#the angle for johnny is so... it haunts me

[yikesb3rg]

he lives don't worrey

[beatsfornone]

……..

[oceantornadoo]

part three outlaw!simon x f!reader who was supposed to marry johnny 🥲

simon is about to cause a scandal and get you kicked out of this town on account of adultery.

you told him he could visit you on your saloon shift, see what the town’s like. what you did not tell him is that everyone thinks you have a fine upstanding citizen for a husband, not an outlaw covered in black head-to-toe. he’s been nursing a whiskey for the past hour, haunting the last barstool in a corner, angled perfectly with his back to the wall.

he touches you everytime you pass him. a guiding hand on your waist when you saunter by with a tray of drinks. tucking your hair back into your updo as you become increasingly frazzled with a busy saturday night. even tightening the ties of your apron one time while you were talking to a customer, their eyes bugging out at the sight.

it would be fine if the public knew he was your husband - but johnny’s ring lays tucked into your nightstand and on account of simon’s gloves, you look like a cheater. an adulteress, committing sin in an already sinful establishment. you can see the church ladies signing the cross, see your neighbors muttering under their breath. it all comes to a head when the town rake decides to engage this shadowy figure of confusion that everyone is wondering about.

“does doin’ all that finally mean she’s out from her husband?” he introduced himself to simon, some forgettable name, and simon’s already wishing for the solitude of the mountains and grassy plains again. “wot?” the stranger’s so close simon can smell the liquor on his breath, can see the unsteadiness of his stature. he nods to you, taking orders in the corner of the saloon. “she’s not wearin’ her ring and your hands are on her, so that mean she’s outta that marriage? never even saw the man, guessed ‘e stepped out on ‘er.” simon couldn’t explain the situation to him, the stranger’s brain so stupidly drunk he couldn’t comprehend. so, the course of action was exactly that; action.

you were turning around, ready to holler at the singular cook in the saloon’s kitchen, when two meaty paws yanked into a body. you immediately resisted, too used to fighting the world at every turn, before you heard his voice. “just me, darlin’. settle down.” you hated how you immediately relaxed, shoulders drooping. simon yanked you into his side, eyes not on you but some man at the bar. “simon, you’re makin’ a scene.” he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow while the rest of his face moved under his bandana. “you’d rather a scandal?” so he did understand what was going on. you shook your head vehemently, intrigued at his next move. he unfurled one of your hands on his chest, the left one, turning it so the saloon could see your bare ring finger. the crowd suddenly silenced, understanding something important was happening.

simon’s gloved hand slipped into his pocket, drawing out a cloth bag. from it he brought out a ring, something with a pretty diamond and a vintage look. you gasped at the sight, of the thought he was giving you a ring with history, not just one from the jeweler’s. gold was well known in the west, the lifeblood of new towns, but the design showed elegance and class, not just new money. he slipped it on your bare finger, pulling you in for a light kiss over his bandana. you couldn’t even reciprocate, too stunned at the publicity of his claim. you heard someone whoop and that was it, your crowd turning back to a better piece of gossip now that this was solved. “y’r not gettin’ pushed out of town on my account, love.” you nodded wordlessly, eyes darting to the heavy weight on your hand. “go’on and get me another whiskey, hm?” he sent you to the bar-top with a pat on the ass, and that was that.

—

a little fluff for yall

this is my outlaw simon in a song.

taglist (lmk if i forgot you or you want to be added!):

@chickennn-soupp

@vmaxis

@samanthamarkle92

@sinful-tawtute

@nightingale2124

@scottpilgrimvsmyfists

@saucypeanuttt

@kylies-love-letter

@livvrosesblog

@livingoutsidethetardis

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

(Cheeky link to ch. 2->) Ch. 2

"Remember, you're not supposed to be here, so don't do anything stupid." Love you too, Price. The Captain had caved. He'd been begging to be part of this mission since they'd gotten the lead.

Soap reached up, rubbing his gloved fingers across the teeth of his mask. The mask he'd stolen from Ghost's room. Gaz had found him clutching it, dried mixture of tears and bile coating his cheeks, and forehead pressed to the porcelain throne. He'd been banned from drinking for the foreseeable future. That was the only stupid thing he'd done. Ghost wore a mask, Ghost only spoke when he had to, Ghost was hard on the rookies, and nobody questioned his mental state. But they did, didn't they? Well Soap didn't. And nobody needed to question Soap, he was fine.

"I wanna be like you when I grow up."

"You wanna be better than me, Johnny."

Well to be better than him, first he had to be more like him. So he'd donned Ghost's mask, to better embody the man's stoicism and presence. Definitely not as a way to hide his chapped cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He'd painted it red, wore a jaw print bandana. Different. Better. Yeah.

Price had finally caved to Soap's insistence he be part of this OP, but issued his warnings. "I know you don't need to be told, but I'm saying it anyway." He'd warned. "They've had him for eight months. Torture changes people, he may not be the same."

Of course he wasn't going to be the fucking same. He didn't need to be the same, he just needed to be alive.

Ghost never really spoke about his past, only left little hints here and there, but Soap wasn't dumb. He'd been through it before. Ghost could handle the torture, and Soap could handle the aftermath.

"I'm fine." He finally answered. "It'll be by the books, Captain." As if anything they did was ever 'by the books.' Price accepted his answer, though he didn't look convinced. It was just the three of them, with Laswell listening in. Gaz was in charge of collecting data on the bio weapon that was rumored to be here, Soap was in charge of the search and rescue mission, and Price was overwatch as the two Sergeants made their way in.

The trio hopped out of the truck, and Price slapped the side, sending it away. Soap and Gaz nodded to one another before splitting up to approach the building from different angles. Price silently made his way to higher ground.

The trek was agonizing, moreso because Soap found himself feeling more impatient than usual. Every time he had to lay low and wait for a patrol to pass he could hear the sand slowly falling, trickling away in the hourglass that was the rest of Ghost's life.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, Johnny." Ghost had smiled at him, rare that he didn't have his mask, but then again, who other than Soap would challenge the Ghost to strip poker? And who other than Soap would cheat be really really good at strip poker? So good as to force Ghost to choose between his pants and his mask, the last two articles of clothing he had on. Soap himself had only one sock, and his jumper on, choosing to doff his pants so he could keep access to the cards in his sleeves. The  unpleasant cold of the metal chair against his junk was worth it, just to see the surprising decision on Ghost's part to lose the mask and not the underwear.

"Aye, like to shake things up, Sir." He'd said with a wink as he laid yet another winning hand down, only slightly supplemented by his sleeve stash.

He was certainly always one to shake things up. Here he was, itching to shake that damn hourglass up. He'd shake it, flip it upside down, bash it over someone's head and stuff the sand down their fucking throat, if it meant he'd get more time with the enigmatic phantom that had haunted his mind since that shitshow in Mexico.

Price gave the signal, they crawled forward once more.

"This is takin' longer than a constipated snail takin' a shit." He grit out into comms once the coast was clear.

"Soap, while it's nice to hear your voice again, one more quip outta you and I'm pulling you. Watch it." Laswell had gotten the cold shoulder, she'd fed Ghost bad intel. He blamed her, he didn't, couldn't blame her. She was just as worried. Probably.

He just needed to get Ghost back. Repay his debt. Ghost had saved him back then, after all. That's what this was. An eye for an eye, but in a positive way. They were good for eachother. Fixed eachothers problems. Complimented one another, personality wise. That's all.

He crept into the building, silent and unnoticed.

They didn't have much on the layout, just the outer perimeter, so they were going in blind. That didn't bother Soap, he was thriving for the first time in months. He finally had something to do other than run the rookies into the ground.

He dodged patrols, picked off the ones he could get away with had to, using the knife he'd kicked so long ago after Ghost had left it behind.

He found some unlit stairs leading into a basement they hadn't known existed. If I were keeping an incredibly dangerous prisoner, now where would I keep him? Three sets of teeth, plastic, cloth and bone, were bared towards the darkness. He couldn't help it, he felt giddy. He tried to quell his excitement, didn't need to make any mistakes now.

He made his way, thankful for his NVG's as there were no lights, even after descending the stairs. The hallway he entered had doors along one side, nothing much in the rooms, but he cleared each one as he passed. No fuck ups.

Near the end, he found a door with seven locks. Suspicious. Good. Suspicious was good, here. The other doors had been wood, dry rotted and deteriorating, this one was metal.

His eyes itched. He flipped up his NVG's.

Curiously, whenever he blinked, Soap could've sworn he could see symbols on the door, but they'd disappear the longer he looked. He'd blink, a sickening yellow circle with lines and symbols within would appear just as he opened his eyes, but faded so quickly, he couldn't convince himself it had ever even been there. The harder he stared the more the door looked perfectly normal, if you ignored all the locks.

Many many thanks to @stuffireadandenjoy for brainstorming with me on how to make this poll fic work, and to @resident-idiot-simp for being my beta, as always ❤❤❤

(Cheeky link to Ch. 2->) Ch. 2

[loreholdlesbian]

Duskmourn Play Booster Challenge

I always like to make a booster pack of custom cards to accompany each set, giving me a chance to play around with the mechanics and a bite-sized attempt at designing for a larger set rather than in a vacuum. (You may notice that I didn't do one for bloomburrow. Uh, moving on,). This is done in the style of a contest from GDS3, and in that vein I try to make cards that not only are reasonable additions to the set but also, whenever possible, are doing something novel with the themes and mechanics, not just rehashing the same old things. I also try to cover wide amounts of ground, in terms of color and themes, not focusing too hard on any one thing.

Art links

Wicker Dancer

Not Done Yet

Lost Prison // Crack in the Walls

Final Ghoul

Zealot of Terrors

Ominous Calm

Regal Simulacrum

Haunting Knowledge

Fear of Loss

Grasping Ghost

Torturous Blaze

Rotrue Remnant

Sinister Passage

Rare

Card transcription

Wicker Dancer 1GG Artifact Creature- Scarecrow At the beginning of your upkeep, choose artifact, enchantment, creature, or land at random. Until end of turn, you may play cards of the chosen type from your graveyard. Each card you play this way enters with a finality counter on it. 3/3

End transcription

This was the last card I made for the pack, and was basically made to fill constraints. I knew I wanted an artifact in the pack, to have a diverse spread of types for delirium, and I knew I wanted it to be green since there was only one other green card in the pack. A green artifact, in this set, definitely wanted to tie into the delirium theme, but I didn't want to just do delirium straight up cause it was already on a few cards in the pack. After a few iterations, I settled on this design which encourages the same kinds of things as delirium does but comes at it from another angle. It's a very Johnny-y card; it can have a lot of power to it, but you need to be able to build around it to consistently use it. Normally I don't like to use randomness as a power limitation, but I think it works well here; being able to choose the type would encourage you to just put it in a deck that wants that one type. Doing it like this means you want to work around the randomness in a way I think will be fun.

Uncommons

Card transcription

Not Done Yet 3WW Sorcery Return target permanent card from your graveyard to the battlefield. If you return a Room this way, unlock one of its locked doors. Survivors never celebrate a victory for long.

End transcription

This is a pretty simple card for the white-black reanimator theme. I wanted it to be able to hit both creatures and enchantments to tie into the enchantment theme, and I thought it was best to just let it hit any permanent. Reanimating rooms doesn't really, work all that well though, and since they're a key part of the set I wanted to make sure this card did work with them, so i gave it an unlock clause. It's not really meant to be Room reward, so much as reanimation card that also happens to work with Rooms, and I think i struck that balance well.

Card transcription

Lost Prison 2U Enchantment- Room At the beginning of your upkeep, you may lock an unlocked door of a Room you control. // Crack in the Walls 3U Enchantment- Room When you unlock this door, target creature you control gets +2/+2 and can't be blocked until end of turn.

End transcription

Now this one *is* meant to be a heavy Room reward. Putting it on a room itself let's me get away with a much more niche effect than I might otherwise, cause at minimum you can just use it as a way to use the second half over and over, but if you have other rooms you can use it with those instead and don't have to spend 4 mana every turn to make use of it.

Card transcription

Final Ghoul 1B Creature- Zombie Final Ghoul can't block. 1B: Return Final Ghoul from your graveyard to the battlefield with a finality counter on it. Activate only as a sorcery, and only if you control no creatures. (If a creature with a finality counter on it would die, exile it instead.) 3/3

End transcription

From before the set even came out, I wanted a card named "final ghoul" and since we didn't get one I had to make it myself. Ties into the graveyard themes of the set.

Card transcription

Zealot of Terrors 1B Creature- Human Cleric Artifact creatures and enchantment creatures you control get +1/+1. Delirium — 3BB, T: Create a 2/2 black Horror enchantment creature. Activate only if there are four or more card types among cards in your graveyard 2/2

End transcription

I came up with the first line of text as an off-beat way to encourage similar deckbuilding to delirium, but this card felt like it worked better if it just also had a straight up delirium ability to make it more obvious. I had the delirium ability make you enchantment creatures, in order to synergize with first ability. This also works well in an Eerie deck, and I like that flexibility.

Commons

Card transcription

Ominous Calm 2W Instant Manifest dread. That creature enters with a lifelink counter on it. (Look at the top two cards of your library. Put one onto the battlefield face down as a 2/2 creature and the other into your graveyard. Turn it face up any time for its mana cost if it’s a creature card.)

End transcription

This is part of a cycle of cards that are all instants/sorceries that manifest dread and put a keyword counter on the card. I just think it's a fun mechanic to combine with manifesting, cause it makes it more than just a vanilla 2/2 when face down and it sticks around when it turns face up and that can be interesting in useful ways. Like if you manage to manifest a big creature, getting lifelink on it is certainly fun.

Card transcription

Regal Simulacrum 3W Enchantment Creature- Horror When this permanent enters, draw a card. Impending 3—1W (If you cast this spell for its impending cost, it enters with three time counters and isn’t a creature until the last is removed. At the beginning of your end step, remove a time counter from it.) 3/3 It spoke only in gibbers, but its manner evoked the forgotten royalty it mocked.

End transcription

Impending was only on a cycle of mythics but it's my favorite mechanic from the set and I was really hoping to see it more than that, and this is my booster so I can. You can't stop me.

Card transcription

Haunting Knowledge 2U Sorcery Draw two cards. Eerie — Whenever an enchantment you control enters or you fully unlock a Room, Haunting Knowledge gains flashback 2U until end of turn. (You may cast this card from your graveyard for its flashback cost. Then exile it.)

End transcription

Here's a simple Eerie reward that uses it in a fun way I feel like we don't see this kind of mechanic get used a lot. Conditional flashback is just a fun way to do things.

Card transcription

Fear of Loss 2B Enchantment Creature- Nightmare When this creature enters, choose enchantment or creature. Each player sacrifices a permanent of the chosen type. 3/1 It bears the faces of everyone you grieve most dearly.

End transcription

This is a design I've had sitting around for a while, and Duskmourn felt like a great place to deploy it. It's a twist on the typical Fleshbag Marauder effect we've seen a lot of utilizing black's ability to remove enchantments.

Card transcription

Grasping Ghost R Creature- Spirit When this creature enters, exile the top card of your library face down. You may look at that card for as long as it remains exiled this way. T, Sacrifice this creature: You may play the exiled card until end of turn. 1/2 It clings to what it knew in life, no longer remembering why.

End transcription

Here's a twist on red's impulse draw effects, that ties it into the graveyard theme by making you sacrifice a creature to get it.

Card transcription

Torturous Blaze 1R Instant Torturous Blaze deals 3 damage to target creature or planeswalker. Delirium — If there are four or more card types among cards in your graveyard, instead Torturous Blaze deals damage to that permanent equal to the number of those card types. Razorkin delight in tormenting the uninitiated.

End transcription

I think it's fun to make delirium scale up, so that if you go all-in on diversity of card types in your graveyard you can get extra rewards for it, but that's difficult to do at common. I think this card makes it work though, since it has the baseline mode of dealing 3 damage; it has a very safe floor, it's only the ceiling that's raised, so it's not too demanding of your deckbuilding which feels safe at common.

Card transcription

Rotrue Remnant G Creature- Elf Druid Survivor Survival — At the beginning of your second main phase, if this creature is tapped, add G. 1/1 Some elves live in the Hauntwoods despite the dangers, in memory of the forests of their ancestors.

End transcription

I'm kinda surprised we didn't get a survival mana dork, since it triggers at the perfect time during main phase so you don't need to add any clunky "you don't lose this mana" clause. I went with the powerful llanowar elves version, but to be safer you definitely could make this like, a 2 mana 1/3 or something. But I like to live dangerously.

Card transcription

Sinister Passage Land T: Add C. T: Add one mana of any color. Spend this mana only to turn a permanent face up. 4, T, Sacrifice Sinister Passage: Manifest dread. Activate only as a sorcery. (Look at the top two cards of your library. Put one onto the battlefield face down as a 2/2 creature and the other into your graveyard. Turn it face up any time for its mana cost if it’s a creature card.)

End transcription

A land that can sac itself is great for delirium, and one that can turn itself into a creature later in the game makes for a good use-case for that. So this card kinda built itself. I added the "add any mana" clause just cause it felt right, and made it a bit better in a manifest deck.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Johnny and Dora | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Gun use, mention of alcohol, not proofread

Author's note: This is basically the episode from Brooklyn 99 in season two where Amy and Jake get together. I'm fully aware that the BAU might not work on an identity theft case, but let's just pretend they do for the sake of this story, yeah?  

Words: 4.078

Y/N wasn’t too sure how she’d ended up in this position. One minute she was trying to catch Brooklyn’s most prolific identity thief they had been chasing for days in New York, the next she had her co-worker pressed up against a tree with her lips on his. 

It had all started when the BAU team was sent to Brooklyn, New York to investigate an identity theft that had been haunting Brooklyn for a couple months now. The team was working hard to find the man responsible for the crime, working every possible angle and trying to figure out the how and why before actually going en-route to catch the guy. 

“Tonight, Augustine will be handing off the laptop to a buyer from China,” Detective Peralta told them, concluding his briefing to the BAU team. 

Hotch nodded his head before turning to his team. “Reid, Y/L/N, I want you tailing Augustine until he makes the drop, then arrest him and the buyer.”

“Good call, though I suppose I could take Morgan,” Spencer objected with a light tone. “I’m sure Y/L/N has something better to do…” 

“No, I don’t,” she replied, confused as to why he would say that. 

“Really?” asked Spencer. “‘Cause I swore I overheard you saying to Prentiss you didn’t like… tailing… people…” 

Y/N stared at him with an incredulous look. “You think I said that?” 

“Word for word,” Spencer said with a slow nod of his head as though he was trying to convince no one but himself. 

Y/N stared at the man in disbelief until Hotch cut in between the two. “All right, enough. Prentiss and Morgan will join them in a surveillance van.” 

The detectives and the BAU team all dispersed. Y/N was determined to find out what was happening with Spencer. They had gotten along since the day she joined the team over a year ago. To say his sudden change of demeanor towards her confused her was an understatement. 

“Okay, what did I do?” she asked, slamming the door of the breakroom shut so the two of them had some privacy. Spencer looked up from where he was making his coffee, confusion written in his eyes. “Why are you so bent on keeping me off this case?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer muttered as he turned back to his coffee. 

Scoffing, y/n shook her head. “Come on, Spence. Is it because I finished your report for you last week? Because I was just trying to help you. I knew you wanted to leave early to call your mother.” 

With a sigh, Spencer turned to look at the woman. “I don’t care about that. I appreciate you doing that.” 

“Then what is it?” 

Inhaling deeply as if to calm himself down, Spencer put down his hot coffee again and took a few tentative steps towards y/n. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep him from fidgeting so much. “The reason I didn’t want to work with you is–” he puffed out a nervous breath. “C-can you not look at me like that?” he asked, suddenly changing the topic. 

Y/N was looking at him with interest, her head tilted ever so slightly, her eyes swimming with worry. 

“Like what?” 

“Never mind,” he grumbled and went back to his coffee. 

“No, Spence. Tell me what’s going on so I can fix it. I hate having  you mad at me.” 

Taking another deep breath, Spencer’s eyes met y/n’s. “Fine… I just… Remember when you told me you’d never want to date any law enforcement?” Y/N nodded her head slowly, trying to understand what he was saying. “It kinda… It kinda bummed me out?” 

“What?” The one-worded question came out in a soft whisper. 

“I was kind of thinking about asking you out…” 

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat. “Oh… Okay…” she brought out, not really sure what else to tell him. 

“But I know that that’s not what you want, and I totally get it…” 

“Spence…” y/n heaved in a deep breath. “This is weird… And the whole reason for me not dating anyone in the field is so it wouldn’t be weird at work, you know?” 

Spencer offered her a soft smile. “Okay, then just– let’s make it not weird, okay? This is a case; we work cases together all the time, and we’re really good at it, so, you know, we’re professionals.” 

“That’s all I want,” y/n responded steadfastly. “For us to be professional.” 

Nodding his head, Spencer reached for his coffee again and as he passed y/n, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. 

Later that day, Spencer, y/n, Derek and Emily followed behind Augustine in their surveillance van. The bright red car they’d been following brought them to a fancy-looking restaurant. 

Confused, y/n turned to her co-workers. “Why’s he getting out here?” she asked. “I thought that detective told us he was going to be dropping it off at the park?” 

“Maybe he’s having dinner with his sidepiece first,” Emily countered. 

Y/N’s eyes landed on the object in Augustine’s hand. “He’s got the laptop with him,” she told them. “We should just arrest him right here.” 

“No,” Spencer replied. “The buyer’s the bigger collar. We gotta follow him in and wait for the handoff.” 

Nodding her head, y/n moved to open the door, only for Derek to stop her. “You can’t go in like that. You look like FBI.” 

“Right, you’re right,” y/n whispered as she shook off her blazer and unbuttoned her shirt a little further. “How’s that?” she asked Spencer, who was sitting next to her. A blush fanned his cheeks and reached the tips of his ears as he turned away from her. 

“I don’t know,” he stuttered. 

Emily chuckled at Spencer’s nervous behavior while Derek shook off his leather jacket. “Here, wear this,” Derek said and handed the black piece of clothing to her. Surprisingly, Derek’s jacket fit her very well. 

Once the jacket was hanging off her shoulders, she turned to Spencer and untied his tie. “What are you doing?” he asked, nervously while she lifted his tie over his head and handed it to Emily. 

“For heaven’s sake, Spence, just trust me,” she all but grumbled and unbuttoned a couple of his buttons too. “All right, think we’re good to go.” 

The two of them walked inside the restaurant, scanning the place for the suspect. “Did you know that restaurants are germ-infected? Even the tables are germ-hotspots, especially during rush-hours when the staff is more focused on giving peop–” 

“Spence,” y/n nudged him to shut him up. 

“Right, sorry,” he whispered. “Do you have eyes on–”

Y/N grabbed his arm and cleared her throat. Once Spencer’s eyes landed on who she had seen, he smiled politely. “The hostess stand,” he finished his sentence. “Hi. Table for two, please.” 

The suspect and his girlfriend were right in front of him, talking to the hostess. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, there’s nothing available. We’re totally booked up,” the woman replied. 

Knowing they weren’t going to get in unless they had a really good reason for the woman to make an exception. Without thinking twice about it, she grabbed Spencer’s bicep and leaned in closer to him. “Oh, that’s horrible. Tonight’s a really big night for us. Johnny and I just got engaged and this is where we had our first date,” she said dreamily. 

Spencer looked down at her for a moment in surprise. Over the years of having known her, he’d wanted her to say something along those lines for a very long time. While she was oblivious to his little crush, the rest of their co-workers weren’t, which is why it was always them two who got paired up to do stuff like this. 

“Oh, yeah, it would mean so much to Dora and me…” Spencer chimed in, jumping on the idea immediately. “I-I would’ve made reservations, but I didn’t know if she was going to say yes…” 

“Aww, I love how nervous you were, you little goose,” she cooed before leaning up and kissing his cheek, catching the man completely off guard. 

The look he gave her was one of surprise mixed with confusion. He had no clue what was happening. 

“You two are just the cutest,” the hostess said with a hand over her heart. “I’m sure we can find room for two young lovers.” 

It was the way she said it that made the butterflies in her stomach well up. Aside from herself, no one had ever even thought about them being lovers, let alone called them it. 

“Yeah,” Spencer croaked. “We are two lovers… Together… In beds…” 

“Okay,” she whispered, trying to keep her composure. 

The hostess asked them to follow her to the waiting area and told them they just needed a moment to free up a table for them. As y/n and Spencer stood together at the high table, she couldn’t help but glance over at him. He looked very handsome tonight. Having decided to discard his tie and loosen up a couple of buttons was a good call. She couldn’t deny that it did look very good on him. 

“Sorry about springing that engagement stuff on you,” y/n told him. 

Spencer shook his head. “No, no, no. That was great. It’s what’s got us in here.” He inhaled sharply before jokingly adding, “The cheek-kiss was a bit much though. And wet.” 

Smirking, y/n tilted her head a little. “What can I tell you? Dora’s sloppy.” 

Both of them chuckled but before either could add anything else, the hostess reappeared at their table. “All right, your table is ready. You can follow me.” 

They nodded their heads and followed behind the woman. “Okay, we can go back to being Spencer and y/n on the lookout for the suspect,” Spencer muttered, almost glad he didn’t have to sit through an entire dinner pretending he was madly in love with her as it wouldn’t even be pretending on his part. It would kill him knowing that all of it would be over when the case was done. 

“All right, there you go,” the hostess said, placing down the menus on their table. When the couple co-workers looked up, they realized they had gotten a table right next to the suspect and his date. 

The girlfriend gasped as she turned to y/n and Spencer. “You’re the couple that just got engaged.” 

“That’s us!” Spencer exclaimed as he reached for y/n’s hand. “Johnny and Dora,” he said, holding up your intertwined hands. “Definitely a couple…” 

Y/N and Spencer took their seats, both of them chuckling nervously. Augustine and his girlfriend even sprung them champagne and oysters to celebrate their fake engagement. 

“Wow, champagne and oysters,” y/n said with a sarcastic tone. “You really shouldn’t have, guys.” 

“Well, it’s a special night,” said Augustine. “So when did you guys meet?” 

Not having practiced any of this, the two lovebirds weren’t quite in sync with their backstory. “Last year,” y/n responded while Spencer went for “Two years ago.” 

Upon seeing the confused looks of Augustine and his companion, y/n chuckled. “We first met two years ago but we don’t count it because…” 

“I was dating a super smart scientist,” Spencer finished her sentence. 

“And I was dating the bassist of an up-and-coming Brooklyn-based band,” y/n continued the lie. 

“Anyways, about a year ago, we bumped into each other again in a bar and…” Spencer turned to y/n with a soft look on his face. “We haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other since.” 

Y/N hummed, unable to wipe the smile on her face. 

Augustine’s girl propped her head up on her hand, her elbow resting on the table. “So, how did you know she was the one?” she asked Spencer dreamily. 

Sighing, Spencer turned back to his fake-fiancée. “I’d love to answer that,” he said, surprising y/n a little. She was curious to hear what he was going to come up with. “Um, you know, just whenever I look at her face… and the… attached physique,” he answered a little awkwardly as though he didn’t want to say what he actually thought of her. 

“And you?” the girl asked y/n. 

Y/N’s eyes locked with Spencer’s and she couldn’t help but smile as her insides melted at the sight of his honeycomb eyes. “He’s the smartest guy I know and … he makes me laugh,” she responded honestly. 

“And, you know,” Spencer chimed in again, looking at the other couple. “There’s really no one else’s opinion who I care about more than hers, so…” When he looked back up at Y/N, he saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before and Spencer had studied those beautiful eyes before, remembering every detail about it thanks to his eidetic memory. 

“Okay, so enough chit-chat, let’s see the ring!” 

Panicking a little, y/n moved the ring from her ring finger on the right side to to one on the left before showing her hand to the woman. The ring was one she had gotten from her grandma when she had graduated from the academy. Y/N had always worn it as a token of good luck. It was the thing that kept her safe. 

The girl gasped. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed as she studied it. The band looked like twigs from the rose bushes in her grandmother’s garden with a small diamond that presented the rose. It reminded y/n of the days she’d spent at her grandparents’ house and helped her grandma with the rose bushes. 

“When I saw this ring, I knew I had to get it for her as it reminded me of the rose bushes her grandma had in her garden. Whenever Dora talks about spending time with her grandma in the garden, her eyes light up like a child’s on Christmas Eve and I just knew…” Spencer explained and though y/n knew in the back of her mind that all of this was just a ruse, she couldn’t help but turn into mush on the inside. 

How y/n survived the entire dinner without turning into a puddle, she didn’t know, but she somehow managed to get through to dessert. 

“Can you get the car from the valet, babe?” Augustine said to his girlfriend, handing her the keys. “I’m gonna go in the back and say hi to the chef.” Spencer and y/n exchanged glances when they noticed Augustine reaching for the laptop. 

“Good luck on your wedding, guys,” the girl said to them. “Oh, have fun on your honeymoon!”

“We will,” Spencer replied. “We’re going to Waco, Texas,” he said a little too excitedly. 

The girl looked at him for a moment before chuckling, “Huh, okay. Bye!” 

“Bye,” y/n greeted, giving her a wave that she couldn’t even see anymore, before turning to Spencer. “Waco, Texas?” 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer hissed. “It just slipped out.”

Shaking her head, y/n put the napkin down on her half-eaten dessert before scraping her chair back. “Let’s go, Augustine’s making the drop.” 

Spencer nodded and followed y/n to the kitchen where they found Augustine with the chef. “Look, there’s the buyer,” y/n pointed out, but then got confused when Augustine didn’t hand over the laptop. “Or he’s just actually saying hi to the chef?” 

As Augustine turned, his eyes landed on the couple near the door. “Oh, no. He’s seen us,” Spencer whispered and before he could properly think twice about it, he cupped y/n’s cheeks and kissed her on the lips. 

Confused and surprised, y/n wasn’t too sure what to do but then decided to follow along and melted into the kiss. His lips somehow slotted perfectly with hers and the tingle in the pit of her stomach felt natural. 

“Excuse me,” Augustine’s voice interrupted them. 

“Oh, sorry,” Spencer apologized. “We were just looking for a place to, uh…” 

A little groggy from that spine-tingling kiss, y/n finished Spencer’s sentence while holding onto him for dear life. “Boink…” 

“Yep. Boink…” Spencer agreed. “That’s my preferred term for it as well.” 

Y/N nodded her head to try and sell the point further. “I get it,” Augustine then said. “Newly engaged kids. Enjoy.” 

The couple watched as Augustine was out of sight before springing apart. “Good. Good, good, good, good,” Spencer mumbled, trying to convince himself. We kept our cover intact. Nice work.” 

“Quick professional thinking out there, Reid. Very quick. Very professional,” y/n rambled, not entirely thinking straight just yet. 

Trying to keep up his poise and to remind himself that they are, in fact, working, Spencer held out his hand for her to shake, which she quickly did. “Agent,” he said ceremonially. 

“Doctor,” y/n responded before the two of them headed out of the restaurant. 

As the couple joined their co-workers in the van again, they felt a little awkward. Neither of them was saying anything. Not to each other. Not to Emily and Derek. The two at the front found it slightly weird that Spencer wasn’t spewing facts and y/n wasn’t singing along to one of her favorite songs that was playing on the radio. 

“Okay, you’re being weird,” Derek pointed out. “What happened?” 

“Spencer and I kissed,” y/n responded with a roll of her eyes. 

“WHAT?!” Emily and Derek exclaimed simultaneously. 

“It was just to keep our cover from being blown,” Spencer responded. “We didn’t have a choice.” 

“Tell me everything!” Emily ordered, overly excited. 

Y/N shook her head. “Em, there’s nothing to tell, okay? It was for work. It was nothing.” She repeated the words in her head to convince herself that it was indeed nothing. That what she felt when Spencer’s lips were on hers was just a reaction to someone kissing her. That it wasn’t because it was Spencer kissing her. 

“Yeah, who cares about a kiss? Call me when you grab each other’s asses,” Derek chimed in. “He’s pulling over,” he then said when the red car in front of them had his blinker on. 

“Nothing like that is gonna happen, okay?” Spencer said before citing some facts about how in theater, the leads of the play almost never fall in love with one another and that it always just stays on-stage. 

“Guys, it’s not a handout,” Derek informed them as they watched Augustine drop off the case, cutting Spencer’s fact-spewing short. “It’s a drop-off.” 

“Okay,” y/n said. “Em, you and Derek follow Augustine.” 

“Right, and you two, follow your hearts,” Emily added, causing y/n to roll her eyes. 

“No, we’re gonna stay with the package.” 

Y/N and Spencer got out of the car and hid behind a tree to keep an eye out on the laptop case. The air was chilly for a summer evening, so y/n was glad she was still wearing Derek’s jacket. 

Spencer turned to y/n. “We’re cool, right?” 

“Yeah, totally,” y/n answered determinedly. “We’re fine.” 

“Good,” Spencer nodded. “You know, I’m actually quite hungry. I never really ended up eating anything at that fancy restaurant.” 

“Same. You know what I’m gonna get when I get to the hotel?” she asked with a grin. 

Spencer nodded his head. “Yeah, you’re gonna order Burger King and you’re gonna get the Crispy Chicken burger with cheesy chili fries, onion rings and a grape Sprite,” he summed up without hesitation. The fact that he’d remembered her exact order from Burger King surprised her and surprisingly also turned her on a little bit. 

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna get…” she mumbled, trying to shake off the feeling. 

While Spencer went on a ramble about what he was going to eat, y/n was distracted by the man a few feet away from them, closer to the package. She wasn’t paying much attention to anything Spencer was saying as she was trying to determine whether or not that was their UnSub. 

“Spence,” y/n tried to cut him off, but he kept on going with some facts about the restaurant he always went to. “Spence, he’s looking at us…” Before Spencer could turn his head to look at whatever y/n was looking at, she had already grabbed his face and brought his lips to hers, pressing him against the tree. 

Once again ignoring the feeling in the pit of her stomach, y/n opened an eye to watch the buyer walk off with the laptop in hand. She detached herself from Spencer and reached for her gun, stopping the guy in his tracks. 

“FBI! Freeze! We are co-workers!” she yelled, mostly to remind herself. 

“You’re under arrest!” Spencer joined in, pointing his gun at the man, too. “This is a work event!” 

Later that night, y/n found herself in her hotel room, pacing the floor with her crispy chicken burger getting colder and colder with every minute she didn’t touch it. She couldn’t stop her brain from rethinking everything that had happened that day. Every time she remembered the kiss with Spencer, her insides tingled and her heart skipped several beats. 

None of this made sense. She had been able to go about her days for the last year without thinking about Spencer this way. The thought had crept up on her once or twice, but she had always managed to shake it off. Why was this time so different? 

Before she could rethink everything, a knock on her door caused her to snap out of it. She secretly prayed it was JJ or Emily, just so she could rehash the whole thing and get everything off her chest. Though when she opened the door, she didn’t find JJ nor Emily there, but instead she was looking into those beautiful honey eyes that had melted her insides mere hours ago. 

“Spencer, I–” 

“Can I come in?” he asked, not allowing her to finish her sentence. Nodding, y/n stepped aside and let him in, closing the door right after. “A lot has happened today, huh?” he asked, wringing his hands in nervousness. 

“Yeah, I-I guess so…” 

Spencer sighed as he let go of his hands and stepped closer to y/n. “Look, y/n, I don’t want anything to get weird between us, okay? I understand why you don’t wanna date anyone in the field and I respect that. So, can we just forget today happened?”  

Going over her options, y/n’s mind skidded back and forth between every kiss and every word they had shared today. She could either ignore everything she had felt today and agree with him, forgetting about it all. Or she could take the plunge and try to figure it out with him. 

“I don’t think I can, Spencer,” she whispered. 

Spencer’s head tilted slightly as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Wh-what do you mean? I–” 

Before he could finish his sentence, y/n took two long strides towards him and cupped his cheeks, much like she had done before in the park, and kissed him deeply. At first, Spencer wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he quickly melted into her body, grabbing her by the waist to pull her closer. 

“Y/N!” Emily’s voice sounded before they heard the knock on her door. “Can we go out for some drinks?!” 

Y/N looked up at Spencer and offered him a soft smile. “I’ll be right down! Order a Chardonnay for me, will you?” 

The two of them waited until they heard the footsteps of their co-worker recede before heading out the door together. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to, either. They knew what they felt for one another was real and that they needed to figure something out, but that was not going to happen tonight. 

But whatever they would figure out, they would have to thank Johnny and Dora for pushing them this far.  

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh @Jassy122

[skinnyazn]

Tennessee Whiskey

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader Notes: fluff, they dance in a bar, I’ve never played the game but I’m o b s s e s s e d with big boy Ghost, my first COD fic hope y’all like it, it was inspired by my Tennessee Whiskey (a classic) which came on at dinner last night and so I had to write a fic obv

AO3 | MASTERLIST

The buzz of the neon sign hummed behind your head. The 141 was celebrating tonight—a victory somewhere just across the Mexican-American border. It was a bit of your standard Southern bar, with sticky floors and tables to match. Soap and Alejandro were taking shot for shot of tequila, while the big man who’d recently (and inappropriately) began to haunt your dreams—his large hands roaming your body—mask halfway up as he ate you like a man starved—was sipping a bourbon next to you at the table. His balaclava raised just above his nose. You watched the dim light dance off his blonde stubble. A reminder of how long you all had been on the mission.

You reluctantly drew your eyes away, back to the amber liquid in your own cup. A smirk found its way to your lips, but whether from the alcohol or the ambiance you couldn’t tell.

“What?” gruffed the masked man.

“Hmm?” Your eyes back on him. Half lidded; seductive, but unintentionally.

Ghost looked at you, eyes briefly flicking to your lips, then looked out to the bar. Your eyes lingered on him, then followed his gaze. 

“Alejandro! How th’ hell’s it go again?” Soap blared over the music. He was standing; Rudy laughed on his barstool.

“Hermano, if you slowed down a bit maybe you’d remember it,” Alejandro taunted back.

“Ack. C’mon. We’re celebrating tonight! I’m allowed to get pissed, right L.T.?”

The Scott looked at Ghost. His broad chest shook as you heard his light scoff.

“Sure, Johnny. But I’m not gonna be the one to carry ya home.”

“Booo!” Soap replied. “You’ll walk me home, won’t you Alejandro?” He made puppy eyes at the Mexican.

“When you look at me like that how can I say no?” Alejandro grabbed his cup. “Alright, ¡arriba, abajo, al centro y pa' dentro!” he bellowed.

Soap drunkenly chimed in the the latter half of the toast. They shot back the remnants of the tequila. Ghost shook his head next to you. 

“Not gonna join in?” You smiled and angled toward him. Your knees brushed under the table but he didn’t flinch away. You relaxed a little into it.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you guys.” He picked back up his glass and took a sip. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. You felt a flush in your cheeks.

“That’s a shame.” You swirled your glass.

“Why’s that?”

“Would like to see what The Ghost looks like with his guard down.” You knock back the rest of your drink and signal to the bartender for another.

You felt Ghost’s gaze heavy on you as you watched the other team members enjoying themselves. You angled your neck at him, intentionally this time. His body tensed against your knee and tried your damndest to stifle a smile. He took another sip from his drink as the bartender brought yours to the table. He raised his empty glass and the bartender nodded.

“Didn’t picture you as a whiskey girl.”

“Oh?” You tapped your forefinger on the liquid and circled the rim of your glass. “Why’s that?” 

“Dunno. Figured you for tequila. Or mezcal.”

You turned and looked him in the eye. “I like the burn of a good whiskey down my throat.”

His gaze was frozen on you. Was he leaning closer? It felt like you couldn’t pull back and neither could he. You moved your knee against his softly, and his eyes dipped to your lips again. His blonde lashes contrasted against his black eye paint. Such a pretty man.

The bartender set another glass of bourbon on the table. You felt your cheeks flush as the trance was broken and looked back out at Soap, who was now doing some kind of drunken do-si-do with Rudy. Price shook his head as cigar smoke wafted around him. You liked this team—it was like one big idiotic family. So you probably shouldn’t ruin that by trying to seduce your L.T..

“Do you dance?” 

You turned your surprised face to him again. But now he was looking out at the team.

“Do you?” You asked, as you took another sip of your whiskey. If he was going to ask you, you’d need a little more of the liquid courage. 

He simply pointed up and you listened to the music.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.

You smiled. It was one of your favorites as far as country songs went. “Thought you loved Kentucky?” 

Ghost shrugged. “S’good song.”

“Mm. A classic.”

He took a sip.

“So?”

Your grin spread wider. “If I’m asked properly.” Your finger rubbed the rim of the glass.

His barstool groaned against the floor. He was such an imposing figure when he stood. But he was built like a god and you desperately wanted to feel his body pressed against yours. Even if it was just through a dance.

“Can I have this dance?” He held out his gloved hand. You smiled as you stood. Your hand was so small in his. 

He was surprisingly tender as his palm rested on the small of your back while the other held your right hand. You both swayed to the music.

I’ve looked for love in all the same old places. Found the bottom of the bottle’s always dry. 

You rested your head against his broad chest. He stiffened slightly, but then you felt his muscles acquiesce; his heartbeat becoming more steady. You wondered the last time someone had treated him with tenderness. His fingertips ghosted circles on your back, over your black tank top, as you moved from side to side.

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy. And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“A past life.” 

You looked up at him, cheek still against his chest. He was staring vacantly forward. God you wanted kiss him so badly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You felt the vibrato through his body.

“Why not?” Your lashes brushed against the fabric of his shirt.

“Cause then I’m going to have to take you home.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed against him. Your fingertips mimicked his as you stroked his broad back.

“And I already told Johnny I wasn’t gonna carry him back. How would that look, me leaving with you?”

You nodded your head understandingly. “Don’t want to break the poor boy’s heart.”

“S’right.” 

You looked back up at him. This time he returned the gaze. You heard his heart beat a little louder. A little faster.

“But you said you wouldn’t carry him home. Never said anything about walking home.” You contended.

He hummed in agreement. The vibrations you felt through his chest sent a heat straight to your core.

“I did, didn’t I?” He let go of your hand and his thumb brushed your bottom lip. Your mouth parted automatically. He dragged it down. The coarse fabric brushed against your chin. Grazed the length of your throat. Fuck. You were in it now.

“In that case,” he nodded to the door. A seductive smile broke across your face and you bit your bottom lip. And the two of you slipped out of the bar without a sound; his hand never leaving the small of your back.

[merge-conflict]

wip wednesday uhhhhhh

tagged by @streetkid-named-desire 🙏

workin' on:

adjusting to new work schedule without going insane

listening to schism on repeat until it stops making me feel things

finishing phantom liberty (things are going to go so bad I can feel it. reed and valentine are two birds of a feather. a songbird in hand is worth more than bush– ok idk where I was going with this. why is everyone in this dlc so hot. the edible hit just as lizzy wizzy was doing her thing I was absolutely 👁️👁️ zonked)

[outline] ffor - kerry vs manager death match meeting ft. valentine being the kind of incorrigible and professionally unpleasant asshole you want on your side in an argument –> well-crafted excuse to have johnny watch kerry and go through the confusing mess of jealousy, lust, possessiveness, smug superiority and affection from behind a screen where he can't pitch a fit or ruin everyone's day by being snide or making himself the new center of attention. lol

[draft] ch. 12 of the damn things overlap – putting johnny failover thru some horrors because it's fun ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Featuring my notes from PL on characters (going thru one of my adhd note-taking phases), not intentionally incomprehensible but uhhh gotta write fast while they're still talking:

And a snippet of Johnny definitely not Going Thru It (it's his body unless it's a fear response, then it's V's weird hormones or something idk):

The answering burst of distorted laughter sent adrenaline screaming up the inside of Johnny’s lungs. Half a century later and Smasher was less human than ever: a ghoulish half-skinned skull bolted onto a brutal metal frame and armored with enough heavy plating enough to make the float shift when he did. He towered over Oda, shoulders hunched so the launcher perched on his shoulder didn’t scrape the ceiling. Behind him was the smoking ruin of the hole he’d blown open, the unsettled dust and debris making his red eyes glow like hellfire. Arasaka’s oldest rabid dog. Something about the angle he was leering down at him made Johnny feel like he was standing in and out of a dream, unarmed and paralyzed while his mind tried to catch up with V’s hammering heart. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his arm ached bone-deep, numbness flickering up and down from his elbow to his fingertips. The air stank of charred flesh and scorched metal, like saltwater and bloated decay. He reached again for V, but she was gone and he was alone. No V, no Hand, just him. “Too stupid to stay dead,” Smasher spat, leaning over Oda in a way that made the man instinctively tense, grip tightening painfully. “That really you, Johnny-boy?” Time finally snapped back into focus, adrenaline reaching his smoldering gray matter, and Johnny felt his mouth twisting into a grin– V still haunting her own nervous system, dark laughter bubbling up out of terror like tar. “In the flesh, so to speak. More than I can say for you, you ugly bastard.”

it's missing something, but I won't know what until I take Johnny for more of a spin for the rest of the chapter...however it doesn't stop me from wanting to pick at it.

tagging @wanderingaldecaldo, @fly-amanitaa, @corpocyborg, @vox-monstera (no pressure!!! :3)

[dadscarathon]

Day Six Part Two: Late Night With the Devil

It was a great Sunday in the Skellington house. We watched both Terrifiers and then with dinner we finally got to see A Haunting in Venice, as I'm a sucker for a good cozy mystery. Sadly, Haunting wasn't quite spoopy enough for the Scarathon, so appropriately enough I ended up watching Late Night in the PJs just before bed.

Like a lot of the watches for Spooptober I came in with no expectations, no prior reviews read, only the synopsis for this one. It was an interesting watch! A polished movie, well conceived and executed, with a lot of detail that was fun.

Scary: 1 out of 3. No truly frightening moments here - this movie was a slow burn to a riotous ending and didn't make use of a lot of shock/scares.

Gross: 1 out of 3. There were definitely a couple of grody effects at play, though I was hard-put to call them as digital or practical, which is a good sign. Still, unless you have a severe phobia targeted at the couple of gross effects, not an emphasis.

Disturbing: 1 out of 3. Keeping in mind, these ratings are how the movie impacted my own impression, no score for this one. I could see how some watchers might be disturbed or upset, but for me it wasn't a big impact.

Funny: 1 out of 3. Sadly, I didn't find myself laughing during the movie. Maybe once? That might seem strange, since the film's conceit is a late night talk show a la Johnny Carson and hey, there's a monologue with jokes and punchlines right?

Thoughtful: 2 out of 3. The subject of Late Night, the Devil in question, the premise was in no way thoughtful or disturbing, but the execution of the film itself was good enough it had me smiling or marveling at the craft. The movie is set in the 70s, and the entire esthetic reflects that. I even thought that the effects were made to look like effects you might find in a top-notch horror of the error, updated a little with modern technology of course. The ending also had a little of that "But what really happened?" wink at the end, and it wasn't done in a cliché manner. Good stuff.

Total Score: 6 out of 15. This was a good watch, and a quality horror for a Spooptober pick. If you appreciate a found-footage angle that looks like it was professionally produced and aired in the 70s, check it out.

[anistarrose]

*turns giant spotlight on you* why don't you tell everybody about that cursed crossover fic :3c

(WIP ask game here)

oh I was wondering if any of you who Knew would use this as the chance to make me spill the beans about this one... I'm so glad you did, though. because I have a lot of thoughts about why Bill Cipher and John/The Hunger should have a mutually toxic Chess and Vore hangout, to make each other worse.

(spoilers for The Book of Bill under the cut)

this was of course inspired by what I call Mandibles Theory, and what I've been lovingly called a coward for not calling Vore Theory: the implication from The Book of Bill that he not only burned his dimension, but also devoured a great deal of the other inhabitants, possibly even to get to them before the fire could. my first reaction to realizing how much sense this theory made was "oh my god that's fucked up," but obviously, my second reaction was "oh my god Bill's so John Hunger coded now, they should make out sloppy style."

the premise is that Bill develops an interest in the Light of Creation — possibly finding out about it in the first place because Ford ran into the IPRE or something, but the dimension-hopping nerds all take a back seat for this one. the next thing Bill finds out is that there's already a dimension-destroying eldritch horror with his sights set on the Light — but that's not enough to stop Bill, obviously. he lets himself into John's mindscape...

and Bill doesn't fully understand the significance, but John is surprised not to see Merle, actually. because this is post-"are you my friend?"/"I feel sad," that whole implication leaves a bad vibe in the air on John's behalf, though it's not enough to stop them from getting a chess game going, where they exchange (heavily selective retellings) of their backstories. Bill shares that he could see the third dimension — and John shares that with the Light of Creation, he could see the fourth. he could see time, the length of eternity. John says this in such a grave tone that Bill rolls his eye, says he's been alive for trillions of years, it's not all that serious — and John retorts that trillions of years are still less than eternity. that Bill still can't comprehend eternity.

now, Bill wants power, he wants John on his side. so he switches topics and plays up their similarities even further. he likes eating people too! it's one of his favorite pastimes! "tell me, Johnny, how you shut out the angry voices of those devoured souls! I like to drown the suckers out with my favorite songs, so how do you cope?"

John's reaction isn't what Bill expects — least of all given that Bill is wildly, wildly playing down how much the screams of his devoured family still haunt him. but John declares he doesn't have this problem. he doesn't devour for the sake of destruction, but for the sake of becoming something more with the planes that he finds — every lifeform the hunger swallows becomes immediately as vexed as John is with the horror of existence and the maddening nature of eternity.

"everyone listened," John tells him, insistent; "every single person listened." he says this, and cracks of opalescent corruption run up his neck, across his face, and he still maintains: "no one has ever turned away from the truth, from — from the Light —"

the reader knows that Merle turned away. and that that's what drives John forward, with a fervor in his eyes that makes Bill think he's angling for some kind of eldritch makeout session, which, you know what, Bill might be into that — but that's not what John's after. tendrils of the Hunger unfurl from his body, and try to absorb, try to devour Bill himself. he wants to drag Bill down with him. to make him see the world as John sees it — to think about existence not just for trillions of years but forever, to think of living with the screams of his devoured family tormenting him for forever.

and for a moment, Bill does start to see it that way. the existential dread assails him from all angles — the prospect that no partying, no portal, no puppet, no Sixer can stop his suffering forever? the prospect of carrying this guilt and these devoured souls eternally?

what saves Bill is not any strength of willpower exceeding that of John's. the only reason Bill breaks free is because, fundamentally, he cannot accept that unhappiness could be real. to accept that his eternal existence would be torturous would mean accepting that he is unhappy now, that none of his rationalization or his partying or his puppets have changed that. and Bill can't accept that.

he burns his way out of John's mindscape, he flees the Hunger-dimension altogether, and he never dares pursue the Light of Creation again. it pierced his mental defenses in a way that nothing had before. a way he's determined, silently determined, to never let happen again.

the last scene cuts to Ford and Merle playing cards on the Starblaster. and Merle's like "say, buddy, you just get a weird feeling that we just dodged a bullet we never even saw coming?" and Ford's like "some of us are scientists, who don't so haphazardly mix metaphor and superstition. but yes, I do feel a bit like a scary shadow just passed underneath us in the ocean." and then they go back to playing cards and the fic ends there with no one the wiser

[misscammiedawn]

See that's the thing I love about this book. The above post is so firm and passionate about wanting to peel through the layers to get to The House and views all the abstraction as obstacles to that goal. I think that's a valid way to read the book.

It's not even remotely what I care about, though.

Don't get me wrong. Haunted House! An ordeal of Greek Myth proportions that pits man against man and serves to weigh the soul of Will Navidson and repair his fractured marriage? Sure. I love it. Cool.

What I love is that this book understands something that I hold true as a firm belief in my soul. Good art is both a means of sharing emotion and a mirror that we can see ourselves in. A good piece of art should be able to allow me to view perspectives unavailable to me in my life and bridge gaps in human understanding. A good piece of art that acts as a mirror should allow me to question my emotional reactions, to feel unalone in a world where I lack the language to communicate with others.

The ability to contain emotion within brush strokes and the printed word and audio vibrations and concepts is a gift.

I'm not the first person to take the view that House of Leaves is just a book. That's the solution. Nothing that happens within its pages is real. It's fiction. There is no solution. There's no purpose. It cannot be solved. Because it's fiction. It's an insanity simulator. Every layer of the narrative is impacting the next, infecting it with an obsession. Will's obsession with the inside of his house captivates the documentarian, the documentary captivates Zampano, Zampano's notes captivate Truant and though the editors don't insert themselves as the others do there is a lot of citation to go through.

Which leaves the reader. I have seen a large number of people just skip and focus only on the Navidson Record. I have seen people go over it multiple times to check citations and unpeel the narrative from multiple angles. You can check to see which citations are real or just treat them as a pretty set dressing and if you go the route of citations then you're down the rabbit hole because only a portion of them even lead anywhere.

Then you can chose whether or not you read Pelafina's letters at face value or if you decode them and read the layer beneath the layer and that will cause you to ask how much of Truant's story is true and how much is made up. If Pelafina's letters mention his Europe poems (written after she died) and Zampano (who she didn't meet?) you may start asking other questions.

You may listen to the album. You may ask why characters in the book are able to read the book that you are reading which is published and thus the words being written have been read by people written in the book and...

It's an insanity and obsession simulator, it's a mirror and it's just a book. You are literally the only person who has read the version of House of Leaves that exists in your head. Your experience cannot be shared. It's also a labyrinth with unlimited numbers of directions to read it. Start-to-Finish is not really an option. I doubt there's a human alive who has read every word from the start of the page to the end of the page from cover to cover. The book cannot be read that way.

For me, I read The Whalestoe Letters when the narrators offered me an opportunity to check the Appendixes. That means my view of Johnny (and his confession at the end) was painted by knowing about Pelafina. Many people would not have read those letters until afterwards. Many may never have read them at all. Even if they did, did they decode the hidden messages?

Plus, you bring your own baggage with you. I'm a traumatized kid raised by a single father who spent a lot of time in-patient at mental care facilities. Ignoring the direction one reads the book, the baggage you take in with you shapes your experience. I would never expect any reader to feel more connected to Johnny than the rest of the story. I know most people hate and skip his segments.

But hey, I saw ugly parts of me in that little twerp and I don't shy away when confronted by nasty reflections.

The beauty of House of Leaves in my eyes isn't trying to see The Navidson Record and put together the interesting story that is hidden behind layers of abstraction, it's a mind worm, a labyrinth that pulls you in again and again and leaves you alone in your own thoughts. Even in the book they claim that the House may be God trying to weigh a soul and put it on a trial that will allow the truest version of self to exit from the maze.

I like to think the book itself wants to do the same. But then again. The version of the book that exists in my head is unique. It's mine. After all. The labyrinth grows and expands as you explore it. Why would yours look like mine.

I just hope people are better on the other side of reading it and don't get lost in the endless traps and pitfalls and citations and insanity.

ok. Narrative obfuscation in House Of Leaves. It’s a relatively simple story about a man who moves into a house with his wife and kids, and the house is haunted. That’s it. The core themes are very transparent.

Except, that story is documented by a famous war documentarian, then published as a series of rare tapes, which are discoursed by film buffs, then interpreted from viewings and reading film critique by a blind old man, then his thoughts are transcribed into a manuscript by a series of young women, which is then compiled from scattered notes by the most mysoginistic, damaged, toxic pothead drop-out who won’t stop talking about his life, which is THEN edited and published by some vaguely nefarious agency who soberly refuse to provide any clarification or context.

It’s not simple, but there are so many different hands on the wheel with wildly differing opinions that you can’t discern the truth.

Johnny Truant is such a miserable hopeless fuck up. He has no sense of academic rigor or archival professionalism. Any interference he provides only muddies the waters and taints what would otherwise be a gripping piece of metaphysical film criticism. His neurotic rambling and personal anecdotes cloud an otherwise reasonable story.

If he wasn’t in it, if we could read Zampano’s manuscript directly, WE would be able to understand the truth. We would get it completely, and we wouldn’t have to encounter so much violence, so much miserable graphic detail. It would be a better story.

And fuck it, if we didn’t have to read all of Zampano’s tangents and analyses and interpretations, if we could just find a copy of the famous “five-and-a-half minute hallway” vhs, if we could SEE it, we’d understand. We wouldn’t need endless pontification of what Navidson and Karen’s marriage might entail, or recitations of what a director once said in a Rolling Stones article. We’d see the hallway itself, stretching out into what should be the backyard, and we’d get it. Hell, Zampano is blind in his old age. He can’t even watch the damn movie! But we could. We’d know instantly, the second we saw it. The impossibility of it, the gravity of it, the weight of that dark abyss.

And well, the VHS recording is a little dark, and the quality is poor, and maybe the white balance isn’t so perfect. And actually, VHs tapes could be manipulated. We can’t be sure that Navidson isn’t just using clever videography tricks to invent a hallway. If we were there, if we found the house (it’s in virginia, isn’t it? we even have the address). If we GO there, we could look down that hallway. And it’s dark, so if we just brought a flashlight, maybe took a few steps inside-

[shri-is-zoning-out-again]

“Here’s Johnny!” 

   Two words and you already know I’m talking about one of the greatest horror movies ever made- “The Shining”. This movie, adapted from Stephen King’s novel of the same name, revolves around the Torrance family who are living in and taking care of the Overlook Hotel over the winter. The Overlook is a popular hotel that is left alone in winter making it fully isolated from the rest of the country and the movie follows Jack Torrance’s gradual descent into madness that turns him against his own wife and son. Although the film was not received well in the 1980s and is popularly disliked by King himself, most people now including me think it’s an absolute masterpiece. 

    Not only is it skillfully made, but it’s also an incredibly fascinating work of art that has given rise to multiple conspiracy theories trying to figure out all the hidden meanings in the movie. Now, I have not read the book so I will focus solely on the movie. There are a lot of takes on the movie out there that consider how real the ghosts are and how Jack broke out of the pantry and why Jack is seen in the photograph right in the end and mine aligns mostly with one explained by Rob Ager, a film critic. The Shining and all its ghosts are nothing but the hallucinations of Jack Torrence as he spirals further and further into insanity. Well, not NOTHING. I feel like the hotel has this really omniscient, ambiguous presence that doesn’t directly say “I’m a haunted hotel” but it sort of ruins its habitants psychologically. Quoting a video essay I watched about this movie earlier, the hotel doesn’t try to kill the people living in it- instead, it pits the people against each other, trying to get them to kill each other as their mental states worsen. 

  Not only, are the hotel and characters portrayed wonderfully, but the movie also uses these really wide angles that make the hotel seem even more brooding and isolating, adding to the eerie, uncomfortable feeling the movie creates for its audience. 

   I don’t know much about cinematography, but as a viewer, I thoroughly enjoyed “the shining” and I really do recommend it to anyone who’s even slightly interested in horror.

[kashimos-hajime]

*kicks your door down* BONE JAW! May I humbly request “I know you can be louder than that.” with mr johnny silverhand please (because i'm a hoe, and we know this)

CLOWNERY!!

warning: nsfw!!! no spoilers at all and set in 2020s or whenever you want. johnny’s actually alive so 😀✌️

"I know you can be louder than that."

It’s a challenge. Everything is a fucking challenge with Johnny fucking Silverhand. Fresh off his damn rocker, still furious after another argument with Alt, a clash with Kerry—you know he comes to you because of that. 

It’s the only reason he comes to you. Why else? Because he cares? Fuck no.

It’s a mutual understanding. After all, what would Kerry Eurodyne say when he learns that anti-corpo bastard Johnny Silverhand is fucking the kid of Militech’s head of R&D division? Probably make some scathing remark, enough that it’ll make Johnny knock back some beers and come on over to your place anyway, just to prove a point.

And you—you just need an output.

Every inch of your apartment is a surface and as soon as you open the door, he has his hands on your face, his mouth swooping and warm against yours. You stumble back, barely remember to close the door before he’s ripping off your dress, you’re shoving off his jacket. It’s almost routine in their tangled fury as he pushes you towards the couch, whatever’s closet.

Fucker isn’t even going for your offer for drinks this time. Whatever’s happened is still biting at his nerves and he doesn’t waste any time on pretense before his pants drop to the floor. His thumb presses against your clit, two fingers deep inside you, readying you for what’s to come and you arch your back off the couch as he growls to himself, boxers shoved just down his hips.

“Whatever’s happened,” you murmur, a tightness in your stomach already beginning to twist, “has you riled, Samurai.”

“Shut the fuck up about it,” he grunts, aligning their bodies and there’s a tenderness which he holds your face as he thrusts into you. “Mouthy brat.”

“Fucking asshole. Oh, fuck—“ You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as his head falls against yours, his harsh breaths against your collarbone and your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers raking against his jacket. Setting a pace that has even you struggling to catch up on, you let him fuck you into the cushions, your leg sliding off the couch as he lifts his head and presses a heavy, open-mouthed kiss against your lips, their gasps mixing and you can taste the cigarettes and beer on his tongue as he trails a hand down your side, cups your hip. 

A groan tears through your lungs, echoing in your ribs as he angles your body, takes you deeper and deeper, and it’s not long before you’re delirious with bliss, trying to hold onto anything that’s more stable than the rocker boy who fucks the stress out of you on the weekly.

His head falls to your neck, lips feverish, and a shameless, desparate sound spills out of you as soon as the muzzle is lifted and his hand on your jaw falls to your throat.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can be louder than that,” he snarls, biting down on your jaw and your stomach cramps, your body flushing. His pace is brutal, destroying every wall you have ever built until you are the base of who you are and as your thighs clench, your breathing hitch, not for the first time do you come to a haunting revelation.

You’re human. Just like him

Just like fucking him.

And when you fall apart in his hands, he follows a moment later and they lay against each other, panting, detesting every inch of the other pressed closer than close against one another. But they don’t move. Your hand is still in his shaggy hair, he’s still thrusting lazily into you, his flesh hand on your hip, and you can feel the cold shiver of his rings. Their other hands are joined above your head, fingers interlaced, and you almost want to tell him to let go of your hand.

But then, why don’t you let go of his?

“You fucking kill me,” he murmurs, kissing your breastbone, your chin, and finally your mouth. You hum, eyes half-mast, and he sighs, holding onto your jaw and squeezing gently. “Fuck you.” You smile against his grip and he shakes your head gently before letting go and sitting up. He sighs, grabbing his pants and you sit up, your knees shaking a bit as you twist to put your feet on stable ground again.

“You still want that drink?” you try, wiping at your face. “Stay the night?” He sits down beside you, leaning back and pulling his pants back up and zipping them back up. Meeting black eyes, you raise an eyebrow. “I have whiskey.”

A grunt and a clear of a throat later, he finally nods. “Yeah, fine.”

Patting his knee, you get up and move to walk in front of him, and you almost make it before he snatches your wrist, tugging you down and a smile barely splits your mouth before his mouth finds yours, his metal hand on your neck, his fingers running down your chest, and he palms your breast, squeezing teasingly.

Your smile only grows as you kiss him back but you push his face away when he tries to pull you into your lap. Standing upright once more, you push his hand off your body with a coy smile.

You know his eyes linger after your ass, despite how much he wants to be repulse by you and you him. It’s a struggle they fail at every time.

Everything’s a challenge.

[nctsworld]

no filters (just you)

✩ johnny x reader | pining | fluff | photographer au | 1.7k 

→ summary: in which you finally steal a peek at your best friend’s camera gallery and are surprised to find countless photos of you throughout it all.   → warnings: some drinking, few swear words, kissing

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

The bustling of the joyous occasion surrounds you. String lights glow under the summer night sky. They encompass the white linen tables topped with delicate flowers and ornaments, alongside all the dressed up people dancing, sitting, laughing, and overall having a great time. 

You’re one of the people sitting at a table, indulging yourself with a glass of champagne in one hand. However, you aren’t alone. Johnny, your best friend, is the photographer for the wedding and was allowed to bring a guest. Not much persuasion was needed when free food and drinks were involved. 

Taking a sip of your drink, you watch your towering friend finish taking a picture of people on the dance floor before he heads straight towards you. His camera sways lightly with his cool walk and when he finally reaches you, he feigns an exhausted sigh and sinks into the chair next to you.

“Man, photography just takes so much out of me,” he shakes his head while loosening his tie. 

“Does it really, though?” you cock an eyebrow, then flash him your signature smile. He reflects your expression, grabs your glass, and takes a sip. Actually, more than a sip, since he finishes all the bubbly without hesitation.

“I thought you don’t drink on the job.” 

Setting the thin vessel down, he shakes his head defensively, “I never said that. I said I don’t get drunk on the job. There’s a difference.” 

You snatch your empty glass back and begin to refill it as Johnny carefully removes the camera strap from his body prior to gently placing the camera on the table. He leaves a hand on it, giving him a sense of security over his prized possession (and because it’s the reason why he’s getting paid tonight). 

Johnny looks back and forth between the floor and the table when he says, “Sorry I couldn’t really be with you tonight.”

In the midst of a sip, you immediately refute his apology. “No, don’t apologize, Johnny. You’re working, and you know I can’t complain.” You gesture towards all the food and drinks. 

“But...” you play with the stem of the glass. “Can I at least see some of the pictures?” 

“No, you cannot,” he quickly answers, shutting you down like he usually does. You pout. 

“You know I couldn’t give two shits if you take pictures of naked girls in your spare time, right?” Sarcasm oozes from your accusation, but anyone walking by and hearing it wouldn’t know otherwise. 

“Oh, my God,” he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head from your lack of shame. You notice his cheeks start to colour, but you’re unsure if that’s from the drink or embarrassment. 

“Firstly, all the pictures of the naked girls I take are on my other camera,” he begins to count on his fingers, responding against your banter. “And secondly, I’m working on a secret photography project. Once I’m done, then you can see it.” 

“You promise?” you hold your pinky out. 

He chuckles. “I promise.” 

His pinky finger curls around yours, then both of you angle your hand a bit upward to have your thumbs touch. After the promise is sealed, the two of you have some fun on the dance floor until midnight rolls around and guests trickle more and more away. Johnny deals with the last bit of his job before he begins to drive you home. 

You relax into the passenger seat, looking at all the things that pass by in the middle of the night. Johnny’s music softly plays in the background and almost lulls you to sleep until he mentions he has to stop for gas. 

“I’m gonna pick up some snacks. Do you want any?”

A few come to mind, so you list them for him to pick up on your behalf. He smiles, jokingly tells you not to go anywhere, and heads into the gas station’s convenience store as he’s done filling his tank. While you watch him make his way towards the store, a lightbulb goes off in your head. Without thinking, your hand reaches in the back seat of his car and grasps onto his camera; you couldn’t help but jump at the chance to rummage through his camera gallery. 

The camera’s screen glares at you in the darkness of the car. It’s a bit painful, but you persist and smile back at all the people enjoying themselves in the wedding photos. 

Whenever you see Johnny’s shots, they never fail to amaze you. He has the ability to capture a moment in its purest essence. If a picture is worth a thousand words, Johnny’s pictures were worth double.

Suddenly, you notice a photo of yourself sitting at the table, glancing off to one side. You think to yourself that Johnny caught you in such a picture-perfect moment, he probably couldn’t help himself. 

You scroll further through the wedding photos, but realization gradually dawns on you when you notice that there are more photos of you than there should be at an event that wasn’t even your own. 

Hastily, you go to the master gallery page to view several photos at once. The camera almost drops from your hands as your fingers fumble with the back button to view photos that date back from weeks and months ago at mutual friends’ gatherings. 

Earlier in the summer for Taeyong’s birthday, you see glimpses of you in various shots. Laughing, smiling, wincing. You didn’t even know you had such facial expressions. 

There’s shots of your back peering at a sunset, looking off the balcony of Taeil’s new apartment from his housewarming.

Before then, there’s shots of you at a dinner party celebrating Mark’s promotion at work. 

Johnny’s taken so many photos of you without you ever knowing. How did you not realize? 

You hold the camera’s screen close to your body for a second, wondering if you’re simply Johnny’s artistic muse for a mere project or if there is something actually more to all this. 

Did Johnny really see you as more than friends? 

Did he view you the way you silently yearn for him, or did he only like you through a camera lens?

Turning your head, you see Johnny strolling out of the store with snacks in his arms. Faster than the speed of light, you ensure the camera roll is back to the last wedding photo taken and almost throw it against the back seat. You seethe, knowing Johnny would kill you if he knew you did that, but you maintain composure. You pull your phone out, playing cool just in time as he opens the door. 

During the rest of the ride, you try your hardest to pretend nothing’s wrong. Even when silent, Johnny’s known you long enough to know something’s off. He doesn’t say anything until he pulls up in front of your place. When he does, the suited figure turns off the engine, but leaves the music playing still. 

“Hey,” he whispers your name in the night air. It’s tender, but worrisome. Not a common thing you hear from him. “You okay?” 

You lie, barely nodding, and glance down with a slight grip on the snacks he bought you. The crinkle of the bags are a loud intrusion to the background music and silent air. 

“I…” You’re searching for what to say, deciding if you should continue to lie or not. 

“I may have went through your camera.” The truth croaks out of you, and you’re shaking your head because on top of your confusion, you’re feeling waves of guilt from intruding your best friend’s privacy. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

From your peripheral vision, you catch Johnny’s hand grip a little tighter on the steering wheel, then his grip relaxes and he rubs his thumb delicately against it. 

“Can I just say,” he speaks after a few passing moments that feel like eternity, into the tension still present in the air. “I’m not a stalker or creeper, I swear.” 

A beat passes. 

You cut the thick tension with a small laugh. He follows and begins to laugh along with you.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” you sarcastically add and look over at him. 

“Hey, you know I need to cover my grounds. I don’t need my best friend suing my ass.” 

Hearing the term “best friend” lingers and sits with both of you strangely in the air.

“Do you…” you begin to ask the question that may hurt the most, so you elect to ask a less loaded question. “Are you actually doing a photography project using my pictures?” 

He nods with the dim street light shining on him. He’s tired, you can tell, and you feel more guilt for keeping him up any longer than you should. Despite his wariness, Johnny still looks gorgeous, especially with the perfect lighting. Sometimes, he jokes that life is a runway for him, but in this moment, you begin to understand and agree with him. 

“Yeah, it’s a project on something that I consider beautiful,” Johnny glances over to you as the last word rolls off his tongue, and you’re smiling softly at his compliment. “I’m supposed to present it later this week. I was going to figure out a way to break it to you afterwards.” 

Hearing Johnny call you beautiful has your heart fluttering. You just want to jump out of the car, squeal so much that the neighbours would wake up, then you would run into your home and call it a night.

Instead, your body takes control and courage courses through your veins when you reach for the end of his tie. You daintily roll the tip of it between your fingers and let the haunting question free, ready for whatever follows.   

“Do you like me? As more than a friend?” 

You’re suddenly conscious of how hard you’re breathing and your heart flutters become hard knocks against your chest. Johnny’s face is now a few inches away from yours. At this point, you’re unsure if you’re playing with his tie out of nervousness or desiring for something more, or perhaps both. Your eyes attempt to lock with his and you note how he’s breathing just as hard as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Johnny this nervous before. 

“Yeah,” he exhales with a nod. You smell a small hint of the champagne scent against your face from his breath, along with the scent of his faded cologne. Johnny finally manages to match your gaze. “Do you?” 

Without a word, you answer his question by practically yanking his tie closer to you, meeting his lips with yours. 

The night ends with you two kissing breathlessly in the backseat until hues of orange and yellow begin to stain the horizon. 

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 2

this is probably a really bad piece of writing to post for @beybladeweek2021 and also a very strange take on the day 2 themes and i'm sorry - i do try to come up with oneshots that make sense as stand-alone pieces even though they take place within an AU, but for a oneshot about kai it just kind of failed because he's a very contextual character in the tale of four kingdoms, so i just went and wrote the weirdest shit i could muster out of these themes and this is it. maybe it entertains someone out there anyway.

this takes place pretty early on the 4kingdoms timeline, it's a little peek to kai's PoV that's not in the main fic. and.... this is based on my g-revolution-based headcanon that kai writes really embarrassingly melodramatic poetry on his free time. i felt a need to say that

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

Friendship / Beach / Summer

The Sun is bleeding its brilliance into the crimson ocean. Midnight is said to be the time when demons come out to play, when time and human emotion alike are at zero – even here in South, where the flame of the Sun never truly goes out.

Kai has always enjoyed that hour. To him, the level of human emotion being at zero is a thought of comfort, when everything starts anew. A blank page. He welcomes the demons to join him.

Not to mention that it’s the only genuinely pleasant time of the day in the South, the only time when the black of his uniform isn’t trying to suffocate him to death.

“Suffocate to death.” He tilts his head in approval. The word death has a dull ring to it, but he jots the line down in his notebook all the same, if only to please the demons around. The ink that follows the tip of his vermilion-feathered quill on the paper is as dark as the sky of the North…

An abrupt shudder rips up his spine and he presses his eyes shut tight. There it is again. The North. He wants to move on from the thought and fast, but the spell never works.

As much as he wants to forget, the memory of his brief visit to the Country of North keeps coming back to haunt him, a snow-coloured ghost behind his eyelids. He’s very good at forgetting, an expert at closing his eyes and ears and pretending he didn’t see nor hear a thing, but this memory persists, both the bone-chilling cold and the uncomfortable, invisible yet inevitable bond between him and the other kings that hasn’t left his consciousness ever since.

He never wanted to go there. There’s a sinking feeling within him that the journey was a horrible mistake – that the supposedly infallible, the oh-so-flawless Hiwatari Souichirou made a mistake in his calculations in sending him there, and now Kai knows. Something has been set in motion, and nobody will be spared from it.

He doesn’t want to admit that it terrifies him, the knowledge of the outside world being so vast and so different from his own reality. Pretend you don’t see, pretend you don’t hear, but how could he? Three other kings, three other kingdoms, the North planted a seed of awareness in him that has since been growing into knowledge – about him being part of something greater out there. Something way beyond these stone walls of the castle above the red ocean that he believed to be the centre of the world.

And yet he’s here again, staring at that ocean, the red, foaming waves ravenously licking the dunes of the South. This kingdom of never-ending summer was already drenched in the dubious colour of blood the moment it was created. The others were not: although he has only seen the North, he can instinctively tell that they’re different, all three of them, and none have the red horizon of the South.

He doesn’t want to be curious about the others, doesn’t want to engage, but the wheel has been set in motion whether he wants it or not. An irreversible force pulling him along to join its cycle.

Under the previous line of writing, Kai’s vermilion quill loops around to form a new word. Friend.

Friend. Friend. For a word that he doesn’t know the meaning of, it sure keeps coming back to him a lot. He knows it’s something that can only be done in cooperation with another person – that’s what Hiwatari Souichirou is pushing him to do, now, with the Eastern Seiryuu-ou, the dragon king. “I need you to befriend him.”

And in his message on that talking device that appeared out of nowhere after the journey to the North, the Seiryuu-ou said something along those lines as well. “I want to get to know you.”

He stares down at the word for a moment. Then, underneath it, he writes it again, this time with sharper angles. And then one more time. There – that’s more like the handwriting a person of great importance like him should have. Not the childish curves of the earlier scribbles in the notebook.

“Still here, Kai-sama?”

He jumps a little at the voice behind him, then pretends to have seen the appearance of his royal knight at the doorway miles ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of noticing the successful ambush. He hurries to set the notebook aside.

“So?” he asks in response.

“Are you going to stay out here till the hour of the wolf again? His Majesty won’t be excited.”

“And I couldn’t care less what Hiwatari Souichirou is excited about.”

Johnny breathes out a scoff. The knight has always been humoured by his protectee’s manner of calling the old king by full name, as if they were strangers rather than family to each other.

After hiding his notebook away in a drawer, Kai gets up from his position by the ocean-side window and turns to Johnny. His eyes betray none of his thoughts, as usual, but he isn’t quite as versed at hiding them from his voice when he opens his mouth for a question. Midnight has let the young Suzaku-ou down, he’s past the hour of time and human emotion at zero, now the wheel continues to turn again.

“Tell me,” he says to his knight, “what does the word ‘friend’ mean?”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

---

Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.