#what if you heard the news and felt compelled to try and live for more people than yourself. in order for your current peace to be fair

[sandflakedraws]

re : how each brother reacts learning that they can't go back

you'll have to pry the "all the Brozone Bros knew what happened at the tree" headcanon outta my cold, dead dead dead hands.

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[hannieehaee]

Hiii!

I think your writing is amazing - I love it so much! Even stuff you’ve only posted a day ago, I’ve already reread! Your writing is just so compelling and engaging!

I saw that you have requests open, would you be able to do a svt reaction to their fiancée/wife getting injured/getting in an accident after a big argument please? I live for the angst! Thank you!

reaction to you getting hurt after an argument

content: angst, arguments, mentions of reader getting into an accident, mentions of a hospital, reader is mentioned to be their wife/fiancée in some of these, etc.

wc: 2143

a/n: thank u so much ur words about my writing are so sweet T-T im so glad ur enjoying my content <33 tysm for requesting!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

seungcheol can be a bit of an emotional person. he has a tendency of getting exasperated easily. although he was not one to pick arguments with you too often, whenever it did end up happening, he was usually too stubborn to let them go. if an argument came up, he needed the last word in. if you ever left during an argument, he wouldnt chase after you; to proud to let himself do so even if he really wanted to. if you happened to get hurt afterwards, maybe finding yourself in an accident due to the height of your emotions at the time, he would feel more remorseful than ever. he let his pride get the best of him and didn't go after you. he couldve stopped it (or at least that's what he'd tell himself). he would bow to himself to never let any petty argument prevent him from being by your side at all times. would be extremely gentle towards you for a while after the fact.

jeonghan -

someone as calm as jeonghan (at least where emotions pertained) would probably not find himself in arguments that often, which would make any and every argument a big deal due to how rare they were. he would never get too angry or cause a ruckus, but he could get a little mean. his goal at the moment would be to drive you away a bit, being too frustrated to be reasonable. the moment you left he'd feel more calm, knowing he needed time alone to collect himself and not allow his emotions get the best of him. except his emotions would get jumbled all over again the moment he got a call from the hospital letting him know you had gotten injured as you made your angry exit out of your shared apartment. he'd beat himself up over it all the way to the hospital, only feeling a bit more calm when you allowed him to tend and coo at you. he'd promise to never let his angel out of his sight ever again.

joshua -

during an argument, he'd grow serious. he's very emotionally smart, but his frustration would cloud all reason within him, causing him to be petty in these moments. when you suggested leaving for the night, he'd hammer the nail in the coffin by scoffing and telling you that yeah, that'd probably be best. would ignore your first call to him a few hours later, feeling like he needed to sleep on it. upon the second and third call, though, he'd grow immediately worried. nothing would take away the remorse he felt over his mean behavior towards you upon hearing you were at the hospital. although it had been nothing major, he'd prepare a whole speech full of apologies to you as he let you know how badly he regretted ever disregarding you like he did.

jun -

he'd grow a bit stoic during arguments, becoming too trapped in his thoughts to pay you much mind when you spoke up saying that you'd be heading to your mom's for the night, feeling like you needed a night away to keep you from becoming even more frustrated at him. he'd feel sad at this, but would still bid you goodbye, trying to keep things as calm as possible and even slipping an 'i love you' before you left. the moment he got the call from your mom, his heart sunk, terrified that you'd been seriously hurt. he wouldnt even remember the fight as soon as he heard the news, putting it all aside in favor of staying next to you and comforting you as much as possible.

soonyoung -

as the certified silly guy of seventeen, getting into a serious argument would him would be rare. but when you two did happen to argue, it'd get emotional pretty quickly. he'd sometimes have issues controlling his emotions, letting it slip that maybe you should leave if you felt so annoyed at him, that some distance might do you good. would feel bad at your dejected state as you left, but would not do much other than just give you a sad look before your departure. the moment he got a call informing him you'd gotten hurt during your separation, he'd drop absolutely everything, extremely worried regardless of the gravity of the accident. would ramble apologies at you about his behavior, placing all blame on himself without letting you get a word in. this would make him become even more attached to you from then on, never wanting you away, even during the hard moments.

wonwoo -

he's a very calm guy, which is why an argument with him would probably be very rare. in the occasion that it occurred, he'd probably suggest that you both take the rest of the day to yourselves, that maybe itd be best to clear your heads. you'd feel a little dejected by this but ultimately agree, insisting that you'd drive over to a friend's. a few hours later when wonwoo got a call from a nurse over at the hospital stating that his fiancee had been admitted, he immediately dropped everything to run to your side. he would completely forget about the argument, telling you that he was wrong to ever think letting you go out alone last night while so emotional was ever a good idea. he'd be overly attentive to you after that, feeling like he had caused this somehow.

jihoon -

it was easy for jihoon to dismiss you whenever an argument arose. he just didnt have the energy to entertain a fight. he knew this was a less than ideal characteristic of his, but he couldnt help it. he just felt like a bit of separation was better than allowing a full-on fight to occur. he'd occupy himself with work, wanting to give you time to process things on your own before trying to make amends. a few hours later, when he received a call from you, he was a bit shocked that you'd contact him so soon. he'd respond and express his surprise, only to hear your cries as you told him that you'd broken a leg while distractedly biking away from your shared home after the argument. he'd be instantly glad that you hadnt gotten hurt past that, visiting you immediately and completely forgetting about any argument you had.

seokmin -

you were his pretty and beautiful wife. how could he ever ever even think about arguing with you? well, it sure was rare, but it still happened once or twice during your relationship. and seokmin could get a bit ... childish when mad. he wouldnt outwardly argue with you. it would start with less than pleasant words being exchanged between the two of you, only to evolve into a silent treatment from him. you'd likely leave after that, too frustrated at his childishness. he'd think he had won the argument, feeling pleased with himself until he received a call from your mom letting him know that you had deviated your car from the road on the way to your parents' house. you hadnt gotten too hurt, but you had to have some stitches done and were now resting at home. he'd come home to you, tail between his legs as he begged you to please forgive his stupid childish behavior, promising he'd never make you feel like you had to run away from him ever again.

mingyu -

he can be a bit childish and immature when it comes to fights. arguments between you dont happen that often, so when they do, theyre kind of a big deal. when you suggested just leaving in order to allow things for mellow out, he shrugged and agreed, telling you you could come back whenever you felt like it, not really thinking much of it, he was still a bit peeved off after all. the next morning when he received a call from a family member of yours letting him know you never made it home to them, having somehow ended in the hospital, he would drop everything and run to you. even if it hadnt been his fault, he'd kneel next to the hospital bed and apologize to you. would take on the duty of tending to you until you got better and would not let you out of his sight again.

minghao -

the atmosphere would be heavy. dealing with arguments with minghao would always be difficult. emotions would be heightened, and you'd both be tense at one another. minghao could sometimes be too direct; communicative to a fault. although his good communication was usually a good thing, sometimes it came at the cost of your peace of mind. in an instance in which you just couldn't take an argument anymore, announcing you'd stay over with a friend for the night to calm down, his easy dismissal of you, responding 'if you feel like that's best, you can leave' with zero will ro try and stop you would have you feeling dejected. the next morning when he got a call from your friend stating that you'd been a bit careless on the way to her house would have him regretting his stoic behavior towards you, visiting you as you recovered at your friend's house as he offered to take you home with him so he could live up to his husband duties and make things right.

seungkwan -

he had a tendency of being a bit stubborn. it wasnt too difficult to pull an argument out of him. except they never really went too far. you'd both allow your frustration to dissipate mid-argument, always finishing the day off in a good mood with one another after having made up. on the rare occasion that arguments went too far, you'd usually choose to distance yourself for the rest of the day, knowing that if you instigated him the situation would just get worse. he'd be a bit pleased at himself, thinking himself the winner of this argument. the feeling would only last so long, however, as he got a call the day after letting him know that you were now in the hospital. his heart fell through his chest at hearing the word hospital, rushing to your side and whining at you about how scared you made him. he'd coo and tend to you, forgetting about the argument in favor of taking care of you, promising to never ever leave your side and to never let his emotions drive you away ever again.

vernon -

arguing with vernon was never a pretty sight. he could sometimes be a bit hurtful without thinking. not with his words, but more so with his lack of them. he was never a man for speeches, nor was he one for verbally expressing his thoughts too often. so whenever an argument arose, it almost felt like you were arguing with yourself. it made you feel stupid and dismissed, so it was often during arguments that you'd simply announce your exit, claiming it would probably be better if you stayed apart for the night. this would usually do the trick, allowing you two to reconnect the next morning in mellow moods. except today vernon had not received the usual call from you that next morning letting him know you'd be on your way back phone. the call he got instead was from a friend of yours, letting him know that you'd gotten hurt on the way there last night, landing yourself in the hospital. vernon wouldnt care when or how you got hurt, only worrying about your wellbeing as he rushed to your side. unlike during the argument, vernon would air out all emotions he was feeling, letting you know that he'd never let you walk away during a fight ever again. he'd scream and go crazy if that was enough to get you to stay.

chan -

his words could be a bit pointed when he was frustrated, he was too used to his members talking over him whenever an argument arose, which was why he was a bit less lenient when arguing with you. he'd frustrate you very quickly, making you want to stay away from him during those moments. he wouldnt chase after you either, figuring that some space might be best for the both of you to calm down. when he got the news that you'd somehow gotten injured on your way away from him, he'd rush to you, even risking his own safety at the speed in which he tried to get to you. he'd get you flowers and a huge apology in the form of a speech detailing how badly he felt at ever driving you away. he'd dedicate the rest of his free time to giving you all and every type of affection he could muster, feeling guilt even if you insisted it was fine and was not his fault.

[where-dreamers-go]

I love your Dbh Connor writing 😍 can you please write something (if you'd like) in his pov of him realizing he *feels* for the reader, though he'd likely not know what that entails and what to call it. Just something introspective exploring his inner logic when it comes to his newfound deviancy? Thanks so much ❤️ I hope life treats you well!

“Feelings And Deviancy” Rk800 Connor x Reader

(A/N: Awh! I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Here’s a little something where Connor finds himself in a new routine with feelings he can’t pinpoint just yet. Warnings: Use of (Y/N) for your name. Word Count: 1,072 words)

Detroit held much to be discovered, especially when living was a new concept.

No more demonstrations or frantic humans in the streets.

It was almost quieter.

Connor took up walking to explore the city upon his deviancy. To rediscover the world.

Androids and humans were coexisting again. Nothing was perfect. Never was.

On one of his walking routes he had noticed a change. More life in a small bookstore beside an always popular coffee shop. The display window no longer appeared as a physical advertisement or thumbnail. No longer the attention-seeking images. Lined, stacked, and decorated with air plants were books. Physical books. Yes, there were always tablets for sale, but the display was not leveled. Nothing about it was symmetrical.

He was compelled to enter.

That was two months and two days ago.

Blinking, Connor found himself there again. The colorful bookshop in the shadow of quick service caffeine. He stood in front of the display. New books had been added, angled to show their spines, designed in detail to allude to the story’s tone.

Spying movement from inside, Connor moved to open the door and entered.

Familiar bookcases remained in their usual placements. Each shelf neatly arranged with books categorized by genre, author, and title. The usual.

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Connor urged himself to search by sight and not scan. To take his time was a skill in need of practicing.

Light display flickering to yellow, he stepped further into the shop. He wasn’t alone inside. Towards the back, a couple of older individuals could be heard in hushed tones. They were regulars, almost every Friday.

He’s probably holding a stack of books for her again.

Connor found himself doing the same; visiting every Wednesday and Friday. Creating another routine.

What interest could a deviated android have in a bookshop?

Connor pondered on that question each day. Every time he would picture you instead of a simple answer. A connection to books, stories, and knowledge. The person responsible for decorating the shop’s window.

He found a particular interest in you, one of the shop’s employees. It started the first day you greeted him with your friendly smile and had yet to be stored away.

“Connor, hi.” Stepping around a table display, you waved to him while balancing three volumes in your other hand.

“Hello (Y/N).” He smiled, feeling something akin to happiness.

“How are you?”

Opening his mouth, ready to respond, Connor said nothing.

What was a truthful answer?

Connor sure wanted to know.

I am functioning properly, Connor thought. I’m not feeling any negative emotions. But they don’t want to hear that.

“I’m well.” He answered. “Thank you for asking.”

“No problem. I’m glad you’re well.”

At your smile, Connor took notice of his thirium pump increasing its speed. Something he was trying to look into over the past few weeks.

“How are you? Do you need help with anything?”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “I’m pretty good.” Stepping over to the main counter, you added, “I can handle a few books. Just double checking these are in shelves too. Someone’s doing a pickup later. But thank you for asking. Again.” You sent him a teasing smile.

“Oh.” Connor stood still beside the counter, eyes downcast.

Embarrassment, he knew that emotion. Connor knew how it felt and it wasn’t his favorite. Feeling it while around you made him want to reset his system.

Do I ask to help them every time I’m here? Connor thought back to previous encounters and his embarrassment grew. I’m being polite. He urged himself to be more neutral with the fact of him wanting to help you.

Why wouldn’t he want to help you?

You were kind, had a good work ethic, and you made time to talk with him.

Connor appreciated you.

He appreciated other too, but he didn’t find himself trying to consistently learn their interests. That happened when he was with you, asking you handfuls of questions.

The more Connor learned about you, the more he could talk to you. Information one could not find online or in databases. Time one could not simulate.

“So what brings you here today, mister questions?” You inquired as you walked around the counter. Pulling out a tote bag, you placed the books inside one by one.

The corners of Connor’s lips lifted. A jolt of something registered through him. Not physical. An emotion that made him want to remain standing in your presence and perhaps hear you give him another nickname.

“I was wondering…”

You hummed shortly, letting him know you were listening.

“If there was a book you think I should read.”

Your eyes lit up in joyous surprise. “A million times yes.” You rushed out from around the counter and headed between a row of bookshelves.

Connor followed after you without hesitation.

“I don’t think I can just pick one,” you stated with two books in hand already. “So you have some options.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

You sent him a smile over your shoulder. Then you resumed scanning the shelves, not wanting to miss a book you had in mind for him.

Knowing you already had options for him made Connor smile endlessly.

You thought of him.

They’re thorough. Connor thought as he got lost in watching you search.

Connor had never been around someone who he felt such a variety of emotions for. Deviancy hadn’t lasted long enough for him to name them all.

How could he?

The situation and environments he found himself in was calm and new. Full of books, unique displays, and people going about their business. Seeing you had become a constant. Something he could count on even if each time would be different, lively.

Connor did not have anything in his past to compare his present to.

If I had more context, he thought, I could figure out what I should be doing. I like their company. I know that, but big deal. That doesn’t tell me what to do about besides visiting them twice a week. But…I do like being with them.

Slightly frustrated with himself, he made sure to keep it to himself.

So, Connor remained standing, keeping you company during your shift, and making you laugh. Soon three books purchased and all his own.

What would come from him having feelings for you?

Connor hoped he would find out in his new way in life.

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Detroit Become Human Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[delirious-donna]

Best Laid Plans [Part Two]

“Ah. Your timing could not be more perfect, Levi. I assume you heard my offer and felt compelled to interject personally?” Erwin surmised with a knowing smile. Levi wished he could knock his teeth in. 

story summary: Levi isn’t hungry, or so that’s what he claims. A vampire must drink to survive, and his sire refuses to let the man give up without trying every trick up his sleeve. When a new ‘donor’ appears, one who is different from all the rest, will Levi be able to keep resisting?

pairing: Levi Ackerman (vampire) x female reader (human)

warnings: nothing really just vampire antics and allusions to mysteries in both the reader's and Levi's life and backstory, SFW, this is a slow chapter but it is setting up plot points so please bear with me, Erwin is so calculating and I love it...

Part One | Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Part Three

“What does it mean if your blood sings?” 

The question pierced through the oppressive silence like a thorn pricking fresh, unblemished skin. Two sets of eyes fixed on your huddled figure in the back seat of the car, Hange at your side and the driver through the reflection of the rearview mirror.  

You had always wondered why the myth of vampires casting no reflections was so prevalent when it wasn’t true, but now wasn’t the time to dissect the nuances of vampire lore.  

If their expressions alone were not enough to tell you that they were uneasy, then the short sharp gasp from Hange’s throat surely did. 

“Is that… did he say that your blood was singing?” Hange finally asked, humourless and at full alert. 

You chewed at your fingernails, a habit you hadn’t indulged in years, and slowly nodded. The weight of the driver’s eyes felt uncomfortable, forcing you to curl further into yourself to hide from his penetrating stare. Hot fear trickled down your spine, the sense that perhaps you shouldn’t have voiced your question was overwhelming. You felt foolish for speaking at all. It served as a reminder that whilst you had been met with nothing but kindness, these people were not your friends. 

“We have to report this,” the driver said directly to Hange. 

“Hold your horse, Miche! Stop acting so whipped. It might be a simple misunderstanding.” The brunette turned their body towards you, slowly reaching for your hand like you might do to a fearful child. “Can you tell me exactly what Levi said?” 

Their touch was cool, and a tingling sensation spread from your fingertips right through your hand and up your arm. Your mind hushed; the overabundance of noise shooed towards the periphery of your conscious as if soothed by the physical connection. In your right mind, you might have questioned if something else was at play, but the thought was so far removed that all you could think about was the man you had been reluctant to leave behind. 

His stern face was imprinted behind your eyelids so that each time you blinked, he flashed back at you with those grey mercurial eyes swirling ominously. The words were so clear in your memory that it felt like you were still living in that moment, his voice so ragged with rage and what felt like fear that you wanted to run… but in which direction? The shift had been sudden, so completely unexpected and you didn’t know why you had any emotions other than terror when you knew nothing about him. 

“He said… ‘your blood, it’s singing to me.’ I don’t know what he meant but he looked terrified by it. Is that not normal? Is there something wrong with me? With my blood?” 

Panic rose along with bile in your throat. Memories flashed behind your eyes and threatened to consume you. Images of hospital wards along with sensory overload, the smell of antiseptic and death, the sound of constant beeping machines and the harsh glare of fluorescent white strip lighting. It was not the time and place to be succumbing to your worst memories, you were not as safe as they wanted you to feel.  

Your fingertips dug harshly into the meat of your palms, deeper and deeper until you could concentrate on the pain of nails embedding sharply into skin. 

Hange stared at you intently.  

Little did you know that their heart was jumping wildly in their chest from the excitement of what this could mean. Unlike Levi, they recalled the stories of old that Erwin would regale them with and the wistful expression he would wear whilst speaking. If what they remembered was true, this discovery could be monumental, and not just for Levi—though he likely didn’t realise either way—but for every vampire. 

The balance of power would be disrupted, of that they were certain. The scientific part of their brain was loathe to discuss it so soon with Erwin, despite Miche’s immediate inclination to do so. Wouldn’t it be far more intriguing to let events play out just for a smidge longer...? To tease out more information that was very likely being held close to the chest right now. It would be naïve to think that Erwin didn’t already have some inkling, especially when thinking back to just how pleased he had seemed when you walked willingly into their world. Right now, it was important to settle your anxieties. 

“Hey, don’t worry. Your blood is fine. You are fine, more than fine! Let’s get you back to the estate and to your quarters, I’ll even call ahead and have a bath waiting for you. I think a nice hot soak will help you clear your head.” 

Hange was already lifting the phone to their ear, listening to the dial tone whilst you stammered and hiccupped about not wanting to be a bother. Their eyes rolled over and there was a sense of deflation at your meek display. Levi would walk all over you if given half the chance, or at least send you running for the hills if he was feeling magnanimous.  

Where was the strong woman from earlier? The one who had squared their shoulders and walked towards their fate with head held high and not a falter in their heart rate. Ten minutes in the presence of Levi Ackerman had reduced you to the mass of nerves sitting beside them, and they scowled at that fool of a man. 

~ 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He supposed there wasn’t much he could do, not without crawling back to his master and he was loathe to do so. It would prove that he needed Erwin Smith and there was not a single desire in his body to let that be proved true. 

Levi paced the width of the room, and every pace increased his frustration, confusion and annoyingly, his curiosity. He could still smell you in the room, if he closed his eyes, he could believe you were still here, still sat with that impossibly brave demeanour cloaking your true feelings and those inquisitive eyes. 

There was a vein of trepidation in his wandering mind… could you know more than you let on? Perhaps you were in cahoots with that bastard to bring him to his knees like he wanted but could not achieve on his own. 

No. 

Your expression when he spoke of the song of your blood was truly innocent, or at least, innocent in this particular matter. A fear that mirrored his own reflected back from your eyes and absolved you of the sin of knowledge. Levi couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to why this soothed him. It shouldn’t hold any weight, but it did. It did. 

He pushed a hand, trembling with barely restrained fury, through his hair and growled aloud as he strode back to his desk. The phone he hated to use was in his hand, the number imprinted on his memory punched out without thought and with two short rings, it clicked over to a commanding baritone that sent nails down a chalkboard in his head. 

“I’m surprised it took you this long, Levi. Your restraint is to be marvelled, if not exactly admired.” 

Levi counted silently, biting down hard on his tongue to stop himself from making demands that he might come to regret. If Erwin were to find out that he had exploded at the thought of his sire tasting your blood… well… he would use that information against him and leverage it for Levi’s cooperation and return to the fold. 

“Shall I continue to talk, and you simply listen? Doesn’t sound very fun for me,” Erwin continued. 

“Bullshit. You’ve always loved the sound of your own voice,” Levi countered with a hiss. He couldn’t stand the humour filling Erwin’s words when he felt like his insides were being ripped apart. 

“Come now… there is no need for foul language.” 

The sound of Erwin reclining in his chair painted the image vividly through Levi’s mind down to every minute detail. He may as well be in that office, the one he had been in so many times he couldn’t count. The scent of ink wafted through his nose, followed by traces of cloves and honeysuckle from the gladiolus adorning every windowsill. 

Levi gritted his teeth and exhaled deeply through his nose. “You expected my call, why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Erwin chirped merrily. 

“Answer the fu—” He paused to reel in his temper. “Answer the question.” 

“She’s special, I guess you noticed it too given your reaction. Did she taste as sweet as I thought she might?” Erwin asked with more than a hint of genuine curiosity that had Levi pausing in his tracks. 

Erwin hadn’t tasted her. He wished desperately that the sense of relief flooding his system didn’t toll his own doom, but he could ponder that foreboding thought later. Without realising, he had slumped into his chair. Every muscle eased as the high alert drained out of his body and left behind the hunger that was now so potent he could barely move a finger without the ache snapping to life with a bark. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Levi admitted sullenly. 

There was a clatter on the other side of the line. “You resisted again? Are you out of your mind? I don’t know what the hell to say… Levi, do you know what someone would pay to sample a donor that unique?” 

“Will you shut up? I’ve told you that I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not some young brat that you need to haul back into line and you of all people should know that.” Silence met him, heavy and meaningful. After a beat, he added a concession. “Not that I really got the chance anyway, she was escorted rather hastily out of my home by your lackeys.” 

At that moment, there was a faint knocking on Erwin’s side of the conversation and Levi held his breath when Hange’s voice drifted into his ear. They gave a very brief rundown of what had transpired, far briefer than Levi deserved given how recklessly he had acted. He was busy wondering what Hange was up to when your voice piped up and his body jolted upright. 

“Did he hurt you, my dear? He can be rather coarse, and I apologise for not warning you thoroughly,” Erwin enthused. Levi wanted to scoff but he had the feeling that no one in the room knew he was listening in except for Erwin. 

“No no! You misunderstand… he didn’t do anything wrong. I-I think maybe he doesn’t like me, that’s all. Perhaps I’m not the match you believed me to be.” 

Levi wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. Why the fuck were you covering for his actions? They were inappropriate and you should be doing everything in your power to be kept away from him and here you were… protecting him. Stupid human. 

“Oh, is that right? Well… I think Levi liked you much more than he expected to and that scared him. I urge you not to hold that against him, he has been trying to starve himself this past month and the hunger can be overpowering, even for us old-timers.” 

“Hm. That makes sense, I guess. May I ask—why is he not feeding? Is he sick?” you asked with a thread of worry in your tone that wound around Levi’s withering heart. It pulled tighter and tighter with every faint thump the dying organ gave. 

Erwin made a noncommittal noise, and Levi could practically envisage the shoulder shrug that more than likely accompanied it. Vampire politics were rarely up for discussion amongst vampires, even less so with donors, no matter how special they might or might not be. 

“That might be a question for the man himself. However, since you seem unsure of his interest, I must ask if you would consider being a donor for someone else in my clan? I would hate to see a good investment go to waste…” 

The bastard! 

Levi shadowstepped without realising. 

His focus on Erwin’s voice would always be enough to tether him to his location and he stopped short of stalking towards the much taller man with murder in his eyes only by the surprised scream that you gave at his sudden appearance. 

“Ah. Your timing could not be more perfect, Levi. I assume you heard my offer and felt compelled to interject personally?” Erwin surmised with a knowing smile. Levi wished he could knock his teeth in. 

“You-you were listening?” you asked, eyes scanning around the room but continually returning to Levi and searching his eyes. 

He turned to face you directly, ignoring the jab at his expense in favour of wrestling his temper into submission. The song of your blood started immediately this time. Unlike the first meeting when it hadn’t been initially apparent, now it resonated in his ears and calmed the worst of his ire.  

You were doing everything in your mortal power to not look scared and that both annoyed and pleased him. He had seen far less foolish humans be eaten alive by the predators he considered his kin, and he doubted you understood how dangerous this situation could be. 

Levi hadn’t dared to mention the blood singing to his sire for fear that the information would be used against him, or worse that it would bring harm to his or your door. He hoped you wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone either, but he couldn’t know for sure until he had the opportunity to speak with Hange and Miche, who were both surprisingly absent.  

For now, he could only pretend not to hear its sweet melody—a torturous task when all he wanted to do was reach out and pull you into his arms so he could run his nose along the thumping pulse in your neck. 

“I must apologise once more. I thought I had disconnected our phone call but apparently, I was careless,” Erwin lied easily. “Levi called me because he was concerned for your welfare, isn’t that right?” The blond turned to Levi, his artic blue eyes twinkling with the challenge to defy him. 

The desire to choke him out was palpable, his fingers twitching whilst they curled into tight fists and then flexed loose. He hated to be baited like this. Erwin knew this, of course, he did. More than a couple of centuries together would teach you a thing or two even if you weren’t as infamously observant as Erwin Smith. 

Levi swallowed his pride and called out your name, the syllables melding together on his tongue like a lover’s caress. “I should be the one apologising. As you have been informed,” he glanced towards Erwin who had moved back towards his desk to give the two of you the illusion of space, “I haven’t been eating for some time and my emotions got the better of me.” 

“It’s okay… no one got hurt and—” 

“Whether or not someone got hurt is beside the point.” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I acted rashly, and you deserve far better than that. Would you allow me a second chance to get to know you before I decide if you are a good fit as my donor?” 

You paused, mouth forming a perfect oval and the rogue thought of placing his finger inside to feel the warm velvet of your tongue struck across his conscious like a lightning bolt. He wanted you. He didn’t want you. He wanted to push you away so hard that you would never dare to approach him again. He wanted to bring you into the safety of his arms to protect you until your dying day.  

It was too much, and the confusion was the worst of it. 

“I think I’d like that,” you sighed breathlessly, the skin of your décolleté heating from the sudden rush of blood to the surface and that was the final straw. 

“Until then, goodnight.” 

Levi shadowstepped before you or Erwin could think to stop him. He walked the hallways towards his bedroom and thought about that smug bastard’s face with every heavy stomp of his foot against the carpet. Whilst the idea of leaving you there with him made his blood boil, it was for the best. He couldn’t afford another outburst when things were so precarious. 

Inside his bedroom, he went to his private collection of books and pulled out a stack for research. He needed to know everything he possibly could about blood singing before Erwin caught wind of the situation. If there was a way out of this predicament then he needed to know and fast, because he would be damned if his carefully laid plans were going to be destroyed this easily, and yet… 

The best-laid plans of mice and men so often go astray. 

[starkiller419]

Friends.

pairing : hayden christensen crica 1999 x f!reader | wc : 7k | 18+MINORS DNI

summary : you and hayden are co-stars in a new 90's teen movie.

warnings : idk just a bit smutty. actually quite smutty. if ur sensitive to swearing there's a couple swears in here.

a/n : this is my first time publishing smut so lmk what ya'll think. this is also a story based on this very detailed and specific dream I keep having, so if you want more, I will write more because I have so much more to say.

—————————————————————————

Hayden and I had been working together for about a month now. We were filming a movie about two teens who lived beside each other, and eventually fall in love and run away together. It's a compelling story, reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet in a way. The whole thing is very Shakespearean.

We first met during the audition process. I had already booked the role so they brought me in to do a chemistry test with some other actors, Hayden being one of them. I had never heard of him before this project but later found out he had been in a couple of TV shows and movies. From the moment I first laid my eyes on him I was in awe, he was beautiful.

He was no doubt the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life. He took my breath away and made my heart stop beating without even having to try. During our chem test, I found it hard to concentrate, all I could think of was how captivating his eyes were and how bright his smile was. By the end of our test, the director had told us that Hayden would be playing opposite me as the love interest of my character.

Yay.

I was excited to get to know this angelic man in front of me better, but I was also very nervous. This wasn't my first project, but it was my first 'big' Hollywood movie. We had a budget of over $2 million and we were filming all over California, even using some of the sets at the Warner Brothers Studios. I was nervous about my performance, and I often found myself questioning whether I was good enough or not for something this grand.

Adding to that nervousness were the thoughts that invaded my mind whenever this blue-eyed boy was near me. His presence alone was intoxicating, and for the first little while there I tried to avoid him when we weren't filming due to my impure thoughts about him. I had a rule that I would never become romantically involved with any of my co-stars, even if it was temporary.

Eventually, though, I gave up trying to avoid him.

We would hang out in between shots, getting food at the craft services table or simply walking around wherever we would be filming that day. When we would wrap for the day he would walk me to my trailer where I was currently living, and he would always walk me to the door and say goodnight before heading to wherever he was staying.

Sometimes when he would walk me to my trailer I would invite him in. Sometimes we would play a board game, make something to eat, or play cards. He taught me how to play poker and I managed to win $100 from him. No matter what we were doing together, I always felt a stupid grin on my face. We would talk and laugh with each other for hours before he would eventually go home for the night.

We would talk about everything and anything, and I felt myself growing more and more attached to him as time went on. Every morning I would wake up excited to see him, and every night I would fall asleep and dream of him. He had slowly invaded the entirety of my being, walking through the empty corridors of my mind and claiming all the rooms as his own.

I was okay with these feelings lingering within me as long as I could manage to contain them, and not act on my desires. However, with each day that passed, it became harder and harder to ignore.

Since temporarily relocating to LA, I hadn't been sleeping well. 12 hour days on set were exhausting and prompted me to sleep, but I never could. I've always struggled with insomnia and I would usually sleep for a couple of hours each night, sometimes less but never more. It was starting to catch up to me and I could feel my sleep deprivation dragging me down during the day.

I had just finished filming for the day and walked myself to my trailer. Hayden had already left for the day and I found the walk to be quite lonesome without the comfort of our small talk. I entered my trailer, took a short shower, and prepared to try and catch up on some sleep.

My trailer was small, but still larger than the average on-set trailer. It had a queen bed in the back, a small dining table and couch, a washroom with a sink, toilet, and shower, and a small kitchen. There was a TV on the wall across from the couch, and I felt like watching something would aid me in falling asleep. So I got comfortable on the couch and turned on the TV, scrolling through the guide until I landed on NBC and started watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

I watched a few episodes before I felt myself drifting off into sleep, and just as I was about to fall asleep fully I heard the door to my trailer open. I had locked it and only one other person had the key, so I knew it had to be Hayden.

I opened my eyes and I was correct, he was standing in the doorway wearing a white t-shirt, a black Toronto Maple Leafs hat, and black jeans. Even in something so simple he was so effortlessly gorgeous, it hurt.

"Hi." I groggily greeted him as I moved slightly to sit up on the couch, rubbing my eyes as I did so.

"Hi, were you sleeping?" He asked as he walked fully into the trailer, closing the door behind him.

"I was trying to, it wasn't going very well." I chuckled dryly and his expression turned into one of concern.

"I can leave if you'd like." He went to turn and before he could fully, I reached out and grabbed his arm. He looked down at me with an eyebrow raised and his movements stopped.

"You don't have to go. I mean, like, if you don't want to." I stuttered slightly and let go of his arm, it was more muscular than I had expected, and his skin was warm to the touch.

"Okay." He moved closer and sat beside me on the end of the couch,

"What are you watching?" He pointed to the TV and I brought my knees to my chest as I sat with my left side pushing into the cushions and smiled as I faced him,

"Fresh Prince." It was one of my favorite shows and he knew it. He returned the smile I gave him and turned his attention to the TV, as did I.

I felt myself drifting off again as my head lay on the back cushion of the couch. My gaze had drifted from the TV to Hayden as he sat in front of me, laughing occasionally at the show. I noticed how his Adam's apple bobbed up and down with each laugh he took, and how he would smile to himself at certain moments whenever he was amused.

I closed my eyes and allowed the peace of his presence to lull me into a deep slumber.

I woke up a few hours later when I felt him pick me up and walk through my trailer, only to place me on my bed and tuck me into the covers. I then felt him trace my face with his finger and tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear. The TV had been turned off and it was dead silent in here. I opened my eyes and saw him walking away from the small space that held the bed.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out and grabbed his arm yet again, and was overcome with the feeling of his warm skin against my cold skin.

"I thought you were asleep?" He said as he turned to face me, kneeling so we could be at eye level with each other.

"I was, but now I'm awake," I shrugged as I stared into his ocean-blue eyes. He frowned slightly before saying,

"You should go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't apologize. I'm a light sleeper." His frown disappeared only to be replaced by a slight half-smile. He went to stand up and walk away again, but I didn't want him to go. I also didn't want to ask him to stay and sleep in my bed, even though that's what I wanted. I just didn't want to have to ask him, that would be awkward if he said no or took it the wrong way, I simply liked having him around.

"Where are you going?" I asked and he looked down at me slightly confused,

"It's almost 4 in the morning, I was gonna go sleep in my trailer."

"Do you always sleep in your trailer?" I thought he had a hotel or home here or something, we had never actually spoken about it before so really it was always just an assumption.

"No, but I don't feel like driving. I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel." He laughed slightly and only then did I notice the slight purple eye bags that graced his face and the way his eyes were slightly drooping.

"You can sleep here if you'd like," I said sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't think more of this than just a friendly offer. Between friends. Friends,

That's it.

"Are you sure?" He asked as he slowly walked back towards the bed and waited for me to nod my head in confirmation before he climbed in under the covers and lay beside me.

We lay on our sides facing each other, only a couple of inches separating us, and I reached over and used my thumb to rub the bags beneath his eyes. His eyes fluttered closed in response to my touch and he placed his hand on my wrist, holding my hand against his face. I sighed softly, feeling somewhat guilty about indulging in the pleasurable feeling of his skin against mine, but enjoying it nonetheless.

We stayed like that until the two of us fell into a calm and peaceful sleep, breathing in sync. My dreams were filled with him, and it was my best sleep in years.

The next morning I had awoken wrapped in his arms, with my head tucked into the crook of his neck. My leg was wrapped around his and I could feel the soft skin of his lips just barely touching my forehead. It was blissful, to say the least. The way he and I breathed in sync, the scent of coffee and vanilla that was radiating from him, and the feeling of his large hands on my back and waist.

I rolled over slightly so I could glance at the clock beside the bed. It was 9:30 AM, and we had a 9:45 call time. Panic set in as I sat straight up, causing Hayden to jolt awake, confused at my state. I jumped out of bed and practically sprinted to the washroom to brush my hair, soon followed by my teeth. I heard the sheets rustle and footsteps follow not long after, and then I saw him stand behind me in the mirror.

His blonde hair was a bit of a mess, the bags under his eyes had disappeared, and he looked well-rested. He gave me a slight smirk as I furiously brushed my teeth, "We won't be late, there's no need to destroy your gums." He chuckled slightly and I bent down to spit the toothpaste out of my mouth before speaking to him. He was right but still, I wanted to be a bit more prepared than I was at this moment. "My gums are perfectly fine, thank you," I said teasingly as I grinned nice and wide, displaying my teeth and gums for him. He laughed and butterflies danced around in my stomach, fluttering up into my heart. He turned and walked away from me and I watched as he neared a cupboard in the kitchen and grabbed two bowls, a box of Cheerios, and the milk from the fridge.

I laughed as I exited the small washroom and walked towards the dining table where he had set down the bowls, "Hayden I can't eat that. I just brushed my teeth." He shrugged and paid no mind as he continued to prepare me a bowl.

"You have to eat something." He rolled his eyes slightly as he sat down on the bench and began eating the cereal. Despite the rolling of his eyes, he had a small smile on his face that I couldn't help but admire. I gave in and sat across from him and started to eat.

"Wow Mr. Christensen, this is splendid. What a fine breakfast you've made me this morning." I spoke in a fake posh accent, something we did with each other often. He had just taken a bite of his cereal and my posh guise caused him to laugh, and milk came running out of his nose. I couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably at the sight, but I got up through my laughter and grabbed the paper towel that sat on the counter.

He too was laughing while pinching the bridge of his nose. He had tears in his eyes and a couple fell as he blinked and reached for the paper towel, our hands brushing against each other slightly. He cleaned the milk off his face, and then off the table, coughing a few times in the process which caused me to erupt in laughter all over again.

"It's not funny y'know. That shit hurt." He said with a fake frown gracing his lips, which were trying to hold back a laugh of his own.

"Sorry, sorry," I said quietly and finished my bowl, bringing it to the sink and rinsing it before walking to the door to slip on my shoes. I turned back to face him as he put the paper towel back in its rightful spot, "You ready?" I asked.

He smiled brightly and responded, in a voice as smooth and soft as honey, "Always."

2 weeks had passed since Hayden had slept in my bed for the first time. Yes, the first time. The next night he came and knocked on my door at around 10 PM, he was shy and sheepish when he asked if he could, and I quote, 'have a sleepover'. He was being his usual sarcastic self of course, but I found it endearing either way and said yes.

A couple of days passed before he spent the night again, this time I had invited him on our nightly walk back from the soundstage. The next day I didn't even have to ask him, he just walked me home and followed me inside. When I began to get ready for bed he did the same, following me into the washroom to brush his teeth with a spare toothbrush I kept in the drawer.

"What are you doing?" I asked with a mouthful of toothbrush and its paste. He grinned and used his thumb to wipe the corner of my mouth, collecting a small amount of toothpaste on it and wiping it on the towel that hung beside the sink.

"We're having another sleepover, duh." He rolled his eyes as he responded with a mouth full of toothbrush and paste as well.

Since then it had just become an unspoken thing. Every night he would come to my trailer with me, and I never once tried to stop him or protest his actions. I enjoyed having him around, and I loved waking up in his arms every morning, inhaling his coffee-vanilla scent, and feeling the contrast of his warm skin against my cold. He usually slept shirtless, he claimed he got hot, but I think he just secretly wanted an excuse to be shirtless around me. Not that I minded, the man is ripped.

Nothing ever happened between us when he slept over, even though a part of me always wanted to, I couldn't for some reason. Anytime I thought of it too I felt guilty. But the desire to feel his lips against mine just kept growing and growing.

One day we were filming a scene that took place late at night where my character, the Juliet of the story, drags his character, Romeo, to the pool in his backyard. I was told to strip down into my bra and underwear and jump in the pool, and Hayden would follow. Despite having shared a bed with him for weeks now, I felt a little nervous at the thought of being so exposed in front of him.

But I had a job to do, so I put my big actor-girl pants on and did as the director said, and everything went swimmingly, pun intended. In that scene, I was to pull him into the pool and we would begin play-fighting in the water. We did just that and I ended up with my legs wrapped around his waist, both of us only in our underwear, just inches away from his face. I spoke all my lines just due to second nature and my memorization skills, but all I could focus on was how close his lips were to mine.

As I spoke the words I knew I was supposed to say, I found myself wanting to say more. To speak to him and only him, alone without the twenty or so people who surrounded us. He leaned his head closer to me and our noses brushed against each other. We had a kissing scene in the script, a couple actually and I knew exactly which days we would be filming them, but this wasn't one of them. So why did he move closer?

"And… CUT!" The director yelled as he stood from his chair and walked over to the edge of the pool. I removed my legs from their grip on Hayden's waist but kept my hands around his neck, and his hands remained on my waist holding me close to him. "That was great you two, we could sense the electricity. I think that's all for today so just go home, rest, and be back here for 11 AM tomorrow." The director spoke to us and we each thanked him and nodded our heads.

When he had mentioned the electricity between us I felt my cheeks grow red. He hadn't failed to hide his attraction to me, and I doubt I had hid mine from him. But still, we were actors. It was our job to be that way with each other. It was nothing deeper than that, we had to stay professional.

It didn't take long for the small crowd of people to disperse, leaving just Hayden and me behind. We were still in the pool, his hands were still around my waist gripping me tightly. As everyone had packed up I managed to avoid meeting his gaze, afraid of what I would do if I did, but now that we were alone I had no excuse. I turned to look at him and his eyes had been darkened by the starlight but shone brightly nonetheless.

I didn't know what to say to him, but I felt like I had to say something to prevent myself from acting on my suppressed urges and desires. The feeling of his hands holding me tightly was something so familiar, but this time it felt different somehow. It made me feel different.

"Wanna go get some Chinese food?" I asked him the first thing I could think of, which was stupid because I don't even like Chinese food and he knew that.

"You don't even like Chinese food." He said with a laugh, his slightly wet hair sticking to his forehead.

"I didn't know what else to say," I admitted sheepishly. He leaned his head closer to mine once again allowing our noses to brush against each other.

"Why did you feel the need to say something?" He spoke low and it caused my breath to come to a halt. Something about him right now was so-- intoxicating.

"So that I wouldn't do something I may regret." I softly said, never breaking eye contact. He moved even closer and rested his forehead against mine. His hand on my waist travelled down my hips to my thigh where he proceeded to wrap my legs around him again.

"And what would that be?" His low tone sent shivers throughout my body, and down to places it probably shouldn't have gone to. I was finding it hard to resist my urges now more than ever, the way his lips looked in the moonlight, how there was a bead of water positioned right on the corner of his lips, and how tempted I was to just lick it off.

I sighed softly as I glanced down to the water beneath us, seeing the rippled image of his toned torso sent me into overdrive. I looked back into his eyes which were the same color as the water we waded in, and leaned my head closer to his so our lips brushed against each other as I spoke,

"What are you doing to me?" I asked him and before he could respond I closed the distance between us, sending a blaze of passion and fire through my veins.

He kissed me back instantly, his hands holding my thighs squeezed exponentially hard. He moved the hand from my left thigh and brought it to the back of my neck, holding me in place while he kissed me ferociously. I brought my hands from where they were resting on his neck to his hair and entangled my fingers through his sandy blonde locks.

His hand traveled slightly to my ass and he squeezed harshly, sending a shockwave of pleasure throughout me, causing a slight moan to escape my lips. If it wasn't so damn public, I would take him right here right now.

In response, I tugged at his hair and now it was time for him to moan softly into our kiss, and if I thought I was in overdrive before, I had just exploded. We continued kissing for what seemed like hours, but in reality, was only a few minutes. Whenever I was with him time didn't seem to exist and I loved it. I loved spending minutes with him but feeling as if those minutes were hours, and I loved spending hours with him and having the hours feel like days.

Our kiss was interrupted by the sound of a golf cart approaching the set. I broke away from him with a shocked look in my eyes, and he just laughed and set me down on the pool floor before grabbing my hand and leading me out. We ran half-naked back to my trailer, dripping wet and leaving two sets of footprints behind us as we did. Halfway there Hayden had scooped me up in his arms and carried me in bridal style, leaving only one set of footprints behind for the rest of the way.

That night we showered together, caught up in the adrenaline of our escape and heated pool makeout session. But aside from more kissing, nothing had happened, and we continued with our lives. He had now basically moved into my trailer, he spent every night here, his car was parked right outside, and he even had his own toothbrush, no longer using the spare one I had.

Everything between us had quickly changed from 'best friends' to 'domestic partners' after that kiss. And I didn't regret it one bit. We had discussed our feelings towards each other very vaguely. I was never good with that kind of stuff, admitting feelings is hard, and he's just a little shy and awkward whenever feelings get brought up.

We had a mutual understanding that we liked each other, but we also understood that we weren't necessarily dating each other. We were just two people who spent 90% of their time together, slept in the same bed, and occasionally had very heated makeout sessions that would end up with me on top of his lap.

A few weeks ago he told me about this role he had auditioned for. He was very excited about it, but he couldn't tell me what it was for. He said he would tell me if he ever got it, or if he didn't. He even had to leave early a couple of times during filming to go for an audition.

One of those times was today, he had left the set a couple of hours early and I was now in my trailer. It was 9 PM and I was making myself a cup of tea before I went to bed. I had locked the door, but Hayden had a key so it didn't matter much. I placed the teabag into the hot water I had just boiled and began to slice a lemon. I added a spoonful of honey and two lemon slices, followed by an ice cube. As I went to drop the ice cube in my mug, the door of the trailer unlocked, and seconds later it dramatically slammed open.

Hayden rushed inside with a huge grin plastered on his face. I walked towards him around the counter and smiled back, "Well hello smiley." I greeted him

"Hi P, what's that?" He said as he pointed to the mug behind me. I don't know why, but he insisted on calling me 'P'. It was his favorite nickname he had given me, and I didn't know why. There wasn't even a 'P' anywhere in my name.

"Tea." I shrugged and he stepped closer to me, my back pressed against the counter in response, "Why do you call me 'P'? You are aware there's no P in my name right?" I asked with a tilt of my head.

He laughed and placed both hands on either side of me on the counter before saying, "P stands for lots of things. Pickles, Peanut Butter, party, promise, pe-"

"So my nickname was a result of your hunger?" I asked with a laugh of my own.

"No, if you would've let me finish. My personal favorite is princess. That's what I think every time I call you P." He leaned closer and kissed my cheek softly, but then backed away completely. I frowned slightly at his actions but took the opportunity to walk back to my teacup.

"That's very sweet of you. Now would you like to explain to me why you almost broke down the door coming in here?" I chuckled softly as I motioned over to the door with my head, and then took a small sip of my tea.

"I have good news." He was excited, I could see it in his eyes, and that made me excited too. He stepped closer to me and I placed the cup back on the counter, "Do you remember the role I was telling you about? The secret one?" he wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke.

"Hmm… Sounds familiar yes." I smiled as he walked even closer to me and grabbed onto my arms before speaking through his huge grin,

"I got it." He whispered and I thought I had misheard him. He must've noticed my confused expression because he repeated himself, louder this time, and I squealed in joy for him.

"Oh my god, that's amazing! Congratulations! Can you finally tell me what the role is then?" I exclaimed as his grip on my arms tightened slightly,

"Star Wars." My jaw dropped, I wouldn't be surprised if it fell all the way to the floor, and I felt the air knocked out of my lungs. I have loved Star Wars ever since I was a kid. I was Princess Leia for Halloween for the first 4 years of my life, and then I went as Darth Vader until I was 16.

"Holy fuck." That was all I could say as I reached my arms around his neck and wrapped him in a hug, "That's incredible Hayd, I'm so happy for you." I whispered into his neck softly. He pulled away from the hug slightly so he could look into my eyes and said,

"I get to be Anakin Skywalker. Darth fucking Vader." He had a look in his eyes I could only describe as a child-like glee. He was so happy in this moment and I could basically feel it radiating off of him, and it consumed me as well. I once again felt the breath being knocked from me as I hugged him again, tighter this time.

He placed his arms around my waist and lifted me into the air, spinning around a few times and I squealed as a result. He then casually shifted one of his hands down to my thigh, encouraging me to wrap around him. I looked into his eyes which were full of love and joy, and I couldn't help but place a soft kiss gently on his lips. He returned the kiss and I could feel his smile growing stronger. The kiss deepened as always and became heated and passionate in a matter of moments. He walked over to the counter and placed me on top of it, standing between my legs and never breaking the kiss.

His hands remained on my thigh and waist, squeezing softly every so often. We broke away from the heated exchange for a moment to catch our breath. He rested his forehead against mine, one of my favorite things he does before he softly uttered three words that caused my heart to stop.

"I love you."

I backed away slightly and gazed at him in disbelief, "You-- what?" That was all I could manage to say.

"I love you, and I need you to know. I've loved you since I first laid my eyes on you, and I will love you until my dying breath." He spoke like a poet, his liquid-smooth voice sent chills all through me. I knew I loved him, but I always tried to avoid romantic love and stick to a platonic sort of love. I thought it would be easier that way.

I had failed miserably, however, and I often found myself daydreaming about spending the rest of my life with him. I had never felt so strongly about someone before, and I had never gotten along with someone better than him.

"I love you too," I whispered through a large smile plastered on my face. He returned the smile and leaned back in to kiss me. This kiss was so different than all the others, it was full of love and adoration.

He wrapped both his arms around my waist and lifted me off the counter, carrying me to the bed. He laid me down gently and moved his kisses down my jaw, to the pressure point on my neck. I moaned softly at the feeling of his lips against my skin causing him to bite down slightly which sent a rush of pleasure throughout my body.

His hands traveled from my waist to under the hem of my shirt and he began to lift it. I sat up slightly and allowed him to remove the shirt completely, leaving me bare in front of him. He then began to kiss down my sternum before placing a soft kiss onto my left breast, and then the right. I giggled slightly at his sudden confidence and shift from his usually shy demeanor. He raised his head from my chest and looked at me,

"Why are you laughing?" He said with a slight smile,

"I'm just shocked at your newfound confidence." I shrugged lightly, "Does it have anything to do with you becoming Anakin Skywalker?" I asked and his grin shifted from playful to mischievous as he moved upwards and raised himself above me, our noses brushing against each other before he spoke in a low tone,

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm tired of trying to hold myself back from taking what's mine." His dominant tone sent shivers down my body and I leaned my head up to close the distance between our lips. His dominant state remained intact as he swiftly flipped me over so I was now on top of him, straddling his waist.

I could feel his hard-on through his dark sweatpants pressing against my core, and it was driving me crazy. I rocked my hips softly against his, causing him to moan slightly into our kiss and I could feel myself getting wetter as each moment passed. His hands were gripping onto my waist and he began to guide me against him, slowly at first but he quickly picked up his pace.

"Hayden.." I said softly, breaking away from the kiss for a moment to garner his attention.

"Yes, my love?" He breathed out as he gazed into my eyes with lust and adoration.

"Please." That was all I could manage to say, and I had hoped he would take the hint and not make me ask for it. But I was dead wrong.

"Please what? Use your words." His tone was deep and authoritative and his eyes had glossed over with an unfamiliar darkness.

"Please fuck me." I choked out and a sly smirk made its way across his lips before he kissed me again, softer this time, and sat up so our chests pressed against each other. I brought my hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, throwing it to the floor somewhere. I traced my hands along his abs and down to his V-line. He was so perfect, in every way. His entire being had to have been carved by angels, it was the only way for a man like him to exist.

His hands traveled to the waistband of my shorts, wasting no time as he snaked his fingers underneath them and I lifted myself so he could rid me of them completely, leaving me completely nude on top of him. His long fingers danced atop my thighs, teasing my core which was now aching for him. Begging to be touched by him.

I whined softly and a slight chuckle escaped his lips, "You're that desperate for me? You're whining?" I nodded with my eyes shut, unable to look into his eyes. He chuckled again and said softly, "What did I say earlier princess, use your words." My eyes fluttered open and I softly said,

"Don't be a tease playboy." With a smirk of my own gracing my lips. He laughed slightly and instead of a vocal response, he moved his hand from my thigh to the slick that had pooled between my thighs. His soft touch sent shockwaves through me and I moaned louder than I would like to admit, but I couldn't help it. He was so intoxicating.

He rubbed up my slit slightly, collecting a pool of my sex on his two fingers before raising them to my lips, pushing ever so slightly on the bottom one prompting me to open my mouth and suck myself off his fingers.

"Fuck." He groaned out. My actions had encouraged his dick to grow harder beneath me and I smiled proudly once he removed his fingers from my mouth and brought them back down to my heat, rubbing circles on my clit. Incoherent babbles left my lips as he worked me up, before entering two of his fingers into me and slowly stretching me out.

I moaned upon his entry and felt the intense need to pleasure him as well, to give him even a fraction of the pleasure he was providing me. I moved my hand from its place on his neck down to his cock and palmed him through his sweatpants. His breathing got harsher as we continued to pleasure each other, relishing in each other's touch. I felt a familiar know forming in my stomach as he rubbed my clit and now pumped three of his fingers in and out of me at a fast pace.

"Oh fuck. I'm--" Before I could finish my sentence I felt the knot unfold and I had released myself all over his fingers, a prideful grin graced his lips. My vision was clouded with white dots and everything around me felt hazy as his fingers fucked me through my orgasm, the strongest one I had ever had. Especially from just fingering.

I felt the overstimulation of his fingers pressed against me and began to squirm in his lap, trying to get away as he continued pumping in and out of me, but it was no use. His arms held onto me tightly and he continued, and I felt yet another knot forming in my stomach.

There was no way this man was about to make me cum twice in a matter of seconds.

And yet that's exactly what happened. I screamed out as I released onto him again, looking down to see the pool of juices I had released collecting onto his lap, drenching his dark pants and allowing the outline of his bulge to poke through the dampened fabric.

"Holy fuck." I said breathlessly as he removed his fingers from me and flipped me over to my back, removing his pants and boxers in the process.

"You liked that?" He asked teasingly as he began to kiss up and down my body, starting at my pelvis and ending with a soft peck on my lips.

"Mhm." I breathed out, unable to form any words due to the power of the orgasm. He hovered above me with his forearms resting on either side of my head keeping him up. He leaned his head down and placed a kiss on my lips and I felt his rock-hard cock twitch slightly against my thigh, causing me to moan into our kiss.

He reached one of his hands down and pumped himself twice before rubbing in between my folds. I broke away slightly and looked down, and my mouth dropped open as a result. He was huge, so huge I was afraid he wouldn't fit in me. Hayden must have noticed my shocked state and he laughed slightly before pushing his forehead against mine and pressing me back against the bed.

"You'll be okay my love, I promise. You can take it." His words sent heat throughout me and I felt a knot beginning to twist in my stomach. The man had managed to work me up with just his words. I nodded slowly and pressed my lips to his and I felt his tip slowly enter into me, and then I had an idea.

"Wait," I said and he stopped instantly, pulling away from our kiss and leaving the tip of his dick resting in me.

"What's wrong?" His voice was laced with concern as he gazed into my eyes,

"I want to watch," I admitted shyly and his concerned state quickly turned into a lustful one as he crashed our lips together passionately and softly grunted before saying,

"God you're so fucking hot." Distancing himself from me slightly so I could lift my head up and watch as he slowly began inserting himself into me. I watched as his tip fully disappeared, followed by his shaft until he bottomed out inside me, and I swear I could feel him in my stomach.

My gaze never faltered from our connected being as I groaned in pain, and then pleasure as he slowly moved in and out of me. It took a moment before I could adjust to him, and he seemed to be relishing in not only my sensitive state but also the way my walls desperately clung to him. He watched me with a smirk on his face as I watched him pick up his pace, slamming into me faster and faster until he hit a certain spot in me that made my back arch and my head fall backward.

"Fuck you feel so good princess, you're doing so good." He praised me and I could only moan in response, he was fucking me brain-dead and I had no complaints. I had imagined this for so long but now that it was finally here, he had surpassed my every fantasy and expectation by a million percent. His words of approval made my core ache, and I jutted my hips up to grind against the hard bone of his pelvis, creating friction on my clit and pushing me closer to my release.

I felt his hand grip my chin as he pulled me upwards closer to him, softly kissing my cheeks as he jackhammered into me. His soft kisses combined with the intensity of every other movement he made were driving me over the edge, along with the soft grunts and groans he would occasionally release from his plump lips. He stopped kissing my cheeks and remained holding onto my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.

I felt the knot in my stomach return and when his other hand reached down and began thumbing at my clit, I lost it. I became a loud squirming mess beneath him which only encouraged him to fuck me harder.

"You have no idea how-- how badly I've wanted to see you like this."

He spoke between his panting breaths and with those words, I felt my release coming. "Hayd I'm--" He cut me off with a kiss before I could finish, meeting our tongues in bliss and passion, and he broke away for only a moment to whisper onto my lips,

"Cum for me my love, cum all over me." And so I did. I felt my walls begin to twitch uncontrollably against his rock-hard cock, his thrusts growing sloppy and hasty. I could sense he was close as well, and I encouraged it by purposefully squeezing myself tighter around him and soon enough I felt him twitch inside of me, fully releasing himself into me. I milked him dry and even went as far as to buck myself against him a few times, overstimulating him just a fraction of how he had me.

He collapsed on top of me as he finished, both of our chests heaving with our heavy breathing. I snaked my hand through his blonde hair, twirling strands around my finger absentmindedly while his hand made its way up and down my back. We lay in silence for a few moments, I listened to his breathing slow and he listened to my heartbeat.

"I mean it you know," He whispered softly into my chest and I could sense his usual shy demeanor sneaking it's way back in, "I really do love you." He shifted slightly to look into my eyes, and I felt tears poking at the sides of mine.

"I know. I mean it too. You're mine and I'm yours." I said smiling at him.

And I meant it. Every. Damn. Word.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #56 – Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

At the start of the year, I set out to try and read more proper literature. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow was not a book I had ever heard of, or by an author I knew anything at all about. But it was on my local bookstore's and local library’s staff pick lists, and has a bunch of awards, and I think showed up on some list of Goodreads recommendations. So 9 months later I finally worked down the list to it and went in totally unprepared and with zero expectations or preconceptions.

The book’s well-written and well-executed, but I can’t say it really worked for me. Or properly, it absolutely was working for the first two thirds or so, but by the end just felt like it lost a lot of the touches that had made it interesting and was just drowning in its own sentimentality.

The book follows Sam and Sadie, two Californian wunderkunds growing up in Los Angelos in the 1980s. They meet in a children’s hospital, where Sam is being treated for a foot the was nearly shattered in a car crash and Sadie is visiting her elder sister as she’s treated for cancer. The two of them instantly begin bonding over playing Super Mario Brothers and begin a friendship and a creative partnership that will - as they grow up and found an artistically and commercially successful video game studio in the late 90s – define the shape of both of their lives, no matter how turbulent and conflicted it at points becomes.

For reasons that probably boil down to the audiobooks my mother played on road trips as a child, I’ve always had a fondness for books that track the broad sweep of a life or lives, zooming out and stretching across the years and decades. So I actually digested this a decent bit more easily than I do a lot of modern litfic that I’ve tried. For the first few hundred pages, it all even holds together very well, bouncing around the timeline and providing childhood episodes and context as it's relevant and making the central relationships compelling and emotionally plausible. Unfortunately a couple of experiments in form (one worked for me, one really didn’t) eat up a lot of page count in the final act, and entirely kill the sense of flow and structure. Not at all helped by the narrative voice losing a lot of its charm and the story growing wholly predictable (and a bit saccharine) in the closing pages.

I say ‘central relationships’ and not ‘relationship’ because describing the book as being about the relationship between Sam and Sadie is just, basically false advertising? Marx – Sam’s college roommate, later Sadie’s boyfriend, the business manager of their video game studio - is for most of the book at least as important a character as the two leads. He’s a much less interesting character – entirely too much of a natural saint, compared to how very flawed and petty Sam and Sadie are both allowed to be – but he’s a key part of the dynamic and most of the book is properly about different permutations of the trio bouncing off of each other. No other character gets a tenth of the focus and exploration of those three, and are really more props for narrative and to incite development than anything else.

The book has (until the end, anyway) a strong narrative voice that I really enjoyed, but which also may have caused me to set my expectations entirely wrong for what the book was actually planning. The only way I can really describe it is that the book reads like one of those New Yorker longreads that are trying very hard to convince you they’re not just rubbernecking some fascinatingly dysfunctional relationships and personal drama among some semi-notable creative figures. Your Bad Art Friends and similar. Deeply opinionated and gossipy, but making a show of seeming detached and objective, always making asides written from the perspective of the modern day and quoting interviews from years later about events as they occur in the narrative. As someone who is a slightly guilty fan of exactly those kind of longreads, it did make for a very fun reading experience.

But it also made me get my hopes up. Which is to say, the early chapters make quite a few references to how latter in life Sam and Sadie wouldn’t be on speaking terms, and how ‘something’ happened at Unfair Games in 2005. I was looking forward to something some messy and newsworthy interpersonal drama of the kind that doesn’t leave either of them (or anyone) looking good. The falling out does occur, but in a way that’s mostly just piles of misunderstandings and a stubborn refusal to communicate from both of them. The company always stays ostensibly together, and things never get much worse than quietly cherished bitterness and a refusal to speak. Which feels very emotionally believable, as incredibly frustrating as it is. The dramatic rupture that happens in 2005, well-

The book’s use of violence always feels slightly unreal. It intrudes on the narrative in ways that, like, they are things that happen, but feel so exaggerated and on-the-nose they took me out of the reading experience, at least a bit. A woman jumps off her balcony to her death and happens to land right in front of a young Sam. His mother stops her car on an LA highway to avoid hitting a dog, and he asks her something that keeps her talking and not moving for the crucial moment before an SUV slams into them, killing her and permanently damaging his foot. And the great end-of-second-act rupture that occurs in 2005 is a pair of homophobic gunmen storming into their office and shooting Marx because their cozy MMO lets gay people get married. Any one would have been fine, but combined they make the illusion of violence as random and capricious wear a bit thin and the writerly artifice underneath a bit too clear, at least for me.

As far as period pieces go – the story isn’t nostalgia bait, but it isn’t not nostalgia bait, either? It’s a few years before my time, so I suppose I just don’t appreciate it properly – the experience of growing up in and living through the late ‘80s through 2000s is one the book cares deeply about replicating. It generally does an excellent job making things feel of-the-moment, if occasionally by having the narrative draw pretty heavy-handed comparisons to what would be different in the present. The aesthetics (fashion, public art and marketing, fads and consumer trends) are all there, and the characters experience them like people to whom they’re novel and trendy. (Personally I could have done with a bit less effort spent describing every single outfit, but if I had memories of what people actually looked like wearing them I might appreciate it more.) It does similar things with LA and (to a far lesser extent) Boston – every other place the book touches on feels vague and a bit unreal, but LA is rendered with a real sense of place and love for the city and it’s little eccentricities.

The area where the book is absolutely nostalgia-bait is video games, and the whole heroic era of rapid changes and improvements to the medium where new boundaries were being crossed every year and a handful of sufficiently talented and dedicated first-time devs could create something genuinely revolutionary. The book even manages the neat trick of making almost every fake game the protagonists create a) plausible for the era and technology and b) actually seem like something I would want to play (less so the Pioneerville MMO created in the final act, as with many things). But I do genuinely want to play Master of Revels quite badly.

The book does share a common failing with what feels like almost every period piece, where by complete coincidence the major characters all conveniently happen to be on the Right Side of History for every really major (that is, from the perspective of the present, character-defining) political issues. This is made a bit more irritating by the fact that despite all being quite radical on the issue of e.g. gay marriage (or just not being even slightly homophobic) from the vantage of the early Bush administration, none of Sadie, Sam or Marx ever even conceive of it as being political.

The book doesn’t conceive of itself as really having politics at all – but again, in the way of a New York Magazine feature where having certain sets of liberal convictions is just a matter of personal decency and morality. A certain unexpressed but present sexual conservativism, a view of class where Sam’s grandparents owning and running a successful restaurant counts as being from the wrong side of the tracks, hyper-conscious of race but without much to really say about it. You’re all familiar with the style, I’m sure.

Anyway yeah, not a bad book by any means, but one that lasted long enough and ended weakly enough to expend any real passion or affection I’d built up for it.

[magicalqueennightmare]

New Orleans

(Eventual) Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Your first day in New Orleans you quite literally run into a certain blonde who decides she wants to be friends. Who are you to argue?

How exactly had you decided on New Orleans again? Oh yeah, a new start. You needed it after the last few years. Maybe you could even find a legit job to help pass time between hunts.

You had the address of one of Garth's contacts that was willing to rent you a furnished apartment just outside the french quarter, no questions asked as long as she got her rent every month. You knew you'd need basics like bedding, towels and such so you decided to check in there first to get your keys and a full list of what you'd need then go shopping.

You were juggling a few bags, holding everything from sheets to a single serve coffee maker. You were already regretting moving somewhere that it made more sense to walk than to drive because the trunk of your nova would certainly come in handy. You needed to stop and grab something to eat considering you hadn't eaten since the diner you'd stopped at the night before.

You picked a cafe that looked interesting enough and had a small enough line. You ordered a simple sandwich and lemonade and had intentions of heading out to the patio to eat but when you pushed the door open to head out you ran full bodily into a blonde woman. “Oh crap! I am so sorry!” You reached out to try to steady her but she had a slight smile on her face “No harm done” her accent got your attention considering it wasn't the usual twang of Louisiana.

You felt the tattoo on your shoulder twinge a bit and studied the blonde for a moment but brushed it off “I promise to watch where I'm going from here on out” she nodded towards your bags “Tourist?” You shook your head “actually i just moved here” she extended her hand “I'm Rebekah Mikaelson” you had to catch yourself to make sure your expression didn't show your true reaction to her name.

Leave it to you to literally run into one of the original vampires. You'd heard they'd vacated New Orleans, was your information bad or had they just done a loop back? You shook her hand and told her your name. She cut her eyes down to where your lemonade had spilled all over the sidewalk “Allow me to buy you another drink? After all I'd hate to seem unwelcoming to someone new to town”

You felt the slight pull of compulsion and breathed a sigh of relief knowing the warding in your tattoo hadn't been a waste. She raised an eyebrow at you and it took everything you had to not let a nervous laugh out, you had no beef with her family and didn't need any.

“It's no problem” you assured her but she was already opening the door to the cafe and ushering you inside “Oh I insist. I have a feeling the two of us are going to become good friends” “Ok then” you agreed with a small smile. Why the hell had you picked New Orleans?

—----------

You sat across from Rebekah listening as she spoke of her family and their ties to the city you now resided in. After a moment she smiled again then leaned forward to where only you could hear what she said “I've got to ask though. What are you?”

Your eyes widened slightly “Excuse me?” Laughter bubbled out of her “When I told you my name you flinched, I couldn't compel you. You're not a vampire because there isn't a single ring on your finger. Werewolf is also no because you're sitting across from me. I'd wager witch but that doesn't seem to fit you either”

You swallowed hard but shrugged one shoulder “I'm someone who knows a little about a lot. There's a tattoo on my shoulder that's warded with every sigil seven different covens could get their hands on. I mean no harm to you or yours. I just needed a new place to live and a friend knew someone here who was willing to rent to someone with no proof of identity or job”

She nodded slowly “Are you a hunter?” You gave one sharp nod. Either she'd kill you here and now or get one of those brothers you'd heard so much about to take you out. You hadn't expected a smile to brighten her face “Delightful. We need to get together again sometime”

“Is that a request or a demand?” You asked and she shrugged one shoulder “It's an offer, just friendship. You're new to town, my family built this town. Besides there's some here that wouldn't take your word that you mean no harm and having one of us on your side could help” you held her gaze for a moment then motioned to her phone “Let me give you my number in that case”

By the time you got to your place you felt exhausted mentally and physically. How the hell had you ended up with one of the original vampires in your contact list?

You walked through your front door and dumped the bags on the floor. It was a small place. One of those open floors where the bed was about fifteen feet from the front door. A couch and a television was shoved into a corner as a living room of sorts. The kitchen consisted of a few counters and a tiny stove with a microwave installed over it. At least the bathroom was a decent size with a walk in shower and a stacked washer and dryer.

You needed to make the bed, put towels away and set up your coffee maker but all you wanted was a shower and to crash. One thing at a time.

The Originals

[helpinghanikan]

Kill for me, live for me

Sebastian Sallow x reader (MC)

Sum: Reader is overwhelmed by poachers. And yet you still somehow manage to save Sebastian.

Few places in Hogsmeade are as iconic as the Three Broomsticks. Older than anyone currently alive and still as popular as the day it opened. This is especially so on Saturday nights, when the students are milling about in the darkening hours. Waiting for Sirona to make the dreaded announcement that she was closing up for the night.

One of those students was Sebastian Sallow. Although a majority of his friends were there he chose to sit alone. He read while waiting for a special girl that should have been here an hour ago.

The book had gotten boring the first time he read it for class. He was is mother’s son, however, so another read through seemed necessary.

“Does Sirona usually stop serving so early?” Natty asked from next to the bar.

“No, but she does stop serving when you’re six mugs deep.” Imelda explained.

After months of good behavior Natty was finally given an allowance. Although not enough for a new broom or shopping spree it was enough to (overly) indulge in butterbeer. Something that Imelda felt compelled to try and meet mug for mug.

The front doors opened before Sebastian could offer to order for them. Poppy burst through one of the doors. It was mean to say but Sebastian was disappointed that it wasn’t you who had come through. That disappointment leaving immediately when Poppy said your name, replaced with almost panic.

“Poachers took her. I don’t know this group, but they were following some hippogriffs and I don’t know what they were planning but we were sneaking through and she attacked but I fell during the fight and-and-and oh Merlin…” Poppy rapid fire spoke the moment she was in ear shot.

“Sit down,” Natty said, practically pushing Poppy into a stool.

“What do you mean you fell?” Imelda asked, practically accused.

“Down the embankment. I guess they forgot about me when I went out of sight. By the time I crawled back up she was overwhelmed, we needed help, so I ran.” Poppy explained.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold at Poppy’s words. He knew you liked to explore, find the most dangerous things, and prove they aren’t undefeatable. He’s come to terms with your love of risk. But that didn’t make it any easier.

After everything you were one of two people Sebastian had left. Ominis was a brother to him, but you were so much more. That you may be lost…

“Was she alive? Where were you?” Sebastian asked, but he struggled to be heard over the questions everyone else was giving.

“You just left her there with the poachers?” Garreth asked.

“Was she injured? How far away were you?” Natty asked.

“What’s the quickest way?” Imelda asked.

It didn’t take long for the mess of questions to become nothing but a wall of noise. Try as Poppy might to answer them all she simply couldn’t. It was only Sirona, coming back from the storeroom, that everyone quieted down.

“Enough, enough!” Sirona said loud enough to be heard but not enough to actually be shouting. “Imelda, send an owl Hogwarts about the missing student-.”

“I’m faster than an owl!” Imelda declared, running out the door.

“-Poppy, are you comfortable leading us where she last was?” Sirona asked.

Poppy nodded, “It was right next to the nest. It’s not far.”

Although bruised and scared beyond measure Poppy was ready to go. Up from the stool and out the door without confirming that anyone was actually following her. It was just out of luck that Sebastian was just as ready to go. With Natty and Garreth not far behind, wanting to prove their bravery as Gryffindors are known for.

Sebastian ran as only a desperate man could. Fast and without thought. Barely a direction to let him know he was going in the right direction. Later on he’d find cuts from passing thorns and bruises from tripping, none of which he noticed getting. All that mattered was moving and to keep moving until the destination, until you, were reached.

Sebastian has had to run like this several times in his life. When Anne was first cursed, and he was too slow to get in the way. When that goblin raised his weapon towards Anna. That time Sebastian was fast enough, but he was fast enough to make a mistake he’d never be able to recover from. He ran when battling his Uncle, and let the adrenaline make another mistake that took Anne from him forever. He was tired of running like this but couldn’t stop himself when it was the only chance he had to keep you safe.

“Slow-slow down!” Garreth calls from some feet behind him.

It’s only then that Sebastian finally sees the lights up ahead. They were low, mainly covered some sort of shelter. Made specifically to keep anyone, or anything, from above see the lights. Stopping just before the camp Natty and Garreth finally caught up. The three students looking over the thick rock just before the incline.

“Do you see her?” Garreth asked.

“If they had killed her we would have see her by now.” Natty says. Whether this was to comfort Sebastian or to just say something it wasn’t clear. Somehow, it did make Sebastian feel better that there wasn’t a body to be found yet.

The late night was making it hard to see details. Shadows from the poachers walking back and forth was proof enough that they were still there. Occasionally there would be a squeak or howl from some poor trapped beast.

“Okay,” Garreth says, “Natty if you can switch to a gazelle and lead them into the woods Sebastian and can then sneak in. We’ll find her and then leave before they even notice.”

“It’s not going to be that simple.” Natty said.

“If you have a better idea I’m all ears.” Garreth says with a sweeping gesture. Offering the open space for Natty to, metaphorically, place her idea.

Sebastian wasn’t listening to them, not really. He was too focused on the poachers moving around. Scanning them and the cages they collect. Hoping to see anything that might indicate where you were.

It was a scream that grabbed the rescue party’s attention.

Sebastian knew that it was you. The only other person who would recognize that stomach churning wail would be Ominis. He was there when Sebastian casted Crucio on you. Both Ominis and Sebastian heard your screams, they both regretted the forced choice and wished it were them in your place. Sebastian would never forget the sound. Never forget the tears that Ominis shed when you started crying out.

That same exact scream was currently flying through the woods.

“Sebastian..!” Natty says, reaching out too late to stop Sebastian from running out from cover.

The spells and words were flying from his mouth without a second thought. Practice and repetition had given him that ability. Pulling and throwing anyone that came too close, that looked too much like a poacher. They were all set alight, they’re hit and blown up with spells Sebastian didn’t remember learning.

Someone is screaming Sebastian’s name. It’s Garreth, trying to get the Slytherin to slow down.

Eventually Garreth gives up. Throwing a potion here and another there to keep the chaos going. It was easy to forget that Garreth has had the highest potions score for the last three years. He always loved reminding the world of his talent with inventions that, although weren’t always great, had serious potential.

Liquid acid no sane wizard would use is an example of this. The orange vial thrown past Sebastian to a poacher ready with a spell.

“I can’t find her!” Sebastian practically screams.

“Sebastian, here!” Natty calls out from further within the camp.

It might have been better if Natty had never called him over. At least not until she had gotten you out of the cage.

The poachers had treated you worse than they do the animals. Hands bound behind your back. Beaten and kicked the entire time it took to find a ‘perfectly’ sized cage. There was no way you were getting out of this without a broken rib or two.

At some point the poachers had seemed to remember who you were. Among them whispering how many of their friends you had sent to the healers, how many you might have even killed. All that you had admitted to with a smile. Taking their kicks with the same smile because you know, and they know, those poachers deserved it.

One of your captors had taken offense at your lack of remorse. Using the unforgivable curse that started the scream. That captor didn’t get to enjoy your pain for every long. Natty hitting them with a perfectly placed Stupefy, sending away just enough for her to reach you.

Crucio has a way of leaving it’s touch. Little waves of pain the roll down from your neck. Stabbing at every nerve it passes, hitting the bottom of your feet and then going back up. It’s hard to focus on anything else while this takes place.

“You’re almost free,” Natty says above you. Her hands working overtime to release your bindings.

As grateful as you were to have Natty she wasn’t who you were thinking about. You were looking past her into the clearing, where Sebastian was whipping his wand again and again to a poacher who had long fallen down.

“Can you walk? You need to walk.” Natty says, your hands now free.

Natty doesn’t see the fight going on behind her. She’s not watching, like you are, she doesn’t notice as a poacher abandons magic. Instead they physically grab Sebastian in a tackle that would rival the greatest football player. The both of them slamming to the ground with a loud grunt.

You don’t remember pushing Natty away. You don’t remember snatching her wand. And you certainly don’t remember the exact moment the words came from your mouth;

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” You screamed, a bolt of green shooting from Natty’s wand.

Using another wizard’s wand will never be as powerful as a caster’s own wand. That being said; it didn’t change the effects of your casted spell. The poacher falling to the side of Sebastian. Dead without a sound of his own, but dramatic all the same.

“Mr. Sallow!” Came the voice of one Professor Weasley. Quickly followed by her running to the student’s side.

It seems that Imelda had a right to her cocky attitude. Able to reach the castle, find help, and get them down there faster than an owl ever could. It was just genuine bad luck that they happened to show up when casting that one damn spell.

“Students, everyone! Back to the castle, NOW!” Ordered Professor Sharp, the Auror skills having never fully left him.

No one argues when the professors grab hold of two students each. The sickening feeling of apparition just outside the castle’s border was enough to tip you over the edge. Passing out from pain that would never really leave you again.

-

The entire situation took only two hours. Starting when Poppy ran into the Three Broomsticks and ending when you were practically dropped into an infirmary bed. Only catching a glance of Sebastian before the curtains are closed.

 You were the worst injured out of anyone. Sebastian coming in second with a broken nose and blackened eye. Garreth had some burns that Nurse Blainey barely had to glance at before giving a basic tonic. Sending both him, and Natty, away for her to focus on your injuries.

“Give the tonic a few minutes and the pain will subside a bit. If it gets any worse we’ll try something else.” Sebastian heard nurse Blainey say from your side of the curtain.

“Can that something else be butterbeer?” You asked.

Nurse Blainey responded with a whisper; “I’ll see what I can do.”

No spell was needed for Sebastian to reach you. As Nurse Blainey left your bedside he simply walked in through the other side. Making quick work to close both sides of the curtains before letting himself see you fully.

It was not a pretty sight. While a wiggenweld potion could fix a black eyes or set a dislocated shoulder right it’s not going to be able to stop infections or internal bleeding. Nurse Blainey had done a haphazard job of tying your hair back. Patches of dark green and blue were placed almost randomly over your body.

The tonic she had given to take care of the pain had started to take effect. Blinking slowly up at Sebastian. Smiling when you realize who it is, but that smile leaves quickly when you see his face.

Sebastian was the kind of guy who assumed any and every reaction he had was justifiable. This usually lead to Sebastian being more than a little bit dramatic. This time, however, Sebastian was completely right in his feelings.

“It looks worse than it is.” You tried to reassure. The groan you gave when reaching out a hand to him didn’t help your lie. “But your eye…”

“I don’t give a damn about my bloody eye.” Sebastian hissed, his composure finally starting to strain. “Look at you. I’m so sorry, my love. I am so sorry.”

He takes your hand and kneels by your bedside. Careful where he places his elbows to keep any and all of his weight off of your body. He presses your hand to his mouth in a kiss. Trying to hold back tears that he didn’t deserve to shed. He wasn’t the one in the hospital bed, he wasn’t the one who had literally been tortured, he was just the one who failed to truly save you.

“Sebastian, please.” You said, pulling your hand away to cup his face. “Please, just shut up. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt, and it won’t be the last. I don’t need you crying for me when you couldn’t have done anything. Please.”

“I’m not crying…” Sebastian mumbles.

“Of course you’re not. Not like those poachers when they found out all their traps were destroyed.” You said, rubbing a thumb over his cheek.

Sebastian chuckles, leaning into your hand. “That’s my girl.”

You don’t get long to be together. The curtain in moved by a gentle hand and a clearing throat. It’s indescribable how badly you wanted Sebastian to stay, to reassure him, and just to hold him. You couldn’t ignore that Professor Sharp had just entered the space. Followed shortly by Nurse Blainey.

“While I am sorry to interrupt,” Professor Sharp started. “Nurse Blainey finds it’s best for Mr. Sallow to have his injuries taken care of sooner rather than later.”

“It won’t take long. Then you can sleep in your own dorm for the night.” Nurse Blainey says in a way that doesn’t allow for any room for discussion.

Sebastian doesn’t have to say how much he disagrees with this. Instead he does something brazen and gives you a kiss in front of a professor. Taking the chance to whisper, “I’ll visit you,” before pulling away and following Nurse Blainey.

Waiting for Professor Sharp to speak was incredibly tense. It seemed like he was taking his time: closing the curtains, moving a stool over to sit down in with an almost dramatic grunt. All that just to ask the simple question: “Where did you learn the killing curse?”

It would only make things worse if you tried to play dumb. Ever since Sebastian showed you the motions, and taught you the words, there was always a chance for something like this to happen. Although it wasn’t your go to curse, Avada Kedavra was quit useful when it came to fights against immensely powerful enemies. That someone might witness your use of it was a possibility you just had to deal with.

What you said next was nothing but shameful.

“Professor Fig taught me it.” You said, looking away as it was already bad enough you were smearing your mentors name. “He taught me so many spells before fifth year started. But I wanted to learn more, I wanted to know them all. After I started the trials he taught me the killing curse. ‘Just to be safe, and only for emergencies’, he had said.”

Professor Sharp nodded as you explained. His time as an Auror had taught him to know when someone was confessing. He’s never had to interrogate a student about something so serious before. This could be why he refused to believe anything but your word.

“What else did he teach you?” Professor Sharp asked.

“Nothing!” You said as if the accusation was outrageous. “I mean, he didn’t teach me any other curses. He only taught me the one, he thought that was the only one I needed.”

The tension is back with full force when Professor Sharp stays silent. It would be so much easier if he said you were lying. If he brought up Azkaban and put you under arrest that would have been easier. Anything would have been better than this silence, waiting for whatever it was he would say next.

“I need to make myself very clear.” He says leaning forward. “This can never happen again.”

“It will never happen again.” You lied, doing the best impression of a scared student you could.

Your acting skills seems to have been better than you could have thought. Professor Sharp didn’t accuse you of anything else. He simply asked how you were feeling after that. Letting you know that he’d make an exception on the paper due tomorrow.

“I, as everyone does, want you get better. But don’t think my kindness can be taken advantage of.” Professor Sharp warned before leaving.

You didn’t need to be told that he wasn’t just talking about your paper. Neither did Sebastian, who had heard the entire conversation.

-

Believe it or not but Hogwarts was actually rather good at keeping her students safe from threats. There was a slight reputation for Students that sneak around the halls, break rules, and maybe cause a bit of mischief. None of those could be considered threats, however.

This was why Sebastian had a relatively easy time making his way into the infirmary. Clinking from his pack made getting past prefects harder than usual. Having to stop every now and then when the sounds got too loud and a prefect took notice.

Overall he managed to reach your bedside around eleven pm.

The infirmary was quiet when he made his way in. Your bed was still surrounded by sheets to keep anyone from peeking in. The bandages and tonics made you somewhat of a scary sight to other patients.

The curtains rustled as Sebastian made his way in. Closing them tight behind him before dropping the disillusionment charm. He whispers your name, gently taking the bottles from his bag.

Few things are better to wake up to than your boyfriend. The only thing that could be better than that is your boyfriend with ice cold bottles of butterbeer.

“I love you,” You whisper reaching a handout for him to place an open bottle into.

It’s a little difficult to multi-task while injured. Trying to take a nice long drink while scooting over as far as you could. Pain from your side was simply making it worse. In any other situation Sebastian might have made a joke about it.

[pickledpascal]

Staring Into the Blue

Pairing: Beau Arlen and Surrogate Daughter OC (Andi)

Warnings: self-worth issues, emotional hurt/comfort, andi has daddy issues and is hating life a little

A/N: i made this when i was half delirious/asleep and started thinking of my own relationship with my parents sooooo yeah... have fun with this one lol

Word Count: 2.2k

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

Beau was new to this whole thing. As was Andi.

Andi was a nineteen-year-old girl who, for all intents and purposes, was Beau’s surrogate daughter. Emily still had a place in his heart, and always would, but Andi was… a special case. 

They had met when she was eighteen, freshly in college, and had one too many drinks one night which landed her in detainment, and ultimately had a talk with the sheriff. Being intoxicated, Beau’s initial rant about her needing to take better care of herself and how underage drinking was bad was undermined by Andi spilling her guts to him. Metaphorically speaking.

Andi didn't have parents. At least, not ones who cared about her all that much. As soon as she turned eighteen, they promptly threw her out of the house. Sure they had helped her get into college but they didn't care what happened after. Glad to get her out. 

So Beau took her in. Gave her a home. Loved her.

It was all so much for Andi. And made her think about her real parents. How happy they were without her. How happy they were not acknowledging they kicked their child out of their house to fend for herself just to be picked up and loved by a stranger. Beau didn't know her parents—he wasn't her honorary uncle or even a real uncle. He was the sheriff of Helena and a pretty good one at that. 

It took a while but Beau convinced Andi to live with him instead of the housing on campus. A month or so into Andi’s hopefully permanent stay at Beau’s house—he upgraded from the airstream but it was parked in his yard—it was nearly midnight when he woke up to soft music filtering into his room. Beau ran a hand through his hair and screwed his eyes shut for a moment before he sat up. That had to be Andi. And he felt compelled to check in on her.

Beau left his room and made his way to Andi’s, the music getting louder with each step he took. Which made him more and more concerned. 

I waited ages to see you there

I search the party of better bodies

Just to learn that you never cared

You're on your own, kid

You always have been

Just outside her door, Beau heard the faint noise of sniffling. Andi had been crying. His heart sunk in his chest. He knocked on the door. No answer. Beau pursed his lips as he turned the door handle. The sight behind it made his heart ache. 

Under the low light of Andi’s blue fairy lights was her, sobbing on the floor as she hugged her knees to her chest. Her glasses were abandoned on her bed with teardrop marks on the lenses. 

I see the great escape

So long, Daisy May

I picked the petals, he loves me not

Something different bloomed

Writing in my room

I play my songs in the parking lot

I'll run away

Beau rushed to be by her side, cradling her head as it lay on his chest. He set his chin on top of her head, rubbing her shoulder to try and soothe her. It seemed the tears rushed faster as he did. “I gotcha, I gotcha. It's okay.” He shushed softly. 

Andi clung onto Beau like a lifeline, crying into his chest and getting tears on his shirt. He didn't care. He wanted Andi to be okay. And if that meant he had to hold onto her like this then he didn't care. 

He petted her hair and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “It's alright. I'm here.” Beau resisted the urge to cry too. He had never seen Andi like this before, even when they met. “Please tell me what's wrong.” Beau insisted softly, pulling Andi away from him for a moment. Her skin felt cold. He didn't like this. 

Andi sniffled, rubbing her eyes. “I…” She wanted to. She really did, but it was hard. 

“You know me, sweetheart, I'm not gonna judge. Okay?” Beau cupped Andi’s cheek. He could sense she was hesitant. Their relationship was fresh but Andi trusted him enough with other stuff. Enough to live with him. 

A new wave of tears rolled down Andi’s cheeks. “I know.” Her voice was small. Her eyes screwed shut as a sad smile crossed her face. “God, I wish my real parents were like you.” She admitted with a harbored breath. “My dad especially. I-I don't understand what I did wrong. What I did to deserve what they did to me. Was I not enough? Was it because I was a girl? He and my brothers were fine. He-He never–” A choked sob escaped her. 

Beau frowned, pulling her back into his chest. He closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. 

“He never told me loved me.” Andi cried into his chest, voice muffled. “Never told me he was proud of me. I-I don't understand. He's my dad, i-isn’t he supposed to love me? That's his job.” 

Beau felt a few tears stinging his eyes as well. He couldn't imagine being that type of person. That type of father. He loved Emily so much it hurt sometimes. Andi too. To be the type of father to, quite frankly, never pay attention to his child was an alien concept to him. One that was very much real. And one that saddened Beau. 

He squeezed Andi tighter and pulled her into his lap. She was heavier than what he was used to but it didn't matter. What mattered was comforting her as much as possible. He didn't know if he could ever change her mind about her self-worth, at least, not in the moment. But this kind of touch would help. He hoped it would. 

After a while, Andi’s tears died down and Beau brushed away the hairs from her face. He even wiped some tears away. “I know I can't… just replace your dad, as unfortunate as that sounds. You had eighteen years with him. That won't just disappear. But I can try to help ease some of that pain, show you what a real parent should be like.” Beau whispered softly. “I love you as I would my own daughter. I'll be so proud of you at your concert next week, I'll clap and cheer so loud they might have to kick me out. I love you.”

Andi sniffled. The words meant so much to her and she knew Beau was telling the truth. He had a record to back it up. He never missed one of her recitals, a soccer game she had, or an event she really wanted to go to. 

Before she ever moved in, Beau was Andi’s plus one to a lot of things. A chaperone in some sense but Beau just loved seeing her smile. They went to a few markets around the city with her college friends, saw quite a few movies in his airstream, and—at the end of the day—he would always give her a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

“I love you too.” Andi breathed. It was the first time she'd said it back.

Beau had a habit of slipping it behind a sentence or saying it when they said goodbye. Andi didn't mind. She liked hearing it. But she had never said it back or even said it first. Beau was okay with that. He wanted to earn it. 

And he did. 

It was bittersweet, though. He was glad but his heart still ached. All he wanted was to take all that hurt from Andi and throw it in a locked box somewhere. Maybe throw that into the depths of the ocean. But he couldn’t. And it pained him that he couldn't. Andi didn't deserve those sorry excuses of parents. And maybe she didn't deserve Beau either but he was going to try. 

Beau hugged her close, closing his eyes as he rocked her side to side. Andi wrapped her arms around Beau’s torso. Her breathing calmed as she nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck. 

It was silent for a while, her music had died down a while ago into a soft instrumental. “Sweetheart?” Beau asked softly. He had a small, but hopefully effective, idea 

“Hm?” Andi hummed. She felt a little better hence the crying stopped but there was still an emptiness in her chest.

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Beau knew it was a tactic mostly used for little kids. Where if he could squeeze her tight enough that would make everything better. But Andi was legally an adult so he wasn't completely sure.

Andi bit the inside of her lip and drew in a small breath. Her parents didn't do this when she was sad. Hell, her parents barely even noticed when she was sad. She simply nodded.

Beau lifted the covers over Andi before he got in bed next to her. She held onto Beau. He quickly did the same. 

Andi was an adult. But not really. She was a child who had never felt like she had any real comfort in her life until Beau came along. Andi wasn't even sure she could pinpoint a time she was genuinely happy in a while. Physical comfort didn't fix everything but it sure helped a lot. She didn't get that much as a child but she did now.

Beau was so affectionate that it almost made Andi cry. Small things like a touch on her shoulder as he left or a kiss on her forehead. Hell, a simple thumbs-up while she was on stage made Andi feel so warm. And so loved.

That was part of the reason this whole mess started in the first place. Andi loved Beau and wouldn't trade him for the world but a part of her wondered why her father couldn't be like him so she didn't need to have Beau in the first place. Why couldn't he be the type of father that supported his child? Who made it known that he was proud of her every day even if it could be a little embarrassing? Who hugged her every single time they met after they were apart? 

Beau rubbed Andi’s back, playing with her hair. He found that it calmed her after a while. “I can stay home tomorrow. We can watch Book of Life, make fresh brownies, and have ‘em with ice cream.” He suggested softly. 

Book of Life was her favorite movie. And warm brownies with vanilla ice cream was one of her comfort foods. She didn't eat it often. 

“Okay,” Andi mumbled, a soft smile making its way onto her lips. “I would be a sorry excuse for an older sister.” 

Beau’s eyebrows furrowed. “What makes you say that?” 

Emily and Andi knew of each other but they hadn't quite met yet since Emily still lived with Carla in Texas and she hadn't made her way up to Montana to see her father in a while. He knew adoption was off the table but he was as close to a father as Andi could have, ultimately making her family. And making her and Emily sisters. 

Andi shook her head. “Forget I said that.” Beau pursed his lips, glancing down at her. She let out a breath through her nose. “I just… I'm the youngest in my family anyway and—I dunno—I don't feel right. I guess. I'm not a role model. I'm not–”

“I think you are.” Beau cut in. He hated when Andi talked bad about herself which unfortunately happened a lot. “You have your hands in a lot of different clubs, you excel in your classes, and you fight for what's right.” Beau hugged Andi close. “We can work on it feeling right but… You're a far better role model than me.”

Andi scoffed. Beau may not have been open about everything that happened in his life but, for a middle-aged man, it was far better than any other man Andi had ever encountered before. He was affectionate with just about everyone in his life, co-workers, friends, Andi’s friends, Carla, and Emily. Maybe Beau wasn't perfect but he was already doing better than Andi’s father. 

Beau thought Andi drifted off to sleep until she said, “I'm glad you're in my life.” He could tell she was trying to starve off sleep by the sound of her voice. 

“Me too.” Beau admitted softly, an absentminded smile on his face. 

Beau thought Emily was the limit to his love. But then Andi came along and suddenly there was more love to give. There was no rationing of his heart, it only grew. And he couldn't fathom it for a while. Andi wasn't his child, not biologically, but he loved her as if she was. 

With Emily away, it was hard for Beau to function properly. That was his daughter and she was hours and hours away. Of course, it still was but it was a little easier with Andi. He thought the world of her and couldn't comprehend how she didn't think the same. 

If Beau ever did meet Andi's parents, he couldn't imagine it'd go well. He'd likely end up in a detainment cell while Andi's father ended up in the ICU.

[divingtheobscure]

The Library Chapter 1

Morning shines through Cloud Cliff mountains again. A lush land of tower mountains, where residents live at the top of their own little mountain, each one has a house of their own. Yet you wouldn’t call them neighbors, the distance is so far away from your house and other houses that it’s impossible to see each other. All they would see is a little dot house. That’s what you always see, and that’s what made living in Cloud Cliff Mountain quite lonely at times. Even though you know you’re not really alone in this land. The lights you can see in the houses at night says otherwise. Along with the smoke coming out of their indoor furnace. Still, you never really got to know any of the residents of Cloud Cliff Mountain, you’re always too busy organizing your library, tending to the garden, and reading a book that caught your interest, or maybe even a book you want to read all over again thanks to how compelling it is.

An example of this is the book you hold in your hands right now, called ‘The paper Menagerie’.

That will have to wait until tomorrow though, as clearing out the dust is a must. There’s also the fact that you must tend to the peonies in your garden. And after all of your chores are done, you finally have a chance to enjoy the serenity Cloud Cliff Mountain has to offer.

At least, that was the plan.

“Done!” You heaved out a satisfied sigh at your work, the gazebo is looking good as new! Now that the dust and dried dead leaves are gone, you can set out and enjoy a nice relaxing afternoon with some tea and mooncakes. Choosing a book to read is not even a challenge, as there’s only one book in mind that you want to read. That’s right, the paper menagerie. You already have the book in hand, all you need to do is make the tea. Luckily you stored some already dried crush tea leaves from yesterday. All you needed to do was get the water boiling. While the water boils on the kettle you placed over the stove, you take your time trying to plan out your next schedule for tomorrow. Since you haven’t had so much free time lately, it’s almost hard to think of what to do outside of reading books.

You could try new hobbies.

“Drawing? Calligraphy? Hm, what else?” There’s got to be more than that.

You made lists of hobbies you could try, using the characters in your books as a reference to what you should do. And out of all of them the first two you mentioned to yourself caught your attention the most.

Knock Knock Knock

. . .

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“You’re in the wrong house!” You yelled out to the window, you felt bad for the messenger birds the fellow residents have. They always come to your house by mistake, you guys made a routine though, three knocks mean they’re there to send a message, and five knocks mean they want to stop by and rest, and that’s when you would bring them water too. But as you looked at the window where the birds usually show themselves, you found no birds. Not even the usual hawk from the resident with the red roof.

“How very odd.” You commented, flinching a bit when you heard the loud knocking again. This time, it’s coming from your front door. . .

You stood up and walked over to the door. Debating in your head if you should open it or not. It can’t be a friend, for you have none. It also couldn’t be one of the residents either, the only way they could come here is to take one of the bridges. Something no one in the village has ever done, they always use messenger birds to get around communicating in this place. Oh! You wish there was a small window on your door so you could see who it was. But it’s also rude not to let anyone in, this could just be a small mistake and you can just tell them they’re in the wrong house.

“Hello! Is anyone home? I’m kinda looking for someone named (Y/n)?”

Shoot looks like there’s no getting out of this. The voice was that of a man, they seem to pose no threat judging by the sound of it. Oh, what the heck, you reached your hand out, and you opened the door. Expecting to see the sight of one of the residents, you weren’t expecting much, just a normal man who dressed like, a farmer, a scholar, or any other normal clothing. Except, none of those expectations were met. Standing before you is someone who wore golden armor that could only have been granted by the gods, so prestige and so glorious. And standing before you, is not a man, but a monkey with golden eyes standing in his two feet.

“Ah hey! You finally answered! Do you happen to know—”

SLAM!

You didn’t even give the monkey a chance to finish before you slammed the door in his face. You rubbed your eyes, trying to think and process what you had just seen. You gotta be hallucinating, you just gotta. There’s no way something like that would exist. Let alone be physically possible! The monkey is taller than you! No monkey like that could ever exist! There was knocking again, and out of instinct you opened the door again and were met with the same sight.

“Hey! That was kinda rude there. Is that really how you would greet the legendary monkey king?” While the monkey. . . king? Poses in the most epic way he can, you just stood there. Confused out of your mind.

“Monkey. . . King?” After you made your confusion known, that’s when the monkey had a look of realization wash over his face.

“Wait, are you serious? Dang Guanyin wasn’t kidding when she said no one in this village knows me.” The monkey whispers the last part, but you heard it very clearly.

You froze when you heard her name, Guanyin, the bodhisattva of compassion. And the only one outside of Cloud Cliff Mountain who knew of this place “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

You finally asked, thinking about it you should’ve asked it first.

“Oh Right.” The monkey cleared his throat before bowing.

“I am Sun Wukong, the Monkey king. And I am here to ask for your help.”

[jayahult]

I try not to get too political on here, which is sort of a fool's errand. All speech, of course, is political speech, it is just that some topics appear neutral. The biggest sticking point for me has always been less controversy and more a lack of audience. I do not have many followers, and so for a long while now I have felt like my voice, while heard, would not be heard by many. That said, over the past twelve months I have felt increasingly compelled to speak on the matter of Israel and Palestine. My conscience will no longer permit any further silence, even if my words only reach a few people.

I am not Israeli, nor am I Palestinian, but I do not need a nationality to know what is wrong from what is right. A year ago today, Hamas engaged in what is fairly called a horrific attack on Israel, and took hostages. It killed nearly a thousand people. The horror that followed, though, beggars the October 7th attacks. The direct death toll of the IDF's terror campaign has been counted in the range of 40,000 and counting. This of course does not count the indirect death toll, and those that are missing. Were that taken into account, it would point to a death toll that now approaches the mark of 190,000 dead.

I live in a small town of about 8,000 people. I think about this - that had it been the IDF attacking my home, they would have killed every person there, every man, woman and child, almost 240 times over. Every person I have passed on the street, every child who took the bus to elementary school, every family, every person I liked or disliked here, my family, all would be annihilated. And then I think again of Gaza and my heart feels nothing but the deepest sympathy for them, and the greatest anger at the IDF for putting them in this position.

What angers me even more is that, by dint of being American, my government has made me complicit in this matter. It takes my taxes, spends them on bombs and planes and guns and ammo and ships them off to men who kill children to achieve aims that are at best inscrutable. Even the most jaded, cynic, realpolitik bastard you could think of would probably admit that at the very least Israel must be reigned in before the war escalates any further; that Israel's actions have seriously damaged the image of America abroad, even more so than before; and that in continuing support we burn international bridges that may not be able to be repaired for a long time. And yet my government, one I voted for, seems set upon supporting Israel's military forces without any thought of this.

Let me remind you now that this problem is not a new one but it is not an old one either; it is not one of religious conflict between Muslims and Jews. Religion and ethnicity play a factor, certainly, but that factor is as an agent of justification, not an agent of cause. The justification of this conflict is spiritual and racial; the cause is material and simple. Israel is akin to South Africa or Rhodesia, and yes I make that comparison intentionally, because Israel does indeed perform apartheid upon its Palestinian populace. Its cause since its inception with the British Mandate have been one and the same with South Africa and Rhodesia and even French Algeria: to displace and dispossess a native population of people at the barrel of the gun for the purpose of creating profit and landed ownership for a select few; to create a promised "living space" for the upper class; and to ensure the oppression and brutalization of a racialized underclass for further profit, be it through the military-industrial complex or forced labor on the part of the underclass, or both. You could call that apartheid, or settler-colonialism, or any other number of names. You could call it ethnoreligious conflict (though I would disagree with so weak a term) if you wanted. But what you must understand - what you must come to grips with - is that the Israeli government's actions are unequivocally wrong, and my government's support of them fundamentally debased.

I do not know what arguments will convince the unconvinced upon this matter, or what the great trepidation and cowardice is with people trying to defend these actions. When viewed with a clear eye it becomes obvious that the Israeli government has the attitude of an errant dog, loosed from its long American leash upon the innocents of Gaza, of Palestine in general and now of Lebanon where the genocidal warmongering seems primed to spread. Pundits and politicians continue to equivocate about Hamas's actions. Do they think we're fools? It's plain to see that if we are measuring butchers, the IDF have the better of them, and my government continues to enable them. Every bomb dropped and every person killed in Gaza is a black stain upon history which, if there is any justice, will live in infamy so long as history itself persists.

Perhaps there are those among my American audience who are so-called patriots; you believe that because Israel shows affection towards the US and its aims, that its actions and the United States' interests are so aligned. Perhaps you trust in your leaders to make the right choice in this matter. I would count this as also quite foolish, though perhaps understandable. The love of country blinds men to the love they should lavish on their fellow man. You only need look to Israel's actions for proof. That sort of patriotism will only let your leaders deceive you. Do not let them! If you must love your country, be clear-sighted in that love and do not let it outweigh your common sense and morality! We must put to our leaders great critique on the handling of this matter, on the left and the right, for their inadequacy and failure to do anything to restrain these acts of needless and unjustified aggression and genocide.

Perhaps there are those among you who would say that the Jewish people must have a state, and that state must be allowed self-defense, and these actions have been taken in that interest. To this I must say that I frankly must disagree, and I will word myself carefully here because I wish to make myself absolutely clear. I hold no animosity towards Jewish people, nor any religion in specific. I have animosity towards Israel's state; were it a Christian state, or a Muslim state, or a Buddhist state, or any other state with such an affiliation committing to these same actions, I would earnestly hold the same opinion. I do indeed believe that the movement for Palestinian freedom must brook no quarter for antisemitism, both for moral and strategic reasons which I presume to be obvious. Having said that, the root of my animosity is this: I have said before that I am an American by birth, and I must say that while I am not a patriot, I am endeared to certain values which are found in the US Constitution. Among them is the separation of church and state. How can I, a believer in this principle, in good conscience support a state bonded to a religion in its foundation? How can I understand Zionism, so defined as a ideology seeking the foundation of a Jewish state, as anything other than a direct violation of that principle?

Another principle of mine is this: only a man has a right. A state can have a right only so far as it defends the rights of men, and Israel has vastly breached that rule in this war. How lucky I am to worry for my right to free expression, to my religion, to my free movement; the people of Gaza must worry about their right to drink, to eat, to live uninjured by bombs, to live, and it is Israel who denies them these rights. If this is what self-defense means on the scale of nations, then it ought be abolished altogether on account of how it interferes with the rights of the subjects of that "defense."

Perhaps there are those among you who would say that there is also an ethnic component to Judaism. To this I have little to say, besides that a state bound to a single ethnicity and a single religion stands apart to me as substantially worse than just one or the other, perhaps even more than the sum of its parts. That is all I can muster on the matter.

Perhaps there are those who believe that this problem, at its root, is intractable. This is something I would consider too pessimistic, though I understand more the trepidation here. The crimes committed are obviously not easy to remediate or reconcile. However, the solution to this is not to stand idly by and allow these crimes to continue to happen. As I have mentioned before, the United States has continued to deliver weapons to the Israeli government in full knowledge of their crimes, and that only serves to make the problem more intractable, not less. The only way to start the process of healing these wounds will be to stop the bleeding. The only way to stop the bleeding is to prevent the continued assault on Gaza. And, though these situations are different, when we look to places like South Africa, we can see that reconciliation is possible. There can be a day - there must be a day - where Palestinians and Jewish people may live in peace together, without oppression, without fear of dispossession, without fear of violence or danger.

That day can only come with great effort, with collective action, with courage, intelligence and patience to see the whole thing through, not just in Israel and Palestine but around the world. We live now in a world more connected than ever, for good and ill, and we may wield that fact for good. The Israeli economy is, like most, reliant upon the global network of trade and commerce. This is why Boycott, Divest, Sanction is doing such important work. I would pay particular attention to their words; their work is to try to strategically force companies to divest themselves from the Israeli economy, disrupting the war machine and their ability to continue these actions, and would suggest that you take part in this effort if you can. This is something almost anyone can do, and every part counts if it is part of these strategic efforts; it only asks that you do not spend your money. But if you do have money to spare, I would suggest donating. There are of course many vetted fundraisers on this site. I don't think you'll need to look far to find them. I would also suggest the UNRWA, who are deeply underfunded in the face of the present crisis and need all the help they can get to in turn help the Palestinian people.

And, of course, I would suggest that you protest. I unfortunately live in an area where there is little opportunity for this, but if you can join a demonstration or protest, I think you ought to. We will not get the attention of our leaders without us letting them know, and public protest is one way to do that. I would also gladly suggest that you write to your leaders. Tell them that this matter weighs heavily on your conscience. Tell them that you are concerned on where they stand on the matter. Tell them that your support may be at risk if they do not stand in favor of Palestine, regardless of whether that is true or not. Get your friends involved. Get your family involved, wherever you are. The genocide can stop. The genocide must stop. The genocide will stop.

I hope, if you were not already convinced, that this has changed your mind, and I am sad that I did not say anything earlier. That is all.

[misskittyhart]

Chapter 3: Dark Night: A voice in the static

🔪Warning: violence/ murder 📻

It was pouring down rain. The sky opened up like a black abyss. The words Alastor had spoken to kitty nights before had her sleepless. Exhaustion weighing down her mind and her soul. Join Me! he had said to her a wild look in his eyes hand out stretched for her to take. She felt like she had made a deal with the devil himself. Still she was confused why she felt so compelled to take his hand and become partners in crime. His big goal was cleansing society of the undesirable people who were wicked deep in their hearts, those who kicked the down trodden and used up the innocent like a burned out cigarette.

The wild look in his eyes was burned into her mind. She felt she could see those eyes full of blood lust everywhere in the darkness of her room. Why had she agreed so easily to continue down this path of darkness? Her soul felt like it was in an struggle between redemption and damnation. His grin, was like a wild beasts, predatory and wicked.

Kitty sighed heavily splashing cold water on her face before looking at her tired face in the bathroom mirror. Her visage stared back at her, it looked horrid. Black bags under her eyes and a wild look of madness in her eyes. Did she just see a shadow move behind her? A voice hissing through the radio in the other room. The radio she could have swore was off.

kitty~~

She swore she heard it through the static. There was no way. She felt she was going mad. Covering her ears with her hands she stood still closing her eyes tightly. It has to be lack of sleep, pull it together. Shaking her head she splashed more cold water on her face trying to clear her mind.

She needed sleep desperately. Her eyes burned painfully. Stumbling back she made her way out of the bathroom. That radio static again. Shaking her head she quickened her pace to the radio. It was off. That’s it, she was going mad.

Her mind was reeling now. The loud sound of the phone ringing startled her. She moved quickly to the hallway and picked it up. Her voice was weak “h….hello?”

“Kitty? You okay? You’re late for your shift.” It was her manager

“Oh shit Glen I’m sorry….I didn’t realize” she said sounding distant.

“If you aren’t feeling well stay home dear. We can put on another act tonight no worries” he said sounding concerned.

Maybe that was a good idea.

“Okay…I’m sorry I’ll rest thank you.” She said before hanging up. This was unlike her. Just what was going on?

That hissing static again. She clapped her hands over her ears trying to block that sound. That’s it she really was descending into madness. She began to wonder had she made a deal with a devil instead of a man. Her dreams were plagued with his smile and his eyes. Burning through her like hell fire. Yet she was so compelled to seek out his company. Like an addiction.

Damn it.

She heard a knock at her door and it jarred her. Her eyes wild and wide as she stared at her door. More knocking. Louder and louder. More aggressive. More demanding with each wrap.

She swung it open in a state of panic wanting it to stop. A man stood there looking down at her. She recognized him immediately. It was the man from the club who had been desperate to see her outside of work. Very persistent at wanting her to be his. She gained her usual composure. Her eyes were cold as she felt sickness deep inside the pit of her stomach. How did he find out where she lived? Had he stalked her.

“Ah hello miss kitty~ have you thought about my offer?” He asked

“I’m standing firm with my no, Gabe” she said crossing her arms, “I’ve no interest in being your wife. Did you stalk me? How did you get my address?”

He laughed “I just had to see you somewhere more private” he dodged her question. He gripped her arm firmly, with a threat “I won’t take no for an answer.” He said firmly.

Kitty’s eyes flashed with rage before calming. How dare he touch her. How dare he come to her private home, and demand her to marry him. She jerked her arm out of his hand. “You need to leave. Now.” She said firmly.

“No.” He put his foot in the door and pushed into her home. The static became loud and wild in her ears. Her eyes narrowed as he forced his way in.

The door closed behind him. He rounded up on her grabbing her. Kitty wrestled in his grasp the urge to make him leave her be growing stronger. She’d do what ever it took to get him away from her.

Even kill him?

There was the static again, louder than the sea crashing on the shore during a storm.

He won’t ever leave you alone~ do it. Kill him.

Kitty felt the madness soak into her brain. Yes. That’s the only way to be free. She’d never let another abusive man chain her down. After all she had finally escaped her cage of an arranged marriage that was extremely abusive. She fled from her husband to New Orleans. He was extremely abusive to her, he’d beat her violently for any little thing.

She found freedom in the crescent city. Her wings able to spread and her voice able to carry here. She refused to go back into another cage.

Her attitude changed and she played flirty “you know…I think I have changed my mind. Would you like a drink?” She asked softly

“Oh that would be lovely.” He smirked sitting on her couch.

She moved to her cabinet and pulled out a flask of scotch. Laced with a little fox glove. Her window boxes held nothing but fox glove. Just a little drink of this would have him paralyzed and weakened unable to over come her.

She offered it to him. He took a swig and she felt wicked glee building inside of her.

The radio flicked on “good evening listeners! Welcome to the show~ I have quite the tale for you tonight~” Alastor’s voice carried over the radio.

Kitty felt her mind start to grow fuzzy hearing him speaking through the radio. It was surreal, and so strange he came on suddenly. After all her radio was off. But she didn’t want to linger on this, maybe she had turned it on.

His voice was going in the background. Gabe chuckled “sounds like that pompous ass of a radio host, Alastor” he mused drinking the liquor from the flask, “you know I’ve been jealous of him. I saw you leave with him. Is that why you gave me the cold shoulder?”

Kitty felt rage building inside “I suppose but I’ve changed my mind now. He’s nothing compared to you.” She lied but she sounded so believable.

Gabe smirked standing to hold her. “I knew you’d come around~” he wrapped his arms around her stomach drawing her close.

Her breathing stilled and her eyes looked dead. She made up her mind. He had to be put down. It was the only way she’d be free. So slowly and gently she moved her hand to her hunting knife hidden in her dress. Gabe started to feel funny, and light headed. He didn’t seem to notice her holding the knife now behind him. A murderous look burned in her green eyes.

That’s right~ just kill him then you’ll be free~

Static again. Alastor’s voice came through the radio “be careful who you take home tonight dear listener. There’s some real nuts out there~” he said amused. She could swear he was watching her right now

The green magic tube eye on the radio started to glow a sick green as it did when signal got stronger. Except it seemed to be putting off strange tendrils of magic in sickly green. Kitty didn’t notice as it was behind her.

She pulled back from agave suddenly raising his chin with her finger. He was feeling quite weak suddenly. She didn’t hesitate as he stumbled. She slit his throat. His blood spraying onto her pretty face. She was breathing heavy now at the spray. Sounding more like a wild fox than a human. She growled somewhere deep in her throat.

Gabe looked horrified grasping at his neck gurgling as he was bleeding heavily. It was good she usually stayed somewhere more remote. Normally she would make sure to take the victim to the bayou to make it more remote, but this was too unexpected of a situation. She never thought a man would stalk her to her home.

He stumbled backwards falling onto the wood floor. She dug her heel into his throat. “Die like the pig you are~” she hissed through clenched teeth. She panted heavily. He writhed weakly under her heel. Her eyes were cold and cruel as the poison set into him. She watched his crimson blood drip onto her floor.

Her heart was racing. She was free now. The light left his eyes, the rush of the kill was addicting. Her breath was sharp and her heart was racing.

Good girl~

She swore she heard from the radio. Out of the corner of her eyes she swore she saw his shadow. The knife fell from her hand. Clattering loudly to the floor of her cottage. Running her fingers through the blood on her face she started laughing. Wildly. Like a lunatic. She drug her fingers down her face.

His presence was surrounding her. Making her mad. Her phone rang again starling her. Her breath hitched as she came back from her madness. Coldly, she stepped over the body like it was nothing and moved to the phone.

“May I stop by, cher~” a voice came through the phone. It was Alastor

“Yes.” Was all she said her voice devoid of emotion.

She could almost see that smile of his now.

The phone hung up and she looked over at the man dead on her parlor floor.

At least Alastor could help her take care of this. She stared at the body with disinterest, and coldness.

I’ll make it all better~

The static filled her mind as she stood simply zoning out her mind going blank. The radio hissing and crackling in the parlor loudly. Green eye glowing brighter illuminating the room in eerie green light. Casting her in a sickly green as she stared coldly at the dead man on her floor.

Her soul was forfeit to him now. Alastor was twisting her mind to the perfect tool for him. The perfect companion to carry out his dark plans. Her broken soul was so easy to restitch into what he desired.

The sudden knock on the door barely registered til his voice was heard through the door “open up Cher~” he said warmly.

Kitty felt compelled to open the door. When she did his grin twisted seeing the man dead on the floor over her shoulder. “My, my~ someone’s been busy.” He chuckled darkly, “I’ll handle the disposal” he said simply closing the door behind him.

His thumb brushed against her face running through the blood on her cheek. “Oh darling~ you look magnificent in crimson~” he laughed coldly

Kitty felt empty inside her eyes meeting his as he caressed her face coating his finger tips in blood. The radio static had gotten louder and she felt it was filling her brain.

“Oh darling~ what a treat.” He patted her face, moving past her to check out her handy work, “lovely~”

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Feeling very violent rn so here's a very controversial opinion:

Everything after season one of Young Justice sucked.

Look, I know I'm obsessed with the show but that doesn't mean it's good, it means that I'm too deep into it at this point to get out. There are good moments within the other seasons but in general? They were not good.

I'm sorry. I understand that they wanted to be creative and have a neat narrative and deep lore and all that. And they do! The narrative and lore is extremely deep.

But the plot? The characters??

Season one was an actual functional show that balanced character development, plot and dialogue with world building, lore and messaging.

The other seasons do not do that.

Season two bounced back and forth between like 16 characters. We got some development for some characters but even that was minimal compared to the character development in S1. And this isn't me complaining that the og group wasn't in S2 enough. That's not my issue. I would've loved to focus on a new group and I think that Jaime, Bart, Ed and Gar would've been super cool to focus on. I loved what character development they did have and I craved more.

But the problem? The problem is when you have 16 fucking characters that you are trying to develop and shove into a coherent plot and have actual meaningful scenes. There just wasn't enough focus on S2. Imo, S2 was meh because the characters got left by the wayside. The plot, dialogue, world building, lore and messaging was fine, there just seemed to be a lack of heart/warmth in the show because of the characters. It's hard to get invested.

Then holy shit. S3 introduced more characters. And the plot got more contrived and 'big picture' to the point that it started to abstract. It felt like nothing mattered. There were no stakes, you were just watching things happen. There was 50 fucking things happening an episode and 80% of it was lore/world building. It felt like I was studying for a fictional history exam.

I'm pretty sure the main character in S3 was earth 16. Just the entire universe. Because goddamn. We checked in on almost every living being and EVERYTHING was a plot point. Most of it wasn't even relevant to anything happening in the season. Man it was.... it was bad.

And at that point it just wasn't enjoyable at all to watch. I probably should've stopped watching but at that point the sunk cost fallacy had already kicked in. I knew it could be good. Maybe it could be good again. And people were constantly praising it as cinematic genius so I was like 'okay well maybe I'm missing the point? Maybe you aren't supposed to enjoy shows? Maybe this is fine?'

But season four broke me.

The creators heard that people were frustrated by the lack of character focus and the episodes following 72 characters and the episodes switching between 50 different subplots every episode and their solution? Their solution was to take allllllll the different unconnected plots and, instead of evenly spreading them throughout the season, jam them all into 'arcs'. So you had a bunch of mini seasons consisting of 3-5 episodes dedicated to a cast of ~5-8 characters (some of them new). And each of these episodes had unconnected a plots, b plots and c plots.

THAT IS NOT A SOLUTION

Holy shit that is not a solution.

Not to mention the overarching plot of the season, in which we had no fucking clue what was happening until the final episodes where everything became a speedrun to wrap everything up. We literally had no idea what the main plot was until it was ending.

Good god it was bad. It's bad writing!

I know people liked it and good for them. You should like what you like and you don't have to justify it. But for me it was insanity. I'm sorry I actually don't want a season long subplot where Beast Boy is depressed and sleeps all day. I would be cool with it if it had anything to do with the larger story but, surprisingly, spending five minutes watching Beast Boy sleep every episode didn't make for compelling storytelling.

I'm still not over how we didn't even know who the main villain was until the end of the season. And then all of a sudden he does a villain monologue to tell everyone his evil plan and his motives. Super cool actually. I love it when I have no idea what the stakes are for the majority of a show. It's incredibly good storytelling when you leave the audience in the dark about a major player in the plot for all of the plot. And then doing an info dump evil monologue in the final episodes to rush through the explanation??? Fucking fantastic and not a sign of terrible pacing at all.

I'm just so frustrated. The show isn't about being a show anymore. The show is an entire cinematic universe shoved into 20 something episodes. It's desperate to tell every single story at once, audience, pacing and good writing be damned.

I'm so tired of the constant praising of Greg. His whole 'i don't write endings because life doesn't have endings' and 'i don't write cliffhangers, I just leave things open ended' thing is pretentious bullshit. I'm tired of pretending it's not. A good story has an ending. Stories are not life! Some of the best shows I've ever watched had planned endings. And oh my god. The cliffhanger thing... that's just semantics my guy. Greg you write cliffhangers. You can insist they aren't but I'm going to call a spade a spade.

It's also.... I'm fine with explaining things, in fact I love it because it's an excuse to talk about the stuff I love, and I have a fairly decent knowledge of comic book lore. So, I could not only understand what was happening in the show but I was also super enthusiastic about explaining it to people. But hey Greg? Hey buddy? If 90% of your audience doesn't know what the fuck is going on and needs to be familiar with super specific obscure comic characters from the 70's then you might have a problem.

I think I realized halfway through s4 that the most enjoyment I got from an episode was when an obscure comic character would cameo in it. But then I realized that a) they generally weren't explained at all and b) 50% of the time they weren't just hanging out in the background and they were vital to the plot. So to understand who the fuck they were and what the fuck was happening you had to be familiar with... well all of DC comics actually.

Anyway this rant is getting long and unhinged and I don't think there's a point so I'm going to cut myself off even though I have so much more to say on the topic. I think my general point is just that I didn't enjoy watching the later seasons and it's chill if you did and we should all respect each other's opinions ✌️

[atlasira]

Out of all of RC’s characters that I’ve encountered so far, Malbonte still remains one of my top favorite of all time. He’s so well written and compelling.

My first playthrough I sided With Him because, while his methods are controversial, his ideals made sense. On my most recent playthrough I chose to Stand Against Him and the different perspective was worth it.

(DISCLAIMER: I have not played HS2 yet, and am unaware of any new information revealed in HS2.)

Antagonists like Malbonte are simultaneously right and wrong which is a large reason why they’re some of my faves.

> How He’s Right

Malbonte is right in that a significant chunk of his path was the result of other people’s actions. His birth and (natural) abilities were not his fault. He did not ask Shephamalum to whisper in his ear and force him to be the only living immortal that knew of Heaven’s Secret. He did not ask his parents to murder a child. And he certainly did not ask Shepha to brutally split him in two and imprison the halves of himself for a millennium.

SHEPHA

Shepha fucked up. No, Shepha is fucked up, and the more I learned about Him in the Season 3 finale, the more agitated I got. Demon!Vicky alludes to it all the way back in Season 1, but she could not have known how accurate she was about Shepha’s corruption.

Shepha is not the symbol of purity He and the Angels believe Him to be. He offers support only as long as He has control over who gets it and how they use it. He explicitly says He wasn’t opposed to the oppression of Demons because he has lesser power over them, and therefore felt uncomfortable with them being treated as equals under his rule. He feels no shame sharing this bias.

And if you so choose, Vicky then has to beg to enlighten other immortals about Heaven’s Secret. This is up for debate, but I also felt that if she hadn’t been able to convince Shepha of the value in revealing the truth, He would’ve killed her “for the greater good” and to protect the Secret. He says He regrets not killing Malbonte as an infant, making it clear He is not opposed to murder if, in His eyes, it helps more than harms.

Malbonte was right in that everything that was done to him simply for being born was majorly fucked up. He is also right in saying Shepha is flawed. Shepha is not evil, but He is power hungry and corrupt, and change needed to come.

> How He’s Wrong

“SELF DEFENSE”

However, Malbonte’s most damning flaw is his narrow-mindedness.

While his rage and indignation are the understandable result of what came before, his actions after he escapes confinement are his own doing. He says several times that he does not want to kill certain people, but will “if he has to.” He does not have to, he is the aggressor here. Malbonte has the skewed belief that his war is in self defense when it is not.

While it’s true he was seen as a monster, that rumor was created and spread by immortals that, from what we see, have been gone for a long time. Aside from Eragon, most of the present day immortals only know Malbonte by what they’ve heard. They do not know anything about him personally. So now, as an adult capable of complex understanding and self expression, he could’ve introduced and explained the truth about himself. But he does not even attempt to.

I don’t fault him for his actions when he was nothing more than a spirit of hatred, that I blame on Shepha and Shephamalum, but once he and Bont merged, that was Malbonte’s opportunity to set things straight. Or at least try to — whether the Angels and Demons actually believed him isn’t the point. Malbonte faults all immortals for seeing him as a monster, but he does nothing to enlighten the ones of today (who know nothing about him!!) on how that’s not the case. Instead he proudly proves their inaccurate beliefs. He resorted to bloodshed without even attempting peace first.

UNCLEAR GOALS

Another one of Malbonte’s issues is that his solution is black-and-white with zero nuance. He intended to kill Shepha and replace Him as the ruler of all. But his exact plan were he to succeed gets confusing every time he explained it, and it quickly becomes clear he can’t make up his mind.

Sometimes Malbonte says he’ll place Demons on top because they’ve been mistreated for so long.

Sometimes he says he’ll make sure Demons and Angels are finally equal to one another.

So which is it?? Because these are VERY different approaches. The more time you spend with him, while he denies it, the clearer it is he’s more focused on revenge than brainstorming new political policies.

SHEPHAMALUM

He also just does not account for Shephamalum at all. One of Malbonte’s defining traits is his arrogance. Now, I fully understand that self confidence can be an act of rebellion against those that hate you. However, Malbonte’s arrogance is just too short sighted.

Malbonte is incredibly strong, but he still needed Shephamalum’s power/darkness to defeat Shepha. Let’s say he succeeds. What did he think Shephamalum was going to do once Shepha was gone? Did he think Shephamalum would just give him a thumbs up and then take a nap??

Malbonte says he only wants to change the world for the better, but he either could not see or simply didn’t care that he was obviously Shephamalum’s pawn to eliminate Shepha. And by removing Shepha and having a less powerful being take his place, there would be no one to challenge Him should Shephamalum find a way to return. Malbonte either could not figure this out (which I doubt) or cared more about getting his revenge than helping and “liberating” the immortals he swore the war was for (which I believe.)

It can be taken into account that Shephamalum was manipulating Malbonte since he was a child. Manipulation from childhood is always a sure fire tactic monsters use (ala Palpatine and Vader). On the other hand, Malbonte has proven to be quite intelligent. Well to me anyway lmao. So while manipulation can be a factor, I highly doubt he trusted Shephamalum 100% and didn’t suspect he was being used as a pawn. He simply didn’t care because, as I said earlier, his main goal was revenge on Shepha rather than true fairness, so Shephamalum’s ulterior motives was just a “cross that bridge when we get to it” issue in his eyes.

HONESTY

Malbonte is brutally honest with others, but he is not truthful with himself. He was not honest with himself about what his primary goal for the war was. He was not honest with himself about how Shephamalum only saw him as a pawn and how his actions would play a role in a much larger problem. And he was not honest with himself in that the immortals of today are not to blame for things that happened thousands of years ago.

> Despite Everything, He Was Needed

Malbonte is a flawed individual and as such, his methods and motivations were too. However, like other antagonists like him, I believe he needed to happen in order for there to be actual change.

Change only happens when there’s an interruption in routine. Malbonte’s return was a massive one. Am I saying his war was good? Not necessarily. (Am I saying his war was bad? Also not necessarily!) Regardless of how we view his methods, he revealed the truth about Heaven’s Secret, shined a spotlight on the discrimination Demons faced, and unveiled how inappropriate the Law of Segregation was.

For a time, he gave those who felt wronged a voice that all immortals were forced to pay attention to. Whether Vicky reveals the truth about Shephamalum or not, whether Malbonte survives the final fight or not, the world of immortals will never be the same.

> Conclusion

Malbonte continues be a very beloved character to me because of how complex his storyline and development are. He is very well written and I could probably talk about him all day.

[qunlatlatte]

Ok! Had some time to think and also I am avoiding re-writing a letter I don't want to write so here we go!! Spoilers ahead

Ok I like... really didn't like veilguard much (No surprise there). It's probably a symptom of being a long time fan, but like.. I think they just glossed over so much. We were in Tevinter for so long but the subject of slavery never came up? All the quests we came across?? Not a mention of it-- or even any discussion of like class inequality between mages. Not a mention of the hard social structures- it doesn't seem like it would be that hard to work it into a side quest of something with the Shadow Dragons.... idk

Felt like all the characters were just cameos from their other books and comics to try and sell those??? But I haven't seen any ads advertising those?? Like if your selling me something at least sell me someting??? Those side characters are all compelling in their own stories but they are so uncompelling and uninteresting in the game?? Antoine and Evka might be a bit different, but idk if i got more screen time with them cause my PC was a warden. Like Isseya? The whole blight crypt?? What was Antoine's deal? Why did he hear the blight differently?

Hated the blanket Venatori and the Antaam are the bad guys and so flat. No words about how the qunari just let the military run away with no follow up? No spies or mages or anything showing up to reel them back in??? No ben hasarath action??? Nothing??? idk Seems like it doesn't fit with anything we've heard about the Qunari before this. Also just like??? Didn't give a compelling reason for an entire section of their culture to just breakaway without any kind of over zealous rhetoric or mission or plan? Why leave the qun to live in the same kind of conditions just... separate from the other parts of your society??? cause some guy said so?? Cause you like his hat?? idk idk

And the Venatori--- so these guys have been marching around the last 10 / 15 years and there's not a significant resistance to them? Unless I guess that's what the Shadow Dragons are (lame name). I thought political militaristic groups would have some name that felt a bit more... relevant to the struggle. What do dragons have to do with fighting slavery and blood magic?

Also the Venatori dont' operate in the open yet? They don't have a cornerstone of the political market?? They seem to have endless numbers but we don't get any sense of there being a controlling hand?? And it never comes up we're just flitting around going "the Gods D: " any time they show up??? And their redesign isn't as cool as their designs in inquisition. Think it was a decision to differentiate the Venatori from the Tevinter forces, but what does it matter if we never see any Tevinter officials take any kind of stance???

Something kind of funny about the inquisitor joining the battle only to ... not join the battle and then waltz up to the platform at the end. Also, my headcannon is that my inquisitor never got a fake arm. She was an archer, so after loosing her arm she lost her ability to shoot! It's been 10 years and that's enough time for a warrior to learn new skills or something to learn to fight with only one arm, but I always thought she wouldn't get that good? Like i think with the anchor, in her prime, she's fighting at an almost god like level. She is SOO strong and deadly. Cuts off her arm after Solas kills it and the anchor and learns to fight with one arm, but like- she doesn't have to get that strong again? She knows that her strength as the Inquisitor is really in the connections and way she can leverage the power of the inquisition, she doesn't have to spend as much time in the field. She's more useful strategizing and talking people into cooperating and knows that's what the world will need in order to keep people alive while the fade/veil shake the world. She doesn't have to get back to what she was and her life is different now.

Emmericks' quest and villian were so fun and good? I felt like they flowed so much better than the others, but I also feel like their plot lines didn't have to hook into some other arbitrary Cameo or throwback stuff. I wish everyones quests felt like that.

I loved Davrin's quests?? Loved how everybody's were like- let's kill this person who has wronged me and he is like- let's walk through the woods and talk about the things that feel beautiful and wonderful in this life. I love angst and kind of wish his story had a bit sprinkled in somewhere, but i also think that paints a piece about his chacter. He's not an angsty guy hahah

Griffins 🥺

idc what else the cannon says my warden get a griffin. She's alive and she gets a baby bird!!!!