#slams my head against a wall i am the Least Creative person in the World

[cerealmonster15]

fuuuufufufuuu it’s my partners bday in a few weeks and i have NO IDEAS, I just remembered while i was in the shower and was like o fuck wait it’s march now, shit

idk my mind always goes to food for gifts but aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa 

straight up can’t remember what i got him last year

for christmas i crocheted him a snorlax but that took like weeeeeeeeeeeeeks and weeks and weeks of time bc im slow lol

thought about commissioning a drawing or something from someone for him , but hhhh money,,,,,,,,,,,,,, but also imma be spending money on gift anyway so hhhhmmm,,, hmmm mm m mm,,,,

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

I’d make an amazing prostitute

Word count: 1025

Genre: Fluff ig but kinda just random

Pairing: Natasha x fem!reader 

Warnings: Quite a few sexual references but nothing graphic at all (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hi again ! I have another idea of an natasha x reader with the meme Person a: i do know one way we could get money Person b: you'd make a decent prostitute Person a: i'd make an amazing prostitute !I like this meme so much it make me laugh every time ! (the requested lines are bolded)

Summary: Natasha comes up with a creative way you could make money if you didn’t use Tony’s.

A/n: This was a request for @fayhar so I hope you like this! Also I apologize for how long it took and I’m going to try to get your other request done soon. Also I apologize to anyone who reads this because I don’t even know what this is but I hope you find it amusing to read. Enjoy!

You glanced around at the rest of the avengers as the movie finished up. Except for Tony who had chosen the movie, everybody seemed to have identical expressions of horror and confusion at what they had just watched. 

“Did they need to show the the alpaca’s having sex that graphically?” Wanda asks Tony. 

“Yes that was an integral part to the movie,” he replies, “besides they are just cartoons.”

Clint sniggers. “That’s even worse because someone had to have had sex dreams about alpaca’s in order to come up with it and assumed others would too.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “that’s disgusting Tony, is this some secret fantasy of yours?” Everyone laughs at this, even Steve and Thor who usually don’t get the jokes, and Natasha who doesn’t like to show too much emotion.

“Ok, hold up,” Tony says, “tease me all you want but I’m the only one who does stuff around her and you all leech off of me.” Everyone starts to protest at once so you can’t even make out what people are saying. 

Tony raises his arms in a mock surrender. “I’m just saying, who pays rent? Hmmm?” 

“You spent months begging us to move in.” Bruce points out and you and a couple of others nod heads in agreement. 

“So? Ever since Shield fell you’d all be useless without my money,” Steve scoffs at him so Tony continues, “how would you all even make money?”

“Rejoin the army.”

“Go back to Asgard.” 

“Teach classes at the university.”

“Work for the FBI.” 

“Probably go to university and live in the dorms.”

“I have enough savings for the rest of my life.”

Everyone but you answers and Tony groans. “Have you seriously all thought of this?” Again everybody but you agrees verbally or nods their head. 

“Y/n doesn’t.” Clint says, turning the attention over to you so you glare at him. 

“Well at least one person here is useless without me.” Tony gloats. 

“I am not!” You protest, but he just raises a disbelieving eyebrow. He’s right of course, you don’t know what you would do without him but he doesn’t have to know that. On the spot you quickly try to think of an idea but the only one that comes to mind is becoming a criminal but you decide to run with it anyways. 

“I do know one way we could make money.” You tell them slowly, trying to be mysterious. 

“You’d make a decent prostitute.” Natasha teases, diverting your attention from your point. 

“Excuse me, I’d make an amazing prostitute!” The entire team laughs at you unconvinced. It’s just a joke but you can’t help but feel offended by their complete lack of confidence in your abilities to do well as a prostitute. 

“Hey, I’m a spy, I could easily act like I was enjoying it, I have before for missions remember?” The team still looks mostly doubtful. 

“You know what, I actually agree with Y/n.” Natasha speaks up. “But for different reasons.”

“What reasons?” You ask, curious because you have no idea what she’s thinking. 

“Well not to be too detailed but you have a great ass and also your legs are very sexy.” She winks at the end and even with all your professional training you can not for the life of you tell if she is just friendly teasing or flirting. Either way it makes you blush and feel good instead because the most amazing and gorgeous woman in the world just complimented your ass and legs. 

“Not to mention how beautiful your face or just overall body is.” She continues. You blush enough that it’s definitely noticeable to everyone in the room. You don’t think she’s flirting (as much as you would like her to) but she’s never teased you like this before so you don’t know how to react.

“Sounds like you want to be her first customer Romanoff.” Tony teases her. 

Natasha isn’t doesn’t look bothered by that at all and delicately lifts a single eyebrow. “So what if I do?” Everyone laughs and brushes it off as a joke but you turn even more red and fidget slightly. 

“And Y/n would definitely not complain,” Tony adds on, “you two need to get a room.” 

“Ok.” She replies simply, grabbing your hand and pulling you off of the couch you were sitting on. The team’s mouths all drop and you look away but Natasha doesn’t seem to care and continues to pull you out of the room. You expect her to drop the act as soon as you are out of sight but she leads you through the hallways until you are standing right outside your room. 

You gulp when she drops your hand and turns to face you because you don’t know what she wants you to do. She just stares at your face which makes you want to squirm uncomfortably but you resist the need. After about a minute, in which both of you had stayed in the exact same position you decide to break the silence but just as you’re about to open your mouth, she slams her lips into yours and pushes you against the wall, the only sound coming out of you a small hmmpht. You can’t think straight but you kiss her back as hard as you can but all too soon she pulls away again and you almost whine at the loss of contact. 

“Put on a pretty dress so we can go to dinner.” She says, telling not asking you. 

You’re confused by the sudden change in direction. “What?” 

“I’m taking you on a date, unless you don’t want it of course.” 

“No, no, I do want it,” you rush to reassure her, not wanting to blow this chance, “but why exactly?” 

She giggles slightly at your obvious confusion. “Well, Y/n, as much as think you’d make an amazing prostitute, in real life you are definitely the kind of girl you take on a date first.”

With that she walks away, leaving you smiling and blushing after her, before running into your room to start figuring out your dress for later.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

13 Going on 30 pt. 3

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfic based off the movie 13 going on 30

Summary:  You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever

Warnings: Angst, Some suggestive content, But it’s mostly pure fluff. (Also Peter has no powers in this fic, and some scenes will be changed to fit Peter and his personality and so I can be creative with it!)

Word Count: 2103

Peter thought it was safe to say that adult life sucked. And it wasn't just because he had run out of lucky charms this morning and had to settle for something called shredded wheat that was hidden away in the back of the panty. They were gross and tasted like cardboard, but Peter was all out of groceries so this would have to do.

 No nothing had seemed to go right for him after high school, he went to college, (even though he spent most of the time partying and goofing off), got the degree and yet he was barely scraping by. But he couldn't complain, all that much at least. He enjoyed his job and even if at times it was hard to earn money he wouldn't trade it for the world. He had fallen in love with photography in freshman year and decided to major in it. He had a minor in business too, something you had always told him would be useful as a backup. You were always practical like that, making sure he never completely fell over the edge. But he was hesitant to use it, because in using that minor it kinda meant he was giving up his dream. Giving in to the regular, soul crossing 9 to 5 job that everyone seemed to have. Peter was a dreamer at heart, in a way it would kill him to do anything other than photography.

He ate a spoonful of his cereal, making a face at the dull taste. Chewing, he glanced over at the stack of bills littering the counter. A lot of them were piling up, sooner or later he may have to give into the normalcy of a business job. Work had been slow lately and very boring. More often than not people hired him to take photos for their weddings or graduation, simple stuff. Stuff that had him bored out of his mind. But there were no clients currently so until he got one he had all the time in the world to himself. Which he loved at first but now it seems he was falling into a bit of a routine.

Peter aimlessly wandered around the kitchen lost in thought, his eyes drifted toward the collection of pictures pinned to his fridge. There was a picture of you on there, from before you had cut him out of your life. Peter set the bowl down on the counter and gently lifted the magnet to pull the picture off. It was a polaroid of you two, You had your arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, hugging him from behind. His hands were resting on yours, you both were smiling, teeth missing.

This picture was from the first day of first grade. Even back then Peter had had some feelings for you. And the way his eyes looked at you and not the camera was proof of this. Peter ran his thumb gently over the faded picture, for a moment he let himself wonder about how you were doing, before he snapped himself out of it. He put the picture back in its place and picked his bowl back up. It was too early to be having thoughts like that. 

Peter yawned and lazily plopped down on his worn out sofa, flipping through the channels on the tv. There was nothing on, signing he threw out the rest of his cereal, it had gotten soggy while he was busy reminiscing. He dropped the empty bowl into the sink, only adding to the collection of unwashed dishes. He glanced over at the phone and the soft blinking of the red light, indicating he had voicemails he hadn't listened to yet. He knew he was going to have to take her calls sooner or later but right now he didn't want to deal with her. 

He headed to the park and decided to do some laps on the path, running always helped him to relax and clear his head. He always got stares and shy smiles from the women that were jogging, he found out that apparently the silver hair that everyone made fun of him for was very attractive to women now. Something he used to use to his advantage to pick up the occasional hook up.

After that he went to go get groceries and then played on his pacman machine until lunchtime. He totally knew how to spend his time. He made his way over to the kitchen and looked at all the new groceries he had bought. Twinkies, instant ramen, mac and cheese, he picked up the box of lucky charms, weighing the option of eating it for lunch. He thought better of it and put it back on the shelf, he really needed to eat healthier, god knows sooner or later his metabolism was going to give out.

He picked up the phone and placed an order form the Chinese place a couple blocks away, ordering way more food than he needed. That way he wouldn't have to cook for the next few meals. Peter was inherently lazy and cooking was not something he was very good at. So when he would he just ordered takeout and leftovers so he could eat them later. He hung up the phone and walked over to the fridge and took out the milk, drinking it straight for the carton, while he was doing that he heard a loud knock on the door. “That was quick.” The knocking continued non stop over and over, “I’m coming hold on!” He yelled out as he shuffled to the door and opened it peering through the opening that the chain allowed. “You know it’s rude to-'' The words died in his throat. There was a woman standing at his door, wearing a coat over her night dress. 

*******************************************************

You hadn't been able to pay attention to the briefing your boss gave, your assistant came in about half way through and handed you a small slip of paper. She said that she had found Peter’s address like you had asked. You had pulled her into a hug, creating an awkward tension in the room. The meeting had seemed to go on forever, and for the life of you you couldn't even remember what it was about. As soon as the meeting ended you had bolted out the door, ignoring the calls of your boss and colleagues telling you that work wasn't over yet. 

You had found his apartment after randomly asking strangers in the street which way it was. You were at his door, the number on it hanging lopsided. You began to rapidly knock until the door was pulled open. “You know it’s rude to-” 

He paused as he saw you staring at him. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “You’re not the chinese delivery guy.” 

You felt your eyes widen as you took him in. “Peter?” You asked in a small voice. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you. “Yeah?”

 You let out a sigh of relief, smiling. “You’re tall.” You looked him up and down. “And you’re so handsome.”

His face turned red at your words. He didn't even know who this random woman was that was standing here, telling him he was handsome. He leaned against the doorframe, taking another drink out of the carton. “I’m sorry do- do I know you?” 

He watched your face fall. “You don’t know me?” 

“No?” He said, wiping the dribbling milk off his chin. Even after all these years his mannerisms were the same. 

“Wait! “ You said rushing forward. He jumped slightly at the sudden action. “It’s me, I saw you yesterday. Well I was thirteen yesterday so I guess it wasn't yesterday. Because now i'm old and I don't know where I am-” Peter watched you ramble on and slowly began to close the door. You continued on. “But you were there at my party-”

Peter paused, squinting his eyes and looking at you closely.. “(Y/n)?” He asked hesitantly, reopening the door as much as the chain would allow. “(y/n) (y/l/n)?” You smiled wide at him. 

“Yes! Yes it’s me!” 

Peter slammed the door shut in your face. You heard him unlock all the locks on his side of the door, when he was down he swung the door open. “Hey.” he gave you a small smile. You lunged at him and tackled him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He just stood there frozen, slowly moving his free hand up to awkwardly pat you on the back. “Come in I guess.” He muttered. 

You pulled back smiling at him. Even after all this time your sweet smile could make his heart skip a beat. You looked around his small apartment taking it all in. Peter did his best to kick discarded clothes into the closet, and keep you from seeing what a mess it was. You looked along his walls to see framed pictures of portraits and beautiful landscapes. “Are you still taking pictures?” You asked,

“Uh yeah, they pay the bills.” He quickly grabbed the pile of unpaid bills, stuffing them behind the couch cushion. “Usually.” He muttered under his breath. You were pacing around his apartment, in confused circles. He nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “Hey, (y/n) I don't wanna be rude but why are you here?” 

“Petey I told you.” You said moving closer to him, he let out a little laugh. 

“Petey wow, no one has called me that in ages.” 

“Petey listen I came here cause something really weird is happening. Yesterday was my 13th birthday and then today I woke up and I’m this!” You said gesturing to your body. Peter tried his best not to look you up and down, he couldn't deny that you had grown up well. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. “And you’re that!” You said gesturing towards him. 

Peter looked down at himself self consciously. “Gee thanks. Do I really look that bad?” 

“No!” You quickly said. You felt yourself blush as you looked him over. His hair was tousled and messy, he was wearing an oversized  pink floyd crop top and from the looks of the hem it seemed he had made it himself. You watched the veins in his hands ripple and his arms slightly flex. “Uh you,” You let out an embarrassed laugh. “You actually look really good, like really good.” 

Peter flushed at your words and turned away so you couldn't see his blushing face. “Wow.” He whispered under his breath, he lifted a hand up to his face, doing his best to hide the smile that was forming. He turned back to and regained a serious composure. “Are you sure you're okay (y/n).” He took in your mismatched outfit and broken heel. “Are you high? Have you been smoking pot? Doing drugs, cause if you are I’m not judging as long as it’s just weed or something. Cause I mean I get it, I get stressed to and every now and then need-”

“No, no.” You said shaking your head rapidly. “Wait do you do-,” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “Do you do drugs Peter?” 

“No! No.” Peter shrugged. “Ehhh well not drugs, just weed.” He defended. But looking at your judgmental eyes he quickly continued on. “And I don’t, well I don’t that much any more. It was in college you know how it was.” 

“Actually I don’t.” You moved even closer to him. “Look, I was sitting in my closet, and I- I skipped everything. I can’t- I can’t remember my life.” Your eyes were watery as you started back at him. His heart ached seeing you like this. You continued on. ‘You need to help me remember my life.” 

At this he scoffed, and pretended to look around as if you were referring to someone else. “Me?” he said pointing to himself, letting out an airy laugh. “That’s rich.”

“What why?” He let out another laugh at your response, this one was dry. He looked at your face and saw that you weren’t kidding, you were serious about asking for his help.

“(Y/n) I can’t.” He was in disbelief, did you seriously have no idea what you had done to him. “I don’t know anything about you. I haven't seen you since high school.” Your face morphed into one of confusion. 

“What?” 

What he said next pained him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. “(Y/n). We’re not friends anymore.”

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. “What?”

Taglist:

@lets-imagine-fanfics @steamboat-local @weasly-twin-simp

Let me know if you want to be added!!

[lawslessons]

hey! i really enjoyed what you wrote for the soulmate alphabets so [insert All Might smile] i am here!! could i request D [soulmate] for Zoro? thanks in advance! ☺️💓

Hello my dear! I am so sorry for how long this took, I haven’t been feeling well but today I had energy to write so I decided to take advantage of that! I took some creative liberty with the whole Marine aspect and I hope you enjoy it!

Zoro x Reader - No Promises 

D - “damage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body”

Warnings: mentions of bodily harm

Synopsis: A vicious pursuit, Zoro manages to get lost and stumble across someone powerful. Their aura is daunting and their ability with a sword is even more frightening, but being efficient with a sword is not their only similarity. Zoro soon finds out that their connection runs deeper, much deeper, not just skin deep in the pursuit.

“We almost caught up with him, Vice Admiral!” A shaky man yelled to his head officer with his hand against his forehead in pure respect. The person they were addressing didn’t look too pleased by what their subordinate said. 

“Almost? Almost? Why didn’t you catch up to him?” They scowled as they slammed their fist down against the table and watched as it began to shake under the sheer force of their fist. 

“He’s fast, we had no way -- “

“Bullshit,” They scoffed as they adjusted their white cape with a sour expression on their face. The subordinate squeaked and quickly scrambled to grab his papers before he ran out of the office with a small scream. They sighed in annoyance as they watched him run away, they leaned against their desk with a small frown. “Guess I need to go out there,” They said as they grabbed their sword and left their office. If something needed to be done, do it yourself or something like that, they thought. Like usual, the Strawhat crew was making a mess of a town they were in, and being the Vice Admiral in charge of the island and the islands surrounding it, they took it as their personal responsibility to make sure that this disturbance was accounted for. While most of the crew had escaped, there was a person that wasn’t accounted for yet: Roronoa Zoro, one of the world’s strongest swordsmen. They felt their hand tense at the thought of being able to finally fight him, to finally see if his strength was anything remarkable. 

“Vice Admiral! We caught sight of him near the pier, it seems that he’s lost?” Another subordinate said in some confusion. They couldn’t help but sigh at that, they had heard about how directionally challenged the swordsman was, but they never expected it to be this bad, after all the island was only so big. With a small breath, they got into a running stance before they were practically flying through the air to the pier to catch up with the swordsman. They came to a skidding halt when they heard the sound of swords clashing. 

He was here. 

When they looked over their shoulder and saw the swordsman heavily breathing as he put his swords away, they couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Are you already tired?” They teased as they slowly approached the rabid Zoro. Zoro frowned and went to pull his sword out, but their quick reflexes quickly stopped the swordsman in his tracks. “Did you seriously think that would work?” They frowned as they pulled their sword away. Their eyes scanned over the swordsman's body and noticed something interesting. Scars ran across his chest and his arms, all deep and jagged and painful, and most importantly exactly like theirs. They frowned at that realization and took a step back from him. Now it was Zoro’s turn to smirk, he took their look as them checking him out, who would blame them? He was built, strong, he was almost godly in his stature. 

“If you just wanted me you could’ve asked, I've never done a vice admiral before,” Zoro teased. 

“Shut it,” They snapped in disgust, they moved to take their coat off and unbuttoned the top of their shirt to show the same, long scar that Zoro had. “I was looking at your scar, where the hell did you get it?” They asked as they pointed to the swordsman in curiosity. Zoro frowned when he saw the scar that was the same as his own, but before either of them could say anymore, the marine reinforcements were beginning to arrive and come in full force. 

“Run!” They quickly said as they grabbed the swordsman’s hand and went to run to a safe place for the two of them. They ran fast, Zoro even had to admit that he was surprised by their deftness and speed. As they reached an isolated, quiet part of the town, they started to slow down and looked over at the swordsman. 

“Where -- “

“An abandoned part of the town, it was run down by pirates and the people here had to evacuate,” They shared as they adjusted the coat over their shoulders again. Zoro watched as their face became sullen and how they grew quiet as they looked around the town they were in. Even more than that, Zoro was surprised at how quickly they were opening up to him, why was that?

“Abandoned?” Zoro decided to ask. He almost regretted asking when he saw how their face darkened. 

“All you pirates think you’re so righteous, you fight marines, other pirates but do you ever think about the citizens who have to live in your mess?” They asked him. Zoro stayed silent and watched as they glared at him. Zoro could feel the power emanating off of them, they were someone he knew he shouldn’t mess with so easily. A Vice Admiral, but why were they so different? Did they have the same moral compass as a normal Marine, yes, but something about the way they held themselves, the way the coat slid off of their shoulders caught his eye. 

“What if I said the same about you, huh? You marines only cause damage where you go. You say you represent justice, but what is that justice? Where is it?” Zoro decided to press with a sour frown on his face. 

“Don’t even compare me to -- “

“So you think you’re above the law? You think you can destroy towns that were run by pirates? What about the innocent people there depending on their protection? You guys do the same thing the lowly pirates do. I’m not saying pirates are better, I’m not. I’m saying to look at yourself before you spout bullshit like that, at least pirates have the guts to acknowledge when they destroy something, you all just run away,” Zoro ranted as he slowly stepped towards them. When he noticed how they were trying to look away from him, he used his hand to grab at their chin and force them to maintain the sharp, almost painful eye contact with him. Both of them had hate in their eyes, the tension between them was thick, but thick with what exactly? Neither of them could place their finger on what exactly it was. But soon, Zoro noticed how their eyes began to soften, their lips tightened and it looked as if they were thinking. 

“There really are bad people on both sides,” They frowned as they tried to step away from the swordsman, but Zoro wouldn’t let them go that easily. 

“Why do you have those scars?” Zoro asked instead. The position they were in looked compromising. The Vice Admiral’s back was against a wall now, the swordsman was looking straight down at their chest with curious eyes. Realizing the strange position they were both in, the Vice Admiral had the grace to blush and cast their eyes away from the swordsman as he seemingly undressed them with one of his eyes. 

“They showed up one day. I was a captain on a ship and one day when I was patrolling, a sharp pain. I passed out, when I woke up I saw the deep scar across my chest which confused me, I wasn’t even attacked, and then even more scars started to appear. And two years ago the worst pain in my life happened. A deep pain, it was a personal scar I could tell, it was like fire,” They tried to explain, they did their best to try to explain something that seemingly didn’t make any sense. Zoro was stunned to silence, he stared at the scar some more and looked at the smooth edges of the scar, the stitching, everything. He knew the work of that sword, he was the one who was on the other end of the sword. 

“It was my fault,” Zoro breathed out apologetically, but now it was their turn to be confused. 

“What -- “ Before they were allowed to finish, Zoro stepped back and pointed to the deep scar on his own chest with a frown on his face.

“I got hurt then, that must've done something to you, but I don’t know why,” Zoro frowned. When they both looked at each other again, they began to realize that their connection may have run deeper than he realized. Neither of them were able to say anything about it though, how could they? One was a Vice Admiral and the other a pirate, a powerful pirate from a notorious group. 

“I won’t forget you, Zoro,” They said as the sound of footsteps were heard in the distance: the rest of the reinforcements were coming. Their connection was deep, their lives were intertwined and they didn’t know it yet. “I will capture you one day, and then we can talk,” They said, their sense of justice and their loyalty to their job was still on the forefront of their mind, they couldn’t let Zoro know the power he had over them. Zoro felt the same way, he did his best to look annoyed, but it was difficult, he was intrigued by them. 

“And I will do my best to kick your ass,” Zoro smirked. 

“Romantic,” They teased. 

“I can be if you give me a shot,” Zoro flirted as he started to follow the Vice Admiral out of the abandoned part of the town. They rolled their eyes and looked back over at him. 

“You wish, now get out of here, and don’t get lost!” They yelled as they saw Zoro already running, was it even in the right direction?

“No promises,” Zoro smirked as he started to run past the marines that were there. They all looked confused, how did their Vice Admiral not catch up to him yet? 

“Get him!” A marine yelled as the pursuit began. Zoro wasn’t worried about the people chasing him, instead his mind lingered on the Vice Admiral. The way the coat dropped off of their shoulders, their frown, so romantic. Zoro laughed and sped up, this was going to be an interesting pursuit for sure.

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 10. Evil Anew

The World felt out of balance. Leere was so weak, her mind spinning back into consciousness. The first thing she felt was a stinging sensation in her wrists. Her arms were being held up by a chain, with torturous cuffs digging into her wrists to keep her hands together. She could barely have to strength to move her legs. When she did, she discovered that she could, the Mortuus woman felt a draft. Was she naked? She didn’t have her robes. They at least took her coat and shirt off. Maybe her pants were taken too. She was too numb to tell. Even moving slightly, she grimaced at the immediate pain that followed in her wrists. Blood dripped from her fingers to the floor, and Leere finally saw the pentagram that’s surrounded her. “Oh god.”

Looking around her, there were four obelisks, and straight ahead, the Destroyer himself.

"What? Going to call out to my brother now?" Destroyer was occupied finishing the text on the Obelisks for the ritual. His own claws were digging out the symbols from the stone. All this death and decay and he did not even flinch. "Go ahead. Prama's host is rather busy right now, so I highly doubt he'll come running. Though there's plenty of other deities or spirits or whatever you wish to call them to cry to as well. Makes this so much more fun." He then said, "Better yet, why not ask Tzitzmime to have mercy on you? Perhaps he'll be in a good mood today."

“What do you think you’re doing to me?” Leere sounded tired, mostly because she was, but she still had spunk in her voice.

"I'm simply preparing a feast for Tzitzmime." Destroyer answered as his tail then started to draw a line to connect the Obelisks. He walked the pentagram, making sure everything was in place. After this was finished, he could see Kaksa once more. It would be him and her for all eternity. "I have to be a good host now, don't I?"

Leere grimaced, feeling the tattoo on her back vibrate very slowly. “You want to unleash the horror in me, don’t you? Why?” She looked up bitterly into the eyes of the god. “What can you possibly gain from it?”

"I get the pleasure of seeing that snake wail at the realization of he can't save you." Destroyer had a disturbing grin creeping across his visage. "And relish in Prama's failure. The Anagari will come slithering, trying to be your 'knight in scale-covered armor', and risk exposing Prama. When the fool does, I'll be able to rip my brother from the Anagari's body." He held up his razor sharp claws. "Interesting biological component of these Drakkan. They can use the most ancient of all magic... soul magic. Transfer the very essence of a living creature. With the Anagari so weak, I will be able to use this energy I have saved for hundreds of years to end my brother."

Leere felt hope slipping away. Was this the end of her life’s journey? To fail spectacularly?

No.

Even if she was, she wasn’t going to sink into despair. She still had her grit and her spirit. And she wouldn’t die letting him have emotional satisfaction. “Too bad that as a Drakken you look like an ass. Can’t imagine you can get laid either. I mean, it would be the most logical conclusion. You could never get your claws on your precious Kaksa. So why this life too?” When Leere saw him twitch, she smiled evilly best she could. “I bet your brother fucked her good. They were lovers after all. And even as a snake, he’s still a charming lover. I should know. I bet you can’t even pronounce sex you pathetic, little man. Must be why Kaksa didn’t love you. You’re so little.”

Destroyer did not like her speaking of Balance in such a way. No mere human could understand his story. It was just the three of them for eons. She would give her love to Maker and to him equally. Though for the longest time, maybe just a year or maybe a millennium, she did not return to his side and he despaired. What did his brother have that he did not? Was it because he was of the dark? Was all darkness considered bad? No one would ever know or comprehend, even it if would be a relief to share his frustration.

"Insult me all you wish; it will not change your fate. I'm not stupid like my brother. I will not act upon emotions."

“Fool. You might not be emotional, but you are stupid if you think killing me will bring you any closer to your precious Kaksa.”

"Oh, I know it won't. Killing my brother will." Destroyer seemed so bitter towards Maker. "But killing you will be fun."

Now within range of her face, Leere spat a hunk of saliva into his eye. “How’s that for fun?”

"... I was going to start with your finger nails, though I suppose I could begin with a tongue or your eye."

Leere cracked her finger best she could with the cuffs on. “Do your worst.”

Destroyer was by no means ever merciful. He started with Leere's painted finger nails, removing them one by one. Sometimes, on purpose, he'd leave half of a nail and deem he made an error and had to take off the rest as well just to spite her. Then, he worked on her toes. Before long, all of her nails were decorating the floor. When that pain was not enough to rouse the demon from slumber, he decided to try a different type of torment. Over and over, she was made to watch the death of her loved ones.

Every nail broken off was a spurt of blood. Pain became an abundance to Leere. This commodity was fuel to four obelisks in the room, syphoning it from her. When the mental torment of her family came, and in raw creative ways, Leere wanted it to come to an end. Seeing Rinku, Zelda, Covarog, Sunny, and all the others suffer and day was agonizing. “Fuck. You!”

"Seriously, is that the best insult you can do? So often it is used, never followed up on. Not my type, for sure." Destroyer held up a large pair of rusty scissors. "I wonder how much more it will take for you to break."

“You. Can’t. Break me.” Leere was breathing heavily to keep her mind relatively sane.

"Are you sure about that?" Destroyer nearly chuckled at her defiant attitude. "You're not the first that I've tortured and won't be the last. Many of your fellow Mortuus have broken before me. I have pulled horrors that you have never even fathomed from the shadows that my brother tossed aside."

“Vile beast. You lost before for a reason. You will do so again...”

As Destroyer was ready to continue, two robed figures with grey feathery wings floated down next to Leere. Putting two bracelets and a crown of fangs on her, they started to chant an unknown language. The Shadow man whispered gently into the Destroyers ear. “Your brother draws near. You and your minions must stop him and the wrath from interfering. When my other half is freed, my connection to this avatar will be lost. But make no mistake, I am coming here to see my work complete.”

"So… he is coming..." Destroyer sounded most amused. "I was rather uncertain of whether he would or not. Or perhaps, is it the creature that is coming for the 'tiny princess' he holds so dear? Oh well, the snake did try to warn her. Prama probably showed him all of what was to be seen of her fate."

The two-winged cultists started to chant. From outside a dome surrounding Leere, others gathered from Mortuus to monsters chanted in a hellish pray. The bracelets on Leere’s arms sparked on, and the crown on her head sunk into her skull. As Leere was shocked, and the fangs on her head sunk deeper, a terrible scream radiated outwards.

~

A flash of white. Leere was standing in Hryrule field. The sun was shining, but every animal was dead. In front of her the ground opened up. She fell and---

~

A flash of white. Decay and blood poured under her legs with the force of a raging creek. A mirror lying in front of her showed her true reflection. How old she was. As Leere pushed her legs against the blood to be not swept away, she looked closer at a movement behind her. She peered closer to see the blank pale face and the eyes of---

~

A flash of white. A void of emptiness. It was so white. It had no sound, no image, no feeling. In the distance, Leere saw a figure holding themselves close. They were a shaky silhouette. Turning with white eyes, it flickered. Leere’s soul flickered. It was time. It was the end.

~

All over the Tower of Death, Bonegrinder and Black had teleported, hoping to find Leere. However, like a signal bouncing around, they couldn’t lock onto her easily. Just as they were giving up hope, they saw a flashing pillar of blue light. Eager cultists were running forward, and as they stepped into the light, they were flown upwards into a glowing hole in the roof.

"It's started..." Bonegrinder felt a sense of dread tighten in his chest. "We are too late..."

"... is there any chance we can still save her?"

"If the demon doesn't consume her, then perhaps we can. You must be ready to fight."

"I always am."

Behind them, coming out of the wall as if being birthed from it, the Abomination was still giving chase. All six eyes board in on them. They had two choices. Run up the beam, or stay and fight.

"This thing just doesn't give up." Black sounded irritated.

"A Hellspawn of the Second Ring of Hell never stops." Bonegrinder slithered as fast as he could, going up the beam with Black right alongside him. "Personally, he detests the ones of the First Ring the most."

"And that's not a First?"

"No, if a Nameless was here, we'd both be in trouble."

"Hey, I thought you knew all sorts of magic."

"He does."

"So just magic it away."

"Only the one who calls the demon can do that. Or a Summoner."

"... great."

The ‘Angel’ drew close. Its six clawed talons suddenly glew a menacing purple, and it drove them at Black. As one nicked him, a deep sickness flew through the Wrath. Something that shouldn’t be possible was.

It was as if Black was suddenly paralyzed. He could not move and slammed harshly into the ground. Groaning, the Wraith tried to will his body to function, but he could not do so. Even lifting a finger was unsuccessful. As the creature tried to descend upon him, Bonegrinder's huge tail whacked the fiend away. Snarling at the demon, the Anagari maneuvered the Wraith onto his coils, out of harm's way. "You won't interfere." The Anagari curled the tip of his tail around the fiend's ankle and crushed it with a sickening snap. With that, it stopped its movements. For now.

As Bonegrinder and Black flew up the beam, they gave themselves ample time to flee as the Abomination recovered. It was a silent trip up, every second filling with more and more dread. At the top, they found themselves on the outside of a dome. Inside, Leere was floating upwards now. The Obelisk was burning bright with energy. Suddenly, complete nothing filled the ears of all in witness. It was then the Obelisk fired out a beam, killing all the cultists who wished to be sacrificed. Leere was flipped over with her back exposed. The tattoo on her back was glowing, with blood pouring onto the ground below. Outside the dome a whirlwind was starting to storm, red blood sky being torn by the wind. The final step to the ritual began.

Bonegrinder had managed to use a touch of Prama's magic to undo the effect of the fiend's poisoning on Black. The Wraith could now move again, but felt like he was dragging. There was hardly any energy for him to spare. He would be of no use fighting hardly. As the demonic magic started to fill the air, the Anagari nearly panicked. This was not supposed to be happening. He gently set down Black on a high ledge, hopefully to protect him from danger and rushed forward. Slamming his fists on the dome, he repeatedly struck at the structure.

"YOU LET HER GO!!!" He bellowed. "You want this snake!!! Come get him! You leave her out of it!!! Dhakk!!! He knows you hear him!!!"

"Ah, dear brother, you finally arrive to show!" Destroyer was on the other side of the dome completing his work. "A little late, as always, but better than never."

"He is here! You release her! This snake has seen a thousand deaths and he refuses to see another!"

"It seems Prama is still silent? Too cowardly to come and face me?" Destroyer played dumb, tapping his chin with a single finger. "Or perhaps... he's still not at his full power?"

"You are not capable of your full abilities either, Dhakk!" Bonegrinder snapped at him. "That will not happen until the day of prophecy!"

"Oh, you and that stupid prophecy, do you honestly believe Balance will come after Prama? After me? It's nonsense."

"You know she will! She is the Mother Goddess! She will strike down Chaos and restore harmony to the world!"

"Not if I can help it. This world will be consumed by Chaos and with you out of the way, Balance and I can live peacefully without the hassle of meddling affairs of a mortal world in the void."

From outside the dome, waking through the storm, a familiar voice shouted out to them. Sheer-Khan trotted through the bellowing wind, slowly making his way to the Hive leader. “Bonegrinder! We must abandon our station here! Open a portal to Hyrule! We must flee, now!”

"Kit!!!" Bonegrinder was relieved to see that Hades was still here. He had sensed his life was still there, but it was so hard to know for sure in this cursed land. "He is so glad to see you! Please, help him break through! Leere needs us! If the ritual is completed, then Tzitzmime will have another part of his whole joined!"

Lightning crackled, and Hades gently laid a hand on Bonegrinder’s shoulder. “She is lost. But we might be able to rally the rest of Hyrule’s Warriors. You must hurry. You are the only one able to open a portal home.”

"He cannot leave her!!! Don't you understand, Kit?! She's a key! If this is completed, Chaos can take hold of the world before he is scheduled to do so!" Bonegrinder pleaded with Hades. "Help this old snake stop the ritual! There is still time! He can suppress the demon!"

As Bonegrinder turned to break down the dome, Hades grabbed his massive metal club. With a sigh, he swung two critical blows. One strike struck Black. The force of the swing against a body his size made him fly high into the storm as if he was nothing more than an ace in the hole. The second blow was brought down on Bonegrinder’s head, caving in his skull, his brain, and his spinal cord. The concentrated explosion tore down the rest of his nerves along his massive coil. Hades sighed, carefully holding down Bonegrinder’s body. “.... You forced my hand. You stupid bastard. I didn’t want it to come to this. You should have listened to your heart and never should have come here. Now I have to play this disgusting role to its fullest depravity.”

Black had tried to rush forward to save Bonegrinder but Hades had swatted him away. The storm picked up the Wraith and threw him around, but he was still conscious. Finally, Black was able to grab onto a tower's spire and managed to climb inside. He was still here. He would find his way back to his master.

Bonegrinder, however, was out cold. Not moving. But still alive due to the deity inside of him.

“I know you can hear me, you wretched god. This is your doing. You denied me my most simple request. You brought my friend here. You allowed the gods and goddesses to fall out of Balance. My friend could have waited in the Hive while the world was recreated in blissful ignorance. But no. Now I must ensure he stays down for this.” Leere gurgled, a small cry leaving her throat, the Obelisk shining a light on her. Great new lengths had been taken to bring new conditions for the ritual, but it was finally done.

Bonegrinder was a creature of magic and violence when he desired. Sometimes, mere mistaken words or a careless action might agitate him into a rage. Many thought it was due to his split personality. The Anagari showed the side of his usual self, 'Modoc', and then other times, the true, cruel nature of 'Bonegrinder'. Yet, those who knew him throughout the years, had learned that he was one not to mess with or else there would be consequences. There was very little patience in the Anagari except for those he held dear.

Prama, for all his glory and splendor, had no patience. With Bonegrinder's mind silent from the blow to the head, the deity took over his host's body. The divinity inside of him was much stronger and could use his strength through the Anagari's body... but with some consequences for his host later. It was not an action he did often. Those large coils curled around Hades' body and one large hand snatched at the Lynel's throat. "Treacherous creature..." Prama's voice held no love for the creation of Dhakk. In full control, the Anagari's body was radiating powerful celestial magic, floating in particles around the snake. His eyes were glowing white, narrowed and angry. He always thought Lynels were rather haughty. And then one made the mistake of striking his host. "I will scald you into ash."

Hades opened his mouth, blasting the god in the face. His arms still free to move, he brought the power down on the body once more. “You could have resurrected my species! Instead you told me that they should stay dead. A being of creation too spineless to create! You should never have inhabited Modoc’s body!”

Squeezing tighter and tighter with the Anagari's coils, Prama did not let go. The deity did not feel pain. This was not his true body. His magic kept healing the damage. Returning a blow of his own to Hades' face, he kept repeating the same move, punch after strike after blow. "All things come to an end, and my brother is the one who decides that." Prama spat at Hades. "If you're angry about it, argue with him, not me. You should be grateful that the snake took you in, looked after you. Who else would have done so with a despicable species such as yourself?"

“You brought all his pain upon him. You... you alone.” Unlike the god, Sheer-Khan could not regenerate. The feline’s face looked like a tumour by the time that Prama was done. “Modoc would have... helped me. Now watch as you fail....” Before the Lynel went limp, he pointed to Leere.

~

Agony and suffering radiated through every nerve of Leere. Chanting echoed in the chamber, and brimstone sizzled from her back. With an explosion of blood and flesh, Leere’s eyes rolled back. From the pentagram on her back, something crawled out. The moment it did, two things happened. The night sky itself cracked open, bleeding the heavens. The second was that the sail of a baby rang out to all who heard it. As Leere fell to the ground, a little pinkish piece of flesh crawled on the ground. It had the upper body of a baby with its eyes sewn shut. Its lower body was a slug, flapping back and forth like a fish out of water. Every wail was cosmic torture to the ears. Schwanz des Teufels: Tyrannin was reborn into the mortal world.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626630162211028992/evils-bane-ch-9-everyone-has-something-to-lose

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626632248299536384/evils-bane-ch-11-rage-against-the-dying-of-the

[cadday]

Collateral Damage - Chapter 12

Waking up on the floor sucked, even more so when it was stone and unforgiving as the one they had slept for the night. Waking up with a tiny angry man goat thing in your face going on about who knows what also sucked. Looking over he saw Lea and Isa were both awake and fairly startled by the angry thing ranting at them. Sighing Braig dragged himself off the floor and grimaced at the goat man.

“Look, uh guy. We just needed a place to crash while passing through, no big deal. We’ll get out of your um horns..”

“Not like we hurt anything, don’t got to yell at us about jack.” Lea stretched as he stood apparently having recovered from being awoken by this worlds occupants.

“This ain’t a hotel you brat. This is a place for heroes! This is...” Braig looked around at the comment and snorted a bit as he realized just where they were.

“The coliseum…” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Isa was looking at him weird but Lea didn’t seem to notice as he was having a glaring contest with the goat guy.

“That’s right. This is where heroes train and compete! Heroes like Hercules.”

“Who the hell is Hercules?” The little guy looked like he was going to have an aneurysm at Lea’s question which would be hilarious but they needed to ask different questions here.

“Right, anyway we apologise or whatever. Look have you seen some kids? A girl and boy specifically. Girl might be running around with a flowery key?” It at least stopped the yelling as the goat dude looked at him for a good long minute as he contemplated their question. Braig supposed they might not look the most trustworthy. Honestly Braig probably wasn’t being helped by the scar and the eyepatch.

“Yeah I saw them, junior heroes in training, they passed training but they need a whole lot more work. Told them to come back when they were stronger. Doubt they could have gotten pretty far in the actual cup tournament.”

“Hey I’ll have you know Kairi could probably kick most of your so called heroes asses…” Lea was arguing with the goat guy again which he wasn’t sure they had time for but at least it was confirmed that Kairi and Ienzo had been here.

“Lea that’s enough. Look we just need to know where they went, got anyway to point us in the right direction?” Isa was pulling Lea away from the conversation to get him to stop because he wasn’t backing down or stopping anytime soon it seemed.

“I don’t know much, I do know that Hades stopped them, the creep, on their way out but the older one, with the hair all in his face, pulled them away from that, smart kid. Herc talked to them a bit, he may know more than me. He’s outside if you want to try talking to him. Your other kids had more manners by the way.” Braig was so distracted by trying to organize his thought he didn’t even have time to sputter out a negative response to the comment about his ‘other kids’, Ienzo was his nephew at best and Kairi was…a kid.  The goat guy had wandered off and Braig felt a little wrong footed as he joined Isa and Lea, who was no longer ranting loudly but had settled for quietly mumbling insulting things about the goat guy.

“Looks like we need to find the Hercules guy, he apparently talked to them before they left.” Lea continued to ignore him though as he was mumbling increasingly creative and vulgar insults. Isa slapped a hand over the red head’s mouth, Lea looked offended and startled which was a little funny.

“Right let’s go see if we can find this guy then get out of here…”

Exiting the colosseum was different in the daylight and it took a second to figure out which way to look. People were loitering around the colosseum and when asked where to find Hercules they were just pointed back in the direction they came which was no help at all.

“I don’t think this guy exists. The goat man just sent us on a wild goose chase.” Lea was wildly flailing his arms which in Braig’s understanding meant he was on the way to a full tantrum. Isa was trying to get him to sit and calm down but it wasn’t really working and honestly Braig was so annoyed he couldn’t care less if Lea went off, and probably accidentally set something on fire, maybe the Hercules guy would show up then.

‘not a good idea…’ Braig pushed off from the wall he had been leaning on with a huff.

“Hey, let's go back to the colosseum. Maybe we missed him and he’s there and if not Lea can yell at the goat some more.” He waved them to follow along and ignored Lea’s continued ranting and Isa’s long suffering sigh as they made their way back.

Braig expected a few things when arriving back at the colosseum entrance, he didn’t really expect the man goat of Lea’s ire to be running up to them in a panic or the screaming people fleeing the area.

“Where’s Herc!”

“How the hell should we know you freaking little..”

“Lea…” Braig ignored the silent conversation the two were having and shrugged at the goat guy.

“Look we couldn’t find him, is there a problem? What’s with the fleeing and screaming?”

“Cerberus is loose in the colosseum! Hades is obviously behind it but someone needs to go in there and get that mutt before everything is wrecked.”

“Cerberus is a dog?”

“A giant three headed monster of a dog with more teeth than brains.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“You go find Hercules and we’ll keep the giant angry dog thing busy till you do. Then we can talk to him after he stops the thing.”

“Are you nuts? You and those scrawny punks can’t take out Cerberus. You’ll be eaten alive.”

“Who the hell are you calling scrawny!”

“Just go find Hercules. Lea, Isa, hurry up.” With that Braig took off in the direction of the colosseum entrance. His arrow guns were in his hands before they entered the last door and he turned to make sure the others were smart enough to have drawn their weapons. Isa looked serious as much as Lea looked thrilled that they were about to fight a giant three headed creature.

“Alright, anything starts going wrong you book it out here understood? Isa you drag his ass out if ya have too.” He didn’t wait for the indignant yelling of Lea as they rushed into the open area of the arena.

Cerberus was a very angry looking three headed dog, with red eyes and questionably disproportionately giant sharp teeth that seemed like they would probably get in the way of eating then assist. The giant beast didn’t even notice their entrance as it focused more on slamming into pillars and lunging at the few trapped and screaming remaining audience members in the arena.

Lea and Isa were off running to assist evacuation of the area as Braig took a leveled breath and fired several rounds at one of the giant dogs heads to draw it’s attention away from the others. It swung around pissed and growling and he quickly rolled out of the way behind a pillar. The top of the pillar shattered around him and cursing he flung himself further away toward the seating areas to put some distance between giant fanged drooling mouths and his person.

“Geeze mutt. Your breath smells like death.” The thing lunged forward and he fired into the closest face before rolling under the snapping jaws of another. Blinding three heads at once was proving to be difficult and annoying.

‘needed a strategy…’

“Yeah, well too late for that innit.” Jumping out of the seating area he ran underneath the mutt before taking refuge behind another pillar and took a minute to catch his breath. He was too old for this shit.

‘you are not that old, in fact i am technically older.’

“Technically my consciousness time traveled so I’m pretty damn old too.”

‘physically it hardly matters.’

“If you want to be like that you don’t even have a physical form to age.”

‘fair enough.’ The pillar next to his collapsed as the cerberus attacked the stone in search of it’s attacker. Creeping around the pillar Braig caught sight of Lea and Isa pulling the last of the trapped audience members out of some rubble. The pillar against Braigs back shattered and cursing he spun around with his gun raised as something slammed into his side and sent him flying into one of the last remaining pillars. It didn’t shatter with his impact but it certainly felt like something did as he collapsed to the ground. His arrow gun bounced out of one of his hands. Raising his remaining weapon he fired a bit wildly at the approaching beast. The other heart was saying something but his head was kind of ringing and he was just trying his best to breathe through the pain.

Someone was yelling something colorful and Braig wondered briefly if he was that out of it that he was talking without realizing it. That was until Cerberus caught on fire. Isa was next to him in the next instant but he was distracted from whatever was being said by an absolutely furious Lea holding flaming chakrams and spitting out words he most likely had learned from Braig, and sometimes Dilan. Isa was pulling him up and Braig stumbled a bit as he tried to take more of his own weight then was smart. With an arm around Isa they quickly headed for the door, he briefly heard Isa calling for Lea before the edge of his vision went fuzzy and he blacked out completely.

[dancing-deacon]

In Only Seven Days

(Joe!John x Reader)

(A/N) I just want to say a huge shoutout to @rogertaylor-stole-my-heart ( @blissfully-queen )and for her writing challenge because it actually got my creative juices flowing once again! This is based off the Queen song by the same name so check it out! Also this took me forever I suck lol I wasn’t creative and was in a rut and all that. But enjoy!!

Warnings: NSFW, fluff, angst, toxic ex’s

Word Count: 4.3+k

Monday the start of my holiday

Freedom for just one week

Feels good to get away ooh

“It’s only a week, Laura, I just…need to get away,” You breathed out those heavy words, looking down at your sparkly white toenails peeking from your new strappy sandals.

“I know but, (Y/N) I’m worried. It’s only been six days. I mean, you were engaged for Christ sake. Are you sure leaving is right?” Your sisters voice pierced through the phone. Her growing concern for your actions growing with each remembrance of the past week. She had found you sobbing on the bedroom floor, the carpet drenched from your tears. The note in your hand crumpled to oblivion, she could barely make out the words scribbled in your fiancés early-morning handwriting when she pried it from your shaking fingers-

To my high-school sweetheart-

As long as we have been together, all we’ve done is grown apart. I need to find myself without you.

-Jonathon

Days following the discovery of the note Laura helped you move all your belongings into her flat. Going through yours and Jonathon’s shared apartment, laying down flat pictures from your engagement, Laura was cautious what to ask you to bring with, afraid of making you cry again. From the mere mention of his name or any nicknames you gave him broke you even more.

“I need this. I’ll be alright, I just can’t have any reminders of…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, a light ocean breeze moved through your open window, tickling your loose hairs against your neck. You tensed at the feeling, how your ex would tease your neck in the same place before you gave yourself to him. Choking back tears through a closed throat, you dropped the phone on the receiver and slammed the window shut, barely avoiding your fingertips.

The now stuffy room allowed your head to clear. Sliding into your new swimsuit, a high waist and stringy top you had tied tight to press together whatever cleavage you wanted to pretend you had. The plum- jewel tone accentuated your pale winter skin.

Crossed legged in front of the hotel’s floor length mirror you carefully makeover your face. Sure to hide the dark bags under your eyes from the tears shed the past six days, bring color to your cheeks, and restore the glow you once had that was stripped away.

Ruffling your hair as you stood up, you crack your ankles and shift your weight, accepting the view in front of you, as drained as you felt, you looked renewed on the outside. The corner of your mouth turned up lightly as you thought about how much Jonathon would have hated the way you looked at this moment, heavily made up, revealing a little too much skin to the world, and wearing a color he stated to be “not flattering to your skin tone, babe.”

Nodding to your yourself in the mirror for the message you wanted to send, you grabbed your sunglasses and bag stuffed with a bottle of tequila and headed out to forget all your troubles in Bali.

Tuesday I saw her down on the beach

I stood and watched a while

And she looked and smiled at me

John Deacon was tired. The demand of being a rock star came to be too much, early in the studio one day he scribbled a note, a note he didn’t think would change his life.

“I’ve gone to Bali.”

Twisting it between the strings of his bass, John rushed out the recording studio with his packed bag, careful to not be seen by the rest of the band. Grabbing a cab, he fled to the airport.

--

Avoiding the crowds, you perched at the end of the bar, face out towards the crowds and open ocean, the waves foaming up the beach every few seconds. You sipped your too strong drink from a tiny straw, head leaning into your hand trying to rub away the headache you were already gaining. You were miserable and alone, at least being around a people helped drag your thoughts away. Going back to your hotel was the last thing you wanted to do, you didn’t want to remember the past or be alone with your thoughts with no music to drown them out.

You really tried to mingle. But all the partiers are…kids to you. Four, five years too young for you at least. Losing count after two spilled drinks, four ass grabs, and five slurred pickup lines whispered in your ear, you had enough. You threw forty bucks down on the bar, and sat, tapping your empty glasses one after another.

--

Deaky wasn’t looking for a woman, he was looking for an escape from the drab routine of his everyday life. Minimal movements of his head occurred between gulps of his drink, far to the outer edge of the partygoers. Laid back in his chair his eyes flickered up, noticing the one person in the entirety of Bali who wasn’t looking for fun or for a hookup.

The girl on the edge of the bar, eyes hazed. Made up better than any other person on the beach, none of that could hide the look on your face and how you’re carrying a load of stories and pain. John watched you slide your fist off your cheek, head dangling off, showing clear as day how many drinks you’ve knocked back, to hinder whatever pain that was. He knew because he had experienced the same. A red blotch where your fist had pressed to your skin drew his gaze.

Your weight shifted in your seat, cracking your back from your poor posture. The cracks led to your neck, moving it to the right to get the last ache out, you see the man across the beach. His sweet eyes peeking at you, intrigued and awed by the drastic difference between you and the partiers.

You glanced away quickly, body following, not to stare at the slender man lounging, especially because he was wearing so little. A deep blue speedo. It made your stomach flutter with interest of what was underneath. For the first time in a week, you had your mind off Jonathon, you just didn’t realize it until later that night.

Downing the rest of your drink you peaked over your right shoulder back at the man, who’s now looking at the crowd, his fingers combing through his short brown locks, the silver rings tugging on loose strands. Your chin tilted back, your body wondering what it’d feel like to have those rings tugging at your locks, but not the same way, rougher.

The man glimpsed back to you, hand lowering to the edge of the deck chair. John scooted his butt backwards to sit up, his blue speedo catching on the wood and revealing a large sliver of his pale cheek. He yanked his hand up to pull the fabric back down, blushing lightly as he glanced back up just in time to see your sweet smile, followed by a playful lip bite. You couldn’t help but blush back at the man who was obviously just as out of place as you were, and not as comfortable in the current youthful party situation.

Reaching into your bag you pull out a tip for the bartender, ready to get up and speak to the mysterious man you’d been subtly flirting with. Smacking it down you launched up from your seat. The change from sitting made the number of drinks you had finally hit you. Spinning around, the crowd seemed to have grown, bodies clumping together, the flickering of the tiki torches, you lost where the man was. Reaching out to the bar, your stomach felt queasy, mouth growing warm, you knew you had to go back to the hotel before you, the older partier, made a fool of yourself. Staggering away from the beach, you didn’t know that the man was pushing through the sweaty bodies towards you, before he noticed you sprint clumsily away.

---

Wednesday I didn't see her

I hoped that she'd be back tomorrow

You could barely open your eyes, the tears you had cried since the early morning had made your face puffy and raw. The end of your hair between your head and the pillow stuck to your face, the fabric of the sheets drenched. You couldn’t tell if it was from your tears or from the night sweats from the dream.

You managed to peak through your swollen lids to see the time, barely 5 AM. Staring at the crack in the ceiling above your head you replayed your nightmare. Every detail, fresh.

The remembrance of youth when looking at Jonathon. The thrill of Friday night football games beneath the lights Looking over at his short blonde hair become tussled from the open window of his first car, driving country roads to nowhere, filing up empty time. Him taking you for the first of only a few times in your childhood home, walls still pink from when you were eight.

You were in your apartment together, the streaks of morning light streamed over your bed. Where his usual good morning face was pleasant, overjoyed to wake up next to his fiancé, that morning it hadn’t been. His face, stoic, staring up and away, not even noticing you blink awake. But the heaviness of your lids lured you back to sleep, just as he rotated to get up.

When you woke again, you were greeted by an eerie stillness. That was when you found the note, right next to your head.

Every step you took from the bed you shrunk shorter, barely reaching the doorknob Jonathon stood on the other side, tower over you, growing taller by the second. As he lifted his foot above your head, he repeated what the note said, “All we’ve done is grow apart.”

Then his foot came down.

Each night the dream repeated it was a little better than the last. You were slowly moving on. Last night, you didn’t think you were going to have it, it was only when he dozed off after waking up initially had you dreamt it. Your first dreams were filled with someone else…the man from the beach.

But between the pounding against your skull and the rolling thunder in the distance, you absolutely couldn’t find it in yourself to leave your bed.

--

John sat at the corner of the outdoor bar, the same seat your fine ass sat in the night before. He played with the condensation ring left behind from you glass. Fingering the drips into different directions, every so often a fat drop of rain leaking through the cabana roof adding to his art.

John counted those drops. One drop,

bloop, splash

Every 30 seconds.

bloop, splash

He counted three hundred seventy-four.

Bloop, splash

By the three hundred seventy-fifth, John had enough.

He wiped the water off the bar top with the sleeve of his jean jacket, standing up from the stool to stretch his legs. With the back facing the bar, he stared out at the beach, now empty compared to the night before. The heavy rain created deep pockets in the sand, a steam rising from the surface from the change in temperature.

No one had been on the beach for hours, since the first rolling of thunder in the distance. The storm got bad, quick, but John hoped you would be back.

All night only you were on his mind. Your smile left him speechless, but he didn’t even talk to you. It drove him completely mad.

Craning his neck around the beach one last time, he curled his lips in, accepting the defeat he may have lost his chance with the gorgeous girl at the bar he saw not twelve hours ago. The one he saw almost running from the bar, enveloped by the crowd, turning to dust.

John removed his sandals and scooped them up, making it easier for him to dash towards his hotel, to be alone with his thoughts of you, only hoping you would be back tomorrow.

---

And then on Thursday

My luck had changed

She stood there all alone

I went and asked her name

I never thought that this could happen to me

In only seven days

Waking up drenched from another nightmare, your vision a blur from the early sun peeking through the drapes.

You were tired. Tired of having your nights ruined by images of your ex. Tired of thinking you need approval from anyone. Tired of not having fun while single in Bali. And lastly, tired of not going up to the only man who caught your eye while on the beach.

“Fuck it,” you muttered to yourself, beelining towards your makeup. Covering the bags under your eyes you checked yourself out. Impressed by how you gave yourself the look of three extra hours of sleep.

You sat in your same spot at the bar. It was perfect for people watching on the beach, and you hoped the man would come find you again.

And he did.

Playing with your fingernails, chipping off the polish, you see a pair of long pale legs walk up out of the corner of your eye.

Glancing up, the orange sun illuminates his features, the man from the beach. His gorgeous jawline you can’t help but imagine trailing your lips along and green eyes you want to see begging for your body.

“May I buy you a drink, love?” A light smile spread across his face. You felt yourself slide your tongue across your bottom lip in response.

He shifted his face down to meet your eyes, not before taking a peek at your red lips too.

That accent was perfect. It was so uniquely him in a way you couldn’t describe, as if he had made it up himself. The sound of his voice hitting you made your knees weak.

Clearing your throat, you felt lightly embarrassed by your less cute accent. “I’d love to.” The man intertwined his fingers with yours as he led you to the end of the bar. You couldn’t help but to take a peek at his ass in a pair of colored jeans and it moved in front of you.

He pulled out the barstool for you, guiding you up to it before ordering two martinis.

Taking the full glass from the bartender, you lean into the man from the beach, your knees touching his. “Cheers.”

He raised his glass to yours, clinking them together with his cheeky grin that initially pulled you in from across the beach. “Cheers to you, um…” He shook his head, “I’m sorry I never asked your name.”

Swallowing the first sip quickly you respond, “(Y/N)”, followed by another swig of your drink.

“(Y/N),” he whispered back, as if your name was too good to be uttered by his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is John.”

John.

You almost choke on your drink. Slamming it on the counter you rise from your seat, snatching your bag from the countertop.

Between coughs from your drink going down the wrong pipe you manage to speak out, “Hell no, I can’t do this.”

You scurried away, only looking back once at John, his head in his hands on the bar, a look of confusion and hurt spread out through his body language.

Of all people, in all the world. The one man who you felt something for after the breakup, was named John.

---

It would take a hundred or more

For memories to fade

I wish Friday would last for ever

I held her close to me

It took approximately ten minutes of being angry to start feeling horrible for what you did to John, as you found the man’s name to be.

It wasn’t fair, to him at least. He did nothing wrong, just have an unfortunate similarity to someone who broke your heart into a thousand pieces.

Ditching him on that beach when he looked so fondly at you, and how you had looked at him the same way.

Sitting in the corner chair of your hotel room you pressed your hands into your face you pray to yourself John didn’t leave the resort yet, and that you’d be able to find him.

Popping up from your chair, you grabbed the nearest pair of sandals and decided to spend the rest of the day searching for the John that deserved the best you.

After hours of walking around, the sun was kissing the water, blue and orange streaks trailed across the sky. Tiki torches already lit in preparation of the impending party. The beach was already scattered with people, drinks in hand.

Scanning the groups, you finally see him. His short brown hair fluffed and bobbing as he laughed at some tall model type girl’s joke. A small amount of jealousy grows in your stomach, combined with worry you’ve royally fucked up.

Pushing those feelings deep down, you swallow your pride, marching over to the cute brunette.  

“John?” You asked, putting your hand on his shoulder, causing the three lean, tanned girls chatting to him to snarl at you.

John, recognizing your sweet voice turned his head towards you hand, a light smile forming across his lips. Just the fact you came back to see him the next day after last night was promising to him.

John moved his fingers up to yours, gingerly grabbing the tips and pressing them to his lips. The green of his eyes flickering, showing you his undivided attention. “Hello, (Y/N).”

A dark blush filled your cheeks at the sound of your name rolling of his accented tongue. Out of the corners of your vision you saw the girl group rolling their eyes, sauntering away to go bother another man for free drinks.

“I wanted to apologize, for last night,” you bit your lip shyly, removing your hands from John’s, embarrassed by how childish you acted. “You of all people didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“It’s alright, love.” John whispered above the crowd, his hot breath hitting your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “You want to tell me what I did wrong though? So I can avoid upsetting you in the future.” He gave a sweet wink at his comment, making your face turn bright red.

You pressed your hand against his chest, thumb rubbing delicate circles. “How about I make it up to your now, and tell you later?” Your voice is low, and you glanced up into John’s green eyes, a gentle smile on your face.

His fingers trailed up to your jaw line, tilting your face up towards his. “Sounds perfect, love.”

John leans in, gently pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet, but eager. You wanted to explore them more and in a more private setting.

Your lips hovered over his, your breathing matches his as you manage to choke out, “John, come with me.”

The journey back to your hotel room is blurry, filled with eager touches, hungry kisses, and playful bites. Shaking as you turn your door key, your mind is filled with his name, John. This John.

Glad you were both wearing swimwear, a few string pulls and tugs later, your both naked, John hovering over you on the bed.

John swiped his first fingers over the tip of his tongue, red lips, stained from your gloss, parting slowly. You swallowed with a dry throat at the sight, mind racing at what those fingers were going to do next. Your eyes never broke from his, low and eager for all of you.

His wet fingers trail down from your bellybutton, every inch moved making your skin tremble beneath his touch. His fingertips reach your folds, already soaked beyond belief from the thought of him, the man from the beach you saw just two days ago, who you couldn’t get your mind off of.

Parting your lips, he swiped across your clit, you drew in a sharp breath at the tease, biting your lip shyly at how much of a mess you were for John already.

“You’re gorgeous,” John murmured as he moved his face lower down your body, trailing light kisses across your breasts and stomach. Stopping between your legs he glances up, seeing your head back, chest heaving. He flicks his tongue across your clit, circling the mound. Smiling as your hips buck up, begging for more.

Done with the teasing you pull him up from between your legs, rotating him off you, moving to straddle his body. Your hands roam over his hairy chest, sweat starting to bead. His shallow breaths in response to your dominance make you want him to plead for more.

Your legs straddled his waist, spreading apart further as you lowered closer to his throbbing member. His teeth dug into his lip, his insatiable eyes begging you to fuck him.

The tip of his cock is against your entrance but watching John’s face you love seeing him beg for your body. Your hands rest on his hips, holding him down and feeling him squirm in anticipation for you around him. “I need you right now, love…please.” The low growl of his voice shakes you, a heat growing deep in the pit of your stomach as you were drawn even closer to the man under you.

Lowering yourself more you gave him what he craved, your lips spreading around his tip. You take him in all at once, walls gripping his length. In unison a moan escaped from deep in your throat, a light smile creeping onto your face.

John’s hand wrapped around your wrist gently, your fingertips clutching onto his hips for dear life as you increased your speed, sliding up and down his length.

John pulled your wrists away from his hips to his hair. Sitting up he wrapped his arms around your back, tugging at the base of your hair to have access to your neck. He nips the skin at the base of your ear, followed by a sweet kiss. You moaned through your teeth, gently pulling his brown locks in response to his teasing.

“Mmm, John.” The whimpers from your mouth turned John on even more as he guides your hips up and down his cock, getting him close to the edge. His mouth sucks at your neck, creating a line of dark bruises.

You ride faster, the deep throbbing growing larger as your sweaty bodies crash together. Loud moans and grunts fill the air as you both release yourselves.

Finally riding off both your highs, you slide up from John, his hands guiding your hips towards the bed next to him, never loosing his grip from you.

Drifting off to sleep you moved your fingers slowly towards the center of the bed, where John’s hand laid. His hand sensing yours, he gently intertwined his fingers perfectly with yours, letting you know he was there for you.

You kept your eyes on the crack in the ceiling until your vision started to blur, eyelids drooping shut. That was your first of many nightmare-free sleeps. Your mind only filled with images of John Deacon.

---

I couldn't bear to leave her there

Saturday just twenty four hours

“So, when you told me your name, it ignited that…that anger and frustration towards him.” Your voice was low, calm. It surprised you how little sadness was in your words. There was almost none.

John played with your hair as he listened to you explain yourself. It was dark outside when you started your story, but early light creeped through the drapes.

Every so often you’d feel under your cheek John’s chest vibrate as he “mhm’d” and “yeah’d” to your story of the last eight years of your life. How much has changed since then, and how much had changed in the past seven days.

“I would never do that to you, love.” John’s only full comment after your story was finished, all the way up until when you met him on the beach.

“I know, John.” Was all you could say as he pressed his lips to your forehead. You couldn’t promise him the same.

Sniffling from the chilled air in the room you know you had succeeded. Your goal for this vacation was to get away, find yourself again, and move on from your heartbreak. John helped you do that, but that’s all he could help you with.

You enjoyed the lounging with him the entire day, playful tickles and butt smacked as you went up to get a drink. The casual conversation about your families and job, what music you listen to, what your guilty pleasures are at three in the morning.

But hinting in the back of your mind was the constant nagging of leaving Bali in less than 24 hours.

But you wished it would come faster. Going back to your normal life, a routine, and walking away from the man on the beach. You couldn’t admit to yourself you had used him, but you did to move on. And you feared if you spent more time with him, you’d realize how perfect he was for you. Sweet, kind, feisty, so similar to yourself. And that thought, the thought of being close to someone again…it scared you to death.

---

Oh no I'm going back home on Sunday

Ooh so sad alone

Waking up, John was eager to go with you to the airport as you had planned the moments before falling asleep in his arms the night before. The final kiss he would remember and cherish until the next time he saw you, and every time after that. But when he rolled over in bed, he was greeted with emptiness.

He sat up, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes to see all your suitcases to be gone.

You hadn’t said goodbye.

Then his eyes fell onto it. The note placed onto the pillow, sealed with a lipstick kiss.

John had tears in his eyes as he read, reread, and memorized your letter:

John,

I never thought that this could happen to me. In only seven days, you changed me and my outlook. You gave ‘John’ a new meaning. I’ll be so sad alone.

 Tags: @hodgepodge-of-rog @sunnnymercury @rogertaylor-stole-my-heart @bowiequeen @queensilveryrog @queen-irl-af @rogerisinlovewithhiscar @browneyedfloozy  @brinteylovesaliens 

[wonderlustlucas]

pandora’s box

⇢ word count 3.8k ⇢ warnings mentions of abuse, hints of pedophilia, explicit descriptions of death & asylum treatment. basically all the horror movie stuff. don’t read if ghosts & dying are triggers :] ⇢ a/n hello my precious children so uhm in the midst of trying to write some christmas fics my lit teacher assigned a creative story for us to write but it had to be horror themed (yknow, cus december is still spooky season?) n knee way me & @black-raven200 wrote this and since this is what took away from my WRITING writing i figured i’d post it :p enjoy!!

Only two minutes have passed since I last checked an hour ago, or so it seems. Each tick of the clock roars like a crack of thunder in my skull, serving only as a reminder to what lies ahead. Perhaps then there will be an opportunity for escape. A chance to run free from this prison, to leave everything and everyone who I know awaits my destruction. For now, though, I must sit here and endure this pathetic interrogation, knowing there will be no solution.

“Pandora,” she repeats, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “why did you kill Elizabeth?”

I find it hard to look her in the eye. Not because she intimidates me, no— it’s the worry heavy in her tone that frightens me. Why did I kill Elizabeth? It is a complicated situation indeed; one Nurse Alice nor Sister would understand. “Self-defense,” is what I say. Again.

Sr. Bernadette sighs from her spot beside Nurse, clearly exasperated. Until now, she has been soundless, the animosity glinting in her eyes the only sort of indication I need to know of her infuriation. “Pandora, you know Elizabeth is—was—a quiet girl with quiet intentions. She stared out the window twenty-four hours a day. Why for the love of God would you need to smash her head against the wall for self-defense?” Sister raises her voice now, and if it were not for Nurse Alice in the room, I know the sting of her palm across my face would have made me speak up hours ago. She’s nicer when Nurse is here. Nurse is nice.

But how am I to explain? Time and time again I tell the truth, but they never believe me. Even now, when I look to him for help, I know they cannot see. They never see and they never will. “Tell them what she was going to do,” he says, a simple gesture of encouragement that has hope filling my heart. “Someone told me the only reason she looked out the window all day was because she was too busy planning on how she was going to kill us all,” glancing away from him to look at Nurse, I add with a smile, “so I killed her first.”

She looks to her hands folded in her lap, too flustered to hold eye contact any longer. So I turn to Sister once more, watching her jaw twitch as she processes my words. “Pandora,” Nurse Alice sighs, dejected, “was it your friend who told you about Elizabeth? The one you mentioned last time?”

“Yes!” I shout, grinning excitedly at her. She smiles softly in return. “Yes! It was him. He tells me everything, because he protects me. He’s my only friend here and he wants to keep me safe from the crazy girls like Elizabeth. Sister Bernadette, do you think he’s my guardian angel? Mama used to tell me that when you see your angel, it means you have a special place in Heav—”

“Silence,” Sr. Bernadette interrupts, raising her hand and I flinch away, expecting her to do more than stop my ramble. I would never admit it to her, but she is a terrifying woman. I will never understand how she made it into the convent, or why God would accept such an evil lady, but I guess it’s not my business. What is my business, however, is that she reminds me of Papa. The way she talks down at everyone, the way she walks, the way she hits, and even the way she looks, down to the squiggly hair growing out of the ugly mole on her cheek.

“I have heard enough,” she announces, rising from her chair and smoothing the untarnished skirt of her habit, “Nurse Alice, see me in my office when you are finished.”

With that, she leaves, not even bothering to look at me. How rude!

Nurse Alice sighs for the umpteenth time this evening when Sister closes the door with an unnecessary slam. While she sits there, kneading her eyes with her knuckles, Casper moves from his spot against the wall to sit beside her. Oh, how I wish she could just see him. Hear him. Feel him. Anything to prove to her I’m not as crazy as they think I am.

“I tried Pandora, I really tried. There’s nothing more for me to do,” she murmurs, and when she looks up her eyes are brimmed with tears. In this moment, she looks like Mama. My heart sinks. Nothing more for her to do? What does she mean nothing more? “What happens now?” I ask because, truly, what will happen after she meets with Sister? Perhaps she will help me escape. Maybe I will finally be free from this horrid place. That is what she can do.

“I cannot say,” Nurse admits, “Sister is not adept working with young children.”

“You mean crazy young children like me?” I ask.

Nurse Alice frowns, reaching across the desk to grasp my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Casper glares at her affectionate gesture. “You are not crazy, Pandora,” she reassures me, the same way she does every day, “I don’t know what you see or who they are, but I believe you. You’re not the first person in history who sees ghosts, or spirits, or like you said, your guardian angel. The world just doesn’t like to accept these kinds of things when they can’t see it and you can.” Casper doesn’t like Nurse Alice. He says not to trust her, and that she’s just like everyone else. I believe what he says about everyone else, that Elizabeth was a psychopath or that Gerard is possessed by the Devil, but I cannot accept what he speaks of Nurse Alice. She has been the only one to ever truly care, let alone give me the benefit of the doubt and know that what goes on is true.

“I’m sorry I killed Elizabeth,” I whisper, looking to the checkered marble floors. Why they chose such atrocious tiles for an asylum is beyond me, that in itself is enough to drive anyone mad. Life here constantly feels like a game of chess on these floors; you stay on your square, watching everyone else’s moves, trying to decipher their next, while simultaneously needing to gather enough courage to take a step yourself. I don’t realize until a tear hits my hand that I have started crying.

Nurse gives my hand another squeeze before pulling away. It seems I’ve stumped her, but I understand. What is she to say? ‘It’s okay’ when it really isn’t? When I look up, Casper is gone.

“Why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day,” Nurse asks after the silence has settled heavily in the air, exhaustion evident in the blue bags drawn deep below her eyes. I nod, wiping away the wet trails left on my cheeks with the back of my hand.

The walk back to my room is quiet; lights out was more than an hour ago, and the only sound of life in the hallways is the sound of our footsteps and the ceaseless hum and buzz of the sconces in between every other bedroom door. Even the routine guards spaced randomly about the hallway are unusually quiet. Perhaps things are strange tonight because of this morning’s events.

Nurse stops outside my door. It’s silent inside, somehow more so than the hallway and upon glancing in I realize it’s because Elizabeth is no longer there. I have the whole room to myself and whether this is a blessing or a curse I do not know. “Alright Pandora,” she smiles comfortingly, and upon sensing my uneasiness, bends down to hug me tightly, “I’ll see you in the morning.” I wish I could stay with her, or her stay with me. Because I still have Nurse to protect me, yet I can already feel it, the cold tickle of fear creeping up my spine, the weight of being watched burning into my back and the horror lying within the room waiting to eat me up alive. Before I at least had Elizabeth laying like a vegetable across the room to keep me company, but tonight I must face it on my own.

Squeezing Nurse tightly, I feel as if I must take some of her strength and tranquility with me in order to get through the night. “Goodnight, Ms. Alice,” I whisper, pulling away from her and returning her sad smile. With one last squeeze to my hand, she sees me to my room at last, watching me enter cautiously before turning away and clicking the door shut behind her. The atmosphere inside seems heavy all of a sudden, suffocating in the way dread hangs over my head. “Casper?” I whisper out, quiet voice piercing the room’s stillness as if my nightmare itself does not lurk in the corner.

Leaping into bed, pretending that it offers some sort of protection against the evil, I stare with a teary gaze back at the Shadow against the wall opposite of me. Unlike Casper, Shadow does not speak. It does nothing but stands around all day, watching me when I’m alone and waiting until I turn away to finally take the life from my body. That’s why Casper is so important— not only does he warn me of everyone else’s intentions, but he scares Shadow away.

“Casper!” I call again, terror sparking through my veins like electrical currents when Shadow jolts to stretch its black figure across the floor instead. Past my almost unbothered façade, I wonder if it can feel the way my heart thumps against its glass ribcage every time it comes close. At this, my friend finally returns, appearing sitting atop Elizabeth’s empty bed. Shadow instantly disappears. “Oh, thank God, you’re here,” I let out the heavy breath that had been caught in my throat, “and look! Now you have your own bed!”

He frowns instead. “If I stay over here, Shadow can get you,” he retorts and I instinctively wince at the thought. “Okay, never mind then,” scooting closer to the wall, I pat the hard mattress, “I don’t want to risk anything.”

Casper hums in content, appearing beside me in the blink of an eye and even though he physically is not there, it’s nice to imagine being held, protected against everything that dares come get me. There is a cool breeze against my head where he pats gently, instantly bringing the heavy lull of sleep to my eyelids as he switches the lights off. “Goodnight, Casper. Thanks for protecting me,” I mumble incoherently, and even though I can’t see it, I swear I feel him smile against my hair.

There are no smiles come morning. Instead, it is the total opposite. With a force unnecessarily aggressive for seven AM, two security officers from another level burst into the room, sending the door against the wall with a crashing bang. Jumping awake, I find that Casper has vanished in the same instant that these men come storming the small confines of my room. I have not even finished rubbing the last remnants of a dream from my eyes when they are seizing my arms, quite literally forcing me up and out of bed. “What—” I hiss, attempting to pull away but it is absolutely futile.

The panic really begins to set in when we reach the hallway and turn right towards the elevator instead of left for breakfast. “Where are you taking me? Let go!” I shout, flailing in their grip and trying to ground my feet to the floor, but they easily continue on. What is happening? Where is everyone? Where is Nurse?

“Nurse Alice!” I scream at the top of my lungs, pulling back against the guards and gaining only a second of freedom. It’s all I need to slip from one of their grasps, spinning to look back to where Nurse Alice stands against the wall every morning after role call. “Ms. Alice!” I scream again, thrashing against the men with my heart racing a mile a minute when she only stares ahead at the scene unfolding before her. “Nurse!” I wail, tears suddenly spilling from my eyes. Why isn’t she doing anything? “Nurse Alice! Help me!”

People have started to gather, watching with wide eyes as I am drug closer to the elevator. The harder I fight, the more useless it becomes. There’s a sharp pinch at the back of my thigh, and when I twist around I find that one of the other nurses on our floor has poked me with a long syringe, and just like that my limbs feel three times heavier, as if just lifting an arm requires the strength of a rhino. They’ve stuck me with something, and now they’re taking me somewhere bad. Just as we reach the doors to the elevator, my head rolls back to look at Nurse Alice one last time. Past the tears blurring my vision, I’m able to pick her out, unbothered and looking to the floor.

Casper was right. She is just like everyone else.

-

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

I have been in this joke of a room much longer than expected. When I arrived, the drug that knocked me out kept me unconscious until the following day, and now two days have passed without any sign of Casper or Shadow. Later after dinner is served, when I pass by the mirror hung up on the wall, I see Shadow’s reflection behind me, but when I turn around, nothing is there. There is no gut-wrenching sense of fear, I have slept like a baby, and for the first time in my life, I feel normal. Left to my own thoughts with no need to constantly keep an eye out for the evil that has always lurked. While solitary confinement is not the best way to deal with these sorts of things, I’ve found a sense of solemnity in my isolation. No Elizabeth, no Casper, no Shadow. Just me and my empty, unfiltered thoughts.

I wonder why no one has followed me into my new room. It is ridiculously small, with a single bed and the necessary means of living, but that’s it. A perfect scenario for Shadow to prey on me when I have no space to hide, so I am utterly clueless as to why I have been left to my own devices.

So, I’ve decided to drop the topic. Without the fear-induced worries I have been living with for the past fifteen years, I’ve taken to spending my days doing other things. Reading, while an enjoyable activity, is only secondary to the time I spend simply thinking. Thinking of my family, my old friends, school, what goes on in the world and, finally, what I will do when I leave this place.

I’d like to run away to a new country. Without the educational or financial means to get a good job, or a home for that matter, maybe I could find a kind farmer to hire me. His family could become mine and I will learn what it is to live a normal life. And then, one day, I will be able to do it all on my own. For now, I must figure out how I will escape. Or, if I’m lucky, now that my mind is free, they will let me go themselves.

“Don’t be silly,” a familiar voice disrupts my daydreams and I jump up from bed, heart hammering in my chest when I find Casper across the room. His words make me frown. “If Nurse Alice couldn’t save you, then no one else here will,” he hisses and, squinting further, panic burns in my veins at the furious spark in my friend’s once kind eyes. Instead, there are no pupils, only pools of blood red in place of honey gold. “What are you doing here?” I ask, sitting up and staring at him fully now. I’ve looked much scarier things in the eyes before.

Casper snorts. “I’ve been trying to get you in this room for years, and when I finally do, I cannot get through the physical walls. So of course, you use this time to come up with silly fantasies for your future, leaving me behind. How rude of you, Pandora.”

“I haven’t thought once about leaving you behind, Casper! You left me.” I gasp, insulted by his accusation. He is being absolutely ridiculous, thinking it’s somehow my fault that I’ve ended up here. A muscle in his jaw twitches, his fists clenched angrily at his sides.  Why he is so angry I do not know.

“Silly, stupid girl,” he sighs, edging close. “Why are you being so mean, Casper? Friends don’t say that to each other,” I whisper, heart twinging in hurt. At this, he moves to stand in front of the bed, reaching to firmly grasp my jaw. More importantly, the panic burns like an inferno now, for I can feel his touch. “I am not your friend, Pandora,” Casper chuckles darkly, “and I no longer have to protect you from anything ever again. You know why?”

“Why?” I whisper, on the verge of tears again. Crying is the only way to cope living in this place.

“Because I am what you needed protection from, and now it seems as if you are all mine to devour.” His words take a moment to process, and by the time I have caught up he is already closer, heart constricting under his grasp and yet all he does is hold his palm out in front of my chest.

“Casper,” I croak out, jarring and brutal bursts of pain searing from my chest and down through my entire body, “Casper, what is happening?” It has not yet clicked. At his silence I have no affirmation to what is happening, only left to assume that this is some weird reaction to what was given me to knock me out. But this is not normal. Not the way my consciousness seems to float in an empty space, filled with thick static. There is so much pain. I want to cry out but everything is fuzzy, I see nothing at all and the loud pounding of my heart echoes like thunder in my skull. So much pain. I hear the ticking of the clock in the room with Sister and Nurse Alice, the game of chess on these checkered floors and I feel what I made Elizabeth feel in her final moments. There is everything and nothing happening all at once. My whole body is draining away, and almost as soon as the black mist swirls at the edges of my mind, it is already all black.

-

When I wake, things are not where they left off. But then again, where did I leave off? I cannot remember. It is a blur. I cannot recall what yesterday was, or what happened. When I wake, there is a haze clouding my mind that leaves everything uncertain, and even though I have not fully awoken, it feels as if I am floating out in the abyss. Papa must have gone mad last night, but now I am safe with Mama. No, no, that can’t be right— I must have just come back from Dr. Chae’s hypnotism. No, that can’t be it either, it’s way too cold. Doctor used to have the heat blasting year-round. So… where am I? The panic starts to set in. Everything feels… wrong. All of my thoughts are clouded. My emotions are dulled, I feel no pain, no happiness, no anger, no… nothing.

Slowly, my reality starts to piece itself together and my surroundings fade in. The darkness is still there, but instead of the smothering presence it had previously, it now lingers at the corner of my vision, almost as if it has just become a part of me now. I am in an office. The barren and cracked walls feel familiar somehow, but I cannot recall why, I have never been here before. Or have I? I am not so sure of anything.

Someone walks in, and in a hushed tone she starts to argue with… Sister Bernadette? “She has been here only twenty-four hours, but she already speaks to the walls as if time has already broken her,” Sister says in a familiar tone.

I am in the asylum.

“I heard her say a name yesterday, Casper, I believe,” the woman answers quietly and cautiously, as if at any moment Sister will snap.

Sister almost spits out her reply, “Like that makes it any better Alice, she is still speaking to herself in the middle of the night.”

Alice, Nurse Alice. All of a sudden everything comes crashing down, I remember it all. Killing Elizabeth, Shadow, Casper’s betrayal, Nurse Alice, all of it. I begin to feel the sensation of tears behind my eyes, but no water flows. I feel like I am hyperventilating, but no air comes out of my mouth. What’s happening to me? Am I dead? Am I dying? The panic sets in again, gone is the emotional numbness that I previously held. Is this a joke, has Casper simply— no. Someone new is about to walk in. I recognize the voice, it’s Casper. A young girl trails behind him, she’s small with black hair and—

No. No no no no no no. This can’t be real. It’s impossible. Following behind Casper is… me? It doesn’t make any sense. I try to speak, scream, to somehow tell this past version of myself that Casper is not who he seems, but no one seems to hear me. Slowly, I walk towards them and detach myself from the wall where I previously stood. I see myself look up from the floor and stare directly at me, like she suddenly realized my existence. Her eyes grow wide and she backs up slowly as I move forward. “Casper?” She whispers, frightened. “What is that Shadow?”

I spin around, searching for Shadow. Are they still following me?

I move further away from the wall, but suddenly my past self screams. “Casper, help me! It’s coming closer!” I turn back around, but there’s nothing there. Realization creeps up on me slowly at first, like a panther getting ready to attack its prey. Then, it strikes. Am I the Shadow? I try to test my theory creeping back into the wall. “Don’t worry,” Casper speaks finally, “it’s leaving now, you’ll always be safe with me.”

Lies. I was never safe; I never will be. Not even now, in death, or whatever the hell this is, can I find peace. But maybe, just maybe, this time I can warn myself of the evil that lies within him. It is the only thing I can do to save myself from this painful loop of death.

-

It has been three years. I’ve watched myself die sixteen times. Today, I start all over again.

[calliecat93]

Top 5 Things I Disliked About RWBY Volume 6

(Top 5 Likes)

Well everyone… we made it. I started doing this Likes/Dislikes series on Monday, hoping to get it done before Saturday. The lesson here is to do better about pre-planning. Nevertheless… I did it. Volume 6. The most recent volume. My favorite volume of the entire series. I am so ready to gush about everything that I love about this! But we gotta do Dislikes first, and there are a few. Unlike the others though where nearly all of them are outdated or irrelevant, whether these will be improved on or not remains to be seen. So let’s not waste any time and get to the Top 5 Dislikes of RWBY Volume 6.

#5. Neo Fanservice

This is Number 5 because it more annoys me than anything else, but it doesn’t ruin anything. I’m not a fan of Neo. I find her to be a pointless addition who only exists because of her design. Which she does have a fantastic design, and her being mute is interesting. But otherwise? She was just… there. I didn’t care about the character then, and I don’t care now. I knew that she was gonna come back for CInder’s head, and this feels like the right time. But by the writers own admission, shes there just to flare up CIndr’s plotline. Which… why not use this to flesh out Cinder? Tell us her backstory or at least hint at it. Explain her motivations. Have us understand why she’s as horrible and power-hungry as she is. Explain what the heck happened when Ruby Silver Eyes blasted her in Volume 3 already!

 I know that they’re likely waiting for the right moment, but like with V4 it just feels like they’re dodging it and people are running out of patience. So I feel like there were other ways to make CInder’s plot more interesting. Throwing in Neo feels… well… I hate to say it, but lazy. Which I know isn’t true. Miles and Kerry are insanely hard-working and devoted to this show and away as far from lazy as it gets. I guess they just hit writers’ block? Knew that people wanted to see Neo again and felt like this was the right time? I don’t know. It wasn’t badly written or executed and sets the stage for the future. But still, I do wish that they took a more creative route and let us actually get to know Cinder when they had the chance. It’s disappointing.

Again, this is on here because I know I’m in the minority. A lot of people really like Neo and want to see more of her character. And I can’t lie, with Roman gone, there is some motivation for her and now there’s room to flesh her out. So while I don’t care about her, I am interested in seeing what they do with her. To see what she��s planning because there is now ay that she’s not going t give up on making CInder suffer. But I can absolutely see her still wanting payback on Ruby who was both involved with Roman’s death and knocked Neo off the plane and prevented her from helping him. We’ve got a classic revenge story in the making people. Let’s hope that it’s a good one.

#4. The Reaction to Jinn’s Story

This one is… complicated. Why? Because I don’t hate this. At all. You might think that I’m about to get mad that RWBYQ were all angry at Oz. But… no, I’m not. I fully sympathize with Oz. I don’t think that he’s this horrible monster who did all that he did because he’s horrible. Oz is just a man. A man who has been through so much pain for so long, all because he tried to do the right thing and be with his wife again. He has so much guilt and self-loathing and I just feel terrible for him and all that he’s been through. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s lied and used people, even if it was because he had to. People got hurt. People have died. All because of him and his cause. He isn’t as horrible as Salem or the Gods, but RWBYQ has every right to be angry at him for what, in their eyes, is leading them on a suicide mission. So no, I don’t have a problem with their reactions.

My problem is that they all have the same reaction.

There is no diversity in how they all take this, nor with JNR. I guess that Jaune, Yang, and Qrow took it worst than everyone else, but all of their reactions are pretty much being angry at Oz and feeling hopeless. The only person who keeps nay sense is Maria because this doesn’t personally affect her, but still. It’s boring to watch and offers no true exploration into the characters’ feelings outside hopelessness. We don’t see them talk about the story or try to debate about it. Whether Oz can ever be trusted again or not. Whether they feel like there are some legit points both for and against Oz. They don’t talk about finding out the origin of the world or about Salem. There was so much room for so much perspective and maybe V7 will go into that. But here? It just feels like a wasted opportunity.

IDK. I still enjoy the plot and it adds a lot of moral conflicts. Oz was wrong, but he also had his reasons. There is no right or wrong answer I don’t think to any of Ozpin’s choices. He’s trying to do the right thing, and that’s not always the best thing or even the moral thing. It’s complex stuff that can cause a lot of complex emotions. But it feels like it’s all meant to say that Oz was bad and there is no resolution or discussion about it by the end outside Oz helping Oscar land the jet. Can V7 fix that? Maybe, especially since the trailer hinted at the right thing vs best thing dilemma. But as far as this volume goes, it was good, but could have been better.

#3. Caroline Cordovin

Cordovin sucks. Big time. I admit she was amusing in her debut episode, but that was it. Cordo os, overall, just a stingy and arrogant old woman. She isn’t funny. She isn’t interesting. She pretty much exists to be another ‘Atlas people suck’ character, especially with her remark at Blake. Now I know that she was meant to be a minor antagonist, and that’s fine. But she went overboard and got the mech out when there were probably better ways of dealing with the heist peacefully. In fairness to her, the good guys can’t explain why they need to go to Atlas so I don’t blame her for trying to stop them. But with a huge-sized mech meant to deal with large Grimm? Really?

But really, none of this would have mattered to me… if it weren’t for the ending. Cordovin’s shift is out of nowhere. She has no epiphany. She never really accepts that this is her fault. We never see her viewpoint shift. And as such, her turn was utterly unprovoked. But most of all… she gets away with it. She gets away with endangering Argu. She gets away with her reckless endangerment. She gets away with escalating the situation unecesarially. She’s going to fudge her report, so Atlas won’t ever know about it.  That is what I hate the most, she didn’t get punished for her actions whatsoever.

Still, unlike Cardin, she had a purpose and unlike him and the Fennec Twins, she wasn’t around for very long. As such, she isn’t the worst villain. But unless it’s to show that she’s been stripped of her rank, I don’t really ever want to see or hear from her again… her and Maria’s bickering was funny though. I’ll give them that.

#2. Lack of Oscar Development

I talked about this in V4, but this was the boiling point for people I think. Oscar is, sadly, underdeveloped. V4 had to rush through his intro and getting him to Mistral, which is a consequence of the separate plotline. V5 was better as he gelled well with the cast, got some training and learned to sue his AUra, and we learned a bit more about how his and Oz’s bonding worked. It’s still rushed, but hey unlike Ruby he got an actual payoff. Plus there’s an emphasis that he made a choice to be there both in his talk with Ruby and when he was faced with Hazel. It’s not a lot, but better than V4 and again, we had a payoff that felt earned,

V6 though… not so much. We see Oscar struggling with keeping control and his growing fear of not being the same after the merger is complete. It’ super understandable and when he nears having a panic attack in Chapter 4, you really feel for him. They do a very good job of getting you to feel bad for this kid, especially in CHapter 8 when Jaune loses it and slams him into the wall out of anger at Ozpin. He snaps out of it and is immediately remorseful, but it was still utterly wrong to do that to Oscar. Qrow was also pretty horrible, but I’ll get to that later. Point is, this kid is scared, being unfairly punished for things that he didn’t do, and is probably about to have an identity crisis. So him going missing? It makes perfect sense.

But there lies the issue. He goes missing… and when we see him again, that’s the end of his arc. We don’t see him sort through his emotions. We don’t see him talk with anyone or with Oz. I’m glad that Oscar made his choice to stay committed and I love his new look. But we don’t get to experience it with him. He feels alienated from the main cast and I think that’s because we have so many characters. Some are gonna have to be shafted, but Oscar had an on-going arc and shouldn’t have been. It’s the same thing with Grif in RvB17, where his character arc was ongoing but got shafted due to both episode count and character amount. But with Oscar, it’s even worse as he’s still fairly new and is Oz’s host. He should be more important than he is. Not more than RWBY, ut he’s pretty much just a tagalong out of there because he has Oz in his brain. Not because of his own character.

This has been a pretty vocal complaint. I’m hoping that CRWBY is going to try more in V7. Maybe have Oscar enroll at Atlas or something and get some Huntsman training. I’m not sure what they can do, but I think it’s time that they do at least something. Because next to Nora, Oscar is the most under-developed character, and he really should not be. 

But hey, at least I still liked Oscar during the volume. Unlike a certain little birdie... on that note!

#1. Qrow’s Development

I did not like Qrow in this volume. At all. Now his attitude after the Oz reveal? Understandable. I think that Qrow is gonna be what Blake was to me in V4. Me hating how the character acted, but when I go back I’ll feel better about it since they’ll bounce back now that they’re past the lowest point. And to be fair in the final few episodes, Qrow got better and I felt more sympathetic when he was clearly having a Summer flashback. Plus, again, I get it. He trusted Oz for so long and found out that he was lied to all along. Everything that he worked for? Amounted to nothing. Any worth that it gave him after being marked as unlucky? That amounted to nothing. Him turning to drink himself stupid? Makes sense and it was good to finally delve into the negative parts of his drinking. Everything with Qrow makes sense.

The problem is very simple. It’ all due to one scene. Had they cut this out, I would be able to look past it. What scene is that?

“Don’t lie to him Ruby, We’re better than that.”

That killed any chance of me sympathizing with Qrow that the volume had. Ruby is trying to comfort Oscar, telling him that he isn’t just some vessel for Ozpin. I know that Qrow was upset. I mean he outright punched Oscar, which yeah it was aimed at Oz, but that also didn’t help. But that just felt unnecessarily cruel. Worst? He never apologizes for it like Jaune did with how he acted. Qrow is just overall useless, drinking himself stupid in Brunswick and just angrily giving up after Cordo refused them entry. Again, I get why. But I just cannot feel bad for him when he’s being such a downer and an asshole. Not even Ruby calling him out did anything until he began to flip out when the plan started to not go according to plan. Which by then… it felt too little, too late.

I don’t know. It’s like I said, I get it. But anytime that Qrow was on screen, it brought things down for me. I think that maybe they went a little too far with it, especially with the jab at Oscar. I’m glad that he’s on the right path now, and I assume that V7 will help make me like him again. But for now? I really did not like it, and it is my least favorite thing about V6.

And with that, the Dislikes posts are all done! Yay! One more post to go: the Likes post!  I hope that you all enjoyed this post, and thank you for reading~!

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 5: On The Subject Of Expectations

Becoming The Mask 

"Have you ever even held a sword before?" Draal demanded the next night.

"I'm more of a knife guy."

Jim could pass that off as a cooking joke if questioned, but it was true. The scale of the blade he had to work with now was throwing him off almost as badly as fighting in humanoid form.

He was confident enough that Draal wouldn't kill him – or, at least, that Blinky and AAARRRGGHH wouldn't stand idly by and let Draal kill him – that he offered the sword to the troll.

"Show me how I'm supposed to hold it, then."

Draal's eyes widened and he actually took half a step back.

"Ah, Master Jim," Blinky cautioned from the sidelines, "only a Trollhunter can wield the Sword of Daylight."

Jim ignored this and held the sword flat across both hands. Draal took it, slowly, cautiously, with more fear and reverence in his expression than Jim thought the sword really warranted even if it was magic. When Draal raised the blade above his head, it shone blue, and vanished from his hand in a burst of glowing smoke. It reappeared in Jim's hand, like the amulet had when he first tried to leave it with Stricklander.

"The sword is bound to the amulet," said Blinky. "It is not that only the Trollhunter may wield it, but that only the Trollhunter can."

Draal and Jim both winced.

"I'm … sorry," said Jim.

Draal sighed heavily. He walked over to the side of the Forge. Jim thought at first that he was storming off to be alone with his thoughts, but Draal came back with a double-pronged spear, or maybe a pole arm, from the weapons rack. He tested a few strikes against the empty air, and then pointed it at Jim.

"Your blade is but an extension of your body," he said sternly. "And your body, an extension of your eyes. Mimic my movements, Trollhunter."

"I'm almost impressed," said Draal, a few nights later. "I didn't think a fleshbag could survive this level of pummelling."

"You actually … getting tired?" Jim tried to taunt. It was ruined by his wheezing. Draal had successfully run him over three times so far in this match. "Admit it … I'm … wearing you down."

Draal laughed at him.

"Trollhunter!" A shouting woman ran into the Forge, waving her arms above her head. "TROLLHUNTER!" Blinky and AAARRRGGHH rushed to her.

"What is it? Speak, Bagdwella!"

She panted. Jim walked over, trying not to stumble. Draal gave him a sideways glance that could be creatively interpreted as concern.

"Rr … ruh … rogue gnome!"

"So, I learned something interesting about the Amulet last night. Apparently the teleportation thing it was doing is only if the Trollhunter rejects it. If somebody steals it, it doesn't just poof back to me."

"Someone stole the Amulet?"

"I got it back." He'd tempted the creature out of the hole with a candy bar, and stuffed it into a sack and stuffed the sack into a battered metal lunchbox. In order to retrieve her own things, the shopkeeper had been willing to have the wall carved open to get to the gnome's stash. "I'm just saying, that's kind of a counter-intuitive design feature. Thought it might come in handy when Bular kills me and the Amulet picks somebody else."

"Bular is not going to kill you."

It was comforting to hear Stricklander say that. Hearing that stern, parental tone, Jim could almost believe that he could turn to the more experienced Changeling for protection from Gunmar's son, and actually expect to receive that protection.

After school, he was faced with the gnome problem again.

It was secured in its box and very loudly unhappy about it. It had given up shouting and crashing into the walls, and was now singing a lament to the accompaniment of its odd guitar, or whatever the instrument was.

Jim had never had a pet, but the gnome's earlier behaviour reminded him of things he'd heard about ferrets. He was going to feel bad over killing the cute, clever little thief. He really should have done it already, but … as one being that trolls considered vermin to another, he wasn't sure he could go through with it. He hadn't directly, personally killed anything since leaving the Darklands.

He put it off by doing homework and reading more troll lore. Eventually the gnome went quiet. Jim thought it fell asleep.

Considering he had compared it to a ferret earlier, he should have expected it to escape.

Considering how up-and-down his luck had been lately, he really should have expected it to get out his window, drop off the porch roof, and make a run for Toby's house across the street.

Having known each other for ten years, Jim and Toby tended to let themselves in to each other's houses rather than knocking and waiting. Jim went right after the gnome, praying Toby was out and Nana Domzalski was immersed in one of her shows.

He almost caught it in the front hall. It darted into a rain boot that was lying on its side. Jim picked the boot up, but the gnome popped right back out as he was trying to cover the top of the boot with his forearm. It jumped to the ground and he turned the boot over, slamming it down like a glass on a spider, and missing the gnome by a hair.

In the kitchen, he dropped to all fours to follow it under the table and wondered if he should risk switching forms for faster reflexes. He could switch back if he heard Nana or Toby coming.

Before he could make a decision, the gnome jumped from the chairs it had been hopping back and forth between onto Jim's head, yanking his hair on landing, and then onto the floor and scuttled behind the fridge. Without AAARRRGGHH, Jim couldn't move something that heavy.

Well, maybe in his armour he could – he had suspicions it increased his strength, considering the size of the sword – but did he really need a magical suit of armour just to catch one lousy crafty gnome?

He waited by the fridge for it to come out again.

"Jimmy!" Nana Domzalski greeted him. Because of course she was here, in her own house, in the late evening, on a weeknight. "What a nice surprise. I think Toby-Pie is upstairs."

"Thanks, Mrs Domzalski," he said as easily as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gnome make a break for it and, conveniently and terribly, run up the quarter round of the staircase. "I'll just head on up."

Toby essentially had the entire upper story to himself. He was in his bedroom, staring enchanted at the gnome, which was playing its guitar.

"Aren't you just the best tiny musician in the world?" he whispered. "With such a cute pointy hat –" It bared its fangs at him and he recoiled, falling back on his bed and scrambling away. "And pointy teeth!"

"Toby!" Damn secrecy! Jim was pretty sure gnomes were carnivorous; he didn't want to drag his best friend to the hospital with mysterious bite wounds!

"Jim, did you see that?" The gnome ran again with a chittering giggle and disappeared into a pile of video games. "It was just there! Like a tiny lawn gnome, with a guitar, and fangs!"

"I saw it too, Tobes."

The undercover thing would be to lie and try to grab the gnome without Toby noticing. But Toby had seen the gnome. He hadn't had his phone out to record the musical performance, but he couldn't be put off by being told he'd imagined it. It would be easier to catch with Toby's help. Jim just had to keep Toby from finding out anything else and from comparing notes with Elijah Pepperjack in the aftermath.

The guitar started playing in the dollhouse. Jim held his finger to his lips and Toby nodded. As quietly as they could, they approached the dollhouse and peered into the tiny windows.

"Aw," Toby crooned. "He made a friend." The gnome was serenading a Sally-Go-Back action figure.

"When I say so," said Jim, "you pull the dollhouse open and I'll grab him."

"Come on, Jim, look at the little guy! He sounds so happy. Soul of an artist in that one."

It did seem docile for the moment …

"I just don't think it's safe," was the best Jim could offer without breaking at least one of his covers.

"I'm gonna name him Gnome Chompsky," said Toby.

"You're not serious. You're not keeping it."

"Man, I wish we could tell people about this, but poor Chompsky'd probably bolt again if too many 'giants' like us started crowding him, am I right?"

"You're actually serious."

"Come on, Jim! This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me! I promise if he bites me I'll drop him down the garbage disposal and you can say you told me so."

Jim returned the empty sack and lunchbox to Bagdwella later that night and let her assume he was, indeed, a 'gnome slayer'.

Previous Chapter (Kanjigar, Vendel, the Heartstone, and Draal)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (A visit to the Janus Order)

If you’re confused about the ‘ten years’ comment, Toby says in the birthday episode, “I had just moved in to the house across the street, and Jim’s dad got him this sweet bike kit for his fifth birthday ... and then he just took off.” So, in canon, Toby and Jim met when they were five. 

I HAVE FEELINGS about the scene where Jim and Draal are training together and Jim offers Draal a chance to try out the Sword of Daylight and it vanishes out of Draal’s hand and Jim tries to apologize for the magic sword’s behaviour. [My impressions are detailed here.]

I thought about killing Gnome Chompsky off, to demonstrate the difference in character between Changeling!Jim and canon!Jim, but that scene stopped working when I actually got into Jim’s motives and feelings, so this happened.

[thethingwewrite]

War Game (Part 1)

Summary: Your whole world have blown up against your face. You are faced with your destiny. What happened to you? Is this green-eyed man the reason your life is turned upside down?

Request from @ariannnawinchester : Could you make a dean x reader in a one tree hill AU with both smut and fluff?

Word count: 4776 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warning: Nudity, Smut (Not described)

A/N: Hi, guys here is the rewrite of the Making New Changes. There will be 5 different part of this fic or maybe more. I am not sure yet. As you know it a One tree hill AU. Also another witch fic, yeah I know I dig witch, bad ones. I wonder what does it say about me now? :D. Anyways I hope you enjoy this fic and let me know how you feel about it. Thanks to @mrswhozeewhatsis and @aingealcethlenn for betaing this fic.

Tag: @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, @dr-dean, @helvonasche, @wevegotworktodo, @thorne93, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @faith-in-dean, @roxy-davenport,  @fangirl1802, @percywinchester27,  @bloodysideofhell, @girl-next-door-writes, @kittenofdoomage, @supernatural-jackles, @mysupernaturalfics, @izawrites,  @jelly-beans-and-gstrings , @ariannnawinchester, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @jensen-jarpad, @secretlyfurrydragon, @bloodysideofhell

SPN Tag Sheets: @thinkwritexpress-official , @itsemmyb , @ezauraemmaline , @charliesbackbitches, @deandoesthingstome, @deerlululucy, @walkingencyclopediaoffandom , @gryffindorable713 ,  @manawhaat, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester , @supermoonpanda , @sis-tafics , @amaranthinecastiel @becs-bunker , @meganwinchester1999 , @samanddeanwinchester67 , @ferferelli, @iridianuniverse , @the-morning-star-falls , @ackleslaugh , @fangirling-instead-of-working , @hellbentcrowley @eyes-of-a-disney-princess , @kayteonline ,  @spnsimpleman , @faith-in-dean  ,  @mamaimpala @for-the-love-of-dean , @winchesterfiesta ,  @salvachester, @sleep-silent-angel,  @gadreelsforbiddenfruit , @trenchcoats-and-bees , @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan ,  @skybinx-blog, 

Let me know if you want in or out the tag

(Y/N) POV 

You carefully leaned on the bridge ramp from your hometown, Tree Hill, your helmet in your hand. A tear fell down your cheek as you thought about having to leave. Dan Scott, your boss, gave you the chance to go, or you wouldn’t see the sun again.

You watched the sunset, as its last rays partially illuminated the town. You wiped the tears away, recalling all the blissful moments you’d had and the bad ones that put you in this situation. Starting from sleeping with a hunter, to Nathan being in a wheelchair, Lucas in the coma, Brooke injured, Hayley’s miscarriage, and Payton…

You shook your head as you thought of her.

All this was because you didn’t follow Dan’s instruction in the first place. You technically tried; you gave them false directions, fake clues and even locked them away. Only, hunters are way too suspicious, smart, and hard to get rid of. You exasperatedly sighed at yourself for being too pretentious, for thinking you could outsmart them.

When darkness was surrounding you, and the lights of the city turned on one by one, you knew it was time, so you walked to your motorbike. Just as you were about to put your helmet on, you heard his voice calling you. You stopped, closed your eyes for a second, not needing him right now.

“Look, it’s no...” you started, turning to meet with a Colt 45. You pulled your hand up. “You don’t want to do that!”

“Really? Give me one good reason?" he said with his deep voice while unlocking the safety.

Three weeks ago

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever,” you said to your boss’s secretary as you walked in his office 10 minutes earlier than planned.

This new secretary was a bitch, always questioning your motives here and glaring at you from a distance. You started to miss the old one, Miss Hale. She was a very caring old lady, too lovely for this world, but she could also be manipulative. You smirked at that as you sat down in front of your boss's desk waiting for him. Miss Gile, the new secretary, didn’t like that you’d arrived early and acted like the place was your own. But, you knew well that he never appreciated anyone being late.

He practically owned the town and was a member of the town council. You were his most loyal employee; he could always count on you to do his dirty work. You were the first one he called when he needed someone to clean up a mess. Just then, the door flew open, crashing into the wall with a loud ‘bang!’. Startled, you turned to see Dan Scott walking into the room before he slammed the door shut. The frown on his face made you immediately understand that he’d had a bad day.

You knew that his wife was demanding a divorce again and his sons didn't want to talk to him. On top of that, the council was questioning his recent action during the fiasco that was the new moon celebration. He stared at you with a harsh and scary glare. You swallowed, expecting the worst.

“We have a serious problem. Hunters are in town questioning people about Keith’s death. I don't want that here, right now. I already have enough with the council on my ass about it. Make sure they leave, and quickly, or take care of them,” he ordered.

You nodded, knowing well that he was the reason Keith was dead, and you’d help him cover his tracks. “Alright. Anything else I should do?" you asked, standing up.

Dan frowned deeply. “Not really. Just try to be discreet this time. And if you need help, ask Rachel,” he said, thinking about it. “Probably need to scare James Howard a little. He is running for both mayor and president's council against me this year. You need to be creative with the hunters in town.”

“Alright. Have any idea where the hunters might be right now?" you asked.

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I have time to do your job?"

“Right. Sorry, sir. I will do my best,” you said, walking out of the office.

A moment later you walked into what you called ‘your office,’ but someone else might call it a closet. It was a cramped space, only fitting you and probably one other person, if they were small. Well, at least that’s what a regular person would see. You made sure nobody saw the real size of the room.

It was just like one of those crazy science laboratories from those movies where the scientist always fails to destroy the world. The room had a dim light; the walls were painted black and nothing hung on them. It was a workplace, and you didn’t need anyone to learn about your private life. Not like there were many people who came here, but the few that did come weren’t very worthy of trust. Besides, Dan already knew where you lived.

In the center of the room, there was a creamy marble table with a few oval tubes, each with a different color liquid inside and some connected to each other. There were also three heavy books at the end of the table and what looked like a cauldron in the middle. On the right side of the table was a library full of grimoires and potions. At the end of the room was a traditional desk among all those strange things. You went behind it, opened the top drawer and took out a map.

You pushed the things that were on it aside, barely caring if any of the stuff fell to the floor. You opened the map, then took the black crystal you had around your neck and extended your hand above the map.

“Dimitte ergo me, inveniet eos,” you repeated three times (let me find them).

The necklace started to spin around slowly before going faster; you had to hold it firmly in precaution. When it was time, you let it land on a little part of the map, making you smirk.

Dean POV

The second Dean Winchester crossed the bridge to enter Tree Hill, he knew something was off by the vibes the town was giving him. He repeated it to Sam a few times as they arrived at the only motel in the city, called Hill Motel. Dean stopped complaining about it when Sam insisted that there were too many disappearances in the town to leave it like that.

The worst part was when the Impala broke down right after their visit to the police station.  After checking his car for few minutes, he eventually let Sam call a garage. The tow truck came only after 30 minutes, and Dean was beyond pissed. He almost threatened the kid, that if his Baby was more hurt than it should be, then he would have to hide on another planet. But the teenager, only around 17, didn't seem to be very impressed by Dean’s temper and Sam had to calm Dean down a bit. Sam knew his brother would never let anyone touch his Baby and, thanks to him, no one would.

Somehow, probably with his puppy dog eyes, he made sure that Dean would be able to fix the Impala himself. It would cost a little more than expected and it would require them to stay longer than needed in town, but Dean didn’t care. No one else would touch his car. Then, as soon as he fixed Baby, they would be able to leave the city.

They were about to leave the garage when Dean realized that the kid had the same last name as the previous victim, Keith Scott. His name was Nathan Scott, and he had short black hair and blue eyes. He was the same size as Dean and shared a slight resemblance with the victim.

“Sam. I’m staying here,” Dean said as they walked out to the car Nathan rented them.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? We still have other interviews to do. Nathan assured you no one would touch her.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That I know,” he said. “The kid is related to the last victim,” he pointed out.

Sam immediately understood where Dean was going, but he scoffed. “Do you think he will talk to you after the way you treated him earlier? If I wasn't around things would be different.”

Dean just shrugged him off. “Probably, but worth the shot.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Well, I’ll go to the library. Call me if you need a ride,” he said, before climbing into the car.

Dean nodded, and then went back in the garage. “Hey Kid,” he called as he walked in.

Nathan turned to Dean and held a hand to him, motioning that he was on the phone and would handle him once he was done.

Dean waited and watched him. He didn’t look like a fierce person, more like a nice guy who you’d want to be friends with. But his gut told him not to trust anyone in this town. So, better safe than sorry, he would keep his distance and make sure he got the info they needed. A few seconds later, Nathan hung up the phone and looked at him.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“I figured I would work on the car now,” Dean said.

Nathan narrowed his eyes. “Sir, your partner already told you that no one will tou…”

“I know, I know. But the faster I fix the car, the sooner I am out of this place and can pay you for everything,” Dean interrupted.

He watched Nathan. He could tell the kid was debating inside if he should let him or not. Finally, after a few seconds, or probably minutes, Nathan nodded. “Alright. You will have to stop at 7 p.m. I don't want you to be here after that.”

“Deal,” Dean said with a grin before going to his car and starting to work on it.

After only a few hours of working on the car and trying to talk with Nathan, Dean learned that Keith was his uncle and that he used to own the garage until his dad bought it one or two months before Keith’s death. While he was under his car, he heard someone coming in, but didn’t pay much attention. Nathan’s tone, however, caught his interest, since it suggested that the person wasn't friendly. He didn’t have the opportunity to hear much of the conversation, but did catch the sound of a woman laughing.

The sound made his stomach flip inside him and he stopped in his tracks, looking towards it. From where he was, Dean could hardly see anything, just a pair of heels turning around Nathan for a second, then walking toward the exit. Dean waited at least a minute before sliding away from the car. He stood up and grabbed an old cloth filled with engine oil.

He noticed the concerned look on Nathan’s face as he wiped his hand with the old cloth. “Hey Nathan,” he called. “You ok, kiddo?”

Nathan sighed and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. You done with the car?” he asked, changing the subject.

Dean shook his head. “Need a new carburetor,” he said. “Probably will take a few more days.”

Nathan frowned. “I will need to look if we have one for your car model, but I doubt it. This car is very rare,” he said walking toward his desk.

Dean was somewhat impressed with his knowledge for such a young age, but he knew not to be fooled by that. “Are you okay? You seem concerned since your girl visited?”

Nathan shook his head, typing on the computer. “She isn't my girl,” he snapped. “Like I said, there aren't many carburetors for your car around here. We will have to order it online.”

Just like that, Dean knew that Nathan wouldn't feel like talking about anything else private, and that insisting would be a waste of time. Dean didn't want to look suspicious and lose the little trust Nathan had given him. Dean knew he had to take small steps with him, somehow.

Nathan POV

Around 8 pm, once he had closed the garage, Nathan decided to drive to the city hall to give his father a piece of his mind. He’d had enough, enough of seeing her always around each corner and enough of her coming to his house, his school, and his job. And most importantly, he’d had enough of his father only caring about them when something big happened. Instead of coming himself, his father would always send her, (Y/N) Morris, his so-called assistant. In truth, everyone knew what she was and what she was capable of doing.

Nathan was tolerating (Y/N) because she was his cousin from his mother’s side. His mother took her in when she was six years old and took care of her until Nathan was born. Except things changed. He had no idea what happened when he turned five; she was taken to a boarding school until she came back three years ago. Nathan never understood her, and he didn't think he probably ever would.

He climbed out of his car and walked toward the city hall. When he was halfway there, he saw his father coming out of the building talking to someone. Nathan didn’t wait for him to finish his conversation and walked straight to him.

“Dad, you need to stop doing that!” he spat.

Dan raised his eyebrow. He sent his employee away before turning to his son. “Now Nathan, what exactly did I do to bother you.” He smirked.

Nathan frowned. “(Y/N)!” he said. “You sent her again.”

“(Y/N)? I didn't send her or anyone to you,” he said. “Probably a friendly visit. She is family, after all.”

Nathan scoffed. “Right. You must have forgotten about that when you sent her away,” he said and started to leave. “Just tell her to stop coming to visit unless she doesn't work for you anymore.”

As Nathan walked toward his car, he could feel his father stare at him, but he could also feel someone else staring. Before climbing into his vehicle, he quickly looked around, but didn't see anyone. So, he shook the feeling off and jumped into his car. The engine was brought back to life as he turned the key in the ignition, and he quickly drove off, thinking he had won an argument with his father.

Later that night

(Dean POV)

After a long day of fixing his car, he had tried to interview Karen Roe about Keith’s death. She didn’t understand the reason why the FBI would investigate his death and barely wanted to answer his questions. Her son, Lucas, made sure she wouldn't answer any. Dean decided to go for a drink. He wanted Sam to join him, but his brother turned his offer down in order to work on the case more. Dean sometimes felt like Sam worked too much and needed more fun. He smirked at that thought. However, a neon sign saying “Tric” he came across interrupted his thinking.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the sign. Was this town trying to send him a message? Or a threat? He wasn’t sure, and as Sam said earlier, he should stop seeing evil everywhere when there wasn't. He shrugged, parked the car in the parking lot, and hoped he would be able to get inside of the nightclub seeing the long queue to get in. If not, he would head back to the motel. Dean usually went to bars, but the nightclub was close to his motel, and he didn't feel like driving around town in a rented car he didn't like.

He joined the queue and waited at least 15 minutes before he was able to enter the club. He ignored all the glares he had received and sat down in front of the bar.

“Agent, I told you I had nothing to say anymore,” a female voice said through the sound of the music.

Dean looked up at Karen Roe and sighed. “I know, but I am not here to ask questions,” he said. “I just want to drink a few beers and have fun.”

Her brows snapped together. “You realize that now that the school let out, the girls in here are mainly teenagers.”

Dean rubbed his face annoyed. “That’s my luck,” he said, looking at the bar and noticing that she wasn't wrong. He wasn't even sure how to tell the difference between those who were over 21 and those who weren’t.

Karen opened her mouth but was cut short. “Not all of them are teens,” said a feminine voice, sitting next to him.

Dean didn’t notice the weird look Karen was giving her, he only focused on the girl next to him, smirking at her and liking the confidence she had. He also liked the curves he noticed through her outfit.

“Really? Is it? Well, as long as you aren't one of them,” Dean said drinking in his beer.

She giggled, “I turned 23 today.”

“Happy birthday…'

“(Y/N) and you are?”

“Dean,” he said with a grin. “Lovely name you have, (Y/N)” he said. “We should party in a place where there aren't teenagers around.” He glanced around once again.

She stood up. "Well, I think that’s a good idea,” she said. “I know a place where they serve good alcohol and don't have teenagers around.”

Dean pursed his lips and stood up. “I’m game.” He put some money on the counter. He was caught off guard when she took his hand to leave the place, as her touch made his stomach flip again. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he quickly pushed it aside, as long he was away from teenagers.

In the parking lot, Dean gently grabbed her arms to stop her. “Listen, my car isn't the greatest at the moment, it’s a rent…” he started to say.

“You that one? Don’t worry. I have my baby with me.” She winked at him before walking toward her bike.

Dean shook his head. “I don't think so, sweetheart. This car isn't the best, but at least it's safe.”

(Y/N) laughed and Dean frowned recognizing it from earlier in the garage. “What’s wrong, Dean. Afraid of a little bike? Or is it just that you want to be in control of the ride,” she said seductively, grabbing the two sides of his jacket and pulling him closer to her.

Dean’s eyes darkened with lust, his hands automatically found their way on her lower back, and a smirk appeared on his face. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m good with letting my partners take control,” he said with a deep husky voice.

She licked her lips, went to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “Then let me give you the ride of your life.”

He was nearly panting. “You know just how to talk to me,” he whispered as he was turning his head to kiss her. (Y/N) stepped back and winked at him then walked toward her bike.

Dean watched her as she walked, swinging her hips left to right. He bit his lips and sighed, hoping he wouldn't regret it. He followed her, took the helmet she gave him and sat behind her.

(Y/N) Pov

You parked your bike in front of an old building. It was a huge one that seemed to have 12 floors. You hid a laugh. You had felt Dean’s tension through the whole drive. He was gripping you hard every turn you made, and every time you raced over the limit. You saw that he tried to compose himself like the tough guy he was before you gave him the ride of his life.

Dean’s head turned toward the building and he tightened his lips. “Unless this place hides a smaller building with a bar in it. I doubt we’ll find alcohol inside.”

“Don’t worry, there is plenty of alcohol in this intimate bar, and no teenagers will bother us.” You smiled.

You watched as Dean glanced between the building and you twice. You could tell he had a quick mini-debate inside whether to follow you or not. You decided to interfere a little by extending your hand to him. “Come on Dean. It will be fun,” you said with a smirk. Dean gave in and took your hand before you led him into the building.

Your apartment was on the last floor and lucky you, there was an elevator to reach it. The minute the door closed, a sensual tension filled the room. You’d always had a kink for elevators and couldn’t help but imagine him all over you. You looked at the number and saw that you were only on the third floor.

‘Only nine more floors to go,’ you thought.

You cleared your throat. “Well, this is kinda hot.” You watched him, saw his Adam's apple move, he turned to face you, his face was serious and his eyes shadowed with lust.

“It is?” he asked with a husky voice. “Tell me about it.” He stepped closer to you.

You eyed the number and saw that it was on the fifth floor now. ‘Seven more,’ you thought.

You smirked. “How about we just make it hap…” You couldn’t finish your sentence because he’d pinned you against the wall and his lips were over yours. His hands roamed your body up and down, making you moan against his lips. You gripped his shirt, then pushed him against the other wall. He grinned through the kiss, loving when a woman took over.

You almost ripped his shirt open and smirked before kissing him again. Until you heard the sound of the door opening, you grabbed him by his tie. Dean smirked, he grabbed his jacket that fell down to the floor, his bare chest visible. He liked that you didn’t seem to care about the surroundings. In the doorway, an old lady was shocked to see you almost naked. Dean with his shirt half open while you had your shorts open. You chuckled as Dean blushed and mumbled some excuse as the old lady ran from the elevator.

As you opened your apartment door, Dean had his hand wrapped around you and his lips on your neck, sucking and nibbling it. He used his feet to close the door. You turned to face him, kissing him hard and rough without pulling away. You made your way to your room with him taking off both of your clothes.

You pushed him down on your mattress naked and straddled him, but he stopped. “Hey, I don’t want to ruin the fun, but do you have any condoms?” he asked, smirking.

You smirked in reply. “I am on my pills. Don’t worry,” you said, leaning down to kiss him.

“Still, condoms are safer,” he replied as he stopped you, again.

You rolled your eyes and pulled away from him. “Fine, but you’re lucky you’re hot,” you said, walking into the bathroom. “Don’t touch anything” you called out.

You walked out with a condom you finally found after an exhausting 15 minutes looking for one. You showed it to Dean like a kid who had won a trophy. “Dean, ready for…” You stopped, seeing the book in his hand. “Well, we’ll need to talk now,” you said.

Dean glared at you. “You think, (Y/N)?” he said and was surprised when you straddled him again, but frowned. “What’s the matter? I like the occult, that’s all,” you said.

“You know, it’s called witchcraft,” he said. “You seem to know more, according to this.”

You rolled your eyes. “You seem to know a lot about it. Let me guess? Good Witch?”

“Hunter,” he simply said. “You know I have to take care of you, now?”

“Yeah, I know.” You winked at him. “Look, I’m not going to hurt anyone, at the moment. I was just curious. I swear,” you said, leaning down to kiss him but he stopped.

“Really? Just curiosity?” he asked, looking into your eyes, not sure if he should believe you or not.

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said, grinding on him. He groaned, and you didn’t give him the chance to answer as you started to ride him, forgetting about the condom.

Next

[whalefairyfandom12]

for him.

Summary: In which Dan paints smiles and studies English at a dead end. His muse takes the from of Phil Lester, a film student at his university, but paint doesn’t last forever and not everyone is who we make them out to be.

A/N: I had said awhile back that I wasn’t going to continue this story for a couple of different reasons, but I’ve been wanting to get back into writing and I thought it would be a nice reintroduction. Given that this is over two years late I’m not even sure if anyone still cares haha, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

tw; depression, alcohol, suicidal thoughts

Masterpost

Part Two

   The paper sits on top of his laptop, crumpled and severely tea stained. The impending due date is written across the top in black sharpie: June 11.  For the most part creative writing is the only class that doesn’t make him want to rip his hair out, but he’s not convinced that his teacher isn’t a sadist.

  Purple writing stains the back of his hand, the biro ink smudging and dripping onto the paper below him.

   we live in the broken fragments of a dying universe.

  His phone releases a chiming sound, the vibrations making a rattling noise against the surface of his desk. Dan grabs it, desperate for anything to take his mind off of the depressing reality that he might very well fail his course. He wonders what he’d do with the rest of his life if something related to english doesn’t work out. Nothing maybe.

  The text is from Phil, perhaps unsurprisingly. they say only boring people are bored. with that reasoning i must be duller than 50 shades.

   A smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself, Dan dials Phil and waits. “E.L. James couldn’t make it so I’m the replacement.”

  “Thank god. I’d rather talk to you any day.”

  “Is my voice your favorite sound?” Dan asks sarcastically.

  “Yes.”

   The smile grows. “In that case it’s worth nothing that your voice is my favorite sound too.”

   “Lucky that,” Phil says, and Dan can hear the accompanying eye roll. “What a coincidence.”

   “Are you finished with your homework?” he asks. There’s a pen sitting beside his computer and he flicks it with his thumb and forefinger. It hits the wall and rolls back towards him, and he repeats the action.

  “The pressing assignments,” Phil says. “You?”

  “Sort of, kind of, not really?”

  “Is the creativity block still pretty bad?”

  “It’s still there,” Dan says, making a face. “By this point I’ve learned to cope but I wouldn’t call it fantastic.”

   “What genre do you like to write?”

   “I gravitate towards realistic fiction but it doesn’t really matter.”

   “Hmm,” Phil’s voice trails off into contemplative silence. “I told you that I would help you cure your creativity block. I promise I haven’t forgotten, it’s just a work in progress.”

   “Don’t worry about it,” Dan says. “It’d be nice to have the block gone but I don’t want it to become your issue.”

   “Who said anything about worrying?” Phil asks. “Who do you think I am, Philip Lester?”

   “Did anyone ever tell you you’re absolutely freaking hilarious?” Dan asks dryly.

   “Hey!” Chris’s shout comes from the living room and he yanks the phone away from his ear, cupping a hand over the microphone. “Cheese or pepperoni?”

  “Why not both?” Dan asks, raising his voice. “We both know you can eat at least one of those without any help.”

   “I’m glad you agree!”

    He repositions the phone. Phil’s saying something, but he can’t quite make out the words. “Sorry, what?”

   “I asked if you had to go.”

   “I should, yeah. Did I relieve your boredom?”

   “I think it’s safe to say that you did, but now I want pizza, too,” Phil says. “Good luck with your story.”

   “Thanks,” Dan says. “I’ll see you then.” He pushes the end call button, shoving his phone in his pocket and turning off the light.

    Chris looks up from his laptop, scowling at the screen. “Have I mentioned before that this thing is utter shit?”

   “Once or twice,” Dan says.

   Chris releases a long breath from between his teeth, eyeing him intently.“Phil?” He nods. “I’m not saying anything but--”

   “Yes you are,” Dan interrupts, subjecting the boy to a glare. “How long did they say on the pizza?”

   “Ten, fifteen minutes tops,” Chris says. “I’m just saying, if you’re planning on making a move you should do it soon.”

    Dan stares at him incredulously. He doesn’t see any point in arguing further, and he retreats to his room; making sure Chris can hear the slam of the door behind him. Even if he was interested in Phil, hypothetically speaking, for those feelings to be reciprocated is about as likely as finishing top of his maths class. There’s no way in hell a notion like that could ever be more than a fleeting fantasy, and he’s never been one for daydreams.

...

    Dan’s seat in Creative Writing is located diagonally by the only window in the classroom. The door is located a short distance away, accessible in ten seconds, maybe less if he’s charged with adrenaline. He has the best seat in the room; if a need for escape presents itself he can make a run for the door or shatter the glass and jump out the window. The drop to the ground isn’t high enough to kill him. He thinks.

   His professor’s giving some lecture about characterization but he stopped listening a while ago. He hopes she doesn’t ask what his story concept is any time in the next millennium, because he doesn’t have one. Despite Phil’s bravado about curing his creativity block the page is as empty as it was a month ago. Christmas break starts in two weeks, and he’s hoping to have the skeleton of his story finished by the end of break.

   He contemplates if the other thirty two students have completed the assignment yet. He thinks that’s unlikely, but he also doubts any of them are quite as far behind as he is. The sparse moments he has to write he’s either too tired to do much more than log onto his computer, or he lacks the inspiration to produce anything with a glimmer of potential.

   Dan scribbles in the margins of the newest handout, previous doodles already littering most of the available white space. He can write nonsensical drivel until every inch of his skin is stained, but finding the right words and phrases long enough for a novel is an impossibility.

  the invisible boy loved the dark so much the shadows rose to swallow him whole. he wondered, if people were fireflies would the world be a brighter place?

  Dan chances a glance at the clock; twenty minutes until his next class. It seems like he’s always counting down to something, the end of class, the end of the day, the days before break, the years before graduation. Sometimes he doesn’t think the countdown is ever going to come to an end. If life’s composed of moments than each moment lasts the number of seconds it takes to end. Everything is composed of numbers, and though they’re cool and aloof and safe there’s a security to them that he’s too afraid venture out of.

   He wonders how long it’ll take before he begins counting down the seconds to his death. Sometimes he think he thinks he’s already started.

   For the end of November the weather is warm enough to allow spending lunch and the time between classes outside, something that Dan wholeheartedly prefers to eating in the cafeteria. Conversations flow more freely, and he can stretch out on the grass and watch the clouds.

   PJ and Phil’s digital storytelling class is the first that’s released, and by the time Dan reaches their usual spot most of the time Chris’s already there. Phil’s sitting with his back against the tree and knees tucked to his chest, PJ and Chris sprawled on the ground in front of him. A sketchbook is perched on his legs, pen uncapped and ink flowing onto the white canvas.

  “Is Louise free yet?” PJ asks.

   “Five minutes,” Dan says, checking his watch and sitting beside Phil. Louise’s French class runs later than anyone else’s, but her next class starts a good half an hour later than his does so he supposes it evens out.

    Sometimes he wishes he saw her more often. The points of their lives that intersect are sporadic; planets brushing and occasionally colliding but never for long. “How was digital storytelling?” he asks.

  “Fine,” PJ says. “Nothing new really, we’re supposed to be drafting a storyboard for a short film. How was English?”

  “Long,” Dan says, pulling a face. “At least break starts soon. That’s something I guess.”

  “PJ and I have an Important Announcement,” Chris says, waving a hand in the air with what he assumes is meant to be an impressive gesture.

  “We do?”

  “Yes,” Chris says, pushing himself up on his elbows and giving PJ a meaningful look.

  “Right,” PJ says, eyes widening in understanding. “We do.”

   “For those of us who aren’t telepathic would you care to clarify?” Dan asks.

   “Hush,” Chris says, raising an admonitory eyebrow. “Patience grasshopper.”

   Dan shakes his head, turning his attention to Phil. The sunlight is filtered through the branches and leaves of the tree overhead, casting parts of his profile in shadow. He thinks that Phil’s the kind of person that deserves to have stories written about him and paintings created in his likeness, yet he doubts there’s an artist alive who could begin to do him justice.

   “It’s a capybara,” Phil says, catching Dan’s eye and tilting the drawing. “A work in progress.”

   “I like it,” Dan says, tracing a careful finger over the drying ink. “Are they your favorite animal?”

    “They’re in the running.” Phil’s eyes slide past Peter, landing on the rapidly approaching figure of Louise. “Hey.”

    “Hello.” Her backpack is tossed on the ground with a dull thumping noise, and she lays on the ground, closing her eyes.

    “Now that everyone’s here I want to make the Important announcement,” Chris says, staggering to his feet.

   “What’re you on about?” Louise asks, her words punctured by a yawn. “I’m too tired for anything that requires more response than a grunt.”

   “PJ and I are dating,” Chris says proudly. Silence meets his words, and a quick glance at everyone confirms that the other two are just as unimpressed as Dan is.

   “Wow, what a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “I never would’ve suspected.”

    Chris looks distinctly wounded. “Thanks mate. Good to have your support as always.”

   “You two have wanted to bang each other for ages,” he snorts. “If you wanted to deliver a shocker this wasn’t it.”

   “Congratulations,” Phil says, offering a thumbs up.

   “Thank you Phil,” Chris says pointedly. He sits down again, crossing his arms wearing an expression akin to a pout.

    “Cheer up,” PJ says, bumping his shoulder. “At least they didn’t throw rotten tomatoes.”

   “That’s tomorrow,” Dan says. He stifles a yawn, checking his phone. He had time to take a nap, but he doesn’t think Chris would agree with the idea.

    “Are you lot going home for break?” PJ asks.

   “I am,” Phil says. There’s no enthusiasm to his words and Dan frowns, giving him a sideways glance.

   “Does that mean you’ll need some entertainment over the holidays?” he asks.

   Phil smiles. “I think some entertainment would be nice.”

   “I’ll also be at home doing nothing,” Dan says. “I have a feeling the entertainment hotline might decide to give you a call.”

  He decides that Phil has the nicest eyes he’s seen, a shade of blue that Van Gogh could only dream of. He’s heard people talk about drowning in eyes before, but Phil’s are more like the sky and Dan thinks he wouldn’t mind letting the anchors snap and float away.

...

    Dan’s favorite bookstore, Ink and Quill, is only a five minute away from the school. Whenever Things become too much it’s his first place of refuge. There's a sofa nestled in front of a fireplace by which a bookshelf is crammed, and it's there he sits and contemplates the meaningless of existence.

   Tuesdays are always his least favorite days. There’s an expectation that Mondays will be bad, and Wednesdays are hump days; if you can survive the first two days you can survive the last few. Thursdays are so close to Fridays and Fridays are the day before the weekend that they’re bearable, but Tuesday serves no purpose other than lengthening the week and adding another day to the work week.

   It’s on one such Tuesday afternoon that Dan finds himself laying on the sofa with his eyes closed. Spots dance across the back of his eyelids, a pale imitation of his own northern lights. He holds the lights closer, as if by squeezing his eyes shut he can make them illuminate his mind.

  “Hey.”

   He opens his eyes, the warmth of Phil’s voice casting it’s own luminescence over the dim lightning from the fire. There’s a skylight directly overhead, and if he tilts his head at the right angle he can see the sky. The torrential downpour outside successfully blocks the sun, projecting a gloomy and melancholy air over everything else. All there is is a mass of gray, and he thinks that if oblivion was to be summed up in a color this would be it.

   “Hi,” he says, leaning against one of the armrests and crossing his legs. Phil sits on the opposite end of the sofa, mimicking his posture. Their legs are pressed together, thighs touching and calves brushing. There’s a distinct warmth to it and for once Dan doesn’t mind the contact. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “I think I’ve seen you around before,” Phil says, a smile ghosting his face. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Well enough.” Dan shrugs, trying to play the action off as nonchalant. “What about you?”

    Phil raises an eyebrow, as if to call him out on the complete falsity of his response. “Fine,” he answers, the challenge in his voice palpable.

    Dan can’t remember the last time someone paid enough attention to notice the difference between sincerity and empty words. It’s nice--but that still doesn’t mean he’s going to sob into Phil’s shoulder and unload the weight of his problems. “What are you doing here?”

  He’s afraid the question comes off as brusque, but Phil doesn’t show any outward signs of offense. “I was submitting my application,” the boy says.

  “For what?”

  “Exchange program and mentorship,” Phil says, eyes lighting up. “In California.”

    Something ugly has begun to take root. “When would it be?”

    “The next three years. I’d finish my degree there.”

    “A transfer essentially?” Dan asks. He’s not sure why it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, but it does and he can’t breathe.

    “You could look at it that way,” Phil acknowledges. “I doubt they’ll accept me, but I figured there was nothing to lose in trying.”

    “I hope they accept you,” Dan says, even though no, he really hopes they don’t. He’s aware he’s being incredibly selfish and that there’s no logic to his thinking, but he can’t force himself past the idea of university without Phil.

  “Thanks Dan. You’ll be the first person I’ll tell once I hear something.” Phil gives him an expectant look. “What brings you here?”

   “I like it here,” Dan says. “I usually come here on Tuesdays and think about Things.”

   “Things?”

    “How nothing matters in the end.” He means his words to come off as sarcastic, but he doesn't think he's successful. 

    “What do you mean?”

    Dan shrinks into the sofa. “I was just kidding,” he says. “Never mind.”

    “Well, if you do want to talk about the end of the world I’m always here.”

   Dan tries not to read into that last part too deeply. Phil is still looking at him a little too closely, and he changes the subject. “When are you going home?”

  “Tonight. When are you?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Dan says. He pushes up his sleeve, glancing at his watch. “I should go and pack. I hope your trip goes well.”

   “Thanks, you too,” Phil says. “Should I keep an ear out for the hotline?”

   “I think you should,” Dan smiles. He shrugs his coat on, rising to his feet. “I’ll see you next year.”

   Phil nods. “Happy Christmas and New Year,” he says. There’s a brief hesitation before he pulls Dan into a hug, letting go almost immediately. Dan thinks he can make out the ghost of a blush on the boy’s face as he opens the door.

   The hug was nicer than he remembers hugs being, and he can’t remember the last time he was disappointed for physical contact to end. Hugs, he comes to the conclusion, should be given more often.

...

     His aunt’s house is always too much of something. Too much noise, too much smalltalk, too much of the same questions and answers over and over again until he finds the quietest corner that he can and retreats. Everyone from his grandparents to cousins to family friends crowd the already cramped space of the living room, spilling out into the dining room and even upstairs.

   It’s impossible to not feel claustrophobic. He’s found that if he spends enough time buried in other people that the walls feel like they’re closing in. There’s no escape from the endless conversation and observation, and in a way it reminds him of school. Always under a microscope, where each and every movement and word is subject to dissection and offense.

    After answering yet another question about uni good, fine, yes, no, Dan slips down to the basement in the hopes that he might find it at least relatively empty. Because the universe hates him, two of his cousins are battling to the death with light sabers and knocking over every piece of furniture in the process. He lets the door slam behind him, leaving before he can be blamed for any of the destruction.

   The upstairs is too loud and too chaotic for any semblance of solitude, and after giving the downstairs a final check he votes for going outside. He’s heard there’s something called grass. From the first floor there are two ways outside--a sliding glass door that leads to the porch and the front door connected to the kitchen.

    The porch door is the least mobbed, and he begins to make his way over. A poke to the back of his neck and a demand to join a card game puts a temporary halt to his escape, and he makes up a lie about needing to get a drink of water before making a run for it. Dan’s not sure if it’s a failure of memory or something else, but he doesn’t remember family reunions ever being quite this bad. The door slides open easily enough, and he steps outside.

   The sky is clear for the most part, and a slight chill sends a puff of condensation into the air every time he exhales. His decision to not bring a coat is one that he’s now regretting, but it’s not worth going back inside to grab it. The wooden slats of the porch are damp and cold to the touch, and he steps off and settles in the grass. The walls aren’t enough to mute the noise, although they make it relatively bearable.

   He closes his eyes, attempting to return his breathing to a somewhat regular pace. A quiet buzzing interrupts his train of thought, and he cracks open an eyelid. He fumbles for his phone, clumsily swiping without bothering to check the caller I.D. “Hello?”

   “Hey.”

  The smile that crosses Dan’s face at Phil’s greeting feels ridiculous, and he’s glad the dark and solitude conceal the expression from analyzation. “Enjoying your festivities?”

    “Not particularly. You?”

   “No. Merry Christmas.” There’s no enthusiasm in Phil’s statement, and there’s even less in Dan’s reply.

   “You too. How’s break been?”

   “I’m actually looking forward to starting school again which I think says a lot.”

   “Is it really that bad?” Dan asks.

   “I might be slightly dramatic,” Phil says. “Family gatherings were never really my favorite thing, but it could always be worse. How’re you?”

   “About the same as you. At least on campus there’s somewhere to hide that’s not outside.”

   “After we get back you should come over,” Phil says, the statement slightly distorted over the sudden influx of noise. “I still have to give you your present.

   “Sure, sounds like a plan.” Dan agrees. He neglects to mention that Phil’s gift is still in the development stages.

  “What's your favorite color?”

  “Blue,” Dan says. “Like the sky. You?”

  “Purple. Like an aubergine.” The static of a loud crash cuts through Phil’s next phrase.

  “What did you say?”

   “I have to go, sorry,” Phil says. “My little sister almost set the table cloth on fire. I’ll talk to you later.” The lines dies before Dan can say anything in response, and he stares at his phone until the screen goes black. He would never admit it, but out of all of the presents he’s gotten so far hearing Phil’s voice is undoubtedly the best one yet.

...

  The worst part of packing all of his family in one house is the inevitable lack of sleep. Dan’s out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow, and it feels like mere seconds have passed before his eyelids are pried open. Literally.

   “Play with me!” Kat, his younger cousin, is jumping on the bed. Her fingers are millimeters away from Dan’s eyes, their attack momentarily paused.

  Dan groans, batting away her hands. He rubs his eyes, blinking a few times to ensure that nothing's broken. “What time is it?”

  Kat shrugs, blonde hair forming a mane around her face. “Time for you to wake up!”

   “I am awake.” Dan buries his face back in his pillow. “And now I'm asleep.”

  He can hear Kat’s pout, sense her arms crossing and bottom lip beginning to jut out. “Why are grown ups so boring?”

   Dan sighs, rolling over to face his cousin. “Why don't you go wake up your parents?” Normally he’d feel guilty about pawning Kat off on her parents at some some ungodly hour in the morning, but he's too tired to feel anything but exhaustion.

  “Because.” Kat begins to jump on the bed, her words falling into time with her movements. “Because because because because because--”

  “If you leave me alone I promise I’ll play with you in a few hours,” Dan coaxes. “I’ll even give you an extra cookie at lunch today.”

  Kat mulls his offer, head tilting to one side. “Okay,” she agrees, sliding off the bed. She totters towards the exit, the door slamming shut behind her. Dan lets the silence envelop him, nestling into the quiet and letting it fill his head overflowing.

    He stumbles downstairs a few hours later, showered, dressed, and hungry. His mum is at the stove, a growing plate of pancakes sitting on the counter beside her. She hums a greeting, shooting him a warning glance.

  “Touch those pancakes and you won’t be getting any,” she says threateningly, waving the spatula at him. In a competition for the best puppy dog eyes Dan would be a long ways away from the winner, but they’d always worked on his mum.

  “I won’t tell Kat,” he wheedles.

  His mum sighs, gesturing for him to open his mouth. She casts a furtive glance around the room, tossing one into the waiting trap. “You’d better not.”

  “Thanks mum,” Dan says brightly. He puts a hand over his mouth to hide his chewing. Whatever else could be said about his mum, there was no denying that she knew how to cook. He had never been a fan of family reunions, but he supposes they’re not all bad.

...

   The bus had arrived back on campus at three forty one in the morning. He’d exchanged a sleepy greeting with Chris who’d arrived the day prior before dumping his bags on the ground. He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper, beginning to brainstorm ideas for Phil’s present.

   The current beginnings of said present sits on top of his desk, unfinished and a complete disaster even four hours later. Dan stares at it for a moment, hoping that today will be the day that his telepathic abilities kick in and the gift will magically finish itself. Disappointingly, though admittedly unsurprisingly, the paper remains in shards and the cardboard in mangled sections. A quick knock breaks his concentration, and before he can say anything in response the door opens.

   “Why bother knocking if you’re going to come in anyway?” Dan asks, swiveling in his chair. Chris stands in the doorway, holding a plate of cookies and balancing a glass of milk in the other hand.

   He shoots a vaguely horrified look at Dan’s project. “The hell is that supposed to be?” The question reflects confusion and slight disgust, which Dan thinks is probably the appropriate reaction.

   “Your guess is as good as mine,” he says grimly. “It was supposed to be a book, now I honestly have no idea.” In theory his idea wasn’t completely terrible. Originally he’d wanted to write something, but he’s resorted to binding a book for Phil to write his thoughts down in and giving him a fountain pen. He’ll be the first to admit it’s not the most creative idea out there, but it’s always harder to come up with a gift for someone you care about.

   “Is that for Phil?” Chris asks. He enters the room and sits on the edge of Dan’s bed, setting the plate and glass on his desk. “Christmas present?”

   “Yeah. What are you getting PJ?”

   “Camera lens,” Chris says. “He won’t shut up about it--contrary to common belief I can take a hint.” A quiet smile steals the bite from his words, and Dan would tease him about it if he had the energy.

   “Are those for me?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the cookies.

   “No,” Chris says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I brought food all the way to your room because I thought it would be a nice centerpiece.”

   Dan grabs a cookie off the top, the chocolate burning his tongue and bursting in his mouth. He lets his eyes flutter shut, the slight bitterness of the chocolate cut by the sugar in the dough. The contrast is perfect, and he doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything so delicious. “When you asked me about moving in together I want you to know I only said yes for the food.”

   “What’s your idea?” Chris asks.

   “I wanted to bind a book for him to write his ideas in,” Dan says. “It’s kind of a mess right now.” He reaches for his duffel bag, unzipping one of the pouches and rooting around for a moment before emerging triumphantly with a wrapped parcel. “This is yours.”

   Chris shakes it experimentally. “Is it explosives? I bet it is.”

  “It’s not explosives,” Dan says. “I pay rent too.”

   Chris tears off the wrapping paper, face lighting up. “You’re kidding me.”

    “Merry Christmas.” Dan’s almost knocked over by the enthusiasm behind the boy’s hug. He can’t help but think it’s not nearly as nice as Phil’s. “Everyone was really uncreative this year and we all saved up. Trust me, it’s a completely selfish gift. I’m tired of hearing you complain about your old laptop all of the time.”

    “Thank you. Your gift’s coming,” Chris says, straightening. “Shipping hates me.” He points to Phil’s present. “I think you should try hot gluing the fabric to the cover instead,” he suggests. “It’ll hold better.”

   “That’s actually a good idea,” Dan says.

   “I’m full of them,” Chris moves towards the door, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s why you love me.”

   “I’ll have to ask PJ’s opinion on that one.”

   “Only if you let me ask Phil’s.” He ducks the glue stick Dan throws in his general direction, his laughter following him down the hall.

[moonnightyoongi]

apartment block stars

pairing: reader x jungkook

word count: 2,882 

genre: fluff, lil bit of angst, a dash of smut maybe ;) (later on,, this is an intro!)

description: it all started with a guitar, a late night and a balcony.

Even when you were younger you would find yourself lost in the stars, in the constellations they made, the way they aligned, they way they would scatter and make a perfectly weird shape. Your mother had always told you that one day you would shine bright like a star for everyone to see; nowadays she looked at you like you had fallen from the lowest branch on a small tree and managed to break your leg. Maybe somewhere in an alternate universe, you were a different you, a more successful one that didn’t bust tables at a diner till 5am and then return home to a boyfriend who was grumpy and always telling you to take a day shift so he could spend some time with you. Maybe one day he would find out that you didn’t need to cover Nayeon because her kid had well passed the teething stage (at least three years ago), but he never fully listened to you anyway.

“What are you doing?” his voice asks.

You turned your head to look at the tired boy as he rubbed his eyes and smiled weakly, “Nothing Kihyun, go back to bed.”

“Have you just got in?”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“You’re early,” he says.

“The shifts are changing,” you mumble, “I finish at 3 instead now.”

“We’ll have some time together,” he says.

You look at him and sit up from your lying down position, “Go to bed baby, you have work in a few hours.”

“I can sit for a few minutes,” he says shuffling over and sitting down next to you. You smile softly at him as you wrap the blanket you had brought out with you around you both.

“You’ll moan at me in the morning.”

“It’ll make a change from you moaning at me,” he says.

“Your alarm goes off at six,” you laugh.

“It’s not my fault you stroll in at 5:30,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh running your hands through your hair.

“You work hard,” Kihyun says.

You look at him, “What did you break?”

“I didn’t break anything,” he says rolling his eyes, “I, I just thought you needed to hear that.”

You did need to hear it. Kihyun, all his friends, and even all of yours were always making fun of you for ‘not working hard’, telling you that serving drunk people at 4AM wasn’t difficult. It was easy to shut them up by saying that it was hard work having to mop up the vomit and trying to decipher their drunk mumbling of whether they want pancakes or waffles. Oh, and having to remind them that you can’t just throw a cheeky splash of vodka into their coffee.

“Thanks,” you say.

“I didn’t get to catch you before you left for work,” Kihyun says.

“Here it is,” you say.

Kihyun rolls his eyes as he looks at your linked hands, “There’s a work business trip.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“For how long?”

“Two weeks.”

“What? Where?” you frown.

“America,” he sighs.

“Why are you going?”

“I was told I had to.”

“Told or asked?” you ask him.

“I was asked and I said yes.”

You scoff and look at the sky, somewhere someone else was looking at the stars with happy thoughts.

You were not one of them tonight.

“You didn’t think to consult me?” you mumble.

“It’s good for my career,” he says.

You look at him and for a second you want to be angry at him. Angry that he had left it to the last second to tell you, angry that he was going to leave you for two weeks with the bitch next door who likes to fuck really loud and really fucking slow to piss everyone off who complained.

“I understand,” you mumble looking at your hands, “I’d go too.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “You know my rule, if it doesn’t better the future for both of us then I don’t do it.”

“I know,” you smile looking out at the city lights; they were slowly turning off as the sun started to rise and for once you sighed. You missed not having to run home out of fear; you missed strolling in at 5pm from your job and meeting Kihyun in the elevator, you missed being able to eat dinner with him instead of leaving a sticky note on the microwave.

“You okay?” Kihyun asks.

“When did I become such a disappointment?” you ask.

“You’re not a disappointment.”

“Yes I am, I work in a diner – my mum prefers to tell people I’m unemployed.”

“That’s because your mum doesn’t realise how demanding customer service is, especially for you since you hate people,” he sighs. You laugh and look back at the skyline,

“Are all dreamers like this?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says, “But behind every dreamer there is a realist.”

“Let me guess, you’re my realist?” you ask.

“Yes,” he smiles, “Everyday I wake up making sure that I do enough to keep my job so that you can keep dreaming.”

That’s not fair. He was working his ass off all the time just so you could keep your dream as a writer – whereas you hadn’t even wrote anything in four weeks. Was it going to hurt when the bubble finally popped? Would you be left in a strange state of numbness when reality finally sunk in that you weren’t going to write a book and become a famous novelist? That things like that just don’t happen to waitresses that bust their ass from night till morning? Instead you would probably give up, settle for an easy office job somewhere and live your life that way. Live your life with Kihyun, where you two would work to death just to pay the shitty, too expensive bill on a studio apartment.

“Life’s not fair,” you sigh.

“Please not this again,” Kihyun begs.

“We have to work our asses off just to afford this shitty, too expensive apartment with loud next door neighbours who like to have shitty sex,” you snap, “And we can kiss goodbye to having adult things like marriages and kids, we can’t afford them!”

“We had this conversation last week,” Kihyun says.

“It’s true!”

“We’re 23 Y/N; we’re not having kids for a long time.”

“What if I wanted one now?” you ask.

“I’d ask you when we’d find the time to fuck since we’re always working weird hours,” he replies.

You pull a face and look out again with a sigh, “Life’s unfair.”

“It treats other’s better than some,” Kihyun sighs, “It’s the way it works.”

“You make your own luck,” you say.

“Can whoever is having an existential crisis please have it indoors!” a loud voice shouts from further up the building.

You look at Kihyun and giggle, “Sorry!”

“Life’s a bitch and then you die! Welcome to the real world!” they shout before a slam is heard to signal they had shut their door or window.

“You heard the person, let’s go inside,” Kihyun laughs.

“Okay,” you mumble following him in, “Kihyun?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Do you think I’ll ever wake up?”

“You’re not asleep.”

“I mean, do you ever think I’ll stop dreaming? Like, one day I’ll wake up and I’ll realise that I’m not going to be this hit writer? That I am just a stupid dreamer like your friends always say?”

“Ignore my friends.”

“I can’t.”

He walks towards you and smiles widely, “They come from money, they don’t understand hard work and they don’t have to dream. They just need to ask their parents and they get it.”

“I want rich parents,” you groan.

“Me too,” Kihyun says, “That way we’d be able to sound proof our room.”

“The dream,” you laugh following him into the bedroom, “I’ll book tomorrow off, that way I can see you go.”

“I’d like that, a lot,” he smiles.

“Two weeks will fly by.”

“They will!”

“I’m going to miss you,” you sigh.

“Think of all the sticky notes we’re going to save,” he jokes.

“You’re not funny,” you say laugh slightly.

“It’ll be over in no time baby,” he smiles.

“I know,” you say with a big smile.

**

Saying goodbye was hard, but returning home to hear your neighbour fucking someone was harder. Normally Kihyun would help you bang on the wall and you two would fall into fits of laughter as sh tried to scream louder thinking it was a competition. It would be sad if you did it now. Maybe you should have told work you would come in after you said goodbye to Kihyun, at least that way you wouldn’t be mopping in the kitchen hearing distant moans that are being loud on purpose.

“We need a new apartment,” you mumble putting your head on the kitchen table. You let out a deep sigh as you got comfortable and stared at the painting Kihyun had hung on the wall. He had painted it when he was in college, that’s how the two of you met. He was the art kid that judged people while wearing sandals and you were the writer that he kept judging. It wasn’t until you walked into him and he saw your illustrations next to your writing that he stopped judging and took a proper look at you. It was good for a while, he would paint and you would write – then one day he told you he got an office job and he just stopped painting and drawing all together. It was sad to see him stop doing what he loved just so he could survive. Maybe that’s why he worked so hard for the both of you, just so you wouldn’t feel the way he felt, so you wouldn’t give up just like he had done. He had failed and he didn’t want to see you fail too. It was sweet of him, you just wished you could get off your ass and write but nothing came to you. Sweet confessions of two lovers made you groan and want to throw in a cheating scandal or a SURPRISE he’s your exes best friend and that goes against bro code. It was pathetic. In college you would write for hours, days sometimes. Kihyun would complain when he woke up and saw you typing like an idiot while staring at the wall next to you, he told you it was really bad that you had memorised the keyboard so your fingers automatically knew where the buttons where. You had laughed and told him he was an idiot, while still typing quicker than he ever could.

How much longer could you think this way? How much longer could you work in that diner? How much longer could you keep disappointing your mother? Fuck, when she found out you were going to do creative writing she begged you on her knees to stop being a fucking idiot and do law instead. Part of you hoped that she was glad you hadn’t after seeing her friend’s daughter practically destroy herself (and then give up at the last minute). You didn’t know how long you had stared at the painting on the wall, but all you knew was that it had distracted you enough to forget your annoying neighbour and for you to fall asleep.

It was hour later when you finally woke up, and it was because you could hear strumming of a guitar and a soft voice coming from somewhere in the building. That was the one downside of the building, you could think that a sound came from next door when in actual fact it came from an apartment four floors up. You groaned as you got up from dining room chair to walk to the balcony, it was late and that meant one thing – stars. It would feel strange to watch them and not have Kihyun complain it was late, or that you had come home late. You expected the guitar and soft voice to be completely gone when you stepped out, but you were completely surprised to hear that it had gotten louder. Normally you would shout and tell them to shut up, but you found it oddly relaxing to lie down and look at the stars as whoever sang quietly to themselves. Surely it meant they were outside on their balcony too, but when you looked up and down you were met with nothing, and mainly concrete. Whoever it was, you didn’t want them to stop, in fact you wanted to bottle them up and have them sing you to sleep each night. You wanted a miniature version of them that you could carry around and listen to when you felt angry, anxious, useless.

Kihyun used to sing to you when you were both in college, but that was another thing he had decided to stop when real life hit him smack in the face. You secretly missed the way his voice would crack when he got a little nervous and/or a little embarrassed. Where had that Kihyun gone? Now you had alone time it was all you could think about, where had it gone? He couldn’t have just changed overnight, surely apart of him must miss picking up paint brushes or holding you close and singing the stupid spider song that made you laugh so much when you were stressed. How had reality hit him that hard? Who had pointed it out to him? Was it his shitty friend he refused to get rid off? They were always saying stupid things, talking about how he was wasting his time being with a dreamer when he could be with a girl who made twice what you made in a year. It was hard to not act like it was true sometimes, maybe he would be better with a girl who earned a lot of money – someone who didn’t really on him.

You let out a loud sigh and look at your hands, not even the stars could distract you from your brain running wild.

“Are you okay?” a voice whispers, the singing had stopped and all that was left was a bitter silence.

“Who asked that?” you ask narrowing your eyes and looking out at the skyline, as if it would be someone far out there.

“Er, call me guitar boy,” the voice replies.

“Guitar boy?”

“Yes?” he asks.

You smile and look at your hands, “You’re a good player.”

“Thanks,” he pauses, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m just over thinking.”

“Fuck, don’t do that,” he laughs.

“Where are you?” you ask.

“On my balcony.”

“What floor?”

“I’m not about to tell a strange my floor number.”

“Touché,” you say nodding your head.

“What about you?”

“On my balcony.”

“To over think?”

“To look at the stars,” you reply.

“I love the stars,” he says.

“Me too.”

“I like to play guitar and look at them.”

“I like to just look at them.”

“And over think,” he jokes making you laugh slightly. You smile and let out a quiet sigh, surely he had to be close as his voice was barely a whisper.

“Why haven’t you played guitar before?” you ask.

“My other guitar broke; I had to save up to fix it.”

“Hard times,” you say.

“You’re telling me, we live in this shitty block don’t we?”

You laugh, “That’s true.”

“It’s got a good view though.”

“It does, it’s just a shame about the car break ins,” you joke. He laughs and you smile widely.

“What can I call you?” he asks.

“What?”

“Well, I’m Guitar Boy so what are you?”

“Call me,” you pause, “Constellation.”

“What’s your favourite?”

“Cassiopeia.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh.

“I’ll call you Cassiopeia,” he says.

“Thanks,” you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, “Cassiopeia.”

“Hm?” you hum.

“I’m going to bed; do you have a request for one last song?”

“Surprise me.”

“I don’t know that one,” he jokes.

“You’re funny.”

“The dryness in your voice tells me that you’re lying.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Either way, I’ll accept it. I am hysterical,” he says.

You smile and look up at the stars once more, “Twinkle Twinkle.”

“Fucks sake,” he whispers, “Fine.”

You laugh and relax into the wall as he starts to strum the chords, “Twinkle twinkle little star,” you both begin to sing before you start laughing.

“Can you please just reveal your apartment number so she can visit you and you can sing twinkle twinkle inside!” a voice shouts, a voice that sounded oddly the same as the one the night before.

“Sorry!” you both shout.

“Fuck sake, one night it’s an existential crisis and the next its Twinkle Twinkle, what’s next?” they grumble before the door/window is shut once more.

“This apartment block is so grumpy,” you mumble.

“I know right,” Guitar boy agrees.

“I’m going to bed,” you say.

“Me too. Same time tomorrow?” he asks.

You look at the time on your watch and smile, “I’ll just be getting in from work.”

“I’ll make sure to be playing 9 till 5,” he jokes.

“Very funny.”

“What about Work Bitch by Britney Spears?” he offers.

“Reveal your floor number so I can kick your ass,” you demand jokingly.

“Maybe another time,” he says, “Goodnight Cassiopeia.”

“Goodnight Guitar Boy,” you smile as you stepped into your apartment.

masterlist | ask

a/n: an anon asked for a heartbreaking jungkook series so im gonna deliver but add a bit of fluff because why not

[todaydreambelieversfic]

Author Spotlight: ItsNotEasyBeingQueen Day 4

Day 4:  Recs!

Oh, where to begin???  There are SO many wonderful fics out there that I cannot possibly reference them all. What’s funny is that every fic I’ve listed below is quite long – and I’m mostly a one-shot writer.  I am not sure what that says about me!  

Rec #1 – “Callaway Place” by @sunshineoptimismandangels https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791888?view_full_work=true https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12265808/1/Callaway-Place

Such an AMAZING piece of writing.  Take out the names “Kurt” and “Blaine” and this fic stands as a work of completely original fiction, perfectly suitable to be published as a novel or to be made into a movie.  Kurt and Blaine meet in a very unusual way as children, then find one another again as adults, becoming ensnared in a world of magic, mystery, and mortal danger.  I can recall stopping whatever I was doing to read each chapter as soon as it was posted.  This story is riveting from start to finish.  I wish I was as talented and creative as this author. You needn’t look much further than the Prologue to get drawn in:

The numb feeling in his chest was morphing into something else, not the steady fear he’d been running on, but something strong, something driving – it was morphing into anger. He walked up the old creaky stairs to the third floor, breath coming a little faster.

Blaine stood in the middle of the large open room, his muscles tense and his body trembling from head to toe. He clenched his jaw and balled his fist staring resolutely at the tall full length mirror in front of him. The twining vines of its frame radiating with a burning light, the glass heaving inward and out like the lung of a living creature. The only mirror in the house not broken.

All Blaine had ever wanted was to be rid of this thing, to run as far away from it as he possibly could. Now, he was staring it down like an enemy he was about to meet on the battlefield. Every instinct he had was telling him to run, to flee, to leave this place behind him for good. Instead, he took a step closer. And another. And another.

There were a myriad of small golden lights floating on the other side of the glass, swirling and swarming around calling to him. It wasn’t necessary; he didn’t need an enchantment to know what he had to do. At this point he’d do anything. He reached out an unsteady hand towards the glass, pressing his fingers and then his whole palm against it. The glass was warm and pulsing, and it had a give to it in a way that glass really shouldn’t. Blaine shuddered and closed his eyes, drawing on all the courage he had. Then, he opened his eyes and pressed his hand harder against the glass; his hand started to sink in, like moving through thick mud.

Blaine wanted to scream, but he stuffed it down, pushing forward until the mirror had engulfed his arm up to the elbow. Blaine cleared his throat trying to sound steady, “I’m coming Kurt,” he promised and then took a step forward, the mirror pulling him through to the other side.

 Rec #2 – “Heartstone” by @sunshineoptimismandangels

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124506?view_full_work=true

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11309971/1/Heartstone

Yes, I realize I’m dedicating two of my recs to the same author, but you asked for my favorite stories, and it just so happens that she penned two of them.   (Don’t complain too much – I tried picking two others from memory and realized both were her stories, too.  Apparently, I have a fanfic type.  I’m choosing fics by two other authors, though, to spread the love.) Again, this fic has a supernatural element, and the author creates a completely unique world into which she deposits Kurt and Blaine.  Under a curse meant to spare his life, Blaine endeavors for decades to recover that which would restore his humanity.  Fate has, unbeknownst to either man, tied Kurt and Blaine together in a tale of mystery and fearful creatures that seek to destroy Blaine.  Seriously – stop reading my drivel and go read this story.

I had a terrible time choosing an excerpt to post here.  I think this gives you a good idea of the quality and tenor of the writing without giving away too much plot:

Blaine lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for his alarm to go off. He tilted his head, finding images in the fibers of the ceiling paint, a face, a castle…

 A monster.

Blaine shut his eyes to rid his mind of the images of a fanged creature staring down at him; his alarm clock went off, and even though he'd been waiting for it, it made his heart rate spike as he sat straight up in bed and slammed his palm on the alarm to shut it up. He'd been having nightmares again, worse than usual, his mind dredging up the most evil of his memories, red eyes glaring at him in the dark and screams of pain.

 Blaine got up from his bed, swallowing deeply, and walked over to the mirror that hung above his dresser. He moved it to the side to reveal the safe in the wall and worked the combination until it opened. Inside, was the source of his nightmares; they'd gotten worse since he traded Felix for this vial. He pulled it out and held it in his hand for a moment, the heat inside warming him a little, but still making him shiver. He put the vial down on his dresser top and went to get ready for the day.

 He'd had the vial for a few weeks now but hadn't done anything with it. He told himself that it was because he didn't have everything he needed for the ritual yet, which was true. It was also true that Blaine hadn't been trying very hard to get what he needed. That changed today, though; he had an appointment late that afternoon to get the piece he needed in order to finally use the heartstone remains. He should be excited, elated even, but he couldn't muster it.

 Mostly he felt… worried. Worried about what he would find out, worried about where the new information he gained would lead him. Away from New York? Towards facing the truths that have been chasing him most of his life? Away from Kurt? The thought of Kurt surprised him and he pinched the bridge of his nose trying to concentrate. He chided himself; he couldn't give up on what he'd been working towards almost his whole life just because of a pretty boy with a pretty smile that made Blaine feel… made Blaine feel for the first time in too long.

 Blaine stared at the clothes hanging in his closet while wearing only the jeans he'd slipped on after his shower. He never thought much about what he wore, but today he wanted to look nice, at least as nice as he could; he was probably seeing Kurt this afternoon and he didn't know when he'd see him again after the ritual. Blaine sighed; all of his clothes were various shades of black and gray and when did he become so boring? He ended up picking out a sweater that could conceivably be considered navy, layered with a crisp gray button up underneath, and resigned himself to looking as put together as he could.

 On his way out, he grabbed the vial and stuck it in his coat pocket. He wasn't foolish enough to leave it behind. He kept it in the safe at night and on his person at all other times. He may hate what it was and what it represented, but he knew he needed it. It felt heavy in his pocket, like it was dragging his whole body down. The more Blaine thought about it, the more he wasn't sure he should even meet up with Kurt today; wouldn't it be better just to fade from Kurt's life like he'd never been there? That thought made his chest unexpectedly tight.

 Kurt was the first friend he'd allowed himself in some time, he wasn't sure why'd he'd made the exception for Kurt, but he had. He considered Kurt a friend and the thought of him warmed Blaine's cold world. If he'd been someone else maybe he'd let himself have more than friendship with Kurt. He was smart, and attractive and inconceivably patient with Blaine. Still, it was a moot point now, now that Blaine was going to perform this ritual life was going to change. It had to.

 He'd have one last cup of cinnamon coffee with Kurt and then close that chapter of his life. He could do that. Blaine gulped as the cold wind picked-up outside. He could do that, right?

 Rec #3: I Won’t Let You Down by Mrs Criss 2012

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10671690/1/I-Won-t-Let-You-Down

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259336?view_full_work=true

Another favorite author whose work I admire is Mrs Criss 2012.  “I Won’t Let You Down” is a beautiful, emotional, often angsty romance between an older (age 27) Kurt and younger (age 16) Blaine.  Before you get potentially turned off by the age difference, let me assure you, this is a fic about true love and compassion and finding out that the person you’re meant to be with might surprise you.  The age difference is thoroughly discussed and is a logical part of the story.  Blaine’s family moves in across the street from Burt Hummel.  Kurt, who lives in New York, comes for a visit, but is a hardened version of the boy he used to be.  However, the young, unhappy boy across the road is just the person to make Kurt become the best version of himself again.  It takes a loooong time to get there, and Kurt’s horribly maddening sometimes, and Burt is quite the watchdog papa bear protector – of Blaine – but it’s all so very worth it.

This excerpt may be a spoiler (so sue me), but it’s one of the best first (well, technically, second, but you have to read it to understand that) kiss scenes ever.

"That was your first kiss?" Kurt asks, stricken.

Blaine doesn't speak but gives a small nod, looking down at his shoes as the rain runs from his hair.

"Oh Blaine," Kurt says sadly. "You...I...I'm..." He is fully intending to apologize, but when Blaine looks up, pain and anguish painted across his face, Kurt is overcome. Surging forward, he closes the gap between them and claims Blaine's mouth in a hungry kiss. The feel of Blaine's wet hair sliding through his fingers only makes him press their bodies closer together, and then suddenly Blaine is kissing back in spite of himself, his hands fisting the front of Kurt's sweater and tugging him unfathomably closer still. The feel of their lips together is better than either could have ever imagined, and every ounce of frustration, anger and desire manifests itself in a kiss which neither ever wants to end. 

The initial passion gives way to deep longing, and the kiss becomes romantic and loving. Tentatively, Kurt dares to taste with his tongue and when Blaine moans softly in his throat and opens his mouth wider, Kurt feels himself growing hard immediately. They keep kissing, right there on the corner of Blaine's driveway in the pouring rain, with Kurt's hands framing Blaine's face tenderly until eventually they slow. Even then they are both reluctant to part, dropping sweet kisses to each other's lips as gradually Blaine allows an ear splitting grin to take over his face. 

"You have no idea how desperately I've wanted to do that," Kurt whispers, his eyes still closed as he presses his forehead against Blaine's. "I just..." He goes back in for more and Blaine responds willingly, his hands on the small of Kurt's back this time, pushing their groins together. It becomes Kurt's turn to whimper, and his soft groan is immediately swallowed by Blaine who runs his tongue into Kurt's mouth once more. This time, when they break it is to fall into a deep, long hug, and yes, Blaine does fit as perfectly as Kurt hoped he would.

He holds him tight and allows himself to be held in return, noticing how although Blaine might be young, and relatively small, he is manly and firm against him, and just the feel of Blaine's arms around him make him feel safe and secure.

Rec #4 – Angel in a Red Vest by @dontbefanci

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143186?view_full_work=true

I just read this on a recommendation from another reader and I was blown away. Blaine is a firefighter who meets Kurt, a volunteer disaster responder.  It’s masterfully written, romantic, and utterly heartbreaking at times – and I read the whole 100k+ fic in two days.  (My eyes may never be the same, but it was totally worth it.)  It’s all so good and hard to parse up, but here’s a little early scene to whet your appetite:

“Is, um…is there something else I can do for you?”

 “Yes.” A blush crept up Blaine’s face as he smiled, his eyes darting away from Kurt’s gaze and back again. “Kurt, I actually came by for another reason.”

 “Oh?” Kurt tilted his head in question unable to hide his grin. Not only had Chief remembered his name, but the way he said it, as though it curled in his mouth like a ribbon of candy. Kur…t.

 “I was wondering…if you would like to join me for dinner one night this week.”

 Their eyes locked and Kurt no longer had to worry about hiding the hitches in his breath. He completely forgot how to breathe. But, he found his voice, if not his ability to speak properly. “Sure. That would…yes. I’d…I’d like that.” Smooth, Hummel.

 “Good. I’ll um…I need a way to contact you?”

 “Oh. That might help.”

 They exchanged numbers, through their phones and Blaine pocketed his as he stood pausing in the frame of Kurt’s office door, another blush sweeping over his cheeks. “So. I’ll call soon?”

 “That would be great. And, come back by. I know Dot wants to meet you.”

 Blaine’s stance stiffened, zippering back up into Chief mode and he smiled tightly. “Will do.” He nodded and winked and disappeared out the door as swiftly as he’d come in.

 And Kurt? Well, Kurt let out a whoosh of air, breathing properly for the first time in about ten minutes. “Oh. Mygod.”

 He stared at his desk, the papers on it, his to-do list over and over again, not able to start on anything, irritated with his school boy behavior. Really now. It’s a date. You have dates. You even have dates with handsome men. What IS your problem?

And he couldn’t answer even himself; his face remaining heated and flushed until he finally pulled himself out and it and focused on his volunteer email list to announce an upcoming training.

And then the door opened again.

It was Blaine, rushed and unable to make eye contact.

“Hello again.”

“Yeah. Hi. So. I wimped out just like I promised I wouldn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Look. I’m not normally this ridiculous, but um…” He stepped in all the way and leaned against the door frame, nervous and wide-eyed. “You entrance me, Kurt Hummel. What are you doing for lunch today?”

Kurt laughed. Hot and adorable was an amazing combination on any man and here it was, standing right in front of him. “I was just going to grab something up the road. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes. Please.”

“So, is this in addition to or instead of…?”

Blaine started to answer and stopped, measuring his words. “In addition? I just didn’t want to put it off and talk myself out of it.”

“Is that a habit of yours? Talking to yourself?”

“No. Yes? Probably.” Blaine blushed and stopped talking, looking away. He started and stopped two more times, finally giving up.

“Well.” Kurt looked down at his desk, collecting his thoughts that had scattered all over the place. “Shall I pick you up at the station?”

“No. My invitation; my ride.”

Kurt nodded and smiled. He’s even adorably polite. I might die. “Noon is fine.”

“I’ll…I’ll see you then.” Blaine grabbed for the door handle, missed, tried again and succeeded. “And, I won’t bother you again until then. Promise.”

“You’re most definitely not a bother.”

[andie--jackson]

Self Para ll Self Reflection

*this is set super far in the future, after the divorce and the drip to Mexico. its also stupid long so please feel free to skip right past it. i just needed to write something for me really. 

“For fucks sake...” Andie grumbled under her breath, huffing as she pushed herself away from the desk that she had been sitting in for the past...however many hours. All of her coworkers had left long ago and yet here she was with a red pen in hand and the janitorial crew cleaning up the mess from the day. Well, all of the mess except for the papers that were scattered along her desk and the few that had been crumbled up completely and thrown across the small space in the general direction of a trash can.  Running her hands through her now much shorter hair, Andie glanced up at the wall clock- 11:58 PM. What the hell am I doing here? What am I doing with my life? 

They were questions that she had been asking herself a lot recently. Except- she knew the answer. She knew why she was still sitting in that office all alone working so diligently on something that she didn’t care about. She was scared. Scared because her entire world was changing and the only thing that was sure was that she was going to come out the other side a completely new person. And who isn’t afraid of change? 

Standing up Andie looked around at the office that she had been working in for the past few years. She had worked so hard to get to this point and for what? To have a boss that constantly harassed her? To be unappreciated in the amount of work put in? To stay up all night finishing a project only to be told she wasn’t good enough and never would be? To be told over and over that she’d never be successful...but if she had any hope of being it- it would be in this awful office? What did it even mean to be successful? Enough was enough. 

It was 3 A.M. by the time Andie was finally leaving the office. Her hair was tied back and being held by a pen, her work clothes had turned into the oversized t-shirt and shorts she kept in the back of her car for emergencies, and she had packed up every single last piece of her life from that office along the way. Slamming the Jeep door shut for the last time, she leaned against it as if it might all come tumbling out and she would never be able to put it all back again. “Thank you for your help, Sylvester,” Andie sighed, looking over at the man that she had grown to really like over the years. With watery eyes she pulled him into a hug, “You’re doing the right thing, Andie. Promise you won’t forget little ole’ me while you live out your purpose?” his voice was soft- kind, and choked up, “I could never forget about you. Can you leave this on his desk for me? Please?” she asked, pushing back the few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she held out a piece of paper for the man to leave on her bosses desk to find in the morning. And with that- she closed that chapter of her life and drove to the newest place she called home to continue her journey of starting over. 

The apartment wasn’t the best, it was in a seedy area and she was a little afraid to leave once it was dark- but it was home for the time being. Unlocking the door she was greeted by Maxes excited wiggles and a space she had yet to have the time to decorate. After the divorce, she had packed up her things and barely had time to drop them off before she was off again- chopping her long locks into a shoulder-length bob, dancing the night away in clubs with people she wouldn’t remember the next day, and eventually? Dropping everything to disappear into Mexico with a few men she had only met the night before. It was a whirlwind but somehow, she came back home and all her baggage was still there waiting for her. So she was picking up the pieces. Slowly. One at a time. But she was doing it. 

The next few weeks Andie disappeared in a new way. For once in her whole life, she disappeared into herself- desperate to find the answers she had been dreading to even think of her whole life. What does success mean to me? Who am I? Who do I want to be? What matters the most to me in the world? What would make me feel as if I’ve had the best, most fulfilling life imaginable?

She spent her mornings waking up before the sun so she could push her sleepy body into a wetsuit and out into the water on her board. Her days were spent outside in the park, or in her apartment with all the windows open, or in a coffee shop surrounded by creative people and the aroma of coffee- writing. The nights were the hardest, it was the time that she couldn’t hide from the fact that she was alone once again. Hunter wasn’t there. Bella wasn’t crawling into bed after a nightmare. It was just her, her night terrors, and Max once again. So, she spent the nights writing more often than sleeping. Her messy script scrawled out across multiple notebooks, random pieces of scrap paper, and post-its. But by the end of it she came out knowing three things:

1. She was going to be okay. She was strong and she had fought too hard to be where she was to not appreciate every single moment. Whatever life had to throw at her, she would be able to handle...even if it took her a while, eventually, she would come out of it a better person due to the adversity. 

2. Success is measured by happiness and that’s it. As long as what she was doing was bringing happiness to herself or the people around her- that was what it meant to be successful. Being creative, writing, drinking beers with her brother, movie nights with Kore, playing with the babies, joking around with Reed, trying Rissas newest recipes...those were the only things that mattered in the long run- time spent with her family. 

3. She didn’t need to carry the weight of the world by herself. She could let it go now. The trauma, the mistakes, the hurt- none of it brought happiness, none of it made her feel okay...and it was time to set it down. 

Holding five large stacks of paper close to her chest, Andie spent the day carefully hand delivering the packages. Driving to each house, setting them carefully on the front porch, and ringing the bell before going to the next. It felt ritualistic, the process. She started with Hunter, tears fell down her cheeks as she sat the thing she held most dear to her heart on the porch he used to welcome her home and kiss her goodbye on. Next, Alistair. She was the most nervous for this one...he was the most likely to be home- and the least likely to know anything about what she was about to share with him. Her hands shook as she set the package down and rang the doorbell. It was the only one she couldn’t stop checking the rearview mirror for as she drove away- waiting to see if he might come outside and pick it up. After that, it was to the Jackson’s house. It was the only one she didn’t just leave outside- instead, she walked right in and handed over the single most terrifying thing she had ever done in her life, and trusted that they would support her in her journey. The last stop was the hardest. She walked slowly, trying to stop her hands from trembling as she slid it across the counter and the woman on receiving end gave her a cheerful smile, “Oh! How exciting! Is this the final draft?” the girl asked, overstepping the boundary that Andie wasn’t aware she had set. Nodding her head, she struggled to find the words- after all, they were all sitting right there on the table between them. “Yes...the final draft of my book.”

[helvexit]

online presence and work experience

during Employability fortnight, I was already in the midst of updating my online presence. I ditched wordpress as i found it very clunky and not very logical for Wix like we used for our group blog for 501. I wanted something speedy, ready to present to possible employers asap. This is why I opted for a free website hosting platform like wix as i knew this was somewhat of a temporary setup before i can properly invest some time in a neat site of my own. So helvexit.wixsite.com/portfolio has been up and functional since sometime in January, having been finessed and altered based of feedback from tutors and peers. Alongside this, I rewrote my CV which desperately needed some updating and based off the sessions we had one CVs during the fortnight, made it more coherent to being a creative practitioner.

My plan to contact employers and such to gain work experience or a placement over the summer kind of took the back burner after a few attempts as i began getting more invested in live briefs and projects. I find it an extremely demoralising and little-rewarding process to go through as it feels like slamming my head against a brick wall. I’ve been through the tedious experience before coming to uni when i was looking for an apprenticeship and so i think my brain has very little motivation to push for it as it seems so fruitless. And then when COVID came around i pretty much gave up. I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me to get away from doing it but I would much prefer opportunities to come up more organically. That being said one of the design firms i contacted has gotten back saying they currently wouldn’t be able to do anything in this situation but would organise a Q&A style online call to still asks questions and gain insight into how they function.

I have also been doing small logo and design projects for friends and family to keep me going and build my body of work and to support them of course. There may also be an opportunity of paid work from a freelance mate of mine for a project he doesn’t have the time to complete which is exciting. I have also been thinking as everything is online now, I could get on fiverr and at least get some stuff there as I know Damon is doing that quite successfully.

As other online presence is concerned, I have www.instagram.com/helvexit_design for most of my work and keeping people up to date. And then mostly as just somewhere for me to dump my photography and have an online gallery is www.instagram.com/grisaille_35mm/

Also ever since Steven’s workshop, I have been toying with a few ideas to create an ‘identity’ for myself. I have always found this extremely hard to do. Summing up my personality and who i am as a creative practitioner is really hard to do in just one image. I’ve spent the better part of like 4-5 years doing it. It always changes and I’m never happy with it. So this time I tried to just create something quick (as I’ve discovered recently that sometimes when I simply let myself create without putting thought into, I am really content with the results) using basic shapes and don’t attach too much meaning to them immediately. 

this is the result. I played around with some doodles I’d drawn in a little sketch book of mine. I can now in retrospect probably try to explain why I made these choices and the meaning behind them. The circle represents the dot to ‘i’ in my name symbolising myself. The triangular shapes depict mountains, back in Switzerland where i grew up, where my roots are as an practitioner and a person. (I’m finding it hard to use the word ‘home’ in reference to there at the moment since I really don’t know where my home is at the moment) The dividing line represents a fracture or a separation, not sure what of yet. The angular momentum to the right hints to a movement forward, towards progression and change. Again everything is proportional to each other, playing of maths (which is weird because i find maths hard to wrap my head around yet know of it’s importance and presence in the human and natural world so I nearly feel obliged to remain attached to it).

See. I can make things work: from a few shapes i made haphazardly in a few minutes, I can attach meaning and ultimately see myself in it.