#or do they taste different to the inhabitants and I'm taking on some of those characteristics?

[caterpillarinacave]

Well, you suppose, no point in hanging around their home, not unless you'd wanted to search the place, but the unfamiliarity with your environment and its odd creatures makes you hesitate to be left alone, so you join them on the creatures as they ride into town, sitting behind the older, friendlier person, the path from the hut takes you past the trees and onto a road, it looks like asphalt similar to your world which explains why you didn't think it odd before when you first went into town, though now you're curious about why they have it if they just ride these creatures, you observe the woods and can see a variety of trees, all looking autumnal, you find yourself wondering about the structure of the seasons around here, just how different is this world anyway? The walk is slow but pleasant, leaving you far too much time for thinking, the two you ride with chat amicably, though you can't determine the topic, you've resisted the urge to check your phone valiantly up until now, conserving the battery, but you've decided a sleeping phone still loses its charge, so you might as well fiddle around with it before the inevitable strikes, as it powers on you are surprised to find that the battery is actually at full power, as if you'd left it charging rather than turned off, but after a moment you really can't be bothered to care especially since you're already maxing your brain space putting one foot in front of the other as is, what's one one more oddity to the shenanigans? Still no service unfortunately, you flick open the camera and take a look at yourself, a little tired, a bit messy, but stunning as always, you flip the camera around and take a photo of the younger rider, looks the same even caught on a digital screen though, you can't say you're disappointed but you were kinda hoping for something more just for the heck of it, the two look at you curious and you show them the picture, the older one seems excited and pulls out a black box about the size of your palm and shows it to you, gesturing between your phone and it, you stare confused, the older one passes the box to the other and with a put upon expression the younger takes the box, holds it out in front of themself, almost like...a camera? They hold the box pinching a corner and the other hand pinching diagonal to each other and then pull, the box breaks apart into two triangular pieces, between the two pieces thin silvery strands appear and then solidify into an image, an exact reflection of you and your fellow rider, it's a picture, they hand it to you and close the box, putting it away, the photograph feels like a soft fabric, it acts like it too allowing you to fold it, on the other side is an image of the younger person who took the photo in the same pose as when it was taken, you have no idea what to do with this information, but luckily you guys are now riding into town so you tuck the photo away and refrain from overthinking it.

The town looks as it did before, the architecture is odd, not in that it looks horribly strange, just in that it isn't what the town you were from looked like...you are very knowledgeable on architecture of course, but it's about here your narrator fails you, suffice to say, the buildings are building shaped, taller than the structures from your town, the people seem to appreciate multiple stories more than your town did, and the rooftops are more sloped, perhaps this environment gets a lot of rain comparatively, the riders stop at what you would guess is probably a downtown sort of area, you didn't really see much of the town or its people in your panic before so you enjoy observing here, the people meander freely going about their day, if it weren't for the unfamiliar language and other minor changes you could honestly forget you were in the midst of some other world, you all climb off the backs of your creatures, the friendlier one goes to put them away, when they get back they say something to the younger and then shoo you both away indicating that you two should stick together while they take care of some errands, feeling a little wrong footed you follow the younger person around, they enter shops, clean and organized, they feel like local shops at home, the younger wanders with you in tow, they don't seem to be buying anything, between shops you notice a group of kids, unlike all the adults you've seen they all have bright colorful hair, including colors unnatural in your world, pinks and greens and blues alongside your standard blondes and redheads, you wish you could ask why all the adults have dark hair, if it was a fashion thing or a natural aging thing or if the children dye their hair maybe, but that's a complicated topic for how little you can communicate. The two of you enter another building, it reminds you of a thrift store, everything seems randomly placed on shelves, less organized, there's writing you take note of but can't understand, on the shelves are many items which you don't recognize, but as you sift through a basket you find a hair brush, just a plastic bristled brush with some brand name you can actually read, it looks so odd sitting there among the box of long spiky sticks, so you pick it up and head to what you presume is an employee or something at the back near a counter to ask where this came from but alas, you still don't speak the language and they unfortunately do not know what you want, they do take the brush though and tap it to the counter, a square appears on a screen you hadn't noticed and the employee stares expectantly, you're hit by that one feeling of being left at the cash register when you aren't the one paying and realize that's because you are exactly in that situation, before you can embarrassedly turn and walk away, your companion walks up and taps a space beside the screen which glows and the square turns to a circle before fading away, the brush is handed to you and you both leave, of course you refuse to be impressed or flustered, you're sure if any of them saw how tap to pay worked in your world it'd be pretty confusing too.

You inspect the brush but find nothing interesting about it, as the two of you finish wandering you end up back where the creatures were left and settle in to wait, you figure your hair could use a brushing and get to work, your companion gives you an odd glance but you pay it no mind, at least until you look down and find a streak of blue in your hair where you just brushed, confused you check the bristles but they seem clean, yet your hair is blue, you put the brush away annoyed, you feel a headache coming on, instead of brooding you pull out your bundle of berries feeling hungry, you inspect them each carefully remembering how they tasted before and pop one in your mouth, immediately your headache disperses and you feel less hungry and tired, you put away the berries and go back to waiting, once the older person comes back with a cart of boxes they hook one of the creatures to, you all head back to their place, on the way the friendlier companion hands you a black box which you recognize as the camera like item, indicating that you should keep it, you guess they got it for you while shopping earlier and you accept it bemused but thankful, when you all get back you help unload the boxes and when you're all done you're offered a place to stay, you aren't sure for how long they mean, but you have a feeling that understanding your predicament they mean quite some time, they show you a smaller, yet still cozy hut off to the side of the main living house with what you can easily identify as a bedroom and bathroom, not having anywhere to go you accept for the night and enjoy an evening meal with them before going to bed, but as morning approaches you have to decide what to do next, do you plan to accept their offer to stay longer?

(Feel free to expand on your choice either way. :) )

Yes.

[curlycarrion]

Night watch

Reader: fem reader in mind. Comparing to Nami and Robin and use of the words pretty and beautiful

Warnings: Talk of insecurity from the readers perspective. It's only for a small short portion and it's mild but if you feel that may make you uncomfortable please be warned

Context: Unable to sleep Sanji comes to visit you

Wc: 2.4k

A/n: Here's my second fic so far, I'm honestly enjoyin writin these. It's a little more self indulgent but sfw so I hope y'all don't mind ^x^ I hope y'all like it 💛 ( also happy Valentine's for those who celebrate it ) oh yeah also, I got the idea for this after spammin 'I carrion (Icarian)' by Hozier into my skull so do with that what you will

It was quiet. Unusually so.

The night high up above the ship while sat in the crow's nest usually was, being so far away from the snores of the sleeping crew will do that. But no, it was more silent than usual. The sea was in a rare state of calm for once. No frantic waves that crash against the wood of the ship and violently rock her inhabitants, no rumbles from winding and curling sea kings lingering from deep below the surface, no hint of marines or rival pirates on the horizon.

It was just calm. The moon shining down in glittering silver streaks on the waves that are gentle as they lap along the length of the Sunny, leaving you in near silence to sit alone with your thoughts. An opportunity to do what you liked without fear of teasing from the others no matter how lighthearted it was.

The silence was too deafening. Not even the guttural snores from some of the men sleeping next to him able to cut through the thick quiet. The cool night air reaching him even under the covers of the blanket draped over his frame. The silence thrumming in his inner ear only to be covered with his thoughts that won't seem to cease. First from what to cook in the morning, then to the unusually uncomfortable feeling of his shirt folding over itself beneath his back as it catches on the sheets, then to the familiar cold and dark surrounding him despite knowing that there's no reason to fear it. Not anymore, that's what he tells himself at least when he feels the fabric around him opposed to the memory of stone that drains the warmth from you.

Below deck things were in a similar state of calm, the soft rocking of the deck leading everyone to obtain a restful slumber. Similar to that of a crib or the curl of a parents arms around their child that breathes comfort into the bones of the crew.

All except for Sanji.

Deciding he'd had enough of staring into the void of the men's quarters he rises from his resting position to step outside and have a smoke. Hoping the familiar taste of nicotine on his tongue would calm him, even a little. If not then he'd just go ahead and get started on preparations for everyone's meal, if he's not going to be able to sleep he might as well make himself useful. Stepping out into the open air and lighting his cigarette as he takes in his surroundings. The night that should be comforting at the moment only making a strange sense of loneliness root into him before remembering you up above. Nigh watch. Some company might do him some good. Pleasant company at that. You never really seemed to turn him away and he's almost certain you won't now despite the late hour.

As he climbs his way up he slowly starts to hear the welcome sound of your voice. Already feeling his thoughts begin to quiet knowing that your presence is close by. Though there was something different to the sound this time around. It sounded sweeter, it was soft, there was a tune to it… you were singing. Something new and foreign to him but still leaving a warmth to settle in his skin and into the cavern of his chest. The sound of it was a little muffled due to the distance between the two of you but that was swiftly remedied by him hastening his climbing.

Soon enough he finds himself beneath the hatch of the crow's nest. His ears picking up every sound and syllable possible without opening the door. Unsure of if you would stop your singing if he did, which was the last thing he would want. If your singing voice was actually any good he would never be able to tell. Not due to being tone deaf, but because any sound of your voice being the equivalent of a choirs grace upon him. You could sound like a crow with a cold and he would still listen to every word from you like gospel. Each pitch of your voice like a balm to whatever wound plagued him mind, if even for a moment. He finds his feet moving before his mind can catch up, hands reaching up to open the hatch and climb inside. The need to see you overcoming his desire to listen.

Inside he sees you sat beside one of the large windows, blanket wrapped around your figure. More to provide comfort than to actually stave off any cold since the night was a pleasant temperature due to the climate you were currently sailing in. The note filled tones of your voice ceasing when the squeak of the hinge and floorboards meet your ears. Head whipping around to look at the tall man entering the space.

"Oh Sanji.. it's just you," letting the tension fall from your shoulders you speak once more " what're you doing up? Couldn't sleep?" Sanji lets a small string of smoke escape from his lips, the tendrils curling into the air and dissipating when he steps closer.

"Sleep is not coming easily to me tonight, no. I thought I would come to see how you were doing.. the night watch can be lonely with no one else awake." He answers as he brings himself to sit beside you. Quietly taking in the comfort you provide and giving you a smile.

"What I didn't expect when I stepped up though was to find a little songbird in the nest. Do you sing to yourself every time you hide yourself away up here mon chou?" He finds some satisfaction to see the slightly shy look to cross your face, watching you gather yourself after you had realized he heard you after all.

"Oh uh.. yeah, yeah I do most of the time." You answer softly as you avert your eyes away for a moment.

"It helps to pass the time." Sanji's expression warms at the admission. Imagining what the many melodies that cross your lips at night are as they float off into the air to be unheard by the rest of the crew. Knowing you would likely shoot down the notion of singing for him if he requested it he decided to ask a different question, not wanting to push his luck too much despite wanting to hear your voice not blocked by the wood of the hatch.

"And what were you singing if you don't mind me asking?"

"It.. it's a song based on Icarus." Sanji's eyebrows raise curiously at the answer, removing the cigarette from between his lips as he gives you his undivided attention. Not that he wasn't before but this had raised his interest in what you were singing.

"Icarus?" He parrots while looking to you. "The one who fell to the sea after his wings melted?"

"Mhm the same one." You hum in confirmation, hands fidgeting idly with the edge of my blanket and back leaning against the wooden wall behind it.

"Though.. the song takes a different turn than the actually story goes. It's kind of a love song, a more sad one… but a love song nonetheless. At least in my opinion." 'Ah, so that's why you had seemed more shy about admitting it' Sanji thinks to himself. He watches your expression while you talk and after you finish, taking it in along with the features of your face. It was something he doesn't think he could find himself growing tired of.

"Do you frequently sing yourself love songs?" He asks next, feeling it was the next natural course of conversation save for asking more about that song in particular.

"I.. I do, the more sad or quiet ones mostly." Curling your knees to your chest and bringing your heels to rest on the seat of the bench you continue.

"There's just… something nice about them, comforting in a way I suppose." Sanji lets the silence settle for a moment after you'd finished speaking. Mulling over your answer for a moment.

"Is it something you want?" He asks quietly, realizing the question might've sounded a little vague he narrows it down further.

"Love I mean, someone to share your life with after this is all over." The question seems to have struck a chord, watching your eyes as they turn away from him.

"It, i-it is. Though I know it's not something I will probably find." Sanji's eyes widen in surprise at the words leaving you. Not expecting them from you in the slightest.

"Why?" He asks quickly after you had spoken, your answer being something he couldn't quite believe. You are silent for a few moments, debating on whether or not to answer the question. The deafening quiet of the room returning to dig its way into their ears once more. Leading Sanji to believe that you weren't going to answer, though eventually you do peep one out.

"Well I'm not exactly the most um… desirable thing around. I'm not pretty like Nami and Robin, and I'm not smart or clever like them, I'm ugly and quiet and awkward and, and I'm just something someone would want-" Sanji quickly cuts you off from speaking. Not able to bare hearing you tear yourself down and speak such lies for another moment. The words leaving you making his heart stutter and sink, feeling the beating in his chest as he trains his eyes on you and snuffs his cigarette.

"No," he says firmly and with a sense of urgency "no, no you're perfect. You're everything I've ever dreamed of." He feels a stirring in his stomach. Hands reaching out to cup your cheeks and turn your attention to him, wanting to make sure his every word settled their way into your mind. Even if you didn't believe him, even if you thought he was lying, he wanted to make sure you knew what he felt when he looked at you. Feeling the warmth of your cheeks beneath his palms as his fingers curl past your jaw to brush beneath your ears.

"Every step you take whether it be to me or away leaves me breathless. Every breath and word from you is something that would make me crumble if I ever lost it." His thumbs gently smooth over the curve of your cheek, relishing in the feeling of your skin in his touch. The solitary of the night making him a little more bold in his words. Feeling like the calm and quiet is urging him to let out every thought and feeling he has ever had for you despite the fear of you not feeling the same. Not that he expected you to.

"Your eyes have the stars laying in them that I would pray to every night if it meant they would turn to gaze at me. Whether they're filled with the rage or exhaustion from a fight, the mirth from whatever you find funny at the time, or the sorrow of whatever you carry." He leans closer to you. His eyes beginning to reflect the dewy look that yours had taken.

"Every time I see you walk into a room it's like the world has become right and that the sun has finally turned to face me. I would gladly melt in the light of your sun and be your Icarus if I could even be near you for one lovely moment." His thumb softly moves to collect the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks, while he doesn't like the sight of your crying he takes it as a sign his words are sinking in.

"So please don't don't say you're undesirable or that you're unwanted. A world where that is true is one that doesn't exist, and it's a world where I'm not breathing." He takes in your face as he finally finishes speaking. The wide glassy eyes, the tremble in your lip, the burning of your cheeks seeping into his hands. It's something he'd burned into his memory. Finding you beautiful as your overcome with emotion. Eventually he goes to release you from his hands, not wanting to overstay his welcome with his touch no matter how much he craves to keep you to him. His thoughts telling him that you would never feel the same, something he is not a stranger to in the slightest. You'd never want someone like him.

At the feeling of his hands begin to lift you quickly stop him. Yours pressing on top of his on your cheeks as you sniffle and shake your head the best you can.

"Please don't go." The words are quiet and wobbly, whispered into the room as your hands press his into your skin more.

"You can't say that and then just leave. You can't just say that and not let me say that I love you too." His head snaps to you. His heart rapidly kicking up in response to the words. You liked him? You really did? It was almost inconceivable to him. The thought that you, the one who has seen him flounder around women, has seen him make a fool of himself, seen some of his worst moments.. that you had reciprocated, he couldn't believe it. But the way you were looking up at him. It was impossible to deny. He saw the way he looked at you reflected back at him. Something he had never noticed before when he was too focused on his work or your presence whenever you would grace him with it.

He quickly pulled you into his embrace. Arms wrapping around you tightly, almost feeling that it's not close enough. He finally had you in his arms. The scent of your conditioner and your skin filling his senses. Something he thought he would never be able to obtain. Leaning back just enough to where he can look into your eyes once more, noses almost brushing against one and other.

"Do you mean it? If you don't I don't think I will ever recover." He asks quietly, his breath mixing with yours as takes in everything of the moment.

"I do." He doesn't even give you time to say another word as he feels his heart skyrocket from elation. Crashing his lips to yours as he feels like he's overflowing with a joy and love, pouring his feelings into you and finding that the same is being returned. One hand cradling into your hair and the other meeting your back to pull you closer, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him in.

He had always expected his first kiss with you to be different. Gentle and soft after taking you to the most beautiful places he could find and proving himself to you, but this…

This was more perfect than anything he planned.

Finally finding the home of you within his grasp as you both sat high above the world.

[yourcarnevoreuspal]

I decided to put all the parts of the Farmer pred story together so it's easier to read. Enjoy~

Hm, something odd about that farmer boy who just moved to town. I swear it seems like his appearance changes sometimes. Like he's bigger, sharper, he's always... off.

I happened to see him from my window - certainly not spying or anything - he was fishing, and he'd just caught one of some kind, not something I would be able to identify. It was one of those times where he looked different, I can never place what it is exactly. With his other catches, he dropped them into a cooler, but this one he hesitated, eyeing his surroundings. I don't know what he was looking for, but no one else was outside - only I would witness what he did next.

With an urgent swiftness, he had that fish halfway past his lips, and mind you, this was no mere mackerel, but some other large aquatic inhabitant. I could only stare in shock, with some other unknowable emotions brewing in my chest, while I watched that fish disappear into the farmer.

Since then, I can't help but notice his odd glances towards my fellow villagers. He doesn't know I saw him that day, but I'm not sure there's reason to fear if he did. The farmer is strange but kind - I have hope that he won't harm anyone despite his growing agitation. His efforts in the town speak not of a monster.

Right?

Growing closer to the farmer wouldn't cloud my judgment - surely I began this friendship in order to investigate his oddness, but he reciprocated in turn. There's no harm in befriending this creature that the farmer is, often I find myself drinking into the night with him as company, surely there is nothing to fear from him.

________

Drunkenly, I push myself up from the bar, stupidly grinning as I watch my friend take his leave. Stumbling to take a look around, I'm surprised to see only one other patron left in the bar, he who's been standing in the corner all night. A tipsy blush paints his face as he looks up to the tender, who informs him it's late. My drunken mind manages to agree with this, and I head out the door into the chilled night.

The cold is sobering, and something in the night brings my instincts to attention. They’re reminding me of my hunger. My attempts to ease my appetite have been thwarted, no tuna nor slime seems to quell that ache anymore. No, it craves something more.

Stepping behind a tree, I watch the dark river pass and listen to the soft trickle of water... Until I hear a gradual sound of shuffling steps come following up the stone path. A sound I've grown familiar with. Peaking around the tree, I see the lone patron from the bar, stumbling towards his home- a sight I see practically every night.

My hunger always brings me here, watching the potential prey who would be oh so easy to snatch. So far, I've been resistant, but I feel it will soon be inevitable. Flexing my claws, my hunger begs me to stalk, to pounce from behind. It's all I can do but to keep myself back, only watching as he slowly disappears up the path.

One of these days, I'm not going to be able to stop myself…

________

Hauling the cooler up over my shoulder, I start a slow jog headed off the beach. It's late, the cold night air telling of autumn. The cooler sloshes with It's contents- today's catch swimming around the meager water within.

Crossing the bridge and rounding the corner, my jog slows to a halt. There he is again, taking his sweet, drunken time with his night walk home. Lowering the cooler from my shoulder, a clawed hand comes to grasp my aching middle. It's been months now since I've had a taste, moving here from the city, that was the main motivator. Less prey to agitate my hunger. It seems I can't hold it off forever, though.

The cooler slips from my hand, falling to the dirt path with a thud. My prey is alerted to the sound, turning to see only the cooler lying in the road. My body moves on its own accord, sick of the hunger plaguing it. Before the cooler had reached the ground, I was slinking behind the bushes, hidden in their shadows. My prey, too drunk to realize the danger of his situation, continues towards his home while I stalk him from the brush.

The front door opens, light washing the landscape in its pale yellowness. At the first click of the door, I had already slunk back into the shadows, watching as my prey's relative scolds him for being so late. With the scene unfolding in front of me, my sense gradually return, and I sink back into the shadows to retrieve my forgotten cooler…

It isn't until reaching the edge of his land that I make my move. Sneaking from the shadows, my visage now that of a monster's, I crawl towards him, closing the gap between us until…

________

I've been finding myself here, nearly every night since I followed him. Staring into the dark room, so close to the glass, I can feel it's chill. He's clueless, the drunk, sleeping away in his messy bed. I doubt he'd notice my shadow darkening the moonlight if I were to stand, and if I were to open his window, would he notice the wind flying into his room?

My cravings have only gotten worse, yet I've managed to keep myself contained thus far. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. Desperately, I've been trying to come up with an alternative- slime nor fish have helped, so I thought to try my hand at hunting a larger animal, but unfortunately my instincts are less interested in helping me catch such prey. No, they only hunger for that which lies sleeping inside the room, the creature I can't tear my eyes from: a human.

The only option I've turned up is to simply eat. But I dare not bring harm to anyone in my new home; not only would such a disappearance be devastatingly obvious, I care for my fellows who live here. I don't know if it's the hunger plaguing my mind, but the idea that I can 'just have a taste' and not actually hurt him seems to have wormed into my skull. Even if I eat him, then release him later, would that do anything to ease my cravings?

Unsure if I'm in control anymore, my claws reach towards the window…

______

With ease, the latch lifts, and the breeze blows open the window, sending the autumnal air into the room. Testing my earlier questions, I stand to full height, my deformed shadow darkening the room like a storm. No change comes from the room's owner, his snores still quiet and steady. Squeezing in through the opening isn't easy, I doubt it would be simple even if I weren't in this monstrous form. Despite my desperate struggles to enter the room, my movements are near silent, hardly a disturbance as I pull myself from the narrow opening.

Staring down at the sleeping drunkard, looming over his bed, my hunger draws me nearer with every moment, mouth watering at the promise of flesh. I only stop once I'm hovering just above his face, so close his gentle breaths cause sway to my bangs. The scent of prey surrounds me, drool trails from my lip, and my tongue caresses a fang. My claws demanding action spring onto his shoulders, maw widening over his head as he's jolted from slumber.

He's left with no time to process as I clamp jaws around his neck, his head engulfed by flesh. Delight courses through me, urging me to continue my meal, telling me how foolish I was to think I'd get away with only a taste.

I've clambered onto the bed to sit over my prey, with height advantage I grasp hold of his arms to swallow more of him down, greedily consuming as much as I can at once. Hardly stopping to adjust, I hoist him from his covers, his boozy flavors hazing my mind. Swallowing around his middle, his light, rotund, pudge melting on my tongue, some part of me manages to acknowledge the curious lack of struggle from my prey, yet it is swept away by the need to devour.

Lifting him high as I can, I push more of him into my throat, gulping down his meatier parts and leaving the thinner part of his legs still outside. By now, he has begun to enter my stomach, simultaneously quelling and fueling my hunger as the weight of being prey-filled grows. The last few swallows are bliss as my mouth clears, prey traveling down my throat to my bulging center.

Left kneeling on the bed, stomach distended and warm, mind fuzzy from fullness, my attention focuses to the orb in my lap. Running a hand over it incites a few small movements from within, yet nothing like the struggles of fear ridden prey I've had before. Something about it greatly disappoints my predatory side. Still, I huff with pleasure, the growing ache that's been in my center for months finally at an end…

[warsamongthestars]

There's several reasons I separate TBB and TCWs Bad Batch. Quite a few of them are micro, cos I'm analytical as hell and the little details set me off.

How bout two big things? Two, in your face, things.

First one isn't so bad. "There's two different shows by two different writing and two different broadcasters, they're going to have obvious canonical differences based on the paperwork and contracts alone, but because it still irrevocably alters the story and characters, no matter where that alteration came from, it is still two different canons that aren't going to fit nicely if at all."

Okay maybe it is complicated, but that's real world shit for you. Clone Wars was a Cartoon Network production, the recent stuff has been Disney--and frankly, Cartoon Network has better quality and taste (HELL YEAH STEVEN UNIVERSE!)

THe second one goes into the show. Some proper in-story analysis, to tell you were the break is at.

The Bad Batch arrived on Anaxes after dealing with an Insurrection on Yalbec Prime. They brag about it, they talk about it, its important to their introduction. Its important enough that a lot of fanfics and fanstuff talk about how it happened.

It was an insurrection. Insurrections are defined as "An uprising against an authority or government".

And they didn't describe just any group conducting an insurrection--they describe Yalbecs, so the inhabitants of Yalbec Prime. And then they describing killing the Queen of the Yalbecs, so the primary ruler of Yalbec Prime, planet of Yalbecs. Of which Tech comes in to say, that hte stinger of the queen is a Delicacy on some planets.

... Do you know how nasty of a picture that paints?

Based only on the simplest information given and what we know; because they're Republic Troopers--we can assume that Yalbec Prime was a Republic world. (We weren't told otherwise, so the assumption must be the most correct answer at this time.)

So, the Yalbecs were rebelling. (Because why would they attack the inhabitants unless they were the insurrection being put down?)

Using this minimum information.

THe Yalbecs and their queen, were rebelling against Republic Authority (we don't know if it was in favor of the Seppratists, it could be that they wanted Neutrality too).

If we can assume the reason, its probably because folks eat their damn Queen (a very good reason to rebel if you rely on a ant or bee like hierarchy and the queen is also your mother--given the implications that yalbecs are insectoids and that there were queen pheromones).

The Bad Batch are called in to put down the Insurrection, which we can assume they did, based on the fact that they're alive and intact.

... So.

The TBB Show wants to tell me that... The Bad Batch don't want to follow orders to eliminate insurrectionists and that's why they left the Empire?

Based on the above, they absolutely would follow those orders. Enthusiastically, with bragging rights.

One could make the argument that ECho set them straight, and that'd be a good story and start. TBBshow didn't do that, and regulated Echo to the bitching corner and then just kicked him out entirely--so you might have that idea, but the Show certainly didn't.

The darker argument is that the TBB would put down a society of insectoids, but not humanoids--and that... leaves a rather nasty set of implications, given the multi-sentient species of the Galaxy. I'd love to think that's not the case, but if TBBshow insists it, then we have to take it as the case for the Batch on the TBBshow.

When you're writing, what you show or say to or for the audience will be taken as fact by the audience for the show played. While we can give interpretation and imagination for things you don't say, it will always come down to what you've Shown and what've you Told, and what the conflict between the two is.

If you don't show it, or don't talk about it, and don't leave room for interpretation, then it didn't happen.

( One can argue that the TBB show does leave room... Via the holes its poked in itself. I've never seen so many pockets filled with absolutely nothing. )

And when you show contradiction without just cause, you risk breaking the flow of the story, and thus breaking the suspension of disbelief... And that's when the Audience enmass starts leaving and cursing.

While you cannot predict who's suspension is broken at any given time, what you can control is the flow of the story and its beats.

What is said and what is shown, are important, because Theatre / TV show stories are entirely made by what is Said and what is Shown.

Lastly, as for "What is canon".

... The TBB Show has different writers to the Clone Wars, which in turn had different writers from the Star Wars Prequel Films, which in turn had different writers for the Original Star Wars.

Of course none of it but the OG is canon.

Its all just an Argument about what enhances the story of your personal Canon and who is telling the story.

[meikuree]

FINALLY someone who didn't 100% love BES. I did enjoy some of it but I lean on the "disliked it on the whole" side and it's been so weird seeing everyone praise it to high heavens. I take it that you enjoyed it more than I did (I did not like a lot of the 3D visuals, unfortunately, so the visuals don't really redeem it for me), but I'd love to see some balanced takes from you anyway <3

anon, you're in good company! honestly i've been baffled by the blandly, one-note positive reception to this (30% of my grief has to do with BES's base story, and 70% has to do with uncritical fannish responses), because... to be uncharitable... I have some big problems with its construction. feel free to come off anon and kvetch in my DMs if you want, I'll probably share your sentiments. sorry for how long i've taken to answer this!

to be fair the show does some things right and I think its achievements/innovations in art style and animation are to be lauded; I'm not going to speak over that when I'm not an expert on animation or media theory, but it's a bad sign when praise about any media amounts to "well, it looks pretty" or hinges so heavily on its aesthetics. to be extremely clear this doesn't fully apply to BES, because it does have deft character work, compelling characters, and some impressive cinematic instantiation/inhabitation with its attention to setting and detail -- i was pleasantly surprised by the inclusion of deets like yaki-ire etc etc. -- but even on its purported selling points of japanese historicity and nuanced narratives about race, sexuality, gender, revenge, etc. I think it fails. it has glaring blindspots.

tldr: BES suffers from some (white) american/french narratorial sensibilities that kneecap the full potential of its story

or: BES pinged as an insufferably american and/or ahistorical rendition of its japanese building-blocks to me in some ways

it's probably just a case of misaimed audiences, and This Show Not Being For Me, but I've been baffled by:

how seamlessly some scenes around sex work and brothels and eroticism in this show slide in with orientalist tropes about japan being the Weird Sex and Kinky country despite the japanese-american creator at its helm, who's also spoken out against tropes like that -- until a buddy gave some context that those undertones seem to have been inspired by bande dessinées (french comics) with not-unsimilar tropes that may have been transplanted carelessly into BES by the studio

and this is what I mean by 'american/french' sensibilities -- I don't mean american/french in the most skin-deep representational sense, as in the studio that made it is an american-french one or whatever, as 'representation' is too often conceived on tumblr to be limited to, but on the deeper epistemological level of its worldview, frameworks of sexuality/race, and the cultural terrain it's working off or conversing with. BES includes storylines/arcs/even mawkish dialogue far more reminiscent of those in american cartoons. which is not an issue except of one of taste, but fannish responses holding it up as a groundbreaking commentary on race are orbiting a different universe imo

more egregiously it sustains overtones of that american favourite about the grand, Super Existential! Super Inevitable! and intrinsic clash of Cultures and Civilisations with a big C (a highly discredited idea in critical academic circles now, thankfully, no thanks to samuel p. huntington)

I almost wish the show had maintained a greater separation from IRL analogues or just invented a fresh fantasy universe because why set it in edo-era japan if you're not going to engage with the sociocultural norms, or narratorial traditions of that era

see: literary genres around jitsuroku (revenge narratives), how revenge would have been treated as a tool of sociocultural legitimisation then, the apparent forgettance of the entire history of nanban trade and the fact that japan as a geographical entity was not technically ethnically homogeneous, or only homogeneous from a hegemonic pov, given the existence of the ainu, the kingdom of ryukyu, and northern communities of hokkaido although tbf japan's borders probably didn't include them

i was hoping for an internal critique of or just more nuance about the 'japan = ethnically homogenous' narrative in the show and was more disappointed as it went on -- imo it's a narrative often most stridently parroted by the japanese government for nation-building interests and by others to avoid interrogations of the actual complexity of striations, divisions, etc in japan e.g. with burakumin (lower-'caste'* peoples)

* note: caste is an imperfect and not fully accurate descriptor

a significant part of my ire is reserved for the handling of 'whiteness' in this show although it's mostly hand-wringing over the complexity of intended audiences in this show, which might not be fair to blame on the creators; yes, whiteness is foreign and Other and bad, but what about the material and historical precursors that gave rise to that Otherness in the first place, where are they?; and look! whiteness is demonised; but the cartoon's being released in the USA and europe. it's certainly true that japan is institutionally hostile to foreigners and xenophobic, kudos for depicting the politics of that, but BES's american audiences mean i'm ambivalent about its in-universe premise that what is in fact an oft-fetishised trait in mixed race children (blue eyes) is bad (and the show's aesthetics don't support it; mizu's eyes are portrayed in the most beautiful way possible even though she's diagetically meant to be hideous and monstrous)

[charliedawn]

Slashers x Reader

So...I was asked to write the slashers as their canon selves..Know that it was a request and I am not responsible for whatever happens next. Thank you.

Also, I've just heard about what people call an OC ? I don't really know what is the difference with an insert reader ? Hope I didn't do a mistake somewhere ?

Synopsis : So..You are someone who has moved in a new house—unbeknownst to you it is already inhabited by a slasher. Hence, you are forced to do their bidding until your debt is paid. You are planning on escaping..only to realize you can't.

You hadn't meant to enter the Neibolt House the first time around, it had been a misunderstanding—on odd turn-out of fate. Your friends had tricked you by pretending it was where a party would be held. You had dressed up for the occasion and rang once or twice before realizing nobody would be opening the door..You were about to go home when you heard the door creak open. You turned around and took a glimpse inside. It was lit—and the interior looked a lot less shabby than you had previously expected.

You had taken a look around at the different things inside and lovely wood-carved furniture. It looked ancient. But, you did have some money on the side and it was at that moment you had taken the worst decision of your life: you would buy the Neibolt House.

It didn't take long for you to be able to move in, the agency almost giving it off for free. It did have a few rumors about it—but it was nothing you hadn't heard before. A bunch of nonsense.

...Or, so you had thought at the time.

But, once settled in..that's when things really started to change. You would sometimes wake up in sweat and swear to have seen a shadow dancing at the corner of your eye—taunting you. It scared you.

But, you had already bought the house, you wouldn't leave so easily. So, you suffered through nights of insomnia, the barks of laughter that seemed so near, the terrible ruckus of trash being thrown in front of the house..You ignored all the warnings—all the obvious signs that you had to leave..until it was too late to do so.

It was on another starless night that you met it. You had never seen anything quite like it before.

He came to you when you had reached rock-bottom—your misery enticing him and making him crave for a taste of that fearful youth. When you opened your eyes, he had a big toothy grin on and more than his unusual attire—or that he was standing over you like a ghost—his eyes seemed to glow in the dark and make you lose your ability to speak.

"Aww...Would you look at that ? The poor thing is scared. You dare come in my domain and move in without my approval ? Well, do you have anything to say in your defense—soon-to-be dinner ? I hope it was worth the trip."

He laughed as his nails painfully digged in your flesh and threatened to break the skin. It hurt. So much..But, you didn't want to die.

"Please..I'll do whatever you want. Just let me leave..", you uttered tearfully—not caring about the pitiful picture you must be depicting. It was survival.

He seemed to ponder on your question. He usually did not indulge in those requests, but it was true that Pennywise had had trouble feeding himself and he was on constant edge because of it..

"Anything ?", he finally asked with a quizzical tilt of his head and you nodded vividly.

"Yes !"

Pennywise chuckled at your eagerness before loosening his grip on you—just enough so your attention may be focused solely on him. And then, he brought your hand to his mouth and bit down on it. You hissed and retrieved your hand promptly. But, it was too late as you felt pain spread all across your forearm and shoulder.

"Very well then..Bring me your replacement."

"W..What ?" You blinked several times in astonishment, as you wished you had misheard him somehow..But, his smile faltered as he leaned forward to confirm what you already suspected.

"You heard me. Bring me flesh. Bring me blood. Young, if possible. But, I'm not picky.."

He knew you wouldn't leave, and if you tried ? He would track you down..He had done it before. Rabbits are easy to catch when they are frightened. You immediately sprung to your feet and opened your mouth to protest, but no sound came out when he flashed his yellow eyes at you in warning.

"I don't like waiting, pet. And especially not when I'm hungry. Be quick. Or, you can kiss your life goodbye."

And just like that, you remembered the use of your legs and ran faster than the wind. You knew you couldn't go far, but just enough for him not to hear your thoughts and the pounding of your heart. You ran so deep in the forest, you thought you wouldn't be able to come home..but, no matter how far you ran, Neibolt House seemed to come back to you. You dropped to your knees and gritted your teeth at the cursed house.

"No..NO ! YOU HEAR ME ! I REFUSE !"

No answer was given and then your heard a small crack behind you. You quickly turned around, only to be met with a small rabbit. It was staring at you with its beady eyes and even though it disgusted you to do it, you pounced on it and grabbed it by the ears. It did struggle, but you tried to make it as painless as possible. It wasn't your choice. You closed your eyes and tried not to look at the lifeless creature in your hands—even though said hands were now covered with its blood. You wanted to throw up,but returned to the house instead. Where could you go ?

He won.

You didn't make a step inside that Pennywise idly tilted his head to look at you, his eyes looking for your 'replacement', but only found a rabbit there. He growled.

"It isn't what I asked you for..You are terrible at following simple instructions, aren't you ?"

He mocked you, but you only threw the lifeless rabbit at his feet and your whole body trembled. You had had trouble taking the life of a simple rabbit, and he expected you to kill another human being ?

Pennywise could feel something was wrong and even though he didn't particularly care about your well-being, he cared enough about his to get up and check on you.

"...I can't eat that." He insisted and you didn't know who he was talking to, but it still unnerved you. You had killed it for him, and may your ancestors be witnesses, he would eat that rabbit..

"THEN STARVE !", you shouted and Pennywise froze. You were both shocked by your sudden outburst and you didn't have the time to apologize. Pennywise was on you and held you two feet over the floor, making sure to remind you who was at the mercy of who. He was angry, and you didn't blame him. But now that you knew how much he really needed you ?

"Go ahead. Take a bite. And you can forget about your free delivery service." It was the start of a beautiful staring contest between you and the very dangerous alien with glowing yellow eyes and very sharp teeth...Guess who won ? You guessed it.

Not you.

He laughed. He laughed and laughed..You thought he would actually die of laughter. He comically brushed a tear off his cheek for dramatic effect and you gritted your teeth.

"You're one funny little thing, aren't you ? Thinking yourself empowered because I decided to spare you ? If you call that sparing..You don't even know what you agreed to. You will be my slave forever."

Your eyes widened and your heart thumped wildly in your chest. He could...do that ? You shook your head. It couldn't be..But, he didn't let you reconsider as he took your hand and pulled the bandages off. You let out a small yelp and immediately sheltered your injured hand, but the deed was done. You now knew.

"You said you'd let me leave..", you whimpered, but Pennywise only shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"No no no..Guess you weren't listening. I said I'd let you live, small bite. Not leave."

You cried as he suddenly grabbed your legs to drag you in the darkness and a dark laughter filled the empty house.

"You and I are going to be best of roomies.."

"No. No. Please. Don't.", you screamed and Penny laughed.

"No. No. Please. Don't.", he mimicked mockingly while tears brimmed in your eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this..Die like this. You didn't think the damn thing was inhabited and had moved in with the hopes of finding peace—but what you found there instead was a scary clown instead.

He had stalked you from the shadows for weeks. At first, you thought it was your wild imagination playing tricks on you—but no.

It had waited there. Patiently. Waiting for the most unexpected moment to strike. You were preparing to go to bed and had carelessly and mindlessly said to no one in particular.

"Good night !" It was supposed to be a joke. Nobody was supposed to answer. It was just something you had said to reassure yourself that you weren't alone..But, there was an answer.

"Good night, Y/N."

It was at that very moment it had shown itself, and the reason you were now begging for your life and kicking the air in an attempt to get yourself free. The clown was staring at you with a wide grin and drool generously dropping down his chin and making your hands slippery as you desperately attempted to grab him.

You felt yourself slipping away.

But, you weren't ready to give up.

No. There had to be a way to get away..You looked around frantically for a way out—a weapon at least..Your hand reached behind you for anything to use. It finally wrapped around the neck of a bottle and you crashed it on his forehead. It was enough for the gigantic clown to draw back for a few seconds and snarl at you. But, you used those precious seconds to run away and lock yourself in the bathroom. You hid yourself in the bathtub and grabbed a nearby brush to point it at the door. True—it wasn't exactly the best of weapons, but it was the only thing remotely looking like one in the room..

The handle of the bathroom door suddenly shook and you could hear the bells of his costume on the other side of the door. He wanted to get in and your heart raced in your chest..not because you knew he could, but because you didn't even have a lock on the bathroom door. You had tried to reach for a locksmith, but none had been able to make it within the week.

It was at that moment, you knew. It was all a game for him. He wasn't staying outside because he couldn't physically enter, but because he was making sure you stayed afraid.

That beast fed on fear. So, you just had to look unappetizing enough for it to go away.

You took deep breaths and tried to calm your racing heart, your eyes still fixed on the door where the handle had suddenly stopped shaking. You hoped it wasn't a trick and the being had disappeared, but you knew it would certainly take more for the creature to lose interest.

"What are you doing ?" The voice next to you made you jolt and quickly hit the clown in the face with the brush. You both seemed shocked for a second, especially since blood was now dripping down his lower lip.

"OH MY GOSH ! ARE YOU OKAY ?!" You asked out of instinct and Penny's eyes settled back on you before he licked his own wound and it magically disappeared.

It seemed almost amusing to him while it horrified you. What the hell was it even ?!

"Feel lucky human..I have already eaten my fill today. I'll save you for later."

And with those enigmatic words, he disappeared in a flash and you were left alone in your tub.

Well, good news. It seemed your fear theory was correct.

Bad news: it didn't seem to be of the forgiving type and would surely be back.

You relaxed in your bathtub and let the brush fall to the bottom, letting yourself breathe.

The demon was gone for now, and even though you knew it was going to come back, you let sleep overcome you. You hadn't slept for days and even thoigh you were pretty sure the monster couldn't sleep, you had to.

You failed to noticed the two glowing eyes watching you from the shadows—waiting.

"Sweet dreams..Y/N."

It was the same nightmare.

Night after night.

Freddy. Freddy Krueger. Nancy had warned you about him the first day you had moved in the old Krueger household. You thought she was exaggerating and that no creepy burnt man would come haunt your dreams...You were wrong.

"LEAVE ME THE F*CK ALONE YOU MONSTER !", you shouted as he crept closer and dared laugh at your suffering. The thing with Freddy was he liked running after preys. He was a predator. He lived for the chase.

"Ouh..Pretty word. But, nah. I'm having too much fun with ya !"

He had already marked you as his by cutting your arm on your very first day in his den. He thought nobody would be stupid enough to move in, but he wasn't going to complain to have some sort of company after so many years of loneliness..Freddy liked the chase, and he was looking forward to playing with you before returning to his usual game of hide and seek with Nancy..

You pushed him off you and in a moment of respite, you thought about what would wake you up..You had tried almost everything now. Everything. You had pinched yourself, burned your arm, even piercing a hole in some of the pipes ! Nothing.

"Run run..You ain't gonna go far without your legs, darling.", you heard him whisper behind you.

Sh*t. He found you.

He didn't hesitate before scratching the back of your legs and you fell to the floor. You then desperately tried to move yourself forward towards the door—but he didn't let you.

He dragged you back into the depth of hell with little to no remorse as to the life he was depriving you of.

Could he even feel remorse ? No. Maybe, not. Freddy was dead, only the demain remained. But, you would give it a shot.

"I DON'T WANNA DIE ! NOT RIGHT NOW ! PLEASE !"

You thought he would slash your throat right then and there, but were surprised when he seemed to freeze and think about it. He rested his hands on his hips and looked down at you before tilting his head quizzically at you.

"Not now ? Why ? Any upcoming plans I should be warned about ?"

You thought he was joking at first, a cruel taunting before taking your life..But, you then realized he was dead serious.

"Hum...Well...I kinda have something planned on Sunday. Like...Do...Things ?"

Wow. Way to go. Real convincing. He might as well end your life now. You wouldn't complain. However, Freddy didn't and only let you lie there while he was thinking about it.

"...Do something ? Or, do someone ? Real life or death question here. No judgment by the way."

....What in the actual hell ? Was he actually..Was it actually working ? Quick ! Idea ! You needed an idea, an excuse that wouldn't sound too bad or too far-fetched.

"Hum..I got a doctor's appointment ?"

....Welp. Goodbye World. You tried.

Freddy smirked before cackling and openly making fun of you. You had kinda expected it, but at least you would have a good story to tell Death on your way to wherever you were going to end up in a few minutes.

"Did someone already tell you you suck at finding reasons to stay alive ?"

Well, considering he was the first person to ever attempt to murder you before..You would say you were doing rather well. But, you kept your mouth shut and Freddy shook his head.

"Fine. I'll give you until your "doctor's appointment" to think of a good reason why I should let you live. I mean, I don't really care that you do or not..I'm most keen on seeing the Nancy chick hit the bucket than you anyway.."

Your eyes widened as he mentioned Nancy and you cursed yourself for not having heed her warnings before. Now, you had a very dangerous slasher living under your own roof and you had no idea how to get rid of him...But, maybe was there a way ?

"Say...If I do find a good reason...Would you consider letting me stay without haunting my dreams or something ?"

Freddy narrowed his eyes at you and for a moment, you really thought he would say no. But, he finally shrugged and extended his hand towards you.

"Fine. It's a deal."

You stared at his outstretched unclawed hand for a couple of seconds before finally taking it. He then yanked you up and you suddenly found yourself in your bed. However, Freddy's voice echoed in your head, reminding you of the eventuality you would lose and it's repercussions.

"And don't forget, sweetcheeks. You lose. You die."

You had done everything in your power to stay away from Crystal Lake. You had even asked to be transferred to another city to get away from who you knew lived in those woods. There was a thing living there, a thing that embodied all of your regrets..

You used to be friends with Jason, a long time ago when things didn't feel so tense. You even lived in the old house you used to share. Well...that was before he decided to visit your friends and kill them all. He spared you. But, at what cost ?

The night that you were supposed to leave, you made sure that nobody knew.

You didn't want Jason to follow you.

You opened the door and said goodbye to your family before taking a taxi to the house of a friend that lived not far from your new work location. You had done everything to get away, but you would soon realize that the decision to leave wasn't a good one.

You had been staying at your friend's house for a few weeks now and had succeeded in making the best of your situation. You missed your family of course, but it was best for them not to have to worry about you..

Your friend and yourself had started cooking dinner when someone knocked at the door.

You both looked at each other quizzically, wondering who it could be at this late hour ? Your friend was the first to the door, and maybe was it the reason she had to die.

There was nothing that could have prepared you for what happened next..The way he shoved the door open and thrusted the blade of his axe into your poor friend's head—cracking it in half. It made you cry and scream when he dragged you outside by the hair. You had done everything to stay away from him. You had taken every measure carefully. You had even changed taxis mid-way. But, you should have known he wouldn't let you leave, it didn't make it any less painful.

"WHY ?! I WAS GONE ! I WAS HAPPY !", you screamed and thrashed as he shoved you at the back of his trunk. He then paused.

There was a moment where the only thing that could be heard was his heavy breathing and the only thing you could feel was his burning eyes on you. It was excruciating.

"Because...I...am...not.", he finally declared and looked you in the eyes, as if he wished the answer to be inside them. You frowned in confusion as he uttered those words. You didn't understand.

He then looked down at your wrist and you followed his gaze, landing on the small friendship bracelet you had made as kids. It was a bit cliché, but it was summer camp and everyone had one.

You just had to have one with Jason's name on it.

You didn't know why you still wore it, it was but a distant memory of a friend long gone..The monster before you wasn't Jason. Jason wouldn't kill your friend, he wouldn't follow you and kidnap you. The Jason you remembered was nice and innocent..But, the way he tied your arms and legs roughly with a rope and gagged you while you were in tears..That wasn't your Jason.

However, you did catch a glimpse of his own wrist as he proceeded to tie you up and you found a matching bracelet there with your own name on it. You closed your eyes and lamented on the fact that you would surely die because of a damn friendship bracelet.

If you had known, you would have thrown the cursed thing long ago..But, there was still a tiny part of you that had held on to the hope Jason would one day come back.

But, not like this.

You hadn't imagined your heartfelt reunion to end up in a bloodshed and you, being slowly balanced left and right by the many crevices on the road. You didn't even know what would happen next..What was he planning to do with you ? Was he going to kill you ? Was he going to even let you say goodbye to your family ? Your head hurt as different scenarios plagued your mind.

But, it was too late to ponder on it now..

One thing was for sure.

You were going home.

Brahms never took anything for granted. He always thanked his lucky star for everything he had—or ever received. So, when you stepped over the threshold, he thanked whoever had sent you. He thought you were a gift from fate. To cure his boredom and loneliness.

Nobody had moved in since Greta. He didn't want to spook you, so he had waited a few weeks before introducing himself. Of course, he had watched you intently before. He had seen how you had changed the whole house to fit your own tastes and even though Brahms wasn't one to accept change easily, he had to admit that he liked what you had done with the house. It seemed brand-new now.

It was for that exact reason that he had to thank you.

So, after leaving a few hints here and there of his presence, he decided to surprise you as you were preparing breakfast. You must have been tired from working the night shift, or staying up all night studying, as he saw you stir the a pan where nothing was cooking inside. You seemed upset after noticing and had left the room to come back to bed. It was then an idea of cooking you breakfast came to mind.

He firstly made sure you were resting soundly before stepping in the kitchen and preparing eggs. He knew he had to be quick about it, as your naps usually didn't last long. He added spices and fresh cream before putting basil to the mix. His mother had taught him how to cook, as she knew he wouldn't be able to rely on his babysitters most of the time.

He put a timer and just as he was about to add the finishing touches, a loud crashing sound was heard behind him. He turned around swiftly and saw you there, eyes widened in shock and your favorite mug splattered all over the floor.

You both stayed still for a moment before your eyes landed on the eggs in the pan. You frowned for a moment before wondering if you were dreaming ? Had a stranger really cooked breakfast in your house ? Brahms followed your gaze and since you hadn't screamed yet, he guessed you were one of the nice ones. So, he proceeded to alternatively point at the pan and yourself. He wanted to communicate and tell you that it was for you, but he didn't have the words for that and thankfully, you seemed to quickly catch on.

You carefully stepped over the shards of your broken mug and sat down at the table. You didn't know if this was a dream or not. And frankly, you didn't really care. You were hungry and at this point, you would accept food from a skunk if it cooked..

So, you remained calm and even though a tiny part of your brain was still alert and tried to warn you, you muffled it. You were too tired to think of anything else than food at the moment.

Brahms seemed relieved and sheepishly set the table as you watched him intently. The last thing you wanted was to anger the stranger and you knew the best way for him to remain calm was for you to stay impassive. So, you attempted small talk.

"So..Hum..What's your name ?"

He brought the pan to the table and even though you were pretty sure he wasn't deaf, you started wondering as he sat across from you and seemed to ignore your question.

You sighed and decided that the answer could wait and took a good portion of eggs before waiting for him to do the same, only to realize he hadn't set a plate for himself.

You looked up quizzically at him, but his eyes were fixed on the floor. You finally sighed before getting up. The movement caught his attention, as he thought you would try to run away or throw something at him, but you only took another plate and served him as well. The stranger's eyes widened as you placed the plate in front of him and then returned to your seat to dig in. You almost missed it when he muttered.

"Brahms.."

You looked up and made eye contact with the polite stranger who repeated.

"Brahms."

You finally smiled as you understood he was giving you his name and nodded.

"Brahms. Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

He already knew that, but he wouldn't tell you. He didn't want to tell you he lived in the walls yet. He didn't want to risk it. But, by the way you had remain calm and collected upon his unexpected arrival, he had this feeling you would end up being a better roommate than any of the other babysitters.

Some he had killed without meaning to, as they had screamed so loud it had spooked him into action. But, you hadn't and he was grateful for it. He started eating and for a moment, he felt at peace.

But, he didn't know you were secretly planning on running for the hills the moment he had his back turned..

And you didn't know that once Brahms had taken a liking to you, he would never turn his back on you.

"Jack. I wanna leave.", you told him—straight to his face. You had already said it before, but the look he gave you was exactly the same as all of your other failed attempts.

He looked bored.

"Leave ? To go where ?", he asked—as if the answer wasn't obvious.

"Anywhere !", you shouted and Jack sighed loudly in exasperation.

"And they call ME mad..", he let out a small huff before returning to his eternal writing machine, the infernal thing that had brought you here in the first place. You had heard rumors of the place and people had told you that whoever would find old Jack's writing machine would get a lot of money. The thing was apparently worth a lot since its owner was apparently dead.

But, surprise surprise. The owner was actually very much alive. And had been keeping you hostage for months now. For some reason, he seemed to mistake you for his long lost wife, and you had no intention to tell the very dangerous sociopath that he wife was very much dead.

"WHO THE F*CK ARE 'THEY', JACK ?!", you burst out and Jack didn't answer you. No surprise to that, as he was most of the time too drunk to speak..

You had tried your best to keep up with Jack's antics. You had played the perfect oblivious wife for him—even though far from it. But, there had to be an end to this madness. He needed help. And you were the one who would give it to him—or so you thought..

"Listen to me, darling. Keep your mouth shut, or the door is wide open.", he gestured to the door with a dismissive wave of his hand before returning to his bottle of whiskey and machine.

You sighed.

"You know what ? Fine. Good luck keeping yourself company.", you said before turning towards the door. You thought you would find it locked—as always—but were surprised when you were met with the cold morning air. It took you a while to realize that your freedom was right there. You glanced back at Jack who seemed too absorbed by his work to give you his attention.

Good. He would probably not even notice your absence.. But, you hadn't taken a step outside that Jack bolted out of his chair and grabbed you..

"Oh no. You don't, Wendy."

That name..That f*cking name. You wanted to cry, but you knew it wouldn't change a thing. So, you decided to shatter this illusion. It could get you killed, it would actually..But, he would hear it.

"I'M NOT F*CKING WENDY ! I'M NOT YOUR WIFE ! I'M NOT YOUR ANYTHING ! NOW, LET ME GO !", you shouted and your sudden outburst seemed to make Jack freeze as he spun you around to look at you.

"Yeah. I know that. You're far hotter than her. She was always so whiny and bitchy. But, you ? Hell..You put up with everything. My tantrums. My alcoholism. My craving for nachos. My clear need for space. You're perfect. I thought you were another ghost at first, but nah. Ghosts usually don't stick around me long enough for me to care."

He nuzzled the back of your hair with the tip of his nose and to your utter horror, took a long inhale of your scent..

"That's what I like about the living, they smell so great.." You froze at his words and your eyes brimmed with tears. What did he mean by "the living" ? He seemed to read your mind and chuckled before clicking his fingers together—closing the door before you shut.

You yelped and jolted back, hitting his back in the process. You slowly turned around and suddenly, the room was filled with people. But, not normal people. They were all dressed in costumes belonging to an era long gone and some had strange scars and bloody wounds. And, most importantly, they all mimicked Jack's smile. They were all waiting..waiting for the very moment your eyes widened at the realization..

"You...You really are dead, aren't you ?"

Jack's smile shifted to a dark smirk as he started laughing and clapping.

"YOU FINALLY GOT IT ! BRAVO ! THEY FINALLY GOT IT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN !"

They all started clapping frenetically and you felt as if your heart was about to jump out of your chest. You thoigh he had survived, that for some reason he hadn't died in that maze as so many newspapers had claimed.

But, he was. He was dead. And soon, it would be your turn. Suddenly, the ghosts all stopped clapping and Jack took a step forward.

"Now..Don't make that face. It'll be soon over. Promise. You won't feel a thing." He said it in such a soothing way, you almost believed him..Almost.

You tried to scream, but who would hear you ?

Jack was your curse—the cross you had to bear. He would never let you leave. And you would never let him go..

"I hate you..", you whispered and he chuckled knowingly.

"~Liar."

[fineprintedsunsets]

𝙷𝙸𝚁𝙰𝙴𝚃𝙷

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 12! | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List

nurse au

Synopsis: Nurse Levinson knows her, and for as long as he can remember, he wants to help her. And tonight, his plan is going to work.

Word Count: 1.8k

Trigger Warnings: THE LAST DAY OF #HAUNTEDHOEDOWN, this is a bit late. nurse!ari levinson x unnamed f!oc. suicide attempt. HEAVY CONTENT<please read with caution> . Self-Harm. relaspe. feeling numbness, no emotion. pain. (lots of fucking pain). im so in love with ari saying "mama". comfort. psych wards. angst. (i fucking hate those places, and this was written with every ounce of hate i could muster) this is fiction, you obvi cant just walk out of a ward. (i wish someone just picked me up and carried me out of that hell hole.)

I miss my body.

The version of my vessel that remains unscared and unbroken. It's gone now, battered with bruises and self-inflicted scars.

I miss my home, the one I inhabited before I was caged with white walls and prescription pills.

I miss myself.

I can't describe myself, oddly. I can barely remember what I used to look like other than dull eyes and sunken cheekbones.

I’m dying in this place. Slowly, mentally.

I stare up at the white tiles, the same ones I’ve been looking at for months. They never change, I wish they would. The sound of a door clicking open, the noise bouncing off the walls, notifies me of the time.

“Hey Mama, how are you feeling today?” Nurse Levinson greets me with a small smile. I glance at him from my lying down position, seeing him follow with a cart of medication. I groan, turning away.

“Mama’s, Answer me.” The nurse demands, but I just sigh, sitting up to grab my medication, each colored pill placed in separate clear cups. There are five. Before I can wrap my frail fingers around one, Ari snatches the cart away.

“Mama.”

“I’m fine,” I answer bluntly. Although I’ll never say it aloud, Ari is the only nurse without evil intentions. He’s a good man, one I would have been friends with when I was still…

Me.

His tall frame comes to the side of my white bed, his large fingers cupping my chin. It’s nothing special, but it makes me feel for just a sliver of a second, feeling the heat from his palm press into my cheek.

“Not feeling group today?”

I shake my head, grabbing the first of five cups. “No”. He lets me this time, knowing my reluctance is evident. He should be used to it by now. I put the pill onto my tongue, making sure the appendage is flat. I don’t need a liquid, I’ve done this hundreds of times before.

I close my mouth, and close my eyes. My mouth wants to spit it out, wants to reject the medication like always. Ari stands in front of me, his fingers grasping gently at my chin as I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Swallow” He orders, My throat obeys him, forcing the red pill down.

I don’t gag, never have. Ari smiles with approval. “Good girl.”

I don’t feel anything by the words, although his presence offers me some form of my old self, which I haven’t seen in a while.

I don’t know if she was ever there.

“How about we skip group, and go straight to our lessons? What do you say?”

“No,” I answer him placidly, taking another pill and popping it into my mouth. This one is blue, it tastes no different.

“No? Mama, are you feeling alright?” I hate the way he speaks to me, as if I'm an animal in a cage, waiting to attack. I’m a grown adult.

“I’m not going to slit my wrist.” Ari's face turns into a wince at my sudden harsh words. I don’t care, they treat me like a weak little girl. I smile weakly, swallowing another pill in between dry gulps.

“I have to dull down the truth, I forgot, Nurse Levinson.” I began again, changing my words to the mandated ones we always use here. “I will not cause any harm to myself or others.”

Ari is battling with himself, I can see it in his features. He wants to feel bad for me, but just like the rest of us, he has a job to do.

“Mama-” He pleads, silently yearning for me to stop talking so plainly. Ari and everyone else here always want to cover up the truth, want to sugarcoat it in red and blue pills and select dialogue.

Screw that shit.

“I don’t want to go to the group, but you will take me anyway. I don’t want to go to lessons, but I'll be dragged there regardless” I turn towards him, moving off my mattress to stand in front of his tall form. He’s wearing blue scrubs, the same every day.

For I don’t know how long.

I lost track of time a while ago.

“Why do you ask me the same questions, as if I’ll have another answer?” He runs a large hand through his long blonde hair, sighing.

“It’s-”

“Required?” I finish his sentence with a silver tongue, my face unmoving. I’ve looked like the same frowning woman since I arrived here.

Nothing ever changes.

“Leave, Ari.” I start to walk by him, not going anywhere in my bedroom, The doors lock from outside, I could run, but I'd end up right back where I stand. I learned that the hard way.

His fingers grab my wrist gently, he’s careful to avoid the white scratches. He knows where my scars are, and he knows I hate them being touched.

I almost smile.

“You know I can’t do that.” He gruffs, I have to look up to him every time he talks, I'm much shorter.

“Because it’s required or?” Ari stops short, his fingers still grabbing gently at my wrist, the medication cart still off to the side. I could grab something.

I could.

He pulls me to him unexpectedly, and I let out a small whimper at how quickly he does it. His heat warms me up, although I’m just skin and bones against him, it makes me feel something. Ari always makes me feel.

It’s why I hate him.

I run my hands down his back, looking for something. Something very specific. He stills underneath my fingers, palms my head and brings me to his chest, our position resembling something of an awkward hug.

“I’m not required to care about my patients.”

A disappointed smile appears on my lips as I grab something from his pocket. He doesn't notice, my little fingers make it impossible. I recognize the tube immediately, and with all my strength, I push the man back, taking the tube with me.

He barely stumbles.

“Liar,” I whisper, holding the syringe in front of my face, Both I and Ari can see it, and the color that drains from his features makes the truth worth it. The tube has a label with a word I can not pronounce, but the number of times I’ve had one injected into me, I know what they do.

A sedative.

“Come on, mama. I have to carry them”. Ari pleads, his eyes wide. I circle him, watching as he flinches when I move closer.

I hate Ari Levinson because he feels like home. I hate him because I’m upset at the fact he carries a sedative when he walks into my room.

Normally, I wouldn’t care if a nurse carried a sedative, but because it’s Ari, a piece of my non-existent heart cracks. He stares at me. I stare at him.

I smile.

Ari knows he’s just lost me.

Not physically.

My broken vessel remains where It stands.

He’s lost my trust.

And we both know in here, that’s worth more than a life.

ꕤ

I don’t know how this happened.

After my chat with a deceitful Nurse, I went to a group, went to lessons with him, didn’t talk, and now somehow I’m running.

I did something, something bad.

There’s blood on my paper clothes.

My socks make it easier to run, they are good for something. I turn down another hallway, an alarm blaring loudly. They’ve announced a lockdown.

Everyone and their mothers are going to be in this hallway in about 3 minutes.

I didn’t mean to etch glass into my scars, allowing them to re-open, but I’ve never had an urge so strong in my entire life. After Ari left my room, taking the syringe and medicine cart with him, I felt again.

It’s weird, almost like flipping a switch back on but having to dust it off first, maybe fiddle with the wires. I can’t explain the true feeling of having consciousness of your body again, numbness turning into pain, feelings burning throughout you.

I was hurt by Ari carrying that syringe, he turned my switch back on.

And my mind went into pain.

I relapsed.

My feet hurt, I can’t stop running though, I feel a set of booths stomp behind me. They're coming for me, it’s only a matter of time.

I don’t know why I ran to begin with, they would have walked into my room, seen my bloodied wrist, bandaged it, and then sent me to a padded room. To “ensure” my safety, of course.

“Mama?” I hear his voice echo through the hallways, and I stop in my tracks. I don’t hear any other footsteps unless they're trying to ambush me. Why would they send Ari after me?

I don’t fight it when he finds me, I stopped running when I heard his voice.

My body just did it, even as I tried to move my feet, they wouldn’t budge. “Sweet girl…” His voice is taut with emotion, I know he notices my wrists, but he pays no attention to them.

“Come here.” Ari holds his arms out, and with the same reluctance, my body is attracted to his, like a magnetic force field pushing us close together. I settle into his arms, feeling his heat as he lifts me up, grabbing my ankles and wrapping them around his waist.

I look like a little girl with her father.

His fingers run through my hair as I bury my nose in his shoulders, his other hand holds me up as I cling to him. We stand there, in the middle of the red-lit hallway, alarm blaring, and he just holds me.

“Shh… You're with me, sweetheart.”

Ari keeps me supported against him, whispering words into my ears as he leads me down a hallway. I don’t recognize this one, I’ve never been down it.

But then I see a large red sign, spelling the word

“EXIT”.

I lift my head from his shoulder, my face unmoving as I ask, “Exit? Ari-”

“The sedative wasn’t for you, sweetheart.”

“It was for anyone who got in my way.”

My heart cracks as he glances down both ends of the hallway. They trusted him to come and find me, but really, he’s freeing me. “This was your plan, to free me-”

“You were never supposed to hurt yourself, Mama.”

The sunlight hits my skin immediately, and I bask in it, I haven’t felt it in months. The doors shut behind us, and security cameras can surely see me wrapped around his waist, his large hands placed at my back, and my little fingers, running through his long blonde hair.

My wrist hurts, but the guilt never comes, even as the blood starts to dry and the aftermath is revealed. Ari wanted me to find that syringe, that’s why he pulled me to his chest. He knew it would upset me, and he knew when I got upset, I ran.

“I’m glad I did”

“Sweetheart-”

“No, Now I know, Ari. I can feel.”

“You make me feel.”

[louissatturi]

Ok so, hello, new Ordem Paranormal fan here, I'm not Brazillian so I apologize if any of my questions are stupid, and if you do not want to/don't have the answer to any of my questions, I will not be offended. I've just finished O Segredo Na Floresta (That ending man...fuck) and while I know some spoilers from later campaigns, I generally don't know the context around them. Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I have way too many questions, so feel free to pick and choose. 1. I've noticed that the artist between the second and third campaign changes, or at least I think that's the case because the styles are incredibly different. I'm assuming that it's because Cellbit wanted more realism, but I was curious if that was it or not because I can't really find anything on my own (the wiki, sadly, doesn't seem to have pages for the artists :() (I'm just curious about this, I like both art styles) 2. Have you ever had a llonguet or coxhina? Not entirely related to Ordem Paranormal but they mentioned those foods a few times so I was curious as to how good they were, they both look good tbh 3. It only gets worse from here doesn't it. (This next question is more so Desconjuracao and Calamidade than either of the ones I've watched) 4. I know about the relics, do they all work differently? I mean, yeah they do but like, the human in that body dies when they take over, right? But like, can they make the body immortal or does the body still age? I assume not with the God of Death because...yeah just saw that, but it could still decompose I guess. Idk, the relics fascinate me and I'm really excited for Desconjuracao to get translated 5. How many times does the system change? Because the first campaign was a d6 system, the second is a d100 system, but the wiki says Ordem Paranormal is a d20 system. Does it get more finalized by Desconjuracao? Or will it take til Calamidade for me to see the current system? I'm really hoping the rulebook gets translated someday, I'd love to play or gm, and I'm curious as to what campaign would be a good reference for what it might be like. 6. Do you have a favorite character? I don't have many people to talk Ordem Paranormal in depth with so I'm curious as to what other fans opinions are. Also, are there any characters that generally people really dislike? 7. Not sure if you read fanfics or comics, but do you have any you'd recommend? Even if it's for later campaigns I could put it on the backburner, I'd love to see more fanworks than what I've found on my own Ok so, that's a lot so I'll stop asking stuff for now, thank you so much for letting me ramble hahaha

1- well you are a minority because people really hate the old artist (Rafael da Hq) well it was changed because the new artist (Orenjiro) did beutiful fanart and cellbit decided that he would do the art for ordem ever since! (Minus o segredo na ilha, that was bonees), but the main reason why the fandom does not talk is because he did tracing and was exposed for pedophilia, also i did not know that there wasn’t any wiki pages for the artists like what? They maybe will do some soon!

2- because of your grammar i unfortunaly dont know what you ment by what you ment by llounguet but i already had many coxinhas in my life lol, they are a pretty popular "salgado" (salty food) and i really like it, the ones filled with chicken are the best (i mean its pretty rare a coxinha be anything BUT filled with chicken but WHAT EVER), i hope you get to taste coxinha, is pretty good

3- Oh honey, you didn’t even get to see the worst deaths in ordem paranormal history lol

4- i mean you won’t get much about the calamity relics since they are more important in calidade but basicly the human body that the relic is inhabiting dosen't age and is pretty much imortal (unless other relic kills it) bur when the human body of the relic dies, they just poof like the human body dosen't exist anymore and they go to another human to continue doing their elements Jobs

5- Oh honey the only season that they play 100% from the ordem paranormal rpg rulebook is sinais do outro lado, this system had a fuck ton of changes and rewrites especially because the comunity was very involved in it

6- Oh i have a bunch of them but my main favs are liz and my baby joui 💜, so the fandom is fascinating because the character can be very loved with a very toxic fanbase but also very hated with a bunch of toxic haters (joui's case lol) but most of the time the really hated character's are from the villans side, mainly npc's but this hatred is generely only really prevelent for character's with players when the season is airing yk? But for me is kinda hard to tell witch character is the most hated for all fandom because it really depends on your fandom circle because is pretty commun to get a bunch of comments of "OMG WHY DO YOU HATE THIS CHARACTER" for pretty much evey character in ordem

7- about fanfics... i unfortunaly don’t have much recomendations because i do not read much ordem fanfics (especially because the fandom is kinda dead right now and all ordem ficwritters became spiderbit/guapoduo ficwritters) well the fanprojects are kinda dead right now unfortunately, but there is official comics of ordem paranormal that adapt the first season and the first part of season 2 translated to english that you can buy it officially in e-book form! I also have a project for myself in adapt ordem seasons in manga form (and rewrite some stuff that dosen't make sanse) and make a silly self indulgent fanfic adding two oc's of mine as character's living the happy horror's that is the ordem paranormal universe, but i little idvice if you want to see ordem content

Go to Twitter, there is more people there the here unfortunaly

I hope my answers helped and any questions just hit my ask box!

[tetsunabouquet]

11, 17, 18, 24, please? :)

I honestly don't know how many and neither can I keep count (flip flops are like socks- there's always one that just disappears). They're mostly just regular sneakers or flip flops though. I mentioned this before in a post about my congenital claw toes, but most shoes aren't actually build for feet like mine. Other then my toes being shaped differently, my instep area is shaped also a little differently from other feet. Sneakers and flip flops are the only 'normal' shoes that are actually build for comfort so they are generally the only shoes I can wear. Inside my home I am always barefoot as even my good shoes feel like a bra to me- I am happy to take those off and have my feet just move and wiggle without something attached to them.

There are fashionable shoes that are orthopedic, but unfortunately the only orthopedic shoes I can get for free (or at an immense discount) through my health insurance are the boring grandma shoes, so I just stick to my sneakers.

Someone I can trust with my life and sees my happiness (and not just their own) as a top priority. Someone who isn't too stupid to annoy me, but I would like someone who is turnt on by my intelligence and is overall a 'little dumber' then I am because I am as vain about my skillset as I am about my beauty. Someone that loves animals and can appreciate the simple things in life. As a bisexual, for heterosexual romancde I'd say: A real man, and not a craven douchebag because the latter description befits both my father and maternal grandfather and I do not wish for history to repeat itself. That is my mom's mistake and it shall never be mine. When it comes to women I'd like: A woman with balls who doesn't accepts people's bullshit. I'm raised to be a strong bitch but I don't like being overtly dominant. I want someone who's my equal.

Also when it comes to women I'd like them to be strong but have a softer, feminine look about them. Have you ever heard of the Nickelodeon show House of Anubis? That originally was a Belgium-Dutch show that got remade in German and English. Nienke (the OG counterpart of Nina), was my sapphic childhood celebrity crush and she still heavily influences my taste to this day.

Fun story: But my third pair of earrings were actually done by this cute girl who looked a little like Loek Beernink (the actress name), and my heart was racing as she marked my body forever with those piercing needles. I still think about the piercing girl every once in a while.

Yes, I have always wanted them. However, with my various health issues I do want to make sure that if that stage in my life ever were to present myself that 1, am in an okay place with my physical health and 2, I have tested myself and my partner to how likely it is that our child is going to inherit something from me and my side of the family as almost everyone is neurodivergent and certain phsical conditions also run in the family. I want my child to be healthy and want them to have the gift I never had.

I do like to say though, is that with the current times, I am not sure if this is an enviroment I want my children to be born in and if I do have children, I am very much going to make sure wether their schools aren't teaching them propoganda or that they bring home the wrong friends. When I hear stupid things like that British schools are going to teach children things like afrocentrist lies that black people build Stonehenge and that they are the original inhabitants of Europe (something I've also heard is being said by some pro-BLM people in my country), I do very much fear for the current quality of children's education.

Baths. It's my dream to someday own a home where I can have the Jacuzzi my aunt used to have to be build into (yes my aunt had a Jacuzzi, because she was the luxurious middle class type). I remember bathing in it when I was a little kid, and that I switched the lights on to green and turnt on the bubble function. I pretended like I was being cooked in a witch's cauldron. The memory is dear to me.

[gnomeniche]

Alright so first of all, your character playlists are top-tier and I absolutely love all your analyses of the show, they're so well thought-out and just a joy to read.

I saw that your birdman playlist had The Astronomer from Ghost Quartet (you have impeccable taste, I've gotta say) and it got me thinking about the rest of the musical as it could align with dmhis

Specifically The Camera Shop, with Rose and Pearl fitting in really well with Yellow and Lesley.

Something about a Knowing™ character speaking over soft piano music to a well meaning yet extremely confused Trapped In the Narrative™ character, the creepy storytelling and over familiarity where you can tell that they Remember previous cycles in a way the other can only barely comprehend, the way that mix of love and fear and anger morphs from Kindly and Inviting Older Lady to outright anger and yelling, the way that even though she seems all powerful she's actually just as much a victim to the narrative... Idk man it's just got all the right vibes

Also "I'm a little confused, and more than a little frightened" "It's okay my dear, this is a circular story"

And "I don't believe any of this!" "Don't you REMEMBER?"

I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on it, since (if you'd believe it) it's a bit hard to find that crossover between dmhis and Ghost Quartet fans 😂 And you've always got the best takes on this kind of stuff

i think it's a shame that it's hard to find a crossover between dhmis fans and ghost quartet fans! it is my professional opinion that all dhmis fans should experience ghost quartet (a live recording is free on youtube! and the soundtrack is on spotify!).

the tones of ghost quartet and dhmis are very different, but if you love mind-bending storytelling, deciphering a very densely layered story that works on a very thematic level, the use of memory loss and residual memories and shifting roles that characters must inhabit, and the themes of a small group of people who fundamentally love each other trapped in a vicious cycle of narrative and character flaws that complicates that, you will love ghost quartet. also the music is so good. just be ready to give it multiple listens and make sure to have the genius lyrics and the wikipedia summary open on your first try. (there's also a ton of literature references in ghost quartet but i don't think you necessarily Need to know them. i just like them bc i'm a literature nerd.)

okay now that the shilling is over: i have thought of songs from ghost quartet in a dhmis character context! i haven't thought of The Camera Shop yet, but you're so right that it works well for yellow and lesley. the vibes are the same.

(more under the cut bc wow this got long)

i do have The Astronomer on the duck playlist bc of the contradictory feelings of curiosity but sheer incuriousness due to fear of the unknown + self-importance and self-hatred because you know you wouldn't dare to be all you wish to be, and i think Starchild might also work for him because of that need for importance and control in an uncaring world?

Tango Dancer gives me Some Kind Of Feelings about red (something about "but myself didn't have time for me / didn't have time for anyone so used up"). also something something The Telescope fluffybird ("i love the way you see the world / i love the way your soul sings / i wish that i could sing like you / i wish that i could feel things").

the very tired and regretful vibes of all the pearl characters are very auhghgh. something about remembering that you've lived through a cycle when nobody else does or when the other one who could cannot see past her own fury when she does remember. hits that spot for all the dhmis characters whenever they get those bits and pieces back.

on a lighter side i love the "actor" songs for them too. Any Kind Of Dead Person as a silly but slightly sinister duck song is super fun. i freely admit that i have done amvs in my head for Four Friends many times. lesley is brent's verse, red is brittain's verse, yellow is dave's verse, and duck is gelsey's verse. the gang just chills and drinks bc lesley is feeling sentimental and tired today.

[of-monsters-and-werewolves]

The Doctor Who fandom is very fractious at the moment, and I'd like Whovians to really take a second to reflect on their own behaviour and attitudes, and their complicity in creating this alienating atmosphere, both in themselves and the spaces, online or off, that they inhabit.

Chibnall critical fans, and I'm including me in this too, need to be cautious in not patronising Chibnall era fans or assuming a position of elitism or superiority because we may have been in the fandom longer, or because our favourite eras have years of in depth analysis up its sleeves and thus we're Smart™. Sometimes it is a case of differing tastes in media. Please continue critiquing the era, as well as any toxic behaviour from its fans, but there needs to be serious consideration given to not project an image of every Chibnall fan being a naïve illiterate whose contributions to the fandom are worthless, and every Chibnall critical fan as being some intelligent expert in media criticism. You can point out patterns, point out tendencies, criticise points made, but what you can't do is ridicule every individual or assume bad faith every time a Chibnall fan tries to speak or provide their own interpretations. It's condescending to the nth degree, and it also runs the risk of leading to bad behaviour in Chibnall critical spaces to be ignored.

On the other hand, Chibnall era fans really need to stop with this assumption that every, or even most, criticism of the Chibnall era is done in bad faith by reactionary NMDs. As a Moffat fan, I relate to the feeling of seeing the same bad takes over and over again, but you can't let those allow you to dismiss very valid criticism of his era. Large swathes of the fandom, multiple cliques and niches and spaces, many of which are also marginalised ourselves, are frustrated and downright saddened about the current state of the show - the quality, the writing, the characters, the stories, the representation, the production, its politics, its place in the zeitgeist - and our dislike of the current era cannot be simply brushed off automatically as a lack of critical thinking skills/media literacy, or reactionary politics. There are many, many queer Who fans for instance, including sapphics like me, who want better than the scraps we're getting from Thasmin. I get the defensiveness, every other subsection of the fandom seems to be against you, and that's not a great feeling, but that defensiveness really is not always warranted, I promise you.

I'd just like more dialogue, you know. That's not to say you can't rant or vent, please do, it can be incredibly cathartic, fuck I've done so on here too, but just be a bit more critical about your thoughts and reactions when interacting with people, especially those who are fans of different eras. Really use those critical thinking skills, and be a little bit more respectful when talking with each other, and perhaps even a bit more open minded. We can learn from each other, you get me?

[afictionalwhore]

Oh Baby!

A/N: this was something sweet inspired by some of my babies at the daycare but then at 1 am, it turned into something completely different. I’ll try to make a part two out of the original idea. I struggled hard with a title. Titles are the worst

TW: mentions of kidnapping, soft yandere, smut, pregnancy

2.4K words

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Ever since Keigo kidnapped married you, he had kept you tucked away in your new home, a cozy cabin up the side of a secluded, lesser known mountain. You lived so high up in such a densely forested area that only Hawks could find you, completely cut off from the outside world. He never had to worry about you leaving, one woman with a common healing quirk that would do nothing to help in navigating down the mountain. The locals, inhabitants of a small village at the foot of your mountain, believed the woods to be enchanted, so Keigo had to worry less about a villager managing to stumble their way into your backyard.  

It wasn't so bad. Keigo made sure you were never bored. For when he wasn't home for you to tend to his needs, Keigo kept your home well stocked with books. It was the first thing he had shown you in your new home: your personal library. A whole room of the quaint house, your favorites, a whole shelf dedicated to just literary classics, as well as everything on your "to read" list. There was never a shortage of cookbooks. He was so excited that his large wings were flapping as though he were a young puppy wagging their tail, the giant scarlet curtain nearly knocking a shelf down on you.

"I hope you like it." Keigo looked at you, his eyes shining like an innocent puppy. "As much as I love you, I can't be with you all day. Someone has to keep food on the table." He chuckled while keeping a tight grip on your waist, and looking down at you expectantly.

"Oh. Thank you," you replied, your voice small, but loud enough for Keigo to hear. The hold on your waist loosened, and Keigo resumed his tour of your new home.

Of course, there was no TV, lest you stumble upon the news. While he's at it, no newspaper either. You didn't need those to know what was going on outside. It was a scary world out there, full of villains who wouldn't hesitate to snatch you up and use your healing quirk for their own. You were perfectly safe here with him. 

It took some time, but eventually you had come around and loved Keigo back. You were always curled up on the couch, book in hand, waiting for him to come home. As soon as he was in the doorway, you'd make your way to him, like clockwork, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek while helping him shrug off his heavy coat. Your voice was still small and hesitant around him, as though you were afraid of him. This irritated him, as Keigo didn't understand what could make you so jumpy still. He had never raised a hand against you. The two of you would have dinner, usually having to reheat whatever you had made because Keigo often worked overtime. Keigo was so happy you were making use of the cookbooks he gave you. 

You were turning out to be the perfect wife. Keigo was certain you loved him just as much as he loved you, or as close as someone could come to that level of love. He didn't believe anyone could match the way he felt about you. You were even going to have a kid together, a testament of your love. 

When you first announced your pregnancy to him, Keigo was ecstatic. He had come home that day, exhausted and overworked, excited to be welcomed home by his little wife. His stomach growled as he landed in your front yard, and he wondered what you decided to cook up for him. He noticed you'd gotten experimental in your cooking, always asking how things tasted. You were so cute when you had him guess whatever secret ingredient you added. 

When you weren’t at the door to greet him with open arms and a kiss, Keigo was disappointed in you. You were doing so well. He shook off his coat and stretched his wings, taking up the better half of your living room. You weren't nestled in the couch, engrossed in a book, as you sometimes were too distracted in your literary world to realize he had come home.

"Baby," Keigo called out, his voice echoing against the wooden walls of your homely cabin. "I'm home. I know it's a lot later than usual."

 Keigo figured you must have gone to bed already. He could forgive you for not staying up for him, he thought it was rather cute, though next time, he wished you'd fall asleep on the couch. 

When he entered your shared bedroom, Keigo saw you curled up on the bed, your back facing the doorway. You trembled—or was it a shiver? You must be cold without his body heat beside you. Keigo was his own heating unit.  

“Baby bird,” Keigo took a step into the room. “I’m home."

No response from you.

Another step.

"Can I get a kiss?”

You shivered again.

Keigo had taken off his uniform as he was making his way towards you and the bed. Now in just his boxers, Keigo heaved himself on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to sink slightly. He laid on his side to spoon you, wrapping a large, warm arm around your center. At this distance, Keigo heard it: your small sniffles. You weren't asleep; you were crying.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Keigo asked, worry sickening him. "Did ya miss me that much?" He tried to joke, more for his sake than yours.

After no response from you, save for a few more sniffles, Keigo asked once again what was wrong, a little more urgently. His racing thoughts of you leaving, of you not loving him, were sending him into a panic.

You mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? I couldn't hear you." Keigo struggled to hang on to his cool.

You mumbled yet again, causing Keigo's growing panic and frustration with you to snap. He clamored over you, swinging his legs so that you were caged underneath him, his hands at either side of your head. Golden eyes locked onto your watery ones, staring you down.

“(y/n),” Keigo said firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

"I'm pregnant" you spat at him, frustrated at the fact itself and having to repeat it three times. The more you said it felt like the final pat of a shovel packing the dirt above your grave. You wiped away a tear before turning and shoving your face in your pillow. 

“Oh baby.” Keigo was almost at loss for words. He had been anticipating this moment—stocking the bathroom cabinet with pregnancy tests the moment you arrived—yet in it, he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to say. He took your face in his hands and turned your head to look at him.

“Are you for real?”

“What would I gain from lying?” You attempted to make your words hit him like poisonous darts, but your quaking voice only managed to soften him.

“I love you so much,” Keigo dipped his head down to give you a chaste kiss, softer than his usual greedy ones, as though he were afraid of breaking you. Your eyes shut instinctively.

“This is so exciting, (y/n). You have no idea how happy I am."

A kiss to your cheek. 

 "I love you."

A kiss to your other cheek.

"I love you."

Keigo rose up on his hands and knees again.

"I promise to be the best father to our child."

You felt something splash on your cheek. You slowly opened your eyes again to see Keigo crying above you. 

"I love you, too," your voice small and shaky as you looked up at Keigo, knowing he would just continue to stare at you and cry until you said it back.

Keigo beamed down at you before dipping down for another kiss, this one a little rougher, more passionate is how Keigo would describe it.  His warm mouth worked against yours, his lips chapped slightly from the harsh wind on his rushed flight home. 

You thought Keigo would deepen the kiss, expecting to feel his impatient tongue poking between your lips and licking your bottom lip. Instead Keigo pulled away and sat back on your legs, the bottom half of his own legs tucking your legs under him. He studied your body, eyes trailing down your form, stopping briefly at your stomach. 

Keigo bent down again, lips now hungrily, but gently, pecking at your neck. He pulled your shirt off, delighted by your lack of bra underneath, before making his way down your chest to pepper your body with kisses. Between each small kiss, Keigo whispered "I love you" against your body.

His large hands came up to cup your breasts, careful not to squeeze too hard lest he hurt you. Usually Keigo would give them more attention, but that wasn't his main focus for tonight. He hummed as he kissed between them, flicking your nipples lightly. You couldn't suppress a small moan.

Spurred by your shy noises of pleasure, Keigo continued to move down your body. When he reached your lower abdomen, right below your belly button, Keigo's whispers of "I love you" grew more frantic, as though he was trying to tell the baby that was forming in you that he loved them.

When Keigo finally reached between your legs, he planted sweet kisses on the insides of your thighs while dragging your panties down. He tossed them to the side and lifted your legs onto his shoulders before nestling down. Keigo's face between your legs was hit with your heat. He inhaled your sweet scent, and his honeyed eyes looked up to meet yours.

"I love you, (y/n)," he stated before dipping down to lap at your puffy folds.

Keigo was excited, as any man in his position would be. As much as he wanted to pound into your until your voice hoarse from your cries and screams of his name, his main goal tonight was to make you feel good while being as gentle with you as possible. He was terrified of hurting his child in you because of his lack of self-control.

His tongue flicked at your clit, continuing to hold your gaze until your head rolled back with a low groan. Your hands found themselves tangling into his tousled golden hair, your back arching in attempt to push yourself into his mouth. Keigo chuckled against your swollen clit, the vibrations causing you to cry out and tug on his golden locks.

This spurred him on more. Keigo pushed a rough finger into you before hooking it and dragging slowly out of you, drawing a sweet moan of his name to fall out of your lips. This repeated motion combined with his sucking and lapping at your clit caused you to climb higher to your orgasm.

“Keigo, please,” you begged, seeking relief from the coiling in your gut.

Keigo hummed again against your clit, eliciting the same sweet moan and tug from you as before. He took his chance to slip another finger into you, curling both fingers against your spongy spot before dragging them down your walls.

"Keigo, I'm so close," you whined.

"Then come, baby bird." That was all you needed for the band to snap. Moans of his name and incoherent phrases tumbling out of your pretty lips.

While you were climbing down from your orgasm, Keigo found the time to remove his boxers.

Keigo sat down back down on the mattress, settling beside your shaking form with his back to the headboard. His own need was now too painful to ignore. Not wanting to put any unnecessary pressure on your stomach, Keigo pulled you up and into his lap, your entrance, slick with your own cum and his spit, hovered over his weeping cock, close enough for the heat radiating out of you to tease him. 

“I love you.” Keigo held eye contact with you as he sank you down on his cock, his large hands holding your hips. Once you were fully seated on him, Keigo leaned back against the headboard. He gave a few shallow thrusts to test what you (and the baby) could handle.

Keigo settled on a steady, but gentle rhythm. You splayed your hands on his broad chest as he bounced you on his cock. Despite the gentleness and the shallowness of Keigo's thrusts and your bouncing, you were quickly climbing your way to a second orgasm. Already sensitive from your first, Keigo's cockhead managed to nudge against your sweet spot with every roll of his hips.

"Keigo, I'm close." you cried, hiding your face in his neck. One of his hands left your hip to allow his thumb to roll your sensitive bud, causing your walls to tighten and convulse around him.

"Me too, baby." Keigo said, breathless. "I'm so close. So close. Come with me, baby."

With a strained groan, Keigo's thumb on your clit sped up, causing the heat that had once again built up within you to break. You scratched desperately at Keigo's back, hiding your face into the crook of his neck. Your hot walls clamped down on him, the final push Keigo needed to fall off the edge himself.

With chants of "I love you", Keigo began to hump his cum into you before stilling, his hips flush against yours, head tilted back and back arching off the headboard.

Once you had both come back to earth, Keigo laid you onto your back before pulling out his softening dick from you and rolling off you onto his side, white cum leaking out of you. 

"Not that this really matters anymore now," Keigo couldn't help the chuckle that left him. With the pad of his index finger, he pushed his now cooled cum into you. 

At that statement, the fog of your two orgasms lifted, and the realization of your situation set in; you could never leave now. You let out a choked sob as Keigo rested a hand on your stomach before pulling you into him and wrapping a large, red wing over the two of you like a personal cocoon. Nuzzling his face into your neck, facial hair tickling the crook, Keigo gave you soft kisses and gentle words of praise, chalking up your soft sobs to the hormones adjusting your body to his child.

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[hoefette]

All the petty things I hate about fate!winx and their shitty universe/world building because

I'd added most if these in tags of other posts but I'm still so mad lmao

The way characters, Aisha and Mrs Dowling specifically make references to explicitly human or American things like instagram and Harry Potter

These people are from a different dimension for ffs why are they concerned with or are even aware of this very earth-specific shit? Do they teach earth classes at school over there?

I understand not wanting to have them be oblivious so Bloom wouldn't have to explain it to them, but it simply could be ✨omitted✨

Why would you go out of your way to date your work like this lmao ew

Ms. Dowling calling Tinkerbell an air fairy.. I cannot breeve with the stupidity why did they keep that in there

Why is Ms. Dowling.. the headmistress.. teaching classes? Where are the other teachers?

We ended up with a trio of antagonists (I guess you could call them that?) by the end of the season anyway so why not give us the trix, why have the characters play double roles as friends of our protagonists and also the villains/bullies? They clearly wanted a delinquent trio, in which case they could've gender bent the trix if they wanted to keep all the unnecessary sexual tension.

It just feels like the production team was lazy, they didn't want to hire more actors, they didn't want to bother with making the world immersive or lived in or believable at best, they just didn't give enough of a fuck

They wanted to make this show and attatch Winx to it for.. what? Like did you even google the main plot points? The abridged version or sparknotes to get details on the very literal, basic characteristics of our main characters or their roles or the world they inhabit????

It lacks wonder and intrigue.. I mean Bloom moves to another dimension, a school for fairies and we don't see her marvel once at anything.. and that's because she might as well have been in Switzerland because she's in exactly the same environment she would've been in over there anyway.

They could've said Alfea was in Europe and I'd believe it because nothing about the setting makes it feel otherworldly. I'm sorry but I'm not impressed.

Why do the teachers and graduated specialists communicate via facetime ?? In the magic dimension. ??? Why do they text each other and those texts then appear on screen like .. oh look, like a bad netflix teen movie ????? HELLO ??? it's the way technology and magic could've blended in so seamless into the world THE WAY IT WAS ALREADY DONE/SHOWN. Missed opportunity. it just takes you out of it imo every time you see the ugly, bland, gray text bar. Some fucking flavour pls I'm begging

How stupid the specialist must feel clonking around with the skinniest shreds of armor, plastic swords on their backs and battery powered flashlights and cellphones in their bags. R we larping?? I know I'd be laughing and asking why we hadn't already come up with something more effective .. idk like guns. I'm surprised I ain't see one gun in there.

In the beginning Ms. Dowling says some nonsense about fairies having lost the ability to transform to explain why there are no wings, which means they could've transformed before. So are we to assume that this supposed to be set in the time proceeding the original then?? Because something is not adding up with where they should be as a magical society technologically if that's the case

How does the production team want to keep the dark academia vibes with torches lining the walls and also want them to be face timing each other, presumably from miles and miles away in the dark forest???

Pls pick an aesthetic and stick to it everything was so unnecessarily dark. Where do they charge their phones since it's the only device we see that is the slightest bit modern and dont fucking tell me they charge it with magic I will punch you in the face

Why is there only one major monarchy that we are shown? Why are Solaria the only ones contributing to the efforts to defend the school and where is this mysterious battalion we never see lmaoo it's all so bad its laughable.

Is this set in the kingdom of Solaria? And why does the queen of an alleged interdimensional superpower monarchy pull up in black SUVs??????????? Why does she pull up with Andreas?? Is he not the king of Erakleon?? Where are his soldiers and his battalion and just?? Huh!? The world just feels empty like nobody lives here fr

Are we supposed to believe that the specialists get paired up with fairies just as a normal occurence and that they have to 'trust each other' and not because the plot demands it suddenly half way through when all we've seen so far are the fairies doing normalish school and homework, and the specialists outside, being physical everyday all day. This was never even implied that they'd have to work together apart from when we see the faculty as youngins with Rosalind. But even then.. it's like well why are they even together lmao? Is this a special team formed from Rosalind’s protégées? Were they formed after graduating from Alfea or what is this?? Are they the ONLY team of specialist/fairies hunting every single burned one?? What?

Are we now supposed to buy that Musa is being switched to 'support' because that's where her strengths lie and not in combat?? Are we supposed to believe that these girls know hand to hand combat?? When was this established? We see Terra wrapping some baby vines around a dude and I'm sorry is that the practical application of her power? Is this what the fairies are supposed to do once they graduate? Or is it just a switch in curriculum because of the threats outside the barrier?? This is never made clear.

Because if not then what's the point of this?? Why do they suddenly have endless classes together when the expectation was never set for the fairies to be like soldiers or out in the field fighting ?

Where exactly are they supposed to be what was the purpose of including Aster Dell and why is it a joy ride away from Alfea lmao?? Where Bloom is from and also not from?? Plot pls make it make sense

Why are fairies from another dimension vaping or smoking weed?? They are not human so why are they engaging in specifically human vices, yol couldn't come up with anything else to characterize 'delinquents'?? Very lazy very como se dices.. no effort. Nothing a little more spicy yol could invent, at least change the name and some properties holy shit did yol even try ??

So its fairies everywhere, having a lil party in the east wing of a phat castle.. and they are playing beer pong and dressed in t shirts and jeans..

Can you hear me screaming? Can you hear me vibrating with rage?

Not one floating decoration or magical anything in sight. Just purple lights and subpar vibes

Stella's costume design: tragic. I won't discuss further because we don't have the space or time but just know that it was absolutely atrocious and I hated it. Giving very debutante vibes

The entire budget going to that lame transformation sequence that was not a transformation sequence and those horrible, barely-there fire wings

Edgelord bloom and all her fucking leather jackets. Why do 30 yo, white cis men think girls exist in a binary? They could keep her earlier characterization and make her a hothead.. Bloom literally screamed herself into a couple power upgrades in the original come ooonnnn

Let girls be feminine without it being a character flaw what is wrong with yol its 2021. They could make her more mature, more angsty or whatever the hell else and not style her like that

The way Aisha's abilities flipflop between episodes and scenes. Very inconsistent. One minute she's struggling with a drop of water and the next she is moving an entire body of water for her bestie Bloom to fake transform because the plot demands it. Why even add in her struggles at all if you're just going to ignore it?

Why was Stella with them in that scene? She didn't do anything literally.. Aisha pulled the water and she did .. nothing.

Who the fuck is Rosalind? Why would they add her in,, to add nothing to story? The company of light was a thing, they could've plucked one of them hoes to be the antagonist. Why did the winx club need their own Delores Umbridge? Valtor was right there if you wanted an evil educator type character.

The camera work was so bland during the down beats, stagnant and fixed during a fairy party and erratic and ugly and disorienting during the fight scenes

I'm not getting over the fairy party because it was a good opportunity for the production and everyone else to show the differences between where Bloom was and where she is now but instead it just looks like a regular teen high school party?? This could have been set in Switzerland fr.

Everyone's just kind of standing?? You mean to tell me these people are from all different places in the magical dimension and their customs are all the same? They all throw parties like this ??

White and flavorless I am very bored

I guess the main question or takeaway I have is just.. who is this for? Because everyone, including the showrunners keep saying that it's for us, the fans of the original. But apart from the characters sharing some names, there are really no other similarities. So again, who was this supposed to appease or placate or satisfy? Because it sure as hell wasn't the winx club fans.

Overall, this feels very much like something I wrote and probably published on ff.net when I was 13 because I thought girls couldn't be taken seriously if they liked pink, and injected angst into everything that didn't need it and had no idea how to structure scenes or dialogue. It's just bad, objectively and N*tflix will keep making shit like this because apparently some people have bad taste??? Idk yol, be easy

[wendystales]

Memories - lrh (Chapter Twelve)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Eleven ※※※※※ Chapter Thirteen

I approach my boyfriend seeing him completely tense. The long, callused fingers from the guitar strings tightening in distress. His eyes didn't know where to look, staring into the spotlight like they were monsters from his childhood.

The thick brown coat was a few sizes too big for him, but he's still beautiful all the same. On the eyelids, a black eye shadow ending with a pink tip gave it a charm. The lip balm seemed to bring out the color of his lips, making me restless to kiss him.

“I don't know if it was a good idea.” Luke, let out all the air as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“It was a great idea! You look awesome.” I bite my lip, controlling the urge to take him into a room and do various indecent things. “Just relax and enjoy. As in a play.” I advise him, trying to calm him down."

Ever since the invitation for him to be the face of this perfume had arrived, I was bursting with pride and anticipation to see him doing his photo shoot, following something completely different from the band.

"Don't you think it's too exaggerated?" he asks, unsure of the look. I hold his face in my hands, touching our foreheads. I allow myself to drown in his blue eyes.

“You look handsome.” I say slowly, so he can record my words well. “Now, let's get this quick, because seeing you like this is making me very excited and I don't know how long I can take it.” I sigh, uneasy. Hemmo gives a nice laugh. Glad to see him more relaxed.

Watch out when the photographer yells for them to start. I give my boyfriend a little kiss, ready to pull away, but Luke holds me in his arms still.

“I love you!” he whispers, like a secret.

“I love you!” I give him a little kiss on the tip of his nose. "Anything just scream, I'll be right there." I blink at him.

I take a few steps back, not taking my eyes off his. So as not to bump into anything and make a mess of his work, I turn around, running behind the spotlights and flashbulbs.

I watched the photo shoot totally proud and delighted. Little by little Luke was loosening up and having fun. I don't wipe the smile off my lips, so every time he looks at me, he smiles more.

Nearly three hours later, my excitement was already making me irritated that photo shoot wasn't over and I feel like I lost all control when in the last costume, where Luke rips the white blouse. I hold my breath, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I'm going to make it home and calculating which is closest.

~.~.~.~.~

We left the elevator hand in hand and in hurried steps, we weren't running, but whoever passed us realized we were in a hurry. I squeeze his hand seeing the door with the number 609.

"Thank God." I comment euphoric as Luke opens the door.

He walks in and pulls me to his chest. His hand tangles in the hairs on the back of my neck, enveloping us in a desperate kiss. Urgently, I open the buttons on his shirt, feeling his other hand find my ass, squeezing hard.

I force the fabric to slide down his arms, enjoying the texture of his warm skin. The tequila flavor still inhabits our mouths, which makes the kiss better, plus the soft touch of his lips pressed against mine.

I roll my eyes as his beard scrapes my neck, along with his hot mouth, giving me goose bumps.

“The door.” I say with difficulty, noticing it ajar.

Together, we staggered back a few steps, closing it. Without much patience and with a lot of desire, we ended up staying there. Hemmings presses me against the wood, pulling me into his lap. I scratch the back of his neck when I feel his erection against me, releasing the electricity that seems to rush through my body.

It was amazing how seeing him on stage, with those tight pants and silk shirts moving me. Honestly, he can wear anything, and at the end of the day I'll be falling for him. Not to mention the eyes full of glitter. He had me in the palm of his hands like that. So beautiful. So magnificent.

Luke always knew this look messed with my hormones and destroyed my self-control, and in the end it always ended up like that, having sex, because I couldn't help myself.

Of course, the drink has a big weight in this, but I'm not going to take our blame for this story, after all, we teased each other from the moment we stepped into that dressing room.

The desperation and excitement is such that we reach our first orgasm right there, against the door. No foreplay, no undressing completely, and not caring if anyone passing in the hallway heard anything.

It was something far above lust or desire. Despair to feel our skins against each other. Taste and touch. That feeling of feeling incredible, loved, wanted, as if the only chance to stay alive was there inside of us.

I wake up in a jump. My heart pounded, causing pain. My body seemed to boil, prompting me to kick the covers off quickly. The fresh memory of the dream causes shivers. The way I felt his touch, all those sensations and reactions my body gave.

I lie down on the bed again, wanting to calm down and not think too much about the dream, or what else seemed like, memories. I don't know how to handle it, these are the first sexual memories I have with him. My God, how am I going to look at Luke now?

I pick up my phone, which poin just over an hour earlier than I planned to wake up. Since I know I won't be able to get back to sleep anymore, so I start getting ready for today's meeting.

I decide to have breakfast first and once again review my past contract to get a sense of what will be discussed. Between one paragraph and another, I browse my social networks seeing what's going on.

Without being impressed anymore, I watch a little video or two that some fans make about Hemmo and me. Slightly, I melt at the way we look and smile at each other.

I go back to my room, and head for a shower. I hope that water takes those memories from earlier today down the drain, but the steam seems to open more fields in my brain.

I close my eyes, feeling various parts of my body tingle, as if he's there, touching me, holding me. My breath heaves and my belly tightens. What the fuck is going on?

Cheating on me yet again, my brain presents me with the two of us on the floor of that hotel room. In my kitchen. In the car. In some bathroom. Some of the countless times we'd lost ourselves in each other's arms.

The many times I ran my hands over his chest, drawing a new path, as I thought in that hospital hall. The times his mouth wandered over my body, his hands took me with such force and conviction.

The phone ringtone brings me back to reality. I turn off the alarm and hurry my shower. With Noah's guidance, I change into something comfortable and a bucket hat Calum gave me to hide my pink hair.

After a few hours, I find myself analyzing a huge photo of myself at the Hastings agency reception. With Noah, I follow a huge hallway to a conference room, where Mr. Hastings and a lawyer would be waiting for us. The twin next to me has a hard face, which is weird since Noah is always so excited and smiling.

“Marnie, dear! Long time no see! How have you been? Did you receive my basket?” Mr. Hastings question me without waiting for me to walk right into the room.

“Hi! I'm great and yes, I loved the basket, it was very kind.” I squeeze his hand, not knowing quite what to do.

“Hello son!” it's not exactly a warm welcome, but I want to believe it's just because we're in a work environment, dealing with serious matters.

“Hi Dad. Can we start?” my friend guides me to a chair.

During the meeting, Mr. Hastings clarified some news of the new contract. Things like: salary increase, partnership with new brands and the whole process of publicizing the names that already worked with us.

“Closing here, you will go to the closet to take new measurements. These numbers will be sent to the brands that hired you and they will send you clothes for you to use on a daily basis. For example: if you go out with Leah for coffee, you must wear a Louis Vuitton coat, so the photos you take will publicize the coat and well, nowadays young people find everything and want everything you wear. You will get a scale of which brands to use, so it's easier for you.” Mr. Hastings explains by summarizing a contract sheet.

As for photo shoots, until my arm gets better and I can get rid of the cast, I'll be limited to rehearsals on jewelry, makeup, glasses and shoes. On my hair, if the contracting brand determines, I will have to wear a wig.

I keep mentally reading every line of that contract, wondering if I could handle it all. Well, you’ve handle it for the past two years, it shouldn't be that hard.

As determined, after the meeting, Noah walks me to the closet. A huge space where had several clothes and accessories, as in The Devil Wears Prada. My measurements are taken and I get annoyed when the guy who's putting the measuring tape around my waist grumbles that I've put on weight.

The bad thing about being a model is it, this constant imposition of a perfect body. Since the accident, I don't remember seeing anyone on Leah's foot for her to lose weight or keep her body. I always watched her nervous appetite, not caring if it would add to her number on the scale.

Okay that Leah's biotype was skinny and maybe that made things easier for her. But since I understand myself by people, I've always been short and broad hiped and never cared. And even if I erased a few years, I don't think I've changed much.

From the reflection in the mirror, Noah sinalized for me not to care what the guy says, but I think it's kind of difficult. It's not just him talking about my body, it seems like everyone on the internet has an opinion about my weight, especially some Luke fans.

Blocking in my mind, the offensive words that I always end up reading through social media. However, I keep watching my body in the mirror, wondering if it wouldn't be better to lose some weight.

Soon after having my measurements taken, Noah is called to a meeting with his father and a french businessman, leaving me alone. As I wait for the car to arrive, I consider what I can do on my last day off. Everyone is working and I don't want to disturb anyone.

Finally, I decide to go to my mom's office and have lunch with her. I go down at the door of a huge, mirrored building. At the front desk, I ask about her office, getting a badge before I go upstairs.

The frosted glass door holds a huge space, which occupies one/quarter of the eighth floor. The various prints, fabrics, furniture and color palettes create a fun atmosphere, contrasting with the white walls of the place.

"Marnie! Hey!” a woman with curly hair, tied up in a purple turban, approaches with a huge smile.

“Hi.” I reply politely, but having no idea who she is.

“Oh, sorry.” she seems to notice. “I'm Dominique, your mother's partner.” I open a bigger smile, now informed. "Have you come to see her?" she guides me in the office inside.

“Oh yes, I came to have lunch with her.” Dominique smiles broadly and sympathetically.

"She's going to love the surprise. She's just finishing up with a customer. Want something while you wait?”

“Oh no, thanks!”

Dominique walks away, making it clear that anything was just asking, that I was home. I'm amazed at how things evolved for my mom, before she just had a small room away from the center and now she had all this space and staff.

I watch several people go from one place to another, making projects, budgeting, designing furniture and spaces. My mother's laugh brings me back just in time to see her in her office doorway, rosy cheeks, awkwardly in Mr. Marshall's company.

I open a smile finding the scene adorable. I look for Dominique, hoping she hasn't shut up in her office yet, as she might know something about the two of them. I find the brunette, leaning against the reception desk smiling like me.

"Marnie?" I turn quickly, finding Mr. Marshall next to me. “How have you been?” I hug him while my mother stands wide-eyed in the door.

He hadn't changed much. The face that was once smooth now had a very charming gray beard. The hair was still dark.

“I'm great, thanks. It's great to see you.” I keep my smile, finding it all wonderful, unlike my mother.

“I'm sorry about the accident. I would have send you something, but I didn't have your address and it was a little difficult to reach your mother.” he admits sympathetically. Have I told how much I like him?

“No problems. I’m grateful for your consideration and about you have found my mother again. Isn’t, mom?” her gaze at me turns withering. I'm screwed.

“Well, I'm also very happy to have found Debra again.”

I hold the 'awn' who insists on wanting to leave, when he smiles delightedly at my mother. Man, he's so into her.

“Hm, sorry to be rude, but taking advantage of our meeting, I want to invite you to a new restaurant location opening. It will be this Wednesday.”

“Oh, I'm honored. It will be a pleasure. Right, mom?” I watch my mother want to sink into the ground and disappear, and I can't help think how funny is it. "Do you mind if I invite my friends?"

“No! Of course not! Feel free.” he opens a gentle smile. His gaze flies to my mother and there they stare at each other for a few seconds. “Well, I have to go. Debra, thank you so much for the project, it's beautiful. Marnie, it was a pleasure to see you. Until Wednesday.” he hugs me again. With my mother, I notice them without knowing how to say goodbye.

I wait for Mr. Marshall to leave the office to let out the sigh caught in my throat, which my mother doesn't like.

“Stop this!” she slaps me on my back. I walk into her room laughing at the whole past situation.

“My God, you guys are so in love. Why don't you just assume it?” I ask, sitting in the chair across from her desk.

"Because there isn’t nothing to assume. It's a professional relationship.” she replies angrily, setting the table.

“Mom?” I call her, until she looks at me. I raise an eyebrow, emphasizing that I don't believe her.

Her shoulders slump, letting go of the tension. I watch her hide her face in hands after a sigh. Her eyes catch mine and a nasal laugh breaks the silence, then I see her there, shy and unsure, a small smile, which soon opens, reflecting all over her face.

"I don’t have age for this anymore. I mean…” she takes a bunch of flowers from behind the table. “Look at this.”

"Awn." I cover my face, not taking it. “Of course you have agr for this. If my father can find someone and be happy, then of course you can too. Mom, you're young and beautiful, and there's an amazing guy who's into you. He's clearly in love and apparently he's been doing everything he can to demonstrate, you should give him and… you a chance.” I finish in a whisper, touching myself that those words were good for me too.

I replay in my mind everything Luke has been doing, trying to win me back, and I'm glad that, somehow, I giving both of us a chance, even if it's a non date. I let out a laugh at the memory of the invitation, before letting my mind drift back to this morning's memories.

“I think you're right. Maybe on Wednesday, I can talk to him.” her red cheeks make me smile more.

“It's a great idea. How about we discuss this over lunch?” I suggest, listening to my belly come alive.

“Great idea.” she picks up the phone, dialing something.

Since I had nothing to do, I stay until early afternoon with my mother, gossiping about her crush on Mr. Marshall, about my relationship with Luke, about the meeting and our Wednesday night outfit.

Dominique joins us in a few moments, having fun with my passionate and nervous mom.

Around 3pm, Ashton calls, inviting me out for coffee, just him and me, like old times.

“Why can't I go? Do you not love me anymore?” I cover my mouth, stopping the laughter from coming out, when I hear Calum yell..

“Yeah! I can't take you anymore. How am I going to talk bad about you if you're there?” Ash replies.

"You are talking here. What does it matter to talk there? At least that way you buy me coffee.” Calum rebuts. While the couple argue, I listen to the fight, paying attention to the details of the ceiling.

"Are you still arguing? What the fuck is just coffee? Who is so important for all this? The pope?” I hear Luke arrive and realize he doesn't know I'm the guest.

“It's actually Marnie and from my experiences she's very important to some of the people here.” I don't need to see Ash's face to know he's making fun of Luke.

"Can I go?" I bite my lip, holding back the laugh.

“If you let him go and I don't, I'll never look you in the face again.” Calum gives the ultimatum.

“I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm still here and would like the DTR resolved if possible.” I say out loud, hoping it works.

“Sorry, Marnie. Five seconds.” Irwin asks. I think about making a joke with the band's name, but it's better to leave it alone.

"Is she listening?" Luke speaks in amazement. “Why do you…” then everything becomes too muffled and I can't hear.

“Enough! Nobody goes but me. I want to go out with my friend and I will. Marnie was right, I shouldn't have introduced you.” I hear Ash mumble, causing me to laugh. “Give me your address, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

We ended the call and I return to questioning my friendships. Why God? Why?

Sitting at a small table on the sidewalk, Ash and I discuss which coffee to drink. It wasn't very difficult to know that he loves coffee and understands a lot about the subject, which gives me complete confidence in letting him choose which one I should try.

When the cup reaches the table, I taste the drink under his hopeful, curious gaze. I open a smile, approving of my best friend's choice. I hi-five him, celebrating.

"It was the coffee you had the first time we went out together." he comments with a cute smile.

“Awn, Ash!” I can't stand the way they always remember everything. "So, ready to officially become older tomorrow?" I crack a smile, excited about our dinner tomorrow.

“No! I found a white hair this morning.” he grumbles, eliciting a laugh from me.

“I don’t see anything.” I comment, trying to cheer him up.

"I wasn’t talking about my top hair." he comments, drinking his coffee next.

"Ashton!" I reprimand him, covering my eyes, traumatized. “I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it.”

I hear his laugh, letting me laugh too. The problem with having intimacy is exactly that, your friends no longer filter out what to say to you.

“So why didn't you bring Cool Guy Cal?” I change the subject.

“Because I spend the whole day with them, I can't stand to look at those disgusting faces anymore.” I laugh, imagining what a mess that studio must be. "And how am I going to speak ill of him with him here?" I complete this last part with him, laughing. “Exactly.”

“And you have something bad to say?” Ash shakes his head.

“No! Cal is an amazing guy.” Boys… “But I wanted to spend time with my best friend. After the accident it was difficult to have time alone. How are you?” I shrug.

"Surviving. It's only been a month and it seems like, I don't know, six. There's still so much I'm discovering.” I look at my coffee thoughtfully as I twirl the spoon in it.

"Finding out what? Your feelings for Luke?” he mocks. I scold him softly, laughing. This is a sensitive subject. "So how was the kiss?" I spit half the hot drink back into the cup.

I look at my friend in full alert. I can't believe Luke told him. We had agreed to wait a while. Irwin kept his smile curious, waiting for my answer.

“I’m sorry…?” he raised his eyebrows and then it hit me. He played and I delivered. "Ashton!" I kick your shin.

“Ouch! You who kiss and I who get beaten?” he rubs his shin, confused.

“How did you find out?” My God, does everyone know already? "Have you told anyone?"

“No! I didn't say anything and I didn't even try it with Luke. But how do you think I wouldn't notice? I've known him for years. He comes down Sunday morning, all smiling, all silly, more than usual. Super in a good mood after a party like that. Hemmings never wakes up in a good mood.”

I take a sip of my coffee, wanting to hide my smile.

“And about you?! You're my best friend! It's easy to see what's going on. Even more after what I already followed the first time. So?” the australian asks curiously, causing me to laugh.

"It was just a kiss. I don't know, it was automatic, and I ended up giving him a little kiss, and he took advantage of the break and kissed me. And I left.” my cheeks heat up as I hold in the sassy smile.

“And what does that mean?” he drops into his chair. I shrug.

“I do not know. I like Luke's company. I really like! He makes me feel safe and so unique. He's fun and so silly.”

"That he is!" Ash comments in a whisper, making me laugh.

“And I like it all, but…” the words don't come out anymore.

“You are afraid.” he completes.

"What if he gets to know me better and he doesn't like this Marnie?" I dry swallow. Ashton grimaces thoughtfully, considering my question.

“Nah!” he shakes his head, dismissing the possibility. “Luke loves you, Marnie. And you know this.” He points a finger at me. I look down, embarrassed. “The only thing left is for you to understand and accept how you feel about him. Of course, in your time, no pressure.” he adds quickly.

My heart speeds up with the direction of the conversation. I organize in my mind all the events that happened between Luke and me. All your discreet and indiscreet advances. All his looks and smiles at me, his shy, goofy way.

On the other side, I put everything that we lived before the accident. Everything I saw and remembered. I stare at Ashton, slumped in his chair, waiting for my answer. I take a deep breath, nodding my head positively.

“I think I already know how I feel about him.”

[susiezfuckdestjamz]

you seem to really like syn

MUN — Definitely not the kind of ask I'd expect on my fandom askblog but, I'm not complaining. I do like talking about Syn~

[ Under read more bc it's not Susie related, just Syn rambling ]

MUN — I do like Syn, yes! I'm assuming you either saw my toyhou.se or other platforms I'm on, and if you really want more you might want to check his toyhou.se page in that case. He's been my OC for a few years now, 7 or 8? Maybe more, I dunno.

He's very near and dear to my heart, at this point this guy is basically my mascot with how much I've used him to represent myself. He's halfway between a mascot and a true persona of sorts, although I don't like going by the name Syn because I don't like he/him pronouns for personal reasons. Plus, I'd rather people separate me and him - He can be me, but I can't be him.

He has a lot of not-so-safe art but, for the most part I have spent years and years refining his story and even now I'm adding and taking out things from his story and past to fit my ever-evolving tastes haha.

You know me by this point, I'm very story-driven and like exploring psyche and stuff. He's got a lot of me and my traumas in him(cue the "this boah can fit SO much trauma in him" meme) but he's also got...some ideal self in there? Who knows, he's just his own thing at this point.

He's a crazy fuckin' shapeshifter and I'm always happy for more art of him. I recently commissioned one of my favourite artists to go wild with him and his shapeshifting, so I'm waiting on that!

Despite his chubby build, he has crazy strength and especially bite force - drawbacks included, but if you really want more detail just go to his TH page.

I don't know how much I'm able to talk about him here, especially since this is my Susie blog and not my main, plus there's no specific question posed about Syn. Put it simply, he's a bunch of contradictions in one horrible little package.

I do want to note, he's not a DBD OC! He's just an inhabitant of my own little story world on an alternate planet - named Earth-i69. I have all sorts of worldbuilding but i either put those in my notes, on my insta posts, in my discord server, or on my TH. Depends.

However, he does have a bunch of different selves/AUs that fit my current interests. DBD Killer!Syn, DBD Survivor!Syn, Apex!Syn, etc. xd

Thanks for listening to me ramble for whatever reason if you've actually read this far ⁽⁽ ◟(灬 ˊωˋ 灬)◞ ⁾⁾