#i missed being this inspired and motivated lol

[jayskai]

i’ve been thinking A LOT about making comics lately helppp 😭

[mbat]

anyone else have like, a messy/nontypical setup (as opposed to their usual one) when doing a several days long project and its kinda... everything? in a good way?

it just feels like... wow, im doing something, and it feels good that its taking up space, and itll feel physically different when its done

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

���Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

[chelleztjs18]

Love Language (W.M)

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!CivilianReader (Avengers AU)

Summary: After Thanos, Wanda retires, along with a long term effect from all the missions she had and then she met you.

Warning: None, just some fluff. Mentions of hearing loss and sign languages.

A/n: Hello! It's me! I have a fluff now after the angsts I have posted. Thanks to my Curious George anon for the inspiring talk and ideas. Y'all can thank her too for motivating me to write and post a fic here today. lol. Welp, happy reading peeps!

Main Masterlist

Years of being Avengers was quite a lot for Wanda, not to mention losing Vision after Pietro. Mission after mission, countless fighting off the enemies felt like she was in an endless war without any possibility to end.

Fortunately, Wanda was wrong. After defeating Thanos, The Avengers are finally able to retire. Wanda is grateful that everybody including her are still alive, though it was hard for her in the beginning to get out the grief from Vision’s death. During all of the fighting she has been through as an Avengers, Wanda can’t escape the explosions or other loud sounds that happened.

It cost her an invisible permanent damage. Wanda has a progressive hearing loss. Her hearing is slowly deteriorating by time causing her to have to learn to read people’s lips in the beginning. With Natasha’s support, Wanda finally accepts her condition and learns sign language to be prepared for the day when she totally loses her hearing.

Then you come into her life.

To Wanda, meeting you at the grocery store near her house was the best thing ever to happen to her life. You brought back the colors in her life that she thought she had lost. You and Wanda have been together for almost a year. She loves you with all her heart. You are the life that she never thought that she would have ever again. Losing people that she loves has made her very skeptical in finding her happiness again but you have saved her.

You, you fell in love with her very hard. Heads over heels. To you, Wanda is perfect. No matter how much she tells you that she is not. You can’t blame her. You understand why she always tells you that she is not perfect because of her condition. Although right now she can still hear certain sounds but most of the time, Wanda can’t hear very well.

Wanda tries to stall as long as she can to not wear hearing aids. She doesn’t feel confident

about how it looks when she puts them on even though some of them don’t look that obvious and are pretty discreet. At this point, Tony has given up in trying to convince her to wear the one that he created special for her. She prefers to read people's lips than wear hearing aids.

Since the first time you both met and then officially dating, the communications have been easy. You always try to talk clearly and slowly and she focuses on reading your lips. Wanda sees how patient you are no matter how many times she asks you to repeat your words or when she doesn’t hear your soft spoken voice.

Wanda knows how hard it is to learn sign language so she always tells you that you don’t have to learn about it. She loves you so much that she told you she would wear hearing aids once she loses all her hearing to save you and your time from learning sign language.

With mutual understanding and how much both of you love each other, life has been very beautiful and happy. Both of you do a lot of things together. Her favorite is movie night together with a lot of snacks and drinks. Either watching new movies at the theater and sometimes at home or watching another rerun of her or your favorite sitcoms.

Wanda always tries to hold herself back not to ask you whenever she probably can’t hear or miss some words because she doesn’t want to bother you. Being the sweetest girlfriend you are, you always quickly pause the movie whenever you see her face looking confused because you know what is actually happening and then help her explain or ask her which part she misses.

Tonight, you just bought an older movie that Wanda has been wanting to watch with you. All snacks are ready on the table and you are waiting for Wanda to bring the drinks.

You have been munching your favorite chips while waiting for her.

“Okay, here’s your drink, my sweet.” Wanda hands you the drink. You take the drink and try to finish the chips in your mouth before you answer. “Yay! Thank you, princess.” You take a sip then put the drink down.

You have some more chips and try to finish the chips. Wanda notices that you chew in a rush.

"Baby?" She calls.

"Hm?" You tap her hands as a sign of your hum while busy chewing and turning your head to her.

"You know if you keep chewing like that you'll finish the chip before the movie even starts, right?" Wanda teases you with a question followed by a giggle.

"Well yeah, that was the point, love." You smile. Wanda squints her eyebrows a little as she tries harder to read your lips while you are chewing and talk at the same time.

"What? Why?" Wanda looks perplexed from your answer.

"Oh, I'm trying to finish them all before the movie starts because I don't want to be noisy with all the crunchy noise during the movie, so you can hear the movie better." You explained as you take more chips.

Wanda feels her heart melt instantly after hearing your reason, bubbles of joy fill her heart. Her smile shows up right away on her face.

Her hand grabs yours to stop you grabbing the chips. "Detka, that's very sweet of you. You don't have to do that, I still can hear it. Thank you very much for thinking that way."

"Are you sure? I thought you don't like crunchy food when you are watching a movie?" Now it's your turn being confused as you look at her.

Wanda laughs a little. "Well it's okay. I can still hear it. It's harder for me to hear it if I was the one that chew the crunchy snacks but thank you, y/n." She smiles once more and leans to you to give you a quick kiss on your cheek.

She snuggles up closer to you, wrapping her arms around you and looks at you with her sparkling green eyes, full of joy and thinking how lucky she is to have the thoughtful you in her life.

“What did I do to deserve you? Gosh, you are so adorable.” she says in a very loving, grateful tone.

You look at her with your blushing cheeks as usual, you don’t know how to react to her compliment for you because all you can do is smile and ask her back “What? What did I do?”

“Just being you, sweet and thoughtful to me.” she replies, followed by her giggle that always makes you want to laugh with her.

“Of course. You deserve everything.” You kiss her forehead and you hear her giggle more.

“Oh, the movie starts. Shall we watch it now?” you ask as soon as you notice the TV screen.

She nods with a smile.

_____

The first thirty minutes of the movie, both of you enjoy it together. The longer the movie passes, the more often you shift your position and it becomes too obvious for Wanda to notice.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

You look at her with a nervous smile. “Yes, I am okay, love. Why?”

“Oh nothing. Your thoughts are pretty loud. I meant I don’t really know what you are thinking but I know for sure your mind is spinning right now. Like, you are nervous or worried about something.” Your Sokovian girlfriend explains her own conclusion from what she figures from your thoughts. Despite her power that can hear your thoughts, Wanda promises you that she will never invade the privacy of your mind. Being the overthinker you are, sometimes everything in your head can be pretty loud for her to at least feel them.

You are trying your best to not think too much so it won’t give Wanda a complete gift away on what you really have on plan.

You laugh, hoping that it will cover the truth. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” you asked apprehensively while you clear your throat. Bunch of thoughts bounce around in your head, memorizing things while preparing the right answer for any possible questions that Wanda might ask.

Seeing more obvious and a little unusual behaviors of yours, Wanda pauses the movie. Silence is all she wants right now so she can hear you just in case you are going to say something, but you don’t.

A concerned sigh went out of her lips. “Y/n, sweetheart. Look at me, please. Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

You turn your body facing her now with your face looking down a little. You mumble a little and your hand slightly moves in a certain way as if you are rehearsing something.

“Babe, I can’t hear you and I can’t read your lips either. What did you say?” A line of confusion appears between her eyebrows. Her eyes try to look at your lips to read them.

You take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. “Okay..” you mumble once more under your breath then get on one knee.

You hold her hands and look into her eyes. Comfortable silence fills the room. “Wanda, my love.” The beautiful brunette in front of you looks so surprised with what she sees, not from what she reads on your lips because you didn’t say anything but your hands movements say it all.

You continue doing sign language for everything that you are about to say to her.

“I’m so glad that a year ago you came for my help at work and asked me where the beddings aisle was, because you were the sweetest and cutest woman I’ve ever met. My heart skipped a bit and knew that you were the one for me right then right away. Having a life with you in this past year has been the best privilege I ever have. Loving you is so easy because you are perfect and flawless. I want to keep going, having life and loving you for the rest of my life. So, Wanda, will you marry me?” you slow down your hand movement when you reach the last sentence to show more emotions in it and right after that, you grab the opened little box with a ring in it.

Wanda looks at you in awe and can’t hold back her happy tears. Joy warms her heart. She is touched by your effort and surprise at learning sign language, let alone proposing to her with it.

“Of course! Yes! A thousand times yes!” Due to how speechless she is from the enormous amount of happiness, Wanda’s hand did the sign language for her answer. She then pulls you to hug you and kiss you.

Several quick gentle kisses land on your lips and cheeks. You pull yourself back a little to see her joyful beautiful face. Wanda’s hand gently rubs your cheek and goes to the top of your head, caressing your hair as soon as you two end up snuggling on the couch.. Both of you looked at each other with the look of so much love.

“When did you learn sign language?” She questioned you in a curious tone. “Uh, Tony and Natasha have been helping me with it at the compound, plus he created this app that can help me learn more by myself whenever I can.”

“Wait, so all these overtime at work the last few months? You actually went to the compound to learn your proposal lines?” Wanda giggles and her cheeks blush at the same time.

“Yes, I have been going to the compound and no, I didn’t learn only the proposal lines. I learned everything. I know sign language now, only for you but I’m not a pro yet, so please bear with me.” you answer after you give a few more soft kisses all over her that draws more giggles from her.

“Aww, that’s really sweet. Thank you, y/n. I’m so lucky to have you.” Wanda expresses her genuine feelings.

“I love you, Wanda.”

Those words are the most beautiful words she ever reads on your lips that will always swoon her off her feet, fall for you over and over again.

“I love you too, my sweet.

A/n: Welp, that's all for today from me. I hope you enjoyed this short fluff. Let me know what you think. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. Follow me for more and see you in next!

Cheerio!

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[shy-taylorsversion]

Want You Back | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Inspired by Want You Back by Maisie Peters

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Over a year ago, Y/n started hunting with the boys. Her and Dean's friendship became more than anything she ever had before. Then he hurt her like never before. The worst part was she didn't really care.

Takes place somewhere in season 6 after Sam got his soul back. Flashbacks are during season five.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing (minimal), canon-level violence, few innuendos, and mentions of things. Reader is kinda sad and desperate. Angst. no happy ending :(

A/N: Hi!! After a year of trying to write a complete fic to post, I finally did it. Please excuse any grammar or spelling errors, I relied on Grammarly lol Also I had no idea how to write the action scenes but tried my best. I really don't know if this is worth much but I had so much fun writing sooo I hope you enjoy it!! (gif not mine)

March 2010

  Y/n’s phone buzzed, drawing her attention from the hunter drunkenly blabbering in her ear. They’d just wrapped up a quick hunt, a werewolf somewhere in northern Montana. She didn’t even really know the guy but Bobby had given him her number to ask for help. She agreed, not really having anything more to do. He was fine for a hunter, other than he never shut up and was getting too handsy for her liking, and him being on his fifth drink wasn’t helping. 

She opened the message, not recognizing the number. Bobby had to stop handing it out to whoever.  

           “Hey, Sweetheart. Whatcha up to?”  

The phone fell into her lap. There was only one person she ever let get away with calling her that, or anything really, and he didn’t come around often. 

           “Depends, who is this?”  

    The response was almost immediate. 

          “Don’t do me like that, Y/n”

 She could almost see his stupid grin on the screen and had to look away to control the heat rising in her face. Within five seconds and two texts, Dean Winchester had turned her into a giggling schoolgirl with a crush. 

          “I’m at a bar, what do you want?” 

         “Ah, a girl after my own heart. Which one? I wanna see you.” 

In any other universe, she would have assumed he had ulterior motives. She had the first few times she’d received that text but ended up spending the night hiding her disappointment. He only wanted to see her. He’d meet with her wherever she was. A bar, a motel, a diner.   

They’d spend hours talking about everything. She’d tell him stories of her recent hunts and the hunters she was stuck helping. He’d tell her of whatever they’d been facing. On rare occasions, when it was super late and they were sprawled on her bed, in a half-drunken stupor, he’d tell her about Sam or their dad. He’d mention their childhood and what he was put through. One night, he even mentioned a girl named Cassie, he skirted around details but Y/n understood. 

   They’d fall asleep like that, on top of the covers of a dirty motel bed. The next morning, he’d take her to breakfast, hug her goodbye, and then he was gone. 

     Her phone buzzed in her hand again. 

       “I miss you.” 

Her blood ran cold as she stared at the screen. He’d definitely never said that before. They just never went there and maybe this wasn’t him going there but it was different. Without another thought, she sent him the address. 

Present, April 2011

  “What Dean did wasn’t ok, you know that right?” Sam said through the phone. “He never should’ve left like that. We just really could use your and Bobby’s help on this case.” 

  Y/n sighed in response. What could she even say? That she knew, that she understood. That it still didn’t matter because even through all of the anger and hurt, she’d take him back tomorrow. 

  Not that he’d ever actually been hers. It was only half a spring, barely two months. 

It didn’t matter either way. There was a job to be done and she had to do it. She could put her feelings aside for a few days. 

 “He always left like that, not like I’m surprised.”  

   “Look, I’ve gotta go but please, Y/n, call us if you need anything. We’ll be there soon.“ 

 “Bye, Sam.” 

  The call ended, leaving Y/n leaning against the railing of Bobby’s porch. The early spring wind whipped around her and she hugged her flannel closer, looking out onto the empty road. 

   It had been over a year since she’d seen either of them. She knew of everything that happened to them. Sam going to hell and coming back without a soul. Dean, living a normal life for over a year with a woman and her kid. 

 Y/n didn’t know her, only hearing about the situation from Sam and Bobby in passing. She knew her name was Lisa and that Dean cared for her. Maybe more. She knew that Dean had promised Sam to live a normal life after he jumped into the cage. And she was happy that he got a year of peace. She was. 

   She could picture him helping in the kitchen, wearing an apron with flour smeared across his face. He’d probably set up family movie nights and weekend outings and birthday dinners. He’d been happy and okay. Against all odds, he had gotten out. 

    That didn’t stop the wave of hurt that washed over at the thought of him, all domestic and soft.  

 The click of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts. Bobby stood there, a knowing look on his face.  

     “C’mon kid, let’s see if we can figure out something before those boys get here.” 

A few hours later, Y/n stared at the book in her lap. She’d been rereading the same paragraph for thirty minutes. Every time she’d get drawn into the book, the house would creak or the wind would blow and she’d be snapped out of it. 

   She kept waiting for the door to open, for footsteps to trail down the foyer and into the living room. She couldn’t even begin to prepare for what the next few days were going to be like. Her only plan was to act as normal as possible, which was already proving to be difficult. 

  A pit formed in her stomach, there was a lump in her throat and her head was clouded. The whole room was hazy and it felt like she was watching herself exist.

    She didn’t even realize she was crying until something wet hit her hands and slid onto her jeans. She quickly wiped her eyes and tried to focus on the book again. The lines blurred together as more tears filled her eyes.  

    God, she was sitting here crying over some guy. She was a grown woman, she had to get over this. It was pathetic at this point. 

   “You know, what Dean did was wrong. Leaving like that, not telling you what happening.” Bobby said, walking into the room, a stack of books in his hands. “I love the kid but he’s a real dick sometimes.”

       He meant well but she swore if one more person said that Dean had done bad, she was going to go crazy. 

    She knew that. More than anyone, she knew. She was the one who spent months hunting with him, helping him and Sam figure out how to save the damn world. They’d spent nights wrapped up in each other, more than ever before. Farther than before.  

  She was the one who woke up to an empty bed with no trace of him anywhere. He never responded to a call or a text. Never even let her know he was alive. 

  He’d left like an assassin. 

   Part of her couldn’t even blame him. It probably had been for the best because if he’d told her what the plan had been, she’d have begged. 

     In the end, he’d got to be a coward and she salvaged some amount of self-respect. 

 “I know, Bobby.” She said, giving him a small smile, “I know.” 

The door creaked causing Y/n to jump, earning her a concerned look from Bobby. 

  She smiled at him again, trying to reassure him. She could tell he’d been worried about her lately. He was justified in it. She’d been on edge and closed off for the last year and a half. 

   She took a deep breath and steadied herself. She’d known these boys for the better part of her life, it wasn’t a big deal. 

     Sam rounded the corner first, entering with a slight grin. His eyes immediately found hers and without warning he pulled her off the couch and into his arms. 

   Y/n let out a surprised laugh as her feet dangled off the ground and the life was squeezed out of her.  

   “I missed you too, Sam.” She said, unable to hold back more laughter, “Put me down now.” 

   Her feet hit the floor and Sam stepped back. She looked him over, still smiling. 

     “I’m so glad you’re back.” 

   “Yeah, me too.” 

A set of footsteps grew louder causing Y/n to look up, only for her to meet two green eyes. 

  The breath was knocked out of her and she was all too aware of the pit in her stomach again. 

Ignoring the pairs of eyes on her, She spun on her heel to face Bobby.   

    “Let’s get started?” 

March 2010 

“I call shotgun!” Y/n yelled as they walked out of the diner and took off towards the Impala.

   She was probably being unfair. She’d barely shared the passenger side in the few weeks she’d been with the boys. Sam was getting huffy about it, she could tell but she enjoyed the view more from the front.  Sitting in the back she’d miss the way Dean’s hands looked gripping the steering wheel, the way his lips moved as he mouthed the lyrics to whatever was on the radio, or the way his eyes would flicker to hers for just a split second. 

 Dean had also finally let her DJ and she didn’t plan on giving that rare privilege away anytime soon.

   “C'mon, dude. It's my turn.” Sam whined, “My legs are starting to cramp.” 

Sam beat her to the car which wasn’t surprising since he was literally the size of one. She was close to giving in when an arm landed on her shoulder. Dean nudged Sam out of the way, ignoring his protests, and opened the door. 

     “Sorry, Sammy.”  Dean’s eyes never left hers as she slid into the seat, “Need my Darlin’ by my side.” 

Present, April 2011

   Cracked wooden planks creaked under Y/n’s feet as she followed the boys and Bobby into the abandoned house. It was pitch black. She blinked her eyes, trying to adapt to the lack of lighting.  

According to Sam, a nest of vamps had been holed up there for weeks. They’d started leaving a trail of bodies, teens who’d come through as a dare or curiosity. She didn’t know the exact numbers racked up in that time but it was enough for Sam and Dean to ask for help. 

   Dean motioned for them to split up, two taking the downstairs and two going up. She went to follow behind Sam who had taken off into the next room but Bobby beat her to it. She would’ve fought back but it wasn’t exactly like she could cause a scene right then. 

   She followed Dean up the stairs, cringing every time the stairs groaned underneath their feet. 

Dean slowed as he hit the final step before a long, dark hallway. Y/n was a step behind him. His body nearly covered her. She shifted to the side to peer around him. 

  Both raised their machetes, trying to keep their breathing quiet as they waited for any sign of movement.

    A crash came from down the hall. Dean started towards the sound, Y/n following close behind. The complete darkness put them on edge. Being minus one sense in a house of at least ten fanged bastards, not fun. 

      The floorboard creaked behind her causing her to flip around, just in time to dodge the first vampire of the night. 

       She swung her machete, hitting its arm. Distracted, she brought down the weapon. Its head hit the floor. 

        Dean yelled out from behind her. She flung herself around to hear him fighting off, what she guessed was three on his own. Her presence seemed to catch the attention of one of them because it charged at her. 

   She dodged, the vamp lunged again grabbing her by the arm. She twisted out of its grasp. Using the angle to her advantage, she swiped her leg around, knocking it off balance. Its head rolled away as its body hit the ground. 

     She wiped the sweat from her forehead and turned to try to find Dean. She still couldn’t see him but she could hear him panting a few feet away.

She was yanked forward. Hands gripped her forearms tight enough to leave bruises and slammed into the wall. Her head buzzed on impact and she forced herself to stay upright. Its fangs grazed her neck and then its head dropped to the floor. 

   Dean stood in front of her, so close she could feel him breathing, rather than hearing it. Without thinking, she reached out to him and landed on his arm. She went to pull away but his other hand grasped her wrist, holding her in place. 

“Thanks.” She breathed, “You good?” 

“Yeah, You?” 

She wished she could see him, make sure he was being truthful. He didn’t exactly have the best track record with honesty. But in the dark, she had no choice but to trust him. 

    “I’m fine.” There were definitely bruises forming in her arms and her head was still spinning but she’d had worse.  

   Dean’s hand dropped her wrist. She ignored the deflated feeling in her chest and dropped her arm back to her side. 

  Without warning, he ran his hands over her arms and up her shoulders. She tried to pull away but he didn’t stop. 

    “What are you doing?” She whisper-yelled. 

“I literally heard you hit the wall, Y/n,” He said, running his hands over her head, checking for any bumps. 

“I am fine.”  She tried to swat him away but he grabbed her wrists mid-air and pulled them to his chest.  

    The air was humid around them. She heard him panting. Leather and sweat invaded her senses. Any focus she had before vanished. 

He was here, touching her, after so long. 

  Silence enveloped them. The only noise was their panting. 

 This was wrong. Sam and Bobby were probably fighting for their life downstairs and here they were, doing whatever this was.

  She was about to pull away when a loud yell came from downstairs. 

   The moment was broken. They took off down the hallway and stairs. Staying close to not get lost in the dark. 

  They hit the last few steps as a vampire, charged at them. 

 Dean swung his machete and it fell to the floor.  

 They moved further into the first floor of the home, finding Sam and Bobby fighting off at least four vamps each.  

   They split up, him going to Bobby and her going to Sam.  

     None of the vampires were aware of her yet. She grabbed the syringe of deadman’s blood out of her pocket and plunged the needle into the closet to her. 

  Now they knew she was there.

 Two turned towards her giving Sam time to take down his remaining one. 

   Both charged at her, hissing. She ran in between them.She flipped around, slicing the blade in an arc. The one on her left doubled over at the impact. 

    She swung. 

The right one lunged at her. She pivoted and cut the blade up. 

Its head hit the floor. 

She looked around the room, a slight beam of moonlight flooded the house now. She made out Sam helping Bobby up from the floor, right as Dean took down the last vampire. 

   The room was silent other than everyone trying to catch their breath.  

Dean’s eyes found hers. She forced herself to look away. Sam interrupted the non-moment. 

“Time for drinks?” 

Y/n and the boys decided to go out. They were leaving soon but everyone needed time to wash off and get ready. 

   She dragged the black liner across her eyelid, double-checking to see if it smeared the shimmery brown eyeshadow she’d already put on. The cracks in the old mirror made it kind of hard to perfect the make-up but it would have to do.  She already changed from her bloodied hunting clothes into a clean pair of jeans with a simple tank top. She didn’t own much and traveled with less. 

“Broke mirrors are bad luck, ya know?”  

  Dean leaned against the doorframe, flannel pulled taut around his crossed arms. 

She ignored the pit that had reappeared in her stomach and continued applying her lipstick. She flipped through ideas for a response. She could yell at him to get out or cry about how much he hurt her. Instead, she opted to act like nothing was wrong. 

   “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who broke it.”  She said, shoveling her makeup back into the bag, still never meeting his eye. She stood and gathered the rest of her stuff into a neat pile on her bed. Her back was completely towards him. 

    She heard him walk into the room and the door clicked shut. 

“Y/n, look at me.”  

She turned around and looked up at him. Her eyebrows raised like he was boring her. In reality, she was struggling to breathe. Her hands shook and a lump was stuck in her throat.  

 Her eyes glanced over his face. His jaw was set but eyes were soft.  She knew where this was going. 

  Dean took a deep breath before starting.  

“Look, what I did-” 

“Do not finish that sentence, Dean Winchester.” She spat. 

“I just-”

“No. You don’t get to say anything. You don’t get to say that what you did was wrong or how sorry you are. You don’t think I don’t know that what you did was wrong? Everyone keeps telling me that. Bobby, Sam and now you. They kept telling me how horrible of you that was like it wasn’t me. Like I wasn’t the one who spent months with you, like I didn't help you figure out how to stop the fucking apocalypse. Like I didn’t stitch you up after every hunt or spend every car ride next to you. Like I wasn’t the one who would hold you after you woke up screaming or it wasn’t me who spent every single night in your fucking sheets.” 

 Every ounce of refrain she’d worked to keep was gone. Hot tears were streaming down her face as her eyes bored into his. He didn’t try to interrupt her but his jaw twitched and body tensed. 

  “Like it wasn’t me who woke up two months later to an empty bed. You were gone, Dean. You left without a word. No text, no note. Nothing. You fucking left me. And then I found out you were with some other girl for a year? So yeah, I know that what you did was bad.” 

Somewhere in her speech, she’d moved close enough for their chest to touch. Her finger was stabbing into his chest.  He didn’t move, was barely breathing but she wasn’t finished. 

   “Maybe it was cheap to you, or maybe it was some fling to pass the time but it was real to me. It was all I had. You were all I had.” Her voice broke at the last word and she dropped her hand. Her head fell as she cried. Over a year of built-up heartbreak exploding in one moment was too much. 

     His hand found hers and placed it back on his chest. She looked back up at him, his other hand reaching out to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes as his thumb wiped away the remaining tears. 

    “Do you want to know what the worst part is?” She whispered, eyes still shut. “I’d be yours again if you wanted. If you asked. How pathetic is that?” 

      “Y/n.” 

She opened her eyes to look at him despite her embarrassment.  

  “You are anything but cheap or pathetic.” His voice was thick and his eyes were glassy. She’d seen him in so many different states but she’d never seen so much emotion written across his face. 

   “Ask me then. Ask me to come with you.” 

His expression darkened and he dropped his hand from her face. He took a step back and looked away. 

   “It’s not that easy.” He said, shaking his head. “It's never that easy.” 

She let out a bitter laugh. 

 She wasn’t even surprised. She should’ve been disappointed or furious but she was just over it. She was tired and desperate. And if she couldn’t have him, he needed to go. 

  She wiped a hand down her face and glanced back into the mirror assessing the damage her outburst caused. She started wiping off the messed-up liner before starting to reapply. Dean stood behind her, brows furrowed in confusion. 

    “Get out.” She said without hesitation, her voice as steady as possible.  

He opened his mouth as if to speak but shut it. He walked towards the door but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. 

   “For what it's worth, I am sorry.” 

The buzz of conversation filled the packed-out bar. Sam found them a small booth in the corner and was now talking about a new piece of lore he’d found about some Egyptian god. Most of the time, she loved hearing what he had to say but right now all she could focus on was Dean's hand trailing up and down the woman’s hip. He never even sat down with them, finding himself a spot at the bar, next to a pretty blonde. She’d watched for half an hour now as he grinned at the girl, whispered in her ear, and bought her a drink. 

  She wanted to puke or cry or both. She decided to get drunk instead. 

She went to take a sip of her beer only to realize it was empty. Motioning to Sam she was going to get another, she slid out of the booth and made her way to the opposite side of the bar from Dean. 

   She planned to order a shot of some vodka and another beer but she couldn’t catch the attention of either bartender.

  A body bumped up against hers causing her to stumble. A hand wrapped around her waist to catch her. She almost jerked away but she looked up to find a familiarly unfamiliar pair of dark green eyes and dark blonde hair.  

   The man was by far the prettiest she’d seen all night. 

 “I am so sorry, It's packed in here. Isn’t it?  Nowhere to stand.” He had a slight southern drawl and a boyish charm about him. 

 “It is. Can’t seem to even order a drink.”  She smiled at him.

 “You see, now that had to be fate or something because I was just wantin’ to buy you one.” He grinned and waited, almost seeing if she’d allow it. His hand was still on her but she found she didn’t really mind. 

 The room was fuzzy and she could only make out the man in front of her. Even then, he was a little hazy and she had no idea what he was saying, only that his mouth looked pretty as he said it.    

  Y/n didn’t know how long it’d been since the handsome stranger volunteered to feed into her night of drunkenness or even how many she’d had so far. She vaguely remembered him buying her the first shot and then the second and maybe a third. They made small talk, she gave some bullshit story about what she did for work and where she was from. Somewhere in between she had a fourth, fifth, and sixth one. 

 And somewhere between the seventh and now, she’d lost track of Dean. She didn’t even know if he was still there. She did know that the new guy made her feel ok, at least for now. His hands never left her and the drinks never seemed to end.

  She could barely remember the events of the day. Maybe by tomorrow, she wouldn’t remember any of it, or at least a girl could hope.

But right now, she didn’t feel like crying or throwing up as long as she didn’t think of it. 

   She decided in her drunken haze that maybe this was what she needed. So when the stranger asked her if she wanted to leave, she agreed. And when he leaned down to kiss her, she let him.

[velveteencryptid]

Just watching the Mummy and having moments

Like, was SJM inspired by the Pharoah's mistress when she painted Feyre Under the Mountain (so everyone would know if anyone touched her, aka Tamllin)?

Like, how Evie and Rick make a good team as soon as they're on the same side: she's watching his back, pulling him out of gunfire without asking or needing to be asked, he's watching hers, recognizing what the wet footprints *might* mean and checking on her immediately.

Like, how Evie says "if he turns me into a mummy you're the first one I'm coming after" but what she means is "I love you" and he GETS IT immediately. They've well established that Imotep has been obsessed with reconnecting with his beloved despite being a mummy. Evie is telling Rick, you're beloved to me, and he hears her even though they've spent so little time together.

Like, how Jonathan is constantly avoiding conflict but NEVER backs down when it happens. He is the last to drop his gun when they visit the museum in Cairo for answers.

Like, how they so subtly compare Jonathan and the prison warden. Both pick up the blue gold scarabs. The warden is driven by greed, he is giggling, he keeps saying "one more" until a scarab breaks loose to eat him. But Jonathan is curious. "Hey gents, have a look at this" he says as he grabs one to show Rick and Ardeth. When it inevitably breaks loose to eat him, Rick and Ardeth are able to save him. Jonathan is greedy, yes, but it is not his primary motivation. And that saves his life.

Like, how Brendan Fraser's eyes have not changed at ALL. Now that he's back in public view, I watch this and go, "oh, there you are Brendan! We missed you buddy"

Like how Evie is a damsel, and she is in distress, but she can handle it. Give her an inch to defend herself and she f*cking WILL.

Like how the entire finale is an absolute PERFECT balance of humor and serious action. We are absolutely worried for their lives, but when Rick screams at the mummies we laugh, bc bro what are you doing lol.

Like how what secures their victory isn't violence or brute strength, it's knowledge. *Evie's* knowledge. She helps Jonathan translate a dead language to save Rick, then she translates it again (under EXTREME pressure) to make Imotep mortal.

Just, ugh. The feels. What a masterpiece.

[carolb111]

(Not proof read lol)

Kento Nanami has always worshipped you. As much as he despises the fact he just can’t help himself but be enthralled by the things that make you, well you. The way you walk, the way your face scrunches up when you laugh, and the way always have been there for him… Even in his less desirable moments. 

Kento had a rough day. He didn’t know why but it just felt like everything wasn’t going right. His coffee tasted more bitter than he would’ve liked, his favorite bakery was out of his favorite bread, and Gojo was being peskier than usual. And the worst part of all, he had to work overtime. 

After finally finishing his boring paperwork Nanami left Jujutsu Tech and excitedly drove back to his shared apartment with you. He quickly arrived considering its only a few miles away from the school. He walked in and saw his favorite food being cooked on the stove; You must’ve came home earlier than expected. “Y/n! I’m home!” He says making his presence known so he doesn’t accidentally scare you like he’s done way too many times for your liking. You step out of your shared bedroom excitedly to welcome your boyfriend back from work, “Hi! How was your day Kento?” The look on his face told you everything you needed to know. “Oh. Rough day? I’m sorry Ken but if it makes you feel any better I’m making your favorite for dinner. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” You say trying to ease the situation into a lighter mood. “No I’m okay, I just want to spend some time with my girl” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist bringing you closer to him he lays his head on your shoulder immersing himself in the perfume that you wear. “Kento I gotta check on the food.” You whisper hoping that he will let go so you don’t burn what you’re making. “I will just give me a second. I wanna hold you.” He mumbles quietly with his face pressed in your shoulder. Your heart flutters at his statement. “Okay just give me a second it’s almost finished then you can hold me as much as you’d like.” You say trying to compromise with the stubborn man, “Fine.. But be quick please, I’ve missed you all day.”  He whines secretly hoping he can have you all to himself the rest of the night without any distractions. “Okay you big baby just give me a second!” You tease, quickly turning the stove off and rushing back to Nanami before he gets grumpy. Smiling sweetly at him you peck a kiss on his cheek and quickly pull him toward the couch where you can both cuddle and watch TV together. Getting into a comfortable position with you on top of him on your comfy but small couch you whisper in his ear, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what happened today?” “No I’m okay y/n I feel better now.”

Kento Nanami has always worshipped you and your compassion for him and others and you ability to love him for him. And hopefully, one day he’ll have to courage to give you the ring in the red velvet box thats hidden in his bedside drawer.

carols note: sorry if nanami seems ooc this is my first time writing him (or anyone😅) also this work was inspired by Lacy - Olivia Rodrigo I just thought this song fit him well and I’m currently obsessed with the song 🫶

@kahtherinee thank you sm for giving me motivation to write this xx

[transmutationisms]

I don't necessarily disagree with your take on David Lynch but I feel like at least part of Twin Peaks is about deconstructing or questioning the myth of the idyllic small town, like everyone in Twin Peaks has a dark secret, most of the men were abusing or complicit in abusing a teenage girl, etc. and the Return to me is about showing that it's kind of fundamentally impossible to return to that glamorized nostalgic past. I could totally be missing something though.

wow ok this was my most controversial david lynch statement yet... so first of all i disagree that there's any tension between the kind of conservative nostalgia i see in lynch's work, and the idea that the past is impossible to return to. in fact i think that kind of lament is pretty central to quite a lot of reactionary rhetoric: it's that emotional appeal of, look what we've lost / damaged / destroyed forever. it doesn't need to be a coherent political platform because it's an appeal on the grounds of pathos.

anyway if i can just quote from my own post lol:

i simply cannot read the series in any way besides as being deeply conservative lol. this becomes especially clear to me in 'the return’, which is largely motivated by a narrative of the loss of american innocence (the double r subplot, the numerous instances of drugs and violence tearing nuclear families apart, the encroachment of electricity and processed snack foods and gambling, &c). but this viewpoint is seeded too throughout the first season-and-change of the original series, and fwwm; because what was laura palmer if not the series’s first use of rape as metonymous for what lynch sees as a broader process of social breakdown and irreversible change? i understand that some people try to read bob and laura as a critique of the family, in the sense that the violence comes through the father, but i don’t think this reading holds even in the original series and it certainly doesn’t after part 8 of 'the return’, in which bob is explicitly and directly invoked in reference to the bombing of hiroshima and nagasaki, here construed as an originary act of american evil.

i think in david lynch’s mind, the spiritual forces and influences in the show are literal and apolitical, and frequently he seems to mean to depict them more as sources of artistic inspiration than anything else ('twin peaks’ is in many ways a tv show about making a tv show, hence the double use of electricity throughout 'the return’ and fwwm, in particular). but i find this really irritating frankly, because it’s at best ignorant of the inherently political nature of the constructions of small-town americana, teenage innocence, violence as an act of moral corruption, and so forth—and also because, after the return, it’s simply impossible to deny that the show’s overarching narrative IS plugged in to political and historical lines of critique. like, i am not trying to 'force’ a reading that deals with us imperialism—lynch put the show on this discursive terrain explicitly and deliberately, through not just the bomb footage and the penderecki threnody but also the inversion of classic symbols of american 'greatness’ (the unlucky penny, the evil lincoln impersonator), culminating again in the violation of a young girl’s body by the forces of evil. what this all adds up to is the invocation of american empire as a kind of universal moral struggle, stripped of its historical specificity or even the barest pretense of material critique or commentary. if it sounds like i’m asking too much of network television… i mean, maybe i am, but again, these were deliberate choices lynch made and specific historical events he invoked on purpose, lol. see also the jacoby trump commentary in 'the return’ (cringe and yawn).

i’m not a lynch scholar but i do think there’s a tension throughout his work (what i’ve seen) between the desire to make art about what he sees as the purely spiritual process of making art (heavily informed by his own TM beliefs), and the conservative elements that creep in anyway, noticeable especially in his commentary on american history, corruption, modernity, &c. the idea of any pure, transcendent, apolitical spiritual dimension of human existence is itself, i would argue, at best a misguided conservative fantasy, and 'twin peaks’ ultimately shows these cracks more blatantly than some of his other work (say, 'inland empire’) because it tries to subordinate the material to the spiritual in a kind of fantastical historical parable. but, you can see this recurring tension throughout his filmography, eg, the loss of small-town innocence ('blue velvet’) and a kind of generalised modernity anxiety ('eraserhead’, though taken on its own this one would permit other readings depending on how you interpreted the role of german expressionism in it).

i don’t think lynch is an ideologue or even considers himself particularly political, but nevertheless his narratives do idealise a certain conservative vision of post-war america, mourn its loss, and wax nostalgic for its perceived ethos (& it’s not a coincidence lynch is/has been a reaganite, lol). anyway, i thought 'twin peaks’ had some really incredible moments of visual artistry (part 8 of 'the return’, for example!) and i found much of it frankly beautiful and compelling to watch. so, i don’t mean any of this to dismiss lynch as a filmmaker—he is, if nothing else, highly technically adept.

[blackdragoness]

PAC: WHAT MAKES YOU STAND OUT?

1) Pile 1 - 10 of Pentacles

2) Pile 2- Page of Wands

3) Pile 3- 5 of Pentacles

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

Pile 1 - 10 of Pentacles

💍WIFEY💍

What makes you standout:

- wifey material

- stable

- patient

- kind

- sustainable

- efficient

- workaholics

- might come from a great family or upbringing

- endurance

- "you better shape up, cuz I need a man but my heart is set on you" sandy from grease

- temptation

-personable

-charismatic

-public speaking

-might be great with animals

-high standards and high morals

Tarot Cards:

You are the TOTAL PACKAGE. Hot Mami Tamale 🔥This is why you are wifey material. You are the calm of any storm. You are a great problem solver. I'm channelling alot of masculine energy. A lot of men think about you. You may be surrounded by men a lot either in a work environment or friend environment, etc. Men know they can rely on you to complete tasks that may be too heavy for other women to carry. You may have many suitors. Early on you may doubt your self worth because many of your suitors may not take you seriously at first but then fall madly in love as time goes on. You may be extremely attractive whether you care to admit it or not. This is why men don't take you seriously at first. They think you are nothing but a trophy and a good time. That is until they open up Pandora's box and find out all there is to know about such a beautiful alien creature that you are lol. Men realize you are not one to play with because you aren't afraid to walk away from anything that doesn't serve you. You may be "the one that got away" for a lot of people. This is not a love reading but I am channelling alot of romantic feelings from the opposite sex (not gender specific). You may be perceived as someone who never struggles in romance as you have lots of romantic offers. You always seem to glow up and level up every time you close a chapter in your life. A lot of people from your past miss you and wish to reconnect. What makes you standout is how people react to you. People notice the various reactions you evoke in those you interact with. Even those who are widely known for being the Eeyore of the crew will crack a smile or laugh during an interaction with you. You make everything seem effortless. I'm hearing legacy. Those who chose this pile are destined to leave behind a legacy. It could be positive or negative, but it's your choice to write your own story. Whatever it be, it will be what your bloodline is known for for generations to come but also be what you guys are skilled at. People don't realize what you meant to them until you walked away but things seemed to be effortless for you once you walked away and chose yourself. You stand out for your self love and your love for others. You want everyone around you to succeed and thrive. Everyone feels more inspired and motivated when you are around. You are many peoples muse. Keep shining bright like a diamond hunty.

Channelled Movie: Land Before Time

Channelled Song: You're The One That I Want - Olivia Newton John & John Travolta

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

Pile 2: Page of Wands

⭐SUPERSTAR⭐

What makes you standout:

- limitless potential

-innovative

-breathe of fresh air

-unorthodox

-thinks outside the box

-talkative and communicative but in a way that grabs your attention for a long period of time

-leadership qualities

-initiative

-strong aries vibes

-lone wolf

-menace to society

-catalyst for change

Tarot cards:

If you chose this group, the thing that makes you stand out is that you have an undercover celebrity vibe about you. What makes you stand out is that you do not see just now truly magical you are to other people. Whimsical. You seem like a fairy when people first meet you and they wonder why you settle for the life you choose. You might live a very simple mundane and minimalistic lifestyle. Nothing wrong with that but you stand out to people because they think you should be living more lavishly. It's like if someone who looked like Jennifer Lopez decided to settle for a basic 9-5 career while rocking Shein's and being okay with that. Granted, she would still slay but do you see why you stand out? You look like something that waltzed right out of a Disney movie. "if there was anyone who would make it big from this small town, it would be that girl!" A lot of people see you as a celebrity in the making. Like you could be a model, an actress, a super star! But you are at peace with working a basic job making minimum wage. You make people want to invest in you. However, there's Something about a lack of motivation and being stuck in between two worlds. Indecisive energy. This may keep you awake at night. Wondering about your stability and your future. You are a rollercoaster! When people meet you, they aren't prepared for the rollercoaster of emotions you take them through. You are hard to comprehend and understand. Some of the things you do may at face value seem completely disrespectful and inhumane. But as time goes on and people pick apart the incident, they come to understand the innocence of your actions. As much as people hate it, they can't resist it. People can become very addicted to you and lose sleep over you. People can develop very jealous feelings towards you wondering if you are entertaining others or if their partners are secretly entertaining you. Lots and lots of birds in your life. Lots of talk. Lots of chita-chatta. You stand out because you are very humble. You are okay with the simple and mundane things in life. A lot of people think you could be famous or widely known for the ideas you come up with but you don't seem to care for the recognition. This is why you stand out. You are very talented and skilled in many things yet you do nothing with it. You are someone who shines bright without even trying. you may not like the spotlight or being the center of attention but when you do open up and share parts of your world with others, they feel so warm and gooey like warm honey lol. People don't understand why you aren't utilizing your talents. But it's only because they are addicted to your honey! They wish they could have it 24/7 but they disregard the fact that you are a human being as well. You may like a lot of time alone. Inner peace. Boundaries. You see the world differently. You choose to develop and master your talents in private and use them only when needed. Fame is not what you are after. It's skill. But not many people understand that or know. You may not even know that yourself. That is why you do not care to show off your talents.

Channelled Movie: Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile

Channelled Song: Anti-hero: Taylor Swift

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

Pile 3: 5 of Pentacles

🏍️RIDE OR DIE ALPHA🏍️

-charitable

-selfless , will take the shirt off your back to help someone in need

-Icy Queen vibes - you colddddddd AF bitch 🤣 I'd like to see a mf TRY!

-cut off game strong

-spiritual to the point where people think you are a little kookoo in the noggin

-out of touch, out of reach, out of sight

-known for overcoming deep struggles and being victorious

-Soldier energy

-experienced

-teacher, mentor energy

-moves in silence

-unexpected

-enigma

Tarot cards:

You stand out because of your resiliency and your indestructibility. Whoever chose this pile, you have been through the war field many times in your life. Wounded. Stranded. Deserted. Left out. Shamed. Abused. Manipulated. Betrayal. So much hate and malice thrown your way and still you rose. Gahhhh dayum Pile 3, y'all some muthafuckin' souljah's, lets just say that! Your world could have been flipped upside down And tossed around and yet you still rose from the destruction and created opportunities for yourself. Dayuuuummmmmm. This energy is huge and it's intense. Who tf are you? When people think of you they are AMAZED at your inner strength especially after they find out your history and all the battles you've fought. You are valiant. Chivalrous. Immovable. Courageous. Unstoppable. Warrior spirit. Phoenix rising. People may have seen you come out victorious from a very tumultuous time. It's shocking and astonishing. You see the silver lining in everything so even the sourest of life experiences, you are able to see the sweetness of it all. Real life influencer vibes. "N*gga, F*ck your twitter, bitches follow me in real life" -J Cole. In a league of your own. In your own world. Superhero vibes. Super Villain vibes. GOAT. Go getter. Midas touch. Alpha dawg. Regina George/Sharpay Evans vibes. Pristine. Prim & proper. Upperclass vibes. The popular girl in school. Girl next door vibes. Confidence on 30000x. Beyonce of your own world. Fierce. Magnetic. One in a million. Unique. Straight to the point. Cut-throat. No bullshit.

Channelled Movie: The Blind Side

Channelled Song: Scars to Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara

[yuzuocha]

THE HORRORS OF GACHA. [HC]

gacha they would play and how they play. this is based off of the gachas i played, so apologies kek

warnings ‣ uhhahahha this may or may not be completely self-indulgent because i need writer motivation juice to finish up my more serious fics — enjoy this semi-crack hc that prolly makes zero sense

lmao (inspired from moot @anxiousgoddest bc this is kinda crack-ish) also my xavier bias may have leaked a bit too much in this lol. or maybe its just my proseka and ak bias bc i haven't played hsr in a while and it shows

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ・project sekai

— you didn't think he'd get into project sekai to THIS extent.

— you piqued his curiosity when he heard you spewing out curses such as 'I FLICKED THAT' or 'OH, ONE GREAT? YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING' from the floor above his apartment.

— later on a date in destiny café he asked you what game made you fume like so. after a couple of minutes of embarrassed apologies and silent profanities at your apartments' thin walls, you told him about project sekai and its game mechanics.

— "tapping to the beat is very simple in concept, but it gets difficult?" you nod.

— "is it free to download?" you nod vigorously. caleb doesn't play it anymore and tara focuses on toya more than the actual game itself. you'd kill to have a buddy to discuss one of your favorite games, especially if xavier is that person in question.

— you two ended up skipping the claw machinery for plushies in favor of staying in the café and playing project sekai. you did slightly dread about how long you had to wait for him to catch up to you in terms of skill, rank and unlocked songs, however.

— "why is the speed so slow? oh, i can change it?"okay, maybe you don't have to wait as much.

— "i just have to skim through the archives to get the items needed to unlock songs, right?" huh, he's getting to know the ropes quickly.

— "i'll choose this one." he chooses expert and you almost laugh. while expert isn't difficult per se, it's nothing short of impossible to a rhythm game beginner, right?

— WRONG, WRONG, ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY WRONG.

— aside from the beginning where he hit a lot of greats and missed a couple of notes, he was improving by the second while playing the chart and ended with a combo in the hundreds.

— "this is pretty fun and helps with hand-eye coordination," he said as he full combo'ed the song on his second day of playing.

— "the game said i unlocked something called 'ranked matches'. what is that?" day three.

— "i've full combo'ed intense voice on expert, it was very fun." week one.

— god dammit, just why does he have to be good at everything besides cooking and staying awake ??? not even a month in and he got the 'mad skillz' achievement, something that took you over six months to get.

— now he plays it while you're at the meow café playing kitty cards, and your urge to throw your phone across Linkon City has only increased with the amount of all perfects and full combos he piled up.

— it didn't help that his gacha luck was so good despite him being so disinterested in the cards too. you still haven't forgiven him for pulling the entire colorful festival banner within 30 pulls while you got nothing from over 200...

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ・arknights

— it all started when you were too lazy to reach for your phone and took zayne's instead to search something up. you got distracted by the small amount of apps and tabs he had until you came across an icon that looked surprisingly familiar... a fourteen year old girl with brown hair and ears? arknights??

— you bolted to your phone to immediately send a picture of this monstrosity to caleb, but damn zayne's good vision and movements — you couldn't even touch your phone. never have you seen zayne so flustered; he must've known you were planning to frame him over an app with an underaged girl as its icon despite you knowing the contents of said game.

— you had to stifle your laughter while zayne was explaning why the game was on his phone as if he was presenting a medical thesis — that much detail should suffice.

— according to zayne, he's actually someone who played this game ever since its release. he liked the strategic aspect of it and it was a stress reliever of sorts.

— he also played it because the main plot device for arknights, originium, reminded him of you and protocores, but he won't ever admit to this.

— post-interrogation (?), you took a look at zayne's account; and for someone who claimed that it was just a casual stress reliever, the claim was absolutely ridiculous.

— level 120. all medals obtained. all stories, challenge modes and game modes cleared. all of the operators maxed out and mastered. the six star operators only had the necessary potentials and masteries too — was he a cardiac surgeon or an arknights dev??

— also, just what about arknights is relaxing?? it's notoriety for its difficult gameplay amongst gacha games was nothing to sneeze at, and zayne's a doctor in real life! why in the fucking hell would he want to take a break from his job by playing as a doctor?!

— you ended up surmising that normies couldn't possibly understand geniuses.

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ・star rail

— you two were waiting for the release together ever since the pre-registering and beta testing, let's be real.

— but GOD, rafayel's so laughably terrible at this game despite it not requiring much skill.

— what's even worse is that he's a whale. a big one.

— even when you explained how seele was destined to fail in long-term meta due to her gimmick's trigger conditions, rafayel slammed his credit card down for her, claiming it was "good investment" and that you were just one of those meta-haters.

— and fastforward to addition of the newer characters, you completely steamrolled rafayel's claim. granted, seele was hardly what you'd consider as terrible by any means. but to rafayel, who plays with quote in quote "only the best of the best", it was pretty funny seeing him scowl at DHIL a couple months later.

— seele's been gathering dust since, by the way.

— rages over chests. he couldn't find that one chest at cloudford and the divination commission and he was about to break his pc. this ain't even genshin with hundreds of chests per region. though, in his defense, cloudford was really annoying with all of the contraptions, and it was easy to get lost in the divination. no seriously fuck that shit

— don't get me fucking started with simulated universe. while he eventually learned how to manage through the stages, the process in getting there was quite painful for him to experience and for you to watch.

— one thing that didn't change, though, was his ridiculous luck in terms of artifact-pulling. crit rate, crit damage, energy regeneration, atk increase – you're convinced the game knows that rafayel's a huge spender and they're rewarding him for his services.

— well, he'll manage somehow, even with his all-dps team with zero sustain or support. heh.

taglist! | @kttriangle | @sncrly0urs | @anxiousgoddest (im adding you here just to annoy you btw <3)

tysm for reading! comment down below or message me if you'd like to be a part of the taglist, and if you can, please do consider reblogging! it helps out a lot ;; w ;; and and!! my inbox is open for requests! PLEASE SEND SOME ASDJQVEJWHE I NEED THEM

yuzuocha © 2024 — all rights reserved.

[thegalleonsnest]

Now that Art Fight is over, let's compile everything into 1 post! 20 Pieces! 31 OCs! (+1 of my own)

This year's Art Fight (2024) has been one of the most productive art months I've had since last year lol. I've literally never produced this much art at such a consistent high quality with fully realized backgrounds or simple scene style ones. I used to be pretty fast with making (what used to be my version of fully rendered) pieces back in 2021 when I first got my art drive back. Still pretty high quality for myself, but not on the level I'm at now.

I tried to challenge myself a lot during this month, especially in the way of setting up compositions and a bit of perspective. Though nothing severely complex, a lot of them were more about getting a scene and ideas across. I've also tried my hand at different kinds of backgrounds and color palettes, the latter I feel especially proud of in certain pieces because I feel like I was able to really gauge the colors I wanted to better match the overall lighting/color tones of the pieces. (It's pretty clear to see in the Grumpus apartment, farm land, the ocean cliff pieces, I really love how those turned out)

I honestly thought I'd be doing a lot more grumpuses or birds, or my initial goal of doing a lot more toontown ocs, but I ended up being more inspired and quickly gaining ideas for a lot of others. And you know what? It was something I wanted to challenge myself on anyway. Really expand myself and see that there are other things/creatures I can draw. And hey what do you know, rare human oc moments! I've always been way more interested in drawing anything that isn't human/humanoid, but sometimes you gotta do stuff scared, and I think they turned out fine! Did dragons, a sloth, monsters inc, weird closed species guys, and other animals/anthros/humanoids. Pretty good range all things considered!

Really proud of the turn out this year, and a great reminder to myself I still got it. Just had the proper motivation and inspiration to go strong for a month. But also I'm tired now and just wanna play video games for 1 billion years, I completely stopped playing this month just to draw and miss it SO BAD LMAO!

Here's my art fight so ya'll can see all the attacks for the pieces I've done.

[freesia-writes]

Lil Life Update for Y'all <3

I've been a lil cryptic or back-n-forth, I think, and just wanted to share a little bit about what's been going on. I say it's not for attention but who knows what motives lurk under there, LOL. It's mostly because I love you all and want to let you in, also hope that it's encouraging or connective for anyone else who's experienced the same, and also I just miss the community I have sooooo loved here. 🥹

I'm a 34yo female with 2 kids aged 4 and 7. I had depression like crazy during and after my second pregnancy especially. In Aug 2021, my primary doc suggested I try something like Zoloft since I'd been complaining of irritability, no capacity, constant worry, and other anxiety symptoms. When I did feel some relief and felt encouraged that I could "feel like myself" again, I pursued solutions for other issues I was noticing. Over the last year and a half, it's been quite a ride. ADHD symptoms led to Adderall for 4 days, then Wellbutrin for a few months, then Buspar for a few months, then Strattera (tapering up and then back down) for about 3 months, then Ritalin for 1 month, which I thought was helping until we realized that the entire month of October was basically an increasingly manic episode.

Whew.

We're talkin 2007 Britney here (ok I didn't shave it but I cut my hair off into a pixie). Spent thousands on a new wardrobe of the "dark academia" style. Bought Disneyland tickets. Invested in a photography mentorship. So much energy and inspiration. Then we realized it was getting out of hand.

I had also been tapering off a lot of the meds over the last two months, so it was just a crazy cocktail of chemicals that made my brain finally go kaput. I finished the last dose of Zoloft on November 5th, and that was the last of the meds, so now I'm off everything. My therapist thought the mania was medication-induced due to all the changes plus the addition of the stimulant, so the goal was to try to allow everything to settle down and see what "baseline" is for me right now.

And it has been frickin HARD.

Cervical vertigo. All-or-nothing sleep and appetite. Extreme sensory sensitivity. Random itchiness. Racing mind. Total inability to focus. And the worst part has been the mood swings.

I'm basically having all the symptoms of bipolar disorder in a rapid-cycle format. It may be cyclothymia, or it may be the withdrawal effects from all the meds, but regardless... It's been quite the roller coaster. The nerd in me has been fascinated by the experiential knowledge of it all, since I majored in Psychology and have always loved learning about it, but the overall negative effects on me and my family have been difficult.

I'm someone who has always relied completely on being highly capable and in control. I find my worth in my productivity and competence. And it has caused increasing stress throughout my life. I've been praying for years that God would break me of it, and I can see how he is using this to do precisely that -- lovingly trying to answer my request to be freed of this relentless pursuit of the illusion of control. He's inviting me to simple, joyful life of trust. The perspective shift is so freeing when I realize that I don't need to have it all figured out because he already does, and I can just rest in his loving guidance and look to him for the next step instead of trying to plan out every possible outcome and strategy. I went on a reflective retreat in the Santa Cruz mountains and just felt so encouraged and loved in the way he invited me to let my shoulders down and to ground myself in his warm provision and care.

But the change doesn't happen overnight.

So in the middle of a total storm of bipolar symptoms -- days of mania followed by days of depressive episodes and being so new at it all that I don't know how to navigate "normal life" with all of that -- I'm also trying to rewire 34 years' worth of the way I think and act. BUT it's a blessedly simple process: the only thing I have to worry about is this moment. I can't affect the future or the past. So all I have is right now, and I can turn to God for guidance, encouragement, insight, or anything I need in this moment, and he is so faithful to give it. But man, it's easy to forget. ;)

Literally me with that right now, trying to figure it all out on my own before I remember I can't and don't need to:

Anyway, this got LONG, surprise surprise, but I've always enjoyed being vulnerable for the sake of connection and potential encouragement. And selfishly, I'd LOVE to hear from any of you who may have had similar experiences. Right now the fixation of my [very limited] capacity is on my photography business, but I've been feeling drawn to writing more and more, and have attempted a lil drabble here and there. So I'm just patiently waiting for the inspiration to return. :)

I have so appreciated the love from you all. I also haven't been as active with reading/reblogging/supporting/etc as I was, and that's just where I'm at right now, but please know that my heart is with you even if my brain is not, LOL.

If you made it this far, you get a gold star. Or a Howzer hug. Or somethin. :)

[panda-panoptic]

How do Alfred’s parental issues manifest (and more)

GOOD QUESTION I think he’s a workaholic and is constantly seeking praise.

He’s very status-conscious and always looking towards achievements, so he can come off as narcissistic because he’s trying to get the praise that was inconsistent to him as a child.

His trauma is based on “I got praise and care by doing this/being this way but that nurturing feeling became inconsistent or changed, so what can I do to stop it from changing?” so he’s constantly trying to be the “best” version of himself for other people to prevent the praise and support from changing again.

His biggest fear is being worthless or feeling like he’s not enough for others. He never wants to be a “nobody”. To try to stop this feeling he’s always looking to do the next great thing and improve and be admired by others. He wants affirmation and to be distinguished by his accomplishments.

Ironically, when he does this from an unhealthy place he becomes overbearing because he’s doing it from a place of apathy and selfishness. When he’s doing these things from a healthy state of mind he becomes more cooperative and committed to doing things for people.

He’s always focused on doing and getting things done and “how do I look right now? Do people like me? Am I doing things right?” He’s always sort of going “oh look at me! Do you like what I’m doing? Look at my achievements. Do you think I’m good?”

So he’s a people pleaser by trying to be a show off lol. He changes himself based on how other people may want him to be to get that nurturing feeling that he missed out on.

At his worst he’s vindictive, obsessive over shortcomings, destructive towards things that get in his way, and untrustworthy.

He has an insane pride and ego so of course he’s not going to admit these things easily or openly. It makes him cringe to think about how similar he is to the person who was supposed to care for him but didn’t. If he went on an inner healing journey it would be one of the first things he works on: the fact that him and the person who caused him so much pain are so similar and so he has the capacity to do the exact same things that person did to him (and has done them)

To me, I think this manifests in a feeling of resentment for his caretaker, and by extension himself. He ends up taking that out on himself through self deprecation when he feels inadequate. As well as on the people he’s closest to when he feels like they aren’t doing the things they’re “supposed to be doing” or could be doing to be the “best” version of themselves out of fear that they’ll feel or experience what he’s feeling. He becomes anxious when he thinks someone is being lazy, and he can be unsympathetic to others when he feels like they’re slacking off.

He has trouble “just playing around”. He’s a playful person and of course he has fun, but he has difficulty setting aside unstructured free time. He can set aside designated time to have fun, but that’s not unstructured. The struggle comes when he has room to do nothing or is able to do nothing in particular. To him he can’t just sit around doing “nothing” to relax he has to be doing something remotely productive.

On a more healthy note, he can be a very inspiring force because he loves to develop himself and contribute his abilities to the world. He enjoys motivating people to find and explore their own strengths and personal abilities. He’s well regarded by his peers as an efficient person and a go-getter. When he’s at his best people are able to see their own goals reflected in him and his abilities.

At his best he’s self assured, has a clear sense of direction, is energetic and adaptable, can be charming, and is a generally caring personality.

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's end ✨ || bts • myg - epilogue

"so eager to be in a headlock again?"

"only if it's by you."

he thought he was done with the criminal life and ready for some peace and quiet. but his plans collapsed in the form of a strange girl who was in trouble. © 2023 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to lovers s2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

3 months later

somewhere in the mountains of Taiwan

Soyeon dragged out a breath, the pencil in her right hand coming flat onto the notebook on her knees. Her mind felt heavy and she slowly sank her head until it touched the pages. And she remained like this for seconds until stirring up and sitting straight again. Allowing her brown irises wandering over the scenary in front of her.

Everything green as far as the eye could reach. A mellow breeze brushing by, clouds moving slowly on the lightblue sky.

It was peaceful, it was calming. 

Maybe too peaceful and too calming.

Picking up the earphones that had fallen from her ears previously, she put them back in. The same melody still playing on repeat.

She was motivated to write, however, she simply didn't feel inspired. That was the issue.

Her gaze fell back down on her half-written lyrics.

'sunny

exceptionally pleasant morning

sunny

even if I hum lightly

in the scorching sun

that dirty feeling flies away'

Why did she struggle so much coming up with a chorus and second verse?

Of course, deep down she knew the answer and simply didn't want to admit it to herself. Admit that the story wasn't completely finished yet. That one puzzle piece was still missing, one end being still open. She just didn't know if it'd ever be possible to complete the puzzle, to finish this story completely.

Frustrated, she shut the notebook with the pencil still inside and pulled the earphones out. There was no use to try. For today, she was done.

Stuffing everything back into her backpack, she decided to look for some company. It'd been an hour, that was enough me-time she decided and hopped the stony steps down from the porch to the garden. Finding her object of interest not too far away, secluded from any possible disruptive elements - even if there were hardly any in the middle of a temple in the mountains.

Folding her lips, she suddenly felt lighthearted and in the mood to tease him a little. So she took off her shoes, holding them in her hands as she barefootedly neared him with quiet steps. Trying her best not to make any sound on the grass.

Only a few steps seperated her from him when she paused, heaving her leg slowly. Her tongue sticking out mischieviously between her lips like always when being focused. Ready to poke him with her foot when his chuckle made her pause mid-air.

"You didn't actually think I haven't heard you from the moment you stood up from the porch, did you?"

Soyeon puffed her cheeks, huffing offendedly. "As if." Yoongi only laughed more when seeing her stepping in front of him with crossed arms and a sulky expression, making her even more adorable.

"Did you get bored and wanted to scare me?" he grinned smugly and stood up. And she earned a poke on her still puffy cheeks. "You finished the lyrics?" he asked then, tilting his head inquiringly. Only getting a disappointed sigh as response. And he nodded, understanding.

"It's okay, you tried your best," he said, giving her an encouraging smile then which made her only sulkier. Feeling somewhat embarrassed about him having to cheer her up over trivial things like this. 

They turned around then, making their way back when Yoongi peeked at her. Sighing then. "It's that list of symbols, right? You can't get over it."

Perhaps she shouldn't be so astonished about his perfect deduction as it was probably more than obvious. Ever since she had told him about it, he'd offered his help but she refused, believing it'd be pointless. But deep down, he knew, she couldn't let go of the curiosity.

Soyeon looked away, feeling only more embarrassed about having been so easily to figure out, like an open book. "Maybe.." was the only thing she was willing to admit in that moment.

»»»

The third manga volume was spread between her fingers when she eventually got tired of reading. She hadn't noticed how much time had passed already.

The scenery outside was only a blur. The mood depending on how much sunlight the clouds left through. Currently, they were hanging dark and low, creating a gloomy atmosphere contrasting to the deep green of the fields and forests.

For a moment she paused, simply staring out of the train. The view of the afternoon giving her some kind of inspiration, a tingly feeling spreading in her fingers.

It was usually random things like this, even watching animation films could sparkle her inspiration. So she quickly got her earphones out along with her writing tools.

Tapping her pen against the notebook which was balanced on her folded thighs. Chin resting on the palm of her hand as she pensively observed the grey cloud-blanket. Trying to fill in the empty spaces in the melody that was on repeat by creating somewhat poetic sounding sentences out of nothing.

She peeked at Yoongi then who had somehow managed to fall asleep next to her almost as soon as the train had departed. She internally scoffed, but couldn't help observing his sleeping self with a soft expression. His chest raising and falling under his folded arms, while his head was leaning against the seat. Dark streaks slightly covering his forehead and eyes.

She still couldn't believe he had convinced her in giving it a try. Frankly, it might not have been that hard after all, but she liked to pretend it was.

When she took a closer look of him, she could notice him having similar dark circles under his eyes as her. And she wondered if it was her fault, having unintentionally compelled him into staying up late with her, contemplating which decision to make. Her lips curled into a smile when reminiscing their conversation the previous night. He hadn't really pushed her or tried arguing, his words had been rather simple. Yet effective. And his voice was still stuck in her mind.

"My honest opinion? Do it or don't - you might regret both anyway. But if you don't, you'll have to live with the 'what if' and I think that's worse."

A string of words suddenly crossed her mind and she averted her eyes from him, redirecting her gaze onto the landscape.

'how was your sky today 

how was your day today

how was your weather?

oh, my season?

every summer the same

good weather, bad weather

come and go'

She scribbled the words down when a yawn excaped her lips. She envied him. Despite her also still being tired, she wasn't able to fall asleep as easily, especially not in a cramped train.

And yet, her eyes did close eventually and she almost dozed off. Her head sliding onto his shoulder and resting there for awhile until one of her earphones dropped, startling her a little. Her eyes opened and she plugged it back into her ear, straightening herself and focusing back on the melody. Her eyes returning outside. Letting her mind wander.

'cloudy

dark clouds

have lost their taste

manic-depressed sky

you're dyeing even me'

She propped her chin on her fist when noticing small droplets hitting the glass. The pen tapped along the rhythm when she glanced at Yoongi again, pausing.

'in the rushing clouds

that clear feeling flies away

don't come, don't come anymore

summer, don't cry now

it's time to pass

how was your sky today?

how's your weather?

rainy

it's a rainy night'

She noted everything down, being so absorbed in her writing that she hadn't noticed Yoongi stirring up at her movement. Stretching next to her.

"What time is it?" he yawned, not getting any answer as the music in her ears was blasting too loud.

Confused, he blinked an eye open, realising she didn't hear him. And he got curious, now fully awake he leaned over to see what she was doing. His eyes widening when seeing her hand gliding over the paper.

He observed her writing like she was possessed by that pen, finding the way how immersed she was quite endearing. And he didn't want to disturb her flow, being happy her inspiration had returned in the end, so he sat back again. Waiting until she eventually put the pen down, exhaling contently.

She took a proud look at the once blank pages in front of her then. It was quite a lot. She had verses, the bridge and chorus. Not bad, she smiled to herself and was about to go back when the music was cut off in one of her ears. Startled, she looked aside, seeing Yoongi holding the earphone to his own ear and taking a listen.

He hummed then. "Didn't know you also work on weekends," he smirked and gave it back to her, seeing her pausing the music on her phone.

"I don't, but the weather fits the song's mood so I got some inspiration.."

"Huh, is that so.." His eyes instantly went outside, seeing the low hanging clouds, then went back to her notepad. "You know, you've never shown me any of your songs." He held her gaze while an implying smile spread on his lips, "You said you would."

Her lips folded, remembering their conversation months ago. "I did say that.." 

She hadn't done it on purpose, avoiding showing him any of her work all those months. The opportunity simply never occured. Usually she was all by herself when writing lyrics, to concentrate better. So naturally, he didn't really saw her doing it and she didn't happen talking about it besides complainging whenever she got stuck.

She handed him the earphone back with a nervous feeling. "I don't know if you're gonna like them though.." she mumbled, searching up songs she had worked on.

He cocked a brow at her, mockingly. "Since when are you so self-conscious?"

Ignoring his teasing, she pressed play. Watching his eyes widening while the song progressed. "You wrote that?"

"The chorus and second verse only. Not the whole thing."

The irrational nervousness that rose in her didn't get any better with his unreadably stoic expression while listening through them all. She knew the songs were good, otherwise they wouldn't have got picked. And yet, she was nervous about his opinion, knowing he wouldn't lie just to be polite or because she was his girlfriend. Maybe only sugarcoat it, not to be too harsh. However, much to her ego's delight, he didn't have to do either one.

"You've got a nice way with words," he nodded then, unable to hide the clear adoration lingering in his simple words.

And she smiled.

He might not be a man of many words, but the ones he chose to say were always the right ones.

»»»

Taipei, Taiwan

"I.. don't understand anything."

With a yet again sulky expression she lowered the piece of paper. Not being able making any sense of the symbols drawn by her grandfather ages ago. Her already lacking certainty about finding the mystery behind them only declining ever since they had stepped foot out of the train.

After finding it behind the photo frame, she had tried -  -and failed to decipher whatever code this was supposed to be. Leading her to give up back then. So she didn't know why she'd thought this time by being at the location would be different.

She knew 'oro' meant 'gold' in italian, most likely hinting at all the loot her grandfather had gathered over the years of being a secret thief and which interpol had still been unable to locate till now. This, however, was her only clue. The rest of the symbols had remained unknown to her.

She knew that this unsolved mystery constantly invading her thoughts in the back of her mind would never let her go, unless she tried solving it, though.

And yet, right now, she regretted telling Yoongi about it and him convicing her of going there.

Who knew, maybe it was nothing after all. Just a silly little doodle made by an old man.

"Don't give up so quickly, we just arrived," Yoongi scolded her and looked around, "And you're sure this is the place that photo was taken at?"

She nodded, fiddling out a photo from her backpack and pointing at it. "Yeah, see. That's my grandpa and that - " She pointed at the Little South Gate behind them. "Is the exact same spot. He even wrote it on the back."

However, something else seemed to have caught his attention instead. Brown irises fixated on the photo she was holding in front of his eyes. He grabbed it then with a scowl. "Who's this guy next to your grandfather again?"

She shrugged. "No clue. Some friend, I assume, whose name was 'M'. See." She turned the photo and he read the handwriting himself. "Why?"

"'Cause he seems oddly familiar. And I never forget a face," he mumbled then, trying his hardest to remember where he'd seen this man before or if he had at all. The photo was quite old.

She slid the photo back into her bag then, redirecting their focus onto the mysterious symbols.

"Let me see again," Yoongi said, peeking over her shoulder to the piece of paper she was holding.

This wasn't the first cypher he had come across. Over the years, he and the guys had seen and solved lots of them in order to find hidden treasures. This one, however, was quite different from the previous ones.

These symbols could mean anything or nothing at all.

And his eyes narrowed while trying making sense of them. "What's this?"

Soyeon squinted her eyes at the spot he was pointing at next to the 'W' and the arrow. Indeed, she hadn't paid attention to it before as it had almost completely faded away compared to the rest, but there was also a moon symbol.

"A crescent? Now I'm even more confused.." she mumbled under her breath. Losing any hope she had to ever find her grandfather's haul.

"Let's not over-complicate things," Yoongi said then with a surprising enthusiasm in his voice. He seemed to have caught onto something, she could see it in his little grin. Glancing at his watch then, he saw it was almost 6pm. The sun would set soon. "'Moon' might indicate night. And the 'W' with the arrow perhaps the cardinal point, West. So whatever these symbols are, we can only see them at night when going west from the Little South Gate. What do you think?"

Her brows rose in awe, his interpretation making sense. At least they had another possible clue now. "But.." she slowly began then, the excitement leaving her eyes, "Grandpa wrote that 'map' - or whatever this is - years ago. Who knows if these symbols still exist nowadays. "

He only hummed. "Suck it and see," he shrugged and began walking down the western located street. The raven-haired girl observed him dumbfounded before quickly trotting behind him. Following him with a curious glare as the sky darkened above them.

"So something you can only see at night," she thought out loud then, her eyes going back and forth from one side of buildings to another. "What could that be?"

A square. A rectangle with a semicircle on top. A triangle. An umbrella. A star. A keyhole.

She abrubtly stopped then. Her eyes widening. "Isn't that.. a rectangle with a semicircle on top?"

Yoongi paused in his tracks to look over his shoulder. His eyes then following her gaze, catching indeed a big blue neon-light on the top of a department store shaped like the second symbol.

"And there, a square!" she exclaimed excitedly. Pointing at red neon-sign on the opposite side of the street. "You think he meant neon-signs?"

"Could be," he smiled at her beaming face. And they continued walking down the street when Yoongi caught something that could be the third symbol. "You see the lights over there?"

She nodded vigorously at the illuminated triangle-sign of a building. Taking a look at the cryptic map then. "So we might've found the first three."

"What was the next one?"

"An umbrella."

An umbrella-shaped sign might be harder to find, if something like that even existed. 

They continued looking around in the crisp evening, unable to find any neon-lights in that form, though, which was expected. A bright cloud icon on a display catching Yoongi's interest then. It was for weather forecast, informing tomorrow's weather would be cloudy again. And he smirked, beginning to understand.

"I can't find any," Soyeon stated with disappointment when he nudged her side, motioning with his chin to the display among the numerous billboards at the crossroads in front of them.

"I think I found our umbrella."

Her brows furrowed puzzled. Not being able seeing what he meant until it finally clicked and her expression returned to an excited one. "I see.. when this was drawn the weather forecast was predicting rain."

He nodded. "Now the star is missing."

Soyeon immediatelly perked up at this. A star, right! She had seen a star somewhere near by.

She started running, taking him aback. Only stopping at the end of the block, where the tall buildings weren't hiding the ferris wheel in the distance anymore. "He surely meant the giant star-shaped lights on this!" She faced him with a huge smile and he reciprocated.

"You're right, no way it's not this."

"That means only the last symbol is left."

The keyhole.

"Maybe it's not a light, though," Soyeon mused, "Maybe it just stands for the lock where the loot is at."

Shaking his head, he disagreed. "I don't think so." He grabbed her hand then, taking a few steps back until the vertical neon-framed billboard on one of the buildings was perfectly alligning with a circle of lightbulbs on the taller building behind it. Creating a keywhole-shape. 

"You think that's.." She looked up at him questioningly, seeing him giving her an innocent look.

"Who knows.." Taking a glance behind then, he noticed they were standing right in front of an entrance. "But if I'm correct, then.. it's probably inside this building."

Her eyes grew, looking at the dark building that was quietly soaring to the sky. She rummaged the key out of her pocket then and inspected it closely. There was a small letter engraved on one side. B.

"B. Basement?"

"Possible. The only way to find out is to get in."

"Get in? But it seems there's nobo- oh. Oh!" She looked at him with big eyes, making him chuckle.

"You guessed right. We'll just break in."

"Or wait till tomorrow?"

He arched a brow at her. "You actually wanna wait till tomorrow? And have people ask questions?"

Watching her contemplating it, mouth moving from one side to another she eventually gave in with a groan. "Ugh, fine. But only if you're sure we won't get caught."

He scoffed. "You offend my abilities as a thief."

"Isn't Jimin the thief and you and Taehyung rather the assistants?" she grinned teasingly to which he only shrugged casually. "If that's the case you don't need me here then." And he turned around on his heels, ready to leave when she grabbed his arm, pulling him back with an eyeroll.

They decided to go look for the back entrance, it being less risky to enter from there. He took his phone out to switch on the flashlight as picking a lock in complete darkness went beyond his abilities, when seeing his screen being filled with notifications of multiple missed calls and texts from Jimin. All in caps. He turned his screen to her then so she'd read them as well.

chim (6:45pm): GUYS

chim (6:45pm): IDK WHERE YOU ARE BUT COME ASAP

chim (6:45pm): PLS?

chim (6:46pm): THE BABY IS COMING

chim (6:47pm): IM GONNA BE A DAD!!!!

Their eyes grew, exchanging glances.

"Oh my - When's the next train leaving? We must hurry!" Soyeon asked panicked, causing Yoongi to give her an astonished look. "But what about your grandfa-"

"It was hidden for decades, a few days or weeks more won't matter," she quickly dismissed his worry, waving him off. "Come, let's go already!"

And he smiled, nodding.

And so they went back to the central station. Catching the last train back to Tainan.

THE END

»»»

thank you all for reading this story! it was fun writing it, so hope you also had fun reading it!

-lyrics taken from soyeon's solo song "weather"! idk i really like this song and it fit haha

- check out my other bts stories, too: here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback! ♡

It motivates me to keep writing :)

[haizficz]

Fire on Ice.

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Hailee Steinfeld x female Reader

Summary: Depression is cold but not the love you both hold.

Warnings: depression; panic attack; fluff explotion; Hailee being the cutest person on earth; soft and comforting Hailee (we love her sfm)

a/n: Y/n (Reader) is an image of me and i don't have anyone like Hailee and how i described her in this fic, so i decided to write this. [i'm so freaking proud of my title and summary for this fic lol]

[Also one of the paragraphs is inspired by euphoria.]

P.s. Thank you for all the support! Notes and Reblogs are highly appreciated, love you <3

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"Life is hard" That's what everybody says. As a kid you don't really understand why everybody says that. But at some point the vision gets more and more visible..., or invisible. It's always different for every kind of person.

You don't know why, but your Life is not just hard. Sometimes it's beautiful and you enjoy it and at other times you feel like you can't breathe. Like you're stuck in a hole and you can't get out. Like you're depressed.

The other thing about depression is it kinda collapses time. Suddenly you find your whole days blending together to create one endless and suffocating loop. So you find yourself trying to remember the things that made you happy. But slowly, your brain begins to erase every memory that ever brought you joy. And eventually, all you can think about is how life has always been this way. And will only continue to be this way.

Of course your girlfriend knew about your mental illness. She reads you easier than any open book. The moment you told her that you were not always onehundred percent happy. And with "not always" you mean never. Hailee began to spend more time with you than she ever did before. You didn't even knew that was possible, but it was.

She started cuddling with you longer. Mumbled I love you's before you fall asleep. Holded you any time she could. Bought more often your favorite snacks. And the list goes on and on.

She made you fall in love with her more and more every day. Like she did with you. But you never really realized this. You were grateful for her and what she was doing for you. Yet there was always that one ulterior motive back in your head.

You're just a burden to her.

......

Today was exhausting. Not physically but mentally. About an hour ago you said to your girlfriend that you were going to go for a walk alone. Whatever you did. You tried to clear your head, enjoy the chirping birds and it worked a little. At least for the first few minutes. After a while you started missing the physical touch of Hailee. Your hand was empty and cold. Maybe it wasn't very smart to be without your comforter on a bad day.

As your eyes started to tear up and your body started trembling, you walked without hesitating back to your and Hailees apartment. Or better said you tried. Breathing was difficult and you strolled slowly.

Finally you saw the door to your home. It felt like several hours before you got here. Thank God you took the key with you. You didn’t want to wake Hailee. She's probably sleeping right now because before you left she said she was already going to bed.

You unlocked the front door and made your way straight to the bedroom. A lightly snoring Hailee filled the room with comfort, exactly what you needed. You took off your shoes and you softly layed onto Hailee. Your head hid in the back of her neck where the sharp note of her perfume stung your nose. It smells like vanilla and cherry blossoms. Like Hailee. Hailee who wasn't really in a deep sleep. She could feel the tears running down your cheeks onto her shoulder. She heard your quiet sobs and above all she felt your body trembling and shaking.

Suddenly you felt her arms wrapping around you and her head slowly turns to yours. She shared you a sweet kiss onto your forehead and afterwards she took the blanket near to her and pull it over you both. You were still shaking from the panic attack you had minutes ago. That's why Hailee softly placed her hands under your hoodie and drew randomly little circles on your back. Her touch was smoothing and it felt like fire on your freezed body.

A little while later your crying became quieter and you calmed down. Hailee and you are still in the same position as before. Only your head moved further down from her shoulder to her chest. Your ear right over her heart. Hailee's heartbeat, which you heard clearly, filled your soul with peace. Your hands wrapped around Hailee's body and her hands wrapped around you. None of you made a sound. You both knew exactly how the other person was feeling right now. Words didn’t have to be spoken. Except those three. Those three words you and Hailee share every day, every hour and always mean it.

"I love you."

She whispered to you. Her voice was raspy and you could hear that she was crying too. Your grip became tighter but also softer at the same time. Which maybe doesn't make any sense at all. But it was true.

You fell deeper into Hailee's touch and again a tear fell from your eye. "I love you too."

You slowly sat back up and looked down at Hailee. "I'm sorry to be such a burden to you, Haiz, I just made you cry and I, I don't want that-" Your body started shaking again and you felt a lump in your throat from holding back the tears. Hailee quickly sat up and placed both of her hands on your cheeks. "Hey, hey, it's okay, I know that you're not feeling well, y/n. And I'm crying because it hurts so much seeing you in this state, I'm not crying because you made me." She comforted you, her hazel eyes meeting yours. And you could definetely tell that she's saying the truth as always. Hailee never lies to you, but your brain told you the complete opposite. "There's literally no difference between making you cry and crying because of my state." "Yes there is!" She shouted, which really surprised you. Hailee never yelled at you before. You looked at her without saying anything. "Sorry." She whispered after realizing. "I'm just- I'm just so worried about you, y/n."

You sighed deeply and lost yourself in her eyes. Eyes that were filled with worries, love and fear. A layer of water was placed over them, which made them shine. "I'm sorry, Haiz." You flustered and you fell again into her arms. She held you tight and you enjoyed the warmth of Hailee's body. She warmed you, and your freezing heart started to melt from the fire of love you both have for eachother.

Warm Love that is bigger than your cold Depression.

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tagging again my dear friend here: @hard-core-super-star

[shostakobitchh]

finally admitted to myself that ok maybe i doooo ship snily 🙄 the thing is that i cannot find fics… i mean i *can* but there’s too many and i don’t know where to start……. so this is me asking for recommendations from the only jily shipper i know of (i’m not in the fandom a lot lol). i think it would be cool to read about them getting together as adults or something where snape is a little bi (turns out i also ship snape and sirius…. whatever ok!!!) but truly anything you have i’m accepting hehe i trust you! thank you bye!!! ps; i miss a&i aka the fic that i love so much and that i shamelessly recommend to literally everyone i know xxxxx

hi!

I'm gonna be real with you; there is very little Snily and even fewer stories I've found that do them both justice. I find that many make Lily a damsel in distress with like, her only driving motive to be a mother, and James is ALWAYS a POS. And Snape becomes an alpha male who is too controlling and it just skeeves me out. Lily loses all autonomy the second they do the deed and it's just not my thing. Even with the few Snape/OC fics I've read; if Snape is not like feral and nasty and with someone who can match that energy, I have no interest in it.

I have two major stories that come to mind with A+++ Snily. I have discovered recently that I am somewhat of a Snape Snob when it comes to fics where I only enjoy it if he is an unhinged, bitter little asshole who is a little nuts and Lily is like, the only one who can stomach him and keep him somewhat calm, but she can absolutely match his level of crazy if/when she needs to.

Come Once Again and Love Me - laventadorn

I read this nearly a decade ago and I haven't picked it up again because it just breaks my heart and puts it back together. It's a "Snape gets a do-over" but he does NOT want the do-over - he doesn't want anything to do with Lily at all at first - but the author does such a beautiful job of showing Snape as a bitter 30-something-year-old back as a teen just as his life took a dark turn. And Lily is AMAZING - her grief over losing her life old life (when she thinks of Harry it's gutting) but finding Snape again is just - UGH. She doesn't put up with his shit. She matches him and doesn't back down. She's awesome. A true queen.

A Dream Carved in Stone - diadelphous

I forgot about this one for a long time and recently reread it - I think I accidentally took inspiration from it with a certain potion LOL so I am giving full credit here - BUT - THIS is the best Snily I have ever read. It's during the first war where Lily and James never got together and Dumbledore approaches Lily and asks her to get Snape to confess he's a Death Eater. Their love story is - SO. FUCKING. GOOD.

They are both a little broken and a little crazy, but when people ask me how it would've gone down if Snape had known about Lily being pregnant, THIS story is how it would've gone down. When he's Soft with Lily it's so natural, it's so tender and raw and I die a little. Also, his reaction when Lily says she's pregnant is 10/10. It makes me laugh and cry every time.

I'm sorry I don't have more but I genuinely don't know of any others (at least that I like). I love this pairing so much LOL it makes me so sad there's nothing out there.