really, I don't think any of those characters will last long enough to give the group a talking to, if they're a part of Volume 9 at all. Even if they do show up, given the heavy-handed praise of the heroes lately, history would dictate that they'll thank the group before getting killed off somehow. Maybe they'll be angry at first, but that — like with Ren, like with May, like with Yang — will be shown to be a horrible thing the cast never deserved and they'll change their tune quick enough. If anything, that's the only purpose the writing of Volume 6-8 implies to me: these people, if they show up, will exists solely to reassure the group that they did a good thing with the evacuation, it's not their fault everything went wrong, if anyone is angry they're wrong to blame you, and it won't be their fault either when those characters are killed off to ensure the group can have epic fights and war discussions without new, ignorant characters weighing that down.

[ghostly-cabbage]

Frigid (Chapter 5)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends (to maybe more??? ohoho) 

Chapter Rating: T (Language, Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mention of Underage Drug Use) 

Word Count: 6,554

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion. 

Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack. 

He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn’t see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette. 

He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they’d be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn’t fall, pulling up on his arm. 

“Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?” The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it. 

They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.

Wes swallowed, his throat dry. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren’t looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.

 “Please listen to me this time, something isn’t right,” he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn’t hear him. 

Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down. 

“It’s okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back,” came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. “I know it’s sad, but you’ll see your friends again, you’ll see.” 

“No,” he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. “No, we can’t keep going.” He didn’t know why. He just knew they had to stop. 

They had to stop before it happened. 

It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, stop, you have to.” He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat. 

Why were they not listening?

“Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how’s that sound?” 

And then it was too late. 

His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain. 

The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—

Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream. 

Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see— 

He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn’t had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow. 

God. He hated nightmares. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it’s way into the room from behind the fabric. 

Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday. 

They’d had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn’t been cancelled today. 

After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause. 

He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall. 

Kyle’s door wasn’t open yet, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically. 

The house was chilly and quiet. 

That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen. 

His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked. 

It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on. 

Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder. 

“Oh, Wesley.” He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. “You’re up early.” 

“Yep.” 

He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl. 

“Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?”

Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow. 

“No, I don’t want toast.” He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His dad watched him. 

“There’s eggs in the fridge too if you—” 

“Dad, it’s fine.” Wes didn’t look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer. 

The toaster popped, and his Dad startled. 

Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed. 

He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past. 

“Aren’t you late for work or something?” he said. His dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast. 

“Now that I’m finally settled into the office a bit more I don’t have to be in till seven.” 

Wes clicked his tongue. “Oh. Joy.” He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye. 

“Your uh, tryouts are today, right?” 

“Why’s it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway.” He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.

“Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—” Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. “But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us.” 

“We were fine with the job you had.”

“I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I’m only doing what’s best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family.”

Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle. 

“Well, that’s news to me. We’re hardly even a family anymore.” 

“Wesley,” his dad’s voice took on a stern edge. 

“You didn’t care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted.” 

“And this is exactly why I didn’t.” His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.

“What’s that mean?” Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.

“It’s clear that you’re still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I’m doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley.” 

“By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?” Wes’ heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away. 

His dad scoffed. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays.” 

“That just makes it all better. Doesn’t it?” he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. It’s no one's fault but your own that you’re choosing to learn it the hard way.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” 

“Wesley!” his dad snapped. “One thing you won’t do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?”

Wes held his dad’s gaze, not backing down.

“After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend.” 

“What? Seriously?!” 

“Yes, seriously.”

Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit. 

He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists. 

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn’t mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.

If it was from Dad he was gonna—

Alien Fucker: ? 

Oh. Right. 

It made sense that he’d probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat. 

Basketball Freak: Nothing

Alien Fucker: Didn’t sound like nothing 

Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again 

...

it’s whatever at this point  

Alien Fucker: F in the chat

…

want me to talk to him?  

Basketball Freak: no, its fine 

Alien Fucker: K just lemme know 

Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn’t have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn’t stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature. 

Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn’t helped any, looking back. 

He picked fights with Dad like it was his job. 

And Mom… He still didn’t talk to Mom. 

He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn’t going to unfuck it. 

Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.  

Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school. 

***

The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside. 

At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends. 

In chemistry, Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class. 

 Wes bounced his leg on the stool’s rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts. 

Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. 

“Once I take roll, you’ll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay.” An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing. 

Hah. Served him right. 

“Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today.”

Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble. 

Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Merriweather,” he said.     

Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take. 

Wes used his notes from the lab he’d done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers. 

Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn’t watching. Wes couldn’t tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it’d be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he’d guess it was history homework.  

All Wes cared about was that Danny didn’t bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he’d be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he’d glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him. 

“Dude, chill out, you’re making me nervous,” he said quietly. He didn’t even look up from his homework when he said it. 

Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, Fenton.” 

Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more. 

Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books. 

He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person. 

“Whoa man, sorry ‘bout that.” Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wes said, trying to get around him. 

“Hey wait, you’re Wesley, right? Kyle’s lil bro.” 

Well, that explained the smell. 

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Sorry, but I’ve gotta—” 

“Dude, sweet. Name’s Robbie, I’m pretty chill with your brother,” he said. 

“That’s nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff.” Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class. 

“Yeah, totally! I wasn’t here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—” Robbie said, following after Wes. 

He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now. 

“—but like Kyle’s told me a lot about you, man.” 

“Cool?” Seriously, why was this guy talking to him? 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say the group’s mega on your side.” 

“Uh-huh. Cool.” 

Wait. 

“On my side about what?” Wes slowed his pace.

“The ghosts, bro!” 

“What about them?” 

“Pf, bruh. We’ve lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We’re trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit.” 

Wes scoffed. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying since I was like six.” 

Robbie shook his head. “I know what’cha mean, bro. Dude’s like a steel trap... or however that saying goes.” Robbie shrugged. 

Wes chuckled. “Let me know if you guys make any progress with him,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously. 

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s what’s up. You can count on me.” He held out a closed fist to Wes. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie. 

“Okay, well… I’m going to class now.” 

Robbie held up his hands. “Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it.”

“Probably.” 

Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle’s friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying. 

Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later. 

Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.

“Alright class, we’re going to start talking about the stock market today,” he said, pulling up Google on the projector.    

Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown’s lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn’t exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.

Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out. 

He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.  

Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups. 

Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they’d fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.  

“Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!” He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid. 

He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans. 

There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn’t. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification. 

Mom: How was the first week of school?

His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed. 

He didn’t want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up. 

Out of sight out of mind. 

He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym. 

The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home. 

Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs. 

Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year’s team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.

“Ay, new kid!” 

Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself. 

“I hear you played point in Cali.” 

Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. “Yeah?” 

The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior. 

“I’m José. Wesley, right? ” He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn’t know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. “I was point-guard last year, and ain’t no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot.” 

Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge? 

“I guess we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He smirked back. 

Somehow José’s smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual. 

“I like you already, Wesley.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he’d lose his arm.

“Just ‘Wes’ is fine,” he said with a wince. José released his hand. “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his hand out. 

“C’mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen.” José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming. 

“Wes, this is Mark,” he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head. 

“‘Sup.” 

“Next we got Joseph.” José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. “We just call him Jo or Joey though.” The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach. 

Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn’t have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.  

“This is Anthony,” José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes’ height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down. 

“Hey,” was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on. 

“Last but not least we got our boy Isaac.” He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him. 

“Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya,” he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.   

José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug. 

“This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us ’re Seniors.” 

“It’s nice to meet all you guys, God, you don’t know how long it feels like I’ve waited for today,” he said. He rubbed his upper arm.  

“I just hope you ain’t rusty. I heard you got game.” Isaac said.

Wes shrugged a shoulder. “I mean…” 

“Humble,” José nodded. “I like that about you, Wes. I’m ‘bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way.” 

The rest of the group let out a chorus of “oh”s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn’t fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling. 

“Cool, dude. Just don’t cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?” 

The group oh’d louder this time. 

“Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class,” Joseph laughed. “Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone,” he told the rest of the group. 

“Hey, no judgment, Anthony’s been needing another introvert to keep him company.” Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle. 

Anthony waved him off. “Shut up.” 

The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips. 

“What’re you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first.” She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym.  “Two laps around the gym, go!” 

***

The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes’ muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He’d forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.  

It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.

They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence’s mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. 

The group’s synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious. 

The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren’t pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked. 

José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes’s side, groaned.

Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her. 

“Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we’ll move into cool downs.” 

Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn’t want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared. 

“Shit, man, you can actually play,” he said, giving him a shake.

“So can you guys,” he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “You didn’t take it easy on me that’s for sure.” 

“Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell,” Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches. 

“You think so?” Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.

“For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus’ make varsity,” José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed. 

“‘Might’?” Wes quirked a brow. 

“Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity,” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them. 

“Damn, guess you’re right.” 

“It’s okay, you can take Joey’s spot, he won’t miss it,” Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud. 

“Asshole! And what the hell d’you mean I wouldn’t miss it?” He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark. 

“Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time.” 

Joseph’s cheeks flushed pink. 

“So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn’t lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?”

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem,” Anthony said from Wes’ other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised. 

Joseph pushed himself up. “Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven’t been late because you’re flirting with some guy.” 

Anthony snorted. “At this school? Gimme a break.” 

“Whatever, dude, at least I don’t wanna fuck a ghost.” 

That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.

“If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash’s ‘Its not gay if he’s dead’ tweet just like everybody else,” he shot back, lifting his chin.

Joseph’s eyes widened. 

Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!”

“No need to get defensive now, it’s okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening.” Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that’d caught the scent of blood.

“What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here.” 

Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck. 

“Homie, no cap, I wasn’t bi till I moved here. That probably ain’t no coincidence, know wha’m’sayin’?  

Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument. 

“Oh come on—what about you, newbie?” 

All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost? 

“Uhm… I mean. Uh. I’ve only seen him once…” He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Also he’s technically dead, right? Isn’t that like, messed up?” 

Everyone who wasn’t Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath. 

“He’s new, give him a while, he’ll come around,” Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he’d “come around”. What was wrong with these people? 

Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac’s grip and interlocked his arm with Wes’. 

“Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now.” 

“Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who’da fuck you think you foolin?” José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.

“...Elliot said it’d help me get girls’ numbers,” he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.  

“You actually listened to that clown?” Anthony grimaced. 

“Bro, I thought you said you liked it?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys.” Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn’t hate being there. 

But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that’s when shit went sideways. 

There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.

“What the hell—” 

“Ghost!” someone screamed, and that’s all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits. 

But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.

“Oh shit,” José said, voice hushed. “It’s Skulker.” 

“What? Who?” Wes whispered back. 

“Dude, shut up! He’s coming closer,” Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes’ mouth. He didn’t even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.

It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes’ heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost. 

The ghost loomed over them. “Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?” Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes’ ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light. 

Wes wanted to say “no”, maybe that would make it leave, but Joey’s hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing. 

“Well? Speak, you sniveling humans,” it growled. 

There was a moment’s silence, then: “recently? No.” 

Wes, along with the rest of the group’s attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.

But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. “Huh, you haven’t?” Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. “My scanners say he’s in the area.” The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged. 

“No matter.” The cruel smile spread over its face again. “All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear.” 

Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost’s arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had. 

“Why hasn’t someone hit the Ghost Alarm?” Mark whispered. 

“Shh,” José snapped. 

Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking. 

Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again. 

The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white. 

“Skulker, leave them alone,” came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes’ skin as the temperature of the gym dropped. 

The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes. 

“There you are, Ghost Child,” the cyborg said, sounding pleased. “I was wondering when you’d decide to—” Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym. 

Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?” There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he’d just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn’t suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him. 

“Oh, ‘sup. You guys might wanna, ya’know...” He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn’t need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another. 

Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle. 

“Dude, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!” José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors. 

“Wait—” he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him. 

He had questions.

But his new friends didn’t stop until they’d dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.  

[damedamedame]

akane aoi + reader | so and so : chapter i

| description ! |  aoi protection squad !! and akane does an oopsie.

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The next day, Akane sneezes.

“Someone must be thinking of you, Akane.”

Aoi smiles, gleefully putting the palm of her hand on her cheek as Akane stares at her, bewilderment prancing about in his chocolate eyes. The two of them, having lived right beside each other since they were but small children, always walked to school together. It was for their safety (and for him to beat up anyone who dare try to steal her away).

“Is it… you?”

Akane shoots his shot, attempting to flirt with the pretty girl beside him.

“Mm… no.”

Yet she turns him down, like all the other attempts from before. He feigns a surprised look on his face when he hears her answer. Truthfully and ‘shamefully’, no absolute shock comes to him after hearing her various negative responses anymore, but he continues to entertain her with flattering remarks and honest compliments. Even sometimes everyday, actually going a tad overboard.

He still did these sorts of things, albeit knowing that the probability of her liking him back was more-or-less on the verge of turning to zero.

Once they enter the campus of Kamome Gakuen, most of the people around the two have different thoughts and opinions when they see them walking with each other and chatting amidst themselves. Usually, it would be about how diviningly stunning Aoi-chan looked this fine day, some would give Akane pitiful stares when they hear her reject more of his daily advances as per usual.

Others, even when the majority of the school’s population adored the cute girl, partook in various gossip and rumors which rooted from the stems of jealousy and envy.

“Ao-chan, why don’t you go on ahead?” Akane stops in the middle of the staircase after hearing another pair of students talk badly about her in hushed whispers and murmurs. Aoi, as much as she tries to hide the obvious discomfort in her cheerful acts, looks back at him with a strange mock-up of her usually petite smile and he can’t help but give her a comforting beam in his eyes in return. “I’ll be right back, I swear.”

He knows she hears what they’re saying, which is exactly why he took it upon himself to protect her from mindless haters. Which is also exactly why he sticks a baseball bat in his locker for when opportunities such as these arise. Not that he would actually hit anyone, the hassle he has with the Student Council President was already far too much to deal with.

Before Akane could face the two particular students, he hears the voice of someone confronting them with no sign of falter.

“What’s the point of badmouthing the poor girl?” 

You frown, crossing your arms as you hear them continue talking as if your presence wasn’t there at all. The two girls, both you recognize as second-year students, look you up and down when they finally decide to notice that you had been there the whole time.

This was a courageous step that you took so very early in the morning and probably the only courageous step you took in your whole life, bearing in mind that you were only a puny first-year scolding your seniors, but you could care less about what could happen next. With your sense of justification and recklessness flowing through your veins, you keep giving them a piece of your mind.

“You have no right to keep bullying her, she’s a human being too, you know…!”

Surely, you’ve dug yourself your own grave. The girls seem extra annoyed with you at this moment, and you feel the vulnerability start to lurch from the waves of anxiety that hid deep inside of you.

An alarm ringing of danger overtook your system once you’ve finished with the last few words from that long and drawn out speech of yours. Perhaps you might get karma for this later on, which you thought was fair enough.

“I get it, (L/N)-san!” One of them spoke out with clear irritation laced in her voice, arm sticking out to corner you with no chance of escape. She leans in close to your face to whisper something so quiet that only you could hear and the action sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re just doing this to get Aoi-kun’s attention, but honestly? It’s being such a pain.”

‘What?’ You clench your fist. No hidden intentions lied beneath the words that you spouted a while ago. After months of hearing such disturbing rumors sprout out about poor Aoi, and seeing the slight pale of her face when she accidentally overhears some of these ridiculous atrocities, you spoke up about it. But… this is what you get? The justice that you wanted to speak up about was being knocked down as a way of seeking attention from your crush?

“That’s not--!”

You found yourself frozen on the spot. The words, your voice of reason, completely halted before you had the chance to defend what little worth you had left. Your face pales and you’re left with the ridiculous feelings of anxiety in your nerves and frustration slowly caving in your mind. The two pesky girls only stared at you in amusement, and some part of you wondered if what they were saying was right.

No, you refused to believe that you were doing this for the sake of making Akane notice you. 

Embarrassment merely found you at the worst possible moment. Not that you were embarrassed for protecting Aoi from their harsh words. You even felt a bit of pride come to your senses because you were doing what you deemed right. You were embarrassed because once they brought Akane into the mix of things… you stiffened. They affected you in one way or another, and you cursed yourself for having such strong feelings.

Unknown to you, a certain red-haired boy had been listening in on your conversation.

A hand comes to your shoulder, and you expected the Principal or Minamoto-senpai to be the owner of that particular hand. Instead, you saw… Akane…?

‘WAITWHATHAWHATTHEFUCK’

“(L/N)-san, you’re going to be late for class again.” You didn’t expect someone like him to pull off some shoujo-type move, but shit, here he was. Akane had an irked grin, not even trying to hide how much disgust he held. His eyes showed off an ‘Ew. How dare you disrespect Ao-chan like that?’. Because of course, anyone who regarded Aoi as some sort of rubbish had to face his undying wrath. He clenches your shoulder and you barely contain the yelp at the tip of your tongue. “You should probably go before Nagisa-sensei marks you late again. Tell Ao-chan I had some minor business to do for the Student Council!”.

You nod, hurriedly speed-walking away with the warmth blooming on your cheeks once again.

Once you were out of sight and out of mind, Akane reveals the baseball bat hiding behind his back.

“Now… what were you saying about Ao-chan?”

The girls were frightened. Even going as far as to run away before Akane, who wasn’t even going to do anything very harmful to any of the two, could do anything to them. He heaves a sigh, shaking his head in a degree of disappointment. “Tsk, they never learn.”

Having quite the observant eye which he prided himself upon, the mumbles escaping their mouths as they nyoomed away from him didn’t go unnoticed. He barely heard the ‘That (L/N) >:00’ from them and he ends up wondering throughout the day about what they might do to you, earning a few strange stares from Aoi. She’d ask him if he was alright and he proclaimed right then and there in the hallway that he wanted to marry her, immediately diminishing any other thoughts.

Just as classes ended and Aoi asked him to leave earlier than her since she had to tend to the gardening club today, Akane steps out of the high school building to stretch his legs and walk around. He’s always believed that having a large amount of stamina could come in handy whenever he had to sprint over to Aoi when she was ever in danger, being the simp that he is.

Besides, those troublesome ‘co-workers’ of his, including that devil of a President, didn’t ask for his help for once, so he had a rarity of free time.

‘On second thought… they could have something planned--’

He shudders at the thought. Having to deal with Mirai again was going to be a real pain, and having to be punished by that damned exorcist was not something he had in plan for today.

Minutes later, he had realized that he’s been standing and grumbling to himself in the high school building’s entrance and everyone merely passed him by like him being crazy was normal sight to see. What made him snap out of it? Oh, well, it was the strong gust of wind that flew past him, of course. Beside him, he hears a string of curses muttered under someone’s breath. Looking through the corner of his eyes, his eyes widen at the sight of you.

‘Weird…’ He cups his chin. In all honesty, Akane had never really thought that much about you. But he’s seen a minority of the little things you do when he wasn’t focusing on Aoi or when the lecture really was too boring to handle.

How the pen your nimble fingers held wrote on its own when you were writing in that notebook of yours or how you twirled that same pen in your hands in random directions when you didn’t intend to listen and absent-mindedly flicked it off somewhere.. It was certainly an interesting and funny event when you had accidentally hit the back of Nagisa-sensei’s head once and hid yourself in the pages of your book with shaking hands.

‘Befriending her would be nice.’ He thought, reminiscing the display of sheer confidence he witnessed from you earlier that morning. However, that moment wouldn’t be now because you already walked away and--

“(L/N)-san!”

Akane eyes bulged, expression aghast at the scene playing before him in horror. You had simply been waiting for the traffic light to turn red for you to cross to the other side of the street. Standing timidly on the sidewalk while clutching your bag close to your chest, a big truck that obviously lost its control crashed into you.

Almost crashed into you.

Thankfully his reflexes kicked in just as the truck was almost at the point of colliding with your body. 

Swiftly stopping time with the pocket watch he held in his hands, he managed to push you away before any sort of absurd incident could happen. He… may have pushed you too hard, seeing as you were sprawled out on the cemented pavement, but you were safe. 

Then he realized his mistake.

‘D-Did anyone see me transform?’ He looks at his surroundings and heaves a sigh of relief. There were no people present at the scene. Most students were probably working around in their clubs and everybody rarely used this exit, so it was unquestionably safe to say that his identity was safe and not a person in sight would ever find ou--

“A-Aoi-kun--?”

Oh.

Oh no.

“(L/N)-san!” Akane jumps and speedily twirls around to face you. You? Oh, you looked unbelievably star-struck. In spite of knocking at the doorstep of death, your eyes twinkled in amazement and wonder and he can’t help but want to ask the ‘Why?’ on the tip of his tongue. A forced chuckle comes out of his throat, breaking down the silence that washed over between you two only a few seconds ago.

“Are you...” You paused, standing up and patting the dust away from your dress uniform. He doesn’t miss the way you almost trip on your own feet. “Are you an apparition?”

“You could say that.” You were right, sure, but he still didn’t like being wedged in as one of those dishonorable apparitions that lurked in every corner of the school. “Will you.. tell anyone?”

“No, not at all!” Chirping at your own words, you held one finger up to silently say ‘one second!’ and then quickly rummaged around in your bag to get something. To say that he was curious was an understatement. (Y/N) (L/N), who hummed to herself while checking something in her shoulder bag like she didn’t just almost die, was a strange one indeed.  

Examining the surroundings, he understood where he made the mistake in his actions. He only froze the truck. Originally, he had enough power to freeze both the truck and (Y/N), but after recently using up his time to freeze Aoi, he weakened himself quite a bit. He grimaces at the simple error, but decides that he shouldn’t beat himself up for it because the future wasn’t in his hands. The future was with Mirai, not him. 

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do with this truck.’ 

Akane’s nose scrunches, arms crossed as he tries to figure out a solution. A shudder goes down his spine when he suddenly feels someone tapping on his back. Lo and behold, it was you, holding up the notebook he’d see you with in class all the time. A sheepish grin appears on your face. He sees the slightest tint of pink appears on your cheeks, which he excuses as a form of embarrassment seeing as what you were holding up was...

“A picture book for apparitions and supernaturals...?”

END NOTES: 2000+ words let’s gOoooO (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

oshit i forgot to tag: @astrxrism @sparkleswritings

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 1

Chapter: 1/12 Rating: T (for language) Content Warnings: Canon-typical Remus content. This chapter only: alcohol use Characters: All Pairings: Moceit, background Prinxiety, background Intrulogical (yes I played a little game of "pair the spares") Additional Tags: Hey it's the fic I published on Anon because I was embarrassed of how utterly pretentious it is!, post-PoF, sickfic, dirty poetry, humor interspersed with philosophy and Janus-typical pontification, this is VERY speculative and will get Jossed in the future lmao Summary: After claiming his place in the Light and coming face-to-face with the consequences of his actions, Janus finds himself unwillingly re-calibrating his moral compass. For selfish reasons, of course. But one apology snowballs into several, and soon he's running around the Mindscape with a low-grade fever and a guilty conscience as he desperately tries to regain some sense of self. Oh, and he's definitely not falling in love with Patton, so don't even bring it up. One Last Note: I wrote this in an ADHD fugue state. It is HEAVILY influenced by Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, but there are also references to poetry and various other works of literature. I also deliberately used symbols, themes, and motifs. Most of them are pretty in your face except for the recurring ouroboros, which is used as a symbol of rebirth. ...Told you it was pretentious.

When you wake up to the promise of your dream world comin' true With one less friend to call on, was it someone that I knew? Away you will go sailing in a race among the ruins If you plan to face tomorrow, do it soon

Janus appeared in the Dark side of the Mindscape, elation swelling in his chest. Even the ringing headache and bitter taste in his mouth couldn't hollow the unfamiliar triumph that warmed him to the core. Caught up in his own thoughts, it took a moment for him to register the sight before him: Remus, upside-down on the couch, his brow furrowed and face an alarming shade of purple.

For a moment, Janus stood stock-still as he tried to get his bearings. He must have been more flustered than he'd realized-- He'd been aiming for his bedroom.

But here he was, staring down at Remus, who was definitely going to burst a blood vessel (or several) if he didn't flip over soon.

"That's not horrifying at all," Janus said, thinking it would be rude to dismiss Remus, especially since he had probably been eavesdropping. He had likely heard everything. Everything. Even the ugly parts.

"Do you remember when Thomas read that post about Nutty Putty Cave?" Remus asked in a strained, strangled voice. "That spelunker who died because he got stuck upside-down?"

"No," Janus said, before realizing his mistake. "Yes." He definitely wanted Remus to remind him of the gory details.

"That's what I thought," Remus said with a wicked grin.

Janus sighed through his nose. Remus, though he thrived on attention, seemed content enough to continue his experiment by himself. On the other hand, if Janus didn't bring up a certain insult he'd levied at Roman, Remus most certainly would, and at a time where it would cause the most upset and turmoil. Better for Janus to deal with it now, even if he would have to fight the tension pulling his muscles taut. He wanted to dance. He wanted to scream.

Hesitation proved to be Janus' downfall, and by the time he'd opened his mouth to broach the subject at hand, Remus had beaten him to the blow. "You're not usually this quiet, Oralboros. Snake got your tongue?"

Janus, again, sighed. Rather than answer, he doffed his hat, set it on the coffee table, and clumsily arranged himself upside-down next to Remus. The change in position immediately made his head throb. He ignored it. "I definitely meant it when I called you 'evil'."

Remus' eyes widened in faux-shock. "You called me evil ?" he shrieked, voice ringing out high and clear. "Me? How dare you. I'm an angel!"

At least Remus was taking it well. "Sarcasm is my thing," Janus said, realizing that he might make it out of this without having to properly apologize.

For some reason, Patton's face flashed into his mind, and a subsequent twinge of guilt made his tongue go sour. Fine. If there was ever a time to start telling uncomfortable truths… "But I am sorry I said that."

"Wow!" Remus laughed. "You must be upset." A red stain began to spill across his left eye. "You don't apologize."

"It’s not like I care about your feelings or anything." Janus would have liked to have drawn himself up to his full height, but it was impossible to do while upside-down. "As much as I'm enjoying watching your blood vessels slowly burst, would you please turn over before you hurt yourself? I've suffered enough psychological trauma for today."

"Oh, fine." Remus kicked his legs and landed neatly on his toes like a gymnast.

Janus, by contrast, got his arms tangled in his capelet and nearly folded himself in half before he found his balance again. "I meant to do that," he said, turning to grab his hat so Remus wouldn't see the blush on his face.

The sudden sensation of blood draining from his head made the room whirl. He steadied himself against Remus' shoulder until it slowed somewhat, but nothing could dampen the horrible ringing in his ears.

"Well," he said, adjusting his shirt. The sudden appearance of his conscience had taken the wind out of his sails more than he cared to admit, and all thoughts of dancing bled out of him along with a good deal of energy. "I'm not going to go scream into my pillows until I tire myself out."

"Being an agent of chaos is hard work," Remus said with a sage nod, "but that doesn't sound very relaxing, Mr Self Care."

"It's a form of meditation, if you think about it," Janus said.

Remus made a face. "You know I don't do that."

"...Meditate?"

"No, think."

"Ah. Well." Janus made only a token attempt to hide his fond smile. "Good night, Remus. Please stay up late and injure yourself."

"Can do, Snakeypoo.”

Janus turned. It was close enough, he might as well walk to his bedroom, especially considering how well his last attempt at appearing in it had gone.

The reason why that had been so difficult became apparent in mere moments. Janus froze in the hall and dropped to his knees at the giddy wave of horror and delight that made him too light-headed to stand.

He knelt in front of the empty stretch of wall where his door had been previously.  Heat flooded his face.

"Jay?" The rounded toes of Remus' boots appeared in his line of sight. Janus zeroed in on them, the mud splatters and stains on the soft leather. "You have an aneurysm or what?"

Janus, unable to speak, motioned for Remus to turn around. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"Ohhh," said Remus. "Well. Good luck with that ." He hauled Janus to his feet. "So you're a boner fide good guy now, huh?"

Janus stared over Remus' shoulder at the empty stretch of wall where his door used to be. "That depends entirely on who you ask."

Remus shrugged and rose up on his toes. "You can scream into my pillows instead, if you want."

"As tempting as that is…" Janus trailed off, his eyes still fixed on the wall. It was tempting, despite the constant chaos in Remus' room. But he'd have to face the Light side sooner or later. It wasn't like he could move his room back, not without psychologically damaging Thomas and undoing all the work he'd done. "I'm really looking forward to getting insulted some more."

"Alright," Remus said with a shrug. "Try not to throw me under the bus this time, alright? Unless it's a real bus…" His gaze became dreamy, unfocused. "And it's doing 50 in a school zone and there's a whole pack of screaming kids in the crosswalk--"

"Goodbye, Remus." Janus turned and left.

--

The barrier between the "dark" and the "light" sides of Thomas' brain had been a joint venture. It would have been there in some form no matter what, but it was Janus and Roman (with Patton's tacit blessing) who had worked to put up something more physical between them.

Janus ducked under the red curtain, trepidation percolating in his stomach, but what he found on the other side was anticlimactic to say the least: It was dead silent on this side of the barrier.

Janus wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He knew by now that the so-called "Lights" had issues working out their interpersonal issues, and this most recent conflict wasn't the kind of thing you just got over. It did follow that they would all go off to lick their wounds for a time.

Hesitantly, toe-to-heel, Janus crept down the hall. It felt for all the world like he was sneaking around a vast hotel, right down to needlessly ornate design on the plush carpeting. That was probably Roman's doing.

Janus focused, trying to call the Mindscape to work for him. He wanted to go to his room.

The Mindscape listened. Janus turned a corner and found a row of doors stretching down yet another brightly-lit corridor. His eye was immediately drawn, not to the brilliant yellow of his own door, but to the figure huddled in front of it: Patton sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, forehead resting on his knees.

"Looking for someone?" Janus asked, slightly louder than necessary.

Patton jerked his head up. "Oh! Janus!" He plastered an unconvincing smile on his face. "You sure pop star-tled me."

Scaring Patton hadn't brought Janus nearly the level of schadenfreude he'd thought it would. He crossed his arms over his chest, extending a third to help Patton up. "Take your time getting to the point.”

"Oh." Patton accepted Janus' proffered hand and got to his feet. Warmth spilled from him, permeating the fabric of Janus' glove and gently heating his palm. "Well, it's just…" He took a deep breath. "I noticed your door and I thought-- Well, I wanted to make you feel welcome!"

A high-pitched tone resonated in Janus' skull. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the mounting pressure-pain-exhaustion in his temples. "Aren't you just a saint ." Patton's face fell. Janus fought the urge to swear aloud. He usually had a better handle on himself, and he knew better than to alienate potential allies. "I mean, thank you, Patton. Truly. I appreciate it." Patton had proven himself useful. Janus should at least cultivate that relationship, even if it meant a little discomfort.

"Have you eaten?" Patton asked. "It's a little late, but I could make something if you wanted." He paused. "Maybe we could play cards or something." Another pause. "O-only if you want to, I mean."

Janus let his face remain impassive even as he internally cringed at the idea of staying awake for even another second. It would be so easy to brush Patton off with a few honeyed words and disappear beyond the barrier of his door. But Patton had stood up for him today, or at least he'd tried to. Janus sighed. Quid pro quo. "That sounds like an utter waste of time."

"Are you… I'm sorry, sometimes I can't tell when you're…"

"Yes, Patton. That sounds lovely."

Patton actually hopped in place, an adorable little jig that absolutely didn't send a confusing little shockwave of fondness through Janus' ribcage. "Really?"

"Really," Janus lied.

He followed Patton down the hall into the living room, which opened into the dining room and the kitchen. Janus studied his surroundings, trying to take in as much as his exhausted faculties would allow. Even in the absence of other Sides, the living room felt warm and welcoming. All the lights were on, and they bathed everything in gentle golden light .

"You're awfully quiet," Patton said.

Janus shook himself. "I was just getting my bearings."

"I guess you've never really been over here, huh?" Pattton opened the refrigerator. Was he actually going to cook , instead of just manifesting something? How quaint. "Do you like grilled cheese?"

It had been a long, confusing day. Doublespeak came to Janus as naturally as breathing, but he was obviously running circles around Patton even when he wasn't trying to. "Yes," he said, hoping to telegraph his sincerity by not emoting at all.

It seemed to work. Patton studied him for a moment before turning back to the fridge. "Then that's what I'll make."

Janus took advantage of this temporary distraction to clamber onto one of the barstools. The slick velvet of his capelet tended to disagree with surfaces like wood and vinyl, and he needed a moment to arrange things so he didn't look as unbalanced as he felt.

He watched Patton work in the kitchen, a detached coolness washing out the scene. Quid pro quo, he reminded himself when he felt his facade begin to slip. He owed Patton this.

He certainly didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt, that he had been the one to orchestrate this breakdown. Yes, the Light Sides had loaded the gun, but in the end it was Janus who had pulled the trigger.

He shook his head and thought about playing cards, good Bicycle playing cards with holes punched through them like they'd come from a casino. "What should we play?" he asked, pulling the deck from his breast pocket.

Patton looked up from the stovetop, his eyes flicking to the cards in Janus' hand. "Do you know Kings in the Corners?"

"Not personally, no."

Patton laughed, but there was something cold about it. "It's really simple," he said. "I'll show you how to play and you can tell me if you like it."

--

It was nearly impossible to cheat at Kings in the Corners. Janus doubted this had been a calculated measure on Patton's part, doubted he had the capacity for that kind of foresight, but he respected it just the same.

They played in funereal silence, staring each other down across the light wood of the dining room table. Janus, ill-inclined to take off his gloves, utilized a napkin to keep from staining them with melted butter from the grilled cheese Patton had made. Neither one of them smiled. Neither one of them spoke.

Janus pulled a card from the deck to indicate the end of his turn and glanced up at Patton. His face was somber, almost sorrowful, and it clashed against the gentle domesticity of the dining room, with its floral table runner and mismatched placemats.

Janus started to laugh.

"What is it?" Patton asked, cheeks darkening. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Janus swallowed down another peal of laughter and cleared his throat, unable to wholly restrain the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You look like I’m holding you here at gunpoint." It was somewhat ironic, considering Janus was the one who felt like he couldn't leave.

"What?" Patton smiled, but it was more akin to an offering than an expression of joy.

"It’s not really funny. " Janus wasn’t quite sure how to make Patton understand.

Patton sat back with a sigh, placing his cards facedown on the table. "But I guess it is pretty funny, huh? In a really sad way."

Janus almost asked what was sad about it before realizing that Patton probably missed his friends. Instead he said, "Yes" and stifled a yawn behind his free hand.

"I'll make coffee!" Patton leapt to his feet and was off to the kitchen before Janus could so much as blink.

The newfound solitude made it that much harder for Janus to ignore his headache, which had only worsened in the hour or so he'd been playing cards with Patton. Despite the nonchalant facade he'd tried so hard to project, he'd been holding himself tense.

Maybe the night (or morning, at this point) would be easier to tolerate if he had, say, a bit of gold rum.

The corner of a flask dug into Janus' hip. He smiled.

"Just how late are you planning on staying up?" he asked Patton when the latter returned holding two mismatched mugs.

"Oh, I don't know," Patton said. Lied. He set a mug down in front of Janus and then resumed his seat, the cards forgotten by his elbow. "I'm… A little scared of what tomorrow will be like."

Janus eased the flask out of his pocket. "Rum?"

"Oh, um," Patton said, staring at the flask. "I don't know…"

Janus raised an eyebrow, working something out. He landed on it a millisecond later: Patton wanted to be convinced. Easy enough. Janus opened the flask and poured what he hoped was a shot into his own mug. It was black, he noticed, except for the yellow snake that wrapped around it, its tail firmly in its own mouth. Ouroboros. "Surely you don't intend to make me drink alone?"

As Janus had expected, Patton buckled the second he was pushed. "I guess not."

It was funny, Janus mused as he carefully tipped rum into Patton's coffee, how lying was only off-limits when Janus suggested it. Hilarious.

But now wasn't the time for bitterness, now was the time to repay the debt he owed Patton. "Cheers," he said, pocketing the flask once more.

"Cheers."

Janus sipped his coffee. "You put milk in this," he observed.

Patton's smile was surprisingly sly. "I know you want me to think you take it black. Virgil did too, at first. I know you ‘Dark Sides’ have an image you like to uphold."

"And how does Virgil take his coffee now?" Janus asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"With Snickers-flavored creamer."

"Well, I do take my coffee black," Janus lied.

Patton's smile never faltered. "We'll see, kid-- Uh, Janus."

"Patton," Janus said, before he could start thinking about the implications of Patton wanting to call him 'kiddo,' "you are planning on sleeping tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe eventually," Patton said, suddenly unable to look Janus in the eye. "At some point."

"Tomorrow will come whether or not you sleep. It's definitely better to pull an all-nighter and feel like garbage instead of facing everything with a clear head."

"I know." Patton leaned forward so he could rest his head on his hand.

For a moment, Janus was tempted to mirror him. Sitting up straight was becoming quite the chore. "I know how the others love a calm, rational discussion."

"Oh, I wish." Patton's expression turned wistful.

Janus stifled a yawn behind his hand. He had half-expected the coffee to counteract the depressant effect of the alcohol, but all he had to show for the combination was a racing heart.

"I'll be fine out here if you want to go to bed," Patton said. Without seeming to realize he was doing it, he brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumbnail.

It was a tempting offer. A day ago, Janus would have taken it. After all, it wasn't like he cared about Patton outside of professional courtesy. They weren't friends. But guilt nagged at him and wouldn't let him entertain the idea of abandoning Patton for longer than a second.

"That's a remarkable impression of a window," Janus said, waiting for Patton to look confused before elaborating, "I can see right through you."

"You got me." Patton smiled sadly. "That's something I've always admired about you, Janus."

Now it was Janus' turn to be confused. "What?"

"You're so… clever."

Janus narrowed his eyes. "Please do keep trying to change the subject."

"It's just… I don't want to have to lie there and, and think about today and everything I did wrong. I hurt Thomas. I hurt my friends." Patton's eyes were shiny behind his glasses; the unshed tears sparkled in the light when he locked eyes with Janus. "Aren't you going to think about the same thing?"

Anger flared, perhaps prematurely, in Janus' chest. "About what you did wrong today?"

"About what you did wrong," Patton said timidly.

"I," Janus said icily, "didn't do anything wrong." He stared Patton down across the table, jaw set, daring him to push back. Let him lecture and nag, let him prove that he hadn't changed no matter what he said.

But Patton only nodded, his face lined with misery. "Okay," he softly. "I think you're right, Janus. We should go to bed."

Janus thought about how much faster he could get to bed if the table was cleared, and all the dishes and cards vanished in a blink.

"Um, Janus?" Patton said.

"Yes?"

"I don't regret everything that happened today."

"Oh?"

Patton only nodded and sank out.

Janus made a beeline for his own room; better to find his way there on foot rather than risk appearing in the wrong spot.

Once inside, he looked around to ensure nothing was amiss, eyes roving over the dark wood of his bookshelves and desk, his mirrored closet doors, the leather armchairs across from his bed.

Everything was exactly as Janus had left it. He nodded, satisfied, set his hat on the nightstand, and sprawled out of top of the covers without bothering to further undress.

One hazy thought crawled to the surface of his mind before he fell asleep: At least he wouldn't be one of the regrets haunting Patton tonight.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Call of the Wild Woman

Just some fluff featuring the green-haired goddess of NXT. 

Pairing: Shotzi Blackheart x OFC

Word count: 2,412

Content advisory: brief sexual references, language

The first time I met Shotzi, I instantly liked her. We shook hands and she gave me this smile that made me feel like I was having a great day, even though there hadn’t been anything exceptional about it to that point. I was a little overwhelmed with all the people I was meeting, trying to get a sense of their look, their personality, their character, but I knew from our introduction that I was going to remember her for years, even if I never saw her again. 

Of course, Shotzi’s a memorable person. Tall, tattooed, pierced and sporting that incredible acid green hair, it would be hard not to remember her. But I felt like I’d remember her vivacious eyes and confident smile just as much as the things that made her stand out from a mile away. My whole first day getting led around the performance center, I found my eyes drawn back to her whenever she appeared. 

I had just been moved to NXT to take over as their chief makeup artist. I’d been working on Raw for close to a year when the position opened up and I’d been so excited and nervous about whether I’d get the job that I felt as if I’d barely slept for two months. My boyfriend and I actually broke up while I was waiting to hear back and I hardly noticed. We’d been struggling since his work had moved him out of state, and things had just sort of ended like a wave washing over a sandcastle. I wasn’t bitter but I was lonely. And that, along with my desire to show that I could run a team in high pressure situations, meant that I threw myself headlong into the new job. I tried to keep some time to see friends but work seemed more rewarding. 

By the time I’d been there a few months, my circle of friends was largely made up of coworkers. There were always birthdays or barbecues or other things going on, and it was fun to be able to dish about work without having to explain a lot of background detail. I was enjoying myself. But, yeah, I was definitely lonely. 

I dropped a couple of hints here and there that I wouldn’t mind being fixed up with any single male friends and a couple of the women made suggestions. A couple of the men did too. But none of it went anywhere. I was too busy and too awkward to make a first move and if any of the suggested bachelors ever thought to check me out on social media, it never resulted in a phone call. 

Shotzi was always one of my favorite models. I loved transforming her from the natural beauty she was to the wild child who appeared on tv every week. And while we’d talk about work, she also had the greatest gifts as a storyteller, and the crazy stories to complement her skills. She’d been raised around bikers and conservative immigrants at the same time. She’d worked as a late night host for a horror movie tv broadcast before she became a wrestler. It was like she’d been born to perform and had found a way to do so while still being herself. 

I found myself sitting at home, always alone, watching the silly and shocking horror movies she’d recommend to me, or tracking down music by bands she’d mention or whose shirts she’d wear. When she’d worked on tv, she’d developed a loyal following of teenage boys and girls who used to do everything from message her begging her to go out with them to sending her love letters and poetry to showing up outside the station in the hopes of meeting her. It sounded both creepy and sad but I sympathized a little with her starry-eyed fans. She was a kind of dazzling whirlwind of a person and, indeed, I was dazzled by her. 

One day, I’d showed up at work after a particularly inauspicious Tinder date. The guy had picked me up for what was supposed to be coffee and a walk but had insisted that we stop by his friend’s place so he could get some pot. The three of us shared a joint and I assumed we were about to leave when another joint appeared. Being a lightweight, I declined but the two of them proceeded to smoke it themselves. Then the friend’s roommate came home from band practice. She pulled out her bong and that was getting passed around while she played us the hour-long piece of meandering prog that they’d created that day. All three of them seemed really entranced by what they could hear in the music, which I was pretty certain they were imagining. 

About an hour later, my date and his friend started playing video games. I quietly tried to suggest that we leave and at least grab that coffee because I was clinging to the hope that maybe the guy, who was way cuter than I’d counted on, might have some redeeming qualities. He assured me we could leave in a minute. He and his friend were completely absorbed in their game, while the roommate randomly started telling me about how her mother had given birth to her at a Grateful Dead concert in the eighties, after following the band on tour for years. She didn’t seem to care much if I responded and would focus entirely on her phone every minute she wasn’t speaking. 

Eventually, the roommate had begun to complain loudly that she was hungry and the guys agreed that we should order pizza. I handed over some money and advised them that I was a vegetarian, only to be surprised by a pizza that arrived looking like it had been fished out of a trash can, topped with pepperoni and cheese. I knew the place they’d ordered from and some quick math in my head made it clear that I had paid for basically all the pizza. They assured me that I could just pull the pepperoni off. 

I was about to leave but my date insisted that we could head out in a few minutes to find me something I might actually want to eat. He was cute enough that I‘d agreed to stay just a little longer. A few more guys showed up to buy pot. Then friends of the roommate‘s had shown up with beer and put the stereo on so loud I thought the ceiling might cave in. I ended up leaving at eleven without even saying goodbye. When I got home, I realized that I‘d lost my house keys and had to ask a neighbor to help me break into my apartment.

I told this story to my coworkers to a chorus of loud “nos'' and peals of laughter. Others shared some bad date stories but this one did seem pretty dire. Everyone commiserated and it did make me feel better, like the night hadn’t been a total washout because I had a good story to tell and, as a couple of the girls pointed out, dates I had in the future were likely to seem pretty good in comparison. 

“You should have taken some of the pot!” Shotzi exclaimed to a round of agreement. 

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

It was a few days later that I was prepping Shotzi’s makeup and I noticed that she was a bit quieter than usual. She wasn’t unfriendly but there was something off. 

“You ok?” I asked quietly, sweeping my brush out to give her the perfect cat’s eye flip. 

“Yeah, I’m great.”

She didn’t sound great, or at least not in the enthusiastic way she usually did. I felt my neck getting tense as I tried to lead the conversation for the first time, knowing I wasn’t nearly as good at it as she was. I didn’t want to push her to tell me what was on her mind and at the same time, I felt like my forced smalltalk was probably grating on her nerves. I wanted to be entertaining but I lacked the stories and the flair. 

Finally, when I announced that I was finished, she stood up just a few inches from me. I expected her to tell me to wish her luck, which I always did, but she didn’t move, her bright eyes focused on mine. 

“Do you want to go out some time this weekend?” She asked. 

“Like, hang out? Sure.”

She shook her head. “No. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing quite what to say. I fell back on the default. “Um, I don’t actually date women.”

“Oh.” She looked sad for the first time and a little surprised. “I’m sorry, I read some singles wrong. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s no big deal. I just… you’re gorgeous. I’m just not…”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, extending a hand as if to pat my arm but withdrawing it before she did. “Please, forget I ever said anything.”

Of course, I couldn’t forget that. In fact, I couldn’t even get it out of my head. I’d always dated men. I’d known women who were bisexual and lesbian but none of them had ever expressed an interest in me and I hadn’t found myself attracted to them. But Shotzi was attractive. She was stunning. And the more I thought about that first reaction I’d had to her, the more it seemed similar to the way I’d reacted to men I’d been involved with in the past. I just hadn’t noticed the similarity because she was a woman and I wasn’t into women. 

But maybe I was into one woman. 

She stayed friendly with me, although she didn’t linger as long in the makeup chair regaling me with tales of her rock ‘n’ roll childhood or films that had made her who she was. I hadn’t even realized that she had been lingering before. I just thought we’d been having great conversations. We had been having great conversations. Had I been sending the wrong signals?

I knew that I had marveled at how beautiful and unique she was. I’d gushed, really. But I’d been so floored by her that I felt like I had to let off some steam in the form of compliments or I’d never be able to focus on anything else. That didn’t change after the “asking me out” incident. The fact that I couldn’t release any of my thoughts made it harder to think about anything. I’d see her and I’d spend ten minutes feeling like kind of an idiot, then half an hour thinking about her chatoyant eyes, about the perfect heart shape of her face, or her full lips. 

It was a few weeks later that I caught myself staring at her from the safety of the shadows while she prepared to go out for a match. I’d often stared at her body and I figured that it was because she had the kind of body that every woman wanted to have: perfect curves, toned limbs, smooth skin… Looking at her in that moment, though, I wasn’t so sure about my motives. Was I wishing that I had those taut thighs or was I wishing that I knew what it felt like to drag my lips along them, to feel her shudder at the sensation of my breath on her sensitive flesh? 

Her match was thrilling, as her matches almost always were. She was whipping around the place looking completely out of control, although we all knew she wasn’t. The more danger she put herself in, the more she seemed to glow with internal electricity. It was no wonder that the company was already treating her like a star. You’d have to be dead not to get drawn in by her. But it occurred to me as I watched her that I was more drawn in than others. 

When I saw her come backstage, I retreated to my makeup room and counted down what felt like enough time to allow her to unwind, shower and change before I made my way over to the locker room. 

“Hi there,” I greeted her, a little shyly. 

She glanced up and gave me a big smile while she patted her hair dry. 

“Hey you.”

“So, if the offer is still open, I’d like to say yes.”

She arched her elegant brows and gave me a coy smile. “Now what offer would that be?”

“If you still want to, then, yes, I would like to go on a date with you.”

“Interesting,” she drawled. “What brought about this change of heart?”

“You did.”

She bats her eyes and points theatrically at her chest. “Moi?”

I couldn’t help but smile. The light in her eyes told me she was happy but she still wanted to make me work for it a little. Fair enough.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve found all these things- movies, music, all sorts of stuff- that I just never thought of checking out because I either didn’t know about them or because I just never thought I’d be into them. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I might have made a lot of decisions about what I like just because it was what I saw everyone else doing.”

“Well that’s cool, but I’m not a movie or a book.”

“No. You’re this incredibly cool, funny, exciting, sexy person who I love being around and who has me thinking about all sorts of things I hadn’t considered.”

“Ok. How would you feel about a midnight picnic at an old shack I found near the river?” She grinned. 

“Will you hold my hand if I get scared?”

“I promise.”

I gave a little laugh and stepped closer to her, cupping her cheek in one of my hands and marvelling at how perfectly it fit there. Unable to resist the temptation, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against hers. And immediately, a delightful shiver ran through every part of my body. 

When we separated, she gave me an almost coquettish smile and laced her arm through mine, steering us out of the locker. 

“You know,” I mused, “you don’t seem really surprised by this.”

“I’m not,” she responded with a wink. “I knew you’d come around.”

[sodalitefully]

Enter freely and of your own will [GNR, Sluff AU]

I know, I know, I've written vampire AUs before… Several times.  But I had to write something about what a nerd Slash is for vampire fiction!  Mostly inspired by interviews Slash gave after gnr covered Sympathy For The Devil for Interview With A Vampire (so any digs at the movie adaptation are based on Slash’s opinion, not mine – I’ve never seen it!).  Occasional mentions of blood and stuff, but not particularly graphic.  This fic is expanding on an AU I originally drew here.

~~~~

In my mind, it all played out like the plot of a paranormal romance novel.  I’ve gotten familiar with those lately, thanks to the collection hidden in the bottom shelves of Slash’s library, buried below the gothic horror classics, the crime thrillers, and about a mountain of nonfiction.  Hell, I could probably write my own!  “Tall blonde unexpectedly falls for rock and roll bad boy with a dark secret,” yeah, the readers would eat that up.  Of course, our love story didn’t really start when the unsuspecting protagonist moved to a new city, or when the leather-clad love interest showed off his supernatural shredding skills.  No, I’d say it started a couple years later, when I found out Slash’s other deep, dark, embarrassing secret.   

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night… but it was a movie night at my place, a tradition for Slash and I.  Whenever we needed a break from the so-called rockstar lifestyle, we’d get together for a night in, smoke some pot and put on a movie. Slash laid back on my couch while I dug through a cabinet packed with VHS tapes and listed off a few options: 

“Let’s see, we have Jurassic Park, Alien, Interview With a Vampire – Uh, sorry, I guess that would be weird huh?”  Slash made a sour face. 

“Ugh.  I hate that movie, it’s such a bad adaptation. Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt, seriously?” 

“Wait,” I dropped The Empire Strikes Back and Blazing Saddles onto the growing heap of tapes and sat back on my heels to look at Slash in surprise. "You’ve seen it before?” 

“Uh…” Vampires may not be able to blush but I'd known Slash long enough to tell when he’s flustered.   

“And you’ve read the book?” 

“… Yes?”  I laughed, Slash ducked and hid his face, obviously feeling self-conscious, but I didn’t mean to laugh at him.  It was just… 

I’d assumed that a real-life vampire would roll their eyes at the cliche, over-romanticized movie interpretations of their kind.  Instead, I learned of Slash’s (nearly) indiscriminate love for all things vampire, anything from Carmilla to Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  He was a sucker (hah, get it?) for dripping fangs, swishing capes, even those crazy accents, ever since he was a kid.  And I can’t lie, it was pretty endearing.  I wasn’t in love with him yet, but the more he told me about his obsession, the more warm and tingly I felt, charmed by how genuine he was – Hell, I barely even teased him about it!  Somehow, that conversation felt even more personal than finding out he was a damn vampire.  I was really touched that he felt comfortable sharing his interests with me, that he trusted me with his softer, nerdier, more romantic side.   

I resisted the temptation to press for more details that night, but a month or so later, I caught him in the act!  I remember waking up in the afternoon after crashing at his place so late it was early the night before.  I wandered around his big, spooky house until I found Slash curled up in one of his fancy antique armchairs, his legs dangling over the armrest and a paperback book cradled in his lap.  I couldn’t make out the curlicued script on the cover, but from the captivated look on his face it was a favorite – his eyes were bright as they darted across the page, and his lips curled into a warm, gentle smile. 

I couldn’t stand to disturb him, so I snuck off before he noticed me in the doorway, and headed down the hall to the room he’d transformed into a tiny library – The man had a library in his house; between that and the subtly gothic decor it was hard to believe I never noticed that Slash was playing up the vampire aesthetic, consciously or not!  Anyway, I poked around until I found where he hid his collection of vampire lit, and snatched a few that were, shall we say, not quite as acclaimed as Dracula or even The Vampire Chronicles.  I don’t remember the titles, but there were a couple paperback romances and a horror novel with a badass-looking dude on the cover. 

I had to see what all the fuss was about, you know?  Yeah, this kind of thing wasn’t exactly up my alley, but Slash usually had good taste, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to check it out.  Plus, if it was important to Slash, I wanted to know about it!  And not just the well-known classics either; I wanted the guilty pleasures, I wanted to see what it was that could make Slash smile like that when no one was watching. 

I’ll be honest, it wasn’t bad.  I wasn’t a big reader at the time, but I raced through the horror novel in just two days, and trust me, I barely slept the night in between!  The trashy romance was more enjoyable than I would ever admit; even with all the cliches and melodrama there was something compelling about unraveling the tangled web of forbidden love in a world full of the supernatural. 

At this point, I was very cautiously beginning to entertain the idea that I might see Slash as more than just a buddy and a bandmate.  As friends, were were closer than ever, hardly spent a day apart, and I was beginning to notice things that I hadn’t noticed before.  Things like the way he always smiled at my lame jokes, the way he leaned on my shoulder when he was pretending to be drunk, the way he tossed his hair on stage… And I couldn’t help wondering whether Slash identified more with the heroine or the love interest.  Did he want to be the cool, mysterious vampire lover, or the unsuspecting protagonist who gets drawn into an alluring new world? 

I got my answer a couple months later, in town again after a leg on the road. It was a steaming hot summer day back in L.A., and Slash was dozing on his couch. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, Slash’s sleep schedule had been fucked for as long as I'd known him. No, what made this instance significant was that I was also on the couch, reclined with my feet over the armrest and Slash draped across my chest. Tales From The Crypt played at a murmur on a brand-new TV set, but I wasn’t paying any attention. 

See, at this point I’d recently learned that, when Slash focused hard enough, he could hear a living person’s blood pulsing in their veins and detect changes in body temperature.  And that had me wondering: Could he tell that my heart beat faster when he leaned against me on stage?  Could he tell that my ears got warm every time he turned a smile my way? 

Could he tell how much I was affected by his weight on top of me?   

He was like a huge cat in my lap, relaxed from head to toe.  If you paid attention, you could tell that he was breathing more slowly that an ordinary human should be and his bare skin was slightly cool.  Other than that he looked completely normal… Except for his teeth.  His mouth was slightly open, allowing his pointed, knife-sharp teeth to scrape against his lower lip. 

To Slash’s chagrin, they weren't gleaming white, perfectly straight fangs; instead they more closely resembled a shark’s jaw, crowded with small flesh-tearing blades.  It was rare to see them exposed, Slash was careful to limit himself to tight-lipped smiles and mumbled dialogue whenever his secret was at risk. Even in private he was self-conscious about it, and I considered myself lucky when he grinned openly in my presence. 

“Hey, Slash?”   

“…Hmm?” Languidly, he shifted until he was looking up at me.  Midafternoon sun leaked through the blinds brightly enough for me to make out a hint of red in his eyes, the other (un)dead giveaway that was usually obscured by his sedately lidded gaze.   

"You know how you said the other day that you have really strong senses? Well... I was wondering what other, uh, non-human traits you have. How true are the myths about vampires, really?” 

“Well… Hm.  My eyes are pretty sensitive to daylight.  And technically I’m nocturnal.  But I don’t have fangs, I don’t really look like a vampire and I don’t have superpowers.” I swear to god, he pouted a little.  "All things considered I didn’t really get any of the cool stuff." 

“No super-strength?  Or mind reading? Can you shapeshift into a bat?” 

“Don’t you think I’d tell you if I could turn into a bat?  At least I don’t have any of those stupid weaknesses, I can be in the sun and eat garlic and whatever.” He paused ponderously. “…You know, I might be immortal, I was around a long time before Tony and Ola took me in.  Guess I’ll find out in a few decades.” 

“That would be pretty cool.” 

“Yeah, maybe." 

“So... do you enthrall your victims?” I prodded, in a spooky, menacing voice belied by my goofy grin. 

Slash snorted a laugh and shook his head at my antics. “No, I can’t do that either.  Well, I don’t know, do you feel enthralled?” 

I laughed awkwardly and counted my blessings when Slash didn't notice that my unspoken answer was an empathetic Yes. 

Slash chuckled with me, then sighed.  “Fuck, I wish vampires like that were real, though…” he confessed softly. 

“Like what?” 

“You know, badass, seductive, awesome powers…” He waved a hand toward a pinup poster on the wall with a corset and fangs, then let his head fall back to my chest.  He mumbled into my shirt, “Is it really so much to ask for a sexy vampire to come and sweep me off my feet?” 

“Slash, I hate to tell you this, but…” I couldn’t make it through the sentence with a straight face. 

He swatted my bicep – pretty hard too, was he sure he didn’t have super-strength? “Fuck you, Duff, you know what I mean." 

And, yeah, dreaming of being wooed by a beautiful, badass, intelligent and darkly mysterious vampire?  Who appeared in my life and changed it forever, who blew me away with his capability and his passion?  Who could captivate me with just a look? 

Yeah. Believe me, I could relate.

~~~~

Happy Halloween! 

[porschekittisawasds]

simply cannot believe i made a supernatural fic rec list in the year 2020 but here we are

When Worlds Collide

When Zachariah dies, the illusions he’s created die with him.  But before they collapse completely, sometimes they collide. That’s how Castiel goes from cradling Dean Winchester’s broken body one moment, to finding himself face to face with Dean Smith in the next.

note: basically endverse!cas’s world collapses right after endverse!dean is killed by lucifer and he gets thrown into the it’s a terrible life verse. drama and love and a whole lot of fuckery ensue. it’s tagged as major character death but it’s not really

Broadway Musical

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

note: an AU where dean and jo are destined to fall in love and have two sons who will bring on the apocalypse and be the vessels for michael and lucifer. only problem is cupid’s arrows don’t make them fall in love with each other and heaven promptly starts freaking the fuck out so cas slips into a vessel and tries to do some matchmaking to get the whole end of the world thing back on track. it’s tagged as unrepentant crack and that pretty much sums it up, but it’s also a very funny and enjoyable read

a turn of the earth

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

note: listen i LOVE a good time travel fic

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam)

In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean's angel rather sooner than intended.

note: after lucifer stabs gabriel in hammer of the gods, gabriel uses his very last bit of grace to travel back to the beginning of time and decree castiel the angel of thursdays and dean winchester. fast forward a few eons and castiel hears mary’s dying cry. he shows up too late to save her, but he decides that a human life is very short in the grand scheme of things so he can play guardian angel to dean (and by extension sam) while also fulfilling his duties to heaven. not only is this pretty much my favorite supernatural fic, it’s also one of my favorite fics in general

The Shattered One

When it struck Castiel, he was in mid-flight. It dropped him out of the sky like a sparrow buffeted by gale-force winds. Castiel set down the first place he could find. He ended up standing in a field in Switzerland, swaying on his feet and staring down at his body, dazed by what it had just done.

note: okay so listen. this is tagged as mpreg but that’s kind of a stretch imo. it’s not like... mpreg mpreg in the sense that it deals with angel reproduction and has nothing to do with sex or pregnancy. angel reproduction goes like this: a section of an angel’s grace will suddenly and randomly break off and begin to grow on it’s own. after a certain period of time, another angel has to offer a piece of their grace and the two pieces will combine to form a new angel. that new angel is a fully developed, fully functional angel and is considered a new brother/sister instead of an offspring.

cas’s grace shatters which means he’s fucked because this takes place in season 5 after he’s defied heaven. no other angel will offer up a piece of their grace so his own is basically going to rip itself apart, killing him in the process. when dean and sam find out cas is going to die, dean offers up part of his soul in place of another angel’s grace. what results is a new angel that has just enough human in it that it takes the shape of a human baby and sends pretty much all of their lives into a tailspin.

ALSO just a heads up this is definitely more pre-destiel despite the relationship tag. there’s a sequel where im pretty sure they do get together but i haven’t read it so i cant’s say for sure.

Kiss You When It’s Dangerous

When his partner Uriel, betrays him, Federal Agent Castiel Novak is saved from becoming a ritual sacrifice by brothers Dean and Sam Winchester.

note: FBI!cas gets thrown headfirst into the supernatural. tagged as major character death, but again it’s not really

My Roots Take Flight

After forty years in Hell, Dean’s more than willing to accept the offer: become a guardian angel and earn his freedom. But his new ward seems destined to hunt alongside Sam, and there are secrets in Heaven that the angels don’t want found out. Dean’s going to have to choose between his duty and the people he loves- and to work out just where Castiel fits in.

note: season 4 au where dean is an angel and cas is a human except it’s way more complicated than that

Peace and Good Luck To All Men

Christmas in the Milton household was difficult enough without the added complication of guests- and if Luke and Gabriel placing bets on who can get with Sam first wasn’t bad enough, then Cas developing a ridiculous crush on his sister’s boyfriend definitely is. 

note: the one where michael, lucifer luke, gabriel, anna and cas are all human siblings but michael and lucifer luke are still trying to kill each other, gabriel is still Like That and cas is still super into dean which is pretty inconvenient considering he’s with anna.

Asunder

Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. (Matthew 19:6) 

note: it’s been a very long time since i read this, but from what i remember it’s an AU where they’re all human and dean brings his friend/co-worker cas as his “date” to sam and ruby’s wedding for moral support. when sam was in college, he met ruby and they started using drugs together. after several failed attempts at helping him get clean, dean eventually cut sam off and it’s been years since they’ve spoken. even though sam and ruby are now both sober, dean blames ruby for everything that happened and the only reason he’s even going to the wedding is because bobby and ellen basically force him to. again, it’s been years and years since i read this so i can���t remember a lot of the details, but i do know that despite this being a dean/cas fic a lot of the focus is dean rebuilding his relationship with sam and that’s what i remember really liking about it.

Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered

Death brings Sam back — sort of.

note: a general fic involving only sam and dean. sam’s soul is so damaged from its time in the cage that when death brings it back, it shatters into pieces and so does sam. like literally. there’s four different sams now, each representing a distinctive part of his personality. sounds cracky but it’s actually surprisingly angsty and focuses on how the sams and dean are adjusting to their new reality and each other

Point Pleasant

(okay so this fic was deleted but i’m putting in on here anyway because the author has since turned it into a novel and had it published. im sure old pdfs of the fic are floating around but i highly recommend reading the novel version. if you know it was based on a destiel fic then it’s really easy to see those influences in the writing and the characters but it can stand up on it’s own. also!!!! it has pretty much the coolest take on the mothman’s origin story that i’ve ever heard.)

Ben Wisehart (Dean Winchester) grew up in the idyllic town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. An early encounter with the supernatural shaped his worldview and served as the catalyst for his career as a bestselling horror writer. Thirteen years after abandoning his home, Ben returns to the town to investigate the apparent reemergence of the terrifying creature responsible for his childhood nightmares. In Point Pleasant, Ben is confronted not only by the town’s resident monster, the Mothman, but also by his former best friend, Sheriff Nicholas Nolan (Cas Novak). Together, Ben and Nicholas (Dean and Cas) uncover the mystery of the monster in the woods and discover that the ghosts that haunt us are sometimes made of flesh and blood. And sometimes, they lead us home.

Sympathy for the Devil (and Dean Winchester)

this is not so much a rec as it is a request.

basically an au version of season 5 (and kind of the whole series really). when god cast lucifer out of heaven, he tore out his grace. lucifer’s grace was put into the cage, but lucifer himself fell to earth and spent thousands and thousands of years reincarnating as a human. his latest reincarnation? dean winchester. so when sam opens the cage, lucifer’s grace is released and dean realizes that he’s lucifer. part of him still kind of wants to start the apocalypse but the other part of him has a whole new appreciation for humanity considering he now remembers every human life he’s ever lived. it’s made more complicated by the fact that dean (/lucifer) doesn’t really want to tell anyone that he’s apparently the devil so he has to keep his now angel status on the dl and also because despite heaven wanting the apocalypse to start, michael went missing from heaven shortly after lucifer was cast out and no one has any idea where he’s at.

this fic was deleted, but if anyone happens to have a pdf copy let me know. i would be highly appreciative!