#lake ann? mary lake? something like that)

[digestionmachine]

colorado trail near cottonwood pass, june 2022

[vantetaes]

SPRING FLING🫧🥂

COUNTRY BOY! EREN X CITY GIRL BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.

WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut

a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.

as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.

“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.

the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.

“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”

before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.

“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”

your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.

your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.

as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.

your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.

living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.

which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.

to the middle of nowhere.

the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.

when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.

“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.

stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.

“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.

“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.

to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.

the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.

there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.

your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.

the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.

lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.

you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.

as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.

“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.

“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”

you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.

“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.

“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”

“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.

“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”

something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.

“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.

“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”

your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.

when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.

the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.

the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.

you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.

your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.

it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.

at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.

“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.

you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.

“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.

“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.

you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.

“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.

you raise a brow, bristling.

“didn’t say i was thanking you.”

that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.

“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”

“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”

he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.

“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.

“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.

you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.

“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.

the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.

he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.

“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.

“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”

-

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.

“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.

“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”

“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.

the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.

while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.

“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.

your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.

“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.

your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.

“go on, now. see what he’s got.”

you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.

“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.

“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.

“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”

the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.

“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.

he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.

“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”

you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.

sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.

the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.

you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.

you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.

“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.

“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”

you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.

“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.

eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”

“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.

“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.

that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.

“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”

“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”

“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.

“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.

“see you around, princess.”

-

the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.

you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.

it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.

you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.

it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.

frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.

and there he is.

eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.

“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.

“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.

“what do you want?”

eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.

“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”

you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“and they sent you?”

“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”

“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.

“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.

“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”

heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.

“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”

“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.

“looks real… comfortable.”

you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.

the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.

it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.

the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.

you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.

“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.

eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.

“what are you doing in here?”

“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.

“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”

he snorts, turning back to the pipe.

“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”

“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.

eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.

“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.

“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.

“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”

“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.

“im just… observing.”

“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.

“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”

“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.

you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.

“im just bored.”

“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.

“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.

“will you quit calling me that?”

“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”

“obviously.”

“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.

“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.

“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.

“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”

eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.

“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.

“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”

“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.

“you just talk too much.”

“and you’re just cranky.”

he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.

“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.

you tilt your head, studying the man below you.

“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.

“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.

“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”

he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.

“you’re annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.

the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.

“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.

eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.

“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”

“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.

“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”

he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.

you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.

it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.

“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”

your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.

“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.

eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”

you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.

“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.

eren notices immediately.

“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”

“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.

“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.

“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”

you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.

“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.

he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”

the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.

“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”

“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.

“whatever you say, princess.”

he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.

“last door on the left, under the sink.”

“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.

you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.

when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.

“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.

you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”

“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.

you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.

eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.

“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”

“is that your way of saying you care?”

he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.

“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.

you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.

“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.

eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”

you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.

“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”

“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.

“eh. i still like princess.”

he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.

you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.

the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.

“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.

he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.

“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.

he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.

-

the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.

you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.

something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.

you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.

“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.

eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.

“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.

“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.

“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”

you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”

you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.

“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“your vegetables do look great.”

his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.

“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”

eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.

“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.

“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.

“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”

you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.

eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.

“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.

his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”

the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.

“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.

“i’ll let you both get back to work.”

eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.

“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.

you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.

it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.

“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”

you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.

“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.

“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”

-

you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.

he was addictive.

soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.

he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.

when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.

whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.

“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.

“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”

you were driving him nuts.

he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.

the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.

pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.

“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.

“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.

“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.

lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.

“you been exfoliating?”

“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”

it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.

hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.

“oh! eren- oh my god.”

his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.

eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.

“please eren.”

this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.

“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.

your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.

instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.

his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.

“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.

“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”

feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.

“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.

from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.

he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.

he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.

“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.

you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.

that was until you were being pounded into the bed.

you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .

“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”

he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.

“on your knees, princess.”

on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”

the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.

pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.

trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.

“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”

his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.

“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“

he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.

your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.

“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”

folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.

his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.

with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.

“you’re something special, yn.”

-

after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.

“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.

he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.

you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.

“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.

“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.

“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.

“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”

“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.

“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”

“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.

“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.

“how could i ever?”

you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.

his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.

“you ever thought about visiting the city?”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

random inspo pics at the bottom? yes!

[alltimefail]

Okay gang, I noticed something super intriguing in my recent weekend rewatch of Dead Boy Detectives!

In Episode 4 when the night nurse goes into Charles' mind there's a consistent detail in his memories that I haven't seen anyone point out: not all of Charles' five schoolmates throw stones at him when he's in the lake.

Two boys are positioned slightly off to the left side of the screen, watching and making no move to stop the others, but they do not directly harm Charles at any point.

I know this doesn't seem particularly interesting in and of itself, but it quickly becomes more interesting when the Night Nurse asks Charles "What could possibly have made [his] friends turn on [him] like this," and we flash forward to the next memory, a visual response to her question. In this memory, we see Charles standing up to all of his so-called "friends" who are senselessly beating up on a boy from Pakistan and...

Wait - actually, no - not all of his friends...

Yet again, two boys have been intentionally set apart from the group and yes, it is the same two boys who stood off to the side and watched Charles be harmed (ultimately killed) in the previous scene. The juxtaposition of these scenes begins to feel even more intentional when the perspective flips and we see the scene how Charles was seeing it, with the passive boys on the left and the boys engaging in violence on the right.

This scene is much brighter so we get a really good look at their faces here, but both of them go through a myriad of facial expressions/reactions in quick succession that are challenging to discern with 100% certainty. But with the blocking for the group being the same in both shots and the roles the boys play being the same in both shots, I feel like this had to be an intentional choice made to convey something implicitly to the audience.

That leaves me to wonder - did these boys know, deep down, that what was happening was wrong? Did they want to resist, walk away, or try to stop the violence like Charles did earlier but felt powerless to do so? It would be remiss of me not to acknowledge how one of the two "passive" boys was black: did that otherness, the same otherness that Charles felt and that boy from Pakistan surely felt, keep him from speaking up out of fear for his own safety (a valid fear, considering what we know).

Whatever the purpose, it's a really sad detail to me. Heartbreaking, actually. Edwin is 100% right when he says that the living are messy, and Crystal is right when she says that she and the boys lost their lives to boys who went too far (hers temporarily in the form of her memories, the boys completely in the form of their literal lives) because that's just it, isn't it? This show is full of moral and ethical conversations surrounding the limitations of labels like "good" and "bad" people; about capability and willingness to change; and about how our actions, whether rooted in good or bad intentions, can lead to unintended or undesired outcomes. Perhaps none of Charles' "friends" believed they would kill Charles that night; perhaps they just wanted to "rough him up" or "teach him a lesson." Perhaps none of Edwin's bullies could have anticipated that the ritual sacrifice "prank" would do anything more than scare a boy they perceived as different, effeminate ("Mary Ann"), and they certainly couldn't have known it would lead to years of torture and suffering in hell for not just Edwin, but for themselves as well. But it doesn't matter, and it doesn't excuse what they did. The boys who stood to the side and watched Charles die, and who watched their fellow "mates" beat on another boy prior to that, may not have thrown a single punch, but it didn't matter - the damage was done. They still were complicit in that violence, and therefore played just as much a role in Charles' death as the boys who were throwing stones and punches. To be alive is to deal with mess, complications, baggage...to insinuate otherwise is to diminish the nuance and intention put into every choice not only in this show, but in some ways, the world at large as well. It may be a small moment, but it struck me as something that said so much without having to explicitly say anything at all. Art is a good mirror on society in this way; it makes us face the reflections of messy, complex characters and situations that we could just as likely find ourselves a part of (maybe as the "good" guy, the vicim; maybe as the "bad" guy, the bully; or maybe as the guys who just... did nothing at all. The ones who watched, who were complicit in the suffering of others for what could be a multitude of selfish or self-preserving reasons).

All that being said, the TLDR here is: considering it's the same two boys who behave the same way in both instances it feels like an intentional detail. I wonder if there's potential for one (or both) of these boys to reappear in Charles' (after)life in the future? They are likely both still alive today, in their 50s, just as Charles would be had he not been murdered. Perhaps one of these boys could die and come to the agency with regrets or unfinished business (directly involving Charles or regarding something unrelated). Maybe Charles will run into them, alive, through a different case or just on the streets of London and be overwhelmed with a sense of "That should be me, too. I should have gotten to live." I imagine he would recognize them, even in older bodies, and it would understandably affect him to have to face anyone who played a role in his death, whether they threw stones or just watched.

Orrrrrrer it could be a totally pointless detail! 😂 I'm always open-minded to the fact that after 30+ rewatches I could be overanalyzing at this point. Either way, it confounds me nonetheless and I so desperately hope we will get to explore Charles' trauma more in season 2 (🤞)... so I thought I would share my thoughts! 🖤

(Last note: please excuse the bad photo quality!! I searched meticulously for the exact screencaps I needed but couldn't find anything, so I just took pictures of my tv screen with my phone lol.)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

a list of some autumnal movies/series 🍂

i am nothing if not an organised little goblin who can not stop themself from making a good list. this is just in case you want something with that fall vibe but can't think of any. just close your eyes and point somewhere on this little list, or even put the numbers in a generator and go with whatever the result is ♡

winter | spring | summer

🥧 ‧₊˚ ⋅ movies ⋅˚₊‧

nosferatu (1922) 

sabrina (1954)

the creature from the black lagoon (1954)

psycho (1960)

rosemary’s baby (1968)

the rocky horror picture show (1975)

halloween franchise (1978-)

friday the 13th franchise (1980-)

an american werewolf in london (1981)

dark crystal (1982)

a nightmare on elm street (1984)

ghostbusters (1984-)

ronja rövardotter (1984)

clue (1985)

princess bride (1987)

the witches of eastwick (1987)

elvira mistress of the dark (1988)

dead poets society (1989)

when harry met sally (1989)

ghost (1990)

the witches (1990)

death becomes her (1992)

hocus pocus (1993)

addams family values (1993)

interview with a vampie (1994)

the craft (1996)

the first wifes club (1996)

the scream franchise (1996-)

halloweentown (1998)

practical magic (1998)

you’ve got mail (1998)

the blair witch project (1999)

sleepy hollow (1999)

chocolat (2000)

amelie (2001)

the lord of the rings franchise (2001-2003)

scooby doo (2002)

school of rock (2003)

mona lisa smile (2003)

peter pan (2003)

pirates of the caribbean franchise (2003-2017)

north & south (2004)

pride and prejudice (2005)

the descent (2005)

just like heaven (2005)

the devil wears prada (2006)

the lake house (2006)

penelope (2006)

el orfanato (2007)

juno (2007)

ratatouille (2007)

bridge to terabithia (2007)

the edge of love (2008)

twilight (2008)

the curious case of benjamin button (2008)

julie & julia (2009)

jennifer’s body (2009)

dorian gray (2009)

coraline (2009)

true grit (2010)

the cabin in the woods (2011)

jane eyre (2011)

wuthering heights (2011)

perks of being a wallflower (2012)

the odd life of timothy green (2012)

hotel transylvania (2012-)

the conjuring franchise (2013-)

what we do in the shadows (2014)

the riot club (2014)

as above so below (2014)

john wick (2014-)

the age of adaline (2015)

the witch (2015)

far from the madding crowd (2015)

the edge of seventeen (2016)

paterson (2016)

20th century woman (2016)

the love witch (2016)

mary shelly (2017)

murder on the orient express (2017)

get out (2017)

a quiet place (2018 + 2020)

the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society (2018)

on the basis of sex (2018)

knives out (2019)

ready or not (2019)

the lighthouse (2019)

little women (2019)

the gentlemen (2019)

emma (2020)

ammonite (2020)

the dig (2021)

fear street trilogy (2021)

good luck to you, leo grande (2022)

the batman (2022)

fresh (2022)

bodies bodies bodies (2022)

mr malcom's list (2022)

totally killer (2023)

slay (2024)

🧦 ‧₊˚ ⋅ series ⋅˚₊‧

moomin (1990-1992)

twin peaks (1990-1991)

x files (1993-2018)

buffy the vampire slayer (1997-2003)

gilmore girls (2000-2007)

supernatural (2005-2020)

vampire diaries (2009-2017) / the originals (2013-2018) / legacies (2018-2022)

downton abbey (2010-2015)

the walking dead (2010-2022)

once upon a time (2011-2018)

american horror story (2011-)

teen wolf (2011-2017)

peaky blinders (2013-2022)

outlander (2014-)

how to get away with murder (2014-2020)

the magicians (2015-2020)

izombie (2015-2019)

poldark (2015-2019)

critical role (2015-)

stranger things (2016-)

ghost files / buzzfeed unsolved (2016-)

lucifer (2016-2021)

shadowhunters (2016-2019)

anne with an e (2017-2019)

the good fight (2017-2022)

riverdale (2017-2023)

manifest (2018-2023)

killing eve (2018-2022)

succession (2018-2023)

you (2018-)

a discovery of witches (2018-2022)

the chilling adventures of sabrina (2018-2020)

dickinson (2019-2021)

virgin river (2019-)

carnival row (2019-2023)

the witcher (2019-)

the umbrella academy (2019-2024)

sanditon (2019-2023)

good omens (2019-2025)

the haunting of bly manor (2020)

i’ll be gone in the dark (2020)

queens gambit (2020)

the great (2020-2023)

shadow and bone (2021-2023)

the nevers (2021-2023)

wednesday (2022-)

interview with the vampire (2022-)

vikings valhalla (2022-2024)

lessons in chemistry (2023)

my lady jane (2024-)

[wizardofpalmsprings]

Cold Conviction: a one off about what Lucy Frostblade’s last moments might have been like. Some mention of gore, mention of death. Some creative liberties taken and I have not gone back to check this for spelling or grammar ( forever posting a first draft 🫡)

“Please, Lucy- just listen to me—“

“Do you know what you’re asking me, Kipperlily?”

Tears well in Lucy’s eyes, a hand on her chest tugging at a well loved sweater. There’s pain in her heart, pain for the brief second in which she considered what is being asked of her. The pain of giving up on something she has held so dear for so long.

Ruvina. She couldn’t give up on her goddess, the very thing that connected her to her culture. Harsh as the cold and the wind was, she was a part of Lucy’s heritage, and keeping close to others made them warm against her cold. Why would she need anything else?

There’s a whisper at the back of her mind, the pull of something familiar, as Kipperlily promises something strong, something powerful. Something full of rage. They can face down whatever, they just have to give themselves over to this god. The sensation of warmth, of light, a counterbalance to Ruvina’s own domain.

The warmth becomes a burning heat. A signal that something is wrong.

Some gods speak directly to their followers, others give them visions and feelings to interpret. Ruvina is trying to tell her something, a warning against a darker path.

Lucy looks down at her hands. Hands that have healed, hands that held Kilperlily’s as they promised to watch each other’s backs. How they held hands as Kipperlily argued in favor of keeping the name “The High Five Heroes”. Hands that held her dying friend in the Mountains of Chaos not long ago.

They are now clenched in defiance against stacking odds.

Emboldened, she takes a strong stance against her friends. Her friend.

A tear escapes her eye.

“I won’t be bullied into this.” She declares. “Don’t you hear yourself? You want me to pledge myself to a different god so you can get your revenge?”

Kipperlily’s back is to the woods, a dagger in her hand. Her brow creased so hard Lucy wonders if it might be stuck that way. Beside them, the lake glistens in the dim light from the moon over head. Even in this light, Lucy can see a mix of fear, anger, and sadness in Kipperlily’s eyes. It’s the anger that’s the strongest, replacing the annoyance and frustration that had been so prevalent in the past couple of years.

“You’re making a mistake.” Kipperlily says through gritted teeth, her grip on the dagger intensifying. “We can be heroes! we can do the things we’ve only dreamed about doing! We can be better than them!”

There is venom on the “them”. Kipperlily is blinded by her ambition, a need to surpass someone who seemingly has it all. The tragic backstory, the skills, the friends. It was something Lucy could never fully understand, but she listened to her talk about wanting to be one of the best rogues in the world, how she wanted the chance to save someone - save the world.

Lucy herself never had any quarrels with the Bad Kids, another adventuring party at their school. One of many, but one of the only ones to really take a stand in recent memory. They’d killed Kalvaxus at the end of their Freshman year and by all accounts, that was a pretty rad thing to do. Killed by Riz Gukgak, then slain again by the Maidens who, understandably, wanted to get their revenge.

But Kipperlily was seemingly upset by the fact that Riz had this tragic tale to him, that he “got” to have his father eaten by Kalvaxus and “get” to have that revenge arc. Kipperlily wanted for nothing, and yet she wanted for something that would give her glory.

At first it was petty jealously, but ever since her death, her tune had changed. They all had, in fact. It was gradual, but Lucy was beginning to notice a rage building in all of them. Subtle in some, Mary Ann was still Mary Ann and Oisin still appeared relatively calm, but she could see it in them too. She was starting to feel very lonely.

Lucy’s hands are balled into fists. “Is that all you want? You want to be better than them?”

“Yes!” Kipperlily sounds exasperated. “What’s so hard to understand about that?!”

Anger boils in Lucy.

“Isn’t it enough that we’re together?!?” She snaps. “Is it not enough for you that we get to hang out with our friends? Think about everything we could be doing! All the problems we can solve- we can get better and go back to the Mountains and do what we set out to do in the first place!”

Kipperlily looks down at the dagger in her hand, then back up at Lucy. For a split second, she sees the young halfing girl she met on the first day of school, a book clutched to her chest, a bright smile on her face. She thinks about how in the following months, they’d braid each other’s hair and share secrets no one else knew. She thinks about their promise. A promise to face the world together.

“Don’t you trust me?” Kipperlily asks. Another twinge of pain, this time at the deception. Kipperlily knows how to get what she wants. “I’m doing this for us! When the rage god returns, we can be glorious, Lucy. The two of us- together.”

Ruvina’s warning returns. Warmth, heat, fire - Rage.

Lucy stands her ground. She shakes her head and Kipperlily’s bravado falters.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t turn my back on everything I’ve ever known.” She pauses. All she has to do is say one thing, and she knows what’s coming. But she can’t back down either. “Im sorry you can’t be him.”

Rage flairs in Kipperlily’s eyes. Shes too quick, she’s on her in a matter of seconds, cold steel cutting through Lucy’s body. Lucy closes her eyes, accepting her fate and falling back with arms outstretched.

It’s cold. It’s so cold. Shes doesn’t even feel it as Kipperlily continues to slice at her out of sheer anger.

She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to leave her friends, her family, everything behind, but little choice is given to her.

There’s an embrace, deep and cold, as Ruvina takes her in. But then the feeling is jerked away, warmth and light finding her instead.

No, not warmth and light. Rage, it’s the heat of rage.

A hand reaches out to her, coal black with ribbons of fierce hot magma. She looks up, seeing a stern face looking down at her coldly. In this moment, she realizes the connection to Ruvina.

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

The hand withdrawals. A flash of something on the face - pride. Pride in her conviction, in a sense of personal justice.

The heat fades to warmth, then the loving embrace of a goddess returns, briefly, to cradle her. Shes not sure if she’s at peace, but she’s fine to rest here until such a time comes.

[thegrimdog13]

Ideas for a Creepypasta fantasy au Pt. 1 ?

•Jeff is a king of a kingdom and Jane is his rivaling kingdom.

•Jeff was is war with Jane’s kingdom and Jane’s dad was in the royal army. Jeff’s army killed many of her people in the war including her dad.

•Jane’s mom jumped in a lake days later drowning herself.

•Laughing Jack and Laughing Jill are twins that were separated at birth. 

•Laughing Jack ended up being Jeff’s court Jester while Jill ended up being Jane’s 

•Sally is a little girl in Jeff kingdom that runs around taking to animals around the kingdom. 

•Jeff isn’t known for being a kind king but he has a soft spot for Sally after she brought him his dog back.

•Jeff hired nurse Anne his healer to take care of Sally. So basically they stay in a cute little hut together .

•Clockwork is a bounty hunter that works for Jane’s kingdom.

•Clockwork and Jane have been besties since they were young.

•Clockwork was a local peasant while Jane was a princess.

•Jane has crush on a local woman who works at a flower shop named Mary.( if you know who I mean )

•Slenderman is a god that Jeff and Jeff’s kingdom follow while Zalgo is the one Jane’s kingdom follows.

•Ben is a expiring knight in Jeff’s kingdom. 

•Ben’s fear of water is the main thing stopping him from passing the training. Because they learn how to fight in different environments and he refuses to go near water. 

•Ben is secretly has powers but doesn’t really know how to control them.

•Eyeless Jack is a local blind man that people say are a bad omen because of his dark eyes.

•EJ was cursed with his appearance by a witch at age 15 because he stole an necklace from her.

•He was always bindish but his gray skin wasn’t there before and he went fully blind as well.

•Liu was cast out of the kingdom by Jeff because he disagreed with Jeff’s ways and tried to reason with Jeff on some things.

•Liu is a wizard and when he was cast out by Jeff he has no choice but to seek shelter somewhere.

•Jane took him in to her kingdom under the conditions he would help out around the kingdom. He of course agreed.

•Liu got a crush on their local nurse. 

•Nina is a witch that has a giant crush on Jeff.

•Jeff let’s Nina stay around and hang all over him so she doesn’t curse him and the kingdom.

•The bright side is she often “helps out” with his hatred for certain people. So he quite enjoys that aspect of her being around.

•Jeff also likes the attention he gets from Nina.He often flirts with her just for her reactions.

Sorry I can’t think of any other characters right now I’m tired. If you guys have any idea’s or suggestions on this au or something I should change just let me know! Love you all ❤️

[nebulousgaythoughts]

OK I absolutely adore Stede as a character, but I'm disappointed with how they handled him in season 2.

Achieving fame and respect as a pirate was his main goal throughout the whole show, and once he got there by murdering Ned, it's painfully obvious he regrets it (or at least feels badly about it). And then he chooses to have sex with Ed instead of talking about it, going against his whole motto in season 1--talk it through as a crew. It makes sense, it's much easier to avoid hard feelings, but they didn't even talk about it the morning after.

Instead, Stede doubles down and gets drunk at Spanish Jackie's and lights a man on fire as a joke. We never see how this affects Stede. He murdered Ned and lit a dude on fire and it's just...not addressed? And then he finds Ed (who doesnt know that Stede LIT A MAN ON FIRE), and they break up again. He literally calls Ed a coward. Which like, true! Ed has commitment issues like a bitch, but like are you really not going to run after him?

Like damn, Anne and Mary were right. They don't know how to love without hurting. They are fucking 14 year old boys. Just imagine this:

"I think Anne and Mary were right," Ed mutters.

"What?"

"Anne and Mary were right. We don't know how to love each other, Stede."

Stede takes Ed's hand.

"Then let's figure it out."

But instead, the next time they see each other, Ed says he loves Stede, and he's sorry for being a dick. And Stede says life's a dick. I think with the constraints on season 2, this was a pretty good concise way to tie that issue up. But there's still so much that's going unsaid.

Ed didn't leave to become a fisherman. He left so he wouldn't be hurt by Stede leaving again. He left because Stede killed a man, and he can't become a better person if Stede is fucking killing people.

And Stede didn't kill people because he's a killer at heart. He killed because all he wanted was to be respected. To be a man. From childhood, he was taught that violence was synonymous with masculinity. But in his heart, he liked picking flowers and walking in nature and rowing out onto the lake.

That's who Stede is. He's gentle. And I'm kind of heartbroken that that part of his character is gone.

He doesn't need to be sexy, dominant, violent, masculine to be a man. To be loved. Ed fell in love with the silly, sensitive, gentle Stede who had a secret closet full of frilly fabric and summer linens. He fell in love with the Stede who told him he wears fine things well. He fell in love with the Stede who swapped his clothes with him just for fun.

If I wrote season 2, I would have the first half of the season stay pretty much the same. But, when Stede kills Ned and achieves infamy as a pirate, I would have him discover that he is deeply unhappy even though he has everything he thought he ever wanted. I would have him realize that he doesn't know who he is, and who he wants to be. And THEN I would have him and Ed TALK ABOUT IT.

Stede would day something like "I thought I'd be happier." And Ed would say, "I told you so" only in a nicer way. And then Ed would tell him about why he fell in love with Stede in the first place. And Stede would shake his head in disbelief and Ed would keep going. He would say how alive he felt with him, and how enchanted he was with Stede. He would tell Stede that he'd love him even if he wasnt a pirate. And then Stede would start to feel like himself again, and say the same back to Ed. And then they hug!!!

Anyway TLDR: I love Stede but bro is not a murderer and they should have explored his identity crisis much more.

Also: I know that there were a lot of constraints on season 2, so I'm not directing blame at any one person. I'm still disappointed though. They deserved much more time to properly tell their stories.

[lorriiraine]

Get to know…

Lorraine Jones

Full Name: Lorraine Juniper Jones

Nickname(s): Lory, Lora, little pumpkin (just used by Sebastian)

Age: 15/16 (ingame), 18 (fanfiction)

Date of Birth: March 16, 1875

Birthplace: New York, America

Blood Status: Muggleborn

House: Hufflepuff

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Height: 167cm

Hair Color: pinkish blond

Hair length: Shoulder length

Eye color: blue as the ocean

Details: freckles on her cheeks, nose and her shoulders, scar on her right cheek

Favourite class: Potions and Herbology

Favourite place: the great lake by hogwarts

Traits: Brave, stubborn, protective, naive, loyal, friendly

Likes: Beast, everything related to pumpkins, duelling, reading, exploring, autumn

Dislikes: spiders, bullying, thunderstorms, dark wizards

Patronus: Chinese Moon Moth

Parents: Mary (nurse) & Richard (shop owner) Jones

Brother: Matthew Jones (5 years younger)

Extended Family: unknown

Her parents love to travel. Each holidays they will travel somewhere else and Lory comes with them until she befriends with Ominis and Sebastian. The summer holidays between fifth and six year she took Ominis with her. The small holidays she would stay at hogwarts.

The Jones family left america because Mary and Richard wanted to stay in london. Her father was send there because his boss ordered him to open a shop of the franchise in london. So Lory had to move with them. She hated to leave Ilvermorny and america.

From a young age Lorraine felt something strange inside her magic. Her magic was always different, she learned spells faster than others and they worked instantly for her. The ancient magic also caused the visions she’s seeing then and there. Her parents were relieved when Professor Fig reached their daughter and discovered with her the source for these visions. Professor Fig and Lorys parents were in regularly contact per letters, in the holidays Fig got invited to the Jones house. He became more and more like a family member to them. Lorraine saw him not only as tutor but also as her grandfather in some kind of way. Figs death was hard to handle by the whole family. They put up a framed picture of Fig with the parents and Lory, standing over the fireplace. Mary says that Professor Fig and his wife Miriam are finally together again and that they should be happy for him. Even without being a witch Mary is always positive and open minded for nearly everything. Richard had a hard time accepting that his daughter became a witch. Why exactly has to get explored in the fanfiction 🙊

Partner: Sebastian Sallow

Friends: Ominis Gaunt, Poppy Sweeting, Eric Doyle (Male MC), Imelda Reyes

Enemies: bullies, Rookwood, dark wizards

Career: healer

Spouse: Sebastian Sallow

Residence: Aranshire

Children: Jasper and Rosalie Sallow

Sebastian left Hogwarts at the end of the fifth year right before Lorraine fight against Ranrok. He only left one letter behind for Lory. The sixth year he wasn´t there and never gave a sign of life. In seventh year Sebastian returned, trying to make it up to Lory and Ominis. Ominis hates him for leaving without traces of life. Sebastian talked to Lorraine and explained to her, that he was searching for Anne and that he is afraid, that she will die very soon. He asks Lory for her help to find a cure and slowly gain back Lorraines trust. After a half year she trusts him more and more.

- Talent for potions and herbology

- in fanfiction she can see visions, of things that will happen or had happened in the past, she can´t control it

- She has no idea why she can control ancient magic when she´s a muggleborn, thinking of it to be a gift

- Sneaks food and snacks out of the kitchen

- Stands up for house elves rights

- Her favorite beasts are thestrals and nifflers

- When she’s nervous or wants to avoid a topic she starts reading

- when she´s lying she will play with her hair or her hands

- She came from America and went to Hogwarts for her fifth year, before that she was visiting the Ilvermorny school, which she still misses - she was a Pukwudgie back there

- She has the scar on her cheek since the fight against Ranrok. Sebastian feeling guilty for letting her fight him alone and that he wasn’t there

- After arriving in Hogwarts for the first time she was scared and felt left out. Poppy was the one who talked to her right after Lorraine got sorted into Hufflepuff, then she introduced Lory to Natty and Garreth and during class to Ominis and Sebastian

- Her favorite flowers are white roses

- She love to sit a the Great Lake by Hogwarts and is fascinated by the merpeople

- is easy to impress and manipulate by Sebastian, whatever he wishes for she would do it, sooner or later (Crucio, the relic, … )

- can play the piano

- loves to bake cakes and cookies

- cats do love her, which is why kneezles are very kind and loyal to her

- dragons don´t scare her

- When one of her friends are sick she makes sure that they are comfortable and will help them using muggle medicine. Sebastian doesn’t like bitter medicine so when he’s sick Lory makes sure to just use sweet or neutral medicine, tea and soup

- She learns how to knit, just to gift her friends a handmade scarf in their favourite colors

- MC univers fun HC: Lorraine and Aurélie (@morelikeravenbore) are hiding a dragon named Nugget in the Undercroft from Ominis. Sebastian would keep that as a secret (not canon in Lorys story but a fun HC between Aurélie and me🩷).

- She would love his love language of physical touching (holding hands, caressing each others hair, linking each others pinkie fingers while walking)

- Lory will sit at the slytherin table for breakfast and dinner

- Sebastian would love to tease her with kisses, calling her out of whistleing when she walks around and saying how small she is

- Sebastian is overprotective and stares every guy down who just looks at Lorraine

- Sebastian would take care of her beasts in secret without letting her know

- She always call him Seb or Sebby, but not when she´s angry with him. Then she would call him Sebastian or Sallow

- They would sit in the RoR at weekend nights and talk about their past while eating snacks. Lory would be the only one Sebastian ever tells more about his parents

- Lorraine would love to visit america in her summer holidays to meet her friends from Ilvermorny. Sebastian would travel with her to meet her friends and see her old school

- when it comes to romantic, he wants to make everything right and when something went wrong he is frustrated with himself for messing up, which Lory finds adorable because she just wants to be with him and don´t care about the rest

This post isn’t nearly finished and will get edited every now and then as more as the story continues ☺️

[for-the-sake-of-color]

Happy Oc Sunday! For Nihlus or any one in crisis company!

👑: What does your oc want to be remembered as? Why?

🔫: Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back to someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

💧: Random angst headcanon

☄️: What do people assume about them? Are they right?

Thanks so much!!! asdjghasgh Sorry this took so long, tumblr desided it didnt like this post so its been hard tryinga get it to post

One Nihlus and Crisis Company, coming right up! (under the cut for lenth purposes) Gonna stop trying to format it and just post it cause this website likes to shit itself anytime you use its own built in features

What Do they want to be Remembered as?

Nihlus: Doesn't want to be remembered, and actually goes out of his way to make sure he is generally never perceived in the first place. To Nihlus, for Nihlus, knowledge about him is a weapon against him. Better to pass through most of life like a ghost. Jet: Wants to be remembered as a smart Captain and a Good Man if he can, someone effective and reliable at what he does. Jet would have deserted the GAR after Geonosis if he didn't believe in the cause of protecting the innocent from the horror of separatist occupation and destruction, because he doesn't believe in the republic itself. He doesn't want to be a hero or maintain a system, he just wants to end the suffering. Margo: She want to do something cool! Mostly just wants to be remembered as that awesome uncle that fixes everything everyone needs Cynic: Would love to be a beloved artist. He wants people to want what he makes. He wants to be remembered for what he can do rather than what he is. Many of his watercolor sketches already sit framed on the walls of Mary Ann's fine dining restaurants, so it could be a reality if the galaxy is kind to him. Heron: Doesn't want to be remembered by anyone except those closest to him. People would be harder to lure in to back alleys to try and mug him if they know to stay away from the guy with the prosthetic leg. And how can he commit crimes against the force gods if no one attacks him first? Lake: Chronically unsure, Lake thinks he wants to be remembered as a decent guy all things considered. Thinks they're all going to be remembered as monsters, but whatever. That's whoever comes next's problem to deal with, he's just trying to have fun and stay alive. Torch: Torch doesn't care if or how he's remembered after he's gone, he's also just here to have a good time while he can. His captain would probably say he's going to be remembered as a goofy problem soldier, but he's going to be remembered as absolutely devotional to his squad, and an excellent sharpshooter. Sprig: He wants to be remembered like a kickass fantasy spy advisor like leliana or zeveran from dragon age. Course the only reason they're deeds are known is because they're part of a video game. Maybe.... he thinks about writing a blackmail book. It would highly embarrass so many senators and office officials for petty (usually illegally so) shit, but that's what they get for legally making him the guy who had to deal with all the bomb threats by chance of birth. Empty buildings give him time to riffle through their shit.

-

Do they trust people easily? How easily will they turn their back to someone? Have they been backstabbed before? Will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Nihlus: He trusts trustworthy people.... as long as they aren't Jedi or Sith. Anyone capable of resisting his ability to unconditionally access their thoughts and intentions is an eventual threat even if they chose not to resist him.

-He doesn't do things for the good of doing it, if he wants to help even at risk to himself, he really has to like someone. Otherwise that honor is reserved for his clan, for whom he would give himself at the lightest provocation.

-Nihlus ended up in the Era of the Clone Wars due to being locked into a stasis chamber in his archive meant for fragile documents by his former master and oldest friend, Kishta, who had lured him in there to prevent his attempted assassination of the sith emporor for the destruction of his previous clan

- Nihlus is physcially incapable of betraying any of his squad no matter the cost (one of Jets orders), nor would he want to if he could. that is trust for Nihlus. Anyone else is fair game to whatever else serves the needs of him and his people

Jet: Has a healthy suspicion of others because to do otherwise would be irresponsible, but it does not stop him from reaching out, from trying, when he feels that the person is worth it

- Jet will never turn his back on his squad, his family, by his own admission. Has, though, on numerous occasions given some orders that put them in unnecessary danger for appearances sake. no one is perfect.

-Jet has never been truly back-stabbed, but he has been lied to on numerous occasions

-Jet... is initially ready to trade Nihlus life if and when he has to, for the sake of his squad and their family, as was his deal when becoming the Siths Captain. However, the longer he has him, the less likely he is to actually do so. Would not be able to choose between the lives of his squad even if their lives depended on it.

Margo: She trusts hard and fast, but if her trust is ever completely lost... that's it. Good fucking luck ever getting it back.

- Puts her trust in her Captain, and would turn her back on anyone he deemed it necessary for. Otherwise, she goes with her gut to do what she thinks she has to, to be able to sleep soundly at night.

- There have been several times where Margorashly believes they have been betrayed, by Nihlus... by Jet... by militia allies... for the first two it turned out alright, the last one... is still up for debate

- Will betray anyone she has to, to protect their family. She's the second in command, and that saddles her with a certain level of responsibility damn whatever her own morals say.

Cynic: Does not trust a single soul outside of their squad, although its less of a "all of you are sus" and more of a "none of you are reliable"

- it's not turning your back on people if you weren't really going to help them in the first place. Anyone who isn't squad is just fodder for the cause, although he has far more of an affinity towards helping other clones than to even looking a natborns way

- you can only be backstabbed by people you trust and he believes his squad wouldnt do that, everything else is just an unanticipated attack

- has a tier list of who he would trade for who within his squad if he had to that he would never tell anyone else about. It's not based on who he likes best, but rather who he thinks would be able to best keep the squad going

Heron: Doesn't trust easily outside his squad, that's how you get caught. and he hates nothing more than when the jig is up, tehee

- easily, he'll easily turn his back on people (who arent his crew). The only people worth sticking your neck out for are the ones as willing to kill for you as they are to die for you.

- Definately thought Nihlus did that one thing that one time like Margo but was also wrong, although he didn't take it as personally as she did. He is well aware there are worse people them him out there.

- has a tier list like Cynic does. two, actually. one that he publically shifts around as a joke anytime someone fucks with him, and the real one that he holds close to his heart.

Lake: Wants to believe the best in people at all times, genuinely wants to

- would, in the opinion of much of the rest of his crew, would give his life too easily in order to do the right thing. would not easily turn his back on anyone that needed help

- All the time, if by back-stabbed you mean 'dissapointed', Torch is too cautious though, so Lake has never had the chance to be seriously betrayed

- Would never betray his crew outright, no matter what. the morality of his crew matters less than the vows he has made to them. Has been given an ultimatum before, and he made his choice.

Torch: Wants to believe the best in people, but always expects the worst, he has to. it's kept them alive before, and it will do so again.

- will trust easily, and will break that trust easily if he thinks he detects the slightest threat. His squad comes first, always. Will tattle on them to the Captain if he thinks it'll be funny though.

- His initial fuck-ups almost cost his training batch their spots in the GAR, but they didn't have to throw him as under the bus for it as hard as they did

- Will die with his crew before he betrays them, but if he thinks accepting the initial offer will get him a way to help, he can put up a pretty convincing front

Sprig: Trust is hard earned with Sprig, but he notices potential and offers tentative trust accordingly

- socially, he will not be caught unawares. he's spent too long watching people.

- Has never been truely betrayed. had brothers who told him they'd come back who never did, but it's hard to blame the dead, isnt it?

- Sprig will betray anyone he has to, again, for his crew. Jet built this squad well. for his crew? He also has a list of who's life comes first. like the others, his isnt on top of his own.

Random angst headcanon?

Nihlus: Sometimes he looks in the mirror tries to grin and wishes he could smile in full like he could when he was young and happy and didn't had nerve damage over a full third of his face

Jet: gets migraines from his numerous head injuries

Margo: Several of the squad she commanded before she became Jets second died very soon after she transferred, and sometimes she wonders if she had turned him down whether or not she could have done anything to prevent it

Cynic: feels a lot of insecurity initially over his place in the squad, although he doesn't show it, since it was Margo that requested (demanded) he join with her rather than Jet offering.

Heron: Gets phantom cramps in a foot that no longer exists if he leans on that side for too long without a cane, and nothing except straight 'sith magic' has ever seemed to help make it go away

Lake: For better (and through worse) Lake will stay by Torch's side, no matter how often he ethically disagrees with the rest of their squad, because the rest of their batch is DEAD and Lake will be damned if he loses his last batcher, no matter what sort of monster he has to become to keep them that way.

Torch: Constantly puts up a front of whimsy because he's afraid that what he has underneath it isnt worth loving.

Sprig: So, so scared of dying. It's one of the reasons he transfered out of the ordinence corps

-

What do people assume about them? Are they right?

Nihlus: People often see Nihlus' lightsabers and lack of clone armor when the squad is together and assume that he's either the Jedi, or the one in Charge. They are oh so very wrong on both accounts. He will get really pissy if they're stubborn about trying to talk to him over his Captain about mission shit he could really not care any less about. Jet: People assume that the Sith is some how mind controlling his Captain into doing what he wants, when he wants. Jet just scoffs in Blood Oath and orders Nihlus to scrub the refreshers for the third time this month as punishment for breaking some ships rules or ditching drills to hang around Kix, again. Margo: People often assume she's a mechanic, when she's just a tech. Sure, she dabbles in machinery, but she's much more capable on the software than the hardware aspect of technology. She can rewire the engines power cells but for the grace of the force don't ask her what model of spark plug the damn thing needs. Cynic: People assume that by his name and attitude, he hates fun. a real stick up his ass stick in the mud. Truth is he's an early twenty-somethings man trying to make the most of things, he's just a little pessimistic, like, all the time. Absolute party animal otherwise Heron: People assume that as a Medic he's a real 'save everyone you can, do the least amount of harm' mildly Hippocratic oath inclined kinda guy like a majority of the medical professionals in the GAR. Unfortunately, he has... serial killer tendencies. Bit of a god complex, Giver and Taker of Life kinda thing. See enough guys with your face die under you hands and your knife and it's bound to do something, warp you in some way. Lake: People may assume that as like, one of the few people with a truely morally compassionate compass of the group, that Lake would be the weak link to press on to coerce into betraying the squad, but they would be very, very wrong. He values his families life above all others, just not his own. Torch: His whimsical nature might trick one into thinking he's a fool, but Torch is actually one of the most tactically brilliant soldiers in Crisis Company, and has the best aim out of all of them. He's just... occasionally taken over by the urge to Have a Good Time. Sprig: Is a real Seems like a Cinnamon Roll, Could Kill You, kinda guy. Really great at drawing people into just talking. In reality, he's filling it all away to use at a later date should it come in handy. (rarely does it, so he always just comes off as a peoples person)

[jemeryas]

Having the opportunity to explore this year’s Met Costume Exhibit ‘Women Dressing Women’ gave me the chance to learn just how big of a role that women had in helping shape the fashion industry into what it is today. Presented in what I would call a four act play, act I titled ‘Anonymity’ begins with the entrance of women in the fashion world. Dressmaking was first seen as an extension of domestic work in the 16th century done by women, but as the growing vocation made its way to the United States women would begin embroidering their work as to have it be rightfully credited to them, but also helping fashion historians keep track of who designed what.

Act II is what I could only cheekily refer to as “old maiden clothes.” Or the birthplace of female autonomy in creating pieces such as lingerie and evening gowns. As I was walking through this part of the exhibit I couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of some of these pieces being considered lingerie. For example, when staring at Marie Gerber’s ‘Evening Ensemble’ I kept thinking how conservative it is when I compare it to big lingerie brands such as Victoria’s Secret and Savage Fenty. Having grown up on those brands it’s not that strange to see why I would think Gerber was being a bit too modest with her design. Another of my favorite look from this act included Jeanne Lanvin’s ‘Cyclone’ evening gown who would create her own boutique with no financial backing.

Act III titled ‘Agency’ and could be compared to the third wave of feminism, saw a more revealing woman break into the scene. With the rise of the British Punk scene and popular rock bands like The Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols and Black Sabbath, it inspired British designers like Betsey Johnson and Vivienne Westwood to help create a new, edgy look that could match this subversive culture. Fashion was no longer just for the elite, it became an important symbol in cultural revolution and rebellion. Something that women designers could understand and relate to as they continued to push into the mainstream and make their collections not just works of art but a loud disruption to a corrupt and stiff society. Some of my favorite looks from this act include Betsey Johnson’s ‘Paraphernalia’ that I consider paying homage to the rise of hippie culture and the Beatles smash hit ‘Yellow Submarine.’ It was made most famous by model Baby Jane Holzer. Vivienne Westwood’s ‘On Liberty’ recognizes the British High Class and fun fact Vivienne Westwood’s second husband Malcolm McLaren was the manager of the Sex Pistols and Vivienne would often times design their wardrobes growing popularity for both her and the band. I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention the work of Ann Lowe, an African American designer who would go on to make, and then remake the day before due to a flood in her basement, Jackie Kennedy’s wedding dress which she would receive no credit for.

Act IV titled ‘Absence/Omission’ would introduce the “modern woman” created to feature and examine the inclusion of women with different body types as well as showcasing designs made for women who live with disabilities such as Aaron Philips who would have a mannequin modeled after her wearing peices designed by Collina Strada. Aaron Philips is most notable for her debut in the Moschino Fall ‘22 show. This act will also feature pieces from Danish designer Jasmin Søe who creates ensembles for those who live with achondroplasia(little person syndrome) as well as Ester Manas who is known for championing plus size women with her creations.

Though my favorite pieces would in this exhibit would come from Marie Grazia Chiuri ensemble for Dior. Marie captures everything I love about Dior, the combining of high luxury activities with haute couture to match in this fencing inspired ensemble. Tory Burch’s 2024 resort white dress is simplistic in nature but reminds me of something out of the classical Swan Lake ballet show(or if you’re a bit edgy the 2010 cult film ‘Black Swan’). Along with Simone Rocha’s couture dress that I can absolutely give no notes on, these would be my favorite pieces that I found myself coming back to often. Donna Karen’s ‘93 evening dress is honorably mentioned too due to Hillary Clinton wearing it (very distastefully in my opinion) at the 1993 State Dinner. However the gown itself was beautiful and reminded me of a longer version of Maddie Perez’s New Years dress in season 2 of ‘Euphoria.’

Overall these collection was both inspiring to see. I have only had the opportunity to visit the Met costume exhibit twice. The previous time focusing on works of Karl Lagerfeld. This exhibit however taught me more about women’s role in fashion and their struggle to breakthrough than any fashion course I could potentially take. The importance of preserving this history is obvious. Without the knowledge of Ann Lowe, Jackie Kennedy’s famous wedding dress would have continued to go uncredited and a Black woman would have been forgotten to history. These are the types of exhibits that matter. In preserving and showcasing our history, we are able to teach and inspire a new generation of fashion critics, designers and models to see what is possible in this amazing industry and if you find yourself in New York I would highly recommend making time to check out the exhibit.

[icedteaandoldlace]

9 people you would like to get to know better

I was tagged by @alittleflashvibe. Thanks, Flashy. ⚡️

1 - 3 ships - Ann Marie and Donald Hollinger, Lucy Scarborough and Zach Greenfield, and Eric van der Woodsen and Damien Dalgaard (doing ships I don't post about much to shake things up).

2 - first ever ship - I'm never sure, and I probably say a different ship every time. I know I one of my first big ships was Stevie Lake and Phil Marsten from The Saddle Club books.

3 - last song - Chokehold by Adam Lambert

4 - last movie - The Apple Dumpling Gang? Maybe?? I'm almost certain I watched something more recently than that, but that's all I can think of.

5 - currently reading - Very slowly working on Kilmeny of the Orchard by L.M. Montgomery. Also still need to finish the Anne books.

6 - currently watching - Rewatching Frasier season 1.

7 - currently consuming - A Dairy Queen cherry limeade.

8 - currently craving - Ice cream. Shoulda got one while I was there, but I knew I'd be too stuffed from dinner. 🍦

9 people to tag - some of the folks I was gonna tag already have been tagged, soooo let's do @magic-is-real-sometimes @music-stories-and-lots-of-sleep @vividly-violet and @fictionandmusic, all of whom have been my mutuals for A While, but y'all might have fun with this anyway.

[emmashouldbewriting]

Dearest Emma, Marmie was right. Jo and Laurie were too much alike in temperament and he's too young for Jo and Jo would definitely be miserable if she had to be in Laurie's social circle (imagine Jo in parties & pretty dresses!! The horror!!). Amy was the one for Laurie (their scene at the lake is my absolute fave romantic scene) and Prof Bhaer was the one for Jo (he understood her and gave her space). I admit I'm bias, because hot temper Jo & Laurie were paired with even tempered Amy & Friedrich, and that's me and my husband. Me impatient with bursts of temper and him with infinite patience & good humor. Anyways, I like your books, got them from library, and fun facts: I only started reading romance less than 10 years ago. My usual reads for the longest time were murder mysteries and serious books (lots of historical fictions!! biographies!! books with life lessons!!). Then daily life got heavy, needed something fun, started with Sophie Kinsella. Then Lianne Moriarty (not her recent ones, those are bad) and Jojo Moyes. Now I have Jasmine Guillory in regular reads (she's so good!!), Helen Hoang, Alexis Daria, and many others (mostly young-ish authors), including you. Life is better with romance books!! And murder mysteries books, those are still my number one faves, probably because my first books were Enid Blyton's the Famous Five. Agatha Christie, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women; those are my most re-reads. Recent good books were the latest RIchard Osman's Thursday Murder Club (the Bullet that Missed), Jasmine Guillory's Drunk in Love, and Courtiers by our main rota Val Low (his writing was very good, much better than his writing in the Times). Currently reading Mrs Harries Goes to Paris (Queen Camilla's recommendation) and TBR is Hennesy's Queen Mary's bio, Maggie O'Farrel the Marriage Portrait, and the new Jojo Moyes. My Hogwarts house is Gryffindor, but I cheated at the sorting quiz, and I know that deep down I'm a Hufflepuff. And I only want corgis and golden retrievers in every books, including yours (I don't like cats, sorry to your babies, they're cute tho').

Oh, I know Marmie was right now, but there are some things you never get over LOL

Life is best with romance AND murder books, if you ask me! I love cosy mysteries and is my usual reading, there isn't much romance on my kindle tbh!

[likeastarmuses]

pinned post!

primary muses.

women

elizabeth 'lizzie' opal rojas | fc: rosa salazar. retired drug dealer trying to make a name for herself in the digital art world when she's not waiting on tables at a greasy diner.

felicity isabel mendoza | fc: odette annable. former biker girl in her teenage years, now a single mom and midwife who is undoubtedly the glue to her family.

nancy inez martin | fc: deborah ann woll. mousy former combat medic dealing with so much trauma from war that she's in compassion fatigue and in need of human warmth and connection.

peyton marie tower | fc: halston sage. the nepo baby who dared to be something else, refusing money and fame from her tech giant CEO father while forming a legacy with her small-town game shop.

soleil jessamine smith | fc: madison davenport. rebel without a cause seeking the spotlight, trying so desperately to be different from her backwoods roots but losing herself in the meanwhile.

twyla mae mooney | fc: margot robbie. a rainbow personified, left a cushy cosmetology job in north carolina to do makeup and costumes in los angeles.

una carys tempens | fc: samara weaving. petty thief and stripper, all in the name of supporting her much younger twin siblings while her mother suffers from drug addiction.

men

beacon jace namara | fc: daniel kaluuya. old soul music teacher in love with jazz, constantly seeking gigs where he can show off his trumpet skills.

elisha 'eli' james king | fc: jon bernthal. loud but also a sweetheart of a former firefighter from jersey living in a firewatch lookout in honor of his late best friend.

ezekiel 'zeke' isaiah lim | fc: steven yeun. mid-tier gamer/streamer who is the anchor of his large family, having spent a lot of his 20s caring for his mother who was diagnosed with alzheimer's once he graduated college.

ford atticus smith | fc: adam driver. quiet and stoic veteran who is taking care of his large family farm, as well as running his own ferry business across lake pontchartrain in lousiana.

jamie alexander thompson | fc: paul rudd. english professor and lover of sports with a few published books, mostly a dork but also occasionally perceived as a dilf.

jesse gabriel mendoza | fc: jd pardo. fresh out of prison and trying to find his place in society again, keeping out of trouble by taking care of his motorcycle and dabbling in tattoo art.

kirk tiberius james | fc: andrew garfield. longtime comic book artist looking to make his big break in the profession while managing a coffee shop in a college town.

quinn 'soap' philip shepard | fc: pablo schreiber. brooding mercenary with hardly a soft spot, thinks with his fists before his brain, and will likely try to intimidate anyone who dares to peer behind his guard.

**horror-based AU details under the cut.

please go to each individual muse to see the horror-based plot ideas i have for them! and please keep in mind muses aren't limited to the plots i've quickly scribbled down for them. i'd love to explore more verses and horror-based fandoms! some of my favorite horror movies/franchises/genres include but are not limited to:

the conjuring/insidious/the nun

evil dead

saw

slasher - child's play, friday the 13th, halloween

nightmare on elm street

ready or not/you're next

the thing/alien/predator/annihilation

pearl/x

the witch

hereditary

giallo-type stuff/dario argento horror

[janeeyreheresy]

Stupid Girl

All the facepalms by all the regulars of all the Star Treks (ALL of them, including all the new shows and the Kelvin timeline) are not enough facepalms for this.

Jane, at the beginning of the story, was a naïve and inexperienced girl. That is no longer so. She bravely escaped the only home she had, with nowhere else to go, fell to an almost literal rock bottom, met people outside of her previous limited experience--not teachers at girls' schools or servants in country mansions--had long talks with a man other than Rochester, lived by herself in a small cottage, therefore running her own household, getting groceries etc, instead of having staff to rely on with domestic tasks. She inherited a fucking fortune, making the commendable decision to split it with her cousins because she felt they deserved it. Yet she has not learned a thing.

You know why I think Jane chose to divide the twenty thousand four ways? Because she wouldn't know what to do with all that money. She made no use of it. The only activity she found pleasure in was giving Moor House a good scrubbing, top to bottom, to make it ready for Christmas, and buying some new furniture and decorations. She started learning German, because Diana and Mary did so, later Hindi because St John asked her to, and occasionally taught at the Morton school, but that was it. Briefly she considered going to India as a missionary, not because it was something she was passionate about, but on St John's suggestion. 

When she first came to Thornfield, before the arrival of Rochester, she found life there dull and it was dull. But here she is, all the opportunities for excitement at her doorstep, and she doesn't take them. She does no travelling. She takes no trips to other cities, or to London, to museums, or theatre or opera, or just sightseeing. We know she sneers at fashion, but surely she likes some type of clothes, at least she can't be wearing the same thing every day. In that interrogation by Rochester at the beginning, she admitted she's not read many books and those she did were not very learned, but there's no sign of her buying any new books. The Marmion she reads was a gift from St John. She likes painting, but seemingly has no interest in visiting galleries. To put it plainly, she has no fucking life.

She doesn't open her own school, but I'm thinking she doesn't actually want one--at the time, in the gypsy fortune teller episode, opening her own school was the best it could get for her. Now that she has money she has more options, obviously, she doesn't have to go on "schoolmarming" for the rest of her life. (I mean, who would want to...) Except she doesn't even consider any other option. She's still never visited a city. Or the seaside. All her life experience is limited to countryside; to villages and country mansions. The only men she's ever got close to are Rochester and St John. No wonder she has such a scarcity mentality. She doesn't believe life can get better for her. She's not yet twenty, her whole life ahead of her, healthy and of sound mind and rich to boot. Yet she does an absolute fuck all, apart from listening to St John's long monologues. She thinks she will not marry, not because she doesn't need to depend on a man anymore, or out societal pressure, but because she doesn't believe anyone would ever love her, she doesn't believe there is any man for her, despite talking to all of TWO men in her life.

She likes to paint, yet seeks no new landscapes to capture with her brush. Explore the world, or England at least, Jane! Visit York, see the Minster, the Shambles. Go to the Lake District. Go to the coast. (Anne Bronte loved Scarborough, she died there too, poor soul...)

Yeah, so that double fare didn't cause any dent in her finances. I know that. She was still stupid to pay it, though. Whether she got there on the same day, or on the morning of the next would have made zero difference.

Jane continually looks down on other women for being shallow but it's not that she's that deep herself. Honestly, all she cares about is Rochester. Nothing and nobody else exists for her. During the month of their engagement, she worried she was making him her whole world. She knew being that obsessed with him was not a good thing, but she did nothing to change it. Even after she put a physical distance between herself and him. She was in the prefect position to get over an ex. New life, new friends, and even a new fortune. But no. She passes judgements on everyone that crosses her path, yet brags about not getting over a married man. 

There is being in love with someone. And there is being stupid.

The next day, Jane gives an account of what she went through after her escape from Thornfield. Rochester starts asking about St John, as he features so heavily in her narrative (what can I say, I wish he didn't). You know what Jane does now?

She teases Rochester with St John. Because St John was good looking and young and of good character (in Jane's eyes; she likes him, she just isn't in love with him), she is able to make Rochester jealous. Which... girl.

Too little too late. It's like sending a health and safety inspector to Thornfield the day after it burned down. What's the use of it now? She's just travelled all this way to see Rochester, clearly she has no intention to be with another man. She is sitting in his lap, for heaven's sake. 

She should have done this when she was still his governess. When the merry company was there and Rochester was pulling that stunt with Blanche. True, there was no suitable guy for that around, but that wouldn't matter, she could have made one up. Say, for example, she comes back from her day or afternoon off and Rochester asks her what she's been doing and she says "oh nothing much, met an old friend from Lowood today for a cup of tea in the village, he used to give us music lessons, he's on his way to Manchester for a new job but stopped by here so that he could see me, we were such good friends back in the day, you know." Even better, ask for an extra time off when the said friend is passing by, so that she can meet him. It doesn't matter if she'd spend the time sitting alone in a village pub. 

Another one to file under "what could have been".

And it's not that her teasing goes on for long. Pretty soon she spills out the truth, that St John doesn't mean anything to her and neither does she mean anything to him, that he only wanted to marry her because she would make a good missionary wife.

"But if you wish me to love you, could you but see how much I do love you, you would be proud and content. All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence for ever.”

Sir. And she used "my master" sixth time (to the reader, not to him).

He tries to protest, pointing out his disabilities. He compares himself to that chestnut tree under which he proposed to her, the tree that was struck by lightning. (The tree deserved better. Rochester didn't.) Jane responds by continuing with that metaphor and he thinks she means they would be friends (she just declared her love for him (again) but okay). 

“Ah! Jane. But I want a wife.”

Of course you do, Edward. Who else will look after you? Mary does all the housekeeping tasks, but it's only a job to her and she has her own husband. 

Marriage is beneficial to men. Married men live longer than single men. Don't believe all the lame "ball and chain" jokes. 

So he asks her to marry him and she says yes. He emphasises that she will have to wait on him, but she's happy with that. 

Of course she is happy with that. She literally walked back into his life carrying him a tray. She'd give her life to serve him. She's always done what he asked her to do, things that were outside her job as a governess. She sat in the drawing room with the guests at Thornfield, she stayed up at night when he needed her to, she kept running to his bedroom the night Richard got stabbed to fetch things, which included a highly suspicious substance (that everyone seems to ignore), she complied with his demand not to talk to Richard, she didn't advertise for a new job when she believed her stint at Thornfield was coming to a close because he told her not to advertise, she keeps calling him "sir" and "master" long after she is not his employee and has her own money. My master, my master, my master, waah-waah-waah. The good, obedient girl, who will help him bury the body. That's Jane Eyre.

And yes, Jane was in no position to refuse her master's orders, especially not as a live-in staff. But she doesn't even wonder why he gives these orders. So much time she spends in her head, talking to the reader, observing Blanche's behaviour, suspecting Grace of arson, pondering Richard Mason's existence, but she doesn't stop once to think about Rochester's motives. Not "why does he make me sit in the drawing room, what's his game?" Not "why should Mr Mason not to talk to me?" Not "how come he has a vial full of liquid from an Italian charlatan? What does he use it for?" The only time she doesn't comply is when she runs away. 

At the beginning, when she arrived at Thornfield, she thought it strange that Mrs Fairfax was so friendly to her, when she believed her to be the mistress of the house. But she showed no such surprise when the real master started behaving like a friend. 

I think it's real shitty of her to not even acknowledge that Grace Poole wasn't the bad guy after all. But if she did, if she, only in her head, said to herself, "I've been a real fool suspecting Grace of criminal activity", she'd have to also acknowledge that her beloved master was a piece of shit.

And it wouldn't kill her if she allowed at least one semi-friendly thought towards Richard Mason. She didn't have to like him, or talk to him if she didn't want to (not because Rochester demanded it), but again, she could have at minimum acknowledged that it was nice of him to care about Bertha, despite everything she was. And if she really cherished the hope of meeting her newly found uncle one day, why didn't she ask Richard about him? 

After they agree they'll marry, Rochester goes on to say that he was wrong in what he did but--let me copy it here:

“Jane! you think me, I daresay, an irreligious dog: but my heart swells with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees not as man sees, but far clearer: judges not as man judges, but far more wisely. I did wrong: I would have sullied my innocent flower—breathed guilt on its purity: the Omnipotent snatched it from me. I, in my stiff-necked rebellion, almost cursed the dispensation: instead of bending to the decree, I defied it. Divine justice pursued its course; disasters came thick on me: I was forced to pass through the valley of the shadow of death. His chastisements are mighty; and one smote me which has humbled me for ever. You know I was proud of my strength: but what is it now, when I must give it over to foreign guidance, as a child does its weakness? Of late, Jane—only—only of late—I began to see and acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker. I began sometimes to pray: very brief prayers they were, but very sincere."

I don't know. It's at best a half-assed apology. He found Jesus. And it only refers to his demanding her to become his professional mistress. Nothing about all the other stuff, or how awfully he treated the women he had relationships with.

He called her name--loudly--that time she heard him in Morton. But she doesn't tell him she heard him, so as not to frighten him. I can buy it. It's a gothic novel. Still more believable than her collapsing on the doorstep of the people who turned out to be her cousins.

I would have liked it better had he added "waah-waah-waah". 

He swears he will live a clean life from now on.

Not like he has any choice. He can't be running off to London or Europe and chase after women anymore. He can't host parties because: 1. nobody wants to attend 2. Ferndean Manor is a hole and a dump 3. he can't see. Sneak in a 4. what is his financial situation now?

Lovers reunited or not, the real winner of this chapter is the driver who got the double fare. I hope he spent it wisely.

[paulwhitewriter]

This year, I have not published a report regarding publishing trend predictions for 2025.. However, I share with you my suggestions of books which should do well during this festive season.

I have given Amazon UK links to the books. You may need to search by title on other sites.

Here are the books predicted to be bestsellers this Christmas, spanning various genres to cater to diverse tastes. I expect these titles to be among the most sought-after gifts, ensuring something special for every reader this holiday season.

"Tom Lake" by Ann Patchett  A reflective novel exploring love, family, and memory, set during the pandemic​. The Sunday Times bestseller - a BBC Radio 2 and Reese Witherspoon Book Club pick. https://amzn.to/4glCIze

"A Court of Thorns and Roses" by Sarah J. Maas  A popular fantasy novel with themes of magic, power, and love​. The first instalment of the GLOBAL PHENOMENON and TikTok sensation, from multi-million selling and #1 Sunday Times bestselling author. https://amzn.to/3DdySK4

"The Gruffalo: Queen Mary's Dolls' House Edition" by Julia Donaldson  A collector’s edition of the beloved children’s story, featuring new illustrations​. https://amzn.to/4ishXnw

"Remarkably Bright Creatures" by Shelby Van Pelt  A heartwarming tale about connection and loss, centered around a widow and a giant Pacific octopus​. New York Times bestseller-over 1.5 million copies sold worldwide. BBC radio 2 book club pick.Over 60,000 5 star reviews Good Housekeeping Best Books of 2022. Glamour Best Books of 2022. https://amzn.to/3ZF6Ksi

"The Christmas Cookie Wars" by Eliza Evans A holiday-themed rom-com featuring a cookie bake-off, perfect for fans of light-hearted holiday reads​. https://amzn.to/3ZthJDR

"The Bone Season" by Samantha Shannon  A gripping dystopian fantasy filled with action and suspense​. A lavishly reimagined tenth anniversary edition of the first novel in the sensational Bone Season series, by the Sunday Times and New York Times-bestselling author. https://amzn.to/4iojGtI

"Most Wonderful" by Georgia Clark  A queer holiday romance featuring intertwined family stories and festive vibes. ​Emotional, smart, and sexy, this queer holiday romcom celebrates love, family, and the wild creative life, and is perfect for fans of Emily Henry and Casey McQuiston. https://amzn.to/3ZIqxHa

"Classic Fantasy Stories" by Farah Mendlesohn (Editor)  A curated collection of short stories by classic fantasy authors like Oscar Wilde and Edith Nesbit​. https://amzn.to/3VwhSFh

"The Days I Loved You Most" by Amy Neff  A poignant story about love and self-discovery​. Perfect for fans of The Notebook. https://amzn.to/4gpviec

"Christmas with the Queen" by Hazel Gaynor and Heather Webb  Historical fiction set around young Queen Elizabeth II’s early reign, blending royal intrigue. A heart-warming Christmas romance for fans of The Crown and Downton Abbey. https://amzn.to/3CX69Jp

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[weywardwisdom]

‘Narrung? Where’s that?’

A FAIRLY EASY READ

‘What state’s that in’? Most people ask.

I stop myself from saying, ‘Neglect’.

But they’ve already gone onto ask,

‘What’s the nearest town’?

‘Meningie’, I say.

‘Medindie’? They sound puzzled. My working class accent doesn’t go with Adelaide’s finest of upper class addresses.

‘No’, I say. ‘Meningie. It’s near Narrung. And Narrung is near the Coorong’.

‘Ah! The Coorong — Storm Boy Country! I saw the movie’, they say brightly. I see Colin Thiele turn in his grave.

‘Can you picture Snoopy’? I say. ‘When he’s playing at being a flying ace — red scarf waving—chasing the Red Baron, that is. If Snoopy is Lake Alexandrina, and his waving scarf is Lake Albert, then the knot tied at Snoopy’s neck is Narrung’.

Well, it makes sense to me! It makes more sense than tourism trumpeting about Narrung being in ‘Coorong Country’. The Coorong is 25 kms away! Besides.The name ‘Coorong’ is a knockoff of the Ngarrindjeri word ‘Kurrangk’. It means at the neck (2009, Ngarrindjeri Dictionary, complied by Mary-Anne Gale with the elders, 31).

Ngarrindjeri elders told me they see a swan. Its long neck makes the long thin Kurrangk estuary, next to the dunes. Much more dignified than my cartoon dog.

The peninsula that Narrung sits on could have been an island. There’s lots scattered near the sea mouth. Land-grabbers named them after the animals they brought here and let go — so they’d have four-legged food at hand. No thought to the harm the misplaced critters would cause. So. There’s Cow, Ewe, Goat, Rabbit and Rat Island.

The first time I set foot on the Narrung Peninsula, I was very young. My memory is as hazy as the mist that moves in from the sea. Wind is what I remember most. It was so strong I could lean into it and not fall over. And seagulls seemed to stand still in the air, just above my head. I reached up my arm and one daring bird did a touch-and-go landing on my hand. My family were standing on a road that was on concrete stilts that stopped a lot of water going out to sea.

‘Pelican Point’, my grandfather called it. ‘A gorgeous bird is the pelican’, he grinned and said, ‘It's beak can hold more than its bellican’.

Granddad would always leave out the last lines: ‘He can put in his beak Food enough for a week. But I’m d[amned] if I see how in hellecan’ (1912-13, CM Marshton’s limerick in Florida’s Tampa Morning Tribune quoted in 2020, A Gorgeous Bird).

Local land-grabbers thought of this area as the arse end of ‘one of the largest river systems in the world’. They called it ‘Tail-End Charlie’ (1986, Narrung History — a viewpoint, Graham Camac, Narrung Alpha, 25).

Local land-grabbers didn’t like the summers. The lakes would dry out into stinking mucky pools. Or stretches of dry cracked earth. The lack of fresh water was ruining their livelihoods. Something had to be done.

Fred Ayres, owner of the Narrung Station, reckoned he had the answer in 1928. He wanted barrages built. But. Fred Ayres had grand money-making plans. He’d been a gold-digger, after all. He wanted the gubment to drain Lake Albert. And then he wanted it to sell the land for farming. There would be ‘room for 800 settlers’. And. The land sales would ‘make £800,000’ — more than enough to build his barrages (Draining The Lakes).

There’s more. Fred wanted the barrages built ‘wide for motor traffic’. So the public could drive across. He had a ‘16 mile’ route planned — from ‘Tubberug’ to ‘Hindmarsh Island’ and onto Goolwa. He said the water there was ‘nowhere deeper than 2 ft' — knee high. And the route had a solid 'limestone bottom' (1928, March 3, Draining The Lakes, Observer, Adelaide, 6, Trove).

But. How did Fred Ayres know this route was safe? How did he know it avoided the quicksand, shifting silts and deep people-swallowing cracks in the mud? Fred Ayres wasn’t a surveyor. He wasn’t a geologist either. How did he know?

Thing is, ‘Tubberug’— or ‘Tulerang’—is a Ngarrindjeri place-name. We land-grabbers now call it Pelican Point (Ngarrindjeri Dictionary, 153).

So. Fred Ayres — I strongly suspect — had local knowledge — Ngarrindjeri knowledge. What was his link with the Ngarrindjeri Nation?

On the afternoon of the 11th of March, 1913, he'd been one of four local land-grabbers who'd gone to the Point McLeay Mission. Why? They wanted to give evidence to five visiting MPs. They were looking into the 'progress' of the 'Aborigines'. But. It’s likely Fred Ayres was no friend of Ngarrindjeri. The MPs reported:

‘It was admitted by most of the witnesses ... that the work at Point McLeay has not been a success’ (1913, Progress Report Of The Royal Commission On The Aborigines).

What did ‘success’ look like? Success would have been the ‘natives’ working in ‘industrial pursuits’ and being ‘useful on the land’. But. The land that went with the Mission was, they admitted, of ‘inferior character’. And. The few ‘natives’ who did work for local ‘landowners’ would go back to the Mission ‘after a few weeks’. So. They lived ‘in idleness’.

And. The YTs were not idle!

By 1940, 5 barrages with flood-gates had been built from Pelican Point to Goolwa.

Now to get to Goolwa, it’s a three hour drive around the lake. Or a twenty minute boat ride.

No one asked Ngarrindjeri folks what they wanted. The barrages made a big change to their lands and waters.

Thing is, 16 miles — roughly 26 kms — was a short walk for Ngarrindjeri people in those days. And. Before the barrages were built, Ngarrindjeri would walk to Kumarangk. It’s an important cultural centre. How do I know? Aunty Grace Sumner told me so. Her father had worked as a shepherd there. Driving to Kumarangk in the late1990s, she always like to go the long way via Clayton Bay. So. She could look across the water and see the old stone shearing shed. It stood above the old Hindmarsh Island ferry.

Besides. Ngarrindjeri elder, Dr Doreen Kartinyeri, often thought about her younger days too — before land-grabbers built the barrages. She wrote:

‘My mind went back to my childhood when we spent holidays at Kumarangk. We used to walk across to the island from Mark’s Point’ (2008, My Ngarrindjeri Calling, 114).

Walk to Kumarangk? From Mark's Point? You’d drown doing that today!

Where’s Mark’s Point? It’s a few kms along from Pelican Point.

Ok, land-grabbers call it ‘Mark Point’— as if it marks something. To elder Aunty Maggie Jacobs, it marked the place where a big Rigney mob would stay during the hottest months of the year. How do I know? She told me so! One day, she asked me to take her to Camp Coorong. On the way she gave me a lesson in culture. She named each Ngarrindjeri family who own each point, all along the Coorong. These points are not Crown Land or National Park, she insisted. They are owned by Ngarrindjeri. Like the Sumner family at Dupang — Long Point.

All the points are summer places for Ngarrindjeri people, as far as Aunty Maggie was concerned. So. I’m not surprised when Ngarrindjeri elders talk about Mark's Point as if it’s named after someone called Mark.

In 1998, Mark Point and Pelican Point were among many places visited by a big Ngarrindjeri mob again. The Stolen Generations had missed out on a lot of culture. And so. The Ngarrindjeri Heritage Committee at Camp Coorong wanted to make up for all that hurt and pain. And. Just like the other aunties had done — Aunty Veronica Brodie talked about walking across to the island too.

Ngarrindjeri cultural routes have a long, long history.