#you just need the basic word and things start sounding weird the more synonyms you bring in

[niche-pastiche]

Reblogging this again just because the more characters I write the more strongly I believe this. It's so important to try and find the places in narration where only this character would say a certain thing in a specific way. And that's true everywhere but it's really true for sex scenes. This would be true with characters who will 100% under no circumstances swear as it is for those who are going to be more than a little crass with their phrasing. Forget the stress of trying to make things sound "objectively sexy" because there is no such universal thing. The goal is instead to make it sound like them.

One fun thing about writing smut where the POV Character is someone like Dean Winchester is it lets you play a little game where you subject your readers to really unappealing yet very in character phrases during sex scenes. And you're writing it like "Dean no!" but the characterization is such that you just know he'd at least pepper in words like jizz instead of restricting himself to only the word come.

The Freaky Angel Sex series is probably the example of this I'm most proud of. That version of Dean belongs in horny jail.

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl

A/N I start my second year of college tomorrow and i wanted to write something for the movie series that got me through moving out on my own for the first time!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

----

Like usual, the bell that signifies the end of homeroom rings while I’m in the middle of a sentence. Mrs. Ramirez may be strict about tardies, but she always wraps up her announcements early, which means most of homeroom is filled by basic high school chatter. 

On the first day, that made me incredibly nervous. I didn’t think I’d have to start over at a new school almost two months into my junior year of high school, but now that I’ve been in Woodsboro nearly a month, the space in between instructions doesn’t bother me. The people here have been a lot more welcoming than I thought they’d be. And one of those surprisingly welcoming people is Casey, who’s patiently standing by her desk as I pick up my backpack. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” The question surprises me a little more than it should. I’ve been invited to a lot of things since I first moved here, and even when nothing’s going on I normally run into one or two of my friends on the weekends. Usually Stu and or Billy. 

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, “Uh--besides studying for that unit test in math, nothing much.” 

She smiles, “Okay, good.” Casey walks out of the door and into the hall with me. “I was going to rent a movie to watch with my boyfriend, but I’m thinking of blowing him off. You want to have a sleepover at my house? We can watch something scary and freak ourselves out and get no sleep.” 

I grin. “Sure, sounds fun. I’ll bring the Jiffy Pop.” 

“Great, I’ll write my address out for you tomorrow.” She turns her head slightly, taking note of the students crowding the hall, “I’ve gotta get to class. See ya.” 

“See ya.” 

A second after I’ve waved her off, a voice comes from right behind me, “New friend?” 

The words are so unexpected and strangely harsh in their lowness that I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn, posture straightening instinctively as I do so. Oh. Okay--not a threat at all. “Oh, it’s just you,” I exhale, “You scared me, Stu.” 

I offer him a partial smile in greeting, which is a gesture he normally returns with a genuine grin. Today, though, he just kind of looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes look so dark, especially not while he’s looking at me. “Sorry.” He watches me blink at him. “I was just waiting to walk you to your first period like a good friend, but you seemed busy.” 

Oh, is that what his weird attitude’s about? “You mean Casey?” He doesn’t say anything. “She’s nice.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself or maybe even apologize, but I do. I don’t want him looking at me like that anymore. I want Stu to throw his arm around my shoulders with no warning after making an inappropriate joke that I pretend to get mad over. “We talk in homeroom, she’s a friend.” He doesn’t ease. “Are you jealous?” The joke doesn’t land. “Ease up, you know you’re my favorite.” 

At that, Stu’s oddly serious expression shifts into something softer, maybe even a little amused. “Your favorite?” 

He finally smiles, making the inky undertones of his expression disappear. “Mhm,” I continue, “My favorite out of everyone, but don’t tell Tatum or Sid because I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” 

“Fine,” Stu relents, casually throwing an arm around my shoulders, “I’ll just tell Billy.” 

I gape at him for a long second. After almost two weeks of eating lunch with their friend group every day, Billy offered me his drink after someone bumped into me and spilled mine. I had been sitting next to Stu, who had made some joke earlier that involved grabbing my hand and he had yet to let go. I released him to cross the table and thank Billy. Stu frowned and pretended to be seriously hurt until Tatum told him to leave me alone before he scared her new friend off. Since then, the two have a running joke (well, it’s Stu’s joke that Billy kind of just sort of allows) that revolves around me picking a favorite. 

“You’re in a drama starting mood today.” 

Stu hums once absentmindedly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm in a comfortable display of affection. ”What can I say? I want you all to myself.” 

Heat rises to my face for no good reason. Stu’s touchy, I learned that about him pretty quickly. “Haha,” I mumble dryly, hoping humor manages to come across in my voice. “We should get to class before you erupt into a jealous rage.” 

----

Temporarily discarding the cardboard lid of the Jiffy Pop container, I let my gaze linger on the few polaroids Casey took a little earlier in the night. Just a thing I’m trying out, she had explained before snapping a few awkward shots of me smiling before joining me behind the camera. The one where she’s cross eyed and I’m sticking my tongue out is kind of cute, but most of the ones of me are a little rough. 

Casey announces her return to the kitchen with, “Okay, I wasn’t sure what kind of movies you liked so I brought some variety.” She sets her stack of tapes on the counter next to me. “I was thinking Nightmare on Elm Street or Pet Sementary.” 

Leaning down, I turn on the stovetop before placing the pan on a burner. “Mmm, both are good but I’m more of a Nightmare on Elm Street kinda person. Can’t resist a story with a final girl in it.”  

“Alright,” she says just as the first kernel pops, “I’ll keep that in mind for future movie nights.” 

I turn my attention back to the stove in hopes of concealing a smile. Casey caught my attention that first day in homeroom because she’s just so effortlessly cool in a way that normally I find off putting. All morning, I tortured myself over everything that could go wrong. “Yeah, just--” 

A loud pop from the Jiffy Pop pan nearly makes me jump. Casey’s lips turn upwards like she’s going to make a joke about how easily startled I am, but a ringing sound spares me. “Hold on a second.” Casey pushes herself away from the counter she was leaning against. “Landline.” 

She casually picks up the receiver and I give the stove my full attention in an attempt to offer her some sort of privacy. Her words are low and easy to miss as butter begins to sizzle and more kernels start to explode. My gaze shifts and her slightly bothered expression makes me wonder if she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. I’ve never met him, but the few stories she told me earlier make me think I’m not going to like him. 

Casey hangs up with a sigh. “Wrong number.” She straightens, stepping away from the counter before grabbing a tape from her pile. “I’m going to go work on the movie, my mom was just complaining about the VCR. Careful with the popcorn, our stove’s a little iffy.” 

“Please,” I hum, “I know Jiffy Pop, I feel Jiffy Pop, I basically am Jiffy Pop. I’ve never burnt a single kernel.” 

She raises an eyebrow at my only slightly exaggerated claim before turning to leave the room. “You better hope you’re not all talk or you’re never living this down. 

I move the Jiffy Pop around the burner with a level of skill that’s worthy of someone of my expertise. About a minute later, Casey’s home landline starts ringing again. “Casey!”

“On it!”  

The ringing ends with the sound of a quick click. She must be on the living room extension. Her voice keeps getting louder, but I’m not hearing enough to understand who she’s talking to. She does sound like she’s getting a little annoyed, which makes me really think she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. Preconceived notions about people kind of suck, but Steve sounds like a total asshole. 

Casey returns to the kitchen with a playful, albeit softly irritated eye roll. “How do you feel about prank phone calls?” 

My eyes narrow in mock consideration. “Like making them?” 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘P’ sound. “Dealing with them.” 

She waves the phone in front of me like it’s some kind of offer. “That’s kinda an ominous question,” I decide, arm extending to take the phone from her, “I’m in.” Without thinking twice, I raise the phone to my ear. Static hums from the other end of the line. “Hi.” The only response to my greeting is the consistent crack of static. “Are random phone calls your big Saturday night plans?” 

The static is starting to feel a lot eerier than it did before. That, paired with the continual popping of kernels is starting to unsettle me. Snap out of it, it’s just a prank call. I begin to move around the pan again. I can’t afford to burn anything after all that big talk about my Jiffy Pop skills. 

Just as I’m settling the pan at a new angle, the sound of shifting fabric interrupts the steady stream of white noise. “Did your friend scare so easily?” 

I blink. Whoever’s on the other line is probably a total weirdo, but his voice is kinda attractive. “It’s not personal, she’s just busy messing with the VCR.” 

An unsettlingly deep laugh comes from the other line of the phone. Okay--his attractive voice is no longer enough of a redeeming quality for me to not see him as a total creep or perv. Actually, he’s probably both. “What’s your name?” 

The confident authoritativeness of the question rubs me the wrong way. I release the handle of the pan in favor of instinctually placing a hand on my hip. “I don’t share things with strangers.” 

A beat of silence is followed by the rustling of fabric. “But I already know something about you.” 

“Mhm,” I muse dryly, beginning to work on the popcorn again, “And what is it that you know?” 

“Your friend is setting up the VCR, you’re going to watch a movie, aren’t you?” 

I roll my eyes, understanding why Casey was so quick to leave them without hanging up. Weird people like this are normally more persistent when they’re ignored. “Wow, your detective skills have truly shocked and amazed me, Nancy Drew. Congratulations, now if that’s all--”

I’m not sure if its my sarcasm or my attempt at stern dismissal that amuses them, but a deep chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “What movie are you going to watch?” 

“Why? Are you looking for a recommendation?” My reply comes out too fast and too bitter and I regret it instantly. People like this can’t know that they’re getting to you. “Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

Static turns into the sound of more ruffling. “That’s scary.” 

“I think I can handle it,” I breathe. 

“Do you like scary movies?” 

I nod, “Yep, I even have a golden rule for them.” 

“Golden rule?” 

Rolling my eyes, I stare at the pan. The popping is starting to slow down. Soon enough, I’ll have an excuse to hang up and get back to my sleepover. “Yeah, it’s silly, but I think all the great scary movies have a final girl.” 

Another dark laugh. “I agree.” 

“Your approval fuels me,” I mumble. 

The stranger is quick to ask, “Is Nightmare on Elm Street your favorite scary movie?” 

I shake my head, turning the pan so that it’s more on its side than before. “It’s good, but it’s not my all time favorite.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

I sigh, a part of me wishing that Casey would come back. “I already told you that I’m not telling you anything.” 

“So I shouldn’t ask for your name again?” 

“You can ask, but you’re not getting an answer.” Rolling my eyes, I move my hand away from the pan and towards the switch that controls the stove. “Why do you want know so bad, anyway?” 

“It’s rude to not ask a pretty girl for her name.”

Wow--what a line. “That line doesn’t work in person and works even less over the phone when I know you can’t see me.” 

Silence stretches between us so long I start to think that he might have gotten up or something. “What makes you so sure I can’t see you?”

 It’s the kind of vague threat that normally I’d laugh off. But something about the stranger’s assured tone cuts right through all of my security. Irrational dread pulses in my stomach. “Yeah, I’m not interested in being in a scary movie. Bye.” 

“Wait--” There’s the slightest hint of panic in their voice. 

“I am so sick of creepy men trying to ruin everything just because they can.” 

“Don’t even think ab--!” = 

“Porn exists for a reason, perv!” And with a single beep, the man’s voice disappears. 

Ugh, men. Even though his threat was the kind of meaningless joke that creepy, horny men tell because they get off on scaring girls, I can’t stop feeling a lot less alone in Casey’s kitchen. 

I let myself shudder as I pace away from the kitchen and towards Casey’s living room.

“Y/n?” Casey’s voice is completely casual as she questions me. That means that weird phone guy didn’t scare her. 

Be more normal. “Hey--I just..” 

She turns her head, blonde bob falling to the side as I trail off. “Did something scare you?” 

There are a lot of things I could say, but nothing feels good enough. Denial crawls up my throat and just sits there as my thoughts beg me to tell her. To maybe even warn her. Warn her of what, though? That some weird guy has her phone number and the junior girl she took a chance on is this easily freaked? 

Before I can make up my mind, the living room phone rings. Dread roots itself in my stomach and tangles itself in my throat. Casey sits up a bit more on her couch as she reaches for the phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Casey raises an eyebrow as she picks up the receiver. “Forget that guy, he’s probably already forgotten us and is harassing someone else. She then raises the phone to her ear and listens for a long second, “Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not funny.”

I stare at her with wide eyes as she stands, quickly pacing away from the couch and towards the center of the living room, as far from any window as possible. The noise from the phone is muffled, but something about the tone feels a lot more aggressive than it was earlier. Maybe aggressively calling him a pervert and hanging up on him wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done. 

Casey’s face is void of any color as she slowly pulls the phone away from her ear. “He wants to talk to you.” 

My eyes widen as I play back the last words I said to him. An instinctual no crawls up my throat. With shaky hands, I take the phone. “Hi,” I curse myself for sounding so nervous, “Again. Hi again.” A nervous giggle crawls up my throat and I have to my tongue to keep it down. “Listen, you win. You scared us. Now I’m going to hang up and you’re gonna let me.” 

“Really?” The laugh, or maybe even growl, that follows comes out in the form of low grumble that turns my blood into slush. “And if I don’t?” 

Great. Of course phone freak is trying to verify my threat. I don’t exactly have an arsenal of intimidation tactics. “My mom’s dating a cop, and I’ll get him to arrest your ass.”

It’s not the most honest thing I’ve said to him, but it’s not a lie either. My mom’s boyfriend being hired as Woodsboro’s police chief is one of the main reasons we moved, but I’m not sure he’d particularly care about someone scaring me over the phone. I’ve known Wells for a few months now and the only thing I’ve seen him express interest in is my mom and beer. And occasionally, he shows a little too much interest in the length of my skirt. 

Silence. Okay--maybe he took that seriously. My finger moves towards the button that can end this call, but before I can convince myself that nothing bad will happen if I press it, the voice returns with a vengeful chuckle. “What’s Chief Wells Hoffman going to do for you?” 

I feel each drop of blood drain from me. My hands shake as my grip on the phone tightens. With a wavering voice I ask, “How did--how--” 

In an act of a sadistic sort of mercy, the man cuts me off, “Oh, doll face,” he breathes the nickname like he’s taking pity on me. Like I’m a child that needs to be comforted. “I’m going to play nice with you.” He’s waits a beat, “But your good friend Casey Becker’s not going to be so lucky.” 

At the threat of someone that’s standing right next to me, something in me becomes strangled. “How do you know her name?” I shake my head, forcing down the wave of dread trying to force me into panic. “Leave her alone, or-or you’re gonna regret it.” 

“You look too sweet in those cherry pajamas to be making threats.” 

My lips part but I can’t bring myself to ask the question because I already feel the answer in my chest. “How do you know what I’m wearing?” 

“Why don’t you look behind you?”

I pull the phone away from my ear slowly, my eyes snapping upwards in search of Casey’s. But she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at something that’s just over my shoulder, her hand covering her mouth in horror. I pull the phone away from my ear. 

My body does not feel like my own as I force myself to turn towards Casey’s sliding glass door. Despite the glare of the living room light against the reflection of glass, it only takes my eyes a second to adjust enough to see that Casey’s backyard is not empty. 

A figure that’s clothed in all black except for their contrasting, stark white mask that depicts a face frozen in a permanent, cartoonish scream is standing there. Now that he has my attention, he raises his hand, miming the action of answering a phone.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle myself, but all it does is make it harder to not scream or cry or laugh hysterically. I raise the phone to my ear again. “Hello, Y/n.” 

“Hi,” I squeak back before pressing the phone into the side of my thigh in a pathetic attempt to muffle my words. “Casey,” I whisper, raising my hand in greeting in an attempt to appease the figure on the other side of the glass, “R--” 

Before the single syllable can slip past my lips, the glass bursts. I turn in on myself, lifting an arm in a feeble attempt to protect myself from the explosion of glass shards. It only takes me a moment to look up in horror at the masked man that’s now in the house. If throwing his entire weight against gas sliding glass door with enough force to shatter it hurt him, he shows no sign of his pain as he begins to run. 

An instinctual scream escapes me as I blindly hurl the phone in the man’s general direction. I grasp Casey’s hand pulling her forward with all my strength as I start running. I urge her forward, ignoring the pain in my forearm and feet from the glass. We’re about to make it to the front door when I feel a firm grasp on my arm. 

I yelp, thrashing blindly as I’m yanked away from Casey. My body twists, but the leather clad hand holding me is unrelenting. There’s a strange strain in the way they pull me back, but I don’t care about his promise to play nice. In a move that likely surprises both of us, I kick behind me with all of my force. Their hold loosens for a fraction of a second, but they regain control before I can even take a full step forward. The man pulls on me harder than before, throwing me back and into the Becker’s entryway table. A scream that I only vaguely register as not mine is so terrible and high pitched my lip quivers at the sound of it. The vase on the table gets knocked over and shatters as I fall. 

My head slams into the wall with enough force to leave me disorientated for a second. Our attacker must not be completely aware of his own strength because for a brief moment, they just look at me as my body lays against shards of glass. With a shaky breath, I push myself to stand even though the movement forces large pieces of glass to cut into my palm. The man recovers before I’m fully up. He grabs me by my shoulder and forces me down on the other side of the hall. I push against him with the support of all the adrenaline in my body as he moves to pin my wrists above my head. The man reaches for something hidden among layers of black. All I can hope for is that my death might have given Casey a chance to escape. 

Instead of pulling out a gun or a blade, he reveals a small, white towel. The confusion makes my stomach twist in a different way as I fight against him even more now. He places the rag over my nose and mouth, forcing me to breath through it. Is this a form of suffocation? I blink twice, my limbs growing impossibly heavy the more I try to breathe. Eventually, that’s all there is. Just the weight of my body and the polluted air in my lungs until even that is replaced by darkness. 

----

NARRATOR’S POV

The one thing about meticulously planning is that it takes so little for plans to go off the rail. One can prepare for every possible outcome and life can still throw twists at them because the rest of the world can never seem to listen to the fucking plan. 

That’s how Billy felt when he saw you standing in Casey Becker’s kitchen, casually prepping Jiffy Pop like you’ve been best friends with her your entire life. Not only did a dangerous sort of aggravation pulse through him at the realization that his perfect plan needed to be adjusted, he also found himself dealing with the kind of anger that’s a result of betrayal. All the time Stu and him spend with you and you couldn’t tell them that you were planning on spending the night at Casey Becker’s? 

When you mumbled some vague excuse about why you couldn’t hang out with Tatum and Sidney Saturday evening during yesterday’s lunch period, Billy felt skeptical. He thought that that’d be something to figure out later. And then he saw you there, grinning and having the time of your life without a single thought about them.

For the briefest moment, Billy wondered if this was some kind of sign. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him to screw it, to let you get what you deserve for keeping secrets. But then he realized that if anything, this signified that he was right about you. After all, what were the odds that you’d be in the perfect place to make your debut as the one thing their movie was missing--a final girl? It only took a few minutes of watching you for Billy to be glad that he thought to bring some chloroform in case anything got complicated. 

The new and improved plan went off without a hitch. Steve was an easy kill and Casey’s death was even more satisfying than he thought possible. Nothing bad happened, so why the hell is Stu taking so long? 

Approaching the house’s entryway, Billy sighs when he sees that Stu isn’t wearing his mask. “What is taking so--” He cuts himself off as something he doesn’t quite get settles in his chest. There’s a hole about the size of his fist in the wall, blue and white ceramic fragments scattered around a small, knocked over table, and most unsettling of all, your unconscious, still bleeding form lying parallel to it all.

“I didn’t mean to,” Stu says, voice uncharacteristically shaky, “I--I--fuck, I didn’t mean to. I was just gonna put her to sleep, but she kept trying to get away--and the chase was exciting,” he scoffs the last word pathetically. “I didn’t think she’d fight back.” 

Billy lets out a breath, crouching down to get a better look at your face. There’s a shallow gash on your forehead that’s still dripping blood into a puddle that your cheek is resting in. If it wasn’t for that, Billy might have been able to imagine that you were sleeping. “What the fuck did you do?” 

When Billy’s hard gaze meets Stu’s, Stu blurts out the only thing he can think to say, “She’s still breathing! She’s not--she’s not dead.” He stares at your crumpled form, desperately studying the slow but even rise and fall of your chest. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Billy’s fingers brush against the side of your face. “I know.” Stu doesn’t ask him to specify which part of his defense he’s referencing. “She’ll be okay, someone will find this, they’ll take her to the hospital. She’s not that hurt.” 

“She fell into the glass,” Stu admits, “And--and her head hit the wall so hard. What if she has a concussion? Shit, aren’t you supposed to stay awake if you have a concussion?” He lets out an uneasy sigh that doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s the kind of breathy, uneasy sound that’s the precursor for a tantrum a child throws after realizing that they just broke their favorite toy. “What if she has some kinda brain damage? She has--she has the SAT next week and she’s been studying for it since before she moved here.” After a moment, Stu snorts, but the sound comes out more desperate than humorous. “She’s gonna be so mad.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “For like a week, and then she’ll be trying to spin this into some kind of college essay.” 

Another uneven laugh escapes Stu. “You’re right.” He then looks down, something weirdly close to what some might call guilt cramming itself into his head with too much force. It’s all too much. All he wants is for you to open your eyes and smile at him. “Fuck, we need to call an ambulance.” 

“You know we can’t.” 

“She could be bleeding in her skull. Isn’t that a thing?”

Billy bites his tongue. So many versions of a reply are circling in his mind and not a single one of them feels right. He should tell his best friend, his partner in everything, that that’s just something he’s going to have to life with. Billy should tell Stu that what happens to you is on him. Instead, Billy just looks at you, at the cuts in your soft skin. Some dominant part of him is thrilled at your vulnerable state. All bloody and broken and still somehow so soft and warm. He could have you now, he thinks, and he wouldn’t have to pretend the way he does when you’re awake. But something else in him, maybe the part of him that knows the way he’s supposed to act, knows that to leave you like this, to waste any more time, could lead to something permanent.  

The updated plan is already in motion. After this, there’s no way you won’t need them. He likes the thought of you needing him more than anything else, and he knows that it’d be so easy to push you into a state of dependency. You’re going to be so scared that any reservations you feel towards them because they’re dating your friends will disappear. And how could Sidney and Tatum have a problem with Stu and him being supportive after everything you’ve been through? 

Besides, a part of him wants to see how your role plays out. After all, you said it yourself. All the great scary movies have a final girl. 

He cups your face, studying each of your features as if to commit them to memory. “We’ll call 911 from the house phone and not say anything. They’ll have to send someone over, but we need to get out of here quick.”

[myhoneststudyblr]

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[transcript under the cut]

Other advice posts that may be of interest:

How To Study When You Really Don’t Want To

How To Do Uni Readings

Active Revision Tips

don't neglect any of the key skills

We all have our strengths and there will definitely be a skill that you find easier. It is really tempting to therefore do more of that skill because it is not as difficult or to only focus on your weaker skills. But you should try to develop all of them simultaneously because they will only enhance one another. Each of the skills will teach you vocab, structures and grammar that will be transferable.

read children's books

Reading is a great way to learn new vocabulary and challenge yourself. However, often in your enthusiasm in learning a language, you choose a book that is way too complex. In doing this, you’re not giving yourself the chance to develop good reading habits because if you are constantly stopping to look up new words you won't get into the flow of a native text. You also won’t be able to pick up words via context if most of the language is way above your head. Therefore, it is best to read children's books at first so you can develop your reading and language skills so that when you are at the level to begin reading books you actually want to read you can tackle them effectively and successfully.  

strive to understand grammar

Regardless of the language, grammar is always tricky for non-native speakers. Even in your own language, grammar is often difficult and needs to be practised. Because we know this when learning a language, we often fall into the trap of just doing exercises and drills to simply memorise grammar. But this is incredibly unhelpful because in normal situations and conversations you won't know when to use it. Therefore, try to understand WHY the grammar works that way and how it impacts a sentence and the words within it.

use different sources

Read articles and check dictionaries - this method improves your vocabulary and learn how a word is used in a sentence. Listen to the radio or watch TV shows - it's best to listen to dialogues than songs, unless you want to learn to sing because this will help you get used to the rhythm of the language and how it normally sounds. Talk to anyone in any possible opportunity even if you are worried about sounding weird because speaking to natives if one of the best ways to learn and you get to communicate with new people! Using visual elements is also one of the best methods to learn new words, as they cause associations in our head, making it easier to remember permanently, not just learn by rote.

don't try to understand everything

When you learn a foreign language, it’s needless and virtually impossible to remember ALL the words - even native speakers don’t use them all. As you become more equated with the language you will quickly learn the most frequently used words. Verbs are often very useful to learn because you can't have a proper sentence if you don't have a verb. Furthermore, while for nouns it is relatively easy to describe or use synonyms, if you don't have verbs, it often stops you in your tracks. So google the most common verbs in your target language and spend some time getting familiar with them. Also, practice techniques for dealing with words you don't know by trying to figure out the meaning from context or examining the word's prefix, roots and suffix for clues to the meaning.

don't just learn common phrases

If you take a look at all language learning books, you will find many similar stock phrases. However, do you really use those phrases in your real life? Not really. And just learning these phrases limits you because you are just parroting rather than understanding. Therefore, it is important to learn the basic building blocks of sentences - the kind of words you will actually use - so that you can start to have a conversation at the very early stage of your learning journey.

Learn the following:

Question words/structure

Basic tenses (past, present, future)

Numbers

Day and time

Frequently-used verbs

Pronouns 

try to use the language in your everyday life

Have imaginary conversations in your head using the vocabulary you are learning. Narrate your day. On the way to work or school, in the car, whenever! It'll get you used to using the language for real, and you'll get familiar with the syntax. It will also help you practice finding a way to reword things if you don't know the word and find out what words you want to use often so that you can look them up.

don't just learn the language 

When you learn a language, you also need to learn about the culture or you won't get very far. Language is rooted in culture and vice versa so you can't really learn one without the other. Take some time to get to know the culture, history and people of the country (or countries) that speak your target language. This is one of the great joys of language learning because it gives you a passport to another world of understanding.

[neurotypical-sonic]

(Hello, sorry if this sounds weird/rude, idk how to phrase this sentences tbh)

I really want to start writing fanfics, but I keep repeating the same word 3 times in the sentence and I don’t know how to phrase it in any other way to get around it, or making the sentence sound weird, and I keep having to relying on Google to type or using my iPhone mic speaker (it sometimes doesn’t work 50% of the time)in the search engine and type “spell [insert word here]” to recognise the words or know what it means, idk if some of that is because of autism or not.

Do you use any software application/apps to help with writing,

Also side note: when I’m trying to text to somebody on discord, I keep thinking the text I’m typing sounds rude, but I’m not trying to make it sound rude??, and then I just feel really high anxiety about it, is that normal???

Sorry for the long gibberish text lmao

Hi! This isn't rude or weird at all, don't worry! I also get really anxious sending asks or asking for advice, you're good.

I'm not the best person to ask, since I'm still very new to writing and I'm still figuring it out myself, but I'll try my best! Putting it under a readmore because it got long

I personally don't use any apps to help with writing. Google docs has some built in features, like autocorrect or suggestions about word choice/placement or grammar, but that's about it. I've heard Grammarly is good?

For spelling:

If autocorrect isn't working I simplify the word then look up synonyms for it. For example, if I'm struggling to spell "delighted, then I'll simplify that word to "happy", and then google "happy synonyms", and keep looking up and searching words until I get to it.

This is also very good if you're struggling to think of a word you need, or if you don't understand what a word means. Adding "synonym" to your search works wonders, for me at least.

Another option is beta readers! They read through your work and can help with things like spelling and grammar, etc. I get my sibling or mum to read through my shit all the time, and I'll go to friends for advice as well.

For actually writing:

I know exactly what you mean with the getting stuck on a sentence or word and not being able to get around it. I had been wanting to get back into writing for around a year and this always stopped me and made me give up, it's only recently, the past couple of months, that I've started to actually commit to writing and get around it. I still get caught up in it!!

A couple of things help me! The main one is sometimes you have to let yourself write Badly. I have multiple docs of when I first started to write again, and it's all bad, but making myself write it, without expecting to publish it, helped me figure out what works best for me. And more importantly, it helps you get back into the actual habit of writing, and gives you something you can go back and work on. It sucks, and it's hard, but sometimes you just got to write the world's worst sentence.

If that's not working, just bail. In all of my wips, I have half completed sentences where I was really struggling and couldn't get around it, so I just stopped and worked on something else, something easier, and then when I think I can try again, I come back to it.

Breaking to down into really simple sentences also helps, to have a foundation you can build on. Most of my fics start out like "Sonic and Tails have a talk about why Tails is upset. Tails is not making eye contact and is looking at the ground. He says that he didn't like it when Sonic ate his mints without asking. Sonic apologizes and says that he didn't know they were Tails' mints." Even dot points would work. Just the bare basics, and then now that I know what exactly is going to happen, I can go back and start actually Writing it.

One thing that helped me actually figure out how to write was reading other people's works, and noting what I really liked about their writing. What pacing choices, word choices, how they use actions and dialogue etc etc. Even doing things like "hmm I would've used a different word there or swapped the order of those actions" can help you figure out how you want to write.

I hope this helps? I'm not sure how much sense it makes sorry akgfdkjh

[doriana-gray-games]

Collection of asks !

Hi! Don't want to clog up your dashboards so I am answering some asks that have piled up while I was a bit absent <3

(Game update status: both going good and bad. Stuck on this one scene, but I am starting to see the end in the tunnel lol. Have been trying a new approach where I don't edit while writing :0 it's hard but does increase productivity! I just hope the quality isn't too bad after it lol. You can tell me once the update is out haha!)

Bahaha Love that! W deserves all the love <3

😏😏😏 Watson likes all of Sherlock, tho I'm sure they are partial to some... parts hehe

But the reaction is not new!! Tho I know a lot of people miss it (there's a few easily missed things tbh haha, maybe not optimal, but I find it fun to hide little things). There's one reaction with small waist too !

lolol I see it. I have a scene in my notes where MC basically has to teach H to sit on (and touch) grass...

@jumpyhamster Maybe? Not sure yet, sorry!

Ah--was it so obvious i'm not english haha! Yeah, I might as well tell you all too (despite my best efforts of internet anonymity, I talk too much on discord lol) I am Swedish. So if I make some weird English mistake or miss some quintessential British thing the MC or NPCs would know plz let me know! <3

Aww I think I know who this is!!! 💛💛💛 hearts right back!!!!

@4332 <3<3<3 I'm so glad you liked it!! (I don't recommend it to 12 years old tho! might be too adult for that haha)

<3 <3 <3

I am for sandwich solidarity in all forms haha! XD

Hopefully MC will be able to get them a not-chewed on sandwich soon <3

It seems I can't paste more images sorry-- One similar question I got was what the elegant body type looks like:

Currently the body types won't assume a lot much more than the word and possibly synonyms to the word. That's because it's so subjective. So--if I were to make further content about it I probably will have to ask further questions about that setting <3 I do think it would be fun and interesting to do!

Elegant, is again, what you want it to mean. But generally I've heard it to mean semi-long limbs with "ideal" like proportions. And in mass perhaps somewhere between tall-athletic and lean. I personally think of grace kelly I think

Love this game and the new details you added <3 this is definitely a spoilery question but man, i gotta ask... what happened in Lestrade's life that to made him so... unhappy? Careless with his own wellbeing? :(

<3

A previous answer I have given: "Just a spiral of things. Life turning the wrong way, things looking bad on the horizon, failing to take care of themselves so they have poor chances of climbing out or realising they even can." In addition to this. This had not started when MC and L first met. And there was a catalyst event, that set it off, and in a way MC is involved in this.

💖💝💕💯💐

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

you deserve to go to jail for making me choose between two cute love interests... that aside, your game has helped me a lot while struggling with mental health problems. which sounds a little silly but genuinely it warms my heart when i don't feel well. so thank you for creating something so wonderful. + i know most asks here are RO-related but im also very excited to see how the story goes!

Gosh Anon, you gave me a heart-attack with those first few words haha-- but to the rest, thank you so much <3<3<3 That's very sweet. I'm really glad and honoured to help in anyway I can. There's a lot of plot coming anon! Don't you worry! :D

harrypotternerd934 asked:

I need to say that I'm absolutely amoured by your story. I really enjoy playing as Sherlock and I think you did a really great job at capturing the vibe of the setting.

Much love and further luck with your story 🤗

@harrypotternerd934 <3

Aww, thank you so much! <3<3<3

approxtwelveangrybees asked:

I need you to know that I had so much fun with the Victorian gazing in the first two chapters

@approxtwelveangrybees <3<3<3

Congratulations on the anniversary <3 the update was so good.. all the little reworked scenes... the love kernels... But wait, will there actually be a love triangle route!!!!?

Yeees <3 Lot's of them <3

phaedraismyusername asked:

My favourite line of the update - just a top tier IQ drop right there 😍 lol

The whole thing was so good! An absolute joy to read as always ❤️❤️❤️

@phaedraismyusername <3<3<3 You're a joy!!! <3<3<3 (I love how people are discovering the thigh line haha)

and to "The trio Lestrade/hungry tumblr anon" Thank you for your story <3

[himooonlight]

who are you? pt. 2 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 4.8k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: reggie is too cute. that's the warning

A/N: english is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, so please, be nice ok? enjoy :)

you can read part 1 here

- What? How can you know that? - Julie asks, sounding surprised. - No, Luke, I don't know her.

  Reggie's gaze is fixed on me. I feel chills rising from my belly to the tips of my ears so I shake my shoulders, trying to get rid of the sensation.

  - Alex, don't do that. - Reggie says, looking in my direction. Confused, I turn around looking for Alex, but there is nobody there.

  It's amazing how realistic the hologram is. It's almost like I can see the colors of Reggie's eyes clearly, even his pores and freckles. I search for a projector and find nothing, so I decide it's time to stop ignoring my questions. Reggie has already confirmed that he is who I imagined, so it's Julie's turn to clarify what kind of madness is going on.

  The acting classes haven't prepared me at all for the moment that I find myself questioning my own sanity.

  - Are Alex and Luke part of the band? - I ask to no one in particular. I accept responses from Julie or Reggie. Maybe I prefer Julie, since Reginald is a synonym for craziness in my mind. - Reggie never told me their names.

  - Can't you see them?

  - No. Are they here too? Why can't I see their hologram as well?

  Reggie gives a short sarcastic laugh, something I've never seen him do. Be ironic. That was not as attractive as his easy-going personality, his funny and flirtatious ways and his warm smile. It seemed to clash with his version of my dreams and I wondered if maybe it was all a lie. It could be that I had created that Reggie completely and as much as the happiness I felt for him was not a lie, it could be that he, as the person I loved, did not exist. Still, I wanted to be close to him and be able to love him from up close.

  - We are not holograms and I thought you already knew that. - He replied. - No, Alex, it's okay. I can't explain, but I just know she is important. It's natural, just like you can tell when it's time to go to the bathroom, you know?

  I look at Julie waiting for her to say something, mainly because I prefer not to think about Reggie's comparison of his feelings with an internal sphincter alerting his brain about his physiological needs.

  Julie doesn't seem convinced, but she looks defeated.

  - I think we have a lot to explain, but we need time. Can you meet us after class? In the chemistry lab? It's my last class of the day. - She says, looking tired and conflicted. I really don’t want to make her feel that way, but I am already too irritated at the way I handled things before. I'm almost mad at my own personality.

  I am basically a shy person. However, there's a lot of different personas within me that can appear depending on who's around me or where I am. The original Y/N, the person I am independently of the environment or how I am with, is irrationally careful. I prefer to observe people, not bother anyone, not speak too loudly if it is not necessary. That's why I am not offended that Julie doesn't know me; because I am unapologetic for my personality - I am not ashamed of not wanting everyone to know my name, no matter how much I like the art that puts me in the spotlight.

  Maybe art is different for girls like me and Carrie Wilson, for example. She performs for other people while I do it for myself, to help and express myself. I'm still not sure what kind of person Julie is, possibly a mix of both of us.

  - I think I'll spend the rest of the day with... what's your name again? - Reggie says, looking a little more like the version of my dreams.

  I was excited before, but now I am just questioning my own decisions. I seemed to have complicated Julie's life and Reggie didn't seem so happy to meet me. The idea that I had created for that moment was certainly better in my head than in real life, because in my imagination Reginald would have explanations for me and would also fall in love easily. I blame it on my overthinking skills and stupid research, because according to what I had read, it was a case of "connection beyond life", not just a series of coincidences and feelings nurtured with patience. Apparently, we were soulmates. 

  Or it could be that I saw his band somewhere before and created the whole story in my mind. Detailed and with too many specific facts, but it's still a possibility.

  For the first time, I don't prefer to believe in the rational explanation. Sometimes it just takes a little bit of madness and magic for things to sound and be better.

  - My name is Y/N L/N. - I answer. - But in a dream you called me…

  - L/N! - A shout coming from the door interrupts me. Nick is standing there, looking weird. His dark jeans and long black jacket don't seem to match the boy who usually greets me with an excited and happy smile. It's something in his posture and in the way his eyes seem to call for help. He looks uncomfortable. - I waited for you in the cafeteria to help me with math, but you didn't show up.

  He doesn't say anything about Reggie, so I assume he disappeared again. I don't know what Julie's trick is, but I don't turn around to check so I don't look crazy.

  Nick's features soften unnaturally. He seems to be practicing some theatrical exercise, considering that his mouth forms and deforms a smile every second, imitating a broken doll. His eyes are on Julie, as if expecting a reaction from her and I wonder if he's using me to try to make her jealous. Which clearly wouldn't do any good. People don't even associate my name with his; everyone knows that I am only his tutor. And to me he is almost like a distant younger cousin.

  - Sorry, Julie was helping me with a song. - I lie, smiling weakly at him and adjusting my backpack. I don't like to lie because I'm bad at it, but we're not close enough for me to feel bad or anything. The actress persona helps at times like this. - But now I have to go to my next class. Thanks for the help, Julie. Tomorrow at lunch I'll help you, Nick. I'm really sorry, I completely forgot about it.

  I nod at her and widen my eyes when I see Reggie standing beside me. I turn completely to Nick and he doesn't show any reaction, so I just keep walking outside with Reggie by my side, looking at me with a funny look on his face. He walks sideways and I can't help but smile at the feeling of him so close to me.

  In order not to look crazy, I search my pockets for earphones and grab a script from the last play we worked on. I pretend to train lines while talking to him.

  - Nobody can see you. This is too weird. Shouldn't you be a hologram? - I ask, looking ahead and speaking quietly. There aren't many students in the hallways yet because there are still a few minutes before class starts, but I need to be discreet anyway. - Why can I see you then?

  In a wider step, he stops in front of me and starts walking backwards. I can look him in the eyes while I feel butterflies in my stomach. With his attention on me, I seem to have an entire zoo inside my stomach wanting to express how I feel about him.

  - I'm not a hologram. - He answers. - Do you know what happens to people when they die?

  - They turn to dust? - I try. Reggie ponders, but nods no. - They turn into stars?

  He laughs. In a precious way that seems to heal any pain I may feel.

  He laughs. And time seems to stop.

  Seeing his smile and his happiness in front of me makes me want to physically express what I feel, so before I can think about it, my arms reach up to hug him. In slowmotion, I see Reggie close his eyes and smile, as if waiting for my arms to wrap around him, as if he also wants a physical confirmation of affection. His cute dimples appear and I imagine that I, standing alone in the hall, look like an idiot.

  My arms go through him, so I pretend I'm stretching.

  - I wish I could feel you. - He speaks. His tone breaks my heart even when I thought it was not possible to feel more disappointmented.

I don't know what to say to him, so I don't say anything. It was natural in my dreams to walk hand in hand, touch his nose with mine, hug him and feel the warmth emanating from his body. Both dreams, as a man and in the recent ones as myself: I always knew that Reginald was there. As much as dreams were not part of physical reality, I seemed to really feel him, so I made an effort to demonstrate how happy he made me feel. And he also didn't hold back, always expressing with his body that he was there; either touching my hair, playing with my fingers, bumping his shoulders against mine, anything. I didn't understand how frustrating it could be to not be able to touch him until this moment. When this simple verb is all I desire.

  To touch him.

  But he is dead.

  I'm in love with a ghost that lived in my dreams.

  The two of us, defeated and without exchanging another word, get to the auditorium quickly. The door is open, but there is no one inside. We enter in silence and sit in the back. The comfortable black chairs and the maroon carpet are about to witness my madness when he sits beside me and puts his hand on mine. He stares at his fingers with intensity, making a vein in his neck pop a little. I can't help looking at him without reservations, mentally writing down his details. The way his face is triangular, his pink cheeks and his adorable asymmetrical nose. His lips are slightly parted and his hair looks so soft and inviting to the touch. I only look away from his face when I feel a light weight on my skin.

  He is touching my hand in a timid and almost imperceptible way. Shocked, I look at the position of our fingers, feeling hope run through my body. The intoxicating and numbing hope.

  Hope that he can be real.

  - I can hold a few things when I focus. - Reggie doesn't look able to focus on more than one thing at the same time though. - And with you I have difficulty focusing, to be honest.

  With that comment, I can't help but smile. My shock is exchanged with happiness to know that I'm not feeling all these beautiful feelings alone. That I'm not by myself, trying to understand the bad ones either.

  - Are you a ghost, Reggie? - The question rolls off my tongue with difficulty. It doesn't sound like a question; it's more of a statement. He confirms my assumption and I can taste the bad flavor that hope can give. It's a taste of disappointment, sadness, resentment. - And I am your unfinished business, hum? What does that mean?

  - I'm not sure what I need to do, but I know it involves you. At least I think so. And even if you don't feel the same way, you can see me, but not Alex and Luke. Until now, I thought we had unfinished business together, but maybe each one of us has separate things that we need to take care of. - His touch disappears and I miss him. I can't feel him anymore, but the weight of his words certainly make up for it. - We need to find out what's our deal.

  "Our deal". So romantic.

  Before I can answer, the teacher arrives with a group of students behind him. I wave at them and get up, sitting in the third row. I like to be close, but not too close. That way I have some space to ponder about wanting to participate or just keep watching.

  - Y/N. - Reggie calls. I can't say anything with so many people around, so I decide to ignore him. Mr. Ortega, the teacher, looks excited. We will start discussing the characters for the next play and he will probably comment on contributions to the story. - L/N. Darling. Cutie. - I still don't answer, but I can't help smiling. Listening to those things really feels like he's the Reggie from my dreams. - Pumpkin. Precious little nugget.

  My attention remains focused on the teacher, who decides to sit on the edge of the stage. He pushes himself up with his arms and turns his torso to land correctly where he wants to. It's amazing how most of the theater people seem to express themselves naturally, as if they can float. Most of my classmates also look like this, as if they don't overthink anything. What they wear, how they speak, their hand movements; everything is fluid. It's intriguing how different people can be.

  I assume I can be wrong too. Maybe the teacher thought long before he sitted there, maybe he thought about it over lunch. Maybe my classmates are nervous to answer simple questions, maybe even Carrie has her doubts about herself. People are also intriguing because you can never tell what's on their mind, how they truly feel, what's honest and what's just mean lies. 

  Most days I'm fine not knowing though.

  - If you don't answer me, I'll be mean. - The teacher starts talking about our choice between a musical or an immersive play (that he sounds very excited about). - You leave me no choice, Y/N. Hey, bowl of cereal that's been sitting out for like an hour. Tiny wet socks.

  He needs to stop before I start laughing while the teacher talks about his love for immersive theater. I look in his direction as if begging for him to stop, but Reggie sees it as an incentive.

  I couldn't have created his personality. Not in my dreams nor in real life. Reggie is interesting, quirky and too adorable for me to have invented him. My imagination is not so fertile as to be able to come up with a person as engaging as him. But it is no comfort to know that he is a ghost, that there is no chance that my dreams could come true.

  I was basically stuck on a roller coaster that I didn't want to go on. It was like I was at the top, happy to see the whole park and sad to know that I was going to fall soon. Ruthlessly, with the possibility of getting sick on the way, sure. Still there was no possibility of leaving or regretting being there. There was just the option of going forward knowing I couldn't be the same as I was before I saw the park from up there.

  - Rainy day. - He continues. I take a pen out of my backpack and flip the script over, writing a "stop it" in block letters. - Do you need to pay attention in this class?

  I look at the teacher, who continues to talk excitedly about our options for the play, and write "you've got 5 minutes", to which he responds by jumping in his seat. I keep looking ahead, but pay attention to what he says, leaving my palm facing up. He sees it as an invitation and leaves his hand over mine, without touching it. Reggie begins to tell a story of when he went to a kennel and saw a puppy named Y/N and wanted to adopt the little animal, but he found out in the worst way that he was allergic. He said he didn't care. Then he told me that he liked my perfume and that it reminded him of spring. And that he missed being alive. I write a "I can't smell you; what do you smell like?", which he reads quickly. He takes his wrist up to his nose and smells it.

  - I think I smell like autumn. - He shrugs. - I'll let you pay attention now. See you with Julie later, okay? Have a good rest of the day.

  Reggie leans over, like he's going to kiss me on the cheek. He did that in my dreams too many times, whenever he said hi or goodbye. It had started with a conversation about different cultures and ended with a promise to travel together - just words thrown in the wind. I remember waking up sad to know it would never happen. With him so close now, I can only hold my breath and hope he can kiss me.

  - Sorry. - He says, walking away before we can find out how his lips would feel on my skin in real life. He disappears before I can say goodbye.

  I am spring, he is autumn. Opposite seasons that will never exist at the same time in the same place. Both important, intense and simply different; both loved. It's still very bittersweet that such beautiful feelings can't blossom together; because when I bloom, he dies, just like autumn leaves.

  The rest of the class is focused on the choice of the play and I try my best to pay attention, but it's difficult to think of anything other than Reginald. I can only focus on something else when I am in the last class of the day and Nick sits next to me. It's math and I assume he's going to ask for help with his homework, but he starts the conversation questioning my relationship with Julie. His tone is not subtle curiosity, but more like someone who is going to ask for a favor.

  - I really just wanted to ask something about a song that I thought would be good for our next play. - I try to sound chill about it, but the way Nick looks at me makes me anxious. He's different, acting like he's playing a part I don't know about. I don't know much about him to bet on it, but I believe I am good enough at reading people to know that there is something strange about him today. - But is there anything I can help you with? I thought you were going to see her on Saturday. You did go to her house, right?

  He smiles at me and a shiver runs down my spine.

  - Yes, I went to her house. I just wanted to know if you guys talked about me.

  I answer a simple "no" and let my brain interpret his words and actions. His posture is too upright and there is an air of superiority in the way he moves. His body language looks different. He seems to feel like he is better than everyone and I never took Nick as pretentious. 

  He starts to draw something that I don't really identify at first, but I soon recognize the tarot card number one. 

  The Magician.

  The man in his drawing has one arm up and the other is pointing down, representing the magician's connection between the spiritual realms and the material realms. I can only tell this is the Magician card because of the four elements Nick draws on the paper: a cup, a pentacle, a sword and a wand. It symbolizes the four elements water, earth, air and fire, meaning that the magician has it all.

  Nick takes his time to draw the flowers and foliage around the magician, which makes me think that he believes that this person or feeling is very creative and clever. At least, that's the original meaning for the card. The boy also draws the infinite symbol above the head and when I think he's about to finish the drawing with the snake around the magician's waist, he stops.

  It's incomplete.

  The infinity symbol and the snake mean access to unlimited potential. Maybe Nick's magician doesn't feel so powerful. Maybe there's something holding him back.

  - Sneaky, huh?

  His voice is firm and low. He doesn't sound mad or surprised that I was in fact watching him. He sounds superior, like he is trying to tease me.

  - Sorry.

  I can't focus on the rest of the class because it seems that as much as Nick's head is turned forward, towards where the teacher is, it seems like he's paying attention to every move I make. How I hold the pen, how I breathe, how I write. It's nerve wracking.

  When the class is over and Nick leaves, I think about his drawing and notice a detail that I hadn't paid attention to before. Nick's quick fingers painting the magician's robe.

  It's a black robe. Nick's magician has a black robe.

  It's never a black essentially, because it's supposed to be white, alluding to purity.

  - Ready to go? - Reggie's head appears on the door. I pack the rest of my things and say goodbye to the teacher. She smiles at me, not knowing I'm about to speak to the dead.

  We really never know what's going on in someone's life.

  I take out my phone and put it close to my ear so I can "talk" to Reggie. My classroom is in the same corridor as the chemistry lab, but at opposite extremes. Because it's a big school, we have about 5 minutes to get there, especially with the slow pace he and I take. The boy smiles and does the same as before, walking backwards in front of me, so that we can talk looking at each other. I like that he also likes to look at me.

  - Tell me some of your stories. - He asks.

  Testing the waters, I tell him the same story I told a few days ago, in my dreams.

  - My mom once ordered two pizzas from different places because she had coupons. The two delivery guys arrived at our door together and one of them started singing "why can't we be friends" in a very funny way, but the other didn't like it very much. In the end I'm sure they exchanged numbers. Too much tension in the air, you know?

  - I can only imagine their faces. - Reggie replies. - But that's very smart of your mom. She sounds nice.

  - She is very cool. My dad is very funny and my older sister is… well, older. She is grumpy most of the time, but she has a good heart. Do you miss your family?

  I would miss mine for sure. I only have my mother, my father and my sister; the rest of the family decided not to accept my sister's girlfriend, which made the four of us form our own independent clan. No aunt, no grandfather, no cousin. Nobody else; we could only trust ourselves. As much as holidays like Christmas could make us smile fakely and reduce our lifespan a little with boring conversations, at the end of the day it is the four of us against the world. A cruel world that did not accept my sister for who she loved, which was stupid.

  - Yeah, a little. My parents didn't love each other anymore, but they were still my parents, right? It doesn't matter that they were a couple first.

  - And they will never stop being your parents. They can split, but even now, they're still your parents, Reggie. - He smiles sadly at me. - Don't you wanna see them?

  We stop for a while in the middle of the hallway. There aren't many students because most of them have already headed to the exit. I put my phone back in my pocket so I can extend my hand to him. Every contact needs to come from him, because no matter how much I focus, I can't meet him halfway. He has to go all the way by himself. He reads my intentions quickly and imitates me, holding his palm up. I can feel the pressure of his hand against mine and his timid warmth. His thumb gets between my thumb and pointing finger, almost intertwining our hands. His pinky is almost circling mine in a half hug. I stare at his eyes with love and adoration, hoping I'm interpreting right and he is indeed doing the same.

  He must be focusing a lot for this to happen.

  - Would you help me find them? - He asks.

  Reggie doesn't know, but with his hands on mine I'd say yes to anything and everything.

  - Of course! We'll find them.

  He starts walking again and I quickly put my hand down.

  - Thank you. But now, tell me: - His smile makes me smile too. I'm glad this version of him is very happy all the time. - did it hurt?

- Let me guess. When I fell from heaven?

  - No.

  - What?

  - Did it hurt when you fell for me?

  I roll my eyes and walk faster, passing him to get to the classroom before I can say that yes, it hurted. A lot. Falling for him was oh so sweet, but also hurtful.

  Loving him made me realize that distraction and destruction sound awfully alike and sometimes you don't understand which one it is. Distraction, destruction; both, none.

  What started as a way to feel more excited about life and its possibilities turned into something more, something bigger that I couldn't explain. In the beginning the dreams were entertaining, interesting. Just emotions not really related to me as a person. It was more about sensations, experiences. But soon enough I was thinking about him when I got up too, not just before going to sleep.

- Hey, Y/N. - Julie says as soon as I see her exiting the classroom. She's with Flynn, who probably knows everything by now. She smiles and waves at me. I wave back and Reggie does too, like the fool he is. - Do you want to go to my house? You can stay for dinner too, if you want.

  - I'll check with my sister. If I know her at all, she'll take me to your house and check with your dad if he's fine with everything. Is it ok?

  - Sure! - Julie answers. - Is she going to pick you up here?

  - Yeah. She'll be here any minute actually. You can text me your address and I'll meet you there.

  She hands me her phone and I add my number saved under "Y/N (who's very sorry about everything)". They wave goodbye while Reggie stays by my side.

  - I'll see you in a bit, right?

  He sounds unsure and I wonder if anyone would ever be stupid enough to leave him. His puppy eyes are too much for me to handle, so I start walking to the parking lot, where my sister usually waits for me. He follows me.

  - Of course. Even if my sister says no, I will text Julie and we will figure something out. - That would be the moment that I would give his hand a squeeze, just to make sure he knows I mean it. - Don't worry, okay?

  - I'm not worried. I have this feeling I'll always find you, so it's alright. - Before disappearing, he winks at me. - See you later, alligator.

  I'm still smiling when I spot Daisy's car and get in. My sister looks at me with her eyes half closed, silently questioning what happened for me to be in such a good mood.

  - Okay, I have boy problems. - I say. She doesn't drive, so she can still stare at me. - Big ones.

  - Like "his dead body is too big to hide" or "you like him" problems?

  - I like him.

  - It's a shame then. I could've helped you with the other one. - She starts driving and misses the way I roll my eyes at her answer.  - Why is it a problem though?

  - Oh, it's simple. He doesn't exist.

  - Too many fanfictions, huh?

  - Something like that. - I shrug. - Can you take me to a friends house? I'd like to talk to her about my boy problems.

As we drive to Julie's house, I wonder why I'd be Reggie's unfinished business and if I'll ever be able to meet him halfway, because we do share the same feeling, even though I didn't say anything to him before.

  I also feel like I would always find him.

  Doesn't matter when or where, I'd always find Reggie.

[jrueships]

What wips do you have rn 👀 elaborate pspspspsp

Too many wips.. thats what I have rn.. too many...

WJBFJEBF so the ones I'm most focusing on rn is the spiderman! Donovan/royce au!! So far I wrote the whole exposition and I'm working on the 'enticing incident' LMFAO it's upgraded from my last summary so I have more to write because I'm insane but yeah! It's the one I want done the most but I'm also gonna go on a trip with my buds to this place without wifi for like? Four days so 😭 I might have to finish it there and wait forever until I can post it! And I'm still unsure about the ending!!! THE STRUGGLE

a shorter fic I have in mind still is the russell waiting for kd at a table for two but he never shows up fic! I just really like writing russell widjsbf but not much action happens there! Many just dialogue and a lot of pg fashion/life roasting from Russell's inner dialogue. He's very judgemental of people who give off douchebag frat bro vibes but can't help but feel intrigued by them JABFJWB oh and he makes fun of pg simping for gold diggers

The fics I have written partly but put back in the burner are my donovan/jaylen fic, marcus/giannis, pg/kawhi jealousy fic, pg/kawhi sm*t fic, pg/kawhi space au, and john/trae patroclus and Achilles au! Mainly because they're super long and I get nervous about writing them too much and wasting all my muse on one thing, so I get scared and back off 😭 but I'll tell u the basic summary of them!!

💙 donovan/jaylen fic is based off the idea of donovan going grocery shopping and getting all mad at the thought of the clippers LMFAO. Basically he's at a grocery store getting flowers for his sports medicine doctor for always putting up with his bullshit (never wanting to sit down and relax so he can actually heal. Playing through the pain). But as he shops, he keeps finding the simplest shit that reminds him of the clippers. Like he sees a claw machine and thinks about Kawhi and how collected that guy is, just chillin in the upper stands, while his team is facing a possible defeat. Donny gets all frustrated because like?? He can't just do that? Just sit back and chill while his team is playing without him? Donny HAS to help, has to GET OUT THERE!! kawhi Doesn't... but kawhi is the one who won a championship. And donovan starts doubting his leadership skills and if he's really good for his team.. if he let them down by being Too pushy and Too in their faces.

+ and then when he's getting a cute card to go with the flowers, he spots one that says "you're the man!!" And he thinks about terance Mann and his great game against them, how proud pg, basically his mentor, was of him. And it makes donovan think about his loss and how he couldn't get that same pride out of Dwyane Wade.

Overall, everything makes him feel useless af and he almost kicks a shelf out of anger. But he calms himself down and goes back to the flowers because he actually only got this little dinky green plant still struggling to bloom? He got it for himself because he felt bad for it LMAO but he still needs to get flowers for his sports medicine doctor. He's goes back to the flower section and who does he see? JAYLEN BROWN all gussied up in his depression fit LMFAO.. but they both are. Jaylen and him try to joke but they're both tired and awkward so it sucks IABDKSBD they basically just ask what the other is doing there. Jaylen is just traveling rn because he got nothin else to do IWBDKS but he bought Deuce a souvenir gift! And he asks Donovan if he can help him put it in his trunk (but really he doesn't need donovan's help. He can pick the toy up himself. He just knows that Donovan is too stubborn to accept help when he needs it but he'll always try helping others out! So he wants donny to think he's helping jaylen but in reality jaylen is trying to help HIm because at the car he invites Donovan to go meet up at a hotel with him where they kiss and have sad *** to make themselves feel better WKBFKSBX) that's basically it!!!! I have literally everything written but the *** scene they're literally my weakness.. I love the emotions they make but I hate.. describing the actions it takes to make them?? Idk I just feel cheesy writing it? It's very tedious and boring to actually crank my brain for a synonym to 'moan' because I'm tired of using that word but it's the only word that really applies to that situation without sounding weird, yknow?? Just very tedious

💙💙💙 OK so marcus/giannis idk bro like... it's just taking so long IWBKENF idk what to say except giannis makes a ton of small jokes at marcus

💙💙 OK so pg/kawhi jealousy fic... BASICALLY the plot is LeBron hosts some big rich guy party for the NBA because I need a reason to write all these people that live far apart interacting together OKAY??? But anyways it takes place after 2020 lakers winning the championship! Pg convince the clippers to come or else they'll look bad for being the only team not coming and they media will have a field day with them, so the clippers join the party. Basically everyone who later team up in 2021 are talking to eachother LMFAO like James hardon+kyrie+kd are talking while russell westbrook and beal are bonding over dance moves with a jealous John wall pouting in the corner. Obligatory Marcus and giannis interactions because I can. Kyle and demar are laughing together. It's all goood until LeBron waltzes over with his weird ass feet and starts talking to kawhi. Hes being all Handsome and Strong and lowkey flexing his win. Its starting to make pg suspicious so he keeps intruding upon the conversation. His inner dialogue is basically a ton of lebron hate KABFKWB. LeBron sometimes comments back to pg but ends up kinda tuning him outta the conversation and sly dissing him to kawhi like "how does it feel talking to someone who doesn't hit the side of the backboard lol"

Pg is starting to get nervous because he's trying to compete against LEBRON over who's the better teammate for kawhi.. and with his current playoff history.. he's not gonna win. He keeps trying to get kawhi out of the conversation, but lebron keeps drawing him back in and pg ends up giving up or he risks looking like an overbearing girlfriend.. So he slinks off in hopes of distracting himself. Originally, pg thought KAWHI would be the one standing all alone awkwardly in the room with no one to talk to, but it's slowly becoming HIM who's the lonely one LMFAO. He tries joining in bradley and Russ's conversation because HEY!! Everybody leaves russ! Russ must be SUUUPER lonely and DESPERATE for someone to talk to him‼ especially when his old ex durant is out there plotting with his two hydra heads!! paul thought, anyways, but finds out russ is actually having the time of his life clowning around with beal !! That just makes pg even more envious and he walks away with zero satisfaction of feeling superior JABDJSB he tries talking to John wall like "this party fuckin sucks bro" but John kinda barks at him and pg gives up. He tries talking to marcus and giannis but that was a mistake because the two smartiest smartasses in the room start roasting him together so he's shunned back to pretending like he's getting 700 thirsty women in his dms, AKA pretending like he got a text on his phone while he leans alone on a wall LMFAO. After glancing up periodically (and casually) to see if kawhi is still talking to lebron, he later gives up on playing popular and goes to hide in the bathroom like a fucking loser WHDJBFJEBD in summary he kinda broods and steams about how much he hates lebron and how he's 'so much better than him' and he's just thinking of petty insults against him to try and convince the kawhi in his mind not to leave him for lebron. He gets really mad and punches a mirror, but thank God lebron is playing bass boosted music so no one at the party hears it.

But, demar ends up knocking on the door. He needs to shit. So pg is like.. what do I do with this broken mirror and my bleeding hand.. so he tries to keep demar out and they banter and eventually demar notices its kinda weird for pg to be huddled up in the bathroom instead of partying.. he must be getting high or smthin. So he's like "that's fucking stupid. He can go get high in one of lebrons 700 rooms. Why The bathroom." So he just opens the door LANKDN and sees The Scene.

At first he's like "are u paying for that.." to which pg responds with "uhhh. I tripped and hit my head on it" (while clutching a bleeding fist) but then he realizes OHHH pg must be ... OH is he.. no.. he can't be limp wristed... blah blah they end up bonding over their funny situations: demar being jealous of kawhi and feeling like kyle thinks he sucks because of him. Pg being jealous of lebron and feeling like kawhi thinks he sucks because of him. Blah blah it's a bittersweet ending pg becomes a little less of a jerk blah blah I haven't finished it because I'm stupid and WEAK

💙💙💙💙 pg/kawhi space au is just too long I have to be in the mood to write it or I end up dismissing good details I could have included if i wasn't in such a burnt out mind!

💙💙💙 pg/kawhi sm*t fic I gotta be in the mood to detail the h*rny right 😭😭

💙💙💙 john/trae patroclus and Achilles is mainly just an idea but with no plot!

But yeah!!! Those are SOME of my wips!! This post is really long tho so I'll just shout out those!!!@ thank u for the interest tho that's so cute 😭😭😭 it helps me write more when I have a plot lined up to look off of and remember ideas so this is really helpful to me too!!! I'll be shocked if u read this far tbh!! But anyways THANK U ALWAYS FOR THE ASKS, ANON!!!!!

[cherry3point14]

What Does The Fox Say?

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Crack. Orgy. Sex Party. Don’t let your nethers tingle, it’s barely flirting. SYNONYMS. Word Count: 2,300ish.   Summary/Prompt: There’s a case. Witches or something, and they’re killing people, specifically furries, maybe. As such one Dean Winchester goes to a furry sex party to look for clues... A/N: Written for @kalesrebellion​ “Bring On the Giggles” challenge. I think hope my synonyms for this challenge will be fairly obvious. Also, shoutout to @winchesters-meaty-feast​ who entertained my panic as this deadline loomed and pretty much talked me into birthing this ~thing. Sidenote - no disrespect to the furries who walk among us. It’s all exaggerated crack!fic. Peace and love. Yiffy on friends.

From the outside, it looks like any other two-story townhouse. There’s a car parked out front, normal mailbox, the works. Regular suburban home. The first clue that something out of the ordinary is happening inside—where the ordinary is mom, dad, and two-point four ankle-biters having dinner—is the windows. They’re all covered, curtains or blinds, it doesn’t matter. This is what it looks like when humans try to cover their tracks. Monsters choose places that are already deserted and forgotten. Humans hide in plain sight and end up sticking out like a sore thumb. Plus Dean has spent all day talking to furries about this house. Yeah, that’s the biggest clue, not the damn curtains. He’s had multiple lectures, not only from Sam but the furries, people, themselves. It’s not all about porn. They’d told him adamantly. Showed him drawings and all these things they’d made each other, and pictures from their conventions. We’re not all perverts! They could say it until they were blue in the face (they had), but Dean’s standing here looking at this house, knowing what’s inside, and it’s hard to believe the furries-are-innocent propaganda. It’s even harder to believe he’s walking in there of his own free will. The things he’ll do to save lives. Sam told him to change because “Freeze, FBI” might not go down well at this particular house party. What’s he supposed to change into? A Halloween costume? That suggestion earned him yet another talk about respecting people’s interests. Whatever. He gets it, they don’t all have full fursuit things and even the ones that do, don’t generally fuck in them, and really? Is it really fucking necessary that he knows this much about furries? At least he can put on a plain black tee and some jeans and Sam only half presses his lips together in disapproval. What is his brother expecting him to wear to a furry sex party? Cat ears? (Dean is offended by the implication even if Sam didn't say it out loud). Eventually, shuffling his feet, he makes it to the door and knocks. He doesn’t want to be here but Sam’s working another lead on the other side of town at a D&D meet up. All jokes about dungeons aside, Dean would have given up his music privileges all the way back to Kansas to switch places. Once again, scissors bit him in the ass. The door opens a few inches, enough to see, hand to god, a guy in white rabbit-ish body paint. He raises his eyebrows in Dean’s direction like he’s asking for something without saying the words. The guy definitely doesn’t twitch his nose and it definitely doesn’t remind Dean of that bunny from Bambi. Oh shit. The password. Right, because that was how you made a gathering like this more legit and less embarrassing. Dean’s throat tightens like the words don’t want to come out, or like he doesn’t want them to exist, “Yiffy Ki Yay.” Furry sons of bitches have even ruined Die Hard. The guy nods and pulls the door open enough to let Dean slide in, but not reveal too much of the clandestine activities to the outside world. Not that anyone on Maple Avenue is looking into this particular door. Either the neighbors know better or they don’t care. Although now that he’s inside Dean can see his nameless host is also wearing tall, white ears and furry cuffs on his ankles and wrists. The first of what, Dean assumes, will be many red flags that he should leave. Not that he heeds the warning. “First time?” The rabbit asks while Dean attempts to scan as much as he can see without a slack jaw. “Yeah,” he breathes out. Dean has been around the block. He’s seen the inside of more than just strip clubs. His number one use of the Internet is porn, his second? More porn. This is something else. He’s not judging, well, he's trying not to judge and failing miserably. These people aren’t hurting anyone though. In fact, someone might be trying to hurt them. Or the D&D players. They were still on the fence about how the groups were linked beside the weird deaths. Granted some of this party seems very vanilla from what he can see. He catches a glimpse of the dining room, which has been cleared of most of its furniture, and there’s your everyday orgy of mangled limbs. Those limbs happen to be a little furrier than normal is all. Thankfully not everyone is dressed as an animal. Not that anybody will be telling Sam that he was right. Some people are dotted around watching, or drinking like the sex isn’t happening, and some of the people getting involved are in plain clothes. Or, naked but not wearing any sort of animal accessory. At first glance, there’s a part of Dean that thinks he can appreciate the hedonism of it, without being bogged down by the fact that they're all cosplaying as goddamn animals. Animal enthusiasts, he corrects in his head before Sam telepathically delivers a bitch face from across town. And then he’s walking through the kitchen and there are two people nuzzling each other. People might not be the right word because they’re dressed as cats. Holding each other and stretching and bending their limbs. All feline movements and what he thinks is a purring noise, but he can’t confirm or deny because of the music coming from the cheap speakers on the counter. It might be sweet if it wasn’t in the middle of a sex party. Yeah, this is still going to take some getting used to. The rabbit is yammering, mentioning ground rules that Dean is only half listening to while he tries not to stare at the cats. He’s listening enough to follow the rules but actually, he can’t bring himself to look away from the most PC thing happening in the joint. “Did you get that because I heard the door…?” This time Floppy speaks with enough urgency that Dean snaps his focus back to the white rabbit. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll-” he wants to say ‘mingle’ like it’s a seventies swingers party and his biggest concern is where his car keys are. He licks his dry lips and they still feel like sandpaper, “-look around.” He does need to look around, talk to people, do his job. That’s why he’s here feeling like the spare dick at a fucking contest. Dean knows his limits though and before he investigates he's gonna need a beer.  Once he’s got a bottle in his hand, which he got from the fridge because he doesn’t trust anything that was sitting on any surface, even unopened, he starts climbing the stairs. The tinny music, the sound of bodies slapping against each other, and the low din of people talking like normal adults all fade with each step until he’s at the top. Practically not at a furry orgy anymore. Except it’s a new horrific game now. What’s behind door number one? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers Whiskers going on about the rules of the rooms. Lock up if you want privacy. Unlocked and shut means viewers welcome. Open doors are an invitation to play. That’s the word Thumper had used, play. The first door is locked. He skips the second because he can hear what's going on inside and even if he was in the mood to creep (he’s not), you don't walk in on the money shot. The third room is a bathroom, a stark reminder he's in a house that people live in. The fourth door he tries is blissfully empty. It looks like a guest room. Walls that are basic beige and nothing identifying. Then he sits on the bed and presses his back into the wall. He realizes this bed has probably been used for the activities he’s already seen tonight. Out of sight, out of mind. Dean takes out his phone and stares, annoyed, at the screen. Sam hasn’t messaged him, so the case isn’t solved and he doesn’t have an excuse to leave. He takes a swig of his beer and types with his free hand, trying to make an excuse. Find anything yet? Another long drag while he waits, forcing the drink down his throat in the hopes of some small semblance of dutch courage. Or in the hopes that everything is solved, so he can go back to the motel and beat his meat to hentai like a normal person. No, but this is actually really interesting. You? Dean’s fingers twitch wanting nothing more than to throw the phone against a wall. If he wasn’t obligated to text back to illustrate that he’s still alive then he might leave Sam high and dry. As it is his reply is short and simple. Nothing. He feels no need to mention that he hasn’t actually looked yet. Dean puts his phone away and throws his head back against the wall at the exact moment the door opens. She stumbles in with the ghost of a giggle on her lips. He’s expecting there to be someone following her considering the party he’s attending. Two people blundering into a room looking for a place to get some privacy. Except she’s alone and she’s not concerned to find him alone either. Her eyes widen a little but her smile is soft, “sorry, you’re not waiting on someone are you?” “Me?” He asks, concerned that he has picked up some paraphernalia along the way. Anything that might suggest he’s a part of this. She continues to wait for an answer to her question instead of answering his. “No, Nah. Just taking a breather.” “Thank god, me too.” She blows out a relieved puff of air before shutting the door behind her. In doing so she flashes him her tail. She’s a fox. Or some version of a fox. She hasn’t gone as far as body paint. Her outfit almost seems costumey rather than serious. It’s this orange mini dress—if it could be called a dress for how little it leaves to his imagination—with a bushy, foxtail attached. He hadn’t noticed her ears immediately, but now he’s seen them, there they are. Ginger and pointed on top of her head, and when she turns back to him he finally notices the little, black nose she has painted on. She sits down next to him, scoots herself on top of the sheets making them bunch under her. She doesn’t seem to care about him having dibs over the bed or room and it only takes a few seconds for him to not care either. In this close proximity, inches apart, he doesn’t see a fox, even if she is definitely dressed up as a fox. He sees bare legs crossed at the ankle, her dress fighting to contain her cleavage and the sheen of her skin from dancing. She’s holding a red solo cup, he assumes half full of alcohol considering the pink flushing her cheeks. “I’m going to take a guess,” she leans until her shoulder is pressed against his arm, “you’re either a first-timer or you’re lost.” Dean laughs because he feels lost even if his cover is supposed to be the former. “First time, that obvious, huh? Thanks for pointing it out. Real considerate of you.” She bites her lip enough to get him looking at her mouth. Thinking about her mouth. “Wolf?” “What?” “I get it, first-timers are still trying to be normal, but the dark colors and the brooding loner thing you have going on in here. A wolf missing his pack?” She brings her knees up and bends her legs under herself while she guesses. Twists her body in his direction. He can’t tell if she’s joking. It sounds half ridiculous and makes him think of the kind of wolves he hunts. Dean lies anyway, “ding ding. Tell the woman what she’s won. Or do you prefer..?” Dean waves a hand to her everything fox related as if he might seriously start using ‘fox’ instead of ‘woman’. His gesturing hand lands on her waist while the other takes another swig from his brown bottle. “‘S fine. We’re all still people underneath. I’ve got a job and everything.” She rolls her shoulders like she’s showing off for being employed, which shuffles her whole body half an inch closer to his until her knees are touching his thigh. She’s facing him, his arm still lazily, half wrapped around her as she raises her cup to her lips. “Oh yeah, what do you do, sweetheart?” He lets the syrup fall from his mouth because foxes like honey.

She laughs, the sound tinkles in the space between them. “I’m a diner chef. Nothing exciting unless you like to eat?” His tongue peeks out between his teeth, his lips smirking suggestively. “I’ve been known to enjoy a-,” Dean's eyes flick down her body to where her dress is stretching over her thighs, and then back to her face, “fur burger.” Nowhere else on the fucking planet would he get away with saying that. Only at a furry sex party. She doesn’t just smile at his line though, she hums, pleased he’s playing along, and slides a hand along the outer hem of his jeans. Fingers slowly crawling up his leg and tracing the denim.

One blink and the air is thicker, heavier, and Dean doesn’t give a shit when it happened.

Her eyes flash playfully as she finishes her drink. “Mmm, the only way to make sure a burger is done is a good thrust of a meat thermometer.” 

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​ @jesseswartzwelder​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles​ @akshi8278​ @erins-culinary-service​ @bloodydaydreamer​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @ellewritesfix05​

[ziggilbert]

[DYLAN O’BRIEN, CISMALE, HE/HIM] WHO’S THAT? OH IT’S [EDWARD “ZIGGY” GILBERT]. I HEAR THEY’RE [21] AND ARE KNOWN AS [THE SHUTTERBUG] AROUND [NEW YORK]. THEY’RE ALSO A [JUNIOR] AT [NYU], HAVE A VOICE LIKE [NEWTON FAULKNER] AND ARE A PART OF [BARTENDER AT CALLBACKS, FREELANCE PHOTOGRAPHER]. THEY’RE KNOWN TO BE [CREATIVE AND UNDERSTANDING] AND [CYNICAL AND PRETENTIOUS]. SOME PEOPLE SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF [LEATHER, THE CLICK OF A CAMERA’S SHUTTER, LIVE MUSIC & THE WAY ICE CLINKS IN A GLASS]. ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT! [BEE, 21, SHE/THEY, GMT]

BASICS

Full Name: Edward Patrick Gilbert

Nickname: Ziggy. Zig. Zigzag.

Birthday: January 22nd

Age: 21

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Hometown: Paramus, New Jersey.

Sexuality: Pansexual

Grade: College junior

School: NYU

Occupation: Bartender at callbacks, freelance photographer

LIKES/DISLIKES

Likes: Photography, reading, writing, live music & city skylines.

Dislikes: Orange juice, horror movies, idling, phonecalls & putting in his lenses.

TL;DR BIO

Ziggy (or if you want him to hate you, Edward,) was adopted at the ripe old age of 9 by his father Elliott Gilbert. Their bond is the one thing Ziggy believes is eternal, as of yet. He grew up travelling around the country with his dad, helping backstage, taking photos, and developing a love for music. The little time he spends on the stage himself he prefers to take a backseat with a bass guitar, but he adores the atmosphere of all kinds of concerts. More than that, he loves to take pictures - photography is his passion, and while his dad tries to nudge him towards the spotlight, he’s content to capture the magic from elsewhere.

FULL BIO

Elliott had no plans of having a child when he adopted Ziggy. As a single young man still determined to travel as much as possible and perform, it wasn’t in the picture for him. Ziggy was born and ‘raised’ by a distant high-school friend of Elliott’s, one who didn’t picture herself as a mother either. They weren’t in touch when Ziggy was born. They briefly rekindled their friendship at a party, until Elliott learned she’d left her young child at home alone. Slowly but surely he found himself intervening more and more, trying to encourage his friend to take more responsibility as a parent until things came to a head, and he couldn’t go on without getting CPS involved. His intention was to stick around in New Jersey for a few months to step in as a foster parent while legal issues were sorted through, but when the time came, he couldn’t bear to give the kid up. For a long time, Elliott hardly saw him. He hid, tucked away in his room, refusing to say a word to the strange, kind man who always had a crazy outfit and a song to sing. It was safer in his home though, less eerily quiet. It was rarely blaringly loud, but there was always, always music. At home, in the car, everywhere - it became synonymous with that new, unfamiliar feeling of safety. A few months in, Elliott got his first smile out of Ziggy, and a few words too. He owed that to a stack of David Bowie vinyls and his own unending patience with the boy. To this day, Ziggy swears he knows each and every last word of Bowie’s discography, and in his head it often plays in his dad’s voice. Elliott was his world. He sacrificed many crucial hours of performing to catch him up with homeschooling. They spent just about every moment together, up until Ziggy was finally ready for middle school. He was terrified of the concept, but Elliott had the perfect trick up his sleeve for that - his very first concert.

It was just a typical open mic night, and yet it was a whole lot more. Ziggy had never seen anything like it - Elliott liked to joke that his eyes stayed the same size as his favourite records for weeks after that night. Instantly, he was obsessed. Even through his protective earplugs it was a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard, an electric atmosphere that took every last shred of dullness out of his life. By the time the end of that summer rolled around and Ziggy was due to start at school, he had his very own bass guitar and a little experience of performing with it. Middle school wasn’t a particularly kind place, but Ziggy withdrew to the back of the room in most cases. Kids weren’t nice to each other - the best thing to do was to not interact with them. He kept his head down, got his work done, and came alive on weekend nights. This was when his first camera came into the picture. He was getting a little more independent - Elliott could leave him at home with a sitter on the occasional weeknight and not worry about him being terrified the whole time. He could spend more time working on his career, and so he needed promotional material. On a whim, he asked Ziggy to snap a few pictures for him one weekend, and he loved it. It was the perfect excuse to slip into his own little world. All of a sudden he could take that atmosphere he loved so much and capture a moment of it, one he could keep forever. It was the perfect hobby for him. It escalated from there. Random aesthetic shots of things around the house, or in town, nature, people, buildings - anything he could get away with photographing, he would photograph. Plenty of the shots were garbage, but he started reading up. He studied shot composition and exposure, all sorts of aspects of the art. Suddenly, every Christmas and birthday came with a new lens, or a tripod, or even another camera every now and then - he was obsessed. When high school came around, he was lost behind his lens. He had passing acquaintances with, people he could sit with at lunch every now and then if the need arose, but his life was backstage or on his blog, and they weren’t welcome. He didn’t go to homecoming dances or proms, but he made a killing taking everybody else’s pictures for them - at his senior prom, he was hired by the school itself. His portfolio was sizeable, and his grades were solid. Enough for him to land himself a place at his father’s alma mater, NYU.

College was a fresh start. It was weird, watching his father walk out of his dorm once he was all moved in - but he was ready for something new. He branched out a little; he joined study groups and filled in to play bass for a few bands here and there, but his friendships were largely casual. Dating was very much the same way, but he learned a lot about himself through that. He didn’t like talking about himself much, which shut a lot of relationships down before they even start, but he could hook up with just about anybody and have a good time. It was harder to get photography work in the big apple, but he kept the avenue open, and still gets the occasional event to work at. In the meantime he realised a little extra, more steady income would be helpful, and so he picked up work at Callbacks. Bartending was nice; people came in, spilled their woes either over the bar or through the microphone, and he had fun. He learned a lot, without having to open up much himself, and there was always music. What more could he want?

[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 2 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmates!AU)

Summary: 2nd part to You Plus Me Equals Soulmates.  Y/N doesn’t believe in soulmates, but she can’t help the feelings that are growing for Peter Parker.  Will she give in to her feelings or let her best friend, Liz, have Peter, regardless of the tattoos that might say otherwise?

Author’s Note: Hi also let me know if you like Part 2.  This one is a bit longer than the last one, so enjoy (to whoever might read this).  If you haven’t read Part 1, you might not understand Part 2 so make sure to click on the link down below to read Part 1.

Part 1

Word Count: 2,125

Warnings: swearing (that’ll probably just be common from now on).

POV: Point Of View.

---------------------------------

“You know, I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Sure you did,” Liz says.  We’re walking down the concrete hallway, looking for the number of Parker’s apartment.  “You totally could have found another excuse and backed out.”

I had attempted to back out, but as I was forming my homework excuse, Ned had interrupted me.

“I tried to.”

Liz shrugs before knocking on the apartment door.  “Obviously not hard enough,” she states.

The door opens after a small pause.  Parker stands there with his hand on the door handle, a pencil tucked behind his ear.  I don’t think there are enough synonyms for “dork” that could help to describe this kid.

“Hey Peter,” Liz greets, breaking the awkward silence.  Again, why is he looking at me, not Liz?  I look away hastily, breaking the eye contact I hadn’t realized Parker and I were making.

“Yeah, uh, hi.  Come in,” Parker stammers.  He opens the door and Liz and I walk past him.  His apartment is cozy and there’s a fairly young woman in the kitchen.  Does he have a sister or something?

“Peter!  I didn’t know you were bringing girls over.  You never bring girls over-” “These are my friends Liz and Y/N.  We were just going to study,” Parker says, cutting into what the lady was going to say.  The chick gives Parker a look that's a calm equivalent to wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.  “Liz, Y/N, meet my aunt May.  Aunt May, meet Liz and Y/N.”

“Oh!  It’s so nice to meet you two.  I’ve heard a lot about you Y/N.”  Aunt May adds in the last part without hesitation, causing Parker to blush.

Heard a lot about me? But he’s going to homecoming with Liz?  What a creep.

“Yeah, uh...let’s go.  Ned’s in my room,” Peter says while leading us to his room.  The bedroom is small with light grey walls.  There’s a bunk bed but the top bunk is covered with clothes and a few boxes.  Other than that, the room looks nice, apart from being able to see the clothes and other random crap shoved under the bed.

“Oh, hey guys.  Sorry, I’ve already built half of the Death Star already.  But you two can help with the rest,” Ned says eagerly.  He sits on the floor in a pile of Lego pieces.

I plop down on the ground and take out one of my binders and a few pens.  “No thanks.  Like I said, I have homework to do,” I announce.  Liz shoots me a look that screams “don’t be a bitch”.

“Yeah me too, Ned,” Peter adds, glancing at me.  Ned looks at him, seeming a little confused.

“But you just said-”

“I said I have homework to do,” Peter says insistently.

I don’t know if they’re not normally this weird, or this is just something I should get used to.  Either way, I’d appreciate it if they could act like normal people. I look down and focus on my Algebra homework.  Although, it’s kind of difficult to focus while Parker is staring at me from his spot a few feet away.  I look up.

“What?  Do you need help or something?” I question.

“Um n-no.  I-I mean yes.  Could you, uh, help me on this one?” He points to a problem on his paper.  “I don’t really understand how to get to the answer…”

He’s on AB honor roll and takes a shit ton of AP classes and he’s asking me for help?

“Yeah sure,” I scoot closer towards him so that our shoulders brush against each other lightly.  I explain the problem and then show him what I did to get my answer.  I can’t help but get the feeling he knows exactly how to solve the problem, though.

I finish explaining the problem and look back up at him, only to find him staring at me, once again.  There’s a moment where we don’t say anything and I feel butterflies in my stomach.  His eyes aren’t chocolate brown.  They’re a dark oak color with streaks the color of honey carefully scattered around his iris.  My eyes dark from his eyes down to his right wrist.

After the loss of eye contact, he clears his throat and looks down at his paper. This whole time, Liz has actually been helping Ned with his lego Death Star.  But at this moment, she’s looking at Peter and I with a hint of jealousy and anger in her gaze.

I take my eyes off of Peter’s sleeve-covered wrist and continue to work on my Algebra assignment.

___________Peter’s POV___________ I clear my throat and look back down at my paper, trying to make myself seem more interested in this boring slim piece of dead wood rather than the girl sitting next to me.

That was full-on eye contact.  AND she didn’t immediately look away.  This is progress.  Maybe.

I’ve liked Y/N since the second semester of freshman year.  And she hasn’t noticed.  But now I’m stuck with Liz.  And now Y/N is at my apartment.  I sigh. But so is Liz.

Y/N, Liz, and Ned look up at the sound of my random sigh.  I blush lightly and pretend to have been sighing out of frustration at my homework.

Ned knows I like Y/N, not Liz.  Ned knows all of my secrets, basically.  He even knows I’m Spider-Man after that incident that included him destroying the first Lego Death Star we had made.

The whole situation when I ended up asking Liz to homecoming instead of Y/N was quite possibly number one on my list of dumb-things-I’ve-done-on-accident. 

I had been probably annoying Ned all day on my plans of how I was going to muster up the courage and ask Y/N to homecoming.  I mean, if I have the courage to literally jump off of buildings and fight actual Avengers, then surely I would’ve been able to ask a girl out, right?  Nope.

I had marched myself up to the both of them, Ned silently cheering me on.  Y/N had paid no attention to my appearance, but Liz’s face had lit up instantly.  At the time, I thought it was clear that I was asking Y/N out to the school dance, but when I think about it now, I was too busy looking at Liz and her happy energy for Y/N to notice that the question was directed at her. 

“The uh-the...ha, sorry...homecoming is coming up...you know...and so...would you go with me?  I mean you don’t have to you-”

“Yes!  Absolutely!  I thought you’d never ask, Peter,” Liz had answered enthusiastically.  It was at that moment I knew I had fucked up.  Usually, I’d never use words like that to describe anything, but I think it’s an accurate description for my thoughts and feelings during that moment.  Y/N had just sat and watched me ask out her friend in front of her.  And her friend had accepted it so cheerfully.  There was no way I could build up another mount of confidence to tell Liz that I was actually asking Y/N out.

All I did was let out an uncomfortable laugh as Liz happily embraced me in the middle of the hallway for everyone else to see.

So yeah, I messed up pretty badly.  The classic Peter Parker Bad Luck. Somehow, though, I’ll fix this.  Somehow I’ll show Y/N that I like her and not her best friend.  Maybe I’ll even get to see her soulmate tattoo; I’ve been waiting so long to find out if she’s the one.  When I look at Y/N, my chest physically aches with the desire to know if she feels the same way I do.  But in reality, I don’t think she even likes me as a friend.  The tattoo on my wrist means more to me than anyone could imagine.  To me, it means a guaranteed happiness with someone. Soulmate scientists have said that sometimes one half of the soulmate pair takes longer to fall in love, so maybe that’s the case.

Don’t say love.  What if she isn’t the one? 

I feel terrible.  Liz thinks I was asking her to the dance and then if I turn her down or disappear at the dance, most likely she’ll be heartbroken or worse, tell the whole school I’m an asshole playboy.  But if Liz isn’t my soulmate and I don’t feel anything for her, shouldn’t I reject her?

_________Y/N’s POV_________ An hour goes by as Liz and Ned finish making the Lego Death Star while Peter and I work on homework.

“Do you have any food?” I ask.  My stomach is grumbling and Peter hasn’t offered us snacks, even though it’s past 6pm.

“Oh yeah, sure.  What do you guys want?” he asks in return, standing up just as I stand up as well.

Ned asks for some chips and Liz requests water.  I look over at Peter, realizing that we both got up.

“Oh, sorry.  I thought I could get it for you guys,” Peter explains.  Oh god, it’s like their awkwardness is rubbing off on me.  What, did I think we were all going as one big party to the kitchen?

“Yeah, sorry,” I laugh it off, but as I’m about to sit down Peter speaks up.

“But maybe you could help me carry the snacks,” he offers it quickly, like he’s secretly been wishing for me to help him carry snacks or something weird like that.

“Uh okay, I guess.”  Liz looks between Peter and I.  She shifts uncomfortably and opens up her binder, abandoning the Lego Death Star for her English homework.

Peter and I walk out of his room and into the kitchen where Aunt May is doing dishes.  At the sight of both of us alone, she suddenly shoves a glass into a cabinet and utters something along the lines of “I have that thing to do”, and scurries out of the kitchen and around the corner.  Everyone remotely related to Peter, it would seem, is a little odd.

Peter gets a glass and starts getting Liz’s water from the fridge.  “You can look in the pantry for Ned’s chips.  Feel free to get what you want.”

I open the pantry and grab Ned’s chips and a bag of popcorn for me.  “Can I have some water, too?” I ask, as if he’ll tell me no.

“Yeah sure, help yourself.”

I open the cabinet I saw Peter get Liz’s glass from.  Immediately, however, I lose my grip on the cup.  But before the glass can hit the ground, Peter’s hand darts out of nowhere to catch it.

“Damn.  Some ninja-like reflexes you have,” I say, which is true.  Who the hell has a light-speed reaction time like that?  What kind of Edward-Cullen-meets-The-Flash shit was that?

“Uh y-yeah I guess I just acted on instinct,” he says hastily, pushing off some accusation that I didn’t even make.  He pours me a glass of water from the refrigerator and we head back into his room where Ned and Liz are sitting in silence.

The rest of the evening is spent in peace and quiet with the occasional glance between me and Parker.  I don’t know why I keep looking at him.

Did he always look cute while focusing on school work? Shut up, I tell myself.  Liz likes him and from what I can already tell, she doesn’t appreciate Peter and I constantly sneaking glances at each other like we’re in some kind of dumb cliché rom-com.

Eventually, Liz decides it’s time to go and we say our goodbyes to Peter and Ned.

As we walk back down the concrete hallway away from the apartment, she turns to me.

“Why’d you do that?” She says, her voice wavering a bit.

“Do what?”

“You kept sneaking cheeky glances at Peter, thinking I wasn’t looking.  And then you went to the kitchen by yourselves to go get snacks.  What are you trying to do here?”

“What?  Liz, I don’t understand.”  I actually did understand what she meant, but to admit it would make me look guilty when I’m not.

“Yes, you do.  I was so excited when Peter asked me to homecoming and now you’re being all flirty with him.  I want you to stop.  Call your mom or something to come pick you up.”  She starts walking away.

While she’s still in earshot, I reply to her claim, “I wasn’t flirting with him.  I didn’t even want to come, remember?  He’s still Peter-The-Dork to me and I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

Or was I?  How am I supposed to know what my subconscious was telling me to do?

-------------------------

Thank you for reading!

Part 3

[izzielizzie]

Could you write a one shot in Bronwyn’s POV for directly after the bomb went off? And how she’d be when Nate gets out of surgery? Up until the events of the wedding?

Yes, more angst let’s do it. (I am in such a weird mood good grief) (Now would be a good time to request more angsty stuff since clearly I’m in the mood to write sad stuff) Also, sorry this is so long, but there are notes at the end because of course I need to make it longer. Enjoy!

Nate and I are walking hand in hand behind the restaurant when we hear something fly over our heads and land a few feet away.

“The fuck was that?” Nate asks, interrupting himself. He had been talking about just how much of a dork my little sister Maeve is around Luis, who apparently is her boyfriend now. I have no clue how that happened.

A voice rings out in the night, sounding terrified: “Nate, run! This is Maeve. That was a backpack with a bomb inside, from someone who’s been threatening Eli. You have to run toward the restaurant, now!”

We both freeze and look at each other. “MAEVE?” I call back.

“Bronwyn?”

Nate squeezes my hand and tugs me forward. A new voice can be heard, and I’m even more terrified when I hear it’s Knox. He’s never sounded so scared before.  “This isn’t a joke, you guys! Run!”

For some strange reason, it’s Knox, not Maeve, that spurs us forward, and we start sprinting. I can see Knox with his arm around Maeve from a distance, and he’s pulling her back. She has her arm outstretched towards me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. As I’m running, I’m struck with the sudden realization that if there was anything I could do make that fear in her amber eyes, the ones I love so much, disappear, I would. Maeve has grown up too fast. Finally, Maeve does what she should and turns and runs to the restaurant. I hear Knox call to the people on the deck, and they run into the restaurant.

For one crazy moment, I think we’re safe, and I look at Nate. He’s looking down at me, and I feel I could sink, float, fly in those blue eyes. When he dives at me, for one crazy second I think he’s going to kiss me.

When I come to, I can hear someone groaning next to me, and when I put my palms on the ground I’m startled to find that the ground is slick with blood. It can’t possibly be coming from me, nothing hurts other than my head. I look to my right, in the direction of the groaning, and I almost scream when I see Nate laying on his back, covered in blood. “Nate! Oh my god Nate!”

“Bronwyn,” he groans.

“Oh my God, Nate.” I can feel tears sliding down my cheeks. I crawl over to him, and I bend down to kiss him, my hands on either side of his face.

“My arm.”

I look at his arm and nearly scream again. It’s torn up pretty badly, and his leather jacket, the one he’s had for years, is beyond repair. I grip his uninjured hand and squeeze it tightly. I know, beyond a doubt, that this is my fault. If I hadn’t stopped, he wouldn’t have had to dive for me.

I push his dark hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” I say it over and over again, like a question, answer, and promise all in one. I don’t know how long I’m sitting here, pushing back his hair. I don’t look away until I hear my sister calling my name. I call hers back, and she comes flying towards us, her dark hair, so identical to mine, streaming behind her. She’s covered in blood and her favorite jeans are ripped at the knees. She crashes to the ground next to me. I don’t look at her. I can’t. If I wasn’t so busy making sure she was okay, then this never would have happened. We would of been okay. This thought makes me cry harder. I clasp Nate’s hand in both of mine. Maeve strokes his hair back. We sit like this for a few minutes before the EMTs arrive. The sight of them makes me cry harder and I barely register that they’re lifting Nate onto a stretcher, and I have no idea how I’m still holding his hand.

“Are you two family?” an EMT asks me.

I shake my head between the sobs. “No. His only family is his mother.” I don’t even mention his dad.

“Okay, can you answer some basic questions for me?”

I nod.

“Okay, that’s good honey. Just take some deep breaths.” I’m following the stretcher now, and Nate’s hand is still in mine. “Okay, can you give me his full name please?”

“Nathaniel Macauley.”

“Does he have a middle name?”

I glance at Nate, who’s looking at me. He shakes his head slightly. “No.”

“Okay. Date of birth?”

“March nineteenth, two thousand and one.”

“Age?”

“Nineteen.”

“Okay. Any prevalent medical history? Does he take any medications?”

I glance at Nate again. His eyes are closed. We’ve reached the back of the ambulance, and before they lift him in, I can see him shake his head. “No.”

“Okay, will you ride with him?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to stay here and make sure everyone else is okay. Is anyone injured that you know of?”

I’m about to say no when I remember the blood on Maeve’s arm. “Yes. My little sister. Her name is Maeve Rojas, she’s wearing black jeans and a grey Yale hoodie. Her right arm is bleeding.”

“Okay, thank you. Please try to contact Nathaniel’s mother on the ride over, okay?”

“Okay.”

Nate’s mom beat us to the hospital. As did my parents. All three of them are standing together in the waiting room. Mrs. Macauley looks incredibly plain next to my parents, who were dressed up for their charity event. My parents pull me into a hug the minute they see me, and I’m surprised when I realize I’m shaking. My father takes off his suit jacket and wraps it around me. The smell of aftershave and peppermint surrounds me, and I’m instantly calmed. If there’s ever one thing Maeve and I agree on, it’s that safety is synonymous with our father.

A doctor approaches us. “Nathaniel's arm has shrapnel in it,” she tells us, “We have to take him in for surgery right away. If you four want to wait in his room with him while they prep him, you can.”

“Yes. Please,” my mother answers for all of us. She puts and arm around Mrs. Macauley, and I exchange startled looks with my dad. My mother has never liked Nate, or his mother. But I guess when someone might be dying, prejudices don’t matter.

I watch them walk away with the doctor as the sound of pounding feet approach, and someone charges into me wrapping me in a hug. It’s Addy. She’s crying on my shoulder, and I momentarily wonder if my father is cringing at the sight of his suit jacket being cried on. Addy pulls away, and I can see who else she’s with: Cooper, Kris, Ashton, Knox, and Eli. Panic surges through me when I can’t see Maeve. I grip Addy’s shoulders tightly.

“Addy. Maeve. Where is Maeve?”

My dad turns to me so quickly I’m worried he’ll get whiplash. “Maeve was there?”

“Yeah. We were the ones who found the bomb,” Knox says.

Oh boy. Knox clearly does not know what to say and what not to say to avoid a parental freak out. My dad stares at him, and based on the look on his face, he’s way passed freaking out. The last time he looked like that was when Maeve was diagnosed with Leukemia for the first time. He opens his mouth to say something when my mom comes running down the hall, her red curls coming out of their bun. She barrels into my dad. “Nate said Maeve-” She looks like she’s going to start crying.

“Mrs. Rojas, she’s okay,” Cooper says. We all turn to him. It’s clear we all forgot he was there, along with everyone else who just arrived. “She’s with Luis. They’re driving over right now.”

“Who?” My mother asks.

“Luis?” My dad adds, sounding like his usual overprotective self.

But I sag with relief. If Maeve is with Luis then she’ll be okay. “Maeve’s boyfriend.” Addy supplies. My parents adore Addy with all their hearts, but clearly their love is being tested right now. Don’t shoot the messenger is not a saying they live by.

“Boyfriend,” Mom says faintly.

“BOYFRIEND?” My dad echos.

“For like five minutes. He’s nice. You’ll like him.” Addy is unaffected by my parents. Good for her, but the mention of Nate makes me impatient.

“Mom, forget that. How’s Nate?”

My mom grips my arm. “He’s going into surgery in four minutes. He’s asking for you.”

“WELL THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT?”

I don’t wait for a response, I just take off running in the direction my mother came from. “ROOM TEN!” She calls after me.

I barge into room ten, and I see Nate laying on a bed, there are nurses around him, and his mother is sitting on a chair. Nate reaches his hand towards mine, and I take it.

“You’ll be okay,” I tell him as a few nurses talk to each other. He doesn’t respond. He just closes his eyes, his face turned towards me. Part of me wants him to open his eyes. If is the last time I see him, I want to look into those deep blue eyes I love so much. My parents come into the room a few minutes later, right as Nate’s being taken into the operating room. My dad wraps his arms around me as my mom hugs Mrs. Macauley, who has started crying.

“He will be alright, Ellen. Don’t worry.”

“How can you know?”

“Because he’s a fighter.”

Those simple words bring tears to my eyes. Maybe my mother has finally come around to Nate. Mrs. Macauley hugs Mom harder. “How can people just sit and wait around for their kids? How can you protect them?”

Mom pulls away and looks at Mrs. Macauley. “I watched my daughter battle cancer for seven years Ellen, and every moment killed me. What type of mother am I if I can’t protect my child? But the best thing you can do is just be there. You’ve done great, Ellen.”

I’m bawling my eyes out now on Dad’s perfectly pressed shirt, but I don’t care, and neither does he. There isn’t a dry eye in the room.

Mrs. Macauley recovers first. “I should tell my husband.”

“I’ll tell him. I can drive over. You should stay here.” My dad sounds surprised that he’s offering this, but I guess tonight’s all about forgiving and changing.

Mrs. Macauley nods. “Okay.”

“You’ve got a good kid Ellen,” Mom says as Dad heads out.

“And you’ve got two.”

The waiting room is filled with nearly everyone I love, and my mother and I both make a beeline to Maeve, who’s fast asleep on Luis’s lap. Luis looks up at my mom and smiles.

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Rojas.”

“And you must be Luis.” My mother does not sound nearly as friendly as Luis. I exchange amused glances with Addy.

“What she means, Luis, is thank you for taking care of Maevey.” I say, putting my hands on my mom’s shoulders.

“No I don’t,” Mom mumbles.

“Yes you do,” Mrs. Macauley says, leading my mother to a chair. I pause only for a moment to kiss the top of Maeve’s head and thank Luis again before following them.

Three hours later, Nate’s still in surgery and the news people still keep showing up. The explosion has made headlines, and all reporters keep asking for the boy and girl who saved the day. The boy is curled up on the ground with his back against Eli’s legs, staring into space. The girl is slowly awakening though. She finally sits up after another few minutes and she seems really disoriented.

“Luis?” she asks.

“Yes Maeve?”

“Where-”

“The hospital. Don’t you remember?” Addy asks, placing her hand on Maeve’s knee. Maeve shakes herself a little and sits up straighter.

“Where’s Bronwyn?” she asks in response. Kris points behind her. Maeve turns, sees me, and practically leaps off of Luis’s lap in her haste to get to me. I stand and hug her with all my might, and I think she might be crying. I know I am. I pull away and shake her.

“Oh my God are you trying to scare us?” I practically shout, shaking her again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Maeve says, her eyes shining with tears.

“Oh really! You stalked a potentially dangerous person, you followed him to God knows where, you crawled into a tiny space, you opened an odd looking bag, you threw a bomb in an arboretum, and then YOU RAN TOWARDS IT!”

“Don’t forget the hiding leukemia thing,” Mom adds sleepily. She and Mrs. Macauley are leaning against each other, and they’re both nearly asleep. I think that’s the weirdest part of my night.

“Oh Mom, we’re over that,” Maeve says. She seems unaffected by my words. “And anyway, no one’s told me about Nate!”

“He’s in surgery. There was shrapnel in his arm.” I say simply.

Maeve blanches. “Is he okay?” There’s real fear on her face, and I’m suddenly sorry I yelled at her. She must feel in over her head right now.

“He should be. There’s no nerve damage, which is good.”

“Oh thank God,” says Maeve right as a nurse walks towards us. Everyone in the room turns to look at her.

“Mrs. Macauley?” she asks.

Mrs. Macauley half stands. “Yes?”

“Your son is out of surgery. He’s stable, and family is allowed to visit, however, I must warn you that he’s a little goofy with the pain medicine.”

Everyone in the room lets out a collective sigh of relief as Mrs. Macauley follows the nurse. I turn back to Maeve, and she’s grinning at me.

“Coffee,” we both say unanimously, and for some reason, we’re laughing so hard we can hardly breathe. There’s something so wonderful, I think, about laughing with someone you love so much when everything is falling apart around you.

Nate is released the next morning, and his mom and I are there to drive him home.

“Is the wedding still on?” is the first thing he asks when he sees us. He hugs his mom awkwardly with one arm. The sight of the sling around his shoulder would make me cry if I wasn’t fresh out of tears. Maeve had told me all about the texting game last night, and watching my sister break down had killed me. After she told me, she locked herself in her room and was on the phone with someone until three in the morning. I think it was Luis. I hope it was, my sister deserves a guy like Luis. Even if he does have a questionable dating history, but Nate told me yesterday that he was planning on having a little chat with Luis about that on Maevey’s behalf.

“Yes, but if you’re too tired, you don’t have to go,” Mrs. Macauley says as she unlocks her car and helps Nate into the front seat. I climb into the back.

“No, I want to go,” Nate insists.

Mrs. Macauley glances at me in the rear view mirror, and I shrug. “Okay Nate. Sure. I need to check in on your father, so I’m not sure who’s going to help you change out of that shirt.” That shirt is the same one from last night. It’s covered in blood.

“I will,” I say. “I’ve already gotten dressed. And Dad’s going to pick up Luis on the way there, he’s Maeve’s date. I’ll just call him and ask him to pick us up too.” My parents had a real conversation with Luis last night while Addy, Kris, Cooper, Maeve, and I went to get coffee. Turns out they love him as much as Maeve does, which is good. But I can’t help feeling a little annoyed that it took five minutes for my parents to fall in love with Luis, and five months for my parents to even acknowledge Nate.

“Well, if that’s alright with you Nate.”

“Of course it is, Mom.”

“Bronwyn I can not get a button down on with this sling. I can’t even get a regular shirt on.”

I’m in Nate’s room, looking through his closet. My parents will be here in ten minutes or so. “Okay, okay. What about this?” I pull a pale green shirt out of the closet.

“Fine.”

I turn and let Nate change, but turn again when he mutters, “stuck”. I laugh and help him de-tangle himself, but somehow I manage to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, and then suddenly I’m crying again. Through the tears, I manage to fix his shirt, and he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his lap. He doesn’t say anything as I sob onto his shoulder and grip his shirt like a lifeline. His good arm is strong around my back.

“Shh, Bronwyn, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I know, but I was just so scared.”

“I know, honey.” He kisses the top of my head, and for some silly reason, I think of Luis and Maeve. “And worst of all, I blamed Maeve.”

“I know you did.”

I pull back and look at him.

“You did?”

“I did. I mean, I guessed that you blamed her. You wouldn’t look at her last night.”

“If I hadn’t stopped then-”

Nate puts a finger on my lips. “I am okay. As is Maeve. And you’re okay too. That is all that matters, okay? All that matters is everyone is safe and it’s a beautiful day and two people we love very much are getting married. Okay?”

“Okay.” I pause and laugh. “Nate, your shirt is soaked. Want a new one?”

“Bronwyn Rojas, I am not changing my shirt again,” Nate says with mock severity. We both start giggling, and we still are when Dad’s car pulls up and we drive to the wedding.

Okay, time for some notes!

I have no idea when Nate’s birthday really is, but the month was mentioned in the first book. I did some math (ew) to figure out the year, and I chose a random date.

The whole Bronwyn/Maeve tension was made up as well, but it kind of felt right? understandable? for Bronwyn to be so worried about her sister that she gets a little angry.

There was no mention of Mrs. Rojas and Mrs. Macauley supporting each other, but I just couldn’t resist

Also, there was no Rojas Parents/Luis interaction before the wedding, but as mentioned in the previous note, I just couldn’t resist.

Okay, I think that’s it, I hope you liked it! 

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl (part 4)

(the scenes in this is what inspired the series so ig technically could be read as a stand alone and still make sense but the previous chapters obviously add context lol) Part 4 to - Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

A/n fun fact there are two alternate versions of part 4 in my drafts, if anyone wants a bonus scene of Billy and Stu having a full conversation with Gloria, and/or a short scene of Y/n and Gloria getting ready together (which shows. a little bit more of their dynamic) it’s basically done and would only need a little bit of editing lol

also!! thinking about doing a lil billy & stu blurb night or sleepover thing,, any thoughts on that lol (prob saturday afternoon, when i’ll be tipsy 😭,, tipsy writing is fun) 

my favorite thing about this chapter is how they’re all cute for 3 minutes and then get violently toxic 😭 duality ig?? 

Warning: i broke and put the first touch of smut into this 😭 everything before the switch in POV is pretty PG (very toxic vibes tho!!), so if you don’t want to read anything sexual just skip over the part at the end that’s in narrator’s POV!! (pls be nice, writing smut scares me, i’ve had very few sexual experiences and have enjoyed none of them lmao)

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at the Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Due to a family emergency, Y/n is left home alone for the first time since what happened to Casey. Luckily, her good friends Billy and Stu show up to surprise her just as she’s starting to feel paranoid. 

---- 

You’d think that someone that grew up with one parent would be used to being alone, but I have very few memories of total solitude. The few times my mom hasn’t been around, there’s always been someone.

Tonight, though, it’s just me. And I’m not alone in my childhood home--I’m alone in Wells’ house. My mom says that I don’t need to think too much about the fact that we moved into his family’s home, but sometimes I still feel like a stranger here. A guest.

Ugh, I shake the thought off with a roll of my shoulders. I’m freaking myself out for no reason, and I promised my mom I’d be fine.

She didn’t want to leave me, and I can’t blame her for her hesitance, but a family emergency is a family emergency.

I would have gone with her in a heartbeat, but I had the SAT this morning. My mom offered to have Wells stay behind, but honestly, the thought of being alone with her boyfriend for days made me more uncomfortable than the thought of being alone. At least it did at the time. But now that it’s dark out, I’m starting to think it might have been a bad idea to send away the trained police officer. 

I could always call Sidney or Tatum. My mom said I could have people over, or maybe even sleepover at someone’s house. She actually wanted me to stay with a friend, but after my last sleepover, the thought of spending the night at someone’s house turns my stomach. 

Now I’m alone, and it’s almost 9:00, and I’m really upset that most of my comfort movies are horror. The last thing I need is to make myself more para--

The sound of the home phone ringing snaps me out of my thoughts. It could be my mom, but we had just talked. She called me right before I got into the shower to give me an update. I guess it wouldn’t be that weird for her to call me again. She’s nervous about leaving me alone. 

“Hi?” 

There are no words, just soft breathing. “Hey, squirt.” 

Nerves and embarrassing excitement roll in my stomach. I’m so shocked I almost forget that I’m on the phone and I need to reply. “H-hi, dad.” I sit up a little straighter. “It’s you, you’re calling.” 

“Yep,” he breathes, popping the ‘p’ and breezing past my awkwardness, “Just checking in. I just heard what happened. Your mom called, but I’m in Europe on business, and because of the timezone difference it went to voicemail. My secretary somehow missed it. I am so sorry I didn’t call sooner, are you okay?” 

My lips part, a strange amount of emotions twisting in my stomach, “I uh--I’m doing better. I wasn’t the one that was really hurt.” The thought of Casey strikes me in the chest. I cross my legs beneath me. “I-um--I missed some school because I had a concussion. A friend of mine had to convince me to go to the doctor, actually.” 

He laughs lightly, “That sounds like you.” After a second, he continues, “You still want to do the whole Princeton thing?” 

“Yeah, I-I’d like to. I’m trying to. Even took the SAT for the first time today.” 

I can hear him shuffling. “Wow, squirt, the S-A-T,” he hums each letter, “You and Charlotte are really growing up.” 

When I was at that age where kids are obsessed with princesses, I used to imagine that Charlotte was my evil step sister. She was the perfect girl in front of our parents, but there was something about the way she treated me that I couldn’t support. Her and her mother, Alice, always made it clear that my mother and I weren’t the real members of the family. 

My mom was more open about my step sister than I was, and I can imagine how hard that was. She waited around for my dad for years, and he didn’t get his life together until grandfather told him to. She stood by him through addiction and through scandal, but once grandfather said dad had to grow up, he listened. He went to Princeton for undergrad and Yale for his masters and he married the woman Grandfather set him up with.

My dad’s only defense is that my mom sent him away. What he never seems to mention is that my mom’s breaking point was him leaving me alone at some dealer’s house when I was a baby. 

“Charlotte,” I repeat, trying to hide the way the name stings, “How is she?”  

“Oh, she’s good, she just heard back from Princeton because of their rolling admission policy, she’s in.” 

Oh. Charlotte is one year older than me, so I knew that it was possible that I’d have to hear about her getting into dream schools soon. What I didn’t expect was to hear that she got into Princeton, and I didn’t expect it now. “That’s really great, dad.” 

“Yeah, she’ll get the lay of the land, and once you’re in, she’ll be able to show you around.” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, “That’d be nice.” 

Another voice steals my dad’s attention. Likely his secretary. “Hey, squirt, I gotta go. Meeting.” 

“Oh, y-yeah, dad. Talk to you later.” 

“Yes, I’ll make sure to call soon.” He pauses before tacking on, “Oh, I sent you a get well soon present this morning. It might take a few days, but I hope you like it.” 

My nails dig into the palm of my hand, “Oh, thanks, dad. Bye.” 

With that the line goes flat. I place the phone back on my bedside table before grabbing a pillow that’s by my side. Settling the pillow onto my lap, I drop my face into it. “Ugh.” The groan is strangled and dramatic, but I don’t care. 

I cannot wait to call my mom and tell her about how little miss perfect Charlotte is going to Princeton. Princeton is mine, it’s been mine my entire life. There’s a freaking poster of it in my room.

“You’re in a good mood.” 

The words make me jump out of my skin. In a second, i’m on my feet, my hands reaching for the first thing I can find. It happens to be my bedside lamp. I blink, eyes wide as my head snaps towards my window. There’s a large figure sitting on the window sill. 

“Billy! Stu!” Adrenaline is still running through me. “I could--I could have hurt you guys!” 

Billy leans against my window’s frame comfortably, lips turning upwards. “With your fuzzy lamp?” 

“Do not make fun of me.” 

“He’s not,” Stu says, “You’re super threatening. I’m shaking so much I might fall off this ledge.”

I roll my eyes, shifting awkwardly. It’s not like Stu and I haven’t talked since my little blow up in the hallway, but things haven’t been the same. I don’t know if he’s waiting for something from me or if most of it is in my head because I feel a little bad. I never thought I’d miss Stu regularly jokingly hitting on me, but I think I’m starting to.

“Haha,” I mumble after a second too long of silence. Because I need an excuse to not look at them, I turn to set my lamp back down. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” 

Billy shrugs, twisting to place his feet on the floor of my room. “Stu talked me into renting The Craft.” He stands, giving Stu the space he needs to also come into my room. “It made us think of you.” 

“You two watched The Craft?” 

“We got halfway through,” Stu admits, reaching into the black backpack he came in with, “Not my best pick.” He walks into my room casually, like climbing in through my second floor window is a regular Saturday night occurrence. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d like, though. Brought it in case you wanted something to do later.” 

He tosses the tape casually onto my bed. I stare at it for a long second, hating the fact that he knows me so well. I remember seeing trailers for The Craft and wanting to watch it. Some joke about how he’s implying that he thinks I have bad taste tries to come out, but I can’t seem to form the words. 

I don’t know if it’s the casual gesture or the fact that they showed up when I didn’t want to be alone, but an emotion I don’t really get threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe this reaction is the result of the phone call with my dad.

Stu must notice my stillness because he asks, “You okay?” 

I take large steps, moving around my bed in order to reach him. My hug must surprise him, but Stu doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Tuesday,” I mumble, “I was moody and defensive and things have felt kinda weird since then and I just want things to be normal again.” This might be a total mistake, it feels like revealing an open wound. “You’re like one of my best friends.” 

He squeezes me tighter, “One of?” 

Tilting my head up to look at him, I reply, “Don’t get greedy.” 

“Fine,” Stu mumbles after a second of pretend contemplation. 

I should pull away now, but there’s something comforting about the position we’re in. Stu’s hugs are underrated, but his ego is big enough without me telling him that. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

“Mm...” He hums for a long second. “Nope, not really.” Well, getting along with him was nice while it lasted. I pull away sharply, shoving his chest when he reaches out to me. “I’m kidding,” Stu laughs, “Kidding.” I glare, trying to escape his hold. “I’m sorry, angel. I should have known that you were moody because of your head.” 

The nickname takes me by surprise. I remember it from my hazy night at the hospital. I didn’t think twice of it then. Should I think about it now? It’s not particularly weirder than any other of the other nicknames Stu’s always calling me, and they’re all the same level of flirty except maybe bug, which is only really used when he wants his way.

“My head’s hurting a lot less.” I straighten slightly, arms dropping casually as I take a step back. Stu lets me. “I even took the SAT this morning. Totally not ideal with a concussion by the way, if my scores come back and they’re bad I’m so blaming the killer.” 

“I remember your reaction at the doctor’s office.”

I turn towards Billy, who’s casually sitting on my bed like he lives here. “Yeah, not my best moment.” I scratch the back of my arm. “Thank you for making me go to the doctor, by the way. The first thing my mom said when I got home was that you must be some kind of saint to have put up with me like that. She’s always telling me that I’m a total monster when I’m sick in any capacity.”

Billy almost smiles, “So your mom likes me now?” 

“You’re making progress.” Basically a lie. My mom won’t like any boys I’m friends with until I’m a college graduate. It’s shocking enough that she tolerates them. 

“Really?” 

I shrug, slightly unsure. Stu moves to sit across from me. “You can tell your mom I’m willing to do whatever to get in her good graces.” 

Cringing, I grab a pillow from behind me and throw it at Stu. He barely manages to block it with his forearm. “She’s my mom!” 

“And she’s a total babe.” 

“You’re getting kicked out.” 

Stu holds his hands up in defense, “Don’t worry, you’re still my girl.” 

I roll my eyes, pulling my legs beneath me. “Mhm, I’ll mention that to Tatum next time she calls.”

Stu props the backpack up against the side of my bed. The way he dramatically falls across my bed is almost enough to get me to break character. He places a hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “Don’t turn this into something ugly. You know I love you both, just in different ways.” 

“I’m glad you two felt the need to sneak in through my window to tell me that.” The comment makes me think about something that they practically made me forget about. “Why did you guys come here through the window anyway?” 

“We missed you,” Billy answers with no hesitation. His tone is just a little too sweet to be genuine. When I give him a look, he tilts his head before actually answering the question, “We wanted to check in. It had been a few days, and you didn’t come back to school. You stopped answering calls. Sid told me the last two times she called you, your mom picked up and said you weren’t up for conversation.” 

Normally, the thought of people looking out for me makes me nervous. Especially when it’s a guy. I know that past friendships and family issues aren’t the kinds of things I should push onto them. They’ve been good friends. Maybe it’s okay to let people in a little more than I have in the past. Besides, they’re just worried about their high strung friend that was attacked by a murderer and then had a melt down at school, it’s not like they’re crazy for being concerned. 

“That’s nice of you guys. I’m doing better, I’ve just been...kinda disconnected lately. And honestly, I’ve been spending a lot more time doing makeup work than I’d like to admit.” My posture relaxes slightly. “You don’t need to worry.” 

“There’s also a killer on the loose, and you don’t lock your window.” 

Billy has a tiny bit of a point. In scary movies, I always get frustrated when characters are dumb. It’s the small, careless things that distinguish those that die and those that make it to the sequel. “My room’s on the second floor, I thought that’d count for something.”

“Not when the world’s easiest to climb tree is in your backyard,” Stu adds, “I thought you’d think twice about things like that.” He turns his head so that he’s staring straight up at the ceiling. “You’re always reading mystery books and the only thing you care about in movies is that there’s a final girl.” 

Great, now Stu’s right, too. “That’s not the only thing I care about.” He’s quiet, watching me with a strange level of focus. He’s weirdly calm...almost dazed. I blink, gaze shifting to watch Billy from the corner of my eye. He’s also seems a little weird. “Are you guys drunk or something?” 

Stu lets out a mock gasp. “Wow. You think that little of us?” 

My eyes narrow, focusing on the backpack I so quickly dismissed earlier. “I think that if I opened that bag I’d find beer.” 

With a wounded sigh, Stu sits up. He grabs his backpack, unzipping it casually. He reaches into it before pulling out a tall bottle. The liquid inside of it is as clear as the glass containing it. “Not exactly.” Stu unscrews the lid, taking an easy sip. He doesn’t wince as the liquid goes down his throat. “Here.” Billy shifts, reaching forward to take the bottle. “Ah--c’mon, Billy boy, let her have some. We’re being rude.” 

“It’s okay,” I interrupt quickly, “I’m good.” 

Stu frowns, extending his arm a little more. “Come on, angel, just a tiny sip. Less than a shot.” I don’t move, but my attention does shift to the bottle that’s hanging just a little too loosely from his fingers. “I won’t even tell on you to your mom.” 

I roll my eyes at what he’s so clearly implying. “I think she’d be more focused on the fact that you chose to come in through the window.” Scratching the back of my wrist, I admit, “Plus, she’s not downstairs, so you can’t tattle on me anyways.” I watch him take in the words, a part of me regretting bringing that up. “Why’d you guys come in this way anyways? I would’ve come to the door.” 

“You’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls.” Stu props his head up on his elbow. 

I look at him and then at Billy. “So this is an ambush.” 

Billy drops one of his bent legs just enough to bump his knee into mine. “A wellness check in.” 

Tamping down a grin, I roll my eyes.  “Right. Silly of me not to realize.” 

“If your mom’s not here, where is she?” 

Stu’s blatant nosiness should have been expected. “Why? You actually here for her?” 

“Jealous?” 

Pressing my back into a pillow, I fake gag.”She’s my mom, Stu.” 

He rolls his eyes at my theatrics before laying back down. I know that they must have noticed the way I ignored the question, but telling them that my mom’s not home and that she’s not going to be home for days feels a little like tempting fate now that I know they’re at least tipsy.

Billy lazily reaches for the bottle again. Stu lets him take it this time. 

“She’s in Texas, anyways.” Please tell me my voice sounds casual and not at all nervous. “That must be so sad for you.” 

I’m waiting for some kind of joke about blue balls or being heartbroken. Instead, Stu props his head up again. “So she’s not here not here?” 

The distinction sends nerves straight to my stomach and I’m not sure why. My confusion is more uncomfortable than what I’m feeling. “Yeah,” I mumble, sitting up a little straighter, “Family emergency thing. My godmother is like super pregnant with twins and just got put on bed rest. Her husband’s out of town for work this weekend, so my mom flew there to take care of her.” 

Billy’s head turns in my direction, “So it’s just you and good old step dad.” 

His lips turn upwards at my glare. “No, Wells is with her.” I shift uncomfortably at the thought of being alone with Wells with no buffer for that long. “I would’ve gone with them, but I already had the SAT scheduled and their flight was early.” 

Stu breaks the unexpected silence, “So they left you alone with a killer on the loose?” 

Shrugging, I drop my gaze to the floral pattern of my bedsheets. “It’s not like that. My godmother’s miscarried before, she’s freaked out.” My pointer finger traces the dainty pink petals sewn into the fabric. “And I just calmed myself down, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring that stuff up.” 

“Relax, angel,” Stu mumbles absentmindedly, “You can stay at my place if you want. My parents aren’t home either, so it’s just me and Billy tonight.” `

Yeah, I’ve done a lot of pathetic things recently, and I don’t need to add crashing Billy and Stu’s sleepover to the list. Plus I don’t think I need to know what goes on at boys sleepovers. Living with a grown man for the first time was enough of a culture shock. “I appreciate the offer, but last time I stayed over at someone’s house kind of...” 

“We could stay here.” Stu’s offer comes out so casual, so without a second thought, I nearly get whiplash. I stare at him, waiting for him to grin or do anything that indicates that he’s joking. He does neither, instead he just looks at Billy like he’s asking him if they’re staying here. Not me.

Billy tilts the bottle in my direction, silently offering it to me. “We could hang out, make sure you fall asleep okay.” He relaxes enough to let his free hand fall. His fingertips ghost my forearm. “Pretend all you want, but I know that staying by yourself has to be bothering you a little.” 

Ugh. I hate when he’s right. Maybe a drink isn’t the worst idea right now. It might give me the confidence I need to seem okay with being home alone. I take the bottle, cautiously bringing it up to my lips with the intention of only taking a sip. The bottle tilts upwards with no warning. The unexpected amount of extra alcohol leaves me nearly sputtering. I’m forced to down two large mouthfuls to avoid spilling it all over my bed.

When I finally get the bottle away from me, the sound of laughter and the rush of straight vodka leave me flushed. “Stu!” I’m trying to yell at him, but his name is barely sputtered out between coughs. 

“What? This isn’t even 40 proof.” 

Billy glares in Stu’s direction before he sits up a little more. I let him tilt my chin up softly. His touch is feather light as he wipes excess liquid up my chin and across my bottom lip. The motion is slow, the nail of his thumb pressing into the edge of my lip, pulling it just enough for me to notice. He’s looking at me with such deliberation my stomach drops. 

Wow, I really cannot handle my alcohol. I pull away, hand gripping the side of my bed as cautiously as possible. “You suck, you know how I get when I drink.” 

I’ve only been drunk in front of them once. The entire group was together and after my first beer, I spent the rest of the night holding Tatum’s hand and whining whenever Stu tried to steal her away. He was starting to actually get annoyed with me, but I ended up getting super nauseous before he could actually get mad. The next day, he teased me to no end about being an extremely touchy lightweight. 

“You weren’t that bad,” Stu lies, hand casually reaching forward to catch my ankle. “Just touchy. Thought you and Tay were getting ready to put on a show.”

“Shut up.”

He yanks my foot towards him, placing my calf on his lap. “Make me.” 

I roll my eyes, nerves that I don’t understand rising up my chest at the silence that follows. I could laugh, but he doesn’t need that kind of encouragement, so instead I kick the foot he pulled towards him. The movement is light, more of an attempt to shake him off than anything else. Stu doesn’t take it that way. His hand moves up past my calf, fingers harshly pressing into my skin. 

I’m reminded of that night in the hospital. The way Stu gripped my thigh. Small bruises that I thought about more than I’d ever admit lingered there for days. He was joking then, and he’s joking now, but his touch feels different. More (or maybe less?) restrained. There’s also something about the way he’s looking at me. 

My head turns in Billy’s direction. “Think I could take him?” 

Billy looks at Stu and then at me. “You’d kick his ass.”

I grin openly, glad for the break from tension. Stu’s hold on my leg loosens. He’s no longer gripping onto me, but his touch is persistent as he draws patterns against my skin. The change doesn’t exactly ease me, but I’m worried trying to pull away will make things worse. Something tells me he won’t take it seriously, he’ll think I’m challenging him as a joke or something. 

“You wanna kick my ass?” Stu drags his fingers up my leg, stopping at my knee before slowly moving back down.

I shrug, “Not sure yet.” 

Stu rolls his eyes before extending the hand holding the bottle. “Decide after another sip.” When I dramatically glare at him, Stu smiles slightly. “I promise not to do anything this time. I’m still not convinced, and it doesn’t entirely have to do with Stu. I’m not sure I want to drink anymore, I’m already finding it hard to focus. “Tell her, Billy.” 

“I can’t help that she’s not an idiot.” 

Billy’s response isn’t even that funny, but I laugh freely anyways. Stu pouts at my reaction, pulling the bottle back towards him. “Fine, don’t trust me.” 

I’ve dealt with Stu’s coldness for days and he’s just starting to act normal again. The last thing I want is for there to be another fight, even if it’s just a petty one. With a roll of my eyes, I lean forward and grab the bottle. “Don’t be so dramatic,” I bring the bottle to my lips and take a quick drink. The liquid burns as it goes down. “See, I trust you.” 

Stu doesn’t relax. He just stares at me. Are his eyes darker than they were earlier or is the alcohol starting to get to me? I need an excuse to break eye contact. I raise the bottle again, taking another sip.

Billy’s touch on my back is easing, which is nice because the buzz is starting to kick in a lot stronger than I expected it to. There’s no way Stu was telling the truth when he said that the vodka’s less than 40 proof. “Have you had anything to eat?” He’s moving his hand in circles like he did when he found me in the bathroom. It’s more soothing than it should be. “Last time you didn’t you got sick.” 

His words are so calm I find myself giggling. “That’s very motherly of you.” Billy throws me a slightly irritated look. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, it’s nice.” My head tilts forward, the motion more drastic than I intended it to be. Billy places a hand on my cheek, stabilizing me. “I um--I ate. Ordered Pizza earlier. There’s still some in the kitchen if you guys are hungry. Or I could--could get you something to drink. My mom would be mad if she knew you guys were here, but she’d kill me if she knew I had people over and didn’t offer then anything to eat.”

Billy tilts his head downwards, a strand of hair falling forward. The urge to push it back into place leaves my fingers itching. “Does that mean you’re letting us stay?” 

What does that mean? They’ve been staying. It takes me a second to realize that he’s asking me if they’re staying the night. “It’s--” 

“Come on,” his voice is soft, his breath warm against my jaw, “We just want to help.” 

My thoughts are mush, and I’m not sure that’s just because of the alcohol. I lean back in hopes of creating some distance. “You guys can hang out,” I mumble, “But I don’t think you should stay too late. I’m kind of spacey and a little tipsy and tired. Think it’d be good for me to stay by myself tonight.” The answer feels awkward, maybe even a little risky. My eyes focus on the Princeton banner in the corner of the room. His silence is beginning to crawl under my skin. “Billy?” 

When I finally find the courage to look at him again, there’s something eerie about the blankness in his expression. His hand drops from my face. “It is getting late.” He glances at Stu, nodding his head once in the direction of the window. “Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” 

I settle the bottle in my lap before wiping at my face with both hands. I should have known better. He takes things like that more personally than one would expect. Memories of the time Billy asked me if I wanted to study for our History test together after school leave me frozen in place. I had already promised to help Randy study for a math test. Billy was cold towards me for a week. 

“Billy.” He doesn’t look back at me. I scoot to the edge of my bed, placing the bottle on my nightstand. “Stu.” Stu glances at me, but says nothing. “Don’t go.” I can’t look at them. My nails dig into my bedsheets. “Come on, I-I need you guys.” 

God, I’m never drinking again. The admission is so embarrassing I can feel blood rush to my face. I don’t look up until fingers press in to the skin beneath my chin. My head is tilted upwards before I can make any kind of decision. 

“Need us?” Billy’s voice is low and unbearably patient. 

I blink up at him, unsure on how to proceed. I learned early on in our friendship that it takes little to trigger some kind of power trip in them, and that that tends to lead to meanness. But every part of that’s lost to the buzzed feeling of the alcohol doesn’t care. I nod slowly. 

I’d consider the slight uptilt of the corner of his mouth a smile if it wasn’t for the strange look behind his eye. He’s so hard to read sometimes and that just makes me resent the fact that I’ve always been an open book. He knew about my concussion before I did. “A little bit of alcohol is all it takes with you, huh?” 

His tone is so patronizing I’d pull away if I was any less fuzzy. “More than a little.” 

Billy lets out a partially amused breath. “To you.” 

“Remember how you got after two beers?” Stu sits next to me, so close our knees touch.

I shift back, forcing my eyes to stay on my lap. “That’s why I didn’t want to drink a lot, but some asshole tilted the bottle with no warning.” 

“Mean of them,” Stu agrees, shockingly amicable as he takes my hand from my lap. I watch as he messes with my fingers, curling and uncurling them like a child would with a toy. “Let us stay, bug. We’ll have fun, watch movies, I’ll go downstairs for you if you get thirsty in the middle of the night.” 

The specificness of that last part leaves me confused. I tilt my head in his direction, but Stu pays no mind to it. Billy half huffs, “I’d get you the water, Stu’s too selfish when he’s tired.” 

“Fuck you,” Stu protests, squeezing my hand once, “Maybe I’d do for it Y/n. Maybe I like her more than I like you.”

Billy barely justifies that response with a look in Stu’s direction. He then turns towards me, eyes softening slightly as he shakes his head once. Despite myself, I smile fondly. “It’s not that I don’t want you guys to stay, it’s that I don’t know if it’s okay.” 

Of course Stu’s the one to ask, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” 

Even in my state, I know he knows exactly what I’m implying. He’s fighting a grin, enjoying the prospect of me having to say it a little too much. For once, I can’t use my mom as an excuse. There’s literally zero possibility of her finding out, she won’t be in the same state as us until Tuesday. The only way she’d find out is if I tell her and if I admit that I’m scared of letting it slip out, the mommy’s girl jokes will never end. 

“You know why,” I begin, watching Stu trace the line of my palms. “Don’t think Sid and Tatum would love the idea of their boyfriends...” He’s really going to make me say it. I resist the urge to pull my hand back into my lap and curl into myself. “...Having sleepovers with me.” 

The words are barely out of my mouth before Stu laughs. “You and Tay get up to a lot at your sleepovers?” 

The alcohol’s really getting to me because it takes me a second to understand the joke. My delayed eye roll is definitely noticed. “That’s not--it’s--” I pull my hand away, crossing my arms over my chest. “You know what I mean. It’s different.” 

“Why’s it so different?” 

That’s the kind of question I expect from Stu, but from Billy, it’s not as easy to dismiss with an eye roll and halfhearted shove. “It’d-it’d seem weird,” I whisper, “Tate and Sid--” 

“Would be happy that we’re keeping you safe. They love you.” Billy places a hand on my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the strap of my tank top. I was too distracted before to think about what I’m wearing, but now I can’t help noticing that this is the skimpiest I’ve ever worn in front of them. 

It’s not like I’m naked--but my old, elastic pajama shorts are the kind of thing I can’t wear around Wells. My tank top isn’t scandalous, but I’m too aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. I also don’t love being seen in clothes like this. Two different types of insecurity strike at the same time.  

“Sid would kill me if I let anything happen to you,” Billy continues, his thumb moving up and down my skin. “C’mon.” 

This was always a losing fight. It’s kind of hard to put your foot down when it comes to something that you don’t really want. I know that my points are valid, or at least, I think they’re valid.

Maybe I am being a little dramatic. It’s not like we’re doing anything bad. Even if they didn’t have girlfriends, I really doubt either of them would see me like that. And is it so bad that I don’t want to be completely alone in this house? We’re friends, friends have sleepovers. Plus it is nighttime and they’ve been drinking, sending them to walk home could lead to something happening to them.

“Okay,” I give in, “But best behavior. My mom will kill me if she thinks you guys stayed over.”

“Aw,” Stu says, moving to rest his head on my shoulder, “Willing to keep a secret from your mom for us.” 

Instead of shaking Stu off, I rest my head against his. “Guess I like you guys.” 

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.” 

I frown, “I’m not sleepy.” 

“Then let’s go watch a movie.” I pout when Stu moves away, “Come on, I brought options.”

Moving to sit closer to the edge of the bed, I wipe my eyes with the back of my palm tiredly. Stu brought more movies? For a spontaneous, tipsy visit, Stu seems remarkably prepared. He grabs the bottle off of my nightstand. The implications of that makes me sigh loudly. 

Billy reaches forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s easier to go along with it.” I let him help me to my feet. When I sway, Billy’s hand is quick to find my hip. “I’ll help you down the stairs.” 

I don’t protest. It’s probably for the best, anyways. Tipsy me isn’t exactly known for her coordination. 

True to his word, Billy’s hand stays on my hip as as we walk to the living room. Once we’re down the stairs, Billy’s hold on me doesn’t loosen. Stu’s already messing with the VCR by the time I’m sitting on the couch. I consider offering him some help, but decide against it. I’m comfortable, and probably too out of it to be useful.

Watching a movie feels like a good thing. Knowing them, it’s probably something scary, and they take their horror movies seriously. It’ll consume their attention, which means I’ll be able to recover from the alcohol in peace.

Stu must figure out the VCR because he stands up and walks towards us. He sits down next to me, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. “What’d you put on?”

"The Shining.” 

“Finished the book recently.” 

“Hm,” Stu hums in acknowledgement, already turning his full attention to the movie. 

The movie playing lets me relax. There’s no need to worry about doing anything stupid or embarrassing because the two of them are going to be immersed in what’s on the screen. 

Only a few minutes into the movie, Stu takes a sip from the bottle of alcohol. I almost forgot he brought that down with him. He then offers it to me without looking away from the TV. My hand wraps around the neck of the bottle. After a few sips, Billy takes it from me. He ignores the way I look at him, opting to drink even less than Stu did before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. 

I’ve watched The Shining before, and I’ve been meaning to rewatch it since finishing the book, but focusing isn’t coming easily to me right now. At least I know enough about to plot to not be confused as my thoughts tune in and out.

My head ends up on Billy’s shoulder. I don’t remember making the conscious choice to do so, but I’m comfortable and Billy doesn’t shake me off, he just brushes his knuckles up and down my leg absentmindedly. 

The longer the movie continues, the harder I find it to understand what’s going on. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because the bottle somehow keeps making its way back to me.

I blink hard, trying to figure out what point of the movie we’re at. We’re not near the end, Jack Torrence hasn’t fully snapped yet, but his writer’s block is getting bad. A confident touch to my left knee snaps me out of my analysis. My head turns against Billy’s shoulder. Stu’s eyes are still trained on the movie, but his hand is on my leg, and not in a casual, mindless way, either. 

He squeezes my knee as the little boy rides his tricycle past room 237. “Stu.” His fingertips trail up my inner thigh slowly, lingering where my shorts end. I shift, unintentionally pressing myself more into Billy. Stu presses his hand down in order to keep my leg in place. “Stu.” What’s meant to be a scolding comes out too sleepy and slurred. It practically sounds like a whine.  “’M serious.” 

Stu’s nails drag up my skin. My breath catches in my throat oddly, a tiny sound slipping out. “Serious about what?” My lips part, but no words are ready to come out. “You’re okay,” he whispers, “Just watch the movie, angel.” I’m too buzzed to do anything but nod. “Want more to drink?” 

“She’s done,” Billy squeezes my forearm, “Anymore and she’ll get sick.”

The thought of drinking anymore does twist my stomach. Sometimes the way Billy reads people is a tiny bit eerie. I nod against his arm, squeezing his hand. Stu shrugs, turning back to the movie without moving his hand from my thigh.

By the time the movie’s ending, the fact that I’m aware of anything is a miracle. I only fell asleep once and woke up to the feeling of Stu squeezing my thigh. The fact that my initial reaction wasn’t to try to get him to knock it off, but to pretend to still be asleep scared me so much I didn’t let myself relax for the rest of the movie. 

"She asleep?” Stu’s voice is barely louder than the sound of still rolling credits. 

I shift against Billy in a sad attempt to sit up fully with no support. “Still awake,” my voice is too drowsy, I try a little harder to sit up before wiping my eyes. “’M up.”

Billy keeps a hand on my arm in an attempt to help stabilize me. “Clearly.” I try throwing a sarcastic look in his direction, but it feels kind of pathetic. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

Stu grabs my hand, pulling on my arm before I can respond. They help me stand and stay up. They’re attentive as we move up the stairs, pausing and holding me a little tighter each time I threaten to sway or stumble. I’m barely there by the time we get to my room.

The second I see my bed, I abandon them both in favor of finding my mattress. I stumble, pulling back my sheets before laying down. Billy sits down on the other side of the bed. I roll onto my stomach in order to reach for him. My hand falls short, but Billy moves to compensate for my lethargy. 

I can barely lift my head off of the mattress, “Hi.” 

His hand is on my back, moving in small circles. “Hi,” he echoes. I smile at nothing in particular as I try to keep my eyes open. “You need sleep.” 

With a laugh, I turn onto my back. Billy moves his hand away, looking at me sternly as I continue to giggle. “Astute observation.” I lazily try to wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Weird word, huh?” Using the last of my energy to sit up, I laugh again. The sound gets cut short by a yawn. “Never really thought about it before the SAT.” 

“Uh-huh,” Stu starts, placing a hand on my shoulder, “You spent who knows how long with your nose in an SAT prep book, we get it. Now go to sleep.” 

My head lulls to the side, mainly subconscious protest must be visible on my face because Stu pushes against my shoulder and that’s all it takes for my back to fall flat against my bed. My eyes go wide in surprise. I shift like I want to sit up, but then decide to just roll onto my side. “That wasn’t nice.” 

He sits next to me, “I’ll make it up to you in the morning.” My eyes are now shut but I can hear his movements. The feel of a hand brushing against my side should alarm me more. I open my eyes just enough to see Stu lying next to me. “Promise.” 

I hum vaguely in agreement, nodding my head more into my sheets than anything else. I’m so close to sleep I barely register the feeling of Billy’s hand against my back, moving in the same circular motions as before.

The last thing I register before falling fully asleep is the light getting turned off and long fingers brushing against my neck. I’m in a state that’s more dream than reality when something oddly sharp--but not painful--quickly brushes against my neck. Before I can think about it, I’m pulled under. 

----

Narrator’s POV

Stu can’t help it. He’s been trying to keep it together all night, trying to pace himself and hold onto the way he’s supposed to act, but it’s been getting increasingly harder around you. Especially tonight.

The urge to break character, in a sense, isn’t his fault. Not really. How is he supposed to focus and play best friend’s boyfriend when you’re everywhere? The postures and pictures on your wall, the overflowing, well loved bookshelf in the corner, and your sheets. The dainty floral pattern, the softness of the cotton, and the way that they smell so much like you. He can’t stop imagining what it’d feel like to press your face into them as you took him from behind. 

He thought being in your room would be easy. It’s not like he’s never checked it out before, but only while you weren’t home. But being here with you? A drunk, touchy, needy you? Almost impossible. He’s been trying to hide how hard he is all night. 

But now you’re asleep, and the alcohol he kept getting you to drink is guaranteed to keep you that way until late morning. His hands have been all over you since he first realized that your breathing evened out. He moves one hand to palm himself over his pants. His free hand trails down your side, squeezing your hip. 

“Go to sleep.” Billy’s voice isn’t tired, just a little flat, and maybe a tiny bit annoyed.

 Stu recognizes the lack of demand in Billy’s tone and decides that his words are more of a ‘knock it off’ than a serious ‘stop’. “Like you’re not hard.” Stu’s fingers brush against the hem of your shorts. “Y/n said she needed us and then spent two and a half hours basically laying on top of you.” Stu slips his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, knowing that with a few more words he could finally get some release. “Remember yesterday?” Stu groans, his hand moving down his length. “You came to the thought of that.” 

Billy stays still, ignoring a feeling he’s been in control of since early in the night. “It’s too soon.” He glances at you, so tired and so needy. “We push anymore tonight and we won’t be able to blame it on drinking.” Your breath flutters slightly, your chest expanding a bit more than usual. “If she thinks anything’s up she won’t talk to us anymore. She’s still too close to Sidney and Tatum.” 

“Relax,” Stu sighs, his hand moving a little bit faster, “Sh-she drank enough to keep her knocked out until tomorrow. Fuck.” Stu turns his head at the sound of Billy moving. He frowns dramatically when he realizes that the movement was just Billy brushing his knuckles over your cheek in order to sooth you and make sure you’re still sleeping comfortably. “You’re babying her, we should just talk her into it already.” Stu likes the thought of that more than he can put into words. The three of you, like it should be. “Should’ve felt her when my hand was on her thigh. She--fuck--she was shaking, pretending to be asleep.” 

Billy lets out a breath, reaching over for Stu lazily. You don’t even shift at the motion. “You think I’m babying her, but she’s the one that has you wrapped around her finger.” 

Stu parts his lips to protest, but Billy pushes his hand beneath the waistband of Stu’s pants before he can get the words out. “Shit,” Stu’s breath hitches, “Fuck you, Y/n lets me do whatever I wan-want.” Billy moves his hand at a pace that’s agonizing. “She wouldn’t stop me if I-” 

Stu cuts himself off with a groan. Billy finishes the sentence for him, “If you spread her legs apart, pulled those tiny shorts to the side, and ate her out until she’s crying.” With each word, Billy picks up his pace, indifferent to Stu’s whines. “You want to do that?” 

“Yes,” Stu doesn’t hesitate, “Fuck, yes.” 

“She’d squirm under you like before.” God, Stu’s practically seeing stars. “She’d let us fuck her like a whore.” 

Stu bites his tongue to suppress a whine, his fingertips digging into your hip. “Shit, I’m close.” 

Billy moves his hand up, pulling it away from Stu slowly. He ignores Stu’s whine. “Go to sleep.”

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129

[mlm-writer]

Is Homelander a Psychopath?

Even the fandom page calls Homelander sociopathic (mostly synonymous with psychopathic in the medical sense), but is he really? In this way too long meta-post I use the Hare Psychopathy Checklist-Revised to put Homelander’s psychopathy score on a scale from 0 to 40. Welcome to my TedTalk.  

Disclaimer

I am not authorised to diagnose anyone with anything. I am not a professional. See the end of the post for my sources on psychopathy. My main source is the book The Psychopath Whisperer by Dr Kent Kiehl. Also this is how I see Homelander based on the show The Boys, so I do not take the comics into account. Lastly, the fandom page also uses the word ‘psychotic’, which refers to psychosis, not psychopathy.

Glibness/superficial charm 

Ok yes, definitely. Homelander knows how to entertain a crowd. His whole persona is based on nationalism. He has that charming smile down, has this ‘you are the real heroes’ thing going on. Superficial charm is a big check in the present and given that Homelander apparently has been doing it for years, I say it was in the past also a big check. Psychopaths also tend to talk so much that people can not deeply analyse all that they say and then only remember the ‘good points’ the psychopath made. Homelander does this well in interview scenes and you often see him interrupting other people. On a three-point scale from 0 to 2, I’d give him 2 points. 

Grandiose sense of self-worth

Also called narcissism and it is so obvious in Homelander. The thing is that narcissists usually don’t think they are the best, but they feel like they deserve to be treated like they are the best. Actually, narcissists commonly base their entire self-worth on the feedback they get from other people. Without that they get aggressive and start blaming others for their own short-comings. Sounds familiar? The big question is if this had been the case for Homelander’s entire life. His narcissistic behaviour could’ve developed under the limelight. Still he deserves 2 points.  

Need for stimulation 

This is where I start to question Homelander being a psychopath. Psychopaths are very prone to boredom, so they usually cannot keep one job for long. They tend to travel around. Homelander has worked for Vought for years and it is not that much of an exciting job. It involves a lot of interviews that all seems similar. Photoshoots are not exactly peak entertainment either. Reshooting scenes for his movies? Psychopaths with this trait also tend to do drugs and drink a lot to get that stimulation, but Homelander is seen drinking champagne at a social gathering and a whiskey or two in front of the TV at most as far as I can remember. He really scores 0 on this part. 

Pathological lying

Yes, Homelander lies a lot, but it is not pathological. Pathological liars will lie for no reason at all and are unfazed when they are caught in a lie. Homelander can go to extreme measures to keep his lies standing. His whole good guy act is a lie, but he protects it. Not only is he trying to protect his lies, but he also lies with reason. Pathological liars will lie about things that can be fact-checked with a single Google search. Homelander is not like that. He scores once again 0. 

Manipulation 

And back to classic psychopathic behaviour, the manipulation. Not to be weird, but Homelander does it so well. He got the population wrapped around his red-gloved fingers. He knows where to push people. He plays into people’s weaknesses and desire. How to get control of his floor? Simple, recommend to hire someone he can control. Those meetings starting from season one? Perfect for his manipulative mind-games, establish control. The way he played Ryan? Genius! Homelander’s ability to manipulate people is honestly impressive, 2 points. 

Lack of Remorse or Guilt

I think this is one of the iconic Homelander traits. How he could just let a plane full of people die? How he could just murder people? The lack of any remorse for killing that innocent person when he stopped that ‘terrorist’? Iconic. I don’t recommend it, but wow it is such a good trait for his character. I just wonder if this is a recent trait or something he already had. It is also possible that he got a lot of collateral damage from the start and got desensitised to it over time. Madelyn Stillwell loved to say ‘we fix it’ and ‘I’m just trying to protect you’. Imagine accidentally killing people over time and everyone around you keeps telling you ‘oh it’s no big deal’, at some point you might just believe it. Giving him a 2 for this, but I also think Vought is to blame. 

Shallow Affect 

Basically psychopaths generally don’t give a fuck. Whereas normal inmates tend to feel depressed when they start their prison life, psychopaths are completely indifferent. They often see it as a mild inconvenience at best. Psychopaths don’t care. Homelander, on the other hand, may not care about people, but he really cares about some things. He cares deeply about his reputation to the point he would ask for help from Stormfront. Knowing how prideful Homelander is, him asking for help is big. When he found out Stormfront lied? He cared a lot. He cares about ‘owning’ Maeve enough that he would go out of his way to kill someone. And Ryan? Oh Ryan… Homelander did not care about Ryan, but he really cared about having someone on his level. Homelander is a very lonely boy and he cares a lot about not being lonely. Not really shallow if you ask me. 0 points. 

Lack of Empathy 

This is oddly enough questionable in Homelander. Like I said before, he could kill without remorse. He could manipulate without guilt. BUT he understands people. The full-on, full-point psychopath does not understand that a mother would worry about her child when they are out late. Homelander does understand how people feel. How else would he keep his public opinion high? He could understand why people feel fear or pride or love. That requires a certain level of empathy. Becca’s threat: “I will kill myself in front of Ryan and tell him your father did this to me.” Someone without empathy could not see how that would affect Ryan. Homelander understood what that would do to Ryan and he understood that complying would increase his chances with his son. Someone without empathy would never understand that. He also could tell when Ryan was uncomfortable. He could give Ryan space when he thought Ryan needed it. He told Ryan a personal story when he thought that his personal experience was similar to Ryan’s. I don’t know if the story is true, but the fact that he could play into Ryan’s feelings like that shows empathy.  Homelander is not empathetic, but he also has no complete lack of it, 1 point. 

Parasitic Lifestyle

Psychopaths often ‘burrow’ money, life off others, don’t keep jobs and don’t buy their own things. They leech off others, because they couldn’t be bothered to obtain things themselves. I don’t really see this in Homelander. He takes a lot of initiative. That whole creating super-terrorists? That was a lot of effort and he was the leader of that operation. Sure he let others do the hard work, but he still planned it all out FOR MADELYN. It was no personal gain thing. Homelander scores 0 on this if you ask me. 

Poor Behavioural Controls

I want to say yes, but that one scene with the crowd where he thought of lasering them all down, but didn’t? That’s behavioural control. You often see him wanting to hit someone and then stop himself. A psychopath would just lash out, because they can’t think of the consequences. Homelander can think of the consequences and keeps himself in check, because of what might happen when he goes through with his impulses. He showed control when he wanted to kill Starlight where she stood, but then he didn’t. Homelander does lash out at times, but his eyes glow and yet he doesn’t laser someone to death. That’s self-control. Still, I am giving him one point for throwing bratty tantrums like a toddler. 

Promiscuous Sexual Behaviour

Ok his kinks were weird, but while Madelyn was alive, he did not seem to have sex with anyone else. Some goes with Stormfront. He always has one bed partner. What he gets up to with them is not my problem, but important to note is that he shows loyalty to one person. 0 points. 

Lack of Realistic Long-Term Goals

Ok his long-term goals are fucked up, but he does have them. Creating super-terrorists was such a fucking long project. He could see himself in Stormfront’s ideal of a super-army. He planned how to get Ryan from the start. Homelander does more planning than me. Whether his goals were realistic… Well… He succeeded in two of the three things and definitely had the tools for the super-army. So I say they were realistic for him, 0 points. 

Impulsivity 

Yes and no. He sometimes acts on impulse, but like I said he shows self-control and the ability to plan. However, he does not always think things completely through like that speech at the expo or taking down that plane after that dude found out about compound V. Almost drowning Hughie in front of other people? Impulsive. Going to that rally? Impulsive too. I give him one point on this one. 

Irresponsibility 

Seeing Homelander with his son, yes he can be responsible. He doesn’t leave Ryan somewhere unsupervised. He also tried to protect and help Madelyn. He shows a sense of responsibility towards being the face of Vought and towards being ‘Madelyn’s golden boy’. He does not take responsibility for everything he should, but he shows that he is not completely incapable of taking responsibility, one point. 

Failure to accept responsibility 

Not sure how this exactly differs from the previous one, but as far as i can tell, the previous one is a general feeling of responsibility and this refers to individual actions. Homelander does have a general feeling of responsibility, but when things go south, he does not take any responsibility. Becca was not his fault, he just raped her. That plane going down was not his fault, even though he fried the controls. That innocent person in the video dying was not his fault either. Blah blah blah. According to him, it’s never his fault, but those of the people that are in the way or those that ‘test him’, two points. 

Many Short-term Marital Relationships 

Nope, not Homelander. He is said to have had a relationship with Maeve and later he is with Stormfront. He also had this weird thing going on with Madelyn, BUT he never married any of them. Psychopaths have the tendency to just marry someone out of impulse. Homelander is even picky about who he fucks, 0 points. 

Criminal Versatility

Human trafficking, homicide, mass murder, feeding the population lies, assault, rape, supplying terrorists of compound V, yeah I’d say he is pretty versatile, 2 points. 

Conclusion

Due to lack of information or it simply not being applicable to Homelander, I omitted 3 factors (juvenile delinquency, early behavioural problems and revocation of conditional release). I did some reverse math on how omitted scores were handled in The Psychopath Whisperer and I came up with the following formula: score * (1 + amount of omitted items * 0.04) and then rounded up to one decimal point. This gives Homelander a score of 18.0. The cut-off for psychopathy is a score of 30 in the US and 25 in the UK. The average citizen scores around 5, while the average criminal scores around 22. So as unhinged as this bastard is, Homelander is per my analysis not a psychopath. He is just a cunt. Thanks for reading this. 

Sources

Kiehl, K. A. (2015). The Psychopath Whisperer (1st edition). London, Great Britain: Oneworld Publications.

Neumann, C. S., & Hare, R. D. (2008). Psychopathic traits in a large community sample: Links to violence, alcohol use, and intelligence. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 76(5), 893–899. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-006x.76.5.893

Kiehl, K. A. (2006). A cognitive neuroscience perspective on psychopathy: Evidence for paralimbic system dysfunction. Psychiatry Research, 142(2–3), 107–128. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.psychres.2005.09.013

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

South Korean music industry at a glance: an outsider perspective

I watched one particular AMV last week. The song used for the video was “I’m afraid” by Korean rock band DAY6. I was pleasantly surprised as someone who values lyrics in song first and foremost. The music itself was great. I’ll listen to their songs again. It’s a nice fit for my music taste. Naturally, YouTube’s algorithm decided that I’m a fan of everything Korean after 1 video and started spamming my recommendations with k-pop songs, documentaries and everything in-between. 

I watched a couple of videos, listened to some songs and discovered fascinating patterns. So, I went down to the comment section. And it was rather interesting experience, should I say? The concept of entertainment industry in South Korea simply begged to be explored more after this. I dug deeper and visited Tumblr k-pop tags and briefly glanced upon Instagram and Twitter. And, oh...

I am a big picture person and I enjoy both studying and creating systems. This one was particularly fun to explore. I discovered a lot of new things for myself. Perhaps, you can discover something new for yourself too or take a step back and look at this from a new angle. 

Disclaimer: it’s impossible not to offend someone on Tumblr, so keep that in mind. That being said, I do NOT intend to insult of offend anyone. It’s just a little research done for fun, because I love research with a purpose. This post is NOT A HATE post. No hate intended for fans, artists or other people involved. It’s meant to be a discussion, nothing more and nothing less. If it sounds like hate, it’s just my sarcastic sense of humour.

Content Warning: I mention suicide, death, depression, rape in a couple of sentences. There’s nothing major or graphic, but it’s there. 

In this long post I decided to share with you my opinion, a so-called outsider perspective, on the world of music entertainment industry in South Korea and people involved in it on different levels. I use the word “outsider” mainly because, that’s exactly what I am in this case, as someone who is in no way involved in k-pop community. I can’t name you a single band or their members. I don’t know any solo artist and can’t neither sing nor name you any song. 

And to be completely honest, I don’t think I will set my foot into k-pop fan-circles ever again after everything I saw. 

Think of this as “In this essay I will...” meme, except there’s an actual essay.

As far as I know, in South Korea “k-pop” refers to all music produced in SK, including solo artists, various bands, singers-songwriters. It doesn’t even have to be pop music. Koreans include in this definition all genres of music. However, around the world “k-pop” means primarily music made by idol groups and bands marketed for children, teenagers and younger people. In this post I use the latter definition, because that’s how most people understand “k-pop” in other countries. Therefore, my statements, opinions and conclusions here would concern only idol music. 

The music industry in South Korea is heavily influenced by culture and traditions of the country, just like all things are. And there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, different backgrounds are what makes people so interesting and unique. However, when combined with consumer mindset, desire to generate profit at any cost and fast-paced nature of modern life these neutral cultural elements could produce something concerning, and it can lead to disastrous consequences. 

1. Idol

These people are called artists, musicians, singers, bands, groups, performers. In South Korea and in Japan, however, people call them Idols or Stars. I’ve also seen Muses, Princes and Queens. Interesting, isn’t it? The terminology used to describe these musicians in South Korea is one of the key elements in this whole entertainment system. You’ll see why.

But who or what is an idol exactly? Let’s take a basic definition from Wikipedia.

“In the practice of religion, a cult image or devotional image is a human-made object that is venerated or worshipped for the deity, person, spirit or daemon ... that it embodies or represents. In several traditions, including the ancient religions of Egypt, Greece and Rome, and modern Hinduism, cult images in a temple may undergo a daily routine of being washed, dressed, and having food left for them. Processions outside the temple on special feast days are often a feature. Religious images cover a wider range of all types of images made with a religious purpose, subject, or connection. In many contexts "cult image" specifically means the most important image in a temple, kept in an inner space, as opposed to what may be many other images decorating the temple.

The term idol is often synonymous with worship cult image. In cultures where idolatry is not viewed negatively, the word idol is not generally seen as pejorative, such as in Indian English.”

Cambridge Dictionary defines idol as follows:

And here’s the definition from Oxford Dictionary: 

This is a centrepiece of this tapestry. Surely, you have noticed by now what these definitions have in common. 

Idol = a cult image of a god, a deity 

By calling these musicians “idols” industry makes society and audience treat them in certain way, namely as gods. What characteristics do gods possess? They are beautiful, talented, funny, confident and graceful, blessed by eternal youth of immortality. Gods have no flaws, they do not bleed, they are above human concerns. They are an embodiment of perfection. They are stars, you could not reach. 

But real people are not like that. They can be sad and angry, insecure. People don’t have perfectly symmetrical faces. They can’t dance in sync without preparation. They can’t sing like angels at any given moment throughout the day.

What happens when idols accidentally reveal their humanity? What happens when people see, that they make mistakes and do stupid things, that they need to train hard to appear graceful on stage? 

I will tell you. And it’s not pretty. But, first, let’s look at other elements of this system. 

2. Y/N and Self-insert fantasy

Aside from the music, K-pop sells the self-insert fantasy to the audience. It’s carefully arranged to appear real, where the cracks are masked and every word is scripted. The reality is so vivid that one doesn’t even have to use imagination all that much, because all scenarios and decorations already exist. Countless interviews for TV and magazines, fan meetings, talk shows, reality shows made sure people are privy to all juicy details of personal lives and opinions of musicians. And also one word - merchandise. Some of that merch made me question my life choices. Some of it is, ah, creepy or has weird vibes. All of this provides plenty of material for people to work with. Fans can effortlessly imagine themselves beside their idols or even in their place. 

In a highly competitive society, where people throw themselves into studying and work since young age, forming deep and lasting connections with others is very hard, sometimes impossible. As a result, people long to have a group of close friends with similar interests, a loving partner who would cherish them endlessly. People want to be rewarded for their backbreaking efforts to succeed by the carefree life of fame and music, everlasting friendships and love. And in a way you can’t really blame them for his. 

Does this dream life sound familiar? We are looking at K-pop bands here. It doesn’t really matter if their members don’t always get along or that they can live in debt, that fame is fickle and adoring fans can tear your self-confidence to shreds. Audience wants the glamour of fantasy and the industry is more than happy to cater to these desires. 

Perhaps, knowing that even for idols this fantasy is sometimes unattainable makes the whole set up feel just a little cruel. 

3. Fans, stans and fandom culture

We’ve already established earlier that idols are gods in the eyes of people and listed traits they must possess. So, what else do gods need to exist? Worshippers. Because a cult is worth nothing without its followers. Gods need a group of people to worship them and spread their beliefs. The role of worshippers is performed by a fans in this case. 

Apparently, there is a running joke that girl groups need to win a general public popularity and boy bands need a big passionate fandom. It seems to be true according to my observations. 

In k-pop fandom people use the word “stan” to state that they like or support particular group. Now, I am sure everyone here knows that in other fandoms, dedicated to movies, shows, books and games there’s an important distinction between being a “fan” and a “stan”. What is it? 

A fan is someone who likes a ship or character, creates and/or consumes fandom content, supports certain ideas, discusses things they enjoyed and disliked, criticises canon. Stans, however, are a different breed. They engage in all typical fandom activities, but their support and enjoyment becomes obsession. Stans believe their favourite characters and ships are immune to criticism, that they are superior no matter what others say. Stans start shipping wars, send anon hate, death threats over fictional characters and hurt real people. Stans are considered toxic fans. And majority of normal civilised people don’t like them and try their best to let stans hang out in their echo chamber by themselves. 

In other fandoms and communities, to be a fan means to love, support and enjoy something, while to stan means to obsess over and hyperfixate on these same things. Words “I stan” rarely mean “I support” for most people, and if they do mean that, it’s only used in a joking manner (”We stan procrastination legend!”, “I stan our miscommunication kings”).

Everywhere else “stan” has only negative connotations, except in k-pop. But what has changed? What’s the difference? Why do international fans scoff at “shipper stans” and then turn around calling themselves “stans of X k-pop group” at the same time? Does it make you wonder? 

And this is another core theme of k-pop, in my opinion. In fandom where stan = obsession = support, you can see interesting patterns. 

Fandom loves their flawless gods. But watching them from afar is not enough for some people, because unlike deities in different religions, these gods live among us. People are very much aware of that. Industry has created a cult and laid the groundwork for worshippers to express their adoration in every way including personal contact. And who wouldn’t want to meet their god? Who wouldn’t want to know more about them or tell them how much you love them? In talk shows and fan meetings there is only so much one can do after all.

People desire to know more, to have more so much that their obsession transforms into concerning stalker tendencies. These crazy individuals follow idols, stalk them on social media, in hotels, research flight numbers, bribe security. Musicians were attacked and poisoned. I strongly suspect there were cases of rape that no one knows about. There is even a special term for these fans - “sasaeng”. 

Is there a definition for stalkers of actors or musicians in western world? No, I’m pretty sure there isn’t. They are just called “invasive/obsessive fans” or “stalkers”.

Also, there are sasaeng memes. Yeah, you heard that right. I enjoy some classy dark humour as much as the next person, but there is a fine line between normal and questionable. 

Back to the topic of stalkers. Do you realise how disturbing that is? Such behaviour is so common that there is a term for it. You create a fandom-cult, encourage people to worship k-pop idols as gods and then act surprised when members of said cult become fanatics and their adoration becomes obsession.

And it’s so easy to step on this slippery road. The system makes it ridiculously easy. Lines begin to blur. How much is too much? Where do you draw the line? 

While sasaeng fans engage in extreme real-life obsession, people online aren’t that far off, to be honest. I’ve seen it all: imagines, headcanons, fanfiction, real-person shipping, reactions. Real person shipping is a controversial topic. Some people support it, others don’t. I suppose I’m among those who don’t get it. I’m not exactly against it, but I find it strange. Mainly because it’s based on assumptions made by fans about personalities and behaviour of real people. 

Assumptions. Dear me! K-pop fandom has this thing with video compilations. I’ve never seen this phenomenon being so widespread in any other community or fandom. Basically people edit together a collection of short clips from talk-shows, interviews, Instagram stories, some YouTube videos, etc and then proceed to analyse every gesture, word, facial expression of idols and provide both audio and on-screen commentary. These videos and many other forms of similar analysis allow people to imagine what kind of personalities idols have, what kind of life do they live. It’s the source material for fanfiction, imagines and headcanons. 

But it’s not real. It’ll never be real. It’s an illusion, an image, a stage persona. They fall in love with a face and made up personality. And I think that when people create this content they can forget this. Fans can develop certain emotional dependence and unhealthy attitudes in the long run. In some YouTube comments even supportive and encouraging words sound whiny and obsessive. And semantics of being a “stan” of certain group or individual doesn’t help. 

4. Industry, companies and liars 

At last we arrive at the most important aspect of music entertainment industry - its creators.

Have you seen “The Road to El Dorado”? It’s one of my all time favourites. It has iconic characters, adult jokes that I didn’t get as a child and iconic soundtrack. I’ll quote “It’s Tough To Be A God” a lot here. 

In South Korea music industry is a factory, the production line to be exact. This kind of set up affects everything in the grand scheme of things. Companies and agencies play the role of training centres and record labels. And there are so many of them that a whole new scamming system developed based around fake idol agencies. It implies that there are people who fall for offers of these agencies and continue to do so. I suspect that victims must pay a fortune upfront before they realise their mistake. Are there any kind of legal protection against such scams? How can people verify the authenticity? Because a well masked scam can exist for a long time before someone discovers it and calls them out on their nonsense. 

As far as I understand legal companies work like this. After high school, which is often focused on performing arts (and private schools can get away with using talents of students for personal gain, which is totally not surprising), young people can audition for an agency and become an idol in training or idol-trainee. And passing audition is hard. But good recommendations can help, connections too. 

During training you don’t get paid. Only a few companies pay aspiring musicians. People can spend years in training and don’t debut. But rent, necessities, clothing and food (not that you need much of it, but more on that later) cost a lot. Where do you get the money to live then? Support from parents, one or two part time jobs at most and bank loans. Surprise! We found an unexpected (just kidding, it’s very obvious) party, who reaps benefits from the system. 

You need skill to be an idol. Natural talent helps too. The more skills you have, the cheaper and faster your training is. To level up your game you attend classes every month offered by your agency, which are not cheap (dance classes range from 400$ to 1000$ per month, sometimes more). There are four main categories in evaluation process: vocals, rapping, dancing and visuals. Idols are multitaskers, to have a chance on stage one must be perfect at everything. And people are ready to invest thousands of dollars into their kids training so that they could have a chance in entertainment industry. South Korea thrives on revenue k-pop industry generates every day.

Let’s pause here for a second and think about what kind of people come to these agencies. The answer is easy. People who have a dream, a desire, a real goal. You don’t wake up one day and decide to become a k-pop idol. Sometimes people get invited by agencies (after prior acting, modelling career or any other form of exposure). These people are usually very young. Some start straight after high school, some after university, but 25 years old is considered a late start. Compare that to western musicians who start singing at any age and still become famous. 

But why this age limit? Because idols are eternally young. So that in public eye musicians are remembered as 20 year old gods. People would listen to their music and imagine a young attractive face. Career in k-pop is short, it lasts 5-7 years, rarely longer than that. It’s even less than modelling or acting can offer. And professional sportsmen retire in their late 30′s. Some play longer, but usually, that’s it.

If you live in Los Angeles and say that you want to be an actor or performer, no one would bat an eye. It’s like saying that you want to be an engineer or accountant. Similarly, in South Korea becoming an k-pop musician is a real career. Because part of the self insert fantasy that the industry sells is the idea that anyone can be an idol. It’s easy after all. Anyone can pass auditions and become a trainee. A trainee with no guarantee of debut. But one should never underestimate the power of idol-dream. After all, idea is the most resilient parasite.   

“My friends started training in kindergarten. They have wanted to become idols since young”

“A lot of young kids get interested in Korean music” 

A 6-year old child sees the performance of k-pop group for the first time on TV. Let’s say it’s a girl. She is enraptured and decides that she will be like that too someday. She grows up, while being part of the fandom, just like all idols are in one way or another and whose fan-obsession transforms into desire to succeed. Her parents spend time and money to find her tutors, to fund dancing and singing classes. Perhaps in high school this girl decides to fix the shape of her eyes and make nose straighter. She trains hard and passes the auditions in her dream agency. And during training this girl faces the reality of behind the scenes life in music industry.

“Why are you crying? I’m not even pushing you”

“How many times have I told you? The rest are doing it perfectly”

“She is dancing like an elementary school student“

“I watched your performance as a spectator who bought a ticket to your concert. I want a refund“

“You make my ears hurt. I don’t want to listen at all”

“Listening to you was tiring”

“I’ll kick you out instead. You won’t debut”

“I thought I was going to die. That’s how determined I was” 

While I do understand that keeping a high quality standards in media industry is important, there are more productive and healthy ways to motivate someone to improve and be more passionate, you know? Constantly insulting people with sadistic glee and putting them down at every opportunity or calling them ugly to their face doesn’t do much. 

Do you think that children know about this? Do they know about soulless teachers and belittling managers? Do they know about friends who are really your competition, so you shouldn’t get attached? Do they know about living in debt? Do they know any of this? No, I don’t think they do. 

Children dream about the stage, about the sea of lights and crowds who chant your names. They want adoring fans and photoshoots. They want to appear on TV and magazine covers. Teenagers want the thrill of performance, they want to share their music and dancing with others. 

“I don’t know how many times I cried alone”

The truth is cruel. But they won’t give up easily even if it means sleeping 4-5 hours and consuming no more than 500 calories per day. Because giving up means that your whole life was a lie. One can’t afford not to be good enough. Giving up means admitting that all efforts and money your family invested into your dream were in vain. It means losing face before your family and friends - a fate worse than death. Imagine living this idol dream and building your whole future around it and then being told that you’ll never debut because of the circumstances outside of your control or something minor, like face shape or 1 kg of weight that your body refuses to lose. It can break you. Especially if you are like 18 or something. 

5. “And who am I to bridle if I'm forced to be an idol If they say that I'm a God, that's what I am”

“I don’t think there’s anything a tough as being a trainee in Korea”

Once you are a trainee at the agency your personal life does not belong to you anymore. You can’t go out without permission of the agency. You phone is taken away. Your diet and weight are monitored. Bad habits are not allowed (no smoking, drinking or drugs). Oh! I think I found the good thing in the system! Unfortunately, it won’t last. Trainees can’t date or meet with family without permission of agency. Dating is very taboo. Even established idols can’t openly date. 

Why is that? Because gods can’t belong to anyone. Their lives are property of the fandom. Because openly dating idols destroy the self-insert fantasy. There was a former idol girl who dated another musician. She was called a whore by her fans, her loving and adoring stans. You might know who I am talking about. Would you call an American actor or singer a prostitute for dating someone?

Trainees sign the contract. And how can a young person straight out of school or university know much about what makes a good contract in entertainment industry or what makes a good contract in general? Even if you do understand the terms fully you would still sign it because if you have come so far, you can’t let your dream slip this easily. There isn’t a choice. Not really. If you want to debut, you will agree to anything.

What about life after debut? You have to pay off your loans. And company takes 60-70% of your group’s earnings. Artists themselves get 30-40% and split it between themselves. K-pop groups have from 5 to 10 members or more than that. Each person gets less than 6%. Idols are not filthy rich. They are not. These earnings are practically nothing compared to the work you have put into this. 

Idols are musicians, who often don’t even write their own songs, music or create choreography. But if public doesn’t like the song and musical number the company created, they blame idols for the failure. Such an amazing logic we see right here. But people say that sharing music is the best part of idol life. But whose music? 

Models on catwalk are not there to demonstrate their physical beauty, they are blank canvas for works of clothing designers. Same with k-pop musicians. They act like puppets in a way, whose faces and voices are used to show audience someone’s music and songs. Some groups do write their own music and lyrics and it’s nice to know that. But those, who don’t are rather unfortunate. It’s a nice tool of psychological control and pressure for an agency. They can hold it over group and use the following rhetoric: “We gave you everything! Why can’t you follow the simple instructions” or “Where would you be without us? It’s not even your music!”

I called k-pop industry a factory. That’s true. Dozens of people become trainees every year. These talented young people are fully prepared to do anything to achieve their goal. They are ready to practice until they collapse, starve themselves and pour themselves into every song. Companies know that. Tell me why would they value their idols as individuals, as people, as human beings if they always have a replacement? Why bother with mental health of their artists if next year they could have a fresh set of people, who are younger and prettier? Why try to improve relationships inside groups if you could fire any member and replace them within a month or two?

In western countries famous bands have different stories. Some were friends since high school, who played in bars and during festivals and then they were noticed by some representative of label company, who offered them a contract. Some groups were formed by like-minded people who bonded and decided to share their music with the world. There are many stories, but ultimately the have one thing in common. Bands in the West often form themselves. These people had time to bond, connect, discover each other, solve some disagreements and learn to work around their differences. 

K-pop groups are formed by their agencies. They are their property in a way. Company selects the best and puts together these total strangers, appoints the leader with marketable face and personality and then expects them to work together like a well-oiled machine. No one has time to bond during training, because other people are you competition, not friends. And then you must learn to work as a team and be best friends on camera for the audience to support the self-insert fantasy. It’s no wonder that k-pop groups don’t get along sometimes. And every member knows that they are replaceable. It doesn’t help in forming connections. Groups can’t just terminate contract and go to work with another agency. I heard it happens sometimes, but it’s not a done thing. Unlike in other countries where bands just sign the deal with a different label and release their music under their name if they don’t like the old conditions. 

“It's tough to be a God But if you get the people's nod Count your blessings, keep them sweet, that's our advice Be a symbol of perfection Be a legend, be a cult Take their praise, take a collection As the multitudes exalt Don a supernatural habit We'd be crazy not to grab it So sign up two new Gods for paradise”

But is it really a paradise?

Idols are expected to act cute, to match personalities created for them by fans or media. They have to act according to the concept of their group. They have to be a symbol of perfection: skinny, single and with a face perfected by surgery. They are allowed to mess up, but only in a cute way. They can break down and cry, but only if it’s “aesthetic”.

Weight issues are a separate topic. Sometimes I wonder whether managers in companies understand how weight loss or human body in general works. To be honest, I think that scales in agencies are rigged. And only managers know that. I know it can be done from personal experience. Some beach resorts tweak their scales and make them show 4-6 kg less than actual weight, so people wouldn’t get upset if they gain some. There is no way a girl as tall as I am (173 cm) could weigh like 47-50 kg and be able to perform complex choreography on stage and sing without being out of breath, visit the gym on a regular basis and generally function as a normal human without fainting every other day.

“I developed a lot of eating disorders”

“I think I consumed about 300 calories today“

“Someone, please, trim the fat off her arms”

If you grow up thinking of idols as gods and then, when you become one of them you think that you must act as one too. But being an easily replaceable god is a heavy burden. The industry, companies and audience want you to be perfect, to always be on your best behaviour. And the thought of not being good enough or divine enough terrifies you, because stans have no mercy (black ocean concept is the most stupid thing ever by the way). This kind of pressure can destroy even the most resilient. And it does. 

Almost everyone knows that situation with mental health in South Korea is not the best to put it lightly. In many ways it’s a cultural thing. But in k-pop mental health issues are treated with even less care. Gods are not supposed to be depressed or suicidal. They are not supposed to have fears or insecurities, can’t be upset or angry. They try hard to be this deity, this image. So, even when they realise they need professional help or even a friend to talk to, they either won’t seek said help or reach out only to be met with silence. Some agencies disapprove or forbid therapy altogether. 

Sometimes fandom becomes self-aware.

“Don’t forget that idols are people too!”

“Your favourite idols are running out of breath just to keep you entertained“

“They are humans, who have feelings!”

Oh, but here’s the thing, my friend. The industry doesn’t want you to think of them as people. Companies and media repeatedly reinforce the idea that they are not people, they are your idols. And strangely enough, the audience supports this idea. People continue to call them idols, developing worshiping tendencies in the process, imitate them, scrutinise their flaws and triumphs. Because, you know, only “real and ordinary humans” can have flaws, not “idols”.

So people who say “they are human too” and people who say “wow, this concert was amazing, but vocals in the beginning were so off-key, I simply can’t” are one and the same.

This thought process would have been funny if it wasn’t so disappointing. But that’s just my observation.

And here’s another thing about sexualisation. I said before how appearances are everything, marketable face and body could drastically improve your chances to succeed. Companies know about this too and concepts and aesthetics of groups are designed accordingly. Girls are dressed in skimpy outfits, their dances are unnecessary suggestive, they wear heavy make up and try to have “mature” vibes. Boys don’t avoid such objectification either: suits, tight pants and dress shirts along with make up and hairstyle to give audience a promise of the things to come. Grown adults are not supposed to lust after 15-17 year olds. You can’t just create a sexy stage persona for teenagers. Do you remember my earlier words about creepy merch? Yeah. All of it neatly plays into the self-insert fantasy and encourages obsessive behaviour. 

This happens in western countries too. In some way that’s understandable. Beautiful and sexy image with a hint of innocence attracts more people and sells, because it caters to one of the base human instincts. But some things make your skin crawl. 

Sponsorships are another topic. Some k-pop bands seek out sponsors to provide financial aid and cover expenses, when earnings are not enough. Sometimes these sponsorships are fine, perfectly civil. But sometimes it’s a prostitution. Girl groups receive money and provide sexual favours to their patrons. It’s a way for the group to gain financial support and even find new opportunities in the industry. Companies can encourage such deals. Let that sink in for a moment. 

6. “Any advice to those who want to become a k-pop idol?”

A lot of former idols and trainees have similar responses to this question. 

“I don’t want to discourage anyone, but think twice”

“You only see the glamorous side, but don’t see all the hard work that goes into it”

“It’s not what you think”

“They think ‘Since I am good looking and can sing and dance really well, maybe I should become an idol?’, but there is much more to it“

“They think it’s something that is easy and will keep their family set for life financially”

And this implies that most people don’t know what kind of lifestyle k-pop stars truly have, despite the amount of information available online about “behind the scenes” proceedings.

7. Moving on

I am a practical person and every decision I make is subjected to scrutiny. And after seeing everything I can't help but wonder whether idols believe it's truly worth it. What keeps the industry alive is the idol-dream, the wilful ignorance of its reality and youthful idealism, the beautiful naïve belief that it'll get better, even if it never does in the end.

Sure no one would ever admit it out loud, because it's one of those things you never say on camera, no matter how sincere you have to be. It's the matter of professionalism after all, and idols have it spades. And also, because admitting this would equal admitting that you spent your best years doing something you both loved and hated, admitting that this was a mistake.

When you grow up in a society where appearances matter the most, where saving face and being polite is more important than staying true to yourself, where individuality is tolerated only to a certain point, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you need a break. I greatly respect those who decided that idol lifestyle is not for them and moved on.

8. Conclusion

To sum up, I hope you enjoyed my small research and this perspective, since you have read it all the way to the end.  

You have noticed that entertainment industry is an intricate system and its every component makes sure nothing changes. Companies have power over idols and audience, fandom has power over idols and their careers, and musicians themselves have fame and their music, but not always the promised fortune or happiness. 

It’s important to understand the big picture to draw your own conclusions and encourage positive and heathy attitudes in fandoms. Being open minded and allowing people to make mistakes and live their lives the way they want to is a part of being a decent person. People don’t owe anything to others. Art is about sharing your thoughts and feelings, promoting ideas and spreading beauty. It’s not always about money. And I think that this is what k-pop lacks as an industry. It turned dreams and human need for self-expression into business. Here everything is turned into a product. Everything idols touch can be sold, sometimes literally. Industry created problems, which can’t be solved anymore, because doing so would topple the system. And I find it tragic. Trapped in an endless chase after perfection creators of k-pop forgot that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. 

If you take a look at comment sections and posts on different platforms, what will you see? What kind of things resonate with audience? What makes people laugh and cry? When people start to appreciate the substance?

“Everyone needs to hear this song in their darkest moments”

“Thank you for your music!”

“They always deliver! These guys can’t make a bad song!”

“It inspired me to write again!”

“Their songs brought me and my sister together once again”

“This is what happens when you let groups write their own music - they make incredible things”

“They really are legends of k-pop! I love that they are not afraid to show their inner strength”

“Stay strong! You rock!”

I believe that the answer is quite simple: when it’s real, sincere. It’s all about the message you choose to send to your audience, because only superficial things cause obsession. When you say that the sparkly façade is all that matters, then that’s the only thing people will ever care about. Your audience will never give a damn about the meaning behind dancing, music or lyrics, if you tell them that performance is more important. No one would praise WHAT k-pop idols sing, instead they would prefer wasting breath to criticize HOW they sing or look or move. 

I dare the k-pop industry to prove people that it’s not just about looks or perfection, or laser shows, or being a branding machine. Prove to your fans that k-pop artists are also passionate people with big dreams and talent, who love every moment of their job, who live and inspire, who are human just like us and whose humanity is real!

Do it, you cowards!

And now, I’m finished. I can hear the raging crowd of k-pop fandom in the distance, which means it’s time to hide. See you some other time! 

[the-l-spacer]

Promise all you say is true - Chapter 2

(Ch 1) (ao3)

Summary: Lloyd wakes up one morning to discover that, on a whim, the Metaverse had decided to release him and Raven from the Lovers archetype they had been locked in for as long as either could remember.

In the process, however, reality became… just a little screwed up.

Now, Raven is gone, and in his place is David Adams. David Adams, who had never left Ashland, working middle-management at Justacorp. David Adams, who had never heard the anvils, never jumped off Warner's Peak.

But Lloyd remembers everything, and he makes it his personal quest to win back the love of his life.

...No matter how many 'strictly professional' coffee dates it took.

Chapter summary: Over carrot cake, the two hash some things out

Y’all… I seriously didn’t expect this scene to happen or get as long as it did but. Here we are. With this chapter, the setup for the fic is officially DONE and we can get into the stuff y’all came here for (aka Lloydven angst). In the meantime, enjoy Lloyd and Han getting in some awkward bonding time!

- 

“Feeling better?”

The man sat opposite her simply sighs. “Yes. Thank you, Han.”

Over a tray of tea, cakes and sweets (for Lloyd, his first meal of the day), the two go over, in painstaking detail, every narrative visited, every jaunt taken through the CU, every significant location in Raven’s life. As minutes, and then an hour ticks by, marked by the comings and goings of those around them (and the increasingly resigned expressions of the waitstaff as they drag out their meal as long as possible), they scrawl out possible places the missing Postie could be on a steadily depleting supply of napkins, provided generously by the small bakery in New Camden, a joint quickly becoming synonymous with Serious Talk Time.

When it comes to names and places, Han can’t be of much help, but that is to be expected, her having only known the man a scant year. Instead, she simply offers the obvious, locations Raven and Lloyd had spoken of the most around her; the first and second Playhouse, New Albion, even entertaining the idea that he was here, in this narrative.

“Impossible,” Lloyd insists for the second time, though Han notes that he’s sounding significantly less certain than before.

“How are you so sure?” Before Lloyd can respond, she quickly adds, “Waitwaitwait don’t tell me. The both of you have… a psychic link. From your weird wizard powers. Or something.”

“I remind you that you too have, as you so eloquently put it, weird wizard powers.” He replies, one hand spearing a forkful of carrot cake, the other forming air quotes. “But that aside, you’re not completely wrong.”

Han raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I was going out on a limb there. You two are seriously linked together?”

“That’s actually the other thing I have to talk through,” he says. “Have Ravey and I told you about the Lovers archetype yet?”

“Give me a second.” Han takes a long sip from her cup of Earl Grey, mentally sorting through everything her mentors-slash-great-grandparents had taught her about Posthumans and the Metaverse. “It’s… the thing where you and him are basically bound together, right? I thought that was metaphorical.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd says, “It’s very much not. After spending enough time in each others’ company -and back then, we had nothing but time to spare- we began embodying the Lovers archetype.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but you have the broad strokes of it. Essentially, we became irreversibly bound. As trite as it sounds, we had a sixth sense, of sorts, around the other. When we were apart, I would feel his absence like… a missing limb, so we always knew when the other was close by.”

Only half-listening to his explanation, Han lets Lloyd ramble. God knows he needed it. He was one of those people who absolutely had to talk through their problems, a tendency that annoyed her on any given day, except this one. Extenuating circumstances and all.

Huh. Deja vu.

Her mind wanders to the first time she had been here, it was just her and Raven back then, him having invited her out after the Singularity left New Albion. It really was a memory, a story for another time, but it had been surprisingly nice, even if her eyes were still red and puffy in a way that makeup just couldn’t conceal.

They had shared a slice of (what else) carrot cake, speaking of narratives and what she had learned of the art of finesse, and then, as they talked more, coping mechanisms, sacrifice, loss, and a rambling (but utterly sincere) apology from Raven.

It had ended with a hug, and granted, it was kind of awkward, Raven having to get up from the corner chair he was squeezed in to give her a half-embrace, as close as he could get to her side of the table (the bakery was as renowned for its carrot cake as it was infamous for its tight quarters). But Han still remembers the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, warm and almost reassuring.

And now he’s gone. Gone along with the rapport they were just starting to build after their disastrous first encounter. Just when she was finally beginning to see him as family.

The only questions on her mind are how and why.

She tunes back in as Lloyd finishes his explanation. “So you’re saying that because you’re locked into this archetype, if he was here, you’d know.”

What? She could multi-task just as good as anyone else!

Lloyd sighs tiredly. “Yes, but there’s the rub. I don’t think that him and I form the archetype any more.”

Well this raises more questions than answers. Still, Han pats his arm. “Drink your tea. You’ve been talking for way too long as is.”

She waves off Lloyd’s apologies over his loquaciousness, sweeping a hand as if swatting an imaginary fly, then realising this was a gesture she had ended up incorporating into her movements after seeing it time and time again from Raven.

Dammit. Even when absent he finds a way to worm into her head. The guy was just infectious like that. Is. Is infectious. She refuses to believe that he’s truly gone. Speaking of…

“If what you’re saying is true, I guess that answers the ‘why’ aspect of things, He’s gone because the Metaverse decided to release you from your archetype.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Lloyd’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, the first Han had seen from him all day. “You always find a way to make things sound so simple.”

“It’s why you keep me around,” Han jokes, feeling a responding grin spread across her face.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Lloyd says, leaning forward with sudden seriousness. “You do have a good head about you, and I… admire the speed at which you’re picking up your Posthuman abilities. You successfully mastered in a matter of months what took me decades to learn, and-”

Han can’t help the rush of pride that comes at his words. Lloyd was always the more critical of her two mentors, and nigh impossible to please (she was still rather sore over his snide comment over the tunnels). She almost misses what he says next, but catches it just in time.

“-and you’re a perfectly charming person. I had my doubts before, but it’s clear that you’re Isabel’s kin. You remind me a lot of her, you know.”

Han softens. “I had a great teacher. Two great teachers, as a matter of fact.”

He winces at the mention of his missing boyfriend, and she impulsively reaches a hand across the table to grasp his. “We’ll find the other one together, okay?”

Lloyd grips her hand, giving a tight nod, steely resolve in his eyes.

“Okay.”

- 

They exit the bakery as afternoon fades into evening, the gas lamps that line the pavements igniting one by one, illuminating the streets of New Camden.

“Just to go over the plan one more time,” Han says, “I’ll stay here and try to scout him out. If he isn’t here, I’ll try New Albion. Then, where the First Playhouse used to be.”

Lloyd hums in affirmation. “I’ll keep you updated on my whereabouts as well. If you find him, let me know.”

“Of course, and you do the same.”

“I will. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

They stand there, then, regarding each other in the lamplight. Finally, Lloyd reaches out a hand, as if to administer a firm handshake.

Nah, fuck that.

Han bypasses the hand, and wraps Lloyd in a tight hug. After a moment, she feels his arms wrap around her too.

“It’s going to be okay,” Han says once they break apart, gripping him by the shoulders.

“I… can’t thank you enough for your help, Han. I’ll make it up to you if- once he’s found.”

“Psssh, that’s not necessary,” she retorts with a smirk, already walking in the opposite direction. “Your acknowledgement that I’m more talented than you is more than enough payment.”

Lloyd bristles. “I was being nice. Don’t push it.”

“You said it! It’s been set in stone! I’m gonna tell everyone I know about this!” She calls over her shoulder, disappearing into an alleyway.

Determined not to let her have the last word, Lloyd yells, "Only if you admit to everyone that I'm a great teacher!”

"Never! Also, screw you!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Lloyd begins making preparations of his own, mentally steeling himself to make the narrative jump, and going down the mental list of places he was going to search.

The hunt would begin in the Collective Unconscious. Then, the different narratives the lovers (now lowercase) had frequented. Finally, once all other options had been exhausted, he would return to Ravey’s home narrative. The one place the two had never been to, at the insistence of his missing half.

Ashland.

[kayteewritessteve]

Fated - 3/8

Description: You’re a rogue werewolf, a bounty hunter. It’s not the most glamourous life, but it keeps you paid well and highly entertained. But when a long time acquaintance resurfaces with a mission and a lot of money to throw around, you finally relent and take a job from him. And then things get crazy when you stumble upon your Fated Mate along the way.

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 6,770 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Werewolf!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Curse words. Sassy, snarky and adult comments and moments. Depictions of fight scenes and fighting, the same as canon stuffs.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

You find yourself standing in the middle of a boxing ring, wearing clothes that are just far too tight for your liking. You honestly hated having to wear clothes at all, they were just entirely too restrictive. You couldn’t move the way you wanted or needed to. But once again, humans were so weird about nudity.

‘So fucking weird,’ she emphasizes, rollings her eyes. And you nod subtly in agreement.

When the four of you had left the kitchen, you’d grabbed your discarded duffle bag and brought it with you. Then upon arrival you quickly changed in the girls locker room, putting on a high waisted pair of black gym leggings and a black sports bra. Then throwing a loose white racer back over top and finishing it all off with a pair of white free runners.

‘I still think we should have just gone naked,’ your wolf huffs, not a huge fan of clothes either. ‘And just imagine the looks on their silly human faces,’ she snorts. ‘Well, the two others, at least, Steve's face is so not silly. No, it’s fucking hot as hell, actually,’ she sighs dreamily once again.

You snort to yourself, hoping no one heard you, as your eyes hon in on every small movement that Sam makes. You’d protested when they’d originally agreed for Sam to be the first one up against you. You tried to tactfully tell them he wouldn’t be a challenge for you. That you’d have him beat in seconds. But they all didn’t seem to listen, and Sam actually seemed more hell bent on being the first after that. What with you basically calling him a weakling to his face—though in slightly kinder words.

So here you are, across from him and keeping a close eye on every twitch he made. Every flick of his eyes. Every breath. Every small movement. Watching, waiting for him to strike. But like you’d tried to tell them, he was too easy, you could read him like a damn book.

You’d been breed a fighter, coming from a long line of warriors. Your family's legacy was being the best of the best, going back countless generations. You’d been meticulously trained since childhood, molded to be the fastest, the strongest, the most agile. A perfect specimen, if you will.

You weren’t just a regular warrior. No, you were a champion. A legend, not only in your pack, but in all the others as well. Your name used to be synonymous with greatness. With honour. With power. You were revered as a hero, an icon in your pack. And feared immensely by all others.

So when you walked away from it all, from that piece of shit who stole the Alpha title, you didn’t just lose your pack that night. You lost your reputation, your respect, everything you’d worked so hard to build, and any chance of your elite family line continuing on. Any chance of the pedigree your family had forged over years and years of blood, sweat and tears, ever continuing on. In one horrible night, your bloodline was ruined, tarnished and disgraced. In one merciless moment, you lost it all. You lost everything.

You drop into a guarded stance, centering yourself and tightening your core. As you both start to circle each other, you choosing to go on the defensive, this time. To just wait for Sam to strike first, to make the first move.

A small shift in his core muscles focuses your mind, as everything slows down. Your heart beat sounding calm and measured in your ears as you hon into it. Your heightened senses adjusting mere seconds into long minutes, as you clearly see Sam going in for the hit. You almost want to scoff at just how truly easy this is.

He pointlessly tries to fake you out, and then his hidden fist slowly propels towards you. To anyone else watching, this is all happening in real time, and probably pretty fast at that. But to you, it’s slower than a Sunday driver when your late and have somewhere urgent to be. You almost want to yawn in mock boredom

‘And they thought this was going to be a fucking challenge for us?’ Your wolf scoffs, and you know that if she could cross her arms right now, she totally would.

‘I did try to warn them,’ you respond, laughing in your head.

And just as his fist nears you, you spin away from it at record breaking speed. Raising your right leg high partway through the turn and using the now built up momentum to aim for his head. Or at least where your quick calculations tell you his head will end up, what with his forward momentum from the poorly executed punch.

And just before the top of your foot makes contact with his face, you halt, your foot stopping less than an inch from making contact. The top of your foot perfectly lined up with his jaw, thanks to your spot on calculations, as always. You hold the pose until you hear Sam gasp in shock, his reflexes being much slower than your own. This whole moment taking less than 4 seconds for him. But feeling like 4 minutes to you.

Your eyes lock with Sams, the startled wide eyed and confused as fuck expression currently on his face makes you burst out laughing. You smirk and shoot him a cheeky wink as you lower your right foot back down to the ground. You quickly glance over to Steve and Bucky, who are both also now wide eyed and speechless.

Your eyes shift passed them to see that a small group of people have gathered now. All probably just interested in seeing the outcome of the new girl, going up again a seasoned Avenger. But from their current expressions, which happen to match the guys, they all did not expect this outcome. A pang of pride runs through you, a feeling you instantly realize you’ve missed.

But that pang only grows when you hear Bucky utter in sheer disbelief, “holy fuck.” He shakes his head then looks to Steve, leaning in to whisper, most likely so you wouldn’t hear him. But obviously you do. “I did not see that coming.”

Steve just nods, not taking his eyes off you once. You shoot him a grin and see the corners of his lips twitch, as if he wants to grin right back, and proudly at that. But he fights it, trying to keep his expression neutral. Though a flicker of adoration crosses his beautiful blue eyes, and instantly sends a pleasant ripple down your spin.

“Damn,” Sam mumbles and you turn your attention back to him. Seeing him still standing in the same spot but with his right hand rubbing his cheek, as if in disbelief that it didn’t actually hurt right now. “You just about had me eating out of a straw for the next 6 weeks.”

You pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, “I’d have never let it get to that. I always have full and complete control of every muscle in my body. No matter what.”

“H-how did you move so fast?” He mutters, his eyes locking with yours. Then he adds, “you were a complete blur to me. I’ve never seen anyone move that quickly, and I fight alongside super soldiers all the time.”

‘Super soldiers ain’t got shit on us,’ your wolf chimes in, proudly.

You smile both at your wolfs prideful comment and at Sams dumbfounded one. And then you just shrug, “just the way I’m built. Along with years and years of meticulous training and perfecting.”

“So you aren’t enhanced in any way?” He asks, eyes wide again.

“I never said that,” you smirk. “I’m just not enhanced in the ways you may think.”

He is about to speak when Steves delicious commanding voice echoes through the room. “Buck, you’re up,” he nods his head towards the ring. Sam exits as Bucky quickly replaces him.

‘Now this one will be a little more fun,’ your wolf says excitedly. And you nod in agreement, hoping she’s right.

Both you and Buck drop into a solid fighting stance, as you slowly circle each other. After a moment of no one making any sudden movements, you become distinctly aware that he won’t be making the first move here. He is on the defence, and is waiting on you to kick things off.

But little does he know, that your offence is much, much better than your defence. You tune into your heart beat once more, time slowing down in your mind just like before. Your breathing level and precise.

You drop down quickly, but not too quickly as you don’t want him to miss a thing. Shifting your weight to your left foot as you begin to spin, sticking your right leg out. As if to attempt to sweep his legs out from under him, and just as you’d predicted, Bucky quickly jumps to avoid your leg. Assuming that was the main attack you had in store. But oh how wrong he was.

As he is still midair from jumping up, and you are still mid spin from your fake out, you abruptly plant your right leg. Making it the leg now holding your full weight, and as your back is to Bucky, still spinning, your left leg shoots out and the back of your calf connects with his legs, just below the knee. And because he is defenceless, as he hasn’t actually touched down again yet, your hit knocks his legs up and the movement completely destroys his center of gravity.

His upper body then comes plummeting to the ground at a rapid pace, making contact first with a loud thud, as his legs are still up in the air. But they quickly join the rest of him, as he bounces a few times from the hard landing. The soft boxing ring floor only makes him bounce a little higher. You abruptly come to rest in a crouched frog pose, facing him.

As he lands facing you, still completely dazed from your actual attack you lunge at him. As you need to take advantage of this small window you’ve created. So using your back legs to propel you, you flawlessly sore over his body. Keeping yourself low to the ground and just skimming over him, barely making contact. You grab his arm mid leap so you can twist yourself, causing you to land on your side, your chest up against his back.

Then you instantly put him in a headlock, your legs wrapping around him like a vice grip. This fight definitely took longer than Sams, but was still only maybe 2 minutes, at most. Bucky is rendered immobile, defenceless and utterly defeated.

But he doesn’t give up just yet, you can feel his tight grip around your arms, trying desperately to pull them off himself. But once your arms and legs are locked on something, not even the Goddess herself could detach them. Though he doesn’t know that, and still manages to put up a valiant effort for sure.

So now, with you currently locked on, you are able to just wait it out. Instantly noticing that the entire room is now deathly silent. Not a single noise, from any direction. You feel Bucky release his hold on your arms and tap one of them three times, signalling his forfeit. And you instantly release him, jumping up gracefully to your feet.

You glance around and notice there are way more people standing around now, just gawking at you. And then your eyes land on Tony and Fury near the back, Tony looking utterly astonished by what he’d just witnessed.

And Fury, well, he looks exactly the same, honestly. His signature slightly smug and a little bored, neutral expression on his face. But you didn’t expect a reaction out of him, he is the only one here who truly knows what you are after all, what you’re actually capable of. So he wouldn’t be surprised by any of what he’d just witnessed.

Bucky coughs a few times and sits up, probably just trying to get the air back in his lungs for a moment. Your eyes snap to Steves, noticing one of the corners of his glorious lips is now quirked up. He clearly wasn’t able to fight the entire grin this time, just half of it. He keeps his eyes locked on yours for a moment, holding you completely trapped in his gaze. And you see that same flicker of admiration cross his eyes, but this time it’s there longer. And you internally shutter with glee at that.

His eyes then flick to Bucky and you glance down at him as well, noticing his muscles tensing slightly, as if he is about to stand. You quickly offer him your hand, which he takes and then you yank him up effortlessly. He looks a little shocked by this for a second, but then just shakes his head. “Jesus, Doll,” he grins widely at you. “That was fucking impressive.”

‘As if he expected anything less,’ your wolf rolls her eyes.

You ignore her comment, and grin right back at him, shooting him a playful wink just for good measure. “Thanks, bestie. Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Okay,” Tony starts, stepping forward as he glances around the room. “I believe I speak for everyone here when I say, that was the greatest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He stops next to Steve and looks up at him, almost bouncing, “can we please keep her?” He looks towards you now, with this awestruck look in his eyes, as he continues speaking to Steve, “she is like the freaking human version of Thor’s hammer.”

Steve chuckles at the man, then shakes his head, and locks those glorious blue eyes with yours once again. “That’s not really my call, Tony. That’s entirely up to Y/N.”

His intense eyes stay locked on you, waiting for you to reply, to say that you’d stay. But you honestly still haven’t decided if you want to or not. So you just nod instead, “that it is.”

‘We both know we want to stay, so stop lying to yourself,’ your wolf rolls her eyes.

‘We don’t both know that,’ you scoff. ‘I’m still not sure what I want to do. But what I do know is that we need to focus on this mission right now. We can’t be getting distracted by tall, handsome blondes.’

‘Good luck with that,’ she snickers back, ‘you couldn’t ignore him even if you tried.’

You just shake your head, but refuse to respond to her comment. Mainly because she is fucking right, you couldn’t. But you don’t want her knowing that, her ego is already big enough.

‘It could always get bigger,’ she gives you a toothy grin. And you roll your eyes, deciding to just not think anymore, since ya know, she can also hear it.

You see the corners of Steves lips twitch down a little, a small frown forming at your words. And instantly you feel horrible for upsetting him again. Him frowning is honestly that saddest thing you’ve ever witnessed. But before you can worry too much about it, he corrects it into a small smile and just nods in agreement to your words.

You decide now is a good time to take a small break, and walk to the edge of the ring. The small gathering of people begin to disperse, and venture off to whatever or wherever they were heading to, before they got sidetracked watching you and the guys. You step a foot out of the ring, between the ropes and bend down to tuck your body through. But just as you stand and go to bring the other foot through, your eyes catch Steve, who is in the middle of hardcore checking your ass out.

So intensely that he hasn’t even realized yet that you’ve caught him in the act. You grin to yourself, feeling your confidence growing a little more. But also feeling the heat rising in your face as your tummy flutters. So now, because you’re all giddy and distracted, as you pull your other foot through, it gets snagged on the rope and you, no joke, go plummeting to the floor.

But before you can even get close to the ground, two large arms catch you. And then the tingles instantly begin, running all over your body and causing your heart rate to skyrocket. Just his touch alone is doing so many delicious things to you, just like the handshake. Except a thousand times more intense because now more of him is in contact with you. You are literally in his arms at the moment.

You can’t even begin to imagine how all of this would feel if there wasn’t any clothes in the way, if it was direct skin to skin contact.

‘Girl, don’t lie. We both know you can, and currently are, imagining just that,’ your wolf playfully pants, her tongue hanging out. ‘And my my my, what a glorious fucking image that is.’

And just like that, you are now way more fluster, and on top of that, horny as hell. Great, just fucking great.

“Don’t worry, Doll. I gotcha,” comes his deep husky, whispered voice in your ear, his breath fanning across your skin in the most delectable way. You shiver in pleasure, feeling like your whole body is on fire now. And your mind is a happy haze of lust and longing.

And fuck! No! You need to get away from him! And right this damn second! You are turning into a lovestruck puddle with every passing second that you are in this mans ridiculously large arms. Oh Goddess, those fucking arms though. Like damn.

‘I bet he could manhandle the hell outta us with them,’ she sighs dreamily. ‘I can just imagine it now.’

‘Shhh!’ You hiss, ‘I can’t be thinking about that right now!’

‘Too late,’ she says in a sing song voice, a large cheeky grin on her face.

“Ah, not worried. Not even in the slightest,” you quickly lie then flail around, basically leaping out of his arms, and landing back on solid ground.

You quickly adjust your clothes and dust off the non-existent dirt from them before looking up at him. “But ah thanks for,” you pause to clear your throat, and take a large step back. Just needing some distance from the fluster and tingle inducing super soldier. “Um, ya know, for catching me and all. So uh, yeah. Thanks,” you finish lamely, and just to make this all so much better, you shot two fingers guns at him. Because yeah, that fucking helped.

You snap your eyes to the ground, scrunching up your face and cringing at your ridiculous flustered ramblings. What is wrong with you?! Why are you like this?!

‘Wow, I,’ she slowly starts, then shakes her head in exasperation. ‘For the first time ever, I honestly have no words for what I just witnessed.’

You scowl internally at her, but externally you just nod your head a few times, and far too quickly at that. And then you abruptly turn on your heel, and hightail it over to the bench where your water bottle and duffle bag are. But you don’t miss the deep, glorious chuckle that reverberates from deep within Steves insanely muscular chest. Oh Goddess, how glorious his dang chest is. And you’d know, you were just held up against it.

‘Now that I can work with.’ She joking clears her throat, as if to ready herself for a very important speech to come. ‘Not just his chest though, the whole damn package is glorious. I’d happily climb that man like a damn mountain and build my home on his wide as fuck shoulders,’ she purrs.

You groan frustratedly, ‘can you just fucking not? For once? Please. I’m honestly begging you.’

‘Fine, fine, I’ll drop it,’ she rolls her eyes, ‘but it’s not like what I’m saying isn’t what you’re already thinking.’

You sigh deeply, happy for the small reprieve and then pick up your water bottle, taking a few rather large gulps. Because clearly your thirsty ass needs the hydration.

‘Don’t even say a word!’ You quickly scold, cutting off any quip she may be thinking of, to that last thought.

She grins widely, then says, ‘think fast.’

You furrow your brows, confused by what she’s talking about. And are just about to ask her when—

“So you can take on two of my best guys unscathed, but you can’t get out of a boxing ring?” He chuckles and you can just hear the playfulness in his voice.

“Ha ha, laugh it up chuckles,” you narrow your eyes jokingly at him, as you take another sip of your water. Giving yourself a moment to formulate a response this time. No more flustered ramblings for you. “But enjoy the moment while you can, because it will be the only time you witness me trip up.”

He smirks, “doesn’t happen often then?”

“Never,” you affirm, shaking your head. “That was a one time show, and I blame you entirely for it,” you smirk back up at him.

“Oh yeah?” He quirks a brow, “how do you figure I’m to blame?”

You fight to keep the smirk from growing, and instead plaster on your best deadpan expression. “If I hadn’t caught you shamelessly checking out my ass, I wouldn’t have tripped up,” you shrug nonchalantly. Noticing instantly as a blush creeps up his neck, and having to now fight to not burst out laughing at just how adorable this man is.

He drops his eyes to the ground and one of his large hands comes up to rub the back of his neck. “So you saw that, huh?”

You nod, a smile forming on your face that you can’t prevent, “that I did. Was kinda hard to miss.”

“I’m really sorry,” he says quickly, though the words do sound genuine. “That was wildly inappropriate of me, and I apologize if it made you uncomfortable. I just,” he pauses then sighs and shakes his head, as if what he was about to say isn’t acceptable, nor appropriate to voice to basically a stranger. “Never mind. That’s not important. I’m just really sorry, is all.” And you believe he truly is, except honestly, you loved that he was looking at you. That he was so openly staring at you. It gave you the warm and tingly feels, for sure.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” you wave off his concern. “I’m not bothered by it at all.” You smile up at him, his eyes flicking up to lock with yours, “I’m actually super flattered. So thanks for that.”

He nods, giving you a small smile, “I’m glad, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, well that’s a crying shame,” you sigh dramatically, frowning slightly to play it up. “I rather liked the attention, and what’s a girl to do now? Ya know, now that she’s gotten a taste of it and liked it?”

‘That’s probably not the only thing we’d get a taste of and like,’ your wolf purrs cheekily in your mind. ‘And we both know that I’m referring entirely to his di—‘

You cough loudly in your mind, abruptly cutting off her words. ‘You can stop right there, I get the picture.’

‘Just saying. I’d happily eat him up, no questions asked,’ she shrugs and you just groan in her mind at her. She is never freaking helpful. Like ever.

Steve smirks at you, as a new emotion flashes through his eyes now. One you can’t exactly make out, but it sends a pleasant chill through you, that’s for sure. And you are now distinctly aware, based off his sexy smile, that he’s probably having a similar conversation in his mind, as you are. Which excites you immensely. “Well, I guess we can’t take that away from her now, can we?”

You shake your head, playing along, “that we can’t. It just wouldn’t be fair to her at all.”

He smiles at you and nods, as you both take a sip from your water bottles. And honestly, you hadn’t even noticed until now that he even had a water bottle. So points to you for being that distracted by him. Go team!

A silence falls over you, and you don’t really know what to say to break it. So you just wing it and hope for the best.

‘Never a good plan when it comes to you.’

You just ignore her, in the hopes she will quiet down if you do. “So, ah, did you maybe want to spar against me?” You glance up at him, batting your lashes innocently, “I’m just real curious if I could actually beat the infamous Captain,” you shrug playfully. Fully aware that he can’t actually beat you, but that’s not really why you want to spar him. It’s more so because you kinda just want an excuse to put your hands all over him, ya know, for science reasons. But also because just straight up groping someone is usually frowned upon. So that’s not really an option.

“Sure. Why not,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Though you can cut the act, Doll. We both know full well that I don’t stand a chance against you,” he chuckles.

You laugh, “okay, okay. You caught me. But I am truly curious just how long you’ll last in there,” you gesture towards the boxing ring.

‘You are honestly just making these too easy now,’ she sighs, then begins to rattle off all the different comebacks. ‘That’s what she said. Aren’t we all curious about that. I bet he’d last hours and hours, and feel amazing well doing it.’ She pauses as her eyes widen, ‘oh Goddess, they just keep coming!’

‘That’s what he said,’ you quickly retort and hear your wolf gasp in shock and then playfully tear up.

‘Look at my little girl! All grown up and sassing back like the best of us! I’m just so proud!’ She jokingly sobs out, wiping her eyes with her paws to play it up. But then her expression turns deathly seriously, ‘but honestly, now we really need to find out what his stamina is actually like. So work on that, woman. Don’t fail us now!’

You snort in your mind. ‘Yeah, that is so not going to happen,’ you sass back. ‘And I got four words for you. He has a girlfriend.’

‘Just because there’s a goalie, doesn’t mean we can’t score.’

‘You’re horrible, you know that?’ You shake your head, in your head—Which yeah, that’s a little weird to do for sure.

‘Don’t act innocent. We both know you’re thinking the exact same thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Well, shall we find out?” His voice pulls you out of your head, and stops you from continuing to argue with your wolf.

You nod, “yeah, let’s do that.” Then you both head towards the ring.

Once you get to it, Steve quickly jumps up into the ring before turning and offering you a hand. Which instantly makes you smile, and even though you could jump up there in one leap, you accept the hand and let him pull you up. Chivalry is not dead, clearly.

“Thanks,” you smile up at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he smiles back. “You ready?”

Your smile morphs into a cheeky grin, “always.”

Then you both drop down into a fight stance, readying yourselves for what's to come. You hon back into your heart rate, allowing time to slow for you and helping you ignore the deliciously attractive man in front of you, just a little better. You really need to focus here, you can’t let yourself be distracted by him.

You both just keep your eyes on each other, slowly circling the ring for a few moments. And it’s starting to look like he is also waiting for you to make the first move.

‘As am I,’ your wolf huffs. ‘But not in regards to this sparring match.’ You roll your eyes but just ignore her again.

“Ladies first,” he says cheekily, his grin matching his tone.

“Such a gentleman,” you purr, grinning back at him. “But you sure about that? Did you not see what happened to Bucky when he let me go first?”

“Oh, I did. But I’m not Buck, Doll,” he purrs right back, mimicking you, and then he chuckles darkly. And honestly, that’s probably two of the hottest things you’ve ever heard. And/or witnessed. Hands down.

You playfully shiver at his words, though it’s also slightly a real reaction, you just won’t tell him that. Then you give him a very obvious once over, winking when your eyes meet his again, “that you most certainly are not.”

‘My guuuuurl!’ Your wolf excitedly exclaims.

You focus back on your heart beat, your eyes watching every movement of his muscles, under his insanely tight shirt. You are trying to size him up, trying to find his weak spots. Anything that will give you an advantage over him, will open up a window for you to take him down.

But he isn’t giving you a damn thing to go on, he clearly knows you are sizing him up, and so he is guarding himself. Keeping himself entirely posed and at the ready. So there is really only one thing you can do now, and that’s get this show going.

You slow your breathing, time slowing down with it and then you strike. Springing forward and aiming your right fist for his face, which is quickly blocked with his elbow. But that was just a fake out, and now your left fist propels forward, coming into contact with the middle of his chest. The force of the hit knocks him back, but he quickly does a backwards somersault and ends up on his feet again, on the other side of the ring.

He glances up at you, looking slightly confused at the sheer force you were just able to use on him. But you just smirk back, shooting him a playful wink and then things really start to get fun. He runs at you, throwing a few alternating punches and you block them all, getting a few jabs of your own in, in between the blocks.

His right fist comes rocketing towards your face and you quickly grab onto his arm with your right hand and twist. Causing his body to jerk away from it, and then you quickly pin it up behind him. Your stomach flush with his back as you raise your lips to just beside his ear and whisper, “that all you got, Cap,” popping the P for effect.

“Not even close, Doll,” he says back and then quickly spins before you can stop him, so that now he is facing you. His arm still in your grasp, and he uses that to his advantage. He expertly twists you, so that he’s the one up against your back now, with your arm pinned between you both.

“How’s this?” He whispers in your ear, his breath fanning over your skin again, and you are almost positive that his lips just crazed your ear. But you honestly can’t be sure, what with all the insane tingles coursing through you right now. You need to get out of this position, and fucking fast.

“A little better,” you shrug nonchalantly.

“Just a little?” He murmurs.

“Yup,” once again popping the P. And before he can see it coming you snap forward at the waist. And using your insane strength you flip him over your back, and he slams into the floor with a loud thump. Landing on his back with his head near you.

You quickly jump towards him, spinning in the air so you land straddling his waist. Then once you are on him, you pin his hands down to the mat on either side of his head. But he doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t fight back at all. He doesn’t even so much as move a damn muscle.

And instantly you realize why. Not only are you fucking straddling him right now, but your also face to face, with your noses damn near touching each other. Your eyes lock with his, and you’re trapped. You can’t move, you can’t even look away, you are completely at the mercy of his stunning blue eyes.

‘Now if we could just lose the clothes, this would be perfect,’ your wolf chimes in, but you barely even hear her. Too lost in this moment, in the closeness with Steve, with your True Mate.

You’re both heavily panting at the moment, your chests rising and falling with immense force. You assume his heavy breathing is from the exertion, whereas yours is from just how freaking turned on you are right now. Fuck. Who knew sparring your Mate could be so damn hot?

Your breathing exercises have gone completely out the damn window now. You couldn’t even focus on your heart if your damn life depended on it. All you want is to drop your face just a little lower, so that your lips can crash into his. But they can’t, you can’t.

‘Argh! Just do it already! I promise it will be the best damn kiss you’ve ever had!’ Your wolf pleads with you. But once again, you aren’t really listening, too engulfed in this moment.

You’re both deathly silent now, not a single word passing either of your lips, as you both just stare at each other. The only sounds in your ears are both of your heavy breaths, and the insane thumping of Steves heart. The latter thanks entirely to your heightened senses.

You finally tear your eyes from his, but only so that you can glance slowly around his handsome face, not wanting to miss a single thing, not one feature or blemish. Your gaze finally lands on his lips and oh Goddess, they look so soft, so plump, so damn kissable. It’s taking everything in you to fight the intense Mate Pull, which is currently begging you to just give in. To just fucking kiss him.

‘It’s not the only thing begging you to do that!’

You shake your head, and release his hands as you plant yours on his solid chest. Needing the support now to help sit yourself up, but just as you are going to push up, you feel your whole world flip.

And all of a sudden your on your back, your legs still around his waist and him right on top of you. His weight pushing deliciously between your thighs and oh fuck. You’re not entirely sure you can take this right now. This whole, having him on top and pressed right up against you, thing. And not only that, but the fact his arms are now currently on either side of your head, as he just stares down at you. Yeah, that’s not fucking helping.

And if you thought you were turned on before, my my my, how wrong you fucking were. Because now, now you are about to spontaneously combust from the sheer heat currently pumping through you.

‘I’m calling it now,’ your wolf starts, finally catching your attention, ‘he’s a top for sure.’

‘I duno, I’m calling that he’s a bottom,’ you reply.

‘Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see,’ she grins. ‘I say we rip his clothes off right now and figure out which one of us is right.’

“I think this position means I win,” Steve whispers confidently, finally breaking the intense silence surrounding you both.

“I guess that just depends on how you look at it,” you smirk up at him. And he just raises a curious brow at you, urging you to explain, so you do. “You see, from down here, where I currently am,” you gesture to yourself, “I very much feel like I won.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “is that so?”

“Mhmm,” you nod quickly, biting your lower lip. “I clearly won.”

He opens his mouth, probably to make a sassy retort but he never gets the chance.

“Steve?” A feminine voice echoes through the large room, and you both glance over to see Kelly standing near the edge of the ring. And just like that, it’s like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on you.

‘Grrrrrrr,’ your wolf growls, clearly frustrated by the intrusion. ‘Please, for the love of the Goddess, just let me fucking eat her already!’

“Oh hey, Kelly,” he casually says back, pushing himself up off the mat, and back to his feet. And once he is up he offers a hand to you, which you hesitantly accept, allowing him to pull you up. Then he turns to look at the other woman, “what’s up?”

She looks to you, giving you the ol’ up and down, with a sour look on her face. So you just narrow your eyes at her in warning. And the second she sees that, she quickly whips the look off her face and flick her eyes back to Steve. “I thought we were going out to dinner tonight?”

He glances over at the clock, “oh, I didn’t even realize how late it was. Let me just go shower and get changed, then we can head out. Sound good?”

She smiles widely at him, nodding, “yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Okay, give me like twenty,” he says as he climbs out of the ring.

And you just continue to awkwardly stand there, as you currently can’t move. You can’t even begin to try to extricate yourself from this whole situation. It’s like a car crash, and your just glued in place watching as it happens.

All the heat from a few moments ago is long gone, and now you just feel ridiculously cold. Insanely empty. And so fucking weird. Mainly because your just silently standing here, listening to your Mate plan a date with his girlfriend, mere seconds after he was happily resting between your freaking thighs. Fuck. So weird.

“Y/N?”

You snap your eyes to the voice, seeing a concerned looking Steve standing where Kelly just was. You quickly glance around and realize she is nowhere in sight. Shit, how long have you been just standing here?!

‘A while,’ she offers, unhelpfully. ‘I tried to get your attention a few times, but you were basically shut off.’

‘Wait, are you serious!?’

‘No lie. It’s been like 5 minutes,” she sighs. ‘At least.’

‘Fuck!’

“Are you alright, Doll?” He asks softly, and your eyes snap back to his.

“Uh, yeah,” you nod, “yeah, I’m good.”

But he doesn’t even look slightly convinced, and just as he opens his mouth you quickly add. “Seriously, Steve, I’m okay. Go enjoy your date,” you try to give him the best reassuring smile you can. But you know you probably failed at that, as just uttering those words alone broke your heart a little—read, a lot.

He frowns up at you, “It’s—“

“Y/N!” And saved by the fucking bell. Thank the Goddess.

You glance up to see Fury in the doorway now. “Oh, One Eyed Willie! How’s it hanging man?”

He just sighs and shakes his head at your Goonies reference, just like he does with every new nickname. “We got a lead on Heinrich that I need you the check into,” he says then in Classic Fury form, he turns around to walk back out of the room. Once again, giving orders and then leaving. Which is still fucking rude.

Steve abruptly turns to look at him, yelling, “both of us?”

“No, just Y/N,” he replies over his shoulder as he walks away.

“Whelp, looks like I’m needed elsewhere,” you quickly say as you jump over the ropes and land gracefully on the gym floor. “Thanks for the match, Steve.”

You quickly make your way to your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and then pretty much run out the door. Not giving Steve a chance to say a word, or to even attempt to stop you.

This time you are entirely thankful for Fury’s interruption. As it gives you the perfect excuse to put as much space between yourself and the insanely attractive super soldier, as you possibly can. And as fast as you can. But fuck, this is going to be a ridiculously hard few weeks.

‘Though nowhere near as hard as I’m sure some other things can get,’ she snickers in your mind.

And you just sigh deeply as you push through the stairway door, refusing to stand around and wait for the elevator, to then only get caught in it with Steve.

And as you begin to run up the stairs, you just know that between your wolf and Steve, you aren’t going to get a single moment of peace, for the next few weeks. You just know it. You’re calling it now.

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