#she called me a monster. i was sixteen years old and watching someone who swore they loved me say the most horrible

[oldhabitsdiescrming]

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[ideks-on-mars]

Half-Brothers?

The Taichi-Naoyasu Situation

Taichi and Naoyasu are half-brothers and here's how lol

Taichi's mother and father had both met in their birth country of Germany. However, his grandparents on his mother's side hadn't approved of his father. The two had then decided to study a good amount of Japanese before saving up for plane tickets and running off to Japan. They changed their last names and had a completely fresh start. The two were madly in love, or at least that's what Taichi's mother thought. She had figured out she was pregnant, with who we know as Taichi, and she was ecstatic. She quickly told Taichi's father and his reaction was the exact opposite of what she expected. The man was furious and didn't want anything to do with the woman or baby. After hours of begging and yelling the man had left the German woman to fend for herself and her unborn baby. She picked up a few different jobs at small stores, extra shifts and she would make good friends that were more than happy to help her, two of those friends being the Shirabu's who also had a baby on the way. Her life in Japan was getting better. And on April 15, 1995, her baby Taichi, was born. She had changed her name after the "Love of her life" had left. Her last name was Kawanishi. And now, all she had was her, her friends, and her beloved baby.

Meanwhile, almost exactly 4 months before Taichi was born. A small, fragile, pale woman, had been another victim of the man. She had found out she was pregnant by him during January 1996. The woman was, just like the last, left soon after. The woman was young and hadn't even been in Japan for too long. She had came to Japan from her home country of Finland due to that fact that it had always been a dream of hers to move in with her grandmother, who moved to Japan when she was two. She was intelligent though, and knew languages like Finnish, Slovak, German, and Japanese. She could also keep up a normal conversation in English and Danish. She was confident in her ability to take care of a baby and she studied extra hard, wanting to be able to get a decent job for her and her baby.

After graduating from college, she was now about seven months pregnant. She lived with her grandma and she was working as a translator for people visiting Japan. She had, who we know as, Naoyasu Kuguri, not long after. However, the older he had gotten, his mother had taught him more Finnish, Slovak, and German than Japanese. He knew some Japanese, of course, they lived in Japan. However his mother thought that all he needed was her and the only person he should feel the absolute need to talk to was her.

TIME SKIP

Multiple years later and Taichi is now seventeen with Naoyasu being sixteen. STZ was having a practice match against Nohebi and they were having a small break between the first and second set.

"Kawanishi-Kun~...doesn't number twelve over there remind you of yourself~ hehe~"

Kawanishi turned to the place his upperclassmen, Tendō Satori, was pointing towards, curious as to what he was talking about.

Taichi scanned the other team until his eyes landed on number twelve. The boy had a lean, yet muscular build, his height similar to Semi's. He had a bored expression on his face and a water bottle in hand. His eyes were pointed at the end, very similar to Taichi's. The only difference was that number twelve's eyes rounded into the point. Taichi's were more of a obtuse angle that lead to the point. Their eyelids were both very pointy. His eyebrows were thicker than Taichi's and his pupils were a lot bigger and more circle shaped, compared to Taichi's oval shaped pupils. Taichi's eyes were silver gray, number twelve's eyes seemed to be green with a hint of grey. Taichi's hair was a darker ginger, thick, and messy. Yet number twelve's hair was...interesting. His hair was a blonde mixed with brunette, leaving him with a very light brown bedhead. However his eyebrows were darker.

"He does look...kind of like me..."

"Kind of", was a bit of an understatement, Taichi could go around telling his team that they were related and they'd most likely believe it, except for Kenjirō of course, who knew the whole situation with Taichi's family.

"You should talk to him! You two seem equally as uninterested."

Some of his teammates laughed at Yamagata's joke but Taichi, for once in his life, actually considered going up to the boy and talking to him.

As if God himself had granted him an opportunity, Nohebi's captain walked up to the team, his hand placed on the back of the stoic winged spiker.

"Hey, sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but would any of you mind helping Kuguri-Kun here find the restroom?"

The captain, who they knew was called Daishō, patted the boy's, now known as Kuguri, back twice. Kuguri didn't react though, he stood there beside his captain quietly, slouched and staring at the ground blankly, his hands stuffed into his volleyball jacket pockets. Before anyone could speak, Tendō, not surprisingly, did.

"Oh! Well our dear Kawanishi-Kun would love to escort Kuguri-Kun! Right Kiwi?"

Kawanishi looked at Tendō with an expression that said "are you serious?" but Taichi wasn't one to go against an upperclassmen's wishes, especially Tendō's. Taichi sighed.

"Yes, Tendō-San."

Daishō smiled a snake-like smile, however Taichi didn't think he could help it, and walked away leaving his teammate with the monsters known as Shiratorizawa. Taichi could tell he was uncomfortable so he quickly walked past him towards the exit.

"C'mon, Kuguri-Kun."

He said, his German accent slipping a little. He glanced behind him and saw that Kuguri was sauntering behind him. Taichi stopped, waiting for the slightly shorter male to catch up with him and began to walk at the other's pace.

Taichi got to the door first and held it open for the brunette. He glanced up at Taichi and nodded. However Taichi could've swore he saw the other's eyes widen for point two seconds before he looked back down and walked through the door way. Taichi, even though it was barely audible, heard Kuguri speak.

"Thank you, Kawanishi-San."

The thick, obviously European, accent was clear in his words. Taichi could tell that it was slightly German, but it just had to be another Northern European accent. Taichi quickly shook it off and nodded. They silently headed down the hall, the occasional Shiratorizawa student walking past them. Suddenly, and surprisingly, Kuguri spoke.

"So...where are you from?"

Taichi was taken aback, the other's accent was thicker now. Taichi seemed confused but figured the the other thought he was from somewhere else due to his accent.

"Oh, um, I'm from Japan. It's just that my mother is German and...I knew how to speak German before Japanese."

Kuguri nodded.

"Oh. I was just asking. I spoke Finnish, Slovak and German before I spoke Japanese. I'm still not as good as I should be at it."

Taichi understood. Japanese was no joke, and neither was Finnish, Slovak, and German.

"Well, if speaking in German makes it easier for you, then I don't mind."

(Bold + Red = Speaking in German)

Kuguri smiled happily. It wasn't the biggest smile, more of just the sides of his lips curling upward, but still, a smile.

"Thank you...Naoyasu Kuguri."

Taichi smiled back, a similar smile to the one Naoyasu had shown him before.

"Nice to meet you...I'm Taichi Kawanishi."

The two smiled, happy that they had someone that they could relate to.

"Anyways, I didn't see you on Nohebi last year, are you new?"

"Yeah, I'm a first year..."

TIME SKIP

It was now the end of the match and Nohebi was about to get on their long trip back to Tokyo.

(I looked it up and from Miyagi to Tokyo is 4-6 hours 👀)

The two teams thanked each other for the practice game, all waving as they piled into the bus. Naoyasu was the last one to get on. He turned around and waved at Taichi one more time. Taichi waved back and watched happily as his new friend had drove off. He was glad they had exchanged numbers.

"So you really did make friends with him?"

Taichi looked over at his teammates.

"Yeah. He was pretty chill."

They nodded.

"Did you catch his name?"

"Yeah. Naoyasu Kuguri."

TIME SKIP

The two boys ended up being good friends. They didn't get to hang out as much as they wanted but it was good enough for them due to the fact that they weren't very social people anyway. Though, when they found out that they both got to go to the same training camp, they were excited. In the training camp you actually got time to lay back and chat with people from other teams, giving them the chance to hangout with each other.

The thing was, at this training camp they allowed parents and/or siblings to come. The parents would come watch their children play, help with lunch and dinner, and help with other fun drills and activities, and if they had younger children they were allowed to bring them. That's how a lot of the parents and siblings made good friends with the others. Taichi's mom, Annike, had always come, due to the fact that, 1) she loves and wants to support her son, and 2) she was great friends with most of the moms of his teammates and other teams. She would always bring Taichi's little six-year-old half sister, Takara, who enjoyed playing with the other little ones. She was the result of of Taichi's old stepfather. He was a cool guy and him and his mom were on good terms. Taichi never really gave him a chance though. However, Taichi would never deny the fact that he adored his little sister.

Once they arrived, Taichi quickly scoped out his teammates and joined them whilst his mother conversated with the other parents.

The coaches informed everyone that they would take the first day to let everyone get settled in, eat, and conversate.

Earlier into the day, Taichi heard his name being called.

"Kawanishi-San. Hello."

Taichi turned around, already having an idea of who it was.

"Hi Kuguri-Kun, how've you been?"

"Alright. You?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Naoyasu! Don't run off like that."

(Bold + Blue = Speaking in Finnish)

"Sorry ma."

Taichi looked a little behind Naoyasu and saw a short, pale woman with blonde hair that fell beautifully over her shoulders, he could've swore she was made of glass. She had on light blue jeans and a grey shirt on. Her eyes were the same color as Naoyasu's.

"Who's this?"

Taichi had no clue what she was saying, considering she was speaking in Finnish. Suddenly Naoyasu moved to the side, so that he wasn't between the two and they could meet eyes and Taichi didn't only see one half of her.

"Ma, this is Taichi Kawanishi, a friend of mine. Kawanishi-San, this is my mother."

Taichi remembered that Naoyasu only had his mother and knew that she knew and taught him German, plus Naoyase was just speaking to her in German so he responded in German.

"It's nice to meet you Kuguri-San. I'm good friends with Naoyasu-Kun."

Taichi stuck his hand out. The woman grabbed it, firmly shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you Taichi-Kun. You can call me Aino."

"Taichi!"

Taichi looked behind him to see that his mother had come up behind him. She walked up beside him, a smile on her face, Takara beside her. Taichi's mom had curly, long, ginger hair that was pulled into a ponytail. She had on jeans and a t-shirt just like Miss Aino. She turned over to Aino and now the womans' jaws dropped.

Taichi and Naoyasu looked confused while Takara didn't seem to care all the much, only hugging her big brother's leg. Taichi patted her head, still not taking his eyes off of the two women.

"Aino?"

"Annike?"

Now the boys were beyond confused. They knew each other. Both the women nodded to each other and began to walk away. Taichi tried to call out to his mother.

"Mom-"

"Watch your sister Taichi. I'll be back soon."

Naoyasu tried too.

"Mom where are you-"

"Stay with Taichi, help watch the girl."

"Hi!"

Taichi and Naoyasu both looked at each other, shrugged, and looked down at the little girl, who was now looking up at Naoyasu.

WITH THE WOMEN

The two were behind the building now, staring at each other.

"It's been a while."

"It has."

They both were quiet for a few seconds.

"Is that...his son?"

Aino nodded.

"Yeah...it is. Naoyasu is his. I'm sure Taichi is his, correct?"

"Yeah, he is."

The two women chuckled.

"They're half-brothers."

"Yeah they are. They deserve to know."

Annike nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I can't lie to Taichi any longer."

The two talked more. Catching up with each other and talking about their respective sons. They were nervous to tell their sons, yet excited and happy that they at least had met and are good friends.

AFTER THEY HAD SAT THE TWO BOYS DOWN

Both Taichi and Naoyasu were now sat down on the curb of the parking lot near the building where the training camp was being held. The women were leaning against the Kawanishi's car, both smoking a cigarette. Takara was being watched by some of the Shiratorizawa moms.

Annike dropped the cigarette onto the asphalt and stepped on it, putting it out.

"We have to tell you something important."

The two boys nodded.

"I don't think you both realize how much this will affect you both. This will shock you both tremendously."

The two were hesitant, but nodded. The two women looked at each other and Aino gestured for the other to go ahead and tell the two.

"You two are half-brothers."

The two brothers paused completely. That was until Taichi slapped his thigh and stood up.

"I knew we looked alike!"

He didn't say it in German, causing some other people to look at the usually quiet boy out of curiosity. Taichi bowed towards them apologetically before returning to the situation at hand.

Naoyasu was in shock. Half-brothers? He was just being told now? He assumed that they had the same dad. He wasn't stupid. He put two and two together.

Naoyasu stood up beside Taichi. The two looked at each other not exactly knowing what to do. However, Taichi, who was already a big brother, now of two, had his instincts kick in. Whenever his little sister was confused and was completely lost on what to do, he comforted her, so that's what he did to his new, well new in his life, little brother.

Taichi wrapped his arms around Naoyasu tightly. Naoyasu seemed genuinely scared at first but calmed down quickly. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Taichi, resting his head on Taichi's shoulder.

The two women smiled gently at their sons, both extremely pleased that the two seemed happy. Taichi pulled away and patted both Naoyasu's shoulders.

"Let's go introduce you to your new little sister too."

Naoyasu looked confused.

"But...I'm not related to her."

"You're part of the family now. No escaping."

Taichi and Naoyasu both laughed and began to make their way to the little girl. The moms watched before Annike started walking too. She noticed that Aino wasn't following her and turned around.

"You too, Aino. You're part of the family too."

Aino couldn't even fight the smile creeping onto her face and dropped her cigarette, stepping on it. Annike reached her hand out and Aino grabbed it.

They both rounded the corner and smiled widely when they saw Takara walking between her two big brothers, holding both theirs hands and talking about something with a big smile on her face.

[paperlandings]

Footsteps

@natsume-ss gift for @polandspringz! I had a lot of fun writing this! I really related to what you said about liking the more subtle, emotional parts of the series as it pertains to Natsume’s feeling of belonging, and I hope I was able to capture that in this fic. Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

TW: implications of bullying, emotional manipulation, and child neglect.

Word count: 1784

When Takashi was five years old, footsteps meant that his father was coming to tuck him in.

The house was big, and old, and sometimes cold, but it didn’t matter because his father would always be there with a warm smile, a gentle voice, and kind hands. At night, there would always be a book tucked under his arm, and Takashi would sit up excitedly in his bed, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“Read me a story!” he would say.

His father would chuckle and say that he would probably find the book boring.

“That’s okay,” Takashi would reply, scooting over to make space beside him.

His father would sit down, tipping the bed over ever so slightly, and open the book to whatever page he was on. Takashi didn’t always understand what was being read to him but the fact that his father was there, a warm presence next to him, was enough to lull him to sleep every night.

He vaguely remembered the feeling of a blanket being draped over him and the noise of a screen door sliding closed, and he would fall asleep to the soft thumping of his father walking away.

When Takashi was six years old, footsteps meant that the monster was coming.

There was a monster at the end of the hallway who was always following him. But the monster wasn’t real. Uncle and auntie had said so. So when there was knocking on his room door in the middle of the night, Takashi would jam his pillow over his head and ignore it.

But the monster was there. It followed Takashi around the house and knocked on his room door at night. It stood next to him at the table sometimes and called his name.

“What does it want?” they would ask.

“It wants me to draw it a mouth.”

And then they would laugh at him. And then the little girl who lived with him would glare at him. And then he would feel so, so alone.

Uncle and auntie didn’t mean anything bad, he knew that. But he also knew that they thought he was strange and stupid and had too wild of an imagination. They cared for him but they didn’t care about him.

His father would’ve understood though. His father would’ve held him and told him everything was going to be okay, and that they were going to get rid of the monster together. His father would’ve believed him.

He missed his father.

He wonders if uncle and auntie would miss him as he stepped into the car, watching his new home get smaller and smaller behind him.

When Takashi was eight years old, footsteps meant that someone was angry.

Then again, auntie was always angry. And when auntie was angry, his cousins got angry at him too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t do the things that he was accused of, they got angry at him anyway.

They said that he was the one who broke the vase in the hallway even though he had seen someone else do it. They said that he was the one who ate auntie’s cake in the fridge even though the crumbs were at the corners of their mouths. They said that he was the one who started that fight at school and they were only defending him because Takashi was weird and they were so nice. Nevermind that Takashi had never actually been anywhere near that fight.

Auntie’s sandals made a different sound than everyone else’s. They were louder, the slapping on the wood floor more sharp. They came with a decisiveness that he had never heard from anyone else. They made Takashi want to run away and hide in a place where they would never find him.

And when they sounded like that, they were always coming towards him.

Takashi thinks he might have preferred the monster.

When Takashi was thirteen years old, footsteps meant that he had to be very, very quiet.

Auntie always came home late. Uncle says it’s Takashi’s fault, and he thinks uncle might be right.

The first time auntie came home late, Takashi came to greet her at the door. He laid out her sandals for her, offered to make her tea, and tried his very best to make her like him. And then she looked at him, kicked the sandals aside, and blew past him and into her room.

She smelled strongly of alcohol, and Takashi pretended not to notice.

Auntie kept on coming home late. Takashi kept greeting her at the door and laying out her sandals. She kept on kicking them aside, harder and harder until one day they flew straight into his face.

“Just stay in your room so I can forget that you ruined my life!” she had yelled at him.

The next time auntie came home late, her sandals echoing in the empty hallway, Takashi stayed quiet in his room. Auntie came home late every day from then on.

He heard uncle yelling one night, telling auntie that she couldn’t keep on blowing their savings on alcohol, that they had Takashi to think about, that if people found out they weren’t taking proper care of Takashi they could get into very big trouble.

Auntie stormed off and slammed the door to Takashi’s room open, yelling at him that everything was hard because of him. That they could barely afford to live because of him. That she hated him. Takashi stayed quiet and hoped she would think he was asleep.

“He can’t hear you,” uncle said. “He’s sleeping. You’re wasting your breath.”

The door closed and Takashi let out a big, shuddering breath.

Tomorrow, he swore, he would learn to cut his own hair.

When Takashi was fifteen years old, footsteps meant the cold.

He could tell auntie and uncle didn’t like him much. He could tell they thought he was a dramatic troublemaker and a nuisance. But they were nice enough, and their son seemed to genuinely like him, and so he needed to stay with them.

He couldn’t make trouble. Even when auntie deliberately denied Takashi a scarf on cold days despite her son’s insistence. Even when uncle repeatedly forgot to think of Takashi when he brought home treats from work. Takashi wasn’t stupid. He could tell they hadn’t really wanted to take him in the first place. He had to be grateful that they did anyway and took care of him as best as they could bring themselves to. Besides, his new older brother was nice. He would sneak sweets into Takashi’s room when his parents weren’t looking, and loudly proclaimed that he didn’t like a certain shirt anymore and Takashi should have it even though they all knew that he had only bought it the week before. He would help Takashi with school work and insist on walking home with him when they saw each other on the way.

It wasn’t so bad, really, but Takashi was tired.

He was tired of people disliking him before even getting to know him. He was tired of having to be alone all the time. He was tired of going to live with a different person every half year, all of which never wanted him.

Which was why he had to stand down. He had to keep his head down and not do or say anything that would make them want to send him away because he needed to stay here.

He started going on runs at night to keep himself from going crazy. To let out all the pent up energy and emotion that he had to keep bottled up day after day. He focused on the sound of his footsteps on the asphalt and the bite of cold wind through his clothes and just runs until all he could think about was to go to sleep.

He’s grateful no one notices, but sometimes when he comes home to deafening silence and chilling darkness, he wished they did.

When Takashi is sixteen years old, footsteps meant kindness.

The first night he came home with Touko-san and Shigeru-san, they fussed over him until his ears rang. They asked him if his head was still hurting after his fall, what kind of food he liked to eat, what kind of clothing he needed, if he wanted a bed or a futon in his room.

Takashi’s head hurt. None of his previous guardians had ever asked him this many questions before. Especially not about his preferences. 

He apologized and told them he didn’t know, and when their faces fell, he frantically added that he liked manjuu.

The next morning, he found a box of manjuu with his name written on top on the kotatsu in the living room.

Every night after that, right before bed, he would always hear the soft thudding of his guardians’ footsteps coming towards his room. Either Touko-san or Shigeru-san or both would knock at his door, poke their head in, and ask him if he needed anything. Takashi always said no, until the night his body betrayed him and he sneezed right in Touko-san’s face.

She made a small sound of surprise and promptly ran out of his room. Takashi stared at his door in horror, thinking that was it. They were going to send him away. That had been so horribly rude of him and they were going to tell him tomorrow morning that they couldn’t keep him anymore.

And then Touko-san ran back into his room, an impressive pile of blankets in her arms, and proceeded to cover him in four layers of warmth before smoothing his hair back with a smile on her face and bidding him good night.

Takashi sweat like mad that night, but he never took any of his blankets off.

They didn’t send him away when he ruined one of Touko-san’s pans trying to make breakfast to thank her the next morning. They didn’t send him away when he ran home screaming and collapsed on the entryway. They didn’t send him away when he came home with a failing grade, or when he asked to keep the strange fat cat he had found in a shrine.

They were ecstatic when he brought friends with him for the first time. Touko-san fed them until they were full to bursting and Shigeru-san regaled them with tales of his most impressive fishing exploits.

And every night, without fail, they would still knock at his door, asking him if he needed anything. And Takashi would smile, thank them for their kindness, and fall asleep with his heart more full than it had ever been.

When Takashi is sixteen years old, footsteps meant that his family was coming.

[dreamyyang]

To All The Boys I’ve Hated — 01

Summary: “What starts with ‘f’ and ends with ‘uck’? Firetruck! Welcome to Camp Firetruck, we hope you aren’t carrying any carrots because the demon rabbits will attack you.”

or

Three weeks of summer camp with the seven boys you hated the most was a clusterfuck of chaos waiting to happen.

Warning(s): themes of bullying (here and there), behaviour that really shouldn’t be condoned, cursing, a few questionable life decisions, weird animals and even weirder camp counsellors, author has never been to a camp so spare her if she fucks up

A/N: it’s here y’all

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Your heart ached, its walls clenching in anguish. The pain coursed through your veins like electricity, the sparks concentrated in the cavity in your chest. The light from your eyes had vanished. It had been snatched away from your irises, leaving behind a shadow of its former glow of happiness. Your lips were dry and chapped, the lines on your lips ran deep, but not as deep as your emotional scars—

“Wipe that look of long suffering off your face would you? You look like we’re sending you off to a concentration camp,” your mother said, exasperated.

“But birth giver, do you not see that you’ve thrust upon me a fate that I believe is just as painful—”

Your mother only rolled her eyes, tossing a pile of clothes at you, “Save the theatrics for summer camp, would you? I hear they tell stories every night. You can recite your tragic soliloquy then. Now start packing, you don’t want a late night.”

Your body lazily slid down the side of your bed, limbs flopping onto the floor in response. Your mother smacked you on the back of your head, “You’re dragging the clothes down with you.”

You pouted exaggeratedly, speaking in a baby voice, “Sowwy mummy, pwease forgive me.”

“I’m this close to selling you.”

You huffed, making a face at your mother’s back as she left the room. After sitting on the ground and staring at your open suitcase for what felt like an eternity, you finally got off the floor. You grabbed the clothes on your bed as well as those from the clothes basket your mother had left behind and began packing. Your mind was already trying to come up with ways to get out of going to camp.

To be fair, your mother was sending you to a place where you’d had some of your best memories as a child. You’d spent two weeks of your summer vacation at Camp Firetruck since you were six years old but you stopped going by the time you were eleven. Now going back at sixteen just felt weird to you. Wouldn’t you be too old by now?

Of course, there was a bigger reason as to why you didn’t want to go back to camp but you forced yourself not to think about it. You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to mentally push out your thoughts. It took you a few minutes, but you finally opened your eyes, having been able to move your thoughts to the back of your mind. You stared down at your suitcase for a moment before slamming it shut and zipping it up, as if that was a way for you to keep your memories at bay.

You stood up, a queasy sensation in your stomach making your knees feel weak. You let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Fucking hell, y/n, it’s not that deep.”

The loudness was unsettling. Camp was far more chaotic than you remembered and you were feeling extremely uncomfortable. There was a flurry of activity around you, campers of all ages were running around, parents were yelling goodbye and telling their demonic kin to behave themselves and the camp’s theme song ‘Firetruck’ played loudly in the background. In the middle of all the life and activity was you, standing stiffly with your suitcase in hand, backpack on your shoulders and a terrified expression on your face.

You were trying to get to the quadrangle where orientation would be held but there was so much going on and you felt so out of place. A hilarious contrast to your previous summers. You used to fit in perfectly. Perhaps that was why camp felt more normal back then, you were just as loud and full of energy as it was— and still is. After what felt like an eternity, you managed to make it towards the front.

Having noticed that you were struggling, a boy with bright orange hair walked up to you, “Need help carrying your bag?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s just that there’s so much going on, I’m scared I’ll hit someone with my suitcase.”

“It’s fine, they’ll just laugh it off if camp is still as chill as I remember it to be.”

“You haven’t been here in a while? Me neither!”

“Yeah, I moved back to Shanghai for a while. That’s my hometown. Well, city. You?”

You bit your lip, refusing to recall the memories that had been in your head the previous day, “I got busy during the summer. So yeah…”

You trailed off before realising that you had yet to introduce yourself, “I’m y/n, by the way. You are?”

The boy tilted his head slightly, “Don’t you remember me?”

You frowned and blinked, “Should I?”

The boy seemed amused as he smiled, shaking his head, “Nevermind. Well, at least we can get to know each other this summer?”

You smiled weakly and nodded. You didn’t get along well with boys, especially those your age, but that was mainly because the boys at your school weren’t exactly the nicest people. However, you were sent to camp because your parents felt you were being too asocial. This could be a chance to break out of your shell and prove to yourself that not all boys were terrible.

He hadn’t told you his name yet and you were about to ask again when a familiar boy walked up to the two of you, “I see you’ve met y/n.”

Park Jisung. What was he doing here at camp? You would’ve expected that his parents would take their little golden boy on some sort of exciting trip abroad. You tried your best not to feel disheartened but your hopes of having a male friend for the first time in years was already making its way down the drain. If he was friends with Jisung then it was unlikely that he was going to like you for long.

Suddenly, the unsettling feeling came rushing back along with a distant memory. One of twelve year old Zhong Chenle shrieking in front of the entire class, “Y/n has boy and girl parts!”

Your eyes snapped from Jisung to Chenle, panic rising in your mind. There was no way you were dealing with this. Not for three weeks. You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to grab your suitcase and make a run for it. All of a sudden, the sharp feedback from a microphone breached your ears, directing yours as well as the rest of the campers’ attention to a familiar bespectacled boy who was struggling with his megaphone. Your palms grew sweaty as you watched in horror.

“Uhm, check? Testing? He-hello?”

There stood one of your biggest nightmares. Clad in the dorky lime green camp shirt and jeans with a cap shaped like a siren with a smiley face. Mark Lee. The tension in your mind built as he continued to fumble with his megaphone. That malicious, soul-sucking wretch who’d be sent from the murky abyss of hell to personally torture. The smiling cicada with chibi eyes could only mean one thing. You were going to suffer.

“Yo campers!”

“Fighting haeyadwae!”

“Mom please pick me up, I’m begging you!”

“No, y/n, what a ridiculous reason! Just because the boys you don’t get along with are at the same camp as you are, doesn’t mean you should leave,” you could practically hear your mother rolling her eyes as she spoke.

“But ma—”

“No! You kids are so ridiculous, you fight all the time and make it hard for everybody else.”

“Ma—”

“Nothing doing, y/n, you are staying at Camp. God, when did you become such a brat? You’ll really use any excuse to stay inside your room like a bat.”

“Seriously though—”

“Natural sunlight won’t hurt you, now get off the phone, I’m driving.”

“Fine, I love y—”

Your mother cut the call because you could finish your sentence. You sighed, you were definitely one of two things: either someone who committed a heinous sin in their past life or an adopted child.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

You shrieked, surprised by the sudden voice. You spun around, involuntarily reaching out to punch the owner of the voice. However, you just ended up punching air.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Na Jaemin said, sarcastically.

You internally groaned, you were really hoping to avoid interacting with Mark and his friends. Especially Jaemin. Out of the seven devils, he was inarguably the worst.

“Why were you eavesdropping?”

“Why are you being such a baby and crying for your mommy?” He retorted with a grin which you ached to punch off his face.

“None of your damn business,” you snapped before walking towards your assigned cabin, making it a point to harshly brush your shoulder against his own.

You heard him mumble to himself but you couldn’t be bothered to try and listen. You were just fixated on appearing confident as you walked away.

“Channel your inner Hwasa, channel your inner Hwasa,” your mind repeated until you’d reached your cabin.

You swore you could feel Jaemin’s gaze burning through the back of your head but that could just be the self consciousness that he brough out in you. Na Jaemin was easily the most intimidating boy you knew. Standing within even a centimetre’s radius of him terrified you. You fought the urge to behave like the stupid main character from the horror movies you loved and turn around to look at the monster creeping around behind you. You swallowed, your throat uncomfortably dry and your palms sweaty. Before you could reach out to twist the door knob, your cabin mate stepped out, pushing you off balance. Your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of Lee Jeno, his face mirroring your surprised expression.

Jeno panicked, his arms reaching out to grab you. Thankfully, he managed to pull you back to your feet. Your scalp was less than thankful though, it was burning with pain. Jeno, being the idiot he was, had grabbed a fistful of your hair to keep you from falling. You grimaced, your hands massaging the back of your scalp as you softly hissed in pain. The boy in front of you was still wide-eyed, words spilling from his mouth incoherently. You held up a hand, your face still scrunched in pain, halting Jeno’s unintelligible apology.

To his credit, Jeno looked incredibly apologetic. And slightly scared of what you were going to say; you weren’t a person of few words. Indubitably, you were going to give the poor boy an earful. His friends had teasingly mentioned that he looked like a puppy and he silently prayed that he would look pitiful enough for you to not raise your voice.

Your angry rant never came. Jaemin had strutted up to you with a pleased grin on his incessantly chapped lips, “Getting kinky are we? Gosh, at least do it inside.”

Your glare was quickly diverted to him, much to Jeno’s relief. You were aching to give the both of them a piece of your mind but you couldn’t work up the courage to do it. You hated how weak Jaemin made you feel. Clenching your hands into sweaty fists, your gaze awkwardly darted away from Jaemin to the bright red ‘9’ that had been painted onto the cabin door. You were at the correct cabin but why had Jeno been inside your cabin? Your mind began to race with thoughts. Perhaps him and Jaemin were trying to pull a prank on you. That would explain why Jaemin had been keeping an eye on you a few moments earlier.

Trying your best to muster up the courage to sound harsh, you glanced at Jaemin for a second before speaking, “I’d prefer it if you stayed away from my cabin, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.”

You could have sworn you saw Jaemin’s eyes twinkle. He jokingly stood at attention and saluted you, “The Tweedle twins reporting for cabin mate duty.”

“Fucking pardon?”

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Kids, Monsters, D&D, and Adults (Sriracha, Part. 18)

Description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: You decided to give Hopper a short break from seeing you every day... But you didn't know how much can happen in your hometown in a week and a half you're gone.

A/N: And... Welcome Mr. Demogorgon disrupting everyone’s life on the stage, please, give it up for him! (Reader is on holiday in North Dakota during the events of the first season.)

A/N 2: I went a bit off the OG events, but here, I have drunk Hopper on the phone mumbling about being cursed for you, enjoy, please. Actually inspired by Heroes (Peter Gabriel's cover) - the song playing when they found Will's body.

Word count: 4.1 K

Tagging: @nemodoren​, @creedslove​

Master list: H E R E

Just as your mom asked you to, two days after the dinner at your parents’, Jim dropped you off at your house in the early morning. It was more or less safe since it was only five in the morning and Hawkins was dead asleep at the moment. You didn't want him to be alone, but he brushed you off with ’it's only twelve days, what can happen during that?’ and you reminded him of what you had done in twelve days, leaving him with a nasty grin. 

You both almost fainted, because just in the middle of your heated making-out session, just as his hand palmed your thigh as you basically climbed onto his seat, your brother came out of the house along with Steve, grinning. Steve looked at both of you with confusion before turning around and disappearing.

Steve Harrington had a girlfriend now, or so you heard. Nancy Wheeler became to lucky one, at least that was what the rumors were saying. He couldn't forgive about the endless crush on you, though.¨

You told Hopper to leave for work before your mom sees him there, laughing as Aiden helped you with your stuff, greeting Hopper. He really did drive, honking at your parents, waving at them as he left for the station. 

It was the third of November - you were supposed to see Hopper again on the sixteenth day of that month. And you were honestly ready to take a short break from the everlasting dishes and laundry at your house and just relax before coming back to the arms of the man you grew to adore. 

To be honest, you loved your father’s parents’ house in North Dakota - it was a big house in the middle of nothing, ten minutes away from the nearest signs civilization. The sixteen-hours lasting road trip in your/Aiden's car was almost endless and it was hot like hell at whiles, but in the end, you loved the view more than anything.

You had also a lot of family members, like aunties and cousins your age there and you were excited to meet all of them after such a long time. You promised a call to Hopper as soon as you reach their house - and so you did, giving him the number as well. It was midnight, but you knew that he’s waiting for it. And of course, he picked up as soon as you started ringing, laughing like a small kid when you told him that he rather should go to sleep.

It was a quick call just to reassure you that he's fine - you asked him about food and laundry and he told you, with a chuckle, that you're worried too much and that he managed to survive forty years without you - that thirteen days is basically nothing.

Most of the days, you spent walking around in the wilderness. Your cousin Corrie showed you a pack of wild bison living near your grandparent’s house and a great overlook. Other days, you and your other cousin Jane helped your granny with baking and cooking or tiding up. Everyone was thrilled to have you there because they saw both you and Aiden once a year. They took you to the local cinema, for some shopping and even for a time at the local pool and local dance. You were enjoying yourself the most you could. 

Everyone was surprised when someone asked you the typical question - ’And do you have a boyfriend already?’ - and your mom answered ’She, in fact, has. And it's a lovely lad.’, winking at you. She still wasn't okay with Hopper, it was only four days since the dinner, but she was slowly adjusting to the situation. They asked you a lot about that mysterious ’Jim’, but you never told them much about your man. 

It came on the third day you were in Dakota - the sixth of November. You were just playing with your four-year-old cousin Marty, building Lego spaceships, when your grandma came into the room, holding a phone in her hand, handing you the handset. 

“It’s some Mr. Hopper. He told me that he has to speak to you immediately. He told me that he knows you.” - She whispered while you put Jim on your ear, nodding. You let Marty play with the Lego and left to an empty room. 

“Do you miss me that much, Mr. Hopper?” - You joked, but at the moment you heard Jim sighing, you knew that somethings extremely wrong in Hawkins. First, you thought that maybe he wants to break up with you - but then you remembered him asking about your panties yesterday when you called him around two a.m. and shook the thought off. - “What's going on, Jim? I'm here. Is it Vietnam? New York? Sara?”

“No, it's not that... I just... Jesus, I feel like I need to talk to someone and you're the only one who is goin’ to listen to me and actually understands.” - Okay, so Mr. Hopper was clearly drunk and smoking on the other end of the line, so you sat down on a sofa, exhaling slowly. - “Sometimes... I feel like shit, but you know that. But now, I feel fuckin' cursed, Y/N. And you're not here to stop me from doin’ shit.” - He giggled drunkenly and you stiffened. What was his fucking deal? Had something happened after you left Hawkins? Had Diane called? Did something happen at the station? Did Steve fucking Harrington tell someone what he saw? You swore to God...

“Jim, what you're after? I don't understand, baby, you need to tell me what's wrong.” - You mumbled back and looked at Aiden, who was just checking in on you. You mouthed ’Hopper’ and he nodded before closing up the door after him, telling everyone to keep off the line and out of the room.

“I'm a fuckin’ black hole, y’ know? All the fuckin’ shit that ever happened in Hawkins... It follows me. The last case of person goin’ missin’ happened in the summer of ’23 and the last suicide here was on the fall of ’61, y’ know?” - He asked you rhetorically and you just kept on being silent, trying to decipher the meaning of his entire speech.

“And when I find someone or somethin’ I can fight for or when I feel safe for a minute, it all goes to shit after a while, it all just fuckin' goes to shit.” - Jim said and you could hear him crying. 

“Will you tell me what happened finally? You're freaking me out, Jim.” - You asked silently, playing with the hem of your sweater. Hopper was clearly angry and terrified of something - he would probably get drunk even if you were in Hawkins. His voice was emotionless, he was playing the tough guy card at the moment.

“A kid got lost today.” - He answered honestly and your breath got stuck a bit, but you kept your damn mouth shut since you could hear him taking a breath to continue. - “I thought he has just wandered off the main road or somethin’ but it really looks like that kid’s missin’. It's the Byers boy, that younger one.” - He told you and you closed your eyes. No wonder he felt like shit when a kid got lost in the woods, probably. 

“Have you found something, Jim? Don't be angry or sad, there's still hope.” - You whispered, watching your cousin Diane in the same age little Will was playing outside with a ball.

You knew Joyce Byers from occasionally visiting Melvald’s in the downtown. You remember the day you walked in and while you were handing her the cash, she pointed out on a drawing of a big rainbow spaceship and proudly, she said ’My son Will drew this.’ You knew her boys from meeting them sometimes. The brothers were a bit weird, but when a kid goes missing, you don't care if they were weird or not.

You just want to find them as quickly as possible.

"A bike if that's what you wanna call 'a find'." - Hopper mouthed back and you could hear him crying, he just couldn't handle the situation anymore. It was breaking your heart to hear him being this much fucked up. You wanted to hug him, press your body onto his, hold him tight and whisper him sweet nothings. You wanted to kiss him and make things right at least for a second.

"James Hopper, you better listen to me right now. You're the best cop I've ever seen. Stop whining, go to sleep now and you're going to find this fucking kid because that kid is lost somewhere in the woods, it's freezing to death, it's terrified and alone, you hear me?" - You said aggressively, being completely done with him and his self-shaming shit at that point. - "You won't duck out and you will make me proud."

You talked to him until the moment he really fell asleep, walking out of the empty room after the phone went silent. There were emptiness and horror inside of you. Will Byers got lost and your boyfriend promised himself to find him. You were destroyed, tired and worried for Jim, but you encouraged him enough to trust in himself. Or at least you thought so.

"What happened? Is Hopper doing okay?" - Your mom asked with a furrow as soon as you entered the door and you shook your head, looking at her with terror. They were just having a huge family dinner outside your granny's house, everyone from the family came to greet you.

"A kid went missing in Hawkins. You remember that little Byers? He always rode the bike with his friends, they were inseparable." - You mumbled and your mom only let out quiet 'Oh God' to summarize the whole situation. She went on a and gave Joyce a call - to tell her not to lose hope in finding Will.

You haven't left the house for the other two days - Hopper could call literally every minute and almost everyone got invested in that kid going missing. You missed a few cool trips here and there, but Hopper hadn't disappointed; he gave you heads up every few other hours. And you even laughed at times which you definitely didn't expect - like the time when it came to talking with Will's best friends.

"You wouldn't believe how bad I am with kids, these little fuckers were just fuckin' around with me, talkin’ about Lord of the Rings and stuff... Jesus." - Hopper mumbled with a quiet chuckle, lighting up another cigarette. He was calling you from a telephone booth and left Powell with Callahan in his Blazer, and according to his words, those men watched his every move. You chuckled at that. Jim really took your words directly to his heart, doing his best to save the damn kid. He was not giving up on that boy.

To find what happened, he talked with his best friends and the way he told you the investigation was going was so hilarious it made you laugh like crazy.

"No way. Jim Hopper is good at everything." - You hummed back and crossed your legs, thinking about some really nasty things.

"Am I? At what exactly, I can't seem to remember." - He asked in his deep voice and you knew that it's about to go really nasty. You yelled at your mom to get off the phone immediately through the whole fucking house just to have some privacy. Hopper, again, chuckled at that.

"Like... I don't know, folding clothes?" - You asked innocently still worrying that your mom's listening to that conversation. But as soon as you heard her yelling something at your cousins, you knew she really got off. - "After you tear it down off of me."

"Someone's in the mood to play, I see. I would like to stay and hear you foldin' your clothes, but the boys are in a hurry." - Jim whispered, yelling something at the two cops.

"Jim?" - You asked and you got only a hum as a response. - "Be safe out there, okay?"

"I'm missin' you here. I'm lookin' forward to seeing you." - He answered and the line got quiet again. You missed him as well, but in the end, you had only eight days in front of you. What could go wrong? And that was a dumb question to ask.

Well, a lot could go wrong actually, since the other day, Hopper's calls got less and less frequent until they stopped completely. It was the ninth of November when mom woke you up really late in the night. He handed you over the handset, making you sit up

"It's Hopper and he was really... Weird. It seems urgent. He was ringing the number fifteen minutes in a row." - She whispered and sat next to you on the bed, hugging your shoulder. It didn't matter how old Hopper was or what reputation did he have. He needed just as a human being needs another one to lean into. He needed you as a partner and no matter how stressful that was, you wanted to be there for him. And your mom understood that clearly.

"Jim, Jim, it's me." - You mumbled sleepily and listened to him hyperventilating. He was crying again, but he was trying to calm down now. He sometimes woke up with these panic attacks. Something went awfully off the rails in Hawkins. This wasn't the Jim you grew to know and love. - "Baby, stay here with me, let's do this together. Breathe in and out, just like that, that's it, that's it. In and out."

"We found the boy." - He muttered out when he calmed down finally. sobbing. He may pretend to be the rough edge guy, but you knew that's the exact opposite of his character when no-one can see him. He didn't get too friendly with people in Hawkins, but he cared about each one of them. That's why he was the Chief in the end.

"And what happened? Is everyone alright? Is he safe now?" - You asked and mouthed 'They found Will' to your mom. You were about to cry as well - he was making such heart-wrenching sounds that only that alone made your eyes water.

"He drowned in the quarry." - Hopper told you, lighting up a cigarette. - "He was decomposed, but the guys from the CIA told us that it's the boy for sure. Jesus." - And that was the moment you started to cry, putting a palm in front of your mouth. It wasn't hard to make out what had happened to little Will Byers.

"How's everyone doing? What about Joyce? Do you want me to come back? Just say a word and I'm on my way back, just like that." - You asked when you finally caught your breath. Your mom was holding you tight because it really had shocked you and she was also listening to everything Hopper said. She kissed your shoulder, closing her eyes. You have never spoken to that kid, but... He was so young. And according to Joyce really bright and creative. This wasn't fair. This just wasn't fair. He had a whole life ahead and now, it was just gone. Hopes were lost just like that. You felt the cold and emptiness growing in your chest again.

"No... Just stay there until I know it's safe here again, alrite? We'll be workin' with some guys from the state for a while now, closing the case up. " - Hopper told you sincerely and you hummed, crying again. - “The boy has a funeral tomorrow. I feel like this is on me, you know? Everyone was believin' that Jim fuckin' Hopper, the New York detective, will find the Byers boy alive and well... It's my fault."

"This doesn't mean you're a bad cop, Jim, okay?" - You asked him after a while when you made yourself calm down. - "This doesn't mean you suck at your job, baby. Don't put yourself down, you're a great cop and even a better person. The boy... It isn't your fault. I swear. We'll talk about it once I get back to Hawkins, okay?" - You asked worriedly. - "Please, send Joyce my deepest condolences. I'm..."

Hopper needed to be strong and so you needed to be strong as well. For him. You'd do everything for that man. If he would want you to go back to Hawkins immediately, you would go.

"Just keep out of Hawkins until I secure it again. If somethin' would go wrong with you, I don't think... I'm just really missin' you, sunshine." - Hopper mumbled tiredly and you understood. He needed to be alone, so you put the phone off the bed, looking at your mom. Hopper didn't cause this, but you knew he's going to put himself down horrendously after that. A boy's life was lost, but Hopper wasn't the one to blame.

But the worst thing about all of that? He hadn't called after that, not even once. You tried to occupy yourself with hikes and board games with your cousins, even playing some D&D, but there weren't any calls from Hopper from that day on. No matter how hard you wished for them, he hadn't call you. You called into the trail many times, but no-one had picked up.

That was the exact moment you had enough. If he was in danger, you wouldn't leave him like that, whether something bad happened to him or if it was his mind again.

You decided to come home earlier to check on him, which your mom agreed with. The sixteen-hours long drive with your car was horrendous, to say the least, but that very night, you stopped in front of Hopper's trail, basically storming inside. It was dark and empty, but you still hoped that Hopper left you a key under the mossy rock. It really was there.

You stopped yourself for a small moment before actually opening the door up, trying to prepare yourself for what will be inside of that trail. You almost threw up next to the stairs, opening the door finally. And for the fucking love of God, there was some serious mess inside of that trail.

You walked through it and saw at least a few tubes of Tuinal, each one of them empty, remnants of various fast food, beer cans, and full ashtrays literally everywhere. The furniture was messed up, the phone ripped out of the wall, TV laying on the side. The place looked robbed and for a moment, you got really, really worried.

Hopper wasn't nowhere to be found, so the last thing you could do was to sit and wait for him. While doing so, you decided to clean it up and cook some actual food. Before moving the furniture back in place, you checked the drawers, not finding his personal gun. Where was he and why did he take the gun with him?

He drove in pretty late in the night, it was almost midnight; you took a nap on the couch in the meantime, being dead asleep by the time he turned the engine off.

Hopper was thinking that he's hallucinating when he saw your car parked directly on its spot, but then he saw the turn on the light and you passed out in front of the TV through the window.

He took a deep breath in - he just came back from the Hawkins lab, closing another deal with them including Joyce and WIll, and he needed to think about what should he tell you. He wasn't willing to try his chances with telling you the truth; as he said, he wouldn't put you in danger under any circumstances and the men from the government weren't fucking around with anyone. He needed to come up with a story that would be believable and easy to swallow, but at the moment, he was just too tired to think of one. Jim slowly entered the trail, taking the coat off, putting it on a rack, trying not to wake you up yet. 

You were beautiful when you fell asleep - your cheeks got rosy, you snuggled deep into the blanket, having a dreamy emotion on your face. He kneeled behind the couch, kissing your temple and smoothing your hair, gently waking you up.

"You're here sooner." - Jim whispered with a smile when you opened up your eyes. He just needed you by his side, no matter what anyone in Hawkins is going to say. Fuck them and fuck the rumors. It was safe now, you were his girl and everyone else could go fuck themselves.

"And you stopped calling. I was worried." - You mumbled, nuzzling closer to his hand, reaching out to hold the other one. - "Where were you? It's really late."

"Was visiting Joyce's, she needed someone to talk to. I would be here sooner if you'd give me heads up." - Hopper kissed your temple again, helping you with standing up. He watched one of those lazy smiles.

"How's she? Feeling better after Will..." - You whispered in a broken voice. Oh. Hopper realized that you still thought that Will has drowned in the quarry. He hadn't got exactly the time to call you since he was held at the lab of driving around Hawkins with children in his Blazer most of the time.

"The boy was found alive, thanks to God. He's in the hospital and he's gettin' better and better with each passin' day. He's a fighter." - Jim said quietly and tried not to put too much emotion into it, but you knew that it's making him happy. He led you through the whole trail, kissing your collar bone though the fabric of the shirt once you were standing up in the bedroom. - "I've missed you so fuckin' much." - The man moaned into the fabric of his very own shirt and just when he was about to lay you down, you stopped him and palmed his jaws, making the man look at you.

"I'm proud of you, Jim Hopper." - You said quietly with an adoring look in your eyes. Hopper would swear that he hasn't seen so much awe and love in someone's eyes until you gave him this look. - "You are a great man. And I can't imagine being in Hawkins without you." - You whispered and pulled him in for a kiss.

You gave him many kisses, but this one was somehow full of feelings and Jim warmed up when he felt the love radiating out of it. For a while, the thought of him saying those three words was lingering on his mind as you took off the shirt, pressing your naked torso into the fabric of his uniform.

It would be so easy to say them. Every time he called you to Dakota, you were there and listened to every word; you laughed when you were supposed to laugh and you were sad when you were supposed to be sad. To say that he found everything he asked for was just too little to express everything about you.

You continued with kissing him, not leaving him alone in that freezing night for a single second. Nothing felt better than having you back and at that moment, he first realized that he's in love with you. It never crossed his mind so clearly. He was deeply in love. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, so he helped you with taking your pants down.

It didn't matter how smelly he was, it didn't matter that he had a huge bruise on his arm, the only thing that mattered was it was him. That it was him staying there with you.

And you realized how much you've fallen for that guy. It was the best feeling you've ever felt.

[lovelysilence14]

Anne With an E 3x02 has me like...

Like... holy crap!

HOW am I supposed to watch this show week to week? I need my answers and reassurances NOW. Like, RIGHT NOW.

I hate Netflix so much for making me wait until the new year to binge watch it in a day.

My thoughts?

Gilbert and What’s-Her-Name

I have no idea how to feel about Gilbert and what’s-her-name. Like, that date was so painful to watch. On one hand, I think Gilbert is practicing for the real deal and that’s why he asked her out. (Although I’ve heard some people theorize that since Anne’s dashed his hopes with her he’s settling for “Discount Anne” given this woman does bear amusing similarities to her.

But, she is MUCH older than him and I REALLY hope they don’t take THAT route with them. (I get she’s likely 25 or so, but Gilbert is supposed to be about 18 here. And an 18 year old dating a person who’s arguably close to 30? I don’t think so.)

Mary and her son

The whole plot with Mary and her son? I really don’t get why he’s hating on his mother so much. And that scene with him trashing Gilbert’s dad’s room and stole his medal to likely pawn it for cash?

OW. Ow, ow, OW.

I get he and Mary had their differences and his attitude seemed to change the second he realized his mother had a new baby. But, come on! I know he’s likely jealous his kid sister is going to have a much better life than he did. But, he’s a GROWN MAN.

Get over it and grow up!

For the record, I have an older sister who was in the exact same boat with me and our father. She got taken away from our Dad as a little girl (bitter ex-wife who wanted to make Dad suffer) and he didn’t get her back until she was about sixteen. (Like I said, his ex was a VERY bitter woman who fought hard to make sure he didn’t get her out of spite. She was also very abusive to my sister.)

At this point, Dad had re-married a new woman (my mom) and had me and my brother. I was about five and my brother was a baby. She HATED me growing up because I got to have Dad, a good mom, etc. A better life than her as a kid.

Pretty much like Mary’s son in the episode.

My sister was a monster to my dad. She swore at him, would go mad while hitting him and even tried to get him arrested for “sexual assault” when he  shoved her back during one of her physical assaults on him. (His hand graze her breast when he pushed her away.) When the cops took him for questioning, she smirked the whole time. My mom was forced to call the cops on her several time before this. 

Keep in mind, she did all of this out of ANGER against him for never getting her away from her abusive mother sooner. She did this out of bitterness.

Luckily, my mom was there to save my dad as she saw the whole thing. When the cops advised he kick my sister out for his personal safety (she would likely accuse him again and without any witnesses, it would be bad), he reluctantly did.

He hated the idea of giving her up so soon after finally getting her back and had fought hard to help heal her from her abusive childhood. But, she was just too bitter to help. Years later, she is STILL that same angry little girl who hates the world for screwing her over who REFUSES to help herself. Only difference is she’s about 35 and has a kid of her own and repeating her own traumas.

She basically refuses to grow up.

So, that is why I find it REALLY hard to feel bad for Mary’s son. He’s a grown man who has had it rough, but it was never his mother’s fault she couldn’t care for him like she wanted. She didn’t have a loving and stable husband to help her out before. She was a struggling woman who had to work from sun up to sun down to make ends meet.

She FINALLY found her lucky break. Why hate her for it? Why hate THE BABY for it?

I really hope we see him turn around because he is barely above Mr. Phillips at this point.

Marilla and Anne

Oh, Marilla.

I am TRYING to keep in mind that Native Americans DID have a bad social rep in the 1800′s. Laura Ingalls Wilder? She was a great gal, but even SHE had a bad mindset towards Indians because THAT was what she was used to hearing growing up as a kid.

No, don’t jump on me! I am NOT defending racism!

I’m actually PART Native American, for the record, on my Dad’s side.

I am just trying to understand Marilla’s mind set based on her specific time era. So, I am TRYING to excuse it as ignorance that was unfortunately popular in this time period. Trying.

But, yes, seeing her racist attitude towards people who got a bad rep based on a few bad people in their culture is making me roll my eyes, yes. Especially since my family has streaks of Native American blood themselves.

What I got was that Marilla for the literal WHOLE episode was pacing back and forth terrified at the thought of losing Anne. Even in the first episode, you could see Marilla was on the verge of denying Anne her trip on the simple possibility a distant relative would find her and take her away.

Then she hears Anne literally sobbing for proof that she was loved by her birth parents. Not dumped in a run down orphanage. THEN she hears Anne had gone in the heart of a “savage” Indian tribe. (Marilla was only thinking about the stereotypical rumors of Indians being “savages” and therefore the possibility Anne could have been hurt.)

Given Marilla had been suppressing her emotions for so long already, yes, she snapped at Anne and basically grounded her from going anywhere on her own from now on. Even school.

She was doing what she deemed necessary - albeit extreme - to protect Anne from danger. Both physical AND emotional.

I understand Marilla only wants to protect Anne and keep her from all possible danger as well as fearing the idea of someone taking her adopted daughter away. BUT, if she holds on too tightly, she is only going to slowly kill the loving bond Anne has for her.

My dad was the same way. He saw the worst in people and suffered horrific abuse by the world. Hence, he kept me and my brother tucked away from ALL aspects of the world out of love and fear for our safety from ANY dangers. Even the ones that weren’t even there.

(It drove our mother crazy as she wanted to give us the exciting and happy childhood she didn’t in her small town and for us to live the life she dreamed of having.)

And she has to know how much learning about her family means to Anne. I get she doesn’t want to lose Anne to her birth family and is only doing what she is out of love, but seeing Anne be denied the rightful chance to learn about her history is KILLING ME!!!

If Marilla truly loves Anne, she will learn to let her go. THAT’S why we’re seeing the worse side to her right now. Is it understandable? Yes. Right? GOD, no.

Marilla and Anne BETTER make up by the next episode! God, waiting week to week is going to be the DEATH of me. Let Anne discover her past, Marilla.

LET HER GO!!!

[deafwestnewsies]

stop and stare

The Losers must keep living after the summer of ‘58. Living and breathing the air that was stolen from the victims of that horrible monster. 

richie x eddie, bill x stan

read it also on my ao3 and ff.net!

This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us

It's time to make our move, I'm shakin' off the rust

There were whispers now. Whispers that Eddie just couldn’t seem to shake. 

As he walked through the pharmacy aisles, searching for the bandaids with the little prong things on the end that wouldn’t fall off when he moved his elbows, he heard the first whispers. “That little Kaspbrak boy. Over there. So tragic, what he did to his mother.” Eddie’s back stiffened at the other woman’s titters as the pair of old ladies walked away from the cough syrups. Not even knowing who they were, he glared at their backs until they strolled into the next aisle. Swiping whatever bandages were in front of him and stowing them in his front pocket, Eddie stormed out of the store and into the alley behind it. 

Bill’s expectant gaze met him first as he held out his hand. Eddie put the box of gauze down and stood near the wall, almost leaning, but not willing to risk the germ exposure. Everyone watched with bated breath as Bill’s steady hands cleaned out the gash in Mike’s arm and began dressing the wound. His strong hiss of pain made Eddie jump and cover his eyes, making him feel four years old again. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, covering his face from the scene and murmuring It’ll be okay, Eds. He’ll be okay. Not having the willpower to correct the boy on the juvenile nickname, Eddie relaxed slightly into Richie’s chest and tried not to wince at the wimpers coming from Mike.  

Henry Bowers might’ve been gone, but that did not mean there were other gruesome bullies waiting anxiously to take his place. Bullies who were just as mean (because when there wasn’t a maniac clown to deal with, there were tenth graders) and just as vicious (because Derry was cruel that way) and just as armed. This time it meant waiting for Mike on the path he always took into town with a barrage of insults and a serrated blade. When he retold the tale later, clutching his bleeding arm and staining his work boots, Mike said that they called him names that even Mike wasn’t really allowed to say, that they had heard he was one of the crazy kids who claimed they were attacked by a demon. If you want something to be scared of, boy, we’ll give it to you. Ain’t no monster under your bed. They had whispered it, right before slashing his arm wide open. 

That was the latest town gossip, and the whispers that seemed to invade every moment of Eddie’s waking life. A group of seven kids emerged from the decaying house on Neibolt street, bloody yet victorious, when eight had entered. They would tell anyone who would listen that they fought off a killer clown, the same that had killed Betty Ripsom and ripped off Georgie’s arm and left him for dead. Instead of believing the children, everyone made snide remarks about the poor Bowers, both father and son dying under mysterious and inexplicable circumstances. Of course, the initial blame was handed directly to the Loser’s Club, but as the investigation went on they found that the blood on their clothes belonged only to each other and the fingerprints on the knife used to kill Detective Bowers didn’t have a match. They still spent a night in jail. One cold, dark night with only one another to keep warm. 

So no, it wasn’t a surprise when Mike came staggering up to the Aladdin, where they had all planned to meet. Each of them had been attacked at different times, some getting it worse than others, (people liked to pick on the color of Mike’s skin, the way Eddie blushed when he walked into the boy’s locker room, Ben’s size. The list could go on.) and every time, they banded together and stood as a united front. There would always be a small voice in the back of their minds, however. The same that played in Eddie’s as he clung to Richie, trying to be strong for Mike’s sake. Maybe this town is as sick of us as we are of them. 

I've got my heart set on anywhere but here

I'm staring down myself, counting up the years

Richie began making the plans absentmindedly, mostly as a way of escape during boring classes and sleepless nights. As soon as he turned eighteen, he would turn on his heels and run from Derry, run from all of the monsters who lived here, run from the clown and his parents and everyone who had ever called him useless. He didn’t quite know where he would run to, but the maps in his mind always led somewhere bright, where it didn’t rain quite as often and he could wear his shorts during the winter time. 

At sixteen, he realized that his daydreams could all be tracked with some scraps of paper, red yarn, and a bulletin board, so he began doing exactly that. Behind a poster on his wall, Richie began sketching out the Great American Roadtrip (Richie Tozier Edition). First, he would work on making sure the truck he had inherited was reliable enough to drive across the country. 

He began working part time in the town’s auto shop, picking up spare pieces wherever he could and making some half-hearted tips. The only reason Mr. Kurtz, the head mechanic, had hired the boy was that for the most part, he lived oblivious to any town gossip. All of Richie’s coworkers avoided him like the plague and tried to whisper warnings to Kurtz when he first began the job. Staring curiously at the gangly boy who kept his head down and did all of his work in a prompt fashion, the man waved all of the rumors away. “Leave the boy be,” he’d respond. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a tale to tell.” 

With a decent engine and enough money to make it wherever he was planning on going, Richie began looking for work that he could do while he was out there. He wasn’t half bad at the whole mechanic thing, and once he was nearing eighteen he began to consider it very seriously. Richie, ever the trashmouth, could still make whole crowds hysterical with a well-timed joke and a fake voice or two, but he didn’t dare tell anyone that he almost wished he could do that for a living. Maybe that was why he finally settled on Los Angeles, a place that people would speak of in hushed voices and stars in their eyes. It was seemingly perfect, except for one minor detail. 

It was dirty. Not that that bothered Richie, of course, he once had a record of not showering for three weeks and two days. No, this would bother someone else, someone who had always been in the back of his mind, someone who Richie just couldn’t imagine living without so he put him on this metaphorical trip, right alongside him. Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier had done everything together since the beginning of time, and now Richie was going to ask him to do one more thing that would change their life completely. So Richie set off to do the final thing on his checklist: Ask Eddie to throw his entire life away and be reckless, for the first time in his tiny, asthmatic life. 

The knock on the Kaspbrak’s door seemed too loud, too forceful, and he winced when Sonya, Eddie’s evil hag of a mother, answered the door. “Hey-y-y-y, Mrs. K. Eddie ‘round?” Her frown was enough to tell him exactly where Eddie was (down at the Barrens) and how she felt about it. (She hated it.) “See ya later Sonya!” Richie shouted as he turned and began running in the right direction. Her grumbling was lost on deaf ears as he could only hear the wind whistling through his hair and the sun beating down. 

By the time he arrived, Richie was sweaty and completely out of breath. He wasn’t sure why he had run, maybe it was just the feeling in his chest that if he didn’t ask Eddie right now he’d explode. So when he saw Eddie peacefully reading a book on top of a blanket and slathered in sunscreen, Richie also couldn’t explain the way his heart fell into his feet. 

“Richie?” Eddie called, book sliding to the floor. He smiled so warmly at Richie that he had to remind himself to move his feet, lift them off the ground, one by one. 

He settled on the ground next to him. “Hey Eds. I’ve got somethi-” 

“Don’t call me Eds.” 

The sentence that Eddie had said before, maybe a thousand times over, made Richie’s throat ache with familiarity. Suddenly he felt twelve again, with glasses too big for his face and feelings that he would never be allowed to talk about with anyone. “Eds. Please listen to me.” Eddie made a displeased noise, but leaned his chin in his hands and gazed up at Richie with wide, expectant eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” He began, nervously pushing at the bridge of his glasses. “That I can’t stay here. Derry, I mean. There’s just too much shit to remember and now that we’re older and everyone still manages to hate us- and I hate them, I think. I don’t wanna ever spend another moment here if I don’t have to. So uh, I’m leaving. Four days, to be exact.” 

Eddie’s eyes kept widening, kept growing at a pace that was almost worrisome. “Four days?” He whispered. “Four days and you leave me? How could you, Rich! We swore we would never-” 

“I want you to come with me.” Richie cut his rambling off. 

“No. Absolutely not.” Eddie said it with an air of finality that made Richie almost unwilling to fight back. 

“Eds…” He almost whispered. 

They were so close, their noses only inches apart and staggered breathing intertwining. Eddie turned away suddenly, looking at a spot that was somewhere over the creek. “Don’t call me Eds. I’m not moving away with you, Tozier. My whole life is here. My college is here. My mom is here. It’s selfish of you to even think I’d go.” 

He felt his heart splinter into a million pieces. “Okay.” Richie said dumbly. “Thank you for giving me my answer.” Eddie’s sniff filled the air, and Richie realized he wasn’t the only one on the brink of tears. “Eddie?” The smaller boy’s head turned slightly, still not making full eye contact. “Please tell me one more thing. Did you ever… did you ever-” He cut himself off before he let his trashmouth be the death of him again. The insinuation was enough. Eddie understood. 

It was a bold move, but one Richie had to make before he left for good. 

Eddie’s eyes swept over the creek one last time as a perfect tear rolled down his cheek. “No,” he whispered softly. “I don’t think I did.” 

Richie left four days early on the Great American Roadtrip (Richie Tozier Edition). He was set on anywhere but here, but he left his heart in a diddly little town in Maine, on a creekbed. 

Steady hands just take the wheel

Every glance is killing me

His knuckles were turning white with force as he gripped the leather steering wheel, trying desperately not to crash the car. The nerves of driving back into his hometown were practically choking him, ghosts of the past reaching down into his throat and cutting off all circulation until he had to pull over to the side of the road. Gulps of air came flooding in as Ben stared at his surroundings. 

It was a bright, sunny day, unusual for the middle of April, and he was parked right underneath a cheery sign that read Welcome to Derry! The irony was enough to make him laugh, but it escaped as more of a wheeze, and Ben hit his head on the steering wheel. Truth be told, he really couldn’t pinpoint the reason he was so nervous to be back in Derry. Life was halfway terrible when he was a kid, but that was because of childhood bullies that would sneer awful remarks at him on the playground. Surely they had all grown up, right? No one would call him fatso or loser when he walked past the shops in town, even though the storekeepers were the same as his middle school tormentors. Ben knew that he could walk through town and name the baker, the town drunk, the new ninth grade science teacher, because no one left Derry. No one left, no one came. 

Benjamin Hanscom was what most would call an anomaly, because he got to escape the fate of a childhood growing up in Derry. Ben, a beautiful redhead named Beverly, (January embers, Ben thought in the back of his mind. What did that mean?) and someone he could only remember as Richie the Trashmouth. These were the kids who actually made it out of the small town. There was a postcard tucked under his bed in a box of junk addressed to a house in Connecticut. Ben had moved there was he was fifteen, four years after- Ben couldn’t quite remember what that was after. Four years after something important happened. Something that made receiving the postcard fill his stomach with dread. 

December 12th, 1965

Ben! We’ve missed you! Wish you would write more, Stan thinks you’re pulling a Bev on us and never looking back. I told him that you’d never forget about your old panty waists back in Derry. Stan says hi, by the way. Yes. Hello Ben. Miss you. So do Eddie and Mike. And that’s what I’m writing to you about! Guess who made it out! The trashmouth himself! Richie upped and left for California two days ago without telling any of us. For some reason I can’t find it in me to be mad at him because I’m so damn proud he made it out. Eddie’s real bummed though. Only speaks when he needs to and always leaves early. But it’s fine though. Richie’s like you and Bev, he’ll really make it now! Maybe he’ll go the rest of his life without seeing It. Sorry, not a funny joke. Stan’s laughing a little bit, though. And that means it was probably not a great joke. We miss you, Ben. Please try to write. We sent you some stuff to inspire your inevitable poems of your life and times here in the shithole. 

Losers forever, 

Bill Denbrough

Ben pulled the box from his backseat now, the strange urge that had him bring it with him now telling him to rifle through. A small, leather bound notebook with the title Derry’s Unofficial History by Mike Hanlon. There was nothing else written, just an ominous page written by a boy he didn’t remember. A green bouncy ball. Handful of arcade tokens. A bridge built with toothpicks. One bottle cap off of a cheap brand of vodka. Shoelaces tied into a noose. A book of town history. Finally, another postcard, splattered in something red, smelled vaguely cherry-like, and written in handwriting Ben would never be able to recognize. 

Your hair is winter fire. 

January embers, 

My heart burns there too. 

(Really takes ya back, huh Ben?) 

Back to what, though? Ben had read this poem a million times over and still, nothing ever rang a bell. It was like having a kernel of popcorn stuck in your gums or a phantom rock in your shoe. Always in the back of his mind and never seeing the light of day. 

Giving the poem one last glance and then tossing the box to the side, Ben slowly started the car again. He drove past the sign and into the main center of town, just a row of damp store fronts with sad, dull signs advertising the different sales. All of a sudden Ben couldn’t quite remember what he was here to accomplish, why he had left his comfortable life to visit the place he grew up. Nostalgia wasn’t the answer since there was nothing to reminisce about, just a handful of vague emotions that left him feeling uneasy. 

Thinking he should just turn around and go home, Ben began to pull a U-turn when he saw a man standing on the corner of the street. He had a vendors cart with him, but there was no description as to what he was selling, just a bunch of red balloons tied to the handle. Ben couldn’t quite see his face since the balloons swaying in the nonexistent breeze covered him up. As he turned around and drove back up the street, he glanced in his rearview mirror once more. The balloons were gone. The man locked eyes with Ben and leered, for just a second, long enough to make his blood run cold. His smile was terribly wide, lips stretching over his teeth in an inhumane way and pulling the flesh to be shiny and tight. Black holes stood where eyes normally did. Big orange puff balls suddenly decorated the man’s apron. When Ben whipped around in his seat to get a better look, there was nothing left. Just a single red balloon, floating up, up, up. 

Time to make one last appeal

For the life I live

No one said a single word. If they even tried, Stan shut them down. “Shut up.” He’d say, even if Richie began thinking of a joke. There was no room for laughter in a holding cell. 

They had been arrested and Stan was trying to figure out a way of telling his father without being murdered before he was bar mitzvah-ed. Well, more murdered than the crazy fucking killer clown had tried to accomplish before Richie clobbered him over the head with a baseball bat and they all just started screaming and throwing things and at some point Stan definitley ran him through with an iron rod. But that was nothing compared to Mr. Uris and a good reason to yell. No, the true horror awaited him when he got home tonight. He could already see his mustache trembling with anger, the red creeping up the sides of his neck. 

Stan took a deep breath and clenched his fists, feeling the crescent of his nails bite into the soft skin on his palms. This was momentary distraction from the monster headache he currently had, courtesy of the painting lady. A shudder ran through him as he thought about the woman who wasn’t truly a woman, just an evil twist of a face that had skittered at him, like a cockroach. 

“Guys?” He called out, the panic settling in. “Guys, where’d you go?” No response. The quiet hung in the air, heavy, only penetrated by random drops of water. Stan swept the flashlight around, trying to figure out which pothole he had just emerged from, when a piercing giggle erupted out of nowhere. “Hello?!” His voice more frantic, more desperate for Richie to just be fucking with him in a bad moment, for Bev to start breaking out in her normal peals of laughter and reveal that she had been okay this whole time. The laughter was more of an echo this time, sending chills down his spine. It was an echo… but it was closer. Closer. Closer. 

Behind him!

Like the sound of his mother’s drumming nails when she was irritated with him, the lady in the painting flew at him. Stan jerked backward only to hit the wall, knocking the wind out of him, rendering him useless for a second. That was all she needed. Her smile widened as rows of teeth, dank and dripping with gray water, flashed in the quickly dimming beam of his flashlight. He screamed, screamed with terror and hope that Bill would come flying out to save the day, but her jaws stretched and suddenly he could only feel unimaginable pain. Her teeth bit into his skin and he had given up screaming, and now was writhing around, which made her clench down harder on the sides of his face. Stan was giving into the darkness that crept into the sides of his vision when a loud clang rang through the sewers and he heard a bewildered “What the fuck is that thing?” 

The woman leeched off into the darkness before Stan could register what had happened, and suddenly there was a crowd of people surrounding him. Stan! Stan, are you okay? Stan please say something! S-S-S-Stan! Stan’s eyes flew open at the sound of Bill’s voice and he immediately began screaming again. “You left me!” He scrambled backward and hit the wall again. “You all left me and you swore you wouldn’t!” Hot tears ran into the wounds, causing them to sting. When did he start crying? Still pushing back at them, accusing them of things beyond their control, Stan began growing hysterical. “You left me! You left me! You

���ve left me no choice, laddies.” Mr. Nell said, causing Stan to jump back into the present. “I hafta call your parents ta come getcha in the mornin’.” Nobody but Richie was bold enough to groan at this statement, and he only did after the policeman was out of sight. Stan knew he was in for it once he got home. He might’ve almost died three hours ago, but he was definitely never going to see his twelfth birthday. 

Leaning his head against the wall, Stan tried to close his eyes and ignore the pounding in his head. Some shuffling noises were made as Eddie curled into Richie, buried himself in the fabric of his t-shirt and Richie threw an arm around the smaller boy. Beverly made no noise while tipping her head onto Ben’s shoulder and squeezing Mike’s arm, and both boys smiled softly in response. For a moment, Bill stayed completely still, but then reached for Stan’s hand. Stan jerked his eyes back open to only find Bill staring at him with the inevitable question in his eyes- Are you okay? Lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard, Stan closed his eyes again. 

In the morning he wasn’t only berated for coming out of the Neibolt street house half alive, but also that the Uris couple found their son lying cheek to cheek with that no-good Denbrough boy, fast asleep with their limbs entangled together. He got an earful, but Stanley didn’t mind much. He felt much braver than he ever had before. 

Stop and stare

I think I'm moving but I go nowhere

Beverly Marsh was almost fourteen years old and she was trying desperately to remember the name of the boy with bug-eyed glasses. It began as a joke she was trying to tell to Ella, another freshman who kept her head down and avoided the popular girls at all costs. “Tangled up there, lass?” Beverly had remarked when Ella came out of the bathroom stall with her skirt caught in her underwear. The girl laughed and asked what accent that was supposed to be, and Beverly began to answer when she caught herself short. “Well… it’s called the Scottish Cop.” She said slowly. “This boy… he used to do it all the time… even straight to a policeman’s face.” Ella then laughed once more and led them both out of the bathroom, a place they never willingly spent more time if they didn’t have to. (Another feeling Beverly couldn’t quite place- restrooms made her nervous. Like she was helpless.) 

Spending the rest of the school day thinking it over, she still didn’t have a name when she pulled her bike up to her aunt’s back door. A quick hello and a dash up the stairs led Beverly onto the floor of her bedroom, thinking about her life in Derry. 

She was born in Derry, Maine. Raised in a house with light blue shutters and a broken living room window. Inside lived Beverly and Al Marsh, a sweet child with cherub cheeks and a father who liked to beat his daughter senseless whenever he had the opportunity. Al had died in that house too, but from what? A lot of dying was happening, Beverly could remember that much. That’s why she was sent to Portland. Her father… but who else? Who else had died- G-G-Georgie. Georgie Denbrough. Little brother of Big Bill Denbrough, a tall boy who had a stutter but also a sweet dimple and layers of freckles that Beverly suddenly remembered being incredibly charmed by. Bill was the leader of the ragtag group of kids that followed him around on his heels and took heed of every word he stuttered out, and Beverly was no different. Like a puppy and it’s owner, Beverly saw stars when she looked at Bill. 

That was a long time ago. She was tougher now, she didn’t let any boys tell her what to do or when to do it. Not that the boys she had loved back in Derry were mean, they were just in charge. Beverly was the captain of her own destiny now. 

However, there were days when a sickly feeling would crawl up the back of her neck and make her turn around fast, for one second, to find nothing but a breeze behind her. There were days when walking into a bathroom meant going straight to the toilet to throw up, because the sight of white-tiled walls made her inexplicably nauseous. There were days when she would cross to the other side of the street to avoid a storm drain with an open grate. There were days when Beverly Marsh did not feel in control at all, and she wished that Bill Denbrough was there to tell her what to do. 

He was back in Derry, however, and sent her postcards every once and awhile to remind her. They were never waxing letters of love and longing, (although she had one of those too, but it stayed in the back of her closet and in the back of her mind) but instead cheerful reminders to write to her old pals back in Derry. She had tried once, but after crying in frustration when she couldn’t figure out the name of the place they used to spend all of their time, that dusty forest with the great big cliff drop off, the letter went into her wastepaper basket. Beverly now kept the postcards in a plastic pencil case box at the top of her closet. 

They now sat scattered around her as she tried to figure out the kid’s name. Bill’s letters mentioned Stan the Man, Trashmouth, Eddie, Benny Boy, and Mike, but Beverly couldn’t decipher the differences between all of them. It was like they were characters in a book she had read long ago, all blending together to make a ball of personality- Someone hated taking their shirt off when they swam, another kept an inhaler glued to his hand, one worked on a farm and brought them all apples when the season was right. Bill was the only one that stood out in her mind, but that was because he had always stood out. He was first the boy with the dead brother. He then became the leader of the group. Bill never wore glasses, though, this much she could remember. 

Giving up after a last ditch skim through the letters, Beverly lied down on her bed and curled up into a ball. Perhaps it was for the better that she couldn’t quite remember Derry. After all, she had left her father there, and that was definitely for good. 

In the morning, Beverly had forgotten all about the conundrum of the boy with the bug-eyed glasses and ate her toast and jam in complete peace. After kissing her aunt on the cheek and grabbing her brown bagged lunch, she mounted her bike (an old, rickety thing that glinted in the sun and caused her aunt to worry when she made a sharp turn around the corner of the neighborhood) and lifted her fist in the air, crowing with triumph, “Heigh ho, Silver away!” 

Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared

But I've become what I can't be

He dropped to the floor, clutching his ears and trembling. The bang of the gun was too much for him to handle, even though it had been ten years since he had a reason to actually fear it. Staring the sheep right in the eyes to mirror the eye contact Henry had held with him before attempting to blow his brains out was a bitter pill for Mike to swallow. 

One he often choked on. 

The farmhand, a younger boy named Thomas, tried to hide the sigh that escaped as Mike took a deep breath, calming the tremors that ran through his body. He didn’t chastise him for the disrespect, because he knew he would’ve done the same thing if he was fifteen and working for a crazy man. “Do you mind finishing up here?” Mike asked. The boy nodded and picked up the abandoned gun, hanging it off of the shelf and slung the sheep around his shoulders. Mike’s stomach turned with the sight of blood dripping from it’s head, the one he had just put a bullet through, and pushed through the barn doors. 

Dropping to his knees and taking in deep gulps of breath, Mike let the heat of the sun beat down on his back. The memories of that day were too vivid in his mind. Things were never truly the same afterwards, he knew it, the Losers Club knew it, even his parents understood that there was a change in their boy. He was no longer the delicate yet strong boy they had raised. He no longer wanted to explore all of the unbeaten paths of Derry. Mike had lost the spark of curiosity that made so many people love him. Each member of the club had reached a level of adulthood that no eleven year old should be able to understand. 

They handled it in their own ways. Beverly, for starters, moved away. Completely. It wasn’t really her choice, but she wasn’t arguing. She had told them all once, in a hushed voice at one of Bill Denbrough’s sleepovers, that she heard noises in her house still. Dripping water pipes. Child-like whispers. Faint circus music. Beverly Marsh left Derry with a skip in her step and a promise to write them all at least once a month with a review of the latest horror movie in theaters. (They never heard from her again. Bill kept sending letters, however. They would gather around and write it together, jutting in with their own handwriting and stories of things they thought she would like. Mike always wrote lengthy descriptions of the butterfly migrations. Bill would sign each one with Losers Forever.) 

Bill began to write. He was always good at english and he came up with the best lies to get them out of scrapes, but this was something different. Pages and pages of horror stories began surfacing, dropped off at their doors with varying notes. (“Is this something to actually be scared of?” “Can you check my grammar?” Mike was always asked to see if the story was historically accurate, to see if pilgrims would’ve been in Utah during November, 1650, or something of that nature.) The group never acknowledged it, but the stories became increasingly real, increasingly familiar, until they just had a specific recount of the day at the Neibolt house and they all gathered together and cried, as thirteen year olds are wont to do. 

As if nothing ever happened, Stanley Uris would refuse to talk about anything that had occurred. He began spending less time with the group as well, and they all hated to see the strained look on Bill’s face when any of them questioned where Stan was. Sometimes they saw him riding his bike around town, or birdwatching in the park, and none of them really said anything about it. Stan was affected in a different way that day, because he had to face the monster alone. When they made a promise to come back and fight if It ever resurfaced, Stan’s hand shook when he held out the broken coke bottle. He was with them until he wasn’t. 

Richie and Eddie became RichieandEddie and no one was brave enough to bring it up. Not brave, there was no bravery in that sort of confrontation, but no one was willing to take away something that made them happy. They each had their thing, and they happened to be each others. So if cuddling so tightly you couldn’t distinguish who was who during movies nights, Richie comforting Eddie alone during his panic attacks, them spending more time together than with the Losers made them happy, what else could they do except stand there and think Thank God we are safe and we have one another?

Ben and Mike began spending more time together as well. They both migrated toward the library and found solace in the quiet stacks of books, arming themselves with knowledge and words instead of weapons and fire. It began subconsciously, showing up at the same time because they had wordlessly made a schedule, sharing a table and putting each other’s books away as a favor. Then one day Mike wasn’t there because of some chores and Ben called his house breathlessly wondering if Mike was okay and if he could speak to him, please? Suddenly showing up was a lot more purposeful now, Ben bringing two sleeves of Necco Wafers, Mike having enough paper for both of them to take notes. Library days became Mike’s favorite because he knew that he wouldn’t have to face the world for a while, and he had a great pal beside him. 

This is where Mike found himself drifting to, ten years later. Benjamin Hanscom had left Derry when they were fifteen years old, but Mike still loved the library and the peace it brought him. The rattle of his beat-up Ford slowed to a stop outside of the Derry City Library and Mike suddenly didn’t feel as nauseous as he once did. Greeting the librarian with a quick smile, he took his spot at the table he had occupied for so many years and cracked open whatever book was lying on the end. A tale of princesses and knights in shining armor. 

The lazy afternoon light filtered in as time went on, and Mike looked up. The clock on the wall told him it was definitely time for him to head home. As he put the book back, something etched into the surface of the table caught his eye. Result of a day where Ben and Mike tried to convince the others to meet at the library, Richie had taken out his pen knife and carved LOSERS FOREVER BITCH into their sacred reading table. Ben had almost cried when he saw it and Mike threatened to punch him before Bill had stepped in and calmed everyone down. Mike knew that it was Eddie who had snuck back in and scratched out the ‘BITCH,’ risking the chance that he would be teased mercilessly. He grazed the carving lightly, remembering fondly of the moments where he felt invincible standing next to the rest of his friends. He felt a surge of protection even seeing it, feeling guarded by the ghosts of the Losers Club. And by God, isn’t that what Mike wanted? To feel safe again, even if for one day? 

Stop and stare

You start to wonder why you're here not there

The top button of his shirt was making his neck itch something fierce. He wasn’t quite sure why he had to wear it so tightly around his neck, but the striped tie he also had held it up fastidiously. The itch, in the end, did not matter. Because when you’re attending your little brother’s funeral, trivial things like the top button of your shirt seemed to be important for only seconds at a time. 

Technically, the funeral had already passed. Bill had spent the morning in the local church, holding his mother’s hand as she cried. He had been strangely stoic for a just-turned eleven year old boy, but maybe it was to show his father that he was a man, that he was strong enough to be his son. It didn’t matter. Zach and Sharon Denbrough cried through the entire service, and their adventurous (alive) son sat between them, unblinking. On the way home Sharon accidentally caught Bill’s eye in the mirror and for the first time in his young life, she did not smile back. 

Bill’s top button was itching him as he sat in the middle of the upstairs hallway listening to the people that were gathered downstairs. A low murmur crept up from the crowd, people apologizing to his parents while trying to mask their secret relief that it wasn’t their own child’s funeral and eating crudites. For a while Bill had stood with them, but he got antsy and his dad tapped him on the back, relieving him of the duty. Not really sure where he wanted to be, (not his room because he could see Georgie’s bed and Georgie’s toys and Georgie’s things but there wasn’t a Georgie anymore) Bill slid down the wall and hid from the rest of the people. 

He untied the tie around his neck with clumsy fingers, just pulling at the knot until it came loose, and then unbuttoned the itchy culprit of a top button. Just as he sighed with relief, pairs of footsteps came bounding up the stairs and almost stepped right on top of him. “Hole-lee shit!” Richie exclaimed. “I faouwnd ‘im, boys!” For an inexplicable reason, hearing Richie’s terrible Cowboy Joe voice relaxed Bill just a bit more, and looking into the eyes of his best friends made him release all of the tension in his small, eleven year old shoulders. 

Eddie and Stan looked impeccable, as if anything else was to be expected of them. Both in little suit jackets that were broken out for special occasions, like Sabbath when Stan’s Bubbe came to dinner or Christmas when Eddie was dragged by the ear to church for an incredibly boring amount of time. Richie was in a clean pair of jeans and a button-up, since his parents did not believe in buying such an expensive item of clothing for a growing boy. The trio looked very nice, but they also looked out of place, as if their very faces told the story that they should not be dressed in their nicest clothes on a Thursday afternoon. The slump in their shoulders and pity in their eyes said I should be playing in the sunshine, not mourning the loss of my best friend’s little brother. However, there they stood. At the feet of the boy with the dead brother. 

“H-H-Hey guys.” Bill said quietly, smiling half-heartedly up at them. They all crowded down with him and wordlessly wrapped their arms around each other, making Bill the center of their small universe. He said nothing, just let them pat him slightly and make comforting noises for a second before slinging an arm around Stan. A small sniffle escaped from him, and the boys all let go for a second. They settled in the middle of the hallway, a tight circle with their knees overlapping each other. Eddie was wrapped up in Richie’s side, and Bill didn’t let go of Stan. 

They still sat in silence and watched Bill fight back tears, tears that he wasn’t allowed to shed in front of his father, tears that he would probably get made fun of by Richie for later, but tears that suddenly spilled over when Stan carefully bumped his forehead against Bill’s. The small act of sincerity reminded Bill that he would never be able to feel Georgie’s small hand grasp for his when they were crossing the street, and now he was a blubbering mess. He didn’t dare try to say anything because he knew his stuttering would be terrible, but the other boys seemed to understand everything he was feeling. So Bill just cried, and his best friends held him while he did. 

Later, Bill sat on his bed, his feet dangling off of the edge, staring at his closed door. Eddie was brushing his teeth, Richie looking through his meager record collection, and Stan sat next to him, reading from a book about birds. “Hoopoe is a national bird of Israel and one of the birds that were considered sacred in-” 

“I-I-I-I wis-sh-sh it had b-b-been me.” Bill cut Stan off. The soft slap of a record hitting the floor came from Richie. “H-He d-d-d-didn’t deserve t-to d-d-die. Sh-Sh-Should’ve b-b-been m-m-m-me.” The Big Book of Birds closed with a thump. “I s-s-sent hi-him out th-th-there with-thout anyo-o-ne.” Stan reached for his hand, but Bill drew it away with a suddenness that made Stan jump. “D-D-Don’t p-p-pity me. I-I-it’s t-t-true, and I-I-I c-c-can’t take it b-b-back.” 

Bill jumped off the bed and flung open his bedroom door. He stared at Georgie’s bed with a hard look in his eye and then made the decision that he would never close the door again, because he deserved to be reminded of the thing he had done, and he wanted to make things fair. Georgie had died because of him and Bill was going to make himself pay. 

And you'd give anything to get what's fair

But fair ain't what you really need

This isn’t fucking fair, Bill thought. My friends are going to die because of me, and that just isn’t fair. The clown had him by the throat, his breath hot and rancid and making Bill feel slightly dizzy. “As I feed on your fear.” It finished, giving that wide, maniacal grin. “Or.” He tried turning his head to look at the thing, but it tightened its grip, the talons biting into his flesh. “You'll just leave us be. I'm taking him, only him. And then I'll have my long rest and you will all live to grow old and drive and lead happy lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.” 

Bill’s shoulders fell with relief. His friends could live, really live, have long lives where they got to do more than build a dam in the Barrens or watch crappy horror movies all day long. All he had to do was convince them to leave. Their spouts of protest suggested otherwise, but he knew that they would go if he told them to. He was Big Bill after all. Always the one to make the decisions. “Leave,” he commanded. The room went quiet for a moment, because that’s what the world seemed to do when Bill Denbrough spoke. All of creation paused just to hear him speak. “I’m the one who dragged you all into this. Go!” 

Like deer in headlights, his friends stared at him as they tried to make their decision. After a pregnant moment of silence, Richie took a step forward. “Sorry, Bill.” He shook his head. “I told you, Bill. I fucking told you, I don't want to die…” Bill took a deep breath. Richie was going to lead them all out of the sewers, Richie was going to save their lives, Richie was going to leave him to die. And Bill wasn’t even angry about it. “It's your fault. You punched me in the face, you made me walk through shitty water, you brought me to a fucking crackhead-house. And now… I'm gonna have to kill this fucking clown!” Before Bill could react, Richie swung his bat with the power of God himself. “Welcome to the Loser’s Club, asshole!” 

A flurry of pipes being thrown and children grabbing onto his back and Bill being released from it’s terrible grasp then commenced. He immediately joined in on the fight and they all fought back, harder and harder until it took the form of a man none of them had seen before. Except Beverly. 

The man had asked a question Bill did not understand, called her a name he had not heard before, when Beverly screamed a terrible and ugly scream and rammed an iron rod down his throat. They all watched as it flung itself down the larger sewer hole and stood together, beaten and bruised, but alive. 

In the quiet, Bill came to a decision. Maybe his life wasn’t fair. If it was fair, Georgie would be almost seven by now and starting the second grade. If it was fair, he would be able to sit with his parents and feel the love and light his home used to carry. If it was fair, Stan would look at him just like Beverly did. His life wasn’t fair, but he tried his hardest to make it right. Bill fought for Georgie, for his parents, for his friends. Fair wasn’t what he needed. Bill needed things to be just. 

hello this is really fucking long jesus @ me. anyways pls leave a comment and i will show up outside of your window at midnight with a boombox to serenade you

[vrainsrewatch]

episode 19 thoughts

this is... the most screenshot heavy post i’ve made so far, lmao, so please bear with me. as i’ve said, this is one of my favorite duels, and there’s a lot that gets covered here. like, seriously, i haven’t written this post out yet but i can guarantee this will be my longest so far lmao.

the beginning of the episode starts off fairly standard, and mostly dueling:

i really do love the pacing of this duel. i was glued to the edge of my seat while watching these episodes. i remember it so clearly, too, because i’d been binge watching from episode 16 that day, and got to like, 24 by the time i stopped, lmao.

ai does a lot of cute/funny stuff this episode, to help break up some of the more dark tones of the rest of it, like this:

it really makes me miss hi in this form :( i really like his soltis form, don’t get me wrong, but i miss him on yusaku’s wrist lol. i would say when things were less angsty, but, well. lmao.

we very quickly get akira’s rad boss monster summoned out:

and seriously, i just love the animation for it. it’s so sick. the door, the fire, how it looms behind him at first.... aaaaaa. so cool.

and of course the classic:

the worst part about this line is it’s said so often (esp in arc v LOL) that i actually. have slipped up and said it in normal, day to day conversation before. my boyfriend looked at me for like a minute and gave me the deepest sigh i’ve ever heard the first time i did that pff.

also:

i couldn’t not screencap this, given what my blog is for LOL

every time something reminds me of that painful final duel, i have to screencap it and make you guys sad with me. if i have to be sad seeing all this stuff, knowing where their relationship goes and how the series ends, so do you.

also, though, i forgot how often this was brought up before the bohman duel lmao. it makes that theory look a lot more credible, so it’s cool that it had all these little hints towards it, even if it ultimately wasn’t true.

seriously, my heart. i don’t think i need to talk much about this scene to make y’all sad, but really. they went from this to i loved you. ugh, god, i’m so sad thinking about it lmao.

there is so much to talk about between akira and playmaker and even blue angel in this episode, so i guess we’ll start here.

it is hard to decide that you want to take control of your trauma and do something about it. it is not easy. to see yusaku fight for that right so thoroughly is incredible, and really, really validating.

more sadness! seriously, this is too much. this deck was created specifically for him by ai. i don’t like this anymore lmao

but even besides that, often times the protag’s decks mean a lot to them, obviously, but i love that it wasn’t built strictly by yusaku. his cards were literally made by ai, and i think that’s such a cool twist. 

but then, akira’s speech:

i talked last time about akira wanting to handle things himself, and i briefly touched on him thinking he knows best...

but i really admire how calm yusaku stays at that tbh. he gets angry, reasonably so imo, but he takes this so well. i know i was a much more volatile kid then he is, so respect lol

i’ve spoken at length already about akira, but i also want to talk again about how oblivious he is. he is so blinded by his own thoughts and feelings on the situation that he doesn’t stop to think about how yusaku might be feeling -- and worse, honestly, how his sister might be feeling.

it was why he was so visibly shocked when emma mentioned a few episodes ago that aoi wasn’t just a little kid anymore. it’s so clear that he still, at the moment, sees her as the six year old girl he swore to protect, and not the sixteen year old person she’s become. he doesn’t think about how she might be feeling towards his actions, or why she does what she does.

this is highlighted as early as episode 6 iirc, when he asks her why aren’t you happy? as much as i, personally, dislike his character, i can’t deny it’s very realistic and well written.

speaking of aoi:

i love how she’s written in this episode, too. but her entrance here is great, and i love how she stands up to him about this. it’s minor, but it’s still a good step. when she’s blue angel -- or blue girl, or blue maiden -- she feels comfortable doing that. at least a little, and it obviously grows throughout the series. i hope that transfers over to the real world for her, too.

and then, we finally get the full story:

i remember flinching when he started talking about it, remembering the shots of yusaku getting electrocuted from his duel with revolver.

i really love this. i said it last episode, but vrains handles yusaku’s trauma so realistically and it’s amazing.

i remember originally staring open mouthed at my tv screen while this part played. we got a bit of it from the other episode, but the full context truly shocked me. where’s that post that says “who thought this was an acceptable backstory to give to a card game protag” bc honestly??? YEAH

it’s still hard to watch. it’s still hard to see play out, even if it’s only fiction. even though i’ve seen these clips so many times, and written about them in detail a few times too. doesn’t matter lol. watching it in context actually still made my stomach drop.

which leads me to talk about reactions to this, actually:

the two that vrains focuses heavily on are blue angel’s and kusanagi’s, and they contrast really well here imo.

blue angel’s is a normal reaction. it’s horrified, both at the thought of it happening and at the fact that someone would actually do that to another person -- a six year old child, no less.

kusanagi’s is strained. he is angry hearing about this, thinking about jin. we’ve been told, and have seen in the last few episodes, how much the lost incident impacted kusanagi and his brother, but i really love that the show tells us that here, too, and shows the difference between hearing about a tragedy and being involved in some manner.

i did not expect it at all when first watching vrains, and honestly, it still impresses me how gracefully they handled it coming off of arc v (cough, shun i love you but really cough cough). no hate on arc v at all, it’s my third favorite ygo very close behind gx, but the difference between the two on how they handle these things is staggering.

this whole section makes me thing that ryoken talked to yusaku fairly often, after the first time. which is something i don’t see brought up often? but that’s so important imo. it meant that yusaku had someone encouraging him not just once or twice, but on the regular, but also it meant that ryoken was constantly risking himself to comfort that child. 

we don’t see too much of ryoken when he’s a kid, but we do see him scared and crying over the lost incident. the fact that he was able to talk calmly to this child so many times is really amazing. it also makes more sense as to why ryoken feels so guilty over calling the police -- he probably felt that maybe if he had just kept up his encouragement, the kids would’ve all gotten out okay and his father wouldn’t be in a coma. 

this was so powerful. it’s obvious, and i think anyone with half a brain would understand that the LI isn’t something that a kid would recover from easily, but i love this anyways. 

he wasn’t saved. and even if he was in body, it’s still something he and all the other victims will live with for the rest of their lives.

this also is something i don’t feel like people bring up enough, but does this mean that yusaku went around asking the kids at the hospital when he was rescued? it’s not hard to believe they were all put together, at least for a short amount of time, but it’s still something i feel like people overlook. 

i also love this, because it’s nice foreshadowing to how revolver feels. he’s not captured, not like yusaku and the lost kids were, but he is a prisoner. and just like ryoken saved yusaku, way back then, he is determined to repay the favor.

not just because of that, either. because that voice meant so much to him. because that voiced saved him. because that voice understood him, and was there for him in his hardest moments. god i love them.

i love this shot. it’s so dramatic, how the match the drum beats with flashes of everyone’s reactions.

but it drives home his point, and while i know most of akira’s development came through emma and aoi, i’m sure this helped, too. 

i’ve sung vrains praises this entire post, but i’ll do it again -- this is incredible. this is so realistic. it’s so well portrayed. and it’s really honest to god incredible that we got a protag in ygo who was shown going to therapy. 

ygo has always dealt with some pretty dark subject matter, and it’s never really been shy about showing it on screen. i’m not saying that at all. arc v obviously dealt with some pretty heavy stuff, and while i haven’t seen zexal (keep shaming me please) i know it does, too. 5ds obviously has the dark signer arc, and the later arcs concerning bruno and also yusei’s father, and gx has... well, it’s entire third and fourth season. 

but we see everyone healing via card games. we see those shows talk about these things, but kind of at the same time, skirt around the subject matter; or if they do go deep into it, they pull out (ie 5ds) or the characters don’t get resolved properly (ie arc v). 

idk where i was going with this but i just really love that this happened, this was shown on screen, and they stuck to yusaku’s character. they didn’t just... up and make his trauma and his world view disappear at the end. he has a bittersweet ending, but it suited him and his development. a lot of people were mad about it, and i get it -- i wanted him to be happy, too.

but that’s not always the case, and it’s really important to me that vrains doesn’t pretend it is.

anyways, though, i’m almost done with this episode i promise lmao. before the episode ends, we get this:

and i think it’s honestly kind of cruel that akira says this, after everything, and still maintains his point of handling it himself. he has heard, first hand now, how horrible the incident has scarred yusaku for life. and yet, he still is stubborn in refusing to relate or at the very least empathize.

what i mean by that, since we obviously see him attempt to last episode, is he refuses to look at it from someone’s else’s perspective or in a way that might make him uncomfortable. the way my boyfriend describes these kinds of people is that they “haven’t had their bubble popped”.

everyone has a bubble when they’re born, and that bubble shields you from realizing that the world is a cruel and hard place. even if you go through hardships, sometimes your bubble stays put, and you think that is the worst of what can happen. 

i’m explaining this very poorly, because i’m running on not much sleep and i’ve been typing about this episode for like, far, far too long, but essentially, he refuses to step out of his comfort zone and recognize, in playmaker’s case, that he doesn’t have a right to interfere and that playmaker’s desire to handle it himself is justified and helpful for his healing. and in aoi’s case, that just because he does a lot of good for her doesn’t automatically mean ignoring her for work and keeping her locked in their house is an okay trade off. and also that she’s not a child anymore -- she��s nearly an adult and she deserves to be treated as one. 

those thoughts seem to unsettle him. you can kind of see it in how detached he is after hearing all that come from playmaker. blue angel is visibly shaken up by what he’s said. akira doesn’t even flinch, because he’s not really listening right now. 

i’m glad he learns to, or at least learns how to start, later on.

anyways, i think that’s enough for this post lmao. this took forever to type up, so let’s hope i actually have time to cover up to 21 here today LOL. if you read all that, thank you for your time on my kind of dumb vrains thoughts :’)

[wine-anon]

Is it okay if I ask fora JoJo x reader fic??? Because, like, I love him and there just aren’t enough fics about him and honestly he’s just so under appreciated???

a/n: Okay so this took me ages to write because it deleted itself and then I had to re-write it and then I didn’t like it so I wrote it again. Yikes, anyway, I had this really cool idea after seeing the new Pacific Rim movie, I genuinely hope you like it! It’s a bit different to what I usually write, so tell me if you like it. I really, really hope you like it!!!

The Kaiju broke through the breach when you were only seven. You watched in horror as those monsters from storybooks and movies became real. The world changed that day, nothing was ever the same. When the Jaeger program was announced two years later, you knew in that moment that you would be a pilot one day. That’s all you wanted, you had to survive until you were old enough to pilot your very own Jaeger, no matter what it took. 

In 2021, you were recruited by Stacker Pentecost into the PPD Cadet program. You were only sixteen at the time and drifting didn’t come easy, you couldn’t find the right co-pilot to drift with no matter how hard you tried. You found a temporary co-pilot that you could mostly drift with just before the UN began pulling funding from the program to build the coastal wall. 

By 2025, at only 20, you were one of very few Jaeger pilots left, you were transferred to the Hong Kong Shatterdome. Not many were left open and after your last fight against a Kaiju, you were left with no co-pilot. Word went around that there were tryouts for two of the most renowned Jaeger pilots in recent history, so you took a leap of faith and signed up.

It was the morning of the tryouts, you had been running somewhat late and managed to run into someone in the halls.

“Oh, I am so sorry, sir,” you panicked at the man in front of you, “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m running late.”

“It’s okay,” his accent was rich, he was from New York, you guessed, “I’m running late too.”

“Where are you headed, er?”

“JoJo,” he smiled at you, he was gorgeous.

“Right, where are you headed, JoJo?” you looked at your watch at cursed silently.

“The pilot tryouts? I’ve never been here before, I got turned around.”

“Great, that’s where I’m headed,” you grabbed his wrist and led him down the halls towards the dojo. 

You arrived but sadly lost him in the crowd of people watching Raleigh Becket fighting Mako Mori. You watched in amusement as she beat him easily but frowned when Pentecost said that they weren’t to drift under any circumstances.

“Right, now that’s done,” Pentecost’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, “we’re testing compatibility with the one and only, JoJo de la Guerra.”

Shit. It was him. The man from before. He was the one you were testing against. 

“(y/l/n)!” your head snapped to Pentecost, “it’s your Jaeger. You’re up first.”

Shit.

“So, you think we’re actually drift compatible?” 

“We’re about to find out, de la Guerra.”

“Oh please, just call me JoJo.”

“What ever you say, JoJo,” you smirked at him from the other side of your Jaeger, your baby, your pride and joy. 

Cobalt Glory. She was one of the two Mark-3 Jaegers left in the world, she was launched by the British in 2017 and given to you five years later. The same year you graduated from Cadet to Ranger.

“What happened to you last co-pilot?” JoJo asked, his voice coming through the headset in your helmet.

“You’ll see in a second, you’ll be in my head remember?” you pushed some of the holo-buttons and set up your drift sequence. JoJo following your lead, “when was the last time you drifted?”

“Three years ago, in the Philippines,” you looked at him from across the space, his demeanour had shifted to a sad one. Whatever he was thinking was going to be in his head any minute now.

“At least you still look good in the flight suit,” you attempted to cheer him up, a small chuckle came through your headset and sent a shiver up your spine, there was something about him.

“I think I look great in this new style suit,” he grinned at you as the techs began to talk to you both.

“This is just a test drift, you’re not moving from this position, is that clear?” Pentecost’s voice broke through your headset, his voice commanding.

“You always have such a way with words, sir,” you joked at him.

“Watch the tongue, (y/l/n),” he chuckled at you, he always had a soft spot for you and you knew it.

“Drift sequence is ready, sir,” JoJo spoke clearly to the techs, he looked to you, “ready to get into this head of mine?”

“Let’s give them a show,” you winked at him, he winked back and your heart raced faster.

“Initiating Neural Handshake,” the robotic voice spoke to you both. Within a second every thought and memory JoJo ever had was passing through your head and yours through his. You tried to calm yourself at the influx of information and bad memories. You almost hooked onto one bad memory but quickly stabilised. 

“Left hemisphere calibrated,” the voice broke through again.

“(y/l/n),” Pentecost called through the coms, “you’re stable but JoJo is way off. Bring him back.”

“Yes, sir,” you spoke firmly.

“It happens to all of us, but we got there in the end,” you reassured JoJo.

“I almost blew up the Shatterdome,” he sighed heavily, “it was too much.”

“Mako almost blew it up too. Don’t worry about it. The memory was too recent for you to get over it quickly,” you put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at you, “we completed the neural handshake didn’t we?”

“I guess you’re right,” he looked into your eyes and your breath hitched, “ya’know I say some interesting things whilst I was in your head.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you panicked and got up from your seat on the floor. You quickly made your way down the hall.

“Oh come one, (y/n),” he called to you, “I know what you think about me.”

“Goodnight, de la Guerra!” you called back, your heart racing in your chest at the thought of him again.

You woke up to the Shatterdome alarm and your door being banged on. You pulled yourself from your bed and ran to open the door. JoJo stood on the other side his fist raised. That stupid smirk back on his face.

“You’ve got two minutes to be at Cobalt Glory’s hub.”

With that he grinned and walked off, leaving you stand in the doorway watching people run past you. 

“Two minutes,” you sighed to yourself. He could have at least told you why, that boy and his stupid face. It was so beautiful, fuck.

You found yourself back in Cobalt Glory, hooked into her central hub and looked to see JoJo doing the same. 

“So, someone going to tell me what we’re dealing with?” you called out to everyone who could hear you through the coms.

“We’ve got a double event,” Tendo’s voice broke through for the first time, “we lost Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon. Striker Eureka is powerless and we just sent out Gipsy Danger alone.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this earlier!” you panicked at them all.

“Calm down, we’ve got this, we’re running flank for Gipsy okay?” JoJo’s calm voice caused your heart to race faster but calm down at the same time. You nodded at him and took a deep breath.

“You ready for this, JoJo?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he looked at you, “are you ready?”

“Let’s do this,” you looked forward, “Tendo? Initiate neural handshake.”

“Neural handshake initiated.”

You were back in his head, this time his memories had you in them, they were focused on you. Your heart raced as the drift was completed successfully. There you both stood, the first fully successful drift between the two of you. 

“You okay, (y/n)?” you nodded at him, you couldn’t look at him, he was so gorgeous you’d get distracted, “stop thinking about me like that, you’ll make me blush.”

“Shut up, JoJo,” you moved in synch towards the drop zone, “we have a job to do.”

You were praised as heroes after the battle in Hong Kong. JoJo held your hand on the way back to your room and you swore that he was going to cause you to have a heart attack.

“I’ll see you in the morning at the meeting,” he kissed your forehead and left you leaning against his bedroom door.

“You’ll be the death of me, JoJo de la Guerra,” you sighed at his retreating figure.

“We’re doing what?” JoJo yelled across the room.

“Gipsy and Cobalt will be running point for Striker when we blow up the breach,” Pentecost informed the room calmly.

“But Herc is down,” Raleigh said, “you. You’re piloting her, aren’t you?”

“That’s our only option right now, does everyone understand?”

Multiple ‘yes sir’s’ echoed through the room. JoJo took your hand as he stormed out of the meeting room.

“Where are we going?” you spoke as he dragged you towards his room.

“We’re probably going to die tomorrow, not going to sugarcoat it,” he pulled you into the roo and closed the door, “I don’t want to die regretting never doing this.”

“Doing wh-,” you were out off by his lips crashing onto yours. You moaned at the feeling and wrapped your arms around his neck. You certainly wanted every part of this, especially considering the stakes of tomorrow.

“At the edge of our hope, at the end of our time, we have chosen not only to believe in ourselves, but in each other. Today there is not a man nor woman in here that shall stand alone. Not today. Today we face the monsters that are at our door and bring the fight to them! Today, we are canceling the apocalypse!”

The Shatterdome erupted into cheers at the end of Pentecost’s speech before it broke into a mad dash to launch the three Jaegers into the highest risk mission ever.

“Pilots to your Jaegers,” the robotic voice called out. You and JoJo made your way to Cobalt Glory’s main hub for the third time together.

“You ready for this?” he asked as you hooked into the system.

“No,” you spoke softly, “we might die this time.”

“Don’t think about that, doll,” he reassured you, “we can do this.”

“I hope you’re right, Jo,” you voice wavered.

“Initiating Neural Handshake,” the PON spoke to you both. 

The drift was easier this time, your connection to the man standing next to you was so strong that it took you mere seconds to be 100% connected.

“Cobalt Glory,” Tendo called to you, “you’re ready and have permission to go. Good luck.”

You moved across the ocean floor in the Jaeger, flanking left of Striker Eureka and the package, Gipsy Danger flanking right. Your ranks were broken when two category four Kaiju’s ripped through your formation.

Scunner bit at Cobalt’s arm and pulled you off to the side. You and JoJo slice at the Kaiju with your sword and punch it firmly in the face. It recoils and makes it’s way towards Striker and the package.

Yells are heard through your coms as a third Kaiju emerges from the breach, someone screams that it’s a category five, the first. A triple event. Your heart drops when you hear the yells from the Shatterdome.

You and JoJo make your way towards the break to help Gipsy with the other category four Kaiju. The two of you kill it within minutes but turn to see Striker being hounded by the other two.

In what felt like seconds, you hear the plan to detonate the package above the breach in an attempt to kill the two Kaiju.

In a moment, you’ve stabbed your sword into the ocean floor, tears racing down your cheeks as you watch Striker Eureka blow up itself, the pilots inside and the category four Kaiju attached to it. The water around you surges and creates a tidal wave. JoJo yells at you to brace yourself as the water crashes into the back of your Jaeger.

“What now?” Raleigh coms to your Jaeger.

“Um, we have to get through the breach and blow it up, that other Kaiju is still around here somewhere. We’ve sustained heavy internal system damage, what about you?”

“Same over here,” Mako calls, “look out!”You and JoJo turn in time to see Slattern coming towards you, you grip its head and throw it to the ground. It reels back up and launches itself at Cobalt again.

“The power core!” JoJo yells to you as your hold Slattern’s head in a death lock, “blast the head with the power core!”

“We’ll lose power!”“Just do it!” 

The two of you hold the Kaiju’s head and ultra-charge your power core. You release the blast straight into the Kaiju’s head, effectively killing it.

“Cobalt Glory!” Raleigh’s voice crackles through the coms once more, “how are you holding up?”“We’re dead weight, Gipsy,” JoJo replies, “Slattern is dead but we used the power core to kill it and we’re powerless.”

“Eject safely in your pods, we’ll take it from here,” Raleigh commands, “you’ve done well.”

“Will do, Gipsy,” JoJo speaks calmly, “good luck finishing the mission.”

“See. you on the other side, Cobalt.”

With that your communications are shut down, JoJo opens the escape pod override, you attempt to do the same.

“Shit,” you yell.

“What?” JoJo looks over at you concerned.

“My pod is damaged, I can’t use it,” you panic as your oxygen tank levels begin to decrease. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and disconnect, we’ll go in my pod together.”

You nod and do as he says. He grips you tighter than he ever could once you reach him and the two of you are ejected from Cobalt. Your heart drops at the fact that you have to leave her at the bottom of the Pacific.

You return to the Shatterdome as heroes once more, the four of you make your way through the crowds. Everyone watches as the clock is stopped for the last time. This was the end.

“I guess I should take you out on a date now,” JoJo smiled at you and pulled you into a deep kiss.

“I’d love that, de la Guerra.”

[megsblackfirewrites]

My Golden Obsession: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jack swallowed thickly as he stared at what was left of Dolly. He didn’t know what to think as he stared at her corpse. His coworkers were shaking, staring at what The Reaper had done to the poor woman.

Her ribs had been surgically removed from her spine and bent until they were almost lying straight out to either side of her. The skin across her shoulders had been cut and stitched over a set of twisted, fiberglass wings. The wings were drilled into her spine with construction grade screws and the wings supported her weight as she hung from the tree behind her house.

“He’s back,” one of the officers whispers. “Oh God, no, no, no!”

“Keep your head on,” his superior officer snapped. “This could be a copy-cat, same as what happened while The Reaper was still running around. Get her down and get her to the coroner. I want answers.”

Jack moved forward to help get Dolly down. He winced as blood dribbled out of her mouth and down her chest. The state of decay was uncomfortable; she’d been dead for a good while before her body showed up in her own yard.  He was running through a list of things he needed to do as he helped get the body into the body bag when he noticed the note tucked into her mouth.

He carefully removed the note and unfolded it. It was soaked with blood, but he could still read what was written on it.

‘She pushed too far. This was a long time coming. She was no angel in life, but in death, she will be.

The Reaper has swallowed another soul.’

Jack rubbed at his face before placing the note carefully in an evidence bag. The body was loaded up into the back of an ambulance and he showed the note to his superior officer. The man swore angrily before ordering the entire road sectioned off in search of anything that could lead them to the killer.

It was a long day with very little payoff. The dogs that were brought in found nothing. There was almost nothing to be found on the crime scene and what could be found was useless. Jack had never felt such a soul-crushing sense of loss in his entire life. The monster that had stalked the city for six years was back and its first victim was a woman Jack knew.

He didn’t like the woman, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her dead. She was annoying and unrelenting, but she didn’t deserve to be turned into that macabre thing hanging from her own tree. No one deserved that. What sort of monster was The Reaper to do this to a person?

When he was finally allowed to go home, he felt drained. He stumbled into his house, wiping at his eyes, and fell into Gabriel’s arms. He pushed his head into the warm chest, whimpering softly as Gabriel nuzzled him.

“The whole neighbourhood’s in an uproar,” Gabriel murmured. “The Reaper’s back?”

“Gossip spreads fast,” Jack whispered.

“It always does around here,” Gabriel grimaced against his cheek. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “I…think you can carry me up the stairs?”

“I can certainly try, tiny,” Gabriel teased as he gently scooped Jack up.

Jack tucked his face into Gabriel’s shoulder. He was crying before Gabriel even reached the stairs. Gabriel cradled him close as he climbed the stairs, kissing along his jaw. He helped him out of his uniform, rubbing over his shoulders as Jack stood there shaking and sobbing. He grabbed the fluffiest thing he could find in Jack’s closet and pulled it over Jack’s head.

“Ssh,” Gabriel soothed as he kissed Jack’s forehead. “Ssh, darling. I know.”

“Do you?” Jack demanded.

“Jack, I was here through the heyday of The Reaper,” Gabriel said. “I know what this sort of fear is like.”

Jack closed his eyes and rested against Gabriel’s chest. “I’ve never felt this hopeless before,” he whispered. “What I saw…Gabriel, I don’t want there to be others.”

Gabriel ran his thumb over Jack’s cheek. “Ssh, mi luna,” he soothed. “They’ll catch him this time. He’s chosen a poor time to return.”

Jack laughed and turned into Gabriel’s hand. “Since when are you the ray of sunshine?” he teased. “I wish I could have your optimism, Gabriel. This man has killed so many people.”

“Then let’s hope that he will grow bored,” Gabriel said as he hugged Jack close. “And goes back into hiding.”

Jack laughed and pushed up into Gabriel’s jaw. He wanted to be optimistic like Gabriel, but he couldn’t quite find it in him to think that The Reaper would just go away. A man like that would keep killing until he ran out of playthings or was finally caught. He hoped he and his colleagues could catch him before anyone else was harmed.

Gabriel held Jack close on the couch. The bubble of delight he’d felt when he’d put Dolly on display in her own backyard had vanished when Jack burst into tears. He hadn’t thought that the new guy would be dragged out to investigate. He thought Jack would just get the paperwork portion of everything. He was stupid to be so naïve and now his attempt to keep Jack safe only ended up hurting him.

He wasn’t a child like Jesse had been. Jack was a cop; he’d be involved with the deaths. It was so short-sighted of him not to realize that. His poor Jack.

“Mi luna, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Jack murmured. “Can’t get that image out of my head though. It’s so different than what the documentaries showed. I don’t know what made the shift.”

Jack. Jack had become his muse. He was such an angel and Dolly had tried to taint that. So he made her an angel in death to mock her with the wings she could never take from Jack.

“We may never know,” Gabriel shook his head. “You should rest, Jack. It’s been a long day.”

Jack’s hand curled in Gabriel’s shirt and he whimpered. “Please stay,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gabriel promised as he ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. “Just rest, mi amor.”

Jack smiled and snuggled closer. “I love when you speak Spanish,” he murmured.

Gabriel chuckled and started gently crooning sweet nothings into Jack’s ear. His boyfriend smiled and curled closer, nuzzling his face into Gabriel’s stomach. Gabriel smiled at the easy affection and ran his fingers through Jack’s golden hair. His beautiful angel, his sweet, caring, easily hurt angel. He’d protect him from the world, even if he had to kill others to achieve that.

A whole month passed with no further incidents or sightings of The Reaper. Dolly’s corpse was autopsied and found to have died from dehydration. It was a favoured method of killing for The Reaper, it turned out; kept his hands clean in the end as he never laid a finger on them. The wings were removed from Dolly’s spine and her body was cremated and returned to her next of kin.

Jack didn’t attend the funeral, but Gabriel went. “Seems wrong not to when I’ve known her for so long,” he had grumbled as he fixed his tie. “Center of attention even when she’s about to be put six feet under. Typical.”

Jack blinked as Gabriel’s cellphone went off. He picked it up, saw the name ‘M’ijo’ on the screen, and answered curiously.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Uh?” a very confused voice asked in return. “Sorry, did I call the wrong number?”

“Who were you looking for?” Jack asked.

“Gabriel Reyes.”

“No, you called the right number; he’s just not here at the moment.”

“So you answered his cellphone?” the voice asked. “Dude, that’s a little creepy.”

“Well, not really,” Jack shrugged. “I can get him to call you back if you want. He’s at a funeral.”

“What?” the voice demanded. “Whose? Oh, please tell me Mrs. Brown didn’t kick the bucket.”

“No, no,” Jack said. “Dolly Picket.”

There was silence. “What? How?!” the voice demanded angrily.

“She was…murdered,” Jack said carefully.

“Who the fuck would murder that dumbass?” the voice demanded. “She isn’t worth the effort!”

“The Reaper,” Jack said.

Silence rang through the phoneline. “Don’t bother telling Gabe I called,” the voice said. “Fuck, I wish I had called sooner.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just…fuck. Fuck, I fucked up so fucking bad,” they said before hanging up.

Jack frowned before scribbling down that M’ijo called. He returned to the couch, snuggling under the thick blankets as he watched reruns of some old cartoons. Gabriel returned around four looking utterly miserable. Jack bit his lip as he sat up.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“I hate funerals,” Gabriel growled as he yanked his tie off and threw it on the counter. “Any calls?”

“Um, one from M’ijo,” he said.

“Who?” Gabriel looked at him in confusion.

“The name on the phone said ‘M’ijo’,” Jack rubbed his head.

Gabriel stared at him before he lunged for his phone. Jack jumped a little as Gabriel fumbled with the phone and pressed it against his ear. He started shouting angrily in Spanish and Jack could hear someone shouting back.

“Listen here you little ingrate!” Gabriel roared, switching to English so fast Jack’s head spun. “I did not spend sixteen years raising your ass for you not to call me more often! What the fucking hell, Jesse?!”

Jack covered his mouth and winced. Ooh. Ooh that wasn’t good. That was his kid he was yelling at.

“I know you’re busy, Jesse! That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you!” Gabriel shouted. “Dios mios, Jesse, you’re my baby! I worry, okay? You’re half-way across the fucking country!” He balled his fist on the counter and started talking softly in Spanish. “I’m not telling you to come home, m’ijo. I know you’re where you want to be. I’m so proud of you, Jesse. I just want to know you’re okay, even if all you do is tell me the stupid shit you ate.” Gabriel rubbed at his eyes and let out a laugh. “Sí, m’ijo. Love you to pieces, you little ingrate.”

Gabriel hung up and rubbed at his face. Jack got nervously to his feet and walked forward. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s bicep and hugged it to his chest.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly.

“Much better now that I know my little ingrate’s okay,” Gabriel chuckled as he pulled Jack close. “Sorry if that sounded harsh. Jesse and I have talked like that since he was about fifteen.”

Jack shook his head and snuggled close to his boyfriend. “Well, I’m glad your kid’s okay,” he smiled. “Do you want to have leftovers?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gabriel said as he tipped Jack’s chin up to kiss him.

[ecotone99]

[RO] Caged Birds

DAY - 1

Claudia opened the door, stepping into the blight clinical room, the other woman stares shackles to the metal table in the centre of the room. The woman stares at her, looking her up and down, analyzing her. Claudia sits down at the table, placing a tape recorder and a file on the cold table. She clicks the tape recorder on, the plastic wheels spinning with silent noise, "Hello my name is Dr Claudia Velmont, It is the twenty-second of October, 1973, I'm here with-" she pauses when she sees the smile the woman is giving her. It wasn't frightening or unnerving, it felt genuinely kind and warm. And that in itself was disturbing. "I'm… here, with Josephine Vast, in the Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane." She opens to the first empty page of her notepad placing her pen next to it, "So, where would you like to start?"

The woman's smile disappears, "What an excellent question," but it returns brighter than when it left, " how about you decide."

"Um… okay. I suppose we should start with the first death you're connected to, John Walters. He was a priest in the town where you grew up, he went missing on September of-

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I'm sorry?" Claudia asked, thrown off by the sudden question.

"Well, I'm in crazy people jail. Under suspicion of killing… a lot of people. Most people would be scared. Most people are nervous at the least. But you seem very… calm."

"I'm sorry… you- you just don't seem very frightening. I know what you've done… or allegedly done. But I look at you and I can't see it." She didn't know why she was talking to a patient like this, but there was something about this woman. They say sociopaths have a way about them, they’re magnetic. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, the woman just stared at her, a small grin on her face.

"I like you."

Claudia didn't know what to say. She deals with mentally ill people for a living, but she wasn't sure how to react to Josephine Vast. "Anyway… John Walters was killed in nineteen sixty-four. What can you tell me about him?"

The woman sighed, "He was a pastor like you said. A man of God." Her demeanour suddenly changed, the warmth in her eyes was gone and a cold stare was left in its place. "Nobody but me knows what he did. Everybody always thought he was so good with children. That he was always so kind to young women, the poor things." And the warmth slowly returned to her eyes "And then one day, he stopped… probably because someone put a pencil in his eye… Or so I've heard.

"Did you kill him?"

"Very direct. To the point. I like that."

"Did you?"

She hit her hands hard on the table, "I hardly think it matters!" She yelled, suddenly very angry. "A monster is dead, a bit of evil is gone from this world. Who cares who killed him! Besides," she said regaining her composer. I was only sixteen years old in nineteen sixty-four. Do you really think a sixteen-year-old girl could jab a pencil into a grown man's eye and watch as his dark soul slowly fades from the earth?" She looked Claudia right into her eyes, "Well, do you?"

"I um… I don't…" any real professional would have walked out of the room when they knew a patient had gotten into their heads, but the allure of this woman was too strong, she was stuck where she was. "Okay, well come back to that one… how about Angelica Black, what happened to her?" The woman's manner changed once again, she crossed her arms and her eyes were full of sadness that she wasn't hiding as well as she wanted or hoped to.

"I didn't kill her. He did"

"John Walters? He was already-"

“No!… the other him. The he who I'm guessing is the next name on your list."

"Johnathan Shiftwell?" She asked, but the woman still couldn't look her in the eyes. They remained quiet for a long time. Claudia didn't know why but she was okay giving the woman the time she needed. It was obvious to her that this was a more sensitive subject than the last.

"Yes, that him"

"You're saying that Johnathan killed Angelica, why would he do that?"

And this is where she sees why this woman is locked up, her question sparkes a look of insanity in her eyes as she laughs, no cackles like a maniac. "Jealousy I imagine, probably tired of being rejected Always trying to get in her pants, she turned him down, of course."

"Why do you say of course?"

The woman laughed, "let's just say Angelica had a desire for a softer touch, one which I was more than happy to give her."

"You were together?"

"Yes, for a very short but very pleasant amount of time. Does that bother you?"

"No, why would it," she said a little too quickly. Something that didn't go unnoticed by the woman.

"Interesting… I loved her," the woman said quickly changing the subject. "And I like to believe she loved me too. And he," she paused, her eyes filled with sadness again. "he killed her just because he couldn't get what he wanted."

"So who killed him?"

"Who do you think"

"Is that an admission?"

"No… It's a question. Who do you think killed him? I'd love to get your opinion on the subject."

"I don't think-" she started trying to resist this woman's persuasiveness

"Come on, you are easily smarter than all the cops and doctors who put me in here, and almost as smart as me. What's your best guess?"

"Well," she said giving in, "there is the obvious answer."

"Which is?"

"That you did it. Out of revenge for killing Angelica."

"Obviously. Anything else?"

"Maybe," she started thinking, playing her game, "he killed himself. Out of sorrow and regret."

"Good girl. That it is possible. That is very very possible." Claudia felt a strange sort of pride in doing what the woman asked, a dangerous amount of gratification. "You're rather good at this."

"Thank you," there was an extended pause between them once again. The woman continued to look at her, with a slight smirk on her face.

"You're cute when you blush…"

"I think we have enough for today." She said reaching for the tape recorder.

"Come now," the woman said reaching as far as she could across the table, "I thought we were just becoming friends. Kick back, stay awhile." Claudia's hand hesitated over the button of the tape recorder. "Please," she said flashing a toothy grin. And once again, dangerously, concerningly, Claudia folded.

"Okay, Josephine-"

"Please call me Josie."

"Okay… Josie," she looked down at her list, looking for the next name up. "Do you want to talk about Theodor Kerr?" At this Josie sighed slouching back in her chair.

"Oh, god… just when I was starting to like you," for some reason this scared Claudia, which must have shown on her face because Josie started laughing. "Oh, please don't look so nervous. I still like you. What would you like to know?"

"Why is he the only man you will confess to killing?"

"Oh, well that's an easy one. Well, I say easy. He's the only one I really killed, He tried to force himself on to me and so I killed him before he could. Easiest decision I ever made, I would rather have died than be with a man. And I nearly did, but at that moment I realised it didn't have to be the one to die.

I killed him to protect myself." Claudia just stared into Josie's eyes, a blazing fire in her gaze, "What is it?"

"When you talk about it, the look in your eyes… it- it seems different. I look into them and I see someone who could kill me without batting an eye."

"Does it scare you?" Josie said leaning towards her as far as she could. Something changed inside of Claudia.

"I never said that," a change not necessarily for better or for worse.

"Now there's a look. The one on your eyes. Your teetering on the edge, but isn't it such hard work to keep your balance? Believe me, it's so much easier just to fall."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No…, of course, you don't…" another long pause. "Well look at the time! You better get going, don't want to get locked in with all the crazies."

"No… wouldn't want that," she said not even really convincing herself. As she said this A guard came in to take Josie away.

"Nighty night doctor… I'll be thinking about you." As she was escorted out of the room Claudia turned off the cassette player. A confused rush of feelings and emotions pulsed through her. That was one of the strangest, exciting, eliciting experiences she has ever had. She picked up her tape recorder and her notepad. Strange, she swore she had a pen.

DAY - 2

Entering the same room as she had the day before, Claudia was greeted by the welcoming smile that Josephine was giving her. Sitting across from her, she pulled her tape recorder and notepad from her bag, just like she had before. She was determined not to let this woman get inside her head for a second time. "My name is Dr Claudia Velmont it is the twenty-third of October, nineteen seventy-three, I'm here with Josie Vast in the Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, this is our second session. Okay, just like last time was going to talk-"

"How are you, Doctor?" Josephine said cutting her off. The question surprised her, no one had asked her that in a long time: how she was actually feeling. It's a subtle kindness but a kindness nonetheless. She knew that it was just an attempt to confuse her but it was hard not to want to fall into it.

"Um… I'm fine Josephine thank you for asking," a long silence fell between them and Claudia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"You were saying," Josephine said, snapping her back to reality. She seemed much more focused today. Maybe she could get through this without incident.

"Right… so today I was asked to ask you about the serial murders you are accused of. Is that alright with you?"

"Of course doctor," she said with a smile that reminded Claudia of the Cheshire Cat.

"In June of nineteen sixty-six," she started unevenly, feeling the penetrating gaze of the woman across from her. "Malcolm Newton was found stabbed to death, in the chemistry lab at New York University. You attended a New York university sixty-six."

"Yes, I did," she said proudly, but Claudia wasn't sure if it was her schooling she had pride in.

"To prepare, I called some of your former professors and acquaintances." She said pulling a paper from within her notepad. "People who knew you at the time."

"And?"

"I learned that you're a genius," that seemed to draw Josephine in.

"Flatterer."

"They're not my words," she said quickly knowing that this woman could see right through her and there was nothing she could do about it. "Although the exact quote was "era-defining genius."

"Oh I see, you talked to Vannessa."

"Yes, Dr Venessa Hendricks, I did talk to her. She had many things to say about you," sounding far too eager to be professional.

"All good things I hope."

"Oh yes, very good things," she said not realizing that this was beginning to start more like a conversation between close friends and less like a psychological evaluation. “Did you really set someone on fire?" she asked trying to not sound so desperate to know the answer.

"Oh god, she told you that story,” Josephine said dropping her head on the table. It didn't stay there for long as it shot back up, her messily cut hair falling in front of her eyes. “For the record, it was only a hand, and in my opinion, I did him a favour."

"I bet you did," Claudia said, looking back down at her papers, shuffling them nervously. "Happy birthday by the way."

"Oh,” Josephine said surprised. Her usual “three steps ahead” vibe was gone. “Thank you. I'm surprised you even know that.” she stared at Claudia leaning into the table looking deep into her eyes but seemingly not at her. "Oh, I see… in your eyes."

"What?" She asked unsurely.

"You stopped trying to keep your balance." Claudia cleared her throat trying to get them back on track.

"The second victim, Dominic Peters, a professor at NYU, who went-"

"Oh please, Ms Velmont," Josephine exclaimed throwing her head back only to whip it back up looking right through her again. "Can we stop this act?"

"What act?"

"Yours, where you sit there in your tweed jacket and a shirt that's just a little bit too… tight, trying to hold on to the straws of sanity that are long out of reach. I bet you got into this line of work, thinking it was out of some selfless duty to help the unhelpable. But in reality, I think you just wanted to be around people like yourself."

"I don't know what your-

"Yes you do, like you also know that after this, you will never go back to being that person you used to hide in. You can't. And you shouldn't, you deserve to be yourself." Once again, a long silence fell between them. The longest silence, and then Claudia stood up looking into the depths of Josephine's eyes, her own showing the beginnings of tears. "The cage is open Claudia… you can't go back."

"Have… have a good day Jo-... Ms Vast." Then she left, and that should have been the end of it. But of course, it wasn't.

Moments later, Colin, an orderly entered the room, "Did you break another doctor Vast?" She chuckled.

"No, not this one." He just looked at her apprehensively. He's not afraid to admit that she scares him.

"All right then, I'll take you back to your room." He said reaching to release her from the table.

"Yeah, about that," she said as he unlocked the handcuffs holding her to the table. "I actually have somewhere to be," she pulled a pen from the inside of her sleeve quickly standing to face him. Before he had time to react she stabbed the pen in his eye right below the eyelid. He screamed and grabbed at her but ultimately passed out due to the pain. Blood pooled around what was left of his eye. "Sorry Colin," she said wiping his blood on her shirt nonchalantly. "But I have a date. You should live… probably. Might want to invest in sunglasses though." Grabbing the keys off his belt, she moved toward the door only to stop short of the doorway. "Actually… you may be just what I need." Leaving the room she came back with a wheelchair she managed, with only minor difficulty managed to situate the two hundred pound man into it. "Just one more stop. Well, last stop for you… but don't think about that too hard

When Claudia walked into her dark apartment she wasn't feeling any better her eyes were reddened and her chest felt heavy. She couldn't deny that Josephine's words were having an effect on her. She was actually starting to believe she was right, which either meant that Josephine was incredibly influential or she was a terrible doctor. It scared her that she couldn't tell which was true.

"Hi honey, what took you so long," Josephine said turning on the light. Claudia's heart stopped as she fell back into the corner of the room.

"What the hell are you doing here!?"

"I wanted to see you," she said, placing her hand on Claudia's cheek, to which she didn't recoil. "You left before our session was over. I really think we were starting to break ground."

"You're insane," she said with no real weight behind it.

"Yes," Josephine said, now pacing around the room. "But so are you so that's practically irrelevant. No, what I really want to-

"I'm calling the hospital," Claudia interrupted moving towards the landline

"You can't, well… you could. But you won't.

"And what makes you so sure?"

"I cut the phone line," she said confidently, only to look confused by her own words. "So I guess you couldn't even if you were going to. Anyway, that's beside the point. Sit down let's talk.

"No,"

"Fine stand, if you want," but Claudia sits down anyway, not for any logical reason. "I wanted to ask you about your father," Claudia was surprised, nobody knew about her father, she just didn't talk about it anymore. "Don't look at me like that, I can do research too, which is how I knew I would like you. A woman traumatized by her father at such a young age. I mean call me cliché but I will always fall for a damaged beauty.

"I'm not damaged"

"It's not a bad thing," she said trying and succeeding to sound reassuring. "You just see the world for how it really is… like me" Claudia thought about that for a second.

"What does this have to do with my father."

"It's your father's fault that you are the way you are. You hate him more than anyone else in the world. Like me to that pedo priest… and we know how I handled that.”

"If you want me to kill my father-”

'Yes I know, nature beat us to the punch," she said genuinely disappointed. "But I've got the next best thing, well the next best thing available," she went into the kitchen and wheeled out a man tied to a wheelchair, blood pouring from his eye, from the other he looked at Claudia, his eye pleading for help. "This is Colin, and he beats his wife, believe me, I've seen the bruises. But he doesn't matter. I don't want you to see colin, I want you to see your father," she said placing a Kitchen knife in Claudia's hand, "And what he did to you, all of the pain and all of the anguish, for years. Holding you back, locked inside yourself. Like a bird in a cage. Show him that he can't hurt you anymore, direct all of the pain and the hurt built of for so many years and just let it go, let it-”

She didn't have to say any more as Claudia lunged forward stabbed the knife into Colin's neck, and then again and again. The blood went everywhere, covering her hands and clothes as it gushed out of his severed arteries. But she didn't care, she was flying for the first time in her life, and she wouldn't stop now. Catching her breath, she took a minute to steady herself and realize what she had done. Any normal person would have been horrified but she just couldn't stop smiling. Then her legs gave out and she sat on the floor, her hands shaking.

"Shh, it's okay," she felt Josephine's hands running up the sides of her arms, they stopped shaking. She grabbed the knife from her hand holding her close. "You get to choose the next one okay," she said whispering in her ear, and all she could do was nod. There was no going back for her now, she had crossed that uncrossable line. And she wouldn't have ended it any other way.

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[sarahburness]

Sensitivity Means Passion, Not Weakness

“The fact that you’re struggling doesn’t make you a burden. It doesn’t make unlovable, undesirable, or undeserving of care. It doesn’t make you too much or too sensitive or too needy. It makes you human. “ ~Daniell Koepke

A while back, during one of my therapy sessions, I became acquainted with the word “dysthymia.”

I was puzzled at first, but as my therapist dug deeper into the subject, I realized that complex-sounding term was, in fact, a birth name to the grizzly monster that has been shadowing me for years. It’s more commonly known as persistent depressive disorder.

I can’t exactly remember the onset of an extended period when I felt lower than usual. It might have sneaked in unnoticed in my early teens and grown out of proportion since then. It might have been born with me. I have no idea.

All I know is, I’ve had a pervading sense of hopelessness long enough to convince myself that something was wrong. It’s only natural for a child to feel threatened by the world around them. At least that’s how I felt, day in and day out.

I was told it would only be a matter of time until I grew out of it and became a self-assured woman. Well, I’m twenty years old and this day has never come, and I’ll tell you, the old times were paradise. I was lucky to have my parents’ back in every situation, and the thought of loosening my grip on their protection with the passing years was a scary prospect.

Inevitably, I grew up and things didn’t get any easier.

My generalized fear mingled with an endless hunt for the meaning behind words, people’s actions, and even life itself. The existential nature of these questions made it impossible for me to get concrete answers, which overloaded my brain with the untold possibilities, thus fueling an anxiety disorder.

Being an avid gobbler of pills and a depression sufferer herself, my mother suggested that I went to a psychiatrist. As expected, at sixteen I left the doctor’s office with an antidepressant prescription in hand, as I doubted both my sanity and worth.

In a different session, I can recall my therapist drawing a chart of sorts, in order to illustrate my situation: she traced three parallel horizontal lines and named them “euphoria,” “neutrality,” and “depression,” from top to bottom.

She then drew a squiggly line with stable highs and lows, yet mostly focused in the area between depression and neutrality. What that means is I’m bound to feel down most days, with the occasional bout of gloom and/or cheerfulness, depending on the situation. The mood sways aren’t fickle; they’re usually curbed into the same spectrum, but still, sometimes I wish the ups would last longer.

“Don’t worry, that is very common in highly sensitive people,” she said to me. “Now that you’ve named that feeling, it will become easier to deal with.”

At the time, that wasn’t helpful at all. Why did my personality have to be built this way? Would I have to deal with this for the rest of my life? That’s not what I came here for!

I developed an unhealthy habit of comparison, as I envied the life of every extroverted and confident person I knew, even if that meant scrolling through their social media pages (which, let’s face it, makes everyone seem at the top of their game on a daily basis).

For months on end I tried to stick to a fully positive lifestyle. Spoiler alert: I was doing it wrong. It took me a while to recognize that I didn’t have to be happy all the time nor rebuff my icky moments in exchange for a phony, dimmed spark of sunshine. I felt something was missing.

I was in denial. I was rejecting myself, whom I’ll have to spend the rest of my days with whether I want to or not. Little did I know, refusing who I was wouldn’t do anything for me; it would only hinder the process of acceptance.

All I had to do was skew my perspective, bit by bit. And I did, with the help of unexpected sources and events.

Sensitivity Means Passion

During a recent conversation with my brother, I came to the slow realization that I might have underrated what can prove itself to be a powerful attribute.

His girlfriend had broken up with him, and his devastation was painful to watch. However, his main objection was that he felt guilty for “feeling too much while she felt way less.” I could identify with him at that moment.

He would beat himself up and judge his past actions, wishing he could go back and suppress the excess emotion he poured into the relationship. Anyone who’s familiar with him would advise him to never change for a girl, and that the right one would see this supposed “defect” as a major quality.

Being his twin sister, of course we’d share some traits– besides in appearance. And that’s it: we feel too much. Too much of everything, whether it be the pain of a heartbreak or the delight of succeeding at something, for instance.

In discussing life’s matters, we’ve both agreed upon the fact that oftentimes we may be taken up entirely by emotion, to the point where even gazing at the stars opens our minds to an immensity of otherworldly interpretations. How amazing is that?

Besides, we’re eager seekers of beauty in the little things and lovers of kindness. That depth in our mindset is what allows us to express everything so thoroughly, especially through writing and other kinds of art.

What was supposed to be a wallowing session ended up giving us a different view of ourselves. Needless to say, we finished the conversation feeling way better than when we started it.

See It for What It Is: Just A Trait

About three years ago, something interesting came in the mail. One of my aunts resides in England, and she sends gifts every so often. This particular time, she had a special present for me.

It was a book, but not just any book. It was a self-help book called The Highly Sensitive Person, written by Dr. Elaine N. Aron. It had highlighted passages and comments scribbled all over it, as if Auntie wanted me to pay special attention to them.

I might have rolled my eyes at first, but that’s part of my proud nature. Also, never in my seventeen years had I read a self-help book, so I decided to give it a reluctant try in case she asked about it later and I had to whip off a review. I started reading, and to my surprise, it felt like staring at a mirror.

The book, first published in 1996, promotes the de-stigmatization around sensitive people, often mislabeled as weak, shy, and even antisocial, to name a few labels. It has offered me the best advice I’ve been given, from someone who has been through similar struggles.

It counts on interviews with hundreds of people like me—perhaps like you, too—who have offered their experience as HSPs. Their stories prove that we are not alone and that being sensitive makes us unique in our own ways; we just have to make an effort to see that amidst the haze of society telling us we’re somehow abnormal.

I can relate to my aunt on many levels, especially because we have strikingly similar personalities, which is always a recurrent topic during family reunions. At some point in her life she had the same doubts I do now—she felt unfitting and lost. She gets me, and she made sure I had that in mind by giving me that book.

“Think about the impact on you of not being the ideal for your culture. It has to affect you—not only how others have treated you but how you have come to treat yourself.” ~Elaine N. Aron. Ph. D.

For the first time in a while, I accepted my wholeness. I felt an overdue relief in being myself, comforted to know that being dysthymic and highly sensitive by no means indicates than I’m worse than everybody else.

I’m still coming to terms with my fragile essence. I haven’t left therapy or the medications, and I may need them for the rest of my life, who knows? Even so, in researching alternative ways to cope with my anxiety I stumbled across several posts that swore by meditation, so I decided to give it a shot—and it worked like magic!

I meditate for at least ten minutes daily, and the practice has helped diminish common anxious and depressive symptoms, such as a fast heartbeat and racing thoughts. This happens due to meditation’s scientifically suggested power to positively modify our brains—yes, it’s possible! If combined with consistent daily activities such as exercising or anything that sparks creativity, it becomes a strong healing method.

The good news is, my sensitivity has ceased to be a problem. Whenever it wants in, I won’t slam the door, I’ll just invite it in for a cup of coffee instead. Maybe acceptance is all it needs to rest cozy in my chest.

About Laila Resende

Laila is a Brazilian Portuguese/English student and full-time dreamer. She holds a deep passion for writing and aspires to make a difference to those who feel detached from this crazy, yet wonderful world we live in. You can find her blog at thoughtinventory.home.blog.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/sensitivity-means-passion-not-weakness/

[fireandgloryrpg]

Congratulations Micah and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play Percy Jackson with the faceclaim of Tyler Posey in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Out of Character Information:

Name: Micah

Age: 20

Timezone: GMT

Triggers: redacted

Activity: while I’m at uni I work evenings a few times a week, otherwise I am pretty much all the time!

Skeleton Character Application:

Desired Character: Percy Jackson

Reason you want to play this character: Percy is definitely my favourite fictional character. I find it super easy to slip into the Percy muse and he is someone that I consistently enjoy writing, I played Percy in the original fire and glory and I’ve played him several times since then. I really look forward to developing him further and discovering the new avenues of development that I can take with him!

Are there any changes you wish to make (faceclaim, age, affiliation etc)? Please explain and provide alternatives: nope! Considering I wrote his skeleton there’s no reason to :)

Biography:

Perseus Jackson - or Percy as he preferred to be called - was definitely not hero material straight away, in his younger years he was a scrawny young man with bright eyes and dark hair that never stayed neat no matter how many times he or his mother tried to comb it into order. But never let that fool you, because Percy would later go on to be one of the most powerful, skilled and courageous heroes of all time. But the thing that made Percy a hero was the fact that he was always humble. Except when it came to skateboarding, he knew he was the best at that.

The first twelve years of Percy’s life were far from normal, he lived in New York, growing up with a mother who was kind, loving and together they had a little bit of a strange love for the color blue. You might think that his early childhood and life was ideal, perfect and amazing. You’d be wrong. Sadly. An ugly man named Gabe Ugliano ruined all of that, with his pot belly and the stench of beer on his breath. He was always mean to Percy, and Percy was sure it was more than just that with his mom.

But at twelve years old that all changed when he discovered that he was actually a son of Poseidon, a demigod hero who would eventually save the world. It wouldn’t be easy, neither would it be free of pain, but Percy would do great things. He would fight monsters and slay them, the Minotaur, Medusa, the Chimera and Nemean Lion, Hydras and Cyclopes all within the first few years of his time as a hero. But that never stopped him for one second. He simply kept going. He even fought some gods, now that was interesting to say the least.

His list of achievements include taking Zeus’ nuclear powered lightning bolt back to him, even thought it had been in his back pack the whole time. He grabbed the golden fleece from a cyclopes that barely had one eye. He duelled Atlas the Titan one christmas and he held the sky on his shoulders. He navigated his way through the Labyrinth and fought in the battle of Camp Half Blood, he even duelled Kronos multiple times and eventually saved the world. That was all before he was sixteen.

After he was sixteen however his life didn’t get any easier, he was kidnapped, had his memory wiped and got dumped in a house full of wolves, from there he made his way up to Alaska and fought giants and monsters he’d never dreamed existed. From there he watched his friend bomb New Rome and start a war, then they fled to Greece, stopping off for some interesting detours.

Yet through and through Percy stayed a good guy, with his trusty pen sword thingy Riptide he fought monsters, gods and even other heroes (when they were being particularly stupid). But with his best friends Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Thalia and Tyson having his back he was never alone. Later he’d made friends in Jason, Hazel, Frank, Reyna, Leo and Piper. Whatever the case Percy was never alone to face the world.

It has been a few years since he saved the world with the rest of the crew of the Argo II, since then he has received a bachelor’s degree in Marine Biology from New Rome and is currently studying for a masters degree in Marine Biology. Life is a mad flurry of books and trying to live a normal life, but it is never that easy when you’re a demigod. Right?

Para sample:

If there was one thing that you had to give a therapist, it was that they definitely had the money to buy nice sofas. You could literally feel how much it had cost, just from running your fingers over the leather. He could feel the expensive leather as he nervously ran his fingers up and down the arms of the chair he was sat in.

It was funny, normally he wouldn’t be nervous. He had fought people who were literally twice his size. He could leap off of a hundred-foot-high cliff into a pool of water without his heart skipping a beat. Yet usually the only thing that made him nervous was Annabeth. When he had done something to piss her off, she would give him one of her trademarked glares that made you think she could see right into your soul, with those stormy grey eyes of hers. Well it was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn. But for Percy it was enough to send him running for the hills.

The key to avoiding the glare was to avoid fucking up too royally. Usually he could manage it. But sometimes he had to hide at the bottom of the lake.

Yet today, he wasn’t nervous about the stare of Annabeth, it was the stare of his therapist. She was an incredibly thin lady. Percy couldn’t help but notice every single bone in her face. Prominent cheekbones, a jawline that supermodels would envy and slightly sunken eyes. She seemed to be a stern individual, however the way she looked at him, staring at him over the rim of her golden wire glasses, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was reading him like a book.

Dr. Arkwright had been suggested to him by Rachel Dare, a good friend of his, apparently she had helped her through a number of issues and was uniquely talented at her job in her own special way. If Rachel swore by her then that was enough for Percy.

“Percy,” she said in a quiet voice, “I know this is our first session, so there is on no pressure for you to open up right away…” she trailed off, her eyes never wavering from him.

He had been to other therapists before, but they had been mortal, unable to see through the mist or understand what it was that he had been through. They had tried to help him, but with everything he had been through, he hadn’t been able to be helped. Not until now, at least, that was what he hoped. The trick to this was that his therapist was a demigod. A daughter of Apollo, cabin counsellor in her day, though that was a long while ago. She had started out working in New York, but after the recall she’d moved her office to New Athens. Percy guessed that Demigods seemed to need therapy too

“… but this will only work if we can develop a relationship of trust, I can’t help you if you don’t let me help you.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and looked away from his hand, meeting people was an easy task, he could deal with that, but it was different when it came to this woman.

Meeting her eyes wasn’t easy, but he forced himself to do so.

“I don’t even really know where to start,” he admitted, biting his lip gently as his sentence ended.

“Just from the beginning perhaps,” she replied. “The beginning of what?” he replied, perhaps a little too sharply, “My life? Or just specifically falling into Tartarus, or the fact that I’ve been all but a child soldier since I was twelve, gods that is ten years…” he said, more to himself than to her. “Wherever you feel comfortable,” she said quietly, she didn’t seem startled by his revelation or his little outburst.

Falling silent again he sat there and shifted in his seat, that was a problem with his ADHD, sitting still drove him insane. He had never been good at it, maybe that was one of the reason he’d always done so badly in class. He couldn’t sit still. So he stood up, and walked to the window. Staring out into the city of New York he thought about what it would be like to be stood out there, rather than in here. He stared at the cabs and the pedestrians on the streets.

Sighing he ran his fingers over the curtains that were at the edge of the window, even this material felt expensive.

“I guess,” he sighed and tapped his fingers against the glass, leaving little finger marks on it, “I guess the best place to start would be with my childhood…”

There was a sudden binging that interrupted his line of thought, reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone and stared at it.

“Monster attack, need your help, Annabeth.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said, turning to the therapist, “but I’ve got to go, duty calls.” He said wiggling his phone and grabbing Riptide from his pocket. He turned and strode from the room, his heart thumping in his chest. This therapy thing was hard.