#rip cause you need the code to pick it up and i have the code in that SMS.

[sar3nka]

Also for some reason I got SMS saying my shein package is ready to be picked up from the post office. And I was like what cause I didn't order from shein. And the package is literally on the other side of my country. Who used my phone number... -_-

[toxicanonymity]

omg the way every inch makes me drool idk what u did to me i haven’t been the same since 😃 ur so talented i owe u my kidney for that fic alone ! would ever consider part two?? no pressure !!!

EVERY INCH 2

2200 words, m!ghostface x f!reader

follows Every Inch. NEXT: Every inch 3

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: He's never unmasked. He is night walks coded. Thank you for all the love on my first Ghostface fic. This was a "one shot fail" because of your engagement & enthusiasm. WARNINGS: I8+ piv, noncon, he calls himself daddy, voyeurism, dirty talk, masturbation, knifeplay, hair pulling, manhandling, choking kinda, degradation, pet names. NO USE OF Y/N. 

SUMMARY: Last time you saw ghostface, he was unconscious from the car wreck and you had your way with him. Now, he's coming to take what's his.

You've put Ghostface behind you, at least in terms of fearing for your life. He's finally left you alone. He must be too humiliated to face you after you restrained him and had your way with him in the car while he was passed out. You still look at the picture you took every day.  You'd like to get it printed and stick it on your bathroom mirror.  He looks so pathetic with his own mess all over his robe. But it's not just the humiliation you love to see. It's his cock. . .

Yeah, his cock.  You've thought about it more than a few times. He would've given you every inch. All you had to do was ask. And the video of him whimpering? You save that for special occasions. Like when you need to cum in a hurry. 

It's Friday night and you're lying in bed after getting home from seeing a movie.  You make sure your vibrator is charged before you start reading, but soon enough you get distracted.  You're looking at your video of Ghostface coming all over himself when a call pops up on the screen. No ringtone.  Your phone is still on silent from the theater.  

The restricted number still makes your heart jump even after such an empowering victory. But you rip the bandaid off and answer it on the first ring. "Hello?"

"So... how'd you like the movie?" the voice changer asks you. 

You panic and hang up, but when he calls right back, you answer again. "This isn't funny, whoever you are."

"You know it's me, baby. You feel it in your. . . pants."

"What do you want?"

"I asked how you liked the movie." 

Friday night. Lucky guess. You know he’s not going to let it go, so you might as well answer. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of acting aghast that he knows what you did tonight.  "Fine, I liked it. It was fun,” you say dismissively. 

"Picked a bad time to refill your drink. . .  Missed a great kill."

Your heart jumps. ". . .you were there?" The theater wasn't even that crowded. How could he go undetected? Surely you would have recognized something about a man you rode into oblivion. 

He's bemused. "What, you thought I was gone? Nowhere?”

"wishful thinking," you reply. 

Ghostface says, “Oh, we both know what you really wish for. . .”

You’re not even going to argue. 

“How was your date?" 

"How was yours with your hand?" You retort.

"You didn't look interested.” 

"What, are you gonna ask me out?" Your face heats up as you hear your own words.

"Not tonight. 'Cause you've got a date with that toy and my picture, don't ya?”

You freeze. 

He taunts, "Want a third wheel?"

You ask, "How long have you been watching me?"

"Never stopped, sugar." You feel like a fool for thinking he had. “I’ve just been a little. . . distracted.” 

You scoff. 

". . . Okay, did you call just to talk?"

"Wanted some audio with my visual this time."

"Pervert."

“oh I'm the pervert," he chides. Your face is burning up.

"You know, you’ve still got something of mine.”  His knife. You’ve hid it somewhere special.  “Keep comin’ for it. . .but don’t wanna interrupt you.”  

You look out your window, which faces the woods.  "Cause you put on a good show, baby." There’s never been a reason to close the curtains.  You preferred to see danger coming. Danger like him. A lot of good that’s done you. 

“You’re a creature of habit, aren’t you?” 

Are you that predictable?  

“Lucky for me,” he adds darkly.  His breathing becomes audible.  “Oh, you like this, don't you . . . knew ya would. . .  .  .Dripping already.” His voice is steady through the equalizer, but his speech pattern tells you his dick is hard. And god damn if he isn’t turning you on. 

“Dip a finger and show daddy how wet you are.” 

Before you know it, you're doing it. You don’t show him, but you curiously dip you fingers and pull apart the clear string of of your arousal

“Two fingers . . let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”  You lie there clenching your thighs together. 

“Ah, fuck it. Go ahead, turn it on,” he says but you don’t move. You clench your thighs together.  “Turn it on,” he repeats firmer, and something possesses you to turn your vibrator on. 

“Yeah, that’s it . . .”

You don’t even need the picture now, or the video, or your reading. But you don’t exactly want to let him make you come this fast. 

He sighs and says, “You’ve got a nice, juicy pussy." He spits, which the voice changer doesn’t process.

You close your eyes and recall what it felt like impaling yourself on his cock. 

"You don't have to say it," he reassures you menacingly. "I know I’ve got a nice cock.” 

He’s right about that.  You close your eyes as you touch yourself.  You’re too horny to think straight, but in the back of your mind, you try to tell yourself he killed your friends. He killed your friends. It doesn’t make you any less turned on. You sigh in shame at yourself. How does Ghostface have you wrapped around his finger?

“Oh, it’s only natural, baby. This cock’ll fuck you right up.” God, why does that turn you on? “In the guts and the head.” 

"Real shame I wasn’t awake.” He breathes heavily for a few seconds. "Coulda been even better for you.” 

You fail to suppress a moan as heat is bubbling in your core. 

“Yeah. . .Can’t stop thinkin' about this cock, can ya?” 

You turn up the intensity of your vibe. 

“Not everyday someone takes every inch of this.” He moans weakly then spits again. “Filthy girl.  Swallowed it right up.” 

“So tell me, sugar," his breathing is even heavier now. "How do you want it?”

“What if i don’t” you lie, then gasp at the tension in your core.

“Then why’d you take it,” he says with a bite and the heavy breathing stops. 

“Because,” you pant. “It was there.”

You’re getting close.  “How do you want me,” you self-loathingly ask. He doesn’t answer. You look at your phone and he’s gone. Shit. You open the video you took of him and as soon as you hear him whimper, your body jerks as the tension bursts inside you. As soon as you finish pulsing, the regret hits you like a tidal wave. So fucked up. Soooo disgusting.  You need a shower. 

—---

You take a long, hot shower, listening to music. You sigh, feeling a little better already. You turn off the water.

“Soaking wet. That’s how I want you.” You freeze and the only sound is the dripping water for a few seconds while the song changes.  

“Come on, you’re smarter than this.” The voice changer echoes through your bathroom and you almost fall over. “What’s next? Going down to the basement?”

You stand silently in the shower with your heartbeat echoing in your ears.  There’s nothing you can do.  You squat down, hugging your knees.  There’s no good option.   

The shower curtain slowly draws open and he looms above you.

“My turn, baby."  The glint of a knife–your own kitchen knife–catches your eye. He tilts his head slightly and observes you for a moment.  Then he pulls your hair and violently forces you to your feet. You begin to slip and he catches you, then manhandles you out of the tub and you whimper. You’re thrashing around wet and naked.  He drags you to the bathroom sink and puts you between him and the sink, both of you facing the mirror. He reaches out and wipes the mirror with his robe to make sure you can see. 

The sight is surreal. You’re completely nude with Ghostface up against you.  One gloved hand cups your breast while the other raises the knife.  He stays behind you and holds your own kitchen knife to your throat.  

He inhales audibly. “So clean and so filthy.”  

You elbow him in the gut. “Let go of me.” 

“Afraid not, baby. . .” The hand leaves your breast and slides lower.  He presses on your hip, bringing you tight against him. “Too late now.” His hips push forward and the massive shape of his hard cock makes you weak. 

He holds you still with just one of his big arms as you struggle.  “Coulda had it how ya wanted.” 

The unwelcome throb between your legs is spreading through your abdomen. 

“Now you’re gonna take it right here.”  He keeps you pinned to the counter, the arm with the knife holding you still while he lifts his robe and tugs his PJ pants down.  “You’ve put me behind you after all.”  He jerks you back against him, pulling you off the counter and holding you tight against his hard dick.  He lightly trails the tip of the knife down your cleavage and your stomach, dipping into your belly button on its way down to your mound. Then he holds it handle-up and teases your cunt with the flat of the knife as you watch in the mirror. The cold metal sends a shiver down your spine and you watch your nipples harden.

“Who are you?”

“Your favorite bad guy. Ask me a. . . harder one.” He grinds himself against you.

“What do you want?”

“To know what your insides feel like.” You suck in a deep breath and register the smell of weed as his cock twitches against your bare skin. “When I’m awake,” he adds. 

He pries your legs apart with his knee, then his glove brushes your inner thighs as he aligns his cock at your entrance. “Oh you’re ready ready,” he says. He notches himself with the thick head of his cock resting snug against your wet little hole, then he holds you tight and shoves himself into you with a sigh.  You have to try not to moan with the most welcome stretch. “Hell yeah,” the mask says into your ear. Thank God you’re so wet, because there is a lot of him. He pulls back, then slams into you, bottoming out with a grunt then another sigh. You watch your face in the mirror and try to wipe the enjoyment off it. 

The hand with the knife rests against your chest as he pounds you. “You’re lucky you’re so hot.” You want to memorize the feeling of his cock inside you so you can come to it later instead of giving him the satisfaction right now.  He pants as he thrusts into you harder.  “So. . .damn. . . hot.” You look down watching your breasts jiggle as he rails you. “I don’t think so. . . baby.” He grabs your chin and makes you look back up at the mirror. Your drooping eyelids give away how good you feel. 

“Take it like a bad girl.” He grunts and brutally fucks you in the way you’re afraid only he can. No, no, you shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like this. “A real bad girl.” A climax is gathering in your lower belly.  “Cock hungry little slut,” he bites and it makes you twitch. “This pussy’s mine now, you know.” 

He buries himself inside you for another minute and makes it rough. “Now or never baby," he pants. “Know you wanna come on this cock.” God, you do. “Do it now.”  He slams into you harder than ever and groans as he begins to pulse inside you.  You can’t stop it. The feeling of his climax trips you into your own.  Your needy cunt chokes his cock, milking him of an unfathomable load.  He fucks you through it and your body jerks into his imposing, robed form. His cum is in every crevice of your core.  You can’t help but moan and sigh.

“Good girl,” he says.

His cock slides out of you, leaving a void that slowly caves in on itself. He tucks it back into his pants. 

------

Ghostface forcibly positions your chin to take one last look in the mirror. Then he picks up your phone from the counter and forces you to swipe the camera on.  He points it at the mirror and says, “say cheese.” He tosses your phone back on the counter, then slams you chest-first into the back of the door with an impact. He holds the knife to the side of your neck and says, “you’re welcome.” He really smells like weed.

“Now where’s my knife.”

“I don’t have it,” you claim. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s mine.” 

“The cops have it.” 

“No they don’t. Why are you lying?”

You’re not really sure. He presses the flat of the knife so hard against your throat you start to choke. “Okay,” you manage hoarsely. He lets you breathe.  You look behind him toward the toilet. 

He drags you by the elbow to the toilet. He opens the back of it and the knife is wrapped up in a grocery bag. “You watch too many movies,” he says. He pushes you out of the way, opens the door, and leaves. The song turns to Call Me by Blondie.

NEXT: PART 3

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

Please engage (reblog/comment)  if you want more of this <333 It might go a long way in motivation.

Yes this is my night walks coded ghostface but I think most people reading this don't know what night walks is lol.

Call Me:This Blog::Red Right Hand:Canon. But in this case it especially makes sense 🥹

@hearteyed-shawty had a song rec last time: I'm Yours by Isabel Derosa.

Slasher master list

@ghostslittlegf @sunflowerleii @igotmajordaddyissues @rileyquinn07

[bunniehrtz]

basketball abby who needs to fuck you in her jersey before each game as her “good luck charm” .. :3

had to make abby emily coded. why wouldn’t i?

lmk if u want more bb!abby <3

“hi, baby,” you say, walking into the almost empty changing room. your girlfriend stands at the feet of her belongings, clad in her shorts and sports bra, her signature braid draped down her back.

“c’mere, sweet girl,” abby beckons you over, pulling you immediately into a messy, sloppy kiss. her tongue slips past your lips, causing you to gasp softly.

“abs, baby. you gotta get out there in, like, five minutes,” you breathily laugh, pulling away to look up at her. abby shakes her head, lifting your shirt up, throwing it behind her. before you could process her haste movements, abby picks her jersey up, putting it on your body.

“need my good luck charm. gonna be good for me, baby? gonna be my good luck charm?” abby whispers into your ear, slowly bending you over against the bench. you instinctively nod, feeling abby eye your back.

a big 21 is placed on your back, anderson written below it. the view incites a feeling of pride, yet extreme arousal in the blond. you gasp softly, feeling abby rip down your pants and underwear, her large palm kneading your ass.

“beautiful girl. my beautiful girl,” she whispers under her breath, taking her strap out from her shorts, teasing it at your weeping entrance.

“god, abs. please, no teasing,” you whimper, frowning at the dry laugh that leaves abby’s mouth.

“oh, baby. where’s the fun in that?” she teases even more, her smirk evident in her voice as she pushes through, your moans echoing through the empty changing room. your eyes open wide as you feel abby’s middle and ring fingers enter your mouth, her thumb closing it around them.

“gotta shut up, baby. can’t have everyone hearing how much of a slut you are for me, can we?” abby spits, her thrusts getting harsher and faster as she goes on. you shake your head, whimpering and borderline drooling down her fingers and your chin.

the friction of the base of her strap only brings abby closer to orgasm, feeling your cunt clench and tug at her faux cock signifying your release quickly catching up to you. your teeth bite down on abby’s soaked fingers, your hips pushing back against her own.

you turn to look up at abby over your shoulder. her flushed pink cheeks, the sweat dripping down from her forehead to her nose, the freckles on her shoulders just getting too much for you and your poor pussy.

“god- fuck!” you spit abby’s fingers out of your mouth, your moans and whimpers bouncing from wall to wall as you feel your stomach drop, your vision turn white and abby’s deep voice in your ear.

“yeah, i know, baby. cum for me, dirty fuckin’ girl,” she spits, watching as your body collapses onto the bench below you.

the next 5 minutes feel like a blur, you vaguely can remember abby getting dressed, dressing you back up, placing a kiss on your lips as you sigh, “good luck, baby.”

you sit on bench court side, the ache between your legs still there, now only aching for abby to be back where she belongs. your eyes catch hers, drifting up and down her body, landing at the bulge almost protruding from her shorts. she sends you a wink, you roll your eyes jokingly in return. perv.

taglist @queenofmistresses @bambishaven @abigails-gf @drunkelliewilliams @aouiaa @dykeanderson @abbysprettygiiirl @toasthatervee @marsworlddd

[txmxkis]

i'm only really me when i'm here with you

pairing. boothill x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort

wc. 1.5k+

summary. you're determined to help boothill heal from his trauma by... doing his hair?

warnings. i took liberties with this, who knows what specific parts he actually has left or whether he can blush or not (in my heart he can lol), mention of boothill picking u up but i mean. he’s literally so strong he could handle anything, i made him soooo sad and it’s possibly wildly out of character, selfship coded as usual rip

a/n. continuing the tradition of using lyrics from songs on selfship playlists for fic titles lol. based on my tags on this post

they say that trauma is stored in the body, and while boothill didn't necessarily have a complete body anymore, this was still something that you thought about frequently when it came to his physical form.

regardless of just how much of his original self remained, there was still enough of him left that you were sure it had to be true in some capacity. after all, he retained his head and his heart—at least you were fairly certain—two of the most vital components of human anatomy.

it was so hard to read him. the real him. he tried so hard to always act confident and cool. actually, he didn't even really have to try or act. it seemed as if it came to him naturally and endlessly. there was a perpetual air of optimism surrounding him that was difficult to dim even on his most wearisome days.

even after experiencing whatever horrors he had to face from mission to mission, when he came home, the door to whatever room you were currently in would fling open—sometimes scaring you half to death—and he would greet you so happily that it felt as if there were no terrible things in the universe whatsoever.

you cherished his mannerisms, especially because you could be a pessimistic sort of person. rather frequently, in fact. you loved having him near you, able to draw laughter from you, however unwillingly it might be on your part at times. he was oddly skilled at making you feel assured and comfortable, in a way that nothing and no one had ever done before. you couldn’t seem to remember how you ever lived without his encouragement, and you didn’t think you could ever feel truly whole without it again.

there really was no accounting for his relentlessly positive attitude. given what he'd seen and endured, you thought it was damn near impossible to be as carefree as he seemed to be. at any rate, he did manage it. however, there were times, moments he rarely ever allowed you to witness, in which his façade would falter slightly and betray just how heavily the past weighed on him.

occasionally, you would catch him staring at his reflection, a downcast expression painting his beautiful features. every time you spoke of your family, you could detect glimpses of sadness in his eyes, albeit hidden behind a smile. once you even caught him crying as silently as he could—you assumed so as not to alert you—his shoulders sagging under an unforeseen weight, a look on his face that you could only describe as heartbroken. your own heart broke with his in that moment.

you always tried to be particularly attentive following those moments, but it was so difficult to get him to open up to you. he just wanted you to be happy. to not bother worrying about him. you had your own problems, after all, and there was no need for him to add to your burden. no need for him to ask for your pity.

he knew you cared for him deeply enough that it would cause you pain, and even if it was only a fragment of the grief that he lived with every day, he was sure that he would feel terribly and incessantly guilty about it. if he could remove every single aspect of your life that caused you suffering, he would do it in a heartbeat, and he could say that because it was one of the few original parts he had left. how could he add to that suffering by forcing you to imagine all the horrors from his own life?

it took so much time and effort on your part to convince him to open the door to himself, if even just a tiny crack. he was still extremely careful with his words and the details that he disclosed to you—he didn't want to overwhelm you, and he certainly didn't want to hurt you. in reality, these conversations, painful as they were for you to hear, actually helped you to feel as though you could comfort him more effectively.

yes, it hurt immensely to know even a small fraction of how much anguish he had experienced. yes, you despised the people who had done this to him and wanted to fight them yourself, in fact. yes, your chest felt tight with ache and sadness on his behalf. still, you could help him more by knowing than by not knowing.

eventually, you were able to make it this far, brushing through his hair as gently as your hands could manage. he had confessed to you in one of his more vulnerable moments that the white shock of hair on his head often served as a stark reminder of worse times, of the trauma and stress inflicted on his body. the admission gave you an idea, one that made boothill feel more than just a little bit exposed. he wasn’t accustomed to being looked after like this, with so much affection and love.

you began to make a routine out of it. every day you would do something with his hair—whether it was braiding it and tying it up intricately to make him feel pretty or simply combing through the strands and allowing them to cascade around his shoulders and down his back.

sometimes you would sit him in front of a mirror while you worked so that he could see exactly what you were doing in the moment. he didn’t quite understand how it all came together, but he found it fascinating to see how you twisted and weaved. at times, you were so focused on the hair in your hands that your brows would furrow, tongue poking out slightly between your lips. in the reflection, you genuinely looked like you were enjoying yourself.

even more noticeable to him was the expression you wore when you looked at him through the mirror. your gaze was so full of tenderness that his chest ached. he could swear that his heart actually skipped a beat. whenever that happened, you could see a flaring blush creep up his cheeks and into his ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little bit at how endearing it was.

other times, you would settle on the couch, with him seated on the floor between your legs, adorning his hair with the cutest accessories, the two of you laughing and joking the whole time. you would delicately twist the locks back, securing them with pretty, multicolored clips that shone in the light.

when you were done, you would lead him slowly to a mirror, hands over his eyes, nearly stumbling over his legs as you walked behind him. you would pull your hands quickly from his face, revealing your handiwork, beaming with pride and grinning at how adorable he looked. he loved every minute of it—and every bit of you, he would think to himself as he turned to pick you up and spin you around, laughing in that deep voice of his. then he’d set you down gently, thanking you for your hard work with kisses sprinkled across your face.

days that were particularly trying for him would simply be spent in comfortable silence. when he didn’t feel like talking from the pain of it all, he would wordlessly lay his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his long locks. feeling your touch—the slight pull on his scalp, the tickle of shifting hair—it all made him feel so relaxed that he could melt right into your skin until you absorbed him fully into you. often, the combination of this and the gentle, steady beat of your heart would lull him to sleep, and seeing his expression ease and soften in these moments was all the reward you ever needed.

in the beginning, it was unclear whether this dedicated time spent caring for his hair was helping or not. over time, however, you noticed a glimmer in his eyes—something that told you he would be alright, despite everything.

pain still remained; it always would, but instead of constantly gazing at his reflection with grief, every once in a while you would catch a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. it was as if he was remembering how you hummed while placing those clips, or how he had teasingly whipped you with his hair on a more playful occasion, or any number of positive memories that you had put so much effort into lovingly crafting with him.

you were determined to do your best, slowly but surely, to lighten his burden—or at least help carry it. there was no reason for him to feel alone when he had you by his side. and if creating these happy memories was what you had to do in order to help him, well, you would gladly continue forever.

reblogs & interactions are appreciated! thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

[ghost-1-y]

you're beautiful

pairing: obanai x reader

content warnings: MDNI, slight manga spoilers (what's under obanai's bandages), sexual content, penetrative sex (m! receiving), pegging, sub!Obanai x dom!reader, reader is female-coded, praise k!nk, body worship(?) idk y’all it’s intimate

a/n: a lil kinktober drabble for y'all bc i felt like it! kind of was inspired by @/xxsabitoxx's "kinktober side quests" but also my brain has just been filled with obanai brainrot recently and i needed to do something about it; this is how i actually hc obanai (as a subby baby rather than a dom like he is in "Depths" hehe) (also y'all can thank @crazycatlddy for filling my head with obanai brainrot)

divider credit: the beautiful @/benkeibear (apparently this is the color theme i'm going with for obanai, just kinda took it and ran with it lolol)

“Mmph– please,” Obanai whimpered against the sheets, his clothes and face bandages long forgotten on the bedroom floor, face pressed into the mattress and ass sticking up in the air as you sunk your strap into him.

He was such a pretty sight, his milky skin glowing in the moonlight that softly shined through the window, hair scattered and messy as it spread across his face. You leaned down to brush his hair back and gather it around the back of his neck, leaving soft kisses along his cheek before trailing down to his jaw.

“Such a pretty boy for me,” you whispered hotly into his ear, “don’t you think so, baby?”

Obanai shuddered, he was not quite comfortable yet with his looks, yet the way you spoke to him – how gentle and soft your voice was, made him want to believe every single word that dripped out of your honeyed mouth.

You received a small moan in return, causing you to smile against his neck as you slowly fucked into him – he had learned to take your strap so well, and you loved watching him squirm as little mewls bubbled up from his throat. 

“M-More–” he asked, his voice quiet. You hummed as you started to move your hips back and forth, slowly fucking moan after moan out of his sweet mouth.

You wished he could see the beauty of it. You, bent over his small form, knees digging into the mattress as your skin pressed flush against his back, reaching your arm up towards his face to softly brush the scars that lined his mouth with the pad of your thumb. Obanai tensed, but soon relaxed into your touch, his eyes closing as you gently traced the rough patches of skin.

“I love you,” you whispered, “and that means all of you – including what you may not love about yourself. I still find you beautiful.”

Tears prickled in his eyes, his heart aching from the sweet words that graced his ears, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as you picked up the pace between thrusts, causing his mind to nearly go blank as you fucked deeply into his tight hole.

The walls rang with the soft sound of Obanai’s whines, drool seeping out of his mouth and pooling onto the sheets beneath. His eyes rolled back as you thrust into his prostate, sparks of pleasure floating through him as tension built up in his gut. With a strangled moan, his orgasm ripped through him, his cock spurting out his release and dirtying the linen beneath.

You pulled out of him, only to leave kisses along his back – starting between his shoulder blades and moving down along his spine.

And for once, Obanai felt beautiful.

[fidgetspringer-art]

Anyone want some angst? Cause I found some random angst laying around. With the bonus of Martin and Gabe interacting for the first time.

It’s 7am when Gabriel gets the call. The one he’s spent the last ten years dreading, knowing full well that sooner or later it would inevitably come.

-

Gabriel walks through the halls of the large hospital in a daze. Trying his best to follow the directions given by the nurse down at the front desk.

He pauses outside of what is supposed to be Noah’s room, staring at the door. His hand shakes when it comes up to twist the handle.

The figure in the bed at the far end of the room wouldn’t be recognizable if not for the fact that Gabriel could pick Noah out of a crowd with his eyes closed.

His face is so swollen and bruised Gabriel doesn’t think he could open his eyes even if he’d been awake to try.

His lip is split in several places, blood hastily wiped away.

His knuckles must be busted too, if the bandages covering his hands are any indication.

Gabriel sinks down into one of the free chairs in the room. There are two beds in here, separated by a thin curtain. The other bed is empty. Maybe just because it happens to not be needed right now, or maybe intentionally left as such, considering Noah’s case is likely a police matter.

Just a few more hits short of being a murder case.

Gabriel reaches out and rests his hand on Noah’s chest. Feeling the slow and steady beat of his heart against his palm. Just to remind himself that Noah is still alive.

In the countless times he’s imagined getting that call in the past, he’s never once imagined Noah still breathing at the end of it. It just hadn’t seemed likely.

But he’s here. Lungs inflating in his chest, rising up to meet the gentle touch of Gabriel's hand.

Noah is going to survive this, just like he’s survived everything else he’s put himself through. There is no other option.

Gabriel just hopes he won’t be too changed for it.

Gabriel sits with him for a few hours. Just watching him rest. Hands never leaving him for long.

He thinks about the last time Noah was at the studio. How happy and carefree he’d seemed. Gabriel had known from the moment he’d turned up, exactly where he’d come from, could always tell when he’d been spending time with his cowboy.

Gabriel blinks. Martin.

Unlocking Noah’s phone is an easy matter. There are no secrets between them, not even pin codes. The phone is thankfully accounted for in the plastic bag holding Noah’s small collection of items.

Gabriel steps out into the hallway to make the call, he’s not sure why. It’s not like Noah is going to hear him. But he needs a moment to himself anyway. Needs to take a breath.

Finding the right name in the contact list isn’t an issue, there aren’t that many names in there, but actually hitting the call button is harder than Gabriel was expecting.

He rips the band-aid off and brings the phone up to his ear. Cracked screen rough against his cheek.

It rings for a long time, long enough to have him second guessing himself. He’s almost sure no one is going to pick up when finally the line connects.

“Noah?” It’s urgent. Scared. “Noah, where are you, what's wrong?”

Gabriel’s chest aches. He can hear himself in Martin’s voice. Knows that if Noah called him out of the blue like this he’s be saying exactly the same words. Knows that he too would be fearing the worst.

“Noah! Talk to me.”

Gabriel shakes himself. Shuts his eyes. “Martin Hart?”

“No.” Martin’s breath leaves him with the word. “No, no, no, no, please-”

“He’s alive.” Gabriel is quick to clarify. “He’s alive.”

He can practically feel the relief in the silence across the line. He opens his mouth to continue, but no words come out. Martin’s fear for Noah’s life has rocked him. To know that someone else cares as much about Noah as Gabriel does- it’s stunned him.

“But he’s hurt?” Martin asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Gabriel nods before he realizes Martin’s can’t see him. “He’s-” He swallows. “He’s unconscious. Broken a few bones too. They don’t know how long he’ll be out for, or if he’ll be himself when he wakes up, or-” His voice cracks. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but his cheeks are suddenly wet. “Can you-” He’s not really sure what he’s asking for, just knows that this is too much, even for him.

“I’m on my way, Gabriel.” Martin says, he must have assumed who was calling, there aren’t that many people in Noah’s life, after all. “You keep him company, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as I can, just tell me where you are.”

Gabriel rattles off the address. It’s a six hour drive from wherever Martin is, apparently. The thought of sitting in that hospital room alone for six more hours is enough to have Gabriel feeling sick.

He listens to Martin move around on the other end of the line, likely getting some things together before he heads out. The sound is soothing, less lonely, but then Martin tells him he has to hang up, that he only owns a landline, and Gabriel swallows down his dread and lets him go.

A nurse stops by a few hours later to check Noah’s vitals and to make sure he’s comfortable.

Gabriel watches her work with a numb sort of detachment. She’s humming and chatting, seemingly to the both of them, about nothing in particular, and Gabriel doesn’t bother answering her. He just gives her a tight smile when she comes to give him a pat on the shoulder before she leaves.

He can’t help the way he keeps checking his watch. He’s subconsciously counting down the hours until Martin gets here. He feels childish. Like he’s a kid waiting for an adult to come help them through a situation they can’t handle on their own.

He doesn’t even know this guy. Yet he sort of does. Noah is always talking about him, about his farm and his animals and the way Martin cooks for him. Real, actual food when Noah rarely gets to have anything besides junk food.

He remembers how distrustful he’d been towards this Martin guy when Noah had first told him about him. He'd imagined some older creep, manipulative and taking advantage of a young man desperate for his own place in the world.

He’d expected Martin to try to pin Noah down. Or to use him and discard him when he got too much. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But it’s been four years now, since Noah first met him. And every time Noah finds his way back to Gabriel’s studio after having spent time with the guy. He’s happy. Happier than Gabriel ever gets to see him.

Gabriel can always tell when Noah is leaving him to go stay with Martin too, even if he doesn’t let on that that’s where he’s headed. There’s an excitement to him that is unmistakable. Like he can’t wait to let his bike eat up the miles between them.

Of course there are times when Noah comes to him in a bad mood. They have their fights, every now and then. Mostly it’s Noah’s fault, but even so, Gabriel always feels a twinge of anger directed at Martin too, even if it’s almost never warranted. He just can’t help it.

With almost an hour left on the clock, there’s a timid knock on the door.

Gabriel doesn’t bother calling out or standing to open it, and he doesn’t have to, because only seconds later a tall, weathered man steps into the room.

He looks so much like your stereotypical cowboy it almost makes Gabriel want to laugh.

He’s wearing a red plaid shirt with an old work jacket pulled over it. He’s clutching a brown hat to his chest, just as dusty with red dirt as his well worn jeans and boots.

He freezes in the door, eyes going wide at the sight of Noah on the bed. He looks like he’s been physically stuck by the image.

Gabriel wonders then, how often Noah comes to him with bruises on his face. If he reserves that privilege for Gabriel alone, or if it’s just as common of an occurrence for Martin as it is for him.

“Hey.” Gabriel says, his voice comes out hoarse, raspy with disuse.

Martin doesn’t startle exactly, but he snaps out of his shock enough to look over. He blinks. “You Gabriel?” His voice is deep. He almost sounds stern, except Gabriel can tell he isn’t trying to be.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You speed all the way here or what?” He has to have been, to have gotten here this early.

Martin just shrugs. He slips out of his jacket and pulls up a chair, sitting next to Gabriel, facing the bed. He stares at Noah for a long time, silent.

“He woken up at all?”

Gabriel sighs. He reaches over and places his hand back on Noah’s bandaged one. “Not yet. They don’t know how long he’ll need. Something about the swelling on his brain going down first.”

Martin nods. “Do you know what happened?”

He knows Martin must have drawn the same conclusions as him. That he must have assumed Noah had a wreck until he saw his injuries. The way they don’t line up with those of an accident.

“Not really. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Thought he was out your way.”

“He was. Left a few days ago, said he was heading this way but, you know-”

Gabriel does know. Noah has always been bad at keeping him in the loop. He knows he’s even worse about doing so for Martin. “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Martin smiles at him, and for a second he understands why Noah was drawn to him in the first place. He has a warmth to him, a steadiness that is sorely lacking from Noah’s life. He feels like a rock, sitting beside Gabriel like this, even as he’s clearly going through a lot in his own head, he projects an outward calmness that does a lot to soothe Gabriel’s worries.

“Thank you for calling me. I’m grateful for you letting me know. God knows he’d never call me himself.”

Gabriel huffs. Doesn’t he know it.

“I figured he’d want you close, when he wakes up, even if he would never admit to wanting either of us here.”

The cowboy deflates. “I hope so. I hope I’m not overstepping, I never quite know where I stand in all this.”

Gabriel feels a stab of sadness for the man. He clearly cares so much about Noah, and true to form, Noah is making loving him as difficult a choice as possible.

“He would want you here. I know he would.” It doesn’t feel like enough, so he adds. “He never stops talking about you, you know.”

Martin looks over, eyebrows raised. “That true?”

Gabriel nods. “I think I could name every single one of your chickens by now.”

That makes Martin chuckle. Deep and hearty. “He loves those birds.”

“He sure does.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just the beeping of the machines filling the room. It’s getting later in the day now. The little bit of sunlight hitting the far wall through the curtains is golden against the stark white of the walls.

Gabriel sighs. The sound drawing Martin’s attention. “I need to go see if I can track down his bike before it gets stolen, if it hasn’t been already.” He stands up, wishing he had thought to bring a jacket with him. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

He gives Martin the pin code to Noah’s phone and shows him how to find his name in the contact list. It’s obvious the guy has never held a smartphone before, but he figures it out quickly.

“Go.” He says, when Gabriel hesitates in the doorway. “That bike is his whole damn life.”

And isn’t that the truth.

Gabriel spends the next two hours scouring the streets of the downtown area for any sign of the bike.

He knows from the nurses where abouts Noah was found, but it was down a back-alley in an industrial area. Far from the usual kind of place Noah might haunt. And not an easy area to get a motorcycle into. He opts to rule out the more likely places first before trying his luck there.

He checks the streets around every single bar and pub and club he can find, peering into alleys and side streets with no luck.

Next he checks the local motel parking lots. No bike.

Every time he sees a parked motorcycle on the street his heart skips a beat. But it's never Noah's.

He’s about ready to give up and head back to the hospital when he decides to finally go look at the area Noah was found in. He just feels the need to see it for himself. Like maybe it will clear things up somehow. Give him some answers.

Finding the exact alleyway isn’t hard.

There’s police tape all around it. It’s a full on crime scene.

Gabriel doesn’t go beyond the tape. Scared to disturb anything that might be important to finding whoever did this to him. Even if he knows the investigation will inevitably end up closed before anything comes up. It’s not worth the resources. Not for some homeless biker with a track record of petty crime and picking fights.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning over the tape, Gabriel looks down into the darkness between the old buildings.

He doesn’t even need to bring his phone’s flashlight up to see the pool of blood on the ground.

There’s a pallet by the wall that’s splintered, like something impacted it. Fell on it maybe, or was pushed. Between it and the pool of blood lays a rusty old steel pipe.

It paints a picture well enough.

Gabriel turns away before he makes himself sick. He knows he should head back to the hospital, but he can’t bring himself to go just yet. He feels like a failure, both for not having found the bike, but also for not doing more to prevent this from happening in the first place.

He should have been a better friend. Should have talked Noah out of this kind of lifestyle, kept him safe.

Not that it would have done anything except push Noah further away from him.

He walks down towards where he knows the river will be. The old docks are silent around him. The only sound the humming of the lights illuminating the area, and the occasional seagull looking for a place to hunker down for the night.

He’s getting dangerously cold. He’s been walking around for hours, having left his car back at the hospital so he could ride the bike back if he found it. Now it’s looking like he’ll be walking back too. He’s not dressed for this. He should go before-

He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s following the river back into town when he passes underneath a bridge. The rumble of traffic above him loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It’s pure chance that he glances up and into the darkness underneath the cover of the overhanging structure.

It’s Tansy.

She’s tucked up against a massive support beam, half covered by Noah’s trusty old tent haphazardly pitched against her side on the asphalt.

Noah’s things are all there, by some miracle. His backpack is hidden inside the tent along with his helmet, and upon closer inspection, his saddle bags are untouched.

Gabriel shakes his head at Noah’s luck. It’s always a theme with him, luck. He seems to have endless amounts of it, always working in his favor. Even now, stuck in a hospital bed with injuries bordering on incompatible with life, yet he’s facing decent odds, if the doctors are to be believed.

Pure luck, they’d said, that he wasn’t worse off.

Gabriel swallows down the bile in his throat and starts taking the tent down to pack it away.

Noah’s keys feel good in his hand when he pulls them out of his pocket, and he feels a surge of pride and relief when he turns it in the ignition and kicks the bike to life.

Tansy starts up just as willingly as she always does.

Gabriel lets her idle while he puts Noah’s helmet on. It’s far too tight on him, and he can already tell he’s going to have a banging headache by the time he makes it back to the hospital.

“Did you find her?” Martin asks as soon as Gabriel comes through the door. He’s sitting in Gabriel’s chair now, pushed up close to Noah’s side.

Gabriel holds the helmet up in answer. “Pure luck. But I did, in the end.”

“Good. Here, I’ll-” He goes to stand up, but Gabriel stops him.

“Sit. It’s alright. I’ve been with him all day.” Martin looks unsure, but he nods and sits back down. The way he takes Noah’s injured hand in his own is so achingly tender Gabriel has to look away to keep himself from letting his already worn thin walls crumble.

He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but he can do this. He can hold it together for a while longer.

[dollsinvogue]

Clawdeen Wolf core doll diary scans

Found a bunch of old monster high diaries and I wanted to share them! Also does anyone else remember these “unlock more online” codes??

English + Français transcription below

English:

this diary belongs to: Clawdeen Wolf

This is my diary. If you want your life to last longer than it takes to read it. You won't.

Unlock more online: MHCWPACK

July 14th

I got up late so there was no hot water left then I cut myself shaving this cause my razor was dull and I was in hurry to get out of the freezing water but amazingly enough the day actually went down hill from there… Later on Crescent, the alpha Kitty, must have sensed my mood cause instead of spending the night prowling around he curled up in my lap and Kept me company while sorted through my funk.

July 15th

It rained today. I hate the rain. It totally caused my hair to poof out and I was not about to spend the rest of the day looking like a were-poodle. So I grabbed a pair of electric clippers and 15 minutes later I had a new 'do. It's short, scary cute and perfectly wolfish I think I'll keep it for a while or at least until this rain goes away. I have decided that when I control my own fashion empire I'm going to have a stylist on call just for rainy days.

August 4th

I hate, hate, hate! sharing a room with my sister. Howleen totally growls in her sleep, she wears my clothes and she got sprayed by a skunk last week which means that every time she takes a bath, which isn't often, it stinks up the whole room. I'd hope she gets fleas but she'd just spread them to me.

August 7th

I've got to get serious about planning what I'm going to wear on the first day of school this year. I mean It's not like I'm worried about some monster showing up and looking more fabulous than me but I feel obligated to set the bar for everyone else. Last year on the first day of school I caused a minor traffic jam just walking across the school parking lot. It's going to be hard to top that but I've been experimenting with some new hair styles and I'm considering just asking for a school assembly so that crowd control won't be a problem.

August 10th

I tried a new hair remover made especially for werewolves. The label says it will totally eclipse unwanted hair and it's supposed to keep you hair-free for a week …not. It's expensive, it stings worse than wolfs bane and I still have to shave twice a day! What a rip…I could have used that money for a new belt.

August 15th

spent the day at Draculaura's. She's the absolute sweetest BMFF ever! Although if she doesn't stop trying to feed me tofu im going to bite her j/k ;p. She has like rooms and rooms of clothes. It's like a fashion museum. So awesome! She always says that were going to pick out clothes to give Ghoul Will but she always gives most of them to me. I pretend I don't need them but with so many brothers and sisters it's not like there's a lot of extra money to go around for new fashions. I guess we must have gotten a little loud though cause we woke up her dad. He doesn't really like werewolves very much but he tolerates me cause I'm friends with Draculaura. Whatever. It's not like I want to hang out with him either. Anyway, the best thing about Draculaura is that she doesn't give me clothes because she feels sorry for me, she does it because she’s my friend.

August 19th

Went to the Maul with Clawd today. He needed a new football and I needed to get some ideas for my next hair style. While I was there I saw the strangest thing. I was walking past the witches Kitchen supply store and saw Deuce Gorgon reading a cookbook! I yelled "Yo Deuce, trying to find a recipe for snake?" He dropped the cookbook and looked all embarrassed; at least I think he was. It's hard to tell what's going on behind those glasses. I think he would have tried to stone me but Clawd walked up and Deuce chilled. Sometimes it's cool to have the toughest guy in the school on your side. Thanks bro!

August 21st

If I were a mad scientist, the hairstyle experiment I tried today would be locked away in the lab never to see the light of day again. I flat ironed my hair so it was straight and then I razor cut it. As soon as the curl came back things got ugly. Even Howleen felt sorry for me. It's a good thing I'm the werewolf equivalent of Rapunzel and my hair will be grown out by the end of the week or I’d be wearing a hat until Halloween.

August 23rd

Draculaura tried to talk me into trying out for the fearleading squad again. Puhh…leeze. A list of why I'm not a fearleader:

I. I don't "Try out" for anything.

2. I wouldn't be caught human in those uniforms.

3-8 Boring and Cleo de Nile

9. While they're yelling for the boys I'm in the stands flirting with the boys.

10. Boring and Cleo de Nile.

I have thought about trying out just to show I could nake the team but then I look at my list again and it reminds me why I don't want to.

August 25th

Hung out at the Maul with Draculaura and met a new girl named Frankie Stein. She was shopping with her mom and fortunately for Frankie then ran into us. Otherwise she would have started the first day of school dressed like the Bride of Lame-n-stein. Frankie's beautiful and sweet but a bit naive. Fortunately, I’m here to make sure she gets properly educated in the ways of the fierce fashionista.

September 5th

Our annual End of summer family bar-boo-que was todan. Mmmmm...fat juicy steaks for everybody. Except for Draculaura of course. She brought tofu dogs, veggie burgers and a human boy named Jackson Jekyll. She'll always be my BMFF and the sweetest monster ever but ghoulfriend makes some strange choices. Anyway, I could tell he was really nervous, and what human surrounded by werewolves wouldn't be, until Clawd started talking about football and then the two of them kinda hit it off. I think Draculaura is major league crushing on this guy.

September 6th

I know most monsters are probably dreading starting school but not me. I want to learn as much as I can so that I'll be totally prepared when I start building my fashion empire. If for nothing else than to be able to move out of the house and get my own place without having to share everything with all my brothers and sisters. Oh no! I think I smell Howleen in the shower! Why couldn't I have been an only wolf?

About Me

Name: Clawdeen Wolf

Age: 15

Monster Parents: The Werewolf

Killer Style: I’m a fierce fashionista with a confident no-nonsense attitude. I'm also gorgeous, intimidating, and absolutely loyal to my friends.

Freaky Flaw: My hair is worthy of a shampoo commercial and that's just what grows on my legs. Plucking and shaving is definitely a full time job but that's a small price to pay for being scarily fabulous.

Pet: Crescent, a scary cute little kitten as fuzzy as I am.

Favorite Activity: Shopping and flirting with the boys!

Biggest Pet Peeve: I hate having so many of my brothers and sisters in school at the same time. They're annoying, embarrassing, and totally know how to push my buttons. Oh, and Cleo de Nile.

Favorite School Subject: Economics. One day I plan on having my own fashion empire and I want to know as much about business as I do about fashion.

Least Favorite School Subject: Gym. It's only because then won't let me participate in my platforn wedges.

Favorite Color: Gold- it’s the only thing Cleo de Nile and I can ever agree on

Favorite Food: Steak...rare.

BFF's: Frankie Stein and Draculaura

Français:

ce journal appartient à: Clawdeen Wolf

Ceci est mon journal intime. Si tu veux que ta vie dure plus longtemps que sa lecture...Tu ne le liras pas

Accède à plus de contenu en ligne: MHCWPACK

14 juillet

Je me suis levée en retard, et il n’y avait plus d'eau chaude. Ensuite, je me suis coupée en me rasant parce que mon rasoir n’était pas bien affûté et que j'étais pressée de sortir de cette eau glacée. Et la journée ne s'est pas améliorée... Plus tard, Crescent le chaton alpha doit avoir senti que je n'étais pas de bonne humeur, car au lieu de passer la soirée à tourner en rond, il s'est couché sur mes genoux et m’a tenu compagnie tant que je ne m'étais pas remise de mes émotions.

5 juillet

Il a plu aujourd'hui. Je déteste la pluie. À cause de ça, mes cheveux étaient hors de contrôle. Je n'avais pas l'intention de passer le reste de la journée avec un look de caniche-garou. Alors j'ai pris deux tondeuses électriques et 15 minutes plus tard, j'avais une nouvelle coupe! C'est court, effroyablement joli et reflète parfaitement ma nature de loup. Je pense que je vais garder ce style un bout de temps, ou au moins le temps que la pluie cesse. J'ai décidé que lorsque je dirigerai mon propre empire de la mode, j'aurai un styliste de garde rien que pour les jours de pluie.

4 août

Je déteste, déteste, déteste!! partager une chambre avec ma soeur. Howleen groque dans son sommeil et elle porte mes vêtements. Une mouffette l'a arrosée la semaine dernière, ce qui signifie que chaque fois qu'elle prend un bain, c'est-à-dire pas très souvent, ça sent dans toute la pièce. Je lui souhaiterais bien d'attraper des puces, mais elle me les transmettrait aussi.

7 août

II faut que je pense sérieusement à ce que je vais porter pour la rentrée scolaire cette année. Ce n'est pas comme si j'avais peur qu’un autre monstre ait l'air plus fabuleux que moi, mais je me sens obligée de mettre la barre assez haute pour les autres. L'année passée, lors de la rentrée, j'ai provoqué un mini-embouteillage rien qu'en traversant le stationnement de l'école. Ça va être difficile de renouveler l'exploit, mais j'ai essané quelques novveaux stules de coiffure et j'envisage de demander une réunion scolaire pour qu'il y ait un meilleur contrôle des foules.

10 août

J'ai essayé une nouvelle crème dépilatoire conçue spécialement pour les loups-garous. L'étiquette dit qu'elle fait totalement disparaître les poils indésirables et elle est censée les empêcher de repousser pendant toute une semaine... mon oeil! Ça coûte cher, ça sent pire qu'ne meute de loups et je suis toujours obligée de me raser deux fois par jour! C'est du vol... J'aurais pu utiliser cet argent pour une nouvelle ceinture.

15 août

J'ai passé la journée chez Draculaura. C'est vraiment la plus gentille de toutes les amies! Mais si elle essaie encore de me faire avaler du tofu, je vais la mordre! Je blague...;p. Il y a plein de pièces remplies de vêtements chez elle. Un véritable musée de la mode! C'est super! Elle dit toujours que nous allons choisir des vêtements à donner à des oeuvres de charité, mais elle m'en donne toujours la plus grande partie. Je fais semblant de ne pas en avoir. besoin, mais avec tous mes frères et soeurs, il ne reste pas beaucoup d'argent pour magasiner. Je crois qu'on a fait un peu trop de bruit l'autre jour parce que nous avons réveillé son père. Il n'aime pas vraiment les loups-garous mais il me tolère parce que je suis amie avec Draculaura. Peu importe. Ça n'est pas comme si je voulais être son amie. De toute façon, ce qu'il y a de bien avec Draculaura c'est qu'elle ne me donne pas des vêtements parce qu'elle a pitié de moi, mais parce que c'est mon amie.

19 août

Je suis allée aux Galeries l'Épouvante avec Clawd aujourd'hui. Il avait besoin d'un nouveau ballon de football et je cherchais de nouvelles idées pour ma prochaine coiffure. Là-bas, jai vu quelqu'un chose de très étrange. Je passais devant le magasin de chaudrons de sorcière et j'ai aperçu Deuce Gorgon en train de live un livre de cuisine! J'ai crié «Hé, Deuce! Tu cherches une recette de serpents?» Il a lâché le livre et avait l'air très embarrassé, du moins c'est ce que j'ai pensé. C'est difficile de deviner ce qui se passe derrière ces lunettes. Je crois qu'il aurait bien essayé de me transformer en pierre, mais Clawd s'est approché et Deuce s'est calmé. Quelque fois, c'est cool d'avoir le gars le plus costaud de l'école de son côté. Merci!

21 août

Si j'étais un savant fou, l'expérience de coiffure que j'ai essayée aujourd'hui resterait à jamais sous clé dans le laboratoire. J'ai utilisé un fer pour aplatir mes cheveux avant de les couper au rasoir. Mais quand mes boucles naturelles sont revenues, le résultat était horrible. Même Howleen avait de la peine pour moi. Une chance que je suis l'équivalent de Raiponce chez les loups-garous et que mes cheveux auront repoussé d'ici la fin de la semaine, sinon j'aurais dû porter un chapeau jusqu'à l'Halloween.

23 août

Draculaura a encore essayé de me convaincre de passer une audition pour la brigade de la terreur. Pfff... sans espoir. Voilà la liste des raisons pour lesquelles je ne veux pas être dans la brigade:

I. Je ne fais pas d'auditions pour quoi que ce soit.

2. Je ne voudrais pas être vue dans ces uniformes.

3-8. C'est ennuyant... et Cleo de Nile

9. Pendant qu'elles crient pour encourager les garçons, je suis dans les gradins en train de flirter avec les garçons.

10. C'est ennuyant... et Cleo de Nile

J'avais pensé essayer juste pour montrer que je peux entrer dans l'équipe, puis j'ai jeté à nouveau un coup d'oeil à ma liste et ça m'a rappelé pourquoi je ne veux pas.

25 août

Je suis allée aux Galeries l'Épouvante avec Draculaura et nous y avons rencontré une nouvelle fille qui s'appelle Frankie stein. Elle magasinait avec sa mère et, heureusement pour Frankie, nous les avons rencontrées. Sinon, elle aurait commencé l'école habillée comme la fiancée de Horrible-stein. Frankie est belle et charmante mais un peu naive. Heureusement, je suis là pour assurer son éducation dans la plus pure tradition de la mode.

5 septembre

Aujourd'hui a eu lieu notre barbe-queue familial destiné à commémorer la Fin de l'été. Mmmmm.... des steaks gras et bien juteux pour tout le monde. Sauf pour Draculaura bien sûr. Elle avait apporté des saucisses de tofu, des hamburgers végétariens et un humain du nom de Jackson Jekyll. Elle sera toujours ma meilleure amie pour la vie et le monstre le plus gentil qui soit, mais elle fait parfois des choix étranges. Mais bon. J'ai remarqué quil était vraiment nerveux (mais quel humain entouré de loups-garous ne le serait pas)... Jusqu'à ce que Clawd commence à parler de football. Ensuite, ils ont eu l'air de bien s'entendre. Je crois que ce garçon intéresse vraiment Draculaura.

6 septembre

Je sais que la plupart des monstres n'ont pas le goût de retourner à l'école, mais pas moi. Je veux apprendre le plus possible pour être bien préparée le jour où je commencerai à bâtir mon empire de la mode. Même si ce n'est que pour pouvoir quitter la tanière et trouver un endroit pour moi toute seule où je n'aurai pas à partager quoi que ce soit avec mes frères et soeurs. Oh, non! Je crois que je sens Howleen sous la douche! Pourquoi je ne suis pas un loup unique?

Infos Personelles

Nom: Clawdeen Wolf

Age: 15 ans

Parents monstres: Le Loup-garou

Look d'enfer: J'adore vraiment la mode et j'ai une grande confiance en moi. Je suis également ravissante, redoutable et d'une grande loyauté envers mes amis.

Particularité: Mes cheveux sont diques d'une pub de shampooing... Le problème c'est qu'ils poussent aussi sur mes jambes. L'emploi d'une pince à épiler et d'un rasoir constitue définitivement un travail à temps plein, wais dest ou petit prix à paver pour paraître effroyablement fabuleuse.

Animal de compagnie: Crescent, un petit chaton affreusement miguon qui a autant de duvet que moi.

Activité préférée: Magasiner et flirter avec les garçons!

Ce que je déteste le plus: Je déteste avoir autant de frères et soeurs à l'école en même temps. Ils sont Tannants, embarrassants et savent exactement convient viénerver. Oh j'allais aublier...et Cleo de Nile.

Matière préférée à l'école : L'économie. J'aimerais avoir mon propre empire de la mode un jour, alors je veux en apprendre autant sur les affaires que j’en connais sur la mode l’étudier

Matière que aime le moins L'éducation physique. C'est juste parce que je v'ai pas le droit de mettre mes chaussures à plate-forme.

Couleur préférée : Or - C'est bien la seule chose sur laquelle Cleo de Nile et moi sommes d'accord.

Nourriture preférée Un steak... saiguant.

Amis pour la vie: Frankie Stein et Draculaura

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Seven

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Didn't expect this chapter to take me as long as it did, but alas - it's finally here and I am goddamn proud of it! Things are finally HAPPENING!!! And I'm so excitedd.

T/W: body image issues, mentions of drug/alcohol use, mild sexual content, implied/mentioned animal abuse, characters being horny & just overall tomfoolery

 “Does this dress make me look fat?” Polly emerges from the dressing room in a stunning floral dress that looks so good on her it even makes the sales assistant’s jaw fall to the ground. It was the seventh dress she had tried on that day. Not that Leni was counting. 

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me Pauline!” Tess quips, her face scrunched in a frustrated scowl. She had chosen her Midsummer dress almost immediately and somehow managed to buy three more. All of this was happening while Leni was desperately trying to find the words to nicely let Polly know that the dress she picked out for her was something only her aunt Edna would wear. 

“Stop yelling at me! You have no idea how hard it is to have this body!” Polly says, her face the same color as the dress: burning red. 

“Oh yeah - it must be sooo hard to have big tits and a tiny waist.” 

They start arguing - something they have been doing a lot more often in the past couple of days, making Leni try hard to recall whether this has always been a part of their friendship or something that started happening only very recently. 

Upset, Polly storms back inside the dressing room; closing the curtain so aggressively she almost rips it off its hinges. 

“She’s such a fucking drama queen.” With a frustrated sigh Tess plops on one of the sofas, her phone almost immediately in her hand, “Please tell me you decided on a dress. Cause if I have to spend one more minute in this stupid fucking shop I will literally kill myself.” 

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Thank fucking god. Which one is it?” Tess raises herself on her elbows, trying to get a better look at the mess of hangers in Leni’s arms. “Don’t tell me it’s the leopard one.”

It’s the leopard one. 

“No, it’s this white one.” 

“Good choice. Very classy.”

In the background Tess drones on and on and about how there are people that show up at Midsummers with a complete disregard for the event and no - she’s not saying that there is a strict dress code but a true Kook always knows how to dress up for these kinds of things. Then she starts telling Leni about this one year where this fake Kook girl showed up in the wildest zebra print and how everyone laughed at how tacky she looked. 

“I mean it was totally expected. She used to live in The Cut before her family literally won the lotto and got a house in Figure Eight. Poor girl was so desperate to fit in, like you should’ve seen her Leni-” Her pompous rant is suddenly cut short by an ear piercing scream. 

Polly.

“The zipper is stuck! I am so fat that the zipper got stuck!” She sobs, her face a mess of runny mascara and tears. “I am literally going to die in this ugly fucking dress!” As if on cue, Tess pushes herself inside the dressing room, leaving Leni standing alone. Totally fine - she didn’t want to participate in that mess anyways. 

While out of sight, she sneakily goes to buy her dress and just as she’s about to check whether Tess and Polly need her help, her phone buzzes in her hand.

Leni’s heart skips a beat. 

Swallowing, she stares at the message.

“Miss?” The sales assistant calls out for her but she’s too lost for words in order to answer. “If you get-” 

“I-I’ll be right back. Don’t let that dress go anywhere!” 

With her phone tightly clutched in her hand, Leni steps outside the shop - the bright July sun almost blinding her. Squinty eyed, she inspects her surroundings, hoping to see a familiar figure but the only thing standing before her is a single blue car. And that’s when she sees him. 

Rafe. 

The driver’s window starts rolling down at the same time she begins crossing the street towards it. He’s in a suit again; his face half covered by dark rimmed sunglasses and ugh - Leni absolutely hates the way her breath catches the second she gets even the tiniest glimpse of him. 

“What are you stalking me now?” She practically shouts at him. 

“Hello Elena.” 

“I asked you a question.”

“S’not my fault your friend posts everything on social media.” 

What? Leni furrows her brows, but the realization hits her the second the thought crosses her mind. Of course, Polly has him in her close friends. 

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

“Not at all.” 

“Rafe.”

“Yes?”

“I will kick you.” 

The second the words leave her mouth, Rafe takes off his sunglasses - the dark purple bruise and stitches are covering nearly half of his face. “I know.” He says, the corners of his lips perked in a small smile and for the second time that day, he makes Leni’s heart skip a beat. “Have dinner with me.” 

Correction, three times. 

“No.” 

Just then, his smile grows bigger; practically spreading across that frustratingly handsome face of his and suddenly, Leni’s completely lost count of the times he’s made her heart forget to beat.  

“I’m not asking you out, Elena. I just want to talk. Like normal people.” 

Leni swallows. 

Her text. 

Rafe is staring at her. Gaze determinedly focused on her own; those dark wild ocean blue eyes causing all kinds of floods in a very particular part of her body and oh - it’s such a terrible idea. Talking to him, looking at him… even breathing the same air as Rafe Cameron is the worst possible thing she could do and yet… 

She wants to. 

“How about this,” He says when it’s become a little too obvious that no words will be coming out of Leni's mouth anytime soon. “I’ll send you the location of the restaurant and… if you feel like coming… I’ll be there. Waiting.”

She wants to run away. 

She wants to tear herself from the car and run as fast as her feet allow her to. 

Leave the island, leave the states and go someplace where the memory of him will no longer exist. 

“Okay.” Quiet as a whisper, the word practically slips out of Leni’s lips. 

“Okay.” 

“Now leave me alone, please!” 

Back in the shop, Polly’s face is puffy from all the unnecessary crying, but at least she’s smiling and finally out of that goddamn dress. 

“Where were you? I wanted you to see and tell me if this pink one squishes my boobs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I had to take a call.” Leni replies with an apologetic smile and completely ignores just how easy lying has been coming to her as of late. Polly nods and after what feels like ages, goes to buy the things that Tess has somehow convinced her she doesn’t look fat in. 

“I know you’re lying.” Tess says, the tone in her voice dripping in accusation, the moment Polly is just out of earshot. “I saw you. You were with Rafe.” Their eyes meet and Leni does her best to seem as unphased as possible. 

“So?”

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

“I’m not asking why you were talking to him. I wanna know why you’re lying.”

Fuck.

Leni always seems to forget just how smart Tess is. 

“Are you sleeping with him?” 

The thought makes her heart skip a beat for the millionth time that day and once the idea weaves itself inside her mind, that’s all Leni can suddenly think about. She doesn’t care about giving her friend a proper answer or making herself look good when the image of Rafe ravaging her is consuming her like some brain eating bacteria. 

Tess scoffs, her lips spread into a bitter smile, “Of course. Of course you are. I mean - at this point who isn’t?” 

“I’m not. The reason why I was talking to him and lying to you about it - is private.” She’s about to spin some bullshit story about how she’s known his family for years; how at this point she too is practically a Cameron, but Polly comes rushing in - bags of  brand new clothes gripped in hand - and Tess’ interrogation ends.  

After what feels like ages, the three of them leave Bellefleur, but when Tess and Polly start heading back towards the docks, Leni doesn’t join them. Her excuse involves Sarah and the Pogues and she hates lying to them - especially after the way Tess just confronted her about it, but what else was she supposed to say? 

The truth? 

They say their goodbyes and she ignores the all knowing glare Tess gives her after their short lived hug. Tomorrow she’ll probably wake up to all kinds of rumors, but does it really matter? It’s not like people know who she really is around the island and those who do, don’t seem to be too interested in the life she’s leading. 

Although, they might start if Tess decides to never let this go. 

The location Rafe sent her belongs to a country club not too far from the shopping strip she wasted an entire day with Tess and Polly and although the trek was barely a ten minute walk, Leni’s body is sprinkled with drops of sweat; her hair practically glued to the back of her neck and her flimsy top and shorts far too beachy for something as fancy as this.

Wide eyed, she marvels at the high ceilings and marble floors; the people, their crisp designer clothes, fake tans and pearly smiles and if she didn’t feel out of place before, she sure as hell feels like it now. Slightly embarrassed, Leni drags her beat up Converse and massive Bellefleur shopping bag towards the snotty-faced host. 

“Bathroom is for members only.” He says pompously and her entire face flushes red. She can’t seem to remember the last time she’s been embarrassed like this. 

She also can’t seem to come up with any words either, as she stands there frozen - from both the icey words and A/C - and perhaps this is a sign. Not exactly the thing she’s been asking for, but certainly a warning: she shouldn’t be here. She should be at the docks, boarding the ferry back to Kildare Island and texting JJ to be waiting for her so they can spend the rest of the day together. 

“S’there a problem?” A familiar voice breaks her awkward silence and there it is again - that silly heart of hers and its tendency to skip beats whenever he is around. His gaze flickers towards her every now and then; never sticking for too long, but hers does. Leni allows her eyes to linger on his lithe body; the beige suit and his buzzed head; the undone buttons of his shirt; the gold ring on his finger and the way he’s towering over both her and the host. 

Fuck. 

She always forgets how tall he is. 

“Mr. Cameron,” The host’s face flushes red; redder than Leni’s was mere seconds ago and she wants to gloat, but she’s far too flustered in order to do so. “This is… do not worry, I’ve got it all under control. This young lady will leave immediately.” 

“This young lady is my date.” Rafe says, the words barely sneaking past his gritted teeth and suddenly Leni can’t tell who’s befuddlement is bigger: hers or the host’s. 

“Oh. Right. I see… Unfortunately, the club’s rules-”

“For fuck’s sake. Is it her clothes that bother you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer;  just shrugs off his suit jacket and hands it to Leni. “Here. Put this on.” She doesn’t wait for Rafe to tell her twice. In a matter of seconds, the jacket finds itself on her body along with his hand on the small of her back. “Come on sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart? 

Rafe guides her towards a table in the back while she repeats the word in her mind until it completely loses its meaning. Silently, she watches him pull the chair out for her and over the years she’s considered him to be a lot of things, but never a gentleman. Sure, he could be doing it out of politeness, but then again - when has Rafe Cameron ever been polite? 

“Whatchu got there?” Brows raised, he jerks his chin towards the shopping bag on the empty chair beside Leni. 

“My dress for Midsummers.” 

“You’re going.” 

“Yeah. Are you?” 

Rafe shrugs, “Dunno.” He reaches for the menu. She can’t help, but mimic him. “Any word from Rose?” 

Leni’s heart drops. 

“No.”

He clears his throat. “Look, I’m sure Sarah’s told you by now, but I want you to hear it from me too.” She watches him lean back in his seat; the menu now discarded and those blue eyes stubbornly focused on her face. “I’m hiring a private investigator.” 

Her jaw falls slack, “I… I didn’t know that.” 

“No?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Thought you two shared everything.” 

“Clearly, we don’t.” Leni raises her brows, silently gesturing to this little get-together of theirs and he just knows. She sees it in the way he instantly pulls himself towards her; the corners of his lips perking up into a smile and for a second she contemplates doing the same. Her brain is curious to know how it feels to have her face inches away from his own, but that doesn’t happen. 

It will never happen. 

The waiter comes to take their orders and despite the gnawing hole in her stomach, Leni doesn’t have an appetite. She lost it the moment she caught a whiff of Rafe’s intoxicating cologne. It’s the same he wore on the night of the incident. 

“Elena?” Her name sounds different rolling down his tongue and no - it has nothing to do with the fact that for some stubborn reason he’s decided to be the only one to call her that. She glances over at him; those haunting blue eyes gazing over at her with certain unreadable curiosity and what the fuck is she supposed to order? She barely even paid attention to the menu in her hands, little alone spent time looking at it. 

“I’ll just have the Caesar salad.” She mutters, “Oh, and a Coke. And fries.” 

“I’ll have a Coke too. Thanks.” His gaze never leaves her. “Think you’ll have room for dessert?”  

“Depends. Will we be slurping or snorting the Coke?” 

Rafe snorts, “Slurping. I don’t do drugs anymore.” 

“I know.”

“Or drink.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m sober.” 

“I get it Rafe - my joke wasn’t funny.” 

“No. But you are.” 

Now it’s Leni’s turn to scoff. 

When she finally looks back at him and sees his lips pulled into a wide, almost toothy smile something inside her chest cracks open. 

Fuck.

She likes him. 

He’s the worst man alive and she has a maddening crush on him. 

“So, is Rose the only reason why you wanted me here?” She tries to keep her voice as steady as possible, but her heart is running laps between her ribs and the tips of her fingers are prickling at an alarming  pace and when did it start? When did she stop thinking rationally and start liking him? 

Has she always liked him? 

The cat Leni. Think about the fucking cat. 

“No. But if you have any interesting things to share - I’m all ears.” There he is again: moving closer and she feels his knees bump into hers; the soft material of his pants rub against her bruised and scratched skin; skin that would’ve been smooth as a baby’s butt if he hadn’t chased her down like the prey he clearly saw her as. “Nothing? Okay-” 

“I KNOW ABOUT THE CAT.” She says loudly. Too loudly. Loudly enough for people from other tables to turn and look at them. 

Leni wants the ground to open and swallow her whole. 

“I’m sorry?” Rafe says, a puzzled look on his face. 

“The cat. I know about it.”

“I don’t-” But he does. She sees it in the way his eyebrows shoot up and his lips begin forming into a bitter, tight smile. “Ah, the cat.” Rafe nods. “Of course you know about the cat. Did Rose also happen to tell you why I cut his tail off?”

Leni blinks, “Tail?”

“Yeah.”

“Rafe… Did you cut Mr. Buttersmith’s tail before drowning him?” Her entire body shakes as the question croaks out of her throat. She wants to look away; grab her things and disappear as far away as possible but none of her limbs seem to be functioning properly. All that’s left to do is sit there and watch as a dark shadow falls over Rafe’s face. 

“No.” She finds relief in the fact that her voice isn’t the only one shaking right now, but that doesn’t mean her nerves are at ease. With a lump in her throat, Leni watches him chew on his thumb; his gaze no longer focused on her, but on the empty table. When he finally looks at her, the haunted look in his eyes is back. “Mr. Buttersmith… I… Sarah had found this dog - a, a mutt and of course dad let her keep it because Sarah always got whatever the fuck she wanted… Anyways, one day, Mr. Buttersmith got out in the yard. I dunno how he did it, but he was outside and the dog started chasing him and while running away Mr. Buttersmith got his tail stuck in the fence. He couldn’t get out. He was panicking and I was scared that if I didn’t help him, Sarah’s stupid dog would kill him, so-” 

“You cut his tail off?” 

“I thought I was helping him.” 

She can’t tear her gaze away from Rafe. 

“Was… what happened to him?”

“Dad helped me take him to the vet. They patched him up. He lived for five more years.” 

Leni swallows the lump in her throat. “But Rose said…”

“Yeah. She says a lot of things to keep people away from me. God knows what kind of stories she’s told Wheezie…” 

A part of her doesn’t want to believe him. Her loyalty lies with Rose; always has and always will, but something deep inside Leni refuses to take her Godmother’s side. Disappearing without a trace; leaving her with only a cryptic note and a hotel room booked for the summer… She can’t help but think there’s a reason for it, but her brain is far too exhausted in order to make sense of it all.

The waiter brings their food just then - it’s like he’s got both the best and worst timing in the world. 

“What are you gonna do when you find her?” After what feels like ages, Leni speaks again; her question rough against her throat. 

Chewing, Rafe shrugs. “Take her to court. Get custody of my sister.” 

“You think they’ll let you do that?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Well, you did recently get jumped by your ex dealer to whom you allegedly still owe money to…” Smiling, he opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn’t let him, “There’s also the drug charge, three DUIs, that time you spent a night in prison for attacking a cop, rumors about a drowned cat-” 

“Keeping tabs on all my crimes…Elena… you’re like, obsessed with me.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

+++

Rafe pays for dinner and as they’re heading out, once again takes the liberty to place his hand on the small of her back. The only difference this time, his touch never truly reaches her, just hovers. Once outside, he lights up a cigarette, his gaze lingering on her face curiously. 

“How’re you heading home?” He asks, blowing smoke in the empty space next to him. 

“With you, obviously.” 

He smiles and for someone she once upon a time thought was completely incapable of such a thing, Rafe sure as hell likes to do it a lot lately. 

Without another word, they move towards the docks. The silence between them is strangely pleasant. With the corner of her eye Leni absorbs the way he looks besides her - shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows; hands in pockets; cigarette dangling from lips. 

She doesn’t remember him being a smoker. 

“You need help getting in?” He asks, the question barely audible against the sound of crashing waves. Leni looks at him and no - she doesn’t, but parts of her body are desperate to feel his touch again so she nods; gaze hidden behind her lashes. The calloused skin of Rafe’s hand feels electric against her own as he slowly guides her onto the boat. 

The places where he touched her are aflame. With her breath caught inside her throat, Leni watches him climb with a single, sleek movement and she wonders - why hasn’t she been this attracted to him before? Perhaps she’s always been but the fear Rose instilled in her as a child prevented Leni from properly reeling in it. 

“I’m just realizing,” She says after several moments of comfortable silence, “I’ve never been on your boat before.” 

“That’s ‘cause you never asked.” 

“Well, you scared me, remember?” 

 Their eyes meet. 

Rafe’s brows slump downwards; his lips suddenly twisted in a frown, “Do I still do that?” 

“No.”

He doesn’t. 

What he does to her is much worse than fear. 

But Leni can never admit that to him, little alone to herself. 

She is still wearing his suit jacket when they arrive back to the island. This time, Rafe doesn’t ask whether she needs help; he just takes her hand and slowly guides her back to land. She watches his hand twitch - fingers rapidly pulling in and out of a fist and she wonders whether his skin sizzles the same way hers does in that very moment. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” Rafe jerks his head towards his Range Rover, but Leni stands her ground; her feet practically glued on the pavement. “What?” He asks when he notices she hasn’t budged at all and in two long strides, manifests himself in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Silently, Leni takes the suit jacket off of her and hands it back to him. “I’m gonna walk.” 

“Elena.” 

His gaze feels heavy, but she doesn’t dare meet it. If she does, every promise she has made to herself will be broken and she simply cannot allow that to happen. Rafe still mustn’t know where she is staying. 

“Please. You’ve done enough.” Finally, she looks at him and he’s so handsome it physically hurts her. His suit jacket hovers in the small distance between them and she nudges it a little, reminding him to just take it off her fucking hands but Rafe shakes his head. 

“Keep it.”

“No.”

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll manage.” 

Rafe sighs, his hand frustratingly running over his buzzed head, “Stay here.” She hears him say in a rough, almost demanding voice and Leni really doesn’t like the feeling it creates between her legs. She tries looking away; staring at everything but his broad shoulders and long strides, but it’s all her stupid brain can focus on. 

When he returns, there’s a teal colored material bunched up in his fist. “Here.” He hands it to her, his voice still carrying that same amount of roughness and Leni doesn’t wait to be told twice. She exchanges the suit jacket for the other piece of clothing and this one is so big, it almost swallows her whole. 

Just like what Rafe's gaze is doing right now.

“Happy?” She barks at him. 

“Very.” 

“Good. Cause I’m not promising on giving it back.” 

“That’s okay.” He smiles. “I like it better on you anyways.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[rei-ismyname]

Jean outs Bobby Drake part 2

It's a bit of a misleading title as Jean is mostly here for support, but this is a follow up to the younger Bobby being yanked out of the closet, and now it's older Bobby's turn. Huge intervention vibes.

'Sooo, we're gay. Right?'

Bobby 1 (the older one) is having a chuckle at Fabio Medina's codename when he finds Jean and Bobby 2 waiting for him in his room. Very little preamble here in this entirely unique situation. Bobby 2 straight up says 'I'm gay. Aren't you?' to Bobby 1. It's a lot more fraught than in part 1, because it means Bobby 1 has been closeted for a decade or two (or however the fuck long it's meant to be with the sliding timescale.)

It's definitely an awkward situation, but more 'written by a straight dude' awkward than anything else. I do like the single hard teardrop falling and Bobby 1's almost immediate acceptance. There isn't really a close real world analogue to this that I can think of - it's a good example of how the O5 change the present and their future by being here. There's also the unfortunate implication that Bobby needed to go back in the closet for however many years when they were mind wiped upon their return to their own time.

Bobby 1 confirms Bobby 2's theory about his sexual orientation being the easier minority status to put away. It's kinda awkward that Bobby has spent most of his life around nosy telepaths and Young Jean was the first to talk to him about it. Bobby has been aggressively performing heterosexuality since we first saw him in 1963, with varying degrees of success. Everyone's experience is different and being able to come out is a privilege. I wouldn't expect Marvel to go any deeper than this, like ripping off a Bandaid - but it would be nice.

The whole 'Angel being hot' thing is the epitome of the 'written by a straight dude' vibes, but both Bobbys use humour to break the ice, so to speak. It works as that, though it skirts close to the edge of the kind of thinking behind the 'gay panic' defence. I do like the mental hugs, though not wanting to touch gay men has plenty of fucked up real world antecedents.

With that, Bobby Drake was confirmed gay, something he'd been coded as for a while. His romantic and sexual life has been a mixed bag from this point, but it's had some strong moments of representation. I'd feel dishonest if I didn't point out that this wasn't exactly groundbreaking. I've seen it held up as an example of the X-Men's 'wokeness' but it's really only that compared to itself. I'm absolutely glad it happened and couldn't be undone but this was 2013-14. Late to the party by any measure. Also, I have a theory about why Young Jean was the first telepath to pick up on his repressed sexuality - a predestination paradox caused and resolved by time travel.

Considering that the O5 always came to the present and ended up returning without memory (and it's shown they did, with deviation leading to dark futures) then it's a predestination paradox and a closed time loop. Bobby came out with Jean pushing him, who then confronted his older self. They were forced to go back by Cable, who took extreme measures to ensure NOTHING changed history - hence the closed loop. He cut Warren's fire wings off and replaced them with those cut off Mimic, for example. On every level the X-Men had to go back and live their lives with zero changes from how they originally did. ZERO CHANGES. Once they got back Jean performed telepathic surgery on all of them, including herself, all based off Cable's precise instructions. Jean's mind-wiping was a complex thing and the X-Men of the present only received those memories once the time loop had been closed and they were the correct age. To make it work she would have had to push him so deep into the closet that he was incapable of remembering until the psychic trigger removed those memory blocks. That's why no other telepaths ever picked or Bobby himself picked up on it, because Jean had always put that psychic block there. Time travel made it impossible for events to happen any other way. I don't think it was written intentionally, but that's how time travel works in Marvel comics.

[manorpunk]

Captain Ju Gaogao gave the impression of the woman who should not be trifled with. Maybe it was the way she held her shoulders up proudly and imperiously, her back straight and her muscular arms folded. Maybe it was the eyepatch over her left eye, and the jagged scar tissue peeking out above and below it, strongly implying that the eyepatch wasn’t just a fashion statement. Or maybe it was the way that her good eye always seemed to glare at people as though she were deciding the order in which she would rip off their limbs.

Perhaps she was this way because she resented her new position as the leader of a White Hats outpost, and considered it an ignominious dead end to an otherwise storied career. Perhaps it was the affectation of a stern, no-nonsense drill sergeant trying to whip these newbies into shape. Or perhaps her furious engine of hate was the only thing that got her out of bed in the morning. Whatever the reason, when she saw one of the White Hats’ new girlbots meekly walking into her office, she was already done with this shit before she even knew what it was.

“Sorry to bother you, Captain Gaogao. My name is Dot, and… I think I might be defective,” said Dot, crestfallen, her hands clasped together in front of her waist.

Gaogao massaged her temples and sighed. Great. The latest gen of bots were so lifelike, they had impostor syndrome now. “Alright, tell me who your operator is.”

“Johnny Newsroom.”

Two minutes and one stern voicemail later, Johnny came into Captain Gaogao’s office, slightly out of breath from running. He was horribly anxious to be called in, of course, but he took a moment to put on his best poker face - Gaogao didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would respect a neutral expression more than teary-eyed contrition.

“I-” he began.

“Shut up and sit down,” Gaogao said.

He did both of those things.

“Tell him what you told me, Dot.”

Dot’s fingers fidgeted. In Johnny’s anxious state, his senses picked up the sliding of her finger joints, the squeak of compressing rubber and the soft clacking of ceramic plates. Who had taken all the effort to give her such unnecessary gestures? Why would a robot ever need to fidget?

“I told Captain Gaogao that, um, I think I might be defective. Because my operator… you… don’t seem to like me very much.”

Johnny winced, closed his eyes and took in a long, bracing breath. Dammit, those sad eyes of hers were actually tugging at his heartstrings. It wasn’t fair. Why did robots have to become more like humans, instead of humans becoming more like robots?

“That’s not your fault, Dot,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“Look, I really don’t want to be having this conversation right now,” Gaogao said, “I’m a busy woman with a lot of responsibilities, and the absolute last thing I want to be doing right now is playing kiss and make up like I’m a fucking high school counselor. This galbot is hard-coded to like you, and you gave her some kind of complex in less than a day. I can’t imagine she actually did anything bad to you, so I have to assume this is some kind of stunt or protest on your part.”

“I-”

“Shut your fuck.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, and I don’t care. Whatever it is, it stops now. You’re going to apologize to Dot, and then you’re going to learn to play nice with her or else I’m taking away your toys, and by ‘toys’ I mean organs.”

“Roger,” Johnny sighed. He took another deep, bracing breath and looked into the warm blue glow of Dot’s eyes. “I’m… sorry for how I treated you, Dot.”

She smiled softly. “That’s alright. We can start over.”

“Thanks. Ask me whatever you like about myself and I’ll answer it honestly.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

“Whatever’s on the radio,” Johnny said reflexively, which caused Gaogao to pelt him with a pen. It didn’t hurt, it mostly just startled him, but he didn’t like the way her hand was reaching for the stapler next.

“Acoustic music, folk music… the kind of stuff you can put on in the background.”

“How about your favorite food?”

“Dolma, those stuffed grape leaves with rice and meat. I love those things.”

Gaogao’s hand crept away from the stapler.

“What’s your dream vacation destination?”

Johnny had never considered the question, but a quick jog through his brain produced several sites that sounded like good answers. He grabbed one at random and tossed it out.

“Istanbul,” he said. “The Hagia Sofia, the old aqueducts… there’s so much history there. I’d like to see it someday.”

“Are you Turkish?” Gaogao asked. “Legally you have to inform me if you’re Turkish.”

Johnny shook his head. “Franco-Tunisian, if you must know, though I don’t feel any particular attachment to the Maghreb. Or Turkey.”

“Tunisia was a semi-independent province of the Ottoman Turks for several centuries,” Dot chimed in, the past discomfort seemingly forgotten.

“That could be a party game - six degrees of Turk. It would be fun, right up until it causes World War 4,” Johnny said.

Captain Gaogao exhaled through her nose, which Johnny supposed was the closest she came to laughing. “Alright, you’ve proven you can be a human being. Now get out of here and don’t make me waste any more time being your fucking therapist. Dismissed.”

[gz-missfit]

God these are live thoughts about this but Tazercrafts dynamic today. Their undoubted attachment to each other fucking hurt today.

Let's see how long this gets.

So first of all its definitely obvious that both still carry wounds from the prison, there's no doubt about it and while Mike definitely showed that a lot more over the last weeks we all kinda picked up on Pac not being okay, on how he was doing his best to move on for Mike. To stay sane for Mike. to ground him when his intrusive thoughts got bad or when he woke up from nightmares after seeing Walter Bob.

We all could see through his facade even if it was just based on instincts and small actions and words he said during the beginning, we knew he wasn't fully okay but no one else did cause above all else this dude is an incredibly talented liar if he has a reason and goal for it.

Now why do I bring that up?. Because we saw him express not being okay today! Mike saw him not being okay today for the first time since they escaped cause even if their minds are melded together by a bond that goes beyond words they're able to keep secrets from each other, and with his own emotions being a bubbling mess there was no way Mike could've noticed that a lot of those were also Pacs.

We saw it with how he got trapped, how he was panicked beyond believe and I think that's the first time Mike noticed that Pac is still very much not okay, because Mike was calm. He noticed Pac be so close to a panic attack to something that usually wouldn't bother him so his mind realized there that Pac was also still hurting, that Pac also needed help just like he did to calm down. While Pac helped him cool his boiling anger, Mike realized he needed to help Pac with his drowning anxiety. That's why his calm response to calm Pac and tell him he'll be okay hurt so much.

It was Mike first realizing Pac needed him too, especially now that they went back there.

The next was when the code attacked, both were so. Helpless. Obviously in typical Pac behavior he ran towards Richas, the ever selfless Pac throwing himself infront of his son like he does during any threat. Which is honestly a scary trait of him if I think about it too deeply (I swear this dude needs therapy but that's a whole other box I'd have to open) and the code zoned in on him. Teasingly hitting him while again, Pacs anxiety bubbled in his throat as he desperately called out for Mike. And Mike again, was helpless staring at his best friend, his souldbound because he couldn't help. He couldn't hit it no matter how much he tried, so he tried so hard to calm Pac but you could tell that this time even Mike was cracking at the seams. Pacs fear and pain meddling through their connection and filling his brain that when the Pearl teleport hit them he passed out on the spot. While Pac kept standing just through sheer adrenaline and blood loss fueling him alone.

This is also the first time forever got to see Pac panic, his constant repeating of words being the worst show of his anxiety we've had so far.

And when Mike finally came back to, and he and Pac could breathe to explain. But Pac vanished, ripped from the reality that surrounded them while Forever, Richas and Mike could do nothing but watch as his vanishing left the faintest purple particles behind, proving that he didn't do this on his own.

Now...I'd like to think that Mike logging off was a connection of multiple things, his hands reacted faster than his mind could comprehend so while Pac got transported through nothingness only to be dropped in ice cold water Mike teleported home.

And then he broke.

There's no doubt that Pac and Mike's minds are tied together, like I've said before they'll always be 2 hearts and 1 soul for me as they're soulbound since childhood. Destined to find each other and stay together till the end of time. So when Pac got teleported Mike could feel the fuzz of the forced teleportation in his own mind, could feel the ice cold water chill him down to the bone knowing that for Pac that feeling was a thousand times worse. And I think the thing that did it, that hit him the hardest was feeling his soulbound snap.

To feel the connection that was usually constantly flowing go dead silent. To feel part of his soul rip apart. To feel part of himself go dull and fade as he could do nothing but hope that this wasn't the end. That he would be able to call out to his partner in crime again and receive a response rather the static that screamed at him now whenever he tried to tap into their connection.

The silence was deafening for Mike, the echos of Pacs voice shouting through his brain as he could nothing but stand there and watch. Stand there and feel as his other half vanished into nothingness.

So his mind shut off, white noise flooding his mind as he fell unconscious and this time having no one by his side. His body laying safe in the arena they built together.

And I think deep down he knows what he'll wake up to, an empty arena. No one looking after him as much as he looks after them. A voice that usually filled his mind with a constant flow of conversation being gone. All while he has to desperately try and rebuild the part of himself that he lost. Just waiting and hoping that this isn't the last time he saw him, that his mind can take this hit better than when they took Walter Bob cause this time he has to be strong. Just like Pac has been for him since their escape. He has to hope and wait and try to find Pac.

Because in Mike's mind, in their shared soul Tazer was now offline.

Leaving Craft alone.

[justkillingthyme]

Ok I’m posting my f!layton script here. It’s like 10k words and very ooc. Separating it into 5 parts for ease.

It’s written in script format, and the ending isn’t canon to the au.

Scene 1: Dimitri, Claire, and Layton

(There’s a set of three high pitched beeps as the light comes on. CLAIRE wakes up, and sits up on the table. She’s in a lab. The walls are white and the light is harsh and bright. DIMITRI is at a desk in the corner, typing on his computer. When he notices her, he turns in his chair.)

DIMITRI: Oh, you're awake? That took longer than usual.

CLAIRE: Sorry if I worried you. There’s been some bugs in my system.

DIMITRI: Hershel’s been messing with your code again?

CLAIRE: (sighing and rubbing her face) yeah.

(DIMITRI turns in his chair, looking worried.)

DIMITRI: So that’s what’s causing all this instability?

(With no response from Claire, DIMITRI stands and starts walking towards her.)

DIMITRI: (softly) Claire, you can’t keep doing this.

CLAIRE: (acting innocent) Doing what?

DIMITRI: (gestures at her) This! Shutting down every other day and ripping all your wires out!

(Claire is beginning to get angry, and tries to stand up. She fails and sit back down.)

CLAIRE: I’m sorry if it's so inconvenient for you to do your job.

DIMITRI: Don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying.

CLAIRE: Then what are you saying? That you hate putting me back together again? I didn’t ask you to!

DIMITRI: You know damn well what he would do to me if I refused to rebuild you, Claire. And it’s not that I hate doing this, it's that I hate that it happens in the first place! I hate that you keep destroying yourself when you know it won’t fix anything!

(CLAIRE tries to get up again and takes a few steps before her legs give out. DIMITRI catches her and lowers her to the ground, then hovers over her)

DIMITRI: Careful, your legs aren’t calibrated yet. (pause) It pains me to see you like this, Claire. You know I care, right?

(CLAIRE smacks away his hands and glares.)

CLAIRE: You don’t care about me. The only one anyone cares about is Claire Layton, ‘beloved wife and friend’. Not me. You only care about the dead girl I was modeled after.

(DIMITRI is about to respond, but he hesitates. LAYTON enters stage right. DIMITRI visibly tenses.)

LAYTON: Claire!

(LAYTON picks CLAIRE up and sets her back on the table, then turns to DIMITRI)

LAYTON: (threatening tone, gritted teeth) What happened?

DIMITRI: (taking a step back) She tried to stand up. Her legs aren’t calibrated properly yet because of the shut down.

(Towards the end of DIMITRI’s sentence, CLAIRE grabs LAYTON’s sleeve, and shakes her head. He backs off.)

LAYTON: Out.

(DIMITRI nods and exits stage right, hesitating and looking back at LAYTON and CLAIRE, then shaking his head and leaving.)

LAYTON: He’s incompetent. I ought to throw him out with the others.

CLAIRE: (pursing her lips) He’s the fifth one this month, Hershel.

(LAYTON runs a hand through her hair)

LAYTON: You could have gotten hurt. I can’t allow that. I need you, Claire.

CLAIRE: Dimitri is the best one so far. He’s the only one that can read all your blueprints, and he knew the real Claire too.

LAYTON: (displeased) I wish you wouldn’t say that.

CLAIRE: What? That there’s a real Claire?

LAYTON: You are real.

(There’s a pause where CLAIRE doesn’t respond)

LAYTON: (More firmly) You are.

(CLAIRE looks away, silent.)

CLAIRE: (flatly) My legs are fine now. I can go.

LAYTON: Then come along. I had a wonderful picnic planned for us in the gardens, however this morning’s (searching for the right word) …incident had them postponed.

CLAIRE (visibly down) A picnic sounds lovely, dear.

(LAYTON helps CLAIRE up, and they hold hands as they exit stage right. CLAIRE is a little unsteady on her feet.)

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

I didn’t mean for this to be so long, there’s enough for like a prologue too 😅😂 Can I please request a Regina Mills x Daughter!Reader (who’s 7ish yrs older than Henry, and has magic) set during 4x08 (when Marian is frozen and Robin sleeps with Regina)?

Her mom hadn’t come home that night, and Reader’s worried cause she rarely does that, so in morning she uses her mirror to check the vault to see if Regina is there. She sees the whole scene that morning from Robin getting up to when he starts kissing Regina again (she has the sense to stop watching). She uses the mirror again to check what happened last night and she sees how Regina asked him to stay away so she can start to emotionally heal but he came onto her anyway - knowing she needed space but giving her a taste of something she can’t have instead. Reader’s absolutely furious at Robin for messing with Regina’s head yet again. Her anger is simmering all morning, then Henry comes to her and says he thinks something happened with Robin cause mom’s sad, and she can’t tell him what actually happened, so she just says yeah something did but don’t worry cause she’ll handle it.

Later when Reader, Regina, Henry and Emma are in the library, Robin comes in w Roland. She and Henry see Robin show her mom the alternative page and are absolutely fuming. Henry says unsubtly for Roland to come look at the kids books with him, giving reader a ‘handle this’ look, and she magic’s herself and Robin outside. Emma and Regina run outside in time to see her punch him hard in the face, and are in total shock. They watch as she rips into him about how their ‘mom deserves far better than a man who pretends to have honour when it suits him and then fucks her in an underground crypt with his frozen wife 10ft away’. How they’ve watched for weeks as he says one thing then does another; how her mom asked him to stay away so she could begin to heal and instead he poured salt in the wound for his own selfish gratification; how when you pick and choose a code it’s not a code; how even in a weird situation like this with a frozen-undead-wife, he could choose to not repeatedly mess with her mom’s head but he hasn’t. And finally that they’ll help Marian and they’ll always love Roland, but to stay away from her family or he’ll find out what the daughter of an evil queen is truly capable of.

Robin looks shocked and embarrassed at being called out; Emma looks proud of how protective she is and especially proud of the punch she taught reader; and Regina is mostly confused how she knew and bc she thought her kids liked Hood. Emma gets Henry and Roland, and after Robin/Roland leave, tells Regina and Reader she and Henry will meet them at granny’s after they’ve talked. Henry subtly (but Regina still sees) high-fives reader on the way out when he finds out she punched Hood.

Regina finds out why reader knew about the vault, that Henry worries she’s sad after Hood is around, that both kids are genuinely upset at Robin for saying one thing then doing another (and that thankfully Henry didn’t know the details about what happened this time). She’s worried what her daughter thinks of her after the vault. But reader explains that she isn’t judging her, they’re all adults here and sometimes sex is just sex, but what’s upset her is this time it wasn’t, it was him giving her a small glimpse of what she can’t have. And that Regina deserves to be genuinely happy, not just fighting for scraps of happiness decided by an asshole, and Regina is sorry she didn’t see how this was hurting her kids and reader tells her she’s not allowed to apologise bc it’s not her fault. They agree from then on they’ll always make their own fate and hold each other to the promise to believe they deserve to be happy.

They join Emma and Henry at Granny’s and get take out for a family night, and reader and Regina cuddle up together on the sofa the entire evening.

(And for how her being Regina’s child yet still magic could all work, the reader could have been adopted by Regina 7 years before Henry - she was also pre-written in rumples curse like Henry was, bc rumple set in motion for an orphan baby from the EF to arrive 11 years into the curse (his purpose was to make Regina love being a mom so she’d definitely take Henry and his curse would break). The Pan curse she only had to give up one child and since Henry is Emma’s biologically but Reader’s an orphan and from the EF, they decided between the four of them that Emma and Henry would stay together in Boston and Regina and reader would go back to the EF together, but they (sounding horrifyingly like the charmings) promised they’d find each other again one day, since the siblings were distraught at being separated) ❤️✨

How to Throw a Proper Punch

Regina Mills x Daughter!Reader

A/N: Hi! Don't apologize at all! I love getting as much detail as possible! I don't usually write anything other than a romantic relationship so I was really excited to do this request! I really hope you enjoy it. I think it's the longest oneshot I've written.

Warnings: Very light violence, some major angst, and really bad mommy issues

Word count: 2207

Storybrooke

Time of the Dark Curse

“Henry told me you got in trouble for punching a kid at school today.”

You were sitting in a booth at the diner when Emma sat down in front of you, eyeing the bruises on your knuckles. You sighed, closing your book and looking guilty. “Yeah…what about it? Are you gonna lecture me like my mom did?”

Emma scoffed. “No. I’m gonna teach you how to throw a punch properly. Come on.”

You sat in the passenger seat of her car, watching the town go by quietly. Halfway to Henry’s castle, you heard Emma speak up.

“So, why’d you do it?”

“He grabbed my ass,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

You huffed. “He grabbed my ass! And that’s not just it. He’s been harassing me since freshman year. Mom lectured me about it…but in the end she said she was proud of me.”

“Well, I think that’s the first time Regina and I have ever agreed on something,” Emma said.

“I broke his nose,” you grinned. “In front of the whole class.”

Emma glanced at you. “That’s badass, kid. Good job.”

__________

“Alright, if you’re gonna have to punch someone again, it’ll probably be a straight punch,” Emma said. “You’ll wanna lift your back heel, but not the ball of your foot, okay? When you do this, at the same time, you’re gonna turn your back foot and knee in the direction of the target.”

You stood beside her and mimicked her actions. “Like this?”

“Yeah, good! After you twist your legs toward them,” she continued, “rotate your torso to face them directly. By now, you should already have a fist made. Remember, keep your thumb over your four fingers. Otherwise, you’ll break it.” She brought her curled fist up. “When you bring the fist up, make sure you punch with your palm facing down. Then–this is the important part–you wanna follow through with the punch. You want your arm to be completely extended after you’ve finished.”

You nodded, paying attention to everything she said. You prayed this wouldn’t come in handy, but still, you’d rather be prepared than helpless.

__________

Storybrooke

Four years later

While throwing a proper punch is a good thing to know, the second you showed signs of magic three years later, just days after your twentieth birthday, you knew that would be your first instinct to defend yourself. Your mother couldn’t have been happier, rushing to her vault with you to get her beginner spell books and every piece of knowledge you could ever need.

She demonstrated the first spells she learned, adding on, “If Gold asks you if you want to train with him, don’t.”

“I figured,” you said.

And that was that. She took you to her vault every evening after work. You progressed quickly with a full fireball in your hand within a week.You had never seen her happier than in that moment, that was, until him, yet at the same time, she had never seen such sorrow.

__________

You opened the door to Henry’s bedroom, finding him reading a Wolverine comic book. “Do you know where Mom is?” “No clue,” he responded, not looking up from the pages.

This wasn’t like her. She’d be home for dinner at six o’clock sharp every night. Why was tonight any different?

“Oh, um…okay,” you said. “I’m going to Granny’s to pick up some dinner, do you want me to bring anything home for you?”

It was then that he finally looked up. “Oh, I’m going to Grandma and Grandpa’s tonight.”

After Henry left for the night, you continued to sit in the living room, putting on a random show for background noise as you made yourself a cup of tea. 

How many enemies does this woman have? Every possible scenario ran through your head. She could be dead–two children left behind in a cruel world, one of them left to help raise her brother.

Nine o’clock turned into ten, and ten turned into eleven before you decided to go to bed. You constantly checked your phone for any messages from your mother, finally falling asleep around one. 

You were up at nine, trying to call your mother and making breakfast for yourself when you had an idea. Her mirror. The mirror that she kept in the foyer by the front door. Rushing over, you stand before it and lift your arms, closing your eyes and thinking of what you want to see.

You were in shock. There they were–Robin in his white undershirt and your mother on the steps inside her vault putting her heels back on. But what hurt more was seeing her get a call on her phone, looking at it, and declining it immediately.

The healing. What happened to the healing? The emotional grief she suffered for decades, and was so desperate to heal from. 

You watch her pull away, here her distorted voice saying it wasn’t right. Just a shred of hope you had for her came back–until he pursued her again.

“Are you really that much of a pessimist?” he asked.

It continued. Him backing her into a corner before kissing her once again. You were sick to stomach and quickly backed away from the mirror before giving into the impulse of seeing the night before. 

She told him to stay away. She told him to leave her alone, to let her heal. He didn’t listen. 

You were furious–more than furious. Rage, white hot rage, coursed through your veins, taking over every bit of your sanity. You hated him. You hated him for everything he had done. He messed with her head, messed with her emotions, he messed with her. Everything that she worked for, every bit of herself that she wanted to heal was going down the drain because of him. 

__________

You sat with David and Mary Margaret at the table, flipping through a magazine when Elsa came down from the loft. The second you heard from David about Henry, you rushed over, not even stopping for your morning conversation with Archie.

“How is he?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Well,” Elsa said, “I gave him enough ice for the whole week.”

Mary Margaret looked at her seriously now. “No, I mean, how is he?”

“Upset,” Elsa responded. “I just wanted him to understand that Emma’s magic is tied to her emotions like mine. The reason she hurt him is because she was trying so hard not to hurt him. It sounds very convoluted when I try to explain it, bu–”

You looked up from the magazine. “No,” you said, interrupting her. “It makes perfect sense. I was really angry once before I had control of my powers and I ended up breaking a window by accident.”

Before anyone got a chance to respond, the door flew open. 

“Where’s Henry? Is he okay?” 

Your mood dampened when you saw your mother barge in.

“He’s fine. He’s upstairs,” David said. “We;ve been trying to call you all night.”

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t respond to your every summons!” Regina snapped. “Though I did bring that locator potion you wanted.” She slammed it down on the table. “Maybe next time, try leading with, “thank you”. Now, may I see my son please?”

“You might wanna finish buttoning your shirt first,” you chided as you continued skimming through the magazine and earning yourself a shocked look from your mother.

She opened her mouth before closing it again and buttoning up her blouse.

__________

The library was dead silent as you, Emma, Regina, and Henry walked around, searching for a book that could give you any clues as to how to stop Ingrid. The door opened suddenly, hearing the plastic blinds hitting the glass.

“Robin?”

You heard your mother and left the section you were in, seeing Emma and Henry do the same. Beside Robin, Roland held onto his pant leg.

“Robin, what are you doing here?” Regina asked, glancing around at the three of you.

Robin ignored you, Henry, and Emma, taking a familiar piece of paper out from his back pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Regina.

“What is this?” she gawked

He paused before thinking of the right words to say. “I…borrowed the book. I was looking for anything that could hint to the author, and I found this. It’s an alternative page.”

You, Henry, and Emma saw the page and Henry looked at Roland, saying, “How about we go check out some books in the kids section?” before giving you a look as to say, ‘Handle this’.

The anger you felt in the previous days bubbled up to the surface once again. You could hardly contain yourself before giving into the rage and twisting your hand, teleporting you and Robin to the middle of the Main Street intersection outside the library.

Without a second thought, you remembered all those years ago when Emma taught you how to punch properly. You curled your fist, turned your leg, and socked him right in his nose, putting your entire weight behind the punch.

Emma, Regina, and Henry all made it out just in time to see the entire thing go down.

Robin doubled over, clutching his nose and smearing blood over the lower half of his face. All the while, you were berating him. 

“She deserves so much better than you!” you shouted. “You claim to have honor when it suits you, but then you turn around and fuck her in her crypt where your own wife is ten feet away, frozen!” You took a deep breath, trying to keep tears of anger and frustration at bay, but ultimately failing. “I have watched you say one thing and then do the complete opposite! She told you to stay away! She told you to leave her alone so she could heal! But you still pursued her! You rubbed salt into her wounds! You can’t just pick and choose when to have a code of honor!”

You moved closer to him. “Now, we will continue to help Marian, and continue to love Roland, but–” you pulled him in by the collar of his shirt and lowered your voice “–if you don’t leave her alone, you will find out what the daughter of the once Evil Queen is truly capable of.”

Among your heavy breathing, everyone stood quiet. Robin’s face was red with embarrassment as Emma stood behind you, clearly hiding the fact that she was proud of you, whereas Regina looked confused with Henry trying to hold back a smile.

“Right,” Emma finally said amidst the awkward silence. “Um…Henry, get Roland and I’ll drop him and Robin off at the hospital, and then we can head to Granny’s. I think your sister and Regina need to talk.” She turned to the pair of you. “We’ll meet you there.”

As Henry walks past you, you grin, receiving a subtle high five from him before turning to follow your mother–who quite obviously saw the high five happen judging by the shocked look on her face–home. 

__________

“What was that?” Regina asked as she shut the front door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

Your mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve been in a terrible mood for the past few days, and now you had this outburst? There’s something clearly wrong!”

“It’s him!” you snap, turning around with your lip trembling. “Robin! He–Ugh! You’re always home at six o’clock sharp! For as long as I can remember, you’ve always been home on time! Until the other night! I asked Henry and he had no clue where you were! I barely slept and your phone kept going to voicemail! I thought you were dead! In the morning I decided to look at the mirror and you were with him. You were with Robin! Even after all the times he’s caused you pain! I get it, we’re adults, we all have that need, and I'm not judging you. But Robin?? Sex can be ‘just sex’, but this wasn’t! He was giving you a small glimpse of what you can’t have. Of what you can’t have until you’ve learned to love yourself despite all of your mistakes! And he’s preventing that from happening.”

You felt relieved to get it off your chest, only slightly guilty, but knowing that your mother needed to hear it.

She sighed. “Does Henry know?”

“That you were with him the other night?” you asked. “No. He was at the Charmings’ the morning I saw. But he’s noticed you’ve been acting differently. Mom, after all that’s happened to you, you deserve genuine happiness and love. But if you don’t heal, and you don’t learn to love yourself, that won’t happen. And because you won’t let that happen, it’s not just hurting you, but also me and Henry.”

“Oh.” She was quiet, almost meek in this moment. “I’m–I am so sorry. I had no idea that this was affecting you both so much.”

You wiped tears from your eyes. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, Mom.”

“Thank you for telling me.” She reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you into an embrace. Kissing you on your head, she said, “Come on, let’s go to Granny’s.”

[foxes-that-run]

do you think Hits Different is haylor coded?

Hi, to me it is, though I think it is ambiguous as I think Taylor's feelings might have been. Aaron indicated it was an earlier song on Midnights. It was possibly written not very long after Renegade.

Timeline

Aaron mentioned it as one of the songs they wrote together, he mentioned it when saying they wrote High Infidelity in L.A. after Taylor saw Harry at the 2021 Grammy's. He mentioned The Great War also. (31 mins in Broken Record podcast)

I guess this somewhat depends on one's view of the Joever timeline and the Haylor aspects of Folklore. At that time Harry wrote As it was and LOML which are about moving on and there was a lot of reporting around OW.

Video

In this pretty unsettling short she wore an Opal, Taylor's worn Opals since 2014 including the Cardigan video and says 'Opal eyes' in Ivy.

Lyrics

I washed my hands of us at the club You made a mess of me I pictured you with other girls in love Then threw up on the street Like waiting for a bus that never shows You just start walkin' on They say that if it's right, you know Each bar plays our song Nothing has ever felt so wrong

Taylor has been a mess in:

All You Had To Do Was Stay: I’ve been picking up the pieces of the mess you made

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: I’m a mess but I’m the mess that you wanted

Illicit Affairs: Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

Also the only other bus lyric is The 1: I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t, though.

Bars feature a lot on Reputation, so many associate them with Joe, (who she started dating after a lot of the album was recorded.) however to me most of those songs are Haylor.

Oh my, love is a lie Shit my friends say to get me by It hits different It hits different this time Catastrophic blues Movin' on was always easy for me to do It hits different It hits different 'cause it's you ('Cause it's you)

The Catastrophic blues, to me are most similar to Peace: "If your cascade ocean wave blues come." but I hear the lyric as Taylor is depressed.

'Movin' on was always easy for me to do' indicates Harry to me because, he is someone she hasn't been able to move on from because of the cyclical nature of it:

End Game "We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't" and "And I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul"

DBATC: "Chandelier's still flickering here / 'Cause I can't pretend it's ok when it's not"

I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost Rip the Band-Aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw Freedom felt like summer then on the coast Now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings And I never don't cry (no, I never don't cry) at the bar Yeah, my sadness is contagious (my sadness is contagious) I slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car I stopped receiving invitations

Taylor has also described Harry is irreplaceable, not a switchable Ken:

Question..?:"Cause I don't remember who I was / Before you painted all my nights / A color I've searched for since" and "Does it feel like everything's just like / Second best after that meteor strike

Ready for it: "And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor / Every lover known in comparison is a failure"

Gold Rush: "And the coastal town / We wandered 'round had never / Seen a love as pure as it"

Finally the drunk, slurred name lyrics, (hard to slur Joe), and

Cruel Summer: I’m drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Death By A Thousand Cuts: I get drunk but it’s not enough ‘cause the morning comes and you’re not my baby

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat Cursed the space that I needed I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' You were the one that I loved Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief In the good in the world, you once believed in me And I felt you and I held you for a while Bet I could still melt your world Argumentative, antithetical dream girl

Joe's worn a few baseball caps, though Taylor has also referenced Harry's hats before. In early interviews Niall said he wore them to hide his hair in public, so he wears them a lot. Including this green beanie in the 22 MV.

Bleeding is a Haylor Theme

Trace the evidence / Wrinkle in time reminds me of Right where you left me, "They expected me to find somewhere / Some perspective, but I sat and stared"

Hair, Stare and Sense of belief describe Harry well:

Hair (Style: long hair, Shake it off: hella good hair, Gold Rush: Hair falling into place)

Stare (Style: daydream look in your eye, Delicate: look into your eyes, Exile: eyes add insult to injury, Gold Rush: Twinkling eyes)

Harry has a belief in the good in the world, Joe may too, we don't really know him.

Finally the Argumentative, antithetical dream girl - reminds me of Gold Rush "At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit". Harry describes Taylor in Sweet Creature "It's hard when we argue We're both stubborn, I know" Kiwi "Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect" and Woman "I told you, but I know you never listen."

I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway Is that your key in the door? Is it okay? Is it you? Or have they come to take me away? To take me away

Finally, hallways and doors both feature a lot in Haylor songs, here the muse has a key. I guess this also depends on a perspective of the pandemic time, I don't find it a stretch to think H had a key to Taylors home. As far as I wonder if she even has a literal key anymore...

Have they come to take me away reminds me of:

Wonderland: And in the end in Wonderland, we both went mad

Say Don’t Go: The waiting is a sadness fading into madness

Don’t Blame Me: "For you I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I would lose my mind" and "Don’t blame me, love made me crazy"

I Wish You Would: This mad, mad love makes you come running

Blank Space: Magic, madness, heaven, sin

[shotmrmiller]

hear me out

Agora Hills can pass off as a Simon Riley boyfie coded song.

That's it

*runs off.*

and where tf you think you goin

you don't get to leave this here and scram

now

you can hit it while they watch, boy

correct. he would love it, if anything. exhibitionist through and through.

Something different about you, love it when you hit And smack too, baby, let me lick on your tattoos That's true that I like PDA, take you to a seedy place Suck a little dick in the bathroom

he thrusts with the intent to carve the shape of his cock into you, so only he can ever fit. he loves to leave handprints on your flesh, creating a unique masterpiece akin to the tattoos that adorn his arm. he'd also never say no to head in any public setting. again, exhibitionist.

Who that man with the big strong hands

he got bear paws for hands. one swipe using his full strength and whatever he hits is lifeless. (rip the flies that have the courage to invade his home. once he used the fly swatter and the poor body of said fly ricocheted viciously, like a child on a trampoline.)

I'm a mean kitty, don't get stabbed with the rat tooth

one woman tried to saddle up right next to him at a bar top. big mistake. his kitten's got claws and the sibilant hiss that slithered past your teeth at the woman had simon immediately picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

We fuck too good when the beat kicks in

self-explanatory. dick is sensational. call him rasputin.

Hold me down when a hole need dick

being in between your legs is his shang-ri la

'Cause this type of love's the epitome, said

something he never dreamed of having in his lifetime. until you. now he wakes without complaint, even if his spine aches, knees creak, and scars feel like they're reopening, tearing at the seams. all of it dissolves, muting— a tiny buzz in the back of his head when he lays eyes on your sleeping form.

he's home, in his little garden of eden. and oh, how he loves his eve so.

[finchsflight]

📻📻 for the investigator!! >:3

I am choosing to believe that two emojis means two songs!

So, first up:

Rage against the waking dawn Take the seconds of this life, and pull them through your palms And watch the day break through the night And watch it die

We were born to die But for this moment, for all time Oh, I will fight for you I will die for you

See the thing about the Investigator is that they're. Well. They're a Nemesis PC. And they're. Extremely That, to the degree that when they finished their Ambition they immediately proceeded to go get their own identity exploded, basically,

Anyway, this song is just very Investigator-coded -- they did Nemesis in a very... unhealthy way (which is normal but like. they were maybe even worse about it??); cutting out every piece of themself that wasn't built for revenge; letting their heart die inside their chest because the only love they needed was the furious, blazing love for their twin, their brother, their binary star, their better half; turning themself into not a living weapon, because they never planned to survive their own ambitions.

...They're very bad at grief processing.

(This got long. Sorry)

Second:

OH HECK YEAH I WAS HOPING WE'D GET THIS ONE

What can be done when the world has lost its class? Wrecking ships for love of all things fast

So tell me, what do we need with the sun? Now that we have an electric one To melt every shadow away Turn the night into day So give a shout of farewell Now we know we can build it ourselves But oh, we stared so long We forgot we were human

The world's gateway, we play a game of chess On the bit to win the race What do you need with these vanities and charms? Sell your fineries and take up arms

So, as you may be able to tell, this is a little bit of a Dawn Machine song. Just a little. Just a little,

Anyway, yeah. This is, to me, the archetypal Bright-Eyed Investigator song. Crashed their ship, washed up at the Grande Geode, and picked up a new job that is definitely 100% good and safe and healthy. "We stared so long, we forgot we were human" is maybe the most Dawn Machine quote ever. To me. (Especially for the Investigator, who is physically a good chunk less human! Remember how I mentioned letting their heart die inside their chest? That is only a little bit of a metaphor. After the Dawn Machine, they have a heart of clockwork; it lets them love, and see beauty, but it rips their individuality into fuel for the fire of the New Sequence. Before, they were ruthless, implicitly violent and dangerous but not quite casually; now, their danger is more... impersonal. All is fair in love and war, in the matters of the heart; theirs are rote. Clockwork. They love the average of beauty; they kill for the sin of inconvenience.)

I'm very normal about them. The last quote is also specifically relevant, because the Investigator got themself Dawnburnt right before Railway! Their coworker/second half/narrative foil/eternal companion/constant frustration, the Nihilistic Janitor of a close friend, didn't get dawnburnt and is dealing with killing Cups very normally and healthily. (This is, at best, a lie.) They are, at least, working on the Railway, though, and the 'game of chess' is very much that. (The Janitor and the Bright-Eyed Investigator have a truly fascinating dynamic to me.)

...okay one Janitor song, as a treat. They're not strictly my blorbo, but this song is so very much them I needed to put it in --

I've gotten good at leaning on metaphors I've gotten good at living on someone else's page I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments You can't trust a single thing I say

I keep my closet free of skeletons 'Cause I'm much better at digging graves

Absolute most Janitor song ever. They're a Midnighter, a mithridatist, a thousand identities and not a single name; they cover their face in irrigo makeup so no one can see them smile or frown; they're a mystery wrapped around an enigma sealing in a lack of any soul. (They didn't give it up. They're just... soulless.)

The Investigator loses their heart for their ambitions; the Janitor finds a little bit of a heart on the way; they're caught in each other's gravity, like binary stars.

Two futures, endlessly circling.

...As you may be able to tell, I am exceptionally normal about the Investigator.

Thanks for asking, and. Uh. Hopefully this wasn't too wearingly long,