#made a second one too but it’s less funny but more unhinged. perhaps i will post it someday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

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I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness” even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”. Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace.

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.

#taylor swift #folklore

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harrylee94 · 4 years ago

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Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 3

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they’ve been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can’t help but feel he’s done this before…

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: This was so difficult to write, partly because I got a job, but mostly because it was emotionally draining.

For those of you who don’t know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

Link to; Part 1 Part 2

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 3: Log Entry #3

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:02 AM

Logan hit the ground with a pained grunt, his shoulder having hit the ground much too hard, and he pushed and rolled himself across it until he’d plastered himself to Remus’s side. He was warm and real and here and now he was holding him. Logan curled into his chest and gripped at the skin-tight suit that Remus was wearing, stretching the fabric but not bringing himself to care as he listened to the beating of his heart.

“You only get like this after something so shitty happens that you can’t logic your way out of it,” Remus said, his fingers gently rubbing circles into Logan’s scalp.

He hummed.

“... You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Logan smiled. This is why he loved him. Remus was loud, he was gross and he was strange, his ideas bordered on the demented at times, he was intrusive and annoying… but he was also spontaneous and accepting. He could be quiet when it was needed, and he would listen with his full attention (provided he had something to keep his hands busy). He understood more than his first impression led people to believe, and he would protect Logan with everything he had.

Tears ran down Logan’s cheeks as he thought of his body, shredded and so completely empty on the ground, and he choked on a sob at the thought of him dying alone.

“Hey,” Remus said, his voice soft as he rubbed Logan’s back. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Logan shook his head. “No. No it’s not.”

“Why not?”

Logan shook his head again, curling further into a ball atop him. “You… I wasn’t there.”

“Weren’t where?”

“With you.” He could remember that focus, running to the reactor, forgetting everything else. Forgetting Remus. “I left you!”

“Hey, no, I’m right here,” Remus said, kissing Logan’s hair, but Logan was all but sobbing now. “It’s okay, Ana-Logie. I’m here now.”

“But you won’t be, because I’ll leave, or I’ll look away for a second, and you’ll… you’ll…”

“Breathe,” Remus told him, pushing them both upright and cradling Logan in his lap. “Like you taught me, remember? In for four. Hold for seven. That’s it. And out for eight.”

Logan shook as he followed Remus’s instructions, struggling against his emotions, but gently, over time, they calmed to a more manageable level and his grip on Remus’s clothes loosened.

“Good,” the moustached man said, continuing to rub circles into his hair and back. “Just keep breathing.”

The scientist nodded numbly against his chest and relaxed into his hands until his shaking ceased. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Remus interrupted. “Not unless it’s the sexy kind!”

Logan chuckled and set his head against Remus’s shoulder, looking up at him as he wiped at his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Remus replied, though he looked a little surprised. He had every right to be, considering Logan didn’t say those three words very often, and to have done so unprompted was unusual. “What is it? What happened?”

“You won’t believe me,” Logan said, running lines down Remus’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Try me.”

Of all the people who were with him on this shuttle, Remus was the one who would be the most likely to believe him. Not that that was any guarantee that he would. He had already wasted time with his emotional state though, so perhaps he should keep the explanation short. “... Groundhog Day meets The Thing and I’m Phil.”

Remus blinked at him a few times before his face fell. “What?”

“This… This is the third time I’ve woken up in that cryopod,” Logan said. “You’ve fallen out of your pod three times. And… and we’ve all…” He stopped, looking away. He shouldn’t have said anything. Remus didn’t believe him, and it would have been better if-

“Died?”

Remus’s soft tone -- no, more than that, it had an edge of anger, and fear -- made him turn back. There was no disbelief in his eyes, no hint of criticism or of simply trying to appease him. It almost made him tear up again, but he kept it down and nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“... I died.”

Logan nodded again.

“We all died?”

Another nod.

Remus hummed and stroked his cheek. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

Logan’s hope crumpled and he pulled away, or at least he tried to. “Let me go.”

“No,” Remus said, holding him tighter to his chest.

“Let me go!” he exclaimed, kicking out.

“Logan, stop!” Remus cried, struggling with him. “I believe you!”

He paused. “You think it was a dream.”

“You wouldn’t have reacted like this if you didn’t know that it was real.”

“... You insulted me to check if I was genuine.”

Remus shrugged. “You don’t make up stuff like this, but we did just get out of modified freezers after sleeping for years.”

“A fair point,” Logan granted with a blush. It wasn’t like him to overlook something so simple as proof. He blamed his high emotions. “It could still be affecting me.”

“Might be,” Remus said. “Do you think it is?”

Logan frowned. “It felt so real…”

“Then it’s real until we know it isn’t,” Remus said with a decisive nod. “You said it was like The Thing?”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:57 AM

Strangely, Remus’s questioning had actually been quicker than the distractions he usually pulled, the kisses and delaying tactics replaced with hugs and supportive mutterings, and now the two of them were heading into the depressurisation chamber. Remus was holding both of their helmets so Logan could more properly look at his tablet, trying to find any clue in the messages they received from the construction crew of what it was that had caused this loop, or at least what these creatures were, but there had been nothing.

“And our fearless leader arrives!”

Logan looked up from the tablet to find Roman stood in the middle of the room, arms stretched out in a flamboyant and unnecessary manner.

“Aw, bro!” Remus exclaimed in return, stretching his own arms out in a mirror image of his brother. “I never thought you’d admit my superior leading skills.” He grinned as Roman physically stepped away from him with a look of disgust.

“He was talking about Logan, you unhinged octopus,” Virgil said, though he sounded more playful than biting.

Remus gasped dramatically. “How did you know I loved cephalopods?”

Both Logan and Virgil rolled their eyes and Logan nudged his partner with his elbow. “This is not how I was hoping to start the conversation.”

Remus had the courtesy to look at least a little chastised and he stepped back, allowing Logan to take the place of the ‘fearless leader’, as Roman had put it, though he was definitely not fearless so he wasn’t sure why he had said that.

“As we are all here,�� he began, looking around at each of them, noting how they were all more or less where they usually were, though he did make a note that Virgil’s previous panic attacks had probably been brought on by his tardiness, “I have some news. Now please keep an open mind as I know that what I am about to say will sound rather fantastical, but I assure you that I am speaking the truth.” The others looked at him in confusion, as he’d expected they would, and he took a stabilising breath. “I have lived through this day twice, and we have all died, both times.”

The air was heavy with the silence that followed, and he tried to hold strong, but he could see the disbelief in their eyes.

“Did Green put you up to this?” Orange asked with a snort.

“That’s not funny,” Virgil muttered, and Patton moved to comfort him, sending Logan a worried look.

“What proof do you have?” Janus asked, looking amused.

“... None,” Logan admitted quietly.

“That’s because this is a useless charade,” Janus said with a wave of his hand, rising to feet. “As entertaining as it is to see you try to make a joke, perhaps next time make it something more believable.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Logan said, but even Roman had turned away. “This is serious!”

“Whatever, Blue,” Orange said, slipping his tablet into its pouch. “Can we just get started?”

Logan’s shoulders fell. He should have known that this would happen. Remus was one thing, but everyone else? He could see them losing their faith in his abilities, in his cognitive functions. His leadership was now under question.

“Are you serious?”

Logan almost jumped when Remus stepped past him, helmets now set aside, and he looked ready to tear someone limb from limb.

“Logan doesn’t lie, not even for jokes,” Remus said, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s trying to warn you guys about something and you just dismiss it outright? What the fuck?”

“Rem, don’t try it, alright?” Roman said, stepping forwards to meet him, eyebrow raised and arms folded across his chest. “It’s sweet that you’re defending him and all, but we all know the effects of prolonged stasis.”

“We know you probably didn’t mean anything by it, Logan,” Patton said, “but-”

“He’s not lying!” Remus exclaimed, but no one was listening. “Come on! Janus!”

The man in yellow sighed. “Just get your helmet on.”

Their words stung, but Logan knew that if their positions had been reversed he would have thought the same thing. “Remus.” The man turned back to him. “It… It was a dream.”

“Logie…”

“It’s fine,” Logan said with a forced smile. “They’re right. We should just get on with things. We’re on a tight enough schedule as it is.”

Remus gave him a look that should have meant tears, he could see the heartbreak in his eyes, but he stepped closer and took Logan’s face in his hand to press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. “I believe you,” he whispered, “even if they don’t. I will always believe you.”

Logan smiled, comforted by the support even though he knew it wasn’t enough now. “Let’s get through this.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:15 AM

Virgil, Janus and Orange had all headed off in the same directions they had the previous times they had entered this place, their expertise leading them to very specific locations, but Roman had decided to go to Shields while Patton accompanied Virgil in the Medbay, something that Logan would not have chosen but they had all decided to make the decision themselves, since they ‘wanted Logan to take it easy’. In other words, they had decided that Logan’s skills and intelligence had been compromised.

Remus, who would have usually headed straight to the central control panel in the Weapons room, had been helping Logan sort out the oxygen filter, and they were now sitting side by side, the tasks in the room complete and their helmets resting in their laps.

“They weren’t going to believe us,” Logan was saying. “When it comes to anything outside of my area of expertise they don’t listen. The only reason I was named leader was because I knew so much about the mission. Roman probably would have been chosen otherwise.”

“That princess wouldn’t know the first thing about leading a mission like this,” Remus said with a snort. “He’d have led us all into a black hole to be strung out into wires thinner than a hair, or crashed us into an asteroid, or a planet. Maybe even a star.”

“He’s not quite as bad as that,” Logan said with a chuckle. “He’s actually quite competent, when he needs to be.”

“Well they’re still all a burning bag of dicks for not listening.”

Logan hummed. “We might have scared Virgil enough to keep him from entering, and maybe even Patton, but everyone else… Even proof wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but instead puffed out his cheeks and slunk further down against the wall, releasing the air as a fart noise. “Our friends suck.”

“They are being practical,” Logan pointed out. “If this were any other situation I would commend them for not trusting my word.”

“But it’s not any other situation.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It fucking sucks worse than an elephant giving you a wet willy.”

“... Elephants don’t have fingers.”

Remus shrugged and leaned into Logan’s side to rest his head on his shoulder, which was enough of an invitation for Logan to rest his own on top.

“You said it was Orange first, right?”

“I did.”

“Do you want to see if we can try and save him?”

Logan turned his head to regard his partner more critically, but, again, he seemed entirely genuine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:22 AM

“I really don’t need any help,” Orange said as he continued to work on the reactor. “Aren’t there any other tasks that need doing? I’m sure the list was long enough to keep us all busy for several more hours yet.”

“There certainly is an abundance of tasks that need to be done,” Logan agreed, fingers twitching with the need to adjust his glasses but he and Remus had donned their helmets again before they had left the oxygen room. “However, I believe it would be more… socially fulfilling if we completed tasks together.”

“He means it’ll be more fun if we worked together,” Remus said, though why he felt the need to clarify, Logan was unsure.

Orange hummed. “Well, I’ll be needing some fuel soon, and I think I saw the tank in Storage,” he said, closing a panel and pressing a few buttons. “If you get me about ten gallons then I’ll have this done in no time.”

“Great!” Remus exclaimed and grabbed Logan’s hand to pull him away before the scientist had a chance to protest. “We’ll be back before you can say ‘mouldy entrails’!”

“Whatever,” Orange said, still concentrating on the panel before him.

“I thought we were going to stay close to him,” Logan said once they were out of earshot.

Remus shrugged. “You said he always died in Storage.”

“I did.”

“So that means that whatever cuts his chest open does it there.”

“That might be true, but that does not guarantee that it will be the same this time.”

“You said it has the last two.”

They pulled to a stop next to the fuel tank as Logan shook his head.

“Things have already changed,” he said as Remus found an empty fuel container to fill up. “Patton has never gone with Virgil before, Roman hasn’t gone to work on the shields, I’ve never told-”

“Hey, cool your jets, Wall-E,” Remus said, catching Logan’s hands in his before Logan had the chance to pull out his tablet to go over everything he could on there, to find something to try and make some sense out of everything. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll get through this, yeah?”

Logan took a deep breath and nodded.

“Great. Now let’s get this stuff to Orange, yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan agreed and looked around for a second container, only to find the surprising sight of a man in cyan blue stood near the door. “Patton! I thought you were going to stay with Virgil.”

For a moment their navigator said nothing, and Logan started to wonder why he looked so stiff, but then he relaxed, his body language becoming something much more soft and familiar.

“I was, but now we’re waiting for some of the samples to process,” Patton explained. “He’s staying in the Medbay but I wanted to see how everyone was doing! I see you two aren’t fueling around!”

“Yes,” Logan said, unimpressed by the pun, though Remus snickered. “Well, thank you for checking on us.”

“No problem!” Patton said, rocking back on his heels before heading on. “I’ll go check how Janus is doing. See ya!”

“Bye Pat!” Remus called after him with a wave. Logan watched after him with suspicion for a few moments more but still collected the container and brought it back to Remus.

“I think they got him.”

Remus blinked at him. “They who?”

“The… The Things,” Logan replied, unsure what else to call them. He should have thought of it before; it had always been Roman and Virgil, and they had always gone to Medbay. Medbay wasn’t safe, and now Patton had been caught. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Wait, Patton?”

“Yes!”

Remus stared up at him, his eyes growing wide. “Janus.”

They dropped the containers without a second thought and sprinted after Patton, skidding around corners until they reached the Communications room. As luck would have it, Roman had been near the corridor and the commotion had caught his attention.

Patton had turned back to look at them all in surprise, or rather the creature that had taken Patton’s form had, as there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that this wasn’t their lovable father friend anymore. No, this thing’s arms had been buried deep inside of Janus’s chest, one sharp tentacle-like appendage having exited his back with a small number of vertebrae clutched in its grasp, and the other coming out of Janus’s mouth.

Bits of spinal cord dropped to the floor from within the vertebrae, landing with a squelch in a pool of gathering gore, and a few moments later Janus’s limp body joined it. The three of them watched in horrified fascination as the creature’s appendages morphed back into Patton’s suit covered arms, and the blood covering them seeped into the fabric, removing all evidence of the brutal murder it had just commited.

“Whoops,” Thing-Patton said with a shiver inducing smile. “Looks like I should have been more careful!”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:35 AM

Patton was struggling in Remus’s grasp, kicking and wiggling and hissing as everyone left alive stood around the table in the cafeteria. Logan’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since Remus had charged towards the creature that had torn through flesh and bone and tackled it to the ground. He was still holding back his panic at the thought that he was holding it with his bare arms with no protection against being slaughtered in front of everyone.

“What the hell is going on?” Orange demanded, as Remus struggled with Not-Patton for a moment and was forced to push him down against the table. “Green!”

“He… It… The thing that looks like Patton killed Janus!” Roman explained, going to join his brother to hold the Thing down. “We saw it!”

“Let me go!” Not-Patton shouted. “You’re hurting me!”

“What do you mean, ‘Patton killed Janus’?” Virgil asked, looking like he wanted to jump in to help, but Logan had set himself between them. He knew what Virgil had become.

"It's not Patton!" Remus exclaimed grunting when Patton swung his head back into his nose but never once losing his grip. Perhaps all those scraps were good for something after all. "Fuck! He killed Janie! He’s dead! He’s dead God damn it! You tore him to fucking shreds!"

Logan so desperately wanted to go to his side, to wipe the tears that were falling down his cheeks, but he had to stay here. He had to protect them from Virgil too, or all of this would have been for nothing.

“He’s not the one with blood all over him!” Virgil declared, waving at Remus’s gore covered suit. “How do we know it wasn’t you?”

“Purple’s got a point,” Orange conceded with a nod, and Not-Patton smiled.

“Yes! Thank you, Orange!” the creature said, still struggling.

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I don’t know what you are or what you did to Patton, but we saw what you did.”

“But Remus-!” Virgil began but Logan cut him off.

“Do you honestly think that all three of us would lie to you about this?” he asked, waiting for a few moments before continuing when no answer was forthcoming. “I don’t know how, but this… this thing is able to absorb… blood through the suit.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Oh I wish it was.”

Virgil looked between the three of them, looked at Not-Patton who was struggling under the twins’ weight, then over at Orange who was considering Patton with suspicion. “You can’t seriously think they’re telling the truth!”

“All three of them are corroborating the same story,” Orange said.

“Orange, no,” Not-Patton begged, and Logan had to force himself not to look at it when he heard the wetness of its voice. “Please. Please! I didn’t do it!”

Orange’s expression twitched. ��What are we supposed to do with him?”

“Orange!” Virgil cried, but Logan couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“We could throw him out the garbage chute,” Remus suggested as he and Roman kept a tighter hold on the squirming body beneath them.

Roman stared at him. “You want to pull a HAL 9000 and vent him into space?”

“He just tore my best friend up from the inside out in front of our eyes!” Remus all but screamed in his face. “He pushed pieces of his spine out through his back! There were pieces of his liver and pancreas all over the floor! He’s got fucking tentacles for arms!”

Roman continued to stare at him in silence for a few seconds, at his red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, then he nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Orange said, but he also nodded in agreement, though he looked severely conflicted. Not that Logan could blame him; it still looked like Patton after all.

“What?!”

Logan spun around, holding his tablet out in some poor excuse of a shield as Virgil charged at him, only to get pulled to a halt by Orange.

“You’re all crazy!” Virgil screamed at them as Roman and Remus started to drag a wailing Not-Patton towards the garbage chute. “You’re crazy!”

“Logan, the door,” Roman said, and Logan headed to the panel to open it.

The door to the dumping ground hissed open and Not-Patton’s cries only grew in volume as Virgil continued to shout and scream at them to stop. The twins struggled to shove the Thing into the alcove, and it tried to cling onto Roman before Remus batted it away, and then Logan shut the door.

There was a lever that needed to be pulled to activate the venting, one that had to be held down to keep the hatch open, and it burned at Logan’s fingers through the suit. He could hear Not-Patton banging on the doors, Virgil screaming behind him, Roman trying not to throw up as he held back sobs…

“Logan.”

He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, Remus’s hand falling on his shoulder. “I…”

“Let me.”

He shook his head, but still he couldn’t move. He was frozen, stuck, unable and yet knowing he needed to. “I can’t.”

Remus’s hand covered his, fingers curling slowly through his own. “Let me.”

Logan took a deep, shaking breath, forcing the noises around them away, and swallowed as he let his arm drop, leaving only Remus at the lever. Much as Logan had done, Remus hesitated, but it was only that, a hesitation.

The banging fell into silence as the chute emptied, its contents emptying out into the void of space as Remus held the lever for five seconds, ten, twenty…

“Remus,” Logan said softly as he touched his partner’s arm, then up to his wrist until he could peel his fingers from the lever. Once they had come loose it was like a chord had been cut and he dropped to his knees, clutching at Logan’s hand as he held his head with the other.

“I killed him.”

“No!” Logan insisted, kneeling before him to hold him, even as he kept an eye on Virgil, who looked stunned. “That wasn’t Patton anymore. It wasn’t even human.”

Remus choked on his tears and gripped Logan’s back.

“We did the right thing,” Roman said as he slid closer, sliding his fingers into his brother’s hair.

“The right thing sucks,” Remus said into Logan’s shoulder, but eventually raised his head enough to smile at his twin. “Thanks bro.”

“No problem,” Roman said, and he leaned closer to press his forehead to Remus’s.

It was a beautiful moment, one that didn’t happen nearly enough between the siblings, but in the moment of distraction Logan had taken his eye off of Orange and Virgil. He should have known better. He was doing so many things wrong!

Lights flashed overhead, an alarm blared, and all three of them looked up, drawn from their moment of solidarity.

“The reactor,” Orange said and took off running, Virgil following soon after, and Logan scrambled to his feet.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling Remus up. “He’s the other one.”

“What?” Roman said, only to have to catch up with them as they headed towards the reactor. “Other one of what? What are you talking about?”

“It’s the Thing, Roman,” Remus explained simply, “except this time there are two, and we only got one of them.”

“That’s-!” Roman started, only to cut himself off, no doubt thinking of what he’d witnessed. “What are we going to do?”

“Stop him.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:51 AM

They had been too late. Orange had been bleeding out on the floor and Virgil nowhere to be seen when they had arrived, the countdown bringing them closer and closer to the end of everything. They had stabilised the core as quickly as possible, but now they were walking around the station like a tiny waddle of emperor penguins in the dead of winter, jumping at every little sound. Logan was disgusted with himself for making so many mistakes, for not being strong enough to do what had to be done. Now there were only three of them left, and he had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before that number went down to zero.

“He’s got to be in the vents,” Remus said, glaring at the grate in the corner of the cafeteria, shifting the pipe he’d picked up in his hand. “This is turning into an Alien movie.”

“There’s only one or two survivors in most of those!” Roman hissed in complaint. “I’d rather not have that happen. Four is plenty enough already.”

“I don’t think we’ll get much of a choice in that,” Remus said. “Whatever happens, next time, we do something different.”

“Next time?”

Remus looked back at Logan as dread started to build in the scientist’s gut. “Groundhog Day, you said.”

“Remus,” Logan said, reaching for him, and catching his hand.

“If we lose, you have to warn me next time,” he said, only sparing a few moments to watch him before turning back to keep watch. “You have to let me help you, alright? I know what you’re like.” He smirked. “You can be as stubborn as a crocodile chowing down on a wildebeest.”

“This isn’t a game, Remus,” Logan said. “Losing you -- losing any of you -- hurts.”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Roman asked.

“He already told you, and you called him a liar.”

“He…” Roman blinked. “You can’t have lived through today already. That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Logan agreed, “and if I wasn’t living it I would agree with you.”

“But-”

The lights started flashing again.

“Oxygen,” Logan muttered as he looked at the light. “Two locations. We won’t be able to fix it in time if we don’t split up.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll take the one in Admin, you two take the other.”

No. No, he couldn’t let Remus go on his own. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let him die alone. He wouldn’t-

All thoughts in Logan’s head screeched to a halt as Remus pulled him in for a deep, needy kiss. A last kiss.

“I love you,” the love of his life said before he pulled away.

Logan didn’t get the chance to call after him, Roman dragging him towards the oxygen room before he could even breathe. He wouldn’t have been able to say anything though; he felt too numb, knowing Remus was doing this, even though he knew the consequences.

As they entered the room he headed over to the panel next to the filter, entering the code to fix it… and the countdown didn’t stop for a moment.

“... He didn’t make it,” Roman murmured, and as the numbers dropped lower and lower Logan took his hand, squeezing tight as the air thinned, as spots appeared in his vision, as he became dizzy and dropped to his knees. Wheezing, he pressed close to the warm body beside him as consciousness finally slipped through his finger.

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

The light of the cryodeck grew brighter beyond Logan’s closed eyes as he steadily awoke, his fingers curling. He waited in silent hope for several long and dragging seconds until he heard the familiar sound of Remus falling out of the cryotube. He didn’t know whether to laugh in relief or cry, knowing now that he would have to live through everything all over again.

#writing #fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders side fic #sanders sides among us au #among us #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange sanders #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #time loop

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morrigan-writings · 4 years ago

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The God Father

Warning(s): none

A/N: Alright so this is a piece I wrote for an assignment a year ago, and I decided to go ahead and post it here because I was so happy with how it turned out (and I got an A!), and part of me wants to write some little blurbs that continue the concept.

Basically this is a fictional piece based on ACTUAL Norse mythology and NOT the Marvel versions. I got the idea for this off the writing prompt tumblr that was along the lines of "you write down Loki as your childs godparent as a joke, but he actually takes it seriously". I loved it so I used it. Enjoy!

PS -- I realized later that it maybe wasn't 100% clear, but Astrid was adopted, hence why she's "old enough" to play tea party, maybe 6-7. Only a handful of days passes over the duration of this piece.

It was all a joke, really. A complete farce, a “good laugh.” At least, that’s what it was meant to be. The Ohlsons had just welcomed their daughter, Astrid, into their lives, and they had crossed all the T’s, dotted all the I’s, but one last question remained: who to appoint as the girl’s godparent? Erika and Ingrid Ohlson immediately turned to their respective families of course, but almost every option was eventually decided against. Both grandparents were already far up in years; Erika’s parents already living with an in-home nurse, and Ingrid’s own father refusing to ever speak to her. Erika was an only child, so Ingrid’s brother was next to be scrutinized. However, despite being close in age, he still acted a child in a grown man’s body, making poor investments, partying all weekend with numerous friends, moving from girlfriend to girlfriend. Absolutely not someone able to take care of a child (much less himself), and immediately scratched off the list.

Friends were next, but...... there weren’t many options. The two new mothers weren’t incredibly social people to begin with, and as such only had a select few friends. A few were married with several children already, and Ingrid insisted they not add the potentiality of another child to the mix. Their other friends ranged from being either unequipped to raise a child, too busy with their own specific line of work, or just not close enough to be considered for godparent. Options had now all but disappeared, and the two women had resigned to perhaps just skipping over this particular notion.

About a week later, during an evening of movies and a couple drinks after putting the young Astrid to bed, Erika began giggling to herself, the sound growing to full-on laughter which she hastily struggled to stifle in the small apartment so as not to wake the child. Ingrid, simultaneously confused and curious, glanced over at her wife, a single brow raised.

“What in the god’s names has got you so hysterical?”

Pulling in a gulp of air, Erika turned to Ingrid, tears in her eyes. “Listen, okay, what- what if...... hear me out here- what if we......we......” she could still barely speak from her incessant giggling.

“Dear, please, what is it?” Ingrid sighed, her curiosity starting to eat at her.

“Okay...... okay so......” the woman finally composing herself to a degree. “What if, for just absolute shits and giggles....... what if we named a Norse god as godparent? Like a literal GODparent? Just, what if. For the hell of it.”

Ingrid, the resident librarian of the house, blinked. “You want us....... to name an ancient, all-powerful, Norse god of old..... as our daughter’s godparent?”

“Ingrid, hun, look: we have literally no options at this point. Maybe eventually we’ll have a friend become a better candidate later in the years, and if so, we’ll write them down as godparent instead. But for now..... come on, it’d be funny and it’d be an absolute hoot to see the look on people’s faces when we bring this up,” Erika then smiled more deviously, “plus I know you can’t pass up a good pun.”

Giving a smile of her own, Ingrid sighed. “Alright fine, lets do it. Which god did you have in mind?”

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

Deep in a labyrinthine cave, hidden away from the known world, sat two ancient beings whose existence had all but been forgotten and reduced to mere myth. A restrained fire giant, face scarred, auburn hair now matted and lank, with a monstrously large serpent sat poised above his head. His wife, Sigyn, a goddess in her own right, yet often left out in stories even in the days of old, sat ever faithfully by his side, her own face gaunt, exhaustion and fortitude lining every inch of it. In her own scarred hands she held a bowl aloft as the only barrier between his face and the beast above as venom drip, drip, dripped into the small basin, the sound now akin to what the mortals refer to as a clock, the deity’s only semblance of time.

The god had long since lost his unhinged anger for this life sentence, had since devolved into simply being..... exhausted with the ordeal. Relieved that his wife remained by his side, but also guilty that she stayed in such a horrid place with such a tiring task despite having no orders herself to be here. He had grown weary, maybe a touch apprehensive, with the smallest hint of boredom even. They had been stuck down here for centuries now. Or at least physically. The god found he maintained his ability to project an astral form of himself wherever he wished, and this is what he utilized to learn of the world through the long years. He only wished he could share this illusion of escape with his spouse.

As the centuries passed, he watched as humanity started to turn from the old ways, began to write off the gods as only myths and legend, not beings worth worshiping any longer for the most part. He watched as the rest of the gods slowly accepted this and drew back into their homes amongst Asgard and Valhalla and even Hel, only sitting back up to take notice if something truly important occurred on Midgard, but otherwise ignoring it, as they themselves were ignored. And why shouldn’t they? There was virtually no point otherwise anymore. But today........ today somehow felt different. The imprisoned god cracked open an eye as something seemed to shift in his awareness. Not...... worship, not really. But..... something new. Someone, somewhere, it seemed, was inscribing him as a guardian. To their child. And for supposedly no particular reason that he could even fathom. This was definitely new. The god began chuckling quietly before he could stop himself, the whole concept incredibly humorous.

However, before he could share this new discovery, that dreaded time came again when that hatefully small bowl filled to the brim, and Sigyn sucked in a sharp breath as she suddenly flew into motion like clockwork. She rushed to pull the bowl away and dump the acidic liquid before too much harm was caused before she could return to her original post, but it was never fast enough, it was impossible to be. The second the obstruction disappeared, the snake’s venom began dripping onto the imprisoned god’s face, his eyes and cheekbones burning with each drop as if on fire, bellows of pain being loosed from his lungs all the while. His wife returned the bowl to its original position, frantic and remorseful apologies spilling from her lips as always, him waving them off with a shake of his head and a forced smile. Once resettling, Sigyn peered down at her husband with curiosity.

“What was it that made you laugh so genuinely after so long?”

He smiled once again, remembering. “The gods may no longer be revered as they once were, but.... a fascinating development has occurred in the mortal realm: I have apparently been named as guardian to a young child, for whatever reason.”

The goddess raised her brow in surprise. “Guardian? I mean no offense, my love, but surely it must be in jest? And as you stated, we both know worship is no longer practiced on Midgard, so why this sudden change?”

“No, I agree, I find the whole matter quite amusing. However. Due to the absurdity and the rarity, on the chance that this is meant sincerely in any way, I feel inclined to follow it through. I am named guardian, I am now bound to comply, I believe.”

A warm smile, the first he’d seen in decades, grew upon his wife’s face, as even her dulled eyes began to slowly light up again at the idea he presented. “Then by all means, you should go. All I ask is for you to bring me back stories of this child when you return.”

He returned the smile, the same genuine warmth mirrored back to her. Letting out a long exhale, the god settled back onto his rock best he could, closed his eyes, and cast out his consciousness to the mortal world, empowered by the promise of new mischief to come.

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

It had been only a couple days since Ingrid and Erika had filled out the paperwork to appoint their god of choice as the godparent to Astrid. As was anticipated, they were given a strange look from the clerk assisting them when he read the name. “A family friend,” Erika waved him off with a smile. The two new mothers had a good laugh on a the walk home that day, imagining all the potential hilarious scenarios in which to share this information.

Ingrid was playing tea party with Astrid as Erika was in the middle of cooking dinner when their doorbell rang. Intrigued as to who could possibly be visiting them at this time of night, Erika walked over and cracked the front door open, only just wide enough to see the person waiting outside.

There in the hallway stood a man, nearly six and a half feet tall, with a lean build, and immaculately well groomed and dressed. A tailored suit was his attire of choice, a dark forest green, with gold buttons stamped with intricate designs, and cuff links that resembled a wolf’s head. His long, fiery red hair seemed to gleam faintly in the light as if metallic, the top half of it tied back out of his face, a couple small braids interspersed throughout. The man’s features were both fascinating and eerie, mostly made of sharp angles with smiling thin lips and darkened hazel eyes that almost seemed to flare gold (but it was probably just a trick of the lights). However, the only oddity about this figure was the scarring around said eyes, so faint you could only see it when the light hit his face just right, but still curious to see.

While the strange man gave a tentative smile and made no move toward the open door, keeping his hands in his coat pockets, Erika had become confused into silence, trying to rapidly figure out just how to ask who the hell this man was in the politest way possible. Ingrid, also interested in who their late night visitor was, quietly came up behind her wife and peered past her shoulder to the figure outside. Ingrid, apparently, was quicker on the draw.

“Excuse me, but who are you? We weren’t expecting anyone this late, we��re in the middle of dinner.”

The stranger smiled knowingly, bowing his head slightly. He raised one hand up toward his face, snapping his fingers and causing a small flame to ignite above his index finger, pulling a gasp from one of the women.

“I do apologize for the late hour, unfortunately the concept of time has slowly left me over the years. But I am Loki of the Aesir, and I do believe I am young Astrid’s godfather.”

#loki #norse mythology #original story #norse gods #sigyn

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lgchunji · 4 years ago

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✧ .・゜゜traniee mission 004, august; at the end of a lonely night

his boots clopped on the cold tile. it was deep into sunday evening, probably had become monday morning by then, when hunji opened the narrow door. he woke up at six, made breakfast at seven, cleaned the house until one, studied all afternoon, and made dinner at ten. finally, the day was over and there was not much to do. there was no more laundry, no more dishes, and all the children were tucked into bed and asleep. hunji, himself, was unable to stay fully asleep. instead, there was work to be done at legacy. the halls were cold. the air felt stale, like it was bathing in it’s own loneliness all night. when he had entered the towering doors out front, in the warm air of the summer night, everyone was inside. as he walked higher up and further down, losing himself in the monstrous building’s maze, trainees passed him by. everyone he saw, he was moving upstream from. by the time he got to a room, one he knew was quiet, empty, and had a lock on it, he had not seen anyone come his way in a while. the halls were left to their own devices for the night as most of the trainees went home. hunji, alone, had a decision ahead of him.

his boots stopped in front of the door. he slowly opened it. he poked his head in, eyes wide, to see if anyone was in there. no one. still, he bowed to the empty space, and let himself in. he closed the door behind him. he locked it. his shoulders unhinged from tension’s grip. his eyes drifted closed after being painfully peeled open. he was alone, and here, he was comfortable truly making a decision. he turned around. the room was tiny, perhaps the size of a closet. there was a microphone, something of a computer, and a chair. he set his bag in the chair and sat on the floor, leaning against what felt like miles of thick, padded, foam. he pulled out his phone. the screen lit up his face. it functioned as one of the only lighting systems in the room. the other was a dusty lamp. how the hell am i going to do this? he scrolled through his playlists. he found nothing. there was very little he was confident in performing. nothing was quiet loud enough. home, he knew the story was something he held dear. he related to it. it was his story, but it was told in english. monday to saturday, that was his style, but the message did not connect. it did not connect the way he thought it should connect. either because it was a habit, or he had a little voice inside him saying to keep going, hunji did not stop at ‘good enough’. he wanted a rap song that could help him perform the way p.a.c.e. did so many months ago. god, when was that performance? june? it’s been two months. . . why does it feel like so long? . . . how long has it- . . . eight. eight?! oh my god. hunji looked terribly worried, staring at his phone. what had he found? i’ve been at legacy for eight months. . . what the hell am i doing here? how did i even get this far? i thought i was just gonna join and!! focus, focus, hunji, there’s a lot of songs to choose from. just focus. deep breaths. it was time to look at other songs. he searched for ‘kpop rappers solo songs’. nothing. there was holup, “just get down, let’s go. get messed up and drunk-”, and there was zombie high, “zombie de zombie de zombie, high, there’s no rules, we gonna go insane-” and there was do or die, “cause i got a thrill in my veins, a night on a razor’s edge, a breaking chain-” no. he could tell he was getting deeper and deeper into the songs. as he went, they had less and less views, despite the quality standing. each time, the lyrics were roughly the same. something about a party, going all night, or being fearless. nothing spoke to him. nothing worked. nothing was right. he just kept scrolling. he kept listening. was there anything to listen to? it was funny. the thumbnail, not even the story, caught his attention. a man, in a suit, leaning over, close to the camera, looking in the distance. brown. mud. darkness. reflection- perhaps that caught his eye. regardless, hunji wanted to listen. he felt, somewhere, that the creator wanted to be listened to. without a second thought, and rather hopelessly, he clicked on streetlight. “like a streetlight, “like a streetlight.” nothing interesting at all. hunji hugged his knees and rested an elbow on them. he held his head in his hand. “at the end of a lonely day, “standing vacantly. . .” well this is certainly not like those other songs. “in the middle of the night, “i try my best to smile brightly.” hunji furrowed his brows. his eyes were loyally pasted to the screen. “i don’t want anyone to see how incredibly weak i am. “to the people who relied on me, that’s a contradiction,” woah. “acting strong, acting like i’m not hurting, acting like nothing is wrong.” this is me. “i just wanted to be someone else’s strength. “i cant be the reason that they lose strength.” how can this be about me? “i don’t have the courage to make “you an reply on me” the other way around, “the pain silently grows locked in a room in my heart without a way out.” why is he talking to me? “when you hold it in as much as you can you grow numb to it, “i guess i can still take more because i can still hold it back.” hunji paused the video. his jaw dangled open. only forty eight seconds had passed and hunji knew what he would be performing. it was a strong song, strong enough to carry him, and a meaningful song, one void of sex, drugs, and a thirst to be on top. it was just real. it was hunji. it was just the way it was. hunji had no clue who the artist was, who wrote it and who made it, but it was absolutely his style, his story. it was his song. time passed. hunji stood. he had listened to the song three, maybe four times. he watched the video too and was moved. he was moved by. . . something. there was something indescribable about the performance of the singer, of the rapper, that could not be put any place. maybe the competition was supposed to be about being the best. being on top, beating the other trainees, working like your life depends on it, but for hunji, that was not the case. he did not care. he was going to perform his song, not someone else’s song, and not for someone else’s reasons. he slowly leaned to grab his backpack. his outdoor jacket had never felt heavier. he nodded to himself. like a streetlight, like a streetlight. heh, look at that, “already stuck in my head.” it’s a good song. . . catchy. . . god, “do i already know the words?” i’ll have to ask my vocal trainer about this. . . “it’s boot camp, though.” he unlocked the door. he opened it, gently, and poked his head out. he stepped outside. his heels clicked against the tile again. clop. . . clop. . . clop. . . like a streetlight, like a streetlight, at the end of a lonely day, standing vacantly. . . in the middle of the lonely night, i try my best to smile brightly.

word count: 1,297 points: +8 lyric composition

#✧ .・゜゜solo #✧ .・゜゜events #lgc:traineemission

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thewhiterabbit42 · 6 years ago

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Behind Closed Doors

Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Sneaking a kitten into the bunker might be the best decision you’d ever made for reasons you could never have anticipated.

Word Count: 1960

Series Tags/Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, men being cute with animals

This fic is a commission.

“You got a hot date or something?” Dean asked, glancing sideways at you from the driver’s seat. Curiosity melded with mild amusement, making green sparkle in ways that should have had your heart fluttering, but you were too preoccupied to even notice.

You couldn’t blame him for asking. You hadn't been able to sit still the entire way back, fingers drumming along the interior, leg bouncing, obsessively checking your phone as the day dragged on. It was out of character for you, but in your defense, he had told you it wouldn’t take more than a day or two tops.

“It’s a simple salt and burn, you said. We’ll be back in no time, you said.” You tried to keep it light, but the anxiety buzzing through your veins bled into your words.

He mistook it for irritation, a hard dent appearing between his brows. “Since when is any case ever set in stone?”

Well, he had you there, but it didn’t make you any less antsy.

“Sometimes, a girl just has things she needs to do,” you said vaguely, hoping he would let it drop.

His eyes slid to you again, his lips pressed together in a way that almost resembled a pout. You’d been repeatedly reminded, however, that Dean Winchester most certainly, under no circumstances, did such things, so you were clearly mistaken.

This was the point where, at any other time, you would call him on it, but your mind was still going in too many directions for you to feel up for the ensuing banter.

Silence filled the car once again, neither tense nor comfortable, skirting the borders of both as you each retreated into your head.

It didn't last long.

“If you were seeing someone, you know you could tell me, right?”

It was the unusual demand within his tone rather than the words themselves that caught you off guard.

You couldn't help a soft snort from escaping at the thought of anyone being dumb enough to want to date you. “Yeah, sure.”

Everything about him was tense, guarded, almost as if he expected the two of you to do battle rather than have a friendly chat.

Though the look he returned suggested you were the one acting strange. “What? We’re friends. Friends talk about those things.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you undid your seatbelt, the smooth sound of denim sliding across leather overtaking the quiet. You sidled up to him, as close as you could get without touching, and you were reminded of how large and warm he was as the heat of his frame spilled over onto yours.

You did your best to stay focused, sliding your hand up through the back of his hair.

“Uhhh, what are you doing?”

You waited another several seconds to respond, eyes riveted to his skull as you gently probed along it

“Checking for head injuries. You did get whacked pretty hard.”

His confusion melted, and he rolled his eyes so hard he was liable to pull something. “Real funny, chuckles."

There was little humor beneath his nickname for you. If you didn't know better, you would say he was in a mood, but you could always tell when one of those was coming as they tended not to appear out of nowhere.

You waited for him to bat your hand away, but the way he cracked his neck suggested he wasn’t as irritated as he let on. His head canted sideways, almost as if he was offering up a spot behind his ear for you to scratch. You might have, just to tease him, but the movement made you recall the the reason you were even having this conversation.

Your dropped your hand behind the seat, glancing out the back of the car to find the sun setting behind you. It could have been romantic, the two of you on the open road, vivid oranges and pinks spilling into the vehicle and making it glow. You were so close to Dean you could still smell hints of his aftershave, and you knew if you if you laid your head on his shoulder at that moment, he would let you get away with it.

All you were able to do was let out a long, impatient breath. “Could you step on the gas a little more?”

Baby immediately hummed a little louder, and his head shifted as he tried to sneak a glance at you.

“Really, what gives?”

You didn’t need to look at him to know the eye he was giving you. It was the one that belonged to Dean Winchester, bloodhound on the scent. His determination was palpable, making the small space between you vibrate with tension.

“Maybe I just want my own bed, with my own space, where I can be left to my own devices.”

It took him all of a second to read between the lines, and the moment he did, it was like that time you accidentally started undressing in front of him because you didn’t realize he was still in the room.

His body went rigid, eyes eager to be anywhere else but on you as he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever. We, uh, all have needs.”

You had a knack for getting him to blush, not that you had any idea how. Yet, here he was, his cheeks turning another lovely, light shade of pink, tongue darting nervously across his lips as he sucked in a slow breath.

Then again, you were well aware of how he had you neatly filed away as little sister material, so you imagined it might be a touch awkward hearing about those things when it came to you.

“But if you were seeing someone, you would tell me, right?” There was an intensity beneath his words that ratcheted up the tension, and things suddenly started to feel weird. Weirder than that time you all got drunk, combined Truth or Dare with Poker, and Sam dared you to sit in his brother’s lap every time you lost a round.

“Uh, yeah. Who do you think I’d want looking for me if I never came home after?”

You knew that remark would please him. Pride tugged at the corner of his lips, though it wasn’t for the reason you thought. “You really consider the bunker your home?”

You turned your head and gave him the most incredulous look. “Of course I do, D. You guys are my family. I don’t know what I’d do without you… Except maybe get hit on more often.” Despite the dryness in your tone, you were only partially kidding, and you noticed a brief side-eye as he somehow picked up on it. “I swear, you’re like the overbearing older brother I never asked for.”

You flicked the side of his ear, the gesture far more satisfying than you could have guessed. Increasingly so when he decided to make a big show of swatting you away this time.

You grinned, sliding back across the seat out of his reach.

“Yeah, well someone has to look out for you,” he muttered.

You both knew that was a lie. You’d been looking after yourself for years, though the thought of him wanting to protect you did put a smile on your face the rest of the ride back.

***

Dean barely had the chance to get Baby in her spot before you had the door open, and it was all you could do not to break out into a run as you moved through the garage into the bunker. You bypassed all your usual stops, bathroom included, calling out a greeting to Sam as you nearly bowled him over on his way to the kitchen.

It wasn’t subtle by any means, but your nerves were thrumming so loudly you might psych yourself out of existence at any moment. Sure, the fate of others had technically rested in your hands before, but not like this. You’d never had this level of responsibility, and the thought of failing so spectacularly within the first week (and what that might mean) had you flying down the hallways toward your room.

You finally made it, key out of your pocket well in advance so you could jam it in the lock. As usual, it sticks halfway, and you slam your palm into it, ignoring the sting as something started to poke out from beneath the door.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, hitting it a few more times.

“You need any help?” Dean’s voice carried down the hall, and you nearly leapt out of your skin. He should’ve been in the kitchen foraging for a sandwich and some beer, or in the laundry room stripping out of his clothes before he hit the shower, not hovering where the hallway split in two different directions with clearly no intention of heading to his room.

You angled yourself in front of your door, feet blocking the gap at the bottom. “It’s cool, D. I got it.”

“You sure?” He took a step toward you, and your palm began to turn numb as you frantically slam that damn piece of metal until it finally gives and slides in all the way.

“Yup! Thanks!” Your smile was tight, perhaps a touch unhinged, as you quickly twisted the lock and pushed your way inside. You were in such a rush you left the key, opting for the deadbolt instead after slamming the door closed behind you.

Yeah. That wasn’t suspicious at all.

Any worry over how strange you were acting dissipated as you were greeted with the most pathetic noise in existence. It was followed by a visceral jolt of panic, despite the fact that the sound proof warding was in place, so even if Dean was lurking out there, as you expected, he wouldn't hear a thing.

You sent a silent thanks to Rowena, wherever she was, for helping you, because there was no mistaking what you were trying to hide as a chorus of squeaky mewls rose up from your feet.

You reached down, scooping up the manic little creature trying to fuse itself to your boot.

“You poor thing,” you crooned, tucking the kitten close to your chest. You couldn't tell if he was starving or terrified. Probably both after being left in a strange place alone for seven days when you were only supposed to be gone for a few.

The guilt you’d been carrying welled up within your chest, and you walked into your private bathroom to assess how badly you’d messed up. The moment you turned on the light, you were surprised by what you found. There was still plenty of water left in the dispenser, and enough food to easily get him through another few days.

"And D says I prepare too much for everything," you mused, fingers stroking behind black, velvety ears. The little body in your hand began to vibrate, a loud purr overtaking its previous protests as he stretched up and rubbed himself beneath your chin.

You walked back into the other room, noting all the toys sprawled out across the floor along with the little pockets pressed into the comforter, mostly surrounding your pillow.

“You look like you made out ok,” you breathed in relief. Other than the cat box needing a change, it seemed the only real issue was that you had been gone.

“Is that what all that sass was?” You asked, raising him up in front of you and giving his chin a good scratch. “You just missed me?”

He paced back and forth within your hands, running himself from head to tail along the side of your face.

The unconditional affection warmed you in ways you’d forgotten were possible, and you smiled. “Missed you too, little Meowmers.”

Tags are open to anyone 18+. Send an ask to be added OR follow @rabbit-writes (my fic only side blog) and turn on notifications.

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @lucifer-in-leather @blondecoffeecake @tistai @room-with-a-cat @authoressskr @revwinchester @flufy07 @tardis-is-mine @tangle-of-ivy @luciferseclipse @mrswhozeewhatsis @protectivedestiel @angelofwinchester17 @phantomwarrior12 @jeanjeaniethings @wontlookaway @copperseraphim @fandomsrourlives @archangelgabriellives @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mizzezm @disneymarina @zpandaqueen @idabbleincrazy @katekvnes @han68000 @brokencasbutt67-writer @crashdevlin @klinenovakwinchester @bofa-deans-nuts @sherlockedtash88 @lovelyhexbag

Dean Beans: @marichromatic

Open to tags: @katehuntington

#dean x reader #dean winchester #fluff #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #commission #rabbit writes

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whisker-biscuit · 6 years ago

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Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 20

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 20: This Bear is not A Therapist

505 hummed as he sat in a vast field of daisies, half a flower crown held daintily between his paws. A soft breeze rustled his fur and brought whispers of goodness. He paused in the crown’s making to watch two beautiful birds as they flew overhead, shimmering in the sky.

One was all greens and reds and blues, flitting up and down every which way like it was having the time of its life. Its trills were loud, high-pitched, and sounded suspiciously like a cackling toddler. The other was white and lighter blue with a head completely covered in tawny feathers down to its neck. It flew steadily like a vulture; wings spread and stiff save a few calculated flaps to keep it in the air.

The crazy one went into a loop-de-loop and ended it by crashing against its calmer companion from above. The tan-headed one squawked, offended, and was suddenly not so calm anymore. It pulled up in place as if standing in mid-air and screeched at its ‘attacker’, who only cackled louder and went into another loop farther away.

They had such different colors and personalities that one might have thought they were different species, but 505 knew somehow that this wasn’t true. He watched as the two birds squabbled for a minute more before going on their way together, and the bear smiled in contentment.

A gunshot cracked through the valley.

It cracked through the air as well, because 505 gaped in shock as the lively bird went limper than it ever should be and dropped straight from the sky. Its companion cried out, horrified, and tried to dive to reach its friend, but another crack brought a hole into its wing and sent it wobbling in its flight.

But it didn’t fall.

505 was already running to find the bird that had crushed daisies in its plunge to the ground. He dropped next to the listless thing and picked it up in a cradle, feeling its heart beat in frantic fear. Above them both, the tan-headed one cried more, circling as best it could with a tattered wing.

All 505 could do was hold the suffering creature and give reassuring sounds of his own. But then there was the click of a disengaged safety, and the bear looked up into the barrel of a gun. There was a man in hunter’s garb behind that gun – aiming it not at 505 but at the bird in his arms – and his eyes were cruel and dark.

“Drop it,” the man said firmly.

That was impossible, so 505 shook his head and trembled. The man’s face didn’t twitch. He stepped forward once and the gun was nearly pressed against the colorful bird’s breast.

“Give her to me right now.”

He shook his head again, curling his arms around his hurt friend to protect her. Blood was leaking onto his fur. The valley of daisies warped around them into something else, still white but no longer pretty or natural. The gun morphed into an electric shock stick, buzzing just out of harmful reach. The man’s clothing shimmered bright like a coat.

The blood remained.

“Give that psycho bitch to me right now or I’ll shove this up your ass!”

Someone else was crying overhead, crying and pleading and screaming. It echoed like he wasn’t really in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he cried.

“Don’t let her get hurt!” He pleaded.

“HELP HER!” He screamed.

A shadow loomed high over 505 from behind, and a chill went up his spine. He raised his head, looked up at the rotting face of a crow who was twice his size. It stared down at him in return, one beady eye burning like it knew everything he was.

It opened its beak and said –

“Bear.”

505 startled awake with his claws out.

Something laughed from outside his room, across the hallway.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t reach into that nightmare. It sounded delectable.” The Dark One watched as the bear had to take a moment to realize where he was.

“…Reer…?” …A nightmare…?

“So it would seem. You were crying in your sleep. You’re quite the loud dreamer, Bear.”

505 rubbed his eyes and found it was true; his paws glistened with wetness when he looked at them. Tears. Not blood. He sagged in his bed in sheer relief. The pictures were still vivid in his head but that was normal. That was something he could handle. Those birds…

“Well, it appears you’ve come to grips with reality again. Good. I didn’t wake you up to be your therapist this evening. Now we can get to the more important things. Like myself.”

He really didn’t want to talk to the Dark One again. Once was too much. The bear grumbled without realizing it, then froze when his neighbor hissed. It cracked its head sideways with a long sneer.

“Hell’s bells, has everyone suddenly grown a backbone in this miserable place? First Fl– him,” it spat, “and his guards, and now you. It’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Mewoo?” What do you want?

“Watch your tone, insignificant creature. I want to know what your – what that dear old doctor friend was doing in your cell after the…altercation between us. Was he crying in your arms? Trembling half to death? Give me all the details.”

The bear shivered from the sudden rush of evil expectation sent his way. He wasn’t ready to deal with this, not after that horrific dream. So he brought his hands to his chest and refused to meet the Dark One’s gaze.

“Clamming up, are we? Am I too much to handle for you? Understandable. But not what I want.” It pressed its face up to the bars. “I demand you tell me how he responded to my threats. Was he shaken to his core? Afraid to leave your room?”

505 curled in on himself.

“Did he try to pretend like nothing happened? Was he putting on false bravados?”

The Dark One began growling when it didn’t get an answer.

“Did he brush it off like it was nothing? Was he affected at all?! Damn it Bear, tell me now!”

The bear didn’t dare breath. But then there was a horrible grating sound that sent his head shooting upwards to see the Dark One grinding its teeth against the bars of its cell. A forked tongue flicked expertly against the air.

“I can smell your fear! I can smell you, Bear, but you won’t answer me! And I can smell his fear too! But the bastard keeps coming back! Every goddamn day he’s coming by to check in, or say hello, like we’re bloody neighbors sharing afternoon tea! Like nothing’s happened! Like I’m not making him piss his pants every other day! Like he’s not making me –”

The Dark One cut off with a gravelly wet sound deep in its throat. It screamed aloud, and when other inmates down the hall responded with their own cries, it screamed again even louder. 505’s eyes were bugging out of his skull.

“What the fuck am I doing wrong?! I almost killed him in our first meeting! Wormed his full name out of him in our second! Was that not enough? Is he a demon in human skin? Sent to torment me in this, this, this fucking hellhole?!”

505 ducked as the Dark One rammed body-first into its cell door and the lights flickered. He grabbed three stuffed animals and hugged them tight, rocking back and forth to distract himself as best he could from the pitch black hatred oozing into everything.

It felt like rot.

The Dark One was still rambling, but it was quickly dissolving into another language that 505 didn’t know and didn’t want to know. The words were ancient and accented. The bear covered his ears and waited for the darkness to take him away.

Eventually something changed. The hatred began to recede back to its master, and its master was no longer speaking those things that should not be uttered. 505 wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he remained wound up in his little ball. He was very aware that the danger was not gone.

Because the Dark One started laughing.

It started out quietly in a dark little chuckle, and within seconds it became loud and unhinged. Unhinged and deadly. Deadly and…excited.

“I’ve been looking at this all wrong, Bear.” It finally said with tears of mirth in its eyes. “I’ve made him bring his guard down, but in doing so I’ve allowed the same for myself. I haven’t been looking at this objectively.”

“……Orrr?” ……Okay?

“You see, Bear, I know he has a darkness to him. I’ve known that for a long time. And yet I’ve still been treating him like an average, pathetic human. Which he is clearly not. Mmm…I’ve assumed that my actions would cause discomfort in him. Embarrassment, disgust, those lovely things. But in that, session, today. I should not have had such a…reaction like that.”

505 looked at his cellmate, confused. But the Dark One shook its head and continued on.

“That meant that he was enjoying it. Or at the very least wasn’t as shaken as I calculated. No, I triggered something dark there and it in turn awakened my love of darkness, of the Dusk. That was the reason for my slip up. Nothing more and nothing less. He holds no power over me, has no witchcraft or tricks. It was all still his fault of course, and for that I will kill him. Perhaps in our next session, perhaps later. At the very least, I believe I know what I’m dealing with. He won’t have that effect on me ever again.”

It bumped the brim of its hat against the bars as if in contemplation. The look in its eye was bloodthirsty.

“No, that was one miscalculation. And he will pay so, so dearly for it. Oh, it’s been so long since I had this much free time to plan out a ruined life, this one will be something special. But I’m not mad anymore. Isn’t that funny, Bear? I was angry, and then I talked to you, and now I’m not angry anymore! Even figured some things out for myself! It seems this madhouse isn’t so useless after all, yes?”

The Dark One didn’t wait for a response. It turned back to its room with a psychotic tilt to its face, leaving 505 snuggled into his bed with all his instincts on high alert. Those, too, eventually slowed enough to allow the bear to uncoil his tense muscles and breathe out a silent sigh.

He didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night, torn between being anxious about the Dark One coming back (which it never did) or terrified that his dreams would become nightmares (which they always did, but nothing like earlier).

It was hard to tell which option was worse.

505 should just get his therapist license at this point. His business line will be like "Successfully got the worst being on Earth to talk about his feelings". Poor bear, I love him I promise.

I have an announcement as well as a sort of...voting question related to this fic. Originally I had planned around 60ish chapters with a clear goal in mind. However, not only are the days going slower than I had planned (2-3 chapters per "day"), but I've been thinking about some of my plot points and character progression and I've realized that I might not have a realistic amount of time set for these things - namely the slow burn.

So the voting question is this: should I extend the timeline in this fic (which would probably double the fic's full length and take longer to do) or should I leave it as is (all the plot points planned out but the dilemma mentioned above)? If you have any suggestions I'm absolutely open to them, and please be honest. I want you guys to be satisfied, not rushed or feeling like the fic is dragging on too long.

Thank you, everyone.

#villainous #villainous au #asylum au #dr flug #black hat #505 #paperhat

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theonceoverthinker · 7 years ago

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OUAT Rewatch 1X04 - The Price of Gold

Week two!!! I’d say my thoughts on this episode are just GOLDEN, but I don’t let me INFANTIZE your experience - go read below the cut if you don’t believe me!

XD We have fun here sometimes!!!!

Press Release Emma tries to help a young pregnant woman escape from the clutches of Mr. Gold. Meanwhile, back in the fairytale world that was, Cinderella makes a regrettable deal with Rumplestiltskin. General Thoughts Past So, Snow gives a very interesting recontextualizing of the Cinderella story. I think it’s important to discuss that because that’s what the Cinderella story (And its many, many indirect retellings) was designed to show to audiences. I once took a theatre class that showed that during times like the Great Depression, theatres were making Cinderella plays and musicals as a way to show that there was hope for improving one’s situation. My only problem with this flashback is that Ella 1.0 is not super compelling. I buy her desperation, which gets a lot more understanding once “The Other Shoe” aired, but otherwise, she’s not exactly pleasant nor interesting to watch on the screen. All of the interesting plans having to do with her are made around her, not with her. That said - in that same vein - she serves as a great introduction device for the theme of “all magic comes with a price.” Her naivete allows us to see just how much can go under your nose when you’re willing to do “anything” to get what you want.

And Rumple plays off her brilliantly, taking advantage of that naivete to get what he wants, and all the while, making Ella feel twisted every way. Speaking of which, finally, I want to touch upon a unpopular opinion I have. Many take issue with the fact that we never see where Rumple stowed Thomas, but I don’t share that concern. It’s pretty clear that where he was didn’t matter and that no matter what, nothing short of the honoring of Ella and Rumple’s deal would bring him back, and in the present, only when Emma makes a substitute deal is the family reunited. Present Regina has fascinated me in that she’s continuously - despite being evil in these moments - delivered the themes of the episodes. While I was mostly talking about the roots line when I wrote that last sentence, the next line below fits this BEYOND perfectly too! “People don’t change. They only fool themselves into believing they can.” To quote Rumple, “when you can see the future, there’s irony everywhere.” Still, at the same time, while she tells the theme, it’s others who show it, providing a very layered level of insight for Emma. For example, in this episode, Emma sees the danger of running away and its effects on the safety and well being of a family dynamic and internalizes the lesson so she can prove herself beyond what Regina thinks. Also, Emma’s speech is just remarkable. It speaks to a more nuanced approach to her cynicism. She’s more than that and has optimism, but optimism on her terms. It’s a mix of the Lands With and Without Magic that genuinely works. I’d also be a fool to not talk about Gold, because wow! Immediately, he knows just the right strings to pull with Emma - someone who he’s only conversed with for a matter of seconds - to get her to do whatever he wants. But even still, while Gold does prevail through similar means, Emma does show that she’s only one or two small steps behind him with how she breaks through hit litigation with real world sympathies.

Now, I said Ella wasn’t too compelling, but Ashley by contrast is super compelling, She’s a foil to Emma, and really shows her dedication to changing her life in every scene she’s in and we get a sense for it as more characters talk about her. While it breaks the “show, don’t tell rule” a bit, I find that it works well enough. Sean too really sells what it’s like to be between a rock and a hard place with his family and his dad is not without a smidge of dimension too! Insights I like how the wands of the different fairies all have different designs. Cinderella’s fairy has a wand that’s like a light bulb - it’s glass on the outside, but there’s light on the inside. Meanwhile, Fiona’s is closer to tree bark mixed with charcoal. I’m going to pay closer attention to the wands going forward. I wonder if they knew when they wrote this episode that Rumple was going to have future powers. “It all comes down to the number seven.” SOMEONE ON THAT STAFF WAS FUCKING PSYCHIC! Maybe Adam’s tweet was real! XD This is our first real appearance of Gold’s shop, and what an introduction! The darkness alongside the creepy music and the fact that it’s a break in allows for an unhinged tone to settle in and we get to see some foreshadowing and call backs in a way that doesn’t take one out of the experience. Why does Regina never hire a babysitter? Henry is ten and he’s snuck out no less than three times in as many episodes. Get Sidney to spend a couple of hours in your house! He will literally do whatever you say! Why when breaking in and out of places do these people not wait ten minutes?! I mean, i know why - narrative shorthand (Same for why Henry has no babysitter), but damnit, they might see you! XD I love that awkward bit between Henry and Gold. Honestly, half of my insights here are just going to be that irony line. Emma’s whine about trying to be responsible is just adorable! I don’t want to be “that girl” who bitches about continuity stuff, but under the curse, does Ella have another step family? Because her real step family is in the Land of Untold Stories. “Anyone who wants to be a mother should damn well be able to be one.” I feel like there’s a lot to unpack about that line but I’m going to choose to interpret it as “anyone willing to dedicate themselves to motherhood and understand the responsibilities that come with it deserves a chance to be a mother.” The gardens are so beautiful in this episode! I wonder what Henry’s nickname for Emma was. “Mom,” perhaps? That would make sense given that’s exactly what he calls her not even a season afterwards. Awww! There’s a Regal Believer parallel. Just as Cinderella’s prince found his True Love’s shoe, Regina found Henry’s shoe!!! Arcs Emma’s journey of belief - What I like about season 1 is that most every episode contributes to the growth of this single arc, and here’s no exception. Just like Emma and Henry’s relationship needs roots to grow, as do the seeds of hope with one firm belief. While Emma doesn’t believe Henry, she does believe in Henry and in their bond, and as that develops, she takes more and more steps to cement it. Emma and Rumple’s deal - While there are mentions if it here and there going forward, as we all know, this arc won’t conclude until season two. Still, I like this deal as it’s created because the idea of keeping a baby and a mother’s life options is so personal to Emma so it makes for a compelling deal but at the same time isn’t something she would back out of. Regina and Graham’s affair - This is introduced here, and I’ll have more to say on it in a few episodes. Favorite Dynamic Emma and Henry. Already, you can see inklings of payoff for their dynamic. Emma is starting to seek Henry out a bit more to spend time together, as evidenced by her insisting on walking him to school. Additionally, when Henry tries guilt tripping her, Emma is much more overt to the fact that it’s working. Their quips are so much more casual and friendly and it just makes me so excited to see more of them! It’s such a far cry from episode 1, and in the best way possible! Writer David Goodman gets his first go around and he gets a strong start here! His strength - at least here - is a delivery of theme. Both themes - the price of magic and the need to not run away in order to create a family - are delivered with precision, but at the same time doesn’t feel like I’m being beaten over the head with it. Rating 9/10. My only problem is - again - Ella. You’ll see later on that I love Once’s diversity in terms of showing women with different qualities to their characters. Some are braver and sassier, some are mean, some are gentle and never fight, and some are scared. I think that that is so important because male characters often get to be all these things and more where as women are often bozed in as either ice women or more or less princesses. By that merit, I should love Ella too, but what I don’t love is that she really doesn’t have all that much agency in the flashback. Apart from her initial deal with Rumple - the character’s best flashback scene in this episode - she mostly just follows what other say and whines. That said, through her, we get to see the first instance of a theme that will occur regularly on this show, “all magic comes with a price,” and she serves that theme effectively enough. But please, don’t take this as me disliking the episode, because there’s so much to like. Despite playing once again a minor role in this episode (Which is funny considering the episode’s title), Rumple/Gold shines like a polished apple here. In the Enchanted Forest, not only does he deliver the theme of the episode brilliantly alongside Ella, gets to finally show off his own villainy. He kills a fairy and tries to extort away an infant. That’s just dastardly and I love it! And in Storybrooke, he tries it again and additionally manipulates Emma. The way he pulls on her insecurities makes him so compelling. We’d already seen it does with Regina, yes, but they have history. Emma - despite Gold knowing her role in the grander scheme of things - is a stranger to him. Also, while not working in the Enchanted Forest for me, Ashley is fantastic in Storybrooke! Finally, just all of the little nuggets of storytelling with Emma. Her various dynamics in this episode really drive the theme she needs to learn as well. Flip My Ship Ella/Ashley and Thomas/Sean: The relationship between Ella and the Prince really works. They don’t get a lot of time together, but in every moment the Prince is on screen, he is kind and supportive in an active way, making me really buy the connection between the two of them. He’s also very no-nonsense, making him a pretty strong character in his own right. And in Storybrooke, the tough position Sean is in, and the decision he makes at the end of the episode makes forgiving him really easily. Glass Believer: In the Regal Believer moment with the shoe, we get some probably not-at-all-intended-but-still-cute-as-hell Glass Believer too!!!!!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Thank you for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for setting this all up! See you next time! Season Tally (39/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (20/70) Liz Tigelaar (10/20) David Goodman (9/50)

#watching fairytales #ouat 1x04 #ouat #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #ships mentioned #ashley/sean #ella 1.0/thomas #glass believer

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idkhow-you-found-me-writing · 4 years ago

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Snack Time

Just Ted “Theodore” Logan and Marko Thelostboy having fun bonding time, 1k words long ff under the cut or you can read it on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923459

Nowadays, there was a rumor involving vampires and naturally sparkling in the sun as if their skin was covered in glitter. Sprought out of nowhere, instantly becoming as popular as it was baffling.

It was also, of course, completely unfounded in reality.

Well, maybe not completely. There was this one vampire who fitted that description better than any other. Their exposed skin shone in thousands of colors, creating a resplendent mosaic of abstract shapes and forms. It wasn’t only their flesh either, his whole outfit was decorated in this glow.

“My newest of companions, were you bathing in glitter or something?” Ted asked, dudes head tilting in genuine curiosity. Dude was in no way an expert on ancient vampire customs. Or anything ancient if to go by dudes history grades, when Ted was still attending school. However, now with this creature of the night as a friend, one of these things could change. It was too late to get any score in a test, most fortunately. Dude didn’t miss those days at all.

Marko laughed loudly, just on the verge of sounding a bit maniac. It didn’t serve much as clarification for Ted so dude decided to wait for one more moment. After the laughter eventually died down, they looked at the person in front of them intensely. They both stared at each other for a few seconds. Marko’s sharp eyes were calculating, whereas Ted’s were clouded by confusion. Then, he dropped the act and finally gave his reply.

“Ted, do I look like I bathe in anything?”

That. That was a totally reasonable question to ask, dude supposed. As a vampire, they suffered the most inconvenient fate of not being able to see their own reflection. They truly could have no idea what they even looked like. This, and the fact that Marko absolutely did not look like a person who bathes in anything at all. Maybe, sometimes an abrupt rain caught him by surprise and cleaned the freashes layer of dirt, Ted wondered briefly. It was a long time ago when any kind of rain visited this place.

“I did spill it all over myself, tho.” Marko chuckled lightly. He did that a lot, Ted couldn’t help but notice. In fact, dude was totally in awe of his ability to find something funny. Ted dudeself carried a rather positive attitude, however it was nowhere near their level.

Next thing Marko did was much less predictable.

He raised his hand, and then, without giving it any thought, he licked it like some would spoon after making a whipped cream for dessert. Mindlessness of this action made it clear that it shouldn’t be seen as anything to be astounded about.

And yet, Ted found dudeself in a state of total astonishment. Dude was able to feel all dudes pillar belfies suddenly crumbling down. Just like dude stated before, Ted was aware that dude definitely had a lot to learn about peculiar customs of vampires. However, dude was more than sure that they were supposed to be more like fruit bats than catboys. One could learn so much in just one day.

“What? You don’t eat glitter?” Ted had a hard time figuring out if their tone was sarcastic or not. Just as dude had a hard time figuring out if the information that Marko wasn’t a catboy afterall made dude feel disappointed or not. Perhaps a little bit of all options presented were true. “You should try it.” Not even a brief snicker followed that sentence. Ah, so he was serious then. This surprised Ted more than the actual advice.

“Dude, you’re totally right.” Dude was the cook of this household and that meant being open to every culinary experience. Or at very least, that was what Ted always told Bill when he invariably found dude eating peanuts with their shells. Again. Missy tried to gently guide dude to stop doing that, but Bill knew that the most cherished partner of his was simply a lost cause here. He hoped it worked like hens eating stones for health related reasons. He really did. “Just let me grab peanut shells. We could use glitter as the most excellent seasoning.”

“You’re so funny.” Marko said, not necessary as a compliment but more of a statement that needed to be said. Then, he laughed as the confirmation. Ted was the most appreciative of this gesture. “And a fucking genius,” -Marko continued with a huge grin on his face- “let’s do it.”

This time, Ted returned the smile. It totally was a genius idea and it felt the most stellar to find a person with similarly odd food preferences. It wasn’t an easy job at all. Even dudes Bill prefered to eat peanuts inside, instead of schells. Although it was tough to accept as the final truth, Ted eventually managed to do just that. Bill leaving all these shells for dude undoubtedly helped.

So they both went to the kitchen. Putting said shells with glitter from Marko’s jacket to the only clean bowl into the whole apartament felt weirdly magical. Well, colorful dust collected from blood sucking monster certainly sounded much more wizardly. After everything was thoroughly mixed together, it came the time for tasting this most unusual appetizer.

Ted glanced at his fellow cook. Marko glanced right back. The question of who should be the one to try it first just appeared on their minds. Something previously so unimportant that it didn’t deserve a single thought from either of them, now had a change to become a huge dilemma. Thankfully, Marko decided to speak up before that managed to occur.

“The honor’s yours.” He giggled in a somewhat unhinged way because how could he not. Maybe a question about laughing gas wouldn’t be too out of place. “It was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

That was right so Ted had no reason left to prolong the moment. Dude put the shining shell into dudes mouth. The tension in the room only grew.

“Dude, I’m never eating unseasoned peanuts from now on.”

#bnt #ted theodore logan #tlb #marko the lost boys #my writing #fluff #crack

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raendown · 7 years ago

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Summary: One quick change to his usual attire and it was like everyone else had lost their ability to be normal. Tobirama hated being confused.

Utter ridiculousness to be found by following the link or reading under the cut!

Less Is More

Every single citizen in the village of Konoha knew that there was one time and one time only when Senju Tobirama could be seen in public wearing less than full armor: training. It was also a rather well-known fact that despite his genius he tended to be rather oblivious when people of any gender paid him ‘special attention’. It was sort of cute in it’s own way.

The constant presence of an audience at the training grounds every time he needed a workout continued to baffle Tobirama. It boggled his mind how so many people could have so little to do with their day. Not to mention that it was just strange that they chose to lounge at the edges of the training areas where injury was a very real possibility, especially for the civilians. Yet still they came, every day, sometimes twice a day! His morning workout was always performed under the eyes of at least a small group. Sometimes the grounds were nearly unattended when he came back to train his team, though a crowd always seemed to collect around the edges by the time they were done.

As he might have expected, today was no different. Tobirama headed for the training ground already dressed for exertion, a light kimono shirt thrown overtop to ward off the morning chill. By now he had quite a bit of practice ignoring the indolent strangers loafing around the field and his eyes slid right over them as though they were merely part of the scenery. Even the soft sighs and low giggles as he passed by were given no heed.

His attention focused on those already waiting for him. Madara stood off to one side, arms crossed and face thoughtful, watching as Hashirama and Touka went through a series of warm up stretches. It wasn’t so unusual to see Touka here, though normally it would have been Izuna. He couldn’t go all out against Touka the same way he could against his old rival but it was good to spar against different partners every once in a while to avoid stagnating one’s patterns of attack.

Nothing really seemed to out of the ordinary that morning, which was why Tobirama was so surprised by the sudden deadly quiet in the area when he shrugged off his kimono shirt and tossed it to one side. He raised one arm up above his head, using his opposite hand to pull the elbow across and stretch out the limb as he turned back around to face the others.

Then he stopped with a frown, absently continuing his stretch as he looked around at his three training partners.

“What?”

They were all staring at him – intensely. Hashirama’s jaw appeared to have come unhinged, Madara’s face had been drained of blood yet was rapidly gaining too much back, and Touka was trembling with some repressed emotion he couldn’t identify yet.

“Brother…what…are you wearing?” Hashirama’s voice was so quietly that Tobirama almost had to lean forward to hear him, the exact opposite of his usual volume.

“Wearing?” Tobirama looked down at himself. “You’re the one who gave it to me. You don’t remember?”

“And you wore it?” Touka squeaked out, sounding incredulous. Tobirama lowered his arm, shook it out, and then repeated the stretch with the opposite arm. Off to the side, Madara made a strangled noise and gained a little more blood in his features.

Tobirama tilted his head to one side. “Well yes. It was a gift from Brother.” His second arm lowered and he shook it out to loosen the muscle before giving a brief nod to his sibling. “I appreciate it. You were right, it’ll be much easier to stay cool in this while I train. Much less fabric to keep in the heat.”

Without waiting for a response, he set his hands on his hips and bent backwards a little. He’d slept a little funny last night and his lower back was aching something fierce. As he did so, however, he heard Madara whimper. Straightening back up, he looked over just in time to see the leader of the Uchiha clan begin to tilt slowly backwards. Were it not for the fact that he thought someone else would do something, Tobirama certainly could have been fast enough to break the other man’s fall himself.

No one did though. He stood and watched Madara collapse backwards while both Hashirama and Touka stood right next to him, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what was happening beside them. They appeared more focused on his attire for whatever reason. He really didn’t understand it.

“Is he alright?” Tobirama asked mildly after Madara’s head thumped against the packed earth. Hashirama roused himself just enough to look down at his friend.

“Uhh…” His gaze returned to his younger sibling, head shaking gently from side to side. “I can’t believe you wore it…”

“You’re a walking hazard to the population, Cousin,” Touka managed to say before finally her trembles spilled over in to raucous laughter. He failed to see what exactly was so funny, but then, he very rarely understood her jokes.

“What does she mean?” he asked his brother.

Hashirama bit his lip, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Nothing. Don’t pay her any attention. Could you take Madara to the medi-nin for me? Looks like he’s bleeding.”

Tobirama didn’t see why he had to be the one to take the flailing Uchiha idiot to the hospital but didn’t bother arguing. When he stepped over he saw that his elder had been correct; Madara appeared to be suffering from a spontaneous nosebleed. Strange; he hadn’t seen the man take any sort of blow to the nose or face. The medi-nin would be able to help him, however, so Tobirama didn’t bother worrying too much about the why of the matter.

Madara murmured fitfully under his breath as his arm was thrown across a set of pale broad shoulders. His legs seemed slightly weak when he was hauled back to his feet but he managed to stay standing, leaning perhaps a bit heavily on the one supporting him. After taking one more sideways look at his helper, his unoccupied hand flew up to cup his nose, stemming the fresh flow of blood.

“Hmm, maybe you should put your shirt back on,” Hashirama mused as they began to step away. Tobirama huffed.

“I am wearing a shirt!” he protested. Touka’s cackling slowed just enough to allow her to speak, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of one eye.

“That is half a shirt at best!” she crowed. “Maybe don’t wear any more crop tops to training. It’s a danger to other people’s health!”

Then she was off again, clutching her stomach and doubling over with mirth. Tobirama still didn’t understand but he decided it wasn’t worth the effort of trying to. With a roll of his eyes he walked away, helping Madara off the field. As they passed through the crowd gathered by the edges of the grounds he was distantly surprised by the continued dead silence which met his ears. A brief look around showed him a most worrying sight.

Madara was not the only one suffering from spontaneous bleeding from the nasal cavity. An epidemic seemed to be going around. He wondered if it were a form of sickness or if perhaps he should check for airborne toxins. What could possibly be happening here?

Almost halfway to where the Konoha Hospital was being constructed Madara roused himself and seemed to blink around at his surroundings. Tobirama hummed and the other looked over at him with some surprise.

“Back with the living I see,” he said. “Hashirama made me take you to the medical staff. If you’re feeling better though, perhaps you could answer a question for me.”

“Answer a…question…” Madara wasn’t particularly coherent at the best of times, so Tobirama didn’t think very much of the hesitation in his voice right then either.

“I asked Brother when he gave it to me but he refused to answer for some reason.” He looked down at the shirt which appeared to have caused such a strange fuss. “What is a ‘Boy Toy’?”

Tobirama was most concerned when Madara’s eyes rolled back and he fainted for the second time.

#silly stuff inspired by silly conversations #rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #touka #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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thememoryhole · 7 years ago

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The Dude of Jack

August of 2004, probably almost exactly thirteen years ago. This story is the second in a series involving NSO (New Student Orientation) and is actually closely related to the first one.

As I mentioned in that previous story, part of NSO involved placement exams. However, that's not entirely accurate. NSO itself did not include placement exams, but to make life easier for incoming freshman, the university scheduled the exams for the days preceding NSO. The idea being that you could come one day earlier, knock out some placement exams, and then attend NSO.

One issue for us neighbor island kids was that, while NSO provided accommodations on-campus, if you went one day earlier, no such accommodations were available. I'm sure many people had friends or family on Oahu that they could lodge with for the extra day, but a couple of haole boys like John and I had no such luck.

The school did have an agreement with some hotel to help students in our situation. As I recall, it still wasn't cheap, definitely over a hundred dollars, which to a couple of teenagers fresh out of high school seemed like an insane amount of money to spend on a place to stay for one night. Between the two of us, the cost wasn't quite as bad, at least.

John and I flew to Honolulu that morning and the first order of business was checking in to the hotel. I don't even remember how we got there—I can't believe we'd be stupid enough to waste the money on taking a taxi, but on the other hand, we didn't know anything about Honolulu, so getting around was not yet our forte.

That's a theme I must stress from the beginning—we didn't know where we were or what we were doing. The epitome of small town kids lost in the big city for the first time, I can't be too specific on many of the details in this story because for the most part they were a blur. Though we would later grow to be quite adept at navigating the rough and tough streets of Honolulu, these were our first brave steps on our own.

I actually think that the hotel might have had an airport shuttle, which makes sense given that, when we arrived, it was like, a legit nice hotel. Not something super fancy, but this wasn't a Motel 8, either. Despite having reserved the room through the school, I remember needing a credit card, which was a big "holy shit" moment because we were still kids who didn't have anything. One of us used our newly-minted FHB debit cards. I think it was me, because for the rest of my time on Oahu I constantly worried about how the authorization hold on the card had basically reduced the amount of money I could spend during the entire trip to $30 or something ridiculous like that.

The hotel was in, or at least around, Waikiki, I am certain of that. I probably ended up walking past it a thousand times later on in life, but I never could remember which one it was. As we used the little keycard to open the door, I think we were both amazed that it was such a nice place. Why was this necessary for college kids here just to take entrance exams? The cost made sense, now, at least. It was fun, though. I enjoyed having a nice room to chill in. It would definitely beat the dorms they'd stick us in for NSO, as we'd soon find out.

I actually remember how we got to UH on that first day. Because the school at least had provided some public transportation guides for students staying at that hotel. We took the bus. I want to say it was the 4, but I have no idea if that's accurate or if TheBus still even uses the same line numbers as they did a decade and a half ago, so it's probably moot.

Regardless, I also remember that taking the bus was a big deal. Dude, we're just like, getting on this bus, who knows if we'll even get where we need to go? There were no smartphones back then, it wasn't like we could check our progress with an app or GPS. Just hop in, slide the two dollars in the little machine, take a seat, and hope eventually the little LED screen says the next stop is UH.

Clearly, we did get to UH, and I've already detailed some of the experiences there. I don't actually remember much more from that first day, obviously at some point we made our way back to the hotel and there isn't a whole lot that sticks out in my mind about that evening. What I remember more is the next morning. We had to get up early, to check out and then head back to UH for the official start of NSO.

But before that, we needed to grab breakfast. Being brave, we decided to wander the streets for a while and see if the big city could offer us anything novel. This is what makes me believe the hotel was at least in very close proximity to Waikiki, because we were easily able to stumble upon what felt like a very main drag of Waikiki. It was a weekday and still early yet, so it wasn't very busy, but it was very wandering tourist/pedestrian-friendly.

Then we saw it. Jack in the Box. At the time, Kauai had been Jack in the Box-less for a long, long time. I have no idea what John knew of Jack in the Box back then (I can't remember when Kauai's locations shut down), but I had fond memories. And when I had visited family in California, I always had a chance to rekindle my love affair with the fine purveyor of artery-clogging goodness.

It was clear. We were gonna have breakfast at Jack in the Box. Duh.

We wandered in, poring over the breakfast menu that was unfamiliar to us. There were a few other people in there, but we were in our own little brave new world. We placed our order, and waited.

I was probably talking too loudly, as usual. I wanted to appear cultured and worldly to John, and I was regaling him with stories of other rare fast food eateries. Jack in the Box was only one of the gluttonous delights we were denied back home on Kauai. I was telling him how in California, not only was I able to regularly enjoy Jack in the Box, but also this fabled little chain called Del Taco.

At that moment, the gentleman standing next to us at the counter butted into the conversation. He was a dude probably in his mid-30s, local, and possibly homeless. He was certainly slightly unhinged, as we were about to find out. He said, with no uncertain enthusiasm, "Oh yeah, man! I love Del Taco, too!"

Thinking back now, I suppose he was just joining in on the conversation because he was weird, but I remember at the time feeling like he was mocking me, like I was gushing too excitedly and noisily about something and he just had to step in and start ragging on me. And while it's not unheard of for a random stranger to join a conversation on Kauai or basically anywhere else, I still felt kind of uncomfortable because I was vaguely aware that things could be more dangerous in a big city.

Yep, small town kid for sure.

This dude certainly proved noisier than I ever could have been. He kept going on, "It's so much better than Taco Bell, or as I like to call it, TACO HELL!!!" The grin on his face indicated that he meant this as a joke, and an extremely funny and original joke at that. We nervously and politely chuckled.

I remember looking to the staff to see their reaction, which was one of indifference. Perhaps he was a regular that came in and behaved this way all the time, or perhaps they just weren't getting paid enough to deal with this shit. Couldn't blame them.

He asked us some questions, I can't remember what exactly, but somehow the topic of music came up and he suddenly asked, "Hey, do you guys like Linkin Park?!"

Maybe we looked like LP fans, or maybe he just really wanted to talk about Linkin Park. I think we muttered some sort of vague agreement, not wanting to push any buttons with this clearly unstable dude who was on a tear at seven o'clock in the morning at Jack in the Box.

"Oh, yeah? I like them too, but I don't know how that guy sings like that," he said. Then, without warning, he turned away from the counter, towards the dining area and screamed into an air mic, "CRAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLING IN MY SKIIIIIIN!!!"

When I say "scream," I'm not speaking hyperbolically. He put more energy into it than even Chester Bennington himself does in the real song. (His recent death is what inspired this story, because even thirteen years later whenever I think of Linkin Park all I can do is think back immediately to this morning spent in Jack in the Box.)

I think John and I both were pretty aware that we were fully on board the crazy train by now. Fortunately, the dude's attention had now shifted out towards the dining area. There was a Japanese family eating their breakfast, clearly tourists. As I recall, they were dressed in swimsuits, ready to hit the beach. Dad, mom, and a couple of small kids.

Who knew what was going through their mind as this guy started screaming loudly, but they could hardly expect that he would approach them and start talking to them in an over-the-top racist faux-Japanese accent. "OH, HERRO! GOOD MORNING!" he said, and they nodded nervously, hoping they weren't about to be murdered.

For some reason, he pulled out a $5 bill and proudly brandished it in their faces, pulling the bill taut a few times between his two hands for dramatic effect. "America quiz time! Do you know who this man is?!" he asked, waving the bill around the table. The family looked very confused. I have no idea if they understood in the slightest what was going on.

But after a moment of stunned silence, he made a buzzing sound. "Bzzt! WRONG! I guess you didn't know it's Mister Abraham Lincoln. Or probably as you would say it"—again he put on the heavy accent—"Abe-ra-ham RIN-con!" He laughed heartily at his own joke.

I wondered if this situation was going to get worse, like maybe he was not going to leave these poor tourists alone. Or maybe he would turn his attention back towards us. I had very little experience dealing with random crazies, I realized. Sheltered life.

But just as quickly as it started, it resolved. His order was ready, he grabbed the bag, and headed out the door, never to be seen again. John and I sat at a table and chowed down our breakfast, too bewildered by what had just happened to truly enjoy its goodness. We headed back to the hotel, checked out, and got back on a bus for UH.

The main reason for us coming to Oahu had not yet begun, but I had already learned something. Buying breakfast could be an adventure. So, this was what life was going to be like for the next four years.

#Freshman Year #2004 #Fall 2004 #August #August 2004 #Fall #Jack in the Box #NSO #Hotel #Waikiki #Crazy Guy #Eating Food #Adventure #Japanese tourists #Linkin Park #Crawling #Abraham Lincoln

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privatekururugi · 8 years ago

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Yeah I think rape will soon be included and god help us all. Do you think Sangwoo actually loves Bum? In a warped sick twisted way? I definitely think he would have some break down if Bum was to be taken away.

Do you know how many times I deleted what I wrote because I could literally type my hands off on this topic I had like a 20 page report before attempting to restrain myself to 2,000 words because I didn’t want to put you to sleep lol.

Anywho,

I think Sangwoo does love Bum, like you said, in a warped twisted way. The only way Sangwoo knows how to love. I might have not been so convinced but the event in Chapter 13 was too bold to ignore. Sangwoo was legitimately freaking the fuck out when he thought Bum was gone. The reader has never seen Sangwoo with his grip that far off the wheel before* and the first time we do having to do with Bum leaving him seems more than just coincidence to me. (*Runner up being in Chapter 8 when Bum more or less asked Sangwoo what his damage is and Sangwoo replied after a manic fit of laughter, “Nothing!”)

Sangwoo addressed no concerns over ‘Holy fuck he’s gonna tell!’ or ‘I’m caught! It’s over!’ Instead, his thoughts were solely on Bum and all they’ve been through together. He seemed more centered on ‘You dare play with my feelings like this?!’ than anything else. Feelings he’s probably rarely felt or experiencing for the first time. (His relationship with his mom and whether his love for her differs from his love for Bum is an entire other discussion I tried to ease off of here). Sangwoo even confesses Bum is the first person he’s told even that small bit of his past to. He’s already in a special category.

Sangwoo brought Bum into the kitchen, a special place because that’s where his mom cooked and was the setting to a lot of his childhood memories. I doubt many or any of his other hostages made it that far.

It can easily be interpreted Sangwoo was aware Bum poisoned the soup. The basement is intended for punishment. Attempted murder of Sangwoo’s person should deem worthy of punishment without question. But isn’t. Instead he brings Bum to his bedroom after a second thought and plays caretaker.Sangwoo could’ve easily slashed Bum’s neck deep enough to kill (given Bum is the one that hit a nerve, triggering unhinged moment runner up) but he didn’t. Prior to, he even suggests they do something else before he “does something he’ll regret” which tells me he doesn’t want to kill Bum but as impulsive and off-the-walls as he is, he very well could (which might’ve been the case with his mother). The wind was literally knocked from his lungs when he saw Bum hadn’t left and his legs turned to Jell-O. It even came as a massive shock to Sangwoo himself, his own feelings. I think that’s when he first acknowledged them for what they are.

Sangwoo legitimately looked wishful when he glanced back before “going out” Chapter 7(?), hoping Bum wouldn’t try to escape because in his warped mind, ‘Why would you leave me if you love me?’ He tells Bum that he confuses him and he can’t tell what’s real or not. (I find it funny how both Sangwoo and Bum’s feelings for the other confuse the other party. It’s actually surprising the amount of mirroring moments they’ve had). This was back in Chapter 8. Fast forward to Chapter 15 and Sangwoo is still uncertain. His expression is childlike and open when he’s waiting for Bum to answer if he loves him. It isn’t until afterwards, when Bum has reassured him another time, that he grows confident again. I know there’s a million metas about Bum craving love and validation, but we should take a good look at Sangwoo too. Bum is in the middle of a sobbing episode where Sangwoo was drawn genuinely concerned and listening but his brain comes to a halt and his whole demeanor changes when Bum mentions he’s cool. Shouldn’t he know that already? Assume so? The boy stalked you. One would think he thinks you’re, at least, cool. No. He’s got to hear it. He’s got to hear everything from Bum. Bum has to hear everything from Sangwoo. These two crave the others attention.

Ji Eun thinks Sangwoo is pretty rad too, and he knows this, but does he give a fuck? No. This kinda reaffirms my next point*

Bum didn’t show interests in falling out of love with Sangwoo until recently. He still was affectionate towards him even after learning of Sangwoo’s hobby and sick nature. Though Sangwoo seemed to ridicule this (‘Are you stupid?’) I think it also excited him and gave Bum potential. His victims look like his mom but Bum’s personality reminds Sangwoo of her. Maybe she was accepting of Sangwoo, and that’s why. ‘I’m even loved.’ Sangwoo says about Bum, after going on about his mother. I’m sure at least a handful of his victims caught themselves fancying him too and Sangwoo still didn’t care about them. Perhaps if *they can’t love him while still knowing of his darker side he sees their love as phony and therefore invalid. (I need some fucking answers about his mother honestly). I think his attention on Bum started off because of her but could become (or now is) credited to Bum just being Bum.

Also, Sangwoo might’ve been bored as all get out with his life before Bum came. He kept face for the sake of secrecy, but when it’s safe (like when he was on the bus. Who else was on the bus? I can’t remember. Safe enough, I suppose) he just looked. Sad. Like depressed. I’m sure Bum has made things interesting for him. Who knows how often or how long he’s gone through the same routine, (he hadn’t even killed a man since his dad until meeting Bum)Fuck ‘em. Kill ‘em. Fuck ‘em. Kill ‘em.

A better question might be can you be dependent on someone without loving them? Because it could prove a lengthy discussion topic for Bum and Sangwoo.

Someone on here had mentioned something about a possible scenario where the cops are taking Sangwoo (and Bum) away and Sangwoo’s screaming “No! You can’t take him away from me! You can’t!” And starts irrationally yelling for his mommy while Bum is crying at the doorstep being ushered by Seungbae, probably. Was that you??? I think that might’ve been you but I’m not certain. Anyway, I think it was a lovely scenario because I can 100% see it happening.

#ks #ask #i might revisit some analysis here so i need a ref to what i said lol #unless u want this private then i can delete and save it somewhere else #i usually respond privately to ppl unless its a compliment #or a question where it'd be more beneficial for the masses to know #of course u cant with anons so yeah

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