#like that scene at the end of black mirror nose dive

[silvershewolf247]

Nica: *seeing Andy's scars* What happened to your arms?

Andy: What happened to your arms?

Nica: Fuck you

Andy: Fuck you

[ceebit]

11:12 PM

wc 690 ‧ genre fluff ‧ pairing joshua x reader ‧ cece’s note i’ve been missing him terribly… so. not proofread so sorry for any spelling mistakes oops

sleep takes its sweet time in puling you under, his gaze fond as his fingers toy with the frayed edges of a t-shirt long lost to the black hole of your shared closet. a smile tugs on his lips then, disgustingly, irrevocably fond. thread gives way under his fingertips.

it’s a minute past the wishing time, red standing out against against the darkened room. tomorrow you’ll ask him if he’d asked for anything and he’ll humor you, spouting something sickeningly sweet enough for you to roll your eyes and laugh. something like lottery wins or grocery prices going down. sharing memories with you in the kitchen were fun, but scowling at ever rising numbers were beginning to become habit. any more, and he’d start seeing wrinkles by thirty-five.

still love you, wrinkles and all.

but even though he’s memorized the layout of your cramped apartment and spends more time in your cluttered room, home to miscellaneous sticky-notes and loose socks discarded tiredly, he still finds himself wishing for more. selfishly so.

his pristinely and embarrassingly bare walls quite literally pale in comparison to the life breathed into your home—and that’s what it’s become over these past few months. he spends less and less time in a space he’s resigned to paying for but isn’t living in, content to look up from your island to your tired groans and passionate complaints about whoever has slighted you in the worst way possible, hands already reaching to wrap around his middle. it’s become routine, even down to your jokes about housing him without paying rent.

and yet, you don’t.. budge. i love yous are shared almost daily, he’s seen you in less fortunate situations and you, him, and he’s absolutely certain you feel something. you accept his affection in large doses, his care criminally present, but the two of you don’t. budge. and it’s beginning to pick at the already fraying edges of his brain, overworking himself pass the very same pull sleep desperately tries to drag him under.

you love him. he loves you. what more was there to discuss? he pictures romance film worthy scenes of slow dancing in a parlor that overlooks at pretty view, the prettiest one in front of him smiling in complete bliss. something something the light from the setting sun glinting prettily against the matching silver that adorns your joined hands or something. a setting readers of young adult novels would burst into tears over.

the weight of the box sits heavy in chest as it does buried under old clothes in his dresser. he keeps telling himself he’s waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect time. he thinks he’ll end up waiting forever at this rate.

so as he sits against the headboard, shoulders heavy with anticipation, the clock strikes a new minute into the night. you stir slightly in your sleep and wrap your arms around his middle. routine even unconsciously. right then does he decide he’ll propose tomorrow, probably casually over coffee as if his nerves won’t be shot a hundred times over and the mirror isn’t sick of watching him pace back and forth.

sleep isn’t as friendly to him as it is to you. but it doesn’t matter in the long run anyway.

(tomorrow you’ll comment on his comically disbelieved appearance. his plan will nose dive out of your fourth story apartment window, eyes wide, running on adrenaline and less than an hour of fitful sleep altogether.

tomorrow he’ll tell you he loves you, he loves you for real, and set the box on the island with shaking hands. it’s far from the perfect setting, both of you in less desirable clothing.

tomorrow you’ll cry in the middle of your kitchen, swamped in a t-shirt he hasn’t seen in months, your yes warbled in between half stuttered attempts at words altogether. the rising sun does glint against your finger, so he figures a win is still a win.)

[talkingtea]

I love Candice, so no offense to her, but Nicole wasn't outted to be in an extramarital affair. And once the chaos died down, her ass was still secretly seeing him after the wife dragged both him and her.

Nicole, however, continues to let the work speak for itself. She has been booking gigs post Sleepy Hollow and just now getting the recognition she deserves. She deserves more to be honest, but she's slowly getting there. When people think of her, they think of her most recent work like Black Mirror, Juneteenth, Scenes of a Marriage. etc. All stellar performances. She didn't let her mistreatment on a show hinder her growth as an actress. As an artist.

Candice, on the other hand, could've been booking gigs left and right to keep her distracted from The Flash and work those acting chops in another environment. At first, I thought maybe it was being stuck in Vancouver (she complained about this all the time and that she missed LA), but it was probably because of that idiot. Candice probably could've booked a movie in Vancouver because most movies are filmed there anyway. But she just wanted to follow JR around. 😭

We talk about the other LA, but Candice is another one that lacks passion and motivation. Actually, she probably has LA beat. As much as LA throws shit at the wall, hoping it sticks, I got to hand it to her. She's consistent in not giving up. Candice has put more effort into her relationship with JR than she ever has in her career. Leaps and bounds! (Maybe these turn of events is karma...🫣)

Also, she dumped poor Zoe for that man. 😢 I know Zoe was shook and was like wtf? I'm sure she's fine with Candice's parents, but dogs know when they've been abandoned.

You’re not wrong…

When it comes to Candice and Nicole a toxic work environment holding them back is basically where the comparison ends. Candice could be doing more but she chooses not to. And by more we don’t even mean going to auditions or booking jobs, we’re just talking about basic networking, getting brand deals and setting herself up for success post Flash.

If she was taking a break and getting back on track after leaving a toxic work environment it would be one thing but she’s not. Her career stalled, her image took a nose dive and instead of trying to rectify the situation she’s instead seemingly content being arm candy for the jackass that helped get her to this negative space. It makes no sense.

[yeojaa]

GIRL we need a devil in a new suit drabble where jungkook gets jealous pls bless us😭😭❤️

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  kook being hilarious and naive, reader being a little frustrated but head over heels, smut in the form of:  titty sucking (kook is a big boob guy in this), cunnilingus, kook wanting to love you forever.  wc.  2.1k.  author note.  i am... so in love with this couple so what was meant to be a “kook gets jealous and breaks reader’s back” turned into... this.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t get jealous.  Not because he doesn’t care, or he’s unaffected, or any other negative connotation under the sun.  He doesn’t because he’s him, too soft and sweet and silly to believe the worst in people.  (This, coming from the man who’d steered clear of dating apps and blind dates because he was worried he’d be hurt.)

Once, you’d been waiting for him to pick you - he’d been running late, dinner with his parents and younger sister - and he’d found you chatting politely to an old fling of yours.  Well, maybe not so old.  A recent fling, a friend of sorts.  Someone who’d swanned into your life during your college years and had remained there ever since, popping his head in from time to time. 

You’d always been on good terms, caught up for lunch every six months or so when he’d return home from his overseas job.  In the past, you’d found familiarity in the shape of his hands, the neon outline of his almond eyes and pouting lips.  He was good in bed, as charming between the sheets as he was on the street.

But your heart belonged to Jungkook now - had, before you’d even realised it - and Taewoo was just another guy.  Another face in a crowd.

Still, you’d thought your beloved boyfriend would have some sort of reaction.  Maybe a quirk of his perfectly groomed brows, a certain tightness belying his displeasure in the softly peaked bow of his mouth.  You’d spied neither after extracting yourself from the hug and waving goodbye.  Jungkook had been sunshine and sweetness, opening your door for you and stamping a kiss to your cheek.  

That night, he’d loved you how he always had, with you crying his name and making a mess of his sheets.

Another time, you’d been at a work function.  One of those ridiculous galas you loved, full of women in their highest heels and men in their swankiest watches.  (You’d worn Aquazzura that night, Jungkook with an Audemars Piguet loose around his wrist.)  

He’d stuck close to your side, far more interested in the way your dress hugged your figure, cut intimidatingly high over your thigh and revealed the swell of your ass at juuuust the right angle.  Yejin had been the only one to tear him away, insisting on shots that you knew she couldn’t handle.  Anything went if free booze was involved.

Thirty minutes later - give or take, since you hadn’t had a watch of your own on - your boyfriend had returned, flushed and adorable.  There’d been a garden of colour creeping over the expanse of his chest, peeking around the collar of his shirt and disappearing into his neatly tousled strands.  He’d giggled his way back to you, somehow completely oblivious to the man that’d found you at your table and settled himself into the spot labelled Jeon Jungkook.

The imposter had been affronted, gaze narrowed at the younger man who was a little too loose, a little too smiley.  Wholly out of place at an event like this, where people spent too much time up their own asses, noses held aloft and business cards exchanged.  

(One of the reasons you loved Jungkook so much.  He was a breath of fresh air in a world you thrived in - found humour in, at the very least - carrying you high above the clouds with the sound of his laughter.)

“Hi, baby.”  Your darling boy smothered you in kisses, traced them up and over the exposed expanse of your shoulder, nosing against your skin, utterly unbothered by the man shooting him daggers, wishing him ill from the spot he’d wrongly claimed.  

Of course, he’d thought Jungkook was making a point - claiming what was his - but that was so far from the truth you’d almost laughed when he’d spoken, voice carrying above the slightly laboured breaths of your lover.  “I guess that’s my cue to leave, huh?”

You’d smiled, nodded with a hand threaded into cornsilk curling over Jungkook’s nape.  “Looks like it.”

(Then your idiot love - your big-hearted moron, your doe-eyed baby - had come up for air, cheek resting in the palm of his hand.  “Where’s your friend?”  He’d asked, eyes so wide you couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his question.)

Such was the kind of person Jungkook was, with an unwavering belief in the goodness of others, a silver thread outlining everyone’s silhouette.  You sometimes wondered what it would take to drive him to any sort of displeasure, any sort of emotion beyond quiet melancholy (seldom seen but heavily felt, when the rare occasions rose) or easygoing amicability (his default setting).  Not that you’d ever push to see that, of course.

You were happy.  Hopelessly in love.  You wouldn’t have traded him for the world - couldn’t even fathom doing anything to hurt him.  

And yet, you discover albeit by accident - it’s really not that hard.  All it takes is a pretty girl.

“This looks incredible,”  she says, standing close, long dark hair falling in a fluid curtain down the line of her back.  It’s the loveliest shade, cool-toned beneath the boutique lights, and reflects colour like a waterfall.  You’d complimented her on it when you’d stepped into the fitting area, a handful of hangers set across the rolling rack.

Fingers smooth over embroidery, revelling in the feeling of it over your skin.  It’s a beautiful thing, black tulle that hangs to your fingertips.  Not Jungkook’s preferred style - he much prefers harnesses and so many straps it might as well be a cat’s cradle - but you think he loves it nonetheless. 

(You’d confirm, but he’s been stoically silent, seated in the plush chair tucked beside the privacy partition, normally soft gaze hard and trained on his phone.  He doesn’t seem very much in the mood to talk, hardly reacting with each outfit change.  A nod here, a smile there.  Not even the most scandalous of the options - a black corset decorated in Leavers lace - had elicited his usual enthusiasm.)  

“You think so?”  You’re not insecure about your body - know what it looks best in, which assets to play up.  Still, it’s nice to hear from someone other than your doting boyfriend, the people caught in your orbit.  

The sales associate nods, beams at you in the multiple mirrors.  A hand of her own drifts over the thin strap of the slip - an innocent gesture that dislodges wayward strands of hair from beneath.  “Of course— and I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to sell it.” 

You nod, satisfied.  Even if Jungkook doesn’t seem ecstatic, your own joy makes up for it, buyer’s delight spilling over.  “I’ll take the satin robe, the blush silk set, and this in the violet.”  

“Great choices,”  she hums, pulling back the curtain to the adjoining change room to allow you privacy.  Silence follows as you slip the delicate number off, returning it to its hanger.  You don’t expect when the brunette continues speaking - presumably to your surprisingly surly boyfriend.  “Don’t you agree?” 

“Yep.”  He’s never been a man of few words, usually so full of excitement that he rambles when he doesn’t mean to.  

It’s a dead giveaway - a confirmation that something’s wrong.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have time to broach the subject, your purchases already paid for and a firm hand on the small of your back the moment you’ve stepped out of the dressing stall.  “Jungkookie?”  You mean it quietly, just for the two of you, but falter when he slots his fingers between yours and all but tugs you out of the boutique.  You hardly even have a chance to toss the helpful girl an apologetic smile, imposing glass swinging shut behind you.

“Men—men are fine.  I don’t have to worry about them.”  There’s a confidence you’re so proud to see, turning his words as solid as the weight that rests against your hip, sears burning heat into your bared skin.  “No other man is going to love you better than me.  But women?”  A shudder runs the length of his imposing frame, tugs his shoulders up to his ears and tingles the small of his back.  “Women are scary.”  (It’s a sentiment he’s echoed in the past.  In particular, months ago when you’d insisted he dive into the dating scene.)

Hands thread through his too-soft strands, twirl the ends around your fingers as he speaks, nearly muffled into the crook of your shoulder.  He’s being so tender, giving you all the love he has to offer as he writes his insecurities into your skin, offers them with the wet of his tongue.

“A woman might sweep you off your feet and steal you away.”

You laugh then - sound snapping past your teeth before you can tuck it away.  It filters loudly into the baies scented candle you’d lit when you’d gotten into his apartment.  

Jungkook whines in response - a terribly endearing sound that makes you roll your eyes but only with affection (always with that) - and buries his face into your tits, sucking your nipple into his mouth with complete disregard for the tulle that acts as a barrier.  Saliva stains the material, makes it stick to your hardened bud as he laves over it with his tongue - bites surprisingly gently - and tugs it just hard enough to have you keening.

“S-s’not funny,”  he huffs, palming your other breast in his broad tattooed palm.  When he continues, he bites into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against whatever lies beneath your flesh.  “She was flirting with you.”  

It’s less of a sigh of annoyance - more sensual, drowning in need.  “She was not.”

He nips at the delicate flesh again, spreads crimson marks all across the sensitive skin until it’s a mosaic beneath the fabric, his finest work painted by his second favourite brush.  “That’s what you think but she was.”  The hand previously kneading your skin drops, flat of his palm sliding easily over your bare pussy.  

There’s zero hesitation when he slots his fingers on either side of your clit, catches the delicate pearl against the webbing of his hand and applies pressure that has you bucking beneath him.  It’s not nearly as aggressive as he normally is but it’s just as good, paired with the sinful motions of his tongue and teeth. 

“She wants to be the one doing this,”  he continues, saliva pooling across your chest, slipping into the valley of your breasts only to be licked up by the flat of his tongue.  He continues even once you’re clean, skin sticky and a little gross but so erotic it makes you quiver.  Then he descends, pushes the hem of your new slip higher, and licks another stripe from the joint of your thigh up to your belly button.  Repeats it again, moving lower with each pass until he’s sucking your clit into his mouth.  “She wants to be the one tasting this pretty, pretty pussy.”

You reach for his hand - the one somewhere near your ribs, side of his wrist soothing against the ladder of bones - and tangle your fingers together as he drives you mad, tip of his tongue switching between sweet kitten licks and tantalising figure eights.

“Baby,”  you coax, reprimand almost.  Jungkook’s never this lenient, never this sweet on you (not inside the bedroom, at least).  It brings you to a different high, his love folded into lovely origami cranes you tuck into your pockets and the spot you’ve carved out for him within your chest.

“Sing for me, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t mean literally - refers instead to the sound of your voice when it leaps three octaves, bounces between sultry and singed, burnt at the edges by the fire he brings to life. 

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.”  Despite how the words muffle, come broken between the glide of his tongue within your fluttering walls, you can hear the sincerity in them.  The earnestness that begs you to promise him this simple thing.  “Not for her.  Not for anyone.”  

“I won’t leave you,”  you answer, threading the vow between your fingers as if they’re the thread binding your love story together.  “Not for her - not for anyone.”

[kjmsupremacist]

Felix sweet boy baby angel but Christopher Bang is literally Satan? Idk if you saw but Hyunjin ratted him out on live and said the lyrics for Red Light were toned down. I don’t want to know. I don’t. He was already talking about edging and I don’t want to know. He can keep his Scorpio Venus and his Sag Mars away from me and everyone I love. I would give anything to know his rising if sign. It’s giving Earth but there’s so much air in his chart it’s hard to be sure. 🤖

i am so happy you sent me this ask because i have been looking for an excuse to talk about red lights. I sent leon and margot a seven minute long voice message when i was doing my research for my red lights-inspired fic like that's where i'm at.

First, yes, I saw Hyunjin's comments! that's what chris gets for trying to say hyunjin wrote all the lyrics in the first place. nice try, chris. also, his scorpio venus is SEXY. i won't be taking criticism on this opinion.

Now. Please see under the cut if you want to watch me dissect Red Lights -- both the lyrics and the MV.

so, credit where credit's due--I skimmed this and this reddit posts while I was doing my research.

now. we all know that on the surface, this song is about sex (and specifically bondage and edging—that much is clear). but, ah, how's the saying go? "everything is about sex except for sex, which is about power"? sure.

yeah, it's meant to be sexy. they did that for us and im still not sure if I want to kill them for it or thank them with my life. BUT, as they mentioned in the howl in harmony video, it's primarily a song about obsession.

The first reddit post does a great (albeit kind of aggressive) breakdown of the lyrics, where it becomes really clear that they're talking about the relationship they have with their work and the relationship they have with fans. In essence, the song is about how they want to give their lives and all their time to making more content for fans so that they will continue to receive love from us. The red lights are actually the recording light on a camera (hence the line “set the mic up”).

And so a relationship like the one depicted here is dark and intense, and yes—passionate and driven by love—but ultimately, it consumes itself in the vortex of its own desire, and then peters out into a sort of blank monotony—learned through repetition, a habitual reflex instead of a true reaction.

Then, the second reddit post goes on a deep dive of some of the symbolism seen in the MV—specifically, the use of kink. This is where it gets really fun.

We mostly see Hyunjin in shibari-style bondage. OP posits (and I agree) that he is meant to represent passion without discipline. The shibari ropes are tied messily (and so therefore dangerously) which is perfect for representing how often kink (and other obsessions) can devolve—you plunge in headfirst, but you are directionless except for the insistent tug in your gut that cries for more, more.

Chan, on the other hand, is seen primarily (esp in solo scenes) bound by heavy chains. He represents discipline with no passion. In the Howl in Harmony video, I believe he mentions that after a long day of practice, he'll still find himself in the recording studio, even though he's tired. He does what he has to on autopilot, because he knows he must, because it’s the only thing he feels he can do.

If Hyunjin is mania, then Chan is depression. The chains are GREAT symbolism because this dutiful march towards burnout and beyond is, as the lyrics suggest, stemming from a desire to keep receiving love (from fans)—that if you just work hard enough then no one will ever leave you. You wish to bind the person (or people) you love to you, but in the end the bonds only weigh you down.

So then the part where they’re tied together, back to back, at the end, shows when passion and discipline come into balance. And that’s creation for the love of creation while still maintaining a respect for yourself, the art, and your audience. (or idk. maybe they just thought we'd like to see them tied to one another. and they were right).

It's also fun because while we see Hyunjin and Chan both assume positions of domination and submission, it's clear Chan is meant to be the “dominant force” here (hence discipline). The reason we do see instances of Hyunjin in power (choking Chan, standing over him on the table) is because any somewhat healthy d/s relationship involves first the surrender of power. The dom is only perceived to be in power because the sub first relinquishes it them. So. You know.

I will say I'm not sure what to say about the edging theme (BNKSJDF) besides the obvious��almost giving you what you want, but not quite.

And finally, this is not part of either of those two reddit posts, but I was ENTHRALLED by the use of mirror and mirror-esque imagery throughout the MV and in the choreo. I love mirrors as a symbol so we're going to talk about that, too.

First and most obviously, it may be a bit on the nose. In art, mirrors and reflections are often used to show that there is a deeper meaning than what is clear on the surface. So this might have just been hyunchan going "hey! it's not just about sex!"

but I think there's more to it than that. Mirrors are often used as a vessel of truth—in some Chinese myths, for example, mirrors can repel demons, as they will show a demon’s true form. Or see the Little Mermaid—though Ursula managed to change her outward appearance, she was caught in her lie when another character (sebastian, i think?) saw her reflection in the mirror.

Additionally, one’s reflection used to be thought to contain one’s soul—which is why mirrors were covered in the home of person who had just passed, so they would not be trapped as a ghost in the world of the living.

For this reason, mirrors are often also considered dangerous. Think of Narcissus, for a start, who fell in love with his own reflection and sat at the water's edge, pining, until he fucking died. Or consider the following quote (which I love) from Fernando Pessoa:

“Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face – there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes. Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself. The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.”

We use mirrors to watch ourselves watching ourselves (and the Margaret Atwood who lives in our heads cries “male fantasies, male fantasies! You are you own voyeur!”). We perform for the mirror—often what we see in the mirror is not actually how we are seen by others! We think we may find truth there, when in reality it is a distortion. Ties itself up really nicely, I think.

In any case, this really goes well with the theme of obsession in the song—staring in the mirror asking, what do others see? What is wrong about me? What can I do better? The idea of looking in the mirror to seek what others see, both positive and negative, is common throughout. And I think their use of mirrored choreo (esp when it seems like one of them is the reflection!!), as well as mirror placement on the set of the mv, and ESPECIALLY the lovely bit at the end where they both stand staring carefully at their own reflections, all work to drive that theme home.

and i don't even know how to touch on all the color symbolism (when it changes between color and b&w?? the palette being overwhelmingly yellow and red and black???), or the lens filters (warping, blurring, etc), or the way they superimposed pieces of the video on top of other pieces, or the use of that one stark white background—without writing a fucking dissertation (and this is already a ridiculously long post) so i'll just stop here.

This is all to say, maybe what they meant was that the lyrics were a lot more aggressive about these themes and they were asked to tone them down to keep it neutral.

or maybe they're just sexy, sexy motherfuckers and their managers bonked them on the head and sent them to horny jail.

[seancekitsch]

Dislocated

A/N Warnings: description of injury, references to violence, oral sex, penetrative sex, diego being a soft little angel but also very sexy hot sex man, cursing, diego has long hair but other than that no spoilers, mild product placement because me and u and everyone else are slaves to capitalism, references to diegos comics powers

“Fuck. Where do you keep your bactine?”

“My what?”

“Bactine! You know the spray stuff I use. It would really help that split knuckle of yours,” Diego sounds exhausted, but there's a hint of teasing, or maybe pride in his voice as he rummages on his hands and knees in your bathroom cabinet. The knuckle on your middle finger of your left hand is split open, oozing blood and angry looking. Your bathroom, and the two of you, look like a scene out of a horror film tonight. There is his shirt, which was white earlier tonight, now a red and pink and brown tie dye with blood, some of it yours. You have your hand, and a bruise blooming under your eye. 

“My knuckle wouldn’t need anything if those people hadn’t come after us,” you snap, “Who were they anyway?”

“Oh you know, someone with something against someone in my family,” Diego offers as he digs, as if it's commonplace to fight off attackers on date night. As if this was something normal people from normal families dealt with. Of fucking course, you think.

“Someone? Or you specifically, babe?”

He sits back at this, and a hard look crosses his features, not at you, contemplating, then breaks into the slightest grin as he looks down at the gauze and neosporin in his hands and nods. Thats fair. From where you're sitting on the rim of the tub, he looks like some kind of action hero in the night. Some real die hard shit in your dimly lit bathroom. Normally, it's you in his position, but you doubt you look like this. He's got his vigilante bullshit, which frequently has him showing up during booty call hours needing to be bandaged up before thanking you with a little action of your own. You wonder if he's going to be as good a nurse to you as you are to him, or if he's genuinely a little angry at your role in what transpired tonight. You didn't even make it to your dinner reservation, opting to walk because the weather was nice, before two men dressed exactly the way unnamed baddies in a die hard film grabbed at you from behind and the two of you had to defend yourselves. Only some of the blood on his shirt was yours. This is probably why he always wears black. He looks damn good in black. 

“Anyone ever taught you how to fight? Throw a punch?”

You tilt your head, which is a bad move because it feels a little heavy, giving him a look that says of course no one did. 

“Right,” he nods and you figure that once you heal he will probably be changing that. Diego never wanted to rope you into anything having to do with the academy or what he does at night, unless it was seeing his siblings in almost real people circumstances like dinners. But seeing you get hurt tonight means he obviously has to make some changes to that mindset, you have to be able to defend yourself if for ever some reason he can't. You're going to have to get sweaty, and not in the way you like to. But anything for your safety, Diego thinks. He cannot risk losing you after having lost so much. 

He resigns to this as he helps you up, puts you on the bathroom counter with the vanity, you now sitting on the edge of the sink so he can sink down and sit while he cleans your hand. You were lucky that it was just the left hand. Your right hand had been spared from your left’s bloody fate because of the way your right hand tried to seek out Diego while your left threw a clumsy punch, but the hardest one you'd ever thrown. Your whole arm aches and your bracelet had been broken, but you have to say you're lucky for this being your only injury. Diego clutches your hand, a bit harder, but that's because he knows you're not going to like the feel of the neosporin as it makes contact with your skin. He has a substantial amount on his fingers of the hand that's not holding yours, and looks you in the eye as he makes the ointment meet your skin. No matter how gentle he can be when he wants to, it stings. It's supposed to be that way so it doesn't get infected and kill you, but you can't help the hiss that leaves your mouth and the wince across your features. As he rubs it in, you can feel yourself getting used to the pain. It doesn't subside but it becomes more manageable as it becomes something more familiar. Is this what Diego feels each time? 

It feels worse again when Diego stops rubbing it in, and reaches for the bandages. Maybe because you don't want him to stop touching you, but maybe it is because of more exposure to the air. He uses the hand holding yours to hold it in place as he wraps, gently again, but so the wrap is pulled tight. You have some movement, but you won't be making a fist again for a while. He ties it off, tapes it to make extra sure, and then kisses the knuckles over their bandage as you smile down at him and laugh. Hes a perfect romantic gentleman when he wants to be.

He stands and reaches behind you, arms going around you on either side. You reach to hug him back tightly, only you hear him chuckle as the water of the sink turns on behind you. He's washing the chemicals from his hands. After he scrubs real well, dries his hands, he returns the hug, burying his face in your neck and squeezing tightly as if he's trying to make sure you're still there. His relief fans out as an exhale along your neck and you can physically feel his entire body relax against you now because you're safe. You're going to be okay. 

“How'd I do, baby?” he asks, still burying his face in your neck, “Good enough that your nurse gets a tip?”

“Nurses don't get tips.”

“You usually do.”

“I didn't say you wouldn't be rewarded for your efforts, did I?”

He pulls back to look you in the eye.

“So what do I get?”

“Anything you want, baby.”

Diego’s hands are gentle as they trail from your shoulders down your sides, gripping fistfuls of the flowy shirt you wear and pulls you to the edge of the counter. Still gentle. Still full of fear for you. Maybe mixed and speckled with relief. 

The way his hands continue south, to unzipper your pants, pulling them off slowly, gently, an act of love and service more than an act of lust. He inches the fabric over your ankles, your feet, discards them somewhere outside the doorway into the hall with a small toss. Rises back to his knees for a moment, takes a pause to wrap his arms around you in a hesitant hug, like he could break you, his arms warm. Your arms instinctually settle on his shoulders to cradle the back of his head in your bandaged and loved hands before he snaps out of the moment and moves on to your shirt. He pays special attention to the buttons, one after the other slow and meticulous. If this were another night and a shirt you didn't care much about, there's a good chance he would have just cut the shirt from your frame. But tonight he's doing things like a holy man with an intricate ritual. When the last button is unfastened and free, his palms flatten, slowly slide up your torso over your stomach, over your breasts, and to your shoulders where he moves the fabric from them with the feather light touch taking extra time to feel your left shoulder, the one that swung the momentum of the punch that split your knuckle. He’s checking to see if its dislocated, you realize. 

“D? Baby, I’m okay. You're good at playin’ nurse,” you reassure him. 

He seems to understand, as he next pulls the straps from your bra down your shoulders, slides his hands behind your back, and makes sure you feel the heat from his hands as he makes work of the clasp. Your underwear is next, and a hint of Diego on a normal night shines through, with one hand splayed across your back he uses the other to pull the underwear down from one hip, then switches sides and tugs on the other side. He makes quick work of them, unlike the tempo he had going. They end up somewhere in the doorway near your pants, but you don't really care about their location because he's pressing his lips against your chest just around your sternum and his facial hair tickles. You still weren't completely sure where he came back from or what he went through a few months ago, but the way that he loves you and treats you like the most precious thing is definitely welcome. As was the new lack of haircut and the less groomed facial hair. He kisses lower and lower, making you shiver with anticipation of what's to come, before he settles where he's needed now.

Diego moves slowly, glacial. The way he licks you open has no purpose, merely exploratory and drawn out. Mapping you on his tongue. But it doesn’t fail to have you mewling above him, one hand gripping the counter and the other buried in his hair as his strong calloused hands hold you open for him to drink full. He dips lower, where you need him, then travels north again as if oblivious to your reactions. He could do this all night. He stays there, meandering; savoring the taste lazily as you grow more impatient at the non-committal non-specific way he licks and kisses and moves. You feel like you are hors d'oeuvres and not a meal for a starving man. And then Diego does what Diego does best. He surprises you. A hard suck to your clit has you inhaling sharply, gasping through your nose as your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut. You lean back over the sink, back of your head resting on the mirror as you try to present yourself at an easier angle for him. He dives into licking you in full-heartedness now, fucking you with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your clit, absolutely killing any coherent thought coming through your mind right now. The benefits of dating a man that can hold his breath indefinitely was definitely what he did with his mouth to you when you were alone. 

He adds a finger and you automatically think you've died. He knows exactly what he's doing when he fucks you like this, his mouth adding to the wetness dripping from you as he works you over, putting just enough pressure behind each thrust of his hand to have you seeing stars. Your eyes roll back as a wanton moan tears from your throat and it sounds like someone elses voice desperately chanting his name as he has you coming, coming, and coming on his face and hand. He stays down there, the one hand still on your thigh to hold you in place, to give you a light squeeze, release some of the muscle tension built up while he licks his other hand clean sucking the digit into his mouth obscenely while he smiles up at you like an angel. He rises up from his knees and kisses your cheek with his wet mustache and beard and wraps loose arms around you, a sweet and lazy gesture. 

Diego incites a passion in you that's rare. You can't recall ever wanting a person this much. So despite being sensitive from the absolute divinity of what he'd just done to you, you can't help but to jump off the counter. You reach for his pants, taking the time to feel his hard length under the fabric before you pop the button and unleash the teeth of the zipper. You pull them down just enough to free him from his boxers, and then turn yourself around to bend down against the damp counter you'd just been sitting on, looking at him through playful eyes in the mirror as he stares back, dick out and hesitant. He puts a cautious hand on your hip.

“No, not like this. I wanna see you.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror and tap on the glass with your good hand. He reaches for that arm and slowly turns you to face him.

“No baby,” he refutes, cradling your face in his strong hands, “I n-need to see you.”

So you nod, understanding that he needs this, and reposition yourself to lay on the small woven rug you kept on the floor. The bathroom floor is not the most comfortable place to lay, but this is for Diego and his peace of mind. You yield to his touch and his control over the situation as he finishes undressing and sinks down onto the floor to take his place above you. To indulge in the relief that you are okay, to bask in your gratefulness at how well he patched you up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your neck as he kisses you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Because you got hurt? Because he needed more tenderness than you originally wanted to give him? Because earlier tonight he was so fucking afraid he’d never get to look into your face again that he has to look you in the eye when you make him come tonight? 

Your bandaged hand finds its way into his hair and holds him there, close, as your fingers go to work to massaging words of comfort into his scalp. He kisses your neck once, twice, three times before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing into your cunt. You're wet, so excruciatingly and devastatingly wet and god it almost hurts him to bottom out inside you the same way something so hot can almost feel cold when it touches your skin and puts your nerves into overdrive. You're so sensitive from his mouth that you have to bite into the skin of his broad shoulder to muffle the scream that rebels against you to break into the air. Your teeth in his skin is his only relief from the soft tight burning taking over him from where your bodies join. He only moves when your teeth recede, his thrusts slow and short and deep, savoring the feeling of being connected, of being inside, of being home. His arms hold you in place while he thrusts just as much as they hold you just to feel you against him at any point of connection he can find. A vow to keep you close, to keep you where you both need each other to be. He moans deeply into your neck, the side of your face, kissing the moan into your jaw like a promise. It's more real than any declaration of love and more spontaneous than any act of romance. It's Diego. 

You can feel yourself getting lost in this, in him. He's pushing you to the edge again. For you, one is too many, and a thousand is never enough with Diego. Its you selfishly moving your hips against the rhythm of his, making you both a little shocked but not embarrassed (never embarrassed) at how close you both are already. There's a desperation in both of your actions, and he pulls back just enough to see you, to let himself be seen by you. Only you. Is this what you look like when you make love after setting stitches in wounds that will definitely scar? You hope so, because he looks like heaven itself. He fucks you through your high (with a scream of his name and tears on your cheeks), fucks you through his own(with a stuttering chant of your name and deadly eye contact), then gives you one more with his mouth on the bathroom rug (with quiet whimpering and praise from both of your lips). Diego lifts you up on unsteady legs and you both tumble into bed. You sleep in late the next morning. You miss calls from his siblings that all go to voicemail. You're home safe.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 04

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual harassment (please don’t read this chapter if it triggers/makes you uncomfortable, your safety comes first)

A/N:  i do realise i’m on a roll posting every day but uni starts early and idk why i keep writing like i’m running out of time😂 hope you enjoy this chapter. much love xx

* additionally, there is a light sexual harassment scene in this chapter and if anyone is uncomfortable or triggered by it i would skip it. your mental health and safety come first. *

NEXT CHAPTER

One day I’ll fly away...

She remembered the very first role she got to play as a lead. She was the standby for Glinda in Wicked. She could still feel her hand shaking as the backstage technicians secured her to the bubble. She could still hear the bubble machine engine rumble as the bubble raised up in the ceiling and for a moment she was above everything - above the audience, above the cast, above the stage itself. It felt like flying, soaring through the gasping of the crowd. She remembered feeling like this was her height, this was her flight but as things went, as she got more roles and as she progressed to the screen as she always wanted, the feeling of flying just seemed to soar, turning her into a creature of air.

Flying for Bucky was something he couldn’t remember, he remembered crashing. Remembered falling from the train waiting for the peaceful slumber of death to come but it never did, remembered the cold snow melting through his jacket reaching his skin. It’s cold. Remembered diving in after Steve, lungs filled with water, heavy suit. It’s cold, it’s quiet. Soaring was only something he could dream of while frozen or when they put him on a cell with a small window. Crashing was more like something he could remember, drowning, pushed to the bottom by his arm, wishing death came to greet him

More powerful than crashing was sound. The theatre was always filled with whistling from men getting a peak at ladies’ legs, women giggling and security trying to keep out children and teens away. You could hear the laughter reverberating from any material, it was electrifying. Her voice however seemed to melt over distorted past sounds, a melancholy while held hands with the old telling it never of its former glory but of what it can be. Bucky knew now why her agency kept her so locked up, all people with a voice eventually fly away. 

     - Don’t just stare at me. - she bite her lip, looking the other way. Did she sound that bad? She thought she sounded just fine in the shower that morning, maybe her bathroom had better acoustics. - Should we go back home? Before it gets dark?

     - Sure. - he got up from his seat, extending his hand towards her so she could jump off the set. She put her hand in his, another hand coming to rest upon his shoulder as her elevated her up into the air before bringing her down onto the worn out floor. 

The walk back to the subway was quiet. People were starting to crowd Coney Island for night time dates. Bucky remembered bringing girls to dates in Coney Island, even remembered bringing Steve along, he just didn’t remember the girls’ names anymore. There were some flashes of what they were wearing but surely those memories were replaced with that of Y/N staring at the ferris wheel as they walked back to the subway.

Once there, her child like wonder of the city that never slept and the city which she now lived in didn’t seem to leave her eyes, sparkling brighter than the billboards in Times Square. The walk back to the apartment was once again quiet, with their footsteps being the only thing echoing in the halls. Soon enough they reached her door, still looking as intact as they left it.

     - Thank you so much for showing me Coney Island. - she handed him the teddy he had won. - Thank you gift. 

     - I won it for you, Y/N. Besides, I think I’m a bit past stuffed animals. 

     - Well, I’ve had my fair share of stuffed animals to last a life time and I insist you keep this one. - she stuffed the teddy between his arms, finding it incredibly adorable how the little toy looked smaller in the middle of his arms than in hers. - Little Coney Island memento. 

     - I should get going. - he changed the subject, gesturing with his hands as he looked at the time on his watch. - It’s been a great day, Y/N.

     - The pleasure’s been all mine, Bucky. - she smiled as she held the edge of the door. She stood by the slightly opened door watching as he turned the corner which led to the lift. Once he was out of sight, Y/N walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her but still holding the knob with a silly smile on her face. 

Bucky reached the headquarters around 11 PM. Despite going the long way home, expecting Steve to be asleep when he returned. Steve had a very mundane routine when it came to sleeping, he could still sleep but he would wait until everyone was asleep for him to go to his bedroom. Bucky didn’t want to have to dance the first day in the job waltz. He knew he cared, he knew Steve wanted him to be alright. There was only one small thing; Steve wanted Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, his Bucky, and he just wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t like being asked who he was, he doesn’t know who he is.

Opening the door to the living room, he found Captain America himself sat on the big lounge chair, skimming through his list of modern day TV shows and movies. His blue eyes moved from the bright lights of the television to him.

      - How was the first day? - he questioned, regular optimism present in his voice. Steve had remained the same, maybe it was that which made him believe the spectre of the boy Bucky was could be revived. He seemed to forget dead people can’t be revived. 

      - It was good, went to Coney Island.

      - Coney Island? - Steve muted the TV, contorted face expression settling into his youthful features. - I thought you were going to guard her door.

      - She wanted to see Coney Island. Couldn’t let her go alone?

      - Didn’t her personal assistant tell you she couldn’t leave? - he had been noisey, he had looked into Bucky’s contract. He told himself it was just in case, just in case Bucky needed his help. - You don’t want to get in any trouble, specially with agencies. They’re the devil.

      - I’ll take it into consideration. - his skin tightened as he smiled a tight straight line. 

      - Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m watching a series Sam recommended. 

      - I think I’m gonna just go to sleep.

Steve nodded allowing Bucky to return to his bedroom. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, a bed, side table and wardrobe, nothing else. No mirrors and no windows, silence, grey and black bedding, no decoration rather than a postcard his sister had sent him during the war framed in a plastic frame. No glass, Steve wanted nothing around he could harm himself with. It was almost like living in an insane asylum. 

He looked at the little teddy bear in his hands before placing it on the side table, a little smile on his face. A Coney Island memento indeed. 

The morning came rushing like the rain which fell against Y/N’s bedroom glass window. She turned around in her bedding, pushing her knitted quilt up to her nose, the scent of fresh crisp cotton invading her senses. The mood would’ve remained the same comfortable, early morning type had it not been for her comforter being yanked off her without any warning. Through the fogginess of morning sight, she could make out Ms. Olson in her traditional black suit co-ord. She thought it fitting, considering her morning was now ruined.

     - Get up. We have much to do. - she barked like an infuriating dog.

     - But I thought I had the weekend off.- Y/N rubbed the sleep of her eyes, sitting up, quilt covering her body. 

     - You have last mine commitment. Now run along and change into something more ... - he analysed her before gazing her face, tight expression settling in. - Enchanting. 

She left Y/N in the bedroom, clenching her bedding as she looked around the place she’d rather be. Nevertheless, she rose from her bed and walked up to her wardrobe grabbing the first dress she could find and a pair of heels. Her routine during work was different, she normally showered, got her makeup done, dressed and then out of the door. Mechanic, controlled, with Ms. Olson asking her to hurry up. In a split second she returned to the living room, bag held on her shoulder, sunglasses in hand as she prepared to walk out with Miss Olson.

    - You should’ve put some product on your hair. The ends look dry. - Miss Olson commented as they walked outside. She looked around hoping Bucky would be around but it was just her and Miss Olson. 

    - Is Mr. Barnes not coming? 

    - It’s a dress rehearsal. - Y/N froze in her mind. Dress rehearsals were supposed to be better than fittings but after her last experience she really wasn’t in the mood for another experience with the director.

Time seemed to stop, freeze in spot as she stepped inside the car. No noise, no sound, even colour seemed to fade as the car drove faster and faster. She wondered what she could do, open the door, roll over, maybe do it like what she had seen in Lady Bird but the driver always kept the door fully locked and Miss Olson always had her eye on her like Sauron’s Eye.

She looked at her phone in her lap, fingers loomed over Bucky’s name. He was employed by her, maybe she could ask him to come over. Maybe if he was there it would be easier. She sent the message hopeful he would reply, but the text bounced back. Looking at the network, she was lacking all the bars on her phone. Sighing, she leaned against the car seat, looking off the window, dark clouds on the blue sky mocking her. 

As the car came to a halt on the same building as before, she almost had to be pulled out the car by Miss Olson. Once inside, Y/N could see him, she could smell his patchouli fragrance as he wrapped his arm around her. She stood once again in front of the camera lights, muffled cries in her head as she was squeezed into a corset and a then a body con dress. Her eyes were blinded by the lights, behind those lights Miss Olson and Mister Powell gazing at her. Her hand slide down her collarbones to her lap, feeling the fabric as the cameras kept flashing, locking her in a case of lights. 

Once the lights dimmed, she could see them looking down at her, almost five feet tall, mumbling she couldn’t hear as one of the costume designers helped her out.

     - Costumes are looking fantastic. - the director walked up to her, hand wrapping itself around her waist, raising up to lay just below her breast. - Maybe you should try and cut some weight. You would look a bit better.

     - We’ve already started a diet plan. - Miss Olson added. - Not to worry, Mr. Powell. Y/N is fully invested in this movie.

She remained caged in the conversation, being moved by someone back onto the car and dropped at home. She looked around her hallway, wondering if it had always been this cold. As she opened the door to her home, she noticed the jar of flowers the director had sent her on her kitchen balcony. White carnations in a crystal clear jar. She stormed to the kitchen, ripping the tag of the carnations. To my perfect leading lady. The handwriting wasn’t his, probably his assistant. 

When had it all gone so wrong? Why did it felt wrong? Why did the flight felt like a burning crash? When did it all get so screwed up? 

She wrapped her hands around the glass jar, hands trembling, the sound of her ring hitting against the glass being the only thing she heard before a shattering sound filled her mind. It was fast, too fast but she threw the jar against the wall, watching as the glass shattered into a thousand pieces, falling into the ground like small diamonds. She thought it would make her feel better but instead she feel to the ground, trying to gather the pieces together as guilt embraced her. 

    - Y/N?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi​ @emzd34​

[izzabeean]

Chapter 5 : Impulse

SUMMARY

You've learned something you wish you didn't about Ushijima and now you wish you could forget.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 2,836

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : What can I say, Y/N has a bit of a sweet tooth! I mean if I spent a day in the city you bet I would be eating a lot of food. Or is that just me? Anyway, I am happy with how this turned out! The next chapter is going to be so fun!

Will try to post every Thursday evening PST, if not latest by Friday.

Hope you're enjoying the series so far!

masterlist

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Today sucks. 

After last night, you didn’t think it could get any worse, but you were so wrong. The sliver of hope that today was going to be a bit better quickly vanished in a matter of seconds leaving your heart even more shattered than you thought was possible. 

So why? 

Why is it that you saw the person you’d love the most with a girl you’d never seen before? As much as you wish it weren’t so, the evidence is right in front of you no matter how many times you try to push the image away. 

Staring down at your soft serve ice cream, nearly melted, you let out a big sigh trying to repress the tears wanting to form. You wish your favorite flavor of frozen dessert could solve all your problems, alas, the rich creamy flavors only remind you of a date you had with Ushijima… 

“It’s never too cold for ice cream,” you spout, arms linked with Ushijima marching your way to your favorite ice cream shop. It was this particular spot that made you realize Ushijima is more than what you’ve ever wanted in your life. You’d been dating for six months now, a new record in your love life, also a big surprise you haven’t tired him out with your nonsense.

Instead of arguing whether a cold dessert was an appropriate snack in the winter, he just let out a deep sigh in reply knowing you’re not going to be convinced otherwise. 

“Don’t give me that,” you holler, covering your face in your hands, refusing to look at Ushijima.

Gently, he grabs your hands pulling them away from your face giving you a little kiss on the cheek in apology for his teasing.

“Y/N.”

Oikawa’s voice pulls you out of your bitter memory back to sitting across from him at a cafe. Your heart drops, realizing that there will not be any more moments like that with Ushijima. Did everything always remind you of him this much?

“You’re ice cream,” Oikawa says, eyes locked on to the dessert dripping on your hand. 

Quickly you get up from the table grabbing some napkins to wipe up the mess you’ve made which resonates with you very well at this point. Not only are you emotionally a mess, apparently now you can’t even physically get a hold of yourself. Emotional pain is just temporary, yes, yet there’s this overwhelming feeling that makes you think your entire world is closing in on you.

In the process of cleaning up the sticky residue, you let out a growl noticing it’s dripped onto your palish pants producing a humiliating colored stain. You start pressing on the fabric in hopes your mishap would magically disappear… It doesn’t. 

Oikawa peers down at your pants attempting to conceal his chuckle with a titter.

“It’s not funny,” you rasp.

But Oikawa can’t stop himself from bursting into a loud guffaw resulting in a free-flowing of tears. 

Completely exasperated by the chaos, you throw out what’s left of your liquefied treat and sit back at the table covering your face with your hands. You didn’t feel in a rush to embarrass yourself more by strutting around the city with a large smudge of ice cream on your pants.

Once Oikawa gains his composure, he takes his jacket off and passes it to you across the table.

“You can hold this to cover it,” he offers.

The gesture feels loaded, like the true intent is much more devious than that, especially since he seemed to find it so amusing. There’s no way Oikawa could perform such gracious acts of kindness. 

“Take it,” he says. 

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You reply, shoving the coat away with your hands. 

Oikawa shrugs, “I’ll be fine.”

Giving in to his persistency, you take the jacket. “Thank you,” you breathe.

You watch Oikawa straighten out his shirt and fix his hair as a couple of girls walk by giggling, smiling at him, one even gives a little wave. It puzzles you how Oikawa can be such a dreamboat, from your years of friendship, his reputation borderlines annoying and childish, but the little gestures he’s made today have really made you rethink; this was a side to Oikawa you’ve never seen before.

On your way back to the train station, you look out toward the horizon and see the sun setting; pinks and oranges fill the sky, and the sight before you is quite romantic. The scene itself ended up turning out to be soothing despite the alarming encounter from earlier.

Now your new reality is finally setting in where there’s no Ushijima.

“I don’t want to go home,” you utter.

Oikawa studies you with your head hanging low. The glow of the sun coats you in its gleaming rays, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining things but he noticed the light capture a shimmer of a single tear tracking down your cheek. Then it finally resonates with him: you're not okay. 

“Wish I could get out of these pants though,” you laugh. Then just like that, you revert to a smile. 

“Let’s take you out,” Oikawa says.

“Out? Like to a club?” You didn’t fully expect any sort of resolution from Oikawa, your comment was meant to be rhetorical. 

“Yeah! You, me, and Iwa! We never go together and it will be good for you to go out to have some fun!”

“I don’t know about that,” you sigh.

Oikawa’s eyes widen, the look on his face is full of excitement basically begging you to say yes. He must know you’re feeling vulnerable because it doesn’t take a moment more of hesitation to.

------

When Oikawa said he was going to take you out, he really meant it. The nightclub is lavish as loud music pulses in your chest while crowds of people huddle around the bar and scatter across the dance floor. 

Oikawa could be considered an avid clubber, how could he not be when he is so popular with girls, and had always tried to convince you to join him. You never really have, but you’ve also never really had your heartbroken to this degree. 

“It’s about to get even more crowded,” Oikawa yells into your ear.

10:13 pm on a Saturday evening and it’s going to get busier? Oh god.

Crowds aren’t your thing. Clubs aren’t your thing. Drinking isn’t really your thing. What are you even doing here?

“Shots?” Oikawa suggests pointing to the bar.

Your stomach churns at the thought. Diving into the night with shots seems excessive; they always leave a bitter taste in your mouth and the strong smell makes you want to gag. You wanted a drink to ease you into the evening...

“6 shots of Jäger,” Oikawa orders. 

Maybe not so much tonight.

The bartender retrieves the alcohol and brings back six shot glasses, each filled to the rim of dark liquor. Holding the shot glass up to your face, the potent smell makes your nose scrunch. With a cheers, you throw back the alcohol and the sensation burns your throat; it’s awful. Knowing there’s a second shot waiting, you don't delay the inevitable.

“Someone’s eager,” Oikawa purrs watching you down the second shot. 

The corners of your mouth turn down as the hairs on your back stand up. You let out an ick and turn to Oikawa and Iwaizumi who are both in awe of your tenacity.  Truthfully, you were shocked too. Then all the tension in your body seems to disperse, from the day, from entering the nightclub. You finally feel relaxed.

“Am I going to be waiting for you all night? Or what?” You tease eyeing their untouched liquor. 

Both men look at each other and take the shot in one gulp. Calling over the bartender you order another round, this time they’re a lot easier to take.

“You’re really not playing around,” Iwaizumi teases, impressed that you’re able to down three shots in a matter of minutes upon entering the venue.

Shifting your gaze to Iwaizumi, he looks so hot in his black button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone. A warm feeling fills your chest, you didn’t know if it was the alcohol hazing your perception or you were genuinely starting to crush on him. 

Damn it, you think to yourself while your eyes continue to linger on him. 

Considering your current situation, the smart thing to do here would be to do nothing. On the other hand, you couldn’t help that your heart fluttered in Iwaizumi’s presence. Surely, he didn’t realize the meaning behind his words but it brought you lower into the sort of absolution that you were definitely forming a rebound crush on him. But you couldn’t let yourself. Of course, if you did, you were bound to hurt Iwaizumi and your friendship with Oikawa. You had to stop yourself before it was too late.

Oikawa’s eyes fall onto you, noticing your ogling. You seem to illuminate with this glow he hasn’t seen all day and for a split second, he is fueled with irritation at the sight. But catches his outward anger and pushes it down, gaining composure. 

------

Keeping up with Oikawa for most of the night was a bad idea. Certainly, it didn’t occur to you until you stumble into the bathroom all by yourself, realizing you were most definitely unable to stand straight without help. 

Check yourself out in the mirror, you pull out your phone to take a raunchy selfie. You smirk at yourself checking the photo before posting it to your social media story.

That will show him, you think, hopeful Ushijima will see the image you’ve posted. He’s not the only one who can have fun.

Before even pressing “post” you get a text from Oikawa asking where you are. You giggle as you type come find me and press send with the intention of finding him first.

As you leave the bathroom, you begin to scan the crowd for Oikawa or Iwaizumi trying to recollect where you last saw them. The crowds of people in the vicinity make it practically impossible and the further you walk into the nightclub, the louder the music gets, the brighter the lights are, the warmer your body feels. 

All you wanted to do was get out.

Stepping outside, there’s this instant relief from the crisp evening air although it doesn’t last long, and soon a violent shiver courses through you. Turning around to go back inside the bouncer stops you then points to what seems like an endless line of people. 

“B-but, I-I just need to get my jacket,” you stammer.

“Sorry, ma’am. You’re going to have to wait in line,” he booms.

Your outward calmness cracks, too anxious to even think up an excuse. You needed to find Oikawa or Iwaizumi and you need to find them now! 

You turn your attention back to your phone as you begin to type out a text to come meet you outside the club.

“Hey sweet cheeks,” a raspy voice calls out.

You look up and see a rough-looking guy in line making intense eye contact with you. Normally you don’t judge, but your drunk bordering wasted self notes this man was very sketchy and it’s best to avoid him. So you turn your back to him and call Oikawa instead.

“Hey don’t ignore me,” he yells.

You start walking in the opposite direction from the line as far away from the stranger as possible. You’re a bit worried he can still see you and slip into an alley beside the nightclub, the phone still ringing on the other end. 

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up!!” You mutter into the receiver. Oikawa doesn’t, so you try again.

“I don’t like being ignored, sweet cheeks.” The same raspy voice makes you jump as you turn around to see the scraggly man backlit by fluorescent streetlights, only making his appearance more menacing. 

The call goes to Oikawa’s voicemail again.

“Guess your friend ditched ya,” he continued walking closer to you. The statement sobers you up as his aura escalates to a more threatening demeanor. 

“They said they’ll just be out,” you squeal.

“Yeah?” The stranger keeps shortening the distance every step. “Why don’t you come with me?”

He’s so close now that you can smell his disgusting breath and you start to panic. “I-I can’t, I’m waiting for someone, th-thank you though.”

Why the fuck did you say thank you? Your brain screams at you.

“Oh come on sweet cheeks,” he coaxes, reaching out to clasp on to your wrist. “I’ll show you a good time.”

Your body freezes at his touch. It stings as a sharp pain from his grip makes you want to scream or cry, but the shock was melting your ability to. You felt so useless and timid in times of distress. You didn’t know what to do, you couldn’t escape searing clutches of--

“What do you think you’re doing?” A deep voice thunders.

The stranger turns to see the culprit and you slowly glance to see Iwaizumi with an intimidating aura protruding from him. 

“Just having a nice talk,” the stranger purrs, tightening his grip more and you let out a little yelp.

“Is that what this is? She looks pretty scared to me,” Iwaizumi retorts.

“This’ none of your business kid,” the stranger rages.

“Actually it is,” he demands stepping closer. “Let go of her.”

A vein on Iwaizumi’s neck pops out as his hands start to ball into fists. Now the stranger is intensely regretting his choice and you can sense it from the fact he’s visibly shaking. You are nearly on the verge of tears from the pain in your wrist and wonder if he was going to break it.

“Let go,” Iwaizumi orders again.

And this time he does, the man, nothing but a weak buffoon, frees your wrist and walks off in a trudge.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi walks over to you to take a look at your wrist. 

You nod, letting out a deep exhale trying to hide how petrified you were while holding your wrist.

“Does it hurt,” he asks, gently applying pressure to it. “Let me take a look.”

Initially, you flinch at his touch, afraid the searing pain will return, instead, his fingertips lightly trace your wrist while analyzing it thoroughly.

“Let me take you to a hospital to be sure.”

“No, no,” you breathe, locking eyes with him. “I’m fine, just a little sore.

Iwaizumi’s face flickers with a bit of uncertainty but decides not to push it and lets go of your wrist to take out a cigarette.

“Fuck,” you hiss. You felt like an idiot for going off on your own, for drinking this much, for going out at all. “I’m sorry.”

Deeply inhaling the smoke, he turns to you, “For what?”

“For running off by myself, and you totally just saving my ass. It’s just… pathetic,” you exclaim, reverting eye contact with him-- you’re slightly embarrassed and his silence is only telling, considering you barely know each other. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.” 

“It’s not pathetic,” he states, shrugging his shoulders. “Oikawa says you’re dealing with shit.”

Your reaction isn’t short of an embarrassment. His words hurt you as the scenario of Oikawa telling Iwaizumi about your break-up fills your mind. You scoff. “I’m fine!”

“You’re a horrible liar.” Iwaizumi didn’t have a problem calling you out as you stared at him after a few moments of silence. 

“So what am I supposed to tell him?” you mutter, this surge of anger sweeps over you, you feel this swell of rage boiling inside. “That it’s ok to see my ex, not even a day broken-up with a new girl? It’s fucking bullshit!”

He turns to look at you and blinks at your reaction. The sudden unexpected word vomit makes you pause. 

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” you whisper. “It’s just weird, you know, all of it. I didn’t expect to be blindsided like that. It’s just…” You look over to Iwaizumi listening intently to you and feel your face grow hot. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! You never asked.”

It’s awkward and quiet, you’re pretty sure Iwaizumi can feel it too. You’re puzzled with what to say and feel pressured to express a less depressing answer. You didn’t want to drop the mood of the evening. In those moments, it became apparent you needed to sober up.

“Can I have one?” you ask. 

He looks at you with wide eyes, “You smoke?”

You take out your lighter that you have stowed away in your purse flaunting it as evidence of your new bad habit. Iwaizumi tosses you the pack of smokes.

“You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” You’re trying to sound like you’re joking but a hint of worry seeps through and you’re left waiting for a serious response from him.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 2: “You should probably go home.”/“But I’m already home.”

masterlist

Kingdom Collisions AU (prequel scene): you do not have to read or be caught up on my Kingdom Collisions fic to know what’s happening here

Princess Piper Mclean wakes up to the midday sun and sighs contentedly, stretching her languid limbs until they shake. It is one of those rare days when her princessely duties are non-existent and her mother wouldn’t bug her because she’s not there. She hears the soft chirp of birds outside and peers out the window to see scarlet-breasted sparrows hopping along the branches and singing merry tunes. She loves summer. Everything is always so cheerful and full of life. It reminds her of childhood. A gentle knock sounds at the door and she recognises it as her handmaid/tutor/nanny. Her friend.

“Come in Anisa.”

“Princess,” She smiles, bowing her head with one hand over her chest.

“Hello,” Piper sits up in bed, “I like your hijab.” It is the most beautiful shade of blue, like sapphires in glittering water.

“Thank you.” Her lady smiles, “I have brought you something to eat.”

“Are we classifying this as breakfast or lunch?” The princess teases, knowing her need for order and compartmentalisation.

“Brunch. A truly glorious invention.” Anisa huffs, scrunching her nose at the crack.

“Well thank you all the same. Are you going to join me?” She takes off the silver cover of the tray to reveal berry and cream waffles and a steaming cappuccino with the prettiest leaf design. “Chef Ambrosia is really getting creative with their designs.”

“I’m pretty sure they just have the biggest crush on you and the only reason they haven’t put a heart is because it would be wholly inappropriate.”

The princess just laughs and digs into her meal with vigour. They talk about non-essential things like her dress for the upcoming ball and their various plans for the weekend. Anisa was finally going home to see her children and anyone could see the excitement radiating off her. Now that she didn't have to be a nanny all the time she could actually look after her own children. Finally the waffle is demolished and the cappuccino nothing but froth.

Anisa looks at her carefully.

Piper raises a brow, “What?”

“I have some news.”

Immediately her heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and there is disaster after disaster crossing her mind. “What?” She says again, this time breathless with worry.

“A certain Prince wants to visit.”

She immediately lets out a gush of air, her whole body dropping in relief. And then she registers what her friend had said and her brown eyes go as wide as saucers. The last time she had seen that prince, because undoubtedly it could only be that prince, she had nearly ruined their lifelong friendship by almost kissing him. Now she doesn’t trust herself around him, which means she’s been avoiding him.

“I think you should say yes.” Anisa gives her a pointed look, “He’s worried something is wrong because you can’t woman up and face your feelings. You’re hurting him by avoiding him.”

The Princess groans, scrubbing a hand across her face. “I know, I know. But I just can’t face him without wanting to either make the world swallow me up or jumping his annoying pretty bones.”

“You should invite him to the ball.”

Piper closes her eyes, the sun suddenly too bright, too hot against her sensitive skin. If she invites Perseus she’ll get to see him and reassure him and actually get to spend time with her friend, which she misses, greatly. Her own fault. If she doesn’t invite him she can put off dealing with her ever-growing, constantly-harder-to-ignore feelings and have an embarrassment, possibly rejection free night. The coward’s way out. She is many things, but a coward has never been one of them.

“Okay,” She nods, letting the decision settle in her core, “Let’s invite him. He can stay the night. Hell the week if he wants.”

Her friend claps her hand and gathers the empty dishes and cutlery. “Ill be here to collect the letter this evening to send out for the night post. Don’t be late.” She waggles a finger, ever the mother. “And use the blue wax seal. It’s his favourite.”

“It is?” Sometimes she feels like a terrible friend.

Anisa just winks and makes a graceful exit, her hijab catching in the once again warm rays, and glittering sweetly.

A week later her castle is abuzz with activity: caterers and decorators and various other event planners all running around like hounds are at their feet. There is little more than an hour to the ball and Piper is finally getting around to putting on her dress and swiping a little lipstick on. She fell in love with her garment the moment she laid eyes on it and now that she sees it in her gilded mirror she feels as if every stitch was made with her in mind. A deep maroon fell across her in waves of silk, starting with the string-thin straps over her shoulders, into the straight neckline, and down, down, down to the skirt that flared at her waist and trailed against the pristine marble floors. She buckles gold shoes at her ankles and slips on two small diamond encrusted earrings. With a final glance at her reflection she steps out of her room and into the transformed hallways. There are flowers hanging from the ceilings and stars underneath her feet and she feels as if the world has turned on its axis. Adequate considering it is Summer Solstice which marks the changing. She nods hello to the guests and servants rushing through the passage and then she is outside the ballroom doors.

With a deep breath she smiles at the doorman who returns it before pushing the door open.

“Presenting Princess Piper Mclean of Hanaan.” A loud clear voice says from somewhere to her left.

She curtsies low to the room and then glides down the stairs to greet her mother. All the while her eyes are scanning the room, trying to catch a particular head of black curls, and skin only slightly darker than her own. When her scan comes up empty she hides the disappointment behind a practiced smile and engages in conversation with some duke and duchess. She really isn’t paying attention to anything so it catches her by surprise when a warm hand brushes her waist and the familiar scent of ocean, and wind, and life surround her.

“Sorry Duke,” A charming smile disintegrates her worries. “May I steal the princess away for a dance?”

“Please,” The duke is jovial, waving them away. The duchess smiles that smile that says aw cute young love.

Piper wants to see them through her eyes. But before she can think on it she is being whisked away and planted on the dance floor, suddenly staring up at hypnotic green eyes and that troublemaker’s smirk.

“Sorry for my tardiness Princess. Wanted to make a grand entrance.” Crown Prince Perseus Jackson grins.

She narrows her eyes at him as they sway across the floor, “You overslept your nap again didn’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, stealing a pinch on her side that tickles more than hurts. “Actually I got caught up in the music room.”

Her eyes light up like crackling fire, “Will you play for me?”

“Anything you want,” He whispers and pulls them closer, so her dress is flush against his suit, also made of the smoothest satin.

“How have you been?”

He gives her a look that she chooses to ignore. “You would know if you weren’t avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” He dips her, and she thanks the heavens they put her hair up or it would be sweeping the floor.

He pulls her back up and sets a determined gaze on her, “Yes you are. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks. We’ve never gone that long without-”

“Okay, okay,” She’s never going to win this argument. “Maybe I have been avoiding you just a little.”

“Tell me why.” His voice is soft but his tone is demanding. She loves when he gets like this.

The music speeds up and before she can reply he’s twirling her so fast only the years of ballet are keeping her from dizziness. When she stops abruptly right against his chest she is only faintly aware of the scattered applause.

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.” Raspy, gentle, caring, raspy, raspy, raspy.

She suppresses a shiver. “I’m planning a surprise party for your birthday and i’ve been a little busy with the details.”

He growls in her ear before lifting her up in a twirl of his own and setting her down, “Liar.”

“Am not.” She huffs. The music speeds up.

They spin, and spin, and spin.

“You are. You used the surprise birthday party excuse every year for something or the other.” A gleam enters his eyes as he dips her and swoops her all the way up until she’s back to looking at his beautiful, angular face. “In fact last year you used it because two books from your favourite series were coming out at the same time and you didn’t want to be disturbed until you were finished.”

She stifles a giggle and looks anywhere but at him, because she will burst out laughing if she sees his judgemental look.

“Okay, okay.” The music reaches a crescendo as he lifts her high above his head, so she can see every patron attending the ball, and the crystal chandeliers hanging like rose bouquets above her. He sets her down and they stop abruptly; the last chord of the violin reverbrates through the room. “But let's go outside.”

She is breathless, his chest is heaving, and the applause is deafening. They are angelic. Percy raises a hand to present her and she curtsies for their audience. The claps get impossibly louder. She maintains a dignified smile, but can do nothing about the beautiful flush of her cheeks as she presents her dance partner who bows low and blows a kiss. The spectators laugh, some swoon, she wants to scowl. She smiles brighter.

And then they're racing outside and into their favourite place to get lost: the Maze of Madness. He laces their fingers together and sprints for the center, diving around corners and cursing at dead ends. She just laughs, her hair coming loose and her princessly state unhinged. She is nothing but sweetness, and flower petals, and summer breezes.

Finally they get to the center where the white stone bench sits, engraved with the words Si vis amari, ama. If you want to be loved, love. Gifted to them before she was an inkling on the horizon by the Kingdom of Caelum. The bench has held many a love story, and supported many a heartbreak. She believes it’s good luck.

They collapse onto it, stars glittering in their eyes and take a moment to catch their breaths.

Percy is the first to break their silence. “So,” he pokes her side, ‘Why are you avoiding me?”

“I was being a coward.”

He turns his body to her and gives her that intense look that simultaneously makes her wince and sets her soul on fire.

She starts slowly, trying to find the words that wouldn’t ruin their friendship but would still make her feelings clear. “I wanted to do something that night in the House of Hope but it might have turned out badly and I didn't want to risk it”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing, so she forces her gaze upwards, to see green eyes burning into her.

“Some risks-” He is just as slow with his words, just as gentle. “Some risks are worth it.”

Percy puts a hand to her cheek, cold fingers brushing her skin. There is a question in his eyes that opens the cage of butterflies in her stomach.

“Kiss me Percy Jackson.” Piper whispers.

His answering smile lights up her every nerve, and when he finally brushes his soft lips against her own, every beat of her heart shudders to a stop. He cups her face in his hands, and brushes their lips over and over and over. Like he’s tasting the barest hints of her. Like if he goes any deeper he’ll never stop. She doesn’t ever want him to. So she laces her fingers behind his neck and keeps him pinned to her and when he groans her world detonates. They explore each other, in languid, deep strokes. His lips. Her tongue. His teeth. Her lips. Their hearts. They kiss like they mean it. They kiss like they’ll never get the chance again. They kiss like this is the meaning of life.

And when they break apart for gasping-interrupting air they are both grinning as wide and bright as moonlit ice. Her lips tingle and she touches a finger to them to make sure they’re still there, working, experiencing what she did.

He chases her hand away and brushes the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “You are so beautiful.”

Before she can reply a messenger rounds the corner, breathless. “Prince, your mother would like you back at the castle. She says it’s urgent.”

“Can it not wait till tomorrow?” He doesn’t bother to put any distance between them as he turns to the young boy. Her lips brush his cheek.

“I’m afraid not Prince, she says it’s a matter of great importance.”

He nods stiffly, and she can see the exasperation trying to escape his lungs. The messenger hurries away and Percy turns back to her, resting their foreheads together, eyes half-closed.

“You should go home,” The princess says after several beats of silence.

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m already home.”

And she cannot help the smile that bursts out of her, like fireflies escaping the glass jar.

“We will continue this again soon, yes?” He opens his eyes, looks at her with all his intensity.

“Yes,” And the possibilities running through her soul float her up to cloud 9.

“Good,” He nods once, captures her lips with his again, and then tugs her up. “Then i shall go home, attend to whatever emergency my mother has and come back within the week.”

“I can’t wait.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, a clock is already ticking.

He kisses her again, like he can’t get enough, like he’s addicted. “You are beautiful Little Dove.”

Her heart squeezes at the familiar nickname. “Come back soon.” She hugs him by his car. “Come home soon.”

“You should come to Mare with me.”

“I cannot. I have to be here for the ball, and besides it’s the Floating in a few days.”

He takes her hands in his, kisses her knuckles. “Then I will be as fast as I can.”

Her eyes are shining with love as she pulls him in and kisses him one last time. He returns it with vigour, promising, promising, promising worlds between their lips.

And when she waves goodbye to the retreating black vehicle until it blends in with the night she decides the bench is in fact goodluck.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/taken off the tag list all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01​

@leydiangelo​

@spoopylucy​

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #3

3. Transformation Central

the entities of my personalities would like to come together in one voice that speaks through me, we or I call this collection of words from the mustiest corners of my brain to this note page to voice something that might come close to what I feel underneath the skin I wear. In all my unorganised words- I might even go as far as to call this a poem, titled:

‘TRANSFORMATION CENTRAL’

sub characters in my head would appreciate if this could be visualised & understood through as deep a lens as humanly possible. even I confuse myself so if you can decode or relate to any of this, wonderful. If not, I’m locked in my own mind, swallowed the keys to my soul.

SIMILARITIES & INTERCONNECTEDNESS BETWEEN HUMAN & PLANT CONSCIOUSNESS EXIST! if you look closely at my nose freckles you’ll see the resemblance of the constellations above. if you look at the human veins & the layout of a tree, this is further proof.

{VISUALS THROUGH A SEPIA WINDOW STARING @ THE AUTUMN LEAFS; IMAGINING THE SEEDS UNDERNEATH, THROUGH NUMB ROOT VESSELS THAT PERMEATE THROUGH EVERY MEMBRANE OF MY EXTERNAL TO INTERNAL ENVIRONMENT}

~FEATURING THE VICIOUS CYCLE OF DEPRESSION & PERFECTIONISM.

here goes:

What is this part of my mind ?

If you want; delve inside-

I may look sweet like Alice,

but underneath it all

I deteste looking in the mirror

-cos I see the mad hatter.

my inner child needs a platter-

full of care not distortion & abuse pls.

less fibbin would’ve been a breeze.

now following the dead fish in the stream!

HOW on EARTH do I fit with the cod & the Haddock?

I’m the rainbow fish- beat & battered.

dim my own light cos I’m too afraid to shine.

alone.

thieves tried to steal my shiny scales.

I sat and watched them grow.

In the sea realm they were mean gargantuan selfish whales, with poisonous shark fangs & alligator tails. scorpion hands. (gremlins)

and still they make me feel like the alien-

I cant take it.

Make it make sense ?

I can’t.

controller in my hand-

Off balance stance.  

anxiously I move round like a wobbly jelly.

where’s the button to balance my chi & shut out the ego ?

the teLLIE telling lies to our vision!

change the channel aura terracotta orange- daily dosage of vitamin D & C.

catch me sun gazing by the sea

head buzzin like a bee.

speaking from a dusty box

stuck on top of a forbidden shelf

cos I dunno how else.

I’m tryna delve deep but forgot how to dive

How can i visualise? scenery foggy-

the establishment man with the glue gun got me xD

inner monk burning but at peace

Cos I refuse to believe

If the only way is the American dream

Interconnected; like the frog in science -let’s dissect it!

down to every floating atom spirit neighbouring your door

subcategories & divisions, it’s more!

than the rich and the poor -prism that’s been built

do we all feel like a performance monkey on stilts?

will my data be extracted & used to mould a robots personality some day?

well obviously not.

does the price of our lives all amount down to slave ways?

LABOUR YAY!

but morals & values it seems we’ve forgot.

sO If i don’t speak its cos I’m lost.

or maybe i’m enlightened-

Standing at the edge of the porch;

watching TRYING to understand how the flowers grow.

questioning eVERYTHING man made!

I’ve stepped out of the perfect picture frame

I can see the coal pollute the sky

I need to hop on the train-

but I’m comfortable

Sunset to sunrise statue standing still.

what’s the ingredients to life’s yucky pie?

I’ve exceeded mental lotteries.

Sanity n universal peace would be a trophy.

TIL then I’ll be crafting & shaping a solid pottery reality,

with a few pence, gum, and a bandana of belongings tied to stick.

thinking one day I’ll be laying the bricks

& building a kingdom of bliss.

guess for now I’ll use the intricate delicate materials in my tool box- that’s all I’ve got.

might have a long way- maybe worth a shot.

I observe, cruisin in the sky.

dunno why..

I jus look @ the hills.

Only time & history reveals.

no thanks mr men-

I don’t want your prescription pills.

there’s enough propaganda as it is.

I won’t jump on the merry go round-

til my core trusts & envisions we’ll actually feel safe!

I don’t want to take part in this faux fur, sweet nothings & a jack in a box punching blur, so called future.

oh and genuinely thanks quarantine-for once again, I can hear bird sounds!

guess this is me tryna speak out loud!!!...

it’s not thrilling

system  time killing everything-

mother nature’s oxygen

everything is nauseating

clock ticking, I better start creating.

they should write a book on how to be free when the system set us up to believe that we’re tied to the cut down trees that gives them a currency of greed that they breed.

If blindfolded, I don’t wanna eat what they feed.

Whilst they profit of us -tell us smile and the bandits don’t wanna see us happy.

they’re too busy robbing all our hoods.

In exchange for the silence, they’ve granted us with a 21’st century fashion garment of a slave muzzle! labelled conform.

More delusion to add to the already desensitised norm.

zootonic diseases, welcome covid 19 to your plastic kiddy tea party!- apologies for questioning your motive!

Been handed too many hot plates with a post it note saying HOLD THIS.

we’ll be okay just hush.

Same Shan message told to every generational seed.

If we don’t TRY overpower-

we’ll never succeed!

it’s getting even more scary.

Artificial intelligence.

Societal negligence..

my canvas isn’t clear-dunno am I schizo ?

finger painting, cos it makes more sense.

struggling to blend.

borderline conspiracist pretending to be fine;

moving the goal post, hovering above the race line.

who made the chalk? who set the lanes?

I wanna know it all, maybe¿ far past insane.

I can fit all I need in the palm of my hand,

Maybe even less! cut a finger off not sure it’ll even add stress.

hi from personality Peter, even sober- always away with the fairies.

Pass the pixie dust, I’m in a rush

Found shelter in the comfort of pan physicists timer, no not the one on your phone!

Ring ring, skeptical! is it my demon or my mommy on the phone?

I’m stuck in the airspace of an infinite glass filled with beach particles trying to form myself standing up still attempting not to slip through the hands of my very own discovery.

time is running out & ill go when I go.

I’m sitting inside the fly trap -

stardust, chakras can you feel the sensation colors like a starburst.

deep emotion is a curse.

still entrapped in the sand dune of nothingness-

flipping a domino monopoly of solidified thoughts as I sway with the wind.

I’m the trapped sandbox in the playground & the slipping sand in my own hands.

Inhale chronic but I wanna enter the quiet realm of white noise

-color of a wife beater vest, calmer than the ease in ignorance of a red neck.

sadomasochistic, messes.

but oblivion, seems like less stress.

Unfortunately I can see, with all eyes

empathetic paralysis, gets me vexed.

Punching truth into the core of your chest!

It’s not funny, neither is the one on the receiving end..

My limbs are numb

& im done playing octopus alchemy.

I want minimalism & life can be simple,

Evil entities have made it hard.

Maybe I’ve got stars above my head like an old cartoon character.

But I can’t make it make sense, are they out to get me. worse all of us? Or have I bottled myself tryna re mesh the broken shards,

I feel glued to the floor cos there’s a pretty price to pay if you want more.

I see life through a different lense, maybe born downside up, Benjamin button I came out the back door-

Outside looking in, digesting confusion.

Is to be a product of environment a sin?

rummage through my messy brain.

personalities sardine packed in this tin

I’m the wizard of my mania

Scaring & attracting the black crows-

they’re my friends.

Sometimes still a cowardly lion

Roaring pain & true riddles at the wrenching wicked witch posse of the west.

will my voice ever be loud enough to shed light wit my words and grate the sweet zest

In to the cake i’m baking?

Probably not.

Got more thoughts than the autumn leaves collected by the garden rake. alone.

gathering & storing the pains of yesterday.

sometimes I stay in line

Other times in my head Im on my hands juggling out of time.

but I really don’t mind if I lose or win.

we all have a pace

I jus don’t want the 1% to win the race.

It’s unfair!

Humanity does anyone care ??

Half lady

half fairy

Good  MOOrning-

from my anagrams.

no I’m not a cow.

twister fidget spinner brain in the flesh-

form of expression this time around lyrics.

feel I’m jus a silly rubix

& still mourning

I don’t like dairy

pass the oat milk.

Are you aware the industry are sabotaging our diets?

we want peace!

the powerful elite-

perceive & deceive

the scene they want us to be.

chuck the narcissistic psychopathic pie back in our face-

every time we almost found & addressed the Programme & Control man in the maze.

evil & extroverted- he said that the anarchists have to be the cause of riots.

working isn’t class. I said let’s switch roles- he said pass.

It’s piss! Who’s got the bomb & the guns?

Who got the land? off wit OUR heads 4 fun!

it’s pure scary.

Pharmaceutics handshake.

with the cooked up suppliers, also crooked wack liars.

I’d rather shot a gallon of bloody blubbery infused slaughter house milk

If it meant we didn’t use cocoons for silk.

why not add a drizzle of bleach to the concoction & maybe that’s a reach.

every time I guzzle fakeness, it taste peak.

I want real fruit, what next-

a seedless peach ???

what’s the difference between a weirdo & a freak?

layers & levels to the shit.

Magnifying tapping the window of society, I’ll be puffing green til I get to the land of Oz.

sponge soaked soaking up emotions

Suffocated by deduction of care in life

feel entrapped in this paradigm

what am I thinking ?

got the verbs & a cuppa tea

It’s mixed with torment & desire to be free.

I’d rather be awake than asleep

When I get too comfy I feel weak

Demons they reap

underneath

rip the seems as I bleed

Concrete

Solid

Emotions

Is all you’re getting

It’s all sad scenes in the imagery I’m setting

people need care we seem to be forgetting

why are we in debt wit

a posse of clowns

pay the price so we can get a frown

here’s some seratonin

quit ya moaning

life is all sound

aw yeh¿  if you’re not an over thinker!

product of environment- Sirius flickers

theyve done a ritual like it’s Wicca

now here’s your gold sticker..

for managing to co operate.

In this world fuelled off of evil n hate

waking ups a bloody disgrace

I am not amazed.

Man I love my fam n my friends

Just hate this part of my brain that feels the need to play pretend

sometimes I feel insane

but I’m calm

need to escape so I don’t do harm

Gold lioness in the sky by the sea

with puff the magic dragon

fire out my mouth, fuel helps me breathe

I will shine bright

Promise imma be alright

even tho I’m not sure why

I function like this

I wanna be myself

It’s just hard to find the comfortability

To feel happy and pretty

Lay me down on a bed of roses

Ring around sing about overdose emotions

Sorry dunno how to communicate

Heads in a constant debate

Should I go or should I stay

My head clashes

Burnin the next ciggy as my thoughts become ashes.

[permanentcrossfics]

Guy in a Bar // h.s.

“Oi! Where’re you going? We’re in the middle of something!”

Ignoring his friends’ indignant questions, he placed his cue stick back on the rack and slunk around the table towards the bar and you.

Up close, it was worse — you were worse — and for five whole seconds, his tongue twisted into a ball for the cat to bat at before he managed to ask, “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

Not his most original line, but the first thing he could get out before it was too late to talk and he made a fool of himself by standing there with nothing to say.

You looked at your drink and then back at him. “Tequila.”

The mischievous grin was the same as if you’d just told him you weren’t wearing any underwear, and he chortled.

“Straight?”

You kept your eyes on him, nodding a little and taking a slow sip without flinching. It was all he could do to keep from swaying, and he just about did when you followed up with, “Want some?”

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How had Harry wound up in this smoky dive bar? Someone or other had said someone else or other recommended it, and he’d had enough tequila by that point to say ok. The lighting was shit — truly abysmal, and he was glad he’d taken to wearing his glasses more often — which meant it was perfect. Liquor and lights could fool even the sharpest eyes, and each new hour of eleven, midnight, and one had his laugh louder and his muscles laxer. The jukebox probably didn’t have a song past 1982, and it was the sort of grungy scene he fancied himself feeling at home in.

Intent on the cue ball, his first scratch of the night had absolutely nothing to do with you walking in, friends in tow, chattering and giggling through your attempts to cram your way into spaces at the bar. No, of course not — it was just… his eyes had sort of wandered and done a double-take, and how was he supposed to see looking over the rims of his glasses?

(Of course, focusing on that — you — when he thrust his cue stick forward might’ve helped….)

The ball spun and bounced off several others without enough force to send them into any pockets, and he straightened up, smiling tight-lipped to snickers, guffaws, and jeers.

Magnetic. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he leaned on his back foot, cue stick in hand. Watching you grin at the bartender, he decided that was how he’d describe you. Magnetic. You’d shed your coat at some point, and now he could see you were wearing black — black on black on black — and his lips rolled between his teeth while he rolled his eyes up and down your body.

Desire ignited and extinguished in the same minute within him, and he smirked, the wistful thought that maybe in a different year, or different city, or different mindset he could and would. Maybe he wasn’t inebriated, but he wasn’t stone cold sober, either, and far beyond the point of being able to rationally evaluate the situation. Besides, he really didn’t do that anymore. Not for a long time by now, and he chalked it up to maturity and a healthy dose of what he liked to call caution.

“Your turn, bud.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he skirted around the table, choosing his shot with his back to you. Fool him once, shame on him, but fool him twice…. Lining it up, he was just about to take it when—

His knuckles tightened around his cue stick and his hair stood on end when that laugh erupted — mischievous, delighted, distracting, and all the paranoia of a nervous teenager that he was the cause.

“Hurry up, Harry.”

Shooting a glare, he jabbed the cue ball forward and stood when it ricocheted into a pocket.

“That’s what happens when you rush perfection,” he said to the merciless ribbings. He moved out of the way and back into the shadows, but when he looked at you again, he froze. Eyes locked on him, you blinked slowly, inquisitively, and he gripped the cue stick he was leaning on harder. Did you recognize him? Did you know him? Did you care? Were you unsettled by the guy in a bar wearing slacks that cost a couple thousand and a t-shirt who couldn’t stop looking at you every chance he got?

The slight, sultry smirk over the rim of your glass made the knot in his stomach release and warmth flooded through him. Whatever interest he’d tried to crocodile wrestle back into submission had worked its way out of his hold and was lunging at you, jaws snapping. He lifted his head higher and grinned halfway — a grin he’d seen thousands swoon and stammer over and he knew nine times out of ten could get him whatever way he chose to go.

The drink in your glass disappeared a little more when you tipped it towards your mouth, and you set it on the bar, cocking your head in a silent inquisition of, are you going to or not?

“Oi! Where’re you going? We’re in the middle of something!”

Ignoring his friends’ indignant questions, he placed his cue stick back on the rack and slunk around the table towards the bar and you.

Up close, it was worse — you were worse — and for five whole seconds, his tongue twisted into a ball for the cat to bat at before he managed to ask, “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

Not his most original line, but the first thing he could get out before it was too late to talk and he made a fool of himself by standing there with nothing to say.

You looked at your drink and then back at him. “Tequila.”

The mischievous grin was the same as if you’d just told him you weren’t wearing any underwear, and he chortled.

“Straight?”

You kept your eyes on him, nodding a little and taking a slow sip without flinching. It was all he could do to keep from swaying, and he just about did when you followed up with, “Want some?”

Hot. That was the hottest fucking thing he’d been asked in a long time, and he shouldn’t, but he reached for the glass anyway.

“Uh uh,” you said, pulling it out of his reach. Cheeks hot, he leaned back — had he misunderstood? Looking at him over your glass, you took another sip and swallowed before setting it on the bar and tapping your shining lips.

Sweet Lord, help him. This was going to be a wet dream when all was said and done, wasn’t it? Or maybe a set up by his mates, but the bait was too good not to take the chance. Ears ringing, he leaned forward and slid his palm over your cheek, hoping he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.

Your mouth was soft and firm, a little sweet from the tequila with a burn that made his chapped lips sting. He suppressed a shudder when you draped your arms over his shoulders, delighting when you drew your open hands freely along behind his back. The pounding in his veins was reminiscent of his wilder youth, but better because he was old enough to act responsibly and save himself the panicked jitters. Tilting his head with a groan, he stepped closer, hands falling to your hips and mouth opening under the excuse of chasing more alcohol down your throat. The noise — deafening by this point —- faded from his ears with each stroke of his tongue and pass of your mouth, and he tensed momentarily when you pushed a hand into his hair but relaxed when you scratched his scalp.

Every time you made to slow the kisses, he pulled you back in, and every time you went with a sigh and a giggle. He’d be hard-pressed to remember the last time he’d been kissed, let alone well, and even more rare like this. This one was the kind of kiss that squeezed his balls just trying to dream it up — the kind that made his mind run at 90kph, the kind that had him sniffing the air with hope. Hell, standing there kneading your hips, if you both weren’t tucked into the corner by the bar — out of sight, but not quite invisible — he’d have tried to cop a feel over your shirt. Under, if he was lucky.

The thought alone was, apparently, enough to make him move his hand to your ribcage, and you broke sharply with a gasp when his thumb brushed the underside of your breast. He gulped and your chest heaved against his, both of you panting. Licking his lips, a quip about the good tequila died on his tongue when the track blaring from the jukebox switched.

“This is my song,” you said, barely audible above the din. “I have to--”

One of the friends you’d come with pulled your arm and you away from him, shooting him a skeptically coquettish look of their own. He straightened up, eyes following you through a rowdy group, so dizzy he might as well have downed half a bottle.

“Oi! Styles!”

His pack of mates wolf whistled and crowed, hardly distinguishable from the rest of the noise, and he teetered in their direction.

“Have to go to the toilet,” he said, shrinking from the claps on his back and the questions of whether or not he’d gotten shut down. “Have— I’ll be back.”

The music quieted when he shut the door, but when he pressed the button on the handle to lock it, it clicked weakly and popped right out. Shaking his head, he went to the small sink in the corner next to the rickety-looking toilet and a small, overflowing bin. The mirror above it was spotty and had a crack in it, but that probably didn’t matter much because the lighting was as shit in there as it was in the bar and even with his glasses it was hard to see. A metal box was attached to the wall and, unthinkingly, he flipped it open. A stack of condoms toppled out and he hastily fumbled them before stuffing them back and closing the door with a swear. Hunching over the sink, he drew a deep breath, trying to tamp out the feeling of blood draining from his head to his cock.

Focus, Harry. He turned the tap and ran his hands under the cold water before scrubbing his cheeks and eyes under his glasses. Focus on anyone and anything except the pretty girl out there who was reeling him in on an invisible line. Focus on anything but your hips, cause thinking of how he wanted to dig his hands in wasn’t helping. Focus on anything but how your tits had looked in that top. He dragged a hand down his face, stifling a low groan and knocking his glasses back up his nose with a single knuckle. Christ, he never should’ve had all that to drink, but with his lowered inhibitions, the devilish part of himself lazily drawled he’d be aching to get his dick wet however you were willing to give it to him no matter what he had or hadn’t had to drink. You were a good kisser, and he bet you’d kiss his cock even nicer.

“Oh, God….” Pinched and in pain, he was just about to cup himself when the door creaked open. Before he could snap, though, you stepped inside and shut it behind you, the brief swell in volume from the music outside quieted again, and you stared, each of you the deer in the other’s headlights.

“Didn’t lock the door,” you said.

“Doesn’t lock,” he said.

“Oh.”

Your back was flat against the flimsy wood and your eyes, wide and shining, were fastened on him. He could just make out the quick rise and fall of your shoulders under the dim light, and God that jumper looked good on you.

Who wound up closing the gap first he couldn’t say, but all he could think when your mouth was on his and your hand was pulling at his slacks was thank fucking Christ you wanted this, too. Fuck it. Fuck it, right? This was what places like this were for.

“M’Harry,” he mumbled into the kiss.

“Hi, Harry,” you whispered, squeaking when he spun you and pinned you to the sink with his hips.

Still kissing you, he reached blindly in the general direction of the busted condom dispenser until he caught the corner of the cover and flung it open.

“Wait!”

You pushed his chest and he blinked rapidly, a packet between his fore and middle fingers. Had he misinterpreted? Gotten too far ahead of himself? Before he could formulate an apology, though, you’d popped the button on your trousers open and tugged them and your underwear past your hips. You chortled and his mouth lifted at the corner ever so slightly before he gripped your face with both hands to kiss you, the condom packet still between his fingers.

“You gonna tell me your name?” he asked between kisses. You laughed but he shook his head. “Gotta give me summat,” he said. “Gotta give me that much. Know mine, don’t you?”

Not much of a challenge, maybe — everyone knew his.

Your lashes fluttered coyly but he held his ground. Gulping, you murmured it, shy for the first time all night — funny, considering you’d had no qualms getting your trousers down in front of him — and he nodded, tongue rolling in the shape of your consonants behind his teeth.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling you up by the backs of your thighs to perch you on the edge of the sink. “Good?”

You nodded with a sigh, ankles cuffed by the cuffs of your trousers but knees angled out to give him enough room to step in between them. Unlike the kiss at the bar, when Harry kissed you this time, his hands wandered — up your back, under your shirt, down your legs and between them, uttering a rushed, “Can I…?” before drawing his fingers over your cunt, exploring, touching, learning. Little wetter, he decided, pressing your clit with his forefinger, lips curling when he pulled a gasp from you. Awfully pretty sound, wasn’t it? And you were soft — his fingers were practically gliding, but he’d like you just a little wetter, for ego if nothing else.

“There we are,” he mumbled, kisses smacking between you. “Lemme….”

Wet, smooth, and hot — real fucking hot. That was how he’d think back on you when this was going through his head days from now and he was solo in his torture. Your cunt hugged his knuckles snugly with each stroke, and his mouth slowed on yours with his concentration on every twist that drew a new sound from you while you dug your fingers into his chest and shoulder.

“Harry….”

“D’you wanna?” he asked. “Now?”

You answered by pulling the condom out of his hand and tearing it open with a breathless smile, eyes rolling up when he curled his fingers purposefully. The joke was on him, though, when you finished the job you’d started on his slacks so you could slip your hand inside them palm his cock.

“Shit…!” Harry wheezed, vision swimming when you pulled him out, tugging from base to tip in one long, slow motion. Stamping his eyes shut, he felt you fit the rubber around his head and roll it down, both hands wrapping around him, and he groaned — a weak, pathetic sound in the back of his throat — when you squeezed slightly and his cock twitched in response.

“C’mere,” you whispered, tightening your knees around his hips and tilting your head up. Bending to kiss you, he grabbed the sink behind you on either side, shoulders tense when you gripped him more firmly and brought his cock right up to you. Even through the rubber your cunt was hot against his head, and you made the sweetest sound into his mouth when he pushed it forward.

“Ah, fuck….”

Just his head and you were already pulsing with the perfect amount of pressure. Gentle mumbles, whispers, and encouraging gasps passed between you and he smashed a kiss to your lips through your grin as you panted your way through every inch of him sliding in until he was up to his balls. Balls deep in the cunt of someone he didn’t know, and the thought alone had him huffing a laugh.

“S’all right?” he asked. You nodded, arms around his shoulders again and he shifted from foot to foot before holding your hips at the softest parts to steady you and pistoning his. Rough and quick, because he didn’t think he could deliver anything else and you wouldn’t accept it. Each thrust had you clawing him closer, crying out needlessly quiet — as if anyone outside could hear you with the music as loud as it was, and like they’d care or be surprised if they could — and his face was so close to yours his glasses cut into his face.

“Hang on…” he said. You whined, but he repeated, “Hang… hang on,” before pulling his glasses off. They landed with a clatter in the sink behind you, but he couldn’t even be bothered to hope the glass hadn’t cracked or popped out of the frames. Kissing him again, you dragged your fingers through his hair from his temple to the back of his head where you locked your fist in it.

“Shit… shit… shit you’re so… tight….”

“Yes...!” you moaned and he shook.

“Yeah?” Fingers drilling into your hips, he circled his pelvis against yours. “Feel it?” You nodded and he grunted when you dug your nails into his scalp. “Needed just a minute for me, didn’t you? To get me in?”

“Harry— fuck!”

Thumb on your clit, hand spread wide on your abdomen, he stroked insistently, losing his placement from how wet you were.

“Please—“

“Gimme a minute,” he said through labored breathing, pressing again and grinning when you let out a pitchy moan. “Gimme a… there you go….”

“Trying to make me cum f-first?” you stuttered in his ear and he ground his teeth.

“Something like that,” he wheezed and your faint laugh morphed into a cry when he circled faster. This wasn’t the time to take his time — the door didn’t lock and his mates, as well as yours, would be looking for each of you.

“Have to get back out there, don’t you?” he asked. Your face scrunched and he bent at the knees, nudging his cock deeper. “Did you want them to find you like this?”

You shuddered, cunt pulsing around him and torso pressed right against his, and his upper lip twitched.

“Shit!” he rasped between his teeth. “C’mon… c’mon, there you—“

Your head dropped to the crook of his neck and your breathing fell wet and fast on his skin as he picked up his rhythm again. Tighter than even before, it was almost difficult to bottom out the way he had been, and when you let out a pinched noise against his collarbone in response to his efforts, he sputtered. “S-sorry… sorry, so so-so—!”

His orgasm was a culmination of the evening. Of every increasingly frantic and heated kiss, of every one of your moans, of the sound of his name from your mouth, of the tequila on your tongue, and of the fact that this was the most reckless fuck he’d had in he couldn’t remember how long. Teeth bared and eyes closed, his jaw strained right when he felt the familiar burst followed by the jittery rush through his last erratic thrusts. “Jesus…!” He slumped and you gripped his shoulders tightly, holding him through his gasps and sponging kisses to his neck with the occasional nuzzle. It was you, though, who pushed him away with a firm hand, and he straightened up, stars still dancing in front of his eyes.

“Friends’ll be waiting,” you said, dazed and patting his chest. “Friends… we have to….”

Yeah, you did, and he did, too, but pulling out was excruciating. He’d just gotten in you, and he could feel his cock growing limp after being removed from your snug heat. Stepping back, he kept half an eye on you as you dropped from the sink and pulled your trousers back up over your wobbly knees while he peeled the condom off and knotted it at the top before tossing it into the sorry looking bin. He followed suit, then, fumbling with his belt and glad you were too preoccupied with examining your appearance in the mirror to notice how uncoordinated he was.

“Fuck….” You pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under the tap to wipe your smudged makeup away and he cleared his throat.

“Thanks for that….” His cheeks were hot but it only felt right to say something. In the mirror, he caught sight of your smirk and, emboldened, he added, “I’d like to buy you a drink. If you’re up for it.”

Buy a drink, buy an hour, buy a conversation, buy a chance.

Your hand slowed and you turned, eyes full of light and lips swollen, whatever makeup you’d put on significantly less intact. Again, you had him tongue-tied right when he’d like to be the suave wordsmith the internet fantasized about him being. He’d made you cum -- that had to count for something, right? And yet, when you pulled his glasses out of the sink and closed the short distance, all he could hear was his heart snare drumming. Harry stayed perfectly still when you unfolded his glasses and slid them back over his ears. You pushed them up his nose with a single finger and pressed your palm to his cheek before kissing him, but when he made to wrap his arms around you, you broke with a wet sound, and he swayed forward in the direction of your mouth. Hardly more than a hair’s breadth away from him, you smiled, eyes sensually warm.  

“I’ll see you, Harry,” you whispered.

You tossed the paper towel in the bin and opened the door, uttering a, “Someone’s in there,” to a person unseen before closing it behind you. Harry stood there, mouth hanging dumbly and hands limp and empty at his sides. This was what places like this were for, right?

He shook his head. “No,” he said, yanking the door handle and striding out into the noise.

[janelevy]

sinkhole

requested by @thena0315

summary: on her way to work one morning, ava ends up in a sticky situation and has to rely on her skills to help others before paramedics arrive. nothing romantic here, just our fave being a badass!

warnings: some descriptions of injuries, nothing super gory. just lots of blood. also minimal swearing

also by the way, i finally figured out how to allow anonymous asks, so if anyone prefers to send asks/prompts on anon y’all should be able to do that now! thanks <3

Ava was running a little more behind schedule than she would’ve liked, but she knew a decent shortcut to get to Med. Switching lanes, she turned her car away from Monday morning traffic and took an exit off the freeway.

Her day hadn’t gotten off to the best start. Somehow she slept through her alarm, then she didn’t realize she threw on her scrub shirt backwards until people gave her weird looks in Starbucks. On top of that, she woke up to a missed call from her mother and judging by the length of the message she left, it wasn’t a happy “How are you?” kind of call. Oh, and of course - it was raining. If April showers bring May flowers, then what do May showers bring? June floods? Ava thought to herself with a sigh. She slowed at a stop sign, glanced left then right, then proceeded into her shortcut through the neighborhood.

She yawned - somehow she was still tired despite getting more sleep than intended - and watched her windshield wipers work through the drizzle. She coasted to another stop sign; a fleeting glance in her rearview mirror showed a tailgater who literally appeared out of thin air behind her. Ava rolled her eyes and continued forward... then downward.

It was like the road surface below her car’s tires turned to liquid. One second she could see the overcast rainy sky, then the next second she was several feet below ground with dirt crumbled over her windshield.

It all happened so fast that it took a minute for her to recover. As soon as the numbness of shock wore off, Ava registered the feeling of her heart crawling uneasily up her throat. “Shit,” she panted, unbuckling her seatbelt and trying to open her door. At first it didn’t budge, but after a few more solid kicks and shoves, it fell completely off its hinges and rested on a large chunk of earth with a groan. She stumbled out, steadying herself against the side of her now thoroughly busted-up car. Damn, she was so close to having it paid off, too.

Then for the first time, Ava fully took in her surroundings. The tailgater’s truck had also tumbled into this pit with her, and the guy didn’t look to be in great shape. A car that had been parked above but appeared to be empty had also fallen in with them, and other than that Ava couldn’t see any sign of life. She drew in a stinging breath filled with dust and dirt, then tried to move toward the truck. The crumbly earth below her feet definitely didn’t feel sturdy, so she kept her steps steady and light. The rain still coming down made the ground too slippery and muddy.

Everything around her was deadly quiet. It felt like it was just them, rain-slicked mud, and the sky, which was now much higher above than before. Ava picked her way over to the pickup in about a minute and once she arrived she surveyed the scene. It looked like the truck had taken a direct nose dive into the sinkhole if the busted-up front end indicated anything. The passenger side airbags had deployed, but the driver’s hadn’t, which explained the mask of blood that now coated his lower face. He moaned, eyes lazily flicking to her as she reached through the open window for the lock.

“What...” he mumbled, and the rest of his question turned into a violent cough. Ava noticed more blood splatter on the steering wheel, so she started working faster. Blindly her fingers scrabbled around the inside of the door until they found the door lock, which she flipped the other way before she stepped back and wrenched the door open. 

From a brief examination, it looked like the worst of his injuries was blunt force trauma to his face and chest from slamming into the steering wheel. He definitely had the grounds to sue the manufacturer of his truck’s shitty airbags. Ava nudged the door open the rest of the way and moved in closer, running her hands firmly over the man’s torso. He seemed pretty out of it, but she hoped to at least get a name and pain rating out of him.

“Hey, hey. What’s your name?” she asked, hands pausing at the base of his ribcage.

He winced and twisted his head away from her. “M- Mark,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “Who are y...” He trailed off, doubling over when her hands found a particularly bad spot.

“Okay, Mark. My name is Ava, I’m a doctor.” Gingerly she pressed on the area again, and a whimper escaped Mark’s throat. She would best be able to tell what was the problem if she could cut through his shirt, but she had a hunch Mark wouldn’t be a fan of that idea. Instead, she let another question speed off her tongue. “On a scale from one to ten, one being nothing and ten being excruciating, how is your pain here?”

One last time, she applied pressure, and Mark leaned forward again while trying to swat her away. “God dammit! Ten. It’s a ten. Eleven, if you like. Seems you’re... trying to make it an eleven.”

“I’m just assessing the severity of the wound.” Ava removed her hands and glanced back at her car. Now that she knew he was stable, she felt better going back for her phone. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to call for help.”

Within a few minutes Ava was back at Mark’s truck and was on the phone with 911. “Hello, my name is Ava Bekker and I’ve been caught in an accident with one other victim.”

“... wait, wait, Dr. Bekker? That’s you?” the voice on the other end demanded.

“Yes?” Ava stood with one hand on her hip, squinting around at the mounds of dirt. She could’ve sworn she heard another voice on her way back over here.

“I know you! You were my mother’s surgeon last year.” Ava’s impatience was already starting to come to a head, but luckily the operator got back on topic. “Anyway, what happened? Where are you?”

Ava frowned as she tried to recall the intersection she’d been at before literally falling into the ground. “Um... I believe we’re somewhere near the intersection of Buttonwood and... Oak Streets? A sinkhole opened up in the Englewood neighborhood a few blocks from Med. I’m sure it’ll be hard to miss it.” Her eyes flicked down to Mark, who was still sitting dazed and breathing heavily. “I’m fine but I have a man here in his late forties, early fifties who has blunt force trauma to the face and chest. Some broken teeth, definitely some bruising and broken ribs. Possibly dealing with flail chest, but I have limited resources. Not exactly an OR down here.”

Right as the operator began to reply, Ava distinctly heard a soft call for help. “Hold on,” she said and held the phone away from her ear. “Hello?” she yelled, throat hoarse as she tiptoed over the loose ground toward a pile of earth. “Hello? Is there someone else there?”

“Help!” There it was again. Ava knelt down and brushed away several layers of dirt to discover a woman slathered in mud and cuts of various sizes and depths. Ava worked to uncover more of her body. “Make that two victims,” she barked into the phone, then froze. The woman was trapped, alright; a heavy rock was planted on her left leg, nearly crushing it into two pieces. Blood was everywhere.

“I- I was walking my dog and... and the ground just...” The woman threw her head back, and Ava noticed another gushing laceration on the side of her scalp.

“Just opened up, right? I know. One minute I was in my car on the road, then the next I was down here.” Ava did her best to smile at her despite the situation and her exhaustion. God, she was still probably going to have to work a full shift after all this. Fuck Mondays.

Ava took in the mangled leg and the blood pouring incessantly from where the boulder sat on what had to be a pulverized kneecap. Instinctively she took off her scrub top, leaving on the thin long sleeve t-shirt underneath, and pressed the black garment to the wound to act as gauze and absorb the blood. Right away it became clear that wouldn’t be enough. She needed a makeshift tourniquet to curb the bleeding. Ava made her way back over to her car, then was back in a flash with the only piece of fabric long enough to be sufficient: her white coat. It was one of her older ones anyway, and she had plenty of others, not that she cared. She slid the coat beneath the leg, and the woman let out a sob. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” Ava muttered, concentrating on tying the coat tightly above the injury while continuing to press her soaked scrubs on it. She could bleach these all she wanted but there was no coming back from this.

Then, at long last, she heard the sirens. Ava hung up on the operator and looked up; the faces of many first responders peered back down at her. She waved and yelled, “We have to work fast, I have two critical patients down here!”

It took a good thirty minutes, but eventually Ava was back aboveground. Of course she allowed Mark and the woman to be carried up first. Once she was back up, they offered a ride in an ambulance and she accepted. She wasn’t about to stick around to watch them bring up the vehicles - she’d already retrieved her important documents and her still-warm coffee from her car, anyway.

The first person Ava saw upon walking through the ED doors was Maggie, who stood at the desk with her jaw on the floor. “Ava! Don’t tell me you were in that sinkhole, too?”

Ava sipped her coffee and leaned on the counter. Only now was she really feeling the pain and exhaustion deep in her bones; the adrenaline was wearing off. “Yes. Thought I’d take a shortcut to work. Now I have to go car shopping again.”

Maggie shook her head in awe, then Ava looked over and spotted Connor emerging from a consult in treatment five. He noticed her too and finished rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands as he jogged over. “Ava! Where have you been? You’re never late.” Then he halted and gave her a once-over. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So do you.” She grinned and patted his shoulder as she brushed past him. “I don’t think I need an exam, but I know it’s a good idea. So make it quick, because I have an operation in an hour.” And without protest, he followed her.

[stardust-and-blades]

Shatter: part 1

*whispers* I swear I’m writing fluff in my ghost au but at the moment I wanna write a zombie apocalypse scene that I had in my head for my oc’s but was unable to write due to a past friend not willing to write with me anymore so here it is

klance form

Summary: Keith and Lance are set up on a mission to gather supplies within a small town. It was meant to be an easy errand, one they have done before. But the situation turns dire when Keith ends up getting bit and doesn’t tell the team.  Nor Lance.

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

Keith lied awake in bed, Lance knocked out from the day’s earlier expedition. He is curled up besides Keith, his head resting in the crook of his neck and a hand in Keith’s. He was content. Most likely dreaming about finding his family. Dreaming of a world where the dead stayed dead and you could walk anywhere without the fear of being eaten. 

Keith wanted to dream like that. Have his entire mind submerged in fantasy, living in another reality for five minutes instead of the remainder of his life in the absolute shithole humanity managed to dig themselves into.

He wanted to imagine his life extending far beyond a couple of days, looking forward to red and blue tulips and a flowery path leading to a priest, bands of gold embracing his marriage finger.

But no. He does not have eternity. He does not have a year. He does not have 24 hours, because the throbbing in his side reminded him of what is to come. To relive the early days of the zombie infestation, his parents being turned and Keith being forced to kill them.

Is that what awaits him? A cold death. A brutal death. Either one by a bullet to the head or his human will slipping from his fingers, it overwhelmed by the need to feed and the desire to sink his teeth into soft, pulsing flesh. 

He didn’t eat, but his stomach churned to expel the nausea. 

Keith slowly got up, slipping his arm out of Lance’s grasp. Lance frowned in his sleep, wondering where the warmth of his partner went. To ease him, Keith kissed the top of his head, whispering he needed to use the bathroom. It smoothed out Lance’s features, him mumbling a faint “kay...ove you...” before those beautiful whisps of imagination and ‘what ifs’ ebbed him back into a blessed slumber.

When Keith locked himself in the bathroom, he covered the small window far up above the toilet with its black drapes. He switched on his flashlight and pulled his shirt up, hissing as he prodded on the torn, scabbed skin. Purple veins popped out, the yellow and green of infection coursed its way around the bite, Keith suppressing the urge to claw at it. Make it bleed. Swallowing the wave of chipped nails and chilling, metallic shards. Anything so he could feel human.

If he were bit on the arm or leg, he could have easily chopped it off. Hacked at it away until he was sure he was safe, at ease to lose a limb than the life he grew to value. But no. He went out and got bit on the stomach. There is no amputating that.

To think he made such a rookie mistake.

“Hey Keith, lets check out the building over there!” Lance suggested, nudging him with his elbow. “The market is still a little ways away, and usually swarming with undead. Maybe we can find some nonperishable items in the food bank.”

Keith smiled. “Good idea. Hopefully some bottled water, too. We are running low. And we will need some medication for Shiro’s arm.”

Lance tapped his chin. “Hmm, we can try a couple of houses. Hospitals are hard. And it looks like this place is hanging on by a thread.” Lance glanced around, taking in the rotting wood, overgrown weeds, shattered windows, and lack of humans and zombies. It was a small town, afterall. Unlike the city, the place mirrored the dead in outcome. 

“Yeah, I had to save your ass last time we were at a hospital.” 

Lance pouted. “Hey, it’s not my fault there was a random torso underneath the desk.”

Still had to save you.”

“Keep talking and I’m chopping off your mullet.”

Keith shrugged and kissed him on the lips, silencing him at least for a good five seconds before his face bloomed with blush and began sputtering. “You--! You can’t keep doing that to win an argument!”

“Why?”

“Because--Because--” He fished for a reason, his hook coming out with very little. “Because you just can’t!”

“Smooth, Lance.”

Lance just shoved his hood over his head and tightened the strings. “You’re insufferable. I hope a zombie eats me.”

Keith went quiet. He almost forgot what they were there for. What world they are in. For a brief second, he felt like he was back in the time Before. When he was just a kid trying to pay off his school loans. 

Noticing Keith’s silence, Lance peaked from his hoodie. Keith’s eyes are far away, the shine dimmed and his body tense. He could have been mistaken for a statue.

Lance wrapped his hands around his limp one by his side, the other one holding a prepped knife. “Sorry, poor choice in words. If anything, I won’t be eaten.” Lance said, a feather of good fun disguising his comfort. “I’ll be saving the day. Like always.”

Keith, consumed by the past, snapped out of it and looked back at Lance. He melted, the crease in his brow and the infecting paranoia subsiding. Washed away with Lance’s warmth, leaving the mode of survival and embracing the rush of love through those beautiful aquas. 

“Yeah. Like always.”

So they went into the abandoned food bank, drunk on the sparkles and butterflies of those moments.

It was a two leveled house made to look like a business, the main foyer holding aged desks and shattered lamps. They checked for any zombies that could be lurking in nooks, crannies, and closets, taking slow footsteps and weapons drawn. The basement, which was flooded, was left unchecked until Keith flashed his light inside, calling to Lance that he was going to dive in and see if there is anything pidge could tinker with. Maybe find some canned food untouched by the murky waters. No doubt the flooding was caused by a broken, rusty pipe. It wasn’t that deep. Up to his knees. Quiet. harmless.

Or so he thought.

He saw what seemed to be an old package of bottled water, Keith not bothering to double check he was safe. He just went to the water, picking one up when it all went wrong.

It all went terribly wrong.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled, Keith losing his footing and splashing into the dirty water, his nose flooded and throat choking for air. He tried to scream, but all that came out was gurgles and bubbles. Lance probably can’t hear him thrash, his face being shoved further down as he caught sight of decaying teeth and skin. His knife gone. He fought for the surface. Writhed and squirmed for his machete, pure terror coursing through his veins as his eyes landed on the teeth inching towards his stomach.

No, no no no no--

As he got hold of the hilt of his machete, red hot pain flared, Keith letting out a scream as a chunk of him is torn out. He pushed and kicked, refusing to be a meal on the zombie’s menu. He kneed the rotting corpse in the head, it releasing Keith as he gasped for oxygen. But he didn’t stop to fully breathe, for he plunged his blade deep into its head. 

His ears were ringing. The water tinged with crimson, his eyes seeing nothing as all he registered was the the fact he got bit.

He got bit.

He didn’t even hear Lance call from him above, Keith’s body moving on its own as he angrily sifted through the water, searching for another corpse to kill. To mangle. To destroy, just like they destroyed his future. It was bad enough he lost friends and family during the breakout. Now...Now he is doomed. Branded. Cursed to become one of them. To bring grief to the smiles he adored.

To hurt Lance, already seeing Lance’s serene blues morph into a drought of disbelief and teardrops.

When Lance found Keith due to him not responding to his calls, he discovered a motionless boy, staring down at the zombie and his machete soaked with blood. The face of the undead is barely recognizable, and Lance wondered what provoked Keith to unleash such brutality. 

“Keith?” Lance said again, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at Lance. He cupped Keith’s face in his hands, asking desperately for a response. “Keith? Keith, are you hurt? Are you okay? Keith?”

He could only muster a weak hug as Lance held him close, shoving a bloodcurdling scream deep within until he was away from Lance.

He had to tell someone. But who? 

There was a light knock on the door, Keith shoving his shirt back down.

“Yeah?”

“Keith?” Shiro called. “You okay? I saw your light earlier.”

No doubt. Keith forgot Shiro was on watch tonight.

Keith opened his mouth to say what he usually says, an old habit he was good at. But he stopped, taking in the memory of earlier that day.

He had to tell someone. He had such a short amount of time left. He didn’t want to end up like one of them. But he also didn’t want to be alone. 

He took a breath.

“Actually, can you come in? I need to tell you something.”

By the end, the others remained in blissful ignorance, never hearing the choked sob of the dying boy and the drop of a flashlight, the protective glass shattering into a million pieces.

And as Keith walked up the stairs of his and Lance’s room and Shiro lost the sensation of drowsiness to the plans for the next day, Keith curled in the sheets. He kept Lance close, breathing in his smell of sweat and pine and working to memorize it. To savor the last little bit he had with his love, the tears not stopping until morning broke. 

Lance greeted him with a sleepy but soft smile. The sunlight not touching the couple, but might as well have with the radiance seeping from a simple glance. Keith wanted to bottle it up, hold it close to him until his dying breath, refusing to let the rain touch it. 

But life had other plans. The rain came early. And Lance was left speechless, worry etched in his tone as he asked Keith what was wrong.

“Nothing,” Keith said, wiping away his tears. “Just a nightmare.”

Lance wiped a drop from his cheek, understanding. “Ah. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No...I...” Keith struggled for words, split between telling him and sealing his mouth shut. He hid his face in the pillow, wanting nothing more but to disappear. “Not yet. It’s still fresh. I just want to stay like this for a little longer.”

“Hunk is going to be serving breakfast in a bit. We should go eat something.” Lance suggested, kind but also knowing the team rarely had meals like this. They scored in finding plenty of supplies for a week in the food bank. Hunk no doubt wanted to celebrate by eating a full meal rather than the beans and canned fruit they had lived on. 

Keith circled his arms around Lance’s middle, begging for five more minutes. Five more. That was all he needed to gain his bearings. To put his mask back on. To believe he had years left of life than a measly couple of days. Or was it a day now? He did not care. He wanted to focus on the now.

Lance sighed, but combed his hands through Keith’s nest of hair and kissed the top of his hairline, Keith turning into a puddle by the normalcy. The facade everything would be okay, thought deep down he knew it to be a lie. 

He hated lies. But this lie is the only one he can allow.

Soon, fatigue laid their sheets, Keith’s vision becoming scarce as the fingers of his lover whisked away his fears. Cascaded them to the wind, his nightmare temporarily being forced into remission. 

If he could choose, he would choose to die like this. Caressed and loved. His heart human and his mind content. 

Don’t break the illusion.

Don’t shatter.

[mooleche]

A Story of Ink and Venom - Ch. 4

A/N - I don’t know what to say. It’s long, they’re all going to be long, I’m not strong enough to make them short. This chapter introduces some key points that will be needed for the next few chapters coming up, as always I hope you enjoy!

If you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters let me know! ( ᐛ )و @leo-writer

Chapter 4 - Aftermath

We ran for what felt like hours.

I thought we were done for, looking up at those terrifying teeth that sneered back at me between Deadpool's limp limbs, blood pooling around our feet. If it hadn't been for the sirens coming I think we probably would have been, but we had somehow managed to pry ourselves away when it turned and never looked back as we ran for our lives.

I wanted to vomit, in fact, I think I did vomit at some point after realizing the blood got into my mouth and was all over my glasses.

The taste wouldn’t leave though. And the nauseating smell of copper hung around me as we tried to find our way back to the labs.

Inside my thoughts were a mess trying to recollect what happened. The terrifying image of Deadpool pulled apart, the look of pleasure on that monsters face as he did it. Bambi squeezed my hand, for her reassurance or mine I didn’t know, but it snapped me from my descent of reliving what had happened and back to reality. Her big blues were now wide with terror, flecks of blood sprinkling her cheeks and shirt. 

This didn’t feel real.

This couldn’t be real.

We jumped at the sudden sound of our names being called, looking to see a worried-looking Barry hurrying towards us who we met halfway.

“Girls? Heaven's are you alright?” he tried asking as he gave us both a one over before directing us back to the labs. One foot in front of the other was all I could manage at this point, everything else led back to that moment that I was desperately trying to forget. “Professor Renato had me watching for you two since the news broke out. Can’t believe this happened so clo-Professor, they’re here!” he babbled on, only stopping as we shuffled through Renato’s lab's doors.

I had never seen so much stress painted onto his face as I did the moment he saw us. He hurried towards us and immediately checked my face. I looked away in shame, already knowing what his sights had focused on.

“Thank the Gods you’re alright,” he uttered softly before directing us to some lab chairs and helping us sit. He disappeared briefly to murmur something to Barry in a hushed tone and I took the opportunity to hastily wipe my nose. I pulled my hand back to see a red so dark it almost appeared black and grimaced. “Girls, can one of you tell me what happened?” Renato asked carefully as he returned, a large medical kit in hand that he gripped tightly as if to calm his own nerves.

It was like the veil of composure had been lifted. Bambi and I looked at one another and released a deep breath, and like a dam breaking, we lost all composure and exploded.

"FUCK. FUCK! That was seriously fucked up, we almost died!"

"Deadpool DID die! Oh my god...Deadpool DIED, Nina!"

Bambi broke down sobbing while I covered my face with my hands and released a scream of panic, a slurry of curses leaving my mouth before I could stop myself. 

"I can't fucking do this, I don't wanna be a hero anymore. I DON'T WANT TO GET RIPPED IN HALF!" I wailed while dragging my hands down my face. My life had almost ended in a matter of minutes and I didn’t know what to do with myself now. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the whole scene play out again and I felt my stomach clench with nausea. 

We jumped as Renato slammed the medical case down on the table beside us and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly not used to all the noise we had created.

“Alright you two, take a few breaths,” he ordered calmly, kneeling down to inspect us both properly this time. “Bambi, can you tell me what happened?”

She took a few deep breaths before going a mile a minute with what had just played out. I watched through teary eyes as he cleaned the scratches on her hands and knees, listening very carefully to what she said before turning to me and sighing.

“And you. You used your powers?” he asked softly, a tinge of disappointment in his voice as he inspected my face once more.

I nodded softly, unable to speak. 

My biggest tell that I had used my them was always a bloody nose. Doctors called it an unusual case of hypertension due to what my body had been through. I called it the god's way of keeping me from getting too cocky with my mutation. Either way, if I did so much as even think about getting overzealous with my powers now it was often too much of a strain on my system and that bloody nose was a warning not to push any further. It was why I had promised Renato that I wouldn’t do something like this to put myself in danger.

I wish I had listened.

He held my chin softly as he wiped away the blood and ink from my face. The realization of how stupid of a decision this had been was coming into sharper focus as I saw the worry in his dark eyes. 

And although I knew he wouldn't say it himself, Renato was thinking the same. 

“I-it was my fault,” Bambi tried to reason as if sensing the tension between us, but the damage had already been done.

“Continue the story,” he requested lightly as he continued to bandage me, but she looked terrified. Her voice grew shakier the closer she grew to the end and the professor rested a hand on her knee in reassurance. The other took to gripping my hand that was now visibly shaking as she mentioned the creature in all its rage and terror.

"Nina managed to stab it and get herself free but...but...-what the hell is THAT?" she interrupted herself as she looked over at me slowly and I froze, unsure of what she was talking about. 

She flew out of her chair, practically climbing onto the table beside us to separate herself from me while screaming and pointing at my hoodie. An indescribable noise of panic rose in my throat as I looked down and saw a pile of black goop traveling quickly across the dark fabric. I screamed, trying to fling it off but failing, instead falling to the floor in a panic and attempting once more to reach for it. I succeeded, a shiver of disgust traveling down my spine at the cold, slimy texture it gave off before I flung it to the ground and scooted away desperately in the opposite direction.

“Calm down!” Renato ordered as he appeared with a clear container and top in hand, brows furrowed with concentration as he intercepted it’s sluggish attempt back to me. He brought the container down with such speed that I had to do a double-take, but it was there, struggling to escape its new plastic prison. I could only release a sigh of relief in response, dropping my head down on the cool tiled floor for a brief peace.

It had only taken a few moments before the remaining workers from other sections poked their heads in with curiosity and concern over our screaming. Renato, swift as ever, gave a simple curt nod to them and shrugged sheepishly. “Nothing to see here. Just a mouse,” he lied, a few chuckles emerging from his peers before they dispersed. I sat up and stared at my grimy hands and felt tears form once more.

It was all too much. 

Between the recent attack and that...whatever that thing was I was headed for a meltdown and fast.

I excused myself to the restroom before Renato or Bambi could question me, rushing down the hall past murmurs and snickers of what had just transpired. If only they had known what we had actually seen, maybe then they wouldn’t be laughing. 

Once I got into the small bathroom I locked the door and ripped my hoodie off, not wanting to get blindsided by something like that again. Looking in the mirror felt like I was looking at a different person. This was not the Nina filled with hope and optimism for a bright future filled with new beginnings that had been here not even an hour ago. This was the Nina that watched all of her hope get ripped in two by a giant monster and wanted nothing more than that boring life she had strived for.

This Nina had failed as a hero and never wanted to go down that route again.

I splashed my face with water to drive away onslaught of tears that began to bubble up and took to fiddling with my hair, now stiff with remnants of blood and sweat. It had engrossed me so much that I failed to see the janitor that I bumped into as I was leaving and I gasped in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” I started but paused as I saw his face. He looked strange. Not his appearance, perse. He looked normal enough, with pale skin and jet black hair that he had tied back and mostly hidden under a ball cap. It was his expression that seemed to catch me off guard.

His dark eyes seemed to study me with fascination and a smile slowly crept upon his lips as he looked at the dried blood that stained my hoodie and hands.

“Right in the thick of it, eh?” he asked just above a whisper, an edge of excitement in his tone.

I frowned and nodded, a feeling of unease spreading the longer I stood there. He looked ready to ask me more questions but I excused myself before he got the chance, diving my hands deep into the pocket of my hoodie before he could inspect them more. I don’t know why he made me so uncomfortable, but something deep down told me to keep away and I wasn’t about to ignore that gut feeling any more than I already had.

When I arrived back in the lab Barry was on his way back out, a look of relief on his face as he saw me pass through the sliding doors.

“You gonna be alright, Ms. Knight?”

“Yeah...yeah, just still a little shaken up…” I admitted, feeling him give a reassuring squeeze to my arm before he departed. Inside the lab was quiet as Bambi and Renato had their sights focused on something in her hands. Our belongings were now miraculously sitting on one of the tables and the food lay open and waiting to be eaten. 

“How-”

“I asked Barry if he would retrieve them when you got here. Please, sit down and eat.” Renato offered, pulling out the chair I had been seated in earlier. I continued to stand stiffly at the doors while eyeing the room warily.

“Where’s that thing?”

“At my desk, don’t worry,” he reassured me as he directed my attention to the sealed container held down by a heavy book. “For precaution,” he added as he noticed my furrowed brows at how much the slimy black substance protested being in the container. Now convinced that things were as back to normal as they could be I took a cautious seat next to Bambi who looked fully immersed in her camera.

“What’s going on?” I asked, scooting closer to her to see what pictures she had taken. She toyed with the spoon in her mouth before sharing the camera screen with me. 

“Just trying to show the professor what that creeper looked like. Here,” she said, tapping the screen with a nicely manicured nail.

If I hadn’t been there in the action myself I’d have thought Bambi was smack dab in the thick of it with us. Her shots were incredible, consisting of close-ups of Spiderman and Deadpool in action. She had even managed to get one of me looking almost cool. At least until I saw the shots of me attempting to run back to her with a face that looked like I had just kicked a bees nest.

“Bam!”

“What! You gotta admit they’re a little funny,” she tried to reason, but quickly moved to the next photos to prevent me from going off on her. I shrugged in annoyance and turned to my food, a yellow looking curry that smelled as hot as it tasted going down. It was welcomed, a sensation I could focus on instead of the dull pain that was quickly beginning to settle in as my adrenaline wore off.

I looked over to Renato who was now seated back at his desk, fully immersed in the impromptu battle station he had created that consisted of a spot for his food, his computer, and a fancy looking microscope I had not seen earlier.

“You’ll have to let me borrow that camera, Bambi,” Renato called as he zipped in his chair from one space to another. “I’d like to send some of the photos it holds to a colleague of mine.” 

She scoffed in response.

“As if. I’ll give you the SD card with the photos on it, but I want them back,” she added as she stood to hand him the small device into his palm. One small nod later he was back to work as if we weren’t there anymore and Bambi turned to me. There was concern on her face as she sat beside me and took my hand, once bright blue eyes now stormy and wide.

“Are you okay?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I wasn’t okay, I didn’t feel like I’d ever be okay after what I saw. But I couldn’t tell her that. Looking at her watching me it was easy to see she was ready to cry again if I answered anything remotely honest. I could only nod softly and turn away in response so she couldn’t see my face. We sat in a heavy silence after, focusing on our meals like they were the only things keeping us tethered to that moment and in some weird way, they were. 

“Incredible,” Renato whispered sometime later, prying us back from our thoughts to look at his hunched over physique. Whatever was under his microscope had completely engrossed him and now left us looking at him with curiosity.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Renato?” I asked.

“Just...this thing...this creature. Its DNA is fascinating. And somehow very much alive despite being separated from its host for so long.”

“Alive?”

“Seems that way. Take a look,” he whispered as if not wanting to startle it but beckoned me forward. I hesitated but obliged, looking into the microscope and gasping. Whatever this thing was it’s DNA was lively, moving erratically like it was restless and needed something. 

I shivered and pulled back, leaning against his desk as I processed things.

"This feels like some kind of strange nightmare..." I confessed quietly, watching him turn away as he began to clack at his keyboard with excitement. He stopped abruptly and faced me after hearing my words.

"I won’t lie. What you did was extremely dangerous and quite frankly a bit stupid." he started, and I frowned. There it was. The line that I had been hoping so badly to avoid.

"Right. I’m sorr-"

"You didn't let me finish. It was stupid, but you did what you thought was right, and no one can ever fault you for that. And Deadpool? The man’s an idiot, leave it to him to get himself killed with a stunt like this."

I blinked in confusion.

"Do you know Deadpool?"

"I know lots of people, Nina. What I'm trying to say is...don't blame yourself for something that was already written in the cards. Hell, give it some time, you might even see him walking around next week." he added with a casual shrug before returning to his typing, as if what he said didn’t just tear open a whole new set of questions. 

My confusion only deepened. Was he on drugs?

"You did hear the part where I said he got ripped in half, right?" Bambi asked point-blank, her expression matching mine. 

"I've seen heroes reappear from worse scenarios, if you would call him that, to begin with," he added sourly before Bambi and I shared a look with one another. Renato had a fascinating habit of keeping his private life well...private. Before I could even open my mouth to ask the question that we were both desperate to get an answer to he turned to me and shook his head. “No, I will not tell you which superheroes I’ve worked with or what happened to them.”

“Oh come on!” I protested as he stood from his chair, ignoring me to saunter over to the bag where our food once lay. He picked up the smaller decorated bag Mr. Basil had gifted us earlier and held it out in my direction.

“Up for feeding Levi tonight?” Renato suddenly asked as if to steer me away from my curious questions and anxieties. 

I blinked in surprise. The only thing Renato valued more than cleanliness and science was that cuttlefish, the cuttlefish that I had only ever watched him feed from afar because he didn’t trust others to do it.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up this chance.

“S-sure!” I said, now hurrying to take the bag from his hand before he could object. His tank sat in the corner near Renato’s desk so that he could always keep an eye on him while he worked. Today was no different as I realized it had been here all along, I just hadn’t noticed it with all the chaos going on. I kneeled down to examine the brightly lit tank, being met with various colorful corals and rocks before seeing a small crustacean drift out from a small cave amidst the rocks. It must have known it was feeding time, or maybe it just wanted to greet me, because it very casually floated to the front of the glass where I pressed my face with joy. It was a small, plump little creature that’s little maroon body swayed to and fro with the water as it inspected me.

Renato clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Face off the glass, you’ll smudge it.” he frowned while grabbing for his trusty cleaning cloth for such an occasion and I scowled.

“YoU’lL sMuDgE iT,” I mocked before opening the small bag, being greeted with fresh shrimp that squirmed to life as I grabbed one and hastily tossed it into the tank. Leviathan usually was quick to zip through the water to catch its prey, but today he waited patiently for it to fall before consuming it whole. 

I frowned. “What’s wrong little guy? Not hungry today?”

"He's...just getting up in age now. After all, they only live to be about 2 years old."

“They what?” I asked incredulously. He narrowed his eye at me skeptically.

"Did you listen at all when I explained the lifespan of a cuttlefish?"

“Uhm, yeah! Of course I did,” 

I did not. Death was suddenly everywhere and it rattled me to my core. Renato must have noticed this because he went back to pinching the bridge of his nose delicately and sighing.

“This is exactly why I wasn’t going to bring it up,”

“So what, you were going to just have him die and then tell me?”

“Now hold on-”

“You really don’t have a leg to stand on for this one, Professor,” Bambi called as I started past him to gather my things. I knew he hadn’t meant it intentionally, but my nerves were shot and I suddenly wanted to leave before any other bad news came my way. Bam followed suit and began collecting her things as well. Renato watched us with concern slowly etching onto his face before he began digging around his lab coats pockets for what I assumed were keys.

“Hold on, let me drive you two home.”

“We’ll be fine,” I muttered, trying to head towards the door.

He grabbed my shoulder gently to try and hold me back.

“Nina please, it’s not safe out-”

“Back off!” I shouted, shaken by my own words. Even he looked startled and quickly removed his hand from me with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. It’s just...been a long day and I just want to go home. We’ll be safe, I promise.” I added, shoving my hands deep into my hoodie as he nodded reluctantly.

He looked like he wanted to comfort me, do something to make this situation better. Instead, he uttered a faint ‘Be careful, and text me when you get home!’ as we left. The halls were now silent as everyone else had left for home, my thoughts wandering back to the janitor that had acted so strange earlier and I shivered. I had never seen him before, which wasn’t unusual in this building, but that smile…

I shook my suspicions away as we ran into Barry once more at the exit. He offered to walk us to my Vespa but I politely declined.

Bambi and I stood in a heavy silence shortly after as I handed her my helmet for the ride home. Instead, I felt her hands wrap around my waist and hug me tight. She was shaking.

“Nina, I am so, so sorry...If it hadn’t been for what I said-”

“Bam stop,” I interrupted gently, feeling her head press into my back. “I wanted to do it, and if I hadn’t it might have been both of them instead of just…” I trailed, unable to finish my sentence. I didn’t even know if Spiderman was still alive, we hadn’t bothered checking the news while in the lab. For I knew he was…

“I can’t do this again…” I whispered, her grasp around me growing a little tighter at my words.

“Please don’t do this again. The thought of losing you…” she admitted, her voice becoming thick as the words left her mouth. We stood in silence like this for a few moments before recollecting ourselves and riding home. The trip back was a little longer than I expected, forced to take detours due to the rampage from earlier that destroyed the usual way. My stomach did somersaults as we briefly passed a section that, despite the darkness, had deep stains of blood settled into the pavement that made me feel sick. Bambi’s grip around my waist grew tighter as we passed it and I knew she had seen as well. I grimaced, the faint hope that this was all in my head crushed at her response.

By the time we got back to the dorms it was a ghost town. Usually, by now there was at least the random group of students heading off to the bars or parties. Or a student rushing by stocked to the brim with art supplies to get work done in one of the studios.

Tonight there was nothing.

"Must have been an early curfew since it was so close to the school..." Bambi whispered as if reading my thoughts. We both pulled our phones out to find a series of text messages and missed calls, but one, in particular, we had both missed. In bold flashing red letters was a caution with the following text beneath:

!EMERGENCY! 

Early curfew is now in effect. 

Due to the recent attack of a criminal still on the loose, curfew now begins at 9 PM. 

Updates will be released when more information is provided. 

Do NOT go out alone until further notice.

“Criminal is still on the loose...?” Bambi whispered in horror, a jolt of ice-cold fear stabbing my stomach as I read over the words. We shared a look of unease before rushing into the dorms, like everything would be alright once we were back home. Anything to escape the oncoming realization that my fears of Spiderman’s safety were becoming a reality. Or that if the criminal was still loose it could very well have been looking for the idiot that had tried to take it on.

Again I ask, what was I thinking?

We crashed into our dorm to find a tall, lanky woman pacing before us in the entrance. Her blue eyes widened in relief at the sight of us and she pulled us both into a tight hug. 

“Oh thank god,” she said just above a whisper. Above me, Benni Banks’ worried gaze looked down at Bambi and me who had been smooshed against her chest like the worried mother hen that she was. Her once perfectly parted black and yellow hair now rest in a mess as if she had been constantly running her hands through it and her once pale face was red. 

Behind her on my bed sat Ava who started toward us in large, quick strides, a flurry of Spanish curses trailing behind her.

“You fucking moron, what were you thinking!” she asked angrily, cupping my face in her hands as she inspected me. Her eyes were puffy and face flushed as if she had been crying heavily. Another feeling of intense guilt struck me at this, realizing just how stupid I had been to put myself in this situation, but also my friends. I looked away in shame as she wrapped me in a tight embrace, a small sob escaping her in the process. I wrapped my arms around her gently and frowned.

“I’m so sorry…” I managed to whisper before finding my own tears begin to spill out, my composure gone once more. Being confronted with those who had spent hours worrying was bringing it into sharper focus, and I felt terrible for it. What would they have told my friends if that creature had succeeded in eating me? My parents? I shook my head to dismiss the thought before it swallowed me up again and released myself from Ava’s hold, desperate to take a shower.

I didn’t want to think anymore.

I just wanted this nightmare to be over.

[marvelmadam08]

A Winter’s Song

Chapter 2/?

Warnings: Bucky's dirty imagination.

Synopsis: Sky just witnessed her friend Leona being murdered and Bucky takes her from the scene of the crime.

~~~~

Sky paced along the one-way mirror, she'd been waiting for who knows how long, in the small gray room. She woke up dazed and in need of a bathroom.

"Hey!" She banged on the mirror "If I'm not under arrest, which I highly doubt by the way that guy grabbed me, you can't keep me here against my will!"

"I know you can hear me."

The door to the room opened, Sky stared down the looming bald man with the eye patch. He wore a leather coat despite being inside and he had a file tucked under his arm.

"Could you kindly step away from the mirror, we just had it fixed." He slammed the door behind him and gestured to the table in the middle of the room "Please sit."

"Please bite me." Sky scrunched her nose up

"Suit yourself." He sat in one of the chairs and opened the file in his hands "Skylar Russo, you go by Lilah at the club where you work. Tell me how a nice girl from Martha's vineyard ends up working in a nightclub run by one of the most powerful mafia families in New York?"

"I don't. I don't work for the mafia." Sky shook her head

"I'm afraid you do sweetheart, does the name Kyle Champion ring any bells?"

"He's my boss."

"Sources tell me you're a lot closer than that."

"Your sources can kiss my ass. Kyle is my boss, who just happens to be interested in me. But I don't mix business with pleasure."

"Well your boss is running quite the operation, him and his brother and sister. The Champion siblings have been in charge of downtown New York for years, shipping drugs, weapons and who knows what else through their businesses." The man told you sternly

"They run a family owned nightclub. Their father-"

"Did the same thing, Imus Champion use to be the biggest mafia boss known to man."

"Then why haven't I heard of him?"

"He moves in secret. When you have half the tri-state area and Detroit looking for your head on a platter, you develop a habit to work under the radar."

Sky rolled her eyes. She couldn't picture her bosses being the type of people who ran an illegal drug cartel, and who threw one of the dancers a surprise birthday party just a last month. But then she started to see the small slips, the hushed conversations, random times when Kyle or Jason would show up with bruises on their face, claiming it was from a rowdy customer who didn't like his bar tab or some other excuse. Seeing Leona being gunned down made Sky's body run cold.

"Why did they kill her?" She shuddered and slowly made her way to the seat across from the man "Leona is...was my friend."

"Leona, was investigating the club, hoping to expose them and their dirty deals. She was there to collect intel on what she uncovered."

"She worked for you?" Sky's eyes narrowed "You got her killed?"

"Agent Miller knew what the job came with."

"So you did get her killed?"

"Miss Russo we're getting off topic-"

"I'm not saying anything else until I get my lawyer in here." She crossed her arm over her chest

"That's not how this works."

"I don't give a damn, get me my lawyer and show me to the bathroom."

"Is this a joke?"

"Wait and find out, but I'm not above going on this floor." Sky knew she was bluffing, and she'd probably give in if the option of using the bathroom was used against her, but she figured they needed her or else they wouldn't have kept her alive.

"Barnes!"

A few seconds pass before the door opens again, Sky's breathing catches when the man from the bar walks through. His hair wasn’t slicked back to his head anymore, but messy and framed his face, almost making his eyes seem darker. His all black suit was traded in for black jeans and a plain white t-shirt underneath a black jacket. He stared at Sky for only a few seconds before turning to the man who called him in.

“Yes Director Fury?”

Sky almost immediately recognized his voice as the man who kidnapped her from the club after Leona was shot.

“Please escort our latest guest to the restroom please.” Fury gestured to Sky “I’d hate for her to have to use the floor.”

Sky shot up from her seat and stormed out the room only for Bucky to catch her by the arm and steer her in the opposite direction.

"It's this way." He pointed

"Oh." Sky huffed and continued to let herself be led to the restroom. "You took me from the club. Why? You gonna kill me?"

Bucky glared down at Sky for a moment and swallowed hard.

"No."

"Is someone going to kill me? I witnessed a murder, shouldn't there be a program I'm in, to protect my location? Did you put a tracker on me?"

"Just use the bathroom." He gently pushed her towards the door

"You're not gonna follow me in?"

"It's the women's restroom." He simply stated

"A kidnapper that's a gentleman? I think I've seen everything now." Sky slammed the door behind her, the first things her eyes land on is a small window over the sink

Climbing up onto the sink Sky worked the latch as quietly as possible and pushed the window open. "Excellent." She started to pull herself up through the frame, crawling along the concrete on the other side. Half through the frame of the window caught her by the hips, keeping hey lower half from getting past it.

"'Do squats, get a bigger butt.' Sure why not. Last time I listen to my mother." Sky tried to wiggle herself free

"Um. Excuse me." Bucky tapped Sky on her leg "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were escaping."

"Correction, all women use the bathroom like this."

"I know it doesn't feel like it but you're safer with us than on your own." Bucky tells Sky while silently admiring her ass. She had on a short skirt, giving him a slight peak of the pink lace panties she had on. He licked his lips, imagining pulling them down her thighs with his teeth before diving between her legs, having her squirm under his hands while he licked at her cunt.

Sky's leg kicked Bucky in his chest, bringing him back to reality

"I said okay, I'll stay here." She repeats, the first time going unheard, and kicks her leg again "Are you gonna help me out?"

"Yeah, sure thing doll." Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist, his face right next to her ass, silently debating if he should take her up on the offer to kiss it like she said earlier, and gently pulled her out the window; draping her over his shoulder. "Back to the boss."

"Wait, I really do need to use the bathroom."

[zerochanges]

50 Years of Dororo - Mushi Pro’s Dororo 1969 vs Studio Mappa’s Dororo 2019

2019 marks the 50th anniversary of Mushi Pro’s Dororo anime adaptation, the last anime to be made solely in black and white. The 1969 original Dororo anime is a cult classic, with high accolades from the diehard community and still holds up incredibly well to this day. Yet that didn't stop Studio Mappa from creating their own adaptation of the manga, which has finally released just this week. So the real question is, how do the two of them compare--well let’s get into it.

But first, a little background. The original Dororo manga, created by prolific manga creator Osamu Tezuka, ran in Weekly Shonen Sunday for about one year, from August 1967 to July 1968, where it then entered a hiatus for a brief period, before finally shifting to the Monthly Adventure King magazine in 1969 where it was serialized for about 6 months (May to October ‘69) and finally “concluded”. I say concluded but the manga mostly just abruptly stops before the characters accomplish any of their own goals, and things are more or less just left open in case Tezuka ever wanted to come back to the series (he didn't). Despite this Dororo has remained to be an incredibly beloved property by Tezuka and seen its fair share of retellings and adaptations from video games to live action films, and of course to anime.

So now let’s talk anime. The original 1969 adaptation of Dororo was created by Mushi Pro, Tezuka’s own animation studio that he started half a decade back in 1963, and as said above was the last anime to be created solely in black and white. By this point in time color TVs were finally becoming widespread in Japan, and most anime have already started to be created in color. This was not an easy process, and was more time consuming for the production, which is why the decision was made by Mushi Pro to stick to the work pipeline they had and produce Dororo in black and white, a decision that really went on to define the entire series. Mushi Pro's Dororo has a very crisp look, with some great animation for its era, but beyond that also manages some incredibly terrifying and equally breathtaking moments because of its beautiful artwork mixed with the black and white aesthetic. There’s just something about black and white, the atmosphere it creates is otherworldly, ask any movie buff and they’ll tell you the effects it has on the horror genre is undeniable. I think these late black and white 1960 era anime hold up so incredibly well, and may in fact be even creepier nowadays (the 1968 GeGeGe no Kitaro comes to mind). 

Dororo (1969) episode 4: The Scroll of Bandai Part 2

Time marches on however, and after 50 years it’s time for another studio to take a swing at Dororo. Mappa is a small animation studio established in 2011, founded by Masao Maruyama, producer and co-founder of Madhouse, who left Madhouse to pursue his own passions and took some staff with him. Maruyama would later leave Mappa in 2016 unfortunately, but the studio to this day has still been producing hits since. The staff behind their current Dororo adaptation is helmed by Kazuhiro Furuhashi as director, Satoshi Iwataki as character designer, Yasuko Kobayashi in charge of scripts, and Yoshihiro Ike composing the music. Background animation is handled by Studio Pablo. Dororo is produced by Twin Engine, a production company with its main focus being the creators of the medium. Founded by Kouji Yamamoto, Twin Engine wishes to let young artist focus on creating anime, ignoring popular trends instead pursuing only the art of the medium; often commissioning work from studios to keep them financially afloat. Dororo, like a large majority of Twin Engine produced series, streams worldwide on Amazon Prime.

My final aside before diving into some thoughts on how both adaptations compare is that when it comes to adapting Tezuka’s iconic designs to the form of animation there are often changes made. The more Disney-esque look of his drawings can be hard to pull off for action animation, and well, giant noses, and bushy mustaches are well and good, but when you’re trying to sell hideous monsters chomping people into bits, maybe they are not that fitting for this story. That’s why both the 1969 Mushi Pro and 2019 Mappa series have their own takes on the design of the characters. Mushi Pro sorta goes for making protagonist Hyakkimaru more buff, and adult looking, whereas Mappa makes their Hyakkimaru slim and more ikemen. I think both approaches work fine for the story at hand, and are interesting time capsules of themselves for their own eras.

So let’s compare the first episode of both series!

Both episodes start in a similar fashion, with Feudal Lord Daigo Kagemitsu making a deal to 48 Demons and sacrificing his then unborn son in the process. However even this early on we can see differences between the two adaptations. 

In the 1969 Mushi Pro version Daigo willingly offers up his own son to the demons, and does so for power, asking them to grant him all of Japan under his rule, whereas in the 2019 Mappa version Daigo only offers the demons anything they want in return, never directly giving them his own son, and asks for the demons to give him the power and prestige he will need to rule over Japan. 

At first I felt that Mappa may have made Daigo a bit more sympathetic, him seemingly asking for his own province to be granted protection from disease, famine, and war is certainly something we haven’t seen out of the character, but were perks he does enjoy later in the story regardless. As I ruminated on it however, I realized it’s more of an attempt to round out his character and add some extra depth to him. Sure those may have been great things for a Feudal Lord to ask for, but Daigo really only cares about one thing, and that’s ruling Japan; this has yet to change. Daigo still has no qualms about his own son Hyakkimaru being born a hideous freak and still throws away the newborn baby to die in some river while yelling at his wife to make another one to replace it.

One Buddhist monk starves to death while bemoaning the state of Japan while another is slain and bemoans the current state of affairs in Japan

Then there’s Daigo killing a Buddhist monk. This scene does not exist in the 1969 Mushi Pro version (but Daigo does murder the monk albeit under different circumstances in the manga) and I have quite a bit to say about that. Daigo’s conversation with this monk, again, shows him off to be a bit more well rounded. He’s still selling his soul to the devil, but we can see his own level of commitment to his ambition when talking to the monk. The monk also plays another role that mirrors Mushi Pro’s first episode. In Mushi Pro’s debut episode Dororo comes across a starving Buddhist monk that can do nothing but beg for food and pray, and eventually succumbs to his starvation and dies. Both monks remark about the horrors of the current sengoku era being like Hell on Earth, and are meant to communicate to the audience that this particular time in Japanese history is perhaps one of the cruelest. 

1969 or 2019, Daigo is still a dirt-bag and makes his wife suffer.

Let’s talk about Hyakkimaru’s birth as I think it’s a pretty interesting contrast between these two adaptations. In the 1969 Mushi Pro version Daigo already knows his son should be born a monster so upon seeing the hideous freak that is his baby boy, he proudly declares “My end of the bargain is fulfilled!” The demons have accepted Daigo’s offer and he can’t be happier. In the 2019 Mappa version Daigo is not aware of what the demons will take until a bolt of lighting strikes the room his wife is giving birth in. Upon seeing the baby up close (something not seen in the 1969 version until the second episode) Daigo realizes what has happened and orders the baby killed. We then get a conversation about a Buddhist statue that happened to break in the same room. The wet nurse believes it sacrificed itself in order to save the baby, giving a sorta strange implication that perhaps the deal wasn't to take 48 body parts from Hyakkimaru but to take everything from him, including his life. In fact we never really even establish if there are 48 demons, or 48 body parts missing, so the number may vary, and the kind of curse could be different. If that is true, it is certainly a unique approach to the series.

The image of baby Hyakkimaru from Mushi Pro's 1969 Dororo adaptation is taken from the second episode as it was not shown in the first episode.

Hyakkimaru’s birth between the two versions shows how both mirror each other--we have less subtle writing but more subtle animation in the 1969 Mushi Pro adaptation, and more subtle writing but super over-the-top animation in the 2019 Mappa adaptation. I find this maybe the best way to compare these two anime entirely so far. There is no huge lightning bolt smiting the room Daigo’s wife is giving birth in with the Mushi Pro version, instead you hear the mother scream in terror upon Hyakkimaru's birth as she breaks down and cries. Daigo and his wife's expressions of horror at the baby is the only clear indication of Hyakkimaru's hideousness instead of just showing the baby like Mappa did. But the Mappa version is trying to give some more depth to its characters, and maybe even to its own world with added bits such as the Buddhist statue maybe protecting Hyakkimaru. Both adaptations seems to have reverse on what they want to be subtle about and what they want to be over-the-top about.

In the 1969 Mushi Pro version Daigo and his wife send Hyakkimaru down the river in a basket themselves, where as in the 2019 Mappa version Daigo orders the wet nurse to drown Hyakkimaru in the river, but she pities the baby and places him in an abandoned boat then pushes it down the stream. And then a demon shows up and murders her out of nowhere and is slain by the blind monk Zato (a character that didn't appear until Hyakkimaru narrates his past to Dororo a little later in the story). Yeah, that was a really weird addition to the story Mappa made. It’s certainly more over-the-top and gets a bit more action into an episode that amounts to basically all set-up, so there is that, I guess. Still really weird to see Zato show up like this.

Both Zato and Jukai don't make their introduction until Hyakkimaru explains his past to Dororo in the second episode of the 1969 Mushi Pro Dororo.

Speaking of adding in characters earlier than before, Mappa included scenes that would interrupt the episode every now and again that focus on a doctor who gives prosthetics to dead maimed warriors so they can rest in peace. These scenes did not exist in the 1969 Mushi Pro version, which didn't show Jukai until episode 2 where it tells the story of how he saved a baby in the river he found, Hyakkimaru, and gave it prosthetics.

The introduction to Dororo is pretty similar in both versions, but more drawn out in the 1969 Mushi Pro adaptation. As discussed above with Daigo and the Buddhist monk, there was a scene where a starving monk begs Dororo for food before succumbing to his own starvation and dying, this was not present in the 2019 Mappa adaptation. Dororo gets more time to just do some general hijinks and mess around in town in Mushi Pro's version as well, before finally stealing food from some lowlifes and getting the crap kicked out of him by the riverbank.

In the Mappa version instead of stealing food from lowlifes Dororo steals their cargo and tries to pawn it but is caught then beaten at the riverbank. I imagine Mappa was just trying to streamline Dororo's introduction here for time constraints so they did their best to get across that he’s a thief while also making sure he ends up at the riverbank right away. Either way both adaptations lead to this slime looking monster appearing out of a pile of garbage in the river and eating the lowlife. Mappa’s more over the top animation has the monster swinging around its arms wildly until eventually grabbing said lowlife and making a snack out of him, where Mushi Pro has it slowly slither on top of the lowlife and then melts him. Ouch, that’s kinda way more messed up.

The lowlife gets melted by the monster in the manga too.

From this point on both adaptations are pretty much entirely the same, with just differences in animation quality being really all there is to comment on. The fight scene between Hyakkimaru and the slime in Mappa’s version is fantastic, with Hyakkimaru performing incredible acrobatics, jumping all around the bridge and slicing the whole thing up until it collapses on top of the slime killing it, where Mushi Pro … well they did their best, okay.

The real big difference is that Dororo seems a lot more intelligent when approaching Hyakkimaru in the 2019 Mappa version. Dororo was very quick to notice that Hyakkimaru is blind, and that his body is made up of mostly prosthetics. The 1969 Mushi Pro Dororo ends up getting terrified in the very next episode upon the realization that Hyakkimaru’s eyes are fake (he admittedly popped his glass eyes out of his head though to scare Dororo away).

The 2019 Mappa version has it that the riverbank monster was apparently one of the 48 demons Hyakkimaru needed to slay in order to regain his body parts, this one giving him back his skin. Hyakkimaru was actually born with his skin in the 1969 Mushi Pro version (as well as in the manga), and the monster was not the first demon he needed to kill but just a run-of-the-mil yokai that awarded him no regenerated body parts. Hyakkimaru actually worded it as "the dead", which have no true shape of their own and just latch onto anything, in this case the garbage in the river--thus making the slime monster we saw. Again I think Mappa was trying to kill two birds with one stone and get the audience acquainted with the series quicker since the general plot is essentially Hyakkimaru slays monster, Hyakkimaru grows back lost body part. This was a good way to streamline things, and it was with a body part that he wasn't missing before so it takes away nothing from later parts of the story.

And this is the biggest difference right here at the end of the episode, Hyakkimaru has yet to talk. He may not be able to speak at all until he’s slain enough demons to get this ability back. The Mappa version has so far seemed to point to Hyakkimaru being mute, deaf and blind, and completely cut off from the world. The Mushi Pro version had Hyakkimaru lack his eyeballs, his mouth, and his ears, but he could still speak and hear (just like in the manga). I always assumed it was just his outer ear missing but he still had all his inner ear like his eardrums, and well, you can talk without lips, so there was that too. The Mappa version seems to fully commit to Hyakkimaru being born without all his senses, and if it’s true it will be a super interesting take on the character to be sure. It will also be hard to pull off considering how much he speaks in the original story; he's a very vocal character, so if it is true, until he regains his ability to speak Dororo has to be the one to carry the duo in conversations entirely now which will lead to major shake-ups in the plot.

What do you think of the newest anime adaptation of Dororo. Are you excited to see the classic come back for modern times? Do you wish it was more like the manga or are you enjoying all these attempts to create something more modern with the source material? Do you think Hyakkimaru will speak in the next episode or do you think he's actually going to start the show as a mute? Are you looking forward to keeping up with this new adaptation of Dororo?

PS - Shout out to Mappa for putting a dog into their first episode that resembles Nota, the mascot character invented for the 1969 Mushi Pro series in a vain attempt to prevent the children that were watching it from being emotionally scarred (it probably didn't).