#so anyways they did it perfectly I do live in a rural place so it makes sense they'd know how to

[italktogodbut]

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

“Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[cowboyjen68]

hi jen!! i wanted to let you know how much your advice means to me as a young butch as well as ask you for some advice.

i live in a tight-knit community and go to a small school. because my school is so small, we are allowed to attend prom all four years of high school. i didn't go my freshman and sophomore year despite my friends encouragement. last year i got asked by a girl as well and i turned her down. im in my junior year now and i still don't want to go. the thing is that there's this girl (who i like) who wants me to go. i feel like she likes me too and i don't want to disappoint her.

my avoidance to prom has to do with the whole dressing up fancy deal. ive avoided the first two years because i am uncomfortable wearing dresses and am worried about what people would think of me if i wore not-a-dress. the area where i live isn't super homophobic, but i know plenty of people that are. some people i know and care about are a little bit homophobic too. im worried about what people would think of me if i dressed unconventionally like that. people talk, as im sure you know. im worried about being discredited or belittled for my sexuality. i know some other queer teens, but it feels like such a jump to show up to prom in a suit. especially since im not explicitly out to many people yet and am generally cautious/apprehensive.

im considering wearing a dress to prom so i can show up with this girl, even though i know ill be uncomfortable. shes a nice girl and would probably encourage me to wear what i want if she knew how i felt, same with my friends.

i don't know if it's worth it though. i am scared of what people will think about me. im a year and a half away from college and living my best, queerest life. i could just wait. but i also don't want to regret not going and missing out on those classic teen experiences.

my heads swimming and id love your input!! i really admire you and want to be like you someday. thanks <3

I remember high school. I too went to a small rural school back in the 1980's. IT is not as easy as some people say. Those of us older often forget that high school is bascially a "closed" society that we are stuck in for all for years so every decision seems to hold weight. Doing something out of step with the "status quo" can have consequences we have to deal with for whatever is left of our 4 years.

SO older lesbians telling youngers to "do what you want" or "just be yourself" or "you have it so much easier than I (we) did" is not only unhelpful it can be detrimental at best and dangerous at worst. Some of my generation look back to high school through the lens of time and experience that think we "would have been more brave" and that NOW young lesbians have the freedom to do as they please because public sentiment and laws have turned in our favor. High school is just not that different now and laws and adult reactions do not apply.

SO here is my advice. Go with your crush. But ask her to go with you to pick an outfit. You do not have to wear a dress. It is wholly acceptable for women to wear suits. You don't have to wear a generic man's tux or suit, they are often ill fitting and boxy anyway, especially on women. GO to a tux or suit shop that sells women's styles and fit. You don't have to do the man's style with the tie and suit coat. A pair of black slacks, a white button down, can be pleated (woman's style) or not and a nice black vest without a tie is perfectly nice formal wear for a high school prom. To dress it up you can wear a colored vest either solid or with a pattern.

Any decent place that sells or rents formal wear will have women cut suits. Rental is not cheap but it is worth spending your hard earn bucks to look fabulous and feel confident. Check in your local suit shops, even department stores like JC Penneys or similar. Many offer women's suits and even have a list of local tailors that can do a fitting.

You might have to compromise a bit on what you would really like to wear but I think giving a little on the outfit and still having a style you feel okay in will be a small price to pay to spend a wonderful night out with her.

[rokhal]

Resident Evil 7 Biohazard whatever is an amazing portrait of the impact of methamphetamine in the rural US. Everything from the textures to the design of the environment to the story itself.

I guess, as an American, I should be used to living in a media panopticon where everyone knows how we talk and what our houses look like, but the Baker estate is not like a movie set or an influencer's home. There's real clutter, the kind that accumulates when you haven't moved cross-country in over ten years and your kids have grown up: kennels for cats who've lived and died, tool boxes, riding mowers, plastic bags full of plastic bags, pool toys. The age of the house shows, not just in the dated wallpaper and cupboards, but in the glimpses we get through the crumbling walls of construction techniques that have been obsolete for eighty years. The pegboard as wallboard. The cludged-together, homeowner-grade repairs of railings and staircases. The immersion is total. This could be any rural home I've ever visited whose owners lost the battle against entropy.

Houses on cheap land can get big. Real big. The Bakers appear to have inherited a plantation house, but there's a lot more on the property. It's perfectly normal to build a mother-in-law apartment and park a trailer in your backyard when you've got the land. Code inspector? What code inspector? You don't need no stinkin' permits. You're not gonna sell, and if you do, the buyer can figure out what they want to do with your wobbly deck.

You own the house and you've got no neighbors to complain about their property values. If you've got money, you trick out your garage. Get a lift. Get a hoist. Fuck it, dig an oil pit. You can do it! That's your man shed. Build some racks out of hog panel and hang all your tools in some haphazard arrangement that makes sense only to you. You've got to be your own mechanic if you want to keep your vehicles running.

Then there's the Baker family themselves. They were nice. Normal. Probably voted for Trump, but so did everyone they know. Of course they'd take pity on a nice white woman and a little girl begging for shelter, they're not animals. Jack was ex-military and pushy; Marguerite was socialized to stand by him whether or not he treated her well; Lucas was an amoral genius who couldn't make it in the real world; Zoe was at least prepared to fly the nest but either she'd tried and had to retreat, or she hadn't quite gotten up the nerve.

By the time we meet them, Jack and Marguerite are caricatures of themselves. Violent, paranoid, impulsive, irrational, moody. They can barely even function. Marguerite's kitchen is swarming with cockroaches and flies, and Jack's outbursts destroy the furniture and walls of the home that he was once proud of. The areas where Jack and Marguerite live are heaped with garbage bags, dimly lit, and filthy.

Every time we meet Lucas, he's wired as hell. Lucas seems hyperfunctional, constructing his elaborate traps and escape rooms, except he can't make the details come together. He lines the walls of his areas with white plastic sheeting, but the mold creeps through the seams anyway. He doesn't bother to change the codes on his padlocks. He toys with Ethan and banks on Ethan being too dumb to shove a bomb through a conveniently placed hole in the wall.

Zoe can still be reasoned with, but we see her fears in her diary. We see the tinfoil taped over her window to block the light.

Lucas, Jack, and Marguerite exhibit behavioral changes consistent with early, chronic, and long-term methamphetamine abuse. Their house bears the same marks of frenetic remodeling, ambitious yet ill-conceived design choices, repetitive behaviors, and neglect that scar so many homes occupied by meth addicts.

Meth is like other drugs in that it rewires the brain to promote drug-seeking behavior, but it also over time causes the brain to atrophy. Signs resembling dementia or schizophrenia eventually occur, accompanied by cognitive decline, and much of this is permanent. It becomes harder for the user to fight back against their dependency (against Eveline) the longer they use the drug (the deeper Eveline's mold works into their bodies).

This is an American horror story, it's a familiar American horror story, and it's a love letter to our country from Japan that seems to me to say, "We're so sorry about what you're going through. Here, shoot some mold-monsters about it."

[possum-erotica]

hi, im sorry if this is strange, and if you would prefer to not answer that is completely understandable. I came across your page recently and really appreciated your overall vibe. I’m transmasc, going by he/him and hadn’t really explored the possibility of connecting with the term ‘dyke’ or ‘butch’ until recently when I had processed my transition a bit more and really seen through others that is was a possibility. I guess I wanted to ask you what connected you to your identifiers and what they mean to you. Again i’m sorry for the strange question from a stranger, I live in a rural area of a red state so I don’t have many queer friends that I can speak to about certain things.

hi!! no worries at all!

there is really no right answer when it comes to labels lol. everyone has a truly singular experience in this life and labels will never perfectly encapsulate anyone or any feeling…and honestly that’s true for any word but i’m not about to go on a linguistics rant rn lol

I came to lesbianism before i realized my transness and being a lesbian has always felt like a description of my gender as well as sexuality. in my understanding, even for lesbians who are cis, existing outside of a heteronormative schema removes one from heteronormative gender ideas. the womanhood of lesbians is simply different than the womanhood of straight women, so when i came to understand my transness i already felt like whatever womanhood i did claim was already some fringe dyke pseudo-woman-ness.

and as we all know life is ever changing and no one is exempt from its ebbs and flows, so i still have days when i feel conflicted. i have days when i feel that the things i call myself take away from each other, but i always come back to the history of transness within lesbian life. we are not the first person to struggle with these things and we will certainly not be the last.

anyway i hope that wasn’t too all over the place!! feel free to ask more if anything didn’t make sense. i’ve been in rural red states before and sometimes it can help to find groups online, i used to go to a queer ya support group right after i came out bc i was stuck in my home town for some time and had no community to talk to. whatever that’s me done rambling

do what feels right. try things. change your mind and try again.

[peanutbutterandawesome]

@dykefruit

Oh yeah, they absolutely can! When I was a kid, I lived in a house where scorpions were almost more common than house flies! (Barely an exaggeration)

And they were the small, hard to see ones too!

I say this, though, just to confirm your point about them being pretty common. In all my life, I've never actually been stung by one! Which I think is kinda the main wildlife point everyone's trying to make here?

With wild creatures from bugs, to "prey" animals, to predators, so long as you're aware of what you're doing, you're actually pretty safe!

But the thing about that is that everywhere is different! Even though I saw scorpions all the time, it's because they were a common part of my life that I knew how to handle them! (And most of them are nocturnal anyway) my parents taught me what to and not to do, how to safely handle them, and all that fancy some such.

But of course, not just with scorpions either! It included everything from smaller creatures like snakes and Gila Monsters, to bigger things like cattle and bears and coyotes!

It's all a product of your environment, really, what creatures you're prepared for.

But like @derinthescarletpescatarian said, "Snakes is Snakes!" Everywhere is gonna have some overlap. And in that case, you're automatically kinda prepared for those.

Even still, around wild animals, "safe" is never "safe enough", you get it? You could think you're perfectly prepared, but because it's a wild creature, something could always happen! Whether it's an animal you're used to or not!

Example "A": when I was a kid, there was some kind of wasp/bee/yellow-jacket/ItWasSomethingYellowWithAStinger/whatever. Regardless, I was aware it was there, I knew to avoid it. It was something I'd seen plenty of times before. But something happened, and I got stung.

Right between my eyes, too! I still have a small scar there if you know where to look!

But it was no-ones fault that it happened. It just did.

But then there's Example "B": when I was older than I was for the "bee" sting, but still a kid, my family went to the beach. We were all pretty safety conscious, and I remember we had like a half-hour debriefing about beach safety for the umpteenth time, and it was stingray season, so even though they shouldn't have been near the specific beach we were at, we were especially warned about them and what to do.

(You might already be able to guess where this is going)

The point is, I was in the water doing the shuffle-walk thing because the entire time, I was worried about stingrays.

And you know what happened?

I got stung anyway.

It was just on the side of my foot, but at the time, it felt like I was bit by a small shark.

And I still have the scar where the barbs went in! So that's two for two now!

With the stingray, I can't be certain I did everything correctly to prove it wasn't my fault. But whether it was or wasn't, the outcome was the same!

(That's where I'll stop those examples)

The point of all that just being: "Don't be dumb around wildlife, but be prepared for something dumb to happen!"

Because I was prepared for both, one was common to me and the other one not so much, but I got, got either way!

Nature is awesome! There are so many vast and varied parts of the world with creatures you can't find anywhere else, but the ones that are the same just prove that we're all connected whether we like it or not!

So if I went to rural Australia? I'd "probably?" be in a bit more "danger" than if I went back to rural Arizona. But only because I'm more used to the creatures living here!

I'd never go out of my way to harrass wildlife in either place, Australia or Arizona, because that's just dangerous anywhere! But I know better how to deal with a couple scorpions in the shower than I do a snake in the toilet!

I've been rambling, haven't I? Well, regardless, everyone respect wildlife, and have a wonderful day/night! 🎉

It's been an honor! 🫡

As an Australian I love the whole "Australia is a death trap full of vicious deadly animals" cultural myth. Every place has some deadly animals in it who will fuck you over if you don't understand them; we're not more dangerous than anywhere else. BUT we get to look badarse by existing when people pretend we are. No downsides.

[dzpenumbra]

5/14/23

Today was a weird one, but very good overall. I woke up to a confirmation email that my Night-blooming Jasmine cuttings got here today. That was really quick. So I planned a grocery order, which I had planned anyway, and synced picking up my groceries and my package after my yoga.

The groceries were super quick and with minimal problems, thank god. I got the cutting and everything too. So I unpacked the cutting and... I was entirely planning on growing this cutting in water... like the pothos cuttings I have... And I pull this cutting out and it's like at least a foot long with a big bundle of roots wrapped in a wet paper towel at the bottom. And I go into a... minor panic. See... I was planning to get everything started and all that... then order pots and soil for long-term planting after. So... I didn't actually have any soil to plant this thing!

I found a safe place for it to chill, showered and thought it over. And I ended up going with a plan B. Just fucking do the order from Lowe's today. And I came to that conclusion and placed that order at 7 PM. XD So... I ended up juggling dinner and picking up this Instacart delivery from a woman who couldn't figure my building out. But I got a few plant pots, a bag of potting soil, a box fan (because it's gonna start getting hot pretty soon), some hangers to get my jackets and shit off the floor, and a Raven ZZ plant for my bedroom. So I spent a good chunk of the evening getting all of my plants watered and transplanted and tended to.

When I first moved, I had this vision of just completely filling this place with plants. And for the entire winter, the most I had was one succulent plant... and then an orchid from the grocery store. And now... now the succulents are so big they can barely fit in their pot, the orchid is on its last flower of its bloom cycle (apparently they go into a growth/hibernation cycle next), I have a cherry tomato that's growing like a weed and a chili plant that's not far behind, I have 5 green onion bulbs from the grocery store that are re-growing, I have 6 different breeds of pothos doing great in the propagation tubes, the moss I collected from the national park (which will be transplanted into a big terracotta dish I got specifically for it), the night-blooming jasmine and the raven ZZ. I've got some damn plants now. XD It's pretty awesome, I'm happy about it, I feel like the place is really starting to take shape, starting to feel like a real home. I'm glad I stopped waiting for tables and just started setting shit up. I keep having this idea of getting logs... like cut tree stumps? I hope that makes sense, like sections of tree trunks that you'll see when people are cutting up a downed tree to get it out of the path of a trail. I really want to grab one of those and haul it back and use it as a table. But I know that shit is heavy as fuck. I know that's gonna be a whole thing. I could bring my cart thing with me, but like... people will definitely look funny at a weird bearded man pulling a cart with a tree stump in it out of the woods. And honestly, though it does make me a little insecure, I don't even really mind people thinking it's weird... I just don't wanna piss anyone off. People get mad over really weird and stupid shit, and I can see someone getting pissed off that I'm like... "stealing" a stump or something? I don't know. I still really like the concept, though.

Maybe I'll see if my brother and my sister in law know of anyone in their area that has had a tree cut recently, see if I can get them to hook me up. It's a long-shot, but... I mean... they live in a more rural area.

I didn't really get any work at all done today. Today was sorta home-focused. I did a little skull polishing, started sketching a really basic design on the skull and the pencil applies perfectly. I'm still... stuck.

I tried to do some research on Egyptian Anubis cults, and the rituals and symbology that came with that. Google is an absolute trash-fire when it comes to searching for stuff like that. I really do like and appreciate how modern spiritualism pays homage to ancient spiritual practices and keeps their worship alive in present day. At a conceptual level, I really do appreciate that, and I think it's a very important part of our society; and I think the way people mock these new-age beliefs and practices is really uncalled for and prejudiced, regardless of how normalized that prejudice has become. But... XD But I can't find any fucking credible sources based on actual historical record of what people back then were doing for funerary ceremony and Anubis worship. And he was one of the most prominently worshipped gods. (At least... that's our current theory... based on the majority of our historical record coming from... royal tombs... so... the data might be a tad bit biased there...) The only shit I see is general information in encyclopedias (like wikipedia and Britannica), tourist sites, and modern spiritual concoctions/interpretations. And I'm looking for a source that has a bit more... concrete archaeological grounding. And... I don't even know why, honestly. It just pulled me.

Egyptian spiritualism has been calling me a lot lately. I've always kinda... breezed past it. I have studied it in passing throughout my entire life, since I was a child. I used to be able to read hieroglyphs! But Greek spiritualism resonated with me more, and I always got distracted and wandered off. Then I found sci-fi... oh boy... And then art history brought me back, I remember like... at least 1/3 of my art history class back in college was devoted entirely to Egypt. And I remember a lot of it. The shift from pre-Dynastic to Dynastic, the changes in motifs and perspective, the eventual shift from polytheism to monotheism... and then returning back? I remember a lot considering it was like... almost 15 years ago. But art history doesn't go into the narrative of these stories. And it doesn't go into the lifestyle and practices of the people at the time. That's more... archaeology, spirituality and anthropology. Art history kinda... was more of an analysis of the byproducts of these practices.

I have a pull towards doing a big Anubis piece, in the same art style as temple art, with ink on cloth. Big, too, like... ideally like 2'x4', at least? A wall hanging, like a tapestry. With Anubis and the scales where he's weighing the heart against the weight of the feather of Maat. It's calling me pretty strong. And I guess... today I tried to funnel that call into... creative research on funerary practice and symbology surrounding Anubis. To find some way to connect it to the goat skull project, because I still need some form of death/rebirth-related symbology to incorporate into the design. Because... I don't want to lose my focus on it and wander to another piece that I currently lack the materials to work on. I came really close to ordering 10+ yards of muslin cloth and just having it on hand... then I can actually do giant hanging tapestries for my big wall... and have some left over for the Anubis piece. But... it felt like overkill and a big jump in a different direction. My logic to justify the purchase was... if I could get a clothing iron from this distributer too. But... they didn't sell irons... so... I kinda scrapped the idea. RIP. I have no idea where else I'm going to get cloth like that locally, I don't know if Instacart works with any places that would sell it locally. Maybe I just need to get up early one day, rent the car and go out for a day on the town and have the fabric be part of that.

So yeah... I guess I'm... kinda stalling out on the occult symbology around ancient death and funerary themes. Because I'm trying to go super ancient. And I have a really good primary source, I have it open right now... but... okay, let me just lay it all out right now. "When you support my work with this tier for at least two months you will receive an early bird copy of my Sourcebook, and an early bird copy of the Catalogue after 4 months of support." And I can't just outright buy either of these because they're still being written. So... I either need to find another source... and this woman is the most archaeologically accurate source I have found by leaps and bounds, she is a legit expert in this field... or I have to wait 4 fucking months to even start the design phase. Plus, that's 4 months at $17.50/month so... that's gonna add up. Meanwhile... you think I have people subbing to me? For less money? It's messy as fuck. And stressful. It would be so much easier if I could just... buy a book and be done with it. I would 100% get a fuck ton of value out of a book like that. It's exactly what I'm looking for.

So... I guess I'm just gonna leave the plan at this. I'm going to just reserve a space on the skull where the third eye would be, a circle or whatever, and leave it empty and save it for some kind of TBD design. And the rest? I'll do ornamentation. And I'll carve it and dye it. And maybe I'll subscribe in the meantime, and maybe see if I can shoot her a message and explain the situation, idk... that feels really forward and I really struggle doing shit like that. I hate cold-calling people, I always feel like a telemarketer... Then, when the book comes out, I'll have a space ready for a centerpiece to be added... and then maybe I can paint on other symbols in other spaces as well after-the-fact. That's something, right? That'll keep this project from stalling out. Because right now it's really well polished and I think it's pretty much good for the design phase. And the research just has me stalled out.

In the meantime, there's always wooden beads. And I keep fucking forgetting that, and I really need to leave a clearly visible reminder on that one. Making bead necklaces and bracelets is not that fuckin hard, and I can do one-of-a-kind hand-painted shit, and I can multitask as I do it.

Cool, got some creative momentum heading into tomorrow. Guess I just kinda got stuck there. That's such a huge creative block for me, when I get really gung-ho about a project and all my attention and devotion is put on it and... I hit a snag that has me waiting... and then I lose all my momentum.

So yeah, just to keep things organized for myself... The skull is going into pencil sketch design phase, ornamentation and such, with a section reserved for future symbolic design. Then I'm free to carve and ink the pencil stuff, and it can sit in the windowsill and sun-bleach until the book comes out. The Anubis piece will be ink on cloth, I can get the cloth from that distributer I got the cloth paint from... and I can get some blank shirts too while I'm at it... hmm... I have to start a new abstract ink piece. And wooden beads for jewelry. That should be plenty to keep me working.

And motherfuckers wanna act like this ain't a fucking real job. I'm juggling 4 projects at once... alone... and it's not really that out-of-the-norm. Let's see them do one of these projects, then we'll talk. XD

The city is waking up. The birds at least. Chatty fuckers. That's my cue to head to bed.

[haxyr3]

This is not related with Russian but i wonder something. As far as i remember from your posts, i remember that you live in Canada. I also plan to move a country whose native language is English (Some part of Canada speaks French but i try to mean mostly.) was it hard for you to get used to Canada? Does understanding native people become hard at first but later it gets easier and you understand everything they say? And during a conversation, if there is a word which you do not know, what did you do? Thank youu!!

Hi! Yes, you are right, I moved to Canada more than ten years ago.

Canada takes pride in being bilingual, but actual bilingualism varies from one place to another. Quebec is, of course, francophone, but also some places in Ontario where French settlements of farmers were the first European. Some of our neighbors are francophone, even though the are not Québécois. In the Atlantic Canada, bilingualism is also quite common, as I've heard.

My French leaves much to be desired, so I didn't pick Quebec for immigration. But my English was relatively good before I moved to Canada. I had about 10 years of experience working in an international company where English was the only spoken language, so it wasn't difficult for me to get used to Canadian English.

The very first thing that I learned in Canada was that English is not a mother-tongue for a lot of people here. There are immigrants from all over the world, so I had to train my ear for Punjabi accent, Pakistani accent, Mandarin accent, Serbian accent (that was easy, it's like Russian!), as much much more. In large cities, it is not uncommon to hear broken English, it is rather expected.

When we moved to the rural area, it was a bit difficult at first. I could understand that charming farmer accent, but since non-native speakers are not common in this area, people had hard times understanding me -- they are not used to understand different accents. Anyway, it is not bad at all. I discuss politics with my dear neighbors, and we understand each other just fine now. After some practice.

Very often, even native English speakers don't understand each other. It is perfectly normal to say "Sorry, could you repeat that" or "What's that" This is what they say to each other all the time! (and to me, too, of course!) Everyday vocabulary is much smaller than you think, so don't worry about not knowing enough words. Learn how people communicate by observing their conversations. You have to become a great listener in order to become a good speaker.

Good luck with your immigration plans!

[spicycreativity]

Howl - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Fic Content Warnings: Blood, injury, suggestive content, alcohol use

Characters: All

Pairing: Analogical, background Moceit because apparently I can't help myself

Add'l Notes: dw if you don't know what a loup-garou is or how the lore works; all is explained in the story / Have I ever been to Louisiana? No 💕Did I write an entire story set in rural-ish Cajun Louisiana anyway because I hate myself? Yes 💕 / If you're from Louisiana and noticed any screw-ups, pls correct me so I can fix it

It also comes with a playlist! For ambience, not necessarily for the lyrics

Summary:

Two things happen to Virgil Landry on Halloween:

1) Logan Doucet, his longtime friend and slightly-less-longtime crush, asks him out

2) He becomes cursed to spend his nights as a half-man, half-wolf monster: a loup-garou

Despite his new affliction, Virgil strives for normalcy all the way up until he can't anymore and everything falls apart.

The floorboards creaked in their familiar pattern as Virgil paced over them, his feet sliding around awkwardly in his over-the-knee boots. He was supposed to meet Logan alone in an hour, an hour! His heart thumped painfully under his ribs. What did Logan want?

Virgil yanked his phone out of his pocket to re-read the message for the 85th time, ignoring a few new messages in his assorted group chats:

Logan: If it's not inconvenient, could you meet me early at the Plaza tonight? Maybe 6:30?

Virgil: yeah sure 

Virgil: everything OK?

Logan: Yes :-)

What did it mean? Was everything okay? Or was Logan just lying to make him feel better? Because if so, it wasn't working. Virgil ran his hands through his hair, careful not to smudge his makeup. It had taken him an hour and a half to perfect his vampire makeup in the mirror and he didn't want to risk messing it up.

With a sigh that turned into a groan, Virgil threw himself down on his couch. It made the walls rattle, nearly displacing a few trinkets on his crappy, rickety shelves. He heard a tell-tale scrape above his head and knew that his favorite painting had gone crooked again. God, this place was a wreck-- Just like Virgil. He made a mental note to ask Patton for help patching up the leaky roof. It was as good a time as any, as they were well out of rainy season, but it did seem a little rude. What was he even supposed to say? Hey, Patton, I know carpentry is literally what you do for a living, but could you help me for free since I'm broke and sad? Thanks, bud. Yeah, right. He sighed again and tugged at his medallion, a rusted old thing with a glass gem in the center. He had picked it up from a thrift store months earlier in anticipation of Halloween, but maybe he should have made some effort to restore it. It smelled strongly of rust and decay and felt terrible between his fingers, all oily and sticky.

So far, the only saving grace of the day was that it wasn't raining now. Virgil had spent his workday in silent anxiety, eyeing the storm clouds through the shop window and rubbing a small piece of sunstone between his thumb and forefinger. It seemed to have worked, as the clouds had dispersed a little and allowed the watery light of the autumn sun to peek through.

Virgil's phone lit up with a few more messages in his group chats: Roman having hysterics over some detail of his costume, Janus and Remus discussing how to avoid the small army of toddlers that always ran rampant at the Halloween parade. Virgil ignored them all. He was in no mood to be friendly, would probably snap at them. Logan hadn't said anything since his message to Virgil, which he had presumably sent on his lunch break. The question haunted Virgil, that great unknown lurking behind him and instilling a fear that no ghost ever could: What did Logan want?

Virgil set his phone down and leaned forward, heaving a sigh that turned into a yawn. Great. Whatever. That meant he was on the verge of hyperventilating, his breathing already irregular. Damn it, Logan knew better than to leave him hanging like this! They'd known each other for so long and he'd always been more perceptive to Virgil's needs than the others.

Especially lately… They'd been spending more time alone, and Virgil couldn't deny the sweet, warm giddiness that enveloped him every time they were alone together. First meetings were always his favorite, seeing Logan's face light up with a smile. He hadn't dared to think that Logan might feel the same way, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his fantasies on a leash. Worst-case scenarios and best-case scenarios dueled in his head: Logan kissing him, Logan telling him they couldn't be friends anymore, Logan confessing, Logan announcing that he had some incurable disease.

Virgil grabbed his phone and jumped to his feet. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit here and torture himself. He would just leave now. He would rather arrive freakishly early than face another minute of this self-inflicted torment 

He double and triple checked he had his wallet and his plastic fangs, which he

was planning on putting on later. The medallion bounced against his exposed chest as he walked and he wondered briefly if it might be more trouble than it was worth. He could always swap it out for one of his pendants, maybe amethyst to calm his nerves. But it looked so good against his skin, falling perfectly in the deep V of his flowy white poet shirt. Unlike his other necklaces, it screamed vampire. And Janus would tease him if he caught Virgil wearing a subpar costume, and then Roman would join in, and Remus, and it would turn into a whole thing . He could wear the stupid medallion for one night.

 -

Virgil regretted this decision as soon as he got his moped going. Even at its 30 mph crawl, the heavy necklace bounced against his chest in a maddening rhythm. At least it was distracting. Every time he started to worry about Logan, the erratic tap-tap-tap of cold metal on his chest brought him back to Earth.

It was a long ride into town down a windy country road. He hugged the shoulder as best as he could despite the lack of traffic; Virgil's neighbors were few, but they all liked to take corners at frighteningly high speeds. The one person who did drive by honked at him and flashed their lights. Virgil's heart dropped and he nearly flipped them off before he realized that they liked his costume. It occurred to him then that he must look pretty absurd: A vampire riding a purple moped, cape fluttering on the wind.

Upon reaching the Plaza, Virgil did a few laps around downtown, smiling at the spiderwebs decorating Vaillant City Hall. Another lap revealed that empty parking spots were already becoming scarce, so Virgil pulled into one and checked his phone. Nothing from Logan. Just more hysterics from Roman, and Patton's best attempts at comfort. Virgil rolled his eyes. Maybe Roman did need some tough love. He scanned through the messages to orient himself, to make sure he didn't look dumb, and then typed out his reply.

Virgil: look, Prince Charming. 2 rolls of body glitter is more than enough. Stop freaking out

Roman: That's DOCTOR Prince Charming to you

Virgil: :*

He put his phone away, tucked his keys in his pocket, and forced himself to walk slowly toward the Plaza. He was still excruciatingly early, but maybe he could pop into a bar or grab a coffee or even swing by his work-- Oh.

There, standing by the reflecting pool with his hands in his pockets, was Logan. Virgil smiled despite his nerves and sped up. Leave it to Logan to somehow be earlier than early.

"Hey, Data," Virgil said once he was in earshot.

Logan's face lit up, and even the yellow contacts he was wearing couldn't mask the fondness in his face. "Evening, Virge," he said. His smile dropped too quickly and he kept his hands shoved in his pockets. Virgil surveyed all this with dread. Was he reading too much into it? Most definitely. Could he stop? No way.

"Everything okay?" Virgil asked, tugging at his medallion and turning his nervous gaze upon the placid waters of the reflecting pool. Great. Now he had two awesome reasons to be nervous. It was an old Vaillant legend that anyone who disturbed the waters of the pool would be cursed, and Virgil did not mess with curses. He usually took pains to avoid the Plaza, even if it meant he had to take the long way to work.

"Yes, Virgil," Logan said in a voice that was far too breathy. He cleared his throat. "As you know, we have been friends for a long time. I…" He paused, blinked. "I forgot what I was going to say."

"Jeeze, Lo," Virgil tried to tease. "You're making me nervous."

"But I--" Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Virgil. I had prepared something far more eloquent than what I am about to say, but I can't seem to remember it at the moment. Forgive me if this comes across as confusing."

"All good," Virgil said, making only a minimal effort to hide his confusion. The medallion was cold and oily under his fingertips, but he couldn't stop messing with it, tugging at it, rattling the chain. He needed some outlet for all this nervous energy.

"We've been spending more time alone together and I

thought-- I wanted--" Logan touched his face and Virgil realized a second later he had tried to push up his glasses, which he wasn't wearing. Oh, how cute. "Virgil, I would like to go steady with you."

A rush of vertigo smacked into Virgil with such force that he had to take a step back just to keep his balance. "Go steady?" he heard himself say. "Like-- Like, boyfriends?"

"If you are amenable to that," Logan said, furiously running his fingers over the piping on his uniform. "If not, I-- We can pretend this never--"

"Yes," Virgil interrupted. "Yes, yes, yes. Logan, I do want that."

"Oh," said Logan, his face breaking into a smile. "Good."

Virgil clenched his fist around the medallion wondering if it was too soon to ask for a kiss. He took a breath and felt something give with a quiet snap. The broken chain snaked along his neck, dragged down by the weight of the pendant. Virgil watched in silent agony as the necklace landed in the water of the reflecting pool with a quiet splash. "Shit."

"Allow me," said Logan, already in motion.

"No!" Virgil caught his hand and held it. "The curse." He realized what he had done and let go of Logan's hand.

"I don't believe in such things, Virgil, but if it's important to you, then I'll leave it."

"Thank you." Virgil stared down at the water and sighed through his nose. He'd already disturbed the water. Would it be better to leave the necklace or take it out? Littering seemed more disrespectful, he supposed. So he bent and grabbed the necklace before he could change his mind. "I'll, uh, de-curse-ify myself later."

Logan nodded, looking preoccupied. "Let me know if I can help. I might be able to repair the chain."

"Actually," said Virgil, stuffing the wet necklace into his pocket, "I was wondering if maybe, um…"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Virgil closed his eyes so he wouldn't get weirded out by Logan's contacts. He had been expecting a short kiss, sweet and chaste, but Logan's hand tightened in the loose fabric of Virgil's poet shirt and his teeth grazed Virgil's bottom lip. Fuck propriety, then; the Plaza was still fairly empty. Virgil raised a hand to grab a fistful of Logan's hair and ran his tongue along the edge of Logan's lip.

They were interrupted by a wolf whistle and golf claps. "I'll be damned." Crap. Why did it have to be Janus? He was never going to let Virgil live this down.

Virgil pulled away so fast it made pain shoot through his neck. He exhaled sharply and covered the area with his hand for all the good it would do, turning to face Janus with a blush blooming on his cheeks. "What are you supposed to be?" he asked, looking Janus up and down. Janus had always been unnecessarily private about things that really didn't matter. He had evaded all of Virgil's attempts to guess his costume, and now presented wearing an old-fashioned suit including top hat, gloves, and cane.

"Don't change the subject," said Janus, dismissing Virgil with a wave.

In true vampire fashion, Virgil snarled and bared his teeth, then remembered something. "Oh, shit, my fangs!" He dug in his pocket for them, leaving Janus to do… whatever he was going to do.

"Logan, I presume?" Janus asked. Virgil stopped in the process of sticking on one tooth, heart hammering again. Janus and Logan had never met, and they could both be… a bit much in their own ways.

Logan nodded. "Logan Doucet." He held out his hand for a shake.

Janus took it. "Thank God you didn't bother to paint your face, else Virgil would have more than smudged lipstick to contend with. You've got some on your mouth, by the way."

"Thank you," Logan said stiffly. He withdrew his hand and used it to wipe away the lipstick stain on his face. "Nice to meet you, Professor Moriarty."

Virgil's eyes darted back to Janus, who smiled. "When I'm not acting as the Napoleon of Crime, you can call me Janus. Janus Bellefontaine."

"Where's Remus?" Virgil interjected, looking around. "Didn't he ride with you?"

"He got waylaid by some angry mothers because his costume made their kids cry," Janus said, nonchalantly running a

fingertip over the brim of his hat. "He'll be along." To Logan, he said, "Virgil tells me you're an accountant."

"Yes," said Logan. 

"And you haven't killed yourself yet, so I assume you must like it."

Virgil busied himself sticking his fangs onto his canines so he wouldn't worry about the conversation at hand. A sideways glance at Logan revealed that he seemed to find the comment amusing, thank God . "I've always been good with numbers. People, less so."

"Never would have guessed," Janus said, and Virgil didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling that crooked, tight-lipped smile that might have been genuine or might have been mocking. Asshole. "Well, if you have any rich clients, send them my way, won't you? I sell nice suits to dumb men with low self-esteem and too much money and I'm always on the lookout for another rube to swindle."

"If the suits are any good, I'd be happy to," Logan said.

Satisfied that his fangs were in properly, Virgil's attention shifted suddenly to the cold, wet medallion in his pocket. Right. He was cursed. Despite his interest in the occult and the supernatural, Virgil didn't have much experience with curses. His friends weren't really the type to play around with magic (well, maybe Janus, maybe- maybe Roman) and he wasn't the kind of guy who made enemies. No one had ever cursed him before. How soon would this one take effect? Should he go home and come back? Should he hop into the bayou, makeup be damned? Did bayous even count as running water?

He was so caught up in his panic spiral that the sudden sensation of hands on his shoulders made him jump. "Fuck!"

To his surprise it was Roman, not Remus, who laughed from somewhere behind him. "What, are Logan and Janus boring you?"

Virgil looked up and flinched again. While Roman looked relatively normal in his glittery Doctor Frank-n-Furter costume, Remus, who was lurking just behind his brother, was a horrorshow of fur and face paint and fake blood. "Um…" He shook himself and noticed Patton standing a ways off, peering at Remus. Distracted, he went to introduce Patton to Remus and Janus only to learn that he and Roman had run into Remus on their way over and rescued him from a brigade of shouty young mothers.

"He's Macavity," Patton said in a tone like he was pronouncing the death of the family goldfish.

"The other Napoleon of Crime," Janus agreed. "And you are?"

"Patton Haydel!"

A pause. "I gathered that. " Janus gestured at Patton's costume, which he had also kept a secret. Virgil had been staring at it as well, trying to figure it out. Patton was wearing what appeared to be a headless bear costume, round glasses, and what might have been a cowboy hat, though Virgil wasn't 100% sure. "What are you?"

"You have to guess!" Patton said, extending his arms and backing up so everyone could get a good look at him.

Virgil stared at him, running his tongue over the edges of his plastic fangs. "I got nothin'."

Logan took a sideways step and tapped Virgil's hand. Virgil nodded, and Logan interlaced their fingers as casually as he might clock in for work. "He's Teddy Bear Roosevelt."

They all groaned. "Good work, Pat," Virgil said begrudgingly.

"You have a big wet spot on your crotch," Remus pronounced, pointing at Virgil.

Janus raised his eyebrows, turning to Virgil with undisguised schadenfreude, but Logan stepped in before anyone could say anything. "It's water. He dropped his necklace in the reflecting pool."

"Well," said Patton, "that's not good."

"You dropped something in the reflecting pool and didn't immediately run for the nearest source of running water?" Janus asked. He looked from Virgil to Logan, then to their intertwined fingers and grinned. "Ah. More pressing matters at hand?"

"Maybe it's not too late," Roman said, drumming his acrylic nails against his thigh. "We can still dump him in the bayou."

"There's alligators in there!" Virgil said. "Fuck that. You know my house is plastered with wards. I'm sure I can make it through one evening."

"Your funeral," said Remus, leering. "Let me know if your dick falls

off.

 -

Despite his friends' concern, Virgil had a wonderful evening. Logan stuck close the whole night through, and they even snuck a few kisses here and there like infatuated teenagers. Each one sent a lightning thrill down Virgil's spine and made him want a dozen more. His friends noticed in turns and either teased or cooed, but each reaction was encouraging.

Logan kissed him goodbye at the end of the night and he practically floated back to his moped. He was so caught up in his daydreams that he only remembered the curse when he caught sight of the nazar hanging on his kitchen wall. Cursing under his breath, Virgil went to his bookshelf and began to compile a few methods of curse-breaking. Did a shower count as running water? God help him, he was not getting in the bayou. Maybe he could combine methods.

A few moments later, Virgil had everything set up in the bathroom. He lit the last candle, tightened the herb sachet around his neck, and stepped into the shower. Okay, time to focus. He was washing himself free of the curse and wouldn't it be nice if Logan were here? Logan didn't believe in magic and his clear-headed confidence would undoubtedly make Virgil feel better, too-- Focus! Wash away the curse. Logan would probably help him if he asked, helping Virgil set up the crystals and making sure his candles stayed lit-- Virgil! The curse! Wash away the curse.

The bathroom smelled of candles, incense, and herbs. Almost like Virgil's workplace, except that Virgil was using lavender and his boss preferred nag champa.

He stepped out of the shower and inhaled deeply, letting the mixture of scents relax him and draw him toward sleep.

[fantasyoverreality98]

The Eternal Wanderers

Pairing: Gaius Augustine x MC (Katherine Yeon)

Summary: Over a century after defeating Rheya, the two enemies turned unlikely allies reunite for one night.

Author’s Note: I’m back on my foolishness and this was sitting unfinished in my documents, so I decided to finish it and finally post it. It took me much longer than I want to admit to write this, but anyway! Apologies in advance for any potential typos or grammatical errors, and thank you anyone who takes the time to read it!

Warnings: suggestive content, slightly nsfw

Word Count: 2,640

---

Katherine Yeon may not know much about what life had been like in the time before technology, but she had a feeling it couldn’t have been much more different than this.

As she strolled into the small pub, someone immediately caught her attention. She tensed, the presence all too familiar, even if it had been well over a hundred years.

He was here.

Clearing her throat, Katherine crossed to the bar, mumbling her order under her breath. The bartender slid a mug of ale across the counter to her. He grunted in response when she placed enough money in his hand to cover the drink with a tip included.

Thunder boomed outside, the occasional flash of lightning lighting up the otherwise dim bar. Her overactive imagination almost allowed her to believe that she’d traveled back in time.

“Need a place to stay?” A man sauntered up to her, reaching out to twirl a stand of her hair around his finger.

Katherine grabbed him by the wrist, careful not to apply too much pressure. Human bones were impossibly fragile. It was a fact that had taken her several decades to learn.

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling the hood of her cloak down.

The man’s throat bobbed, and he struggled against her grip. When she refused to let go, a quiet whimper slipped past his lips, and the smell of fear lingered in the air.

After another ten seconds, Katherine decided she’d done enough, and released the man with a smile. “Next time, you should ask permission before you try to touch a woman. Or anyone. We’re not living in the Dark Ages anymore.” She bared her teeth in a menacing grin, exposing the fangs that could tear through his flesh if she were in the mood for violence.

Luckily for the man and everyone else in the pub, she was tired.

“Ye—yes—I—” The man didn’t bother to finish his sentence before he turned and ran out into the night, the sound of his pounding footsteps echoing in her ears for a while.

“It appears you’ve grown more confident since the last time we spoke.” Although he sat across the room, her vampire senses allowed her to hear him speak.

Katherine chewed on her bottom lip as she stared out into the storm, debating whether she should face him, or if she should walk away and pretend as though none of this had ever happened.

“Come now. It would be rather rude for you to leave without saying hello, wouldn’t it, my flower?” The smugness practically dripped from his tone. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

The thud of her boots echoed in the pub as she made her way to the table in the corner. Like her, the man wore a cloak. It may not be the same one he’d worn when they parted ways so long ago, but it may as well be. He was in desperate need of updating his wardrobe.

“What are you doing here?” Katherine muttered, sliding onto the bench across the table.

A deep chuckle reverberated deep in his chest. “I could ask the same of you. Tell me, where are Adrian and Kamliah?”

“Answer my question first.”

“Last I heard, you were engaged to be married to Adrian. What happened, Katherine?”

She tucked her hands under her thighs, trying to ignore the sharp stab that went through her at the mention of a life that would never be. “It didn’t work out.”

That was the most she would tell him. The story was too long, too painful, and the past couldn’t be changed now.

Finally, the man sat up straight, hesitating a moment before pulling the hood of his cloak off to reveal a face she’d never thought she would see again.

Gaius Augustine studied her reaction, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’ve been working on redeeming myself. Does that answer satisfy you?”

Nothing had changed since they’d parted ways. He hadn’t aged a day, but then again, neither had she. Katherine didn’t believe in fate, but crossing paths with this man in the vast expanse of the world didn’t seem like mere coincidence.

“And how has that been going?” Rumors of a wanderer had plagued her in the decade she’d been traveling herself, but a small part of her hadn’t wanted to believe that it could be Gaius.

If she were honest, the smallest part of her had wished that he were dead.

And now, he sat across from her in a small European town.

“The progress is slow.” Gaius studied her from across the table, his eyes resting on her lips a moment before he looked away. “But I meant it when I said I wouldn’t let you down.”

Katherine leaned back, remembering the night she’d made the decision to spare his life. For a moment, she’d almost let Kamilah kill him.

But she knew that death was too kind for him. He deserved to live with the weight of his actions, to spend centuries trying to right his wrongs. And, if she were completely honest with herself, it would be a shame to never see the face she’d spent many nights dreaming of again.

“You know, a small part of me always liked you. Evil as you were, you were extremely charismatic. It intrigued me.” She knew that it would be wrong to act on what she was thinking, but over a hundred years had taught her plenty of things.

And one of those things was that it felt fucking great to get what she wanted.

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, reaching out to run a finger along the back of his hand. Gaius raised an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

“What is it that you want?” He revealed nothing, stoic as ever. Every muscle in his face remained perfectly still.

It was impossible to fight the grin that desperately wanted to spread across her face. She narrowed her eyes, knowing that he could hear her racing heart. “You.”

One word was all she needed to get the message across. One word had the power to turn this from a boring night into a fascinating one.

“You play a dangerous game, Katherine.” Gaius pulled his hand away from her, still looking into her eyes. “There will be no way to come back from this.”

Her stomach clenched, the idea of spending just one night with this masterpiece of a man too tempting to ignore. “I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

It had been so long since she’d felt the touch of another. She struggled to remember the last time she’d had sex and god did she ever miss it. Now, an opportunity sat right in front of her. One that wouldn’t break if she wanted to be rough.

“Are you certain?” She could see the surprise in Gaius’s eyes, mixed with eagerness. Finally, she noticed that a muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes met hers, the pupils dilated more than before.

The world grew quiet for a moment, the only sound her shaky breath before she whispered the answer.

“Yes.”

Thunder boomed immediately after her response, another flash of lightning illuminating his face as her answer sunk in. Neither of them said a word as they stood at the same time. Katherine stepped into the rain and turned to face Gaius. He tilted his head in the direction of the small inn across the dirt road.

While most of the world had grown, the technology so advanced that it still left her mind struggling to comprehend, the rural towns of Europe had failed to catch up. Most places she stayed in would have been outdated even when she was mortal.

Gaius led her to a comfy room in the inn, locking the door once they were both inside. The burst of confidence she’d felt in the pub had dwindled. Katherine fumbled over her words, now painfully aware that it was just the two of them.

This was not a casual one-night stand with a stranger. Whether she liked to admit it or not, they had a history. Maybe not a romantic one, but the past weighed heavily between the two of them.

Here was the man who had killed her. The man who had committed unspeakable crimes for thousands of years. Even being in the same room as him should horrify her.

“I—Tell me about your journeys.” Katherine knew they didn’t come here to talk, but she needed a temporary distraction.

He frowned, but paced the room and started to recount all the times he’d saved innocent people from both the supernatural and regular human cruelty. After a while, she was able to relax, letting her cloak fall to the floor.

Katherine sat in the corner of the room, watching as Gaius paced around the room and continued to talk about his adventures. He stopped talking after a while, their eyes locking from across the room. She chewed on her bottom lip, raking her gaze over his body.

One hundred and thirty years.

For a hundred and thirty years, she had dreamt of a night like this. The rain continued to fall outside, a spattering of raindrops on the window the only sound in the quiet room.

Neither of them said a word as they gravitated toward each other, calculating the other’s movements with each step. Watching, waiting, anticipating.

“Katherine—” Hearing her name on his lips ignited a desire deep inside, and Katherine closed the rest of the distance between them. She hesitated just a moment before closing her eyes and brushing her lips against his.

Gaius was a wonderful kisser, not that it surprised her. Thousands of years of experience tended to produce wonderful results.

He remained still for a second, yielding control. Katherine pulled Gaius closer, running her fingers across his cheek, taking the time to bask in the moment. After centuries, she was finally getting what she wanted. The moment on the boat replayed in her mind as she continued to kiss him.

If we’d met in another life…I think things could’ve been different.

When she reached for his cloak, Gaius took a sharp breath. He remained still as she worked at the fastenings of his clothes, running her fingers over the bare skin that was slowly revealed.

“I’ve spent the past hundred years thinking about you,” she mumbled, heat rising to her face at the confession. “About that night on the boat.” Katherine pulled back to look into his eyes, marveling in the colors reflected inside of them.

Gaius was silent for a moment, studying her face without a word. He remained perfectly still, statuesque in the dark room.

Finally, he spoke. “I must confess, the feeling is mutual.”

Katherine’s heart hammered in her chest when Gaius reached a hand up to her face, tracing the shape of her cheekbone before he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The two of them paused for several breaths, eyes roaming the others face.

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but in the next moment they were stumbling towards the bed, all grace gone. The storm raged on outside, mirroring the way Katherine felt about the entire situation. A small knot of guilt formed in the pit of her stomach when she thought about how her old friends might feel if they ever found out about this. No doubt Adrian would struggle to ever forgive her if he learned about the attraction she’d spent most of her time as a vampire trying to conceal.

Gaius ran his hands through her hair, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips when Katherine pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist, a sigh slipping past her lips as she traced the cuts of muscle on his chest.

Words were a rarity between them as they continued to undress each other, their heavy breaths filling the quiet room. She’d never felt more excited—and yet nervous—in her life.

Rain splashed against the windows of the room, mixing with the sounds of their heavy breathing as they moved against each other. Katherine had a moment where she realized the insanity of her actions, but she quickly pushed the thought deep down and shut her eyes.

This was not an encounter that would blossom into something more. Neither Gaius nor Katherine were naïve enough to believe that for even a moment. Regardless of the attraction between the two, they were still old enemies. Not even a hundred years would be enough to change that.

---

Some time later, the two of them collapsed beside each other on the bed, gasping for breath in the quiet room. Katherine stared up at the ceiling, frowning slightly at the idea of having to leave this moment in the past. She chewed on her bottom lip and listened to the storm outside for several minutes.

“Where will you go next?” she asked, trying to fill in the silence.

Gaius shifted beside her, and she could feel his eyes on her face. “I—I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps I’ll make my way east. Or west.”

Katherine nodded, pressing her lips together as she gathered the courage to meet his eyes. Memories of a night long ago entered her mind, and she fought another frown.

In another life, she would offer to go with him.

In another life, things might have been different between the two of them.

But not in this life.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Katherine said, ignoring the pang that went through her chest.

This night wasn’t meant to mean anything. It was simply an opportunity to resolve decades of unspoken connection. She kept repeating that to herself as she slowly slid out of the bed and got dressed.

Gaius made no attempt to move, watching from the bed with furrowed brows. When Katherine turned back to him, she took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say.

What could she say?

“Maybe someday we’ll meet again,” she said, refusing to look at Gaius.

There were so many words that she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the courage to speak.

I wish I could go with you.

Come find me again when you’ve worked on your redemption.

This doesn’t have to be goodbye.

Instead, she shook her head, turning to head toward the door.

“Katherine.” The sound of her name was enough to make her pause. After standing still for several breaths, she tilted her head to the side, surprised to see Gaius was standing behind her, already half dressed.

“Yes?”

Gaius tucked her hair behind her ear, his eyes on her lips. “You could stay. I—” He sighed, shaking his head instead of finishing the sentence.

The corner of her lips tugged up into a slight smile. “I think we both know that I can’t. You still have a lot of work to do.” Her smile faltered, and Katherine took a step closer, hesitating a moment before leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Before she could change her mind, Katherine turned and walked out of the room, hurrying down the path she’d taken into the town. In mere hours, the sun would rise. She needed to find shelter before then.

Far, far away from Gaius.

With one last glance back down the road, Katherine pulled her cloak tighter around her, shaking her head. It was always going to be this way. She knew that. Still, the smallest part of her heart ached.

If we’d met in another life…I think things could’ve been different.

The words echoed in her thoughts long after she’d left the town behind, once more wandering the world to fill a void that she could never fill.

[poptimus-prime]

Here is what the kids call my highly disorganized, half-baked list of stuff that could have been done with Jack to make him a better character.

@yeetmetothehell I am sorry if you are disappointed by my ideas.

“Optimus was more like...Jack.” OK…so show us that.

In my opinion...Jack seems like he was intended to be written to be almost a parallel to Orion’s journey to becoming Optimus Prime, at least how he is used in the plot. Jack is described as “smart and responsible”, which can also be read as “hardworking and responsible” and really this can be achieved in narratively using a few points, IMO:

Long hours in his room/the library studying outside of work and school. 

Filling out the background of the garage more with sketches/print outs of motorcycle blueprints (to keep the idea that Jack really wants a motorcycle and show hints of extreme dedication, but they’re kept in the garage rather than his room to metaphorically show that distance he’s put between himself and what he wants)

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too fast” (This will be discussed more later but TL;DR “I’ll handle the electric bill this month, Mom”)

Somewhat fragile work/school/life balance that Jack somehow perfectly maintained before meeting the team

Orion was very physically passive. Jack seems to be intended to be written as passive but it comes off as an apathetic reluctance that Orion doesn’t possess (Orion may not believe in violence but he clearly wasn’t unwilling to communicate his thoughts; it’s how he got the title of Prime in the first place.) However, Orion had to learn to become more outspoken over time probably, so we can keep him as being aloof/reluctant at the start of the series.

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too Fast”

It’s no secret Jack came from a nonconventional home; June is very explicitly portrayed as a single mother with a dad nowhere in the picture. However the situation surrounding Mr. Darby is unknown. The way June talks about it makes me personally feel like Jack’s dad either ran out or divorced June and doesn’t bother with his kid. Dysfunction in the family really just goddamn changes you TBH. (can confirm bc hi, I come from a dysfunctional home) Sometimes you just grow up super fast. Jack probably spent his childhood missing his mom as she worked shifts at the hospital and seeing how lonely and hurt she was. He maybe went out and got a job the first day he could and helps with smaller bills (“I’ll handle the electric bill this month.”), or maybe other expenses like groceries and his own phone bill. June probably makes enough to comfortably support her and her son, especially given her job and the cost of living in rural ass desert Nevada. But Jack still does this anyways--it’s how he copes with his issues after what happened with his dad. Doubling down and trying to be what he thinks is the bigger man because his dad couldn’t be fucked. 

This would make the disruption him letting the bots into his life creates more staggering; June doesn’t expect her son to pay bills, but the sudden change in behavior (skipping out on work) would be a cause for concern because sudden shifts like that are Usually Signs that Something is Very Wrong. Especially because Jack is usually responsible and open with his mom; he would have told her if he was gonna cut hours at work, theoretically.

Jack feels like he has to constantly put his own wants aside to contribute to his household. Even if June doesn’t force this expectation upon him, it’s a feeling that he will have, especially if he watched his dad just abandon him and June. Maybe he has resentment towards his dad for this and that is causing some anger he’s keeping tightly under wraps? And maybe the bots give him an excuse to do something he actually wants to do for once or some excitement in his life and that’s why he goes along with it? Lots of options, people!

Clothing Choices: The Hoodie™

You are going to have to deal with me being a whore for costuming choices and what they can mean. The show has a problem with the humans wearing the same shit every time they’re on screen and I’d love to rant about all of them (yeah yeah I get it saving money) but I’m focusing on Jack right now. Give Jack a hoodie 2020. A grey one or some other dull and drab color. And make him actually always wear the hood (except like in scenes where he is working bc workplace dress codes obviously) As time progresses, the drab hoodie is changed to a more vibrant color, but he still always has the hood over his head. And then, at a pivotal moment, the boy takes the hood off. (You could even throw in Miko cracking a joke about Jack actually having hair if you really wanted TBH.) Why this? The narrative is that Jack is constantly holding himself under wraps because of his self-imposed responsibilities. As he starts to become more into his own, he decides to express himself more with brighter colors, but still has some reservations. When he takes the hoodie off, that’s when he’s fully realized himself in this process and thus completes the parallel.

Actually make him interact with Optimus in a meaningful manner.

Arcee can still be his guardian in the field and I think working on strengthening their relationship is vital. But also, if you’re gonna make Jack the confidante holding the key to Vector Sigma, there actually has to be...meaningful interaction. Optimus asking Jack what he’s so engrossed in reading and Jack explaining the book he’s got with passion before shutting himself up and saying “it’s kinda dumb though” or something. And Optimus just responds “I don’t think it’s dumb, tell me more.” Coaxing him towards more self-discovery and expression. Optimus maybe sees more of his old self in Jack and starts attempting to be a quasi-paternal figure without really thinking about it because he is, after all, Dadimus. Jack maybe lashes out about how he doesn’t need Optimus to be his dad and that makes the space between them tense for a while. Eventually Jack comes to apologize and maybe there’s an important Talk.. Just a few ideas I will expand on later. I feel like forgiveness and lack thereof is a good theme--I know I was held back for a long time because of how convoluted the concept of forgiveness is with family.

The Character Arc

 So, what would Jack’s character development throughout the events of season 1 be? My basic idea for a Jack arc that mirrors Orion’s self-realization and coming into Prime-hood without being a carbon copy is essentially: 

Jack is portrayed as a responsible, hardworking, studious teenager who constantly turns down chances for fun and excitement to handle his responsibilities. Has clear dreams for after high school and for his own personal life; but he’s constantly contemplating and changing his mind about whether he will or not because he’s extremely dedicated to helping his mom and all that. However, he still gets super curious about Arcee and gets swept up by her in the Vehicon chase, and he still has whispers of courage and protects Raf during the altercation. He first tries to ditch Team Prime because he’s concerned about his responsibilities, but eventually returns because he’s drawn to the opportunity to finally go buck wild for once in his life (even if he spends his time being hesitant about everything.) His hesitancy and dedication to severe self-imposed responsibility is a result of his inability to move on from what his dad did to him and his mom; he’s under the impression that he 1) Has to forgive someone to move on, and thus 2) He cannot move on because his dad isn’t there to bother to say sorry and take on his position as Dad. In essence, he becomes less the character telling Miko to stop and more the character being pushed by Miko to be more adventurous. In lulls in action, Optimus starts to take interest in him when he notices his constant hesitance to express himself and is just being dragged along rather than going willingly. Has a conversation with him about a book Jack’s reading, which Jack attempts to shut down because it’s “dumb and childish,” but Optimus urges him to continue. The idea that June knows about Arcee as a bike and Jack explaining that he bought a motorcycle as a fixer-upper for dirt cheap can stay. (He probably still is saving up for his motorcycle.)

The longest portion, after Optimus starts interacting with Jack on a level of bonding and gently coaxing him to be himself— Jack becomes more outspoken and he’s shown as curious, analytical, quick witted, and has a deep sense of justice. Being young and craving a childhood lost to his trauma and self-imposed obligations to help his mom with running the household, he suddenly starts spending more time at the base pursuing hobbies and going on missions rather than studying and work, which concerns June. She tries to press Jack, and is met with what can be described as typical teenage headbutting that gets progressively worse. She grounds Jack after the fight, MECH takes her, the rescue happens. (That makes sense to stay in this narrative IMO.) Around this time, Optimus has effectively started becoming Jack’s own Alpha Trion—teaching him things that he’s picked up that he may feel apply to Jack. Jack interprets one of these lessons as Optimus trying to be “dad” and he’s not having it. Makes it VERY clear that he does not need a dad (“didn’t need one before and sure as fuck don’t need one now”) and definitely snaps at Optimus, which then pushes his progress in the arc closer to the end. He eventually comes back to apologize, and Optimus forgives him. He and Optimus have a heart-to-heart about one of the hardest lessons Optimus has had to learn—how to let go of the past without forgiving those who have hurt you and refuse to make amends, so that you may determine your own future. It’s very clear he’s talking about Megatron, even though he never says his name. Jack takes this lesson to heart.

His final bit of development before the hood removal thing probably happens during the events of “Rock Bottom” and reinforces that hard lesson, right when he’s faced with the option to off Megatron. Maybe there’s some taunting about how Optimus preaches softness and forgiveness too much when Jack refuses to kill him. Jack gets angry, and he’s about to fucking do it. But then he stops, takes a breath, and says “Optimus doesn’t preach forgiveness, he preaches moving on from those who refuse to move on themselves. He will never forgive you, but he’s learned to live on despite what you’ve done.” Soon after this, when Megatron comes to the base, Jack takes off his hood, stares Megatron right in the face, and says “This is not forgiveness, Megatron. Don’t you forget that.” Later, when Optimus gives him the key, he tells him something along the lines of “you have grown since we’ve met, Jack, and even though there is still a long way for you to go...” he hands Jack the key. “...Remember that even I am a work in progress.”

Anyways this is again, half-baked. And needs lots of polishing. But it’s something.

[clumsyclifford]

prompt: alex says goodnight to the horses and when he gets back inside jack has tea waiting for him made perfectly

you know i really didnt think i would write this tonight but then i did

ao3 link!

-

It’s getting chilly out, but damn it, that is not going to stop Alex. His horses are his best friends. They deserve goodnight wishes as much as anyone else. Sometimes he likes them more than his actual best friends, if only because they won’t ever tell him to stop talking about the possibility of life on another planet or eat the last Oreo but put the empty package back in the tour bus cabinet because they thought it’d be a funny prank. (Rian.) 

Horses aren’t super chatty, sure, but at least they’re not assholes.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, smiling as he walks up to the stables, where he can see Theo and Beaux. Their eyes are still open but they’ll be asleep soon. They’re like old people in that way; always asleep before nine o’clock, these guys. “Hi, beautiful. Hi, you guys. Hey.” 

They say nothing, predictably, so Alex walks first up to Beaux. “Goodnight, honey,” he says, tenderly kissing the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t smell great. Maybe tomorrow they should wash the horses. Or maybe on Monday. Alex isn’t sure he’ll feel like doing it tomorrow, though he knows it has to be done regardless. “Sleep well. Dream of carrots. Dream of…of winning a horse race. Not that I’d ever make you race. I’m not a monster.”

Beaux doesn’t answer, just snuffles loudly. Alex laughs. “I wouldn’t! I swear. Anyway, you wouldn’t last a minute in a real horse race, you lazy fucker.” He pats Beaux’s nose affectionately, strokes it once more. “Alright. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A few steps leads him to Theo’s stable, where Theo has been watching him patiently until Alex reaches him. “Hey,” Alex says softly. “You look tired, man. Long day? Hey, why the long face?” He chuckles to himself. “That’s not even a funny joke. I think I’m getting old, Theo. I’m way too much of a dad for someone without kids.” Although he’s not really childless, is he? He’s got all these animals to take care of, and surely that’s the same thing. Or at least similar. Someone’s got to have done a psychological study on the effects of having pets instead of kids. They can’t be that different. After all, Alex is here tucking them in. That’s pretty fatherly.

Theo nudges at Alex shoulder. “Okay, shit,” Alex says, smiling. “I’m getting to it.” He pauses for effect. “Goodnight, Theo.” Rubbing a hand affectionately over Theo’s nose, he adds, “Dream of beating Beaux in a horse race.”

Theo also snuffles. Maybe, Alex muses, it’s the horse way of saying goodnight. Though they kind of do it all the time, so maybe not. Alex should look into that. After he looks into the whole pets-as-kids thing. His to-Google list is growing by the minute. 

His hands are also getting cold, so he quickly kisses Theo’s nose and pats his cheek. “Sleep well. Sweet dreams. Love you both. See you in the morning.” And he backs away, rubbing his palms together.

The farm might look eerie at night to a stranger, but to Alex it’s familiar enough not to scare him anymore. Now it feels almost like a summer camp, and Alex feels like a rogue camper out of bed past quiet hours. The world is his oyster. Maybe one night they ought to take some blankets out and stargaze. Glancing up, Alex can see a smattering of stars overhead, and for a moment he’s distracted and slows to a stop just to stare.

The stars are so beautiful out here. The sky is so pretty. Alex dedicates a lot of brainpower towards thinking about the galaxy — probably more than is healthy — but when he’d been living in L.A. it had always been something of a distant train of thought, because there’s so much light pollution in L.A. that the stars are more fantasy than reality.

Here, though, in rural Maryland, a fair distance away from civilization, the stars overhead had been what had sealed the deal for Alex, when they’d been thinking about whether or not they ought to buy a farm. And now, head tilted far back to gaze up into the sky, Alex thinks they made the right choice.

Fuck, it’s pretty out here. The universe is capable of creating such lovely things.

When it’s been long enough, Alex shakes himself out of his reverie. The cold is seeping into his skin everywhere it’s exposed to air, and his hands are starting to feel more like ice blocks attached to the ends of his arms. He tucks them under his armpits and continues his trek to the house.

“Back,” he calls out as he enters through the front door. It’s nice and warm inside, but Alex’s hands are still really fucking cold, so he puts them back under his arms as he nudges the door shut with his hip.

“How did it go? Have they said goodnight back yet?”

“Not yet,” Alex says, following the voice to the kitchen, “but any day now. I can feel it.” He pauses. “Whatcha doin’?”

Jack looks up at him, but he doesn’t stop stirring the mug. “Making tea,” he says. “What’s it look like?”

Alex blinks. “Making tea?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “For you.”

“For me?”

“Well, I don’t like tea,” Jack says, which is patently untrue, but whatever. “Yeah. It’s kinda cold out, and you always make yourself tea after you get back from saying goodnight to the horses, so I thought I’d kinda, you know, cut out the middleman or — whatever, the point is I made your tea for you so you wouldn’t have to.”

Alex steps towards Jack, who pushes the mug across the island towards him. There’s steam rising off the top, and the color looks right, but honestly Alex hadn’t realized Jack ever paid attention when Alex made tea. “What…is in this?”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Cocaine and dog food. What the fuck do you think, it’s tea. Milk and sugar. How you like it.”

Alex feels a fond smile cross his face. “This is so cute,” he says, reaching for the tea and wrapping his hands around the mug. It’s too hot and he has to pull his hands away after a couple seconds, but he can’t stop smiling. “You made my tea.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He looks pleased. “Well, I hope I didn’t fuck it up. You should probably try it before you tell me it’s cute.”

“I didn’t say it was good, I said it was cute,” Alex says. “Which it is.” He abandons the tea for a moment in favor of approaching Jack, who’s cozy in an orange hoodie and black sweats, hair mussed up from the day. Still, in his dressed-down state, Alex has never seen anything more beautiful than Jack.

He brings his hands up to press against Jack’s cheeks. Jack jerks. “Fuck, your hands are freezing!”

“It’s cold outside,” Alex says, smiling still. He doesn’t move his hands away and Jack doesn’t make any effort to. “I love you.”

“It’s just tea,” Jack says quietly.

Alex kisses him. Jack’s lips are warm on Alex’s cold ones, but it’s nice — almost like Jack can reset Alex’s internal temperature, like the very act of their being together is enough to achieve perfect equilibrium. Kissing Jack might not be a cure-all, but it absolutely is a cure-most, and Alex cashes in whenever he can possibly find a reason to, and frequently even when he can’t.

And Jack’s made Alex’s tea. Jack has made himself a part of one of Alex’s favorite nighttime rituals. Alex is so in love he doesn’t have the words.

“Thank you for the tea,” he whispers, stealing one more kiss before stepping away and picking up the mug. Jack has a silly smile on his face that he’s trying his best to hide. Alex waits a moment, blows away the steam over the mug, then lifts it to his lips and takes a careful sip.

It tastes just right, and somehow Alex is both surprised and not. Sure, Jack keeps him company every evening while he puts together his nightly tea, but Alex never expected Jack to be paying attention. It’s just tea, like Jack had said. Not the kind of detail boyfriends are necessarily supposed to remember about each other.

On the other hand, though, Alex is the luckiest man alive to have Jack, and Jack is constantly surprising him. And Jack is much better at proving his love than saying it, so of course he remembers how Alex takes his tea. Of course he would make it.

“I poisoned it, by the way,” Jack says, just as Alex swallows. 

Alex laughs. “Well, it’s not affecting the taste at all. It tastes amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Jack. Literally perfect. You got it exactly right. This might be the best cup of tea I’ve ever had.”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

It is the best cup of tea Alex has ever had, actually. Not because it tastes good — sure, it tastes good, but after a certain point a good cup of tea is just a good cup of tea — but because Jack had made it. Obviously that’s too cheesy to say, so Alex just thinks it really hard, figuring Jack will probably get it anyway from his face.

Jack slides in his socks over to Alex’s side and wraps his arms around Alex’s waist. His chin digs into Alex’s shoulder. “Lemme taste.”

Alex sighs, grins. He lifts the mug up, trying to glance down to see where Jack’s mouth kind of is, and when he’s pretty sure it’s in the right place he carefully tilts it. Against all odds, nothing spills. Jack takes a sip, and Alex brings the mug close to his chest again.

“It’s actually pretty good,” says Jack. “Maybe I should have made myself a cup too.”

“You can share mine.”

Jack hums. He squeezes Alex’s middle, pressing himself flush against Alex’s back, even closer than he’d been. “That’s okay. I’m good right here.”

“Don’t wanna sit down or something?”

“Can’t hug you if we’re sitting.”

“That is true,” Alex concedes. “But I can look at you, which I would love to do.”

Jack scoffs. “I’m nothing to look at, babe. I’m literally in sweats.”

Nobody in the world has ever made sweats look as good as Jack does, is the thing. “I know,” Alex says. “But I just like looking at you. Don’t call me cheesy. I already know you’re going to, so stop it.”

“That’s just cheesy as fuck,” Jack says anyway, kissing Alex’s cheek. “You’re gonna get cheese in your tea.”

“That’s so gross, can you imagine tea with cheese?”

“I bet that’s a thing. In Asia or something. They make some weird shit over there.”

Alex chuckles. “Maybe.” He sets the mug down on the island and turns around in Jack’s arms, and Jack doesn’t protests, though he also doesn’t move his arms away, and they remain encircling Alex’s waist, linked behind his back. Alex brushes his palms over Jack’s shoulders, smoothing the fabric of his hoodie, and curls his fingers around Jack’s neck, which is warm like the rest of him. “You’re a good-looking guy, you know that?”

“I do know that,” Jack says, smiling so so softly. He doesn’t smile like that for just anyone, Alex knows; it’s a special Jack smile, only for Alex. “You’re a pretty handsome boy yourself.”

Alex kisses him again, just for the hell of it. Because he can. Because he’s got Jack in his arms, prettier than any other fucking thing; because Jack’s his boyfriend and that means Alex gets to kiss him whenever; because he loves Jack, is in love with Jack, and sometimes kissing him is the only way to adequately communicate that. 

They show love in different ways. Alex says it aloud, traces it into Jack’s skin, brands him with touches and kisses to remind him.

Jack makes Alex tea.

“Love you,” he murmurs again, though he’s already said it. Jack could call him on it, but instead he does that rare Jack smile again.

“Love you more,” he breathes, before capturing Alex’s mouth with his own.

The universe truly is capable of creating such lovely things. And if a sky full of stars is a home run, then Jack Barakat is a grand fucking slam. 

[cwmoonglum]

Sexual Problems Clive

Predictably, the party sucked. I'd told Owen when he had invited me that I didn't know anyone on the Facebook event, but when my plans for the night fell through I wound up there anyway. There were maybe forty people, crammed uncomfortably into a windowless living room and kitchen. Owen had blocked access to his and his flatmates' rooms with a laundry basket that smelled of dog food, and the cloying fog of incense and weed smoke did not disguise it.

Clutching a pilfered alcopop, I hid in the hallway, hoping the shadows would prevent the owner from spotting its neon hue. Owen had disappeared to his room with the one other person I knew at the party, and their counter rhythm disrupted the awful goa trance the hippies had put on. I had decided to make my exit, when a gangly, jittery guy I had noticed similarly lurking at the edges of the party walked over. Without introducing himself, he started talking at length about UFOs and alien-human hybrids. A little drunk, I didn't quite follow and joked that I'd just started watching the X Files too. “Then you know!” he near-screamed in my face, “the X Files is basically a documentary!” This was back in 2009, so this wasn't the kind of opinion you encountered that often. The stoners I sometimes hung out with would speculate aimlessly about the moon landings, but nobody really meant it.

“I'm Clive by the way,” he said as I tried to guess if he was wearing literal tin foil under his grotty beanie hat. Over the next hour, it became clear that Clive at least had his heart in the right place. His politics were cartoonish but generally fine. He'd just skipped right past organic farming and chakra realigning to this shit. At length a dreadlocked folk singer distracted him, and I slipped away.

A month passed, and I spotted Clive at another party. Being polite, I waved hello, and he leapt on my unintended invitation to come share how his theories had developed. He hit me up with something about mobile phones forming a mesh network that would scan human bodies so the government could make pod people, and how processed foods were laced with additives that increased the scan resolution. This one got the attention of some other hippies hanging nearby and I was able to escape. Later that night Owen turned up, and explained that 'Alien Clive' was his sort-of dealer. He was living in his uncle's grow operation and siphoning off some of the supply for himself. The host, a towering Italian tennis player named Paolo, elaborated; Alien Clive was squatting at the grow op while his uncle was out of the country. The party ended with the arrival of the police. Owen and I dashed into the nearby woods and navigated home by the light of our phones. I heard from Paolo that Clive had leapt into a bin, fallen asleep and only been discovered during the next day's clean up.

My girlfriend at the time, Noelle, didn't like Alien Clive. Among his conspiracy theories were some about sperm retention, antimasturbation preaching and something that would be eugenics if he'd had the wherewithal to think it through. Women found it especially repellent because he'd get eyebleedingly stoned and claim to be hypersexual and 'supernaturally gifted in the creation of orgasms [sic].' Of course, he still managed to get an invite to Noelle's birthday party, because he could supply weed.

The party was perfectly normal. People got drunk, got high, stripped naked and stood atop wheelie bins pretending to be myriad Greek philosophers. The Japanese guy living with Paolo brought a literal suitcase full of Tenga eggs and started passing them out in exchange for introductions to blonde women. Alien Clive called him a Satanist and said Tenga was a conspiracy to weaken the gene pool. Eventually, things began to wind down and people drifted home, but Alien Clive remained. He sat around a fire lit in a metal bin, warming his hands and sipping the dregs of cider. My girlfriend and I joined him, lighting a cigarette each. Noelle was drunk, and oddly enough had found Clive's argument over the Tenga eggs chivalrous in a bizarre way. Knowing that it was a prohibitively costly for him to get a taxi back to the rural grow op, she reluctantly offered him the couch to crash on. The fire flickered between us, glinting off Clive's glassy eyes as his face turned dark. “No, I don't think that's a good idea,” he said grimly. We must have looked as confused as I felt, because he elaborated, “that would cause... problems.” “What do you mean, Clive?” asked Noelle. ���It would cause problems... sexual problems.” We laughed, and explained that we were dating and at any rate we'd be sleeping in a different room. “I have very powerful pheromones, so I can't help it, you'd be drawn to me. Sexually. Sexual problems.”

We sat quietly around the fire, unable to form a response. When Noelle finished her cigarette she threw the butt in the fire and headed towards her bedroom. “You can still use the couch dude, don't be weird.” Clive and I extinguished the fire. He walked off into the dark, alone. From then on no matter how much he talked about Zeta Reticulans, Nordics, Reptilians, Insectoids or Energy Beings he would remain Sexual Problems Clive.

[angelicjeonghan]

4 Lives

After committing a crime so cruel that even an execution won't do, Wonwoo finds himself as a Goblin, searching for the one soul destined to take his sword out of him. But throughout his long, long lifetime, he finds himself meeting that soul, Mingyu,  again and again until Mingyu reaches the lifetime in which he has to take Wonwoo's sword out. 

4.4K words

Note: Goblins are immortal and have the ability to travel to different places by opening doors (open the door to your bedroom but end up in another place) ! Just some info so you’re not comfused if you haven’t watched the drama :-)

Hello! This is the second fanfic I’m writing on here! I posted this on Asianfanfics.com but I thought I’d put it on here too :-) Also! This fic is HEAVILY inspired by the popular K-drama, goblin! But I changed a lot of things and the plot is completely different, its just a few things that I chose to keep. Regardless, this fic was inspired by Goblin so if you like this fic, you should go watch it!

They say that humans have four lives, and that afterwards, the soul finally gets to go to a higher place. They say that those who’ve killed themselves become grim reapers, and that those who commit heinous acts will be cursed as immortal until they find their brides. They say all of that, but who really believes it? 

--

Wonwoo didn’t mean to slaughter a whole village. He didn’t know what he was doing, he just knew that whatever the king wants, the king gets. It didn’t hit him that he and the group of soldiers that he led single handedly took the lives of countless individuals until he found himself kneeling in front of the king with his hands bound to his back and an executioner fastening a blindfold to his eyes, preparing him for what’s to come. His whole body shuddered as beads of sweat dripped down his face. He wasn't sure if it was out of fear or out of heat. Maybe both. His execution was scheduled for the night, so there were rings of fire circling him, illuminating what was to come. 

He realized in what was supposed to be his final moments that he didn’t do what the king wanted. He and his soldiers were only supposed to kidnap the king, but the selfish desire deep within him that he didn’t know existed caused him to kill a village. 

He uttered one final apology, finding that there were no tears left in him as he prepared himself for his death.

The sword piercing his body felt like nothing to him. Even when he felt himself choke up blood and his body begin to burn in pain, he felt nothing but guilt. He was a monster and deserved this. He deserved to die the death of a public execution. He deserved to die due to the war that was to ensue due to his actions. He didn’t deserve to open his eyes ever again.

So when they did open, he was confused. 

He scanned the barren fields around him, and was greeted with an old man who appeared beside him in an instant. 

“How am I here? How...Why am I here?” He asked quietly, afraid that somebody from the town might somehow hear him in the vacant fields. He looked down at his stomach and saw the sword that stabbed him days prior. But it was different now. It was transparent and glowed, but if he chose not to focus on it, he wouldn’t see it. He tried to touch it, but his hand went right through it. He gave the man a questioning look. 

The old man sighed deeply as he scanned the young man before him. 

“Have you ever heard of a Goblin?”

--

The first time he met Mingyu was in a small town in England. He decided to leave Korea as a whole and move somewhere he’d never be found, and decided that England would be a good start. 

Besides, he had an eternity to learn English. 

Mingyu, who’s name at the time was Mark, worked at a local bakery in their rural town away from the Royal Palace. Royalty didn’t seem to matter to their quaint way of living. Wonwoo was the only foreigner in the town, and was often questioned about his whereabouts and how he traveled from the orient to here. He couldn’t lie and say that he teleported, because they’d just try to burn him for witchcraft, so he lied and said that he travelled from China to import tea. 

They didn’t need to know that he was Korean, anyways, because to them it was all the same.

Mark was one of the only people who didn’t question him for not being European, and their friendship soon grew. 

Wonwoo found it easy to suppress certain feelings throughout his life, from being in training, to being in battle, to then having to go into hiding. 

It was easy to suppress these feelings when he couldn’t relax and bask in them, but sitting here with Mark made his heart beat just a little faster than he would have liked. 

Mark grew up strictly catholic and made no advances towards Wonwoo, but the lingering stares and the jolts of electricity that ran through their bodies as they brushed their fingertips over tea was enough to suffice. 

As Mark grew older, he began to question Wonwoo’s age. They’d been friends for ten years, and Mark was now balding and developing wrinkles, yet Wonwoo kept his pristine complexion and didn’t seem to age at all.

Wonwoo always brushed him off with a comment along the lines of “Asians don’t age”, but Mark wasn’t stupid.

Mark knew deep down that there was something supernatural about his friend, but he didn’t push on it. Even when he laid on his deathbed in their shared apartment, fifty years later and completely bald, wrinkled, weak and brittle, he didn’t question Wonwoo’s youth. 

Wonwoo pressed a kiss to his forehead as he said goodbye to his friend, and prayed that it wasn’t Marks last life.

That was the first time he felt the pain of a Goblin. He had initially felt grateful to whomever the old man had been before, but now all he felt was sorrows and regret. He thought that his execution was enough, but he knew that he deserved this.

--

The second time he met Mingyu was 100 years later in New York, United States.

Shortly after Mark's death, Wonwoo decided to leave Europe to forget about him, hence finding himself in the busy streets of New York. He initially didn’t like the big city, but he felt like the growing city was a good way to forget about his past “lover”. 

He even got an education. He was immune to diseases and wanted to help people, so he became an ER doctor to save lives. 

This was his way of making up for his past. For every person he killed, he would save ten people. 

With his new task and busy work days, he soon was able to forget about Mark.

That was until a fateful day in the hospital, where Michael, a respiratory therapist from the other hospital along with his assistant, Siyeon, came in to treat an ill patient. 

Wonwoo wasn’t assigned to the patient, but checked in during his break to see if he could be of any assistance. He didn’t look at Michael when first entering the room, not out of rudeness but out of simple concern for the patient. However after doing a quick rundown of whatever procedure needed to be done, he turned to Michael to ask if he needed help. 

But Wonwoo didn’t hear a word Michael said, because all he could feel is a rush of electricity pulsing through his veins and tingling in his feet as he looked into Michael's eyes.

Siyeon politely nudged Wonwoo after a short period of time, asking if he was okay. She explained that he’d been staring at Michael for a few seconds without saying anything. 

Wonwoo nodded his head, clarifying to the duo that he had a long shift and that he just needed some fresh air.

He spent his lunch break outside, barely touching his sandwich as his mind raced with the previous events. 

He’s alive

But his thoughts were cut short quickly as Siyeon, the assistant, called out to him as she jogged over, her lunch bag clutched in her fists.

“I’m going to be blunt with you, Dr. Jeon.” She started, staring deep into his eyes. “Are you a Goblin?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened as his mouth hung open. 

He blinked a few times at her, mumbling a few times about why she’d ask that, before she interrupted again. 

“I’m a grim reaper.” She stated, sitting down on the bench next to him. “And I think you’re a goblin because I can’t get a read on you. I don’t know when you’ll die, so I’m assuming that you’re a Goblin, right?"

Wonwoo scanned his surroundings, deciding that they were secluded enough to talk in public. 

“If I wasn’t a Goblin, then what would I be?” He questioned. 

He didn’t understand why she was confused about what he was. If she couldn’t get a read on him, wouldn’t that make it perfectly clear?

“You could also be a lost soul. You know, somebody who is supposed to die, but doesn’t?” She explained, leaning back in her seat comfortably, eyeing Wonwoo as he processed his new information.

“Oh…” He trailed off. “Well, you were correct, I’m a goblin. I didn’t know lost souls existed.” He said. 

“Really?” She asked, taken aback. “But a lost soul is gonna be the person to save you.” She grinned at his confusion, explaining further. “You’ll save a person one day, whether that be

through your job here at the hospital or through your powers as a goblin. But they’ll then develop supernatural abilities that will allow them to see your sword.” She pointed to the protruding sword from his torso, cocking her head to the side. 

Wonwoo’s eyes went directly to his torso, where the transparent sword glowed. 

“They’ll be able to pull out your sword and then you’ll be able to die. So, save as many lives as you can.” Siyeon patted Wonwoo’s shoulder as she got up, getting ready to go back to her shift. 

“But you have plenty of time. I know you remember Michael from his past life. He will be the one to pull your sword out, but not in this lifetime.”

He never tried to see Michael again after that, but he had faith that he’d meet Michael’s soul again.

--

The third time he met Mingyu was 100 years later in Quebec City, Canada.

After “getting another job offer” in Canada, Wonwoo studied up on French and moved to Quebec. He decided to take a break from being a doctor and focused on music. He decided that saving lives isn’t just medical, and that music can help and heal people just as much as medicine. The pay was significantly lower than he was used to, but his savings kept him afloat as he performed gigs at local pubs and coffee shops. 

Technology was growing, so he was able to record a CD with his songs. He was amazed at what humans were able to do, and was almost thankful to have been able to live to see the change in the world. 

Wonwoo finished up his last song for the night at the coffee house he’d been performing at, and graciously accepted the applause. He spent the rest of the night in a local pub with a few friends, one being Siyeon, as they drank the night away.

Siyeon quit her job as a medical assistant due to her deaths rising up and getting in the way of her work. 

Her grim reaper priorities were far more important than her other jobs.

She found an interest in French music and bought a vinyl with a familiar name to the title, and eventually she made her way up to Quebec to annoy Wonwoo.

But he wasn’t annoyed by her at all.

She kept him company, and it was nice to know that when their friend group dies, she’ll still be there to mourn with him.

The group drank until they could barely walk, stumbling up to Wonwoo’s fancy apartment.

His friends often asked how he managed to afford the place, but he brushed them off and claimed that it was inheritance.

However Wonwoo’s apartment was a few floors up, and living in Old Quebec, there were no elevators available, so the group had to force themselves up the stairs. 

What was normally an easy, but tiring, walk soon became a marathon for Wonwoo.

He wasn’t usually this clumsy, but after missing a step, he found himself falling flat onto his face. 

“Are you alright?” A worried voice asked.

Wonwoo brushed it off as one of his friends, holding his hand out for one to take.

But the jolt of electricity that was brought to his fingertips sobered Wonwoo up completely.

He stood up, wiping away at any dust that might’ve been left on him, before looking up at the man before him.

“Hi..” The man started “Are you alright? I noticed you fall, and…” He trailed off.

“I’m great.” Wonwoo said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he stared deeper into the eyes of the man before him. 

“Oh!” The man exclaimed awkwardly, pointing to the door adjacent Wonwoo’s.” I’m Mattheu, your new neighbor.”

Wonwoo grinned, reaching out to shake Mattheus' hand again, feeling himself melt into his touch. 

Siyeon eyed the two of them, raising an eyebrow as the duo made heart eyes for each other. 

She ushered the rest of their friend group out of the apartment building, promising a place to sleep in her apartment a few stories down.

It was clear as day to Siyeon that Wonwoo’s relationship to Mattheu was going to be a lot different than the ones he’d had with Mattheu’s soul before. In the past, they could never be together in public, however in the 20th century city of Quebec, the duo can live the way they want.

Wonwoo had never experienced happiness like what he experienced with Mattheu. Their good morning kisses, their homemade dinners, and the love they had for each other made Wonwoo’s heart swarm with warmth and joy. 

Until Mattheu began to get sick. 

It was little things at first, but Wonwoo knew after a few weeks what was happening. 

Mattheu had told Wonwoo about his past lovers, and how there were many nights that went unprotected, but he truly thought that he wouldn’t be one of them.

One to get AIDs, that is. 

Wonwoo knew he was safe from it, but that just made him feel worse. His lover would have to die, and he couldn’t even die with him.

Mattheu hung in there for a little while, trying his best to keep his routine but becoming weaker and weaker as time went on, until one day, Mattheu didn’t hum in contentment as Wonwoo smothered him in his good morning kisses, didn’t sigh deeply as he felt the duvet being pulled from him, and didn’t open his eyes to see the love and adoration that Wonwoo held in his own.

Siyeon tried to help him, holding him as he cried and tucking him into bed every night, but he couldn’t stay anymore. He couldn’t stay in this apartment, in this city, in this country anymore. It was time for a change. 

--

The fourth time he met Mingyu was 80 years later in Seoul, South Korea. 

He needed to go home after Mattheu passed.

He put off going to the country that hated him in fear that he’d be ridiculed and exempt from ever stepping foot on Korean soil, except...it didn’t hate him.

Because what he did centuries ago didn’t even make it to the textbooks, and as it turns out, his actions never caused a war. The other villages grew defensive once they heard about the attacked village, however after hearing about Wonwoo’s death, they decided to accept it and move on. 

So he felt comfortable again in South Korea. 

He went back to being a doctor after moving back, and prayed to whomever may be listening that French music never makes its way over to South Korea, because he grew a bit of a following and didn’t want to be known as the “Hot, singing doctor who knows French”. 

Siyeon also followed Wonwoo, deciding that she, too, would like to go home. 

Siyeon never really knew what she did to make her commit suicide, so she wanted to see if being in Korea would trigger something in her. 

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at his clipboard of things to do, scribbling down a few notes here and there as he enjoyed the calm morning environment. 

But that was quickly replaced by chaos as a new nurses rushed in a patient who’d seemingly been hit by a car. 

He quickly rushed over to her bed and examined her current state. 

Her arm was nearly dislocated, her chest seemed to have taken a big blow with the blood ushering through a wound, and her face was completely scratched at. 

He told the nurses to grab some anesthetics as he began to prep her for emergency surgery, however she began to plead weakly as he vocalized his plans.

“I'm pregnant” she repeated to him through labored breaths. “Be careful and save my baby”

Wonwoo’s mind raced as he thought of what to do. 

He knew that if he played it safe, she’d be able to make it, but a fetus so small that it was barely visible to the outside world wouldn’t. 

And he couldn’t let his patient down.

He scanned the room again to ensure that nobody had their eyes on him before he told his patient to close her eyes. 

He put his hand over her stomach and used his powers to heal her. Not completely, but just enough to ensure that whatever may be growing inside of her does so with no problems. 

He rarely used his powers to heal others, opting to stick to his medial knowledge. But he swore to himself that if he could save somebody, he'd do it no matter what.

The nurses rushed in with needles and other equipment seconds after he finished, and he thanked whomever may be up there that they didn’t see what he had done. 

He let another doctor take control of the patient's surgery, and visited her only after she was fully healed and was able to sit upright. 

He hoped that she would have been too out of it to have noticed what he’d done to her stomach, but once the nurses that took care of her left for their other patients, she tapped on her stomach and smiled. 

“My eyes were closed, but the glowing that came from your hand was too bright to not notice.” She smiled softly. “I won’t tell anyone, but I just wanted to say...thank you.”

Wonwoo smiled back at her, wishing her the best of luck on her pregnancy and journey throughout motherhood. 

He turned to leave the room before glancing back at her, a question popping into his head. 

“Do you have names picked out?”

His patient pondered for a moment, rubbing her stomach as she thought.

“If it's a girl, I’d name her Eunwoo.” 

Wonwoo grinned. He liked the name a lot and complimented her on it.

The patient took another moment to think, cocking her head to the side as she decided. 

“And if it’s a boy, I think I’ll name him Mingyu.”

--

The fifth and time he met Mingyu was 20 years later in Seoul, South Korea.

Wonwoo made his way to the library, enjoying his first few days of his break from working. 

He again made the decision to take a break from being a doctor, deciding that he wanted to learn how to write instead. 

He thought about his life and how big of a hit it would be to write a book on it. 

So that’s what he decided to do. 

He sat down in his usual spot as he began his writing process: make a bullet point list of the progression of events, then write for an hour, and then scroll on his phone.

The new iPhone came out, and he was over the moon with what he could do with it. 

Siyeon called him out for still having a flip phone in 2020, so he finally upgraded to an iPhone.

He loved all of the social media apps, but he found himself drawn to twitter the most. 

He could tweet out anything he wanted and it would be there forever. Amazing. 

He leaned back in his chair as he scrolled, giggling to himself as he read the tweets from a few of his favorite artists. He felt like a little kid, but it made him happy.

It almost made him miss the way the person across from him stared at him. 

Or rather, his torso. 

Wonwoo glanced up from his phone and raised an eyebrow to the person across from him.

And then he felt a familiar tingle again.

But this time, the tingle came from his torso as he saw the sword appear before him again, glowing brighter than ever before.

The man across from him got up and made his way over, giving Wontoo a toothy grin as he pointed to the sword. 

“So...I see you have a sword in you.” 

Wonwoo’s mouth went dry and his hands began to clam.

Is this it? He thought to himself. Am I gonna finally die today?

“Uh…” The man continued “I’m Mingyu, your "Bride", by the way. I’m assuming you’re the Goblin I was destined to save?” 

Wonwoo nodded his head weakly, his arms trembling as he reached out to shake Mingyu's hand. 

 “We don’t have to do this now, you know.” Mingyu reassured, patting Wonwoo’s back in an attempt to calm him down.

But they did. Once you meet your bride, you need to perform the execution within the next few hours. Otherwise, the Goblins bride could be in danger.

Wonwoo melted in Mingyu's touch as a deep sigh left his lips. 

He looked up at Mingyu after some time to introduce himself as well as to tell him his story.

He told Mingyu about what he did to become a goblin, about all of the places he’d lived, and about the times that he met Mingyu’s soul. He told Mingyu about his plans to write a book about his experiences, about the long, long life he lived. He told Mingyu that he almost wishes that he could live forever at this point. Almost. But he's ready to leave this world, now. 

Mingyu smiled at him, rubbing hands reassuringly. 

“Humans have four lives, right?” Mingyu asked, earning a nod from Wonwoo. “So after this life, I’ll go to...wherever souls go, right?” Wonwoo nodded again.

“So we will be together then, Wonwoo. Mark, Michael, Mattheu, and I. We will be there with you when I’m done living this life.”

The thought of being reunited with Mingyu’s soul for eternity brought tears to Wonwoo’s eyes as he began to sob quietly.

Mingyu stayed with him until Wonwoo calmed down, picking up his phone to call Siyeon, who quickly rushed over to meet the duo. 

They said their tearful goodbyes, and Siyeon promised that she only had a few lives left to take before her duty as a Grim Reaper was over. Afterwards, she’d join him up there and keep him company as he waited for Mingyu’s soul to finish living it’s last life.

Wonwoo and Mingyu held hands as they made their way to a barren field on the outskirts of Seoul.

Wonwoo thought it would be best to do it here, as there would be nobody around to watch him disintegrate into thin air. 

Memories of waking up in a similar field, complete confusion and the start of his new life washed over Wonwoo has he took in his final moments.

Mingyu, despite only meeting Wonwoo for the first time today, felt a deep sense of sorrow as Wonwoo stopped in his tracks, turning to face Mingyu with a soft smile.

Wonwoo felt content with his surroundings, he felt content with Mingyu beside him, and he felt relieved to finally be done with living. 

Wonwoo took Mingyu’s reluctant hands and placed it onto the sword, squeezing it slightly as a signal that he was ready. 

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu started, tears forming in his eyes. 

“Hmm?” Wonwoo asked, looking up at him. 

“I’ll see you again before you know it, alright?” 

Wonwoo nodded, smiling softly as he felt the sword finally leave his body.

Then he felt himself float.

Then he felt nothing. 

Jeon Wonwoo was gone from this Earth, but he was watching from above.

--

The last time he met Mingyu was in his heaven.

Wonwoo felt someone pepper his face with kisses as he stirred awake. 

He opened his eyes slightly to adjust to the light that cascaded through the blinds by the window.

He knew that window. 

He rubbed his eyes before opening them again, reevaluating the room.

This was his apartment in Quebec.

The kisses plastered to his face stopped momentarily as a pair of hands grasped at his cheeks, turning his face to the side.

There he saw Mingyu, grinning at him as he pulled Wonwoo into a kiss. 

Wonwoo melted in his touch, feeling slightly delirious as he held onto Mingyu’s hand. 

“M-Mingyu...You’re here?”

Mingyu nodded, pushing a few strands of hair from Wonwoo’s forehead before pressing a kiss to it. 

“I’m here. Do you know why we are here?” Mingyu asked. 

Wonwoo shook his head, scanning the room again.

“It’s our heaven, Woo.” Mingyu said. 

“I..I thought I was in heaven…” Wonwoo trailed off. 

Prior to here, he’d been with Siyeon as they wandered around with their friends. 

He was happy there.

But being here with Mingyu, that was indescribable. 

“You were in your heaven, but now you’re in our heaven. This is where we live now. Together.” 

Together

Hey guys! If you liked that, I also have a few fics on Asianfanfics.com! I might post a few on here depending on how well this does lol. Thank you for reading!

[musical-shit-show]

Two Sides: Chapter 2

Previous Chapter: (1)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: swearing, anxiety/mild panic attack, supernatural stuff, strange dreams (?)

Word Count: 1432

Author’s Note: Okay I’m not sure if anyone is reading this, but sorry about the wait on Chapter 2! I have been swamped with work this past week and don’t have a lot of time to edit chapters without my roommate getting sus. Plus ya girl stares at a laptop from 9 to 5 every day (yay pandemic) so it takes a toll on my eyes. 

Anyways, this is basically another set up chapter, but it does get a little wild as the two girls show up to the Deetz/Maitland house. If you like this story so far, please like and/or reblog! Also if you have any words of wisdom for writing or just wanna chat, my ask box is open! I mentioned that I would be doing asks and putting up a prompt list, and I’ll hopefully get around to doing that this weekend, I’m just a procrastinator. 

Okay I’ll stop rambling. Here’s Chapter 2!

Chapter 2

Cassandra was awoken from her hazy slumber with a jolt of a car brake. “We’re here!” Lydia exclaimed gleefully, dropping her usual mellow persona.

Cassandra blinked purposefully, strange images from a dream flashing in her vision. Stripes, vibrant green, a snakelike creature…the pictures in her mind made her feel uneasy, but she brushed them aside as she unloaded her small duffle bag from the backseat of Lydia’s car.

The house looked normal enough. Large, white and Victorian-era, it sat atop a comically round hill, looking picturesque against the rural landscape. Lydia bolted in front of her roommate, the small black suitcase she had brought rattling against the gravel driveway. Cassandra giggled to herself. She hadn’t seen Lydia this excited in a long while. As the girls made their way up the steep hill, movement on the second floor caught Cassandra’s eye. No figure was visible, but the brown-haired girl did notice the flutter of the white drapes that framed the window as they inched closer to the house. Cassandra stared up for a few more seconds before shaking her head following Lydia up the rest of the driveway.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them!” she called, Cassandra several steps behind her. Lydia’s father, Charles, and stepmother, Delia, would not be keeping the girls’ company on this particular visit. Charles was a real-estate mogul, and Delia was a life coach giving motivational speeches across the country. The only people in the house this weekend were Lydia’s aunt and uncle, both of whom Cassandra knew nothing about.

Despite her unusual dream, Cassandra tried to match Lydia’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, from what you’ve told me about them, they sound awesome!” The girls reached the door, and for a brief moment, Lydia hesitated, her hand stiff on the doorknob. Cassandra furrowed her brow slightly.

Though Lydia had been excited about finally introducing Cassandra to her ‘aunt and uncle’, she had grown more uneasy the closer they got to the house. What if she had a total meltdown? Sure, Cassandra had a passive interest in the supernatural, but not to the level Lydia had when she was younger; her roommate was far more normal, which could lead to a bit of scene when she found out the truth.

“Cassie, there’s something I need to tell you before you meet Adam and Babs,” Lydia started, “They’re well…they’re different. But you need to promise that you won’t be mad at me or freak out.” Cassandra grew worried at Lydia’s words, her heartbeat increasing rapidly as a small panic set in. How could they possibly be weird by Lydia’s standards? Were they nudists? Swingers? Republicans?

“Lyds, don’t worry,” Cassandra replied, doing her best to ease herself and her best friend, “I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll be fine. They’re your family and I want to get to know them.” With a knowing shrug, Lydia opened the creaky front door. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well, but it was time to let the chips fall where they may.

Lydia wanted to tell Cassandra before this point, she really did. But how do you casually mention to your roommate that you used to live with two ghosts? Lydia wasn’t very trusting with people, especially when it came to Adam and Barbara. She had grown to love Cassandra like a sister, but the longer she waited, the more awkward it would’ve become to explain. By Lydia’s twisted logic, it was best to just show her best friend the craziness she was getting herself into.

“Babs! Adam!” Lydia called, straightening her suitcase to face upright, “I’m home!” Cassandra felt a chill wrack through her entire body, though there wasn’t a single gust of wind coming from outside of the house. Suddenly, two figures appeared out of thin air. Cassandra’s blood turned ice cold. ‘Did they just fucking materialize out of nowhere?’ she thought, feeling a bead of sweat forming on her brow, ‘Am I losing my goddamn mind?’

The couple that stood before them looked ordinary enough, apart from the fact that they clearly possessed some kind of supernatural powers. Barbara was blonde, doe-eyed and was grinning ear-to-ear. Her husband, Adam, only stood a few inches higher than her, and had square-framed glasses perched atop his light brown hair. They greeted Lydia with excited squeals, enveloping her in a warm, three-person hug. They looked like they’d fit perfectly on the cover of Country Living magazine or in line at a Trader Joe’s checkout. 

Cassandra was gripping the strap of her duffle bag tightly, a wave of nausea and confusion crashing over her. Her brain was firing rapidly as she attempted to sus out how these two seemingly normal people just magically appeared.

“Oh Lydia, we’re so glad to see you!” Adam said, the timbre of his voice warm and slightly nasally. He wrapped the smaller girl in a bear hug, lifting her a few inches off of the ground. Though Lydia was preoccupied trying to gauge Cassandra’s reaction, she embraced Adam, smiling slightly.

“It’s been way too long,” Barbara added as Adam deposited Lydia back onto the floor. Barbara turned to finally notice Cassandra, who was seconds away from a panic attack. The older woman, completely oblivious, beamed at the other girl, “Oh, and this must be your roommate!” She went in for a hug, but stopped in her tracks when she saw Cassandra’s strained expression.

“Lydia, what’s going on?” she said quietly, “Does your family typically….uh, teleport from one place to another?” Barbara and Adam looked at each other, confused expressions painted across their faces.

“I knew this would happen,” Lydia said under her breath, cursing herself for not telling her roommate sooner. She collected herself, running a hand through her short black bob, “Okay, Cassie…Barbara and Adam aren’t my aunt and uncle. They lived in this house before my dad and I moved in when I was in high school. They, well, they died here. They’re ghosts, technically speaking.”  Adam and Barbara shifted uncomfortably.

The supernatural was not a subject that was completely foreign to Cassandra. She had always had a slight interest in the macabre, she just had no idea that her best friend and roommate’s life was intertwined with ghosts. Actual ghosts.

“You didn’t tell her?!” Adam said, bewildered. He folded his arms across his chest, clearly disappointed in Lydia. Barbara touched his shoulder, trying to ease her husband’s frustration.

“She wouldn’t have believed me!” Lydia defended, “I had to show her for myself.” Lydia and Adam bickered back and forth before all three turned to Cassandra, who hadn’t spoken a word in a few minutes. Finally, she collected herself, the others waiting with baited breath at her response to all of the madness.

“I’m not angry,” she stated plainly, doing her best to steady her breathing, “This is actually, uh, really fucking cool.” Lydia’s eyes brightened at her roommate’s words. She knew if anyone would understand her and her family, it was Cassie. “But,” she continued, “I need time to process the whole ‘ghosts are real and are also best friends with my roommate’ thing. So, is it alright if I go upstairs and we can talk more about this later?”

“Of course,” Adam replied apologetically, “We’re sorry. Had Lydia told us—” he shot a glare at her, “—that you didn’t know we were, uh, dead, we would’ve tried to appear more…normal.”

“It’s, it’s fine,” Cassandra said, wiping the sweat from her hands nervously on her jeans, “Lydia’s right, I was gonna find out eventually. Why not rip the Band-Aid off, huh?” Barbara smiled. She and Adam were quickly taking a liking to Cassie. She was funny and understanding, especially considering the circumstances. Cassie climbed the steps, her suitcase bumping into the back of her legs.

Lydia smiled at the Maitlands as Cassandra disappeared to the second floor. “I’m sorry, I tried to think of a plan and I should’ve called and—” Barbara shushed the young woman, placing a hand lovingly on her shoulder.

“We understand,” Barbara said knowingly, “But, Lydia, did you tell her about…you know…? Lydia furrowed her brow and let out a frustrated sigh. She knew this conversation would be coming her way. She knew he would come up eventually.

“No, and I don’t intend to,” Lydia stated firmly, “He should be far away from this house, at least for this weekend. We just need to make it three days, and then I’ll tell Cass. I promise.”

‘Oh, Lyds’ Beetlejuice thought, grinning as he hid in a dark corner of the house, ‘I love it when you’re wrong.’

------

Ooooh it’s finally bug man time!!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter (if anyone is reading lol). Like and reblog if you can! Thanks :)

[izaswritings]

Title: cinema blues

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: The night of the election, Oscar, Weiss, and Jaune go to the movies. ...Try to go to the movies, anyway.

(Or: in which Oscar is homesick, Weiss worries about election things, and Jaune frets about everything else. Problems aren't so easily avoided.)

AO3 Link is here.

.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, Weiss.”

It is already evening in the city of Atlas, the sun setting far off behind the distant skyscrapers, all the buildings cast in dark silhouetted shadow. The theater is a hub of light and sound in contrast to the slowly dimming streets— a glowing sign flashes high above, the glass doors shining golden from the sheer wealth of light and noise and fanfare inside. Still, it’s far less crowded than Oscar had expected. In the eve of election day, the great cinema house has been left practically abandoned in favor of political celebrations and late-night distractions.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the theater is empty. The shortened lines wrap around the building, the air heavy with the smell of hot food, the distant conversations like a constant murmur in his ears. The three of them—Weiss, Jaune, and Oscar—are standing under a bright flashing sign, looking at a list of movie names that mean absolutely nothing, watching the lines move in.

“I know,” Weiss says, to Jaune. “Which is why I came, because I did want to.” Her arms are crossed, her eyes fixed on the movie board; she’s frowning, slightly, her foot tapping as she reads. Beside her, Jaune looks torn between fond and overwhelmed, and Oscar, a bit ahead of them both, watches the ticket-goers enter the theater, occasionally glancing back at them from the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t want me here, Jaune, you shouldn’t have invited me.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that!” Jaune waves his hands, rapid, laughing almost awkwardly. “Sorry, sorry, that’s not what I meant. You just, uh…” He trails off and cringes. “Look… very… upset?”

Oscar bites his lip at that. He’s noticed that too— Weiss had been almost cheerful on the walk over, news of the on-going election aside, but once they’d arrived her mood had taken a rather sharp nosedive.

Even now, something furrows at her brow; Weiss glares at the movie board and then squeezes her eyes shut. Oscar regards her with worry. “I’m just—” she says, and then sighs. She brings a hand to her temple, her braid swinging when she shakes her head. “I… don’t have a single clue on what any of these are about.”

Oscar follows her gaze to the movie board, the screens full of new titles and unfamiliar listings. Jaune looks too—and winces. “…Oh.”

“It makes sense,” Oscar offers, drifting back towards their side. He keeps his eyes on the lines, the bright lights of the screen making him dizzy. “I mean, um, we haven’t exactly been… I mean, we haven’t really had time recently, have we?”

Weiss frowns, still looking annoyed; Jaune is quiet for a moment, considering. “You know,” he starts, thoughtful, “I never really thought about it, but you’re right. We’ve been kind of… really busy this past year, huh. Two years.” He pauses. “Ugh.”

The three of them stand in contemplative silence. Weiss breaks first, sighing heavily, and turns around to walk over and sit down on a nearby bench, her annoyance replaced with exhaustion. Behind them, the election, still on-going, flashes the current poll numbers—60 to Robyn,  40 to Jacques. Weiss looks at the screen for a long moment, and doesn’t seem the slightest bit comforted.

“I didn’t even pay attention,” she admits, at last, eyes still on the election counter. “Even when I was home…”

“Always felt like there were more important things to do,” Jaune agrees, voice a little soft. He and Oscar share a brief look. Jaune nods first, silent agreement, and settles down next to Weiss. He watches the election news too, for a moment—lips tight and brow furrowed, eyes dropping down as if he could peer through the city floors and see straight down to Mantle. Oscar drifts beside them, unsure of what to say, hating the looks on their faces. He bites his lip and shuffles on his feet, and goes back to watching the theater.

The silence stretches—and then Jaune huffs and crosses his arms. “Yeah, okay. I have no idea what any of these movies are about either.” He rubs his chin. “Okay. Deciding factor. Oscar?”

“Hm?” Oscar is still watching the lines.

“What movie do you wanna see?”

Oscar shrugs. “What movies do people usually see at a theater?”

“What do you mean, what…” Jaune squints at him. “Oscar.”

“Yeah?”

“What movies have you seen at the theater?”

“Oh,” Oscar says, easily. He tucks his hands under his legs to keep warm and sits down on the bench railing, kicking his feet above the pristine street. Atlas really is far too shiny. It makes something in him ache for the dirt roads and overgrown wildlife of his home. “I’ve never been.”

“You’ve never… what?”

“Been,” Oscar says.

“To the theater?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never seen a movie?”

“No, I’ve seen movies. Just not—”

“At the theater.”

Oscar almost laughs at him. “Yep.”

There’s a long pause. Both Weiss and Jaune are staring. Oscar looks back at them, something like bemused. “I was a farmhand,” he reminds them, honestly befuddled. “Middle of no-where, Mistral? And my Aunt and I, she had some helpers in the busy months but it was really just us, y’know?” Something in him aches at the memory—he hopes she’s doing okay—but Oscar pushes it back as he’s always done, and tilts his head. “The only theater around was two hours away, and it just wasn't worth the Lein, honestly. So, um. Yeah, I have no idea. I only saw movies released for scrolls… and my Aunt liked old-style cinema, anyway.”

“Meaning?”

“Lots of black-and-white Vacuo Westerns.”

Weiss puts her head in her hands. Jaune sighs. “Maybe this was a bad idea…”

Oscar winces. “It was a good idea!” he protests, kicking his feet. Gah, it’s cold. “Um, maybe we can just pick a random one?”

“I guess…” Jaune trails off, scratching at his head and leaning back against the bench. “I dunno. Weiss?”

“I mostly just came to get out of the Academy.”

“Yeah…”

They sit there, the three of them together, watching people mill about. The election booms on behind them, the numbers ticking down and up, constant change. Weiss looks at her hands; Jaune watches the poll numbers, lips pressed.

Oscar’s eyes linger on the theater, on the faces of the movie-goers. The fancy clothes, the unguarded smiles, soft laughter. It’s fancy in a way that makes his palms itch; he feels out of place here, too small and too—he’s not sure what. Rural? The streets are so clean he feels bad for walking there.

The more he sees of it, the less he likes Atlas. Haven had been big, but at least Oscar had felt like he fit there, just one of a thousand others. Even Mantle has felt—not welcoming, maybe, but solid. There is something about Atlas—maybe the troops, or the silver shine, or just the wealth of it all—that makes him feel the exact opposite. Like the city itself is rejecting him. Oscar can’t imagine living here. It feels more like a prop than a city; a shiny toy instead of a community.

He misses the farm suddenly and surely, a solid ache in his chest. He misses his Aunt. He misses—Mistral, maybe. Home. He’d never wanted to be a farmhand forever, but at least there he’d always known he’d belonged. Oscar has his team, now, has RWBY and Qrow and Maria and the others—but he knows the others feel it too. Atlas and the Academy are beautiful… but it is only barely a home.

He thinks it must cut Weiss deepest of all.

And it is Weiss, then, who decides for them. She tilts her head to Atlas’s clear sky, turned pitch dark and starless from the light pollution, and says, almost a sigh: “Let’s just… not.”

The idea of sitting still in a fancy theater, watching a movie he doesn’t care about and doesn’t know, surrounded by strangers… yeah, no. Oscar shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

Jaune groans. “Movie night’s a bust, then. Man, and I’ll bet everyone else is having a great time, too.”

“We can never tell them about this.”

“Agreed.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, and hops to his feet. “I’m gonna buy popcorn,” he decides.

“For what?”

“I dunno. People-watching? I’ve never tried theater popcorn, I just want to know.”

“You’ve never had— !? No, no, no, right, I remember now, stop giving me that look—  I’m sorry!”

Weiss rolls her eyes and pushes up off the wall. “Come on,” she says to Oscar. “I’ll pay. It’s all going to be stupidly expensive, anyway…”

They’re standing in line and buying food when the channel changes back to the election, the final ten minutes ticking off. Oscar glances at the polls—closer than he thought they would be, honestly—and bites his lip when he glances over at Weiss. Her stare at the monitors is grim.

“…You okay?”

She glances down at him. “I’m fine.” But her eyes draw back to the monitors. Jaune places a hand at her back. She gives him a look. He smiles at her, sympathetic. Weiss closes her eyes and sighs—  and leans, just a little, into the touch. “Just… 47%. They must know he’s never going to do any good, don’t they?”

“Polls will close in a few minutes,” Jaune says, and squeezes her shoulder, a one-armed hug. “It’ll be fine.”

“Mm…”

But Weiss does not seem convinced.

They walk back outside, sitting on their bench, and Weiss watches the outside screens the whole time, as if reluctant to look away. Oscar munches on popcorn—dry, salty, and not nearly as good as Jaune told him it was, bleh, who would do that to perfectly good corn?—and puts it to the side, pushing it away slowly with the tip of his finger.

Jaune is still watching Weiss. “Do you wanna head back?”

Weiss shakes her head. “In a bit. Polls close in three minutes, right?” She draws her arms close. “I just…” Together, they watch the numbers tick up. 48%. “I need to be sure.”

Jaune is watching too, now. “You don’t think he’ll really…?”

Oscar watches the numbers tick. 49%. A knot of anxiety has formed in his chest, and he has to force himself to swallow. “Um… what happens if…?”

He can’t finish the question, and none of them can voice an answer. The dread grows. The numbers tick. Weiss closes her eyes, and her breath shudders. “How many more…?”

“…Thirty seconds.”

Her eyes are closed. Her lips twist. The polls shut. The results are read out. Someone in Atlas’s streets stands and cheers. High and hollow laughter in the air.

Oscar stares at the screen for a very long moment.

At long last, Weiss shakes her head, wordless. She lifts her head with a clenched jaw—eyes bright, her teeth grit, pain in her face and fury in the curl of her hands. Beside her, Jaune looks hollowed, eyes on his feet once again, as if to peer through the Atlas streets to Mantle sitting far below. His whole face twists, anger rising—  and then it fades, driven back, resigned. He reaches slowly to his side, and grips the hilt of his sword. “…We should head for Mantle,” he says, subdued.

The Grimm. There is no doubt. Oscar stands too, his heart heavy. For a moment, oddly, he feels strangely distant—not as alone in his head as usual. A grief for Mantle that is more than just his—despair turned two-fold. He reaches out, almost terrified to know.

Oz?

The feeling fades. There is only him. Oscar closes his eyes, lips twisting on a grimace, and unhooks the Long Memory from his back. It’s nothing, probably. Always nothing. He’d just hoped…

But there’s no time for disappointment, or bitterness, or whatever this feeling is. Already he can hear the sirens.

“Somehow I knew it would end up like this,” Weiss says, soft, and lifts her sword. Her expression goes cold, lips thin with determination. The theater, behind them, lies forgotten, flashing lights and laughter like something from a different world— or maybe a dream. “Well. It was nice while it lasted.”

“To Mantle, then,” Jaune says.

“To Mantle,” Oscar echoes, and together they head for the ships.