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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

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Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

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~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

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azazelsconfessional · 3 years ago

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((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))

#ooc #((anyway i'm gonna open the askbox and crawl into a hole))#((i got nothing done lol i was so engaged with something else all week))

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prismadog · 3 years ago

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Found Family AU character facts (part 4)

look, it's ANOTHER character facts post! idk why I put myself through this...I keep writing little stories here and having to go back through and be like "no, these are FACTS, Mykael! it is not story time, get yourself together, dude!"

so...yeah, another one. there's a few more after this: Gem & fWhip, Lizzie & Jimmy, Joel & Pixl. and then, I'll make a master post linking them all together for better reference finding whatchamacallits. I'm trying to do one a day until they're finished but I'm started to get a bit burnt-out [still not completely over being sick no matter how much medicine I take or how much sleep I get, which honestly, is not a lot of sleep - damn insomnia, dudes, it sucks, do not recommend 0/10]

anyway! Katherine and Pearl below the line thingy!

Katherine

Katherine is a faery born at least a couple centuries after Scott and nearly a century before the other rulers. she is daughter of the Flower Queen and princess of the Flower Fields.

she was raised on stories of benevolent Watches and loyal Guardians who protected the Fields with all the might of a thousand warriors

she loved sheep with a passion and would often be found laying in a pile of them. the sheep she played with often escaped their pens and could always be found following the princess around

life was fairly easy in the Flower Fields, hardly any scuffles or problems. she did learn how to fight from some of the guards, and also from the children of other rulers - the Ocean Empire had some fierce warriors that were always eager to teach anyone that was willing to learn

when she was in her teens (fairy years), the Queen began to wither and soon passed on to become a watcher herself - such is the fate of Queens. she became Queen shortly after and wore the crown with pride.

one of her first acts as Queen was to establish alliances with neighboring kingdoms, one such being that of the elves - the elf kingdom was fairly isolated from the other empires.

she wrote letters to Elfking Scott and visited often enough that his people knew her by the sound of her wings when she flew overhead. being of magic, she knew that the elf was lonely and needed proper companionship - even if he didn't know it himself.

so, she treated Scott well and as if they'd known each other for years. her good excitable fun nature eventually wore him down until he was able to be his true self around her - a boy who could laugh and joke and goof off without being judged by his subjects

the two became really good friends who could share their secrets with one another or share the heavy burden that is ruling their kingdoms

about a century later she met some of the other rulers, but not at once, usually within a few years of each other. the first she met was: Guardian of the Harvest - Pearl of Smallholding, and Prophet of Death - Pixlriffs of Pixandria. the next she met was: the dragonlings - Wizard Gem of the Crystal Cliffs and her brother Count fWhip of a new kingdom called the Grimlands, and the dwarf King - Sausage of Mythland who was best friends with the dragonlings. after that was: the merfolk - Queen Lizzie of the Ocean Empire and her younger brother Codfather Jimmy of the newly built Cod Empire, and King Joel of Mezalea who was married to Lizzie - she also suspects that he is either a God or a demigod of Life.

there were some conflicts every now and again over a few years - mostly involving the Codfather and the chaotic duo of Count fWhip and King Sausage, but she tried to stay on the sidelines, offering peace to everyone.

sometime within her life, whether it was before she was crowned or after - she's really not sure, it was such a long time ago - she began to collect the heads of various mobs and turning them into decorations. while her people were at first wary of this new hobby, they have long accepted it as just another quirky part of their Queen.

Pearl

Pearl was not born in the traditional sense like many of the others - she was originally a scarecrow who was given Life.

there was a farmer in Smallholding, just a little hamlet with only a few houses and farms, that had problems with birds terrorizing their crops. so, the farmer built a scarecrow - 6 foot tall, made of cloth and straw, and given a pearl on a string that was handed down from their grandparent. they gave it the pearl because it felt like something they were meant to do.

the birds were practically repelled, saving the farmer's crops, so they started giving tribute to it - nothing sinister, obviously, maybe a hat here or some flowers there, simple things to show their gratitude. the others in the hamlet questioned the farmer cause, hey, you're treating this scarecrow like it's a person or something, that's weird. farmer, of course, doesn't care, their crops are spared from birds and that's all that matters.

the scarecrow watched over the fields, gathering magic from every small tribute and from the love the farmer showed it, and began to wish for the power to return the favors, to show the farmer how grateful it was to be here. its yearning must've been heard because not long after, a being appeared to them, a God.

the God and the scarecrow talked for some time and at the end of the conversation, the God breathed Life into the scarecrow - what once was cloth and straw became flesh and bone and blood.

the farmer found her at dawn and offered her a place in their home for the services she has provided since her making. they also gave her the name Pearl because she was precious to them. they lived together for years after, until the farmer grew old and passed, and she continued living there.

the hamlet grew into a small village over that time as the people saw the land was prosperous. when the hamlet grew, the God of Life visited her again and they had a second conversation, one that ended with the God of Life granting her the title "Guardian of the Harvest". she swore her life to the land, to the people who's crops she had protected over the years.

the people dubbed her "Queen of Smallholding" after some time, seeing her fit for the title. they continued to prosper under her watchful gaze.

some time after that, maybe a few years or more, Pearl met her first rulers - Queen Katherine of House Blossom of the Flower Fields and Dwarf King, Mythical J Sausage of Mythland who's kingdom was surprisingly very close to her settlement. and through them, she met the other rulers - Elfking Scott, the Copper King Pixlriffs, Wizard Gem and Count fWhip, Queen Lizzie and the Codfather Jimmy, King Joel, and King Joey.

#empires smp #found family au #xornoth adopts child!shubble au #katherine elizabeth #pearlescentmoon #only three more of these to go and then a master post!#i think i might also start writing little one-shots for these

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kuiinncedes · 3 years ago

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relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

#i somehow added like 25 words in my final edit just now lol #idk if anyone really cares but suspend ur disbelief at kurt singing julie's songs XD #i definitely know it probably would not work with her songs as is #they have Very different voices i am aware but i'm also too lazy to do anything about it so . they can be adjusted #to fit his voice right lol i just have no idea how that works 🤪 i just play piano and even then not really 🥴#so just like imagineee lol #i love how in the last part i said what would be endgame in this fic but like #damn i don't have any idea what's happening past what happens in the actual jatp show and #even then idk what's gonna happen within those bc it's not exactly the same 😂#lol but those ships Will probably like #have hints or something if that makes any sense laksdhgdjfs anywayyyy #kurt and the phantoms #my ficsssss #glee fic #glee #idk how i tag things lmao i think that's good enough XD #DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA #oh my god it's finally happening skdghsdhdkghdhjfhgjfgh #i've been working on this since my family went on vacation at the end of june so like two months fuckdghjfdkl #anyway lol hope y'all likeeeee 🥺💖#omg we're at 79 pages of google doc total lol

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

Shadows

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Blood, gore, killing, fluff ending

Summary: You cant be in the prison, so you make stupid decisions and Carl camt stand it

A/n: I tried to write a request ended up with this instead. Idk why, but here we are, I re-write the ending 4 times and it's still cringy

You felt your heart pound against your chest, your hands were thick with sweat and blood. You held a knife so drenched in crimson you couldn’t see its original silver hue. Your arms ached as you plunged the weapon into another rotting skull. The walkers were never-ending. Their snarls echoed around you as you turned to run. A call pulled your attention and you turned hearing gunshots. Carl stumbled over a rut and tumbled backward firing his gun into the air. You screamed his name running towards him, but he only got further away as his yells continuted. You watched as a walker bit into his arm a scream ripping from his mouth.

You sat straight up in your bed with a whimper. Your face was sticky with tears and you were covered in a cold sweat. You took in a shaky breath rubbing your eyes and whipping your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. You tucked your feet from underneath the cot you were seated on, the cement floor cool through your socks. You grabbed a flannel from beside your bed that didn’t belong to you, slipping it on before grabbing a pair of leather boots, lacing them up. You moved from behind the sheet hiding your cell grabbing a knife and moving outside.

You didn’t wear a watch, but you guessed it to be just after midnight. The night air was chilled, you could see your short breaths in front of you. The moon was almost full, its light casting cold black shadows around you. You stopped, leaning your back to the fence and slipping your eyes closed. You could hear the far away groans of the dead at your gates. A shuffle of footsteps brought you from your thoughts, your eyes snapping open. You turned to peer through the chain links to find what was making the noise.

You swung, feeling a hand on your shoulder.

“Shit y/n!” Carl cussed ducking the knife.

You let out a breath, “Christ Carl, don’t sneak up on me.”

“Trust me I won’t do that again.” He mumbled standing beside you, wind rippling your clothes. It was quiet for a moment, the rustle of leaves in the cold air. “Can’t sleep?” Carl asked turning towards you.

You shrugged crossing your arms to fight the cold, “Dreams.” You said simply.

Carl paused his eyes still locked on you as you continuted to look out at the courtyard. You could feel goosebumps rising on your arms.

“You wanna talk about them?” He suggested scuffing his boots on the ground.

You shrugged again, “Not much to talk about.”

Carl bit his lip bringing his hand to his tousled hair. The wind picked up around you and he watched as you drew your arms closer around you, “I think I’ve watched you die seven times now.” he mumbled your eyes snapping to his own. “My dad around the same and Judith too many to count.” he paused, “I lost track of how many times I’ve shot my mom.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, still peering through the metal into the deep black, “It’s usually my parents.” you started, “They die in front of me over and over again, I just watch again and again already know what’s coming.” You stood silent for a breath, “It was you tonight.”

Carl nodded solemnly, his eyes on his feet.

“You tripped over a root. They pounced on you.” You whispered.

“I’m not dead.” Carl spoke confidently, “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

You chuckled lowly, “I could say the same to you.”

He turned back to meet you smiling, he narrowed his eyes a bit glancing down at your clothes. “Is that my shirt?”

“No.” You answered too quickly and he laughed, “Let’s go in, I’m freezing.”

The days were always easier than the nights. Lately, you started taking more and more shifts clearing the fences. You never felt like you were actually happy. You begged to go on runs with Daryl or Sasha but you were always shot down being told you were too young. So you started sneaking out through the tombs. You did it alone, you would just disappear. You were never gone for more than a day or two. You always came back with something, meds, food, water, seeds, you would go house to house in the suburbs just looking through cabinets and closets. You knew it was stupid and you knew you could die but maybe part of you wanted to. Carl hated it when you left. He would glare at you when you got back until he broke the next day and got over it. Rick told you to stop, so did Michonne and Maggie. You always smiled and nodded saying you would and the next day you would be gone, one of Carl’s flannels missing from his room and a note tucked into his hat.

You always came back okay, nothing more than a few cuts and bruises at the most. But this was different. You had been gone for almost a week. Carl had now experienced five and a half days of absolute torture, all he could imagine was you being torn apart by teeth or gagged and tied up in a basement. He had decided that once you were gone seven days he would go look for you.

You swore ducking behind a tree. Your knife was grasped in your hand as you pressed your back against the tree. Walkers groaned, stumbling past you as you shoved yourself as far back as you could your hand covering your mouth in hopes to muffle your breaths. You waited as the heard passed slowly and another fifteen minutes after they were out of view. Your heartbeat calmed, grip on your weapon loosening.

You struggled with the weight you carried. Your backpack weight more than you could manage, multiple ARs swung around your shoulders adding to the weight. Despite it all, you smiled widely. You had to backtrack to the road, you had left your wagon there to run from the dead. You couldn’t have been more than five miles out of the prison. As you made your way out of the forest you heard voices.

“Holy fuck! I can’t believe it!” A male voice shouted, “Guns just lying here.” he laughed.

“We should be careful the owner could be nearby.” Another hissed.

You cussed quietly snatching a semi-automatic and raising it to your shoulder. You flipped off the safety as you approached the road. You could see three men, the thought of taking them out from there flashed through your brain. You shook your head, the only had knives on them from the looks of it and you needed to act before they grabbed anything from the wagon.

“Step away from the guns!” You shouted.

Immediately one started towards them, you squeezed the trigger firing at his feet, he lept back to avoid the bullets.

“Now!” You yelled doing your best to sound intimidating.

You watched as they scanned the treeline one of them finding you a small smile finding his lips. He threw his hands in the air nodding for the others to do the same. “Alright sweetie, why don’t you come out?”

“Leave.” You responded not moving, “Leave or I will kill you.” None of them made a move, “A heard just passed by, the gunfire will have brought them back this way, go!”

Just as you finished your sentence the one furthest to the right leaped for the guns. You blew out his knees as he howled. The other two took the opertonuty one manging to grab a handgun and firing at you. You scrambled behind a tree as shots rung around you. You peeked from behind the truth when the bullets stopped as they struggled to reload. You shot twice and he dropped to the ground. You looked around for the last man only to find he had disappeared. You scanned the road, beginning towards it when you were suddenly tackled to the ground.

“Little bitch!” He shouted, the gun knocked from your hand, the others pinned behind your back. You screamed and he took a swing at you as you kneed him in the crotch. He let out a groan, his kife only catching your forehead. At that moment you reached for your own blade swinging it upwards. It connected with the bottom of his abdomen, you dragged it upwards his stomach opening and drenching you in his blood. He sputtered, blood from his mouth dripping onto your face. You shoved him off of you scrambling away and snatching your AR, you turned to put a bullet in his head as another gunshot rang out.

Your eyes met with sky blue through a haze of red. Carl held his Bretta over the man his eyes locked on you.

“What the fuck are you doing y/n?!” He shouted running at you and drawing you into his embrace. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he whispered into your ear. You stood stiff, Carl broke away from you, blood now soaking through his grey t-shirt.

“Sorry.” You mumbled shrugging.

Carl opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a groan from the man lying on the road. You walked up to him, sticking your knife into his head.

Carl glanced around at the bodies but said nothing.

“We have to hurry, there was a heard the gunshots will lead them back this way.” You mumbled swinging off your backpack and shoving in as many had guns as you could then stuffing two into your belt and boots. “Help me carry these we’re too slow with the wagon.”

Carl followed your actions, filling his own bag with guns and ammo, “Where did you find all this?”

“A gun collector about twenty miles out, there’s more, I took as much as I could.” You responded.

You set off at a slow jog wanting to put some distance between you and the gunfire, after about half a mile you were both exhausted from the weight and slowed to a walk.

“Don’t tell your dad about that.” You said, “I don’t want him to know.”

Carl didn’t say anything for a while, your shadows were getting longer, the light in the sky dulling. “Why do you go out here?” He finally asked.

You shrugged hands on the straps of your bag, “I like it.”

“You like walkers? You like running for your life? You like being covered in blood?” He seethed clearly furious with you.

You only glared back at him, “It’s better than being cooped up in a prison doing nothing.” you hissed. “I can’t stand it. Being in there all the time, it’s like I’m going crazy, I feel so useless. At least out here I actually feel like I’m living.”

Carl scoffed, “This isn’t living. This is surviving. Being behind those gates, growing food, hanging out with other kids, that’s living.”

You didn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk back. You reached the gates jogging past the walkers into the prison. Both of you getting looks as you were covered head to toe in blood and armed to the teeth.

Ricks jaw dropped when he saw you, you answered his concerns with tales of walker blood before helping him unpack your bags showing him on a map where you found them. Carl didn’t say anything just nodded along with you before escaping the first chance he got. You finished talking with Rick and headed for the showers.

You found Carl in his cell, he wouldn’t even look at you, instead of keeping his eyes peeled on his comic book. You sighed sitting on the end of the bed. “I’m not going to go out like that anymore.” You mumbled kicking your feet up to the top of the bed.

His eyes snapped towards you.

“I’m going to go on some runs, but I won’t go by myself anymore. You’re right, that’s not living. This is.” You finished.

He didn’t say anything for a while. You were about to give up and head to bed when he spoke up. “I thought he killed you when I first found you, he was lying over you, you were covered in blood. I thought he gutted you.”

You swallowed mouth feeling suddenly dry.

Carl sat up now leaning towards you, “I can’t live without you y/n. I just can’t”

You were frozen, your heart hammering in your chest, he was so close you could feel his breath fanning over the bridge of your nose.

“So don’t go out there and get yourself killed.” He whispered his hand grabbing at your own. “Please.” The desperation in his voice made the breath catch in your throat.

Your lips met slowly, your heart thudding so loudly you thought it might leap from you. Your eye fluttered shut, Carl’s grip on your hands tightening as he drew you closer to him.

You broke apart slowly, the dim candlelight casting your face into warm shadows. “You won’t lose me.”

Masterlist

#carl grimes x you #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #twd #twd imagine #twd daryl #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #carl grimes x y/n #the walking dead fanfiction #carl grimes fanfiction

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snkpolls · 4 years ago

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SnK Episode 68 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 146 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

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RATE THE EPISODE 140 Responses

The anime continues its positive streak with just over 90% of respondents rating the episode a 4 or 5. MAPPA appears to be blowing this season out of the water for most of us!

Noice

Good!

I liked it

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 144 Responses

We got a pretty mixed pie chart this week. To be expected, given how many moments were in this episode. At a tie with the largest pieces of the pie were Hange’s eccentric attempt to greet the Marleyans and Eren’s gunshot figuratively hitting Sasha. Behind that two more options tied in each with 10.4% of the vote - EMA’s conversation at the shooting range and Sasha appreciating Nicolo’s cooking. This is followed closely by Eren’s mirror scene with 9.7% of the vote. Onyankopon explaining why he looks different when Sasha asks him about it took a solid 9% of the vote.

WHAT WAS THE MOST EMOTIONAL PART OF THE VISIT TO SASHA’S GRAVE? 144 Responses

This was almost too close to call, but Mikasa sitting alone managed to edge out just slightly over Connie’s “I’ve lost half of me” moment at Sasha’s grave. Trailing behind the two were Nicolo’s grief and the agreement between Papa Braus agreeing to a free meal from Nicolo.

AFTER SEVERAL TENSE AND ACTION PACKED EPISODES, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE TRANSITION TO SOMETHING MORE CALM? 138 Responses

The larger chunk of respondents are feeling relieved to get a break from the action for a few episodes. 21.7% prefer the action but don’t mind a break here and there, while 21% state that they enjoy the exposition more than the action anyway, so they are content. A small handful don’t care either way.

We needed this for another build-up to more action

I like the action but it’s important to move the story along

These just feel mandatory fillers to me.

I miss the warriors

I feel fine with it. I thought that was going to be some happy-go-me episode, but gladly it still had a serious tones.

This episode felt like a very welcome respite after the absolute shitshow that was spoilers week and....whatever the fuck chapter 137 was.

Nice breather of sorts, I always like seeing characters from action-heavy series in their downtime.

WOULD YOU RATHER GET A SURPRISE GREETING FROM EREN & HANGE, OR ARMIN & LEVI? 141 Responses

The vast majority of respondents would prefer the slightly less lethal greeting given by Hange and Eren at the beginning of the episode. We’re not sure if the other 29.1% are masochists or just really love Levi and/or Armin that much more. Or perhaps they’re intrigued by the pig piss from the filthy island devils.

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW HAPPY ARE YOU TO BE BACK ON PARADIS? 139 Responses

Overall, fans are happy to be back in familiar territory and put into the perspective of the Survey Corps again. Let’s get ready to rumble!

MAPPA HAS SPRINKLED IN ANIME-ONLY ADDITIONS THROUGHOUT THE EPISODE. AS A WHOLE, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THEM? 139 Responses

Though subtle, MAPPA did include some anime filler (such as Eren’s, erm, mouth breathing). 51.1% enjoyed the noticeable additions, while 37.4% are completely confused by the question and didn’t realize there were any. A handful generally don’t prefer additions but enjoyed what little ones we had this episode. A small sliver didn’t care for them.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE SCENES FROM CHAPTER 107 THAT WERE PEPPERED IN BETWEEN THE MOMENTS FROM CHAPTER 106? 139 Responses

MAPPA is shuffling things around to pick up the pacing of this arc, and 48.2% of respondents are feeling very positively about it. 38.8% also feel that both the order of events in the original manga and the anime work out just fine regardless. A couple of smaller groups either felt that things were a bit off from the manga, or didn’t really care either way.

I think it's great because it allows an episode to start and end on the same chapter if mappa ever wanted it, allowing the right twists or cliffhangers to be in the right episodes, all WITHOUT having to slow down, which I wholly appreciate.

I'm fine with the changes. Mappa is doing good job.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE CHANGE OF GABI BITING HER NAIL AND ANGRILY SAYING EREN’S NAME IN HER JAIL CELL? 142 Responses

Nearly half of voters feel that both MAPPA’s take and Isayama’s original take work just fine for Gabi’s character. 28.9% prefer the anime’s take on Gabi’s reaction to all that happened, while 14.8% feel that her more defeated posture in the manga makes more sense for her character.

I'm a mix of both? Her defeated posture implies that she's not happy with the way things worked out with them in jail and Zeke betraying them. On the other hand, her angry face is realistic to the scene too because it implies she really blames Eren for their current predicament.

She looks like some female version of young, angry Tarzan. This time Mappa should have kept the original postures, because the defeated Gabi feels to be more realistic, than the crazy anime one.

I think they both work but the anime's take might be the anime team beating us over the head that she's just like Eren when he was young.

Makes it clear to the anime-onlies that she really is psychotic

Gabi sucks

HOW WELL DO YOU THINK MAPPA NAILED THE TRANSITION OF EREN SHOOTING THE GUN, TO SASHA TAKING THE HIT? 141 Responses

The response to MAPPA’s take on Eren’s shot inadvertently hitting Sasha was overwhelmingly positive, with only a few people saying that they could have done better with it.

Eren shot linked to Sasha's death was awesome. Mappa is nailing it!

THE PART WHERE JEAN, SASHA AND CONNIE ARE TRYING TO GUESS WHAT A PORT IS WAS CUT OUT, WITH ARMIN’S NARRATION INSTEAD CUTTING INTO THE SCENE. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT IT? 140 Responses

Exactly 50% felt that while having that JSC characterization would have been very much welcome, they’re okay with that small detail missing from the manga (granted, it was at least acknowledged by one panel being animated). 25.7% have a more nonchalant response, stating that if it helps with the pacing, they’re fine with small cuts like this. 10.7% are just let down by JSC’s lack of characterization in the anime overall and didn’t appreciate even more being taken from their characterization in this episode.

I was more so interested in our Paradis Peeps talking about newly discovered technology but I’m happy with what we got.

Not dissappointed since I understand you can't show everything but I love them so sad

Why was it animated then?! I’m so confused

Normally I don't like it when they cut corners like this, but I wasn't fond of that scene in the first place so it's okay.

If by "anime" you mean the entirety of it including the past 3 seasons, then option 3. I'm always going to be salty about how much they took out or changed for these three during the uprising arc. So far mappa has done okay with them, I guess.

Would have been a funny JSC moment, but it was really absolutely pointless. In manga format it works as just background words on a panel. Animating it takes seconds of an episode that could be used elsewhere. So I'm fine with it being cut out.

SOME HAVE COMPLAINED THAT THE ENDING SCENE OF EREN REPEATING HIS MANTRA INTO THE MIRROR LACKED THE IMPACT IT HAD IN THE MANGA. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT? 138 Responses

43.5% were receptive of the anime only shots, but favor the way the scene was portrayed in the manga more. 34.1% felt that both versions were done well, with only 9.4% feeling that the impact was largely the same (if not better). Based on the write-ins, the main complaint seems to be the lighting/color scheme of the scene not quite meeting expectations, or that MAPPA made Eren’s back look weird.

theyll make up for it when eren screeches at hange next ep

Impact was there, art just felt a bit wonky and toned down the scene overall. 9/11

This goes into my criticism of the color palette and shading style mappa uses, which is far more subdued. The contrast is lowered and the scene is very dark, and there is little rim lighting, so while the actual lineart has far more detail, the detail in the lighting is reduced. Damn I really am writing a wall text aren't I? I prefer Wit Studio's art style a lot but Mappa has honestly been doing great so I couldn't care less, manbun Eren is hot.

I prefer the manga version. I think the anime version have weirds shadows in eren's back. Plus the mirror don't have the same energy, less impactful

Cool scene in the anime, an unforgettable blow to the brains in the manga

Idk

Most of the time seeing things for the first time is what's really impactful. Feel this way towards Armin's transformation in the boat as well. It was definitely less impactful than when you first read it in the manga.

I understand the fandom because this moment was very popular when the chapter was out. I think that in the anime Eren lacks the anger he had in the manga. His voice was too calm while repeating his mantra. .

WHY DOES HIS BACK LOOK LIKE THAT

I didn't care for it in the anime, it was really underwhelming.

I think most people are annoyed about the lighting than the impact. It’s a bit too dim and the lamp hides Eren’s new hair.

Didn't like the anime version at all

The animation wasn't good and they totally fucked his hair, face, and body up. Although the added shots were definitely welcome.

Eren could've been sexier/animated better, I hope they do better next ep 😭

WE WILL ASK YOU AGAIN. HOW WILL THE ANIME DEAL WITH MIKASA’S HIZURU TATTOO/SYMBOL? 135 Responses

With Mikasa meeting Kiyomi presumably being inevitable in episode 69, we wondered if any opinions had changed on this. 34.1% feel hopeful that the tattoo will be retconned into the anime and that we will see this scene faithful to the manga. 28.9% think that Mikasa will happen to have some kind of embroidery on hand already. 25.9% don’t want to make a call either way, and a small handful think Mikasa’s going to just pull out an embroidery kit and go with it, lol.

The embroidery will be on the inside of her bandage.

Japanese are very taboo about tattoos because of the Yazuka... it will 100% be the embroidery.

I don't know but I hope it gets retconned. Never liked the embroidery thing.

It won't be included

Let’s just... ignore it..

I really really hope MAPPA retcons Mikasa's tattoo next episode. This will be the one retcon I will absolutely celebrate. Plus, it's not really a retcon if they're just amending Wit's changes.

WE WILL ASK YOU AGAIN, AGAIN. WITH THE PACING CURRENTLY UTILIZED BY MAPPA, WHERE WILL EPISODE 16 END? 137 Responses

Uncertainty continues to loom over exactly how far MAPPA will get into this (first half of the?) season. Nearly 40% don’t want to make predictions one way or another, while 23.4% feel that it won’t make it quite to chapter 122. The rest believe it will make it to chapter 122, with 17.5% feeling there will only be minor cuts, if any, and the remaining 13.1% feeling that there will be major cuts to make the feat to chapter 122.

116 (?) when the allied force attack paradis

122 with the amount of cuts being somewhere in between. They can cut a lot of the Gabi and Falco plotline and still have the story remain intact.

See, I'm not sure buy I'm also worried and curious about it all. It brings up the question of will the story continue in a possible second half of the season? With the manga ending very soon now, it makes sense to have the story wrap up in its anime medium as well. Fees like there's some kind of uncertainty surrounding this, it's unnerving tbh.

119 with Eren's head being blown off.

gabi no scoping eren, ending creds is eren entering paths and we see ymir standing behind him, s4p2 starts w the ymir backstory

121

No idea and I don't think about it. I just enjoy the show.

Your guess is as good as mine, I'm still fearing major cuts.

119

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT NICOLO’S PORTRAYAL? 138 Responses

With Nicolo now formally introduced in the anime, we were curious how you felt about his portrayal. Overall the reaction was positive, with 48.6% agreeing that he’s a “cutie pie chef”, and another 45.7% feeling that his design and seiyuu are absolutely great! A small handful were less happy with the voice, but happy with the design, and a sliver went in the opposite direction, preferring voice over animation.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE ADDED DETAIL OF THE FLOWER BOQUETS AND THEIR SYMBOLISM ON SASHA’S GRAVE? 140 Responses

Respondents vastly appreciated the flower symbolism from MAPPA with 82.9% of the pie. 12.9% aren’t really sure what symbolism there even was, and a small amount either don’t care or felt the effort could have been spent on something other than flowers for Sasha.

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 143 Responses

This pie chart wound up being almost eerily even. 42.7% are most looking forward to the 104th discussing Eren (hopeful for the train flashback?). 39.9% instead are looking more forward to Hange and Eren’s tense conversation at his jail cell. The remaining three preview moments were pretty evenly split as well.

DO YOU THINK WE’LL GET BLUSHING!104TH NEXT EPISODE? 130 Responses

71.5% feel that there is a chance we will get the train flashback of the 104th in this episode, but don’t want to say for absolutely certain. 18.5% feel that it is a guarantee based on what we saw in the preview. 10% feel it is instead guaranteed that we will NOT get the scene in 69.

WE WILL LIKELY SEE PREGNANT HISTORIA NEXT EPISODE. THOUGHTS? 140 Responses

The plotline that continues to be a frustrating mystery in the manga - Historia’s pregnancy. 34.3% aren’t particularly looking forward to seeing her in the rocking chair and aren’t very stoked about having to relive this plotline all over again. 33.6% mainly just care about seeing how the anime only fans react to the scene. 17.9% just miss Historia altogether and will take any scraps they can get. And a small handful, at 9.3%, are actually looking forward to seeing anime!Historia with a baby bump.

Don't really care about historia

It's in MAPPA's hands now. I just hope they can add a little more of her screentime somehow.

I hope so. I want to see the design of her adult self.

I honestly wouldn't mind if Historia's entire arc, which consists of equal parts pregnancy, irrelevance and uselessness, is just completely cut in the anime lol

not interest

I'm not interested

I've hated this fucking plot line with all my being and what it's done to Historia since the leaks for this chapter were revealed years ago. So I'm not looking forward to anime-only people jumping in with their hot takes too. 🤮🤮

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

mikasa was shown in sasha's grave in the morning/afternoon and then she was shown again at dusk. SHE SPENT THE WHOLE DAY THERE. and annie... what a queen. and hisu's few scenes? so pretty.

Really glad the pacing was well done

nicosasha ship just flew in and took the spotlight

fantastic!! maybe it's just because this isn't my first time going through this arc anymore, but i feel like the anime feels chronologically less confusing than the manga—I remember being very confused my first time reading these chapters.

The lack of score by Hiroyuki Sawamo is negatively impacting my relationship with the anime. The depth of the emotion that could have been evoked was not present. I also did not get the sense that Nicolo and Sasha were in love, which was a major disappoinment. There were other aspects that weren't so bad, though; specifically, Levi's portrayal and Onyankopon's philosophy.

It felt a bit all over the place, but just seeing things from the manga being animated, I ain’t even mad.

I think that the scene between Sasha and Nicolo was made better in the anime. Isayama has problems with writing romantic moments, so in the manga the whole moment looked like it was taken from some light romance. Mappa made this scene more serene. I liked it.

I think MAPPA is doing so great tbh! I just need them to hurry up and explain if there will be a part two to this final season or what?! I need to know if we get more anime or they'll diverge into movies or.... just tell us! Lol!

How DAREEEE they not give Levi his black steed!!!! .....Although knowing what happens ummm yeah maybe his pony gets to live another day this way lol

Here comes the train wreck, choo choo!

I'm really sad I didn't get to hear Sasha call Jean a perv. I was really looking forward to that. LOL I love them. When EMA were at the shooting range, it looked too much like Mikasa wasn't wearing any pants.

VERY solid. Not the biggest fan of the War for Paradis arc but I'm here for the ride.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 128 Responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #snk spoilers #snk s4 #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 4 years ago

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Okay I was gonna do another SG:WoT post anyway because we’ve got a new King interview but THEN, he released the cover to issue four so you KNOW I gotta geek out about this.

(Sorry that this blog is all SG:WoT, all the time now, but I am just. Insanely excited that Evely is drawing Supergirl. Feel free to block/mute these posts as needed. XD)

Okay, so!

First! The interview!

It’s on (ugh) screenrant so I’m not gonna link, I’m just gonna nab the interesting bits:

On the different direction of the book, and if he wanted to go back to the original Adventure Comics vibes: “So, the idea of this thing was to strip her story down, because Supergirl has a majorly weird history in terms of continuity. At least 13 writers have rewritten her origin over the years. Her dad has 13 origin stories; sometimes he's evil, sometimes he's a robot, sometimes alive, sometimes he's dead. She's changed dramatically in the last 10 years, between coming back to life to the New 52 to Rebirth. She's gone through so much that it's hard to get a hold of her. Not to mention in the '90s, when I was coming up, she was like an ectoplasmic space angel. There's so much there, and I just wanted to take all that stuff off and get to the core of the character; get her out of her normal environments and her normal conflicts. It seems like all our stories are about her dad or her relationship to Superman. Instead, let's see the purity of that character.”

On starting the book the way he did: “...I wanted to start out with a very human moment of a person turning 21 and getting drunk. And a person who is getting drunk because they want to be alone, and they just want to forget about the shit that's happened in their past. That's such a human moment. And the fact that she's Supergirl, so she waits till it's legal - because these super people, they follow the rules. She waited, and now it's legal and she can have this moment. She goes off by herself, with her dog that always follows her, and she has a moment where she can be free. For a lot of people in the US, whether you've been drinking since you were 14 or started that day, your 21st birthday and the day after are days you remember for the rest of your life. It's a day of freedom and consequence, and I wanted to show Supergirl going through that.”

On rising to the challenge of helping Supergirl perform better, sales/popularity-wise: “ When I first got on this book, I called Steve Orlando, who had just written a Supergirl run. And he was the one who opened my eyes to how good the character is. He had such insight into her. He was like, ‘There is a difference between Clark and her, and what she's gone through.’ He just laid it for me.”

On starting the book off with Ruthye’s journey, and gradually building to Kara’s: “ I was like, "Okay, this is going to be from the point of view of someone under Supergirl." And so I switched the point of view to this new brand new character, whose name is Ruthye. And we went from there: we start with Ruthye's story, we see her discover Supergirl, and she's our audience. She's our way in, the way Robin has always been the way into Batman.”

On whether or not other characters will show up, outside of Supergirl and Ruthye: “It's like my Superman: Up in the Sky, where it's a distillation of the character. You'll see other characters, but the focus of every issue will be on Supergirl. And it's something where at the very end, you can be like, "Why is Supergirl great? Why is she important to the DC Universe? What is her future in the DC Universe? Here, read this one trade that can answer all three of those questions at once."So, there will be other characters in the Super universe. But the focus will always be on her; on Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow. It's her finding out about herself and her own strength.”

On Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow vs. his other titles: “Supergirl is my first 2021 book, or my first book of the 20s. That wrapped up my books of the teens, and now we're in a new generation. God willing, from the moment I started this book, I was like, ‘I'm gonna take a risk, and I'm gonna write books that are a little brighter.’ I know that's coming from me, and it's not to say we're going to avoid conflict or we're not going to explore the depths of the human soul. All that stuff will be in there. But these books are made from a place of joy, not from a place of anger; from a place of hope, not from a place of despair. It very much contrasts to those other books, in my mind.”

On how he thinks folks will react to the Krypto cliffhanger: “I mean, they're gonna think it's a good cliffhanger. That's how I think they're going to react. They're going to say, ‘I want the next issue.’ That's literally my job as written in my contract. Something where at the end of an issue, someone says, ‘I want more.’ So, that's how I hope they react.”

As mentioned, this is not the full interview; the whole thing can be found on screenrant, and I think Tom King shared a link on his twitter.

And now, as always, SOME THOUGHTS:

I love that he brings up the fact that so many Supergirl stories focus on Zor-El and Clark, and how he was like, ‘let’s not do that.’

That’s my big gripe with modern Supergirl comics; they are trying so hard to make a statement on why we need both a Supergirl AND a Superman, that they end up spending ALL THEIR TIME talking about Clark, instead of, you know. Telling a fun Supergirl story.

Same thing with Zor-El! I know folks love Rebirth--I like it quite a bit myself--but I think the nostalgia goggles prevent folks from remembering that the whole first arc of that book was re-doing the ‘Cyborg Superman’ garbage from the Nu52.

Speaking of Rebirth, really like that of all the recent SG writers he coulda talked to, he talked to Steve Orlando.

Like, if ya can’t get Gates on the phone, get Orlando.

(I get the sense that Gates doesn’t like this book, actually, based on a vague tweet. But don’t quote me on that.)

Looks like Ruthye is gonna be our POV/audience insert character for the whole run. I’m...mmmm. I don’t love it, but I understand the logic here. Especially since he compared it to Batman and Robin--how you use Robin as your entry point for a bat book.

And you know what? Kara’s supporting cast needs some help, so. Welcome to the Superfam, Ruthye.

I also love the explanation behind the drinking thing, as well as the fact that Kara waited until it was 100% legal for her to drink because OF COURSE SHE WOULD.

I am so worried that Krypto is gonna die b/c of what we saw in Future State. I’m over here with my Pepe Silva board like, ‘Well, what if Kara agrees to help Ruthye because Krem MURDERED HER DOG?!?! WHAT IF THIS IS JOHN WICK IN SPACE?!?!?!’

So I am DISMAYED that King does not reassure us AT ALL.

Thus I am forced to cling to this tidbit here: “ But these books are made from a place of joy, not from a place of anger; from a place of hope, not from a place of despair. It very much contrasts to those other books, in my mind.”

Killing the dog would not be joyful. XD So, like. I’m REALLY HOPIN’ HE’LL BE OKAY.

AND LASTLY, (Except not really)

I have some additional, miscellaneous thoughts unrelated to the interview b/c I’m me and I’m loving having a Supergirl comic back on the shelves, however polarizing it may be.

Something I realized, when details started to come out regarding the book, and that other folks have now noted as well: Kara was 16 when Rebirth launched in 2016; she’s just turned 21 in 2021, making her one of the extremely few comic characters to age in real time.

I don’t think that was planned, but it is cool.

It occurred to me on a re-read that Ruthye never calls Kara Kara in her narration, only Supergirl. And I was a little sad! But then I remembered that Kara wouldn’t necessarily reveal her identity to people she’s helping, she would just be ‘Supergirl’ to them.

I really do love how, so far, there has been NARY A MENTION of Kara angst-ing over being in Clark’s shadow, or being Superman’s cousin.

It appears that her drinking alone on a remote planet is more related to trying to forget her trauma/grief related to Krypton. MAYBE. We don’t know yet.

The Clark thing could still come up. I hope it doesn’t.

(Interesting to note! Kara recently appeared in Action Comics, helping Clark and Jon investigate some Kryptonian refugees; IDK how closely these books will necessarily ‘work together’ in terms of continuity, but! It’s possible that the discovery of those mysterious refugees was triggering, thus sending her on her way to her own solo title.)

(Well. That’s gonna be my headcanon, anyway. XD)

AND LASTLY, (for real this time)

ISSUE FOUR COVER!!!!

Okay, some immediate thoughts:

GOOD LORD IT’S STUNNING.

I loooooove the fire motif, reminds me of a part from the Rebirth run, where Kara met the Super-Man of China, and they visually referenced All-Star Superman, having the Kryptonians kind of...become the sun.

Also STAR CHART?!?! PIRATE MAP!?!?!?!

The VIBES I tell you, the VIIIIIIIBES.

Also I love that it’s just Kara.

Don’t get me wrong! I like Ruthye just fine so far! But yeah, yeah, give me some more solo-Kara focus, even if it’s just in the art.

Just realized that once this thing gets collected as a TBP, we might get some Evely art backmatter. OhHhhHHhhH YESSSS.

Anyways, the long wait for issue 2 begins!

#stranger speaks #long post #supergirl: woman of tomorrow #comic thoughts #comic opinions #interview

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cloveroctobers · 4 years ago

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• JENIFER “JEN” MARLOWE •

IG Info/bio: @/justjenw1n | 220k followers | Fashion | just a LUVer who owns a lovely blog that you’re more than welcome to check out here... astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk 🪞🛍🪄

22 (24) (25 in 2021) years of age

From London, England

Her family has French origins

Tends to visit once a year mainly with her family

For her 18th bday, her parents also sent her to Paris with her bf that she’s been dating since she was 14

they broke up since he wanted to stay in Paris to pursue his dreams and she felt like she needed to be back home...which she felt Paris was not

Extremely close to her parents, some may say a little TOO close...

See, I feel like jen comes from a family that spoils her where her parents did everything and took care of everything for her. She had the privilege and didn’t have to work too hard to get things she wanted so that made her a little bit different than a few of her friends, hell—even her bf

Didn’t have to work until she reached her twenties

She also didn’t have too many friends because her parents felt like her cousins and/or her sibs were really only allowed to hold that title

However her parents had some sort of a soft spot for her when they allowed her to date her bf at 14 since he came from a nice background...

And to have at least 1-2 best friends...

I can’t decide if I see her having 3 other sibs with her being the second eldest, or her being the eldest with a younger sister? I can also see her being a only child too? Idk y’all can decide

Because her family is a tight knit one, she values everything they say and do...which is canon/evident

She got her thigh tattoo in Paris and even thought about asking her parents permission but her bf talked her out of it

she later showed them that night while he was in the shower. Her mother openly disapproved saying it was, “unladylike or unclean” while her father was more lenient towards it

Her mother even scheduled her for laser appointments but this was one of the things jen was sure of, she loved her tattoo and she didn’t want to erase it from her body which led to her mother not speaking to her for about a month—even tho they live in the same household

I feel like she looks more like her dad with her mom’s hair and smile

Got into fashion due to her maternal grandmother who seemed to live a extravagant life as a old time actress, she always had and owned the finest of things

Jen loved having sleepovers there, it felt like she had her own personal Liz Taylor inside of her nan...but better!

Definitely found inspiration through Liz Taylor, Kate Moss, Victoria Beckham, and Naomi Campbell

she had no clue what she wanted to do in life (she never had to think too hard about it until now, it’s true what they say about your twenties) and she made the choice not to continue thru with uni & I’m not going to make her out to be the stereotypical “dumb blonde” I think she did well in school—so she kinda just chilled after it was all over

Her first job at 20 was probably working in retail where she learned all about the bs you put up with but she loved clothes! That never changed

So she decided 6 months into her job that she was going to make a fashion blog

she made one separate from her tumblr but kept it under construction since she needed to brain storm what exactly this blog would entail

It didn’t take too long to her to figure it out by how she wanted the blog to look then discussing pieces from celebs/models then slowly discussing her own wardrobe + advice

She didn’t immediately gain success for it —altho she did have a good 1k people follow her thru her tumblr where she also provided the link to her separate blog... but she worked/works hard at it, hoping one day it’ll get her somewhere and that maybe she can get paid for it too?

Retail fucking sucks and people are horrible twats so when she was approaching 21 she deff quit with her parents still hammering...more so her dad on what she needs to do with her life but she found happiness in her blog and no one was going to take that away from her —not even her parents

‘What’s the use of working if it doesn’t make you happy?’ She thinks but again! she has the privilege of living under her parents roof and not having to pay bills so she didn’t have to worry too much rn she knows they’d never kick her out right?

she has two bunnies named “bugsy” and “Lola”—u know the reference right?

I feel like she values the flinstones & jetsons because it was something her dad loved watching as a kid and still does , probably has the dvds showcased in her room that she watches when she feels sad

Seems like a smiley person but when she’s sad? It kinda sucks to see cause she turns into a whole different person and she always seems happy with a smile so wide that turns her eyes squinty

If she disagrees with something, she’s 100% giving her opinion whether you like it or not? Wrong is wrong. But when the shoe is on the other foot? She hates being wrong LOL or doesn’t view herself being wrong. Doesn’t take accountability well...at all!

She’s also showed her ass by being a gossiper and fake as hell with Allegra about mc with the whole, “let’s pretend like we’re there for her” if you’re not fucking with somebody just say that or SHOW it sis cause that snakey shit will come back to bite you in the ass (I forgot about this lol as I’m replaying)

she’s all “mega resting bitch face” until she breaks out into a large smile

Libra sun? + Virgo moon? + Gemini rising?

I feel like she only knows what she wants when it comes to relationships but not with the rest of life?

Lol she was very determined with levi in the beginning, explored shit with jake, (I can’t remember if that was after you/mc showed a interest in him or not in that route? I’m doing a talia/Rohan route rn But that’s kinda foul if she’s smiling in ur face and then boom goes and does what she wants but hey that’s the game right? Fck that tho) and then stood by Tim after only some time?

She wasn’t feeling him in the beginning either cause he thought she was too posh for him and snakey which he’s right to some degree but she’s also right if she finds him too immature for her liking

To you jim? Ten? Stans— Idk what their ship name is but it probably wouldn’t have worked out in the long run either because I don’t see both of them wanting to change themselves completely to satisfy the other. (Tim tried) Sure if you’re showing unhealthy behaviors and are open to diminishing that for yourself then trying to work on your relationship then that’s great! But they already started from the jump not liking each other’s personalities/characteristics....

And hey! Ofc I know people grow to like things they might have disliked about you in the beginning but you can also find yourself not fully accepting it in a relationship and that doesn’t mean you didn’t try

+ it’s been hinted at that they’re not endgame & if you love yourself some Tim not platonically then this works in ur favor. if not? Then you can keep them endgame by all means! For me? That endgame shit is a no! For those that don’t gaf about either of them that’s fine too lmao

YES I feel like they were both hurt over the breakup and it probably happened right around the holidays or either a couple of months after Christmas/New Years 2019

Jen is probably the type to keep checking up on her ex, not necessarily talking to them but finding out who they’re with now

and if it’s Tim with mc she’s definitely gossiping about the shit with erikah and Allegra or making shady tweets or posts on IG for sure

“5 outfits to wear when you run into your ex” type posts on her blog looool

She hopes if she runs into Tim, she’s looking her best and she would 80% go up to him & mc/his new girl if not mc and be all huggy with him and holding conversation before she even thinks to acknowledge mc/new girl and when she does it’s a shady convo with fake smiles

Absolutely loves watching housewives so she was prepared for that moment if it ever does come

Her parents openly didn’t like Tim which made him feel like shit since it seemed like jen never defended him in front of them but again, she values her parents opinion and always wants their stamp of approval that’s just the way the girl is/ was brought up

She owes them everything but deep down knows that in her relationship with Tim she could have been a little more understanding of his needs like he was with her love for her parents...but she’ll never admit that

Doesn’t get over breakups as easily as it may seem like her exes do in her opinion.

It sure didn’t take long with Tim to date mc/new girl months after they broke up! Which was like a slap in the face

The ex bf she spent time w in Paris who looks like Matthew Noszka is now engaged, lives in AMERICA—& of all places??? California to be exact, and just released his debut album!! She knows which songs are probably about her, it’s a nice album she screamed about it for hours into her pillow and cried for what felt like weeks

Lost her voice over that breakdown too

Her mother even went as far as sending a nasty letter to this ex bf’s new address...since ya know? jen’s dad is a private investigator & all!!! but dad had no knowledge of this being done

She’s still fond of Levi and jake but not like in love with them? Like she thought/felt she was with Tim but she still considers them her mates

Maybe in 2021 she’ll be open to dating again and hopes erikah and Allegra will be her wingwomen when the time comes BUT she’s focusing on her blog rn and it’s the best it’s ever been!

She had the show to thank for that now that she has a manager and is getting paid for running her blog now! That’s right this girl is officially employed!

“At least one good thing came from the show ;) 🧽🥐🥂” type of tweets

There’s never not a moment where she’s not connecting her posts whether thru ig or Twitter to her blog: astoldbyjenmarlowe.co.uk!!!

Both erikah and Allegra talk a little shit about that together...WHEN they DO talk, the pair only really socialize when jen initiates it but if one pisses the other off?? they’re going to gossip about it with the other forsure

She doesn’t look that tall to me? Taller than erikah? 5’2-5’5 the 5 is pushing it for me? Maybe? lol I’m still deciding between her and Allegra far as height and I’m too lazy to go back and see what I put for her

Hates straightening her hair, that pin straight look is not cute to her. She loves having waves and body to her hair

Get her eyebrows micro bladed since she doesn’t have much hair up there to begin with

Adores French cuisine, always has since she was a little girl. Bisque used to be her fav back then and all that she would eat

Loves spring season especially pastel colors when it comes to her wardrobe

The type to say one thing and do the complete opposite

I feel like she probably has a little bit of lisp and it’s not really noticeable until she says some words, she’s insecure about it and thought it had something to do with the structure of her teeth and begged her parents to get them fixed but it literally had nothing to do with them

Yet she still got colorful braces in middle school even tho her teeth were pretty straight. She didn’t have to wear them for a whole year, thank goodness

Went to speech therapy to help

Has stacks of fashion magazines even from the early 90s all over her room: her night stand, her vanity, her closet, underneath her bed etc...

Adores the Hadid sisters, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, & Georgia May Jagger

Makes the best white chocolate chip (that’s right, white not just regular chocolate) banana bread but cooking/baking? Isn’t really her thing

Early riser

Loves yellow: yellow phone case, yellow laptop, yellow room, yellow tulips, yellow shades, etc...

Getting Prada shades was probably one of the best things that happened to her, s/o to her nan for granting her this wish

Words of affirmation is her love lanaguage, this girl is a talker and a bit of a thinker too I mean duh? She runs a blog

Likes bright colors on her toes but nude and clear polish on her hands?

Loves a good mascara but she also loves magnetic lashes but is trying her best to grow her lashes out rn! Thanks to erikah for sending her some good ol’ coconut oil!

Smokey eyes? Set her up

Gets a belly ring, and two more tatts one in between her boobs and the last on her ankle & that one she shed a tear over!

Maybe she’ll start changing her physical attributes more so than the way she carries her life at first? (Or ever) She’ll cut her hair below her collarbone to the top of her chest, and maybe she’ll try a light light LIGHT brunette (she loves being a natural blonde) with blonde highlights? Who knows

loves espadrilles and wedge sandals

Loves going wine tasting and visiting vineyards, if she’s vacationing? You can bet ur ass she’s looking for a vineyard to visit

Deff a lightweight

Here’s her unpopular opinions on s2: Thought Felix was a wannabe Tim and hates the fact that he follows her, thought graham was unattractive and said so to Allegra who snickered, thought marisol’s clothing choices were rather boring,

didn’t feel 100% bad for Hannah but disagrees with the way Gary and noah spoke about her + the way Gary tried to slide back over to Hannah on her comeback episode

but doesn’t feel like Lottie is wrong for choosing Gary after Hannah left

isn’t a fan of priya but is glad she’s doing fashion since jen strongly believes in if something isn’t making u happy then u need to let it go

Thinks Hope should have won and cannot tolerate Bobby. Feels he’s WORSE than Felix,

would be open to dating Ibrahim or Carl from that szn

has spoken to Harry from s3 due to his drunkenness and actually made a friend out of him? But low key wants to get to know seb? Take that info as u will 👀

Her anthem: Michelle — SUNRISE

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thingsifeelicantsayhere · 4 years ago

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About Kink at Pride

One: Thanks SO Much to the person who decided to @ me about 6 different times after I already mentioned how I can’t reply. Edit: Just read them! Thank you for linking me to the same article twice. I saw that one to, and at least 7 others! I closed out of all of them. Read on to see why!! And I call everyone hon, hon - sorry if I offended you!

Two: Kink at Pride thoughts, below the cut. TL;DR: Yes, I was wrong on certain things. Does that change my opinion? Nope! Still think Kink shouldn’t be at Pride.

Note: an entire history of gay Pride is listed below, starting with the Reminder marches. I started there because it felt like the logical place to start, given the organizers of Pride participating in those as well. It’s a LONG one guys, so strap in.

So, starting out: Gay Rights Timeline (it’s brief, because I don’t have an entire night of getting triggered and showing I can research things)

July 4, 1965: “Gay rights activists gathered outside Independence Hall in Philadelphia carrying picket signs and demanding legislation that would secure the rights of LGBT Americans. Referencing the self-evident truth mentioned in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal,” the activists called for legislative changes that would improve the lives of American homosexuals. Activist Craig Rodwell conceived of the event following an April 17, 1965 picket at the White House led by Frank Kameny and members of the New York City and Washington, D.C. chapters of the Mattachine Society, Philadelphia’s Janus Society and the New York chapter of the Daughters of Bilitus. The groups operated under the collective name East Coast Homophile Organizations (ECHO). It was called the “Annual Reminder” to remind the American people that a substantial number of American citizens were denied the rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

June 28, 1969: A police raid on Stonewall [a mafia run gay bar] occurs, leading to the Stonewall Riots. Marsha P. Johnson, a “transexual drag queen” and known sex worker, frequented the Stonewall Bar, being the first drag queen to go to what had previously been a bar only for gay men. Police raided the bar to check for unlicensed liquor sales, but also to arrest those who were in violation of the state’s “gender-appropriate clothing statute” (which meant that any female-presenting people in the bar who passed as female had their genitals checked by female police officers, and female-presenting people who did not pass were arrested). Fed up with harassment from the police, the community around the bar became agitated. After a policeman hit Stormé DeLarverie, a “dyke” lesbian on the head while pushing her into his police van, the crowd grew violent. Police barricaded themselves inside the Stonewall Inn for safety, which was soon set on fire. It is still debated whether police or the rioters began a fire in the building, but most sources claim the rioters began the fire. Marsha P. Johnson became well known as the one who “Threw the first brick at Stonewall” (though she herself has stated that she came late to the riots).

That night, while returning home, Craig Rodwell passed Stonewall, and alerted the press in order for there to be news coverage of the historic event. Rodwell was a well known activist at the time, one of the organizers of ECHO, sitting in on protests, opening the first Gay Bookstore (dedicated to Oscar Wilde), and of course, helping to organize the first Gay Pride Parade in the bookstore.

Five Months after the Riots: Among those who proposed the Gay Pride parades were Craig Rodwell and his partner Fred Sargeant (who later tried to claim transgender people and POC did nothing in the riots), Ellen Broidy (former member of the Gay Liberation Front, Lavender Menace, and Radicalesbians), and Linda Rhodes (genuinely having trouble finding information on her; I just know she was friends with Ellen and Craig). Together, they made a proposal for an annual march on the last Saturday in June where there were “no dress or age regulations.” Their proposal was given at the Eastern Regional Conference of Homophile Organizations (ERCHO) in Philadelphia.

After the proposal was made, Brenda Howard (a life-long bisexual and openly sex-positive activist, as well as anti-war feminist “radical” by some sources) helped plan it. Making use of the Oscar Wilde mailing list, word got out. It was Howard’s idea to turn this march into a week-long celebration. Also on this committee was L. Craig Schoonmaker, who had been arrested the previous year for talking to another male. He coined the term “Pride” for the slogan of the parade. (Note: L. Craig Schoonmaker was an INCREDIBLY problematic person, and discussing just how stupid that story is really deserves its own post – needless to say, I’m a little sad he’s the one who coined “Gay Pride” as the slogan.) This was the one and only contribution he had to the parade.

June 28, 1970: The first Parade, organized by Chicago Gay Liberation. The first parade was originally called the Christopher Street Liberation Day March, named after the street where Stonewall Inn was. These were different from the Annual Reminder marches, where those in the gay community “walk in an even line, wear professional clothing, and do not display affection for a partner of the same gender” (Waters, 1). “The march was 51 blocks long from west of Sixth Avenue at Waverly Place, in Greenwich Village, all the way to Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park, where activists held a “Gay-in.” Borrowing a technique that had been popularized by the Civil Rights Movement, the “Gay-in” was both a protest and a celebration.”

From there, there were more parades of course. But as promised, here’s all my research on Kink at Pride.

….

I would provide sources. I would share what I tried to look at for multiple hours tonight. But the fact of the matter is, this is the part where I got triggered, nearly threw up, and had to exit most tabs.

What I managed to find out: Yes, Kink has been a thing at Pride for a long time. I do not know the extent of this, but I do know at the very least (due to some image sourcing) that the 1980s saw men in leather that covered most of their skin (it was not inredibly revealing). I was incorrect about this fact, so shit on me I guess. Now, what all I saw was just… men in leather sometimes. I did NOT in fact see people on leashes, naked with only a bandana around their legs to hide genitals, or muzzles (as I have seen in modern-day prides). I saw people who took pride in being leather gays without doing strict sexual acts – costumes, not whipping their partners in broad daylight or walking them like dogs, which is sexually gratifying for the sub (which I have also seen at modern day prides).

Note: I have not personally been to a Pride parade, but I have seen pictures and videos of modern day prides showing these acts. For obvious reasons, I am not including them here.

The reason for the previous inclusion of kink in pride seems to have grown from the fact that, for many LGBT+ people, they are both kinky and LGBT+ in some way. I saw numerous sources talking about how being Kinky is just part of being LGBT, and how pride in being LGBT+ also means pride in being Kinky.

I deadass could not look at anymore sources because I am so physically nauseated by it, and reading about this (as I mentioned numerous times to every single person who DMed me tonight telling me to “Read fucking sources”) triggers me. But can’t stop getting screamed at unless I “do my research” right?? Joy of all joys.

So what do I think about getting rid of kink at Pride?

I still think we should move to phase it out.

Reasoning:

1. The original people who thought up Pride were not the best. They thought up Pride through transphobic, sexist, radial feminist, insert-other-dated-views here. And I don’t blame them – it was the 1970s. But I feel that, by the 2020s, the idea of “Pride” should have changed. And it has! I saw that Ellen B. discussed how Pride had changed “Far” from what was originally intended in the interview with her (raising the entirely valid concerns that I agree with that Capitalism has too strong of a foothold in current pride). I just think that it should change more, to fit with what is currently needed.

2. This leads to my next point: what is currently needed? Back in the 1970s, Gay Pride was about having pride in, well, sex. Pride was based so strongly in having sex with the same-sex, being deviant, being different. But that isn’t what Gay Pride is anymore, or at least, Gay Pride includes much more than just sex now. Pride is meant to be an inclusive place for all LGBT+ communities – including fucking asexuals. Like me. See, when researching all of this, I had a hell of a time, because I’m “damaged goods” so to speak. I’ve been hurt through sexual stuff in the past, and yes, that has probably influenced my asexuality. Am I against sex? No! I enjoy it! With my partner. And that’s basically it. Am I okay seeing sex stuff? Yes! Most of the time. On a consentual basis. Would I probably be okay seeing it at Pride? IDK Maybe? But it would spark bad memories, to the point that I would rather avoid Pride, avoid going to the Big Event™ that everyone always says You Have To Go To that would make me feel validated… than go to it. Because of Kink Gear. And I have had other people contact me tonight saying the same thing – they can’t go to Pride because you Kinksters. They can’t because of triggers, or the fact that it’s uncomfortable, or the fact that “well, my parents aren’t homophobic, but it’s too adult.”

3. “Okay, so make a PG Space – we were here first.” “It’s not inclusive if Kink isn’t there.” “Children won’t even understand the kink in the first place.” Here’s my problem with all of this. Kink already has spaces, but PG spaces don’t exist in this much openness. See, I’ve always heard of kinky spaces. Expos, dungeons, etc. I’ve always heard of safe-spaces for kinky gays. Including Pride. But I rarely hear of PG Spaces for Gay People. I rarely hear of PG spaces at all. It’s hard to exist in this world without people making it about sex, so much so that I find myself often getting stuck in Children’s Fandoms, Children’s Spaces, because they’re the only spaces that haven’t been touched by sex stuff. So we need PG Spaces for Gay People - and yes, we COULD make a PG thing for gay people. I think that’s a great idea. I think a parade sounds nice. A PG Parade for Gay People!!! It sounds perfect, like a perfect solution ----- except now I’m not being Inclusive Enough.

We’ve wrapped around to my big problem with Kink at Pride. It always boils down to not being inclusive of Gay People. But the issue is… By keeping Kink at Pride, we aren’t being inclusive of a lot more people.

Banning Kink at Pride: We have gays, lesbians, trans folks, queer folks, people who still aren’t sure, allies, asexuals, aromantics, children, and yes, kinky people who are not wearing fetish gear. You can still come to pride and have pride in your sexuality. You have now excluded anyone who cannot stand to not wear leather/chains/leashes in a sexual manner for a few hours.

Keeping Kink at Pride: We have Kinky Gays, Kinky Lesbians, Kinky Trans Folks, Queer Trans Folks, People who aren’t sure but Are Kinky, Kinky Allies, a handful of Asexuals/Aros, please god don’t bring children, and kinky peope in fetish gear. You have now excluded anyone who is uncomfortable with sex, triggered by sex, or minors.

I assure you, the amount of people who are exluded keeping Pride Kinky is more than if you could just not be sexual for a few hours. Literally. I’m not saying Kink isn’t valid – fuck, dude, I’m kinky. But there is a reason sex isn’t meant to be public. Consent is important, and I’m shocked that people who insist they know about kinks and BDSM don’t understand that.

Pride has changed. In a lot of ways, not for the better, but in some ways, yes, for the better. It’s bigger, with more people, and more inclusiveness. But your idea of making a “PG Pride over there away from ours” --- well, where do you think we should? How can we do it without getting screamed at for not being inclusive? When can we do it without people screaming at us for “taking up too much time with being gay”? We already have a full month and a whole parade – and clearly everyone should be okay with the kinky shit that goes on.

My suggestion is this: Have Pride be PG, and have the Kinky Pride things isolated to Private Kink Party things that aren’t publicied on television because we don’t need people to know more about our sex lives – the majority of gay people just want to exist now. Those in 1970 needed to be loud, proud, and yes, openly kinky – but we don’t need that now. With keeping sex stuff private, you can still celebrate your Kinky Pride with all those who are capable of celebrating that Pride, while those who can’t, don’t need to be subjected to it. Because the fact of the matter is, Pride Parades are subjected to the eyes of the world – the most public thing you can have right now as a gay person. Subjecting people to nonconsentual kink is not the way to make people approve of sex work or kinky pride. It makes them rage against it. And I would rather be able to work for sex positivity through conversation and hard work, rather than alienating anyone who speaks against it (and those who speak for it).

Some of the sources I used (not all - again, no kink sources here, because I closed all of them. I couldn’t handle it.)

http://www.phillygaypride.org/annual-reminders-50th-anniversary/

https://www.nbcnews.com/feature/nbc-out/lgbtq-history-month-road-america-s-first-gay-pride-march-n917096

https://www.history.com/topics/gay-rights/the-stonewall-riots

https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/when-was-first-gay-pride-parade-origin

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/first-pride-marches-photos-1-180972379/

https://greenwichvillage.nyc/blog/2019/06/13/remembering-craig-rodwell/

https://phaylen.medium.com/stonewall-vet-fred-sargeant-attempts-to-erase-black-trans-activists-from-history-2e82ac59e96f

https://addressesproject.com/memory/ellen-broidy

https://www.them.us/story/brenda-howard

https://talbertario.medium.com/pride-and-prejudice-the-craig-schoonmaker-story-122c8a4c1339

https://www.history.com/news/how-activists-plotted-the-first-gay-pride-parades

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marsha_P._Johnson

One last thought, after the sources, because I work in Analogy the best:

Imagine this amazing bakery. This bakery sells a lot of cakes: chocolate cakes, strawberry ones, blueberry ones. This bakery gets national press coverage. Now, from day one, this bakery has used gluten in every single cake. It’s a time honored tradition! And every single Cake Eater goes to this bakery. It becomes a rite of passage, to the point that some people even say “You aren’t really a cake eater if you haven’t gone to this bakery.”

But as the bakery gets more and more popular, people start saying “Hey. We need some gluten free cakes too. Can you please keep the gluten away from our cakes?”

“NO!!! If you want gluten free, go somewhere else!”

“But everyone else only has gluten cakes. Even when they say they’re gluten free, they still bake other gluten cakes. Please, we know how to make the gluten free cakes taste just the same as gluten cakes – we’re only getting rid of the one thing. It’ll be taste almost exactly the same, and you can make those other cakes, so long as they don’t touch our cake. You can still enjoy your cakes. We just ask that we can enjoy ours.”

“NO! Go make your own then!”

“But… This is the bakery with the most famous cakes. We could always make our own, but the world will never know about it, because YOU’RE the biggest bakery in the world. And of those few who have tried, they’ve been yelled at for not using gluten because they aren’t inclusive. We wanted to be able to enjoy cake with everyone else – we just need our cake to be a little different.”

“If I make YOU Gluten Free cakes, that means the Gluten won’t be included!”

“That’s the point – gluten is bad for us. If we have gluten near us, it will actively hurt us.”

“No. This is a gluten bakery only. We refuse to change.”

And so, those who were going to enjoy the cakes there – who wanted to enjoy the cakes there – couldn’t. And even those who would try to make their own gluten-free cakes were overshadowed by the behemoth that was the gluten bakery.

That is how this entire night has felt.

Night, y’all.

#LGBT+#Discourse #Kink at Pride #I do not think Kink should be at Pride #And harassing me all night in DMs and Replies did not help your stance #Triggering me with links all night did not help your stance #All you did was piss me off more #And solidify the fact that I don't think I would even get to enjoy pride if people like you are there #Thank you for reminding me more reasons why the gay community is incredibly toxic

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smallerinfinities · 5 years ago

Text

Taking Me Back

a/n: In which a drunk boy confesses his sins

Oh, hello! Yes, I’m coming to you live to say that this was supposed to be a blurb but turned out to be a 3.5k oneshot that will most likely actually have a second part because recovery is a thing that doesn’t get enough attention. I had this idea driving back home from out of town and listening to “Taking Me Back” by LANY. Highly suggest a listen. I was originally just going to write straight angst, but the more I wrote Shawn the softer I got...so without further ado, here it is.

warnings: 3.5k of angsty sad boy...you might hate me later idk

Soft pellets of rain splash against the floor-to-ceiling windows as his warm hands trace slow, circular patterns on the bare skin of your back. It’s soothing, incongruent to the feeling of his fingers bruising your hips as you rode him a few hours ago. The sheet sits low, draped across both your hips. He leans down to kiss your shoulder blade, sending a chill all the way down your spine. Peppered kisses warm your blood, making a home between your thighs again.

“If you don’t intend to finish what you’re starting, then stop right now,” you say only half sternly, your cheek smushed to the back of your hand resting against the mattress.

“Honey, have I ever been a quitter?” he smirks, disappearing beneath the sheet.

You let out a loud squeak when his massive hands flip your hips over, pressing your back into the sheets again. He spreads your knees wide to make room for him between your legs and your squeak turns into a deep moan. Your fingers fist into his floppy curls and tug, bringing his eyes to yours, mouth open and chest heaving.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes. He says it again above you, inside you, over and over until your toes curl and you scream it back to him.

You woke up to heavy sheets of rain pounding against the windows. His fingers, his heavy body, his warmth weren’t there. He hadn’t been there for months. Restless sleep and a cold bed had been your companions since then. That day you woke up to 400 text messages and one TMZ report.

Bleary eyed with shaking fingers, you had clicked on the link. Seen the photos. His fingers interwoven with hers. His eyes on the camera. That knowing smirk. He’d wanted them to see. Wanted you to see. He had left for meetings in LA just two days before, a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call.

You’d lost count of how many texts from him you’d deleted without reading. Changed his name to LYING BASTARD after he’d left messages you didn’t listen to. What possible reason could he have given? There couldn’t be an explanation for this. Just because you’d never gone public with your relationship, just because you hadn’t wanted to open up your life to public scrutiny and fandom opinion, didn’t mean that it had meant nothing to you. The handful of your friends who had known were tight-lipped, dead silent to anyone who would have paid them money for information. What you had had with Shawn had been private and you both liked it that way...hadn’t he? Apparently not. It hadn’t been hard for him to throw it away with one clasped hand and a conveniently placed cactus.

The dreams still came almost every night, haunting you with happiness. Looking over at the clock, you groaned. 2:30 AM it blinked green against the darkness. You shifted and stared at the ceiling, counting thunderclaps, begging sleep to take you again. Take you back to a different time, a different dream. Your eyes began to drift.

Boom, boom.

Thunder rang louder than before. The storm was moving closer. But when had the lightning struck?

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

It wasn’t thunder. You wrenched the comforter off of you and scrambled to your feet. Someone was banging on the door. What had been a low and rumbling pattern of knocks at first was now frantic pounding. What in the world? Reaching for a thin cotton robe, you rushed to the front door.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, darting across the living room, “who is–”

You stopped short.

“Baby, please,” he sobbed. Shawn. Surprise mixed with hot rage and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The concoction was numbing, like liquid lidocaine traveling in your bloodstream from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You didn’t remember getting to the door or gripping the knob, but it swung open anyway.

Shawn Mendes fell into your apartment face first. He tripped over the threshold and into your stiff arms. He must have been leaning on the door frame.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d answer,” he slurred, smelling somewhere between a wet dog and straight tequila. You caught at his shoulders and pushed him up against the entryway wall.

“Shawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” you practically spat at him. Venum pooled in your mouth. It was acrid, all-consuming. It took a minute for the red rage clouding your vision to recede, allowing his face to come into sharp relief.

His cheeks were blotchy, stained with tears. His eyes glassy and unfocused. He was drunk. Drunker than you’d ever seen him. He was also soaking wet. His waterlogged clothes dripped fat drops that splashed on your hardwood floor forming a puddle under his expensive shoes.

“Did you walk here?”

He nodded his head. Well, it was more of a lull to the side if you were being honest.

“How?”

“With my feet,” he slurred again. He lurched off the wall and tried to take a step forward. Instead he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around you and soaking your robe through to the tank top underneath.

“I see you haven’t lost the sarcasm,” the poison you had tasted earlier was quickly replaced with concern. You slithered out from his embrace and let him lean against your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”

You deposited him on your sofa and he immediately slumped sideways, laying his cheek against the cool leather. Grabbing some fresh towels from the hall closet, you took a second and leaned against the wall before going back to the living room, hidden from Shawn’s line of sight. Not that he’d see me anyway he’s so smashed. What is he doing here? Why here? Why me? Where is his precious famous girlfriend? Why isn’t she picking his drunk ass up off the couch?

The anger flared again but it had lost its bite. He was obviously in some kind of pain, but you weren’t going to get anything out of him like this. You sighed heavily, heading to the kitchen for water and some ibuprofen before returning to the couch.

“Shawn?” You crouched down next to him, reaching out to push a curl back off of his face. He was snoring, a bit of drool coming from the corner of his perfect lips. He was so peaceful.

Snap out of it.

“Shawn, you have to get out of these wet clothes.”

He stirred, opening just one eye to look at you. It took him a minute to reorient.

“How long was I asleep?” He swiped at his mouth and sat up slowly.

“About three minutes. Now get up and strip.” You stood above him expectantly, fighting the urge to tap your toe at him. He fumbled with the buttons on his dark blue silk Oxford shirt. The fabric stuck to every defined muscle in his torso, every cut of his biceps. You counted to thirty before he got one undone.

“You’re going to get hypothermia if you keep that up,” you thrust the towel at him, “how about you dry your hair instead and let me handle the hard stuff?”

He mussed his hair with the towel while you crouched down in front of him, making quick work of his buttons. When the shirt finally hung open, you pushed it back and off his shoulders, revealing what seemed like miles of lightly tanned skin. Dammit. How can he still be so fucking beautiful? You had tried to hate him, tried to block him from your memory, but he always came back. The memories and the feelings and the pain always came back.

You tossed his soaked shirt across the room near the door to the washer. His body sagged forward. His curls were dry, big and frizzed from root to tip, but at least he wasn’t catching a chill. He needed to get horizontal quickly or he was probably going to toss his cookies right here on your white leather couch.

“Shawn,” you tapped at his face to refocus him again, “drink this and take these.” You held out the water and ibuprofen. He took them with no argument. Definitely too drunk. Sober, he would have spouted some bullshit about over-the-counter drugs being bad for your health or toxic for your muscles or something he’d heard From Jocelyne or Cez. You were thankful that you didn’t have to listen to that nonsense tonight. He would thank you in the morning when the headache was dull instead of blinding.

“Now, stand up and strip off the rest of it,” you ordered.

“Naked, eh?” His eyebrow raised at the same time as the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes.

“Throw it over there with your shirt. I think I still have a pair of your boxers hanging around somewhere,” you grumbled, turning your back on him and marching toward the bedroom. The truth was that you knew you had a pair of his boxers because you’d washed them recently after wearing them to bed when you missed him. The dreams always felt more vivid on those nights but you wore them anyway. For the same reason I just invited his drunk ass inside tonight. Because I’m a fucking masochist. You grabbed the boxers, navy and white stripes with little anchors on them, and returned to your living room.

He stood in the center of the room, between the couch and his wet laundry, in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. His skin was dry finally, flushed where he’d scrubbed at it, glowing in the low city lights trickling through the windows. He was a little dazed and a lot sleepy, inspecting his hands and fingers where they had pruned in the rain. It was like one of your dreams, a memory of what had been. Everything had been such a mess for the months he’d been gone. A gaping hole in your chest had opened and as much as you’d tried to mend, to get over him, he’d left a wound that wouldn’t heal. When he burst through the door, beneath all the anger, it felt like breathing for the first time. Feeling for the first time. He belonged here and you belonged with him.

Then why did he leave?

“Shawn,” his head snapped up, eyes wide, “why are you here?” He grimaced, hearing the pain in your voice. He seemed to be sobering, the bright rosy color in his cheeks was returning to a muted pink. Reaching up to scrub at his damp curls, he cleared his throat.

“I….” his voice was hoarse, “I’m not sure.” You walked over to his pile of wet clothes and tossed them in the washer, keeping silent while he watched you, waiting for a reaction. Or an explosion. The only sounds in the room were the machine filling with water and your padded footsteps back to a safe distance from him. The rain had stopped.

“Well, you’re naked in my living room so you better start fucking figuring it out!” You threw the anchor printed boxers squarely at his chest as the rage came simmering back.

“I missed you, okay?!” He threw his arms wide, sputtering, “I, I was out drinking with the boys and got too drunk and was thinking about how happy I used to be and that happiness was all because of you…” He was looking at you but looking through you at the same time, like he could see all of those memories you’d been dreaming of, like maybe he’d dreamt them too. You shook your head. It didn’t make any sense. He was happy with her. He left you for her. He’s supposed to be with her.

“Don’t lie, I saw the fucking photos, Shawn. Don’t act like I don’t know that smile as well I know my own. You looked pretty fucking pleased with yourself,” you hissed. Images flashed across the back of your eyelids like a slide projector with every swift blink away from his face: her long dark hair fluttering behind her as they walked back to his hotel; his curls fluffed out in weird directions like her fingers had run through them in the car; that fucking bag strapped to his back like the perfect boyfriend. It was the last photo that always sent a wave of nausea, the one of him hanging over the balcony half naked. Whether they’d fucked or not was a moot point, that’s what they wanted people to think. What he wanted me to think.

“You could have picked up the goddamn phone and broken up with me like a civilized person,” you scolded, still unable to look at him.

“IT WASN’T REAL!” He bent over with the force of his confession.

Your head shot up. What?

“What??” A weightless feeling came over you. Looking down, you had to check that your feet were still on the ground. It didn’t make sense. You must have heard him wrong.

“I-I don’t understand,” you stuttered, “I saw it, all of it.”

“Didn’t you read my texts?” He sounded like he was under three feet of water. Your ears were ringing. “I called so many times...I just thought you needed time to get over me not telling you before the pictures leaked but you never called back. None of your friends would answer my messages...” You covered your ears and closed your eyes to block out the sensory overload even though he was still talking. No, no, no. He got caught cheating and he’s trying to backtrack.

But you had heard the rumors, the gossip rags had all printed it. The doubt, the convenience of the timing...but you’d blocked it out because it was too easy to believe and too painful to hope.

Two hands gripped your upper arms and your eyes flew open.

He was right in front of you. Less than three inches. His eyes were so dark, still dilated from the alcohol coursing through his system. He’d put on the boxers you’d thrown at him and ditched the towel. It was everything you had to not pitch forward into his warm chest.

“It was Andrew’s idea.” He hooked a finger underneath your chin and made sure you were looking at him. “There was a meeting, her people, my people, they ambushed me. Said it would be a good idea to promote the single, push my image, deal with the old rumors. I told him I didn’t give a fuck about that old shit but they just kept coming and coming and coming, something about helping her with her album and placating executives who kept asking questions, so I said yes but I fucking told them I had to have notice before they dropped the pictures so I could tell you…” He swiped his thumbs across your cheeks, smearing the wet tears that had fallen while he talked.

“They didn’t wait,” he sighed, “Andrew sold them without telling me. I tried to tell you. All those calls, all those texts, I promise I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

“But I fucking was, Shawn,” you stepped back and took a deep breath. “You had opportunities to call right after the meeting, before they took the pictures, but you waited. Why? Why did you wait for other people to break my fucking heart?”

“I was an idiot!” he raked his fingers through his knotted, dried curls. “I thought somehow that if I was able to control everything that no one could get hurt. I would tell you, we would keep doing us and I would have things I had to do in front of cameras but it wouldn’t mean anything. We would work on a plan to go public together after it was done. A few months at the most.”

“A few months?! What were we gonna do for months in hiding?! How many times were you going to hurt me, fulfilling some bullshit contractual obligation that you didn’t even discuss with me first?” You stumbled back to your room and he followed. You had to sit down or you were going to be sick. He followed behind, his giant feet sticking to the hardwoods with every step.

At first, the truth had felt like another dream, had made you weightless, but the more you thought about it, maybe this was worse. The idea of seeing him holding someone else’s hand for cameras while he came home to you at night was like a slap in the face.

“I wasn’t going to let them release the pictures before I talked to you first, before I knew it was okay,” he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands between his, “I never wanted to hurt you. Andrew did it anyway. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I just went along with it, all of it, like a zombie shell.” He looked past you, seeing the months you’d been apart. He was haunted too.

“The fans started to notice. Half of them thought it was fake from the beginning, but after awhile they all saw the dark circles, the exhaustion of keeping up the facade. I started losing weight. It was all there for the world to see. I thought about you everyday. I think about you everyday.” He pressed his forehead into your entwined hands. His shoulders shook. It took you a minute to realize that he was crying.

You took your hands from him, dragging your fingers through his curls, full and frizzed out from root to tip. You let him cry for the both of you, for the lost time, for the unfairness of the business he loved so much, for the deception, for all of it. Slowly, his breath evened against the skin of your exposed legs. He needed to sleep. So did you.

“Shawn…” you started, pulling his head up between your hands.

“I fired Andrew.”

You stilled completely, “you what?”

“I fired Andrew.” He said it a second time but it still wasn’t computing. Andrew was family. Andrew was untouchable. Andrew was the one person in Shawn’s life not related by blood that you thought might make it into the family burial plot.

“But, why?” you said, unable to think of anything else eloquent or comforting.

“The last eight months have been some of the worst in my career, in my life,” he took a moment, closing his eyes, calculating what he was about to say. “Last week, I went to him and said I wanted to end the sham relationship, to take control of my life back. He said it wasn’t possible, that we only had a few more months left. But he’d said that before. We only had a few months left before he extended the deal to cover an album release, the holidays, promotional singles...

“I talked to a lawyer. I had to pay a considerable amount of money to get out of all of it, but I’m done. Done with the PR bullshit, done with AGA. The label is still supporting me while I look for new management, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been writing at home, making voice memos, but I gotta figure out what my life looks like when I’m in control because I haven’t been in control for years. Maybe not ever.”

He took a breath and released it, his shoulders visibly relaxing. That was it, the whole truth. Everything made a lot more sense. It didn’t hurt any less, but the broken pain in his eyes when he’d fallen in the door an hour ago was clear. He was independent for the first time in his adult life...and he was terrified.

He yawned. His body was more leaning than kneeling at this point, and your legs were going numb. You moved to stand and he looked up at you, wondering what to do now that he’d cut his heart out and laid it at your feet.

“Come on,” you gestured to the bed, “get on your side.”

You took off your robe and crawled underneath the covers, still rumpled from your earlier dream. There was about three feet between you and Shawn in the king-size bed and you could tell he was trying to keep his distance, turning his back to you and isolating himself to one side. It was a struggle to keep from snorting. You scooted over and curled your arms around his chest. He was massive, but not so massive that you couldn’t be his big spoon.

The night had been such a rollercoaster, so much emotion from the earlier dream to everything that had happened since he pounded on the door, drunk and soaked through. There was so much you wanted to ask, so much you needed to yell at him for, but now that it was quiet, not that he was pressed against you in an embrace like he’d never left, those things felt so far away. You were going to have to think hard when the sun came up. What if I wake up and this was all a dream? You squeezed him one more time to make sure he was still there, tangling your legs with his under the sheets.

“This isn’t forgiveness,” you whispered, relishing the heat that radiated from his back into your chest. He hummed an assent, knowing there was still so much to say and so much to atone for. But for now, just right now, you both slept.

It was the best night of sleep you’d had in months.

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