#i actually SWORE i owned the first book and read like the first 100 pages back when I was 13 or something

[revvethasmythh]

decided to stop being a fake urban fantasy fan and actually read the antia blake vampire hunter series 😔✌️ (<- woman who knows she's about to get herself into something she can't even begin to anticipate)

[hrh-prince-butt]

lazy mornings

have some disgusting tooth-rotting fluff. as a treat <3

-

“We should probably get up.” 

Alex groans, making no effort to move. He is laying so comfortably, his head resting on Henry’s chest, one arm draped across his body. Henry’s hand is in his hair, following his curls in little circular motions with his fingers. Alex doesn’t see a reason to get up, ever. 

“Alex, love,” Henry tries again, though he doesn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of starting the day, either. “We can’t stay in bed all day.” 

“Why not?” Alex demands, his voice muffled as he presses his face against Henry’s bare chest. Neither of them is wearing any clothes, he notices with delight. 

Henry sighs, tugging playfully at Alex’s hair. Alex opens his eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring through the bedroom window. 

“It’s 10 AM, already,” Henry notes, lifting his hand from Alex’s head to look at his watch. 

Alex lifts his own hand to Henry’s, lazily intertwining their fingers. “So?”

“Our friends are coming over later.” Henry moves both of their hands to his lips and gives Alex’s a soft kiss. “Did you forget?” 

“Ah, fuck,” Alex swears under his breath. He had, in fact, forgotten all about that. “That’s not until much later, though,” he argues, lifting his head slightly to look at Henry. He lets his non-occupied hand glide over Henry’s chest, giving him his best and most charming smile. To his satisfaction, Henry practically melts under his gaze. “We can stay in bed a little while longer, can’t we, baby?” 

Henry huffs and tries to look annoyed, but he can’t quite stop the smile tugging on his lips. It makes Alex smile too, and he has the sudden thought that if he isn’t kissing Henry on those beautiful lips within the next two seconds, he will drop dead. 

He hoists himself up on one elbow and leans in to kiss Henry, who drops his hand in favour of wrapping his arms around Alex and pulling him closer. Once they’re both out of breath from kissing, Alex lets himself fall down onto the bed again, regarding his boyfriend with a giddy sort of grin. He looks so fucking beautiful, sprawled lazily on the bed, aesthetically grazed by the sunlight that fills the room.  

I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, Alex thinks to himself, his grin only growing wider. I get to wake up next to this beautiful fucker every day. He is about to open his mouth and offer some embarrassing sentiment about how lucky he is, when Henry sits up, rubbing his face with a yawn. 

“I really do need to get up now,” he says, smiling briefly at Alex before standing up. “Nature calls.” 

While Henry is in the bathroom, Alex manages to untangle himself from the sheets and get out of bed, though it’s in a much less graceful manner than Henry. He rolls over the edge, and lands on the floor with a thud that startles a disgruntled yelp out of David, who had been blissfully asleep until now. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, before immediately feeling stupid for talking to a dog. He swore he would never become like those crazy pet-obsessed white folks who celebrate their dogs’ birthdays, but there are pictures on his phone of a certain beagle in an adorable birthday hat that proves just how badly he has failed at this. He 100% blames his boyfriend. It’s kind of incredible how many little quirks and habits he and Henry are accidentally picking up from each other. 

He can hear the water running from the shower, so he figures it will be a while before Henry is out. An excellent opportunity to surprise him with breakfast. Not that he really wants to get up and cook right now, but the smile on Henry’s face will be worth it. 

-

By the time Henry comes into the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower, Alex has set the table, ready with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, and is pouring a cup of tea into Henry’s favourite mug. The mug itself is really nothing special, but he knows the value it holds to Henry. It was custom-made by Bea, and sent to him during this year’s pride month - the first pride month where he was able to be openly and authentically himself. It has the words gay as a maypole written underneath an illustrated rainbow. 

“God, this smells bloody incredible,” Henry says, and there’s that smile Alex loves so much. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” Alex sets down Henry’s tea, as well as his own cup of coffee, on the table in front of them. Henry sits down, eyeing the sausages hungrily, but before he can scoop any food onto his plate, Alex comes up behind him, putting both arms around him and leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Love you,” he mumbles against Henry’s still-damp hair. 

Henry leans his head back to look at Alex, with eyes that are a fucking bottomless ocean Alex can’t help but get lost in. “I love you too.” 

They eat breakfast mostly in silence, but it’s the comfortable sort of silence that doesn’t need to be filled. Henry frowns a little when Alex gets out his phone to check the news, but seems to decide it’s not worth arguing about, and instead pulls over a book from across the table and starts reading. He’s still reading when Alex has finished skimming headlines for anything interesting. 

Alex watches him silently for a few pages worth of reading. Henry is too focused to notice, his brows knitting closer together in concentration. Every once in a while he chuckles or sighs or rolls his eyes and Alex’s heart swells with affection. 

It gets a little frustrating eventually, though, not being paid attention to, so he reaches out for Henry’s hand, the one that isn’t holding the book. “Baby,” he whines, and Henry looks up, with an eye-roll that’s now directed at him instead of the book. 

“Oh, sorry, love,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. “I forgot you go into panic mode when you go ten minutes without receiving attention.” 

Alex huffs indignantly, but he doesn’t really have anything to say in his defence. “So, give me attention then,” he says.

Henry finds a little flap of paper - a post-it note with a short to-do list scribbled on - and puts it between the book’s pages like a bookmark. “You’re a menace,” he says fondly, putting down the book.

“Thank you, darling,” Alex says, winking dramatically. 

That earns him a laugh from Henry, soft and crystal-clear and the most beautiful fucking sound Alex has ever heard, and he’s once again overwhelmed by the feeling of holy shit, I am so fucking lucky. This time he doesn’t waste time, he just says it, not caring if it makes him sound stupid and sappy. 

“I’m the luckiest person in the world,” he says, realizing with embarrassment that he actually does care a little bit about sounding stupid and sappy. He can feel his cheeks go red and he quickly looks away, down into his empty coffee mug. “I mean, you have a nice ass,” he mumbles. 

Henry touches a hand to his chin, nudging it up so he’s looking at him again. To Alex’s annoyance, he’s grinning smugly. “You have a nice ass, too.” 

[kpop-zone]

100% | Yeji

Warnings: bullying

Genre: pretty fluffy with a sprinkle of angst

Wordcount: 1,960

Request: Yeji Highschool AU: Yeji‘s part of the cheerleading squad but her grades aren‘t that good. Her teacher assigns her to a tutor who is the female reader. The reader gets bullied by the jocks and part of the cheerleading squad but Yeji doesn‘t know that (she‘s a cinnamon roll and would never). Yeji develops feelings for the reader and catches her getting bullied. When the jocks ask why she‘s defending her she just says „because I‘m in love with her“. 

“This is your last chance, Yeji. Otherwise, you’re out of the cheerleading team.”

The words of the teacher rang in Yeji´s ear like they were mocking her while she was walking through the halls of the school. She knew that she wasn’t dumb, but her grades just didn’t really matter to her that much. The only thing she really loved doing was dancing. She could spend all day in that old, smelly gym in her school, trying new choreographies for her team. And now her teacher wanted to take that from her.

But she couldn’t let that happen. In a heartbeat, she was willing to agree to her teacher’s proposition to try it with a tutor. Although she wasn’t keen on actually having to study, because if she was honest, she had just been winging all the test till now. But if it meant that she could stay in the cheerleading team, she would meet up daily with her tutor if it had to be.

She was on her way to meet with her tutor for the first time right now. All she knew was that it would be a fellow student. When she entered the library, she looked across the tables, searching annoyed for someone that looked like they enjoyed studying. But when she met your eyes, her breath caught in her throat for a second. She was pretty sure that you were her tutor, because opposing to all the other students, you weren’t studying yourself, but seemed like you were waiting for someone. But that wasn’t the reason, she suddenly felt like having a heart attack.

The reason was how the light in the whole room seemed to radiate towards you. How your hair fell in your face and how your oversized sweater made you look a little lost in it. It was a thousand tiny things that she noticed when looking at you and made her be glued to the spot, shamelessly staring at you. Confused you looked around you, making Yeji realize that it was creepy to stare at a stranger, forcing her to walk into your direction.

“Y/N?”

She asked with a smile once she reached the table, her confidence almost being at a normal level again.

“That’s me.”

You answered with a toothy grin and Yeji felt her face heating up, because you looked so cute.

“I’m Yeji. You have the difficult task to tutor me.”

She said while shyly looking to the floor, a little ashamed that the first thing you would probably get to know about her was that she’s a complete idiot in terms of school.

“Don’t worry, I’ve never had an uncrackable case until now.”

You answered confidently, patting the spot beside you for her to sit down.

The table became your regular spot three times a week. Because she was a catastrophic complete loss in every subject, you helped her wherever she had her next test and you actually managed to get her interested in some topics, because you didn’t just bluntly read from the books, but tried to use references to topics that Yeji actually was interested in. Which also led to the two of you getting to know each other pretty well. For every practice test in which she managed to reach 100%, you granted yourselves a break, getting something to drink and chatting about something else than school.

She got to know that you actually didn’t particularly enjoy studying but that it just came easy to you. Outside school, you liked to do completely different things than her friends from the cheerleading team. You didn’t care to belong to the popular kids that did reckless things and probably ruined their own future with it. You liked music, drawing and going on walks with your dog instead.

And soon Yeji found her outside school activities to change. She had never been a big fan of all the partying her friends did, but they were her friends, so she always tagged along. But now with you in the picture, she had alternatives. She canceled the plans with the jocks and other cheerleaders more and more often and instead decided to lounge around in your house.

The two of you would watch movies, play with your dog in the backyard or start random dance battles that Yeji of course always won. But winning was never the aim of it. After all, she just wanted to spend time with you. Share the important things in her life with you, while you showed her yours.

During all the fun that the two of you had, one little thing almost got forgotten. Yeji’s crush on you. While she tried to convince herself after the first encounter that it was completely normal to notice all those things about a person, it became harder and harder over time to deny the fact that she had fallen for you.

Yeji swore that she would tell you about her crush eventually, but she somehow missed the right time. In the beginning, she didn’t want to scare you away, because she was actually in need of a tutor. But now she couldn’t lose you either, because you were much too important to her in the meantime. So she would just silently steal glances at you. When you overflowed of happiness when she managed to get 100% on one of her tests. Or when you simply just sat on the couch, reading a book. No matter what you did, you were always the most stunning person she had ever met.

You just never wanted to hang out with her in school beside your tutoring lessons. Whenever Yeji invited you to sit with her at lunch, you always said that you weren’t hungry. Although she knew that you were always hungry. Or when everyone was meeting up before a football game, she asked you to join them, but you said that you had to study. Which was a lie again, because you never really needed to study, being the smartest person, she knew. It made her sad, though. Yeji questioned whether you didn’t want to spend time with her friends, or if it was really her you were avoiding.

So she wanted to start one last try. The cheerleading championships were coming up and she wanted you to be there. She didn’t really care about the trophy, but she cared about you seeing her being good at something for once. So she tried to catch you after one of your classes. She knew that you were always the last one to leave the room, because there was always one classmate that needed you to explain something to them.

Therefore, she waited in front of the room, although most students had already left. But suddenly she heard a loud thud. Startled she opened the door to the class room, afraid that you might have stumbled and fallen, but what she saw, felt like a punch to her face. There were some of her so called “friends” standing in front of you, while you were laying on the floor. They must have pushed you, because you were holding your arm in pain.

“What do we have here?”

Troy, one of the football players said, while opening one of your books, suddenly ripping a page out of it.

“Who cares?”

He laughed loudly, continuing his vandalism, while some of Yeji’s teammates stood behind him, giggling like he was the funniest human being. Yeji couldn’t move a muscle. She was just looking in shock at the scenario in front of her. Troy suddenly snapped his eyes up, seeing her standing in the door.

“Hey, Yeji. Great timing. I’m just giving your little tutor a lesson in life.”

He smirked while throwing the crumpled-up pages at you.

Hearing her name, your eyes shot up and you looked at her with desperation and shame in them. Finally, rage instead of shock built up in Yeji, making her lunge forward, snapping the book out of Troy’s hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She growled at him and he actually flinched in the first moment.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Why are you getting all worked up?”

Yeji immediately helped you to your feet, checking you for any severe injuries, but she couldn’t see any. She ignored the mumbling of her teammates in the back, instead focusing on picking up all your stuff that laid scattered around on the floor. Until she suddenly felt a hand on her forehead. Troy had been lightly knocking his fist against it.

“Hello? Knock. Knock. Why are you helping this loser?”

Yeji looked at him with a death glare, erasing the smug grin from his face, taking your hand in hers, making you look at her in surprise.

“Because I’m in love with her, you dimwit.”

And with that she turned on her heels, pulling a stunned you behind her until both of you reached the schoolyard.

She sat down on one of the tables, still fuming in anger and not even realizing what she had just said. You on the other hand were standing dumbfounded in front of her.

“Are you?”

You asked shaky and Yeji looked at you the first time since both of you had stormed out the building.

“Am I what?”

She asked confused, not knowing what you were talking about.

“In love with me?”

You asked a blush spreading on your cheeks, making Yeji suddenly remember her words from a few minutes ago.

“I didn’t mean to say that...”

She thought out loud, internally facepalming herself for blurting her confession out that carelessly.

“Oh...”

You just let out and when Yeji looked at you, she could see the disappointment in your face.

“I mean, I didn’t mean to blurt it out completely unromantically like that. But I did mean it!”

Yeji was quick to explain herself and a wide smile appeared on your lips, making the sun look dull in comparison to your brightness in Yeji’s eyes.

“That’s good then, because I might be in love with you too.”

You said shyly and Yeji jumped off the table to grab your hands while standing in front of you.

“Does this mean, you’ll be my girlfriend then?”

Yeji asked, giggling like a little school girl, but she couldn’t help herself. You always managed to make her feel all giddy.

“I don’t think your friends would like that...”

You suddenly remarked with a sad face, wanting to pull your hands away, but Yeji tightened her grip.

“Y/N... Do you really think those monsters in there are more important to me than you? If I had known that they treated you like this, I would have never, ever spent time with them, even less always bugged you to join us.”

Your hesitance suddenly made sense to Yeji and she regretted not knowing earlier about all of this.

“Are you sure?”

You asked quietly and Yeji laid her hand underneath your chin, softly pushing it up so you looked at her.

“100%”

She stated confidently, pulling you into a hug.

“Just because we’re girlfriends now, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you during our lessons though.”

You warned her when you pulled back, making Yeji huff jokingly.

“Do I at least get kisses as rewards when I manage to pull up my grades?”

She smirked at you, but her smirk was soon replaced with a look of shock when you suddenly pecked her lips, instantly turning around to walk away.

“Nope.”

You yelled behind yourself, leaving a dumfounded Yeji behind who still couldn’t control her heartbeat whenever you were around her.

“I’m going to be in a lot of trouble...”

Yeji mumbled to herself, before chasing after you, grabbing your hand that you had held out for her to take.

[hyena-frog]

One of the most amazing scenes in Dark Age was when Darrow talked to Atalantia - he was broken emotionally after seeing his beloved wife and Sovereign trampled by the mob, but he never gave in, he still called out that devious bitch (btw, Darrow swears a lot in DA, that's how much shit escalated). It was glorious and heart-breaking at the same time. Darrow can compertimentalize his emotional baggage extremely well, but 😭😭😭 What are some Darrow DA acenes you loved?

That chapter was so hard to read. 😭 That chapter, and up until the moment when Virginia’s supplies finally arrived, was Darrow’s lowest emotional point in the whole book. (I nearly cried at the end of the chapter when he lay down to stare at the ceiling, clutching Pax’s key.) But Darrow kept it together, even while Atalantia gloated. I was fascinated that Atalantia complimented him (even though she was being totally gross about it), and said: “No betraying inflections. No microexpressions of grief. Simply obduracy, despite the dread clawing at the back of your eyes—a doomed army, a lost child, a dead wife... That is a Peerless Scarred...” (Page 283) Society Golds can call Darrow the “Slave King” and other derogatory things all they like, but even their dictator can acknowledge this lowly Red has a steel spine.

I like to think Darrow’s call outs both before and after Atalantia broke the news of what happened in the Senate got under her skin too. First he tells her she was Magnus’ least beloved daughter for her debauchery, then that she is afraid of Darrow and his army and of “becoming Pyrrhus.” I can’t help but notice the next time we see her private quarters, the meditation chamber has become austere and empty, almost like she took some of those words to heart and changed her frivolous decorations to something more in keeping with an Iron Gold. But that’s just me.

Compartmentalizing emotions is something Darrow does well, maybe too well, to the point even Sevro can get fed up with it (but that’s mostly on Sevro). But that trait is exactly what kept Darrow’s army afloat on Mercury. Even with his heart broken, he didn’t compulsively decide to give in to Atalantia’s demands nor did he decide to attack her in some suicide charge. He was able to think clearly enough to admit he can’t make an unbiased decision and left it up to his high command. It was both a sign of respect for his army and clear proof that he truly doesn’t believe in his own myth. He’s just a man. I think this is ultimately what pivots Harnassus to being 100% behind Darrow as leader. And what snaps Calloway out of his stupor after Orion’s death.

(Everyone swore a lot in DA. Shit escalated at an exponential rate. Darrow, Daxo, Core Golds like Cicero and Atlas. I’ve never seen so many “fucks” in this series. And little Electra got in a “cunt” or too. Whoever says Pax and Electra don’t act their age have obviously never met the same kids I have. 😂)

The simplest answer to your question about which Darrow scenes I loved, is all of them. I loved everything Darrow did in this book even though his story line was the heaviest overall. But I thought long and hard and came up with 5 scenes I enjoyed the most (presented chronologically, not ranked):

1) “We brush away light resistance at the downed Storm God.” (Page 134) I get such a thrill every time I read that line. It’s so funny (and satisfying) to read Darrow’s nonchalance after Lysander’s attempted stand against Darrow just a page before. Boy got his ass thoroughly thrashed. Meanwhile Darrow didn’t even know he was there. He had bigger fish to fry.

That said, this first point actually goes to the entirety of Darrow’s last chapter in Part I. Him running back and forth all over Heliopolis to help his army, to the point Harnassus thought the men must have taken hallucinogenics, because there is no way all of them saw Darrow during the battle, right? And Darrow having a heart attack from over-stimming and general exhaustion, but still wanting to fight. 😭 He’s so good. When Harnassus reached up to cup Darrow’s face, told him to rest, and that they will carry the rest, it was the first time I thought there was more to the man, which I’m glad paid off at the end.

And of course, Screwface’s legendary “Hic est Lupus, motherfucker.”

2) “Sevro’s Palace” — It was Darrow’s only moment of comedy in the whole book (aside from occasionally teasing Rhonna about Alex) and I cherish it. From Glirastes’ dramatics, to Rhonna refusing to go into Sevro’s room for the sardine side quest, to Darrow getting an ass full of needles because he didn’t think Sevro booby trapped his room (of course he did, boyo), to this part:

(Page 494) -chef’s kiss- It’s so good.

But then the comedy quickly turns heart-wrenching as Darrow is forced to truly reflect on Sevro’s absence for the first time since the end of Iron Gold. We learn a lot about Sevro through Darrow’s eyes, like Sevro’s soul being his armory, that is, his family. How Sevro being raised by an absent warlord affected him and informed his decision to leave for Luna. How Darrow understands the decision even if he doesn’t agree with it.

What ultimately gut-punched me good was how seeing Sevro’s soul laid bare like that made Darrow resolve to ask for his forgiveness, and to be a better husband and father.

3) “Meat Straw” — The infamous “twitching meat carpet” line is disgusting yet everyone remembers it. Just like Darrow’s violence throughout the finale. Horrific but beautiful in a way. But I like the very end of the chapter the best:

(Page 691) Why? Reaper laughing like that was hot. I don’t have a deep reason for everything. 😂

4) This one is technically cheating because it’s multiple scenes but, I liked each time Lysander acknowledged how cool or frightening or cunning Darrow was. Here are a couple specific examples from the final battle:

(Page 693) Really cool imagery comparing Darrow to a tiger.

(Page 695) “Red acrobatics” 👀👀👀

5) The final showdown between Darrow and Lysander. What I like to call the razor jousting scene. The two of them on giant sunblood horses, charging each other down a dark street, is just the coolest mental image this book gave me. Even though Lysander cheated with that extra razor, and it resulted in one of the most tragic casualties of the book (Darrow’s razor). I’m glad Lysander got a shattered arm out of it. Plus, Darrow remained seated despite his own shattered arm and a razor in his lung, while Lysander went flying, the Pixie.

Thank you for the ask!

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 2 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic Masterlist

Set in the course of his Sixth Year, this story follows Slytherin’s finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.

'Dittany is a powerful healing herb and restorative and may be eaten raw to cure shallow wounds.'

Blaise had read that same sentence for the 24th time. Had counted each time his eyes went up on the page towards the words that were now permanently marked in his memory, yet so far out of his grasp. It wasn't that 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' was a boring book. To someone truly passionate about the subject it might actually be quite enjoyable, but it was a textbook and textbooks are not supposed to be entertaining. Unless you were a freak as Granger, but her distorted mentality was not his to judge.

Sighing, he rested his head on the table he was studying on, careful not to make too much noise. Madam Pince and her fine hearing were simply awful to anyone who merely breathed too loudly in the library. "One more time and if I can't do it then I'll try again later after dinner" he told himself, on the verge of despair.

He simply couldn't understand. Charms came easy to him, even Potions with Snape wasn't that hard to follow, even if he was a mess at teaching it: brilliant man and head of the house, but all over the place and really, really terrible at sharing knowledge. Even in his current new position as Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't that great, and that was the job he had lusted after, for years.

But flowers and herbs, those were is Achilles's heel. The worst part was that it seemed to come naturally to Bloody Longbottom.

Perfect asshole with his neat notes at the margins of his books and his terrible grasp of changing shit from their original form, but despite all that was better than a few of his housemates and studied hard to maintain his acceptable level in Transfiguration. Bloody moron who simply could understand what Professor Sprout meant to say even before she said it, who had the best grades in Herbology, who laughed tilting his head backwards whenever Saint Potter or one of his friends made a joke that was particularly funny, who seemed to be everywhere since their first Transfiguration lecture together.

Blaise was so screwed.

He had now begun to have a hard time concentrating during the class he seated with the Gryffindor, his mind wandering to the bloody fingers tapping lightly over the desk as he scrunched his nose up in concentration.

He was so bloody screwed.

'Rule number eight, if you can't get someone out of your head, make sure you're stuck in theirs also.'

But it wasn't that easy, was it? For one, despite being 100% positive of his sexuality, he hadn't told anyone but his mother, who was really supportive and immediately shared all her rules for landing a hot and rich husband. At that time he had laughed, almost uncomfortable, but now he was sure her set of rules was going to be a lifesaver, and not only when boys were concerned.

Second, he did not know whether or not Longbottom shared his likings and had absolutely no way of figuring it out. Sure, he had gone to the Yule Ball two years prior with the Female Weasley and hang out now with Loony Lovegood and the rest of the moronic Gryffindors, but there was nothing that betrayed his heart's true desires. He had no one in their circle to ask to, and was pretty sure that cute, shy, jacked, nervous and downright hot Longbottom, "damn Salazar why even his surname had to have such a sexual innuendo?", wasn't out or anything. Maybe he was still figuring it all out?

Groaning, he rose up to his feet, unable to concentrate on fucking dittany without losing his mind for one second more. Bloody Longbottom with his very nice ass made his way into his mind and suddenly Blaise's pants felt way too tight for his own comfort and he had to adjust his robe. He closed roughly his book, placing it in his bag alongside his notebook and pens and highlighters, avoiding Madam Pince's burning glare at the unwanted noise.

He began to quickly make his way towards the Great Hall, wondering what would be there for dinner and completely lost in thought. In the back of his mind, he could feel his mother's voice telling him 'Rule number twelve, always be conscious of your surroundings', but his brain couldn't stop wandering, his body relying only on muscle memory to not walk into walls.

Unfortunately, muscle memory wasn't that reliable when taking into account other moving people and objects. Which was why he had ended on the floor, landing on his ass and soundly cursing whoever was the bloody "pezzo di merda di doxy" that still hadn't learnt how to walk.

His mother was always controlled and poised and he had never heard a bad word coming from her red painted lips, but his paternal grandparents were a different kind of people. His grandfather’s favourite word was, alongside of other Italian curses, a very pointed minchia. He used it almost on each sentence, changing the intonation to accommodate a different meaning. Most of the time he added to the equation a variety of gestures that, given the situation, assumed a rather crude sense.

His Nonna was slightly more PG, preferred not to use certain words, especially in front of Blaise, but she still told her husband to fuck himself in whichever language she was thinking at the moment and taught him her fair share of Ethiopian hexes.

"You came onto me, genius" the idiot that had clearly gone into him said, rather angrily sounding.  "Ma porca di quella puttana" Blaise thought, of course his rotten luck would make him crash into the long legged Gryffindor he was just daydreaming of.

Remembering who he was and finally stopping acting like a ridiculous hormonal dork, he rose from the floor, trying to look menacing despite being the shorter one in this debate. "No, good sir, you appeared out of nowhere" he said, sounding sturdier and surer than he'd thought. He was rather proud of his impeccable composure, until the other boy spoke with a sly smirk on his lips, "Haven't taken my apparition exam yet so can't just do that."

Blaise's brain stopped working immediately. Deep down he knew that anyone, even someone as dull and bland as a Gryffindor, could surprise him, and so far the dumb dork had surpassed all his expectations, excluding the ones on Transfiguration. But he simply couldn't picture sweet, shy, formerly chubby, Schlongbottom as someone who knew how to talk back, especially with such an authoritative tone. The mere thought did funny things to his body.

Questions began to swim all around his mind: Was this real or a hallucination caused by his very recent fall? Since when did this bloody plant-head even know sarcasm? How was it possible for someone to become even more attractive?

Did Blaise mention that he was so fucking screwed?

"What, cat got your tongue?" Longbottom asked smugly, visibly pleased with himself.

In that moment Blaise swore off any possible feeling that wasn't related to hatred or anger towards the idiot in front of him. "I don't reply to morons such as yourself" he said, mustering a casual and bored tone he didn't know he had. "Bloody superb" he thought proudly as he watched the Gryffindor's gaze harden.

He suddenly didn't enjoy the turn their conversation had taken.

Longbottom then briskly shoved his forgotten Herbology textbook, "when did he even picked it up?", and stormed off to the other side of the empty corridor, towards the glasshouse, without uttering a single word.

"Great Hall's on the other side, idiota" he yelled at his slowly stepping away back, "You're gonna be late for dinner." Blaise couldn't care less, of course, but the impulsive part of his brain wanted to get the Gryffindor's attention for a little bit longer.

Longbottom stopped dead on his track, turning sideways to look back at Blaise and giving him the perfect side view of his backside, as well as of his front. "Ammazza oh." was the only thought that filled his mind before registering that the other boy was speaking: “Not that's any concern of yours, but I gotta get some Baneberry for my toad."

He was speechless. It was explicitly forbidden to take even the most innocuous weed from the glasshouses and classes, even during lectures to study them afterwards, yet this bloody Gryffindor marched towards the door as if he owned the place. He knew Longbottom had the best grades and was clearly their Professor's favourite since he fainted in excitement on their second year at their first class, but damn.

Astonished, he couldn't stop himself from blunting possibly the dumbest sentence ever: “But Professor Sprouts doesn't let us take any of her plants outside our designated scheduled time!"

The other boy had the audacity to grin, viciously and borderline dangerously and porca miseria it was getting hotter under his robe by the second. "Maybe to the rest of this school" Longbottom said, his shoulders squared and posture tense, "But I'm her assistant and have her blessings to do whatever the hell I want in any of the greenhouses, however dangerous it might be. So taking an innocuous plant for my toad isn't gonna get me expelled before I can say 'Quidditch'"

Blaise did definitely misread the look the Gryffindor gave him, thinking it hinted something while it was only meant as a superiority glance, and he was definitely thinking with his dick now.

Longbottom merely turned around, unbothered by his silence, and walked forward towards the glasshouse for the 2nd year, unaware that Blaise was still rooted on his spot, trying to regain his footing and willing his body to direct the blood back into his legs, failing miserably.

He was in such deep shit it would almost be laughable.

BONUS

When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

Glossary:

"Pezzo di merda di doxy" means 'piece of doxy shit' "Minchia" is a commonly used curse word, especially in southern Italy; it literally can mean both penis or vagina, depending on where you're from, but most commonly is referred to the female genital; it is typically used in the same way as the English 'fuck' to curse "Nonna" is Grandmother "Ma porca di quella puttana" again, another curse; literally is 'that fucking bitch' or something along those lines, but here it is used as an expression of disbelief, like 'you gotta be kidding me' "Idiota" is idiot "Ammazza oh", literally "Kill it oh", is the equal of a long whistle, mostly of approval "Porca miseria" is "that rotten luck", and is used to express discomfort or as the English 'holy shit'

I'm sorry for all those curse words! I deeply apologize!

Bonus: When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."

[eloqvents]

♡  ◟ °  ›   lucy boynton, female, she/her, twenty three   ⋯   ❛   thank you for applying to SEX AND THE TITTY, ELODIE MONET ! before we start this job interview, i would just like to go over a few questions. you said your best attribute was DEBONAIR, right ? well, word around town is that some people find you to be a bit more GUARDED… but, nevermind that. i’m actually more curious about whether you were actually caught DRUNKENLY SERENADING OUTSIDE OF YOUR EX’S HOUSE AT 3 AM last year ? oh, you were ? that’s unfortunate. on the bright side, i heard that you excel at COOKING …. so that’s cool ! now, one more question … your last manager said that you’re hiding THAT YOU PRETENDED TO GO TO REHAB TWO YEARS AGO BECAUSE YOU WERE PREGNANT, is that true ? — haha , just kidding ! they didn’t say that, i just read that about you online . anyway , you got the job ! ❜ 】 eri, pst, she/her. 

hello all ! it’s eri once again with another muse bc we just can’t get enough. anyway, please excuse how shitty this intro is going to be bc i am lacking sleep.

ok to start off, her parents are loaded so she’s very wealthy. original from la, her father was a well-known producer and her mother a stay at home mom. long story short, their marriage was a far cry from a happily ever after. growing up watching their parents fall apart, elodie and her brother latched onto each other and he remained her wall. it was painfully obvious however that their father favored the other, whether it be because he was the only son, or how musically and theatrically inclined he was... and she found herself thrown off to the side much like her mother, except a lot stricter rules set in place that she found herself easily breaking. curfew? forget it. no boys? she was sneaking them in all too often.... but even more easily having her girl “friends” over for sleepovers with no questions asked. she began resenting her father early on and it only grew the more rules, until finally she threw all caution to the wind and fell off the expected monet route.

by 15 she was known as the party girl. she did her school work most of the time, kept good enough grades to keep her parents off at least that aspect of her life. going out every weekend, never coming home on time or just refusing to answer her phone. she was a hellion, with no cares in the world, and she simply lived with no worries and absolutely no care or respect toward her parent's wishes. they virtually gave up on controlling their daughter by the time she was 17, clearly making her own choices and took no bother in chastising her as they knew their efforts would get them nowhere.

despite the dysfunction of the family, they did vacation to stone harbor every summer which had become some of elodie’s favorite memories of her younger years ( i would love any plot referencing her coming back every year and what not ok )

at 18 she had a choice. college, or follow her heart. new york was calling, as much fun as she had in la... it just wasn’t quite it. and new york was so exciting. the following summer she found herself back in stone harbor, unable to resist the tradition but instead opting to stay the summer..... except she never left. with all the fond memories she held in the place, and finally being far away from her family, she felt like she’d found herself. or at least the closest to home she’d ever had.

we gonna skip ahead to her getting pregnant three years ago, which is something she told no one (not even the potential father). the day she found out she was packing her bags and leaving stone harbor with no word, instead of leaving a note for her roommate ( plot wanted ) at the time, and sending out a group text explaining she had decided to go to rehab. it seemed like a good excuse, not a complete lie considering she did not touch any alcohol or substance during her pregnancy. she instead went and stayed with her aunt and uncle in london.

she went back and forth on what she wanted to do, spending her days swaying back and forth between keeping the baby and starting a fresh life or putting it up for adoption. but after a particularly painful depressive episode, she decided for the safety of both of them she had to give her baby girl up. this is when her aunt and uncle said they would take the baby in, not wanting to separate family, and it is a secret she’s kept in to this day.

coming back from rehab, she had changed. at first cold, extremely depressed, and she wanted to stay away from her prior addictions but within a few weeks she was right back into it. drinking nearly daily, taking whatever pills or drugs were offered, although she was much more cautious when it came to sex. becoming quite a bit pickier when it comes to men, however her love for women only seemed to grow.. likely due to the fact she could not get pregnant that way.

she’s had her ups and downs, about six months ago she came back from a few months at rehab once again after an especially harsh bender that landed her in the hospital. sobriety has continuously and still continues to be a struggle for her. she swore up and down that she wanted the help after begging her parents to pay ( not wanting to dip into her own hefty inheritance ) for her to go back, although within a month she found herself dabbling in other substances, occasionally taking a little too many of her medications at once, and having a drink, or two, or three....

while she was staying with her aunt in france, she spent a lot of time cooking with the elder woman and it became the most therapeutic thing to her... at least without getting high.. it’s become one of the only things that can genuinely distract her, although she does become a master chef when you add a little pot to the mix, but she hardly counts that against sobriety anyway.

personality-wise elodie doesn’t really hold back her opinion, and although she won’t go out of her way to avoid stepping on toes, she will try to make things as least confrontational as possible. in her opinion, life has shoved her around enough and she prefers to not allow anyone the excuse to do it too. but........ in those cases she will probably show her temper and make sure people know she isn’t going to be walked all over. she’s very upbeat, tries her hardest to be excited for life each day ( or pops an extra xanny if it’s a particularly hard day ). however.. her bad days are bad. if she’s down enough its nearly impossible to get her out of bed for anything other than a shower. some are harder than others, especially nearing the birthdate of her daughter delaney ( 2 currently ). 

a few more facts bc this is long uh: she writes a letter every day to her daughter and saves it in a special box kept secret in her room. she dabbles in poems and other types of prose, and has a goal of one day writing and illustrating her own childrens book in dedication to her daughter. she has a lot of money and could technically afford to not work, however she took a bartending job at sex and the titty for side cash and to send a monthly check to help support her daughter. and laaaaastly, she is kind of a hopeless romantic and loves romcoms way too much. she is 100% the type that believes very strongly in love but just ... sucks at it. she’s scared to commit herself but she’s also not afraid to shout from the rooftops ??? rn she’s trying to work on herself so 

oh and here is a playlist and pinterest for her even tho she wasn’t here for the task:)))

connection ideas ( plots page currently in progress )

an ex who she serenaded drunk at 3 am bc that rumor is definitely real

possible baby daddy

her old roommate that she bailed on, can be positive or negative

a best friend, like the blair and serena type ( minus all the fighting ... or not ) that can tell each other and count on the other for anything

exes in general, good, bad, ugly, any and all.

slow burn ??? or the one that got away ??? or maybe they just keep missing each other ???

maybe an enemy or someone she had a falling out with in the past

ANYONE SHE USD TO HANG OUT WITH IN THE SUMMER BEFORE ACTUALLY LIVING THERE. gimme them long term friendships / relationships

a good influence // the person who tries to help her not keep fucking her life up

alternatively .. the bad influence that encourages and participates in a lot of not so good activities with her

tbh i just want anything and everything so throw any ideas at me bc i’ll probably be in

listen i know i forgot like 239523852 things and rambled on too much but i just love her and could go on forever. 

[wearejustvisiting]

I wrote something!!!!!!!!!!

It has 2,990 words! 

It’s an actual story! 

With original characters!!!!!

I don’t know if it’s good, this is the first draft, but I’m excited and I want to share it with you!

It’s called ‘Gina and the Rain Fish’, it’s about this character named Gina who I’ve been developing for years. 

Gina Brennan blinked lazily, staring out of the glass sliding door that separated her from the rain pouring down from the bewilderingly gray skies. Rain on the shore of lake superior was different than rain anywhere else in the country, Gina figured. Not only did the sky go gray, but the entirely lake was a sickening black-green, and the beach itself reflected the gray of the sky. The only things that weren't turned gray were the trees too low to get wet, or the houses too bright to be anything else.

Gina absolutely hated the rain. It meant she couldn't sneak into the lighthouse, she couldn't go to the roof, she couldn't even climb trees. And what is life in the woods if you can't even climb a tree or two? Rather boring, if you asked Gina. It being the weekend meant the 14-year-old had nothing better to do with herself, so why bother doing anything but waiting for the rain to stop?

“Ugh...it just goes on forever...” lamented Gina, to no one in particular.

“It's been thirty minutes,” answered Gina's father from the second floor, sat at his computer, “It'l be plenty dry tomorrow, birdie.”

“I wonder if an oak sturgeon is out there...” Gina said, looking up to the staircase as she heard her father coming down.

Gina's father came down, speaking in a rush as his big glasses reflecting the gray sky from the windows, “Gina, you are not going out in this weather to look for sturgeon.”

Gina rolled her eyes, her own glasses falling onto her eyes as she crossed her legs, “Dad, I wouldn't have to go any further than the beach! You'd see me the whole time, just...just a quick walk, that's all!”

“No.” Gina's father said, his arms at his hips, “This rain is only going to get worse, and the wind is going to pick up.” He said, walking down to the coat rack by the door.

“Why do YOU get to go out, then?” Asked Gina, crossing her arms and pushing her back into the couch.

“Not that I get to,” her father replied, pulling a large orange jacket off of the coat rack, “Have to. Paul said the waves are gonna get bad, and I'm the one with the keys to the boat door. So I've gotta go unlock it. Then I'm gonna take my shift early.”

“Wait, what?” Gina beamed, getting up, “I could go with you! We could go together, you know I've always wanted to look in there, and maybe you could teach me how the doors work, and-”

“Regina, NO.” Her father quickly put an end to Gina's new found enthusiasm, “Maybe some other time, but not today.”

“Why not?” Asked Gina, indignant, her eyes squinting at her father, “you do it all the time, you always go out in the rain and the wind and-”

“REGINA,” Her father bellowed out, his eyes wide and his face stern, his angry expression not hidden well by his short graying beard, “It's done.” He said.

Very few things could tip the temper of Gina's father, but one of those things was his daughter's safety. Gina knew that he didn't mean anything hurtful by it. That he was just looking out for her, and that his yelling about this meant that she would be in serious danger…but it was rare for her father to yell. The sound of it was still jarring to her.

Gina just nodded gently, looking down, “...okay, dad...”

Gina's father walked closer to her and hugged her. “I'm sorry, Birdie. It's just...” Her father bent down to look at her face, “The storm's going to get bad. The wind is gonna be a mess...” He said.

“yeah, yeah, I...I get it, dad.” Gina said, sighing, “just...I can take care of dinner tonight.”

“I just don't want to-”

“To lose me like you lost mom, I GET it.” Gina said, slowly backing away from her father, “We've been through this a million times.”

Gina's father looked to her, a sad expression, once again visible through his beard. He went to the door silently, opening it, the sound of rain splatting to the ground apparent.

“I'll be back around midnight.” He said, before leaving the house and shutting the door behind him. He was gone. At least, for now.

As she heard her father drive off, Gina stormed upstairs to her room. She avoided looking at the pictures on the wall, the ones of her mother...she'd seen plenty of pictures of her mother two years ago when she went missing, and even more pictures when she was found on Mackinac island. Gina's father had a bad habit of holding onto memories.

Gina flopped down on her bed, facing the plum purple ceiling. The dark walls and dark skies provided little light, but Gina didn't need it. Every drop of rain tapping her window was a reminder. She hated this kind of weather. The cold was fine, and rain was lovely, but rain this hard and cold this bitter weren't good for walking. And the wind was picking up...not the most assuring noises. Gina assumed, at this point, it wouldn't be long until…

The power went out.

“UGH! THIS SUCKS!” Gina threw her pillow at the wall as she bent over digging for a flashlight. She figured she might as well get some reading done while she was here…

Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amadic Creatures...Gina must have read this whole thing 100 times. It was a gift from her grandfather. But she read it anyways. All the newer books were downstairs, and she didn't really want to bother. She turned to the page on Oak Sturgeon, hoping to glean some information she'd forgotten.

“The Northern Lake Oak Sturgeon is a large megafauna inhabiting the northern lakes of the North America and Western Europe. While they look similar to Great White Sturgeon, it is important to note that healthy Oak Sturgeon are a brighter hue of white than most Great White Sturgeon. The Oak Sturgeon is most likely brighter in coloration due to its lack of natural predators; even humans have trouble hunting them, as they are considered extremely dangerous. Oak Sturgeon prefer cooler weather, and are often seen by the surface when it rains heavily, though there is no known reason for this behavior. Because of this behavior, the Oak Sturgeon is commonly known to many as a Rain Fish or Rain Whale.”

Gina happened to glance out of her window, out at the lake. The rain was pouring harder and harder, and the sky was darker. It was as if someone had said something about the storm, and it was responding with anger. Gina, somehow, looked past that...and saw it.

The large pale mass in the water, near the surface...it was massive, at least the size of a school bus. Gina forgot what her father said, as well as managing to forget the weather….she quickly threw on her hiking boots, a pair of black cargo pants, wool gloves, a thick black sweater, and threw a large orange coat over that. She grabbed a plain green ballcap and put it on her head, stuffing her thick, wavy, sepia hair into her jacket.

As Gina got downstairs, she ignored the power flickering back to life, as she grabbed a pocketknife and her camera, putting a bit of a protective case her father had made her around it. Just a plastic shield, for the rain. Gina promised herself she would only stay on the hill above the beach. No closer. She promised...she ran to the door and opened it, shutting it behind her.

The wind was the first thing that hit her. Smashing into her like a wall, the wind was loud and coarse. Then, the cold, like little splinters hitting her face, soon turned to a large mass finding its way into every space of her clothing that it could to get to her body. Last, the biting rain, bad enough that she was glad her hat had a rim, and bad enough that she had to throw the thick hood of the jacket over said hat.

It was when she tried to walk that Gina knew this wasn't her best moment. The wind was whipping hard, and it was hard to move forward, but if that Sturgeon did what she thought it would this close to the shore, she knew she had to be there to document it. No one believed her when she said it, but she knew…

She knew those things could jump. And she was gonna get a picture.

Gina got to the beach, the massive waves bearing down on the beach as she got closer. She huffed, finding it hard to breathe through the amount of rain falling down. She was constantly using her gloves to wipe her glasses as she got to the wet, packed sand. She looked out on the lake, now big and black and terrifying in its size and speed. It moved like an angry, wretched beast. As if it wanted to consume Gina in her entirety. Gina saw not the white breakers, but gnashing teeth ready to swallow her whole if she got to close. She was dumb enough to go on the beach in this weather, but not stupid enough to get that close…

Until she caught sight of the white mass in the water, moving faster...she knew it it was going to happen, it was going to be soon. She grabbed her camera, getting prepared. She could have just done this from inside. She could have just waited for a day where the wind wasn't so strong that the sand was blasting her in the face. But she was out here now, and she was closer to the water than she should have been.

Gina had broken her promise to herself big time. Now her toes were getting licked by the surf as she followed what she swore was a fin. She snapped a photo, just a picture of the fin and back of one would be worth keeping. She followed it. “Come on,” she whispered to herself, “Jump for me...jump...” She said.

She huffed, coughing and sputtering after having breathed in some water from the lake as it splashed near her. The water was rising. She didn't care. “Come on...jump...jump!” She got the camera ready as she saw the fin disappear into the water…

“Jump for me….please?”

As if on cue...The Oak Sturgeon rocketed out of the water, straight up, and fell back into the water. Gina got a few pictures, including one of it spearing into the air out of the water. She couldn't contain her excitement, jumping and dancing, jumping almost as high as the Sturgeon did. She laughed, waving her arms, her eyes closed in joy…

Then, she looked at the water...and there were those gnashing teeth.

Ready to chomp down and devour her…

“Gina?” Her mother beckoned from downstairs. “There's a surprise for you down here!”

An eleven-year-old Gina Brennan walked down the stairs. Her birthday had just passed, and she was still clutching her favorite present to her as she walked down. Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amaldic Creatures had been gifted to her by her grandfather that year. But her mother promised that she'd be getting a gift from her this year as well.

“What is it?” Asked Gina, still a bit miffed that her mother's promise had yet to be fulfilled.

“Look!” Gina's mother held up a cardboard box, shaking it a bit. “It's your present. Came in the mail today.”

Gina beamed, taking the box. She hugged her mother tightly, “Thanks mom!”

“Wait until you open it first! You might not like it, it was Dad's idea.” Her mother whispered, jokingly.

“I heard that!” Gina's father interjected, to the delight of all present...”Go on, Birdie, open it up!” He said. “And...happy birthday.”

Gina ignored her father's hand ruffling her hair as she opened the box, gasping as she saw what was inside. “Oh my gosh!”

Gina lifted the box out of its package...a beautiful camera…

Gina's father spoke, “I know you like taking pictures, and I just figured you'd like to have your own. And to stop stealing mine.”

Gina put the box onto the couch next to her and turned around, hugging both her mother and father. “This is the best present ever!” She said, laughing as her parents hugged her tightly.

Her mother smiled, getting to eye level with Gina. “Now Gina, you promise to be careful with this? Make sure that it doesn't get damaged too badly?”

“Promise, mom.” Gina eeked out, beaming. She could barely talk when she was excited, trying her hardest not to whoop and holler so close to her mother's ear.

Gina's father clapped his hands together, “I bet you I could make something that'll waterproof that camera, but don't get it wet right now, alright?”

“I know, dad!” Gina mocked, hugging him fully and tightly. She then turned to the box, lifting it and rubbing the top of it.

“I promise to take good care of you...and to use you to capture unknown animal behavior so we can become FAMOUS!” She said. “...and I promise not to fully submerge you, even IF dad makes me that waterproof caseamathing, because that would just be rude.”

Gina opened her eyes...bleary...she couldn't see. Her glasses were gone. She rubbed her eyes, breathing heavily as she tried to regain her composure. All she felt was a biting, bitter cold. She dug her hands into the sand, blinking. She could see right in front of her, and the vague bleary outline of her house. She dug her left, then her right, then her left, then her right…

Her camera. It was missing. She couldn't find it, even looking back. She saw a black splotch floating in the water...and she stood up, letting a wave toss it to her. Gina grabbed her camera, falling on her back as she was once again knocked over by the wave.

She used her legs to push herself back away from the water, still too cold to bring herself to her feet. The rain was slamming into her, as if it were a million tiny daggers piercing every pore it hit. She slowly got to her feet, clutching the camera as a mother clutches a child, before walking in the direction of her home's outline.

Gina could barely feel. Hypothermia must have been setting in. She closed the door to her home and threw the clothes she was wearing off onto the brick floor of the foyer before taking a painfully hot shower to revive her dying nerves. It was painful. It was awful. She was sobbing. As every bit of scraped, scratched skin was hit with near scalding water, she felt every single cell of her body cry out in pain as it was brought from extreme cold to extreme heat.

But Gina Brennan lived. He sobs subsided, her weeping waned, her pain stopped. And for a brief moment, there in the shower, with the water off, there was nothing. No water. No rain. No sand. No cuts. No Sturgeon.

Just an aching silence. The kind Gina usually hated, but right now, loved more than anything. She stepped out, dried herself off, and dressed herself in black pajamas, sitting in her room with her camera and a spare set of glasses.

With her lights on, the decoration of the room was more apparent. Posters of bands and pictures of her and the places she'd been, anatomies of Amadic creatures on long posters in the room, and a flag on the ceiling, bearing the emblem for the organization which she wished to be part of some day; The Northern Department of Amadic Creatures…

Gina was focused on none of it. She was focused only on her camera...it would charge, and it would turn on. But how did the memory fare? Was she able to actually pull pictures from it? Was she able to see the proof of what she knew was true?

Gina's face rose into a large beaming grin as she saw the pictures on the screen of her computer...she couldn't help but do a little happy dance in her chair, despite the fact that she was definitely in pain. She laughed a moment, then sighed, looking at the pictures…

She paused. She knew they were there, and she knew she could see them...they were real. They were there. And yet...she looked at her hands, scraped from sand and water, once near frozen, brought to near burning. She sighed as she looked at them. Were those pictures worth it? Was being right really worth the pain she'd put herself through? Forty-five seconds of joy for nearly an hour and a half of misery and pain?

She slowly rose out of her chair, looking out of the window. It was Nine at night. Gina hadn't eaten, but she figured at this point dad wouldn't be too disappointed if she just ordered a pizza and left it at that.

Gina hid her clothes, wincing when she touched them with her raw hands. Walking to the ground floor of the house, she stowed her clothes away near the laundry, where she'd deal with it later. She slowly made her way back to the living room, stretching and cracking her joints before gripping the phone and sitting at the couch.

Before Gina ordered, she looked out of the glass sliding door...the wind died down, and the rain had become a drizzling pitter-patter on the glass once more. She looked, for a long while, out to the lake. It seemed it had calmed down.

The lake had won this fight, and it was satisfied.

And as Gina thought of what to order, she looked to the lake, and realized that despite losing, she was satisfied as well.

[kirawritesaboutevanstan]

The anchor in their lives - Chapter 1

A/N: First of all, Thanks for 170 followers, that is CRAZY! I literally just reached 100 and now I’m almost at 200?! *mind blown* That’s just insane. Thank you, thank you thank yooouuu!! xxxx 

Second of all, Here we go, guys! First chapter! I’m very excited about this series, but also nervous. I hope you like it.

( Btw, I feel like mentioning that Steve like totally looks like Cap in Infinity war because I am all about that look. And Bucky looks like him in Civil War, its not that important yet, but just to give you an idea. )

Summary: When two super soldiers lives get turned upside down, they move into an apartment in Brooklyn, trying to deal with their past and figure out their futures. So what happens when the apartment next door gets a new resident, one who has the potential to change their lives in ways they could never imagine.

The question is; Will they let her?

Pairings: Stucky x Original Character Annie (eventually)

Disclaimer:  This story may contain strong language, polyamorous relationships and (eventually) sex, mental health talks( anxiety, depression, PTSD and so on. If you’re not comfortable with any of those, you might not want to begin reading this series.

As always thanks to the wonderfully sweet @holland-stan-posts for all your help with piecing this story together, and of course your neverending support. You’re a babe x

Looking for the masterlist for 'The anchor in their lives? Well, look no further. It's right here.

Also interested in reading some of my other stories? Well, you can find them right here. 

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety. And a brief mention of Bucky’s tortured past. I don't think there are any others yet? Just sad broken Bucky..

Taglist is open.

Just send me an ask or message, specifying what you want to be tagged in. (permanent, any other character/person or this series) Or you leave me a comment that’s fine too. And I’ll add you.

Previously...    

Chapter 1:

STEVE’S POV

"Gooodmooooorniiiiiiing New york ciiiiiity. Ready for another day? God, I am hyped up this morning my bros. Last night a little lady and I went to town and let me tell you how great she was in between the sheets if you know what I mean" He stops and basically snorts at his horrible joke. "I mean proper bed gymnastics my bros. Her tits were the biggest I have ever seen like they were humongous and bounc-" Steve grunts and reached for the damn alarm clock to turn it off, but missing it entirely and instead pushing it off the bedside table shutting off the man mid-sentence. Why on earth it had decided to tune into that horrible radio channel was beyond his comprehension, but honestly, he had no idea how to change it. So every morning he got woken up by the same annoyingly enthusiastic voice yapping on about yet another nightly encounter.

He grunts again and turns on his back, resting his hand on his chest. Resting for a few moments before sitting up and throwing the cover off his body, then getting up from the bed and stretching his long body before shuffling out into the bathroom to take a shower. After a nice warm shower, he gets dressed and walks out into the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast. On his way, he looks over to Bucky's door trying to figure out whether he is awake or not. He can't hear him in there, so he figures he is probably out on the balcony.

He reaches the kitchen and starts preparing breakfast. After a few minutes of cutting fruit and making scrambled eggs, he hears a low, gravelly voice behind him. "Morning" Just the mere sound of his voice sends a shiver down Steve's back, and he turns around to face Bucky.

"Morning Buck, how did you sleep?" Steve greets him, already knowing the answer from hearing his screams all night, but he still felt compelled to ask him. Bucky shrugs and plants himself on a chair at the table. Steve doesn't say anything else and turns his focus back on the eggs and a peaceful silence falls over them. A few moments pass before Bucky breaks the silence.

"Do you have to go?" The hurt in Bucky's voice makes Steve's heart clench; he hates this part. This was a daily routine for them. Steve would get up and start making breakfast, then bucky would sit on a chair observing him, and he would ask him that heartwrenching question. Steve turns to face the brown-haired man who is sitting slumped over at the table, his eyes looking down at his flesh and metal hand in his lap. Bucky's whole body has shifted into the broken piece of a man that Steve is so used to seeing now. Although it still breaks his heart into a million pieces seeing him like this, so small and fragile like he could shatter any minute.

"Buck, you know I have to. We need the money" Bucky eyes swiftly meets his before looking down at this hands again. All Steve wants is to walk over to him and wrap his arms around him, but he knows Bucky won't let him. So he just has to stand there powerless to comfort him while his own heart, breaks in his chest.

"I know, but I just wish-"Bucky begins, but stops himself. Steve's hands itch to touch him, to give him any kind of comfort, but he settles with just telling him that it's going to be okay and that he will be home before he knows it. To which Bucky just nods and fiddles with his fingers. They eat in silence before Steve has to leave, leaving Bucky all alone in this huge apartment.

_______________ BUCKY’S POV.

As soon as Steve closes the door, the anxiety bubbles up inside of him. It roars inside him like a forest fire getting out of control, it eats up everything and burns it to a crisp, leaving him with the feeling of the crippling loneliness that has somehow settled in his bones. Steve leaves him here every day for hours, although he promised that he would never do so, yet he does so every morning. Bucky does know that he doesn't actually leave him and that he will be home again in a few hours, but still, he can't stop the feeling of abandonment from tearing through his guts. 

So as every morning he starts walking around in circles for a while, hoping to settle his anxious nerves but as every day it doesn't help. The only comfort he can get is something he swore he wouldn't do again, but yet he does every day.

Bucky march around the apartment, hands clenched into fists as he tries to convince himself that he can handle this on his own.

  "You've got this. He'll be home before you know it. Just relax" He mumbles to himself, hoping that if he just says it out loud enough times that he will eventually believe it.

 Spoiler alert; He doesn't.

He stops just in front of the couch, staring at the spot where Steve usually sits. He can almost imagine him sitting there drawing in his little book.

The book resting on his knees, which he has pulled up to his chest, the stub of a pencil in his hand as he moves it around on the paper. His eyebrows scrunched together in a little frown as he focuses on the page in front of him. Chewing on his bottom lip, the pink lip turning a little redder as his teeth bite down on it. He can feel his nerves settling and a peace flooding his mind as he gets swallowed up in his fantasy.

That is until a loud bang pulls him out of his head and he instantly stiffens again. His breathing picks up, hands clenched and the machinery whirs inside his metal arm as if to prepare for an attack, but it never comes. His mind is racing, and all the memories come flooding in.

Him in the damn cold chair as scientists poke and prod him. The restraints that dig into his skin, holding him in place, as they start up the machine, the one that resets his memory. He can almost feel the metal pieces on his head and the stabbing pain in his temples as it erases everything that he once remembered.

 He whimpers and his legs start moving on their own accord taking him to the place where he knows he feels safe.

He opens the door and walks into Steve's bedroom; he stops for a moment just staring at his bed. Then before he can stop himself, he falls down on top of it. Bunching the blanket in both of his hands, bringing the fabric up to his nose and inhaling the comforting scent of Steve. He rolls around on the bed wrapping himself in the sheet and blanket inhaling deeply. He smells like everything that is safe, a mix of fabric softener, a slight hint of sweat, a hint of his cologne and just the natural scent of Steve. It immediately calms him down, blowing out the fire burning inside him and quieting the haunted memories in his mind. This is where he stays the whole day promising himself that this is the last time. But he knows that it will happen all over again tomorrow.

Fin x

Next chapter...

Hope you liked it! I’m very excited about this series, and I hope it will turn out well. I'll do my very best to make it good!

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[indigo-streaks-in-her-hair]

sketches [ cm x r ]

fandom : Dear Evan Hansen

by : Victoire

pairing : Connor Murphy x Reader

summary : In which you are a gifted artist & Connor just so happens to be your unsuspecting muse.

word count : 4,519

warnings : Swearing

a / n : Here we are! I’m beyond excited to be sharing my first fic with you. I’ve recently gotten into DEH & really explored the characters as people, so I do hope the way I write Connor is enough for you! I had my ups & downs while writing this, but the result did prove successful.

Oh, & make sure to see if you can catch a hidden If I Could Tell Her reference in the fic! *winky face* I would love you for the rest of my days if you all could leave a like or maybe reblog! Feedback & constructive criticism are always welcome.

Biting your lip in concentration, your eyes carefully studied the sharp but somehow soft lines of his face. He was sitting diagonally in front of you, with a perfect view of his profile.

Why would you be drawing the infamous Connor Murphy in the middle of a calculus class, you ask? Honestly, you didn’t even have a valid reason except for the fact that he was absolutely beautiful.

His was a unique kind of beauty, dark & harsh & in all ways mysterious, but at the same time there was a sort of lightness to it, fragile & delicate.

It puzzled you sometimes, but you were still drawn to the enigma that happened to be Connor Murphy.

As your pencil scribbled quietly on the paper of your sketchbook, Connor dropped his own. You watched intently as he bent to pick it up, strands of his light brown hair falling into his eyes.

He quickly tucked wisps of it behind his ears, turning back to his previous position. He must’ve felt your burning gaze on him, because he quirked his head in your direction, his clear blue eyes landing on you. A part of his right eye, aside from being blue, was a rich chocolate brown.

You immediately cast your gaze down at your binder, open, but with none of the notes written down. You felt your cheeks flush. Without a sound, you quietly snuck your sketchbook back into your desk.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could’ve swore Connor cocked his brow just in the slightest. He faced back forward, drumming his pencil against the desktop. You were sure he was aware of you now.

Silently cursing yourself, you hopelessly propped your elbow on your desk, your head cocked to the side as the teacher’s words came in one ear & left out the other.

If Connor Murphy kept being this beautiful, you were 100% sure you were going to fail high school.

“Y/N this has to be ‘Connor Murphy sketchbook #3’ by now,” Alana flipped through countless pages filled with drawings of him.

“This is only the second one, Lana,” you stabbed at your salad, ending the life of a poor cherry tomato.

“He almost caught me today, & I was utterly horrified.” You let your fork drop out of your fingers & sighed. “I’d be dead if he ever found out I’ve been sketching him since the beginning of the year.”

“Well, you would sound like a creepy stalker-”

“Thanks a lot, Alana.”

“But,” she emphasized, “these drawings are really really good, Y/N. You really capture something about Connor that others can’t see.”

You couldn’t help but shoot your friend a small smile. “I’m glad you like them.” As if on cue, you see the doors to the cafeteria open.

Connor walked in, his hair tousled as always, & his bag slung across his chest. Sure, he was tall & looked lanky at a first glance, but under the fabric of his shirt, you could make out evidence of the slightest bit of muscle in his arms & torso.

Alana noticed you staring. “Please stop gaping at him like he’s Zac Efron or something, for god’s sake,” She playfully slapped your arm, reeling you back into reality.

You shut your mouth, your eyes cleared of their daze. “Right, yeah. Sorry.” You bit your lip, trying not to glance up at him as he walked past you & Alana.

“I will, um,” you struggled, “throw away my salad.” You cast your friend a look as you got up & picked up your lunch tray.

“I have history next. I guess I’ll see you after school?” You asked her. Alana nodded, a small smirk on her face.

“Oh god, please don’t give me that look,” you said to her as you began to walk away, slinging your backpack over your shoulders.

“IT’S THE LOOK PEOPLE GIVE WHEN YOU WASTE PERFECTLY GOOD ARUGULA, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. Turning, you shot her a salute before dumping your food in the trash & heading to your next class.

That night, Jared called you. At a very late time, to say the least.

You groaned as you hit the green ‘accept’ button. “What the fuck could you possibly want at three in the goddamn morning, Jared Kleinman?”

Jared chuckled over the line. “Welp, I can’t sleep. Actually, no. I have a project to do but I’m too much of a lazy ass to complete it so here I am calling you.”

“Can’t you just bother Evan instead of me?” you rubbed groggily at your eyes, yawning. “I’m serious, do you have a death wish or something? I’m way too tired to beat you up, but I will eventually.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m bored. Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll just talk to you. Ooo, about those sketches of Connor-”

You sat bolt upright in your bed. “How the hell do you know about those?”

“Someone found a few tucked inside a desk today. Eventually, they made their way to Connor.”

You felt your heart stop.

“Oh my god-”

“But don’t worry, nobody knows it was you. Just Alana & I.”

No one was there, but you imagined the eyes of everyone at school on you as you blushed in embarrassment.

What would Connor say? What would he think of you? What if he found out? What would everyone say?

You were so close to being busted.

“Jared, I swear, if Connor ever finds out, I will be publicly shunned.” You ran a hand through your hair, tugging slightly at the strands. “Jesus Christ, what am I going-”

“Hey hey hey, don’t freak out. You are a pretty good artist by the way-”

“Not helping, Kleinman.”

“Um, your interpretation of the tall, dark, & brooding Mr. Sexy Murphy is very detailed-”

“That doesn’t help either.”

“You know what-”

“Ok. I’m going to back to sleep & going to try to impossibly ignore what you have just told me while it nags in the back of my mind like a parasite. Good night, Jared.”

You hung up the phone & let out an even bigger groan than the one you let or earlier. “Shit.” You muttered to yourself.

You fell back, stuffing your pillow in your face. You let out a loud groan-ish scream, absolutely dreading school the next morning.

“I’m ruined. Demolished. Destroyed. I will die.” You panicked at your locker with Evan, Jared, & Alana.

“If he finds out anything, he will hate me for the rest of my days.” You sighed, letting your back hit your locker door shut.

You held your English books in your hand, your palms sweaty.

“D-Don’t think of it as the end of the world, Y/N,” Evan nudged you with his cast, offering you one of his sweet smiles. “It’s not the worst that could happen.”

“Yeah, & besides-” Alana began,

“-he’s walking this way right now & looking at you,” Jared cut her off, glancing anxiously at someone coming down the hallway.

You didn’t have any time to react, because Connor Murphy came right past you, his eyes lingering on you for a few hopeless seconds before focusing in front of him.

“Oh my god, I think he knows.” you breathed out once he was gone.

And so, in the days that followed the discovery of the Connor sketches, you observed that he would look at you more often than ever before.

He’d sit near you in class & steal glances at you every now & then, his eyes on you for longer than what seemed normal.

If you weren’t covered in shame, you would kind of like the attention you were getting.

But under these circumstances, this was probably the worst that could happen.

You had held off any sort of drawing for at least two weeks, & that itch to pick up a pencil was bothering you like crazy.

So, one day, you managed to snatch a seat at the back of the classroom. Connor was nowhere to be seen, but it turns out he was only a few minutes late. 

The only spot available was one in the front row, one that was far away from you.

As soon as class started, you pulled out your sketchbook, drawing silently.

You kept it concealed under your textbook.

Your pencil sketched lines & bases, the shadows of his cheekbones & the curls of his hair falling into his face.

His eyes were your favorite part to draw, they seemed infinite, like you could get hopelessly lost inside them.

They reminded you on the ocean, seemingly bottomless & hauntingly beautiful, just like him.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you were trying desperately to get his jawline just right. If you erased some of the dark shadow you had-

“Miss Y/LN, may I ask why you are drawing in my class when you should be paying attention to the lecture?”

The sound of your teacher’s sharp voice made you jump. Your head snapped up, meeting the stares of everyone in the class, including Connor.

Your pencil dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I was- I was just sketching something for art class.” You shut your sketchbook, your cheeks flushing pink.

You bent down to pick up your pencil.

“You better be sorry. One more time, & I’ll see you in detention, young lady.”

You nodded in understanding, the teacher turning back to the board.

Everyone turned around, the tension still thick in the air. You tried to ignore everything, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When you opened them, Connor’s eyes were there, gazing at you with curiosity & interest.

You stared back.

It turns out you were right. You really could get lost in those eyes of his.

Alana had a meeting with one of her teachers during lunch, so you had to sit alone.

Once again, you poked tirelessly at your salad, taking the lives of a few more cherry tomatoes.

You had a book in your hand, reading to try to pass time.

You were trying your hardest not to sneak a glance Connor’s way; he was sitting just a few tables in front of you.

You ate in silence, looking up every now & then out of pure fear that he’d simply march up to you & call you out right in front of everyone.

You had such a hopeless crush on him that you didn’t even think it mattered anymore.

You gazed up as one of the school’s football players entered the cafeteria.

Jason was quarterback & just so happened to be a huge dick. He held a football in his hand like he always did, & you lowkey judged the guy for carrying one around everywhere.

But in his other hand was the exact thing you had been terrified of for weeks now.

He was holding your sketches. Your sketches of Connor Murphy.

You dropped your book, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thump. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, your pulse racing.

You couldn’t do anything but watch as Jason strutted his way over to Connor, sitting alone.

Fortunately for you, your sketches had gained some popularity. Everyone in school was dying to find out who was that much of dork to see something beautiful in that creepy kid Connor Murphy.

You bit the inside of your cheek as Connor finally noticed Jason standing in front of him, shooting the football player a small glare.

Moving fast, you retrieved your book & stuck your head in it, shoving your tray of food away from you.

The next time you looked up, Connor was there with the pages in his hands, a look of confusion on his face. His face softened as you saw his eyes scan over your drawings.

You were frozen.

Jason stood with his arms crossed, chuckling. He playfully slapped Connor’s back before walking away to his next class.

Connor’s brows furrowed in interest as he shifted the papers in his hands. You couldn’t begin to interpret the look on his face.

He would study each one for about five minutes, & you could tell he was puzzled at the fact that someone out there was drawing every single expression on his face.

You had to stare at him now. You couldn’t peel your eyes off the way he was looking at your sketches. If he ever-

And just like that day in calculus class, his eyes somehow found yours throughout the infinite crowd of students in the cafeteria.

They pierced yours with a sort of glint, as if he knew that all those sheets of paper were your doing.

You blinked suddenly, turning away from him & clamping your book shut. You slung your bag over your shoulder, picking up your lunch tray with it.

As quickly as you possibly could, you stormed out of the cafeteria, dumping your lunch tray.

Maybe you could afford to be ten minutes early to chemistry. Just anything to get that beautiful stare off of you.

Connor watched you as you rushed off, his eyes trailing to the sheets of paper in his hands.

These drawings were beautiful.

Beautiful couldn’t even seem to describe them as he noticed every detail that he failed to recognize.

But somehow you had.

The wispy curls of his hair & the slight dip in the bridge of his nose, the angled sharpness of his cheekbones & the curve of his mouth.

There had to be a possibility that Y/N had drawn these.

They were, evidently, the art teacher’s favorite student. They’d won multiple awards for their art, even.

Connor didn’t know what to say. He had never seen himself in the way they interpreted him.

It was like they drew his vulnerability, the boy under the dark & rough exterior.

Y/N drew the boy beneath the heated glares & the harsh persona. They drew the Connor underneath all the ugly parts; at least that’s how it was to him.

Somehow, Y/N Y/L/N  had drawn the real Connor Murphy.

And the corners of his lips curved into the smallest of smiles at the thought.

Shutting your locker with a loud slam, you made some of the other people around you jump.

Muttering a small “sorry”, you pushed past the crowds of students trying to get to class, your mind clouded.

Everything in your head was Connor, Connor, Connor. Sketches, sketches, sketches. I am fucked, I am fucked, I am fucked.

Anxiety played a horrible part in your life, & even the littlest things could set you on edge & make you worry even when you knew you shouldn’t.

They made your hands shake & your chest ache like hell.

You scolded yourself for being careless with those sheets of paper; you knew you had a habit of leaving things behind.

And if the entire school found out, you’d definitely be shunned.

And if Connor found out, you were sure he’d be creeped out & never notice your existence again.

With all these horrible results playing in your head, you completely zoned out, & were shot back into reality once you walked right into something hard, your books & binder crashing to the floor, papers spilling almost everywhere.

You cursed. “Shit, I’m so sor-” you muttered as you bent to retrieve your things, your hands flying everywhere before people could step on them.

“It’s fine.”

Before he could even get down to help you, you already knew it was him.

That husky, but somehow velvety voice of his echoed through your ears with a thrum.

You looked up, & were eye level with the one & only Connor Murphy. You were lost all over again.

What lasted a few mere seconds felt like minutes to the both of you. He was looking at you, trying to find something.

Without knowing why, you broke away from his gaze, moving to shuffle your papers in order. He helped you, getting on his knees & handing you over some chemistry homework.

“Um, thanks.” As you took them, your fingertips brushed his ever so slightly, & you felt a zing of electricity zap its way to your chest.

You got up slowly, shifting the weight of the backpack on your shoulders. Connor did the same, adjusting the strap on his messenger bag.

“Anytime.” he seemed to shrug, running a hand through his messy hair. You smiled shyly in response, turning to make your way to the class you were already late for.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” You heard him call after you.

Did he really just say that to you? You turned back, fiddling with the straps of your backpack.

“I, uh,” you stuttered, balancing on your heels, suddenly nervous. But then again, when were you not around him?

“Um, yeah.” You shot Connor another attempt at a smile. “I’ll see you around, Connor.” You raised your hand in a small wave, swallowing your anxiousness.

You turned & took a deep breath before making your way to class.

Jesus Christ, he really did just say that to you.

Connor swore once you were out of sight, cursing his social awkwardness. He didn’t want you to feel anxious around him, he really didn’t.

If anything, he wanted to get to know you. But you were probably onto him for knowing about him knowing about your sketches.

God, it was all so complicated.

For once in his sad & seemingly imperfect life, he liked someone. He wanted someone, & that someone was you.

His fascination with you started when you both entered high school in the same grade. He thought you were subtle, if that ever was a good quality. Connor liked the way you smiled & laughed & bit your lip whenever you tried to conceal your infectious grins.

He thought you were perfect, unlike him. He was always that creepy kid in the corner, with his messy hair & dark clothes. You were bright & radiated light, you spoke through your art in ways no one could.

Most of all, he thought you were real. You weren’t like most girls at your age, you were quieter & spent your time with a few close friends. You weren’t fake. You weren’t a wannabe.

You were perfectly content with being Y/N.

Y/N, who showed up to last year’s prom in beat up converse & spent the whole night alone with nothing but their pens & a sketchbook.

Y/N, who drew a mustache on the substitute teacher with a sharpie in junior year while he was sleeping.

Y/N, who in freshmen year received their first art award, beating out several seniors & a sophomore.

And Y/N, who had managed to fascinate Connor within the course of four whole years of high school. They were always quiet in class, their pencil scribbling either the notes on the board or spilling out their creativity onto paper.

Reaching into his back pocket, Connor pulled out the sketches he had folded up. From what he had seen; from seeing the way Y/N saw him, he was sure that sometimes the quietest people have the loudest minds.

You stuffed numerous textbooks into your locker, sighing as you tried to straighten them up in such a messy space. You stayed after school for an hour for tutoring. Apparently your grades in history were starting to drop, but so was your state of mind.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you took a deep breath before shutting your locker. You thought the hallways had to be empty by now, save one person.

You jumped once you saw him there, right next to you, as if waiting for something. Your mouth couldn’t form words until the both of you spoke.

“Y/N.”

“Connor.”

You bit your lip as he looked at you; of course you had to be much shorter than him. His tall, lanky frame stood before you, & he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

He reached into his messenger bag, slipping out the inevitable.

Your sketches.

You could feel yourself gulp & your cheeks flush red.

“Someone gave these to me a few weeks ago. I was wondering if they were yours.” He said to you, his voice surprisingly soft. The look on his face was sympathetic, but understanding at the same time. He unfolded the sheets of paper, revealing multiple different views of his face.

One was a profile portrait, & you remember how hard you worked to get the angles of his jawline soft but sharp. Another was a front-facing one; you had drawn him with strands of his curly hair falling into his face, his lips slightly pursed.

That was the only sketch you managed to color, working with oil pastels until you got the blue in his eyes just right. Balancing the blue with the rich brown in his right eye also proved to be a challenge.

The sketches were slightly crumpled, evidence of them probably being passed around. The whole school had probably already seen all of these, which only made the flush on your cheeks darken.

“I,” you couldn’t make yourself say the words. You could feel your heart pounding, like it would explode out of your chest any second. Connor’s gaze never left you, even for a moment.

“Yeah, they’re mine.” You finally said, not wanting to look him in the eye. It would all be too much. “I’m really sorry if you think I’m strange or weird, or if I’m obse-” You started to go off, listing everything negative that Connor probably thought of you, feeling your gut twist.

But not before he stopped you.

“No, no, no. Not at all.” You stared up at him in disbelief. Connor noticed the look on your face, speaking again to expand on his statement. “I mean, I don’t think you’re weird. These sketches are…” He stopped for a moment, as if debating on what to say next.

You did nothing but listen, hoping he wouldn’t think you a fool.

“They’re just…” He looked at the sheets of paper in his hand, his eyes skimming over every detail. “They’re so good. Amazing, actually.”

You couldn’t help but furrow your brows in confusion. “But I, I just thought…”

“That I’d be mad?”

You looked up at him & nodded. “I thought you’d hate me, & that’s the least thing I’d ever want from you, & I’m sorry If I…” You trailed off, not even noticing you were backing away from him slowly.

“I’m sorry if me drawing you is uncomfortable or anything, because I can stop & leave you alone & we can pretend none of this shit ever happened-”

“Y/N.”

Suddenly, his hands were on your shoulders, your name being spoken with such clarity that you couldn’t even begin to describe. His eyes were closer than ever before, & you could see the flecks of green in the blue of his eyes & the rich gold & amber mixed with the chocolate brown color you adored so much.

Curls fell into his face, framing his cheekbones like a curtain frames a stage. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, the feeling of his hands gripping your shoulders something new altogether.

“I’ve never seen anything like what you draw. It’s remarkable, actually. I’ve just, I’ve never seen myself like, like the way you see me.” He let go of your shoulders, stepping back, & gesturing to the sketches in his hands. He handed them over to you, & once again, your fingertips brushed, sending current after current of electricity through you.

You stood breathless with your sketches in your hands. “When people think of me, they think dark & gloomy,” Connor stuffed his hands into his pockets, “they don’t think of me looking like, looking like an angel…” He shot you a shy smile.

You felt heat radiate to your cheeks. “Connor, I-”

“You draw me, Y/N. The real me. The one that all these losers fail to look for.” He gestured around the halls with his arms. He took a breath & sighed, bringing his arms to his sides.

“I have no fucking clue how you do it, but…” He looked at you, his eyes skimming over your face for any sign of emotion. “I just hope to god I’m not making you feel weird with all these compliments, I’m sorry…” He gazed down at his feet, toying with a strap on his bag.

“I like you, Connor.”

You spat it out in the midst of it all, not being able to keep it inside any longer. This was the reason why you drew him every day, 24/7. You couldn’t contain it.

His head snapped up at your words, his eyes immediately searching yours for a reason, an answer, or something.

“I draw you because I think you’re beautiful & perfect without a single flaw, & because there’s nobody else in this goddamn hellhole who’s like you, or acts like you, or mutters stupid protests against school in calculus class like you do. There’s never gonna be another Connor Murphy who tramples over the school hierarchy in those same lace up boots every day, & I can’t help but capture every single-”

And before you could finish, his lips were on yours.

You felt his hands on your face, the softness, yet roughness, of the way he had crashed into you, the pads of his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He surged forward like a wave in a vast ocean, overcoming you like a tsunami.

He had loomed over you, the curve of his mouth slanting to meet yours with a violent crash, & you tilted your head up to meet this wave head on. His lips were warm & soft against yours, moving with a rhythm, much like a current in the water.

You were kissing Connor Murphy.

His fingers tangled themselves into the strands of your hair, deepening your kiss. You were hopelessly drowning in him, your breath being stolen away every time his lips captured yours, pulling you deeper down from the surface.

You were being dragged away, but you didn’t care.

Before it could reach a climax, you pulled away from him, resurfacing with your heart still beating. His hands were still on your skin, his breathing ragged.

“Connor,” You whispered, breathless. “That was-”

“I’ve been wanting to do that since freshmen year.”

You chuckled at his words, your eyes meeting the ocean blue of his own. He let his hands drop, although he remained close to you.

“You’re remarkable.” You muttered, moving to tuck away a curl of hair that had fallen into his face. “I hate it.” There was a playful glint in your eye.

Connor simply smiled, the widest you had ever seen. “No,” he counteracted, “You & your sketches are remarkable.” Shyly, he took your hand.

“And I love it.”

[marvelandponder]

I’m a Little Upset They Made Me Excited for Something Called Hascon

But, they did, and over the past two days (and counting! expect an IDW comic panel on Sunday!), they’ve released some spoilers and news that’s pretty damn cool.

No real movie news aside from Hype! It’s coming in 4 weeks! because they didn’t want to reveal too many spoilers for that (although I’m still waiting for Hasbro to step up its marketing game with this one), but aside from that, let’s see what news we got for MLP this weekend [if you want Movie insight, I actually recommend picking up the art book. I just got mine in the mail and WOW is the concept art ever pretty]! This is your spoiler warning if you don’t like that sort of thing.

UPDATED: TONS OF STUFF! Movie Screenshots, more season 8 news, IDW comics, and more!

MLP: The Movie!

Not much in the way of spoilers (you can read the novelization or the art book for those, I guess was their thinking), but have three stills!

Equestria Girls

New outfits, designed by an actual red carpet stylist, Carol Lam, for both the new doll line and the characters in canon

New Youtube series officially announced, and it’s Choose Your Own Adventure style! Expected in November

Shorts to continue, and one has even been teased

Another one was a “2 minute short about Sunset Shimmer drawing a comic and them animating it... based around [the] girls catching a jewel thief.”

School play is a concept that’s coming up. Whether in short form, 22 minute special form, or perhaps even movie (although please note there has been no explicit mention of an EG5, so lovers of the movies will have to be patient)

“When asked if there is a Sunset Shimmer doppleganger rolling around, one of the panelists noted that her pet theory is that it was always Sunset's fate to travel to humanland, and there isn't an original Sunset in the world. They are leaving this open in canon though.”

No plans for Discord in EQG at the moment, but who knows?

Find EQD’s report on that here.

Okay, so first off? Loving the new outfits. With any other teenager characters, it would be ridiculous that they’re so well dressed and styled (I noticed Sunset’s hair is juuust slightly different, can’t see the others well enough to tell), but for these girls, it makes sense, since they’re all friends with Rarity.

So, yes, Hasbro. I’ll buy your crazy marketing tactics for now, because cute outfits.

As to the Choose Your Own Adventure series, I think that’ll be interesting, but not quite as cool to me as stuff like the shorts, specials, and movies. Just a matter of personal taste, but the world-building going on in the Overpowered short, for instance, is only really cool if it has a lasting effect on the characters and their world (the report said something about a coal miners daughter wanting to disco, and while that sounds possibly cute, it’s not exactly my cup of tea).

But it’ll be fun to try, no doubt! And definitely cool for younger fans!

The post wasn’t super clear on whether the Choose Your Own Adventure stuff was the only EQG content coming to Youtube (we have been teased about a series, similar to the Hana Zuki show Hasbro has on there already), but until we hear otherwise, assume it’s just the CYOA series.

And a school play theme really does sound like it could be used for a movie or a special, if they wanted to keep doing long-form stories, so that’s what I’m hoping for, personally.

Oh and we still don’t know what these are from/for:

A currently unreleased summertime short, most likely a music video.

A Netflix listing we found out about back in August. This might be the place they feature the specials and shorts, but who knows?

Season 7 News

Clips were shown for next week’s episode, It Isn’t the Mane Thing About You (which might end up being a Pinkie and Rarity episode) and Marks and Recreation 

It Isn’t the Mane Thing About (better clip than the first that was released)

Marks and Recreation (featuring the last song of the season)

Find EQD’s report on that here.

In addition, have some stills from a promo yet to be released on the rest of the season!

Likely from Secrets and Pies

Likely from A Health of Information

Likely from A Health of Information

(Not shown: Applejack falling into the party cave) Likely from Secrets and Pies

From It Isn’t the Mane Thing About You

From Once Upon a Zepplin

Likely from A Health of Information

Likely from A Health of Information (mask modelled after Mage Meadowbrook, so this will undoubtedly feature her story in a similar fashion to Daring Done, possibly told by Twilight, from the earlier screenshot)

From Once Upon a Zepplin

From It Isn’t the Mane Thing About You

Additionally, I’ll point out what we know for the season 7 finale: that there’s a tie into the Legends of Magic comics, and it’s called Shadow Play parts 1&2. Whether “shadow” refers to the character Shadowlock from the main comic series or King Sombra or something else entirely, we’ll have to wait and see!

Okay, so the most exciting thing for me is that Vincent Tong, voice of Flash Sentry and Feather Bangs, gets to sing again! As a villain this time! I could make a joke about him embracing the role the fandom has given him this season (Feather Bangs, the waifu stealer, and now Rumble, the antagonist).

Oh and for those who don’t remember, Rumble is Thunderlane’s little brother, who appears in Hurricane Fluttershy. It’s been a while, but he looked cute there.

I wonder if Starlight will have any role in this episode...

The addition of the Cake twins is to Mane Thing also adds hype for me. I’m still on the fence with the episode concept, mostly because I need to see how they’re going to run with it (could be uncomfortable to watch Rares lose her mane if done wrong), but the Cake twins were extremely endearing in Baby Cakes, and it would be nice to see more interaction between them and Pinkie Pie.

This season has been spectacular so far, so I’m glad not too much was spoiled (or you know, leaked...) so we get to enjoy it in full!

Season 8 News

Seaponies confirmed for season 8, the Movie will tie into the show

An animatic was released as well:

Find EQD’s report here.

SHE RETURNS! 

I find it super interesting that Chrysalis is outright ignoring Starlight Glimmer while gathering DNA, given that she swore revenge against her. A large number of fans are speculating that this will be some sort of voodoo plot, where Chrysalis literally turns Starlight’s friends against her, like Starlight did to her.

Not only that, but if you look in the background of that animatic, you’ll find the mane 7 are in a suspiciously new building...

Some have speculated it’s Twilight’s new castle (meaning the crystal castle will get destroyed at the end of season 7, which is alarming because it’s connected to the Tree of Harmony). I feel like it might be more of an addition to her castle, either a school of Twilight’s own (hence, calling the rest of the girls Twilight’s “teachers”) or a house of diplomacy of some kind, like a U.N. building for the different nations that Twilight and company have been befriending (dragons, changelings, griffons, yaks---heck, even Sunset Shimmer could be considered a diplomat from Equestria to the humans).

It’s still a mystery...

Also, sea ponies! And they’re adorable! They translate to show style really well, actually! And it only makes you wonder just how many other things will carry over from the movie....

New info!

Look for a Cheese Sandwhich cameo

G. M. Berrow wrote a Season 8 episode she is super passionate about and her favorite episode overall. Maybe more book tie-ins like in "Daring Done".

Josh Haber's favorite pony is The Great and Probably Going To Be In Season 8 Trixie!

Derpy won't get a featured episode like Episode 100, but she will be around, likely more than season 7.

There will be two-parters, and that's plural, so it sounds like we return to the opening and closing episodes being epic two-parters. So expect You-Know-You that we saw in that animatic to be in one of these!

Things we already know about season 8 that you may have forgotten:

26 episodes confirmed

Orchestra music from the movie to be used in some of the season’s songs, which are all finalized by now

As well, there will be twice as many songs are there are in season 7, since Daniel Ingram’s time won’t be split up between the show and the movie

Discord confirmed

Josh Haber returning as story-editor

Mike Vogel returning finally after working on the movie

IDW Comics

This year’s holiday special!

For those of you who have listened to the Christmas album, that’ll look somewhat familiar...

MLP:FIM #60 Sara Richard cover!

MLP: FIM #61 Cover revealed! A collection of foreign dignitaries, from dragons, to deers, to cats/abyssnians, to gryphons! 

“The story is going to be a "united nations" type gathering where all the various creatures throughout the planet convene to discuss the future of the planet. So think a Meeting of the United Nations but with Dragons, Buffalo, Hippogriffs, Anthro Cats, and a pony who controls the sun with a mere thought. Oh but there is a discovery made at the conference that could lead to trouble for our little ponies! A problem that might end up costing Equestria ownership of Canterlot!”

Legends of Magic #9! Seems to be a continuation of Flash Magnus’s previous issue, if the cover is to be believed.

Aaaand a page from Legends of Magic #6! Yes, that’s right, zombie ponies drawn by Andy Price. If 28 Pranks Later wasn’t grim enough for you, surely the master of expressions will deliver!

Find EQD’s report right here!

Year of the Pony

[amazinglissawho]

My Actual Best Friend

So this is unedited and probably makes no sense but I just want to say something. The best friend I'll probably ever make is my friend Hatter and here's our story (Told how i saw it at least) cause why the freak not. (If your confused who I'm talking about I'm referring to @therealzombiehatter Basically it started in April(?), were not sure when; all I know was that it was while I was in Spring Break in 2016, he posted on his profile asking if anyone wanted to play 21 questions. And I messaged him saying something like, "Hey you said you wanted to play 21 questions."  And he said yes. So not sure if he knows this but I was a huge fan of his work and I thought of him as this "huge Wattpadder who is so cool and he'll probably forget me after this, though maybe we might become friends." Keep in mind I probably had no more than 30 followers (Which blew my mind) and he had probably between 100-200 at the time. To give perspective his biggest story was "Beauty and The Freak" which if if you don't kn't know it, It was a Punk!Jack x Pastel!Mark that was discontinued eventually. And I had JUST started "Hitorinbo Envy." So that was awhile back. Btw, if you're wondering how I found his page is that this book was I was following entered Hatter's "Beauty and the Freak Contest" and I looked at his page and I was like. Let me read it, and than I did and followed him and the book. Than I saw he posted on AO3 and I commented telling him if he ever needed any help posting on their as he was new to it that I would be happy to help. He never responded. (Well he did nearly a year later after we became friends XD) Getting back to the story, we started playing and we got a few questions in than Hatter had to leave. Then we didn't really talk for maybe 3 weeks. Than one day, I was having a really bad day and I was about to break down and I hated the world and I had never felt more alone and without anyone So in a fit I messaged him apologizing for the long messages, than just straight started venting. (After asking if it was okay) Why would I vent to someone who was barely a friend, It was because I swore I saw on his profile that he said that anyone could message him for advice at any time. Hence why I messaged him. Fun fact: his profile didn't say that. Despite that he responded with good advice and I was glad I didn't scare him off. As time went on we became closer and I've ranted to him many time and 99% of the time he responded quickly with good advice. And at some point he started coming to me for advice, as I had offered, and that kind of put the nail in the coffin that we were friends. We've vented to each other so many times and somehow he hasn't judged me. And I also met Howie and Gen because of him. Two of my other good friends. He invited us all to a game of CAH and we've talked since. I don't think i could have asked for a better group of people to be friends with. And we've become closer, like we have a very deep connection. And frankly I live with the fact that more likely than not I probably would've quit Wattpad by now and be in a deep depression without him with me. Also we have a ship name; Hattissa. We are completely cool with us being shipped XD So I guess this is my thank you to him for the fact that he has dealt with my insanity for more than a year. And in all seriousness, I am beyond thankful that he has ended up in my life. And responded to me that first day or the fact I had the guts to actually vent to someone or talk to him. And I have the absolute privilege to see him become his own person and he's just mad me better person. He helped me feel like I had a purpose because frankly if I can give advice that means that at least I have some use and if someone come to me that means someone likes me. And frankly there's more I want to say but I can't seem to find the words and I know very well I have left things out but hey, that just leaves more stories to tell. So thank you. -Lissa Howie: @howiewantsafedora Gen: @lpsgrrl237

[souichipresents]

Souichi Presents: Tomie, tOmie, toMie....

Kyahaha! Welcome, welcome back to Souichi Presents! The home of a true madman's task... to one day have reviewed every single Junji Itou story ever made! However... perhaps if you’ve noticed, even leaving aside the holiday hiatus, there’s been an unusual uptick in Non Mr. Itou Reviews. 

Why would this be? Well, I could say that I try to take in new horror as much as possible, to keep refreshed... but if I had to be honest in myself, it’s possible... I might be avoiding something. 

THERE'S JUST SO MANY OF HER. THEM. THESE STORIES. There’s so many of them. But that can’t stop me in my sacred duty because I swore an OATH... well I had a random idea when I was a freshman in college which I picked back up again for absolutely no reason I can recall and I’m sticking to it. 

Of course this is a labor of love, make no mistake. And there’s still a lot to love, as we get to... 

JUNJI ITOU’s, TOMIE: THE BASEMENT

(See part 1, MORITA HOSPITAL, here.)

Alright so if you weren’t here for the last part of this series, here’s a QUICK rundown. 

A girl is in the hospital while her not-boyfriend visits, until oh no! Tomie does that weird thing she does where her only enjoyment in stringing dudes along eems to be tormenting girls about it which isn’t weird at all. Sad hopsital girl is very sad, and also absolutely dying from Vauge Anime Organ Failure. But luckily for her, she’s able to get a transplant! Bad news, it’s a Tomie, signed off for the transplant from the sketchiest man alive claiming to be Tomie’s father. Again. Which is creepy because he is 100% actually the teacher from the very first Tomie story who may have impregnated her, was absolutely dating her, and 1000% killed her. So that’s creepy. 

Then it ended with ‘everyone with a uterus screamed internally during THIS bit’, alternate title ‘Aliens but with Tomie’. Now that we’re all caught up... 

(remember this is one of the very early translations, back when official publishers mirrored the art, so it’s left to right. God forgive us.)

Oh right, so this is early EARLY translation here, so it’s left-to-right again. My favorite part of this is that if theres a RUMOR about this, it indicates two things, really: one is that a patient happened to SEE this, which is just hilariously terrible. You get up, maybe getting some water, see- oh hey they’re operating and hhHOOOPS THATS A TINY HAND BYEEEE. 

Or option two: just some real gossipy nurses. “You would not BELEIVE the shit I put up with... yeah between this and whoever put the plastic wrap over the toilet seat, I’m out. I don’t care if it includes dental.”

...sorry, the heck is this?

Why it’s Fumihito! He’s... totaly unrelated to the story so far, and any future stories! But he’s sure here now. Good for you, Fumihito. 

Sure I make fun, but I’m pretty sure he might actually make it out of this ALIVE. Maybe the secret to surviving Tomie is to lack personality. Well he has one personality trait: checking out creepy things for No Reason. It might not get you very far at a party, but it;s gangbusters for moving a horror plot along. 

Well so much for my recap. This one’s probably more factual. Also can I just say I appreciate how in stride these doctors are taking this? Maybe they got all their ‘NO, THIS CAN’T BE’ out of their systems earlier. 

Well this has to be better then the goldfish bowl of hydrocloric acid the last tomie head was in. But whatever THIS is is... opaque... but not from... this side...?

....Mr. Ito, did you just have worries about drawing the doctors through the water at an angle? Well, god knows I wouldn’t want to. 

Now this is interesting, because it’s really the only go at a scientific explanation for Tomie’s... tomieness. But all he’s *really* saying is, hey, she can regenerate! I don’t think the real secret to this story is that Tomie turns out to be a large pile of planarians. ...though that would be amazing. 

...though it does speak badly for earths survival rate... do you eventualy wind up with a Tomie ‘apocalypse’? Crowds of tomies... gigantic tomies, like terrible lighthouses of adoration? Who knows, maybe every second tomie just kind of wanders into the ocean to keep overpopulation down... but still, you imagine it ends poorly. 

Yes well luckily rules don’t apply to NOSY MALE PROTAGONIST MAN! Able to use his amazing powers to satisfy his own vauge curiosity with a single bound. 

“And why are you in my room exactly?” “Plot contrivance! Need a character to follow to see the story happen, you know.” “...Isn’t that *me*?” “Don’t... don’t worry about it. 

This really highlights the difference in horror as a genre, you know? In most other stories someone being able to miraculously heal from major surgery would be a GOOD thing. Or at least even odds. 

See also: reading mysterious books, talking to strange new people, investigating odd noises. Don’t blame horror protags for doing those things; any other genre going into the magic furniture leads to narnia instead of hell. 

Similarly, only in horror is it possible for cancer to not be the worst outcome.

Now, I do feel the urge to make a joke here about just deciding to irradiate the monster why not, but they do actually have a logical train of thought here. They’re assuming something like cancer is happening; so they’re trying to see if radiation therapy could destroy the cells. 

WHICH is in turn interesting to me, because the “rules” of Tomie aren’t... clear. But they do seem to work. For the record-

Acid works. Fire works but you gotta be REAL thorough. Cutting is the opposite of working, bludgeoning not really much better. Water- laughable. Poison- untried. Concrete- ???? Radiation... well you’ll see in a minute. 

Meanwhile we get more of this. You wanted more of this, right? 

Tadashi sucked. Suuuuucked. This guy... exists. 

This does clarify a little more about her- it sounds like she has kind of a lonely life. ...I’m also going to throw this guy a bone and assume whatever he said in the original japanese might have been more of a “Oh, is that right?” then... that. 

Oh right, the monster. Radiation turns out to just make Tomie go from a kind of head-disaster to “barbie doll left on the stove.” Why? It’s a little late to want a scientific reason why THIS happens, because tomie already endlessly self replicates with no apparent need for outside energy... kind of. 

More then a few times we see her eating things (people) to regenerate from, but theres also times where nothing like thats around. Maybe having outside energy just speeds it up...? Or maybe she’s a nonsense curse monster. 

You know, I really didn’t think I’d like RE7 when the demo was out, but I like a lot of what they wound up doing with it in the main game. 

...And you are....?

Okay. Y’all. My dear friends. I love these comics. I love mr. Ito. I do. But we spend FOUR PAGES on, essentially, “Freddy hears noises behind the door, and briefly sees a walking figure.” I’m hitting the fast forward. 

There she is. The crux of this mystery- this and so many more. A living ghost? An endlessly self replicating memory? The guilt and fixation of a murderer imprinted into a endlessly replicating form? The grief of a murdered (pregnant!) teen girl horrifically cut down by a man?

If nothing else, a strange naked girl, in a fishtank, in a hospital basement he just saw a dude walk out of. What a strange sight. What a genuinely beautiful panel, highlighting a subtle, aberrant moment. 

...well. I mean, from a meta point of view, he took the safest available route, but... you can’t help but be disappointed, right?

Well Tomie has better things to do anyways. People to see. Short haired girls to loom over. 

No seriously, always with the short haired girls. Tomie has a.... type? Is that even what you could call it?

I’m not sure it really is about Tadashi, Tomie. I’m not really sure it is. 

Speaking of which, this is actually really unusual for Tomie. While she tends to generate terrible violence and suffering around her, I can’t really think of any time when she actually directly attacks someone. Usually she would have male ‘lackeys’ that she’d assign or manipulate to kill someone for her. This is an unusually direct motion on her part. 

Hey remember when she had slightly curly hair? We’re in the odd midpoint art wise where her design takes a odd turn. I can never figure out if it’s just a drift, or if it’s closer to how Mr. Ito wanted Tomie to look. 

Anyways it was nice knowing you, Dr. McDoctorson. 

Meanwhile, this is going to get a lot worse, and never get better. Note the interesting framing of the flowers here. I wish I knew if this was made before or after Dying Young. It feels like a very similar story thread, but Dying Young focuses more cleanly on the specific idea of ‘an illness making you beautiful, but at a terrible cost’. While this is... well. Tomie tomie tomie tomie. 

In the meantime, the doctors have been debating if tomie material can be used to cure illnesses (spoiler: hhhhooo boy no), and our main character went to visit John Smithee here. Who... does... this. 

...What the hell is he talking about? Her only personality change is she’s suddenly a little happier, and flirting with him. Also, he’s the one who’s been nonsensical in her grill hitting on her? Is this supposed to be like, ~oh I liked you for how you looked before~. 

I hate that. I hate every half-witted story where some boy is praised for seeing a girls ~natural beauty~. Like the discover of a girl is more important then whatever her plans for how she wants to look and feel are. And while this isn’t exactly because she just straightened her hair and got makeup, he doesn’t actually know that. So it just... grates on me. Endlessly. 

WHY IS THIS DUDE IN THIS STORY. 

Like this is supposed to be GASP TOMIE IS TAKING HER OVER but the problem is I don’t LIKE him, and his reason for turning her down is as shallow as anything Tomie has literaly ever said. 

It’s not sweet! And he has no functional personality. This story is supposed to be about her, but because she’s going through this transformation, it feels like he’s there so we see it from outside her point of view. But he just... sucks. 

Me too, totes-not-Tomie. 

Yeah his investment in how much more docile and quiet she was before really makes me feel the emotional weight of this terrible transformation coming over her. Which I guess is really my problem. 

This horrible thing happening to HER is being framed in how it’s affecting HIM. How HE feels about how she looked and behaved. And I could not care. Less. 

WHY CAN’T WE SEE MORE OF HOW SHE FEELS ABOUT THIS. 

meanwhile, Tomie accidentally saves many, many lives by getting rid of the other half of Kidney-Kaijulet, because these morons were going to inject more people with Tomie. 

Then this happens, and it kind of sucks. Even though it’s ~tomie~ and she’s evil or whatever... it... just kind of sucks. Which I guess is what winds up wearing me down in this series. We’re not short of media where ladies get hit and killed a lot. And I fully recognize there is context for this series as existing in japan that I’m not privy to, and will never actually be able to speak to. 

But to me, what the Tomie series has thats genuinely something different gets overshadowed by the monotony of the violence in it. For how little Mr. Ito work in later years includes outright slasher type violence, Tomie just... keeps goin. 

Also, she keeps dying but Creeper Teacher Dude here keeps being alive still, which also Just Sucks. 

Blink and you’ll miss it, here’s the whole reason any of this happened! It’s... this shithead again. Womp womp. 

Unintentionaly this might be the funniest page Ito has ever made. Poor bearded doctor just. 

WHY ARE YOU CUTTING HER UP? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WI- WHY THE FUCK DO *YOU* HAVE A CAN OF GASOLINE. WHY IS ANY OF THIS HAPPENING. I SHOULD HAVE JUST TAKEN THE JOB IN KURÔZU-CHO. 

Also.... “squeak squeak?” That cannot possibly be the right sound effect. 

...alright this guys a total shitstain in five directions, but this is also pretty funny. He’s basically doing a Loony Toons exit in a dark horror story. 

Don’t listen to that too long by the way, it’s kind of hypnotic. 

And this... this one page makes, to me, the whole rest of the story.... 

The intensity of the reveal. The tight closeups from her face to his, the way she seems contained inside the arc of the fire. The slant of the panels around them- leading to such a sense of unease, and drawing the eye.  

This. This is a beautiful horror moment. 

What a strange moment. Do they leave together? I don’t remember if he comes back again, though I suspect he must. What happens to her....? 

Is she really completely gone?

And that, at last, is the end of BASEMENT. 

This is a really muddled one for me. I feel like theres so MUCH in it I could enjoy, but somehow it both has too many ideas, and feels stuffed with filler. 

I’d loved to see some of these ideas. A hospital researching tomie? A girl being corrupted BY tomie and slowly losing her sense of self...? Those are both amazing ideas that I wish had been their own stories. I wish the girl becoming tomie had kept the lense on HER. On how she felt, on what she was doing. 

I think in a way I find this pair of chapters to be more frustrating then others because... if there weren’t good moments, I could just freely mock it, and maybe even skip past it. But there is a good story in it! There really is. 

It just feels like it’s happening somewhere else, while the ‘camera’ follows this unrelated person. With a level of decompression that... doesn’t work for me. 

I suppose thats a greater problem I have with Tomie. It can just feel like so MUCH, but it almost never gets bad enough i can comfortably abandon it. 

Almost. 

That’s all for this week, folks! Join us next time won’t you? I’m hoping to get to more Ito, and talk about the hauntingly strange short “Madame Tutli Putli”, and possibly talk about the great classic of horror cinema, Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island. And of course, the souichi presents patreon is now on monthly donations, and I’ll be updating it’s milestones soon! Even a dollar or two makes a really big difference. 

And as always, Souichi WILL... return. 

[marclefrancois1]

Creating a Soothing Bedtime Routine – 7 Tips to Meet the Challenge

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For toddlers and preschoolers, the bedtime routine can often be the most challenging part of the day. It means another transition and separation from you, at the same time that everyone in the household is a bit tired and sometimes frazzled from a long day.

Every parent knows that bedtime routines should be soothing and predictable for their child. Dr. Douglas Teti, a Professor of Human Development and Family Studies from Penn State published a finding about the importance of bedtime routines. He studied 35 parents with children under 2 years old. Granted, not a huge study but his findings were validating. Dr. Teti states that children sleep better when their emotional needs were met and they felt attached to their parents. In other words, the parents needed to be:

somewhat flexible in their routine (ie. mix it up with a puzzle one night instead of a book)

responsive to their child’s needs at that particular moment, and

the parent’s words and actions should match their behavior.

When parents are emotionally available their children feel more secure and safe and are able to go to sleep more easily.

I always swore that if I was feeling a bit frazzled at bedtime or if I was in a rush at bedtime, my girls picked it up and the bedtime routine didn’t go as smoothly. Children are so intuitive! Without realizing it our children teach us to be in the moment and nowhere else.

Here are some tips that will help make your child’s bedtime routine smooth and sleep inducing:

1. Bedtime preparations should be in her room

Perhaps the early stage can be in a younger sibling’s room, but not all over the house. Include stories, songs, or games that soothe, not stimulate. Make sure the rules for how many stories or how long you will read, are completely clear and non-negotiable. Avoid wild, fast-moving games and scary stories.

2. Leave plenty of time to unwind

You need to leave at least a half-hour for your child to relax and get the attention they need from you. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to take hours to have a peaceful bedtime routine — more like 20-30 minutes. If you rush it, she’ll be more likely to run out of bed, stall, or beg you to stay longer.

3. Be Consistent

If two parents take turns at bedtime, you don’t have to follow an identical script but you should have a similar routine, style, and response to bedtime power plays, fears, or manipulation.

4. Blame it on the clock

If she starts bargaining for an even longer time with you, more stories or more songs, blame the clock. Calmly tell her the clock says you have to stop reading at 8:00p.m., so you have ten minutes. Then when it’s 8pm say “Oh, look! The clock says 8:00. Lights-out time. We can’t read any more books tonight. We’ll have to get upstairs earlier tomorrow night if we want to read more books.”

5. Give a warning

“We have a few more pages in this book, and then Mommy is going to turn out the light.” Sometimes they like to turn out the light themselves. It’s another way they can “own” bedtime. It’s good to give some kind of indication that it’s going to be “lights-out” soon.

6. Try a toddler clock or timer

“Oh, the music went on” or “Oh, the light changed, it’s time for bed.” If the clock ploy doesn’t work, feel free to blame me! “It’s 8:00. The Sleep Lady says we have to turn out the lights now.” By the way, toddler clocks are fantastic for teaching your toddler when it’s ok to get up in the morning too. At bedtime remind your toddler that they must stay in their bed until their wake up clock tells them its ok it get up. Be specific on your directions based on the type of clock you use.

7. Teach your child creative visualization.

Some children will say, “I can’t do it; I can’t put myself to sleep.” Explain that everyone has trouble going to sleep sometimes, even Mommy and Daddy, and then teach them some simple relaxation techniques and creative visualization. Children have such wonderfully active imaginations, they are actually better at visualization than we are. They may not understand the word visualization, but they certainly get pretend and imagine. They can learn how to think relaxing thoughts at bedtime, how to close their eyes and imagine playing at the beach, building a snowman, taking a summer walk with their cousins in Vermont. This can be particularly helpful if your child is scared or has a nightmare and is having trouble going back to sleep.

Try to build on the images in their favorite illustrated book and have them imagine entering the book to play with the characters (as long as there are no scary themes). My own girls loved playing “in” Angelina Ballerina. The mouse house illustrations were so inviting and warm. Your children will come up with their own suggestions and will pleasantly surprise you with their creativity. You might also want to teach your child deep relaxation techniques, the kind you do at the end of a good exercise class or before going into labor! Have her relax her toes, her feet, her ankles, shins, knees, and so forth, all the way up her body. If you don’t want to do this yourself, you can play a relaxation CD.

Children also like applying their imaginations to a dream agenda. “Tonight I’ll dream about playing basketball.” Or “Tonight I will dream about building a sand castle.” Or “Tonight I will dream about being a beautiful ballerina.” It helps them feel more in control of what happens to them after they fall asleep, particularly if they are worried about having nightmares. My “Dream Cards” (available below ) might help children feel in control of their dreams. The cards guide children through a progressive relaxation exercise and have several images for dream ideas such as a tree house, a beach scene, a field of flowers, and a rainbow. I based them on my experiences with creating dreams with my own daughters.

Try my Dream Cards and lullaby MP3 download “Sweetest Dreams”, available for sale for $29.95 by clicking here.Hope you find these Toddler Sleep Tips helpful

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Kim West

Kim is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who has been a practicing child and family therapist for more than 24 years, and the creator of the original gentle, proven method to get a good night’s sleep for you and your child.

She is the author of The Sleep Lady's Good Night Sleep Tight, its companion Workbook and 52 Sleep Secrets for Babies.

Click here to read more about her.

Did you find this article helpful? Please share it with your friends by clicking below, or ask a question on The Sleep Lady Facebook page.

The post Creating a Soothing Bedtime Routine – 7 Tips to Meet the Challenge appeared first on Baby Sleep Coaching by the Sleep Lady.

from Blog – Baby Sleep Coaching by the Sleep Lady https://sleeplady.com/toddler-sleep-problems/creating-soothing-bedtime-routines-teaching-creative-visualization-your-child/

from https://www.marclefrancois.net/2019/02/20/creating-a-soothing-bedtime-routine-7-tips-to-meet-the-challenge/

[itsworn]

Wrecking Their Coupe Didn’t Stop Them from Racing at Daytona in 1956—They Just Turned it Into a Roadster!

The Custom Automotive Special 999 Fuel Coupe

Crushed.

More than 30 years ago, I was vacationing in Santa Monica, California, and drove out to Temple City to “The Home of the California Kid,” Pete and Jake’s Hot Rod Parts. It turned out to be a long, hot drive to an unassuming little storefront and not the huge emporium I was expecting. And there wasn’t a whole lot to look at. The work was going on in the back behind closed doors. In desperation for some memento, I purchased a copy of the then recently published Petersen’s The Best of HOT ROD.

Over the ensuing years, I have studied that book cover to cover—they’re just now separating—and it has proven an invaluable resource if only to provide a place to start when researching articles in old issues of HOT ROD. On page 161, in a section called Racing Roundup, there was an intriguing shot of a flamed Deuce roadster—or was it? The caption read, “May 1956 This classic highboy started out for Daytona as a coupe, but when its tow truck broke a wheel, the car flipped, crushing the top. A cutting torch made it a roadster.”

The car was kinda cool. The flames were a little funky, but it was, after all, 1956. I filed it away until one day talking to Greg Sharp, he said, “Well, Jim Davis drove that car.”

“Really? Jim Davis who published Super Stock & Drag Illustrated magazine?”

“One and the same.”

I had known Jim when he was president of B&M, and thanks to the Internet, he wasn’t hard to track down. Jim began his amazing journey in this industry as publisher of Super Stock and Stock Car Racing magazine. From publishing, he went on to establish one of the largest ad agencies specializing in performance automotive products with offices in Los Angeles, Detroit, and Washington, D.C. From there, he went on to be president of B&M Performance and Racing, a post he held for 18 years. Then he had a short stint as president of Russell Performance, after which he co-founded Professional Products, where he was chief operating officer for 15 years.

Meanwhile, he was chairman of the SEMA board of directors, SEMA Person of the Year, PWA Person of the Year, and received the Street Rodder magazine Lifetime Achievement Award. Jim’s latest venture is Performance Injection, a company supplying electronic fuel injection systems, manifolds, and associated products.

All that aside, I called Jim and asked him if he remembered the story of the coupe turned roadster.

“Of course,” he replied. Here’s the story, in his own words:

The 999 ’32 three-window coupe was conceived by Ray Giovannoni of Custom Automotive on New York Avenue in Washington, D.C. This would have been sometime in 1954. He had just bought a cam grinder and wanted to use the car to promote the cam business. I spent a lot of time at the speed shop, so Ray asked me if I would like to drive it for him. Naturally, I jumped at the chance.

Ray bought and sold a lot of early hot rods. He was also a master engine builder and did a full port and relief job on the 296ci flathead block. He ground his own cam that he called the 999, hence the numbers on the car.

Although Ray presented himself as a master cam grinder, the 999 was actually a direct copy of an Isky 400 Jr. cam. I am likely the only person who knew this besides Ray. In fact, in the early days all the grinds that Ray offered were copies, and one day he actually talked one of his regular customers into buying a 999 cam to replace the 400 Jr. he was running at the time. The customer swore it ran better.

The dark blue 999 coupe with its primitive flame job was fitted with a Halibrand quick-change, ’48 Merc engine with Weiand heads and intake, 3x2s, and Harmon & Collins dual-coil ignition. Its fenders and running boards were removed, and the wheels were Buick rims on Ford centers.

Our first outing was February 1955 at Daytona with the car as a coupe. We didn’t really do our homework because all we knew was where to line up to make the run. We did not know that there was a 2-1/2 mile buildup area before you entered the measured mile. So when our turn came, I floored the car and took it up to full speed. The tach indicated our top speed was about 140, Ray having put in some fairly high gears.

Despite going 140 mph, it seemed like it took forever to cover that 2-1/2 miles. I was used to having 10 or so seconds of full throttle with the car, and now it was going on forever. Finally, I arrived at the start of the measured mile and breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned to despair as the car started to slow down. I looked at all the gauges and everything appeared OK, but the car just kept going slower and slower. Finally, I got to the end of the mile and took my foot out of it. My speed was a paltry 108.401 mph average that was a terrible disappointment. If I recall correctly, I think the best measured mile speed for the entire week was about 135 set by a modified ’56 Chevy driven by Curtis Turner, a famous NASCAR driver of that era.

What had happened was the extended full throttle run burned all the valves, and the longer I stayed on it, the worse it got. Although Ray had dialed back the amount of nitro to maybe 40 percent, the engine was just not designed to run full throttle on nitro for 3-1/2 miles. If we had known what we were doing, we would have marked off a point maybe a half a mile before the start of the measured mile. I would just cruise the car from the start to that point at maybe 70 or 80 mph and then get on it.

During the summer that year, we ran at Elizabeth City, North Carolina, and Manassas, Virginia, a 1/5-mile of dirt and one of the first dragstrips on the East Coast. This was back before the days of timing clocks, and as I recall, we never ran at a track where we got any times. Ray had set up the car to run on nitro, and we basically ran 100 percent. He used to pour a cup of water into each tank of fuel, but I’m not sure why. If I had to guess, I would say we ran somewhere in the low to mid-11s at about 125 mph, which in 1955 would have been decent.

I remember we towed the car up north someplace, Pennsylvania or possibly New Jersey, to race on an abandoned airstrip. The big gun at this track was a green, channeled fenderless coupe with an early Chrysler Hemi that I believe was out of New York.

They used a flag starter, and then another guy was standing by the side of the strip a quarter-mile down; he judged who the winner was if it was close. We lined up against the local favorite and managed to pull a major holeshot. As we neared the finish line, I noticed the guy there started running down the strip away from us. He realized we were winning but that the green coupe was gaining on us. I guess he was hoping he could move the finish line far enough that the coupe would win. But he couldn’t run fast enough, and we still had a car length or two by the time we passed the retreating flagman.

In August, Ray decided he wanted to tow the coupe to the Automobile Timing Association of America (ATAA) World Series of Drag Racing in Lawrenceville, Indiana. On our very first run down the quarter-mile, the coupe really hauled ass, but about two thirds of the way down it suddenly began to slow down dramatically, like I had applied the brakes. This track did not have e.t. clocks, just speed. I think our speed was 70 or 80 mph. As I turned off the track, I noticed we had no oil pressure, so I shut it off.

We towed the car back to the motel, removed the engine, put it on the bed, and pulled the pan. One of the main bearings had spun and scarred up the crank. We drove into town and found an auto parts store where Ray bought some 0.010-inch-under bearings. Then he laboriously sanded the damaged crank journal with some sanding cloth. We had that crank in and out of the block dozens of times until he finally got the journal sanded down enough to where he could tighten the main bearing caps and the crank would turn. Who knows if the journal was even close to being round? Highly doubtful.

We reassembled the engine, put it back in the coupe, and the next day we went out to the track. We fired it up and it sounded fine but did not have adequate oil pressure. Ray made the decision to not run the car again because we probably would have grenaded it. Nevertheless, we got a nice two-page feature in the October 1955 issue of Speed Age magazine.

The following year, Ray decided to go back to Daytona and run it at some local drags. Our tow rig was a really clean ’50 Ford pickup. He loaded the back of the truck with spare parts, a bunch of cams that I think he was hoping to sell, and of course a full set of tools. Ray was a meticulous guy, so the back of the truck was very neatly packed. Our drag tires were bolted to the top of the tow bar, and we had some 6.00x16s on the car for towing.

Ray did not like to drive, so I was driving, and somewhere in Georgia the highway kind of swooped down and then back up. Just as we hit the bottom, the right rear tire on the coupe dropped off the edge of the pavement onto the dirt shoulder. While attempting to get it back onto the highway, I lost control. We were probably going about 65-70. The rig started to jackknife, and as we crested the top of hill we slid off the highway onto a very large dirt area.

The truck and coupe were in a full jackknife position, sliding sideways with the brakes locked. At that point, I realized we would be coming to a stop without actually hitting anything. Then I made one of the worst decisions of my life. I took my foot off the brakes. Because the front wheels of the truck were in a full locked position to the right, releasing the brakes allowed the front wheels to turn, which caused both the truck and the coupe to flip. The truck only went over on its left side, but the coupe flipped all the way onto its top. Everything in the bed of the truck went flying—cans of nitro, tools, spare parts, and 30 or 40 cams.

Despite not wearing seat belts, we were both unhurt, although Ray, who was no lightweight, ended up on top of me. We climbed out the passenger door and a group of people came running out of a diner across the street. They helped us get both vehicles back on their tires and then we started collecting all the stuff. The cab of the truck on the driver side was somewhat crushed, and the side glass and the rear window glass were gone. One of the truck wheels was bent beyond repair, and although we did have a spare, unfortunately it was a different size than the other rear wheel, so the differential got quite a workout on the trip home.

The entire cab of the coupe was crushed and the radiator shell was damaged, but otherwise it appeared relatively unharmed. We decided to drive back to D.C. This was February, and with no glass in the windows, it was freezing. Initially, we thought the trip was over, but the closer we got to the shop, the more we became determined to see if we could fix things up enough to go back.

Once back in D.C., Ray had a body shop guy pound out the truck roof so I could sit up straight. He also replaced the broken truck glass and cut the crushed top off the coupe. Meanwhile, he had a local top shop make us a custom white tonneau cover that hid the fact that the car was not actually a roadster. He also fabbed up a rollbar out of exhaust tubing that was totally worthless, but we did not have time to make a real one. The grille shell was beyond repair, so we stole the one off my ’32 coupe and eventually painted it white. Amazingly, after only three days’ work, the coupe-turned-roadster looked pretty good, despite what it had been through.

When we got to Daytona, the drag races were being held at an abandoned airfield some distance out of town. It was a night event. We went there and made a couple of passes, and the car seemed to run fine. I was frankly somewhat skittish, probably due to the rollover and lack of a real rollbar, and never really made what I would call a full, full-throttle pass. Also, there was no lighting of consequence on the track, which also made me very uneasy. We didn’t run against anybody.

The ATAA was also staging drag races on the beach. I remember that they had a card table set up and were collecting entry fees from a very long line of car owners wanting to run. As we sat there and watched the tide go out while ATAA personnel continued to collect entry fees, I told Ray that there was no way the tide would be out long enough to run all of those cars. There were easily more than 100 entries.

The ATAA decided to select what appeared to be the four top potential contenders and run them off first. That was us, Art Chrisman in his famous flathead dragster, a Crosley with a gear-driven side-mounted Olds, and an early fenderless pickup truck with, I think, a Cadillac engine.

We flipped some coins to determine who would race whom, and we unluckily drew Chrisman. Actually, the pickup truck was probably the only one of the other three that we could beat. Chrisman dusted us off, although we gave him a decent race. The Crosley, built by Burt Kessler and Dean Gammill of Matoon, Illinois, whipped the pickup easily and then put it to Chrisman.

By then, the tide had turned, and ATAA called off the drags. I don’t know if the hundreds of would-be racers got their money back or not. But their frustration was taken out by staging drag races on Daytona’s main street. When the cops tried to stop the fun, a well-documented riot broke out. According to newspaper reports, about 3,000 people joined the rioting, overturning police cars and trashing a fire truck that tried to disperse the crowds with water jets. The National Guard got called in, and I remember that Ray and I and one of the guys crewing with us were in a local bar having a brew when five or six guardsmen came in, announced a curfew, and ordered everybody off the streets. One guy at the bar refused to leave until he could finish his beer. That got him a billy club to the head and he was forcibly dragged out of the bar.

Despite the wreck, the many sleepless nights repairing the car and truck, and our poor showing, we actually had a pretty good time. However, once the car had been wrecked, Ray totally lost interest in it. He rebuilt the motor and sold it to some local racers who proceeded to blow it up on the starting line at their first race. I was actually standing nearby when the driver revved the engine until the pan opened up like B-29 bomb-bay doors dropping the crank and pistons onto the pavement. I don’t recall what happened to the car itself; I never saw it again.

HOT ROD’s Ray Brock snapped this photo of Jim Davis racing 999 at Daytona. By a flip of a coin, Jim was paired to race against Art Chrisman’s flathead dragster.

A photo of 999 when it was still a coupe, posed in front of Ray Giovannoni’s Custom Automotive speed shop in Washington, D.C. The super-sano tow vehicle is Ray’s ’50 Ford pickup.

Speed Age magazine profiled Jim, Ray, and 999 in its October 1955 issue, using them as an example of a successful drag racing team. “It doesn’t look like it, but that little ole cut-down job can put a lot of race cars to shame,” reads one caption. Note the coupe had yet to be flamed.

Jim Davis and 999 in the pits at an unidentified track.

In the pits at Elizabeth City, North Carolina, in the summer of 1955.

Another shot from the Elizabeth City pits. The Speed Age story described the coupe’s wheels as a “composite of Ford center and Buick rims, which is necessary for the large racing tires that they contain.”

Timing equipment was essentially nonexistent at most of the tracks where Jim raced, but he figures the coupe was good for quarter-mile passes in the mid- to low 11s at 125 mph.

After Jim and Ray’s disastrous first try at getting to Speedweeks in 1956, here’s 999, now a roadster, pulling into Daytona. Note the unpainted grille shell, which Jim took off his ’32 coupe to replace the one damaged in the accident.

The riots that took place at Daytona provided irresistible fodder for local reporters and spurred HRM Editor Wally Parks to “get the story straight” in his May 1956 column. The damage was done by “hoodlums, not hot rodders!” he wrote.

Some of the hardware Jim earned driving Ray’s fuel coupe/roadster.

The post Wrecking Their Coupe Didn’t Stop Them from Racing at Daytona in 1956—They Just Turned it Into a Roadster! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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