#I was thinking to myself today about how I’d probably be miserable and going nowhere in life rn if i never dropped him

[allofuswantgwinam]

[ignitedbynatsu]

He Makes You Feel Insecure ~ Rogue

A/N: let it be known that I finally managed to update at the deadline I set myself 🥳 I'm so sorry I was gone this past week but college was getting hella busy so I had to focus on that this past week but I'm backkk. Thanks to everyone who stuck around, I missed you all and can't wait to get to the requests ❤️

Genre: angst to fluff

Warnings: swearing, insecurities (he makes you feel too childish)

Other versions:

Gray ~ Laxus ~ Cobra/Erik ~ Bickslow ~ Gajeel ~ Natsu ~ Jellal ~ Freed ~ Sting

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

A loud crash could be heard followed by your and Sting's laughter filling the guild. You quickly fled the scene and hid behind Rogue while stifling your laughter.

You had played the oldest prank in the book on Minerva. A water bucket on a half-open door. You'll never understand how the brilliant mage fell for that one, but she did, resulting in you hiding from her wrath.

"(Y/N)! Sting!" Minerva screeched as the water dripped down her hair.

"We're sorry Minerva-san, we just couldn't pass the opportunity" you apologize on your and Sting's behalf, but it was nowhere near sincere As you both were still doing everything in your power to not burst out in laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but to you and Sting it was hilarious.

"I swear I'm dating a child" the annoyance that was latched on to the words made you immediately stop laughing. Surely he didn't mean for it to come out that harsh, right?

"I'm sorry, what was that" a soft smile still playing on your lips, but that was quickly wiped off when you met his cold gaze.

"I said that you're fucking childish, (Y/N). It was bad enough having Sting act this way, but with you encouraging him and even joining him? I feel like I'm in a fucking daycare. Grow up, will you" Sting laughter also died down as he saw his friend take his frustrations out on you. "Hey, man, that's not cool-"

"No, Sting, it's fine. I- uh- I'll see you all tomorrow" even Minerva shook her head in disappointment as she observed your slumped shoulders as you left the guild. She didn't miss the tears starting to form either.

The rest of the day everyone felt that they were walking on eggshells around Rogue, not daring to get on his bad side. They felt bad for you. Sure you could be a little annoying with all the pranks you pulled, but they all knew it was just good fun. You never meant any harm and just wanted to make the guild feel a little more like home.

That homeyness that you seemed to bring everywhere you went, was gone the next day. Your usual colourful outfits were replaced by dull grey and black clothes. They even were certain that they hadn't seen you crack a smile once that day.

"Hey, (Y/N)! I got this amazing idea for a prank and-" you interrupted Sting before he could elaborate his grand idea "thank you, Sting, but I'll have to decline."

You had never refused a prank before, nor had he ever heard you talk that formal "that's it"

You raised an eyebrow at him as he stormed off to God knows where.

You hated turning him down. After all, you had been itching all day to break this facade, but it was for the best. It'll pay off in the long run you kept telling yourself. After all, you couldn't imagine a world where you'd have to live without Rogue. So if that meant you'd have to change your personality a little bit, you wouldn't even hesitate to make that sacrifice.

Meanwhile, Sting had left to go find Rogue. He knew that his best friend was the only one who could put an end to this "is this what you wanted?"

"I have no clue what you are talking about" Rogue replied as he turned around to meet the fuming blonde.

"You seriously don't see how miserable you made (Y/N)?" He scoffed as Rogue looked around to spot you. It took him some time as he did not expect you to wear something so... Colourless. "You haven't even spoken to her today, have you?"

"I decided that I was way out of line yesterday and that I should give her some time" he explained. Did you really think you needed to change just to please him?

"How kind of you" Rogue was surprised by the sweet words coming out of Sting's mouth, but when he turned back to the said boy he was met by a harsh glare "now go fix it"

"What if I make it worse" the guilty was slowly eating him alive as he dared to steal another glance at you.

"You can't possibly make it worse than it already is" Sting dismissed his insecurities

"Fro thinks so too!" Rogue's head snapped towards the Exceed "Frosch?"

"It's three against one here" Lector also piped up as the three stared at him expectingly.

The raven-haired sighed, knowing he should do something to fix his mistakes, so he took a deep breath, gathered all his courage and headed towards his girlfriend. He never thought he'd feel this scared again to talk to you.

"(Y/N)... Can we talk?" He wanted to sound confident but when you looked at him and not even spared him a small smile, he felt like he wanted to sink back into the shadows.

"Of course, what is it you'd like to talk with me about?" Rogue cringed how smooth your tone was. No unnecessary intonation, no shouting, no expression. Everything was dull and blank.

"Why are you acting like this" your eyes went wide for a second. Were you still not living up to his expectations? Was it too little? Too much? You had no clue.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you are talking about" you replied swiftly, covering up any traces of emotions you had just shown. "Did you not want me to stop acting like a child?"

"Yes, but-" "and is what I'm doing not exactly that what you asked me to do?" "Yeah... But-" Rogue was getting frustrated, but he knew he had no right to snap at you again.

"Then I don't see the relevance of this conversation. I'll be heading home now. I'll see you tomorrow" with that you placed a kiss on his cheeks and headed back out of the guild.

Rogue's attempts at covering up his frustration were in vain as you could read him like an open book. Afraid to get yelled at again you hastily decided to head back home. Ready to scream or punch something just to get your own frustrations out.

After the failed attempts of him making it up to you, you managed to put up your facade for a week, until one day you just didn't show up. You didn't notify Sting or Rogue in advance, which you normally do, you were just too tired to deal with anyone.

"Has (Y/N) told you she wasn't coming today?" Rogue's anxiety was through the roof. He nearly burned a whole town to the ground when he lost Frosch. Imagine what he'd do if he didn't know where you, his significant other was. "No"

"I'm going to her house" with that Rogue left in an attempt to find you. Luckily for him, you were indeed just at your house.

Your stomach dropped at the sound of someone knocking at your door. You were tired, no, exhausted even. You hated that you had to pretend that you were someone that you're not, but it was all for a good cause you kept telling yourself, and yet you couldn't muster the energy to keep up that facade.

"(Y/N)? Please tell me your home" your heart broke at the sound of his voice. The worry and desperateness were caused because of you. Once again you were not good enough.

You opened the door ever so slightly, just enough, so he could make out that it was in fact you. "Thank God you're here"

"I'm sorry for not giving a heads-up. I promise I'll be back tomorrow" you promised him as you were about to shut the door again, but he stopped you by placing his own hand against the door.

"(Y/N), please, we need to talk" you contemplated for a minute, weighing the pros and the cons "please"

You slowly opened the door further as a signal for him to come in.

The sight in front of him shattered his heart. Your eyes were red and puffy. Your figure was completely slouched and your arms were wrapped around your middle, hugging yourself, in an attempt to shield yourself away from.

"I'm sorry I probably look like a cry baby right now-" he stopped you before you could finish your excuse "hey, no, none of that"

"I want to tell you something and I need you to listen without you interrupting me, okay?" You nodded your head at his request and waited patiently as he continued. "First and foremost I'd like to apologize for my behaviour last week. I shouldn't have worked out my frustration on you and I shouldn't have attacked you like that."

You nodded your head at his apology "second, I want you to know that you should never change your personality. Especially not for me. I love you, (Y/N). And when I say that, I mean every piece of you. Your good and your bad traits. If fell in love with you for who you are, and not the person you've been portraying as the last week."

"Please go back to your old self. I'd rather have a childish person as my girlfriend than a fraud that's clearly exhausted by putting on a facade. I really am sorry for making you feel like you had to change for me" by now you were full-on crying. Maybe it was because of Rogue's kind words, maybe it was because of the exhaustion, maybe a bit of both. All you cared about now was being in his arms and feeling loved.

"It's okay" you whispered as placed your head on his chest as he planted a kiss on your head.

"It really isn't. That's why I'd like to make it up to you" you broke the hug to look up at him as a mischievous glint was sparkling in his eyes "how about we prank Sting?"

"I'd love to, but for now let's just watch a film and cuddle" you smiled at his idea as you had never pranked Sting before since you always prank others together.

"Anything for you, princess" that's how you spend the rest of your evening in each other's arms, with him reassuring you every once in a while that he loves you and that you should never change.

[perpetual-help]

If I might ask, how did you return to Holy Mother Church?

Well, the short answer would be by the graces won for me by The Blessed Mother. I owe everything to her intercession.

I was a cradle Catholic who fell away from the Church during my later teenage years. I abandoned God out of anger and also out of a growing curiosity in the occult. I studied and practiced (and eventually mentored in) witchcraft for about six years. Towards the end of the six years, my pursuits into witchcraft grew darker and more sinister. To give you an example of the mindset I was spiraling towards - back then, I was becoming more acquainted with groups who condoned human sacrifice / cannibalistic rituals / cursing for the pleasure of causing chaos and misery / knowingly working with demons. I thank God that I was spared from going any further in these groups than simply learning what they do or what they encourage to be done through text, and nothing more.

I met someone I will call “H” through a mutual friend (in person.) My first impression of H wasn’t a very good one, given that I could tell from our first interaction that H was a Christian. Back then, I could differentiate between Christians and non-Christians by the feeling of the air that would surround them, and if I found them to be Christian, there would be an immediate swelling of hatred towards them. I had a tarot reading done for H and I to see whether it would be worthwhile to humor a friendship with a Christian, and the person who gave the reading claimed that H and I were actually soulmates. I took this seriously and decided that, since H and I were apparently connected in such a way, I had to make an effort towards H’s wellbeing, even if it never led to anything romantic. H attended a small Pentecostal church that would post its service online, and I would occasionally watch some of the sermons in order to mock and laugh at the ridiculousness of it. They would “speak in tongues,” give “words” to people, run around in “the spirit,” and do other things that I found stupid but thoroughly amusing. My interest was especially piqued by the idea of “speaking in tongues” - because, when some of them would “speak in tongues,” I could understand what they were saying. (More on my present thoughts about this later)

H suffered from depression, which I considered a blight to the both of us, given that we were allegedly soulmates. One Sunday, H said they did not want to go to church because of the depression, and so I offered to go with them, knowing that they would leap at the opportunity to drag a heathen to church. On my way to the church, the voices I recognized as my “spirit guides” at the time were leaving me with strong internal impressions such as: “He is going to say that your chains are breaking, ignore him.” And “he is going to single you out, don’t fall for it.” My answer to these impressions was “fine.”

When I entered the Church, I felt an immediate repulsion. People were dancing and singing pop worship songs, and I internally questioned why I had chosen to do this. Sure enough, the pastor did single me out. Most of what he said to me could be attributed to cold reading, but it was entertaining. I was told “Your chains are breaking. You wear your past bad relationship like a scarlet letter on your forehead.” and “You’re going to meet a Godly man and your relationship will be like out of movie. When you do, cling to him.” I’m not sure how to describe some of the sensations I felt during parts of the service. At times, I felt like my skin was crawling, or like my skin was burning, and other times as though my throat were closing and I was being choked. I initially brushed these feelings off and tried to convince myself that it was social anxiety, but that experience lingered with me even after the service. H and I talked a lot after church, mostly about the Bible and different parts in the scripture. I had a lot of questions and H was kind enough to offer loving and well-thought-out answers. I went home and cried, and it was the first time I had properly cried in several years. I wasn’t sure why I cried at first, but the day’s events recurred in my mind’s eye and I recalled how horrible I’d felt while people worshipped around me. At that moment, I genuinely wanted to know the truth - I wanted to know whether God was real. And, if He was real, I wanted to know whether He would help me. So, I prayed. I asked God this: “If you are real, please touch my heart so that I know.” Immediately, I enveloped by this warmth and peace, and something I can only think to describe as perfect love and tranquility. My heart felt this so intensely that it seemed to be overflowing in and through me, and I wept. I only then was able to realize how absolutely miserable and exhausted and anxious and depressed and wrathful I had been for so long. I wept, and I promised to give myself entirely to God. In return, I asked Him to help me to become a servant pleasing to Him - to love Him more, always. The demons I once considered my “spiritual guides” and “deities” showed their true colors after this experience. I would say, for the first year of my conversion, I was tormented a lot in different ways - but especially in my dreams, and by feelings of intense anxiety and despair that would be thrown upon me out of nowhere and that coupled with the sensation that the walls were closing in. The voices and impressions I once recognized as “friends” started to say things like “you can’t be saved, you’ve already given yourself to us.” among other lies. These torments continue today, and in other ways, but they aren’t as constant as they were towards the beginning.

I threw away six years worth of junk I had acquired which left my room essentially empty, but it was a liberating feeling. I started to attend the Pentecostal church, but my time there didn’t last. They hosted a woman who called herself a prophetess who spoke in tongues, but what she would say would be blasphemies. People would shout “amen” and “alleluia” to these utterances, and I began to understand that this group didn’t know how to discern the spirit. The breaking point for me was when the pastor claimed that Jesus had to learn how to perform miracles - that, and, the glaringly obvious inconsistencies between his sermons and scripture. There was an unhealthy focus on titles of ministries and “what God can do for your health and wealth.”

I lasted three months at that church before it clicked in my head that the Catholics were right. This, was also in part due to my rediscovery of the Bible verses that referred to Jesus’ command to eat His flesh and drink His blood, and a dream that followed. So, I went to confession for the first time in probably 8 or more years. It was a frightening experience and I cried during the entire confession like the wimp I am, but the liberation I felt afterwards far outweighed it all. A couple of days after my confession, I attended Mass with my mother. During the Transubstantiation, while the Priest held up The Body and Blood of Our Lord, I smelled a strong incense. I only noticed the smell because I normally disliked Church incense for how strong it is, but this one, while it was strong and impossible to ignore, it was the most beautiful smell I’ve ever encountered. (There was more crying) After Mass, I asked my mom whether she knew what kind of incense they used, and she deadpanned “They didn’t burn incense.”

Now that I have had more time to process the beginnings of my conversion and especially my encounters at the Pentecostal church, I am of the impression that I was able to understand their “tongues” because it was demons speaking through them. I’m aware that there’s a Charismatic Movement of Catholics who also claim to speak “in the tongues” but I am always wary of such claims, and I avoid such practices like the plague.

God is so merciful and so loving, and my entire life is a testament to this. I did nothing but offend Our Lord and hate all things good and Holy, but still, He called out to me and saved me from the miserable state of death I hadn’t realized I was in. All Glory to God.

As St. Germanus of Constantinople said: ”There is no one, O Most Holy Mary, who can know God except through thee; no one who can be saved or redeemed but through thee, O Mother of God; no one who can be delivered from dangers but through thee, O Virgin Mother; no one who obtains mercy but through thee, O Filled-With-All-Grace!”

For this reason, I also attribute these great graces given to me by the intercession of Our Blessed Mother, and I owe her nothing less than my life in return for this favor she has shown me.

I hope my answer has satisfied the question without being too tedious.

God bless you, and keep you.

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

A new prompt for you! (Finally :3)

I'm picturing multiple couples or a family group (4+ adults) who share a cottage together in the middle of nowhere, living off the land. Winter is coming, bringing with it its chill winds and early dustings of snow. The people are hard at work every day, chopping wood and putting aside the last of the food for winter.

It's the worst possible time to get sick, yet someone does, coming down with a miserable, streaming cold and high fever. What do they do about it? How do the others respond?

Could have definite cottage core elements, or fantasy (since you're so good at writing that!) or contagion if you choose. Can't wait to see the results :)

It’s been so long since I’ve written a real, honest to god fic, so this will be my debut back into snzfucker favor!

Okay, okay, who to include in this house of contagion?

We need a soft healer boi that takes care of everyone before themselves, of course. A very strong, stoic, hardworking warrior with muscles of steel - but the same can’t be said for his immune system. A hyper comic relief (like if Scout from TF2 was in a fantasy setting) that insists he isn’t sick, but can’t keep back his sneezes long enough to prove his point. And, of course, a tall, thin scholar whose cold heart is only melted by his fever.

Adventurers packing it in for the winter and preparing for journeying in the spring, now only at most a few yards from each other and having shot immune systems from the exhausting work. Illness doesn’t have to travel far to infect…

Oh, this is gonna be good.

***********************

“Look look look! Otto, you’re not gonna believe this!”

Barlow skidded to a halt, almost tripping over his own two feet before regaining his balance. Otto chuckled.

“Alright, alright, que pasa? What is so exciting?”

Barlow fumbled with his cloak before pulling a shiny coin out of one of the pockets.

“I got this off a path when I was pickin’ berries! Must’ve been a merchant or something…”

Barlow’s eyes suddenly lit up.

“Or maybe a warrior! Ooh, or a knight! Definitely somebody with a cape.”

He flung the back of his cloak behind him and stood tall, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied grin. However, Barlow couldn’t keep the pose long - the frigid air made him close the thin burlap around himself again, shivering. Otto knitted their brow.

“You’re wearing your summer cloak,” they said, looking Barlow up and down. “You must be freezing, chiquito!”

Barlow waved his hand, as if batting away Otto’s concern.

“Don’t worry about it, doc. It’s gonna take more than a little wind to get me down.”

As if to prove a point, he spread out his arms and spun around, laughing at the many leaves he kicked up.

Otto would usually be charmed by the sprite’s antics, but their concern soon outweighed their amusement.

“Just make sure to change into your winter clothes soon, okay? I would hate for you to get sick.”

Barlow stopped spinning, coughing a bit as he caught his breath with chilly autumn air. His hot breath clouded around his face like smoke.

“Okay, okay,” he panted, “I’ll grab it when I go by the cottage. Forgot my basket anyway. See you around, doc.”

With a quick salute, Barlow ran off, cloak billowing behind him, still clenching the coin in a tight fist. Otto shook their head and sighed. They knew that Barlow just didn’t want them to worry - but that only made them worry more. The healer in them couldn’t help but notice red-tipped fingers, congested voices, and pallid complexions. Besides, with a harsh winter underway, a cold could very quickly rear its ugly head, turning into bronchitis, pneumonia, and even infect a person’s magic…

Otto took a deep breath. Their thoughts had run away with them - and now, more than ever, it was important to stay focused.

The doctor gathered up their scrolls, pulled their coat close, and started back to the cottage.

Perhaps a little tea would calm their nerves.

***************

“it’CHEW! CHEW!”

“Salud.”

“Ugh…thanks, doc. Snf!”

Otto looked up from his knitting to see Barlow rubbing his long, pointy ears with a pained look on his face.

“Do your ears hurt?”

Barlow put his hands in his lap. “No! Just, uh, a little itchy.”

Severin, who had been reading on the sofa across from Otto, hid a smirk behind the yellowed pages.

“Someone must be talking about you,” he drawled smugly. “Considering the way you conduct yourself, I’m not surprised.”

Instead of snapping back, Barlow still scratched at his ears. Severin slit his eyes and continued to read. He almost seemed disappointed.

“Could be thragweed,” Godric rumbled from a large wooden stool, rubbing his beard in thought, “but they usually shrivel up by the first frost. Didja see any three-leaved plants while you were out foragin’?”

Barlow shrugged, wincing as he rubbed harder. “Um…maybe?”

Otto frowned. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep scratching like that.”

“S-sorry, I…huh-hold on…”

Barlow buried himself in his cloak, with only his mop of red hair showing.

“hit’SHEW! Huh…it’TCHEW!”

The sprite continued to let out sneeze after sneeze, his wrinkled, pink nose only showing when he needed to come up for air. Otto got up from their chair, and they were soon holding him by the shoulders to keep him from knocking himself over.

Barlow finally finished, snuffling into his sleeve. He looked up at Otto with bleary eyes.

“Sorry, doc, I don’d dow whad’s gotten into be…”

Otto hushed him with a gentle pat, using their free hand to feel Barlow’s forehead. They clucked their tongue.

“Oh, mijo, you have a fever...”

Barlow’s breath caught, and he coughed into his shoulder. “Nah, I…I’b okay, Otto, really. I’ll be…snrk…fide in the morning. Just gotta sleep it off…”

Otto smiled gently. “Well, you’re right about one thing. A good night’s sleep is exactly what you need. And maybe a little salve for your poor ears…”

Their hand still on Barlow’s shoulder, Otto guided the sprite to his bedroom, mumbled protests and miserable sneezes trailing behind them.

***************

Barlow’s fever never grew very high - his burning ears and nose, however, kept him up for most of the night. By the time morning came, he was too exhausted to even feign health. Otto had to put him back to bed, which was only met with pitiful murmurings.

“‘M fide, doc, I…hetch’CHIIIEW!”

“Pobrecito! You sound even worse than yesterday…”

“C’mon, Otto, I…”

“I don’t want to see you out of bed today, okay, cariño? You need to rest.”

“Nngh…”

Otto and Severin split the foraging work, since their respective jobs were mostly planning and budgeting the winter ahead of them. Godric promised to keep a good eye on the patient, but that didn’t lessen the doctor’s worry any.

“I wonder how Barlow’s doing,” Otto murmured, probably for the umpteenth time since they’d begun their work.

Severin scrutinized his severely pricked thumb. “Children always carry around such nasty things. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caught the plague instead of a simple cold.”

Otto froze mid-pick, and Severin hurried to correct himself.

“Peace, my friend. It is just a cold, after all.

He grimaced.

“One I dearly hope he keeps to himself.”

They both continued to fill their baskets with berries, wiping the frost off their shiny, black skins. However, Otto’s mind continued to race.

I shouldn’t have left him. Godric only knows so much. What happens if his fever spikes? I’m a healer, I’m not supposed to leave the sick behind. Should I go back? I should go back. No, I promised Barlow I’d get his foraging done. But I can’t keep a promise if he’s dead. What if he’s already dead? What if Godric’s on his way right now to tell me? What if I’m already too late? How will we bury him, the ground is too hard. Otto, your friend has died and all you can think about is how to bury him. You must be the most selfish -

“Otto.”

Otto snapped back to reality to see Severin giving him a fierce side-eye.

“It’s only a cold.”

Otto took a deep breath. “Right. Gracias. I…I lost myself, didn’t I?”

The afternoon went by in a quiet fervor, both of them trying to fill their baskets before the sun went down. With Otto’s quick fingers and Severin’s thin ones, it was an easy job, and the managed to get back before it got too dark.

Otto wasn’t two steps through the door before they were at Godric’s heels, wringing their hands and stammering through the worries that had built up through the day.

“Are you sure…how…did he…should I…?”

The warrior just chuckled and put a gigantic, calloused hand on the their head.

“He’s on tha’ mend, doc, on the mend. Sneezin’ his head off, sure, but gettin’ better.”

As if on cue, two loud sneezes interrupted them from one of the bedrooms, followed by a mumbled curse and a few wet sniffles. Godric shook his head.

“Been like that all day, poor tyke. When he wasn’ dozin’ off, tha’ is.”

Severin took a few scrolls out of his dragon-scale satchel.

“I understand you have a more…pressing engagement. Why don’t I take the calculations tonight?”

But Otto was already on their way to Barlow’s bedside, medicine bag in tow. Severin only lifted his eyebrows and turned on his heel, setting up the many notes he had taken and a few quills on the oaken table.

“Besides,” he murmured to himself, “I don’t want to get near whatever affliction that sprite’s come down with.”

*************

Barlow was scratching at his drooping ears, which were now covered in a red, peeling rash. Otto gently pushed his hands back under the quilt.

“I know it itches, but you need to try not to scratch.”

The healer took a small glass container out of their bag, dipping two fingers into the greenish-gray ointment inside. They began to apply the salve to Barlow’s ears, taking care not to put on too much.

“Tell me when you need a break,” Otto said.

Barlow nodded, eyes squeezed shut. After a few minutes, his nostrils started to twitch, and he held up a hand.

“G-gudda…huh…!”

He jerked forward into his knees.

“hit’CHEW! hhhit’SHEW! Uh…hut’SHIEW!”

Barlow snuffled into the quilt, and Otto handed him a tissue.

“Salud.”

“Ugh…sorry, doc…”

Otto put the cork back into the glass bottle and set it on the bedside table.

“It’s alright - most sprites have the same reflex.”

“No, I beant…for…”

Barlow bit his lip, his ears drooping even lower.

“For geddin’ sick.”

Otto put a hand on the sprite’s back.

“Oh, mijo…”

“I-I didn’d mean to,” Barlow whimpered. “I…I should’ve god by coat like you told be to…and dow w-we’re - hic - gudda starve…”

Otto hushed him, pulling Barlow into an embrace and rocking him slowly back and forth.

“We will be fine, mijo,” they whispered, their voice soothing Barlow into a sniffle. “We will forage until you are better, and not a day before. That is what friends do. They protect each other, they take care of each other, and they love each other like family. And that is how I love you. Like my family.”

Barlow hiccuped, trying to speak through his tears.

“Shhh, mijo…it’s okay…”

Otto wrapped the quilt tighter around Barlow and laid him down, pushing hair damp with both tears and sweat out of his face. The sobs quieted, then dissolved into shaky breaths. Before Otto even made it through the doorway, they could hear small, congested snores coming from the pile of blankets.

*****************

Scritch scritch scritch…scriiiitch…

Harried quill scratching filled the air as Otto entered the living room, putting on their tweed coat and wool gloves. They stretched out their arms.

“Buenos días!”

Godric lifted his coffee mug as a greeting, his famous half-smile dancing over his lips.

“Well, aren’tcha bright as tha’ north star this mornin’!”

Otto beamed. Barlow had slept soundly through the night, and he was still fast asleep when they had checked on him. Not a sniffle or a sneeze came from that room.

“Severin, I was thinking we could pick up acorns today,” Otto thought aloud, buttoning their coat. “There is a beautiful place in the forest…”

Silence. The quill scratching only grew more manic. Otto glanced up.

Severin was hunched over the table, writing madly on several open scrolls, only pausing to move a few beads on his abacus. Otto went back to getting ready. Sometimes it took a while for Severin to answer if he was engrossed in his calculations. He would respond when he got to a stopping point.

After about fifteen minutes of fidgeting with their scarf, though, Otto tried again.

“From what I’ve seen, we should be ready for winter in a week, maybe less. All that’s left is the dried vegetables and a few more logs for firewood.”

Again, there was no answer. But now that Otto was a little closer, they could see why.

Severin’s eyes were inflamed and painful, as were his gaunt cheeks. His long, usually well-preened hair was matted against his forehead, with stray hairs sticking up this way and that. Thin shoulder blades came together with each labored breath. Long fingers shivered around a red quill, leaving stray marks on the parchment.

“Mi sombro,” Otto breathed.

The shadowling blinked, raising his head stiffly. Pools of sweat, shaken loose by the movement, streaked down their face.

“I…couldn’t sleep,” Severin croaked. “Have I…have I been awake…?”

Godric looked up from his mug, finally noticing the sorcerer’s state. “Stars above, lad! Ya look like hell frozen over!”

The shadowling stared straight ahead, his breath coming in ragged strains.

“Could someone…please put out the fireplace…?”

Otto clucked their tongue, putting their hands on either side of Severin’s neck. His dark eyes fluttered shut, as if with great relief.

“Mm…”

“Ay, tu cabeza,” Otto cooed, putting their hand on Severin’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Severin finally looked down at the doctor. His tense gaze was now dazed, vulnerable - even afraid.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said again, hoarsely.

Otto rubbed their thumb on Severin’s feverish cheek. “I know, cariño. I know.”

***************

It took a lot more doing to get Severin to bed than it did Barlow. Not only did he insist he was perfectly well, only warm from the unlit fireplace, but that he had seen terrifying visions outside the window.

“Their eyes, doctor…they stared into my very essence…a…a beast of some kind…we’ll be killed…”

“Shhh, my love. It’s only a nightmare from your fever. You will feel better soon.”

In the end, the only way Otto could leave the cottage was by taking a small talisman Severin had in his cloak. They weren’t superstitious, but Otto wanted to do anything they could to put the sick sorcerer at ease.

Now with one less healthy person in the group, Otto rushed to get the last of the supplies for the cold winter ahead. The first snowflakes were beginning to fall, which made finding acorns that much more difficult. Before the sun reached its peak, the ground was completely covered in a thin layer of snow. But, for once, Otto’s anxiety was an advantage.

They plowed through every task as if their life depended on it. Another of their friends falling ill had kicked their healer instinct into high gear; whenever they were fatigued or sore, all it took was a few words of the healing oath to get them going again.

“From the monsters of the cave, of the sea, of the heart,” they whispered while peeling wild wolf onions, “I shall protect and provide for those who cannot.”

As morning turned to afternoon, the light flurry of the morning became a bitter gale that howled through the trees like a hungry animal. The world was silent except for the frigid wind - all the creatures of the forest knew well enough that the winter ahead would not be kind to them.

But Otto knew nothing of this.

And so they marched forward.

It was quite past dark when Otto returned to the cottage. Much to their delight, a fire was flickering in the fireplace, and a wonderful, familiar smell lingered in the air - a mixture of tender meat and spices.

As Otto had hoped, there was a pot of stew left over the flames. The broth still bubbled with warmth, and the chicken and vegetables gave off a heavenly steam. Their stomach suddenly felt very hollow.

They hadn’t eaten all day, had they?

With raw fingers, the doctor tried their best to use the ladle, which was as big as their entire arm and weighed twice as much. Gripping the handle with both hands, they brought the brew to their lips, taking care not to burn their tongue.

A beautiful, soothing flavor poured down Otto’s throat. They leaned their head back and closed their eyes, making sure to drink up every last tasty morsel. It was a long time before the ladle was empty again.

Once they were finished, the healer felt a heaviness collect around their eyes. Finally, at long last, they could rest. The cottage was fast asleep - and now it was time for Otto to follow suit.

Sleep came upon Otto too quickly for them to retire to their own bed. Like a hound after a successful hunt, they crawled onto the sofa and curled into a ball, dead to the world before their head hit the soft cushions.

*******************

Otto wasn’t sure how long they slept. They remembered bits and pieces of dreams, of words, or memories - but mostly a comforting darkness that lulled them into a deep drowse.

When they finally awoke, the first thing they saw was the flitting of the fire. The flame had all but burned itself out during the night. Otto rolled over, stretching and sighing with satisfaction. That was the best they had slept in several days.

They indulged themselves in a large yawn and shifted off the sofa, cringing from cold stone against their bare feet.

The cottage was still silent with sleep - not a thing stirred but the creaks and groans of the wooden beams. A frigid wind had picked up outside, and bits of snow swirled in the air.

How cold Godric must be this morning, Otto thought as they padded towards the hallway. The warrior was always up and working by first light - quite before anyone else was awake - but came back inside to drink some hot coffee and see how the preparations were going. Godric made a strong cup of coffee. One could smell it and be ready for a new day; that’s usually all most could stand without sputtering.

Today, however, there was no earthy aroma of it brewing. All Otto could smell was a hint of the stew they had eaten the night before - the husk of a beautiful, delicious dream.

The doctor peeked his head into Barlow’s room. The sprite was laying on his stomach, eyes closed and breath soft. Though they had been feeling better for the past day or so, Barlow’s nose frequently ran away with him, and was still very pink and sensitive. His upright ear twitched ever so slightly, but there was no sign of him stirring any time soon.

Severin, on the other hand, had fared much worse. Despite the many wet rags coating almost every inch of his febrile body, his breathing was still heavy and labored, and his eyes darted under closed eyelids. Bite marks covered cracking lips. Otto made sure they made little noise as they tiptoed from the doorway. Severin needed all the rest he could get.

Otto turned from his patients, a familiar heaviness weighing upon their heart. Such misery in what was supposed to be a warm season of reaping and feasting.

Perhaps it came back with them from market, or from the many travelers that take the nearby road into town. With how hard everyone had been working, and how many nights were left unslept…

Otto massaged the bridge of their nose, dashing from one possibility to the next, feeling more and more ashamed by how little they prepared, how stupid they must have been, how utterly selfish! They had been so busy with preparations that they had barely noticed that their journeymates were wasting away!

They could have done something. This was all their fault, wasn’t it? How could they be a healer if they couldn’t even keep the ones they loved safe?

Otto was roused from their guilt by the sound of harsh coughing. They peeked their head into the past two rooms, fearing that one of them had been awakened by their footsteps. However, both of them were still out cold. Or out warm, in Severin’s case.

No, the coughing wasn’t coming from their rooms, Otto realized. It was coming from the third bedroom - the one that they and Godric shared.

The door creaked open as Otto shuffled inside, already knowing the worst was yet to come.

“Doc? Is tha’ you?”

Godric was sitting up in bed, quilt wrapped around him, his chest heaving with another hacking fit. His cheeks were flushed with effort and fever. Otto went to his bedside, their heart dropping into their stomach.

“Real nice ‘a this cold to leave the healer last, eh?” the warrior joked before laying back down with a quiet groan.

Otto pushed the hair off Godric’s neck and felt his lymph nodes, which were not only hot, but terribly swollen.

“I can chop those few pieces ‘a wood, an’ then I’ll-”

“You are not getting out of this bed,” Otto said sternly. Then, with a kinder tone, “I know you want to finish your work, but you are very sick. You shouldn’t be out in the snow.”

“But how-”

“I will take care of it, cariño. Just rest.”

Godric opened his mouth to say something else, but just coughed and covered himself up with his quilt.

“Take care of yerself, doc,” he said before Otto went to check on the others. “There isn’t anythin’ I can’t do after I’m back on m’feet.”

***************

Between taking care of three sick creatures and the final preparations, Otto ran themselves ragged over the next few days. None of their friends were particularly hard to take care of - especially after Severin’s fever broke - but the heaviness of their heart continued to weigh upon them.

With no other options, they threw themselves into work.

If they chopped enough wood for an extra week, they chopped enough wood for two extra weeks. The larder was more than full. Their fingers and hands and back and everything else was sore, but they couldn’t stop for long without feeling their guilt gnaw away at them.

One frigid morning, Otto had taken to the axe, splitting wood and putting them in the shed to keep them dry. They had run out of pre-cut trunks a long time ago, so they started cutting sticks in half for kindling. Out of the corner of their eye, mid-swing, they saw a figure marching through the snow - lifting their foot high before stomping it down again with a crunch.

After a few minutes, Otto could finally see a pair of long ears fluttering in the cold wind.

“Barlow!”

The sprite grinned as he approached Otto, holding up a steaming container of something in his mittened hands.

“I got soup!” he called out, trying to move faster in the deep snow. “Godric felt a lot better today, so he wanted to try somethin’ new. It’s real good! Even Severin ate a whole bowl of it, so you know it’s gotta be great.”

Barlow sat next to the chopping block, and patted a mound of snow next to him. Otto sat down, wincing as their sore muscles twinged.

“Godric says we’re all packed up for winter,” Barlow continued as he handed Otto the food. “And we’ll even have stuff to eat in the spring, too.”

Otto didn’t answer, but tucked into the soup, not even blowing it off before putting the spoon in their mouth. Barlow thought for a little bit, then spoke again.

“Doc, Godric told me that we got more than enough food and wood to last through the winter. If you wanna come inside, we’ve got a checker game goin’…”

Otto didn’t respond, but they had started to shiver from the cold. Barlow took of his coat and draped it around Otto’s shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get back. Everybody’s waitin’ for us.”

Barlow took Otto by the hand and pulled them up, then led them back towards the cottage. Otto trailed behind like a quivering lamb, both exhausted and numb. They couldn’t think of much else than putting one foot in front of the other.

When the pair finally got back to the cottage, a warm, cozy scene awaited them. Severin was on the couch, doing needlepoint with half-open eyes and content look on his face. Godric was above the stove, stirring a pot and putting one seasoning or another into it. The fire was blazing in a lovely orange hue that painted the scene with a beautiful glow.

While Barlow went right inside and was greeted by the others, Otto stood in the doorway, weary eyes closed, soaking up the light and warmth as much as they could.

“Doctor?”

Severin was up now, his quiet wisdom regained. Before Otto could answer, the sorcerer started to remove their soaked outer layers with quick fingers.

“If Barlow didn’t bring you here,” Severin said, “you would have worked yourself to a frozen skeleton.”

Otto suddenly jerked his head to the side.

“het’TCH! TCH! TCH’UH!”

“Many blessings, doctor.”

Severin smiled and tilted his head.

“Many, many blessings.”

Otto sniffled, rubbing their nose with stiff fingers.

“Nngh…gracias. Just a little…heh…htch’CHU!”

“Aye, I don’ like tha’ sound of that,” Godric rumbled from the kitchen, turning his head to see the sickly healer.

Otto waved their hand. “Just a li-hih-ttle sdiffle…”

“One that is long overdue, I think,” Severin said, putting the last of their wet things away.

Otto was ushered in front of the fire, still at the mercy of his nose. With each sneeze came a chorus of blessings and, if need be, another handkerchief.

“That’s a real nasty cold, huh?” Barlow commented after a particularly forceful fit. “Even I didn’t sneeze that much.”

As the day came to a close, the group all gathered on the couch, listening to the wind howling outside and treating themselves to Godric’s famous roast and sweet apple tea. Otto didn’t eat very much, but the hot tea soothed their sore throat.

“Tank you for taking such good care of be,” Otto snuffled.

Godric chuckled. “Ya care so much about us, doc. It only makes sense that we’s care an awful lot about you, ‘specially when ya aren’t feelin’ well.”

“And after you tended so well to us, may I add,” Severin said, leaning his head back.

“Yeah!” Barlow agreed, not exactly as good with words as the others, but still just as thankful.

Otto, overcome, buried their face in Godric’s side and began to cry, letting out everything that they had felt in the past few days. They wanted to stop, they wanted to explain, but it was lost in desperate sobs and hiccuping. Godric held them closer to him while the others offered quiet support until the doctor quieted.

“There ya go,” Godric said, putting a large hand on Otto’s head. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Filled with comfort and warm food, Otto quickly dozed off, and the others weren’t far behind. The only sounds were the falling of fresh snow, the crackling of the fireplace, and the snores of deep, contented sleep.

And, as winter finally settled into Harbinger Woods, they all settled down for their long winter’s rest.

******************

Not only do I want to dedicate this to @perfectpaperbluebirds , who gave me the prompt, but also @sneezytomatosquish , who has been feeling emotionally and physically under the weather lately. That may have changed by the time this fic is finished, but I shall gift it to you anyway. You are one of my favorite creators, but I want to create something for you for a change. You deserve it.

Get well soon!

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 4

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Bullying and non-explicit violence in this chapter, Peter whump.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: WE'VE GOT PLOT! Peter Parker deserves better. Steeb needs a vibe check cuz he keeps failing them :( Boomers are hot but ... Boomers. KitKat, anyone? Natasha is a Brain Cell™. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @downeyreads​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings 👑 - titty gators assemble! 👀

I scheduled a visit to the tower two days after my "illness" episode. Most of my lows passed without any lingering, the headache was gone and so was the nausea. My mood was still somewhere between "please kill me" and "I could eat a lot of cake right now" but it was bearable. I was very much looking forward to occupying myself with the project if only to divert my focus from overthinking about my own misery.

Peter said he was going to see Tony straight after school and offered for me to tag along with him: Tony sent his driver to pick up the boy. I didn't have the heart to refuse, seeing no point in waiting for an Uber on a rainy workday afternoon. Traffic was horrendous in New York city no matter the weather but a downpour took the congestions to a new height.

When I spotted the sleek, black brand new Audi I made a beeline for it, waving to Happy as I crawled inside as fast as I could. "Don't get the seats wet," The chauffeur grumbled.

"It's wet outside," I rolled my eyes into the next dimension. Whoever thought his nickname was in any way appropriate needed a psych eval. Peter sat on my right side looking wet and downright miserable. I had to swallow a string of expletives at the sight in front of me: the entirety of Peter's right cheek was an ugly shade of blue, eye on it's way to swelling shut and lip busted open. "What in the everliving fuck happened to you?!" Breathing through my nose, I fought bubbling rage inside of me. Peter looked like he went toe to toe with a Hulk.

"Flash happened," The boy mumbled, whining and brooding simultaneously. His cheeks glowed.

"That little runt?" I took another pause to steady my breathing, tentatively reaching out for Peter's hand. He grasped it tightly in gratitude. "Well, did you at least fight back?"

"No, I... I can't do that," Peter became even smaller, curling into the seat and in himself. I was disappointed for sure as I wouldn't just stand there and take a beating, but Pete was different. He was sensitive-a total pacifist to boot.

"Do any of the teachers know? I'm guessing this isn't the first time," Sure, I've seen Parker with an occasional scrape or a bruise but I'd always figured it was just him being a teenage nuisance. Curtain of depression I had over the previous days slowly began morphing into cold fury.

"No, well, they probably do. But Flash is the principal's son so they ignore it, I guess," Peter sighed in defeat. "Mr. Stark doesn't know either. Please don't tell him," He begged.

"Abuse thrives in silence," I parroted our sex-ed teacher but otherwise made no promises. My mind raced between comforting Peter and ordering Happy to turn the car around so I could find the shitty excuse of a human named Flash Thompson and violently make it known what happens to people when they get me pissed off.

"What are you going to tell Tony?" I asked Peter as we herded into the elevator, slightly wet and mostly miserable.

"I have an idea or two," The boy answered darkly.

"You have been summoned to the common floor, I was instructed to notify you there is food to be eaten before sciencing, per Doctor Banner's orders," Friday announced, rerouting the elevator to the aforementioned destination. Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.

"What the fuck happened to you, kid?" Bucky decided screeching like a banshee and attracting at least five of his teammates to come running from the dining room was the best way to approach an obviously spooked Peter. The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Our classmate beat him up," I answered before Pete could lie. "The fucking runt that doesn't know his damn place. His two cronies probably too," The venom in my voice could've melted steel. I was genuinely furious.

"What's his name?" Captain-Steve growled. I was taken aback at the large blonde man suddenly standing up, fists clenched. My feet moved involuntarily, taking a step back from the enraged supersoldier and Pete cowered, startled.

I stepped in front of him immediately. "I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck down, Cap," The trembling in my voice persisted but I stood my ground nonetheless. "Your roid rage is going to land you in prison if you keep going," In my own rage, self-preservation went out of the window along with common sense. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, Peter was downright shaking behind me.

"She's right," Bucky darkly eyed his friend. "Off to the sparring mats with you." He grabbed Rogers by the shoulder with his prosthetic arm all but hauling the blonde towards the elevator. Thor immediately took the Captain's other side, not quite touching him but obviously giving his friend a vibe check. I could've clapped. Not that Steve resisted much, but still.

"Everyone calm down, please," The Black Widow piped up in an even tone. I can always count on a fellow woman to keep calm in a situation where men's tempers almost cause a disaster. "Now, tell us what happened," She approached Peter on quiet feet. The boy shuffled around me looking every bit as dejected as I felt about the situation. "And someone fetch some ice for that bruise," Romanoff's offhand gesture had Barton scrambling into the kitchen.

Peter sat down on the couch, looking at the floor. "Flash has been bothering me since, like, forever and today I just ignored his usual remarks because I had a calculus test, I- I wanted to make sure I knew everything, and I was sitting in a really quiet corner, and I- Ned was hanging out with MJ somewhere and I guess Flash got angry that I didn't answer," Peter rambled in his usual nervous fashion, sentences jumbling together. Natasha kept nodding, simply hugging the boy softly with one arm. As soon as Clint came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel Natasha's other arm pressed it gently to Peter's bruised face. The assassin frowned at the pained whine that left Peter's lips.

"Honestly, that dude is a fucking piece of shit, I'm surprised how he's not in jail yet," I piped up from where I was pacing along the large window overlooking the city skyline. Wound up and tense, I couldn't stay still. "He stole a senior's car for a joyride, last year. He routinely picks on the freshmen and I've personally dislocated his wrist from slapping me on the ass in, like, eight grade," Peter's eyebrows raised at my admission and Natasha gave me a vaguely approving hum.

I caught Peter's eye the moment elevator doors opened revealing a panicked looking Tony and a worried Bruce with Loki standing behind them, talking to a man in... Robes? And a red cape?

"What happened to my science child?!" Tony's fury rang high. The engineer rushed over to Peter, frantically checking him over and growling at the state of his face, letting out a string of expletives seeing the busted lip had started to bleed again.

I gave a tiny tilt of my lips to Bruce who had the oddest compilation of worried, confused and amused in his expression.

"You should probably get him to a doctor, I think his mouth is cut on the inside," I scooted closer to Banner, informing him quietly.

"I'm a doctor," The man in the cape announced, ... strutting (!) over to Pete. There was really no other way to describe his long, precise strides. He quickly butted Tony out of the way and instructed Peter to open his mouth.

"This is utter chaos," Loki muttered, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch.

"It is and I'm living for it," I sighed. The situation was very disorganized with Tony flailing about in blind panic, Bruce just standing there, Cap's rage quit and subsequent intervention by his buddies. Then the new strange dude... Loki was brooding and honestly? Big mood. The only person who made some resemblance of order out if this cluster fuck was Natasha.

All and all, it was quite endearing. I imagined that's what a large, close family would look like. When I said I was enjoying myself - no lie there, even despite the grim situation.

"How are you? Are you hurt?" Bruce quietly asked me, laced with concern. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when I shook my head negative. "Hungry?" I nodded affirmatively and the doctor produced a kit kat bar seemingly out of nowhere, winking at me with a boyish smile. I just about melted on the spot, tearing off a block and giving it to him to avoid any embarrassing reactions I might possibly spout in the wake of my recently acquired crush.

We munched in silence as the Cape Guy explained to Peter (and anxious Tony) that a few butterfly stitches would be needed as well as CT scan to rule out a possible concussion. At that point Tony was steadily turning purple in colour, rage and anxiety combining for a large storm that no doubt will hit sooner or later.

I felt responsible, I guess. Peter must've known Tony was going to react so strongly to his science son getting hurt and well, I hated seeing Tony so mad and helpless. On soft feet, I padded over to the engineer, making sure to stay within direct line of vision. "Tones?" He shot his eyes at me. He was furious. "Look, I'm going to make that fucker's life a living hell," Tony made an agitated noise of protest however I wasn't having it. I knew I'd be in trouble later but for now, I firmly placed my palm over his mouth, enjoying the surprised widening of his eyes at the frivolous gesture. "Listen, right now you can't do shit. You guys are super-powered individuals and Flash is just a nasty kid. You'll get in a big fat mess and he'll get to go away with a slap on the wrist," Tony sagged, visibly, bodily, and I felt it was safe to remove my hand from his face.

"I hate to say it but she's right," Bruce piped up behind me, voice soft.

I nodded. "I'm going to ruin the guy without putting a single finger on him," Tony nodded grimly and Cape Guy halted his examination of Peter's head to give me a mildly concerned stare. "My mother is a litigator, a vicious one at that. I've learned a trick or two," I winked with a grim sort of amusement causing the man to snort. Tony chuckled humorlessly. "As much as I hate to be the voice of reason, it would be a shame for anybody in this tower to end up behind bars. Even if it would be for a good cause," I finished my speech, patting Tony on the shoulder. The surprised squeak made its way out of my mouth when the billionaire pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate hug.

Ignoring my skyrocketing heartbeat, I wrapped myself around him as best as I could. Whatever issues the man had, they had to be quite painful if he reacted to the situation so intensely. I was selfish, but not heartless, so I gave into the affectionate gesture despite the inappropriate feelings that blossomed within me.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you," Peter whined, fat round tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I could tell he was embarrassed beyond Hell but his feelings overwhelmed him enough to just spill through. I immediately made my meanest big eyes to Natasha and Cape Guy who immediately hugged the life out of Pete. There, all set.

"Now go get that scan done," I frowned, seeing Peter start to nod off. "I don't know your name, but can you arrange that? Since you're a doctor," I nodded to the Cape Guy.

"I'm Stephen Strange," he replied, effortlessly picking up a dozing Peter and carrying him to the elevator. Before I could react, he waved his one free hand in some sort of a circle and a glowing ring appeared with what seemed to be a ER room - Strange hastily stepped through, followed by Tony suddenly withdrawing and hurrying after the ... Wizard? The portal closed immediately after.

"What the fuuuuuck..." I gaped at the now empty space. Strange, indeed. Even Loki's scoff didn't put a dent in my perplexed curiosity.

"So, lawyer family, huh?" Natasha, who I'd forgotten about, spoke up, mildly interested.

"Just my mother," I replied casually. They were the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about, especially after being so upset for the past hour. Man, I needed a drink. My hands itched for a cigarette.

"What about your father?" The spy didn't relent, pushing the issue with deadly politeness - I was actually sure she'd threaten me into talking about it even if I refused to.

"He's a celebrity manager."

"Cool," Her tone perked up at that. "Know anyone famous?"

"Know? No," I thought about all the A-list Hollywood stars I've been around, the endless parade of one-hit-wonder musicians that my dad hung out with on a daily basis. "I've crossed paths with at least half the Billboard TOP 40 but that's about it. Katy Perry was really nice," I added as an afterthought.

"I see," Natasha gave me a thoughtful once-over, patting the seat next to her. "So tell me, what do you have in mind for this Flash kid?"

My smile came out sharp and vicious. People tended to underestimate the quiet, quirky loner and I was about to remind them exactly why my kind of kids usually ended up with either millions in their bank accounts or a lengthy criminal record. "I'm going to annihilate any chance he has with having a social life, a girlfriend and I'll be damned if he gets into college without his parents going bankrupt. It goes like this..."

The ominous beginning of my plan attracted everybody in the room, even Loki. If anything, he offered the most constructive advice and the smirk he wore was positively devilish. Steve, Bucky and Thor emerged sometime during the scheming and hastily joined us, identically grim expressions on their faces. We barely managed to get done with our nefarious cackling when a portal appeared once again, Stephen stepping out of it with Tony carrying a sleeping Peter. The boy's head was bandaged, he looked like a mummy.

I stood up, beelining for Tony. "Is Pete okay? Did you call May?"

"He's not concussed but he's taking the day off tomorrow. Yes, I called May. Pete is staying here tonight," Tony looked and sounded like an exhausted, worried parent.

The urge to squee appeared again and I stomped it down with a hard "Good. We made a plan. The fucker is going to choke on his own misery," I gestured to the people sitting in a circle behind me.

Strange snorted.

Furious. I was furious.

Hands on my hips, I swerved towards him, instantly recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here I stood, an eighteen year old high school student, in my fluffy rainbow sweater and denim overalls, staring down a whole grown ass man with magic powers. I digress, my pride won the race against my common sense. "Ex-fucking-cuse you, Voldemort, that's my fucking friend on the line," I seethed, giving him my best death glare.

"Language," Tony barely held together his laughter, looking at the unfolding mess with amusement. Somewhere behind me, somebody chuckled, then I recognised Loki's signature "ehehe" and it kind of went downhill from there. It's a miracle Peter didn't wake up.

"I'd be careful, Strange, she holds up against Stark very well," Loki's quiet compliment only made me preen and puff out my chest in a display of dominance. Stephen's responding eye roll was more fond than annoyed. I counted it as a win.

[stellar-starseed]

Closer Than That

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Changbin x reader, Jisung x reader, polyamory

Summary: Your best friends happen to be 3racha, but Changbin was your closest friend from childhood. When things start to take a different turn in your relationship, you’re left wondering which way is up.

Word Count: 2,280

Chapter: 14/14

Other Chapters: Master List

Warnings: 18+; sexual content, language

Chapter 14

Jisung moped around for months and avoided any group activity where you may be involved. He was miserable. He wasn’t able to get into any groove and his recent songs were all sad songs. One of the producers told Jisung to snap out of whatever his bullshit was. He resented that statement. But he also knew he couldn’t continue like this. He took off his headphones and shut down his computer. He needed to settle things.

You were so relieved to spend time away from everything. You hadn’t had time off of work in nearly a year. It was nice to spend a day at the beach with your boyfriend. After hours of playing and kissing and floating around in the water, you and Changbin laid on the sand covered blanket under the setting sun.

“Princess?” Changbin started. He was nervous and he didn’t want you to smell it on him.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” He said almost chickening out. He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose. You giggled and told him you loved him back.

“I want to marry you.” He blurted out before he could think about it. He couldn’t look you in the eye and he played with the corner of the blanket. You were shocked as you looked up at him. A smile began to grow on your face slowly but oh so wide.

“I want to marry you too, my prince.” You poke his side.

“Ah,” He wiggled and couldn’t hold back his smile. “I know I should have a big ring for you, but I wanted your real ring to be perfect. So, maybe we can pick that one out together?” He pauses and you nod with a smile, biting at your lip trying to contain your excitement. “But I did get you something.” Changbin pulls out a ring with your birthstone and takes your hand. He begins to put it on your ring finger but stops and looks at you for approval. You laugh and nod. Changbin nods back, sighs, and slips the ring on your finger.

You immediately wrap your arms around him and kiss him. You fall back on the sandy towel and fight over who should be in control of the kiss.

Jisung stood at your door for a few minutes as he wondered if he should really be there. He didn’t deserve a chance just like Changbin said months before. He couldn’t handle it, he fucked up. He should’ve never been so hasty, giving you that letter. He should’ve sucked it up and stayed with you. He would rather have half your heart and feel your love than none of it. Just that thought crushed him.

“I miss you.” He said to the door in front of him. He was immediately embarrassed when your neighbors walked by smiling and waving. He waved and smiled as well. He knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again and looked down on his key ring. He didn’t have your key anymore. “Fuck!” He growled at himself and stormed off.

When Jisung returned to the dorms, Felix was the only one around. Jisung plopped down on the couch next to him. Felix offered a warm smile and pat Jisung’s thigh.

“No Felix approved baked goods?” Jisung questions. Felix chuckles.

“Not today, mate.” He shakes his head. “I think there might be some left over brownies. The guys went out before I finished making them yesterday. Not sure they knew they were there.”

“Good.” Jisung pushed himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He found a single brownie with a bite mark in it at the bottom of a very large container. He walked into the living room to show Felix.

“Who does this?” Jisung says as he grabs for the partially eaten sweet. He takes a bite and has a seat on the couch again.

“Are you eating your sorrows?” Felix questions. “You seem a tad mopey.” Jisung nods and continues eating with a pout.

“Do you want to help me make more?” Felix questions. Jisung thinks about it for a moment.

“Can we make cookies instead?” He asks with puppy dog eyes.

“Of course.” Felix says and he heads for the kitchen. Felix calls out directions to Jisung as he walks around the kitchen.

“I thought I was just going to watch.” Jisung grumbles.

“You said you would help.” Felix gives Jisung his brightest smile and pats him on the back. “You’re doing fantastic. These might be better than mine.” Jisung tried to hide his smile as he continued mixing what was turning into dough.

Several cookies and a romantic drama later, Jisung began to sigh and shift in his place.

“Wanna talk about it?” Felix caught on.

“I want to talk to her.” Jisung crossed his arms over his chest. “I need her to know how much I care. I don’t want it to end like this.”

“Didn’t you tell her how much you care in your letter?” Felix reached for a cookie.

“Stupid fucking letter.” Jisung’s head fell to his hands. “I want to tell her myself she means so much and I’d rather be with her than without her.”

“But I think the time passed for that right?”

“I thought so but the longer I wait the more excuse I give myself to say that.” Jisung stood up. “I want to go see her.”

“Isn’t that where you were? She’s not at home mate.”

“Right.” Jisung took a seat and sighed. “I’m going crazy. I need to talk to her to let her know before it really is over.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jisung.” Felix said solemnly.

“I have to try.”

“But what about her?” Felix said sternly. “What about Changbin? You hurt her. I’m sure you hurt him too.”

Jisung was surprised to hear this from Felix. Felix has always put things lightly and he was there for Jisung through this whole process. Hearing Felix take on a serious tone and defend the others almost made Jisung mad. His blood began to boil as he thought about his own pain through this.

“What do you know?” Jisung spat as he got up and left.

Felix sighed and shook his head. He put his half eaten cookie down and sat back on the couch. This wasn’t going to end well for Jisung and he didn’t want to stick around to see the car wreck this may become.

“Relationships suck.” Felix said to himself.

“Why do you think I don’t do them!” Chan chimes in and he turns the lights on.

“Except you’re always trying to get into Changbin and ______’s.” Felix laughed. “Everyone home?” He questions. Chan shakes his head.

“Just me and Jeongin who stopped for ramen.” Felix nodded.

“Hannie alright?” Chan plops down on the couch and offers candy to Felix who gladly takes a couple.

“I don’t think so, mate. He wants to tell her he still wants to be with her.”

“Seriously?” Chan sat up straight. “You know where Changbin is right now don’t you?”

“Fucking proposing, bro. I know. I tried to talk him out of it.”

Somehow Jisung snuck past Chan on his way out hearing Chan ask about him made him cringe. Everyone’s been walking on eggshells and he didn’t like it. He needed to end all of this once and for all. He hoped that if you gave him a chance, just listened to him, that you’d understand and want to fix things too.

Jisung waited outside your apartment until he saw your car pull up. He hoped harder than he had ever hoped before that Changbin wasn’t with you. The Gods must’ve been in his side tonight because Changbin was nowhere to be found when you walked up. Jisung took that as a sign he was doing the right thing. He was nervous but decided to shake it off because even the universe wanted him to be here.

“Hey, ______.” Jisung said. You were startled by him as you had been admiring the ring on your finger.

“Hey...” you were taken aback. “What are you doing here Jisung? Is everything okay?”

“No, it isn’t.” Jisung started. You immediately unlock your door and let him in. He didn’t look well. You got him a glass of water and sat next to him on the couch.

“Breathe.” You tell him. He does as you say.

“I love you, jagiya.” Jisung starts once he’s gained some composure.

“What? Well, I love you Jisung, but we’ve been down that road and I’m not going there again.”

“But I need you to know why.”

“You were pretty clear in your letter.”

“I was jealous.” He pleads. “I felt worthless.” His eyes fill with tears and he tries to reach for your hand when he notices the ring.

“Jisung, I can’t do this.” You pull away from him and stand up. “We had our chance. I asked you never to do that to me again. You promised me you would never just up and leave me like that. You fucking ghosted me Jisung. You did that.”

“Are you getting married?” He questioned.

“Yeah.” You smile down at your ring. You were going to have to get used to this. It seemed sudden, and then it didn’t. Everything about it felt right. Changbin was it. You looked up at Jisung.

“I should be thanking you. I realize what I have with Changbin, and I’m sorry if you ever felt anything but love from me. I really am, Jisung. I love you still. I just had to move on when you broke my heart.” You placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his soft skin. He leaned in to your touch and you gave him a sad smile.

“I hope you find someone who makes you feel the way Changbin makes me feel.”

Jisung returned your sad smile and you offered the couch in your studio to him. He gladly took it and fell fast asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

You sent Changbin a message letting him know what happened and where Jisung was. You decided to just head to bed since work probably wasn’t the best idea.

It was weird to think the attraction between you and Jisung was so intense from the very beginning. All just to fizzle out. It was weird to think of how he would fit in your life moving forward. But as you drifted off to sleep you started to realize you wouldn’t stop loving him as one of your best friends.

Changbin let himself into your apartment. He checked on Jisung who was peacefully sleeping and snuck into your room.

“Jagiya,” he whispered. “I’m here, Princess don’t try to kill me.”

“Binnie?” You whispered in your groggy sleep voice. He chuckled and affirmed with a hum. His arms found their way around your waist and you both settled in.

“Everyone knows about the engagement.” Changbin whispered.

“I knew you couldn’t keep it a secret.” You laughed.

It was Jisung’s turn to dream about you. He dreamt of that day you met in the café to make up. His dream wasn’t as vivid. It was very clearly a dream, but Jisung was ready to enjoy his moment with you.

He was sad when he was watching his dream from the outside, but as soon as you walked in he lit up. He saw his own face light up at the sight of you and he felt excitement all over again. He could smell you and he nearly tasted you in the kiss you shared before leaving the cafe altogether. Jisung heard himself promising you that he wouldn’t leave you like that again. ‘Never’ he told you.

Jisung woke up feeling the weight of his actions. He recalled Felix’s advice not to talk to you about his lingering feelings. He was just being selfish and he just began to realize it. The faint memories he had of his dream in an almost blurry faded state, made Jisung wonder if he had been living in a fantasy. He wasn’t fantasizing his love for you and he wasn’t fantasizing the loneliness he felt, but maybe he was expecting too much from it all. Nothing is perfect and maybe his relationship with you was as perfect as it could get. Maybe he made too much of the little jealousies and the bad feelings.

You woke up earlier than usual and decided to make breakfast for the two sleeping beauties like old times. You walked around the kitchen and began your work on a hearty breakfast.

“My Princess.” Changbin says next to your ear as he wraps his arms around you from behind. You smile and lean back into him. When Changbin starts in with kisses in your neck, you turn in his arms to kiss him. You feed him a sausage and smack his butt as he heads to sit down.

Jisung finally made his way out of the studio when you and Changbin were about half way through with your breakfast. You noticed Jisung’s form entering quietly and get up to fix his plate.

He smiles at you and takes a seat next to Changbin. He’s hesitant to start, but tries not to make things awkward.

“Like old times.” You smile at them. “I hope we can be okay, Jisung.”

“Of course.” He says with his mouth half full. “I’m sorry I made it awkward and I’m sorry that I hurt you. Both of you.”

“That you, Ji.” You walk around the breakfast counter to give him a tight hug.

“Thank you.” Changbin says seriously with a nod and pats Jisung’s back.

It wasn’t what you expected when you started dating your best friends, but you couldn’t really complain about how you ended up at this point. Things felt right.

———————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed!

While this has come to an end there will likely be at least one deleted scene to come from this in the future.

Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay golden. ♥️

[jaskiersvalley]

I love your writing so much, so thank you for gifting us all

I am so happy you like my writing, Nonnie! In these miserable times people like you reaching out makes things that bit happier. Thank you for being a ray of sunshine on cloudy days!

Like before, here’s a little ficlet of thanks. Today’s flavour is blind Jaskier.

They had separated months before with plans to meet up again when their path crossed. Only, it had been too long since Geralt had even heard bout Jaskier, something wasn’t right. So he change his course, his path still took him all over the continent but this time, he had intent. He was looking for his bard, the brightly coloured fool who had a knack for bedding the wrong person. Nobody had seen such a bard. It wasn’t that Geralt was worried but he was nervous. Jaskier had never been one to disappear like that.

His travels took Geralt to places he’d thought Jaskier would be. Oxenfurt, Tretogor, even Cintra. He was nowhere. Not even whispers of him passing through. Even the coast had come up empty, they hadn’t even heard of Jaskier. Geralt knew he had to change tactics, to track down Jaskier somehow. He hunted down where he was last seen and tried to go from there. The innkeeper had told him which direction Jaskier had left in but by the time Geralt got to the next town over, nobody seemed to have heard of him.

“The one who played the songs about the White Wolf,” Geralt tried again when descriptions didn’t help. “Toss A Coin, Her Sweet Kiss, Fishmonger’s Daughter,” he listed off some of Jaskier’s songs, hoping to find any whisper about his bard.

“We know those songs,” a stableboy perked up. “The Blind Bard sings those from time to time down at The Rose and Horse.”

Not many had the eclectic ability to sing such a range of songs. Even if this Blind Bard wasn’t his Jaskier, they might still know of him, point Geralt in the direction of his next clue.

The Rose and Horse wasn’t too busy, it was early evening but there was already the familiar strum of a lute and soft humming coming from a corner. Humming that sounded all too familiar. Turning, Geralt had to take a moment to understand what he was seeing. It was Jaskier, no doubt about it. But he was in muted colours, no longer radiant. His head was tipped forward, hair falling in his face, eyes closed. Stepping closer, Geralt came to within four steps of him when the lute playing stopped and Jaskier’s head turned. He didn’t look up at Geralt though, head tilted curiously as if he was listening intently and took a deep breath. A small, fond smile played on his lips.

“Jaskier.” Geralt greeted.

Head snapping up, Jaskier turned. And Geralt wished he hadn’t. Jaskier’s gaze was off, staring somewhere to his right and sightlessly glazed over.

“There’s a voice I never thought I’d here again.” A hand reached in Geralt’s direction and he grasped it tightly. “What are you doing here, old friend?”

Despite his easy words and small smile, Jaskier’s hand clutched at Geralt tightly, silently keeping him close.

“I came looking for you. You never came back. Were nowhere to be found. What happened?”

Standing up, Jaskier kept a good hold of Geralt’s arms.

“Marissa, I will be back to earn my keep when we fill up a bit more. I have a personal matter to attend to.” He tucked his lute under an arm and began to slowly make his way along the wall, hand out to catch any wayward chairs in the way. Geralt could hear him counting steps quietly under his breath.

They made it to a small room at the back of the inn, on the ground floor, just behind the kitchen. It was warm without a fire lit in it, the bed pushed against the wall shared with the kitchen and Geralt realised the warmth was from the fires in the other room.

“Sit, sit.” Jaskier finally let go of Geralt and patted the straw mattress next to him. “You’ll have to tell me about your new adventures so I can compose more songs.”

The words were the same as ever, chatty, bright and said with a wide smile. But they rang hollow, lacking the genuine thirst for adventure and dramatics. Rather than reply, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the chin to turn him and look at his eyes. He didn’t miss the violent flinch at being suddenly touched.

“Jaskier, what happened?” The question was soft, nothing like how Geralt had ever really been. “You’re blind. Who did this to you?”

“It was a very rainy day.” Jaskier shrugged and pulled his chin free, eyes unseeingly fixed on Geralt’s shoulder rather than his face. “I probably shouldn’t have gone out but there were some pretty flowers. Buttercups. I wanted to pick a couple and was running back with them when the downpour started good and proper. Well, I slipped, smacked my head. Woke up a few days later and the world was gone.”

So it wasn’t even something Geralt could avenge and rage against. He couldn’t very well take on the god of rain and mud, not that he was unwilling, he’d taken on worse foes before. But it wouldn’t help Jaskier. The worst part was, he didn’t know what could help Jaskier.

“I couldn’t find you. There were no talks about a bard as bright as a parrot. I feared the worst had come to pass.”

A small, bitter laugh bubbled out of Jaskier. “Some days I think that would have been the kinder outcome. But here I am. And I had to shift my focus, colours were no longer a priority but comfort was cost was. Food and board in exchange for my playing four nights a week. Plus I get to keep tips. It’s not a bad living.”

But it wasn’t the living Jaskier had wanted or deserved. He was a caged bird now, slowly fading away, songs dulling along with his visage.

“On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about the latest cut of fashion chafing or a doublet laced tighter than a comfortable because it is what is considered handsome.” Jaskier was obviously trying to convince himself as well as Geralt at that point, his face was falling and as expressive as ever. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this.” He pulled away from Geralt and grunted as he unexpectedly hit the wall. “Please see yourself out. Tell Marissa I’ll cover your food bill.”

Geralt didn’t move. Too stunned as he watched Jaskier battle tears and thinking he understood. Over the months, Jaskier had almost made peace with his new life. Managed to find himself somewhere to stay and where his singing would keep him fed and sheltered. Then along came Geralt, signifying everything Jaskier had lost - freedom, adventure, friendship. Geralt very much doubted anyone wanted to lay with a blind bard. He wondered whether Jaskier would trust anyone enough to sleep with them without seeing them anyway.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his fingers nudging Jaskier’s on the bed before twining them together. “I’ll take you to all the healers, mages, sorceresses. Let me find you a cure. If no, I’ll take you to Countess de Stael myself and ensure you can be her court bard. Or Cintra’s. Or any other court that strikes your fancy. I’ll make it happen.”

A soft sob was his answer. “How could I follow? I can’t spot a root or pothole to stop me twisting my ankle. So how do you think I’d manage on the road? When you’re off chasing some monster. Or we get bandits jump out at us? I’m more helpless than Roach who can at least run to safety.”

At a loss for words, Geralt tugged lightly at Jaskier’s hand, pulled him until he was resting against his chest. Arms wrapping around a body that was definitely slimmer than when they parted, Geralt desperately tried to find solutions.

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’ll ride Roach. We’ll stay at taverns where you can lock doors if I’m off on a contract. I’ll work enough to keep us both fed and clothed. Take contracts near healers who could help you. I don’t want to leave you behind, I can’t leave knowing you’re wasting away in some town not worthy enough of being remembered by name.”

They were big promises, a lot of pressure on Geralt but he wasn’t going to let Jaskier fade from his memories. Not like this. Hands traced up his chest and neck until fingers were feeling the contours of his face. Geralt closed his eyes and let Jaskier feel him.

“It’s you, it’s really you,” Jaskier whispered. “I dreamt of and dreaded the day you’d come.”

“Please, let me help.” Geralt wasn’t begging but he wasn’t known for asking nicely. “I want you by my side again.”

He didn’t say that even if Jaskier never regained his sight, Geralt would stay with him. It went almost without saying. If Jaskier needed a secure home, they would settle, maybe near the coast where Jaskier had grown up. And Geralt would always return home to him. It seemed that his intentions were understood when hands on his cheeks guided him and soft, dry lips pressed against his.

The next morning, Geralt led Roach out of the town, walking next to his horse while Jaskier sat atop, strumming his lute and humming.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really THAT Bad?

How many fucking times must I talk about this movie?

I feel like this movie doesn’t need an introduction. Everyone knows this film. Its reputation precedes it. It didn’t bomb and it’s not generally considered one of the worst films ever made (at least on the level of films like Robot Monster or The Cat in the Hat), but this movie is easily one of the most divisive films ever made. This film has generated enough arguments that, if we harnessed the energy of all the flame wars it has caused, we could probably power the entire world until the heat death of the universe.

With the impending release of Zach Snyder’s bloated redo of Justice League, I’ve decided to go back and ask myself of this film here… is it really that bad?

THE GOOD

Here comes the most uncontroversial opinion: the action scenes in this movie rock (or at least two of them do). The standouts are the titular showdown, which almost makes sitting through the rest of the movie worth it, and the epic warehouse fight Batman gets into, which is like something straight out of the Arkham games. It’s so good. And aside from that, a lot of the cinematography in the film is good. The film knows how to look good, though unfortunately it does end up being a lot of style with little substance.

On the subject of Batman, I think Ben Affleck is a great and inspired choice. I certainly think he’s worthy of standing alongside Batmans like Clooney and Keaton, easily embodying both the Dark Knight and Billionaire Playboy aspects fairly well, though the writing does not always handle him quite as well as it should (we’ll get to that soon enough). Henry Cavill, while still a rather dour Superman, is as good as ever as Superman, and Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman was a great choice here, especially since she didn’t have control so that she could insert anti-Arab racism, like some DCEU movies.

Perhaps one of the movies most impressive feats is how, in an uncharacteristic moment of brevity, it manages to condense the backstory of Batman into the prologue, getting it out of the way and not making us sit through yet another Batman origin film. This is literally the only thing the movie has over the MCU; where that franchise just has the character Spider-Man inexplicably in existence without even a hint of his origins, they just get Batman’s tragic backstory out of the way so we can see him beating the crap out of people. If more superhero movies want to take this route and just condense the backstory into an opening montage like this, I’d be down for it.

THE BAD

I really could just say “most of the movie” but that’s such a cop out. Let’s actually look at the problems. Let’s work our way up through the things from least problematic to most, shall we?

The best place to start is what Zach Snyder did to Jimmy Olsen.

Jimmy Olsen is made into a CIA spook who is brutally killed early on, and yes, that was Jimmy Olsen. Snyder put him in to shock audiences with his senseless murder, and also because he felt the character had no place in his series. Does making Watchmen just turn people into joyless husks who like to horribly bastardize iconic characters? Jimmy Olsen is ultimately a small microcosm of the film, but he is the sum total of everything wring with the early DCEU. He is bleak, soulless, and shows a critical lack of understanding about the comics and why people enjoy them.

Now let’s move on to the more exciting problem to discuss: the villains. I don’t even think it’s worth wasting much time discussing what’s wrong with KGBeast. While it is kind of interesting they’d think to use the guy at all, the fact he never dons the costume and dies by the end of the film is unfathomably lame for a character named KGBeast.

Now, onto the main antagonist, and the most infamous part of the movie: Lex Luthor.

Lex Luthor is horribly, horribly miscast. Jesse Eisenberg is a great actor for sure, and he’s effective in movies like Now You See Me, The Social Network, and the Zombieland films. But here he is being asked to play one of the most diabolical cunning geniuses in comic book history, and rather than play him as such, he plays him like a cartoonish twit. This Lex is utterly unrecognizable as Superman’s greatest foe. Does anyone think Lex Luthor would send a jar of piss to someone as a joke before he blows them up? That’s more something the Joker would do on an off day. Lex is not cunning, not intimidating, and not diabolical in the slightest, and yet there are moments where Eisenberg’s acting chops shine through and Lex, for a moment, is almost engaging. Luthor really suffers the way Doctor Doom tends to in film adaptations: the filmmaker clearly doesn’t get why people like the villain, and decide to do some weird, unique take that will only cause to alienate fans.

But perhaps the worst of them all is Doomsday. Doomsday has exactly one claim to fame, and that’s killing Superman, so as soon as he shows up if you have even a passing awareness of the character you know how the movie is going to end, which robs the film of tension for its last battle. The fact he also appears with little buildup and doesn’t have any characterization doesn’t help; Doomsday is just the Big Gray CGI Blob that superhero movies try and pass off as a final boss for the heroes to fight. This has worked precisely once, in Iron Man. The Incredible Hulk and Venom did not make it work, and this film is nowhere close to being in the same ballpark as Venom.

By and far the biggest problem, though, is the movie’s incredible length and its very existence in the franchise at this point in time. This is an epic superhero crossover in which two of the biggest comic book characters of all time fight and then team up… And it is the second movie in a franchise. While they do a good job of establishing Batman rather quickly, Wonder Woman comes out of nowhere. And then at the end, Superman ‘dies.’ We have had one single movie prior to this to make a connection to the guy, and yet here he is getting a temporary comic book death with no buildup whatsoever that we know is going to be reversed sooner than later because the movie telegraphs this to us.

Imagine if, instead of building up the character over the course of a decade and putting him in all sorts of different stories, the MCU went right from Iron Man to Endgame. You go from a simpler, character-driven piece to a massive crossover where a hero dies right away, and it doesn’t give anyone time to care. Tony Stark had multiple films worth of characterization under his belt before they threw him in a crossover, let alone killed him, but Snyder expects you to give a damn about a Superman who just started his career in the previous movie of a franchise.

And the ass-numbing length of the movie is no justification. Even before the director’s cut came out this film was a slog, and the director’s cut really does nothing to earn its existence. All it does is add more runtime to an already tedious and bloated film, leading to the same exact ending and fixing none of the overarching narrative problems of the thing. The problem with any director’s cut is that ultimately the movie is still going to be Dawn of Justice, it’s still going to lead to extremely rushed character decisions, and it’s still going to be a mess. You’d have to redo half of the film to make this into a worthwhile and coherent narrative that’s actually worthy of being an entry in a superhero franchise.

And to top it all off, the movie spends far too much time foreshadowing for its own good. People criticized The Mummy for shoehorning in way too many shared universe elements right off the bat, and if that movie was bad for it, so is this one. The cameos from all the members of the Justice League, while striking, could be excised from the plot with little to no impact, and the Knightmare sequence is just excessive and weird.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

The answer to this question has never been harder.

On the one hand, this film does have some merit. There is some good casting choices, good cinematography, good action… But then, on the other hand, the film is overly long, pretentious, has poor writing and dialogue, mishandles everyone aside from Superman, and is just incredibly unpleasant.

This film is in many ways the exact problem Christopher Nolan created with his Dark Knight trilogy. Nolan, by grounding the fanciful characters of comic books into a realistic setting, created a climate in which someone could suck any sort of joy or meaning out of comics. The success of his films meant that people would see dark, gritty realism as preferable to joyous, colorful escapism, and the negative effects of his films, however good you find them, are still felt today even as filmmakers are finally shaking off the grit. Dawn of Justice is the zenith of Nolan’s style of superhero film. There is nothing fun, joyful, or engaging to be found here; it is simply the characters you know and love forced into dark, miserable scenarios that ends in death and misery. Where’s the fun? Where’s the color? Where’s the wonder, the excitement, where is any of it? This film paints a bleak and miserable and hopeless picture of a world of superheroes. It really makes me think of this rather famous comic panel:

I absolutely hate this movie, but not because I think it’s bad. I hate it because it has enough good ideas where it should be the best thing ever, but it really isn’t. It’s a miserable slog of a film that does nothing to justify or earn its massive runtime whatsoever. It really does belong somewhere between 5 and 6 on IMDB, because I can almost see why people like it, but it just isn’t even remotely close to being how good its fan say it is. This is not a good superhero movie, and this is not how we should want superhero movies to be. There is a market for serious superhero fare of course, and there’s no reason that these films can’t engage with mature themes or anything, don’t get me wrong. But this is absolutely not the way to do it.

[lokislytherin]

hot stuff, beware!

pairing: waiter!jeon jeongguk x reader

summary: it’s winter, and you’re cold, but the waiter in the cafe is cute as hell and your best friend is a demon in the flesh.

word count: 1670

a/n: mERRY CHRISTMAS @jungkooksbish​ ILY (this is not my best fic tho :( i’m not really too satisfied)

let’s all pretend this entire covid thing is over! i wrote this in summer, hoping quarantine would be over by now, but oh well

enjoy! 

(sorry i gave myself a cameo again, also my jin bias jumped out)

You have to say, winter is not your favorite season.

Of course, having a few whole weeks of break to rest after months of school is nice - the holidays give you the chance to take a break from your hectic schedule, hang out with your friends without having to stress about schoolwork.  As a bonus, you get to wear lovely winter boots that make your long legs look great, and you love wearing large fluffy jackets you can drown in, but...

“Fück,” you groan, “it’s so cold!”

This winter is especially horrible.  As if the cold isn’t bad enough, it’s that time of the month for you, which makes everything a hundred times worse. Not only are you a walking marshmallow, you’re also cranky as hell, with your damn hormones all over the place.  Your cramps are especially bad today, but you’re willing to shove your pain aside in favor for hanging out with your friend.  Months of quarantine have left you itching to leave your house.  You’ve been a couch potato for too long.

You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.  You regret that immediately.  Your hands are cold! “Hug me,” you demand, “I’m cold.”

Your friend tucks themselves further into their numerous amounts of jackets.  “I literally can’t move.” A rather hairless poodle trots by, shivering and whining miserably.  “Ooh, wouldn’t wanna be that guy.”

You crack a smile, amusement warming your cheeks.  “Pfft.”

Both of you squeal in delight and surprise when a gust of warm wind blasts you out of nowhere.  “It’s warm in there!” You shout triumphantly, heedless of the strange looks a few passerby's are throwing in your direction.  You grab your friend by the arm and they yelp, dragged along by your large strides.  “We’re heading in there, and we’re finding the warmest place to sit.”

Both of you speed-walk to the nearest café.  “Did you even need to ask?”

You stumble into the warmth.  The café isn’t particularly big, but it’s warm and the décor is cute and that’s more than enough to make you happy for the time being.

Your friend whistles as they look around.  “So this is the infamous Bring The Sweet, huh?” They glance at the violet fairy lights strung low on the walls.  “Probably looks better at night.”

You raise an eyebrow.  “Why infamous?”

They raises an eyebrow right back, but it’s barely a match against your thick, especially-expressive ones.  “Haven’t you heard?” They lower their voice, looking around like they’ve got a secret.  “Apparently, everyone here is insanely good looking.” You settle in a booth next to the patisserie, and they inhale deeply.  “Food will always be better than guys, though.”

They shoot you a pointed glance, and you shrug.  “I have a weak heart, okay? I catch feels easily.”

One of the pâtissiers has clearly been eavesdropping, because he muffles a laugh, only to be roughly elbowed by his coworker, who hisses at him to stop being nosy and deal with this annoying Karen with me, goddammit.

The clacking of heavy boots alerts you to an oncoming waiter.  You turn around - and scream.  Inwardly.

“Hi there, ladies, what can I get you?” 

Good lord, this waiter is cute.

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest.  His long sleeves cover his muscular arms, and tattoos peek over his knuckles.  It doesn’t match his bunny cheeks and absolutely adorable smile.  

You’re too busy trying to memorize his name tag - Jeon Jeongguk - to realize you’re staring and being very obvious about it.  Seriously, if all the staff in the cafe have the same visual standards...

A throat-clearing and a not-so-subtle kick to the shin jolts you back into reality.  “Hot chocolate!”

Your friend disguises their wheeze of laughter as a sneeze.

“I mean, I’d like a hot chocolate, please!”

Jeon Jeongguk smiles at your blunder, lopsided and amused.  Your heart’s beating so hard you think you might faint.  How could you embarrass yourself like this, in front of a boy as cute as him? 

“One hot chocolate and one latte, coming right up!”

Is it just you, or does he wink before walking off?

Your friend groans, sarcastic but playful.  “Could you be more obvious?”

Pink dusts your cheeks, a dreamy look spreading across your face.  “He’s just so cute...”

Now you’re 100% sure the pâtissier is invested in your conversation.  Apparently, his name is Kim Seokjin.  “Cute?” He waves a hand dramatically.  “That boy is a menace to society! Besides,” he says with an obvious, exaggerated wink, “why would you choose him when I am clearly superior in every aspect?”

“Jin, work!” The tall manager and the other pâtissier bellow at the same time.  Your friend’s shoulders shake as they splutter in silent laughter.

Seokjin, or Jin, as he’s aptly nick-named, turns to your friend.  “Just between you and me, you agree with me, right? Clearly everybody else isn’t willing to admit that I am the one and only Worldwide Handsome.”

Your friend bats their eyelashes innocently, but you know better than to fall for their innocuous façade.  “If I say yes, will you give me free cookies? Those pastries look pretty nice.”

Jin turns away, sulking.  “The youth these days are so disrespectful,” he complains, “Yoongi, don’t you agree?”

Yoongi sighs a breath of relief, muttering a quiet “thank God” under his breath.

“Hah? What did you say?” You can’t help but giggle at Jin’s blatant indignance.  Even your friend is stifling a laugh, barely managing to thank the waiter bringing them their latte.

“At this point, I’m just glad you didn’t offer them a free cookie just to spite me.”

Jin pouts, ignoring the customer outside who discretely takes a photo.  You duck under the camera range, and your friend leans away.  “Aigoo, do you think you mean so little to me? We’ve been doing this together for weeks now!”

Yoongi just gives him a death glare.  “I’m starting to wish you’d given them the cookie now.”

A light tap on your shoulder with a pen makes you jump.  “Excuse me, Miss? Your drink is here.”

You nearly forget how to speak in front of Jeongguk and his dazzling smile.  “Th- Thank you!”

“No problem!” Your drink is probably sweet, but his smile is even sweeter.  “You should be careful, though, it’s hot too.”

You cock your head.  “Too?”

Seokjin smiles arrogantly.  “Of course, he means me, Worldwide Handsome, the best looking man you’ll ever see-”

Jeongguk looks the other man dead in the eye, puts a hand over your shoulder, and makes a sizzling noise.

You squeak.  Your friend shoots you a thumbs up from across the table.  He thinks you’re hot!

A strangled scream makes its way out of Jin’s throat.  It sounds like the distant relative of a boiling kettle.  “You- You little brat!”

“I’m really sorry about him.” Jeongguk’s gentle voice and innocent words don’t match the shït-eating grin on his face, but you find it kind of hot, actually.  “He’s just salty that he thinks he’s so good looking, but in reality, he's probably not gonna get laid before he turns thirty.”

That cracks you up.  You can’t stop laughing, even though it’s at the handsome pâtissier’s expense.  Yoongi can’t seem to stop his unabashed cackling either.  Your friend waves at Jeongguk, a matching devious smirk on their face.  “Excuse me, but can you pass me a pen? And a piece of paper?”

Jeongguk looks confused, but complies.  Your friend scribbles something down, trying hard not to burst out laughing.  Jin, still pouting, shouts when he sees what your friend has written.  He even helps them shield the paper from you!

Your friend passes the paper to Jeongguk, and when he reads the message he turns beet red from his ears to his neck.  “Have fun!”

Jin discretely steals a cookie from the shelf and passes it to your friend, and they exchange fist-bumps while Yoongi isn’t looking.  “Take care of our Jeonggukkie,” he tells you seriously, “he may be annoying but he’s still my big baby.” He cracks his knuckles.  “Lucky for you, I’m a gentleman, but I’m still amazing at trash-talk.”

“Oh,” the other waiter says, peeking over Jeongguk’s shoulder, “are you going on a da~”

Jeongguk manages to keep his fellow waiter at arms reach, even when they struggle against him.  “A- Are you available tomorrow?” He stammers out.  “Your friend said you want to watch the new Wonder Woman movie, and I think she’s pretty cool too... Wanna go together?”

Deep inside, you clutch at your chest and scream.  So cute! “O- Of course!” You haven’t stuttered this hard over a guy in a long while.  “Can I have your number?”

“Jeongguk,” the manager shouts, waving his hands, “and Jimin, the tables aren’t going to wait themselves.” There’s a fond smile on his face.

“Sorry, Joon!” Jeongguk turns back to you.  “I’ve already got your number... I’ll call you later?” 

He’s still blushing, but so are you.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Fück, you think seconds later, too desperate! 

Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice, offering you one last bunny-toothed smile before bouncing off, a hop in his step.

“Seriously, though,” Jin grumbles, “take care of him.”

“I will.”

A few days later, winter is your new favorite season.  You look good in your winter-wear, you’ve got free hot chocolate coupons, and guess what? You’ve scored yourself a hot date, and maybe even a new boyfriend.

Maybe being cold isn’t so bad after all, you think to yourself as Jeongguk lends you his jacket.  What a gentleman.  Your sweet Jeonggukkie.

[justanother-unluckysoul]

Working My Way Back To You 9/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

A/N: Oof this chapter got away from me a bit lol I strayed back into whumpy territory a little in this one, as Killian talks about some of his trauma, but he does get comfort in the present time.

Warnings for this chapter: a bit of smut (I probably don’t have to warn for that since this story is already M rated but it’s there, so) (also it’s my very first attempt at smut and I’ve rewritten that scene only like a bazillion times haha but I’m still so nervous to post it, I just hope you guys don’t hate it)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Road Trip + Campfire

It had been Archie’s idea for Emma and Killian to get away for a while. Go down the coast, he’d said, find yourself. Reconnect with each other. Killian didn’t know how camping was supposed to help with any of that. But Emma had seemed excited about the prospect when he’d mentioned it to her, and he never could deny her wishes so here they were, sitting on a log in a forest in the middle of nowhere, where Killian could hear the ocean but not see it through the trees. The campfire crackles and pops and the heat against his front is a sharp contrast to the chill at his back, and perhaps they hadn’t thought this through very well because even through his layers Killian can still feel the cold now that the sun has gone down. Although it has been unseasonably warm lately, the night air still carries quite a bite. Emma’s tucked into his right side, a blanket around her shoulders. She seems happy despite the cold, her stomach full of the fish they’d caught from the sea earlier that day, and the ‘marshmallows’ she’d insisted on bringing along – yet another sticky, sugary treat Killian couldn’t quite stomach. He’d tried two, toasted over the fire until they were gooey on the inside, but they sat uncomfortably in his gut and he left the rest for Emma. He’s not sure if it was the problem was the marshmallows, or the fact that his anxiety is rising again just from being in a forest. Spending centuries on a jungle island, at the whim of a malicious demon, had ruined it for him. On a good day, he could shove it down, bury it deep where all his other vulnerabilities lived. But today is not a good day.

“What are you thinking about, Killian?” Emma asks, and he supposes he has been quiet for too long.

“Just… things.”

“Good things?”

He wishes.

“No.”

“Oh.”

She’s got her fingers on his chest, toying absently with the hairs at the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He wonders if she’ll ask for more of him. He wonders if he can give it this time. He thinks about her body pressed against his and her gentle hands removing his clothes, and maybe he wants to try it again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asks.

Her unexpected question forces an alteration of Killian’s thoughts that is abrupt and unpleasant. Because that’s why they’re really out here, isn’t it? To talk about things. Reconnect, whatever the hell that meant. He doesn’t want to do this. He really, really doesn’t want to dip his toes back into those memories. It’s bad enough he has to bare his soul for the cricket on a regular basis.

“I…”

Where does he start? How can he tell her the true horrors he endured in the cellar? And does she even want to hear it – how they’d seemingly delighted in every strangled groan and grunt he couldn’t hold back under the torture, and how they’d laughed when they finally forced a scream from him? That his only comfort was the hallucination of her, kneeling at his side in the cell telling him everything would be okay as he struggled to breathe around the pain consuming his body? Bloody hell, he’s shaking again at the thought of saying any of that to her.

“We don’t have to do this,” Emma says, giving him a way out that he desperately wants to use.

But Killian Jones is not a coward.

“No, it’s… I can…”

“Breathe, Killian,” she coaches, sitting up straighter and her hand moves up to cradle his face, “Breathe. You’re okay.”

He takes a breath. And another. And slowly the tendrils of panic release him.

“I saw you there,” he blurts out before his mind can talk him out of it again, “In the cell with me. You brought me comfort amongst the torment…”

 “Killian, you have to be still. Just be still. It’ll only hurt more if you move.”

He blinks drowsily at her standing beside him, her hands gentle on his battered body as he hangs from the shackle. Perhaps he should listen to her advice. The pain of fighting to keep his feet under him is making it harder to breathe. Harder to think. And he needs to think. But…

“Emma, how are you here?” he gasps, and his eyes fill with tears of relief.

Her hand caresses his face as she smiles, and he wants to weep from how good it feels. Her love. Her kindness. How long has it been since anyone has touched him in such a way? How long has he been shackled in this cold cell?

“It’s okay,” she says with so much tenderness, “Everything’s going to be okay now. Go to sleep, Killian.”

His eyes flutter closed. He’s so cold. He’s so tired. Everything hurts but it’s okay because Emma’s here.

 “That’s why you didn’t know if I was real,” Emma says quietly, “when we found you. I thought… I thought I’d lost you. That they’d….”

She’s pressed tightly against his side again as he hesitantly shares the story with her.

“I was so scared, Killian.”

“Aye, love. Me too.”

He hadn’t meant to admit that, but he had been terrified. He’d kept it hidden from his captors as best he could but by the end, he knew he was failing. There’s only so much a man can take. And they’d known that, finding his weaknesses and pushing him past his breaking point. For two weeks, he suffered at their hands.

 “Focus on your breathing, Killian,” Emma says softly.

He’s shivering, naked against the cold floor, exhausted from the pain yet unable to sleep because of it. His ruined hand feels so unbearably hot that he envisions it may well burst into flames, every involuntary twitch of his broken fingers sending a blazing agony up his arm. And further down his body there’s still the terrible, terrible burning sensation from his captor’s latest game.

“I d-don’t want you to s-see me like this, Emma,” he whispers through chattering teeth, his eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s okay. You know I’m not really here.”

The reminder that he is alone is too much. It’s like a wave of emotion cresting, and crashing into him with immense force, making him want to howl his rage and despair until his lungs are empty. But he only allows a whimper. He won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how utterly broken he is.

“Just breathe,” not-Emma murmurs, her imaginary fingers on his face close enough to the real thing that Killian feels himself melting into her touch, “Just keep breathing, Killian.”

 “It felt so real. I know it wasn’t, but… you helped me to stay sane. I would have lost myself if it weren’t for the image of you at my side.”

The fire is burning low now and the loss of its heat is making him shiver. Emma moves the blanket so it’s resting over both of them, and her hand settles on his left forearm as she burrows closer into his right side, like she can cuddle the fear right out of him. He appreciates the gesture, struggling with the mental distress of releasing the memories from that box in his mind. Of admitting his fears to Emma. And he has barely touched on what they did to him in that cellar. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to, not to Emma.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you,” Emma says.

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. We were nearly… we were nearly too late, Killian, you were…”

“Almost gone,” he whispers, staring blankly into the campfire.

  When he swallows, he can taste blood, having bitten either his tongue or his lip – he doesn’t know which one – trying to hold back his cries during his last torture session. It hadn’t even helped, not for long enough. His strength is entirely depleted. The pain throughout his body has faded to a dull, miserable sort of ache, that he’s grateful for because it’s better than the fire that had consumed him before. And he realizes distantly that this is it, this is the end. It’s not how he thought he’d go – and he’s thought about it a lot over his too many lifetimes. A quiet, distraught sound escapes his parched throat at the thought that Emma will be too late to save him. He’s not afraid to die, his heart doesn’t ache for himself but for her, how terrible it will be for Emma to find his corpse. How long will it take? But wait, here’s Emma now, her hand gently rubbing at his curved back as he lies there helpless.

“Emma?” His lips move, but he doesn’t think he’s actually spoken aloud.

He doesn’t seem to have the strength for that anymore, but that doesn’t matter. Emma presses her lips against the back of his bare shoulder. He can feel her hair tickling his skin.

“Ssshhh,” she shushes him, “I’m here.”

But she’s not really, he knows that. It’s just his mind playing a trick on him again. But he might as well take the comfort it seems willing to provide in his final hours.

“Hold me, Emma. Please, I want to feel your embrace as I go.”

Not-Emma’s arms slip under him, lifting him effortlessly into her embrace. The motion hurts in a way in shouldn’t because this isn’t real, but he moans weakly anyway.

“It’s okay, Killian. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

It’s hard to breathe, but he knows that won’t matter for much longer. Emma’s fingers move lightly over his cheek, across his jawline, caressing his face as she holds him steady. He feels like he’s floating now, only her touch keeping him from disappearing into nothing. Killian feels immensely grateful for her comfort. He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, content to imagine how she looks, the smile on her face, the kindness in her eyes. The love she has for him is flowing into his body, easing his suffering in his final moments. But his captors come back for him, one more time and he just wants this to be over.

“Just bloody finish it,” he says, and he can tell he’s said it aloud this time by how feeble his voice sounds.

He floats away again and he doesn’t want to come down, but they pull him back, holding his right arm too tightly and he can’t take any more of this, can’t take the pain that he knows is going to overwhelm him in a moment when they aggravate his broken fingers again just for the fun of it. He shakes and writhes and implores for them to stop and he promised himself, he promised Emma they could not break him, but they have. By the gods, they have. But not-Emma is still here somehow, and her touch feels more real than it ever has. She’s never been there during his tortures, only afterwards in his cage, and Killian struggles to focus on her. She looks scared this time and Killian doesn’t like it. He wants desperately to let go, to escape this torment, but she looks so sad he can’t bear to leave her like this. But his body is giving up and he has no choice.

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

Slowly, the world begins to disappear again. And not-Emma says she’s real now, and he almost believes it. He wants to believe it, that she has really found him, even if she’s come too late to save him. She tells him just to rest, her fingers curled tightly around his shoulder, soothing and steadying. Her permission is all he needs. Killian finally submits to the void that’s been beckoning to him so enticingly, and he doesn’t expect to wake up again.

 Emma’s sniffling jolts Killian out of the morbid tale he was telling, his voice monotonous as he tried to distance himself from the event, and he realizes he’s lost some time by the way the fire is only embers now.

“Emma? What’s wrong, love?” he asks with concern, giving his head a quick shake to remove what feels like cobwebs out of his brain.

“S-sorry,” she says weakly, her voice quivering, “I just… I didn’t know how close it actually was. Another few hours and… God, Killian.”

Oh. Oh.

“No, I’m sorry, truly. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

He tries to twist away slightly so he can see her face, but she’s holding onto him too tightly. And she’s weeping freely now, sobbing into his shirt. Curse the cricket for this suggestion, it’s only made things worse. And curse Killian too for going along with it.

“Hey, it’s okay, Emma. I’m with you. It’s okay.”

He repeats her own words back to her, the words she’s used for him so frequently of late, when he wakes panicked in the night or finds himself suddenly unable to catch his breath as the memories cloud his mind. His hand rubs at Emma’s back, trying to soothe her, and he wishes, gods, he wishes he had a second hand with which to wipe her tears away. Though he can’t move his left arm at all right now anyway, because she’s clinging onto it like she’ll float away if she doesn’t.

“Sshhh, love, be calm,” he continues, slipping in his own phrases now, folding himself around her as much as he’s able, sheltering her as she falls apart, “We’re okay now. We’re okay. Just breathe, there’s a good girl. Shh, it’s going to be alright, Emma.”

Slowly her body begins to relax in his arms, and after a while she takes a shuddering breath and sits up to scrub away her tears, and grabs a handkerchief from her pocket to blow her nose. Killian pulls the flask of rum from his pocket and pushes it gently into her trembling hands when she’s done.

“Drink up, Swan, and I’ll tend the fire.”

He needs a moment to calm himself as well and placing some more logs on the fire is a perfect excuse to get him the space he needs, and a simple task to ground himself firmly in the present. Emma stares at the flask in her hand with red-rimmed eyes as Killian carefully tends the fire, expertly poking at and blowing on the embers around the new wood he’s placed on it, until it flares back to life, driving away the chill.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Emma says with a little, self-deprecating sort of laugh, “I’m supposed to be strong, for you. Because I’m fine, you’re the one that was…”

Tortured.

“Hey now, none of that,” Killian says firmly, dropping to one knee in front of her so he can lift her chin and look into her eyes, “You are strong, love, far stronger than I would be in your place. You figured out where I was and you saved me, Emma.”

He takes her hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of it while never breaking eye contact, his lips lingering on her skin as he makes certain she can see in his face how much he means what he’s saying.

“You saved me,” he repeats softly when he finally lifts his mouth again, “I owe you everything. You’re not a mess, Emma, you’re a bloody hero.”

She smiles, hesitant at first but growing wider and then she puts the unopened flask aside in favour of leaning forward to kiss him. He meets her halfway, surging upwards with a bit too much force that accidentally sends Emma toppling backwards off the log with a yelp and Killian falling with her, frantically trying to break their fall without hurting her. He must manage it, because when they make eye contact in this compromising position, Emma’s giggling and Killian can’t help the sound bubbling up his throat too because he’s experienced far too many emotions in such a sort time tonight and he’s feeling a little giddy.

“Sorry, love,” he says, trying to suppress his undignified giggling, “That was…”

But now he’s acutely aware of how close they are, how her hands are clinging to him, and how her thigh is conveniently pressing between his legs. His glee abates as it’s replaced by another feeling – he really, really wants to kiss her again, and deeper this time. And he can barely keep up with all these sensations and he doesn’t even care at this point, his head feeling a little dizzy at the intoxicating nearness of Emma, of her scent and her touch. He wonders if – he hopes – that Emma can feel the heat between them too.

“I’m fine, Killian, it’s fine. Are you-”                              

He gives in to his body’s urges despite his reservations and swallows the rest of her question, his lips capturing hers and his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, and she immediately responds in kind, almost hungrier for it than he is. Thank the gods, Killian thinks, because if she hadn’t been in the mood, he would have felt stupid, though he most likely could get her into the mood without much effort. The passion between them builds even higher and Killian is desperate for more. He presumes his eyes possess the same dazed look that Emma’s do as they both take a moment to catch their breath.

“Emma, may I…” Emma waits patiently while he finds the words, find the courage to say what he wants, her hand stilling against his chest. “I want to… I want to make love to you.”

Emma laughs a little, like she always does when he uses that phrase (nobody calls it that anymore, Killian but he’s not quite comfortable using a more vulgar term, not to Emma, she’s too perfect and too good and it would be very bad form to say anything like that in her hearing) but she also blushes slightly, and he can see she’s just as eager for it as he is.

“Okay.”

With a wave of her hand, Emma extinguishes the campfire, and then they can hardly keep their hands off each other as they move to the privacy of their tent. The moment they are inside Killian is overcome with the burning desire to touch more of her skin right now.

“Less clothes,” Killian demands, and Emma grins, pulling her lower lip between her teeth before she starts taking her layers off.

She doesn’t ask him to take his own off, sticking to her promise that she won’t push him, but he wants to. He wants this. He’s tired of being a coward. His fingers hurry to remove his own clothing (and he’s never been more thankful to have the use of those five fingers again than at this precise moment), and in a moment Emma is more or less naked in front of him and he’s in a similar state, at least from the waist up. Now his mouth can explore her newly exposed flesh and he delights in the sounds he can pull from her by doing so. Emma’s hand rests against the back of his head, the other bracing herself, leaning back as he takes what he wants. It’s a slow and tender sort of lovemaking; hands drifting slowly across skin, mouths savouring the taste of the other, hushed words of reverent appreciation, and this is exactly what Killian needs. They take their time, neither in a hurry to go further yet, just enjoying getting lost in the sensations.

“Emma.” Killian is the one to break away, feeling the urgency, the need, beginning to override his uncertainties about what he intends to do.

“What is it?”

Killian’s looking up at Emma’s flushed face as he leans back on his elbows on the mattress, her lips slightly swollen from his earlier attentions, her hair a gloriously wild tangle and the colour bright in her cheeks. He’s taken off the brace and hook because they’re in such tight quarters right now, there’s a high chance his hook would rip the side of their shelter when they really get into it, and it would only take a moment of inattention, the briefest impulse to anchor himself to something, and the flimsy material would be rent right open. He doesn’t need one more thing to be concerned about tonight. Not with what he is about to do. Killian hesitates for a second before he grabs Emma’s hand in his and guides it to his belt buckle – his jeans the only thing he’s still wearing besides his socks and his rings and the charms around his neck.

“Are you sure?” Emma asks, her fingers curling into the waistband at the front of his jeans.

“Yes,” he murmurs, quickly, before he can lose his nerve again, “just… just go slow.”

Her eyes flick back up to his several times, checking on his wellbeing as she slowly releases him from the confines of his trousers. He can feel the memories clawing at the edge of his mind, but he keeps watching her, focuses on the feel of her soft fingers brushing against his skin as he lifts his hips and allows her to tug his jeans down and off. Then it’s over and now Emma’s moving back up his body, taking his face in her hands and gazing into his eyes.

“Still with me?” she asks quietly.

There’s no denying that his body is responding to their activities, but Emma just wants to be certain his mind is on board with it as well, after how badly he reacted last time. She’s good like that.

“Aye, keep going, love.”

And then her hand slips down and there, bloody finally. Killian allows himself to get lost in the sensations for a glorious interval. Emma could easily get him off just like this, she’s done it before, her talented hands and her mouth – oh gods, her mouth, a shudder runs through him at the thought – and he’s strongly tempted to allow her to continue, if he didn’t have another plan for tonight. He needs… He needs.

“Wait,” Killian chokes out, and she stops immediately, looking at him with concern.

“What’s wrong? Is this too much?”

“No. I mean, yes, but… Not for the reasons you think.” He breathes deeply, gathers his wits, and his fortitude. “I don’t want to finish like this, Emma, I want… I want you. I want to be… inside you.”

He’s seconds away from adding a pathetic please because she’s so close to him, but not close enough and his skin is tingling with desire. But before he has to, Emma leans forward and her mouth claims his again, scorching and demanding and keeping him firmly rooted in the present time. When she pulls back, his head spinning a little from how hard she’s kissed him, she slips her arm behind him – sit up, Killian, I want to hold you –and he follows her guidance willingly until he’s sitting on the edge of their camping bed, his heart pounding against his ribs because he knows, he knows how good she will make him feel. Then she’s on him and around him, astride his thighs as she settles onto him. His hand finds its way to the swell of her bare arse, drawing her down, coaxing her to take him in further.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs, and there’s a shameless moan from the back of his throat as she wraps her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, “Gods, you feel so bloody good, Emma.” Because Emma loves it when he tells her how much he’s appreciating what she’s doing to him – and bloody hell, he is appreciating it. A lot. And she’s barely done anything yet.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Emma says quietly, her hot breath against his ear sending a shiver of eager anticipation down his spine, “Tell me if you need me to stop, at any time and I will. Okay?”

Killian nods his assent, and slowly she begins to move, murmurs words of praise to him as her fingers bury themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand slipping behind his back to hold him close. This position is soft and intimate and wonderful as all his senses become completely immersed in everything Emma. There’s no room for any other feeling, or any other thought. She’s holding onto him as she sets the pace and he’s kissing whatever part of her he can reach, using lips and tongue and teeth the way she likes it and she tastes amazing and he can’t get enough and gods, she is going to drive him insane. He enjoys it rough, sometimes – most times – and Emma always obliges, but tonight she takes him gently, lovingly, carefully, all soft phrases and leisurely movements. And it’s exactly what Killian needs, his fears falling away, this tender coupling the complete opposite to the last time he was at someone’s mercy. And as well as he knows her to work her up, Emma knows how to do the same to him, and despite the slowness of it all Killian finds himself teetering on that edge far quicker than he’d expected. Emma’s quiet moans and gasps as she rides him lets him know she’s not far behind, and he desperately hopes she’s close enough that he won’t leave her unsatisfied.

“Emma… gods, Emma, I’m…” Killian groans, long and loud in the quiet of the forest, his jaw tight as he struggles to keep himself in check. “I’m going to…”

“It’s okay,” she says, strained and tremulous and breathless and still continuing the same steady, relentless pace, “It’s okay. Come for me, Killian.”

“You first, darling,” Killian grits out because damn it, he’s a gentleman.

But he’s too close, he can feel it, he’s not going to be able to hold out. His rhythm is beginning to stutter and he’s losing control. He is wrecked, his endurance is usually better than this and he has to take a moment to breathe, his forehead falling forwards onto Emma’s shoulder. Thankfully Emma seems to take pity on him, for she pauses her motion while he collects himself. Only a moment, but it’s enough. He can tell she’s close, if he could just-

“Right there, yes, oh god Killian,” Emma gasps, pulling harder at his hair, her fingernails scratching lightly against his back, “Don’t stop, please, please, Killian, I’m so close.”

His response is a growl, primal and desperate, her almost frenzied pleas sending him past the point of no return. He has no intention of stopping. Another panted yes and god and then she’s clenching tight around him, his actions bringing her to her peak and his name tumbles from her lips as she shatters and it’s too much and it’s perfect and – and – and he’s there and nothing else matters as they both fall apart.

-/-

No, actually they were ‘coming together’ in every sense of the phrase, is the first thought Killian’s brain has when he’s able to think anything at all again and he snickers into the juncture of Emma’s neck and shoulder as she remains in his arms, equally as blissed out as he is.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, still out of breath, and Killian’s hand slides up the smooth curve of her back.

“Just thinking.”

He lifts his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply, slowly, pouring all his devotion and gratitude into it, only stopping because he wants to be certain Emma knows how much she means to him.

“Emma, you’re a marvel and I love you.”

“Right back at you,” she says, smiling, sparkling eyes even in the dimness of their shelter, a bit of a flush to her cheeks, “That… that was okay, then?”

She looks unsure now, like she’s pushed him further than he was ready for, like she’s broken her promise, and this was what Killian was concerned about – Emma’s insecurities coming to the forefront. He wants those doubts banished from her mind immediately. He brushes some of her wayward hair behind her ear, his touch lingering against her skin, thumb drawing a path along her jawline on the way back.

“It was perfect, love,” he assures her, “You were perfect. You gave me everything I asked for. And… I hope my performance was satisfactory as well?”

A smirk punctuates his salacious question, a little lift of his left eyebrow and there, the uncertainty is gone from Emma’s face like it never existed, replaced with a rather coy smile that Killian much prefers.

“Very.”

They move, eventually, lying down side by side on the mattress and they remain like that, sharing gentle affections and whispered adoration, for quite some time, until the mood gradually changes to something needy once more. Killian moves over the top of her and smiles wickedly, enjoying the way Emma’s breathing has quickened already before he’s even begun, because now it’s his turn to be in control, and she knows very well what his intentions are. It’s time to repay his beautiful Swan for the pleasure she bestowed upon him.

to be continued...

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Going into 2021..

Right now, I am desperately looking for a decent job. I live in Portland and there's precious little fulfilling positions out there that would pay enough to really actually pay rent. Economically, things aren't looking so hot. We are in the middle of a pandemic which obviously things are and should me closed, or limited in capacity. I am probably owed several thousand in unemployment but I haven't been able to contact them for months. Which I won't be able to pay rent after this month if i don't find something. It's disturbing but i may need to find a way to pay for a storage unit, and then crash on my sister and her boyfriend's couch soon if i don't find something, until something better comes along. At thirty-one, i wanted so badly to actually be going somewhere but as it is i am struggling to even buy food. I'm truly ridiculously ashamed of myself. I am trying not to blame myself, there is a lot of critical thinking i have about being a good for nothing and not worth anyone's time or care, ill prepared for everything that has happened. I really wanted to move to the city and succeed. And for a moment i think i was, then i wasn't. Then this covid business happened and I'm here.

I've literally been met with pretty bad luck and like so many people it is mainly covid related. I'm far from being in the worst situation. The fact that I am here typing this is proof in and of itself that i'm not in the worst position. My parents won't send me any money because they both want me to move back to Idaho to live with them in their abusive situations. My father makes quite a bit of money but the way he sees it, he has this plan to move me back to Idaho where he can isolate me and be verbally abusive. His plan is to wait till i am homeless and then offer me a job in Idaho with the stipulation that i will have to basically hang out with him every single night, get yelled at and frightened like i was when i was a child. I will be separated from any support system or friends or people who care about me. I would be beholden onto him like i was a child. It's his goal really. He has more than enough money to keep me going, but he's not going to help me. It's funny, but not so funny to know that he would probably be frightened of what happened when i was put in that situation now at the age i am. He thinks he wants me there, he does not. He remembers me putting up with it when i was younger and crumpling and having the satisfaction of controlling me and breaking my spirit. I'm like, stable but a lot more reactionary than i used to be, and brittle. I'd crumple so hard now, it would be as though i were a star that turned into a black hole and swallowed him in. He doesn't want to deal with that now. I would probably end up getting locked up if he tried to be physically or verbally abusive to me. And I am just never going back to Idaho. I'd rather sleep outside. And it is his money. He's got no obligation to help me at all, and he has in the past, helped me out a bit.

I worry because things have gotten worse for me than they were a year ago. It's effected my attitude a little. Like I don't smile as much. I broke my foot three months ago which prevented me from working. I quit my job because i felt exploited and only getting paid 400$ a month is not a decent living. Even today, i thought i was fine so i took a walk and when i got home my foot hurt pretty bad. I did get a phone interview with and up and coming vegan mushroom jerky company that I am hoping I can just manage to get. I need this job terribly, and it seemed like a really good job for me. My physical health isn't the best. I have PCOS, which means i have to be very careful about what i eat. I gained a bunch of lockdown weight. I was in the 150's and no i am afraid of what i weigh. I was getting kind of skinny, and though i was probably undereating, overeating for me is worse. It fucks with my mental health and how people treat me, and it's a hard road to getting fit, it's hard to feel inspired in times like these. Food is comfort. I am still nowhere as big as i was in Idaho. There is a lot of food I am not supposed to eat or it messes with my brain chemistry and it's pretty stressful.

I guess what hurts the most is, I feel like I've lost a lot of friends. One of my best friends, i guess you could say we were semi seeing one another for nearly two years, he's just kind of not texting me back, or sending literally like 'haha' and 'ok' once a day. I've tried being ridiculously patient. I try to be supportive and funny and make an extra effort, even from afar, to be there. He's too busy to ever hang out with me, or just doesn't want to. I feel very used. It could be nothing. I've tried talking about it, having good humor, but it's not working. My temptation at every given moment is to call and demand some kind of explanation but the truth is that it would change nothing. He would call me if he wanted to talk. He's probably just found someone else. Or if he isn't, he just is disinterested in me as a person. It makes me feel, on top of looking down the barrel of homelessness and bad health, just floored with a horrible miserable feeling in the pit of my stomach. And it could reverse in a week or two so easily if he just explained himself in some way. Even if i found out the reason, and it was bad, i'd deal with it. Not knowing is what is really hurting me. It just kind of repeats in my head. I feel ugly, and unwanted and annoying. We spoke every single day for months and months and years, then it just stops? Why? And I am just supposed to pretend that it isn't devastating.

I wish i was in a position to help other people. I wish that i had money to have given people gifts for Christmas. My sister has issues with me, though she is very kind to let me stay with her if need be, it would be kinda tense to stay with her in her tiny apartment with her boyfriend. It's not the worst place I've been, but it wouldn't be great. It's weird to see the politics of the world unfold. I try not to worry about things that might happen in the future because I know there is only so much i can do. And if the economic system i was born under collapses, and even if i am a casualty of that collapse, i can't be blaming myself for that as well. It was long under way before i was ever born. And worrying about all the things i cannot control isn't going to help me in the long run.

I dunno, I am being a debbie downer. I just needed to vent, and not write people at 4am that I shouldn't be writing. :S Goodnight.

[beanie-beebo-writes]

Call for Action

Chapter 6

You rolled over at around 2 AM for what seemed like the millionth time. Despite having no nightmares, you were plagued with hourly panic attacks that tore you from sleep. You didn’t even know what could have caused them; you had been doing so well since your last incident weeks ago. You felt so hopeless, and wondered if it was even worth the effort to sleep. Yet every time you tried to stay awake, your eyes drifted on their own accord. Without thinking too much of the consequences, you reached over and grabbed your phone and called Jensen. You were met with a series of grumbled responses. Before you knew it, he was at your door.

“Jensen, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t know what else to do.” You said, half crying at your possible mistake.

“(Y/N), never be sorry for needing someone. C’mon, let’s lay down.” He said, putting an arm around you.

“Could we go on the couch for a bit instead? I kind of need to get away from my bed.” You asked.

“Sure.” Jensen said.

And there the two of you sat for several hours, until the sun broke across the horizon and the birds began to sing. You had both ended up falling asleep in what had looked like not the most comfortable positions, but it couldn’t compare to the restful sleep you had gotten. Your alarm in your bedroom woke you up around 5 AM, causing you to half stumble off the couch as you were intertwined between Jensen’s limbs. The small struggle caused Jensen to come around, waking up a little more when he saw you return from your room. You rubbed at your eyes and let out a large yawn.

“I know you’re gonna protest, but I think you should take the day off. You look like you could use it.” Jensen said, still on the couch.

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jensen. I just started working here.” You said.

“Well, maybe I could pull some strings for you. I could talk to Bob for you. I think he’d understand if I explained it to him briefly.” Jensen said.

“That’s the last thing I need is him knowing what I’m going through. He’ll probably let me go when he finds out.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I can spare the details. You just need a break, that’s all.” Jensen said. 

After some thinking, you realized he was right. The past few weeks had been rough on you. You were basically running nonstop, and it had finally caught up to you. And boy did you feel it.

“You don’t have to call Bob, I’ll do it myself.” You said. “You’re right, I’ve been running myself ragged. I just know as an adult, I have a responsibility to myself and my coworkers. I can’t afford to take time off etcetera etcetera.”

“That may be true but as Jared has told me, you can’t put an oxygen mask on everyone else if you don’t put one on yourself first.” Jensen said.

You sighed. “Damn, you guys are like Buddha.”

“It comes with experience, trust me.” He said.

After you called off for the day, you and Jensen spent the day watching whatever was on daytime TV, Netflix, and napping in between. If you could do this every once in a while, you wouldn’t complain. The refresher was nice and you even got some bonus time with Jensen. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces; always comfortable around each others’ presence. It was something you hadn’t felt in a while with someone.

Around noon, Jared stopped by with some fresh lunch. You had been snoozing at the time so Jensen took it upon himself to answer the door for you. The two of them had been talking for a little bit before you finally woke up to the steaming aroma and the sound of talking.

“Remember when this was happening with you a long while back? It’s all I can think of.” You heard Jensen say.

“Yeah. She’ll pull through though, just like I did. I haven’t known her for that long, and I can already tell she’s one to reckon with.” Jared said.

You groggily opened your eyes and looked over to Jensen and Jared standing in your kitchen. The TV had still been playing quietly in the background, playing some infomercial on jewelry. You inhaled deeply and sat up, letting out a loud and satisfying stretch. Doing so caused the guys to look over. You clicked off the TV and stood up slowly, your joints cracking as you stiffened them.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jared asked, still holding a large paper bag.

“Honestly? Like I could still use another nap.” You said humorlessly, still chuckling lightly.

“I bet. I brought you guys some food; figured you could use a nice hot meal.” Jared said while holding up the bag slightly.

“Thank you, maybe you could join us?” You asked, walking over to where he stood.

“Well, I didn’t bring enough for three.. But that’s okay, I just had lunch not long ago. Sure, why not?” He said.

He held the bag out for you to take, and you gladly accepted it. You set it on the counter and looked inside. Inside were two fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, the ones held together with a toothpick and an olive. You smiled up at Jared, grateful to have found another good friend to confide in. Or at least, you hoped.

“Well Jensen, I say we dig in before it gets cold.” You said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jensen said.

The three of you sat at your small kitchenette (Jared had to pull up an extra folding chair from whoever knows where you had it stashed), just happy to be in each other’s presence. You giggled as you observed Jared’s large stature cramped to the confines of the small-ish chair.

“Oh like you’ve never seen a giant man sit in a chair half his size before.” Jared snarked playfully.

“Actually no, I haven’t.” You said in between chuckles.

Jared smiled at you alongside Jensen. “It’s good to see you smile.” Jared said.

“I tend to agree.” Jensen said.

“Hard not to.” You said, mouth half-full of sandwich. “I don’t mean to intrude in any way, so let me know if I am. But earlier, I heard you guys talking about Jared going through something a while ago. So you’re telling me you both of you have gone through something similar?” 

“Yeah actually-” Jared said, sitting back into his chair. “-And you’re not overstepping at all, don’t worry. We wouldn’t have talked about it with you around if we thought it was something you didn’t need to know.”

“What he said.” Jensen said. “And yeah, Jared went through a bout of depression about five years ago. It happened when we were on set, actually. He has no shame on sharing it with others, but isn’t really ready to let everyone know about it just yet.”

“What got you through it?” You asked, intrigued.

“I know Jensen was talking about therapy before, and how it helped him. I know it’s going to sound like a broken record, but that majorly helped me get through it. That and a great support system.” Jared said.

“You two really are joined at the everything, jeez.” You said. “Jensen and I were actually just talking about therapy last week. I agreed to try it, but I’m just a little scared how it’s going to turn out.”

“It can be scary, especially since it’s new territory for you.” Jared said.

“So, what do you say it’s about time we schedule you for that therapist?” Jensen asked.

---------

One Month Later

You walked down a small hallway until you reached an ajar door that had the name "Mr. Roslin" on it, and knocked lightly. A man in his late forties was sitting at a small desk in a computer chair; he turned around and smiled.

"You must be (Y/N). Please, come in and take a seat." He said.

You walked into the decently sized room and sat on a padded chair several feet from the therapist. Mr. Roslin shuffled a few papers on his desk before turning back around with a notepad and pen in hand.

"So (Y/N), tell me more about why you're here today." He said.

"Well… My friend.. er date.. said I would benefit from seeing you." You said.

"And why would they think that?" He asked.

You sighed. "Well, lately I've been having these.. panic attacks. Quite a lot of them actually."

"Have you had them before?"

"Many times, yes. Just haven't had one out of nowhere in quite a while."

"Hm. I think I have just the thing for that."

Mr. Roslin turns around in his chair and pulls out a sticky note from his desk. On it, he scribbles a few notes before handing it to you. It read: "5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

"Have you heard of grounding exercises before?" He asked.

You shook your head and stayed silent so he would continue.

"Grounding techniques or exercises are coping skills that keep you in the present. Let's say for instance, your thoughts or a panic attack are keeping you from doing a task at work. These exercises help you stay in the moment instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts or feelings." He explained.

"Oh wow, those sound useful.. Thank you." You said.

"Mhm. They are only useful though if you practice. That'll be your homework after this session, until I see you next. He said.

"Sounds easy enough. Thank you Mr. Roslin." You said.

"Don't mention it. By the way, have you ever been formally diagnosed previously?" Mr. Roslin asked.

"No sir, this is actually my first ever appointment to see anyone like this. I assume I have anxiety, as my doctor long ago said I may have it. He was the one who gave me the breathing tips." You admitted.

"I see. Just for your information, I'd like to know if knowing your diagnoses would help you in any way, or would you feel they would set you back?" He inquired.

"I feel the diagnoses could help explain some things, so you can tell me." You said. 

"It's only your initial appointment but from what I can tell so far based on our phone conversation and now, you have both anxiety and possibly a smidge of depression. It isn't uncommon in the psychiatric world to have both. They tend to work together to make your life more miserable. The depression tends to be more of the negative thinking (at least in your case), while the anxiety of course is the panic/anxiety attacks." He explained.

"The anxiety I figured; the depression I never thought of though. Will it ever get better?" You asked.

"With a lot of effort and time, you will find it a lot easier to cope with what you have, so yes." He said.

"That's good to know. And for the panic attacks, do you think taking up a new career can enhance them?" You asked.

"Certainly. New environments and added stress are definitely a factor. They should fade after getting adjusted. But if they don't come talk to me and we'll hash it out together." He said.

"Thank you for that, it's very helpful to be in the know." You said.

"Always; knowledge can be very powerful. Is there anything else you would like to discuss today?" He asked.

"Yeah actually, there is. With my.. date. I'm not really sure where we stand. We're moving at quite a fast pace, and I'm scared something is going to go wrong or something. My life usually works that way, and I know our relationship so far isn't exactly normal." You said.

"Well, have you talked with them about it?" He asked.

You paused for a moment; you hadn't thought to ask Jensen about anything besides that one time. It seemed to be a logical thing to do.

"It is okay to communicate these things in a relationship. If anything, the relationship will be stronger if you communicate how you feel and what you expect." Mr. Roslin said.

"You're right. I just.. I don't know. Wouldn't it be awkward to talk about those things?" You asked.

"It's only awkward if you want it to be, remember that. You could always phrase it something like.. 'I wanted to talk about our relationship. Where are you and I right now? Are we still dating, or are we looking for something more?'. Most importantly, let them know how you feel. If you're afraid, let them know." He said.

"Okay, I'll try those things." You agreed.

"Perfect! Unless you have anything else to discuss with me I'll write you in for another two weeks from now.  Does that sound good?" He asked.

"That sounds great Mr. Roslin, thanks for everything today." You said.

"No problem, take care (Y/N)." He said.

You walked out of the office and made your way to the curb where Jensen had parked his truck. You hopped inside and exhaled in relief.

"Well? How did it go?" Jensen asked.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad. He's pretty helpful; although I didn't expect homework." You said.

"Hey, taking care of yourself is hard work." He said, cupping your face in his hands. "And you've already taken the first step; you're doing great." 

You smiled and glanced at his lips before quickly giving them a peck. 

"Hey Jensen?" You asked.

"Yeah hun?" He responded.

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about." You said.

"Like what?" He asked, gently pulling away from you.

"Us. I wasn't sure for a bit, but I think I'm scared. Something always goes wrong in my life, and I would hate for it to be us. I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I'm just unsure. I mean, I can tell you like me, but in what way? Where are we taking this? Is  it even going to go anywhere?" You asked.

Jensen was taken aback at all this information at once; he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, uh. I guess we do need to talk." He said. "To repeat what you said: yes, I do like you. Hell, I like you a lot. That part, is never going to change, as far as I can tell. We can go wherever you want with this. If you want it to be a fling, let it be a fling. Although, I would really prefer something more than that." Jensen explained.

"Wait.. you would?" You asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay with you of course." Jensen said.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” You said.

You grabbed Jensen’s face gently and gave him a passionate kiss, pouring all of your emotions into him. He responded gently, meeting the same level of passion without being too rough. In that moment, everything felt good. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but you had faith in both the man in front of you and where he was guiding you.

End

[astrovian]

Richard Armitage & Shaun Dooley on The Red Production Company Podcast for the Stranger - Transcript

Unfortunately the video is too long/too big a file for me to post directly but the video can be accessed online here

Transcript under cut

Interviewer: Welcome to another episode of the Red Production Company Podcast. I’ve got the wonderful Sean Dooley and Richard Armitage with me. Lead actors in The Stranger. So Sean, as you’re closest to me, let’s start with you. How did – how did you get started in acting? What was the uh… path?

SD: Which camera? Straight down that one? Ah, no, joking. Well, um, I was a young child and Richard Armitage was in his twenties, and he came into my school and did a talk *Laugh* That didn’t happen.

RA: *Laugh* I’m not gonna tell you who came to my school and taught me.

SD: *Laugh* Um, er…right, basically, in a nutshell because I know we haven’t got long, um, I failed miserably at being a vet.

Interviewer: Mm-hmm.

SD: At being a – uh… or marine biology, or whatever I could go into to do with animals. Failed everything, failed my GCSEs, um, I should have gotten all the sciences and everything, and I went to put in exams, I suffered really badly with the uh… the nerves, tension, when I was going into kind of exam situations. So I would get into exams and just clam up and not be able to do anything for the – for the whole exam. Whereas my course work was all A’s and that, so I got one GCSE, um, and a C instead of 8. And um, so basically consequently my whole career trajectory was done and over. You’re gonna put violins behind this, by the way, yeah?

Interviewer: Yes, yeah, of course.

SD: Good.

RA: I’ve actually got a single tear coming down.

SD: *Laugh*

Interviewer: *Laugh*

RA: I’m just gonna wipe it away.                      

SD: *Laugh* He’s been saving that all day.

RA: *quietly* okay *sniff*

SD: And he’s heard it before.

RA: I haven’t actually, I’m fascinated.

SD: *Laugh* Um… and, uh…

RA: I’m just fascinated that you were a vet!

SD: *Laugh*

RA: You’d be really good as a vet.

SD: I’d love to be, I still wanna be! I want Attenborough to kind of go ‘He’d be quite good’-

RA: I always thought you were quite good with animals, aren’t you?

SD: Yeah, well-

RA: Yeah, stroking dogs, and – sorry, go on.

Interviewer: Stroking dogs.

SD: *Laugh* Stroking dogs.

Interviewer: Stick that on the CV.

SD: And uh, so yeah, basically the pits was shut in (?), which would have been my kind of next step, following my dad’s, grandad’s - dad’s, and grandad’s, um and… it was all gone to pot and I used to do once a week a thing with Barnsley Youth Theatre, which used to be around, y’know, once a week. And I went into them and I’d told them the week before about my – failing my GCSEs, and the following week I went in, and they said, ‘listen, we’ve had a chat. We, uh, think you should become an actor. And here is a play called The Caretaker’, that I’d never heard of, and they went ‘and this is a speech by Aston. Read this speech, learn this speech. Read the play. Get it under your belt, and we’ve got a date and time for you to audition for a B-Tech course in acting in Barnsley. And it – basically, I didn’t know at the time, but they’d handed me a life, in a way. Without that moment happening in my life, there is no way on Earth that I’d be saying – no way on Earth, it was never an option, it was never – it was never, uh, a career that somebody like me would’ve, would’ve chosen. Or thought I – I would be capable of doing, and still don’t really think I should be, but anyway. So they handed me that, I went to B-Tech, got into that B-Tech course, uh, went to my dad’s ­­­­­­---- first, and went, “listen, they think I should become an actor”, and my dad, in a very un-Billy Elliot sort of way, said, “You’re gonna be unemployed whatever you decide to do, because of the pits and everything, so you may as well be unemployed doing something that you like doing”. Basically, I was handed it by strangers.

Interviewer: Yeah.

SD: In a way. Which is amazing.

Interviewer: By The Stranger.

AR: *Laugh*

SD: Ooh, by- *gestures pulling off mask, turning to Richard* it was you!! No, it wasn’t.

AR: Ooh!

Interviewer: And then you went onto Arden-

SD: I did a degree, uh, in Manchester, and then left and was the only person to leave my year without an agent.

Interviewer: Oh, wow.

SD: So then I was like, rock bottom, totally pointless, all over, and then I did everything to get my equity card, which I was the last year that needed an equity card in order to kind of prove you were an actor, which I still think is missing today. I think should – y’know, I think something that it – it was invaluable back then, ‘cause you had to kind of graft to get there. I did theatre education for six months, I did plays in the middle of nowhere, just purely to get points. Purely to get my equity card, to then be able to say, ‘I am a legit actor, I can work’. I think it is – I do wish it was still there, I think, because it just – it means you’ve gotta graft, and if you’re prepared to graft, you’re prepared to go a little bit further than somebody who just goes, ‘oh, you know what, I wanna be famous’.

Interviewer: Mm-hmm. Richard, what about you? How did you get started in acting?

RA: Talking of Billy Elliot…

SD: You didn’t!

RA: No, I was, I was sent – for some reason, I can’t figure it out now, I was sent to tap-dancing classes when I was four. Um, so I don’t really have the memory of why I was there, um, I wasn’t very good, though I liked the music. I think I had quite good rhythm. But I was always being told “smile and look like you’re enjoying yourself”. And I got to about nine, and I – I suddenly thought, ‘why do they keep saying “smile and look like you’re enjoying yourself” because if I was enjoying myself I’d be smiling’.

So I kind of travelled on that line for a while, and I was bullied for it as well. The problem with me is that as soon as you try to push me down or say “you can’t do this” and “I don’t think you should do that”, I immediately push back. So I did – I’d decided really young that I was going to try to make a career out of it. Um, but nothing to do with film or television. It was always theatre. I joined the Scouts so I could do the Gang Show. So I ended up going to, um, like a vocational school in Convetry called Patson College, um, and then when I left that – that school, I hadn’t been to a big London school, and needed an equity card.

So I ended up joining the circus in Budapest for six months to get the points to get my card. Got to a circus, I didn’t have – I didn’t know what I was doing, I was throwing hula hoops at – at, um, skateboarders, and waving feathers around and holding onto ladders for jugglers and uh, but – but came back with an equity card, and then started going for auditions that were advertised on the back page of The Stage newspaper. And doing classes at the same time, heading towards musical theatre, which I did for probably four or five years. I was a hoofer. That’s – that’s nothing to do with animals, I know it sounds like it. *Neigh*

So yeah, I did that and then – and then realised I was still having that tiny voice at the back of my head saying “smile and look like you’re enjoying yourself”, and I’m like ‘I’m still not enjoying myself’. And that’s when I decided to kind of have like a little career shift, and I went back to drama school. Um, ‘cause I’d always been a reader from really, really young, and I’d always just devoured books, and I – y’know, I realised that it was my, it was the other side of my creativeness that was driving me, the sort of literary side.

So I went back to drama school quite late, um, at the age of 23. It’s quite late for drama school. But still, I was always focused on theatre, I didn’t in a million years think that anyone with my face and my nose, which was uh, referred to as ‘concord’ when I was a kid, belonged on a screen. So had no, absolutely no kind of aspirations to be on film in any way, shape, or form.

Interviewer: Following on from that, how – one, do you think drama school is a good place to go? And two, do you think it’s essential? ‘Cause I know a lot of young people, they will audition for drama school, audition, audition, thinking it’s the only way into the industry. So what kind of – how important do you think drama school is?

RA: I, um, first of all, I don’t think you have to go. And yes, I think it’s a good place to go. I don’t think they can really teach you how to act. But what they can do is teach you all of the skills that you need when you try to work in the industry, which is changing all the time. I mean – I think when I was at drama school, they – they taught me how to make my voice survive over, y’know, eight shows a week from a – for a twelve-week run, which, when it uh, y’know, when I did The Crucible at The Old Vic five years ago, I really went back to all of that training, ‘cause I was – I was about to lose my voice on the first preview. And uh, so all of that, those skills that they give you – but in terms of, uh, the instinct to be an actor, I don’t necessarily think anyone can teach you that.

Interviewer: Hmm. What do you reckon, Shaun?

SD: No, I totally agree. Um, totally agree. I think one of the good things about drama school is being in an environment, I ‘spose, with people who are all so, uh, y’know, striving to set off on that, y’know, that course. And also a place where you can fail, I think. I went back a bit at Arden and taught at uh, I taught naturalism and Stanislavski and all this – you wouldn’t believe that, would you? *Laugh*

RA: Stanislavski?

SD: Yeah *Laugh* And ‘cause he was my hero at drama, y’know I was a massive – and what I did love about my drama coach, and we did not do telly, we did one day, um, telly with a lovely lady called Maggie Ford, so when I did my first telly I had no idea what to do, ‘cause we were told – doing predominantly theatre, um uh… um, what we did do is we studied all the different practitioners of theatre, and we were left to then choose what you wanted to choose. And y’know you could all just pick little bits of different people, and theorists, and just take a bit from everybody you want, and hang onto that, y’know. So it was never forced that you had to be a particular kind of way. And I – I really loved that element of just finding all these, just y’know, Artaud, and-

Interviewer: A holisitic approach.

SD: -Brecht, and all these things, just going actually, ‘Oh, y’know actually’, it – it was nice to be able to have three years to be able to do that. However, saying that, a B-Tech course, I think, prepped me even better for, for life. Because in that B-Tech course we did – and do y’know what, annoyingly, I heard some kids talking, it’s become – B-Tech’s become a bit of a derogatory word now.

Interviewer: A B-Tech, yeah.

SD: And, and it’s become a bit of a thing-

RA: Is it because it’s got the letter ‘B’ in it?

SD: *Laugh* Yeah

RA: As opposed to-

SD: -A-Tech! And uh, which is really not fair, really. But uh, um in that course we did set design, lighting, and sound design, and – and across the spectrum, learnt – pretty much had a little walk in different shoes. Which was amazing. I think that, for everybody then able to leave a job, and y’know, Richard’s very similar on, on set, just to kind of go - respect for everybody else’s jobs within the machine of making something.

RA: I’m usually looking at everyone else, thinking ‘I wish I’d done your job instead of this one’.

SD: Yeah *Laugh*

Interviewer: Is there anything you’d dip your toe into on the other side?

RA: Ooh, I’m always fascinated with editing, um, but I love production design as well. I look at – when you arrive on a set and the, the detail just blows my mind. I think that’s a really interesting job, ‘cause you’re doing something similar to what we’re doing, which is creating the illusion of life which is so believable. Um, and I – I, originally, if I was clever enough, I would probably have been an architect. To look at buildings, and I look at sets, and I’m sort of fascinated.

Interviewer: So you kind of said that you like to take different bits of different methods of acting, different schools. What about you, Richard? Do you – do you do similar?

RA: Um, you know what, there are – there are, um, a couple of teachers that have crossed my path, or um, through my life, probably I can count them on one hand that I still retain um, all of the detail that they – that they teach. And I didn’t realise it at the time, but um, Di Trevis was one of them, at drama school she came and worked with us on our second term, and literally everything, everything I do now, there’s always something that she would have referenced in, in the work. Even when I’m reading an audiobook, structuring things, and uh… just, just the honesty of, of everything that you do. Y’know, it’s the two schools of, of – one is pretense, and the other is truth. And some people feel that – think that acting is turning up and pretending to do something, and the other school is to – turning up and y’know, convincing yourself that something is real. Uh, and I – I prefer to sit in – I think they’re both valid, actually! – but I prefer to sit in the one where I believe it’s real.

SD: Mmm.

RA: Um, and it, it came from that teacher, yeah. I’d really like to go back into a drama school and try and take everything that, that I’ve gained in the industry, and try and impart that knowledge to kids that, that are just starting out, ‘cause I think TV and film technique is, is something that – it’s so, it’s so kind of complex, and complicated and being able to sort of literally drop into the middle of a scene and pull out one shot from a – from a whole kind of, uh, scene of high anxiety or heart or humour, and to just find these pieces that you – you have to do it a lot on film. I don’t know where – where the technique comes for that.

SD: It’s hard, isn’t it, ‘cause you just gotta – it’s almost kind of learnt over the years in a way, isn’t it?

RA: Mmm.

SD: And it is difficult. I mean, I – we were – little daft things like hitting your mark for a, for a scene and not looking down at your feet, which you watch some of the old films, you beautifully see them walking to set and then go *looks down* and then stop.

RA: *Laugh*

SD: Yeah, but it’s beautiful, it’s really lovely. But uh, first – first time I was asked to hit my mark, I was scared for – I had to lose my mark if it keeps me in the job. Joke.

Interviewer: I only learned to split the difference about a month ago.

SD: Did you?

Interviewer: Yeah, I was – I had no idea what it meant.

RA: Split the difference? Brilliant. Do you know what, my first class, if I was to go back into drama school, and I’d be like – so the title of my first class would be ‘Hitting Your Mark on a Horse’.

SD: *Laugh*

RA: Yeah, I’d be – I’d be like, ‘bring your own horse and then hit your mark on horse’, so you had to get the horse’s feet on the mark so you’re in the right place.

Interviewer: That does sound like a skill that-

RA: I’ve had that a few times.

SD: I’ve heard that recently on The Witcher.

RA: Me too! ‘Cause you’re like trying to get their horse to hit the mark.

SD: And they say, “you can ride, can’t you?” I said, “Yeah!”

RA: Put the sandbag down for the horse.

Interviewer: So, um, is there kind of, any kind of specific advice you would say for someone who’s done loads of theatre, that wants to do screen, or is it so kind of… a myriad of things that… if they want to cross over. ‘Cause I know a lot of people want to do more screen stuff, but have come from a theatre background.

RA: I don’t think there’s – I don’t think there’s a crossover.

SD: No.

RA: ‘Cause I don’t-

SD: I think it’s just volume, yeah. I think it’s a volume thing. I think you still have to go – I mean, the beautiful thing about – God, if you could put them together, the beautiful thing about theatre is having three weeks, if you’re lucky, if you’re unlucky three weeks, which is what I’ve normally had, or if you’re lucky, six or seven weeks, to find the character, to develop the character, to work on the character, to find the through lines. Look at absolutely everything in minutia, and then get rid of it for theatre, that’s why I think we all love doing theatre. Whereas telly, you’re basically in your hotel room doing it, or you’re on your own. We – we, y’know, it don’t happen very often, we, we met up before big nights of filming to work together on stuff, but quite often you – you don’t work on stuff, there’s no place to fail in television, is there any more? We used to work with – when you first started you’d get rehearsals, but for me, I think it’s the same technique, you’re just still striving to sort of get that truth, still striving to be believable, and for yourself to believe what you’re saying, and to listen to what – somebody else talking, and how they’re effecting you. But it just happens, you’re on a stage, you’re doing that *gestures arms wide* more than that *gestures hands close together*, I think.

RA: Yeah, you’re right. It’s just the truth, but at a – at a larger scale. Something that I, that I struggled with really early on when I, um, starting out, when you’re a little bit unsure of what you’re gonna do, and what you’re capable of, and um, because I was always in a rehearsal room, ‘cause I was a theatre actor, there was – there was always this voice at the back of my head saying, ‘You’ll do it on the day’, or ‘You’ll do it when – when there’s an audience in’, or you’ll – and actually, something that I’ve, I’ve taken from TV back into the rehearsal room for theatre is that, in a way, television is like one long rehearsal. So every take is just another rehearsal that you commit to fully, so that when I’m in a rehearsal room now, I , I work as if we’re filming everything, and everything’s usable, even if, even if we’re not – there’s no audience in the room, you’re trying various versions of the scene. All of them are correct, none of them are wrong.

Interviewer: Yeah.

RA: Um, and I think if you – I think if you, you – you work in that way all the time, no matter where you are, um, but yeah, volume is – it’s, it’s – you still um, I think on stage you still can work in close-ups, because there’s somebody sitting three feet away from you, but also you have to – you have to gauge your body movement a bit more. If you put than on film, then someone would be like, “Whoa! What are you doing?! Back off!”

Interviewer: You’re probably out of shot by that point, yeah.

RA: Yeah.

SD: But also I think as well, in, in this sense that when you’re on stage, and I might be wrong here, but this sense that when you’re on stage you’ve got a – Stanislavski called it a concentration – you’ve got another circle that’s encompassing the audience, and where you’re stood and how you – where your physicality is, to where your body is blah, blah, blah. You’ve got a camera, which is one audience member looking at you, and I think that’s some of the technical psychobabble, and I – I don’t look at that and go, ‘that’s an enemy’, I, I enjoy – it’s always a third – y’know, we’ve got the scene, it’s always a third person that’s in the scene in a daft way, and I like the fact that technically we have a little dance around this, around this inanimate object that is, is one audience member looking at you. And I, I really like that. There’s a lot of people who it, uh, I think the thing is, if you kind of go all method blah, and shut that out, that’s like going on stage and going ‘Kadush!’ and putting a curtain down, and it kind of y’know, I don’t know. I’m probably talking bollocks, but-

RA: No, not at all.

Interviewer: The, the idea, it’s the implied narrator of the scene, is the camera. So, and – and that viewpoint impacts the – how the scene is played out, y’know. I did think about the idea, if you set up a 360 camera in a room to film a scene, it’d be completely different because you wouldn’t be having that snap viewpoint. Um, I think it could actually be impossible, but y’know, I thought with something like Twelve Angry Men, you could theoretically, ‘cause it was based on one long take, and see what happens really.

RA: It’s also – it’s very nice when you work with um, y’know, we get exposed to so many different types of actor in the career, but when you with with people that come from theatre, they, then – they never stop the work when the camera’s not on them. They’re – they’re always in the world, and um, I just didn’t – I really enjoyed that. And that’s the one thing about theatre that you don’t necessarily get on film, is that you’re far more in control of it, so when the play starts, you know that you’re driving it and you will continue doing this for the next two and a half, maybe three hours sometimes, maybe four hours. And um, on film there’s always someone else that will say cut and you think, ‘Ah, I was just about to have a moment!’

SD: Yeah!

RA: Um, but to be in the driving seat is actually quite satisfying.

Interviewer: Just moving on, as we are strapped for time, um, ‘cause you sort of said, you – you were the one that didn’t leave with an agent out of your drama school, how important do you think an agent is, especially early on? Is it get one as quickly as you can, or…

SD: It’s so hard – I think it’s so hard for people, this, the – the number of people who’re in drama colleges has upped, the number of charlatan agents that are out there who get kids who don’t have very much money to pay monthly so that they can be represented, which I think are just scum, to be honest with you. And take the money when you’ve earnt it, or take the money off these kids before they’ve earnt it is not fair. It’s a message to any of you out there, who may be listening. Um, sorry, I got a bit angry there. Uh… what was I saying?

Interviewer: Is it important to get an agent at the start, kind of as quickly as you can? Kind of a – a good agent, anyway.

SD: Oh, it’s so hard. I don’t know.

RA: I think-

SD: It’s the aim, ain’t it?

RA: -y’know what, I’ve seen many of my friends and colleagues, I’ve seen people function in the industry without an agent, um, it’s much more difficult. I think it – I think it’s crucial, really, to um, to creating a long and healthy career. You just – you do need somebody guiding you, because you – most of the time you can’t even get in the door without, without someone on your behalf knocking on it, with the right people. In a way it was – going back to drama school, one of the – there were two reasons why I went back to drama school. Because I didn’t have the confidence to, to move into an industry without the – in a way, the qualification, or the – the certificate, but I also knew that I couldn’t function in the industry without an agent. And drama school was the only place to really cultivate that, I think.

Interviewer: Yeah. Is there anything that you feel has changed dramatically from the start of your career towards the point now, is there anything that surprised you on the way?

RA: My face! I mean *laughing*, please, can I just like pick it up off the floor! It’s really hard to age on screen. Over, over twenty years. It’s really hard when you look like a-

SD: Can still see it, yeah, I know

RA: -my goodness. You’ve really got to embrace that side of it, y’know.

SD: I used to be the youngest on set! Always, for like ages, I’m always the youngest on set.

RA: Do you behave differently now though? Still behave like you’re the youngest?

SD: Yeah! *Laugh* I do! Um, what’s changed? What’s major things have changed?

Interviewer: Something that surprised you that you weren’t expecting about the industry when you kind of started out.

SD: I think we’re moving in a better direction now, towards more… is the word ‘inclusivity’? Is that a word?

RA: Yeah.

SD: Um, which I think is sadly lacking in our industry, and needs to be wrestled with – should’ve been wrestled with a long time ago – and different jobs, people being educated with different jobs, that’s starting to, starting to open up now to different people from different backgrounds, and I think that’s – as far as I’m concerned, the more you open up, the more talent you’re gonna get. And it’s as simple as that really. It’s nothing to do with where you’re from, or what you’re age – it’s y’know, you open up, you open your search wider, you’re gonna find better, better people. And um, so I’m glad about that. That’s a really good, positive thing. And even daft things, like the amount of female directors I’m now suddenly being directed by, and it’s just – it’s great, it’s really nice, ‘cause different people bring different things, and different backgrounds, different experiences, life experiences – they bring that to the table and they can’t help but make you - make it all better.

RA: Actually, there was something I wanted to add to what Shaun said, about inclusivity, is that um, no matter how – how much confidence you have or how, in my case, lack. Y’know, I always felt like a misfit, or an oddball, or that I didn’t belong. But I always – I always told myself that ‘you exist in the world, so therefore there’s a place for you in this industry’. I think anybody who feels like, “I can’t become an actor because…” – you exist. And, y’know, the job of filmmakers is to write about our life and society, and if you are a part of that, then there’s a place for you in the industry.

[eloarei]

A little rambling: on grief; and grieving a dog, a cat, an unborn child, and pieces of me that got hurt along the way. 

2300 words under the cut. 

It’s a very gloomy day today. I don’t usually mind; I like rain. But on a bad day, or a bad week, it only seems to insulate me in my own dark thoughts. That’s what today seems to be. I’ll work on fixing it later-- getting some exercise, sunlight if the clouds clear, making some tea. Should’ve done that already, but I forgot. Ate half a banana, at least. 

As I’ve complained about a few times lately, I’ve just not been doing especially well. When and why did it all start? It’s hard to say, but this ‘unwellness’ spell seems most potent starting April 11th (my anniversary, unfortunately, which is why I can remember it), when I came down with a gruesome stomach bug. Really haven’t been feeling right since. I’m really bad about being sick; it scares me and I handle it badly. I assume that’s part of what has messed me up. 

But grief is the other part, I think. Grief, and my being scared and worried that what caused it could strike again at any minute. Look, I’m... 32 now, and I’m sure that most people by this age have experienced profound loss. I’m probably not unusual, and I’m certainly not alone, but I think all the loss I’ve experienced is just piling up on me now, like there wasn’t enough time to process the new fresh ones before newer fresher ones came on, and so now even the old tough scars are aching. 

When I was a teenager, my parents died. They were old, and it was health problems. It was not a surprise, but that didn’t make it easier to deal with in freshman year of high school. (What made it easier to deal with? Rabidly cleaning out the fridge and watching Lord of the Rings tapes the neighbors lent me. That’s all I did for three days after my mom died.) It’s been a long time-- more than half my life ago-- and I do feel like I’m ‘over it’, but sometimes it just wells up, tears from nowhere. Maybe that’s just how grief is. 

A certainly had a good decade of my 20′s. I got married at 19, and had a pretty uneventful set of years. That felt normal to me. I do think, though, that the loss of my parents haunted me in that time, quietly. It influenced everything I did; it probably still does, if only because it changed the person I have become. But other than that, things were good, I think.  My dog Roxy died two years ago, when I was 30, not long after I got back from seeing my siblings for the first time in ages. She was violently ill, and died right in front of us as we were getting ready to take her to the vet. I think I’ve written about it. In fact, the next day I wrote a depressing fanfic piece, certainly as a coping mechanism. (It made people cry, so, mission accomplished, I guess.) I think that helped a lot. A few months later, my in-laws’ dog died too, while mom-in-law was on vacation, and that was rough as well. I wrote another sad fanfic about death. I really like both of these pieces, because they mean something, and they’re very raw. Furthermore, I’ll always have them, as tokens for Roxy, Ginger, and the little pieces of me they crushed when they died. I don’t know if the exchange is worth it, but it’s what I have. 

My grief over Roxy was gentle, as time went on. It didn’t bother me. I think I’d processed it well. I’d written out my feelings. I held her body in numb arms as my husband dug her grave. It was okay. 

In early 2020, basically on my 31st birthday (and right as Covid was happening), I found I was pregnant. Long story short, those were the densest two months of my life, where everything seemed to change so quickly. My thoughts and feelings could fill so very many pages; this is not the place I’ll leave them. The point of this particular story is that it didn’t work out. The baby ‘died’ not terribly unlike Roxy had-- violently ill, in front of me, with far too much blood. I passed out three times-- the real start of this current fearful nature, because I cannot overstate how very much I felt like I was going to die. I went to the ER; it was miserable, an ordeal I could say quite a lot about. I won’t, though. I have before, and I likely will again, elsewhere. 

This... This grief... I think I still don’t know what to do with it. I don’t think I ever will. Months later, I started writing a fic to deal with my feelings, though it took 90k words and many months before I got to the part where I could really delve into my trauma. And it has helped, I’m sure. I’m really sure. And I care about this fic so much, because like the others it is raw and real and it’s something I’d never have if not for my experience. Again, it may not be a fair trade, but it’s what I have. 

I don’t grieve for the baby. It didn’t make it far enough to even have a heartbeat. It doesn’t have a name, a gender. It doesn’t have a grave. We let the hospital take care of it. But I still grieve. I’m sad. Wrecked. I grieve what it could have been. I grieve the hope that was spent and lost on it, a precious resource that will take a long time to grow back, if ever. I grieve over not only my own disappointment, but my husband’s, and my in-laws. They’ve never pressured us to have kids, but they’re in their 60′s now, with no grandchildren. I think they feel... lacking, in a way. I understand. I feel the same (though different). I wanted to give them that. I wanted to have that. 

I still....?

I can’t say. I don’t know what I want. The event complicated my already complex emotions. I’m still waiting for them to simplify. Maybe they will, or maybe they won’t. 

I was alright for a while. Stressed enough because of Covid and family’s declining health. Then in early April 2021, just a year after the miscarriage, I got badly sick. Gross, but not what most people would call a real issue. But only a year after the miscarriage, when my body betrayed me and I was at its horrid mercy, this felt like too much. Again I felt like I was going to die. A week of near delirious fever and nausea; I’d have handled it badly enough in any other circumstance. 

As expected, I got through it. A horrible week, but just a week (or so). And then my dog Tobi died, just days later. 

This is it. This is the one I... I’m speechless about. The one I... maybe haven’t processed enough. I was just back from the edge of being badly, violently ill. I didn’t have the energy to write, physically or emotionally. And that just made it worse. I love writing. It’s my outlet (surprising, I’m sure). I wanted to write. I thought I ought to write. I needed to write. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t muster the words. I still... can’t. 

Tobi was... my baby. Not literally, of course. I didn’t conflate him with my lost child or anything. Tobi was 14. I’d had him since I graduated high school and got an apartment. Adopting him was one of the first things my husband and I did as an established adult couple, before we were even married. He was there, at my wedding. The photographer took a cute picture of me holding him before the ceremony. He was 11 months old at the time. Still had all his brown spots before they turned tan, then later white. He was there; he was always there. He was my entire adult life. And now I’ve lost him, the pup I had longer than my marriage (though soon we will outlast him). He was the big brother to all my other pets. He practically raised all the cats, and they adored him. (Tobi was a chihuahua, so they might have thought he was just another cat.) 

He was a sweet boy, who loved his mom and dad first and foremost. When he was little, he was scared of everyone else. Eventually he warmed up to strangers and friends, and in his old age he mostly liked to nap somewhere on his own. He was silly and playful; he always chased the cats when they wanted to be chased. It was a game they all loved. 

The vet... well, we took him in when he started to cough badly. He’d had a cough for a few months, but it wasn’t constant and didn’t seem to be affecting his quality of life much. But that day it was bad, so we took him. (We can’t afford frequent vet visits, so this was clearly desperate.) The vet took him and put him on oxygen. We had to stay in the car because they weren’t open for human guests. Then she came and told us a scan had revealed cancer, marbled through his lungs. He was suffocating. In fact, he wouldn’t likely even make it home, not even the two mile drive. We had to put him down. My husband and I cried like babies. We’d never put an animal down before. Generally speaking, we don’t really ‘believe in it’, if that makes sense. But faced with this situation, we had no choice. 

I didn’t see him again. I think that’s the worst part, though it would have been equally bad to see him, I think. And it was all so sudden. He was playing and chasing the cats the day before. Begging for treats of human food. Barking at the Roomba. And then I had to pay hundreds of dollars to say goodbye to him. It felt so unfair. I cried all day. My husband and I, we just went home and laid down and wept. 

But I still haven’t written about it, not in the way that I wrote about the others. For all that I wrote here, it doesn’t begin to encompass my deeper feelings on what it means that he is gone, and how I felt to have to make that decision. I have ideas. I think I know what I would write, if I could, but writing... still mostly eludes me. I may try. I probably should. 

I take a deep breath. I know I should sum this up and take care of myself, but there’s yet a little more to say. 

I think Tobi’s death is a large part of what affects me still, but several weeks ago I had what I could only call a panic attack. In the middle of the night I awoke, my heart beating rapidly, a horrible feeling of dread like certainty that all I could possibly do was die. It took over two days for me to feel mostly normal again, and then I still felt vaguely nauseous for two weeks. Then, just a few days ago, it happened again, but this time before bed. I could feel it rising in me, this indescribable sickness. It took several days ago before I felt normal. And this is where I am now. 

Sadly, a little while after the first panic attack, my husband and I failed to save a malnourished feral kitten. It was not a surprise, but yet one more reminder of the fragility of life, and how little I can do to keep death away from those I care about. This poor thing, it was so desperate to live, but nothing we could do could save it. I could have poured all my time into trying, could have scrounged up money to take it to the vet (when I should take my own cats, who all have colds), but I know better. I know... so much of the time, there’s nothing you can do. And now I’m trying to help what might be its siblings, a few cute feral kittens nearby. My favorite seems... a little lethargic, and not very interested in eating the wet food and meat scraps I sometimes bring by. I don’t think there’s anything I can do, if it ends up being sick, if it ends up being malnourished. I can’t bring it inside when it could infect my own cats. I have to care for them first. 

But knowing that it could die... it bothers me. 

And knowing that I could die. I could die. I’m too aware of that, on top of everything else. I hate doctors, so I never go. (Also I’m poor.) This toothache? Could be a terrible abscess. My brother went to the ER for sepsis from an abscess tooth recently! That’s probably what caused the panic, to be honest. But then... why have I felt so week? Is there a problem with my blood? Am I sicker than I know? Do I have breast cancer? My grandma did, and I know I should get it checked out, but it’s just ONE MORE THING. It’s always like that. 

And that’s... how I feel right now. Covered in ‘one more thing’s on rainy days and night-work schedules. Trying to take care of myself but not always knowing what that means. Lacking the inspiration to do the things I know I enjoy, because worry and apathy holds me back from everything. 

I’m okay. Really. No day of mine is ever entirely without merit, and I have plans to do most of the things that should keep me healthy. But the day is short when my needs and long, and the day is long when I’m paralyzed by apathy. 

So. I’ll just take it a moment at a time. And when I can, I’ll try to keep writing. 

[mk-tozier]

HELP| IT ONE SHOT

Help/IT ONESHOT

Losers are 15 here, Bev came back from her aunts because i can, x reader

warnings: swear words, a bit heated and just Richie being richie, sorta fluff? plot twist, kinda short because I’m just trying to get out some writing. ok peace

Here I was sitting in Bill’s room, carelessly staring at him, I have a huuuge crush on Bill. He’s adorable, he has a great personality and he’s just so ughhhh 😍. I sat up from Bills bed, sitting criss cross apple sauce. “So Bill?” I look down at my legs. “Yes Y/n/n” Bill says almost immediately, my name flowing with the sweetness of his voice. Something about hearing him say my name makes me flustered.

“I was wondering, do you u-um like anyone?” I ask looking up at him. Bill looks off to the distance for a second. “I don’t know, maybe.” He shrugs a bit. “D-Do Y-you?” “Yea, he’s the most amazing boy I know.” I smile slightly. Bill smiles at my comment. “W-well who is the m-m-mystery boy?” He asks beaming happily. This is it. I’m going to admit my feelings to him. Little do I know, I wouldn’t be the only one who would decide to do this. Before I could say anything the doorbell rang, echoing through the whole house. “I-I’ll get it, but y-you’re telling me a-afterwards.” Bill giggled and winked, swarming my stomach with butterflies once again.

Bill went downstairs and I waited patiently, sitting on his bed, smiling and thinking. After 5 minutes I realized he was taking awhile. I got up from the bed and began walking down the hallway and down the stairs. I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey Bill! What’s up it’s been taking awhi-“ I cut myself off seeing Bill and Beverly, lips locked, pull away. “O-oh.” I say lowly. “S-s-sorry, I didn’t mean to d-ditch you, this k-kinda just h-h-happened.” He blushed madly. Tears swell up in my eyes, I feel a lump in my throat. “N-no it’s fine Bill, I h-have to meet up with Richie at the arcade a-anyways” My voice cracks a bit. “A-are you o-okay?” Bill asks. “Yeah, you seem a bit upset Y/n/n?” Bev says worry In her eyes. “No, I’m fine, I really have to get going though, wouldnt wanna be late or Richie might kick my ass” I joke, faking a smile, running up the stairs, into bills room.

Of course he likes her, I don’t hate Bev, its the exact opposite. She’s sweet and funny, she’s soo beautiful, just the dream girl, perfect for any guy, I don’t exactly hate myself, but I’m obviously not enough for Bill. I grab my back quickly, wiping my cheeks and swallowing the lump in my throat. I go downstairs. “Bye guys” I say quickly before walking out the door, not even waiting for their goodbyes.

Time skip

“Tozier!” I exclaim, hugging him from behind. “Your day just got a thousand times better!” I giggled, trying to get the thought of Bill Denbrough out of my head. Richie turned around and faced me, looking down and grinning. “You bet it fucking did sweetheart.” I hugged him again, tightly, smiling into his chest. “I missed you Rich” I say. “I missed you too sweet cheeks.” He chuckled slightly. My smile died down as I pulled away from the hug. “You okay there y/n/n?” Richie bites his cheek slightly. When he says my nickname, its different from Bill, my name flows with the sweetness of his voice, meanwhile with Richie, My name just fits with his raspy voice, like a puzzle piece. “Y-yea I’m fine!” I fake a smile. “Don’t lie to me, I’ll beat your ass if you don’t tell me” Richie looks at me sternly. “F-fine.” My voice lowers.

“Bill” is all I can let out before I get the same lump in my throat. “Did he hurt you, I’ll beat him up, wh-what’d he do to you?” Richie’s eyes fill with worry. “No, not that. He, he kissed Beverly” I say lowly. He frowns looking into my eyes. “Your amazing doll and if he can’t see that, he’s fucking blind, Blinder than me. I need glasses and i can tell you’re beautiful Don’t be sad over a dumbass like him, I’d pick you over any girl any day.” Richie hugs me. “Thanks Rich.” I sigh slightly. “I just wish it were him who would pick me over any girl, you’re  my best friend, that’s different, obviously you would pick me.” Richie sighs lowly, biting his lip slightly, he looked hot with his lip tugged between his teeth,concentrated- ohfuckno, I did NOT just call Richie Tozier HOT. Okay maybe I’d be an idiot if I didn’t realize my best friend was cute, not only cute tremendously hot but I don’t like him, I’m just smart enough to know he’s got good looks. Richie put his hand under my chin, making me look up at him. “Then let’s make him jealous, show him what he’s missing, sound good doll?” He smirks, licking his lips slightly. I smile up at Richie. “Sounds great Rich, but how.” “Okay so you get a makeover right? Look like a whole art piece, not like you don’t already” Richie winks at me before continuing. “And follow my lead.” I nod and smile at him.

Time skip to a couple days later.

I rode my bike next to Richies. “are you sure this is gonna work?” i ask him. “Of course its gonna work, and if it doesn’t then its still a win, we get to pretend to date. I get to act like I’m with the most beautiful girl in the world and you get to act like your with me, the hottest and funniest guy ever.” Richie smirks. “yeah yeah” i roll my eyes, smiling. We pulled over by the quarry, about 2 feet away from everyone else. I got off my bike, laying it down next to a rock. “its way too hot out today, if we go in the water, there’s about 20 diseases we can get but if we stay in the sun, we could get heat strokes” Eddie rambles. “It’s hot out because of me and Y/n!” Richie exclaims. I roll my eyes again, this kid is something else. “shut up Richie” Stan groans. “Eddie we’ve been in the quarry billions of times and every time we come put fine, why are you still worried” i say, reassuringly. “you never know” He replies. “hes just making up excuses because hes too afraid to jump” Richie smirks. “whatever” Eddie says, going back to doing whatever. I look over to see Bill sitting on a rock, staring at me and Richie, i give him a small wave before turning around so i can undress, my swimsuit under my clothes. I watch Richie take off his shirt, his skin pale but slightly toned, he has slight abs which is confusing since the kid almost never works out. I eagerly take off my shirt and shorts/skirt, I feel eyes on me, i look over, seeing Richie looking me up and down. “eyes to yourself Tozier” I giggle. “Hey! I’m just admiring the beauty! Cant a guy look at his girlfriend!” Rich snaps. “girlfriend!?!” Everyone mutters from behind us, shocked. He winks at me. “called it!” Bev says. “its about time you two got together, the sexual tension is unbelievable” Sexual Tension? But there’s nothing between me and Rich, what is she talking about? This whole thing is fake. “Yeah seriously, I’m surprised you guys havent fucked by now” Stan says. What the hell are they talking about? But I’ve always liked Bill. Yeah, Me and Rich flirt all the time but there’s no feelings involved, right? I feel my cheeks burning, not from the sun either. Richie smirks, staring at me. “Who says we havent” He shrugs, the smirk staying on his face, as if it were glued there. “RICH!” I squeaked, my cheeks burning even more. “forget i ever said anything” Stanley gagged. “DO YOU GUYS NOT KNOW THE AMOUNT OF DISEASES-“ “yes we know, we know, and Richie is only joking” i roll my eyes. “Bill, you okay?” Ben asks. Rich winks and elbows me softly. “y-yea I’m fine” he replies. “you sure? You’ve been awfully quiet” Ben asks again. Richie nudges me again. I don’t wanna make Bill jealous anymore, what if this whole time, i only told myself that i like Bill to cover up the fact that i like Richie? No I’m just being stupid now, I’ve never liked Richie. Hes just my best friend and hes just helping me out, thats all. “i-I’m okay, l-l-lets just swim!” He says, smiling slightly.

Time skip

The whole time, me and Rich splashed each other and messed around, flirting a lot too. Richie dunked me under the water before pulling me back up, grabbing my waist, our bodies touching, our faces inches apart, his lower body brushed against my leg,holy shit,rich was hard. My face heated up, why is he hard, he doesn’t even like me.Just breathe, its probably just a teenage boy thing. His thumb rubbed circles on my bare waist, our faces inched closer,only about 2 inches away from eachother now, i felt his warm breath against my lips. This can’t be happening, worst part is I’m not stopping it. “RICH! Y/N! C’MON WE’RE GETTING OUT! WE’RE GONNA GET ICECREAM” One of the losers yelled. Me and Richie pulled away, both of us blushing, Richie blinked before swimming away. My face heated up thinking about what happened in the Quarry. Why’d I allow us to get that close. “H-hey Y-Y/n can i t-t-talk to you for a s-s-sec?” Bill asks. I look over at Richie, who sends me a smile. His eyes look sad, why would he be sad? This was his plan afterall.

I followed Bill into a small opening away from the losers. “I-i know I’m k-k-kinda later but i l-like you. It’s o-okay if y-y-you dont like me. i-i k-kn-know your with richie.” Bill admits. “actually I’m not with Richie, it was to make you jealous because i liked you but what about Beverly, I wouldn’t want you to lead her on, she obviously likes you” i say. “y-yeah i kn-know. the k-kiss happened o-o-out of nowhere. i t-t-told her I wasn’t s-sure of m-m-my feelings” He says. “w-wait...l-liked?” “yeah...i- i think i like Richie.” i say softly. “o-oh. okay..” Bill says. “he d-d-definitely likes you b-back. You sh-sh-should shoot your shot” i smile. “thanks Bill” “o-of c-course! G-g-good luck!” he says

I walk back over to Rich, who was trying to put on his shirt but was failing miserably, i giggled. He finally got on his shirt. “Jesus this damn thing hates me or something” He mutters, causing me to giggle again. “oh hey! sooo how’d it go with Bill” Richie smirks. “um...i actually rejected him” I say. Richies eyebrows furrowed, he frowned, but i could tell he was trying not to smirk. “why? i thought you liked him?” he asks. “Beverly likes him, it wouldnt be fair to her. aaaand I’m pretty sure i like someone else.” i say. “oOoOoO and who might that be” Richie smirks. I put my hands on his shirt, pulling him closer to me, connecting my lips with Richies. This was a Kiss waiting to happen, Richies eyes went wide but they soon relaxed as he put his hands on my waist, kissing me back. I pull away, out of breath. “does that tell you who i like?” i ask. “nah, i think you’re gonna have to try again.” Richie smirks. I roll my eyes smiling before connecting our lips once again. This kiss was much more rough and passionate, our lips glided against eachother, smoothly as if our lips were made for eachother, like puzzle pieces connecting. His tongue glided against my bottom lip, asking for entrance, i part my mouth slightly, Richie entering his tongue right away, exploring my mouth. The kiss got more heated and rough, both of us out of breathe but not wanting to pull away. “THATS DISGUSTING” Eddie yells. “hey lovebirds we’re gonna get icecream” Beverly chuckles. I pull away from Richie, panting. “we’ll catch up, i still have to put on my clothes” i say. The losers start to get on there bikes and talk amongst themselves. I grab my shirt and short/skirt putting it on quickly. “sucks those have to go back on” Richie winks. “RICH!” i squeak. “whaaat? I’m only telling the truth, I’d rather watch you in your swimsuit” he replies. I roll my eyes. “so...Wanna be my girlfriend?” Richie asks. “no because i just made out with you for no reason. Of course i wanna be your girlfriend Rich” i reply, he rolls his eyes smiling. “Now lets go before the losers forget about us!” i say hopping on my bike.

[silverlightqueen]

Writing’s On The Wall 

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

ghost!Jeongin x human!reader - comedy, angst, Jeongin will stop at nothing to make sure no one moves into his house and y/n is tired of it

Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary - y/n’s job as a real estate agent has always been easy. Selling houses in District 9 has never been particularly difficult - people line up to live in the famed ‘Spooky City’ - and y/n just has the gift of the gab, meaning she’s got the highest number of sales in the company. But one house, she just can’t seem to shift. It could be the tiny box room on the third floor, or the slightly beaten down garden fence, or the ghost that scares away every family that comes to view the house. Yeah, it’s probably the ghost.

Warnings: death, ghosts, stuff that looks like blood but isn’t, I think that’s it but please let me know if I missed something!

a/n: and here is the eighth instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I really hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading, you’re the best! please be sure to check out the previous parts and keep an eye out for the last part tomorrow! x

taglist: @kodzu-ken​ @cloudsgathering​ @silverlightprincess

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My heart gets heavier and heavier as I near 325 Sunshine Street, my mood souring when I turn onto the road. Don’t get me wrong – it’s a beautiful neighbourhood. If someone’s on their front garden as you drive past, they’ll wave and smile, and everyone is so generous, kind and friendly. The houses are all big and pretty, and I can see myself living somewhere like this one day, when I’ve got a family of my own. But now, whilst I’m a struggling real estate agent, this road is my personal hell.

Maybe calling myself ‘struggling’ is an exaggeration. I mean, I’m fresh out of school and my sales are already blowing my colleagues’ sales out of the water. It probably helps that my parents own the company, so they tend to give me the best houses to sell, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I am far from struggling. But this house, 325 Sunshine Street, is the bane of my existence. I’ve been trying to sell this house for months, and every time someone shows interest, it just gets ruined.

I pull up in the driveway, having a moment to collecting myself before I push open the car door, stepping out and smoothing down my pink skirt. I reach in and grab my handbag from the passenger seat before shutting the door behind me. I look up at the house, taking a deep breath, before heading up to the front door. I push the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door, wiping my court shoes on the mat as I shut the door behind me.

I hear a sudden commotion from upstairs, sighing as I head into the kitchen, and I decide to busy myself with the coffee machine whilst I wait for him to grace me with his presence. It doesn’t take him long to materialise, and I don’t even bother looking up when he walks in, just raising a hand in greeting. ‘Morning, y/n,’ he says sweetly, and I can hear the grin in his voice, just humming in response.

It started with little things. Taps suddenly running in rooms we weren’t in, or the back door creaking whilst we were upstairs. These things weren’t enough to put the customers off – leaky taps can be fixed, and so can dodgy doors. So then, when customers would come for their second viewings, things became a little worse. Flickering lights and glasses smashing. Most people would decide against the house at the point, but the slightly braver ones would be subjected to even worse. Doors slamming in their face, or things levitating and then flying at them. They’d leave the house running and screaming.

At first, I’d been a little unnerved, wondering if the house was possessed or something, but eventually, I just got annoyed. This house was taking up too much of my time, and totally ruining my sales stats. So I made a decision that I’d fix this problem, no matter what.

The next time I went was not for a showing, or an open house. I went by myself, and I sat in the living room, and waited. For hours and hours. So long that I fell asleep. When I woke, it was late evening, pitch black outside, but the lamp had been turned on, and there was a blanket on me. I came back the next day, and did the same, and there was a blanket on me again when I woke, the lamp on and a lukewarm hot chocolate on the coffee table before me. I drank the hot chocolate before making another one and leaving it out on the counter. When I came back the next day, the two mugs had been washed and put away in the cupboard.

There was someone living in this house, but I had a feeling they weren’t actually… living.

For weeks, we did the same thing nearly every day. I’d fall asleep after waiting for so long, and I’d wake up to a warm and bright house with the radiators blasting out heat and the lights turned on, a blanket on me, and a hot chocolate ready and waiting. Sometimes, I’d arrive to a book on the sofa beside where I sat, there for me to read, or I’d wake to my phone on charge because it had died. A few times, when I didn’t bring any food, there’d be a pizza or a burger and chips from the takeout place down the road waiting for me, and I’d always leave half. When I’d come back the next day, it’d be finished with the packaging thrown in the bin.

Around two month ago, I woke up to a boy with bubblegum pink hair sat on the sofa opposite me. His face was young and innocent, but a little sharp around the edges. I blinked in surprise a couple times before asking, ‘What’s your name?’ He was silent for a moment before replying in a small voice, ‘I.N.. And you’re y/n y/l/n, from y/l/n Estate Agents.’ ‘I.N., why haven’t you said hello to me yet?’ I asked, and he hesitated. ‘I thought you might be angry with me,’ he said quietly, looking down at his hands, and I felt my heart go out to him a little. ‘I’m not angry. A little frustrated, and curious, but not angry.’ ‘Curious?’ ‘Why don’t you want anyone to move in?’ I asked, and he didn’t reply for a few moments. ‘Because… I want to live here. Not with anyone else,’ he whispered, and I raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re a ghost. You can literally go anywhere you want, in the whole world, and you want to stay at 325 Sunshine Street?’ I asked, and he nodded. ‘There’s nowhere else I want to be, other than here,’ he replied, not meeting my eyes, and I sighed. ‘The thing is… the previous owner needs me to sell the house. They need the money,’ I said, and he looked up at me in confusion before realisation passed across his face, and I wondered what he was thinking. ‘Well… can’t I just buy it?’ ‘Do you have money?’ I asked, and he shook his head miserably. ‘So… no, unfortunately, I.N., you can’t buy it. I have to sell it.’

‘But you can’t sell it if no one will buy it.’ ‘No one will buy it because you’re scaring them off. So you need to stop,’ I said softly, and he looked up at me with pity in his eyes. ‘I won’t stop. I’m not letting anyone move in,’ he said gently, as though breaking bad news to me, and I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘So, if I can’t sell the house by a certain time, someone else will be given the house to sell, and they won’t be as kind as me when they find out a ghost is living here. They’ll call the Busters to get rid of you,’ I said, his eyes widening. ‘But… but I can’t leave. I have nowhere to go,’ he said, beginning to panic, and I took a deep breath. ‘I.N., the world is your oyster. You have so many different places to go.’ ‘No, you don’t understand. I have to stay here. Please, y/n,’ he begged, and I was taken aback. ‘But, I.N., there’s nothing I can do. I have to sell the house.’

It’s been two months since then, and the house is still not sold.  As you probably guessed. I even offered for him to move in with me, I was that desperate, but he would not leave that house, not for anything. And over time, he only got worse and worse. I’d arrive with potential buyers to find dead animals dotted around the house, terrible rotting smells hanging thick on the air, bees’ nests planted in the kitchen cupboards. And yet, when it was just he and I, and he’d materialise from thin air beside me, I never had the heart to shout at him. He’s looks my own age, and I just found him so tragic. A young boy who died and is now doomed to roam the Earth until he figures out what his unfinished business is, and is too scared to venture out into the world, so he sticks to 325 Sunshine Street. And so instead, I’d order takeout and we’d sit on the floor of the living room with blankets and watch a kids’ film together.

I’ve been getting a lot of shit from my parents – they just don’t understand why I can’t sell the house. It’s in the perfect location, and it’s the perfect house. But I can’t bring myself to tell them that even though people want to live in the Spooky City, they don’t want ghosts living in their houses. They’d probably get Busters into the house without another word, and I can’t let that happen to I.N., or whatever his real name is. He’s too… young, too sweet.

‘How many people are viewing today?’ he asks, jumping up onto the countertop as I hand him a cup of coffee. ‘Just one family. What have you got planned today?’ I ask tiredly, before taking a sip of my coffee, and he looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I… I’m not g-’ ‘gonna tell me, okay,’ I say, sliding into one of the seats at the dining table, and he’s just silent. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t, I.N., not today. I’m too tired. They’re gonna be here in about ten minutes, and I want to save my energy,’ I murmur, and he just nods, the air tense as we drink our coffee. I really like him, maybe a little too much, but my patience is starting to wear thin with this damn house.

We sit in a slightly uncomfortable silence, but I don’t mind, sipping on my coffee and collecting what’s left of my sanity for these potential customers today. When we hear the knock on the door, we both look at each other, I.N. grinning at me, and I can’t hold back the small smile on my face, rolling my eyes as he fades into thin air. I head to the front door, taking a deep breath and smiling widely as I open it, greeting the family warmly.

I let them in, and the kids are practically bouncing off the walls in excitement as I show them around the bottom floor, giving them the speech I’ve said enough times to be able to recite in my sleep. Everything’s going well, no dead animals or bad smells, and I can feel myself getting more and more nervous with each room I show them around, wondering what he’s got planned, but there’s nothing. We do the entire second floor, and not one thing goes wrong. I wonder if he’s decided to give up with scaring people off, hoping that, finally, this goddamn house will be off my hands. The family all seem to love the house, and I start to get a really good feeling about this.

And then we head up to the third floor, and as we reach the top of the stairs, my heart drops. There are little red drops on the floor, leading around to the bedroom, and I can hear the family whispering behind me as I continue on with my speech, trying to pretend that nothing’s happened. But when we step into the bedroom, I can’t really pretend anymore.

The words ‘GET OUT’ are written on the wall, massive bright red letters from floor to ceiling, the thick liquid dripping down in sinister lines. The family behind me are gasping, the kids screaming, but my reaction is pure rage, my fists balling up as I try to contain myself. ‘Is that blood?’ one of the kids asks, running into the room, and then I spot a bucket hanging on the light fixture. I feel time stop when the bucket tips a little, the kid stood just beneath it, and I act quicker than I ever have before, though it feels like I’m moving in slow motion. I grab the little kid, moving them out of the way and I feel the bucket land on my head only a moment later, liquid splashing all over my body.

I pull the bucket off my head as I take deep, ragged breaths, trying desperately to keep hold of myself as the family stare at me in shock and fear. They don’t even ask if I’m okay before they grab the kid and run, their footsteps thundering down the stairs. I’m silent until I hear the front door slam behind them, and then I scream, ‘I.N.!’

He materialises in front of me, panic all over his face, and I look down at myself, my pretty pink skirt and blazer set, my white blouse, my entire body covered in the thick red bloodlike liquid that’s on the wall. ‘Is this blood?’ I ask calmly, closing my eyes to try and keep myself together. ‘No, no, it’s this recipe I found on mumsnet, with corn syrup and food colouring and stuff. It wasn’t supposed to go on you, though, y/n, I’m s-’ ‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry, because you’re not. If you were sorry about all this, you wouldn’t have done it,’ I whisper, the boy looking at me with frantic guilt in his eyes. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t. I’m leaving. Someone else can try sell the house. I’m done,’ I say softly, stepping around him to leave. He grabs my hand and I wrench it away, not looking back at him once.

I hear him following me, but he doesn’t say a thing, not whilst I put our coffee cups in the sink and fill them with water to soak, not whilst I tidy my things away into my bag, not whilst I head towards the door. And then he whispers something, so softly I can’t hear, and I hesitate with my hand halfway to the door handle. ‘What was that?’ ‘I said… I’m Yang Jeongin,’ he breathes out, eyes full of tears, and the words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Everyone knows the Yangs. They were a lovely family who lived in Spooky City, just a couple streets over from where I grew up, and even if you didn’t know the Yangs personally, you knew of them, and how kind and generous they were. Their son went to my school – he was a couple years older than me, and he had this friendship group, 8 of them I think. They were the popular boys – you wanted them, or wanted to be them. I didn’t really know any of them except for the most popular one, Felix, who was known for his deeper than deep voice. I couldn’t tell the others apart, or even pick them out in a crowd, so I didn’t really know Yang Jeongin.

Everyone knew that that friendship group had bought a house together, the worst one on Sunshine Street, and had planned to move in together just after school. They spent months fixing it up, making it fit to live in, and they finished just before end-of-year exams. After exams, the Yang family went on holiday, and died in a tragic plane crash. It broke the boys to lose their friend, and they ended up not moving into the house. I never heard about what happened to the house but now, I finally connect the dots and realise I’m stood in it, with Yang Jeongin himself.

‘I can’t let go of my house, our house, that we spent so long on, that we put our hearts into. This was gonna be our home. I can’t let it be anything other than our home. I’m sorry, y/n, but I can’t. I’ve had to let go of my family, but I can’t let go of my brothers. They still come here sometimes – they just drive past and stop for a second – and I don’t ever want them to come here and see another family living in our house, our home. I know they’re trying to sell it, they think that’s what they want, but they don’t. They really don’t. They can’t let go of our home,’ he breaks down, tears running down his face, and I feel my heart breaking. ‘I.N.. Jeongin. I… I’m sorry,’ I whisper, lifting my arms, and he falls into them, and I just hold him, his choked sobs the only noise in the quiet house.

And then I wait until he’s calmed down a little before I take my arms from around him, holding his hands in mine and stifling a laugh when I see that he’s now covered in the fake blood too. ‘We won’t let go. We’re not letting of this house. I promise you,’ I say to him seriously, eyes locked with his soft brown ones, ‘I’ll keep hold of your home if it’s the last thing that I do.’