#I need a job.. and the thing is there isn’t even a point getting a minimum wage job

[saphronethaleph]

Outside the Throne Room

RK-T glanced over at GD-S.

“So…” RK began.

“Ssh!” GD replied, sharply. “Keep your mouth shut! You know the boss doesn’t like us to, you know, appear human in any way.”

“Boss isn’t here,” RK replied. “Well, he’s here, but he’s not here here. He’s on the other side of that door.”

“He could come out of that door at any time, you know that,” GD said. “We’re supposed to be silent and intimidating. And red.”

“Dude does like red,” RK mused.

He frowned, behind his mask. “Though… I actually wanted to ask. Why exactly do we exist?”

“What are you getting at, man?” GD replied. “We’re… imperial guards. We guard… the Emperor. Literally our only job. It’s in the description.”

“That’s what I’m getting at,” RK said. “We’re imperial guards, and in there right now with the boss is a Jedi. Like… the first one there’s been in decades.”

“Nah, there’s loads,” GD shrugged. “There were like twenty thousand Jedi, you’d never catch all of them.”

“Still, you get my point, right?” RK asked. “Vader goes in there with a Jedi, and the boss tells us to leave.”

GD shifted slightly, his force pike humming. “He’s the boss,” he pointed out. “His word is law. In fact I think his word is imperial dictat which is even more certain than a law, you know.”

“Not what I’m getting at,” RK replied. “He told us to leave. Literally. That’s the biggest threat possible, a rebel Jedi, and he’s told us to leave. And, what’s more… you’ve got to have thought about this yourself, but the boss is also… the boss. Most of the time he doesn’t need bodyguards… it’s not like he’s going to need us to stop him from being beaten to death by a mob, he could just electrocute them all.”

“That… is true,” GD admitted. “Now you’ve got me wondering why we exist at all. Thanks.”

“Sorry,” RK said. “I thought you’d have an answer.”

“Well, I don’t,” GD said, a bit snippishly.

The two red-clad guards stood in silence for a long moment.

“Maybe I should check on him,” RK suggested, and flicked on his comlink.

Then, a few seconds later, flicked it firmly off again.

“Well?” GD asked.

“Boss told the Jedi to kill him,” RK reported. “Then I heard the sound of a lightsaber and the boss laughing. So… I’m going to assume that any kind of, fighting noises or whatever, are his plan.”

GD sighed.

“It would be so much easier to do our jobs if the boss told us about this sort of thing,” he said.

Another pause resulted, this one longer and more awkward.

“Ever wonder if maybe our purpose is just eye candy?” RK suggested. “Looking good while the boss is doing something?”

“That’s depressing,” GD muttered. “But, yeah, that checks out.”

He looked at his force pike. “It’s not like these weapons are going to be much good for actual bodyguarding…”

“They can do the stun thing,” RK pointed out. “There is that.”

“Yeah, which is short ranged and really awkward,” GD answered. “I think I’m coming around to your point of view. If we were supposed to be proper bodyguards we’d have blasters.”

Silence returned, curling around and around like a cat preparing to settle in for a nice nap.

“...seen any good movies lately?” RK asked, eventually.

“This is doing great at maintaining the mystique,” GD groused.

“Do you see anyone to care?” RK replied. “Myself I actually thought the latest Starflare holodrama was good.”

“Isn’t her husband Baron Fel?” GD said, then shook his head. “Great, turns out my weakness is gossip.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check in on the boss again,” RK offered, reaching up to flick on his comlink, then turned it off again. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Fine?” GD repeated. “Is that a proper report?”

“All right, all right, I heard several seconds of someone screaming, then the boss said ‘and now, young Skywalker, you will die,’” RK informed his coworker, copying the Emperor’s voice as best he could. “Is that enough of a report for you?”

“Yeah, whatever,” GD said. “Sounds like he’s having fun, at least… sounds like he might nearly be finished, though. So no time for gossip.”

“Whatever,” RK sighed.

Silence came back for the encore, and the two Red Guards stood either side of the door, defending someone who didn’t need defending from the absolutely nothing that might threaten him.

Then the door hissed open, and Darth Vader came through.

So did the Jedi, supporting Vader on his shoulder, and RK and GD both stared.

“...um,” RK began. “...halt?”

“He’s with me,” Vader replied, his voice strained.

“Where’s the nearest shuttle bay?” the Jedi asked.

RK and GD both pointed, completely unsure what to do, and the Jedi and Vader hobbled off down the corridor.

“Wonder what that was about,” GD said, eventually.

“Attention all decks!” a panicked voice said. “Attention all decks! Rebel fighters have entered the Death Star, they’re headed for the reactor, we can’t stop them!”

Two blank red masks gazed at one another for several seconds, then RK and GD bolted for the shuttle bay.

[ladydeatharcheron]

“The HoW was rehab”

This is a common argument I see in our fandom when it comes to defending the inner circle’s actions towards Nesta in the beginning of acosf. And I am here to tell you that this argument is null and void, using the guidelines of a healthcare institution linked here.

1. The most important thing is to set a positive, supportive tone. Ensure that the individual is treated with love and respect and maintain a calm, level tone, even if they react unpredictably.

Here is the love, support, and respect the inner circle has given Nesta during her so called intervention:

“You look atrocious,” Amren said.

“Sit down,” Rhys snarled.

“Though I bet it’s hard to look good,” Amren went on, “when you’re out until the darkest hours of the night, drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that comes your way.”

Rhys scented that fear. She knew it from the second one side of his mouth curled up in a cruel smile.”

“You,” Cassian said from the armchair to her left. “This bullshit behavior.”

The High Lord of the Night Court gestured to the sloping lawn beyond the windows. “We’ve got plenty of space out there for a brawl.”

2. Because many who live with mental illness feel trapped, it’s helpful to lay out a clearly defined plan with options for the individual to choose from.

Now here is the options that were given to Nesta:

“It’s not up for negotiation,” Amren said.

“Your apartment is being packed as we speak,” Amren said. “By the time you return, it will be empty. Your clothes are already being sent to the House, though I doubt they will be suitable for training at Windhaven.”

And this gem too:

Wow! I’m sure that the choice of being locked up with no way out (no, walking 10k steps is not an option for someone as malnourished as she), or being sentenced to die in the human lands didn’t make Nesta feel trapped AT ALL. Good job inner circle. Very touching.

3. However, someone living with a condition like depression or bipolar disorder is highly unlikely to react in the same way. A much smaller group of just one or two friends or family members will likely create an environment more conducive to success.

I fail to see the productivity in shoving Nesta in a room with a man she has repeatedly stated she wants nothing to do with, a woman she had a bad falling out with, and a High Lord that taunts her and abuses his authority to get her to do their bidding.

Here’s a Q&N because I can already hear some of you guys from miles away:

1. “Isn’t that giving Nesta a choice?”

No. An ultimatum is not a choice. Even Cassian admits that it is:

Cassian didn’t miss the look between Feyre and Rhys: the utter agony in his High Lady’s face at the ultimatum he knew was to be presented to Nesta…”

Here’s a definition of an ultimatum:

Ultimatum (noun): A coercive manipulation that utilizes the illusion of choice.

Hence, not an actual choice.

2. “Would you rather they had done nothing?”

No. Nesta needed help. A more constructive approach would’ve been an intervention with Feyre and Elain only. Her actual family. No insults, no jabs, no belittling. They could’ve laid out several options (did she want to train? perhaps dancing would’ve helped her more? maybe she would’ve preferred helping out in the library only?) and let her decide the one she saw fit. Locking her up is not an answer and I’m a strong believer that the most powerful High Lord and Lady of Prythian would’ve managed to make alcohol inaccessible to Nesta regardless of where she was.

To the people that consider it rehab after everything proves that it’s not, please note that the entire point was to get Nesta to stop drinking and sleeping around. Tell me, why is it that when she slept with Cassian, despite sex being her coping mechanism, no one batted an eyelash. That’s insinuating that the inner circle does not in fact care who Nesta sleeps with, as long as it’s under their control, no?

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[honorarysimp]

7: The Entity

series masterlist

You’re starting to get worried.

And that’s saying a lot.

The nightmares aren’t anything unusual, especially considering the circumstances and how you’ve been living the last month.

It’s a lot, you admit to yourself, even for you.

You cup your hands under the cold running water and splash your face, bent over the sink as you rest your hands atop the counter. Deep breath in, exhale.

Shaking your head, you wipe your hand over your face and look up into the mirror. The bags under your eyes and your sunken in cheeks isn’t exactly the best you’ve looked. But insomnia is a bitch, and she fucks you every night.

You turn to head back to your hotel bed, with the intention of sleeping, when you notice the red staining your sheets.

Had you ripped your stitches again?

Looking back to the mirror you turn, wincing when you feel a slight sting, peering over your shoulder and feeling your stomach sink.

Gashes, like nails, down the length of your back.

Those are new.

You reach around to touch them, almost like you can’t believe they’re real, and wince as the smallest brush of your fingers lets you know they’re very real.

How? What? Where did they come from? They weren’t there yesterday. A rat? Fuck no, a rat wouldn’t do this.

Trying to rationalize, you realize there’s no point. Honestly, maybe you should’ve given up on logical thinking when you’d gotten attacked by a Ghost. Or Wes disappearing. Or being buried alive.

You rub your eyes, you’re not even sure the last time you got good sleep, which is why you don’t even think about it when you’re picking up your phone and dialing the number that had been given to you just a week ago.

It’s in this moment you realize she might be at work, saving people, doing her job. And you’re bothering her with your unexplainable bullshit-

It picks up on the third ring, “hello?”

Her voice is groggy, she’d definitely been sleeping, but her follow up is far more awake. As if she’s registered that you’re actually calling her, at 3AM.

“Detective? What’s wrong? Are you-“

“I’m okay. Something has happened, I don’t know how to explain it but…” you trail off, praying you don’t sound as delirious as you feel, “I could use some medical attention for something.”

You hear rustling in the other end, feeling guilty knowing she’s getting up out of bed for you. Someone she’s only known a month. Someone whose life she’s saved twice now. Three times if you count her stitching up your wound.

The first time.

“It’s not bad-“

“Must not be if you’re calling me instead of an ambulance, or 911” she says, but you hear her amused tone down the line, it eases your guilt only a little.

“Try not to hurry, I’ll pray I bleed out before you get here.”

Her tired laugh is the last thing you hear before the call ends.

When she arrives, she doesn’t question you. She simply sits you down after you show her the scratches, assessing them carefully. Once Tara determines you don’t need stitches, she cleans them. Bandages them.

She’s gentle, careful, like she had been after she and Sam dug you out of the ground. Almost like you’re real to her now, it’s still surreal to you. The dynamic shift after you almost died, for an idiotic reason yes.

But… you can’t really complain, selfishly grateful that Tara has grown fond enough of you to show up at 3AM to help you without much explanation.

She and Sam had both agreed not to say anything about what had happened, per your request, not without extreme protest of course. But considering how dangerous those men are, for now, you thought it best to be grateful for their mercy. For all of your safety, considering their warning.

They could’ve just left you there, after all.

You wonder if she’ll ask after she’s done, where the scratches came from, but unfortunately you aren’t sure what to tell her.

“I’ve seen these before” Tara murmurs without prompt, almost as if she’s reading your thoughts, “Sam had a friend when she was in high school-“

“Sam had friends?”

That earns you a smack on your good arm, you grin, knowing Tara is fighting off her own smile.

“She was getting scratches and nightmares, I overheard her tell Sam once that something was terrorizing her. That it was coming for her.”

Your stomach sinks, swallowing hard as you stay quiet, letting her continue.

However when she doesn’t, you turn and find her gaze far off, deep into thought.

“Where’d you go?” you ask softly, as if coaxing her back. Those pretty brown eyes find you again, catching the ambient lighting of the room and making something unnecessary tug at your chest.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go… ask, is all” Tara says with a shrug, “she moved out of town with her girlfriend- wife now actually, a few years back. But knowing you? I’m sure we could find her.”

That. That gets you. The “we”.

“Why are you helping me” you ask, voice raw and tone quiet, your eyes searching hers.

It’s a loaded question and you both know it, because technically you’re still strangers. But you aren’t. You’ve already been through a lot since the moment you arrived here, and Tara’s been nothing but a beacon to guide you to the only sliver of sanity you have left. Even when she calls you names and acts as if she cares less than she does.

Tara is quiet for a long moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before taking a deep breath.

“People give you more reasons not to trust them than they do reasons to trust them” she murmurs, which isn’t a good start, at least until she glances away and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“But that’s no reason to project those fears onto everyone you meet, that’s not what the human experience is about” Tara continues, you notice that vulnerability wavier as if she suddenly worries she’s been too honest, so she adds “besides, you’re clearly the thoughtless type who goes headfirst just to do the right thing, as a first responder it’s my job to keep idiots like you alive.”

You’re silent, simply just looking at her, and she’s looking right back at you.

The tension is suffocating, and you become suddenly aware that the room feels smaller than it should. And when Tara shifts her weight where she’s sat on the bed, you feel too close to her. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you feel more terrified than being buried alive or stabbed.

“Well,” you hum, collecting yourself and squaring your shoulders, which the movement makes your back ache “how far of a drive is it?”

You’d told her you wouldn’t go anywhere without her, and you’d meant it, which is why she doesn’t ask and neither do you. Something’s are better left unsaid, at least for now.

“About three-ish hours, maybe more? Don’t take my word for it, but if you want a physical address you’ll need to work some magic” Tara says, a small smile teasing at her lips, you swallow the rising pulse in your throat as you stand and head for the small table to the left of the bed.

It’s nothing extravagant, your set up, considering you’re still in the same hotel room you’d been in since arriving here. But your own personal makeshift investigation board sits on the table leaned back against the wall, papers and photos scattered about. You nudge your tape recorder off your laptop and open it up, sitting as you tilt your head side to side, getting satisfying pops.

“It won’t take long once I get a name, when do you wanna go?” You ask Tara over your shoulder as you boot up your computer, “wait don’t you have work?”

“Work is the least of my concerns, what you should be asking is how fucked we’re gonna be when Sam finds out we’ve both skipped town” she pauses, for dramatic flair probably, “together.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches, hand pausing over the keys, because the idea of a furious Sam coming after you for disappearing off with her younger sister isn’t exactly appealing “…maybe we shouldn’t-“

“We’ll be fine, I’m a grown ass woman for fucks sake.”

You give her a look, slowly turning back towards your computer.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not even looking at you anymore.”

You don’t look, but you know she’s fighting off a smile.

____________________________________________

Your car rumbles down the empty countryside road, its headlights cutting through what remained of dawn as it neared its destination. The quiet was interrupted only by the low hum of the engine and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

Finally, the headlights catch a turn off, a narrow dirt road leading to a small, simple house. It was secluded, surrounded by a dense thicket of trees and undergrowth.

“It’s really early, do you think we should come back?” You ask unsurely.

The engine idles softly as you park the car just down the drive, glancing to Tara, her features set and determined. The headlights illuminated the front of the house, casting eerie shadows over the worn shingles and wooded exterior.

“It’s 7AM on a Tuesday, you’re the Detective, context clues” Tara says as she raises an eyebrow at you.

You ponder, sighing, rationalizing it’s probably the better time to catch them. Before work, not after when it’s late at night.

In your defense, you’re exhausted and running on coffee and sheer spite.

You kill the engine and push open the door, the cool morning air rushing in as you climbed out. Tara follows suit, her eyes fixed on the house in front of you.

With a shared nod, you both approach the front porch of the silent house, the boards creaking beneath your feet.

It seems quiet from within, but a single light flickered through the curtains of a window to the right. You and Tara exchange a quick glance before you raise a fist and knock loudly on the door.

For a moment, you stand in silence, waiting for a response. There is no sound from inside the house, but the light remains on, casting a faint glow through the curtains.

You knock again, knuckles rapping against the worn wood of the door harshly. The sound echoed through the clearing just surrounding the house.

After a few more moments, there was movement from inside, the sound of footsteps approaching and a bolt being slid aside. The door creaks open slightly, revealing a blonde woman with wary eyes.

The blonde woman took in the sight of you and Tara, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Before she could threaten you or tell you to piss off, though, her gaze fell upon Tara. Immediately, recognition filled her features.

"You..." she whispered, her expression shifting from wary to surprise. The tension in the air seemed to thicken “you’re Sam’s little sister.”

“Hey Kirby, it’s been a while” Tara starts sweetly, flashing the woman a genuine smile. The woman, Kirby, flicks her gaze between you two, her hands flexing as she gripped the edge of the door.

"What... what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice shaky and uneasy.

Sensing her trepidation, you took a step closer. "We have some questions," you say calmly. "May we come inside?"

Kirby hesitates, her eyes flicking between you and Tara. Her expression remained wary, her grip on the door still firm and tight.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, her voice steady but laced with unease. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

“The same thing that happened to you is happening to my friend here” Tara says suddenly, making Kirby look to her with wide eyes.

From further inside the house, another female voice called out. "Everything okay?"

Kirby turns her head briefly, responding to the voice. "I'm fine," she called back, her tone taut and anxious.

There was a moment of silence before the other voice called out again. "Who's at the door?"

You watch Kirby tense, her expression growing even more unnerved. She glanced back at the two of you, then back into the house. She takes a deep breath, her features regaining some of their steel.

"Everything's fine, Jill" she called out, her voice steady and firm. "Go back to bed, I'll handle it."

She then turned her attention back to the two of you, her expression her gaze hard and resolute. "You need to leave," she said, her voice regaining its firmness. "There's nothing here for you."

The voice from inside called out again, this time sounding agitated. "What's going on? Who's there?"

Kirby sighs and calls back over her shoulder. "Everything's fine, babe please!"

There was a moment of silence, and then a second woman appeared in the doorway. This must be Jill.

She looks the same age as Kirby, her brown hair tied back in a loose bun. She has her arms crossed, her expression curious but not hostile.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, peering out through the crack in the door at you and Tara.

The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly as the second woman emerged. Her presence was calming, her voice soft and less defensive than Kirby.

"They’re from… Woodsboro" Kirby mutters, her eyes moving between you and Tara.

Jill’s eyes widened a fraction, her expression growing wary. "From Woodsboro?” she repeated, her gaze flicking between each of them. “Should I even ask what brought you two all the way out here to our doorstep?”

You take a small tentative step forward, gaze locked intently on Jill, praying she at least be the one to hear you out. "Ma'am," you began, voice firm but pleading. "We need your help. Something is happening in Woodsboro, something that’s connected to what happened a few years ago, and then a few years before that.”

Kirby’s eyes widened, her hands trembling. Jill, however, stays composed, her gaze steady as she listened.

"The events from that night have started repeating," you continue, voice low and insistent. "We need to understand what's going on, if you were able to survive being tormented by this thing it may help us-“

Kirby’s expression contorted, her eyes going wide with anger. "No!" she snapped, her voice trembling. "I'm not going through that again. You both need to leave, get the fuck off my porch, NOW!"

With a loud thud, she slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the night.

You and Tara exchange a quick glance, stunned by the sudden outburst. The porch suddenly seemed eerily quiet, the night air heavy with tension.

“Do we…?” you start, looking to Tara, who looks a mixture between frustrated and unsure.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea” she mutters, looking a bit guilty, “at least we tried-“

But then the door cracks open again, this time it’s Jill. She looks between the two of you, thoughtful, eyebrows pinched together almost as if she’s worried.

“Listen, I can’t tell you much because I don’t know much, neither of us do. All I know is that the same thing happened to my Aunt back when that thing-“ she stops, shaking her head and glancing over her shoulder inside.

“There’s a ritual, and it’s not simple. Bare bones? Your heart has to temporarily stop, so whatever the thing has latched on to you moves on or something. We never questioned it, only did what we were told and it worked.”

That was not what you were expecting, and as you share a look with Tara it’s clear neither was she.

“Are you saying-“

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. We stopped her heart and restarted it using a defibrillator, I’m sorry I’ve got nothing more to offer you” Jill says with an apologetic smile, “and don’t be set off by her reaction, she never really… recovered fully from what she saw. That’s saying a lot, if you’d known her… before.”

As if you weren’t anxious enough already, you’re still wanting to be in denial about this.

Think about it, an entity that’s been terrorizing Woodsboro for decades decides it wants to start fucking with you specifically? And to get rid of it you have to die and be resuscitated?

The cherry on top of everything that makes no sense.

“This is fucking insane-“

“Thank you for your time, and advice, we appreciate it” Tara smoothly cuts you off, resting her hand on your shoulder as she gives Jill a smile.

Jill glances between you two, offering a nod “back then I’d have done anything to save her, she’s everything to me, it would be cruel of me not to offer the two of you that chance.”

It’s not exactly an implication, or a forward assumption, but you can’t help how your mind goes right to it. And judging by the slight pink tint in Tara’s cheeks, she may not be far off your train of thought.

With that, Jill disappears back inside, and you two both make your way back to the car quickly. It’s quiet as you start the engine, punch in the address to get you both back to Woodsboro.

“I don’t think I’m up for this” Tara says suddenly, you turn your head to look at her in confusion. She’s staring out the windshield, discomfort in her expression “I’m not entirely excited at the idea of stopping your heart when I know it doesn’t always work bring someone back.”

You take a deep breath, gripping at the steering wheel like it’s a stress ball, “look it’s just bad dreams, some scratches on my back it’s not like it could mean-“

“Stop. Just… stop” Tara cuts you off, raising a hand in the air between the two of you as she refuses to look your way. Silence envelops the vehicle again.

“This has to stop. I’m tired of losing people I care about, and you-“ she whips around, face twisted with anger as she glares accusingly “-you can’t just show up and wedge yourself into my life like it’s nothing, and then disappear like everyone else. No. Fuck no I refuse-“

“Tara” you say her name softly, gently, which instantly pauses her angry rant. She takes a slow breath, running her hands down her face as she collects herself.

“Can we say this for what it really is? Because I’m not a skeptic and I’m not rabid with superstition, but can we agree that this is something?” Tara says, opening her eyes and looking at you.

It’s hard. Hard for you to admit that yes, it’s the only explanation. That yes, there’s something far bigger than neither of you are probably even anywhere close to being able to comprehend nor understand. And how you’ve somehow become this entity’s new target, for a reason still unknown.

Because you failed at your job to uncover this, which is probably why this has gone on for as long as it has. There’s nothing to work with.

“If I’m gonna live…” you start carefully, holding her gaze as you try to keep yourself steady, “then I’m going to have to die, and unfortunately… I’ll need your help for that”

Tara is clearly against the idea of being the one to do it, but she puts on a brave face and nods, the look you share says it all.

“This is fucking insane, right?”

“Really fucking insane.”

“And it makes no sense, it might not even work, but we’re going to try it anyways?”

You turn back to face the steering wheel, shifting the car into drive as you mumble “I guess so.”

____________________________________________

You never thought you’d find yourself in Tara’s living space, yet alone laid on her floor knowing she’s about to stop your heart.

Literally.

She’s in work mode and you can tell, she’s trying to keep herself as detached from this as possible so she’ll follow through. Tara is a professional, this is a part of her job after all.

Her place is nice, really nice, you wonder if things were different, if you’d be here under different circumstances. But then again, you’d have never come to Woodsboro at all without them.

You lay motionless on the floor, eyes closed as you steel yourself for what was about to come. Your breaths are slow and deep, each inhale and exhale a measured effort of control.

Tara kneels beside you, her hands gripping the handles of the defibrillator pads. Her expression was a mix of determination and worry, her eyes trained on the machine's digital readout, pre-set to the appropriate voltage.

"Ready hot shot?" she asked, her voice steady but taut with uncertainty. Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto hers. You give a subtle nod, bracing for the shock. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, each second hanging in the air like a lead weight.

“See you in two minutes?” you ask, just because you feel like you have to say something, even if it’s repeating the agreed time you’d go under.

She nods, “two minutes.”

With a deep breath, Tara presses the two small pads against your chest, the rubber grips sticking to your shirt. Her fingers hovered over the 'shock' button, knuckles white with tension.

The air was thick with an eerie stillness as she prepared to deliver the electric jolt. The your heart pounds in your ears, body tensed in anticipation.

"Clear!" Tara exclaims, her voice ringing out sharply in the empty room. With a brief flash, she pressed the button.

A bolt of electricity surges through you, your body convulsing involuntarily as the jolting current struck you. You grit your teeth, muscles seizing and twitching with the force of the shock.

And then your eyes open, and you find yourself standing in the middle of a vast, empty void. The air was still and silent, a stark shift from the moment before. Your body felt strange, almost weightless, and a sense of confusion washes over you.

You look around, your gaze scanning the endless space. Were you dead? Had the defibrillation worked?

As you turn in a small circle, a sudden chill ran down your spine. Something was there. In the shadows around the edge of the void, a faint outline shifted and moved.

As your eyes adjusted, the form solidified, and what appeared out of the darkness was a horrific sight. Dark, twisted limbs, a face that was once human now distorted and nightmarish. Its voice was a low, gravelly whisper that echoed through the emptiness.

"You’ve done well, better than most" the entity said, its voice rasping and harsh. "Your persistence amuses me. But I assure you, your efforts are futile."

It began to move, its twisted form slithering across the floorless void, seemingly moving across the empty space like water. Its dark, misshapen body approaches you, its eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure.

"Everything you've worked for, all the pain you’ve endured," it continued, drawing closer and closer. "It will all be for nothing. You can’t beat me, Detective. I am a part of you now.”

Your terror is replaced by a sudden surge of determination. You stood tall, hands balling into fists, and demand answers. "Why are you doing this? What do you gain from abducting people from Woodsboro?" you exclaimed, voice firm as your empowered by all the pint up frustration over the last month.

The entity halted, its form pulsating and shifting. A low chuckle echoed from its deformed mouth.

"Abducting people?" it repeated, the words distorted and mocking. "Such a simplistic way to frame it. I'm not abducting them. I'm freeing them."

The entity begins circling you slowly, its limbs moving like sinewy tentacles across the void. Its eyes remain fixed on you, dark and unsettling.

"Freedom from the mundane, slavery to mortality, the expected," it continued, its voice dripping with a twisted sense of righteousness. "I offer them something greater than what your pathetic world could provide."

"Greater?" you exclaim, your voice tinged with anger. "By stealing their lives, taking them from their homes, their families, you're offering them something greater?"

"Oh, but I am," the entity retorted, its deformed face contorting into a mockery of a smile. "Everything they leave behind is meaningless. My world is one of power, of transformation. Those who are taken become something more than they ever were in your world."

That catches your attention, “is that where they are? The missing people? Is that why there are no bodies?”

The entity chuckled again, its dark, twisted form shifting and writhing before you. "Precisely," it said, its voice dripping with satisfaction. "They've become a part of me, a part of something greater, something beyond your comprehension."

Your mind races, trying to piece together the entity’s machinations. You clench your fists tighter as you demand to know more.

"How do you do it?" You ask, voice sharp. "How do you move around town without leaving a trace all this time?"

The entity let out a guttural, mocking laugh. "You are so limited in your thinking, Detective. You think in terms of flesh and blood, of physical presence. But I am far more...fluid."

Your eyes widened as the entity's words sank in. "Water” you murmur, realization dawning.

The entity chuckled darkly, its twisted form undulating in the empty void. "Very good, Detective," it taunted. "You've finally arrived at the crux of the matter. I am not bound by the constraints of your physical world. I am fluid, elusive, and I am everywhere."

You press on, desperate for more information. "Is that how you’re able to change shape and form?" You ask.

The entity chuckled, its form shifting and reshaping in the void as it suddenly takes on the appearance of the Ghostface. "Correct again, Detective," it responded, its voice taking on a mocking tone. "Water is my medium, my canvas. I can shape and reform myself in any way I desire, thanks to my connection to its endless supply."

You listen intently as the entity spoke, its deformed grin spreading wider. "I have no pattern, no cycles," it said, its voice taking on a tone of satisfaction. "I come when I want, I rest when I want, and I leave when I have had my fill. Everyone is fair game. I am a force of nature, unpredictable, unstoppable."

It paused, its form shifting and coiling in the void. "But for now, it is your time," it continued, its voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Your time to join my ranks, Detective."

The entity’s deformed face twisted into a grotesque sneer as it began to reshape yet again. "Oh, I am coming for you, all of you, one by one" it hissed, its voice dripping with menace. "It is inevitable my will to consume this town, suck it dry like a parasite. Until there is nothing left. Nothing left but me, and my twisted playground-“

Your eyes snapped open, breath coming in ragged gasps. You felt a sharp jolt through your chest, a jolt so strong it seemed to rattle your bones.

Your vision swims, and the world comes back into focus. You realize you’re back in the real world, Tara standing over you, the defibrillator still in her shaking hands.

“You’re going to feel nauseous for a minute, try and take it easy” Tara says smoothly, setting the pads down and grabbing your face gently, checking your pupil response with a small light that makes you wince.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your ears. The memory of the entity's words echoed in your mind, its dark laughter still fresh in your memory.

You push yourself up slowly, body feeling heavy. Tara rests a hand on your shoulder, acting as an anchor as she looks at you, relief and concern etched across her features. "You alright?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

It took a moment to gather yourself, your mind still spinning. "I saw it," you croak out, voice hoarse. "I spoke to it. It’s real, it warned me... that it- its-“ you blink a few times, shaking your head to try and rid the hazy sensation.

Tara’s eyes widen, her expression turning to one of confusion. "You… saw it?" she asked, her voice shaky. "What did it say?"

You look to her, dread clear in your eyes “it’s coming for us, all of us.”

Tara holds a brave face, but you can tell she’s beginning to panic as the reality of all this really sets in. This is real.

“What do we do? Do we even do anything?”

You swallow hard, trying to push yourself up to your feet, but your knees instantly give way.

“Woah, woah you can’t be standing up yet-“ Tara is quick to steady you, her firm tone practiced from her field of work.

“We have to go to the Mayor, I have to talk to her about the immediately” you tell her, no longer caring to filter anything that comes out of your mouth after what you’d seen.

You now understand Kirby’s panic, her horror, her fear.

“The Mayor? Why? She won’t believe us” Tara says, but as she takes in your next words, her expression shifts from worry to disbelief.

“She will, because she’s the one who hired me and brought me here.”

previous, next

[rileyh20]

Bonjour.

Pls, if you so kindly will, share some of your HCs?

Hello! Since ya didn't specify I will add all the HCs I have at the moment.

(I have not worked on them in a bit cuz of stuff, and I don't have that many yet)

Ponyboy Curtis:

A pyromantic, he loves fire (Until the church shit)

Has a fucking terrifying glare, but only actually glares at people when they wake him up (His poor brothers)

Should not be left alone around a stack of books (He’ll read them all in like two hours)

A really fast reader, but he reads the book over and over again to the point he basically memorizes it

Major third wheel, doesn’t matter if the ship is Jally, or Stevepop, or something else, he’s just a third wheel at heart

Definitely reads the book before he watches the movie 

Sometimes when he wants to write he just can’t, so he does other things instead, but once he’s in the zone, he’ll write for hours without hearing anything around him (He’s just like me fr)

Sarcastic and sassy af sometimes (Because I want him to be, no other reason)

He likes grandma hobbies (You know what I’m talking about, the knitting, sewing kinds of stuff, crafting thingies)

He would be the kind of person who helps you get your locker unstuck when you are either too scared to ask a strong person, or you don’t want your locker beaten into scraps when you could just ask Ponyboy

Cooks sometimes, he ain’t the best, but he isn’t terrible at it (He especially does it if Darry looks like he had a long day)

Sometimes he’s the only person able to stop Sodapop from putting food dye into the food (Especially if Darry is the one cooking)

Sorry y’all, but autistic Ponyboy is what I got for you guys 

Sodapop Curtis:

Gets lots of tips from women (Shares it with Steve sometimes)

Tries to understand why Ponyboy likes books so much, but honestly does not get him crying over them (He’s trying his best guys)

He was a MAJOR biter as a kid, like for no reason, just CHOMP

Has ADHD and absolutely NO ONE can tell me otherwise (Don’t even try)

Genuinely loved Sandy, and was so heartbroken when she broke up with him (Kinda canon?)

Darrel "Darry" Jr. Curtis:

Cries when needs to sign parent approval forms for Ponyboy, but if someone’s close by he tries to hold it in

Has a favorite book, it’s one his father got him before he died

He doesn’t like to read, but sometimes Ponyboy will read the book to him

Has shit eyesight, but refuses to get glasses

Darry doesn’t take care of himself when he gets sick

Darry is a fucking CLINGY person when he’s emotional (Specifically sad or stressed), like you ARE NOT able to get away from that man when he’s like that (Especially Ponyboy)

Doesn’t smoke at all so it doesn’t ruin his body

Stole a shirt from his dad’s closet before he died, it’s still in his clothes but he never wears it or puts it back 

Sometimes Darry sobs into his dad’s shirt after a hard day (The shirt from above)

Impulsive biter, just like if someone sticks their hand or arm in front of his face, he wont think and just chomps on them (Ponyboy and Sodapop try to warn the others, but they don’t listen)

Nothing for Steve Randle yet

Nothing for Keith "Two-Bit" Mathews yet

Dallas "Dally" Winston:

Scared of spiders

He’s also scared of dogs

Johnny Cade:

Definitely says a few dirty jokes 

I feel like he would be the type of person to have a summer job for some reason? (Ponyboy and Dally visit him at work sometimes and it’s chaos)

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[itspileofgoodthings]

also it’s interesting because. my family is deeply unsentimental (in a very powerful way) and society is divided into the pretty heartless or the pretty sentimental (generally speaking) and I’m sort of this walking heart wound of emotion trying to straddle these lines (and having a hard time of it!) but one of the things that does guard me from being more sentimental than I am is the secret cruelty and unfairness that lurks at the bottom of all sentimentality.

[henreyettah]

I’m looking at how to do taxes etc again (because I WANNA sell stuff!!) but my American citizenship makes everything so fucking difficult, like ok not only does Sweden have super vague regulations regarding what’s an actual business and what’s a hobby business (which changes taxation, and I’d be more than willing to untangle that ratsnest because I live here and it makes sense I’d pay proper taxes) but then ON TOP OF THAT I need to make sure I don’t accidentally sic the IRS on myself :) I’m so tired of this, why does the US care what I do over here. I’ve never even lived there, I just happened to have an American parent. I don’t wanna renounce my American citizenship (because I like having it and they charge you HELLA for getting rid of it) but the fucking taxes and the legal mess is killing me. I’m almost considering asking a non-american friend to sell my stuff in their name just so I don’t have to deal with it. If anyone knows another Swedish-american artist living in Sweden who has got this figured out PLEASE send them my fucking way.

[yoojinluv]

[kagrenacs]

Thinking about the end of the golden age in berserk ):

[madigoround]

💜

[pepprs]

in my despera (despair era)

[fingertipsmp3]

Should I go to my graduation or not. Seriously

[cowlovely]

huh

[lilgynt]

i hate when my mom is like i’m not one of ur little friends no bc they wouldn’t be my friend the way ur acting this is only happening BC ur my mother

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[animazed]

what do i want out of life?