#I talked to them in September and for like two months I was like huh

[belle-of-a-time]

I think I told yall that my Dr’s office was very confused when I called to check in about the wheelchair and hip brace I requested they ask my insurance about, I have an appointment in an hour to talk about it again and if they lose the paperwork again I will be losing It.

[ckret2]

Hi! I don't remember if anyone asked this, but do you have any headcanons about Shermie Pines?

Sure, here's the big one.

I've decided to resolve the "if he's the baby then Mabel & Dipper are the product of two generations of 15-year-old parents; if he's older than Stan & Ford and maybe already out of the house then where is he and who's the baby?" problem the most ridiculous way possible:

He IS the baby, but he grew 20 years in 10 years.

I don't mean he's a 10-year-old that looks 20, i mean that for every year he existed, he experienced two years of life. Like at the start of September he entered 1st grade and at the end of next May he exited 2nd grade, and nobody knows how, he didn't jump up a grade during winter break or something, everyone around him clearly remembers him going through nine months of school and then summer break and then another nine months of school, his first and second grade teachers both remember teaching him for a whole school year, but it happened within one year.

Nobody else is affected; they all remember experiencing two years of life with Shermie, but they didn't age two years too. Just him. No one can explain it. It's the darnedest thing.

"But how did this happen." Time magic. "What caused it?" Magic. "Did he experience every year twice?" No just once; the year was twice as long for him. "Then how did he experience two school years instead of one double length school year?" Magic. "How does that even work???" I'm not an expert on time magic.

Caryn told Ford about it, but he was busy with more PhD programs than any human should ever endure and assumed it was some kind of hyperbolic lie to communicate how fast it feels like Shermie's growing, so she's going "this sounds like one of your strange anomalous things you study, isn't this one of those things you study?" and he's like "uh huh that's great mom."

Stan, of course, didn't hear any of this, so the first he learns of it is during a reluctant family reunion soon after he takes over Ford's life and Caryn's like "and over there's your brother Shermie and his wife, I don't know if you've seen him since your master's degree, try to talk to them won't you?" and Stan goes "Shermie?? Isn't he supposed to be twelve, why's he look like a MAN? Whaddaya mean wife??? Is she pregnant????" and Caryn went "😏 I KNEW you were never listening on the phone."

Shermie gradually stopped experiencing life on double time and slowed down to age normally around his mid twenties (well, mid twenties from his perspective; around 13 according to his birth certificate). Filbrick and Caryn sort of agreed that getting married must have helped him "settle down" and they don't really question it.

Ford gets to learn this several hours after he gets home when he finally gets a break long enough to put two and two together and goes "wait, SHERMIE'S grandkids?? But he's barely in his forties, how does he have 12-year-old grandkids" and Stan tells him and Ford goes "You mean Mom was telling the truth?!"

That fall while Shermie's yelling "WHADDAYA MEAN YOU SWITCHED PLACES AND FELL INTO A SPACE PORTAL" Ford's yelling back "CAN I CARBON DATE YOUR FACE"

[peppertoastuniverse]

pep prompts: writing prompts! writer’s block? Build a prompt based on your birthday

Birth Month: theme or tone

January: Understanding February: Avoidance March: Comforting April: Conflicting May: Yearning June: Resolution July: Protective August: Confessing September: Mischievous October: Exasperation November: Secretive December: Reflective

Day of the month: use this quote directly or let it inspire your work!

1: “Ughhh why is it that I always have to clean up your mess?” 2: “You know, if you wanted to hold my hand you could’ve just asked, sweetheart. You know I won’t refuse you.” 3: “You said you’d stay and now look where that got us, huh?” 4: “Oh is that right? Fine, prove me wrong then.” 5: “uhhh - where the fuck is your hand right now?!” 6: “You idiot, you just fucking said that out loud.” 7: “I just… I want you. Don’t run. You always run. Don’t go just yet, please?” 8: “Don’t look at me like that! You literally just did the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” 9: “I offered two years ago… that offer still stands. So what’s your answer?” 10: “Pfff. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I think about you? That I thought about you every day after that…?” 11: “Why can’t you just give in? I feel it ... and by that expression, I know that you do too.” 12: “Oh is that what they said to you? And you believed it?” 13: “Cmon… just once? Please? One time and then we never have to talk about it again.” 14: “So, remind me again: why did you punch me in the face?” 15: “Well, if you keep doing that, I think we’re both going to have a problem here…” 16: “You were too busy making fun of me, that’s why you didn’t notice, dumbass.” 17: “We can share, right? It won’t be that bad, and it wouldn’t be the first time…” 18: “I just don’t think that’s the best idea… especially now. Especially here.” 19: “You know you can always ask me, you know? Like with your words.” 20: “You’ll forgive me right? You always do.” 21: “Don’t you get it? I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” 22: “Do you have to be like this, right now at this very moment?” 23: “Actually, I sleep the best when you’re around.” 24: “So… when are you going to start talking to me again?” 25: “We can afford to be late, sweetheart. Live a little, eh?” 26: “Hey - sit here!! Sit with me - I’m your favourite, right?” 27: “I can see you overthinking right now… what’s going on in there?” 28: “I’ve waited too long for you to just lie to me like that. Stop. Let me in.” 29: “I’m… I’m sorry for always talking about them.” 30: “You’re.. you really wanna do this right now? Really? Fine. Fucking fine!” 31: “Hey - hey!! What’s with that face?! I didn’t do anything yet!”

[k-howlett]

Prey | Jason Todd X gn!reader [PLATONIC]

TW: Character Death (Jason Todd), Mentions of hospital Equipment, Smoking & Drinking, light catholic mockery

Rating: Teen+, Implied Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Smoking & Alcohol Use, Gender Nonspecific, Angst (With A Happy Ending)

A/N:

A songfic to hopefully get you guys excited for my(@/k-howlett) September Playlist Challenge (Which will be a 30 day writing activity (Songfics) that you’re all welcome to participate in! I will drop the list of songs and characters (specific to my account) sometime this month!)

Thank you for the continued love on my series (Breaking and Entering), I am very much in a DC mood as a convention is coming up soon, though I have a residual rush of Deadpool and Wolverine overload so expect lots of superhero fanfics in the coming weeks!!

as always,

with love and healing

-Lark(ly)

♬⋆.˚

prey - the neighbourhood

⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

As long as,

you notice,

I’m hoping,

That you’ll keep your heart open

(keep your heart open)

I’ll keep mine open too

(I’ll keep mine open too)

♬⋆.˚

“They say some secret society runs the upper echelons of Gotham, y’know?” Y/N chimes in from where they lay on the roof of a beat-up Cadillac shell. The windows are busted out, and the paint is worn thin by Gotham’s relentless weather.

Jason tilts his head back, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Like the Illuminati? You gettin’ into conspiracies again, Y/NN?” His lanky frame is propped up against the car’s torn-off panel, his eyes flicking from the dark sky to Y/N’s silhouette, illuminated by the cold moonlight.

They were waiting for the fireworks to start, a rare spectacle that both of them, despite their tough exteriors, had always looked forward to.

“No, not the Illuminati. It’s much worse,” they insist, leaning over the roof to peer down at him, their face earnest, almost grave. The two of them, alley kids by definition, had always found solace in each other at the Gotham City scrap-yard. It was near the docks and dodgy as hell, but neither seemed to mind. They knew how to be careful—the needles that littered the ground were easy to avoid if you paid attention, and the dilapidated buildings surrounding the chain-link fences were just part of the landscape, nothing more.

Jason’s grin widens, that trademark smirk of his playing at the corners of his mouth. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you think the moon landing was fake too?”

“Oh, c’mon! Is it really that hard to believe? Think about it. The rich get rich, and the poor get poorer. Ain’t that what the saying is? Someone’s gotta be corrupt at the top, pullin’ the strings. How do you think Joker breaks out all the time? Or how GCPD’s incompetence hasn’t been talked about outside this city? Hm? And they say it’s hard to leave, too! Once you’re here, you’re stuck, ’cause they don’t want people like us to be free. To be like them,” they argue, their city accent thick with conviction, as if they’ve spent hours turning this theory over in their mind.

Jason chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through the night air. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to the old timers down at the docks. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me the Bat’s in on it too.”

Y/N rolls their eyes, exasperated but not defeated. “Ah, whateva. One day you’ll see. Just how fucked this place truly is.” They cross their arms behind their head and lie back down as the first burst of fireworks lights up the sky.

For a moment, the world is silent, save for the crackle of fireworks high above. New Year’s Eve in Gotham was a strange paradox—celebratory and bleak all at once. The fireworks painted the night in bright colors, but the streets below remained as grim as ever. Jason glances over at Y/N, their face softening in the glow of the display. He couldn’t help but admire their fire, their passion for things he often brushed off with a laugh.

There was a time when Jason himself had that kind of fire, the belief that something better was possible, even in a place like Gotham. But as they lay there together, watching the fireworks, a small part of him wondered if Y/N was right. Maybe Gotham was more than just a city—it was a trap, a cage, and no matter how hard you fought, you were bound to lose.

But for now, he lets the thought slip away, pushing it down with all the other doubts and fears that plagued him. Tonight was about the fireworks, about the rare moments of peace they found in this chaotic city. He wouldn’t let anything ruin that.

As the final burst of light faded from the sky, Y/N nudged Jason’s shoulder. “Next year’s gonna be better. You’ll see.”

Jason looked at them, his smirk softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah… we’ll see.”

♬⋆.˚

If you don’t ask,

I won’t tell

Just know that,

Just know that

It all hurts,

it all hurts just the same

♬⋆.˚

Y/N sits at the base of the headstone, laughter spilling out in bitter, uneven bursts. The years had worn them down, every laugh wracking their frame with a painful shake.

“You know, it’s comical, really,” they mutter, voice dripping with venom. “You ditch me, go play house with your new family, and now look where you’ve wound up.” They take a deep drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling from their cracked lips into a wry smile. “Look what they fuckin’ did to you,” they say, exhaling slowly. “What a cruel joke.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, his stance tense as he watches them. He expected something—anger, maybe even tears—but this? It cuts deeper than he’d anticipated. “Hey, cut that shit out,” he snaps, his tone edged with irritation. “Not here.”

“What, smoking outside?” Y/N laughs, the sound quickly turning into a hacking cough.

Jason steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “It’s disrespectful, Y/N. Knock it off.”

They grind the cigarette into the concrete, but not before taking one last drag. “You don’t mind, do ya, pal?” they sneer. “I mean, it’s not like you’re even really six feet under.”

Jason’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He crouches down beside them, his voice cold but tinged with something darker—pain, maybe, or regret. “Yeah, I do mind. This place is for people to rest, not for you to play out your bullshit. You used to hate smoking—your old man would blow that crap in your face, and you’d go ballistic. Where’s that Y/N, huh?”

“Don’t tell me how to process my emotions, Todd,” they spit, their voice raw with anger. “What’s it matter now, huh? Why show up after all this time? You’ve been prowling around the streets of Gotham for what, a year? And now you want to make a grand entrance? What’s your angle? You gonna pretend you’re not the same lowlife Mafia bosses we used to mock?”Their eyes bore into him, full of accusation and pain.

Jason’s jaw tightens, his eyes cold and hard. He takes a step forward, his voice a gravelly snarl. “You think I wanted this? To become the monster we used to laugh about? Gotham doesn’t give a damn about redemption. It chews you up and spits you out. I had to adapt, or die trying.”

He leans in, his gaze intense. “You’re pissed off? Good. You’ve got every right to be. But don’t act like you know a damn thing about what I’ve been through. You think you’re the only one who’s lost?”

Jason steps back, his voice unwavering and edged with steel. “Go ahead, hate me. But don’t act like you don’t understand. Gotham changes everyone. Even you.”

Y/N’s eyes flash with defiance. “I changed because I lost you, so don’t get it twisted. Gotham’s not the reason you’re like this. You’re on some vendetta trip. I’ve seen the headlines—throwing the Bat into a brick wall in front of the little bird? Talk about a temper. I thought I had a short fuse.”

They let out a bitter chuckle, the amusement in their voice sharp. “Guess I underestimated you. Always thought you had more control. But now? You’re just another angry soul tearing through Gotham like it’s personal. Maybe it is.”

Jason’s gaze hardens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You think you know what this is? You think you’ve got me all figured out? You don’t have a clue what I’ve been through or why I do what I do.”

Y/N’s smile fades, replaced by a look of steely resolve. “Maybe not. But don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re the only one who’s suffered. We all deal with our pain in different ways. You’re just louder about it.”

Jason turns away slightly, the tension palpable. “Maybe so. But at least I’m fighting to make a difference. Even if it means getting my hands dirty.”

♬⋆.˚

something is wrong,

I can’t explain

Everything changed when the birds came,

You’ll never know,

What they might do,

If they catch you too early

♬⋆.˚

“So, what was it like then?” Y/N asks softly, holding a beer bottle, their legs dangling off the edge of the rooftop.

Jason exhales sharply, his gaze fixed on the city below. “Shitty,” he responds with blunt honesty.

Y/N nods, their voice carrying a dry tone. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Jason’s expression turns somber, his voice carrying the weight of his regret. “For the record, I would’ve come sooner. If I’d known… if I hadn’t been so damn ashamed, I would’ve found you first.”

Y/N looks away, a hard edge to their voice. “But you didn’t.”

Jason’s shoulders slump slightly, a resigned acceptance in his tone. “No, I didn’t.”

A moment of silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken words. The city lights below seem to fade into the background, irrelevant compared to their shared pain.

♬⋆.˚

we need to fly ourselves,

before someone else,

tells us how

something is off,

I feel like prey,

I feel like praying

♬⋆.˚

“You keep a rosary in your car? Since when?” Jason’s disbelief is evident as he looks at the symbol.

Y/N’s voice drops to a softer, almost defensive tone. “Since your funeral service,” they reply, the memory clearly still raw.

Jason’s eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

Y/N shrugs, their expression a mix of resignation and irritation. “Yeah, seriously. The church preys on people when they’re down… and I was down.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “So you turned to Catholicism?”

Y/N’s gaze is steady but weary. “God doesn’t come looking for you. You go looking for Him.”

Jason’s face shows a mixture of skepticism and cynicism. “Wow, they really did a number on you. You’re all in, huh?”

Y/N’s patience wears thin. “Can we just drop it? I don’t want to get into this with you.”

Jason’s tone turns more challenging. “Oh, come on. You really think if there was a God, He’d let this city of sinners last?”

Y/N’s eyes meet his, a flicker of wry humor in their gaze. “Maybe He’s trying to flood it. That’s why it rains all the time.” They lock eyes, the serious moment breaking into shared laughter. The tension easing ever so slightly.

♬⋆.˚

so, so I’ll probably,

take you aside

And tell you whats on my mind,

But you, you’ll just keep it inside,

probably tell me that you’re alright

♬⋆.˚

“What the hell happened to you!?” Y/N’s voice is filled with shock and concern as they watch Jason stumble through the door, bloodied and barely conscious.

Jason collapses against the wall, gasping for breath. “You remember when we were kids?” he rasps, wincing in pain.

“Yeah, I remember,” Y/N replies tersely, their hands already working to remove his torn and blood-soaked clothes. “I lived through it.”

Jason coughs, cringing as Y/N begins to clean the gash on his side. “Remember how you used to say Gotham was run by some secret cabal?”

“I didn’t say that” Y/N corrects sharply, applying pressure to the wound. “I said the upper echelons were corrupt.”

Jason grimaces, his face contorted with pain. “Well, you were right.”

Y/N’s hands still for a moment, their eyes meeting his with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Yeah?”

Jason nods weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah…”

Y/N’s expression shifts from anger to a deep sadness, their gaze lingering on Jason’s battered form. They finish tending to his wounds with a gentler touch, their emotions raw and conflicted. The weight of his admission hangs heavy in the air, the reality of Gotham’s corruption and its toll on Jason becoming painfully clear.

“And?” Y/N prompts, their tone a mix of frustration and curiosity as they continue tending to Jason’s injuries.

Jason winces, his voice strained. “And that’s all.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “You givin’ me my ‘I told you so’ moment?”

Jason nods weakly, a small, pained smile playing at his lips. “Mmhm.”

Y/N’s expression shifts to a wry grin, a hint of triumph in their voice despite the grim circumstances. “Ha! Well, I guess that makes me right then. I told you so!”

Jason lets out a strained chuckle, his eyes showing a flicker of reluctant admiration. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. Just… don’t let it go to your head.”

♬⋆.˚

if I run,

If I run away, I’ll never know

What you want

And if you go then I’ll never grow,

I’m undone,

let me slip,

let me slide

♬⋆.˚

“You’re teaming up with the Bat to track down John Wycliffe—who’s at the heart of Gotham’s corruption and causing problems in neighbouring cities—and subsequently the entire court of owls—and you don’t even know if you’re coming back?” Y/N exclaims, their hands gesturing in frustration. “Why? I just got you back—”

“I have to, Y/N,” Jason replies, his tone firm but strained.

“You don’t have to,” Y/N argues, their voice filled with desperation. “You don’t owe Gotham anything. This place is falling apart—it can burn for all I care. We could leave, get out of here. Just come with me. Please.”

Jason’s expression is resolute. “I can’t. This is bigger than me. I have to see it through.”

Y/N’s voice cracks as they struggle to keep their composure. “Don’t do this. Not again. I can’t handle losing you a second time.”

Jason looks at Y/N with a mix of sorrow and determination. “I need to do this. It’s not just about Gotham—it’s about making sure things don’t get worse.” Jason gives a final glance over his shoulder, a grim acknowledgment of their concern, before disappearing into the night.

♬⋆.˚

Something is off, I can’t explain

You know what I mean,

don’t you?

Something I saw,

Or something I did,

It made me like this,

could you help me?

♬⋆.˚

“Bruce,” Y/N says with a formal, measured tone.

“Y/N,” Bruce acknowledges with a slight tilt of his head, his demeanor guarded.

“Are you still banning me from seeing him?” Y/N’s question is direct, their voice carrying a note of frustration barely masked by formality.

Bruce’s gaze remains steady. “Are you going to be calm this time? He needs rest, not another argument.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, their expression composed but tense. “I’m completely calm.”

Bruce studies them for a moment, assessing their sincerity. “Good. He’s in there. You can see him now.”

Bruce steps aside, allowing Y/N to enter the room. The tension between them lingers as Y/N walks past, their shoulders tense with a mix of worry and determination.

“I don’t want to fight,” Y/N says softly as they enter, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

Jason, looking exhausted with an IV drip attached, raises his hands in a similar gesture. “Yeah, I don’t want to fight.”

Y/N gestures to where Bruce had previously been “I heard you took a bullet for him. Quite the change from when you were on the news trying to kill him.”

Jason winces, but his expression remains guarded. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t on purpose.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Not from what I’ve heard. Seems like you’ve grown a soft spot for your messed-up hero family.” Y/N glances at him and the card on the table from Dick—His older adoptive brother.

Jason manages a tired smile. “Maybe just a bit.”

Y/N picks up the card and looks it over. “That makes you part of the team too, you know.”

“A hero? Not quite,” Jason says, shaking his head.

“More like an anti-hero,” Y/N replies with a smirk. “But definitely not a lowlife mafia boss or a villain.”

Jason chuckles, a weary but genuine smile on his face. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Get some sleep,” Y/N says, adjusting the blinds to block out the sunlight. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Though, with your track record, who knows if you’ll be here after you do.”

Jason groans. “Can you cut it out? I nearly died, Y/N.”

“You did die,” Y/N says gently. “But you’re here now.”

They share a brief laugh. Jason pulls a pillow over his head to shield himself from the light as Y/N makes the room more comfortable, tugging on the blinds to hide the rare Gotham sunshine.

“I’m glad you made it out this time, Jay.”

♬⋆.˚

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Approx. Word Count: 2,806

J.T. One-Shot (Songfic)

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Status Page: Here

Prompt/Character Requests: Open

[silentglassbreak]

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

!!!There is finally smut in this chapter!!!!

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery.

+It goes without saying, this is a work of fiction. All of my words are my own. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess

Part 5 - Bad Decisions

Three months and three days, since I had met Noah Sebastian. Since he had walked into my group, reserved and exhausted, ready for a change. Three months and one day since I had agreed to be his sponsor. Since I had taken on the role of maintaining his sanity and sobriety with him. Three months exactly since Noah kissed me, causing me to pull back on our relationship.

I had given myself a silent rule that I never told Noah: we did not meet in person, outside of group, unless it was dire. So far, we had not gotten to that point.

He called me often, needing support. We talked on the phone, sometimes for only a few minutes while he panicked, I calmed him down, and he focused on breathing. Sometimes, we talked for a long time. I suspected he called me at times, out of pure boredom.

Two weeks after his show in Hollywood, he finally told the members of the band that he had began AA. As I suspected, they were all very supportive, most notably, Nick Ruffilo, his best friend since childhood. He even brought Nick to our last 'Loved Ones' session, where we asked everyone to bring someone in their lives who supported their recovery. Some people only brought their sponsors, but some brought their husbands, wives. Girlfriends. I always brought Laura.

I met Nick that day. He was polite, had the most charming smile, and shook my hand respectfully.

"You're the famous Leena, huh?" Noah had been talking to Syd when Nick approached me.

"Famous?" I quirked my eyebrow. He smiled brightly.

"You've kept my boy straight for a whole month."

I nodded in understanding. As fate may have it, the day Nick came to group, was the same day Noah had earned his 30-day coin. He had earned himself a large round of applause, as well as his favorite flavor of cupcakes in class. Red velvet, cream cheese frosting, graham cracker dust. I'll never forget, I asked Laura to make them.

Nick cared deeply for Noah, I could see it. I knew the other members, Folio and Jolly, did as well, but I believed Nick was his best source of support.

I broached the subject with Noah about a week later of Nick being his sponsor. I saw the look on his face while he sipped on his coffee, group having just ended.

"Oh, I didn't even think about it." He was looking at the ground, something he regularly did when he was uncomfortable.

"I mean, it was just an idea?" I tried to stay warm, comforting. Noah didn't always go for that. He had his moments where he felt patronized, and preferred I be straight with him. Usually when he was in a bad mood.

"I could ask him, I guess." He still wouldn't look at me.

I sighed, quirking my lips in a smile. "You don't have to. I'm happy to keep being your sponsor, Noah."

He looked at me finally, through his lashes. "You just know how to pull me back from the brink. He doesn't."

I nodded in understanding. "Guess you're stuck with me then." I beamed at him, earning a smile back.

Today, Noah was earning his 90-day coin, right before he leaves for tour. He got to go first in group, discussing his experience through recovery. He also got his special cupcakes, Laura turning up special to deliver them by hand. He was like a kid in a candy store, nearly hopping up and down when she handed him his special cupcake, bigger than the rest. He was ever thankful that she was a talented baker, promising to bring him and the band cupcakes during their tour dates here in LA.

The band had added 17 additional tour dates, beginning the tour in the summer instead of fall. They would have three months off from June to September, and would head to Europe in December. The success of the band was exciting, and stressful all the same for Noah. I saw the toll it took.

Two weeks ago, he finally told his girlfriend about his recovery. We didn't talk about Lily often at all, but he definitely did not want to discuss that subject. I gathered that it did not go well. All I learned was that she told him she needed space, and backed out of tagging along on the first part of the tour with them. She promised to catch up in September.

I saw how this affected Noah, and his sad days had been more frequent lately. Seeing him happy to be receiving his coin was a relief.

"Can I make a request for my 90-day?" He sat in his regular chair, directly across the circle from me, his too-dark eyes on mine.

"Within reason." I responded with a suspicious grin.

"Can you tell me one thing about you that I don't already know?" Everyone in group looked directly to me, including our two newcomers. All eyes seemed confused. As was I.

"Like what?" I crossed my legs, trying to hide my uncomfortable posture.

"Anything."

I blinked, my head swirling. Something he didn't know? We had learned quite a bit about each other over the last three months. In group or on the phone, we had played twenty questions more than once.

"Well," I sighed, knowing that my confession would be news to everyone, as I never talked about it. "my sponsor is my Dad."

He looked taken back, not expecting that. "Really?"

I nodded coolly. "Yep. Since I got sober three years ago." I relaxed a bit in my chair. "He's the reason I got sober."

Noah sat back and folded his arms, intent on listening to me. He gestured for me to continue.

"At 25, I was set down the worst road. I had been actively drinking since I was 16, and really struggling since 18. I dropped out of college, went through job after job, ended up in jail a few times. And that's the mild stuff. I won't bore you all with the gruesome details." I glanced around the room. The only person who knew even half of my story was Abel, and he was unfortunately not here today, so I felt vulnerable.

"My mother was an alcoholic, who died when I was very young from her addictions." I could feel tears threatening to come to the surface. My throat was forming a lump I just couldn't swallow. "My Dad, who swore to never drink again after she died, decided that once I hit rock bottom, to take me to her gravesite."

I looked down at my hands, feeling my voice shake. "He had purchased a plot for me right next to her when I turned 21, because he swore I would be with her sooner rather than later."

One traitorous tear spilled down my cheek, and I wiped it away feverishly. "So I had him drive me to a meeting. He stayed with me. Came with me to every single one."

I laughed at the thought. "He would sit in the car and listen to Country music while he waited. And every time I fell off, he drove me right back. He's my rock. He's the reason I'm alive."

I was still looking at my hands when I heard the clapping. My head snapped up to see Noah, his hands clapping together before everyone else joined. It was a liberating moment, but I was still vulnerable.

I checked my watch, noticing that we were over on our time.

"Thank you, everyone." The applause died down. "I appreciate each and every one of you. Unfortunately, we've got to get out of here before Angie comes in and rips me a new one."

-

At home, Angel and I were curled up on the couch, enjoying our favorite movie (it was my favorite, so it was his favorite by default), Silent Hill. I was tossing him single popcorn kernels as I ate and watched intently.

"See, baby, this is the part where all of the piece of shit cultists get what they deserve!" He looked at me with his honey brown eyes, clearly understanding every word I said.

My ringtone went off, and I almost ignored it, because we were so close to the end, and figured the call could wait until after. That is, until I realized it was Noah's ringtone. I had switched his a while ago to a song by his own band, so I knew when it needed to be answered at any cost.

I rushed over to the kitchen counter, not even bothering to pause the movie.

"Hello?"

"I need a fucking drink, Leena." His voice was cracked, and sounded wet. Was he...crying?

"No, you don't." My immediate response anytime he said that.

"No Leena, I'm driving to a bar. I can't fucking do this."

The panic rose in my chest, threatening to spill in the form of vomit. No, not now. Not after we've worked this hard.

"Noah Sebastian, I will kick you out of group."

"Who fucking cares?" I scoffed.

"Uh, you do, apparently. You called me."

"Mostly just calling to let you know I'm a fucking failure. So, sorry to waste your time."

My mouth worked faster than I could stop it. "Come to my place."

He was quiet. "Nah, bar sounds better."

"Noah, come see me. Please. And if you still want a drink afterwards, then I won't stop you."

I could tell he was perusing this. "You don't ever see me outside of group, remember?"

"Well, fuck that for right now. Come see me."

He groaned. "Leena, it's midnight. You should be asleep."

"Yet, I'm awake. 3AM ice cream, remember?"

There was silence, only the sound of a blinker in the background.

"Where do you live?"

Without answering, I dropped him my location pin.

"Says I'm ten minutes away." I sighed a breath of relief.

"Door's unlocked."

-

Despite my telling him to come in, he knocked. Angel stood at attention, to which I instructed him to sit and stay. I opened the door to find a soaking wet Noah. I didn't even realize it was raining.

He looked awful. Clearly had been crying, his clothes soaked through from the storm. I grabbed his arm and hastily pulled him in to avoid any more weather getting hold of him.

"Jesus Christ, dude." He just stood in my doorway, staring at me.

A low growl left Angel, bringing our attention to him.

"Angel, come." Robotically, he came to me and I pointed to Noah. "Let him smell you. He's protection trained."

Noah raised a brow. "What kind of dog?"

"He's a mutt. Bluetick Hound and Husky. 90 pounds of death if he doesn't like you."

I saw Noah stiffen slightly as Angel sniffed his legs, shoes, and hands. Once he was satisfied that he was safe, Angel stepped back.

"Go to bed." I pointed to the room and he took off, following the command.

"Hm, good dog." Noah's tone was surprised.

"I live alone in LA, I've got to do something to protect myself."

He nodded and stepped onto the tile floor after me toward the hallway. I noticed how wet he was.

"Wait here. I'll get you some dry clothes."

He looked at me incredulously. "You think they'll fit?"

I rolled my eyes. "Wait here."

I returned two minutes later with a pair of men's sweats and a faded Disturbed t-shirt. "They're my brother's. I'm sure they'll fit."

He nodded in appreciation and I pointed to the bathroom.

He returned moments later, soaking clothes in hand. I walked over and grabbed them from him and walked further down the hall to my laundry room. Checking the many pockets on his pants, I threw his clothing in the dryer and started it.

Padding back into the living room, I waved him over to the couch. We both sat on opposite ends, me leaned back, pulling the throw over myself, him dropping his head into his hands.

"You want to talk about it?" He just shook his head. I pursed my lips. "You want to watch a movie?" He looked up at me from over his shoulder.

"Like what?"

I smiled, picking up my remote. "Well, I just finished Silent Hill, but I've got all the streaming networks, so I can get anything."

He furrowed his brows. "Silent Hill? Like, the game?"

My jaw dropped. "You've never seen the movie?"

He just shook his head. "Can't say I have."

"Well fuck, let me just restart it."

He snorted. "Didn't you just watch it?"

"It's my favorite movie, ever. I'll watch it again."

He sat up straight, then leaned his back on the couch. I reached behind me on the side table, grabbing another blanket and chucking it at him. He smiled a small, sad look at me, and unfolded it over his lap.

During the movie, Noah's demeanor loosened ever so subtly. He started with his back against the couch, arms in his lap, looking unamused. By the first call of the Darkness, he was leaning forward, paying closer attention. At the first sight of Pyramid Head, he was interested. And by the hospital scene, he was asking questions.

"I still don't understand, why does Sharon look like Alessa? And why did the little girl say she was burning?"

"Would you be patient?! We're literally getting to that part right now!" He shook his head and leaned back, crossing his legs underneath him and his body moved slightly closer to my legs that were outstretched on the area between us.

His leg bumped my foot, and he looked over, noticing I was glancing at him.

"Oh, my bad." He scooched back to his side, and I snickered.

"I'm not going to combust if you touch my foot Noah, it's no biggie."

He smirked, mischievously. "Well, in that case." He then stretched his giant self out across the couch, pulling my legs up over his legs. He nestled in, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

It was at this point that I actually noticed.

"Hold the fucking phone." I quickly paused the movie and his head snapped to me.

"What?"

"You cut your fucking hair?!" His hair was easily eight inches shorter, sitting just below his ears. How it took me this long to notice is beyond me.

He laughed nervously, and ran his hand through his locks. "Yeah, after group, I went and got it cut. Felt like I needed a change."

I smiled brightly, reaching over and tousling it. "I like it. It suits you."

He leaned back, his face appreciative.

I played the movie, and he was absolutely enamored. It was always fun watching someone experience this movie for the first time.

Once the credits began to play, his eyes were much brighter. "Are you tired?"

I shook my head. "Nah, not right now."

"Want to watch another one?"

I stood up. "Sure, but I've got to pee and grab a water bottle. You want one?"

He nodded, swiping the remote and scrolling through the networks to find another movie.

I called Angel to his bed in the living room, and took care of my business. When I returned, he had 13 Ghosts pulled up on the screen.

"Can we watch my favorite now?" I smirked.

"Absolutely, it is also one of my favorites."

He pressed play, and I walked past him, my thigh catching the edge of the couch, causing me to stumble toward the coffee table.

Before I could connect with the glass, his arm was around my arm, pulling me back toward the couch. I landed square in his lap. It took me a second to process. He smiled at me nervously.

"Sorry, didn't want you getting a concussion."

I slid off his lap, but was now seated closer to him, by side nearly pressed against his chest. He turned his attention back to the TV, throwing his blanket over the both of us casually.

I pulled my bare legs up under the blanket, now very aware that all I wore was a pair of too-short gym shorts, a plain white t-shirt, and socks. I was home alone earlier, in my defense. My knee was pressing into the side of his leg, but he didn't seem to notice.

His body radiated so much heat, I instinctively sunk down further under the blanket. His gargantuan arm was draped over the back of the couch, the back of my head pressed against it.

I let myself get into the movie for a while. We made it about half an hour in before I felt him shift. He stretched his legs in front of me, now in near full laying position. His arm tugged my shoulder and I looked at him.

His eyes were honest, or so it seemed. "It's just cuddling. I haven't had anyone to cuddle with in a while."

I pondered this for a moment. My brain screamed against it, told me it was wrong and I knew where this could go. But he was so warm. He was so comfortable. I slid down, stretching my legs over his, my chest laying on his. My face had nowhere to go but on his collarbone while I tried desperately to watch the television.

Something tugged at me, which I tried to ignore for a while. I couldn't for too long before I piped up.

"How would your girlfriend feel about us 'just cuddling'?"

I felt his chest still, his breathing stopped for a beat.

"She dumped me." I snapped my head up

"What?"

He sighed, not looking back at me. "Why do you think I needed a drink?"

"Oh, Noah." I moved to sit up, but his arm around my waist held me in place while he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can we please just...not?" When he looked back at me, he had a single tear trying to escape from the corner of his eye.

"Okay." I softly responded and gently leaned back down. His arm secured me in place, while the movie continued to play.

About halfway through, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. His fingers that were holding my waist had been drawing small circles on my back for a few minutes, and I was fading quickly. The warmth, the comfort. He wasn't the only one who hadn't cuddled in a while.

"Are you asleep?"

This roused me. "Hmm? No. Just comfortable." My voice was raspy with sleep, my eyes only half open.

His chest shook with the rumble of a laugh. "You want me to head home?"

I slightly shook my head. "Warm." His hand rubbed up my arm now, coming to rest on the cap of my shoulder. I heard a low humming sound, and realized it was him, humming a tune that I couldn't place.

"It should be illegal to be able to sing that good." This made him snicker.

"Too bad, huh?" I sighed, relaxing. "Maybe if I wasn't so talented, you'd actually like me."

This made me slowly lift my head, narrowing my eyes at him. "You are an insufferable human Noah Sebastian." He smiled a goofy grin at me. "I am trying to relax, here."

His hand came up to brush my hair from my face, his eyes locked on my tired ones.

"You're really beautiful Mileena, you know that?"

I raised my eyebrows, my eyes getting wider. He didn't seem fazed, just studying my face.

"Well...thank you?"

His fingers twirled some stray bands of my hair while his eyes just would not leave mine.

"Would you hate me if I kissed you?"

My stomach bottomed out. I was awake. All the way awake, now. I sighed heavily.

"We can't do that, Noah."

He bit his bottom lip.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both?"

I rolled onto my side then, slightly breaking the contact between us. He was sat with his head propped on the pillow at the end of the couch. He kept his arm on my waist, but raised himself up just enough to nearly tower over me.

"Would you tell me to stop again?"

He was testing me. I was going to fail if he didn't stop. He felt it.

"Probably."

"Would you make me leave?"

"Is this why you came over? Girlfriend dumps you, so you figure you'd come hook up with your sponsor?" Okay, maybe that came out a little sharper than I intended. But it needed to be said.

"I wasn't planning on coming here. I was set on the bar."

I sighed. He was right. He was on the brink, and I invited him in. Practically begged him.

"Noah, I just...we can't."

His hand reached up to cup the side of my neck, his eyes now fixated on my mouth. I caught the tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip.

"Would you make me leave?" He repeated his question.

I didn't answer him, I just stared. I couldn't hide the want on my face anymore. I could feel my eyes pleading with him to just do it. Just make the move, because I couldn't.

With the luckiest break I've had in a while, he read my thoughts, and dipped his face down to brush our lips together.

This was different. This wasn't hungry. It was a hot burn, slow and steady. His hand came up to brush against my face, pulling me just close enough for him to press his face closer, solidifying the kiss.

Once I had the nerve, I moved my lips against his, my body melting against him. We moved slowly, our tongues only trying to make short appearances to taste the other's lips. His kisses on my lips slowed, his hand running down the side of my body, stopping to rest on my hip. Noah's lips began to trail off of my mouth, moving down to my neck, leaving soft kisses over my throat, making my breathing stop altogether.

I'm not entirely sure how long we stayed this way, his lips leaving trails of warmth over my jaw, neck, and collarbone.

I finally reached for him, my arm searching for the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath. My fingers grazed his skin, feeling the solidity of his frame. I felt him breathe out a sigh when I began leaving kisses on his neck. I let the tip of my tongue trace his adam's apple, smiling when the grip on my hip tightened with a nip of his skin.

After he had been tormented enough, he slipped his arm around my waist, flipping to perch over me, laying me flat on my back.

The kiss that came now was burning, hungry, and wild. My fingers pulled at his shirt, lifting it until he had to sit up and pull it over his head.

He wasted no time coming back to attack my neck, nipping and biting carefully, but enough to have me whimpering. He slid one hand up my side, beneath my shirt, and grazed the side of my breast, waiting for a reaction. I arched my back, trying to beg for touch.

His fingers grabbed my entire breast with one hand, pinching my hard nipple and rolling it between his fingers. I gasped at this.

"Oh, Noah..." I heard him hum, a sign of approval.

My hands grabbed his hair, pulling him back to my face. I kissed him while he used his other hand to lift my shirt, exposing both breasts.

It took no time for him to work his way down, taking my nipple in his mouth, leaving me breathless. His tongue circled the hardened bud, driving me absolutely wild.

I could feel his excitement pressing into the inside of my thigh, so I squirmed, causing a friction I'm sure he noticed. I felt the growl more than heard it.

His hand slid up my thigh, stopping on the inside, just before the hem. I could feel myself shaking in anticipation. He hooked the edge of my shorts, and with no mercy, pulled them down viciously, exposing my plain black cotton panties.

His hand glided over my core, feeling how damp the fabric already was. I was breathing heavily, silently begging for more.

"Jesus Christ, Leena." His mouth reached down and kissed my breast again. "So fucking wet."

His words had my brain scrambling. I hadn't been intimate in so long.

His fingers traced over the wet spot, teasing me until I was sure I was going mad.

"Noah..." His eyes looked up to me, my left nipple glistening from his saliva. "Fucking please."

The smile on his face was so wicked, I swear I saw the devil behind it. And this was my one-way ticket to hell. At least it's warm there.

His fingers slipped under the fabric, running up and down over my slit, nearly hitting that one spot I needed.

"This? This is what you want?" His tone was deadly, which had me reeling even harder. I fucking needed him.

I could only nod wildly. His index finger slipped inside, curling at just the right angle, hitting the sweetest spot, I could've burst right then and there.

"That's it. Good girl." His words had me moaning softly, his fingers working me over. Noah continued this until I was nearly seeing stars, his thumb now rubbing circles over my clit. I was ready, so fucking ready, eyes shut tight, climbing the hill and about to fall over. Then it was gone.

My eyes burst open, nearly ready to complain before I felt his hands pulling my panties down, his hot breath just centimeters from my core.

"I can't tell you how many times I've thought about this, Leena. I'll bet you taste incredible." Breathing was out of the question. Air no longer existed.

And that was it, he was on me. His tongue lapping up my pussy, humming while I gripped his hair frantically.

"Holy fuck, Noah."

"That's it baby. Scream my name. Be good for me."

My brain was no longer firing on any cylinders. I was on another plane altogether.

His lips latched onto my sweet spot and sucked like his life depended on it.

"Noah, oh my god! Oh my god, I'm going to come." My back arched off the couch, and my vision went white.

"Noah, Noah, Noah!" My voice was going hoarse. My toes curled and I began to feel the overstimulation, my hips bucking against him.

His arms pinned my legs down, leaving me nowhere to go. I fought for purchase against his skin.

"Please, please I can't. I can't!" He finally released me, lapping at my inner thigh one more time, causing me to shiver.

He sat back, a satisfied grin on his face.

When I looked up at him, I could see the clear bulge in the sweats, and smiled my own wicked grin.

I saw the confusion on his face before I sat up, simultaneously pushing him back on the couch, ripping the front of the pants down. It came to my attention that he wasn't wearing any boxers, so his cock sprung free instantly.

His eyes were fixed on me while I sized up his length, trying to work out how I was going to swallow this damn thing.

I slid the tip of my tongue across the top, eliciting a hiss from his lips. He stared down at me, watching my every calculated move.

With no warning, I wrapped my lips around him, and took him as far down as my throat would allow.

"Oh, fuck..." His eyes went half-masked, his mouth falling open. "Do that again. Jesus Christ."

It didn't sound like a question, so I diligently obeyed. My throat gave out about halfway down his length, causing me to gag. His hand grabbed my hair, nails in my scalp, holding me there.

"Yeah, baby. That's it." He let my head up, saliva dripping from my lips. "You're so good, Leena. Such a good girl."

His hand pressed me back down gently until I had a good rhythm going, my head bobbing, eyes looking up at him.

"Fuck, girl, I'm not going to last like this." I hollowed my cheeks, increasing the suction, and his eyes bulged.

His head flew back, his chest heaving wildly. "Just like that, baby. Don't stop."

I obeyed, suddenly really enjoying the submissive role. His hand guided me faster until I felt him harden to nearly stone.

"I'm going to come, don't stop...fuck don't fucking stop baby."

I felt the first hot stream hit the back of my throat, and I relaxed, waiting for the rest before sucking just a second longer, listening to him hiss in response. I let him out of my mouth with a pop, smiling at him sheepishly when I sat up.

He laid there, eyes closed, hands on his chest, working to breathe.

It took a while, but he eventually opened his eyes. His smile was lazy, and he lifted an arm to pull me down, now laying on his chest again.

He reached behind me and flung the blanket over us, kicking his pants the rest of the way off, and looked down at me.

"We shouldn't have done that, huh?"

I blushed, nuzzling my nose into his neck to hide it as best as I could. "No, we shouldn't have."

He ran his hand up and down my arm, now turning his attention back to the movie that was still playing.

"We'll do better tomorrow." Was the last I heard before my eyes drifted closed.

[dumplingsfordays]

eyes are the windows of the soul

++++

ok so hihi, first time writing stuff for a fandom...

this one's kinda self indulgent because (cough cough) dainsleif (cough cough) anyways

i don't think i mentioned any female anatomy but reader's pronouns are she/her and she works at a coffee shop! so yeah

also lots and lots of pining from reader because dainsleif is absolutely perfect

(but you can apply this to any other blonde, blue-eyed reserved man if you want to bc his name isn't mentioned)

umm yeah so not proofread!!, might be mistakes / errors so feel free to correct! english is not my first language so i'm sorry if i make any mistakes. also written in third person.

art found on pinterest through @cartavaya_vorona, i couldn't find the original artist (sorry!)

++++

The more (y/n) fell in love with him, the more her desire to truly understand him grew.

He was mysterious, reserved. They hadn't even talked, but (y/n)'s gaze always lingered on his long, dark blue cloak when he would pass by the counter while the customer in front of her ordered their coffee. She would fumble with the trays of freshly-baked lemon tarts when his image came into her mind - gorgeous blonde hair, deep cerulean eyes which she could never make eye contact with, but he was always expressionless. His smile, by far, was the most puzzling thing about him, and (y/n) was determined to uncover that mystery, whatever it took. She'd always make sure his order was right, make little jokes when she'd bring his coffee and food to the small table in the corner where he always sat, but none of those things seemed to work. He just always thanked her, politely but quietly, still with that neutral expression on his face, and resumed reading whatever book he was holding, to her dismay.

This happened routinely for around two months now. He would come in, usually between six to seven in the afternoon, and order a medium cappuccino with no sugar and a quiche. He'd sit down and eat, and when the café closed at eight, he would thank (y/n) with a simple nod before exiting.

But on one calm, late September evening, when the sun painted the sky in brilliant shades of red and orange and purple that poured through the windows like molten gold, when (y/n) stood behind the counter, washing the used coffee cups in the sink, when the man that she'd been thinking of at that moment entered the café, he came up to her and waited silently until she would see him.

(y/n) sensed his presence, and swiveled her head around to meet his gaze. However, this time, she couldn't look away. Her (e/c) eyes widened.

She felt so heavy, and yet so light at the same time, like she was drifting along a cold river, and staring upwards at the sky. It was littered in multicolored stars, with the bright full moon hanging to the left of her vision, and when she felt a particularly cold current sweep past her, she felt a twinge of pain, of etherealness, of tainted purity, and her heart began to throb in a sort of sweet bitterness. She blinked, and was back in this world, in her cafe.

“Oh, hello,” she said, cringing inwardly as she looked away, at the wooden surface of the counter. She was probably staring before. “Would you like your usual?”

“No, actually.” (y/n) spotted him twiddling his thumbs in her peripheral vision. “I would like to try something new today. What is your favorite item on the menu?”

She paused. She didn’t expect this, not in a million years.

“Um… I'm actually not sure. I think I like all of them, but if I had to choose… I do really enjoy the éclairs.”

“I’ll have one of those then, please. And a cappuccino.”

“You sure love your coffee, huh?” (y/n) chuckled.

“I do.” The man nodded, and went to the seating area (which was surprisingly fairly empty), taking a seat at a table closer to the counter. At first, (y/n) didn't notice - she wanted to select the best éclair for him so he wouldn't think ill of her recommendation, and after she brewed the coffee and put everything on a thin wooden tray, she strode over to his usual seat by the window in the corner, but then noticed he wasn't there. She blinked in confusion a couple of times, before finally finding him sitting at a table that was still adjacent to the wall, but was one column closer to the counter. Trying to hide the fact that her face was light pink from embarrassment, she walked to his table and set everything down. She met his eyes again, but this time more shyly.

“Let me know if anything tastes bad.” She hated how her voice squeaked against her will just now.

“I will. Thank you,” he replied, and (y/n) could swear that she saw just the faintest glint of gentleness in his deep azure eyes. Giddly, and with a gigantic smile on her face, she smiled, and rushed off back to the counter with her head turned away. Jesus Christ, could she be any more obvious?

She speed-walked into the kitchen, sat down on a low stool across from one oven, and covered her (probably very) red face with her hands. Never before had the man shown any emotion, with the exception of mild frustration, and seeing his eyes slightly crinkle at the ends and sparkle with this sort of softness sent pleasant shivers down (y/n)'s spine. 

Eyes are truly the windows of the soul, she thought. 

[nikatyler]

🌈 2023 ✨

Another year is over so it's time for a look back at what was happening on this blog! I haven't really been around, it was just my queue, and maybe that's one reason why I looked at my archive and went "huh" at everything. I don't remember much. The other reason why this year probably went poof in my head is because I was dealing with some mental health stuff lol. I say lol but it wasn't actually very lol but I'm doing better now and 2024...is looking promising for now.

So, let's talk more under the cut, shall we?

January

We're in Bridgeport and Sawyer is living his best life. You know, girlfriends, boyfriends, being turned into a vampire, giving birth to three little vampires, threatening to sell his enemies' organs on the black market...best life indeed.

February

Okay I am now seeing that "talking more" about every month will be impossible since I actually don't have much recollection of 2023 lmao

March

Sawyer and Erin are at the best point of their relationship, but we left them alone for a bit and went back to NSB. Pastel just moved to Strangerville and got a...rather strange roommate.

April

The rather strange roommate becomes Pastel's rather strange wife. I love these two so much. We also say hello to Moss -- and also to Ross, who returns from...god knows where. I mean yeah, there was the ts3 Ross, but technically they're two different people. Parallel universes and stuff.

May

Thea is born and strange wife Jesse gets even stranger. That whole "merging with the mother plant" thing was kinda weird but I really enjoyed it. Idk what I was on but it was fun. And then, before returning to the lepacy, I posted my Cottage Living screenshots! ...which were really just me going "uwu what does this do" on every possible Wicked Whims option.

June

...and I went from posting weird WW Ross stuff to posting wholesome Growing Together Ross stuff. If that gave you a whiplash, I am sorry, but imagine what it must be like for me. I'm locked with this guy in my head 24/7. He's the whiplash king. A blorbo to you, a curse to me. A beloved curse tho. Ok I'm getting weird. Back to the lepacy.

July

Lepacy time! Loved the soap opera Generations gen. Kinda wish I had sticked to some of the storylines instead of going "eh nvm I just wanna play". I'm not saying I regret not actually letting Saywer go on a killing spree but also...imagine if he went on a killing spree. You don't see that in lepacies often do ya

August

August was...welp 💀 I was at the grippy socks hospital for most of that month, 10/10 would recommend, but my queue ran out while I was there so I just reblogged some old stuff for a few weeks.

September

September is just lepacy month. Cornelia and Archer are happy, they get married, they get more children...yeah. Good wholesome Generations times all around. It's not like they're gonna get divorced later or anything.

October

The twins are kind of chaotic, one of them turns into a ghost, both then bring their cursed imaginary friends to life...and the final child of Archer and Cornelia is born.

November

I loved running into Sawyer at the grocery store all the time. Weird vampire alleged killer grandpa behavior suits him. Dorothea goes away to a boarding school, hates it there and instantly comes back. Relatable. Oh and midlife crisis hits Archer hard.

December

And we're in December! Dorothea enters her horsegirl era and finds herself a girlfriend...and we'll continue that in 2024!

What's in store for the new year besides the lepacy? Well, Not So Berry will be making a return (and HOPEFULLY we'll finally get to the end. we need to). There's a story I want to do in the NSB universe, if you know you know. Before we dive into the next lepacy generation, I'm thinking of another BC with the gen 7 heir...oh and Marika's Black Widow. Shoot and I'm starting an irl job in January. Yeah no we're not doing all this in 2024, don't count on it 💀 But I'll try.

Happy New Year! 🎇

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

‘til the sun burns out - part 3

part of the nothing else matters universe

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Read it on AO3

Summary:

Your wedding night to Eddie Munson.

Additional tags: explicit sexual content, p in v, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, fluff and smut, no angst, established relationship

“Edward James Munson, if you are late to our wedding I will personally send you to hell myself,” you hiss into the receiver, leaving your fifth and increasingly threatening voice message to the phone the guys share while they’re on the road.

Your best friend Claire looks at you expectantly as you walk back into your bedroom. She flinches at your murderous expression but cheerily says, “Don’t worry, sugar, I’m sure they’re just…on the road. Speeding down here to make all your dreams come true.”

Rather than respond, you pour yourself another shot of vodka and toss it back. Then, you start pacing again, wringing your hands together to avoid grabbing the phone and leaving your sixth message.

It’s 1991 and a seasonably warm June day in Hawkins. You’ve been engaged to the man of your dreams for over a year, and the wedding planning was what kept you busy and your mind occupied during the months he was away for his latest tour and recording sessions.

Your wedding is scheduled to begin at 2 p.m. at Hawkins Church. You had kicked and screamed your way to this decision, but ultimately your dad telling you it would make your late mama proud tugged hard enough at your heartstrings to make you relent. Eddie had been a pretty quick sell on the idea.

“You mean get married by the very man who called me a radical satanist? It might give him a heart attack. Let’s do it,” he’d said when you called him to tell him your dad’s guilt trips had finally won.

It was now noon, and Eddie was supposed to be home from the tour at 10 a.m., but you haven’t heard from him or any of the other guys. “Claire, I’m going to kill him.”

“So you’ve said. To anyone within a five foot radius.” She sets her wine down and stands, grasping you by your upper arms. “You need to relax. He’ll be here. When has Eddie ever let you down?”

“September 1986 when he admitted that he’s never actually liked Red Vines and only eats them because I like them.”

“That’s not letting you down, that’s having taste. Now ease up on the vodka, I don’t want to have to hold your hair back in church.”

There’s a knock at your bedroom door and a familiar head of luscious hair pokes his head in.

“Harrington!”

“What’s this about vodka?” He asks as he enters the room, giving you a quick hug. “Where’s Munson?”

Claire makes a striking motion across her throat, but it’s too late. “He’s not here. Our wedding is in two hours and he’s not here! ” You shout.

Steve’s eyes go wide as he watches you start your pacing over. He looks at Claire. “She been like this all day?”

“This is…arguably the most calm she’s been.”

“I’m sure he’s got a good reason for running late,” Steve says diplomatically. “And if he doesn’t, then I’m glad I’m not him.”

You glare at Steve. “Thanks, Harrington. You really know how to make a girl feel better.”

“Anytime. I just wanted to stop by and say hi, let you know Nancy and Robin just got back in town. El and Max are at the church decorating. Dustin is…somewhere, being Dustin.” He pauses. “Pastor Mitchell has only been praying for the absolution of your sins for the past hour or so.”

“Huh, that’s not so bad,” Claire murmurs.

“I know, right?” Steve rubs a hand over his chin as he thinks of anything else to tell you. “Oh, Mrs. Wheeler brought the cake over to the bar. Chad put it in the fridge.”

“At this rate, the only thing I’m looking forward to is Mrs. Wheeler’s German chocolate cake,” you grumble. “Thanks, Steve. If you hear anything from Eddie could you let me know?”

He gives a little two finger salute before slipping out the door and disappearing. Claire regards you with concerned eyes. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you dressed.”

—-

It’s 1:45 p.m. and your dad is going to be walking you down the aisle any minute. You’ve had Claire checking whether Eddie’s arrived every five minutes for the past hour, and still no sign of him. The only thing keeping you from crying is the fact that your eyelashes are coated in a layer of mascara so thick that if you cried, you’re almost certain you’d go blind.

Your gown is an off the shoulder white dress that hits you leg at the knee, simple in style but stunning in figure. Your hair is teased and sprayed within an inch of its life. You’ve got a handful of sunflowers mixed with baby’s breath as a bouquet. You’re ready to get married.

The only thing you apparently don’t have is a fucking groom.

Your dad knocks on the door to the room you’re waiting in just off the lobby of the church. He’s dressed in a white button down tucked into black slacks, the same thing he wears to church the three times a year he goes.

“You look beautiful, sweet pea. I only wish your mama could have seen you,” he says, eyes glassy. All the anger leaves you in a rush as he envelopes you in a hug. “Now, come on. Let’s go get you hitched.”

You slide your arm into the crook of his elbow. The wedding march filters through the old wood doors of the nave as your dad stands with you, waiting for the doors to open. It’s Steve who pulls the door open, his face giving away nothing as your dad guides you inside.

The small gathering of people are all standing in the pews, facing you, with huge smiles on their faces but your eyes immediately find a familiar pair of brown ones at the end of the aisle.

Eddie stands next to a surly Pastor Mitchell, lips spread wide in a huge grin. To your surprise, he’s wearing a suit - black on black shirt, vest, and haphazardly done tie topped with his leather jacket instead of the suit jacket. The rest of the guys from the band stand beside him in similar suits, while on your side Claire stands in her baby blue gown, holding a bouquet similar to yours.

Your dad kisses you on the cheek before placing your hand in Eddie’s. Those familiar calloused fingers wrap around your own and just like that, all of the stress of the morning fades away.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers as you stand beside him and Pastor Mitchell begins his wedding sermon.

“You’re late,” you whisper back, though the words are full of far less heat than they would have been a few hours ago.

“Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Would you believe me if I said we stopped a robbery?”

You turn your head to him as you hiss out, “What?!”

Pastor Mitchell clears his throat, the annoyance clear on his face.

“Sorry,” you murmur, turning back to him. Eddie’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.

“The couple has chosen to say their own vow,” Pastor Mitchell says. “Edward?”

“Hey, baby,” Eddie starts, “Remember that time we drove out to watch the meteor shower? And how you watched the stars, but I could only watch you? You’re my favorite star in any galaxy. And I’ll love you until the sun burns out.”

Pastor Mitchell turns to you, and gestures for you to speak. “Eddie, you’re the wordsmith here, not me. But just know, you’re the sun in my galaxy. My best days begin and end with you, my love. I can’t wait for a lifetime of the best days.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” Pastor Mitchell says, closing his sermon book. Eddie reaches out to curl a hand behind your neck, hauling you towards him in a kiss impeded by your bright smile.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he murmurs.

“Me, too, Munson. Me, too.”

Hand in hand, you run laughing down the aisle of the church to the cheers of your friends and family.

And the silent prayers of Pastor Mitchell.

___

That night, The Hideout hosts its first ever wedding reception.

Mrs. Wheeler volunteered to take charge of managing the potluck style dinner and the cake. Your bartenders happily volunteered to serve drinks through the night. And the boys of Corroded Coffin provided the entertainment.

You haven’t stopped smiling, and every time your eyes meet Eddie’s, your heart flutters wildly in your chest.

Eddie Munson. Your husband.

Man, what a world.

The man in question slides an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. “Dance with me?”

“Eddie Munson, since when do you dance?”

“Since I got the prettiest girl in the room to give me a chance,” he says. He drags you in front of the stage, and the boys start in on a song you haven’t heard before.

It’s slow, the guitar drawn out and the deep bass more pronounced. You slip your arms around Eddie’s neck and sway with him, your bodies pressed tightly together. Gareth is on vocals while Eddie enjoys your first dance.

“It’s called Nothing Else Matters. Metallica’s new song,” Eddie tells you, turning you in a circle. “Thought it fit us pretty well.”

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

No, nothing else matters

“It’s perfect, Eds,” you whisper.

———

Later, after the party has wound down and your friends shoo you and Eddie out of the bar and into the car decorated with a “Just Married” banner, Eddie pulls up to your shared home and rushes around the hood to pull your door open.

You barely get your seatbelt undone before he’s lifting you from the car, making you giggle. When he reaches the door, he sets you down for a brief second to tug his keys out and open the door before scooping you up into his arms again.

“When we cross this threshold, we’ll officially be husband and wife. You ready?” He asks.

“According to the state of Indiana, we’ve been husband and wife for the last twelve hours,” you reply.

Eddie steps into the dark house, kicking the door shut behind him. He makes a beeline for your bedroom, tossing you on the bed and immediately crawling up over your body.

“Have I told you yet how stunning you are?” He asks. “This dress looks amazing on you, but I bet it would look better on the floor,” he says with a wink.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tone gone sultry. You wrap your fist in the black tie around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “I can think of some places where this tie would look better, too.”

“Later. First, I’m gonna eat my wife’s pretty pussy,” he says, sliding down until he’s situated on his stomach between your spread legs. His rough hands shove your dress up over your hips, exposing the black lace panties and matching garter holding up your stockings. Eddie looks like a kid on Christmas. “Jesus Christ, this is all for me?”

“‘Til the sun burns out, baby,” you tell him. He grins at you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs as he presses your legs up, exposing more of you to his hungry gaze.

He plants light kisses up the inside of both thighs before his lips gently trace your folds through the silk and lace. The dulled sensation of his mouth on you is maddening, not nearly enough for how tightly wound your body and soul are for this man.

“Eddie, please,” you beg, voice breathy.

“Oh, is my little slut already desperate?” He taunts. His thumb rubs circles over your sensitive clit, still keeping your lingerie as a barrier. “These cute little panties are already soaked, huh?”

You nod, arching your back and trying to shift your hips to chase the friction. He pulls back, making you groan in disappointment.

Eddie’s fingers trace the edges of the lace before finally pulling them aside. He uses his opposite hand to trace a single finger through your wetness before he draws back, landing a light smack to your center that has you fighting against his hold.

“Hold still, or I’m going to make this take way longer than either of us wants,” he warns before his tongue is on your, licking you from your dripping hole to your needy clit.

You cry out in relief, blabbering a litany of thank you and oh my god and please as he tortures you in the best way possible. You do your best to follow his instruction to stay still, but on a hard suck to your sensitive nub your hips chase his mouth and your fingers bury themselves into his curly hair.

He must be in a forgiving mood, because he simply groans against you and increases his pace, winding you tighter and tighter until you come against his lips with a shout of his name like a prayer.

Eddie works you down from your high, until your legs are deadweight over his shoulders. He sits up, grabbing your waist and flipping you to your belly. His fingers find the zipper of your dress and pull it down, shimmying the fabric off your body, and the only help you’re able to provide is in the form of lifting your hips so he can pull it fully off and toss it to the ground.

“Huh, I was right. It does look better on my floor,” he jokes before grabbing a handful of your ass in a rough grip. He smacks one cheek, then the other, making you cry out and rub yourself against the sheets, even as sensitive as you are.

The warmth of his body leaves yours as he stands, and you turn your head to watch him undress. Your mouth goes dry watching him unbutton his shirt, the tattoos you love to trace with your tongue coming into view. You follow the trail of hair beneath his belly button to the bulge in his slacks, watching as his deft fingers undo the fly and shove all the offending fabric out of the way of your appreciative gaze.

He holds the tie in his hand, a familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye as he gets back on the bed. “What do we think we should use this for? A gag? No, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make for me. I think maybe we should tie you up, huh?”

You let out a pitiful whine, but nod your consent. Eddie helps you lift your arms above your head, your body now laying in one long line as he winds the silk around your wrists. He gives the bind an experimental tug, seeming pleased with his work.

“Lift those hips, princess. On your knees,” he says. You work your knees beneath you, raising your hips with a deep arch of your back, your chest pressed to the bed.

He runs a hand from your neck to the base of your spine, toying with the band of your underwear. “I think I’ll leave these on,” he tells you, before once again shifting the fabric to the side.

Your breath catches when you feel the blunt head of his cock at your dripping hole. He presses forward slowly, agonizingly, stretching deliciously until his hips sit flush to yours. He groans, hands trailing over all the skin he can reach as he lets you adjust until you give him that tell-tale shift of your hips, asking for more.

And more does he give.

He pulls out until you’re nearly empty before driving back inside, a harsh slap of his hips against yours. The angle brushes the head of him against that maddening spot inside of you, making you cry out and moan with each drag of his cock in and out of your heat.

Eddie winds a hand through your hair, using it along with a hand around your throat to bow your body off the bed, back arched against him as he pounds into you.

“My perfect little wife. So fucking gorgeous for me on her knees, crying out my name,” he growls into your ear. “Want you to come on my cock, sweetheart, want you dripping down my thighs as I fill you up.”

You nod against his hold, your hips moving frantically in time with his thrusts as you chase the second wave of relief he’s gifting you.

It shatters across your nerves a moment later, and Eddie groans, a flood of colorful curses leaving his lips as he chases his own release. He stills, and you moan at the feeling of him pulsing against your walls as he cums.

He gently guided the upper half of your body back to the bed before slipping out of you. He spreads you open with a hand on each cheek, watching with possessive attention as his cum leaks out of you.

Satisfied that you’re well fucked and marked up as his, he flops on the bed beside you, lust drunk hands struggling to undo the bind on your wrists. When you’re finally free, he hauls your body against his, the sweat cooling on your skin as he holds you.

“So, you ever gonna tell me why you were late?” You ask after a moment of catching your breath.

“I wasn’t joking about the robbery. We were pulling forward through a stop sign when some guy that stole a woman’s purse literally smashed into the van. On foot. Knocked him out cold. We had to wait for the police to take their report before we could keep driving.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know. Drove like a bat out of hell the rest of the way to make it on time.” His fingers trail along your arm. “Wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

“I guess I can forgive you, then,” you tease.

He grins at you, looking just like the teenage boy you’d fallen for all those years ago, and for all the stress this morning caused you, you know you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

[cherrylng]

Upcoming Victories UK ‘00 - Coldplay Interview [BUZZ (November 2000)]

“I'm like, why do I have to answer that? People say it's boring and too sincere, but we're just a band that wants to sing and play songs!”

Chris finally explodes. The huge sales in the blink of an eye, the pressure and frustration of "Best New Band in the UK" falling like a torrential downpour, and why we in the press, more than anyone else, are tinkering with Coldplay, the most unconscious miracle harmony of anyone.

Photograph by Shoko Ishikawa Text by Shino Kokawa Interpretation by Erica Yamashita

"It's getting to the point where it's out of our control…… The least we can do is just keep writing good songs and playing them as well as we can. I really don't know what else is going on." In an interview in the September issue, Chris expressed his bewilderment at the situation surrounding them. Coldplay's debut album "Parachutes" debuted at number one in the UK and they were reverently awarded the title of "Best New Band in the UK". They were thrust into a huge number of microphones. Immediately, the "New Sensitive Rock" scene was launched and made its banner.

Two months have passed since then. "Chris won't be doing interviews for a while. He is on the verge of declining all interviews." It was the night before the interview that the record company informed us of this. The next day, the three members excluding Chris regrouped for the interview and interpreter Yamashita went to their live venue. When she visited the designated dressing room before the show, Chris was waiting for her with the three members. He said it was okay to talk, after all.

The result was an interview in which Chris' honest feelings exploded in a big way, as shown below. However, this mode of thinking was not born out of a distrust of the press or post-break nihilism, but rather a more fundamental frustration: "Why can't I get my message across through music alone?" In the UK guitar scene, which continues to be in a stupor, everyone is struggling in different phases, from bands that try to differentiate themselves with intelligent presentations to those that run amok with a negative or positive attitude. Amongst these bands, Coldplay are the only ones who have so much faith in the sound that spills out of their guitars.

After the release of your debut album "Parachutes", you went to Glastonbury, Summer Sonic in Japan, and V2000. How was your first festival summer? Guy (Bass, G): 「It was good.」 Jonny (Guitar, J): 「Yeah, it was mostly good.」 Will (Drums, W): 「Except for Portugal (laughs). The venue at the Portugal festival was horrible, first of all, and the audience were all people who were listening to heavy rock.」 Chris (Vocal, C): 「I mean, there were more interviews than gigs.」

How do you feel about that? C: 「It was the worst.」

……The worst, huh. C: 「Yeah. But I'm fine now, because the tour starts on Monday.」 J: 「Well, especially recently, because we've been doing nothing but talking instead of playing.」 W: 「Yeah, we haven't been able to play any shows for a while because of Jonny's throat, so it's been a bit stressful.」

Do you feel like you've been put in an environment where you can't genuinely enjoy your band activities and music? C: 「There are too many things that don't matter. Think about it, nobody cares what Beethoven looks like or anything like that. All people know is his music. That's our ideal situation, but it doesn't work like that. We live in a multimedia age and it's all about the pictures and how they look. It's not easy. But basically we're only as good as our music, so I think there's still a part of us that can be left to the music.」

"Parachutes" became a huge hit album that still sits in the top 10 of the national charts, but what do you think it was about you that attracted audiences? W: 「I guess it was our simplicity, or purity of it. We weren't competing for fashion in this day and age, or for badmouthing other bands, but just for the quality of our music.」

Amongst the many guitar bands that write good, melancholic melodies, I think you guys stand out because melancholy is not a ‘dead end’ feeling. W: 「Yes, that's exactly the kind of thing we want to put forward. We didn't want it to be just a melancholic album. We were very careful not to make it sound like that. And the key to that was what kind of songs to choose, and what kind of song order to make the songs flow. The promo CD we made before the release had all the songs in a random order, and when France heard it, they said, "This is a really sentimental record". But when we told them the order was like this, they said, "Oh, I see."」

There's strength in the delicacy of it. C: 「We believe in what we're doing. We get excited by our songs and we really, really like it. In the end, it's the reason we get up every morning. There has to be some positivity, because it's something I feel positive about. I don't want to make music that doesn't give me a sense of hope.」

When you were deciding on the direction Coldplay should take, how did you come to this mid-tempo and melody-oriented approach? C: 「The way we write songs is that sometimes I'll come up with an idea and take it to Jonny or someone else in the band, and then we all get together and shape it. It's something that we like in our own way. And that's the type of stuff we like so far. We don't discuss making them mid-tempo or anything like that, if we find a new song that we like that is mid-tempo, we just build it up as we go along. It's not like we decide on the tempo first. It's just that we get excited about songs that sound like that.」

What does it feel like to be excited? C: 「Well, I don't know. I just like it…… Obviously we're not a thrash metal band. We don't plan it that way anyway. We just let things come out. I can't even point to myself and say, "This is what I want to do".」

Hmmm. Has the meaning of music itself changed? C: 「No, I don't think so. I still feel great when I play and do really well, and depressed when I don't do well today.」

What's the percentage? C: 「…….6 to 4, I guess.」

That's pretty harsh…… Incidentally, this issue of BUZZ is a special issue on guitar rock. And we'd like to feature you guys as newcomers of the year 2000. By the way, the others were Muse (everyone nods in agreement), Doves (everyone nods in agreement), and JJ72 (Jonny frowns while everyone nods in agreement). What are your opinions about the other bands? W: 「We've met all three of those bands before, and they all seem to be making music for the same reasons as us.」 C: 「I like all the bands, especially Doves. I love them. But, you know, it's not about sympathy or anything like that. Everyone wants to create a scene, but there's just so many different bands out there.」

I think some people want to see it as a scene, hoping for a revival of UK guitar rock (laughs). C: 「Yeah, I get it. I'm honoured to be included with the bands you've just mentioned, because I like them all very much. It's just that none of us have put our heads together and tried to make a scene.」

I understand, don't worry (laughs). Now for the next question, which might be a bit rude. For example, what is it that drives you guys to make music, far from the desperate awareness of reality that British lad musicians have, that "we have no way to shine other than through music," and the ego-maniacal claims of bands that are fueled by that? C: 「But we don't think like that, we don't think like that. We're born and raised where we are, and we're very proud of that. Whether we have money or not doesn't make us good or bad. I wonder why we have to answer that question every time we are asked to do what we want to do. We just want to sing and play the songs we want to play. When we say that, people say it's boring or too sincere, but why else would you be in a band? That's our reason, there's no other reason. If you want to make loads of money, you'd be better off becoming a big businessman. The only attraction is the music itself.」

It's a problem that doesn't really make sense to me living in a homogenous society like Japan, but what do you think about the British tradition, but what do you think about the British tradition of saying, "You guys have no right to play rock!", just because you're from a middle-class background, starting from the days of Joe Strummer of The Clash to Blur and Radiohead? J: 「That’s really true of our country, isn’t it?」 W: 「But it also has something to do with social change. For example, in the 60s, most of the musicians were from the working class, and the laughing stock of TV comedies was middle-class university students, but now the whole country is middle-class, so workers are a good source of material. There's a tendency for everyone to wish for something they don't have.」 C: 「In the UK, there seems to be a sense of who is and isn't allowed to do what. But we don't really care. It's not like it's holding us back at the moment. You know what I mean? If you think it's a problem, it becomes a problem, you know? They try to hide it, they try to say they're not middle class.」

Is that one of the most depressing things you feel at the moment? You're just trying to deliver good music, and they just pick on things that have nothing to do with it. C: 「Yeah, absolutely. But I do the same thing with my favourite musicians. I can't help it, these things happen. For example, I think a lot about Bob Dylan, like, what kind of person is he? I guess it just means people are interested.」

I can really feel that you get very uncomfortable and that it's hard for you not to genuinely enjoy the music anymore. Do you still think the only way to overcome this is to keep playing? C: 「Yeah. Yes. In fact, we've just set out the terms of negotiation for next year. If we do two weeks of promotion, then we can spend the other two weeks doing whatever we want. We need to get that sort of thing settled.」

By the way, I've been reading your diary on your website, and the other day you wrote about the Radiohead show. C: 「It was amazing! They didn't seem to be having a lot of fun, but maybe they just weren't into it that night.」 W: 「I thought so too, but maybe the band couldn't get on. I think it was a very busy day with a lot of invited guests, and the whole atmosphere was a bit weird. I met Ed later and he said, "We didn't enjoy it at all." But I was impressed. My friends who went on the other night said the atmosphere wasn't too bad at all.」

Thom Yorke also said that "Rock is boring, it's rubbish music." C: 「That's ridiculous.」

Uhh..…. I think they are a band who have proved that conclusion to themselves, one by one, over the course of four albums. What do you think of their current phase? C: 「I just think they are trying to do something interesting. Maybe using guitars is boring…… But you know, it's what you play, not what you play with.」

You guys are now creating a sound that follows an orthodox guitar format. Is that going to change in the future? C: 「No, I can't say anything about that. The two new songs, one of them is a guitar…… I mean, we're not doing it with that kind of idea in mind…… No, we're just doing it with the idea of creating something interesting and new. I'm tired of explaining the songs, I just want to say they're songs, isn't that enough? That's the great thing about Bob Dylan. It's just him and the guitar. But no one says it's boring just because he always uses the guitar. It's just about how good the songs are played.」

By the way, I was firmly told by the record company that Chris wouldn't take this interview. I'm really happy that you accepted, but…… I wonder if you're really stressed out. That is, that you have to be involved in things other than music. C: 「Yeah, that's true. But I'm happy to do it on the days when we have gigs. But, to be honest, we were all a bit stressed out over the summer. Seriously. We didn't get a chance to play any music at all, and instead we just talked about our music. I think that took a toll on the band. The reason we're all so happy today is because we get to play shows again.」

That's good. C: 「Really.」

Translator’s Note: I enjoyed translating this interview for how much information I've gleamed out of it, especially seeing this side of Chris that I’ve rarely encountered before even with how few Coldplay interviews that I’ve translated so far. Like, being paraded around from one interview to the next, being asked so many questions that eventually became dull to them, with barely any actual gigs to play at? I can’t blame them for feeling the subsequent frustrations, especially when they were only 22-23 years old back in 2000.

Do support me on my Ko-fi! ☕

[thisisyourprincipalspeaking]

Hi, I’m not sure if we’re allowed to discuss other blogs but I see current talk of the problematic pr blogs claiming they never said Chris was “forced” into signing anything and I’m like, that’s precisely what they’ve claimed. They really don’t believe some of us have excellent memories, huh? The biggest thing about those blogs are the simple fact if they claim to be in the know and know people who know this situation, how the hell did they get “scammed” into trying to get the fans to send money to Chris? They even claimed to have talked to Chris himself, like what? See, it makes no sense. They thought this fandom was dumb but quickly realized we weren’t dumb enough to send money and so they backtracked and tried to blame it on someone else. They’ve never taken accountability, they just yell and scream when anyone brings up what they’ve done. I hope no one is still believing anything they say at this point, they are definitely frauds. I admit I fell for the first BUA they stated would “soon” happen and then when nothing kept happening I just sat back and watched the madness. But them claiming to have spoken to Chris and his team will never leave my memory.

i'm not sure where to start on this, but yes. you make great points, nonnie.

first off, thank you for not using names, but i know exactly who you are talking about, and i also thank you for that. those mods have definitely made promises about a contract that definitely existed, but they then said they don't have the contract, or the dates, or what it involves, but it definitely exists. okay.

then the scam. i saw another blog who did a nice job of exposing their lies. i don't think that needs to be rehashed after that, but they were in, hook line and sinker. the 'we were scammed' came once they were called out. neat.

they have been claiming a bua would come for over a year. they said 'pr marriages don't exist anymore' but then this actor is in one because he and his team are so stupid. they said the pr girlfriend doesn't go to premiers, even with photographic proof and they still denied, when that is exactly the point, to be seen.

now, a bua is coming on friday. no no, things changed, next friday. now next month. oh he is so stupid and resigned the contract so september. no, now it's new years. oh no! they are at awards parties together? definitely by spring and here we are again. definitely this july everyone, because he's an idiot we continue to rant and rave about but really don't care about him. but it's over and we know! we have been right about nothing at all, but trust us!

no matter if these two break up next week, next month, next year, ten years from now, those rabble-rousers will claim they have been right all along. the other 'team' will also blame the fans and the 'other team'. it's all smoke and mirrors.

i really encourage everyone to really think critically about it. his relationship status does not matter. lust after him. write fan fic. enjoy his content. if who he has publicly proclaimed himself to be affiliated with bothers you, step away and find a new fave. but please, stop giving attention to these pr obsessed accounts who make wild claims and consistently look for trouble. they want to rule this fandom they claim is dying. they want anons and notes and attention. they attack anyone who doesn't think like/agree with them. they accuse others of being paid bots. if you have paid attention even a little bit, it's clear they are grasping at straws.

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Chapter IX: In The Morning You’ll Be Gone

masterlist | playlist | chapter viii

summary: Friends is a heavy word for you and eddie. things are off to a weird start as you spend some time reconnecting after your show in vegas.

tags/warnings: slow burn, rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, gn!reader, angst is slightly lighter this time, but obviously still there!! these two are horrible at feelings btw if that wasn’t obvious.

a/n: let me know what you think! i have a loooot of ideas swimming around right now, but i wanna hear ur input! love u guys sm, thank u for reading! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

——

September 1987

“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie kicks the door to your shared apartment open, the old wood creaking under his heavy boots.

The ruckus summons you to the entryway. You speed walk from your master bedroom, where you’ve been spending your nights without your boyfriend. The house already feels warmer with him inside. “Hi, baby!” You squeal, running into his arms. He lifts you into the air, spinning you around like a husband home from war.

When he places you back in front of him, you refuse to let go. You lock your hands around his neck, and pull his face into yours to connect your lips. He relaxes against your touch, finally settling the yearning in his stomach. It’s been two long months of Eddie on tour, and you had refused to come because you didn’t want to be his “groupie.” You still haven’t told him how stupid that decision was. Regardless, it doesn’t matter now. He’s home, and he’s in your arms, exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“How are you, love of mine?”

“Never better, now that you’re home.”

—

Eddie’s POV

It’s probably the best he's ever performed, much to his own surprise. He's played Las Vegas before, but something about his own energy has brought the best out of the crowd. By the end of the set, Eddie’s shirtless, drenched in sweat, and practically deaf, but the excitement roaring through him makes it all worth it. He’d caught you watching too, standing on the side of the stage right up against the barricade like you’d used to when you were dating. He couldn’t help stealing glances throughout the show, catching you singing and dancing along like you were still his biggest fan.

Back in the band’s dressing room, Corroded Coffin light cigarettes and joints while beer bottles are cracked open, an atmosphere of relaxation settling in after what feels like years of being on edge. Much of that probably has to do with their frontman being in a good mood. Eddie sips his beer as he chats with Gareth, who’s puffing on a joint dangerously close to frying his hair.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, huh?” Gareth jokes, nudging Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “You finally get laid or something?” Eddie snorts in response, ignoring the question. “C’mon, you gotta let me know what’s got you performing like that again. I haven’t seen you this in-the-zone since— “ Gareth stops himself, but Eddie knows where he’s going. He hasn’t performed like that since you broke up with him. Gareth doesn’t push him, but his eyes communicate his question.

“We aren’t back together, don’t freak out like that.” Eddie answers the unspoken inquiry, indulging his friend. “But we talked. Amicably, even. We decided we’re gonna try the whole friend thing. For real, this time.”

“And you’re okay with that? Just being friends?” Gareth’s concern is written on his face, and for good reason. You and Eddie tried being friends after breaking up, but it was always falling apart, probably due to not giving yourselves time to heal.

Eddie nods. “I am. It’s bound to be better than not having them in my life at all. I know it’s gonna be difficult, but I’m selfish. I don’t wanna be without them again.”

Gareth nods, taking another swig of his beer. “Good luck, man. Seriously. They were so good for you, I just hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

He has, he’s almost sure of it. If given the chance, Eddie’s gonna show you just how grateful he is for you, just how much he cherishes you. He fucked up, badly, when you were together, but now that he knows what life without you is like, he’s sure he never wants to experience it again.

He's pulled from his thoughts when the dressing room door opens, and you enter with Steve and your band, dressed down from your set. You’re wearing sweatpants and, what Eddie is almost sure, is his old Metallica t-shirt. It’s faded, worn beyond recognition even when he had possession of it, but you still look incredible. Your hair is piled on top of your head, with little stray pieces hanging in front of your face. You catch him looking at you, and give him the smallest of smiles. He returns it with a gleaming grin, one that makes his cheeks ache, but he doesn’t care. You’re here, willingly, in his dressing room, hanging out with him and his band. Almost like nothing has changed in the last two years, even though you’re on your way to being one of the biggest bands in the world. Bigger than CC, even.

You shuffle further into the crowded room while Steve corrals the stragglers standing out in the hall. He’s about to give another rousing Manager Speech, so Eddie kicks his feet up on the small table in front of the couch as you place yourself on the arm closest to him. Your bandmates make themselves comfortable, and he dares to look at Robin, who lets a smile slip from her lips, and it’s like the weight of the world lifts from his shoulders. You must have filled her in by now. Maybe he has a chance to get all of his friends back.

Steve finally approaches the rest of you, standing in the middle of the room while the excitement dies down. “Alright!” He claps his hands together, summoning everyone’s attention finally. “We’re hitting the road for Oregon shortly, I need everyone back on their bus by 2AM. You guys were incredible tonight, I’m so proud of all of you.” Steve looks to Eddie, then you as he says this, his praise directly targeted at his front people. “Til then, do as you please, and call me if things get out of hand. Thank you!” The room erupts in chatter as Steve approaches the couch, followed closely by Robin. “I would love an explanation for this, by the way.” Steve wags his finger between you two, still sitting close enough to touch, without actually touching. “Whenever you feel like telling me.” He looks to Eddie, who bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. He almost breaks until he feels a hand on him. Your hand, gentle and warm, rests atop his bare shoulder, like the most casual thing in the world, and he can’t bring himself to move, worrying the moment would be broken.

“Don’t worry about us, Stevie. We’re being good.” Your voice is teasing, and clearly worn from your set. Eddie fights the urge to look up at you, knowing one glance will break his fragile composure. Your fingers tap against his clavicle, sticking to him slightly due to the sweat. He clears his throat as quietly as he can, trying his best not to let your touch send him into a spiral.

Steve shrugs. “Alright! Be back by two, please.” With that, Steve leaves the dressing room.

—

Your POV

By now the room is empty, save for you, Eddie, and Robin. You desperately hope they can’t see through your confident facade. Inside, you’re shaking, having felt Eddie’s skin on yours for the second time today. Everything is confusing, you have no idea where the two of you are headed. It feels new and exciting now, getting Eddie back, but it also feels fragile. One wrong move will send you back to square one, and you’re not willing to start over again.

It’s Robin who breaks the silence first. “So, we goin’ out tonight? Or do you two forget how to party together?”

You squint your eyes at her joke, and turn to finally look at Eddie. “You wanna party?” You hope desperately that this isn’t the worst idea ever.

Eddie nods, beaming. You get off the arm of the couch, stumbling less than gracefully to your feet. “Awesome. I’m gonna go change, meet us in the back in like, twenty minutes!” You and Robin scurry out of the dressing room, giggling to yourselves.

“So,” Robin starts as you rush to your dressing room, where Sylvie and Lilith sit chatting on the couch, the small TV providing background noise. “You gonna tell Steve about you and Ed?” Her question silences the rest of the band.

“You better tell us first!” Sylvie shrieks, getting to their feet. “What the hell was all that, even?”

Lilith joins them, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you two were almost being friendly in there.”

You lift your, well Eddie’s, t-shirt over your head, swapping it for a tighter, smaller black one, and change out of your sweats and into some light wash, baggy jeans. “There’s nothing to explain, really.” You turn to face your friends. “We talked about what he said. He apologized, and we’re trying the friend thing.” Lilith rolls her eyes, and Sylvie shakes their head. “What?” you ask, exasperated.

Robin speaks for them. “We just know how that’s gonna go, babes. One of you is gonna… I dunno, slip up? Like last time?” When you don’t offer her an answer, Robin continues, pouring both of you a pre game drink. “You guys just aren’t meant to be friends. You’d tear each other apart before you could get to genuine, platonic friendship. You’re not, well, Steve and I.” The last bit is meant as a joke, you know, but it stings a little. You hope they’re not right, that you can be friends with Eddie without destroying you both.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You shrug, and yank your boots on. “For now, I just wanna drink.” You take your vodka soda from Robin and throw it down your throat, as if to emphasize your desperation.

—

You, Robin, Eddie, and Steve pile into the back of a cab, all of you already tipsy. Steve’s decided to chaperone, and you can’t really argue considering the circumstances. He sits between you and Eddie, a knee against one of each of yours. The four of you are in casual attire, on your way to a club on the Strip you’ve never heard of. It feels like high school, almost, minus the whole “being in a band touring with a household name” thing. It feels comfortable, sitting between Steve and Robin, with Eddie on Steve’s other side, on your way to get drinks and finally just hang out. No drama, no worries, no screaming fans. A break.

When the car pulls up, Robin climbs out and holds the door for the rest of you. You link your arm through hers, and she links her other arm with Steve. You look at Eddie, standing next to you with his arms firmly at his sides, and offer your free arm. His lips split into a smile, and he links his arm with yours, causing your heart to surge. Friends.

There’s some truth to Robin’s words. You know you’ll probably love Eddie forever, way more than you just would a friend, but you can’t force yourself back into that relationship. You don’t know what your feelings for him are anymore, you just know you have them. And having them is dangerous, especially now that you’re both terribly successful and there’s no way you two could ever work it out.

—

Eddie’s POV

All he’s aware of is your shoulder against his as the four of you squeeze through the dark nightclub. The music is deafening, Jump Around by House of Pain shaking the whole building. He wants a drink. Really, he wants to leave, and go watch a bad movie on the bus, or reread The Hobbit for the fifth time this year. But those things don’t have you in a really tight t-shirt, so instead he’s waddling uncomfortably between sweaty bodies, following closely behind you as you make your way to the bar.

“What’re you having?” He reads your lips more than hears you, squinting to make out what you’re saying in the dark room.

“I’ll take a beer, whatever they have.” Eddie feels his voice rasp as he shouts over the music, but you nod like you’ve heard him anyway. He watches as you order, leaning on the bar so the tender; a good looking dude with salt and pepper hair, a good body, and tight fitting clothes, can hear you over the ruckus. You flirt with your posture, twisting a strand of hair around your finger as you lean in to speak to him. He nods, winking at you before walking away to retrieve your drinks. Eddie can't help the burning in his chest as he watches the interaction, fighting every urge to jump over the counter and beat the guy senseless. Not that he’d be able to, the dude is jacked.

It takes almost no time for you to turn around, coming face to face with Eddie, your nose far too close to his chest. “Here,” you hand him his bottle, and he reads the label.

“They had Red Stripe?” Still his favorite, and only ever found in the crevices of the dingiest liquor stores.

You shrug. “Vegas has everything! C’mon, let’s go find the others.” You take his hand, and Eddie looks at it, a fraction of a second too long before taking it.Despite his hesitation, holding your hand still feels right.

The two of you finally find Robin and Steve, drunkenly grooving on the dance floor, both with a drink in hand. Eddie scoffs at their shamelessness, and looks at you. He’s on edge, unsure of what your next suggestion will be.

“You wanna dance?” Is the last thing he’s expecting.

—

Your POV

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but it doesn’t deter you from slapping a hand over your mouth.

Eddie���s head whips in your direction, like you’ve startled him. “What?” This is your chance, your way out. Say something else, say anything else. “Do you wanna dance?” Shit! You watch as a smile threatens his tight lipped expression, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards despite his hold on them.

“Sure.” Sure?! Guess we’re doing this! You realize neither of you have let go of the other’s hand. You look from your clasped fingers, to his face, and back again before exhaling, and dragging your ex boyfriend to the dance floor. Robin and Steve see you and wave you over. The walk to them is dreadfully long, your hand sticking to Eddie’s with your sweat. Gross.

“Look who decided to join us!” Steve slurs as he twirls Robin under his arm.

“Steve, I thought you were chaperoning?” You tease, rolling your eyes as you feel Eddie’s fingers let go of yours. Your hand feels cold again.

“Chaperones can have fun too, y’know!” He pokes your arm jokingly, like he’s trying to tip you over. “And if chaperones can’t have fun, so can the, uh,”

“Chaperonees!” Robin interrupts, helpfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Chaperonees! Now, would ya not look so miserable? You know I worry!” Steve drapes an arm around your shoulder as you laugh, enjoying his mood.

“I am having fun!” You exclaim, taking another gulp of your cocktail.

Eddie sips his beer, as if in solidarity. “C’mon, let these two dorks compete to see who can be the worst dancer here.” He takes your hand in his again, this time without the weird tiptoeing around it, and you turn to face him. The song has changed to Def Leppard’s Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad, drastically changing the vibe. Robin and Steve continue to spin and jive aimlessly, but they blur in comparison to Eddie, standing right in front of you.

The drinks flowing through you do their job, lowering your inhibitions and giving you courage. You gently rest your arms around Eddie’s neck, and feel him tense at your touch before fully relaxing. His hands are still by his sides though, so you look from his eyes, to where they hang uselessly. “You’re not gonna melt, y’know.” You joke, but Eddie doesn’t laugh.

“Honestly, I might.” The words shoot through you, and you can feel your cheeks blush. It seems to rouse him from his anxiety, though, as he slowly lifts his arms to rest a hand on either side of your waist. Maybe he won’t melt, but you’re almost sure you will.

—

Eddie’s POV

There is no way he’s surviving tonight. He is one hundred percent certain you will be his cause of death, and that it will be painful, unbearable even. He lets himself look into your eyes, just for a second. They shine as you look back into his, narrowing the way they do when you smile. Eddie hasn’t received a smile from you like that in what feels like a lifetime.

As he’s losing himself in the way your hands rest around him, clasped together at the nape of his neck, he’s brought back down to earth. A bright, sudden light comes from behind him, illuminating your features for a split second. Your eyes widen, and your arms fall back to your sides.

“Eddie! Y/n! Over here!” Eddie whips his head around in time to catch a second flash, temporarily blinding him. He recognizes the culprit, a local paparazzo hell bent on torturing the members of the metal scene.

“Gale,” Eddie tries to remain calm, his heart rate skyrocketing as worst case scenarios flip through his head. “You can’t sell that.”

“I can do whatever I please, Munson!” Gale is slimy, never once giving his subjects a break. Because “he has to eat too.”

Your voice startles Eddie as you speak. “What do you plan on doing with that?”

Gale shrugs, “Sell it, make a quick buck. If I’m lucky, they’ll use it when they speculate on your love life.” He chuckles to himself, waggling his eyebrows. Before anyone can stop him, Gale lifts the camera a third time. “Smile big!” Flash.

Regardless of how badly Eddie wants to rip that camera out of his hands and throw it across the club, he doesn’t. That look doesn’t suit him, especially in front of you, and he’s not in the mood to catch a charge. Instead he pivots back to you. “What do you wanna do about this?”

You don’t seem bothered, in fact you’re uncharacteristically calm about the situation. “Whatever you want, it doesn’t bother me that much. There are worse rumors that could spread. Plus, you and I know the truth, right?”

Eddie only blinks, hoping his thoughts will catch up with his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I can call a guy. Get that picture wiped off the face of the earth.”

“If you want. Don’t stress on my account, though.” You go so far as to replace your hands around him, and Eddie’s breath catches, holding it for a millisecond too long. “It isn’t the end of the world.”

Eddie gingerly places his hands back on your waist, but neither of you dance as the song is replaced with Metallica’s Don’t Tread On Me. His brain is sprinting, trying to catch up with what’s happening.

“You’re not embarrassed?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. I mean, not by you, but-“ He stops himself. But what? You’re waiting for him to continue, staring at him unblinkingly. “I asked you first.”

You look at your feet, concentrating on the ground between you two. Eddie’s heart sinks, of course you’re embarrassed. There’s a reason you’re not together anymore. “I mean, this is what fame is, right? Rumors being spread about you? Untrue things being said? It’s not really any different than high school.” You laugh sadly, still not meeting his gaze.

“That doesn’t mean you have to like it.” Eddie lowers his voice, leaning to speak into your ear. He thinks he catches you stiffen, startled by his sudden closeness.

Finally, you shake your head. “I’m not. You don’t embarrass me, Eddie. Not lately, anyway.” This time your chuckle sounds more like you, and Eddie lets one slip through his own teeth.

“Alright. I’ll leave it, then.”

“So you’re not-“

“No, I’m not fuckin’ embarrassed. I'd tell everyone that rumor if I could.” He catches himself by surprise with his answer, but he doesn’t backpedal.

You look at him, finally. “What?”

Eddie shrugs. “Worse things have been said than that I’m dating my cowork— I mean, my friend.” He shows his teeth despite his nerves, trying to reassure you that this won’t be a big deal. “Even if that does happen, by the way, no one’s gonna believe it. You’re too good for that.”

—

Your POV

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re quickly interrupted. “We need to go. Now.” Steve and Robin are stumbling all over each other as they approach you, their fingers interlaced as if holding onto dumb or dumber will somehow save them from tripping.

“What? Why?” Your voice breaks with panic, whether from this current event or the one shortly before, you’re not sure.

“We kind of uh, knocked an entire tray of booze over while we were dancing.” Robin can’t get her sentence out without giggling hysterically.

“Turns out some big wig is here, and he’s pissed.” Steve adds, snickering between shallow breaths. “Guy’s a douche anyway, but he wants us gone. Security’s lookin’ for us.”

“For once, I'm not the one to get us kicked out!” Eddie cheers, and grabs your hand. “Let’s go!” The four of you haul ass through the club. You don’t know how drastic the measures are, but your heart still races. The night air hits you as the club door swings open, your ride already idling against the curb. The four of you pile in, borderline maniacal laughter erupting from each of you.

“You fucking assholes!” You shriek, but your tone remains playful. “I was having a good time!”

Eddie looks to you then, and you share a quiet acknowledgement with him. You aren’t lying, you were having fun. By the looks of if, he was too.

“Well, we’re sorry. We have three whole months of fun ahead of us. I’m sure you’ll make up for this time.” Steve lets his head fall onto your shoulder, and You pat his cheek with your free hand. The other still hangs onto Eddie’s, his thumb stroking the top of it idly.

“I forgive you, Stevie.”

—

Eddie’s POV

It takes less than 24 hours for the story to break. He’s on the bus, half asleep as his bandmates circle his tiny bed the best they can. “What the hell?” He sits up, rubbing his eyes as the men before him come into focus. “What’s going on?”

“You tell us, player.” Jeff tosses something onto Eddie’s stomach, and it lands with a slap against his bare skin. He grabs it, and investigates the cover of what looks like a knock off National Inquirer. The headline reads, in big obnoxious font, MUNSON’S NEW BOO? Underneath the text is the picture from last night. His back is to the photographer, but you can still tell it’s him. He’s wearing a denim vest and black jeans, his hair sticking up like it tends to do. Over his shoulder, he can make out your features. Your sparkly eyes, freckled cheeks, and pouty lips. You’re looking at him like you love him, your hands around his neck, his resting on your hips.

“This is not what it looks like.” His voice doesn’t waver. Eddie thinks about what you said. You’re not embarrassed by him, so why would he be embarrassed by you?

Gareth shrugs. “It’s okay if it is, y’know. As long as you’re gonna do it right this time.” Jeff nods in agreement.

“Nothing is going on! We’re friends!”

“Right, right. Because that totally just looks like two friends.”

Eddie looks at the picture again. It’s a good picture of you, and he selfishly wants to tear it out of the magazine and stuff it into his wallet. He wants to keep it close to him. Gareth is right, but that doesn’t change the facts. Friends are all you are.

“Does Y/N know?” Jeff interrupts Eddie’s train of thought.

“I mean, I just found out.”

“Yes, but you sleep like the dead. We’ve been in Portland for three hours.”

“They know the picture was taken. I’m sure they’re expecting this.”

“Alright, man. Now get your ass up, soundcheck in an hour.”

—

Your POV

You read the words over and over again, begging them to make sense. “Eddie Munson, frontman of Corroded Coffin, spotted snuggling up to Death Dance Approximately vocalist Y/n L/n. The two are currently on a cross country tour together, playing clubs and amphitheaters in North America.”

“What are you gonna do?” Lilith sticks another home fry in her mouth, keeping her eyes on you.

You shrug, tossing the magazine back onto the table. “Nothing I can really do about it now, I'm not too concerned.”

“They’re not concerned because they wish it was true!” Robin interjects, sliding into the booth next to you, a fresh coffee in her hands.

“Excuse you?”

“Please, since the day I met you, Eddie Munson has been the only guy for you. Ever. Don’t tell me that’s changed now.” You don’t look at her, and that gives her your answer. “So, we leave it, and we make sure it’s a prophecy we can fulfill!” She slurps a sip of her drink, and you scoff.

“We just got to friends. Give it a rest!”

“Okay!” Robin throws up her hands. “But I’m calling it now, you’ll be in his pants before we hit the east coast.”

You roll your eyes, and turn back to your breakfast. “Whatever.”

—

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld @poisonedluv | send a message to be added🫶

[the-bar-sinister]

Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (57000 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth

Summary: A sheltered young artist with a tragic past finds herself caught in the web of dark affection by a beautiful and sinister murderer, and his carefree rockstar brother.

catch up here

September 05, 2028– 12:25 pm

 “...my Guardian Angel is my demon as well. Kristoph Gavin.” 

Pearl gasped, and her fingers covered her mouth. The moment seemed to hang in the air if in the wake of an explosion, or the ringing of a bell.

"Oh! Gosh!"

Vera shifted to sit on her bed and reached over to grab the bottle of nail polish she’d recently unpacked, as well as the letter held in her pocket “I’ve been writing back and forth with him for two years or so.”

"Two years, huh? That's almost right as soon as you woke up, right? Or… do you mean it started before that?" There wasn't any judgment in Pearl's voice, but there was curiosity, and she leaned closer with wide eyes.

Vera flushed, looking down with a quiet smile. The fact that Pearl wasn’t judging her; that was a good sign. She’d been so scared to open up to anyone, scared that Kristoph’s frightening reputation would lead to others taking action…in removing her say in the matter.

But it was like as Simon had said– her fear was keeping her from becoming a person in her own right.

“They started coming regularly after I woke up, only a month or so later.” she murmured quietly. “but he’d written me before that, though it was mostly details about the job. He visited me back when I was younger, and took off his mask to talk to me about the Gramarye show and give me my nail polish…but the letters really started after my coma.” 

"Gosh," Pearl repeated. "And he became your guardian angel? What's he like? I never got the chance to meet him."

Vera turned the bottle around in her fingers, feeling its smooth crystal against her skin. 

“He became my guardian angel. He’s…” she paused for a moment “breathtaking. He’s polite and kind…he writes like a poet, and speaks like an angel.”

Her smile grew wistful, lovesick…she hoped that Pearl hadn’t noticed “He’s been giving me advice since I woke up. What cosmetics are good to use, how to face the world, ways to come out of my shell. He’s wise, and helpful, and is happy to listen and respond when I tell him about things I like or the world around me.”

Her fingers tightened on the bottle. “but he’s also the devil…a demon with a warm smile. He can be calculating, he draws people into his orbit and holds them there…he poisoned multiple people, beat a man to death…but he did so to save others. He saved me from my father, yet he almost killed me.”

She chuckled quietly “he’s a contradiction…but he’s always watched out for me, and I’ll always call him my guardian angel. I’ll always hold him in my heart.” 

Pearl listened with rapt attention, her fingers covering her mouth as she watched Vera with wide, dark eyes.

"Wow…I never realized there'd be someone else who could relate."

Vera’s eyes widened and she looked up to Pearl with her best attempt at a smile “you too, Pearl??”

Vera hadn’t thought there’d be anyone else who could relate either…but suddenly Pearl had her whole attention. 

Pearl seemed to feel the spotlight on her, and went scarlet, covering her full face. She nodded embarrassedly, her short, fluffy hair bouncing around her ears.

"I guess you could say I had a guardian angel too– me and Mistress Maya."

Vera’s fingers went to her lips in surprise , her other hand clutching her nail polish to her chest.

“You and Mistress Maya have a guardian angel too?” She smiled behind her hand. “so you understand…who is it? Did your guardian angel try and kill you too?” 

"Not exactly," Pearl replied, biting her lip for a moment. "But he put a bunch of people in danger and he killed my aunt– Maya's mom. But it was to protect us."

“Wow…” Vera leaned forward with interest. The circumstances were only a little different– but to think one of her best friends also held a guardian angel close to her heart. Someone who would, and had, killed for her and her cousin Maya.

The Fey Family’s Guardian Angel…and Vera’s own.

“That’s amazing, Pearl…can I ask who it is?” 

She nodded embarrassedly. "Mr. Diego Armando. He only got out of jail a couple of months ago, and now he's working as a prosecutor again. So, I was kind of hoping…"

 Vera blinked.

“Oh! I’ve heard of him…Mr. Edgeworth mentioned him a few times now that he’s back in the field…” She trailed off, a smile on her face as she leaned on her hand. “You were hoping that you could be assigned to him? That’s my dream for my guardian angel too. He’s being allowed to work like Mr. Blackquill had been, and I want to be his detective. If you’re in the same position…maybe talking to Mr. Edgeworth can help?” 

"Oh wow!" Pearl grinned widely, finally uncovering her face, and putting her hands in her lap as she fidgeted. "I was hoping you know, but I figured that I just had to let things play out– do you really think you can get assigned to Mr. Kristoph?"

“I’ll put in a good word…” Vera smiled warmly, brushing her fingers over the ‘palm’ of the bottle’s hand. “Because I think you deserve to be assigned to your guardian angel, Pearl…and Miles is a kind man.”

She tilted her head to the side “...I don’t know for certain, but…but I really hope I can. I’ve asked Miles…and told him that I’d do anything to manage it. So I simply have to hope that I excel at the Academy and…and follow my heart.” 

"That's so romantic," Pearl cooed. "Gosh… thank you so much for telling me about this! I bet it's something a lot of people don't know about, right? At least, you seemed awful quiet about it before!"

“Only a few people,” she said with a shy smile. “Mr. Edgeworth found out by reading my angel’s mail– I had to confide in the court psychologist, Mr. Blackquill. Trucy, Klavier, and you. That’s all– I was scared. Scared that if I said something, someone would take him away from me.”

Pearl's smile brightened even further. "I'm so glad that you trusted me with it. I promise I won't tell anybody if you don't want me to."

Vera ducked her head. “Of course I trust you with it, Pearl– you’re one of my best friends. I– I know you’ll keep my secret, even if I’m trying not to be so secret with it anymore…” 

"You're not trying to be secret about it any more, huh?"

“Mr. Blackquill said…b-basically…that I shouldn’t be afraid. That if I play a role and hide my feelings, I’m more a tool than a person. So I should…make the effort…try to live how I want. And I know exactly what I want.”

Vera looked down at the letter in her hands. She knew more than anything what she wanted. It was a vortex for her thoughts, pulling them all down into the part of her that was still so devoted to her guardian angel.

She wanted to be his– his detective– just as she wanted to be part of his strange ‘family’ with Klavier.

She knew it’d disappoint people she cared about, but Mr. Blackquill was right. Nothing good ever came of pretending to be someone you weren’t. 

"Well, you know, that sounds like really good advice," Pearl said, running her fingers through her short hair. "I've kinda been trying to do the same, lately.

She hopped up and scrambled over to her, throwing her arms around her in a hug.

Vera squeaked, snapped out of the mire of her thoughts enough to hug Pearl back. 

“oh!! He’s a pretty smart guy when you get to know him…a little frightful though.” She gave Pearl a squeeze “but I can tell…you look great, Pearl. You look happier.” 

"Awww, thanks," Pearl smiled broadly as she squeezed her in return. "I hope that'll be the case for you too, soon. I think you already do."

Vera couldn’t help but smile as she held her friend tight. It was true…she already felt lighter. Far from the rotting old house that smelt of acetone and mold, filled with purpose as she set forth on a path she chose for herself …with new connections and old bolstering her along the way.

“And it’ll only get better from here…Detective Fey.” 

October 1, 2028– 6:40 pm

The first days of academy were the hardest, when Vera didn't know where she was going, or quite what was expected of her. She stumbled through those days in a haze of barely restrained panic. Too many new faces mingled with too few comforts to make a cocktail of anxiety that nearly drove the words straight out of her and into the mutism she’d struggled to keep under control.

It was difficult, especially with the sharp tongued drill instructor and the battery of tests and lessons, but it slowly got easier. With the support and commiseration of Pearl Fey, and the arrival of the first of Kristoph’s letters, she could remember what she was fighting for and push on. 

Pearl did her best to help, but it was clear that she was struggling, too. Still, they had each other, and even more so she had Kristoph's letters, which came regular as clockwork, and were deeply interested in how she was faring, and full of encouragement and advice about how to navigate the social realities of the school.

She could imagine him, some nights quite vividly, smiling at him with his angelic expression as he told her how to survive the rigors of the police academy…telling her that she could and would make it out the other side.

It was advice she shared with Pearl, and before she knew it, the routine began to set in. Like a magic trick, the days became easier. Her body got stronger in increments, the faces around her became a little less frightening. It never became easy– she and Pearl still faltered of course, but Vera found herself smiling more and more through every target practice and protocol test.

Her guardian was her main source of strength, but her brother, too, checked in on her every day. And by the time a month had gone by they had a long chat history on her phone. He'd taken to wishing her good night every night as a reminder of when to go to bed– and when he was late with them, she knew it was because he was out late, and had started partying early.

Every time a late text came, she would playfully chide her ‘big brother’ in the morning…and every time she asked him how the hangover was going. She missed him very much, and part of her wanted to be out there with him experiencing the overwhelming feeling of the club– but he inspired her to keep going. Every message was another morale boost to push her through another day. Her Guardian Angel, and her big brother looking out for her as she pushed forward.

At some point, she’d found the time and materials to try showing Pearl how to make a stuffed animal…something that had soon become a bit of a mistake when some of the other recruits found out. It had become a little bit of a business for her– mostly to cover the costs of materials and trips to the store, as well as the time spent not doing homework– and it was a point of pride how many of the police academy students, many of whom were big, tough young men– had commissioned a plushie from her.

This exchange had apparently put her guardian angel's mind at ease. Her potential bullying, and tactics to avoid it or cope with it, had been a common thread in his letters early in the month. But once she'd settled in and started spreading her little toys, his worry had eased. He'd congratulated her on managing such a feat.

She still felt proud when she put needle to fabric– the congratulations ringing in her head as she worked on the first art projects to make her happy in a long time. The concerns of bullying evaporated…and she even began making friends with people she’d have never even imagined meeting only two years before.

Friends, appreciation for her art, a best friend by her side…and the joy of her weekly letters and good night texts. In almost no time at all, the Police Academy had gone from a frightful, confusing nightmare to an experience she wanted to remember forever. 

She was in the middle of work on a plushie when she got a text from Klavier.

She set aside the plushie, poking the needle into a small cushion before reaching to her end table to flip it open and take a look. 

Hey fraulein! Hope you're having a good evening! I have some personal news.

Personal news– that probably meant it wasn't an update about Kristoph or anything like that.

She balanced herself against the wall behind her, knees drawn up as she texted back.

Good news I hope…thinking of coming to visit?

His reply came quickly.

I would love to. But only if I can see you tonight? I have to go out of the country suddenly.Her eyes widened as she read it

Absolutely, if you can! You’re really leaving the country? Is it for another one of those commercials?He’d shown her a little while back a commercial he filmed in Cauli at some point– complete with the story of a stolen guitar and a bunch of silly sounding investigation. 

No, it is on a rescue mission! If you're available, I'll pick you up and tell you in person.

Vera stared at the phone for a moment, her brow furrowing as she read that again.

Rescue mission, big brother? Alright. Alright. I’ll get ready, the academy’s out of session for the moment anyway. I can finish this plush later.

Pearl was out of the dorm at the moment so she quickly sketched out a little note for her in her pad.

‘Be back in a bit, Pearl! Klavier wants to talk to me, I’ll tell you all the gossip later’ she wrote, signing it with a little sketch of herself giving her a thumbs up. 

Klavier's reply came back. Meet you at the front in 15 minutes, liebling.She typed in return. I’ll be right out. Just have to change out of my uniform!

October 1, 2028– 6:55 pm

Klavier leaned across the seats to push the door of his lilac painted convertible open for Vera as she came out of the academy. The weather was still warm enough for him to have the top down.

Vera gave him a wave as she hurried over and hopped into the seat with a smile. She settled into the seat, and smoothed out the pale white shirt bearing the LAPD Academy’s logo , before zipping up her light coat.

When she finished, she looked over at him with a cheerful smile “...it’s good to actually see you, big brother.” 

He scooped his arm around her happily, and looked her over. "It's good to see you too, little sister! You look like you've grown a bit already, ja?"

He was in a familiar outfit, with a pair of sunglasses balanced on his head.

Vera had indeed grown– it’d been a month at the academy, training day in and day out. When she’d entered, she’d been frail, barely recovered from the poison two years before. But now after it all she’d gained a little more muscle definition– stamina, only a bit, but enough that it still surprised her. It surprised her even more that he noticed.

She flushed, nuzzling under his arm “A little bit. It’s all the pushups they’ve got me doing. Still pretty cute though.” 

"Very cute, fraulein, very cute! No amount of pushups is going to change that." He pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic. "It makes me aware of how long it's been since I've seen you in person, that's all. And right after I resolved to keep up, ja?"

She leaned more solidly against him, “It’s been a while…but I know you’ve been busy, and I’ve been basically working nonstop. Besides, you’ve been texting me every night!”

She didn’t blame him, she knew she was lucky enough to get this moment to slip away from her studies, her drill instructor, her new friends– all of them even for a little bit. Not to mention his own packed schedule.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting a little desperate for his physical company.

“Missed you though.."

"Missed you too, liebling," he said, smiling at her in the rearview as they pulled onto the freeway. Vera felt the wind whipping through her hair as they drove. "Hoping this trip won't be too long so I can come see you again soon."

She chuckled quietly as she tucked her hair away from her face.

“I’d like that…especially if you told me all about it. A shame you can’t take me with you…where are you going, anyway? You said a rescue mission right? That’s…” She looked for the right word before she settled on “alarming.” 

"It is alarming, isn't it?" he shook his head. "I'll be honest, I was pretty alarmed. You know how we haven't seen Apollo Justice in a few months, fraulein?"

He pulled her closer as he drove, his hand warm on her, and she could feel that he was a little tense.

Vera nodded quietly, resting her head against his shoulder with a catlike nuzzle. “...It’s true, I haven’t even heard from him in a while…I think the last time I saw him was for a movie night a while back..” 

"Apparently it's because he's been in Khura'in for four months! Apparently he's gone to live in the mountains and become a monk! Ha! what do you think of that, little sister?"

He pulled off the highway and cruised into the parking lot of a small ice cream shop, on one of the last open days of its season.

Vera stared at him for a moment, tilting her head up with a puzzled frown. 

“Mr…Mr. Justice became a monk? I…I can’t believe that. He’d be a terrible monk…he’s so emotional!”

The whole thing was so absurd, it had to have been a joke. Apollo Justice…he’d saved her back during her murder trial. With his booming , clear voice, he spoke out for someone so few had done for before and cleared her of suspicion in time for her to fight off the poison in her veins.

A man like that vanishing and becoming a monk boggled belief…especially without a word to anyone. “You’re joking around right, big brother?” 

"I am not joking around even a little, fraulein! Well, a monk may be a slight exaggeration. He's gone to become the only lawyer in a country of monks, as far as I have heard."

He parked the car and hopped out– offering her his hand to help her up.

Vera took his hand and slipped to her feet with a click of her short heels on the ground. 

“....the only lawyer in a country of mo—” She paused as the name finally sunk in. “wait…Khura’in…that’s the country that just had that massive revolution, right?” 

"Ja, fraulein, that's the one." He pulled her against his chest, and cupped her jaw with one hand. "Terrible, don't you think?"

Vera leaned against his chest. When she nodded, she felt the pleasant sensation of his fingertips against her jawline.

“Awful, big brother…what if he gets hurt, or worse? Is the revolution at least over?”

"That's one of many things I'm worried about, liebling," he said, leaning close and nuzzling his cheek on hers. "So I am going to bring him back."

She cherished the feeling of his cheek against hers, hugging him a little tighter. 

“please…I wish I could come, I really do…I miss him too, Klavier! I thought he..he had just gotten too busy to visit anymore.”

"I thought so too, liebling," he sighed. "or that he didn't want to see me, you know? Which I suppose still might be the case. But I don't care. I'm bringing him back, ja? I'd bring you with me if you didn't have school."

She nodded against his hand with a quiet sniffle. 

“Bad timing…if it’d been a few months ago, I coulda helped…but I’m too far into training to drop out now.” Her body pressed into his as she leaned up to meet his eyes. “so please make sure you bring him back safe and sound, big brother. I’ll train hard while you’re away…but please text when you can?” 

"Promise, liebling. Though I hear the place has notoriously bad reception. But I will make the most valiant effort."

He pulled her in the rest of the way, and pressed his lips to hers.

Vera kissed him fondly, standing on tip toes with her arms looped around his chest to part her lips in a passionate , warm kiss.

It would be sad to lose the nightly conversations…and to lose even the scant outings with him while he was gone…but…

She understood. Apollo Justice was someone dear to him, dear to her too in his own way, and he’d vanished to somewhere far, far away without a word. Someone had to go and make sure he was okay…to bring him home. 

He held her close as he kissed her, and stroked his fingers through her hair for a moment, as they stood near the car.

When he released her, he smiled. "Come on fraulein, I'll treat you to some ice cream and you can help me make a list of things to pack. I'd forget my own head if it wasn't attached."

Vera nodded with a smile of her own. 

“You would, wouldn’t you? I know how you can be when you get worked up, big brother.” She offered her hand to him with a wink. “...let me do at least that for you before you go. My memory for detail has got to be good for something.” 

"I am in your debt, little sister," he teased. And he tugged her away.

It seemed that after this, for the next little while it would just be her, Pearl, and her guardian angel's letters.

October 1, 2028– 7:45 pm

When Vera returned to her dorm, her head full of thoughts– Pearl was back, and practically ambushed her at the door.

"Oh wow, you are never going to believe what is up with Trucy!"

“Ahhhh!!” Vera squeaked, her heart rate briefly spiking in her chest before she managed to calm herself with a tilt of her head. “she’s got a new magic show?” 

"Nope!" Pearl draped herself around Vera's shoulders and pulled her into a half hug. "She's going out of the country! I'm missing another trip to Khura'in!"

Vera leaned against her, her arm halfway around her by the time the second half of Pearl’s sentence sunk in.

“...w-wait…she’s going where again, Pearl?” 

"Khura'in! Oh, you probably don't know where that is, huh? It's in the mountains, kind of close to Zheng Fa actually…"

“I…” Vera bit her lip. “I know where it is…I just can’t b-believe she’s going there too!” 

"Oh?" Pearl cocked her head looking at her curiously as she hung off of her.

Vera tilted her head to the side so they gently bonked together. “...big brother Klavier said that he…he’s going to Khura’in too. Which is why he won’t be able to visit me for a while.” 

"Ohh! Oh! She didn't mention Klavier but that makes so much sense!" Pearl nodded. "She said she was going to go get Apollo back to the country!"

Vera bit her nail before she stopped herself with a visceral shudder and the memory of the poison.

“So they’re going together…because that’s what Klavier said he was going to do. He was going to bring Apollo home to us so he doesn’t…v-vanish and become a monk. Or a lawyer for monks.” 

'Wow, now I'm even more jealous," Pearl pouted, sticking her tongue out. "But we're so busy with school there's no way we could go."

“M-me too.” Vera sighed. “I told him I wished I could go, you know? But there’s no way with school. If we dropped out now, we’d have to start from scratch….if they even accepted us again.” 

"Yeah. And there's no way we're going to give up on our dreams, right? So we'll have to cheer Trucy and Mr. Klavier on from here!"

Vera nodded, bumping her head against Pearl’s with a gentle smile. 

“and when they come back…we’ll have to catch them up on all the fun they missed out on…and show them our shiny new badges, of course.” 

Pearl grinned widely. "Honestly, that's going to be my favorite part. Well, and seeing Trucy again of course."

“Of course,” Vera laughed quietly into her hand. “Same for seeing Klavier for me…I think they’ll be pleasantly surprised by how far we’ll have come.” 

[inkofamethyst]

December 18, 2023

IM GETTING A MAJOR RAISE NEXT YEAR??? LIKE TWENTY PERCENT???? (it's far better to be excited about this than to remember that I'm probably behind many of my peers due to my decision to attend graduate school and be bitter tbh) Suddenly a pet-friendly one bedroom apartment with central air and a balcony doesn't seem like as much of a stretch (especially not if i go farther away from campus (and double especially since a rainstorm which would otherwise have been a lovely time for recuperation seems to have rocked my current building to the core,,,,, from power outtages to roof leaks i just,,,,,, hhhhh reminding myself that this isn't permanent helps)). But now everyone can afford to either be a bit pickier. Hm. I suppose I also don't necessarily want to succumb to any major lifestyle creep though. I want to SAVE. I want a HOUSE. (but i also kinda really wanna live alone lol)

still feelin a bit down about last night lol. but it's over. done.

On September 6, I shared my goals for the school year, and I'd like to revisit them now that I've completed my first semester.

Stay within monthly budgets -- going excellently!

Take a programming course -- coming up next sem!

Go to fitness classes -- haven't yet

Maintain connections with interesting people -- I've met interesting people, still working on connection maintenance

Try a new recipe each month -- I do believe I've done this

Decorate my room -- yeah.. so I haven't been as decorative as I'd intended, mostly because I don't see myself living here for more than two years, so I still haven't decided whether I want to go through the hassle of putting things up... I think I should though, maybe over winter break? Saw a tiktok that said waking up to a beautiful space helps you feel safe and secure.. don't really care to fact check bc it sounds good enough to me!

Go to talks in various departments -- technically I went to one in a different biology department, but that's not really following the spirit of this goal since I was thinkin like astronomy or history.. so not yet

Read for fun or listen to audiobooks -- none yet, maybe over break

No studying while eating -- success (this is not hard, I generally don't enjoy studying haha)

Today I'm thankful for the (eventual) raise. Merry Christmas indeed.

[edit, sometime after midnight: AND I GOT AN A+ ON THE PAPER??? HUH??? MERRY CHRISTMAS INDEED (literally praying for my other classes)]

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Perfect Storm - Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: Hi friends! I know I’ve been rather absent with posting stuff but life has been HECTIC! I work two jobs, seven days a week right now so it’s a lot and I’m exhausted. Anywho, this imagine is part of @supraveng ‘s follower challenge! I’ve been working on this since like August of 2022 or so and was supposed to be done by the first of September but she allowed me an extension. Thanks for that babe, and congrats on 500 follows! 

Masterlist of all Masterlists| Supernatural Masterlist

Warnings: FLUFF! Breakdown, crying, comfort. Someone has a HUGE breakdown so if that’s a trigger for you, I am sorry!

Word Count: 5,887

Thanks for being patient with me friends! Love to you all!

It’s been six weeks since we’ve been on the road, trying to figure out where Chuck could be hiding. That asshat has been messing with Sammy and I for way too long, trying to take over the world. Sure, he’s God but that doesn’t mean he has to control every little thing and try killing us in the process! And since we have no leads, we’ve been trying to find other cases to work and more people to save. I was currently sitting behind the wheel of my beloved Baby, Sam beside me, scrolling through his phone, while AC/DC played from the car stereo and a pretty impressive drum solo came up.

“Dean, for once can we listen to anything but AC/DC?” Sam asks, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as I continue my solo. 

“Sammy, what have I always said?  Driver picks the music,” 

“Shotgun shuts his cake hole, I know,” he finished my sentence. “But what if I drove?”

“Oh risky question, little brother” I reply.

“I’ll drive when you sleep.” 

“Yeah and how often do I actually sleep, Sam?” 

Last time I slept without a nightmare was…well I don’t really know. The nightmares have been getting increasingly worse the last few months. Not that I’ve slept well before that but since Jack accidently killed our Mom, that’s been a struggle. I’ve watched her die twice now, something no child should ever have to see, especially at four years old. But even the second time, it's pretty bad. I still hate the kid for what he did but I’ve forgiven him…for now. Sam had a somber look on his face and knew I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

“So get this, there have been an unusual amount of homicides in a small town in Northern Texas, more than they normally deal with in the year, in just six months.”

“Huh, doesn’t sound like our kind of thing. People are just nuts today, Sammy,”

“True, but there is something that seems like we would do. Each time someone goes to recover the body, there is nothing left.” Sam says.

“Okay that might be something we could work on but, I’m not convinced it’s a monster yet,” I say.  

“Maybe not, but I think it’ll be worth checking out.”

Redirecting our path, I drove Baby in a U-turn and headed off to the nearest small town in Northern Texas, where these cases stemmed from. Several hours passed and we ended up in Wichita Falls and rolled into a small motel on the east side of town. Once we were settled, Sam pulled out his laptop and began typing away at the keys while I searched for a place to get a good burger by looking through flyers in the room. Sam tuned into a police scanner and soon enough there was a call in regards to suspicious activity near our motel.

‘”Dean, I think we got something,” Sam says, turning the volume up.

“All units, we have gunshots out by the WayfarerMotel. RP (reporting party) advised at least six shots were heard, no sound of vehicles but advised there were people arguing on the south side of the property near the freeway,” A female voice called over the radio and responses of “10-4” were soon followed.

Sam and I grabbed our guns, checking to make sure they were loaded and ready to go. We didn’t interfere with the police but did offer them assistance when it came to the investigation aspect. Looking out the windows, we watched as several vehicles had been on scene and officers were searching for the suspect. Soon after, more shots were fired, shouts of “he’s trying to run” and soon enough, someone was handcuffed. 

“Wait, where is the body?!” Someone yells and a swarm of officers and other investigators gathered around to see if there was a victim. Sam and I took that as our queue to come on scene.

“Gentlemen, this is a closed scene” a voice said, turning to shoot us questioning looks.

“It’s okay, we’re from the FBI, I’m Agent Stan, this is my colleague Agent Lee,” I say flashing my fake badge, Sam following the lead.

“We didn’t call in the FBI,” another officer said.

“I’ll be honest, we were off duty and heard of the incident, wanted to see if we could help out.” I said, trying to ease the confusion.

“I’ll allow it,” one of the Sergeants on scene said, seeming to not care about the fight.

“So what’s happened? We’ve heard there’s been a string of homicides with no victims found?” Sam asked, pulling a notepad out of his pocket.

“Not a single one and this is abnormal for the city to have this many homicides in one year.” An officer, later introduced as Officer Hughes, explained the incident.

“Any leads on what is happening? Is any suspicious person found or any other activity that all the cases have had in common?” 

“Well we did find something in each case that relates them together in some bizarre way. Each case has the same call for service. Caller calls in, advises of gunshots, hears people arguing, we get on scene and only one person is found. Aside from the callers, just one person is found. We handcuff them just for safety precautions but the majority of the time, we end up letting them go. In all my years I’ve worked in law enforcement, I’ve never seen anything like this. No definite suspect, no found victims. So we can’t fully rule them as homicides either because there is nobody.” Officer Hughes said.

“Well we might be here for a little while then so we can help out,” Sam said, trying to add a helping hand.

“That won’t be necessary gentlemen, we have enough people on this,” Officer Hughes said, dismissing us as he got back to his vehicle. 

“Well that went well,” I said, sighing in exasperation.

“Come on, I bet if we head back to the police station, someone might be able to give us some information.” Sam said, settling into the passenger seat.

I grabbed a few supplies before I sat behind the wheel of my precious Baby and found the station was not too far from our motel. Pulling up, I find a parking space across the street from the building and Sam and I walk up the steps to the front doors of the station. It was the eerily morning hours, not too many people on the streets, the perfect time for people to commit crimes. Opening the large door, a young woman sat behind the desk, looking up at us when the door slammed behind us.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” She asks, eyes flitting between the two of us. 

“Uh yeah, I’m Agent Stan, this is Agent Lee, we’re with the FBI,” I say and we both flash our badges.  

“We were just on scene of the shooting by the Wayferer Motel and we weren’t able to get a lot of information. Do you think there’s anyone we can talk to about this?” Sam says, giving a small grim to the woman.

“Well given the fact that it's three in the morning, most people aren’t here and won’t be here until eight or so. Y’all might want to come back,” she says, looking back to her computer in front of her.

“Maybe you can help us. Do you know anything about the string of potential homicides that have been happening here lately?” I say, trying to turn on my charm as best as I could.

“No and even if I did, I’m not at liberty to discuss cases with anyone, even other law enforcement,” she says.

“Alright well, here’s my card, whenever someone is available, have them give me a call. You have a good rest of your morning,” I say, shooting the woman a wink.

The next morning, we headed back to the station to see if there was anyone we could talk to. “Good morning gentlemen, how can we help you?” Another lady at the front desk said as we walked to the window. 

“Yeah we were here last night trying to see if we could talk to anyone about the shooting at the Wayfarer Motel.”

“Do you have any information about it?” The lady asked.

“No but we were on scene and we’re with the FBI,” Sam and I flashed our badges as soon as I said FBI.

“Let me call over to the detectives and see if we can’t find someone to come talk to y’all.” 

“Thank you,” Sam says and we both start looking at the displays hung around the lobby.

“Agents.” A male in a black polo shirt and khaki pants with a badge around his neck walks to us and shakes our hands.

“I’m Detective Parker, follow me,” he says, leading us through a door and taking him into a room with a table and some chairs.

“So y’all were on the scene last night?” Detective Parker asked us.

“Yes we were staying at the hotel and we’ve heard about some of the incidents where someone is shot but there’s no body’s left,” Sam explains.

Detective Parker sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It made no sense as to what happens to the bodies after they’re shot. We have no answers and our citizens are getting frustrated as to why their family members’ bodies are not there to bury or cremate them.”

“And that’s why we’re here. Tell us everything you do know,” I say. 

A few hours go by as we dive deep into the last weeks of the calls and cases from the City. I get up to go grab some coffee and stumble to an office where a bunch of ladies are sitting behind computers and answering phones. 

“Well hello ladies,” I smirk to the room of beautiful women.

“Who are you?” One of them pipes up and asks. 

“I’m Agent Stan of the FBI. I’m here helping with some of the shootings y’all have had here. Y’all know anything about those?” I ask.

“We heard about them but we don’t know anything. The guys don’t tell us anything, just what happened.” Another clerk said and she immediately caught my attention. She had long (y/h/c), bright (y/e/c) eyes, and she didn't bother looking at me much longer after that first comment. It seemed like she wasn’t impressed with me and that made me more intrigued by her.

“I see, is there anything you can tell me sweetheart?” I ask, trying to turn on my charm but again, she seemed unimpressed.

“That’s it now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get back to,” she says, her tone harsh but I found it interesting. 

“Pardon me ma’am,” I say using my best Southern voice but the look of annoyance on her face proved she couldn’t care less.

Most of the time,  I can get away with some flirting with women, this one? She’ll be more of a challenge.”

“Agent Stan?” A voice called to me. I stand and follow him back to another room off set by the clerks area. 

“So, what kind of leads do you have, if any?” He asked, Sammy was  already in the room. 

“Well, we kind of have a few ideas but you wouldn’t believe us,” I said, shooting a pointed look to my younger brother. 

“Try me, I’ve been in this for a long time. I’ve heard just about everything,” the lead investigator on this and other shootings said. 

“We think it might be a series of soul eaters” I say.

“What now?” 

“Soul eaters, they are exactly what you think they are. Since all the bodies that have been killed here are basically hallowed out shells, we think there may be several around the area. Unfortunately, they are not easy to kill but we do know someone who can and can set the souls back to the bodies they were taken from,” I explained as rationally as I could but I knew it seemed crazy to those who were not used to hunting. 

“Well that is definitely something I didn't expect to hear but it also isn’t the most out there answer I’ve heard either.”

“Alright, well let us call our guy and see what he says about it.” I say, giving a pointed look to the detective, wondering what other crazy things he’s seen but deciding not to ask. 

I grab my phone out of my pocket and scroll down my contact until it stops on the name. I hate asking this guy for help but he’s our only source for this case so I push back my personal feelings and press the call button. 

“Hello Dean,” his accented voice, full of entitlement, rang through my ear.”

“Ketch, we need your help,” I say.

“Well hello to you too,” he says and I can just hear the dumb grin on  his face.

“Yeah hi, listen we’re out here in North Texas and we’re helping the local police on a case we think you may have experience in,” I say, getting straight to the point.

“Oh, where in Texas are you? My daughter happens to be out there and she works at a police department,” he says.

“Since when did you have a kid?” I ask.

“Oh, never mind that. Where am I going?”

“Wichita Falls.”

“That’s where my daughter lives!” 

Oh crap, so Ketch’s offspring works at the police department here? Awesome.                                                                                                                  

A few hours later and we’re back at the scene of the crime. Ketch wanted the low down on what we’ve discovered up to this point so we decided to meet at the scene and go over what we know.

“So the bodies are never found?” Ketch asks.

“Nope they’re completely gone. Nothing is left behind but there’s always signs of some form of homicide,” Sam explains.

“And you lads are thinking its,” he trails off until I pipe in with our research.

“Soul eaters, except they’ve evolved so much over the years, they’re not just taking souls anymore.”

“Interesting, well you called the right person then,” Ketch says, standing up and heading to his car.

“So?  What does that mean?” I say, Sammy and I quickly follow him. 

“It means that I’ve seen it once before,” he said, Sam and I catching up with him. 

“You have?” Sam asked.

“A long time ago, yes. It was a rather tragic event for the families but we were able to get the bodies back.”

“How?” I ask.

“Well it won't be easy but we have to…make a sacrifice of sorts,” he says, making his way back to his car. “Follow me back to the station and I’ll go over the details with detectives.” 

We jump inside Baby and speed down the highway, much like Ketch had left. When we finally pulled back to the station, it was nearing five o’clock and a lot of the employees had been leaving for the day.

“Dad!” A female voice says, bounding over to Ketch and wrapping her arms around him.” 

“(Y/N)!” he says, turning to the girl I noticed in the criminal investigation section earlier; no.

“Gents, I’d like for you to meet my daughter, (Y//N), (Y/N) this is Sam and Dean. They are friends of mine.”

“Oh the Winchesters? I thought you didn't like them?” She says and I chuckle; I like this girl.

“Well not at first, no, but we’ve all come to an agreement of sorts.”

“So, you’re Ketch’s daughter,” I say, looking at the woman.

“Not by blood. He adopted me when I was a kid. My bio parents died in a hunting accident when I was six and Ketch happened to be there, so he took me in,” she says.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here, (Y/N),” Sam says, reaching to shake her hand; I just nod at her.

I couldn’t believe it, even for a minute, I thought a girl related to Ketch was beautiful. 

As our investigation went on, so did the opportunities for (Y/N) to show up unannounced, or so it seemed. Like, I thought she had a job at the department, but somehow she always ended up there, along with her Dad, to help assist us in our investigation. Not that I really minded her company but it was a little…odd.

“Don't you have something better to do?” I ask her as she’s going through some paperwork from the shooting.

She stopped flipping through the pages halfway between the pile and looked up to meet my gaze. “I’m helping on this case, y’all need some help sometimes, right?” 

“Well yes but I thought you had another job to do?” I ask. 

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t want me around Winchester,” she says, now more frustrated with me.

“I don’t care what you do,” I say, trying to play off how I was feeling underneath the surface. To be honest, I did care what she did. I barely know the girl but she’s getting under my skin and inside my head. What the hell is happening here I have no idea but all I know is I like being around her.

“Well clearly you do otherwise you wouldn’t be asking,” she says, raising an eyebrow in a challenging way.

Shit that wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought to myself so I did the best thing I knew to do; I walked away. I don’t know what my problem was but this had to stop. I couldn’t like Ketch’s daughter, her father is literally the biggest douche I’ve ever met so no way could I get involved with her. But the way she moved when she walked, swaying in the slightest way, her head held high like she owned the place. She didn’t  look a thing like her Dad but there was more to her than that. She had that long (y/h/c) that flowed past her shoulders and down her back. It was just a little wavy and seemed to have more than one color in it but it suited her well. And those big beautiful (y/e/c) and a perfect smile to match. In just the few short days we were working this case, she has taken over every thought of mine so naturally, I didn’t like her. 

“Dean, are you ready to go?!” Sam yells to me from the other room.

“Yeah,” I called back and grabbed my gear before meeting up with Sam, Ketch and (y/n). “What is she doing here?” 

“She is here to help. Believe it or not gents, she does know about this life and has helped me out more than a time or two,” Ketch explained. 

“As long as she stays out of the way,” I say, throwing a duffle bag into the trunk before making my way to the front. I could hear her huff in annoyance but I could care less. 

We drove around town for a while, trying to find the supplies we were going to need for our “sacrifice” before we headed back to the motel where the last body was supposed to be. Gathering everything together, we followed Ketch’s instructions and then it was time for the dreaded part. 

“So what exactly do we need to sacrifice?” Sam asks. 

“Well, that’s where it can be rather difficult. We don’t need an entire person or thing to sacrifice, but we need the blood of the pure of heart,” Ketch explains.

“Who would that be?” I ask before following his eyes over to his daughter. Her face turned a bit pale, knowing her blood was going to be nearly drained from her body but she didn't hesitate. 

“Tell me what I have to do,” she says.

“I know this won't be easy for you darling, but I will be right here the entire time,” Ketch says, attempting to comfort his child. 

“Dad, I’m not a child, I can do this,” she says.

“I know but you are my child, my only child for that matter and I worry about you,” he says.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve put myself in a little bit of a difficult place for helping you out and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” (Y/N) says. 

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s incredible for doing this and doing it more than just one time. I’m not saying I care about (y/n) or anything but this is going to be a risky task. She’s going to need to give a generous amount of blood for this sacrifice and to see she’s okay with going in without a second thought; it's admirable. It was almost as if we were in a hospital; we had a needle hooked up into her arm and tube after tube of blood was being drawn from her. I could tell it was making Ketch uncomfortable because it was his child, whether biologically or not, so I escorted him out of the room. 

“Here, let’s go get a beer or something,” I say, clapping my hand on his shoulder and walking out. 

“I’m sorry Dean, I just couldn't stand to see that much blood coming from my daughter,” Ketch says, sighing in defeat as we sat across one another at the map table in the Bunker. 

“Hey, there’s no need to apologize. I’m worried about her, too,” I say. 

A moment of silence passed between us before Ketch spoke again. “You care for her don’t you?” 

“What? No, I don’t care for her!” I say, suddenly becoming defensive.  

“You do; I can see it on your face. I’ve had the same look before and it does not go away so easily,” he says, frowning and dropping his eyes to the floor. 

“Okay so what if I do? Is that so bad?” I ask. 

“No it's not, but since this is my daughter we’re talking about, it does make a bit of difference.”

“Look Ketch, I would never hurt her,” I say, trying to explain what I hope I can do for his child. 

“I know you wouldn’t, Dean. In fact, I’m not worried about her dating you, if that is what she wants. I am worried about this life; hunting. She has had some exposure to it but I try to shelter from it most of the time. If she’s around you, I’m afraid someone or something will get to her and there would be no point for my life to continue at that point.” Ketch was being really vulnerable and I was surprised to say the least, but I respected it. Sure, we had our issues trusting him in the past but this is his kid and right now, she is all that matters.

“Dad?” A groggy voice calls to the room. 

“Hey kiddo, your  Dad went to get you some supplies for when you woke up. We all became worried when you went whiter than a sheet but we managed to get you back. You’ve been sleeping for the last few hours cause you did lose a lot of blood but we’ve monitored you,” I saw, looking down at the young girl on the bed in front of me. 

“So did you get enough blood for the spell?” She asks. 

“That is nothing you need to worry about. We need you to get back on your feet,” I tell her. 

“But you don't need anymore blood?”  I chuckle at her, not being able to believe she’s been so concerned with this, but it makes sense. 

“No, we don’t need any more blood.” She takes a giant sigh of relief and slumps back into her bed. I smile as I watch her for a moment before I get called. 

“Hey Dean, we need your help out here,” Sam calls to me and just as I was about to tell (y/n) I notice she had fallen asleep. 

“Okay,” I call back and look down at the young Men of Letters’ daughter and lean down to press my lips on her forehead.

“What do we got?” I say, walking into the main room where the map table sat.

“We have the ingredients for the spell,” Sam says, adding everything together in what looked like a witches cauldron and an ominous purplish hue shown from it. We head out to the coroner's office and find one of the bodies that had their souls taken out and we tip the head back and pour the liquid down the throat. From the esophagus, we could see the hue shining from under the skin and soon, another blinding light encapsulated the room. 

“How do you know if it worked?” I say, looking down to the body that seemed no different than a few moments before.  

Cass places his hand on the body’s forehead and his eyes closed. He seemed a bit bothered by something but then his expression softened and he opened his eyes again. 

“The soul is in there; I’m positive.” He says. 

 For the rest of the bodies that turned up recently without a soul, we were able to restore each one and bring some closure to the families of the victims. We contacted the families and had them come and see the newness of the bodies of their loved ones. Most people would be against this but because these bodies had been violated, family members wanted to make sure they’re loved ones were being honored as best they could. 

“Thank you for restoring my Russell,” a lady said, leaning over to kiss her deceased husband. No one could say a word but a curt nod was all that could be mustered from any of us. This is part of cases we don't get to see. We meet family but we rarely get to see much happiness after the person is gone. Who knew a soul returning to a body could do such a thing?

Back at the Bunker, I go back to check in on Y/N. She was sleeping and I couldn’t help but watch the sore and almost voided women below me. She seemed less pale then when we first got her out of the process of taking her blood for the spell but she still seemed..hollowed in some places. Like her eyes, they were pushed back into her face and her arms and legs seemed as though they didn't have any muscle. How much of her blood did we take? 

“Hey you,” she whispers, her eyes slowly moving to look up at me. I couldn’t speak and wanted so badly to kiss her but the way her eyes suddenly changed, I knew something was off. 

“You get the hell away from her,” I say, leaning away from who I thought was (y/n) but I know better. 

“Aw Dean, why can't we be friends or more since you seem to be in love with (y/n)?” I knew the voice well and just as I thought, (y/n)’s face morphed into him.

“You’re a real bag of dicks, you know that?” I say.

“Yes Dean, I’m aware of how you feel about me and I can’t believe you let this kid distract you from dealing with Daddy dearest,” 

I hold back from killing The Trickster here and now and give him an opportunity to explain himself, against my better judgment. 

“Well good ol’ Dad decided to send me to try and get you back on track. To bring something close to you to just take it away again. 

“What the hell did you do to her?” I say, growing more and more irate. 

“Oh relax, she’s fine, she’s just…tied up at the moment.” he says. 

“I swear to God I will kill you if you hurt her,” 

“Really? I think I can rearrange that since he’s my Father and all,” he says and freezes when I beg for her life again. 

“Please, don’t hurt her. She’s all Ketch has anymore.”

“Yes but you don't like him either so why does it matter what happens to (y/n)?”

“Because we all need her on our team; she’s vital to helping solve cases.”

“Are you sure it isn't more than that?” A third voice says, coming into view. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

 “Dean?” A small voice rang out into the silence that had surrounded me in the room. I don’t know how I ended up here but I do know, it wasn’t easy. 

“Hey kiddo, you’re okay, it’s all over,” I say, looking over to her. She was much better now, away from the pain of blood being drained from her body, no longer in fear of who may be lurking around the corner. 

“What do you mean?” She asks. 

“Chuck, he's gone. Dead actually.” I say, still not fully believing it myself. 

“You killed God?” She asks, a look of disbelief playing across her delicate features

“Well, not exactly. We killed the vessel Chuck but God himself, he swore he would leave the Earth and not bother Sam or I or anyone we love ever again.

“Oh, so, he can still come back though?”

“No, he can’t. Because I….” My words fade from my vocal cords and I cannot process any thought rushing through my mind at a million miles a second. This was it, this was why I did what I did. Her. She is the reason why Chuck is dead and God is permanently leaving us alone. 

“I love you. I know it hasn’t been too long since you’ve been around us or me but I can’t help it. I love you and I want you to know that you are the reason God will leave us alone. If it wasn’t for you, we probably would still be fighting him and there wouldn’t be any peace….we’re free. Sam and I are free after all this time. We finally get to relax and be free to fight for people without having to look over our shoulders everywhere we go because I love you and he will leave us alone now because you are someone I love and….I’m free.” And for the first time in I don’t know how many years, I cried. Not just a small cry, a complete breakdown level of a cry. I guess I had years of pent up agony of having to fight and defend those whom I’ve loved finally come to a boiling point. (Y/N) did the one thing I needed in that moment, something I’ve lacked for many years; affection. She wrapped her arms around me, as tightly as she could, and held me close to her as sobs racked through my entire body. I began to shake violently and all she did was bring me in closer, run her fingers through my hair, and continuously try and shush me in that sweet, comforting way Mom’s do. I’m not sure how long we sat like that but we did until I was silent again. I slowly look up at her, through the tears still sitting in my eyes, and she runs her thumb right under my eye. 

“You okay?” She asks, looking at me in a concerning fashion. 

“I think so,” my voice was no higher than a whisper because I couldn’t trust myself. I surprised myself with the fact I cried as much as I did but I felt better. 

“I love you too,” she says suddenly. 

“You do?” I say, disbelief prominent on my face. 

“I know it isn't long either, but I do have some pull to you and I cannot deny it. You are the only reason I’m here. I love my Dad, I really do but you are the one who I get up for day and day again. You are the one who protects me like no other. You are the one I want to keep giving blood away for whatever spells or anything else you need. I love your smile, your eyes, your laugh, the way you grumble about anything and everything because you’re getting older but it just melts my heart and I’ve never felt this for anyone.”

It may have seemed like a rather chick flick movie thing for me to do, and believe me, I kicked myself for it, but I couldn’t help it; I had to kiss her. Because for once, someone loved me and there was no way I was going to lose her. Well, aside from the traditional ways of losing someone but there wouldn’t be a douche who tries to take her away, which is way better anyways. Her lips felt so soft and natural when she kissed me and all I wanted to do was kiss her from now on. Who am I turning into? Maybe I’m finally able to learn what its like to care about someone and have someone care for me when in the past, we would have never gotten together or even thought about it but things with Ketch have been different and he hasn’t been after us too much since Chuck started. Now, I somehow ended up falling for his daughter. 

“Oh, shit, damn it,” I say, pulling back from our kiss.

“What’s wrong?” She says. “I’m sure you’ve done this before,” she jokes. 

“No, I mean yes of course but, you.” I say. 

“Me?” 

“You’re Ketch’s daughter.”

“We’ll he’s my adopted Dad,” she comments. 

“Yeah but he still raised you. What is he going to think of this, of us?” I say, motioning between us. 

“He won’t care.”

“Are you sure? I mean we've been fighting with him for years and we just got him on our side.” 

“Dean, you’re overreacting. He just wants my happiness. He’s just going to have to deal with it being with you,” she says.

“Fine, then I say we need to tell him and everyone else about us before anything else happens between us.”

She suddenly gets up from where we were sitting in the common room and I jump up to follow her.  

“Where are we going?” I say when I catch up with her. 

“To tell my Dad.”

“Really?” I ask, not believing she wants to do this now but she stops and grabs my face and kisses me, for a long time. 

“Really,” She says after she lets me breathe again.

I follow her into the other room where we see Sam and Ketch at the map table, Sam with a book in his hands and Ketch scrolling through his phone.

“Dad?” (Y/N) says when we are in hearing distance.

“Yeah sweetheart?” Ketch responds, looking up from his phone.

“I’m in love with Dean,” she says with such ease, it brings a smile to my face.

“Oh I know,” he says and goes back to his phone.

“Wait, you know? How?” I ask.

“Because, I see the way you look at her, Dean. And (y/n), I heard you talking to Sam about it.”

“Wait, Sammy, you knew how she felt about me?”

“Yes,”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“She asked me not to,” he says.

“So you’re okay with this?” (Y/N) asks Ketch. 

“If he makes you happy, then I’m okay with it.” 

“But you hurt her Dean and I swear,” Ketch threatens me. 

“Don’t worry man, I couldn’t hurt her. She’s the best thing that ever came out of a perfect storm.” 

[sainamoonshine]

UGh when I talk about barrier to entry in book fairs, this is what I mean: 

The region where I was born, where my parents live, have a local book fair where they want to hype up their local authors. Cool! But their website never gets updated, and the facebook page only VERY seldom. So last year when I FINALLY managed to find out the dates of the festival, it was already too late to register (and anyway they answered my FB message months later). 

This year I decide okay, so I'll check way in advance... usually the festival is in november. I check their website, it still only lists last year's dates. I go on facebook.... omg they actually made one (1) post where they say the dates for this year, and absolutely no other info. I go back to the website, I think surely there's a section where authors can register.... oh yay there's a page... it says "to book a table, click here" and no other indication of the year or dates of the event, but okay fine they probably don't want to update the page every year. I click... a goddamn word document downloads??? okay, so I check that out.... "please fill this document and MAIL is to us along with a check for the fees. No later than september 1st or your application will be rejected" 

Fucking hell at least update your website front page to say the dates of the 2023 festival BEFORE september first, if that's the deadline to register!!! (I remember now that this is the shit I fell for last time too, by the time the website OR facebook page had been updated we were well into october)

and this is like. Literally the only book fair I ever found that allows self-published authors to book a table. There was one other one where you could get a few hours at the self-publishing table IF you were from the region and had published YOUR FIRST BOOK in the last two years. EVERY other book fair has either zero online presence, or requires you to be with a big publisher. People keep asking me why I don't table at Québec or Montréal.... well, shit, I wish I could! This is why I stick to tabling at comics festival smh 

oh and also shout out to the festival in the next province over where I emailed them to figure out how I could register, and they sent me a VERY condescending message about how they were proud to be the province's only french book fair and so rejected applicants who only had english books out of principle. Huh okay so did you see the "french" tab on my website? Where my books are listed in french because it's my mother tongue???

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

ok so...we all saw the flurry of Bandom Racism discussion happening. and i have...thoughts.

i know this is late, in theory because i wanted to get my thoughts together, but honestly mainly because i didnt know what to say, so part of me was annoyed that i felt obligated to say anything at all. bc im not nearly as active in bandom as my blog probably makes it look, i didnt learn 90% of the Lore until september and all of that i learned from mcrblr. im new! i dont know about any of this! much less about the racism. so...why am i expected to talk about it? what is there for me to say?

...and over the past few days, its slowly sunk in for me that thats exactly the point.

of COURSE i dont see the racism in the fandom, or know what to say about it. because either none of the other white liberal fans in my circle do, or we just... dont talk about it. and i think when we do know, we dont talk about it, because we feel like its not our place. we dont know what to say, and especially if we feel like we had any hand in it, we're... embarassed? i know i am. and like...i hesitate to list examples, because i dont want to come across as self flagellating. one, because its got to be annoying for people of color, and two, because...i dunno. i dont want to make other white people think thats whats required, to be anti racist? because i think thats one of the assumptions we're laboring under, like...we've created this environment of really aggressive Discourse, so when it comes to racism, and unpacking our own...we talk in really vague terms, we never get past the "UwU!!! Dont Be Racist!!!!" PSAs because naming our own transgressions means admitting to wrongdoing, which is embarassing at the best of times, but in the very spaces we've created, generally being found out as Doing Something Wrong means getting jumped on by other white people for the purpose of their own moral preening so no one will suspect them of the same. so...why willingly subject yourself to that? especially if whatever you have to say, whatever it is in your behaviour you want to discuss, may be triggering to people of color. simply not mentioning it feels like the better - and safer - option.

but...thats what leads to us not knowing enough about all this to feel confident talking about it in the first place.

i dunno. last week, im one of the people who looked right at that piece of art with franks rising sun tattoo, and went... "huh. hey, theres that tattoo he got covered up because it was offensive. i should look into that. ...anyway, cool art!" and hit reblog.

and like...once people started talking about it, (theres one specific post, forget who its by, someone talking about mcrs history with anti asian racism, great post thank you for making it) i felt...bad? but i also felt kinda defensive. in thinking back on it, i was like..."well, im glad to know that now. but dude im not familiar with his tattoos. i kind of assumed what i was looking at was the covered up version where its sort of peeking through. idk it was a watercolor it was kinda garbled. i wont blame myself for not thinking any harder than that."

and then i was like... okay but. if im honest with myself, thats still bad. because it doesnt matter, since i probably wouldve reblogged it anyway, just assuming it was for the sake of photo accuracy or what have you...because i still didnt fucking know or care what the rising sun flag was.

which was the whole point.

because if i HAD. if i HAD done my research when id first heard about it, months ago, i would have recognized that art for what it was and treated it with the wide berth it deserved and avoided it regardless of my knowledge of his stupid fucking tattoo. but i didnt, for a host of reasons. mainly executive dysfunction, general stress in my personal life (nunya bidness) and...if im being honest? i just didnt want to, because...i hate self teaching. i have adhd. i was homeschooled, it was really traumatic, i flunked all of highschool and had to get a GED. my reading comprehension and attention span are piss poor. so i didn't feel like looking into it. i didnt feel like giving myself a whole impromptu history lesson. i opened one wiki page and instantly got overwhelmed.

but thats also the point. because all those reasons for not doing my due diligence and reading up on why asian fans are so pressed about the rising sun tattoo? or why black fans want nothing to do with 21p? the same shit probably applies to them! they don't feel like doing it either, we just give them no choice until eventually they make giant ass posts, comprehensive, easy to digest, step by step posts, for the express purpose of doing what we all refuse to do.

and, again, theres that feeling of guilt. guilt and shame, because im admitting to this, and because i know how reading this is gonna make other white fans feel, because i just went through the exact same set of feelings, and its uncomfortable as hell. so i can only imagine how fans of color have felt.

im not making this to browbeat white fans, or to self flagellate to fans of color. this isnt a soap box or a confession booth. im just.. talking. so lets talk. im gonna be honest, i still havent done real research into the rising sun flag. im literally just now looking at the wikipedia page for imperial japan, which i just now opened, and i still feel just as overwhelmed. (does anyone have good material on learning about this? if i find any, ill post it in reblogs.)

but...yeah. this isnt an UwU!!! Dont Be Racist!!!! PSA. this is uhhhh...We're All A Little Racist, Lets Talk About It So We Wont Be. an open letter, i guess. cause we're doing and saying racist shit, intentionally or unintentionally, whether we realize it or admit it or not, and i think the majority of you who have read this far are, like me, mainly doing so through inaction. and i think the more we ignore that, the worse this feeling will get. so...lets stop ignoring it. i know we all just did exactly that, i saw it happen, i was part of it, i get the reasons why. but its delaying the inevitable, and more importantly, we're hurting other people because of it. so...lets just get it over with, it cant be any more embarassing than burying our heads in the sand.