#the ending is sappy as hell

[musicprincess1990]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day 5

Sorry I'm late (again), but here's the promised Musician AU!

~*~

In Perfect Harmony

Very few people knew of Molly’s musical talent, let alone that it had made her a local celebrity. Her name and her eight-year-old face had been on every tabloid and newspaper in England for a solid six months, as she toured alongside the London Philharmonic. Child prodigy Margaret Hooper was on track to become a world-famous violinist, among the ranks of Heifetz, Kreisler, and Perlman. The violin was her life, her purpose, her first true love.

Until the pain started, and she was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome.

Molly didn’t touch her violin for years, even after she had healed. Eventually, though, she picked it back up, but she only played for herself (and perhaps a few nosy neighbours who might have been listening). Never in public, nor even in front of her family. Her once legendary talent had all but slipped away, and though she was still good (as far as she knew), she certainly wasn’t as good. But the joy of simply playing again was all she needed.

She never told a soul. Not her uni mates, none of her boyfriends, not even Sherlock Holmes (although expected he knew just by looking at her). It was somehow comforting to have that secret, and to have music as an escape when she needed it.

Today, she most definitely needed it.

Molly sighed and rolled her shoulders backward in an effort to relax. She couldn’t precisely say why she was in such a foul mood, nothing bad had happened (for her, that is, no doubt the families of her post-mortems would disagree). By all accounts, it had been a perfectly normal day, and yet she felt somehow on edge… restless. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt like something was about to happen.

At that point, Molly was tired of thinking, and more than ready to lose herself in music. She pulled her violin out from her closet and brought it to the sitting room. After applying rosin to the bowstrings, she adjusted the tuning, then tucked the instrument beneath her chin and began to play. The effect was instantaneous. As she coaxed the melody from the strings, all that tension at her back and shoulders washed away, and she let out another sigh. Her eyes fell closed as she slipped into a sort of trance-like state, and all but the music fell away.

As she drew out the final note of the piece, she returned to the here and now, smiling softly and feeling infinitely more at peace. She lowered bow and violin, turning to put them back into their case when—

“SODDING HELL!!”

Molly barely managed to keep from unceremoniously dropping her violin, though the bow was not so lucky, and shot across the room, clattering against a wall, then the floor. Her free hand then flew to her mouth on a reflex, due to the shock of realizing she wasn’t alone.

There stood none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes, staring at her like she’d sprouted an extra head.

Well. So much for the secret.

Molly heaved her third sigh of the night and went to retrieve her bow. “Sherlock, how many times have I asked you not to barge in unannounced?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and she could almost feel his eyes boring a hole into her skull while she put her violin and bow back in the case. When she finally faced him again, he said, “I called twice. You didn’t answer.”

Frowning in confusion, Molly slid a hand into her pocket, only to find her phone wasn’t there, and she realized she’d left it in her room. “Oh,” she said lamely. “Sorry, I… forgot I didn’t have my phone on me.”

Sherlock said nothing, just stared.

“Erm…” she began awkwardly, “so… what do you need?”

Another few moments of uncomfortable staring, and finally, he spoke, but instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Why did you never tell me you played the violin?”

Not particularly wanting to discuss the whole complicated truth, Molly simply shrugged and said, “I thought you knew.”

“How would I have known?” he shot back irritably.

“The same way you know everything about everybody else,” she shrugged again. “I thought you would have deduced it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he snapped, and it all became clear. He had missed something. By his own admission, he always missed something, but no matter how true that statement might be, it still bothered him when he did. Especially when it was something important, and this, she supposed, was important to him. And judging by the way he still stared at her, he wasn’t happy with the answer she gave him.

“I don’t tell anyone,” she finally continued. “No one outside of my family knows… except you, now.”

“Why?”

Molly had lost count of how many times she’d sighed in the last fifteen minutes, but she let out yet another. “If I’m going to have this conversation with you, I’m going to need wine.”

He rolled his eyes, but left the sitting room and made his way to her kitchen. Molly followed and went straight for the cupboard, where she opened a new bottle of merlot. She pulled out two glasses, raised her eyebrows at him in a wordless question, and at his nod, set one of them in front of him and filled both. His eyes never left her as she took a gratuitous sip, nor as he took a much smaller one from his own glass. Molly took another few swigs before setting hers down, finally ready to talk.

“I started playing the violin at two. My mum and dad told me I’d always loved watching characters and performers on telly who played, and they bought me a toy violin one Christmas. Apparently, I never let it out of my sight, and was constantly playing. At first, I expect it was just random noise, but then I started copying what I heard on telly… and I was good. Within a few years, I was old enough to start lessons, and I excelled. By the time I was eight years old, I was considered a prodigy, and was invited to play with the Philharmonic. I had a good six months as their featured artist.

Here, Molly paused, taking another rather large swallow of her wine. “Then I started having pain in my wrist.” She lifted her left hand and pointed to the spot in question, just on the underside of her wrist.

“Carpal tunnel,” he guessed, and she nodded.

“My parents tried to get me to stop playing, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t imagine not playing the violin, it was everything to me. But one night, while on stage, it got so bad that I couldn’t play. I tried—God, I tried so hard—but I just couldn’t.”

She bit her lip as the bitter memories flashed through her mind, and finally forced out, “Within a week, the Philharmonic had found a replacement violinist. I was utterly destroyed, depressed for months, and my parents were worried I would harm myself. I didn’t… but I thought about it,” she admitted in a small voice. “It took several weeks of physiotherapy, and years of counselling, for me to heal. And it took even longer before I could even think of playing again. In fact it… it took my father asking me to play at his funeral. I had to rent out a violin that fit me, I’d long since outgrown the one I played as a girl, but I played ‘Danny Boy’ for him, one of his favourite songs. I expect he knew that would reawaken my love for music, and for the violin. And it did… but I still haven’t had the courage to perform.”

Having finished her tale, Molly downed the remaining contents of her glass, then poured another generous helping.

Sherlock, who had hardly touched his wine, took a thoughtful sip. “I suppose I understand why you kept it a secret in general… but why didn’t you tell me?”

Molly shrank back a bit, wrapping her arms around her middle. For a moment, she considered lying to him, telling him that the thought simply hadn’t occurred to her. But lying had never been her strong suit, and even if it were, he would still have seen through it. Still, she knew the words she was about to say would hurt him… almost as much as they would hurt her.

“You already criticise my jokes, my appearance, my taste in men—ironic, that,” she interjected. “I just couldn’t bear to have you criticise this, too.”

Sherlock was silent for a long time, and Molly kept her gaze firmly fixed on her hands, not wanting to see the pity and derision she was sure would be written all over his face. But then she saw him move from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but look up as he stepped closer to her. And in his eyes, she found no trace of pity, not an ounce of derision… but an ocean’s worth of remorse.

“I am sorry, Molly,” he said in a low, serious voice. “I have never wanted to hurt you.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers before he spoke again. “Let me be clear on a few things. First of all, your jokes are ridiculous and groan-worthy, but nevertheless, they’ve always made me smile. Your taste in clothing is… curious, but in fact it suits you, and believe me, you have no reason to be at all insecure about your figure. As to your taste in men…” He took another step toward her, coming within arm’s reach, and forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eye. “To own the truth… the only real problem I’ve ever had with the men in your life is that none of them were me.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “I… you… what?”

Sherlock’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. “Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough.”

And then those lips were on hers, and his hands bunched the fabric of her jumper as they curled into fists at her back. Molly heard a breathless moan as she buried her fingers in his curls, and only belatedly realized it had come from her. His tongue poked out and sought entrance, which she most happily obliged and moaned yet again as he tasted her. She gave as good as she got, and soon he was moaning right along with her.

It wasn’t until he hoisted her up onto the worktop that they broke apart, and Molly put a hand on his chest to stop him. Beneath the layers of clothing, she could feel his heart racing in rhythm with her own, and his eyes, wide and hungry and unfocused, found hers in an unspoken question.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

Sherlock looked down bashfully—something she never thought she would see him do. “I don’t think I realized it until tonight… when I heard you playing. I had no idea, not in the slightest, and it irked me to think I had missed it, but even more so that you hadn’t even told me.” He sighed, bowing his head. “Not good, I know… but it’s the truth. And the thought that you’d been keeping this secret from me, while the likes of Tim—”

“Tom,” she corrected him.

“—Irrelevant,” he waved her off, “or even dear ‘Jim from IT’ knew about it—”

“They didn’t, I never told them either.”

“Well, I know that now,” he huffed.

Molly let out a giggle and brushed her hands over the lapels of his jacket. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am neither adorable nor jealous.” “Yes, you are,” she grinned, and before he could argue, she yanked on his lapels and kissed him again, and he responded in kind. No more words were needed as they fumbled their way to her bedroom. They were as they had been so often before: in perfect harmony.

[front-facing-pokemon]

greetings, everygamer! it’s not often you see a text post from me with no asks attached to it, so what gives?

@front-facing-pokemon (this blog) is rapidly approaching its end! you may have noticed if you’re paying attention to the remaining pokémon in the pokédex, but we’ve only got like TEN DAYS before we reach the END of the pokédex and i have nothing left to post on this blog. yesterday, i queued up the FINAL pokémon in the national pokédex, and have thus RUN OUT of pokémon to queue up!

so what happens now? well, that’s up for you to decide! this is That One Post where you can drop all your suggestions as to what should happen to this blog once we reach the end of the national pokédex! i’ve already heard things such as redoing the whole pokédex but this time it’s shiny (top contender right now!), back-facing pokémon, and turning this into a poll blog, so those are already in the running! if you have any other ideas (that are pokémon-related, please—and if they stick to the theme of the blog [like shinydex], that’s even better)

once i get enough suggestions and filter through for the ones that i like or that are viable, i’ll make one final poll that will decide the fate of this blog. (personally, i think the shinydex is in the lead for me) until then, enjoy the remaining posts, and thanks for stickin' around for this bumpy ride!

and finally, because plenty of folks have asked, and i’ve kept it a secret for this long, i feel you all deserve to know!:

my main blog is @kinogassa. that’s breloom’s japanese name! subject to change, and i rarely use that blog to be QUITE honest with you. buuut, if enough of you still care, then maybe i will!

a lot of you who cared already managed to sniff it out back before i could comment on posts from sideblogs, so shoutouts to you guys! for everyone else, i hope it was worth the wait(?)

i think i’ve also gotten a few other suggestions like taking requests on specific angles or whatever but that changes the flow of the blog to being request-based as opposed to queue-based ’n i dunno how i feel about that

by the way, massive shoutouts to the pokémon models ripping project, without which this entire blog would not have been possible!

i can't think of anything else to say (for now), but i'll be more active and responsive in the coming days as we try to figure out where all of this is going. see you tomorrow for whatever comes next!

[madsmilfelsen]

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER

i am currently licking envelopes of two million individually sealed kisses addressed to @sil-te-plait-tue-moi and @spacecasette for seeing what I was trying to do and helping me achieve it, I appreciate y’all’s feedback and talent so much! One day this very very vey last chapter of riders of the sky might actually be done, but not before finals week so an extra long post

[bonetrousledbones]

Can you tell us your the reasons for why you like Papyrus? (I’m sure you’ve did this before xd, but I always enjoyed rambles about Papyrus. Hope you’re well!)

oh it is 100% his whole loneliness thing. growing up i was a chronic friend group hopper all the way from kindergarten to 8th grade and then by high school that didn't work anymore so i just kinda didn't have any genuine friends for basically that entire 4 years. so hyperfixating so hard on a character who's basically completely centered around that struggle helped me feel a bit less hopeless about it. the funny thing is i think pre-undertale papyrus actually had more friends than i did back then but like its the little things

that's why this fic that i'm gonna plug again hit me so hard tbh. shit sucks when you're trying so so hard to be friendly and engage in other people and then you get to a point where you have to realize they're not at all interested in returning the favor, even if they're not overtly rude about it or anything, they just don't care to get to know you any deeper than surface level convenience and it gets real hard to not let yourself get angsty about it lmao

i do think that while sometimes i wish i hadn't been given such free internet access as a kid i'm still really lucky that i was able to be exposed to undertale when i was. it's such a unapologetically hopeful game that i'm sure it absolutely impacted the way that i think about things today in terms of optimism and the ability to turn bad situations around, and papyrus plays a huuuge part of that entire message. if it weren't for him, i'm honestly not sure if i would've had the drive to keep trying to connect with other people even when it didn't work for so long.

so tl;dr thank you funny little skeleton man for constantly reminding me that making friends is still possible even when your demeanor is frankly weird as fuck. sometimes you just gotta keep truckin until you find your people even if it takes a while

[gloriousmonsters]

picturing Velvette huddled up on a Hell doorstep 2 hours after she arrived making a list of possible ways to get some power as quickly as possible on a bloodstained cellphone she took off a corpse and it's like

create startup, get aqui-hired

become first hellfluencer

sugar daddy?

startup + collab with a celebrity for more attention

celebrity boyfriend?

become already powerful couple's third, profit

actually find people to work with who respect and value my skills and me as a person <- this one is a joke

and then a year later she's in bed, awake after vox and val have nodded off for once, looking at mockups of the Vee tower design on her phone, and brings up the old list for just a minute to cross everything else out and write in 'all of the above???'

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[lesbian-hannibal]

HI IVE HAD MY BLOG FOR ONE YEAR OFFICIALLY NOW. i don’t want to be sappy on main but i have had such a good time this last year and met so many nice people and friends and i love u all and AAAHHHHGHGGGGHHHHHG

[aliothbuzzsawshark]

ONE YEAR OF YUO GOHA BEING THE BLORBO OF ALL TIME

[tittysuckersworld]

THE ROLEPLAYERS ARE NOT OK TONIGHT BOYS THEY ARE NOT OKAY WEE WOO WEE WOO

[sergeant-angua]

hey. if you saw something tagged as "s/happy ending" what would you assume that meant.

[mostunclean]

right now steve is having his costume makeup applied by bucky, who is following along with a online tutorial he's been practicing for weeks, fine tuning every layer just for today, the cutest look of determination pinching his brows that makes steve smile.

you see, tonight is the annual block party they throw for everyone in the neighborhood, child and adult. it's a big affair because giving back to the people who have helped make this new place they bought together a home, seeing their costumes and hearing their laughter, has become everything halloween is about to them.

after bucky is satisfied with the way steve looks, it's steve turn to put his artistic talent to use and paint bucky's skin, equally determined. bucky chose something grotesque and scary since he was a stunning cinderella last time. maybe it's cliché but the children particularly loved that costume. and steve? steve fell more in love with bucky and his beauty as he watched him interacting so patiently with every child.

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

👻LIMP BIZKIT'S HOUSE OF HORRORS👻

(a terrible, poor excuse for a Halloween campy-"horror" fic that was never intended to be a fic... but yet here we are. Warning: Foul language, "jumpscares"... sure, if you wanna call it that.)

(no seriously, this is not good. turn back now and spare yourselves)

You'd heard the rumors for so long. An old house at the edge of town supposedly haunted by the trapped souls of a band where nu metal went to die. Why did nu metal die in this house? Well no one really knows. But you were here to find out.

You walked into the decrepit house. A chill traveled down your spine. You weren't sure if it is the rain in cool October night or something else.

The wind outside howled, causing the door you stepped through to slam shut.

You immediately turned around and tried to turn the doorknob with no luck.

You stood there as reality set in.

You were stuck here. You shook the flashlight in your hands and turned it on.

A voice stirred you from your thoughts.

"Welcome to my haunted crib punk."

Your eyebrows shot up at the sound. You turned around, trying to find the source of the voice, but there was no one there. "...umm, h- hello?"

"Didn't you read the fuckin' sign outside? What'd ya got a death wish?"

"Who's there?" You raised the flashlight and aimed the beam in front of you.

"WHOA! Easy with that thing. You're gonna blind somebody."

You raised the beam to your face. "I'm not gonna ask again. WHO'S THERE?"

"You do know I can see you right? Even without the flashlight. But since you can't see me, let me introduce myself. Name's Fred Durst. I'll be your host. You're ghost host."

"Isn't that from the Haunted Mans-"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Look, can you just help me find out what happened here so I can get out of here?"

"Bossy much. Okay, okay, look... all the answers you're looking for are right up those stairs."

You scoffed. "You've gotta be kidding?"

"Nope."

"Can't I just like, you know, ask you what I want to know?"

"Nuh uh. I don't do interviews. Media twists words for print."

"The media? You do know I'm not a journalist and that you're a ghost, right?"

"Up the stairs. That's how this works."

"Geez, now who's the bossy one." You rolled your eyes before making your way up the steps, each one creaked louder and louder.

When you made your way up you found a long hallway adorned with eerie portraits.

You looked at the inscription below each, 'Sir Wesley Louden Borland. Lead guitarist known for his eccentric looks'.

The hallway continued on forever. Strange artifacts lining the walls.

"Huh, that's an odd take of an armored knight."

You kept walking.

"Wait... did it just, move?" You took in a deep breath. "No you're just imagining things. Don't be silly."

"Yeah, it does that sometimes."

"WHA-?"

"Handsome, right?"

"Wait... FRED?"

"Don't look so shocked."

"I thought I couldn't see you since you're a ghost."

"Nah. I just like to fuck with people. I choose when I want people to see me."

The exasperated look on your face said it all. "What the hell man? Just help me get outta here."

"Sure thing. Just pick a door."

"Huh?" You turned and faced the direction phantom Fred was pointing in.

A short hallway with five doors.

You blinked.

"AHHH! SHIT. HOW did you get there? And why do you look different?"

"I'm a ghost. Remember? I'm everywhere. And I look how I wanna look. You don't like it, that's your problem."

"Look, whatever. How are those doors gonna help me?"

"One of them holds your exit. And who knows maybe you'll find the answers you're looking for.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

You marched to the first door on your left. Before you could open the door, you heard banging and clashing over and over again. It just got louder the more your hand reached out for the knob. With a twist and push, you opened the door and were hit with the sight of blinding lights, swinging chains from the ceiling and a figure seated at a drumkit. His back turned to you.

The figure banged on the drums like a madman with a chaotic beat. The lights flicked like a strobe flickering around his form. You got closer, hand reached out to tap his shoulder, but before you could even make contact, his head twisted all the way around to face you whilst his torso remained still.

"TAKE 'EM TO THE MATHEWS BRIDGE!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You ran out the room and slammed the door shut.

Fred's mocking laugh echoed from the distance as you braced your hands against your knees and caught your breath.

"No luck with that door I guess?"

"WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH THIS FREAKING HOUSE FRED?"

"Check out the other rooms and you'll see."

You huffed under your breath and marched forward to the next room but not before muttering, "I'm so over this nu metal rendition of Five Nights at Freddy's".

"I heard that."

"Good." You pushed the next door open and stepped inside.

It was pitch black. Not even a window off in the distance to illuminate the floor. Your flashlight had stopped working and wouldn't turn back on. Great.

You heard a sound, grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood there, frozen like a statue, but the sound kept becoming more piercing.

Suddenly the sound reversed backwards, then repeated back to it's original tone before reverting back again. It kept on going like that over and over until the scratching sound got repeatedly faster until the sound changed.

"Are those... horns?"

The sound switched to an upbeat hip hop tempo and a light shone in front of you... and it wasn't from your flashlight.

A pair of floating hands hovered over a turntable as the ghostly fingertips spined the records.

The light grew wider, illuminating a face with a black weed ball cap shielding his eyes.

"DJ LETHAL FROM HOUSE OF PAIN IN THE BUILDING!!!"

The DJ's hands lifted off from the records as the song continued to mysteriously play. The records started to levitate above the turntables. They rotated, thin side facing right at you before sharp knives protruded from the edges charging at you like Chinese stars.

"WHAT THE FU-"

You turned back around and bolted out the door, shutting it before you could finish your expletive statement as the razor sharp records pierced through the wood of the door on either side of your head.

"FRED I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T GET ME OUT OF HERE IN THE NEXT-"

woof, woof.

"-huh?"

You looked down, only to be greeted with a wide set of jet black eyes attached to a yellow face. The figure crouched at your feet. It looked human, well not really, more like an alien... but it acted like a... puppy... maybe.

You bent down to get a closer look. "Hi little fella." You slowly reached out to pet it's head.

Fred's voice echoed along the halls, "I'd watch out for him. He-"

"OWWW."

"-bites."

You stood up to nurse your bitten hand. "You little fucker."

The creature growled and stood up on two feet, sharp canines ready to bite again.

"NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN!" You backed off and ran away, heading for the next door, entering it and slamming it shut.

The creature's growls died off in the distance.

A low, treble rumbled around your ears like surround sound.

In front of you, several feet away, a shadowy figure with red glowing eyes stood still. Suddenly, his glowing red eyes appeared to have multiplied down the length of his body.

The low sound seemed to be mirroring the rapid beating of your heart.

You gulped. Loud.

Spotlights illuminated from the ground and you were surrounded by mirrors.

Suddenly the shadowy figure was everywhere. His reflection beaming off every mirror as the spotlights on the floor casted enough light on his sinister face and the long bass guitar he was holding.

Before you knew it the strings detached from the bass' bridge and snapped out like wild whips ready to make contact with your flesh.

You cried out in horror not knowing which direction they were actually coming from and worse, not knowing where the door was through all the mirrors.

You swore the strings were coming right at you in dozens of different directions, but when you never felt anything after each whip, you grew more afraid.

This was psychological warfare.

Without a second thought, you chucked your flashlight out in front of you and the image of the bass wielding madman shattered to the ground revealing the door once again. You ran to it and exited the room as quickly as you possibly could.

When you made it out into the hallway again, you were met with "the alien puppy" once again waiting for you in front of the door across from you, only this time it had transformed into a demonic mutt.

"I take it that's his doghouse- er- um, room?"

The haunting voice of Fred chuckled. "Yeah, a little of both."

You looked back at the demon pup.

It barked at you before scurrying around and moving into the room that was already slightly opened, waiting for you to follow.

"Do I even wanna know what's waiting inside?"

"Don't think I could describe it to you even if I wanted to."

You sighed. "Jesus Christ."

When you made your way through the door you were stopped by a ghostly figure wielding a sharp sword.

"HALT!"

"Wha-"

"What brings you into my lair?"

"Your lair? What are you talking ab- Who are you?"

"The name is Sir Wesley Louden Borland." The phantom stated in a terrible British accent.

"Ohhh, like in those creepy photos in the hallway."

"Creepy pho-" The phantom's accent quickly faded into a nasally American accent that was clearly offended, before he cleared his throat and doubled down on the Brit tone. This time it echoed in a cheesy villainous way that vibrated past your ear drums. "You haven't answered my question. What brings you into my lair?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't even know anymore. I was searching for some philosophical answer to nu metal, but honestly, now I just wanna go home man."

"Very well then. To escape my lair you must complete one task."

"What's that?"

"Figure out which Wes is real."

"Huh?"

Before you knew it the sword-holding-phantom had vanished and two figures had emerged on the other side of the room.

"REALLY?"

The two figures stood still.

The one, piercing through your soul with an eerie set of double eyes, none of them blinking.

The other, perched high up on a wicker chair, glaring down at you like a sleep paralysis demon haunting your slumber.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The phantom's voice echoed through the room again. "Figure out which Wes is real."

"Yeah, you said that already Mr. Ghost-Phantom-Man."

Silence.

You shook your head in annoyance and started to tip-toe your way further into the room, closely analyzing the two figures' features as you made your decision on which you were going to interact with first.

Yep, not the sleep paralysis demon.

"Okay mister four eyes, let's check if you're real."

You tickled his mustache.

Nothing.

Grabbed him by the suspenders and sent it snapping back.

Nothing. Didn't even move one bit.

"Guess this is just a really good statue. Alright then, Mr. Sleep-Paralysis-Demon it is."

You marched over to the tall figure and tugged at it's long silk robe it wore.

Nothing.

You reached up for it's hand and was surprised to be met with such hardness. Like stone.

"What the heck! Hey Mr. Ghost-Phantom-Man? I think you sent me some defective Wes dudes over h-"

And that's when you heard it.

The sound of two down tunned guitar riffs going off in the distance.

Your eyes widened.

The guitar went off again.

Suddenly the whispered voice of Sir Wesley Louden Borland was right there in your ear. "You seemed to have forgotten the one standing behind you..."

Your teeth chattered as your body involuntarily turned around, slowly. There was nothing but darkness there.

"...I present to you, Bloody Butcher Borland."

The guitar riff sounded off again and from the shadows emerged bold red figure with fresh blood smeared all over it's body.

He flashed a wicked grin before twisting the neck of the guitar off it's body and it transformed into a sword. He held it up to the light.

"...wait a minute... that's Sir Phantom-Dude's sword!"

Before you knew it the bloodied figure was chasing you, sharp weapon in hand.

"OHMYGOD!!!" You exclaimed as you ran for your life, trying your best to run around him and reach for the door again, but the room was somehow getting larger and larger. The distance between you and the door growing further apart.

You looked back and that's when you really felt like you were going to shit yourself.

You were being chased by Bloody Butcher Borland, as he was joined by every single form of Wes that you'd encountered. Sir Wesley Louden Borland, Four-Eyes, Sleep Paralysis Demon, Demon-Mutt, and Alien-Puppy.

"FRED I COULD REALLY USE YOUR HELP HERE! HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS ROOM? IT JUST KEEPS ON STRETCHING!" You yelled out as your legs continued to bolt for the door with no luck.

The ghost voice of Fred grunted around you, "Ugh, do I have to do everything around here?"

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Fine. Here. Catch."

"WHA-"

You heard a whooshing sound above you as you saw brown object dropping in mid-air. You reached your hands out and caught the hard object.

A ceramic rabbit.

And that's when you heard it. The charging footsteps behind you went still and a choir of monotone voices erupted behind you.

"LUCY."

You looked down at the rabbit in your hands, then looked back up at the hoard of Wes figures standing still in front of you, in a trance.

"Is this what you want?" You shook the rabbit figurine out like a teddy bear in front of a baby.

The hoard shook their heads 'yes' in unison.

You gently placed the figurine on the hard floor beneath you and slowly walked backwards, watching as the room began to shrink back to regular size as the hoard of Wes' made their way to the rabbit like travelling zombies.

"MUST PROTECT LUCY. MUST PROTECT FRIEND."

You looked on at the odd ritual in front of you as you continued to make your way backwards until your back had hit the door.

With a sigh of relief you grabbed the doorknob, twisting it open, but you stopped, looking back at the figures in the middle of the room as they took turns clutching onto their ceramic friend like a bunch of Neanderthals'. You had to admit, it was a heartwarming sight, well if you set aside the near-death experience of it all.

You made your way out the door and closed it tight.

You looked ahead at the last door. That had it be it. The exit.

You walked over to the door but quickly stopped. Standing there in contemplative thought. You whispered to yourself in revelation, "Wes lost his friend, Lucy, so then he lost his spirit. When the band lost their friend, Wes, they lost their spirits. When nu metal lost the band, nu metal was no more..."

"So it looks like you did find what you were looking for after all, huh?" Fred's ghost appeared in front of you once more.

You looked up at his ghostly figure, "It all makes sense now."

"I guess you're finally ready to walk through that last door."

"Yeah... I guess so."

"Alright, partner. Keep on rollin', baby. You know what time it is." Fred said softly with a wink.

You shared a knowing smirk with his ghost and opened the door but stopped before going through it, turning back to look at Fred's ghost inquisitively.

"Wait, so why did y'all haunt this house specifically. Was this like where y'all held band practice when starting out?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many damn questions? Jesus. Yeah sure, that's the reason. Why not? Now get lost. The haunted house tour is over." He shoved you out. "Don't forget to pick-up your souvenir photo at the exit giftshop."

"Souvenir pho-?"

SNAP.

A bright light flashed from the porch awning... or maybe it was lightning. Either way you were too distracted by the blinding light and missed a step on your way out of the porch, tumbling down to the ground.

Thunk.

You were knocked out cold.

When you finally came back to your senses, a figure in white stood above you.

You blinked a couple of times to unblur the image.

"TRICK OR TREAT PUNK. TAKE SOME CANDY FOR THE ROAD."

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 👻🎃🦇💀🐈‍⬛

[unclassedguy]

I've been holding out so much hope every Thursday man. When I started jjk it was for no particular reason, I was bored and at a bookstore in which they had the first volume. I picked it up just because and started reading, thought it was alright, and decided to take it home.

In the beginning I thought it was decent but I wasn't really sure if I wanted to commit to reading the whole series, much less purchasing all the physical volumes. It wasn't like other series I've read before that immediately held my interest and obsession from the first chapter. The most interesting thing for me at first were the chapters with Junpei and Mahito. Mahito was the first character in the series I considered my favorite. I decided to just try giving Jujutsu Kaisen a chance and kept reading.

Honestly....I can't exactly say when I started really getting into this series. I can't say when it became something that I was actually excited to read and talk about. Maybe it was hidden inventory, when my love of tragic relationships was blessed by whatever the hell Geto and Gojo had going on. Maybe it was shibuya when Yuji started to become so much more interesting to me then just a typical protagonist and Mahito was at an all time high in his antics. Maybe it was the culling games with Takaba who I really liked from the beginning or the atmosphere post-Shibuya where it felt like Yuji was in a world turned upside down. Maybe it was learning more about Kenjaku and realizing how much more creepy and sinister they were, from their technique to their manipulation of events to the birth of Yuji and creation of the death paintings. Maybe it was just how batshit insane the fandom became.

Regardless, even if it isn't what I would call my favorite manga or even media in general, Jujutsu Kaisen was and is still a very influential series to me. Even if I only really just started sharing what I think online as opposed to just lurking it's still something I've put time and money and lots of my interest into consuming and thinking about. I'm honestly sad as hell that it's ending even if that's to be expected and even if the anime is still ongoing. Every Thursday I've been wondering what Gege would decide to do with these characters I like and whether or not all these interesting things he created would be fully explored. I can't really blame Gege that much since serialization is very hard on creators and it's his first time making something as big as this....but it's still a little disappointing to know we only have five chapters left and so little of the things I wished we could've seen actually integrated in the story. Man.....no merger? Really? No Itadori family/Jin exposition or Heain era flashback? No Tengen and Kenjaku back in the day? NO HAKARI VS URAUME????

Well....whatever I guess. Even if things end and it's absolutely not what anyone wanted I suppose we still have our own thoughts to sit with. Fanworks exist for a reason. I don't know how long I'll stay in this fandom...but I definitely don't think I'll be leaving soon. I guess I look forward to seeing how it ends even if it absolutely obliterates me the way 261 did and obliterates the fandom the way 236 did.

It's been fun!

[koszmarnybudyn]

Do I think Gorgie having enough of Jon's bullshit and them not talking anymore is a good decision? Yes. Will i still think about it forever now also yes.

Like Jon was told not to sewer his support system, he kinda tried to fix it, failed, went into a coma and now hes not really human and everyone doesn't trust him/like him/think he's sus as hell, and to be frank he did dig that hole himself. But god is it painful to watch the dirt go up.

[didsomeonesayventus]

also hewwo i’ve vaguely returned to fic writing thanks to engage and as part of getting better at promoting my work uuhhh here (throws breadcrumbs in one convenient post) 

All the following center around M!Alear/Alcryst (alearyst? alcrear? Alal? the utterly unhinged suggestion of alal-) because oops My Favorite Dynamic, generally written as standalone

Rutilated- 3.7k, taking place between chapters 14-15, slight focus on events in chapters 10-11. Insomnia from stress turned awkward flirting turned emotional comforting.

Intergrowth- A series of 6 drabbles totaling 2.5k that take place from chapter 7 through post-game in sporadic leaps. Covers a broad spectrum of crushing angst to fluff, arranged chronologically kind of like an outline of the relationship on the side of the main plot, built around the idea of moments where they held hands

Thanatophobia- 1.3k, post-game. Alear has a nightmare because (kiragi vc) war is heck! especially when you’re dragon jesus and go through protagonist bullshit that people somehow expect you to be just Okay With.

so yeah oops finally found fic topics to latch on to and remembered I might dare have a writing following/finding people who want to read over this way so if u find this post rad or interesting please have at it and enjoy!

[odetolovers]

shaking crying screaming