#it’s a complicated joke story I made a long time ago

[snirtsnirkarts]

Yes. I have been listening to Sherlock and Co. Yes, I am getting a little obsession. And yes, I am waiting impatiently for the next part to come out. Anywho, this is my little take on Sherlock and John.

My concept of them comes from a combination of BBC Sherlock, how the fandom sees Sherlock and co. , and how the voice actors look. Little things like Sherlock being a ginger, and John’s face and head build.

Hope y’all like it and uh… Listen to Sherlock and Co.? Yep, sounds like a good enough message to me, let me just turn off this recording… How do I-? Mother fu-

[lc-holy]

Conférence Masterclass 808 (Translation)

I've taken the liberty of translating the conference that took place last year with the writing director of Miraculous (Sébastien Thibaudeau). It was only made public when someone posted a video of the conference a short while ago.

In this conference, Sébastien Thibaudeau will talk about the creation of Miraculous and his work on the series. He is joined by Chloé Paye, a new scriptwriter working on Miraculous season 6.

Sébastien talks a lot and repeats himself a bit, so the summary can be a bit confusing.

I strongly advise you to go and listen to the video if you understand French. There are a lot of details I'm going to leave out, and Sébastien is very funny.

Photo belongs to mlbfanfr on twitter.

Please be respectful in comments or tags. If you want to debate on things related to this conference, please make your own post. I apologize if there are any mistakes, I'm French and I'm not fluent in English.

-12 years ago, Sébastien arrived at Zagtoon, a studio that was just starting out and had yet to produce and broadcast any series. The producer (Jérémy Zag) and Sébastien hit it off and decided to start working together. Zag decides to give Sébastien total freedom over his projects. Sébastien then decides to put the spotlight on scriptwriters, because in this profession they are unfortunately poorly paid and never stay on the same projects.

So they produced a cartoon called Kobushi. A little-known series that did rather well, even if it didn't stay on the "Gulli" channel for long. The scriptwriters and producer were happy with the end result, as it was produced in a very short time.

Jeremy Zag then proposed another project, which he thought was quite good, but which he was unable to sell to broadcasters. At the time, the project was called "Ladybug". No one was interested, as the project was aimed more at an adult audience than a children's audience. Sébastien had to make sure that the project could be broadcast on Disney and TF1.

There was only a "trailer" also called "Ladybug" (but you'll find the video under the title Ladybug PV) animated by Toei animation. At the time, Sébastien had not yet been hired by Zagtoon. It was Jérémy Zag who convinced Toei animation to work with them (no mean feat, since Toei animation doesn't work with anyone).

So Sébastien started working with Thomas Astruc (the man who wrote and created the "Ladybug" project). At first, he didn't want to work on this project because he found it complicated. Thomas wanted to make a series for adults, but at the time, it was very complicated to make a cartoon for adults. What's more, they didn't have enough money to take on such a project. Sébastien finally agreed, but there were some changes to be made, which Thomas accepted.

-What Sébastien appreciated most in this project was the romantic comedy, the love square between the two main characters.

To meet the requirements of the cartoon industry, "Ladybug" had to be set in a neutral universe, in other words, in an imaginary country or the USA, but Zag, who loves Paris, declared that the cartoon had to be set in Paris.

In the end, Thomas Astruc's entire project was discarded, leaving only the love story between the two heroes and the city of Paris, where the story was to take place.

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-Sébastien explains how he writes Marinette's first dialogues: He says he talks a lot in real life, so he writes Marinette like him. She says out loud whatever she's thinking.

For Chat noir, he makes him tell his father's jokes. Something TF1 doesn't accept. The TV channel went so far as to refuse to validate the Bible (a collection of information on the series and episodes) until it had removed the sentence: “Chat noir makes jokes”. Sebastien has therefore removed the sentence, but will continue to make Chat noir tell jokes.

-The writing director's job is to get the producer, creator and broadcaster to agree. The series broadcast on TF1 and Disney are very different. TF1 wants series whose story can be told in a single episode, unlike Disney, which wants series whose story spans several episodes.

Sébastien and TF1 agree that Miraculous will be a series with one story per episode, a "Formula Show".

He cites the example of Dora the Explorer episodes, where every episode is the same: Dora goes on an adventure from point A to point B, she has to find 3 clues, then she meets Swiper, she sings a song to make Swiper go away, she uses the talking map to get from one place to another, then Dora manages to get to point B and the episode ends.

This episode format is used for children, to give them a reassuring framework, as they build themselves up through repetition. That's why series like Dora work so well with young children.

So Sebastien sold the Miraculous series to broadcasters as a formula show. A person gets angry, is akumatized, then marinette transforms into Ladybug then frees the person from the akumatization and… The End.

It's also for this reason that Marinette tries to confess her love for Adrien in every episode, but is unable to do so.

But he tried to go against what he had planned with TF1, by slipping little extra stories into certain episodes. Audiences were receptive to these slightly hidden stories. The TV channel even asked Sébastien if there really were hidden things in the series, but he denied everything. Thanks to the positive reception from the public, TF1 agreed to develop the characters of Marinette and Adrien and flesh out the universe a little more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Once the bible is written, they have to write a script. But first Sébastien, as writing director, needs to know the mood of the series, and to do this he calls on Thomas Astruc, the series creator. Thomas is a great fan of classical painting. A single painting can tell a complex scene with lots of detail. He wants the episodes of miraculous to be like these paintings, there will be very few shots, but in a single shot a lot will happen.

-Sébastien explains that one of the things Thomas wanted to convey in the series was emotion. They didn't want to do what a lot of children's cartoons do, which is to beat the bad guys and win at the end of the episode. They wanted to tell kids that it's normal to have negative emotions. We can also become better people, learn from our mistakes and so on. It also reassures TV channels by setting up scenes that are repeated in every episode: people get angry, people akumatize then people deakumatize, end of episode...

Once the TV channels had been reassured, they set about writing a script.

-Sébastien asks Thomas to write the ending, as they're not sure the series will work. They also wondered what the aim of the series was, and what they wanted to say to the children. The two of them sat down in an office and wrote the ending, which turned out to be just the end of an arc. He even adds that now that they've written a lot more, it's important for them to write in advance so that everything is clear to them.

-The first season was written by 19 authors, from home. He found it interesting that the series was written by several different authors, even if some of them didn't quite understand the premise of the series. One episode that Sébastien particularly appreciated was written by two “autrices” (I think it's weird to say “two female authors”, so I'll use the French word): the refletkta episode, with the story of Juleka who couldn't get into the photos. (Note that all the episodes were proofread by Sébastien and Thomas).

After that, they kept a few people on to work together on the scripts for subsequent seasons.

Sébastien explains that he keeps a close eye on the production of the episodes, to make sure that everything that goes into the picture is as faithful as possible to what they've written in the script.

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-The kwamis exist thanks to Toei, who wanted funny little animals to sell plush toys. So the scriptwriters had to find a way to integrate kwamis into the story.

-(Again, Sébastien advises people to check out the Kobushi series if they can still watch it somewhere, or ask the leaker who leaked the whole of season 5 to give them the episodes (that's a joke, of course)).

-Sébastien talks about the Ikari gozen episode, which could have been a total failure because the storyboarder didn't fully understand the scenario. Sébastien asks Zag to redo the storyboard, which will add 10 weeks to the episode's deadline. The storyboarder admits that he's always done storyboards mechanically, without worrying whether the episode is good or not, whether the jokes are funny or not. Eventually, the episode was redone by the same storyboarder, resulting in the episode we all know today.

- They still have a lot to tell with Miraculous, to the point where they're wondering if they'll have enough seasons to tell everything they want to tell. Sebastien says there will be a season 6 and 7, and probably a season 8 and 9.

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- Chloé Paye met Sébastien when she was looking for an internship. She had never worked in animation, and knew nothing about Miraculous. She tells us how the scriptwriting team works. Each time, all the scriptwriters in the room have to be convinced of the script. They can sometimes spend hours on details to get everyone to agree.

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- The driving force behind the series is that there must always be a secret between Marinette and Adrien. The lovesquare can never be broken, otherwise there's no series. Sébastien knows that some people are worried about this. Will they continue the lovesquare for another 4 seasons or more? How will they evolve? Sébastien says not to worry, they know where they want to go.

-It takes them 14 to 16 months to produce an episode, but it's often much longer due to unforeseen circumstances. And they don't work on one episode at a time, but on several at the same time. One episode takes a long time because of the 3D animation.

One of the things that's complicated with Miraculous 3d animation is that they can only display 3 characters at a time on screen, whereas the series requires them to display many more characters. It's also very difficult to correct animation errors, as this takes a lot of time.

-The TV networks were very surprised by the success of miraculous. They didn't think adults and children alike would watch the series. The TV channels were a little confused because they usually make series for a specific age group, but since miraculous had people of all ages watching, they weren't sure what to do.

- Sébastien says he's very happy that miraculous inspires a lot of people to create things, like writing fanfiction, however he's not interested in it because he doesn't want to be influenced by certain fans who would love to see certain things in the series.

- Writing direction also means paying attention to how the characters speak. They all have their own way of speaking. For example, Adrien will never say "j’te parle", but rather "Je te parle".

- During the writing process, the writers sometimes act out scenes to make the dialogue more natural. This is what happened with the episode "Gang of secrets". They felt that, with the success of the show and the pressure it was generating, they needed to write something to relieve their stress. So they wrote about Marinette and the enormous pressure she was under to keep all her secrets. The final scene, in which Marinette tells Alya that she's Ladybug, came naturally when they performed it together.

[thegreatyin]

@blastlight fallen london is a browser game ive been just. super duper really totally absolutely subtle and low-key about liking. it hasn't driven me to any sort of state of perpetual bat-centric madness or folly or obsession whatsoever. it definitely hasn't taken over my blog and also every single one of my remaining 5 braincells or anything like that. nope. nada. not in the slightest.

jokes aside, it's a free text-based browser game you can find here. if you've ever read a choose-your-own-adventure novel, it's essentially that, but in online form (with the "small" bonus of having over a million words and counting). it's got a big focus on both humor and horror in equal measure, and a huge depth of worldbuilding and choices- enough to keep one occupied for years to come. and it's still updating, to boot!

to cut a long and very complicated story summary short: roughly 40 years ago, victorian london was dragged underground by a swarm of bats. now you, the player, arrive in the dark and marvelous world of "the neath", seeking to fulfill one of four ambitions- and things only escalate from there. it's full to the brim with love, loss, and a lot of heart. and also The Horrors. The Horrors are there too.

if you're looking for a more traditional gaming experience, i highly recommend you check out one of the spinoff games set in the same universe- sunless sea, sunless skies, and mask of the rose are all individually good and serve as great standalone experiences if mainline fallen london isn't precisely your style. the lore is charmingly batshit insane, the characters are memorable and delightful, the OC-making potential (as i've thoroughly displayed over the course of the past year and a quarter) is off the charts-

it's a good time!! i can't recommend it enough!! go play it!!!! it's free!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(also please go check out the song the stupendium made about it because "all ends / swords, pens" has lived in my head rent free for months now. it's so good.)

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo! 

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day. 

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort. 

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much.  Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock. 

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such. 

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile. 

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus. 

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear. 

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know. 

 But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn. 

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick. 

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.” 

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly. 

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!" 

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly. 

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both. 

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most. 

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind. 

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected. 

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process." 

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars. 

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.  

You hoped he did. 

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment. 

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest. 

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice. 

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role. 

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were. 

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more. 

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of. 

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart. 

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed. 

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same. 

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride. 

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet. 

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon. 

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it. 

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to. 

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him. 

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head. 

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight. 

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin. 

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised. 

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far. 

People were weird when it came to shit like that. 

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary. 

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket. 

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down." 

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?" 

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity. 

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants." 

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?” 

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as. 

It made your heart flutter inside your chest. 

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner. 

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar. 

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot. 

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake. 

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further. 

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric. 

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.” 

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara. 

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold. 

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?” 

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?” 

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.” 

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.” 

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity. 

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked. 

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely. 

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it. 

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.  

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on." 

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!" 

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough. 

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror. 

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain. 

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace. 

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours. 

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach. 

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party. 

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't. 

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it. 

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out. 

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!" 

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?" 

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?" 

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve." 

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting." 

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?" 

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning. 

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance. 

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself." 

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought. 

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know." 

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before." 

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like. 

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head. 

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both. 

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?" 

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?" 

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off. 

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude." 

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did. 

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides. 

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment. 

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!” 

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked. 

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it. 

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it. 

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced. 

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you. 

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight. 

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points. 

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you." 

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return. 

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—- 

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.  

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start. 

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude. 

 Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now. 

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either. 

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself -  an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations. 

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element. 

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress. 

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.” 

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.” 

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place. 

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to. 

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat. 

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety. 

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close. 

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily. 

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her. 

“Have you seen Jake around?” 

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?” 

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.” 

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh. 

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.” 

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit. 

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.” 

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.” 

“Ahm...”  

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it. 

“That,” you offered. 

 “I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight. 

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room. 

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another. 

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked. 

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin. 

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall. 

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little. 

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow. 

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his. 

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair. 

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view. 

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight. 

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered. 

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes. 

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you. 

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else. 

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe. 

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this. 

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet. 

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear. 

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

 How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights." 

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled. 

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.” 

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?” 

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier. 

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?” 

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.” 

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.” 

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.” 

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss. 

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.” 

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.” 

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it. 

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat? 

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be. 

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place. 

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right? 

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

 No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had. 

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple. 

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut. 

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do. 

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you. 

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place. 

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

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[dameronology]

be still (matt murdock)

summary: matt is the only one who he'll let get close when he has a bad day

warnings: just language ig

sorry for dropping off the face of the earth for months and not writing a single thing. this might be my comback, or all you will get for another year. we'll see! love u all.

To the rest of the world, Matt Murdock was hard to read.

To you, he was like your favourite book. One you’d read a thousand times; with a plot line you knew like the back of your hand. Every bump on his skin; every raised scar and jagged red wound from his night shifts; you knew the story behind them all. The long pink line on his back was fall out from a fight with the Yakuza two years back. The deep, sunken jag on his right hand was from an unfortunate incident when he was chopping up some vegetables two years ago. I might have super senses, he’d joked, but there are some things you just need sight for.

Matt’s emotions were no different. There were days when even Foggy wasn’t sure what he was thinking – whether his stony face was from boredom or anger, or whether his smile was happiness or just a slightly misshapen grimace. With a life as complicated as his, it wasn’t surprising that Matt came with the feeling to match. In the early days of your relationship, it was something you’d struggled with, but now you knew his signals and his tells. You could see a bad mood coming from a mile off, almost like a thunderstorm on a summer day. Equally, you knew his good moods from the way he would greet you brightly in the morning, or his anxious ones from the way he held your hand. They weren’t always easy to forecast but at least it made things a little more predictable.

A cold Tuesday morning in the fall was no different. September had just come, bringing with it shorter days and colder nights. The tension in your bedroom was high from the moment you woke up – actually, it had been since the small hours of the morning. Matt had come crashing in without a word, gear ditched to the floor. Any questions of his wellbeing or how his night had been ignored as he passed out beside you, back turned the other way. His snores had been the first thing you’d heard from him that night – not a single word, not even a grunt. You could feel an invisible line down the middle of the bed. It wasn’t one you wanted to cross.

You woke up naturally with the daylight- perks of it being a Sunday, you figured (though not a silver lining. Today didn’t feel like a day to be looking for those). Matt was still, tired body heaving with deep breaths as he slept. It was hard to shake the feeling of anxiety that had snuck its way into your stomach; butterflies now felt like wasps and any previous inclination you’d had to reach out to him had died with the hope of him waking up before you and apologising.

“Dickhead,” you muttered.

(You knew he would hear you).

Still, you knew something was up. Even if he’d projected it onto you by swatting your hands away last night and completely blanking you, something was up. It took a moment of building up the courage in your head, but as Matt let out a yawn and rolled over, you quickly moved to snuggle into his side. His hands were on his front, so you made a second attempt to tangle your fingers with his. He didn’t comply, but he didn’t resist either. You stayed like that for a moment, until his dark eyes shot open, and he let out a heavy sigh.

You could have pretended to still be asleep, purely just to avoid dealing with the situation, but who were you fooling? The man was like a human sonar. He would know immediately from your breathing that you were awake. Plus, your not-so-quiet insult just moments earlier didn’t exactly align with something you could brush off as sleep talk.

Matt sat up, blinking for a moment. Any other morning, he would have pulled you into him; pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you tight. Not today, though. He snatched his hand away from yours and shrugged you off, pattering across the wooden floor out the bedroom and to the bathroom. The door slammed and a second later, you heard the spattering of the shower.

You stayed there for a second, heart thumping in your chest and heard swirling with thoughts. Why was he being shitty? Was it your fault? No, you told yourself. It wasn’t fair on you to jump to those conclusions. If he had a problem, it was on him to tell you. You’d made it clear from day one that you hated guessing games. Guess Who was one thing but Guess Why I’m Angry At You had no winners.

The water eventually stopped. Rather than coming back through to the bedroom as he normally would, there was silence. You frowned for a moment – what the fuck was he doing? Was he actually that intent on avoiding you?

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, swinging your legs out of bed and heading out of the bedroom. Matt was the first thing you saw in the living room, skin still covered in droplets of water from the sofa, butt fuck naked. He had a file open in front of him, callous fingers following over the braille as he read it, barely pausing to acknowledge your presence. You could have made a comment about him getting your thousand-dollar sofa wet, even a joke, but that didn’t feel like the right play.

“Hey,” you said.

No answer.

“I have to ask,” you continued, crossing the room and taking a seat beside him. Not close enough for your legs to be touching, but close enough that he knew you were there. “Have I done something?”

“No,” he murmured. “I’m just tired.”

His voice was barely above a whisper – barely even there. Something was seriously wrong.

“Okay,” you hummed.

You stayed like that for a moment – even though you could predict Matt’s mood, you couldn’t always predict what he wanted. If you touched him, would he flinch, or would the front come down? It was like hugging a nuclear bomb, even if the idea of his temper coming out on you was unfathomable.

“Do you want a coffee?” you gently asked.

Another pause.

“Yeah. I could do with a coffee.”

Trying to keep your nerves feigned, you crossed the room to the kitchen, hands working automatically. Kettle filled, turned on, two mugs out. One sugar and a tiny bit of milk for Matt, and then two sugars and no milk for you. He liked the blue mug, because it was easier to hold, and you preferred the purple one because it was the same shade of violet as the dress Taylor wore on the front of Speak Now. You’d brought it in a clearance sale when you and Matt just started seeing each other, and it was one of the first things you actually kept at his apartment.

You returned to the sofa, placing the coffee on the table in front of you. There was still no word from Matthew – not even a hm in place of a thank you.

“You’re worrying me,” you murmured.

Blanked.

Rolling your eyes – and finally getting sick of his head – you whacked the file out his hands and collapsed into his side. He didn’t immediately respond, but a moment later, his hand came down to touch your thigh. He gave your leg a squeeze, and you felt a minute bit of tension rise from the room. Not all of it, but the physical touch was enough to know that things would be okay.

You stayed like that for a moment, before wrapping your arms around him completely. You fell back into the sofa, letting Matt collapse into your chest. His hair was still wet from the shower, skin sticking to yours from where he was still drying, but you didn’t give a shit. You just wanted to hold him, hands roaming over his tense back, stopping on his shoulder blades and using your grip to pull him closer.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you said. “Just for a little while.”

He didn’t resist as you took his hand, tangling your fingers together and leading him back to the bedroom. Matt was hot on your heels, like a lost puppy now, and there was barely a second between you falling back first onto the bed and him following you. His entire body was on yours, legs tangling into a web and arms digging underneath your torso to hug you, head buried in your shoulder. He was limp – almost completely void of emotion.

Whatever barrier Matt had been putting up was gone, because as soon as you tangled a hand in his hair you could feel his hot tears on your skin. He’d only cried in front of you once before and that had been when you’d nearly died after a minor mishap (though he’d argue it was probably more). That meant that whatever had happened on patrol last night must have fucked him up a little – you didn’t want to ask, but you didn’t want to him to think he couldn’t talk about it.

“I’m here if you need,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “If you just wanna lay here or you just wanna talk, I’m right here.”

“Thank you,” his voice was still quiet. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Don’t apologise,” you shook your head. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied.

You tightened your grip on him and he tried to shuffle closer, even though it wasn’t physically possible. You were completely skin to skin and chest to chest, his forehead flush with your collarbone. It was raining outside now, the sound of water hitting the window filling the room with where tension used to be. That was gone now – maybe it hadn’t been there at all, just a figment of your anxiety.

You felt Matt’s eyelashes brush against your skin as he closed your eyes. Sleep was good. It was probably what you both needed, and with his warm, heavy body on yours, it was also hard to resist.

(All you could do was hope that you didn’t need to pee any time soon).

[autistichalsin]

I have very complicated feelings about Halsin's Drow brothel dialogue that I want to share. I want to say, immediately, that I am not telling any other survivor how to feel about this, because we all have our own experiences that affect how we feel about this, and I will ask that you show me the same courtesy. I have had past posts of mine met with rudeness- from questioning whether I really had seen the scene in question to someone accusing me of having a "fetish" for rape recovery- telling me "go do Astarion's storyline instead"- to someone saying "the entire concept" (of trauma recovery, I guess?) is "western nonsense". Do not do that on this post.

The most common statements made as criticisms against Halsin's scene, post patch 5* are the following:

*Pre-patch 5, most of the criticism was about how out of left field it is and how there was no ability to follow up with Halsin about it/ask if he's okay.

It's OOC (or at least just nonsensical) for Halsin; he's a big, strong, wise Archdruid, so it makes no sense that he was raped.

Halsin obviously healed completely from his Drow-related trauma offscreen, and any statements from the player questioning this are condescension and/or infantilization and/or the same as demanding Halsin go through therapy onscreen- demanding all survivors have the exact same cookie-cutter reaction to be "valid".

The presence of the one rude "sounds traumatic, you may need to reflect on that" line means the entire scene is condescension as well.

Halsin's trauma isn't actually trauma/Halsin doesn't count as representation because it was not put in the story in good faith/was a joke, and it's insulting to change the scene to be more serious.

By changing these lines, the creators have prioritized one group of fans (those who wanted to see Halsin discuss what happened to him as an assault, not as a "fond memory") over another (those who felt this conversation was an indication Halsin had already had a complete recovery).

Gently and respectfully, I don't agree with any of these arguments. My feelings on these, point by point, are:

Rape can and does happen to anyone. Quite the opposite of being OOC for Halsin, it's important to have Halsin as representation alongside Astarion, to show that big, strong men can be victimized too, by any gender. Victimization can happen to a wide range of people, be committed by a wide range of people, and can have a wide range of effects on the survivor.

I love healed survivors, and I would love to see more in fiction. However, Halsin never once came across like a healed survivor to me, in this scene or otherwise. He came off like someone deep in denial (or perhaps just crisis mode) who was victim-blaming himself to downplay it. He called his rapists "hosts", himself a "guest, prisoner, and consort", himself a "foolhardy young Druid". Those are worrying ways to describe being made a sex slave for three years. I personally can't imagine how we were supposed to hear that repeated denial/downplaying/use of euphemism and infer healing from that. If that was truly what the writers intended, I think an exchange to the effect of "are you okay?" "Yes, it was a long time ago, and the wounds have healed" would have been acceptable- it's weird to think that wanting to be able to talk to Halsin after that and ask if he's okay is the same as "demanding he go through therapy for us" to some folks.

That one line isn't the best or most sensitively phrased, but it is HARDLY unique in that respect; there are many moments where your responses to delicate situations are awfully callous instead, even your "nice" ones. (See: immediately after Wyll gets his horns, where your nicest option is "The Blade of Frontiers has some explaining to do." No "oh my gods, are you okay? Are you in pain?") The lines following the nasty option include some wonderful choices (and a few callous ones, as per usual); "It's not for me to say- I wasn't there. But I'm here now, if you wish to talk," for example, which leads to Halsin thanking you and explaining that he hasn't had anyone to confide in for a very long time. Also, the offputting "you may need to reflect on that" option isn't the only way to get to the following lines; a Seldarine Drow, for example, can offer empathy by telling him he threaded the needle by surviving Lolth's pitiless followers at all. Sometimes, a writer's abstraction of situations like these can be really hard, and sometimes writers for dialogue trees fail to anticipate the responses players will want to give. (I.E. not foreseeing that players might want to sound less judgmental to Halsin's recovery, or that players' first concern will be with Wyll's wellbeing in the aftermath of him growing horns, not anger at his "dishonesty".) I would like alternatives to those callous responses, sure, but I don't think they imply bad intentions. Occam's razor and all that.

The truth is that we will never conclusively know what the intentions were behind the original version of that scene. However, in following with Occam's Razor, the simplest explanation is the best one, and it is almost always simpler to assume good intentions than to assume malice. With the care this game showed to rape, slavery, and other issues in the rest of the game, I find it much easier to believe that there was just bad conveyance of Halsin's past than I do that it was intended as a meanspirited joke against sexual assault survivors. Even if it was intended as a meanspirited joke, quite a lot of people had already found comfort in Halsin's character. There is no un-ringing the bell, so the best alternative was to improve the writing to address fan concerns.

Truthfully, any decision made could be argued to be prioritizing one group of fans over the other; if they had kept the status quo, they would have been prioritizing the group of fans who liked Halsin's downplaying of his trauma. Ultimately, Larian has shown that they enjoy making changes to the game over time (sometimes over the objections of fans, I.E. Gortash's letter); if they truly felt the true vision of their story was the original version and they felt it important to stick with it, they would have had no problem ignoring those fan complaints. Hell, one of THE most common complaints about Halsin is regarding his polyamory (especially from Early Access fans on the forums, who are quite vocal about feeling betrayed that Halsin isn't monogamous), and Larian has kept him poly because it is how they intended him to be. Larian didn't change Halsin's post-Drow scene solely because of fan outcry- they changed it because they wanted to. They have no problem keeping unpopular characterization beats and scenes in the game. If it were really a matter of "fan outcry = changed scenes" there would be an evil ending epilogue by now too.

Those are just my thoughts on the issue. I am leaving this untagged out of respect for other survivors who may not agree, but please feel free to reblog or comment- as long as discussion stays respectful.

[wutheringmights]

Chapter 27: The Holy Lament & The Good Night Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Alternate Universe, Character Study, War, world building, Trauma, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Political Intrigue, Found Family, Angst and Humor, Warriors is a very complicated person, Warriors also does not know Time is Mask, Warriors (Linked Universe)-centric, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Please read content warnings before each chapter, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Power Imbalance, Implied/Referenced Torture, Blood and Injury, Disabled Character, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Summary: “You are going to hear a lot of terrible things about me. Most of it is going to be true.” Being the hero who saved Hyrule from a bloody war was a thankless job that left Warriors with more regrets than he cared to remember. He only started to heal after meeting his fellow heroes from across time and joining them on their quest to defeat the black-blooded monsters. But when his time-hopping journey takes him back home, he finds his kingdom on the brink of war once more. This war threatens to ensnare not only Warriors, but his newfound family as well. Warriors will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if that means becoming a traitor to the kingdom he gave up everything to save. But the harder Warriors works to protect his family, the more the secrets of his dark past come to life. Who is Captain Link Walton, the Hero of Warriors? What happened to the two other heroes he had once fought alongside all those years ago? When this is over, will Warriors even have a family left to save or is he doomed to repeat his past mistakes? (Once, there were three brothers: the captain, the engineer, and the child. Their story did not have a happy ending.)

If I didn't force myself to post this now, I don't think I ever will. I have not been so nervous about a chapter in a very long time.

Does that bode well for me? No. But I will march on nonetheless. Insert joke about this chapter is already over half a million words long and all the rights it gives me to do whatever the hell I want at this point.

In this chapter of--and I cannot stress this enough--my incredibly niche fanfiction:

Link has a fun night out on what is totally not the Hylian equivalent of Halloween

Ganondorf is here, and you know what that means! Keeping Up With the Harkinians is back!

And... uh... what I can only describe as the stupidest decision I have ever made (yay)

>> Read it here >>

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Almost (K.NJ)

Word Count : 1.3k

Warnings : swearing, mentions of sex, drinking, sad angst (read at your own risk)

A/N : Since I couldn't post for my story, I thought why not post this Namjoon one shot I've had in my drafts for months. I apologize if the spacing and stuff is weird, I wrote this on my phone instead of my laptop 😅 Part 2 possible if people want !

Synopsis : They almost had it, and then they didn't. Forever having to live with almost.

"Have you ever been in love?" The survey question stared her in the face. She was tempted to hit the x button and not complete it, but she promised her best friend she'd complete the survey for him. She stared at the screen. Has she ever been in love? Short answer would be no. But the long answer? Complicated.

She had met her now best friend years ago, around the time teenagers start wondering about love. But it was the last thing on her mind. Yet Namjoon quite literally stumbled into her life and made her question things. He introduced himself with red ears, scratching the back of his neck, and kicking at the rocks by their feet. She reached for his outstretched hand, introducing herself as well. He beamed when he looked at her, and in that moment she realized love was found in his smile.

Every time they hung out afterwards, she was determined to see him smile at least once. As if it was her only reason for existing in his life. She would tell jokes like it was her job. She would embarrass herself if it meant he would smile. It didn't matter to her that other people could see her, because she was only focused on Namjoon.

As they grew older together, they got closer. He was the one that wiped her tears and kissed her forehead when she was down. She hyped him up before every speech he needed to make, staring up at him as if he hung the stars in the sky, yet he was so much prettier. Other guys noticed her, but she never spared them another glance, but she had Namjoon smiling at her, wiping her tears, his touch so gentle, as if it wasn't real. His lips pressed to her forehead felt right. Because love was found in his touch.

His always gentle touch. With his soft hands that seemed to know exactly where to hold her the night he kissed her for the first time. One wrapped around her waist to bring her closer to him, one cupping her cheek to bring her face to his. It was unexpectedly expected. Her stomach exploded with butterflies and she realized this is what she's been missing all along. Him. Close to her just like this.

"I would apologize but I'm not all that sorry." He chuckled as he pulled away, tucking some hair behind her ear. She was dazed, staring up at him trying to figure out the millions of thoughts running through her brain.

"Kiss me again." She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him as close as she could. He didn't hesitate in following suit, immediately pulling her in as close as he could, as if she couldn't be close enough. She felt the exact same. Wishing she could meld their bodies into one, one unable to be without the other. In this moment, he was her oxygen and she wasn't ready to die. Love was found in his kiss.

They couldn't go long without seeing each other, suddenly completely addicted to one another. As if the kiss just opened some hidden curse about their relationship. He would pick her up from class, catch her when she would run and jump at him. Everyone agreed that the two of them together just made sense. Since the first day they met, everyone knew they were made for each other. Both of them the happiest they've ever been.

Yet neither of them put a label on it. She never called him her boyfriend, and he never called her his girlfriend. They never confessed their love for each other, despite the love so clearly being there, even a blind man could see it. They lived harmoniously together, not bothering to answer the question plaguing everyone's minds. "What is your relationship?" Perfect. Loving. Caring.

Part of her wondered why they never did. Why they just continued to call each other their best friend when everyone could clearly see there was more. Then she met her. A new girl in Namjoon's life. Prettier. Smarter. Nicer. Better. And she sees the way he looks at her. It's the way she looks at him. And he asks what she thinks, and she can only smile. Tell him how wonderful she is, because anything else would just be a lie, and you can't lie to your best friend. He smiles as he walks away, towards the new girl in his life. The reason she only ever got part of his heart. Love is found in a broken heart.

She watches as this new girl tags along in everything, and their duo soon becomes a trio. She tries to pull away, not wanting to watch as they fall in love and leave her behind. Her heart can't break if she walks away first, is a lie she told herself every time she ignored his calls. Yet he always found a way to bring her back. With sweet words and puppy dog eyes to go with his imperfectly perfect smile she loved so much.

Partying is her only escape. The nights she used to spend with Namjoon she now spends out at a club, drinking until she's stumbling over herself, going home with a different somebody, hoping when she wakes up her heart will be full again. Praying that one these Namjoon look alikes will fill the Namjoon shaped hole, but none of them are Namjoon enough. Because none of them are Namjoon.

She has to stop herself from saying his name when she looks at the rebounds, reminding herself that Namjoon is wrapped up in someone else's arms, playing with someone else's hair, giving someone else the love she so helplessly gave him. Now she's begging for it back, clawing at anyone that remotely looks like him in hopes maybe this time love could be found in someone else.

The question is still staring at her while she thinks about if she's ever been in love. She knows that if this other girl never came into the picture, she probably would be in love with Namjoon by now. She was well on her way over the years they shared together. But was the time they had together enough for her to consider herself in love?

She types an answer. Deletes and retypes. Yes. No. Yes. No. Back and forth, unable to make her decision. She stares at the screen. Why would Namjoon ask her to do this survey? Why would she promise she would without knowing what it was about? What class was this for? She rereads the question as if she could change it with her mind.

Her phone sounds off with a text before she could think up another answer. Did you do the survey yet? Namjoon asked with a smiley emoji at the end. She noticed he texted her privately instead of in the groupchat they use with the other girl. Did he not ask her as well? Don't think too hard. Just write the first thing that comes to mind! The first thing that comes to mind.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The short answer is no, I have not been in love. But I found love in everything a person does. I found it in his smile and his touch. I found love in the way he kissed me like he needed me to breathe. Even when he broke my heart, I found love within the him shaped hole in my heart. I was falling in love with him, but he stepped back before I could land, and so I flew into the arms of someone else. Multiple someone else's. Trying to find the same love I found before in them. But there's only one him.

So no, I haven't been in love. But I almost was.

[jeannereames]

And Alexander Wept for Hephaistion....

If you don’t mind, I wanted to ask, you said something along the lines of: by the time Alexander was coming closer to his death, he had recovered from the grief of Hephaistion’s death (if I’m remembering this correctly; I’m so sorry I have a fuzzy memory) how long do you think he mourned Hephaistion?

------------------

This was an ask via message, so putting it here to reply publicly, as it may be of interest to others.

First, however, I want to mention a pair of articles I wrote many years ago now, but which are still valid:

“The Mourning of Alexander the Great,” Syllecta Classica 12 (2001), 98-145.

“Some New Thoughts on the Death of Alexander the Great,” with Eugene N. Borza (lead author), The Ancient World 31.1 (2000), 1-9. (I wrote the last 1/3 of it.)

The first, in particular, is an in-depth analysis of Alexander’s behavior after Hephaistion died. I’m still rather proud of it, as it brings together two quite diverse fields: bereavement + Alexander studies. If I had a critique for it now, it’s that I didn’t analyze the stories inherent in the primary sources, but that also wasn’t my intention in writing it. I specifically say that I do not plan to pick apart which reports of Alexander’s behavior are likely authentic and which aren’t. My goal was to evaluate all of them in terms of possible evidence of pathological bereavement, according to the (then) DSM III-R (et al.).

TL;DR version of the article: Alexander’s mourning was NORMAL and followed recognized patterns, if one allows for the loss of someone extremely close, a spouse/similar.

Yes, there were complicating factors. BUT he did not go crazy with grief.

Unfortunately, this article is far less known than the “An Atypical Affair” article on Alexander and Hephaistion’s relationship. That’s too bad, as the “His grieving was extreme!” persists among even some of my colleagues, never mind those outside the field of Macedoniasts. (It’s also admittedly possible that they were simply unconvinced by my arguments, but in that case, one usually cites and says so.)

If I could put a giant blinking neon light on one of my earlier articles to get it more attention, that would be the one I’d point to.

The second article—or my 1/3rd of it anyway—deals with the possible effects of deep mourning on the immune system of adult males of Alexander’s age group. Yes, according to some limited research, it does have an impact that increases susceptibility to infectious disease. Add his poor overall physical health after all those battles (and Macedonian-style symposial drinking), and he was just too spent to fight off the typhoid or malaria or whatever fever disease got him.

Ergo, he died roughly 8 months after Hephaistion. We don’t have a date for the latter’s death, but sometime in October or November of 324 BCE is the window. Alexander died June 10th, 323 … or possibly a day or so later if he were in a paralysis too deep for his breathing to be ascertained. (As per Gene’s part of the article.)

The dating is important, as it affects where he (probably) was in his mourning process.

Mourning follows a somewhat predictable pattern, and one of the biggest mistakes made by those unfamiliar with human mourning is to underestimate (often by a lot) just how long mourning takes … even perfectly normal, healthy mourning.

For a major loss, main mourning takes up to a year. No joke. That’s why bereavement counselors try to keep the bereaved from making any permanent decisions within that year. They’re still very much being buffeted by the winds of grief, even if they want to pretend they aren’t. But even after the year anniversary—and marking it with some sort of formal ceremony helps!*—mourning continues off-and-on (sometimes really intense for a few hours or even a few days) for up to 5 years. Again, no joke. Some bereavement studies experts don’t really consider a person truly recovered (note I never say “over it”) for as long as 10 years.

Additionally, ANY deep loss triggers mourning; it doesn’t have to be death. A divorce will result in mourning, even if the people in the marriage wanted to divorce. It’s still a “death” of sorts. Moving some distance away, graduation, and retirement can all set off mourning. This surprises people, that mourning can attach even to “happy” circumstances. Anything that includes an ending will set off mourning, albeit it may not be that intense.

But THE #1 and #2 most devastating losses are the loss of a child and the loss of a spouse/spouse-like figure. Period.

So, a slight correction to the question, I didn’t say he’d recovered from his mourning, but that he was beginning to emerge from the deepest parts of mourning.

What do I mean by that? There are (roughly) 3(-4) major phases of mourning. The speed at which we pass through these varies, dependent on the type of death and our closeness to the deceased. (The first article goes into that in more depth.)

Shock phase, which is typically anywhere from a few days to about 2 weeks.

Deep mourning phase, where the bereaved must come to terms with the loss. The bereaved cycles through a series of stages (not the best term) and, more importantly, struggles with certain TASKS of mourning (as per Worden). Again, the length of this phase can vary, but for serious losses, it can take up to 8-9 months, with the worst of it usually hitting 3-6 months. There is an intense focus on the deceased and the bereaved person may want little to do with new people and vacillate between wanting to talk a lot about the deceased or wanting to give away all their stuff because it’s too painful. Anger, bargaining, depression, self-blame … all are typical of this phase. It’s INTENSE. It really does take months, and people routinely underestimate it.

Re-emergent phase, where the bereaved begins to take an interest again in the external world, may make new friends and new plans that don’t involve the deceased. The deceased is far, far from forgotten, but the bereaved is learning to live without the dead person.

Continued bereavement would be a fourth phase past the one-year anniversary, where the bereaved will still experience grief, sometimes very intense when triggered by a particular memory, a birthday, or anniversaries. But the overall “worst” part of mourning is past.

Finally, especially in the deepest part of mourning, the depression felt by the bereaved is on par with clinical depression, but (except for rare cases) the bereaved absolutely should not take or be prescribed antidepressants as these interrupt the mourning process.

Yes, it hurts like hell but one can only go through, not over, around, or under. Through.

In some cases, however, bereavement becomes “complicated,” resulting in what’s referred to as pathological bereavement, by which I mean only not normal (I wouldn’t even say abnormal). Sudden death (as with Hephaistion) IS one factor that can complicate mourning, but it doesn’t necessarily lead to full-blown pathological grief. In the article, I evaluate all Alexander’s listed behaviors and explain why my final conclusion is that his bereavement was sharp, but not pathological.

Alexander’s behavior in the last few months showed aspects of the third phase. He was planning (or probably returning to planning) his next campaign and thinking about improvements to the city of Babylon apparently with the intention of making it his eastern capital. Yes, he was also planning Hephaistion’s funeral, but the other two things were new and show re-engagement.

So Alexander’s mourning had not ended before he died himself, only shifted. Even if he’d lived another 5 years, he’d still have experienced bereavement off and on.

Remember, grieving takes TIME. More time than you expect.

If you know someone going through grief, especially for a family member, beloved, or very close friend … give them space. Let them cry. Encourage them to talk about the lost person if they want to, but don’t force it if they don’t want to. Don’t argue with their theology/beliefs about death or their gallows humor, but also don’t shove your theology/beliefs about death, or your gallows humor, onto them. Read the room.

MOST OF ALL, JUST BE PRESENT. It matters less what you say than that you’re there. They may not even remember what you say later; they will remember you showed up.

—————-

* In fact, world cultures that have traditional, one-year anniversary ceremonies routinely show better outcomes for mourning individuals.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Angst mpreg aaaaaaaand pregnant buck series!!??!! 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 ooooooooh I’m also sat!

angst mpreg is the fic where Buck goes into labor, gives birth to healthy baby girl, but then he has complications and he's in coma. Tommy has to take care of the Sky by himslef (and with 118 fam help ofc ) and go over the fear to lose Buck. He tries to cope by telling the Sky their love story mostly about pregnancy but not only. So it's a fic where present mixed with flashbacks

snippet:

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s your godfather Eddie,” Eddie smiles, looking into the baby blue eyes. He knows they will get only darker and brighter like her daddies’. He is just interested if her eyes will be like Buck’s electric blue, or Tommy’s intense steel blue. 

Buck once gave him a long lecture about how he and his husband had different blue eyes and his daughter better take as much from him as she could because he's the one pregnant and he would ground her if she’s Tommy’s mini copy. 

Eddie chuckles from the thought, with wet eyes, “he was joking, by the way, sweetheart. Your daddy will never make you do anything you don’t want to. And will never punish you for something that just can't be your fault. He loves you anyway. The way you are. And no matter what your eyes’ color is gonna be anyway it will be perfect like you already are. Perfect little princess.” 

He strokes little round cheek, leaving a light kiss there, trying hard not to cry. He should be stronger for his friends, for Tommy, for Sky, for Buck. He should be the rock of the family right now. Because Tommy, Sky and Buck need him. Buck was protector of him and Chris for a lot of time, it’s Eddie’s time to be protector of Buck’s family. Be the best godfather ever possible. 

“I know we should have met not like that,” Eddie whispers through a lump in the throat, “your daddy and papa should have introduced you to me officially, letting me hold you after they will take you together from the hospital. But, unfortunately, your daddy's dumb luck struck again, but,” Eddie lets the most beautiful baby girl clutch his finger in a firm grip. He grins at this, kissing her hand like a true princess, “your daddy is a fighter. The strongest man I know. He will fight the hell to get back to you and your papa. And till then I will be here to make sure your papa takes care of himself. Because I know he will take the best care of you. But not of himself. I won’t let him forget about himself I promise.”

Sky brings his finger to her lips, which she has clearly inherited from Buck, and begins sucking on it.

“I guess it's your way of telling me you're hungry,” Eddie scoops her in his arms, “Let’s go make the bottle and eat, shall we, princess?

and pregnat Buck series is series of little fics where Buck is pregnat

furst fic I plan during 8x1 and bc of Gerrard Buck is close to lose the baby, but it never happends. Another part is where Buck is insecure about his body and faints bc he stopped eat as much as he should

little snippet from this (it's a draft of draft):

Tommy rushes through glass doors, running to the nurse station. "My boyfriend, Evan Buckley, was brought somewhere 30 minutes ago. He fell." "Mr. Buckley is brought to the room number 3. He's waiting for his OB Dr. Frost." "Thank you." "Evan! Baby, god i was so scared when they called me. How are you? What happened? How's the baby?" "Hi, Tommy. I'm not bad, still a little dizzy. Idk what happened. One moment I was making myself breakfast and coffee for Eddie the other I'm falling and Eddie is screaming my name. Eddie brought me here. The baby is fine. Eddie caught me so I hadn't really fall, but he still decided I need to get checked" "Good. It's good" "Buck" "Dr. Frost" "As you were almost due for your weekly check up I made them do the tests and I'm not happy with results. You fainted bc of lower hemoglobin level than you previously had and, before they put you on IV, you also had really low sugar level. And you seriously not gained weight as you should. And this all makes me … You always had perfect weight gained. Not too much, not too little, sugar lever was on point too, but now. What's wrong? You have bad morning sickness? Can't keep food down?" "No, it's - it's not. Is baby ok?" "Baby is perfect. They are growing as they should, but Buck if you can't gain weight as you should it soon would effect not just you, but your baby too. Let's not put more risk to the pregnancy and find the way to help you with keeping food down." "I-I don't have problems with keeping food down. Or craving any. I-I just" Buck sighs. "Ler me guess," Dr. Frost has warm smile "you started feel insecure about your body and how much you eat?" Buck nods. "I see. I'd ask you to talk to our therapist as we deal with phycological reason, if it's fine with you." "I'd love it, but mostly I know what caused it. Everyone around me made some comments, not even bad ones, but" "But it made you insecure" Buck nods. "Do you have therapist who can work with this with you?" "Yes, I work with my therapist for years." "Good. Then I can discharge you. And Buck, next appointment I want to see you gain everything you hadn't for this one and more to be on point, ok?"

Buck nods with a smile.

Tommy sits in front of him. "I was one of those people, right?" "Tommy, you" "I was, right?" "You was."

p.s I habe 2 more mpreg fic in plan

[spicyclover]

She’s everything. He’s just Ken

Summary: You eat cereal when he announces he wants to break up.

Request

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

I'm open to requests.

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Inspire by Dakota Johnson and Armie Hammer. (I don’t remember the name of the series/film where this scene is from. So if you know, comment in the section below. Thank you!)

I wrote another story for this request because the first one was too sad. 

There has been a lot of up and down in your relationship with George. You can’t remember the last time you had a meal together without being mad at each other and having make-up sex afterward. 

You’re not unhappy with him. Actually, you love him dearly. But he’s always been complicated and unsure of everything. One day he would be the perfect gentleman, giving you flowers, kissing you every time he can, saying to you how much he loves you. But some days, it’s like he doesn’t know. 

His mother always refers to you as Barbie, not in the wrong way, like superficial or anything. Just because everywhere you go, you grab attention. Everyone turns at you. Giving you free stuff. Telling you how beautiful you are. She never quite understands why your choice has been on George. To be honest, you can’t explain it either. So eventually, everyone started to joke around, saying that George is just Ken and you’re everything. He hates it, and something that is what the fight is all about.

Last night was a lousy fight for both of you. Yelling at each other all night and him deciding to sleep on the couch. You didn’t sleep. You lay in your bed, waiting for the hours to pass, listening to his sights behind the door. You made a list in your head of everything that happened, all bad and good. 

You finally roll out of bed when your alarm goes off. You rub your tired eyes, and you drag yourself to the kitchen to have your breakfast. Pouring cereal into a bowl, you look over at him. He’s gazing at you to make so much noise, but you don’t care.

“I think we should break up. I don’t believe this is working.” He says, sitting in front of you. 

“Okay.” You say, unbothered. 

“That’s all you got? Okay?” He repeats. 

“What would you expect that we cuddle?”

“Fuck you!” 

You smirk, looking up and down at him. He takes his stuff and slams the door. You expected him to come back, but he didn’t. This surprises you initially, but you no longer have time for him. 

A few weeks passed, and you kept working at the organization for the Grand Prix in Silverstone. Freshly single, you met a guy a few times, but nothing serious. I mean, that’s what you thought. Only after a few weeks he finally kissed you.

You didn’t expect this action so soon but didn’t back down. Yet, the following day, you made it clear to him that it was only one evening. You left, leaving him stunned.

You smirk and get back to your hotel room. You get to the track for the race a few hours later, and you don’t tell George you will be there. So you walk in like you own the place and go straight into his garage. The few team members you pass on your way politely greet you, unaware of your breakup.

You see him talking to his engineers. You smile politely at the person who recognizes you and leaves the Mercedes garage to go to the Red Bull garage. You can feel George’s eyes on you when he sees you kissing his worst enemy on the track.

His hands rest on your hips, visibly surprised by this situation change. After all, a few hours ago, you made him understand that you wanted nothing more, and now you’re kissing him in front of everyone.

“I didn’t change my mind.” You say, getting away. “I’m just playing a long game.” You smirk and get out of the way. 

Leaving the garage to find your place at the paddock club. 

Let's just say this race has been brutal. 

George wins, and your lover DNF.

The first thing George did? 

Grabbing your face to kiss you, unable to let you go. 

“You’re right. I’m just Ken.”

[builtbybrokenbells]

ah how else to introduce myself other than to write the most basic of tropes for you all 😌

Complicated

Childhood friendships are fantastic. A lifetime of shared jokes and stories. A certain way to maintain sanity while growing up in a small town. However, fantastic can be quite a subject term, especially when you’re in love with your best friends brother.

pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader

word count: just shy of 14k

warnings: making out, mentions of sex (but alas, none), alcohol consumption, use of wacky tobacky, embarrassing high school crushes (deserves a warning of its own)

sorry for any grammatical errors!! please be kind 💕

-

Complicated. That was the only way you could describe your feelings for him. It was funny, at first. You never minded being the brunt of the jokes for a week or two, but when the weeks turned into months, and eventually years, it had begun to get old, and the joke had long ran its course. Although you’d never outright admitted how you felt for him, anyone with a working pair of eyes and/or ears could infer. The blushing, the stuttering, the gazes that were casted for just a moment too long. It was all textbook signs of a case of the lovesick blues. And your friends seemed to find it hilarious. But it wasn’t. You were in love with your best friends brother, and there was no world where you could believe he loved you back.

It started all of those years ago on the porch of your childhood home. Your group of friends had decided to go for a swim on the sweltering summer day. Somewhere between the lines of middle school ending and that fateful day in august, he somehow turned into more than just your best friends brother. He was Jake. Jake, with the stupid grin, and the pretty eyes, and the nice arms (they weren’t really that nice back then, but to a fourteen year old, they were for sure the best you’d ever seen). He wasn’t just an extension of Josh anymore, the separate entity that encased all of the same loveable traits as your best friend. He was Jake, with his own traits that you weren’t sure had always been there, or had suddenly developed overnight. His own jokes, and his own distinct laugh that was more than music to your ears, and his his newly found theoretical hold he had you in. And he was breathtaking.

“Hey, Sunny!” Josh yelled from the pool in your backyard. “When you’re finished checking my brother out, feel free to join us!” He’d shouted, splashing a handful of water at you. This caused a chorus of laughter from the group of boys. Your cheeks burned crimson and you wanted to curl up in the corner and pass away. Luckily, Jake caught your gaze and smiled at you, making a motion with his head as if to tell you to jump in. Your embarrassment fizzled, replaced with eagerness to join your friends. By the time the sun started to set, you thought the staring had been long forgotten. Boy, we’re you wrong.

The next joke had been made that same night as you settled into your sleeping bags in the basement of your home. You were nestled on the pullout couch, squeezed in with Josh and Jake. Sam and Danny had sprawled out on the air mattress. “Did you want me to sleep on the air mattress?” Josh asked as you shifted to get comfortable.

“No, why?” You had taken it as an honest question.

“I just thought that maybe you’d like some alone time with Jake,” he giggled. You rolled your eyes and smacked him on the arm while the room filled with laughter.

“Ha! Clever! You should be proud of that one.” You patronized. After a few moments of small chatter, sounds of snores filled the room, but you couldn’t sleep. You stayed silent while gazing up at the ceiling, hoping Jake wasn’t weirded out by Josh’s antics. Somewhere in the midst of your thinking, Josh had tumbled off the couch to find his way to the bathroom. When Jake spoke, it startled you.

“Don’t listen to him, Sunny. He’s just being an ass.” He reassured you.

“Thanks, Jakey. I know what he’s like, it’s okay.” In the darkness, Jake’s hand reached out to meet yours. He gave it a short-lived, reassuring squeeze before turning on his opposite side, back facing you. You fell asleep with a smile on your face before Josh even returned.

The jokes fizzled out by the time school rolled around, the boys quickly finding another subject to fixate on. High school starting was exciting, yet intimidating, but grew to be routine once the novelty wore off. Things became easier when you had all realized that nothing really changed. At the end of the day, you all still had sleepovers and movie nights and relied on each other above anyone else.

The staring sessions had only worsened over the course of your freshman year of high school. Now, from across the classroom, or the lunch table, or maybe over the top of a textbook. You still got red in the face when you finished conversations with Jake, or when your hands brushed unexpectedly, but you had never admitted you had feelings for him, even to yourself. As far as you were concerned, it was just nervousness because it was the first time you saw a boy as something attractive, rather than just annoying.

That year, you and Josh went to the homecoming dance together. He wore a tacky suit with a bow tie that matched your abhorrently pink dress. The pictures were terrible, but the memory was fantastic. Although, you spent the whole night wondering what it would’ve felt like to slow dance with Jake. Josh still continued on with his absentminded teasing, and instead of getting flustered, you brushed it off and avoided it as if it were a profession. Josh had no idea that you had real feelings developing for his brother, feelings that were barreling towards you at the speed of light. You never mentioned it, and he never thought to ask. And that was that. Nothing changed in the slightest until the eleventh grade.

You had been laying your head on Josh’s lap, his hands laced intricately in your hair while music played softly in the background. You chattered absentmindedly about a new film he had discovered. To any onlooker, the scene would be plastered with romantic implications. To you guys, it was nothing short of normal. The thought of viewing Josh Kiszka in any intimate way made your stomach turn, and his as well. He would always be your best friend, your lifeline, as you would be his. It was written that way in the stars. Nothing more than two lost souls navigating life alongside each other, rather than intertwined.

The rain pelted the windows softly, enveloping the home in a coziness that was hard to describe. One that was almost untouchable. But, of course, there is always an exception. The sound of a closing door and a round of giggling expelled through the thin walls that separated Jake and Josh’s room. You looked up at your friend with a questioning gaze. He shrugged. “Jake and his new girlfriend, probably.” The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly, as if they had no meaning at all. You were perplexed that he could say that so easily when to you, the words were stronger than a punch to the jaw. Laced with venom and scripted perfectly just to hurt you.

“G-girlfriend?” You tried to swallow your stutter. He nodded, not seeming to notice. “oh,” you whispered, unable to produce a sound any louder. After a few moments of silence and gut-wrenching sadness, you made a move to stand. The giddy chatter and soft giggles from the room next door were actually quite sweet sounding, but to you, they were nothing short of nails on a chalkboard. Josh was startled at your suddenness, not understanding how the mood shifted so drastically.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” He asked. You tumbled backwards toward his bedroom door. He stood to follow, but you vanished into the hallway before he could say anything else. You would have been in the clear, free to run and cry in solitude, if not for Sam’s lanky presence looming in the hallways. You had bumped into him midst your getaway, and he, being the type of guy he is, couldn’t let you leave without talking to you.

“Sunny! I didn’t know you were here.” He boomed, always happy to be in someone’s company. “Sunny?” He asked as you pushed past him. He looked back at Josh, who had followed you out of his room. He motioned to you, speed walking away, asking a silent question to his brother. Josh ignored him as well, running after you. “Fantastic, nice to see you guys too, I guess!” Sam’s voice echoed through the home. Always something snarky from him. You would’ve laughed had you not been so distraught.

“Dammit, y/n, stop!” Josh said, following you into the driveway. You knew you couldn’t escape him so you came to a stop, not turning to look at him yet. Tears were pooling in your eyes and your lip was quivering. Josh caught up to you, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around to look at him. When he saw your expression, everything seemed to click into place for him, like he had found the missing piece to the puzzle. “Oh, sunny,” he whispered, pulling you into a hug. “How long?” He asked. You let out a quiet sob into his shirt.

“Since that day by the pool, the summer before high school.” You whispered. You never said the words, never genuinely admitted it, but he knew exactly what you meant.

•

Jake’s new found relationship only lasted a few weeks, but to you it felt like eternity. You had done your very best to avoid him without being questioned about it. You’d take not seeing him at all over watching him with another girl. Admittedly, you knew that Jake had shown interest in almost every girl in your grade except for you, and that you should probably take it as a sign to move on. Of course, knowing what you should do and actually doing it are two very different things. When the end of eleventh grade rolled around and Jake had yet to find another girlfriend, you had found yourself embarrassingly happy.

“Do you have a partner for the year-end English project?” Josh asked you from his bed. You were sitting at his desk, jotting some homework down. You looked over to him, knowing you should have recognized the mischievous glint in his eye, but responding anyway.

“No, I was kind of assuming you and I would partner up. You know, like every other project we’ve done in the last eleven years.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ah, yeah,” he nodded, looking past you know, formulating his response. “Well, I was actually planning on doing my project with Jess this time.” You had given him an incredulous look at the statement.

“Oh, so you’re replacing me?” You placed a hand over your heart in mock hurt.

“Not exactly, sunflower.” He said, sitting up now. You watched him, nervously waiting for him to continue. “It’s just that you and I are much too talented to do this project together, it would be robbing the rest of our grade of any chance of passing.” His tone was dramatic, begging a reaction from you.

“Okay,” you pried further.

“So I actually told Jake that you would be more than happy to be his partner. And I will be Jessica’s partner, just to even out the playing field.” He smirked.

“Joshua, you did not!” You scolded. He gave a shrug, laughing at your response.

“Oh come on, did I lie to him?” He took your silence as an answer. “That’s what I thought, sunny.”

“Way to be subtle about it, you dick.” You mumbled, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at him.

“Subtle about what, mama?” He asked with a smirk. Although your emotions had been so bluntly on display, Josh had yet to pry the confession out of you. You’d keep that to yourself as long as humanly possible. “You’ve been friends with him just as long as you’ve been friends with me! There was no weird implications there, at all.”

“I have not really been friends with Jake the same way I’ve been friends with you. To him, I’m just his twin brothers annoying best friend, that’s about it.” Josh snorted at your response.

“Whatever you say, y/n.”

•

It was weird sitting in Jakes bed rather than Josh’s, but it was a feeling you wanted to get used to. Jake had been overjoyed when his twin informed him that you agreed to be his partner for the class project. The project was due in three days, taking place of the classes final exam. By this point, you’d spent a few weekends in a row crammed in the same bedroom with the same boy, planning out this show stopping presentation. Not only did you get to partner up with the one boy who made your heart go crazy, but you and Josh had placed a running bet. Whoever got the better mark would win fifty bucks.

It was nearing the final days of the school year, when the sun was achingly warm and begging everybody to go outside and enjoy it. To you, it wouldn’t matter if it was the brightest and nicest day in the world; sitting in Jake’s room, scribbling on papers with nobody to interrupt was exactly where you wanted to be. You were dreading the end of the semester. Not because you were nervous about grades, but because you were scared you’d never get alone time with Jake again.

“I gotta say, Sunny, you really went above and beyond for this. May I ask why?” Jake inquired with a ghost of a laugh on his lips.

“Brother dearest hasn’t told you?” You asked, looking up at him from your notebook. He shook his head, never letting his gaze falter from you. “Well, he must be scared he’s going to lose then.” You said with a triumphant tone. “Since this is the first project we’ve never partnered up for, he thought it would be a great idea to place a little bet on it. Whoever gets the better mark gets fifty bucks.”

“I see, so you’re using me for my brains.” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes. He let out a chuckle. “Josh is an idiot if he thinks he can beat you.” You felt your cheeks turn red, quickly hitting another note down on your paper, hopefully avoiding having to reply to his statement.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” You managed to whisper out.

“Can I see what you added?” Jake asked, reaching for the notebook. When you handed it to him, his fingers brushed against yours. You felt your heart speed, trying not to focus on the calloused fingertips he adorned. While he looked over the papers, he let out a long exhale. “So are you going to the junior prom?” He asked.

“Um, I have a dress. I assume Josh and I are going together. It’s basically tradition at this point.” You mustered out a laugh.

“Oh,” he said, a hint of sadness dripping from the word. You paused, taking the word in. It was so similar to that “oh” you had spoken when you found out he had gotten a girlfriend. No, that couldn’t be right. There was no way Jake was sad you were going to prom with his brother.

“What about you?” You switched the conversation back on him. He shrugged.

“Not sure, honestly. I don’t have a date yet.”

“Oh,” you both nodded in unison, awkwardness dripping from the walls.

•

“What do you mean you’re going with Jess?!” You said, panicked. Josh’s eyes were wide, staring at you with anxiety.

“I-I’m so sorry, Sunny! We never explicitly said we were going together, and she asked me and I got nervous because she’s pretty and I said yes!” He rambled.

“No, don’t say sorry. I’m happy you’re going with her. I just… I don’t know, we always go together.” You sighed. “I just don’t really have anyone else to go with.”

“I can ask Jake-“

“Nope! That’s okay!” You cut him off. “I do not want him to ask me out of pity!” Josh rolled his eyes, about to interject, but you held up a hand. “I’ll figure it out, Josh, it’s okay.” You smiled. “I’m happy you’re going with her, really.” He pulled you into a hug.

“Thanks, sunny.”

“I’m just gonna go get some water.” You told him, leaving the living room. You made your way to the kitchen, knowing their house better than any other. You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a small groan, not sure of what you were going to do.

“Josh stood you up, then.” You heard a calm voice say from the table as you appeared in the kitchen. You looked up to see Jake sitting there, textbook in hand and a plate of food beside him. He must have been studying for his exams. You wanted to shrivel up and die on the spot.

“I take it you heard all of that, then.” You said, awkwardly shifting on your heels. He nodded. You finally got the courage to meet his eyes and he gave you a smile. One so similar to the one he gave you in the pool that day. You felt the tension melt off your shoulders.

“Go with me.” He offered. “If you want to, of course.” His eyes looked sincere. Your stomach erupted in nerves.

“Really?” You whispered.

“Yeah, Sunny. And not out of pity, either. I’d love to go with you.” You felt yourself break out into a grin.

“Yeah, okay.” You tried to be nonchalant, but everything inside you was screaming.

“What colour’s your dress?” He asked.

“Dark green,” you squeaked.

“I’ll have to buy a new tie, then.”

•

Jake showed up at your front door that night with a bouquet of flowers. Sunflowers. When you opened the door, you felt like you could throw up. “For me?” You asked, gently.

“Yeah,” he said, holding them out for you. You took them from him, inspecting them carefully. They were beautiful, just like him.

“You remembered my favourite flower.” He rolled his eyes at your statement.

“Do you not remember who gave you that nickname all of those years ago?” He chuckled. Your cheeks went red. Through the years, the memory of your nickname got muddled in with the mess of other ones. You had always thought Josh had come up with it.

“I thought it was Josh,” you admitted.

“Nope,” he annunciated the P. “You always had sunflower everything: Dresses, pins, necklaces. I think you even had shoes with sunflowers on them.” He was right, you did. “You always painted them in art class, or doodled them on your homework.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“F’course I do.” He said, taking a step inside. “They remind me of you, every time I see them.” You felt your heart flutter, but for once it wasn’t nervousness, it was happiness. “I called you sunflower and the boys just copied me. Never have been very original.” He laughed. You joined in with him.

“You’re too sweet, Jake.” He brushed the comment off, pulling you into a short lived hug.

“Honey, come get some pictures before you have to go!” Your mom called for you. You shared a look with Jake and he smiled, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You look beautiful, Sunny.”

That night was one of the best nights you’d ever had. After pictures with your parents, you’d met up with Josh and his date. The boys parents fawned over you and Jessica, raving about how nice you looked. At the dance itself, there were photo booths and a snack table, and they were playing half-decent music. You and Jake stayed close with Josh and his date the whole night, making another lifetime of memories.

Jake had pulled you to the photo booth, taking some Polaroids with the camera provided. When he thought you weren’t looking, he slipped one in the pocket of his suit jacket. You noticed, though. You always noticed when it was about him. You took some with Josh and then of all of you together. You made sure to keep them all in a safe place, hating the thought of losing them.

“Oh, Josh!” Jake beckoned his twin over to the two of you. He parted from his date and joined you, giving a questioning look. “A little birdie told me that you owe someone fifty bucks.” Jake said, giving a smile.

“Hm, I don’t know who that might be.” Josh had been elusive as to the whole bet ever since the report cards came back.

“Really, Joshua? Hate to admit that you shouldn’t have given up your partner like that?” You asked, pinching his red cheek. He rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could.

“Fine, okay! I’ll give you 100 if you never bring it up again.” You and Jake shared a smile.

“Sounds good to me!”

The night was full of laughs and jokes, and slight tipsyness due to the flasks the twins had snuck in their suit jackets. When the night was coming to a close, you had found yourself in a group of girls from your grade, sharing mindless chatter and gossip about the night. The sound system boomed over head, transitioning out of a high energy song into a slow beat. You didn’t pay any mind to it, but the rest of the girls flocked frantically to find their dates, hoping for one more awkward, handsy slow dance. You sipped away at your drink when a voice sounded behind you.

“Care to dance?” You swung around to see Jake. You grinned as he held a hand out to you, taking it and making your way to the crowd of other students.

“I wasn’t expecting a slow dance from this, Jakey.”

“You really think I’d skip out on a dance with my favourite girl, especially when you look this nice?” He asked. Your chest burned. You were unsure if it was from the alcohol or the romantic words from the boy before you. His hands found your waist, and your arms snaked around his neck. For a minute, you had never felt more at peace. You thought back to your freshman year, how 14 year old you would have been freaking out if she knew this is where you’d be now.

“Thanks for asking me to be your date,” you whispered to him.

“Thank you for letting me bring you.” He replied. “Best school dance I’ve ever been too.”

“Me, too.” You breathed. “Don’t tell Josh, though.” You both shared a chuckled. When the song was nearing the height, Jake pulled away slightly, looking down at your face. If you were in your right mind, you would have sworn he was going to kiss you. You were hoping he would, at least.

Before you could find out, you found yourself being pulled away by someone else. You looked quickly to find Josh. He flung you around in a twirl causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles. “I couldn’t end an event without dancing with you!” He announced.

“Good to know you’re still thinking of me, darling.”

“Of course, mama.” He replied. You didn’t think too long about the scene Josh had disrupted, but Jake sure did. You caught his eyes when Josh twirled you one last time, seeing his look of disdain. You felt your stomach drop. Jake left the dance that night with a sour taste in his mouth, more annoyed at his brother than he’d ever been.

•

You thought that maybe things would change after that, a shift in the dynamics at least mildly. You were wrong. So wrong, that you found yourself feeling stupid for even thinking that in the first place. In the final stretch before senior year starting, you’d found yourself in the basement of the Kiszka house, watching Sam twiddle away at his bass and Josh make miscellaneous noises into the microphone. Danny was beating his drumsticks on the arm of the couch as he sat beside you. They were waiting for Jake so they could begin one of their many band practices.

You had to admit, they’d definitely gotten better of the course of that summer. Before, they were more or less making a bunch of noise with their instruments and not much else. Now, they’d even written a song or two and already had plans to play a few local shows in the upcoming months. You were proud of them, more than you could ever explain. You were so happy they’d found a calling that they actually wanted to pursue. It was way beyond what you’ve done so far.

You had a stack of college applications, all in various stages of completion but none finished. They were sitting on your desk at home, begging to be looked at and turned in, but it didn’t feel right to you. Nothing did. A lifetime of not spending every day with Josh seemed too unrealistic; it was painful to imagine. So, you didn’t. You let the time whittle away, hoping that the decision would get easier the closer you got to having to make it.

It didn’t.

Your parents were breathing down your neck, waiting for you to pick a college. You didn’t have the heart to tell them you weren’t even sure you wanted to go. You never once imagined you’d never want to go to university, but the closer it got to having to go, the more it scared you.

You were broken from your thoughts when the door to the basement crashed open. You looked to the stairs to see Jake tumbling down, a girl you’d never met before following closely behind. You met his eyes and he paused for a moment. It only lasted for a second, and then he barrelled to his guitar case and pulled it out. The unnamed girl dropped onto the couch beside Danny. Josh looked at you, then at her, at Jake, and back to you.

“I didn’t know anyone else would be joining us.” Josh said coolly, obviously prying for more information.

“Well, y/n’s here, so I thought it’d be cool if I brought my girlfriend, too.” Jake replied. You felt that knot in your stomach, the same one that showed up last time. You swore you saw Josh’s heart break for you.

“You say that like she’s my girlfriend, Jake.” Josh said, quite short with him.

“She’s not?” He chuckled, not caring to look in your direction. “Could’ve fooled me.” He said, plugging his guitar into his amp. You stood, mentioning something about getting some air. You carried yourself up the stairs as if your legs were made of lead. You didn’t let the first tear fall until you made it to your car. It was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings, especially when your heart broke more each time he found a new girlfriend.

•

“I got in!!” You squealed, almost breaking down Josh’s door as you entered his room. You were breathless, tears of happiness still trailing down your cheeks. When you stopped to regain yourself, you saw both twins occupying his bed. Josh took a second to process what was happening, then sprung to his feet, picking you up into a hug and spinning you around.

“I’m so proud of you sunny!” Josh yelled. He put you down and you practically shoved the papers in his face. You’d been waiting for word back from your university of choice. Originally, you’d applied as a joke, but when you gotten promising word from early acceptance, you had to send in your full transcript just to see what they would say.

“That’s not it, Josh.” you wheezed, still crying over what the letter contained.

“What?” He asked, trying to read the paper in your shaking hand.

“They’re paying for all of it.” You sobbed. “I got a full-ride scholarship.” Your voice quivered as you spoke, still not believing this was real life. You saw a tear fall from his eye as well before he pulled you into a bone-breaking hug.

“I knew you could do it, mama.” You couldn’t help but look over Josh’s shoulder to see his brother, and you cried even harder when you saw that he had a tear falling, too.

•

Your eyes were begging you to shut them, hoping for one minute of sleep, but you persevered. Josh was snoring on the couch behind you, his textbook slung haphazardly beside him. You were still furiously writing down important lines, too nervous to look away. You only broke from your focus when you heard footsteps enter the living room. “What are you doing awake, sunny?”

Jake was standing, shirtless and clearly freshly showered. His hair was still damp and he smelled very strongly of Jake. You felt yourself swoon, but it was soon covered up by embarrassment, realizing the state you were in. Sweatpants and Josh’s hoodie, hair thrown up wildly and under-eye bags darker than they’d ever been. “Yeah, sorry, I should probably go home.” You scrambled to gather your things.

“No, no! It’s okay, I just meant that you should get some sleep - you can stay here if you want.” He rushed out.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I probably should sleep, but I’ve got three AP exams to study for. I don’t really think I have any time to.” You let out a dry laugh.

“Well why don’t you come up to my room and study. Im sure Josh’s snoring isn’t helping your focus.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He scoffed at your words.

“You’d never be intruding, sunflower.” He offered a smile, coming over to gather your things. “I’m a bit of a night owl anyway, I’d love the company.” So the two of you retired to Jake’s bedroom. You hadn’t been in here since the English project in eleventh grade. You smiled at the memory. “Been a while since you’ve been in here.” He noted. “Sorry for the mess.” You didn’t mind the clutter, because it was so effortlessly Jake. The clothes on the floor, the messy bed, the vinyl records astray on his desk.

“Don’t be.” You assured him. Studying grew to be troublesome with him in your company. You seemed more engrossed in his quiet picking on his acoustic guitar than you’d ever been in your books. “I miss hanging out with you.” You let your thoughts slip, not meaning to actually say it aloud. He paused his playing momentarily, looking up at you through his hair. It was longer now, he was working on growing it out.

“Me, too.” He said. “We never really hung out enough, just the two of us.” He said.

“I know, I wish we had’ve.” You admitted. He nodded in agreement. “And now I’m leaving,” you finally said it aloud.

“I know you are.” He whispered. “I’m really happy for you, Sunny.” You gave a soft smile. “I know Josh has said it a million times, but I’m more proud of you than he could ever be.” He paused. “More than anyone, really.”

“Thanks, Jakey.” You met his eyes. They had that same look in them, the one he had before Josh whisked you away at prom. He didn’t let it linger, but you wished he did.

•

“Josh!” You yelled, trying to sound angry, but a laugh slipped out. “You’re standing me up again!”

“Oh, but for good reason, my darling!” He reminded you.

“So you can get laid?” You rolled your eyes. Sam got a good chuckle out of it.

“Perhaps, but only time will tell.” You all fell into a fit of laughter. Josh had told everyone he’d asked Jessica to the senior prom. The two had been back and fourth with flirting and then radio silence for the entire year. You were happy Josh had finally gotten the nerve to ask her, but you were a bit put out that you would not be going to your senior prom with him. You always thought you would, but you could never be mad at him for it.

When you went home that night, you felt a sadness fill your chest. Prom was right around the corner, and with no date in mind you were dreading it. You also felt frozen with fear at the thought of graduation, and the dwindling time you had left with your friends. Yet, the scariest of thought of them all, was leaving Michigan without telling Jake you were in love with him.

You tossed and turned as you tried to sleep that night, and fell asleep with a hole in your chest that you were scared you’d never get rid of. When you woke the next morning, birds were chirping outside your window. You smiled at the sound and the rays of sunshine warmed your face. You checked your phone and saw a missed text message. To your surprise, it was from Jake.

Jakey: Meet me at the park down the street from your house at 12

You found the hours leading to noon we’re the longest you’ve ever lived through, but the time finally came. You walked down the street and through the gate to the small park that was mostly abandoned. You’d frequented it when you were kids, but not many people visited it now. When you looked to the old tattered gazebo, you saw Jake sitting there. You felt your palms get clammy as you got closer, seeing he was holding something. He heard your footsteps and turned to look at you, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Hey,” you said, walking up the steps.

“Hi.” Was all he replied. You arched an eyebrow, waiting for something from him to let you know why you were here. In his hands he held a single sunflower and a very worn piece of paper, looking like it was torn from a journal. “I… uh…” he stuttered. “Here, this is for you.” He handed you the flower. You took it from him, grinning down at it. “I didn’t think this would be this hard.” He forced a laugh out.

“Come on, Jake, it’s just me.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I know.” You found the redness creeping to your cheeks again. “Okay, well, up just say it I guess.” He fiddled with the paper in his hand. “Last year, at junior prom, I got the chance to go with the best girl I’ve ever met.” He started. “And I was hoping that maybe this year, I’d be lucky enough to take you to my senior prom, too.” His voice was shaky as he finished. Your heart swelled with affection. “I just thought I’d make the asking part special this time, cause I really didn’t get to last year.” You both laughed. He handed you the paper. You observed it carefully, seeing what was clearly scratched out and rewritten numerous times. They looked like song lyrics. “I was writing a song for the band, and I guess it just turned out to be about you, so I thought I’d give it to you, first. All of the songs turn out to be about you.” He barely spoke the last part. “I think I’m gonna call it Flower Power.” You we’re so in love with the boy before you that it physically hurt to think about it.

“What about your girlfriend, Jake? What was her name? Uh, Lily?” You asked gently. He chuckled.

“She and I have been broken up for a while.” He cleared his throat, looking hesitant about what he was going to say next. “I’ve always liked sunflowers more than lilies.” He mumbled.

•

“Y/n y/l/n!” Your name was shouted through the loudspeaker. The crowd erupted in cheers. From the front row, your parents were crying and yelling your name. You walked across the stage, gown flowing freely in the wind. You shook the principals hand as you accepted your diploma. Your eyes met Josh’s from the crowd of classmates. He made a heart with his hands, followed by blowing you a kiss. You looked at Jake, who was sitting next to him. He didn’t make a gesture, but the gleam in his eye told you just how proud he was of you.

•

The music pounded in your ears. Bodies were running into each other, some dancing, and some just trying to get past the crowd. The Kiszka’s basement was more lively than you’d ever seen it. Josh was wrapped around Jessica, completely lost in conversation with her. You smiled to yourself, watching them together. You were happy he was happy. The smell of alcohol was potent, and the noise was almost unbearable.

You pushed your way to the stairs and found solace in the outdoors. The music drummed softly in the background. The sound of nature soothed you, relaxing you a bit. You were a bit more drunk than you thought you were. Then again, how could you not be at your best friends graduation party?

“Coming out to say hi?” A smooth voice said from beside you. You whipped your head around to see Jake sitting on a lawn chair.

“Why are you out here all by yourself? This is your party, is it not?” You giggled.

“Maybe I was hoping I’d run into you.” He offered. You felt the familiar blush rise to your cheeks. This time, much less noticeable due to your face already being red from the liquor.

“Maybe I was, too.” You grinned. He motioned for you to sit beside him. You took the chair graciously, feeling sturdier when you weren’t on your feet. He had a joint lit between his fingers and you couldn’t help but poke fun. “Jacob Kiszka, are you smoking weed?” You asked, incredulously.

“Care to join?” He held it out to you. You took it from him and took a long haul. Silence ensued between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “Sunny?” He asked eventually.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really gonna miss you.” He finally admitted. You felt your heart break.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Jake.” You said.

“Just come with us, then.” He said. You whipped your head to look at him. “What? It’s not unbelievable.” He responded. “Go to school, finish up your big degree early, cause I know you can, and when Sam graduates, come with us around the world.” You laughed at his words.

“That’s a long time away, Jakey. You still think you’ll want me around by then?” You asked. He sat up, leaning dangerously close to you.

“Sunny, there is no lifetime I could live that I wouldn’t want you to be in.” Your eyes softened, looking down at his lips, then back up to your eyes. He pulled back, causing you to frown slightly.

“Okay, we’ll when you make it big, give me a call.” You whispered.

“I think I’ll be calling long before then.” He smiled. “The minute you get in your car, I’ll be on the phone, making sure you don’t forget me.” You scoffed.

“As if I could ever forget you.” His eyebrows knitted together, signalling he was thinking hard about something. Before you had time to process it, he had his hand on your cheek and he was pulling you in for a kiss.

You revelled in it, wishing you could live in the moment for the rest of your life. It was so inviting, finally ceasing the internal nagging that had been killing you since middle school. His lips were soft and warm, the taste of smoke still lingering on him. When he pulled away, you had to stop yourself from protesting. He kept his face close, almost scared to look away. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He speaks quietly, so quiet you almost miss it.

“Not as long as I’ve wanted to,” you laughed.

“Middle school,” he challenged. You’d felt your heart drop.

“Me, too.” You lifted your hand to tangle it in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss. “Why’d you wait so long?” You asked when you broke away.

“I don’t know, was scared I guess. I always thought you’d end up with Josh.” You grimaced at his admission.

“It’s always been you, Jake. No matter how complicated the feelings were, no matter how much it sucked watching you date those other girls, it was always you.” You sighed. “Everybody knew it but us, I guess.”

“I begged Josh to let me be your partner for that English project,” he said, earning a small laugh from you. “And I also begged him to go to junior prom with Jess. He was so bent out of shape, not wanting to hurt your feelings when she asked him. I told him I’d take you, and he still wouldn’t budge. I think it took two weeks before he finally agreed to let me take you.” The two of you found yourself in another fit of laughs.

“Josh is my best friend, through and through, but I’ve never once felt for him what I do for you. He was right, that day at the pool, way back before high school. I absolutely was checking you out.” You said, his lips ghosting over yours once again. He pulled you from your chair into his lap, finding your lips on his once again.

“I was hoping you were.” He smiled into your mouth. “It looks like we have a lot of time to make up for, then.” He said. His hands were firmly planted on your hips. His calloused fingertips felt like heaven on the soft skin hidden just above the hem of your jeans.

“Then take me upstairs, you idiot.” You laughed. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 43

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1567

Warnings: Mention of death/near-death and childbirth complications

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Also, I'm so sorry for the delay on this chapter. It's been a rough couple of months because my company decided to do layoffs and unfortunately, I was in the layoff group ☹️ I know it's short but I do hope you enjoy!

Chapter Songs: Every Storm Sweet Nothings

***

Hangman

The muffled noise of the hustle and bustle in the hospital hallway outside reminded Jake of many things, namely that he survived his brother's attack. He used it to ground him to reality while he slowly got dressed. Coyote had gone to retrieve his truck to bring both Jake and Ghost back to her place since Hangman's was still technically considered a crime scene. Ghost had left to officially check him out of the hospital. Matt had gone to the police station at their request to assist with something in the assault and embezzlement cases against Nick, but he'd promised to come to Ghost's later to help out.

A knock on his door caught his attention, and without turning around, he called for them to come in. It opened, and Ghost said, "You have a visitor."

"I hardly call you a visitor when you've practically lived in this room with me since I got here," he joked, trying to make his girlfriend laugh. She'd barely done so since she'd broken down about the guilt she felt over the entire situation, and Hangman used any opportunity he could to make Ghost laugh, to let her know it wasn't her fault, to let her know he didn't blame her for what happened, and to assure himself that Ghost had made it out alive as well. Her silence was deafening, and hearing her laugh made him believe in her physical presence when he couldn't touch her.

A different, weaker female voice replied, "Ghost isn't referring to herself."

Against his better judgment, Hangman whirled around, instantly regretting the action when pain lanced up his abdomen. He would've reacted to it had he not seen Juliette standing in the doorway; Ghost stood at her side, arm-in-arm, to support her friend and ensure she didn't collapse to the ground.

"Hey, Hangman," Juliette greeted with a small but sincere smile. "You're looking well for a guy who got stabbed multiple times."

Jake strode over to her, saying, "You look good for someone who died and came back."

He enveloped her in a giant, gentle hug, relieved to know his best friend was alive and well. Despite her fragile appearance, Juliette hugged him fiercely. "Sounds like we both almost met Death."

"Yeah, try not to do that again. I don't think my heart could handle it, and I know Rooster's couldn't.

"He's going to be a complete Mother Hen when we get home," Juliette groaned, pulling away from Jake.

"As he should," Ghost and Hangman replied simultaneously. The former added, "How are the twins doing?"

"Doing well, all things considered. We should be able to take them home next week." Juliette glanced up and down at Hangman. "You're sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, I promise. Are you?"

Juliette nodded. "Yeah. A little shaken, but okay."

"If it wasn't for you nailing Nick on the head with that baseball bat, I'm not sure we'd all be standing here," Ghost remarked, gently squeezing her friend's arm.

"Don't do drugs, kids." Hangman's joke earned a grin from Juliette and a small smile from Ghost. He ached to reach for her but decided Ghost wouldn't appreciate the gesture in front of her friend because Juliette would pick up on the hidden message and ask what was wrong when all she needed to do was focus on recovering herself. "How'd you escape Bradshaw's watchful eye?"

"A lot of convincing and a little bit of sneaking out while he went to get the Bronco," Juliette confessed sheepishly, scrunching her face up with the knowledge she'd undoubtedly be reprimanded by her fiance.

"Which was not appreciated," came Rooster's voice behind them. All three of them jumped at his sudden appearance. He'd come from around the corner with the most impeccable timing, eyeing his fiancee disapprovingly. "You're lucky your mom was there to tell me where you were."

Ghost moved aside to let Rooster support Juliette, joining Hangman's side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, savoring the moment of being able to make such a gesture without repercussions or questions.

Rooster shook his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Take me to bed or lose me forever?" Juliette suggested with a playful gleam in her sapphire eyes.

"The only reason you're getting into a bed is to rest." Kissing her on top of the head, Rooster then turned to Ghost and Hangman. "Do you two need a ride?"

"No, Coyote's picking us up. Thanks, though."

"All right. If you two need anything-"

"We'll call Coyote because you-" Ghost pointed a firm finger at Rooster- "will be taking care of your wife and kids. On the other hand, if you need anything from me-"

"Us," Hangman corrected.

"Neither of you," Juliette interrupted sternly. "One of you has a severe concussion, the other got stabbed and nearly died, so you're taking care of yourselves and each other and no one else until you're better. Understood?"

"The minute one of us can drive, we're at your disposal. No arguments," Ghost declared with equal seriousness.

Juliette narrowed her eyes at her friend. Hangman might've relented under the intensity of it, but Ghost held firm in her statement. "Fine, but don't overdo it when you're better. Concussions take a while to recover from."

"Trust me, I know." Ghost ruefully rubbed the back of her head, and Hangman flashed back to her high school car wreck. His heart lurched at the memory because it'd terrified him then to see her stumbling out of her totaled car in a daze, and it still horrified him now, especially after what they'd just gone through. "We'll see you soon, though, okay?"

Bidding each other goodbye, the couples parted ways. Hangman watched Rooster and Juliette walk away, the latter leaning heavily onto her husband. Worry gnawed at Hangman, and he asked quietly, "Do you really think she's okay?"

Ghost hesitated for a moment before responding. "No. I don't think she is."

***

Rooster

Watching my wife, I noticed the smile on her face slowly fade until it wholly disappeared by the time we reached home. I tried to think of something, anything, to say to her, but nothing came to mind. I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was going through. In the span of twenty-four hours, she'd been told to go to the hospital for her pre-eclampsia, walked into a fight where two men were trying to murder her friends and family, had a seizure, had an emergency C-section, died, and came back. That was a lot for anyone to handle, even for someone as strong as my wife, and I felt so useless in not being able to do anything about it for her.

I helped Juliette out of the car, and entering the house, her melancholy momentarily disappeared to greet Raptor and Lightning. She knelt on the floor, hugging and kissing our dogs, who acted peculiarly and uncharacteristically reserved, almost like they sensed their mom's fragile state.

"Hi, babies," Juliette whispered, kissing them on their heads. "Momma's okay. I'm okay."

Although subtle, I heard the crack in her voice at the end, and I wondered if her telling the dogs she was okay was more for herself than for them. I sat on the floor beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Juliette said nothing at the contact; she simply continued petting the dogs. For five minutes, we sat in silence. For five minutes, I watched Juliette's face slowly redden, watched tears brim her sapphire eyes, felt her body begin to tremble until I finally softly said, "Jules."

Her composure crumbled, and for the first time in my life, I watched in horror as my wife completely and utterly broke down. Without a word, I pulled her into my arms and cradled her while she wept. Raptor and Lightning lay on the floor on each side of me, flanking us protectively.

"I'm so sorry," Juliette rasped when her sobs had somewhat abated.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I managed to reply despite the painful knot in my throat. I wanted to cry, too, not only because it dawned on me once more how close I'd come to losing my wife but because she felt she had to apologize for it.

"I nearly widowed you and orphaned our children," Jules said. "I should've listened to you. I should've gone sooner to the hospital and-"

"And if we hadn't, you wouldn't have saved Ghost, Hangman, and Maverick. I'm not sure they would've made it had we not shown up. So, yes, it was terrifying and painful to watch you die, but you're still here, Jules. I got you back, our kids got you back, our dogs got you back, and our friends and family are alive because of you."

Juliette sniffled, wiping her nose. "I died, Bradley. I- I can't-"

"I know." I kissed her forehead, understanding that she was still trying to comprehend everything she'd been through. It would be a long while before Juliette was okay again, but I would be here for her no matter what, as would our friends and family. We would help her get through this.

Juliette pulled her head back just far enough to look me in the eyes. I braced my forehead against hers and lightly began pecking her on the lips, whispering a word between each: India. Lima. Yankee. ***

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[sincerely-sofie]

I saw your tag about meeting your boyfriend because of posting on Tumblr and I'm very curious as to how that happened. Like, did you find each other's blogs, saw you had stuff in common and met up IRL? What happened? Please give us details (if you're willing to talk about it, no worries if not!)

Also, for a boyfriend tag, may I suggest... Calcium. Cuz you're a skeleton and calcium makes bones stronger... I'll see myself out

(Referencing the tags of this post)

Oh my gosh. Buddy you have just opened up Pandora’s box. Brace yourself for the most adorable couple origin story ever.

He followed me fairly early on into the process of me posting my work on Tumblr. I don’t remember exactly, but I think my TPiaG mini comic “Heart-to-Heartbreak” was the first post he ever reblogged from me. After that, he was super enthusiastic and involved with my blog and engaged with basically every post I ever made. This guy was one of THE followers of my work— if I posted something, he was always there to like it and share super thoughtful commentary or hilarious jokes.

I absolutely adored him even back then, and we had barely exchanged a handful of messages on Tumblr where he thanked me for inspiring him to get back into art and writing, and I blubbered about how meaningful that was to me. We eventually followed each other on Spotify and I think that’s about the point when I really should have realized I had it bad for him. I was CONSTANTLY rambling to my mom about how much I wanted to be this internet stranger’s best friend, but I was super hesitant because our family has been huge on online stranger danger and never really talking to anyone unless you know exactly who they are in real life. I’m an adult and all, yeah, but I was still super anxious about internet strangers at large— though he never once made me uncomfortable or wary :>

Eventually, he made a goofy post about it being his birthday, and I bolted to tell my mom about that and how I didn’t have enough time that day to polish up any content of his favorite characters I’ve written and post it as a gift for him. I was utterly distraught and pretty much full-on monologuing to my ever-so patient mother about how much I wanted to befriend this man and how amazing he was and how shy I felt about the matter, and she looked me dead in the eyes and told me to ask him if he wanted to message each other more and get to know each other better.

I sent him a message over Tumblr, we exchanged Discord usernames, and I’m pretty sure it was just over a week of messaging and getting to know each other more and more every day later when he told me he thought he was in love with me— to which I very eloquently rattled off a bunch of nonsense that ended in “I don’t know how to communicate this other than by saying ‘dude, same’.”

After that, we’ve only gotten more and more mutually obsessed. Thankfully he’s in the same country as me, and we’re even timezone neighbors, so he’s not on the opposite side of the world— and when I realized some of my household were going on a trip to the same state where he lived for a family wedding, I SCRAMBLED to insert myself into that trip last-minute. We had originally thought that we’d meet up when he could drive to my state (a process that would take a long time because of some complicating factors), but when I realized my family were flying down there, I was practically foaming at the mouth with the thought of seeing him so much sooner. We met up not that long ago and were even able to meet some of each other’s family members (my family absolutely adores him, and I think his likes me a fair bit too, hehe). But listen: when I tell you I adored him before, I was absolutely head-over-heels for him when we met in person. I got to hug him and I had this thought come to mind of “Oh. This is the person I want to marry.” And I’ve never once doubted it :>

During the times we met up we mostly sat around and basked in each other’s presence and stared at each other. I ended up breaking eye contact a lot because I kept getting flustered and also because this man is TALL and I had to periodically rest my neck 😂 I was able to give him some pins I had made of our PMD team that represents us, and my boyfriend. My boyfriend, you guys. He had the gall to send me a screenshot of an eBay listing of the world’s most adorable Snorlax plush weeks before while we were on a call together, bought it immediately after I had said I loved the plush’s face as we hung up, and then GAVE ME IT WHEN WE MET UP.

Look at him. That’s my son now. I was trying to think of what to name the little guy when my toddler niece dubbed him Tummy. My boyfriend approves of the monicker— as he should, because it’s the bestest name for the bestest boy.

TL;DR— He followed me on tumblr, I desperately wanted to be friends with him and sent him my Discord username on his birthday, we exchanged “I love you”s a week later, and I was almost sick on a plane because I was so excited to see him during a trip to his state for a family member’s wedding. We are absolutely obsessed with each other and kind of instantly Knew from the get-go that we’re going to be each other’s Person™️.

As for the tag, I'm not sure I’ll go with it but I’m starting to consider “The Boyfriend Bird Feeder”, because it works out to the acronym BFBF which I find funny, I mainly want to make the tag as a way for him to easily find posts where I’m talking about how amazing he is whenever he needs a pick-me-up (and so people can block the tag if they find me raving about my man so much annoying lol), and his persona that we spent all day yesterday cooking up looks like this:

[creative-frequency]

Lucanis Dellamorte x Reader: Late Nights & Delayed Confessions, pt.2

Summary: Late night of hanging out with the two Dellamortes. Lucanis is concerned for your wellbeing. Part 2 of 4. Word count: 1339 Notes: (Unresolved) romantic tension, pining, you’re an Antivan Crow, no spoilers for Veilguard → Part 1 → My writing masterlist

After instructing the tavern keeper to send up ‘whatever is the most expensive food and drink around here’, you excused yourself to freshen up. The room you had been given was at the other end of the long hallway from Lucanis and Illario’s, even though you were absolutely certain most of the rooms were unoccupied on the floor.

You ate, drank and talked for hours. A feeling that you could only describe as home warmed your chest. The little jabs Lucanis and Illario threw at each other, the silly flirtatious remarks from the latter, and the adventurous stories of grandeur, whose only point was trying to top the previous one. Just like always on the nights back in Treviso.

Things had always been like this between you and Illario; you were good friends who tossed flirty jokes around and shared gossip over a bottle of wine. He was… simple. Safe. On the same wavelength. Nothing romantic had ever happened between you nor were you interested in him as such.

Lucanis was like a brother to Illario, so you had formed this tenuous friendship, that was more about having a loved one in common rather than nurturing an actual relationship.

Lucanis was complicated; intelligent, efficient and business-oriented but also loyal to a fault, kind and considerate. He was an expert assassin, but his heart was in the right place. Not to mention you oftentimes had difficulties taking your eyes off him or stopping undressing him in your reveries. Lucanis was an enigma that made you itch and you yearned to scratch that itch. There was just no way it could ever happen and you had accepted it a long time ago. He was the grandson of the First Talon and you were just… you.

But there was also another reason.

You were terrified that one day Illario would realise you had been in love with Lucanis Dellamorte ever since the day you met.

While you ate, Lucanis and Illario told you about the Wigmaker contract in Vyrantium. It had earned Lucanis the moniker ‘Demon of Vyrantium’ and the rumours were already spreading like wildfire. Caterina was surely pleased.

Illario wanted to know more about your recent contracts, as much as you would be able to share. Lucanis tried to reel in his cousin’s eager insisting, ever the picture of a considerate gentleman.

“Fiore, I’m so happy to see you, but I thought you would surely be busy on a contract,” Illario tried again to inquire as to why you really had come to this small harbor town to meet them.

Maybe three glasses of wine was enough. You glanced at Lucanis, instantly regretted it, hoping Illario wouldn’t have noticed, and started talking:

“I am. Busy on a contract.”

“In here?” Lucanis asked, quirking a brow. The tone said all there was to know about the town and the probability of someone hiring an assassin on a target in such a place. There was literally nothing but the fish market, and a small harbor that served as a logistical centre for other towns further inland that couldn’t afford the taxes and expenses issued by larger harbours. Lots of people passed through, hence the fairly nice accommodations, but usually the kind of contracts you were dealing with would never turn their snooty noses towards a place like this.

“Not here. But–”

“The contract knows you’re onto them,” Lucanis ended the lie before you had the opportunity to speak it out loud.

You shrugged in admittance of defeat. It was just like him to follow your line of thought so fast, then just unravel the whole delicately woven web in a single pull.

“Ah, a false sense of security. I like this!” Illario clapped his hands together and patted Lucanis on the back – possibly as a way of congratulating his cousin’s quick wit.

“Also,” you started and cleared your throat, “There was a small incident yesterday, after I arrived in town.”

Lucanis and Illario exchanged looks.

“Who tried to murder you?” Illario asked in jest, but his smile soon dried up.

Lucanis placed his wine cup on the table and straightened up. He looked annoyed and his gaze started instantly scanning the exits in the room.

“I’m not sure,” you replied slowly. A pang of guilt tried to make a rise. “I took him down, but there was nothing on him to indicate if it was an order or a paid attempt. So who knows.”

“We should leave,” Lucanis said, still rigid and looking really unhappy.

“Come now, Lucanis. She said she took care of the amateur,” Illario argued and motioned towards the almost empty wine bottle. “Besides, we can’t leave a bottle unfinished. The Crows’ reputation will be ruined.”

“I’m sure he was working alone. I will be perfectly safe in my room,” you said and tapped the dagger hidden against your side. 

“Which one is your room?” Lucanis asked, just slightly relaxed.

“At the other end of the hallway.” You nodded to the general direction, already sensing where this was heading and it filled you with ominous tingling.

“Speaking of which, I should head to bed.” You started to rise up from the table and avoided both pairs of sharp eyes.

“Are you going to let her sleep alone in a place like this?” Illario teased, looking pointedly at his cousin.

“I can–” you huffed, but Lucanis shot you an intense look. His eyes were so dark and unamused that it shut you up at once.

“He is right,” Lucanis said. “We might not be able to hear you across the whole building if something happens.”

You swatted the words away. Whatever he was implying was not enough to bring you around.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I don’t think the Merchant Princes would waste any more gold on trying off little ol’ me.”

Illario nodded slowly but Lucanis didn’t look convinced.

“You’re a target. We don’t know who is after you, but if it were me, I would strike tonight.” Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose and continued explaining carefully: “There are no witnesses. The building is only two stories high. No one will look twice at a murder in a place like this.”

You bit your lip. Lucanis was making a good case and perhaps only because you had been thinking about the same points yourself. If the assailant had not been working alone, it was most likely that they would try again before you had the chance to skip town. Maybe they knew you were with two other Crows, maybe they didn’t, but did you really want to risk it to keep your silly pride?

“I’ll accompany you for the night, just to be safe,” Illario said and for once you couldn’t detect a hint of ulterior motives in his tone. Though, the lack of confidence in your abilities stung.

Lucanis stood up and locked eyes with you. A chill rushed through you. He was determined. And maybe a little pissed.

“I’ll go. You didn’t sleep on the ship so you must be exhausted,” he said offhandedly to Illario.

“Always so considerate,” Illario replied with a blatant smirk that Lucanis missed. He too got up and stretched his arms.

You sighed in defeat and popped one of the few remaining grapes into your mouth. You should’ve never brought up the stupid contract. The Merchant Prince would pay extra for arranging this spectacular shit show.

“I will take care of her. Now rest,” Lucanis turned to say to Illario, who he found still smirking.

“Oh, I have no doubt you will.”

Lucanis replied to his cousin with a flat stare. Heat rose to your cheeks and Illario winked at you.

Great. So it was not about being confident in your abilities. He was just trying to push you into making a move on his cousin. You didn’t want to think about what that implied.

“Well, fine then. Shall we?” you asked Lucanis.

He motioned you forward. “Lead the way.”

There was just one problem: your room had only one bed.

-

TBC

[mewkwota]

Ahhh for the character thing, classic blues/protoman? Love your art btw!

Oh geez, hello to the boy who has been gone for a long-long time.

Send Me a Character

And I will tell you my:

First impression This was the first Mega Man character that get me hooked to "lore". I know mysterious characters with the deep backstory usually get people, but of all the ones to have them for me it had to be Blues.

I guess at the time, I hadn't really thought of things involving my favorite characters so much like that. Where you'd delve into every aspect of them then create derivative works based on what you've learned, but like in a way that's a slight extension to the canon, as opposed to all-out AUs like that I've usually done in the past.

Some of this follows the thought process I had with Rock and his perspective as a child robot, but with Blues' complicated traits.

Whether it was for light-hearted jokes or emotional explorations, I sure drew a whooole bunch with this fella on that. Maybe the word I'm looking for is a muse.

On simpler terms, I also liked Proto Man's scarf. It brings out his design so nicely, and it's yellow. Which I also like. :)

Impression now I've since moved on from my huge burst of focus on Proto Man, but I'm sure that's what he'd want. I still think he's cool of course.

Favorite moment Do I actually have one? I think it's just nice to see him, really.

Idea for a story I remembered a long time ago that I wanted to put together how I depicted Blues' time with Dr. Light, up until he chose to run away. I never got to that last part though the ideas still float in my mind.

Unpopular opinion I like to see Blues as a kiddo like his brother Rock. Mega Man Upon a Star had a really sweet depiction of him that fit this to a tee.

Favorite relationship You know how I am with the Light Numbers in general. Blues is the oldest one. I remembered really enjoying the art I made where he would be there for his lil'bro.

Favorite headcanon He is allowed to be silly. And I don't mean snarky, let him be silly. This super old art I drew comes to mind of what I mean.