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theawkwardanglophile · 2 years

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TheAwkwardAnglophile’s Year in TV Shows: 2021

I had so much fun putting this together in 2020 that I decided to do it again, although I’m a little late in actually posting it. Oh well! This only includes shows that aired new content in 2021, or content that was new to me. Be warned: SPOILERS ABOUND! Here is the list in alphabetical order:

Behind the Attraction: I’m a Disney World fanatic, and was delighted to find this gem on Disney+ that went into the history and development of some of the most iconic rides ever.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine: I MISS IT ALREADY. Their final season was so good, especially seeing Peraltiago as parents to adorable little Mac. But the series finale?? *chef’s kiss* I don’t think I’ve ever watched anything with THAT many callbacks crammed in. It was insane and chaotic and ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. One of the best finales ever! NINE NINE!

Call Me Kat: I’m going to go ahead and say this first: this show is nowhere near as good as Miranda, its British predecessor. But I have enjoyed it so far. I love Mayim Bialik’s quirky energy, which I’d missed since Big Bang Theory ended. All the characters are fun and interesting, and once they stopped trying to copy all of Miranda’s plots and came up with more original material, that’s when they really found their footing.

Derry Girls: An absolutely fascinating, hilarious surprise! I was so swept up in the culture and uniqueness of this show. I’ve never set foot in Ireland (although I would LOVE to), but I did go to high school in the ‘90s, so I appreciated the nostalgia.

Emily in Paris: Ok, I know. I KNOW. But it’s fun, colorful escapism for me, and I just really don’t care that’s it’s hated. Luc and Mindy are such fun characters, and Gabriel is GORGEOUS. Season 2 flowed really well, and I absolutely fell for Alfie.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: I enjoyed this so much more than I originally thought. I didn’t have much connection to Sam or Bucky from the movies, but through the medium of TV and the time for character development, I began to care for them. Probably my favorite scenes were when Sam and Bucky tossed around Cap’s shield outside the house, and our new Cap’s speech in the last episode. Oh, and of course, dancing Zemo!

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous: I really cannot say enough good things about this show! The animation is great, and the characters are fantastic. There is all the suspense, adventure, and feels you would expect from the movies. I hope there are more episodes to come!

Loki: Amazing, simply amazing. I loved Loki’s journey, and his dynamic with Mobius was pure gold. He Who Remains absolutely came in and stole the show in the last episode. Incredible performance. But I think my fave character is the TVA itself. What a brilliant aesthetic. I just wanted to roam around the TVA and explore, learning their systems. And, I’m also a little partial to it since I’ve been in its real-life location many times (the Marriott Marquis in Atlanta).

Lost in Space: STRESS. This show is pure stress, one high-stakes disaster after another, which obviously makes it interesting to watch. But STRESS. Their final season was probably not my favorite of the three, but they ended it well, and that’s all I can ask for.

Monsters At Work: Absolute marvelous perfection. Not kidding. You can tell how much care they put into crafting this. Wonderful callbacks, and I loved how they continued the Monsters Inc. story without having the focus completely on the main characters. We got to see a completely fresh perspective with wonderful new characters. Ben Feldman voicing our protagonist? Yes, please! I’ve hardly seen any buzz about this show, even when it first came out, and it’s SO worth the watch.

Motel Makeover: Don’t waste your time on this. It piqued my interest, this idea of renovating an entire retro motel, but the two designers are so obnoxious and their voices are nearly unbearable. That being said, I still ended up watching the whole dang thing, because I had to see the finished product.

Never Have I Ever: I really fell in love with this show! It was heartfelt and hilarious, and nearly every scene with Devi’s dad made me cry. I’m also 100% Team Ben.

Only Murders in the Building: Wow, this was so incredibly done. Steve Martin and Martin Short, are you kidding me? Obviously it was hilarious. I was completely sucked in. I should have been able to figure it out sooner than I did, but it’s not my strength. LOL I really love the opening title music and animation, too.

The Rookie: MY CHENFORD LOVING HEART!! They are my current top ship, and while I love all of the characters, Tim and Lucy are the main reasons I watch. I love them dearly, and it’s led me to writing more fanfic again and interacting with the wonderful fandom on here. Season 3 had some wonderful moments, and although season 4 hasn’t been the best, I’m still hopeful for more good content to come!

Star Trek: DIscovery: I feel like season 4 has been truly delivering. They have touched on grief, identity, belonging, mental health, in addition to all the action and adventure they normally have. There have been so many beautifully written lines that I lost count. Looking forward to seeing the rest of the season!

Star Trek: Lower Decks: So much fun. Just ridiculous amounts of fun. I love the core four, and my boy Tom Paris got to make an appearance, which was a delight!

Star Trek: Prodigy: I have been a Voyager fan literally since day one, and always loved the powerhouse that is Janeway, so having her back is wonderful. These new characters are intriguing, and the animation is GORGEOUS. Each episode just leaves me with loads more questions!

Supermarket Sweep: Always a fun, easy watch. I still have such a soft spot for the original, but Leslie Jones has grown on me a lot. Plus, there seem to be way more bonuses nowadays.

Superstore: They also had one of the best series finales ever! SIMMOSA! They got back together, and married, and it makes me happy even thinking about it now! Garrett’s final announcements over that montage was just perfection.

This Is Pop: A really interesting documentary diving into different topics in the music industry. Very enjoyable.

WandaVision: My FAVORITE Marvel thing EVER. It was a glorious TV viewing experience. I don’t even know how to fully put it into words. Everything about it was excellent. EXCELLENT. Plus, it gave us one of the beautiful lines I’ve ever heard uttered on TV, which I now have on a necklace, “What is grief, if not love persevering?”

What If...?: Out of the 4 Marvel shows I watched, this was my least favorite. But there were some good moments. The Captain Carter, Black Panther, and Thor episodes all stand out. But the Doctor Strange one? GEEZ, that was so heavy. That sat on me long after it aired.

Young Sheldon: Still overall, I love this show. However, it’s clearly starting to shift into the reality we were told about many times on TBBT, and I’m not sure exactly how I feel about it, or how they will actually play this out without losing some of the show’s best qualities. I’m also curious what happens with puberty hitting Sheldon and Missy, and the actors that play them. I did really like them bringing Howard back!

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist: My heart! Season 2 took a lot of different turns, but I loved that! There were so many good episodes, and I was devastated when it was cancelled. Max hearing heart songs?! And as much as I love Simon, I was thrilled about Zomax getting back together. And then thankfully, we got Zoey’s Extraordinary Christmas, which was pure joy (and tears, a lot of tears). I guess that is the final ZEP (is it??), but it was a perfect way to close out a show that means so much to me, and was cancelled WAY too soon.

And that’s it. But I’m always around to discuss and yell about these shows some more! Feel free to send an ask or message!

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thequimmqueen · 2 years

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I'm not sure if this theory is common knowledge to all you Flipline fans, but...

I think Mayor Mallow is Mindy's father.

You may be wondering, “why? Why, of all people, do you think HE’S her father?

Just so you know, this isn't something I randomly thought of just to have some content! but it is something that really got me thinking.

it all happened when I connected some dots in my head while playing mocharia. You see, I was making cannoli for a customer, like you would do every day in-game, but this customer had ordered marshmallows.

The moment I saw the ingredient and noticed its striped mint color, I was reminded of the mayor right away! But also other facts that I knew of from other games.

when i connected these facts with some from vicky and mindy- my mind got blown away!

Lemme give y'all context;

Mr. Mallow is obviously a play on marshmallows, much like cherissa and janana are to,well, bananas and cherries. but what i focused on is that the marshmallow toppings from any game containing them aren’t the only ones who share his fancy attire.

So do the Mallow men.

Promised to have a safe home for their species by Radley, in exchange of attacking the Player from Papa Louie 3, these little dudes wear mallow’s iconic color with pride.

It's curious right? Well that's not all of it! For what surprised me even more, was that these creatures have a counterpart who resembles Vicky.

The Mallow GALS! They even have her makeup! this one alternative appeared in Sliders scouts instead of PL3.

edit: the mallow gals may not wear purple like vicky does but they wear pink like mindy!!

This isn't the first time we had seen Creatures from Munchmore imitating customers, i'll have you know!

But, what could this mean? Why would the only two Marshmallow Baddies that i know of resemble two specific customers?

Given the attention to detail flipline games tend to have, i didn't doubt this could implicate something between Vicky and the Mayor. Thanks to this i had come to the conclusion that he could have been her partner and thus Mindy's dad!

Just think about it!

Vicky and Mallow seem to be of a similar age. So that would make it possible that chronologically, he could be mindy's dad!

The 2 of them are Pale and Blonde (Mindy's natural hair and Skin)

The 3 wear light colors and have a dessert theme! (Whipped Cream/Marshmallows/Cotton Candy)

Heck, Mindy's style B has her hair partly dyed in aqua! Which is a color similar to Mint! She uses that instead of Vicky's sky blue.

Even if there may be contradictions, this still kinda makes you think doesn't it? What do you all think?

#Papa Louie #Flipline studios #vicky papa louie #mindy papa louie #mayor mallow papa louie #papa louie theory?

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angelsaxis · 2 years

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I’m on summer break and I want to read more for pleasure since I have the time to myself now, what would you recommend? I recall you read a good poetry collection a little while ago, but I’m also down for some theory if there’s any you’re passionate about ^_^

omg ok book recs - bear in mind that they'll lean heavily into YA fantasy cause that's unfortunately what I've been reading the most lately. I'm branching out tho I prommy

I loved The Exchange by Sophie Cabot Black. It's poetry about terminal illness, money, and sacrifice/wanting to go back to the way things were. I literally annotated and took notes on annotated this.

My absolute favorite series so far are These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong and The Obsidian Tower by Melissa Carusso (especially the second one...god).

A Phoenix First Must Burn by Patrice Caldwell is a nice collection of short stories centered on Black protagonists that range from sci fi to fantasy. With it being short stories, some carry better than others, but overall it was an enjoyable read!

The Female of the Species by Mindy McGinnis is one of the rare books that I give 5 stars, but it's also really dark so heed the content warnings.

The Becoming Human series by Sylvain Neuvel? God tier. It's hard sci fi and the format of the story itself is unique.

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland is an alternate history where basically the Civil War is put on hold because of a zombie outbreak, and the main character is a Black girl who is a professional zombie fighter.

Those are my 4 to 5-star rated books. You can see all the books I've read recently with (almost) all their ratings and reviews here, on my TSG page.

In terms of nonfiction, I cannot recommend Lenore Newman's Lost Feast. It's a book about the origins of food, food culture, and like. it's so good, it's so informative, but also it made me hungry reading it lol.

I myself am currently reading both Tomatoland by Barry Estabrook and Bad Feminist by Roxanne Gay.

That's all the recommendations I have! I encourage to you check out my TBR since the range of stories in there is way better than what I've provided here.

#ask #boocrec #carusso's book is adult fantasy and its handled well #gong's book is YA #neuvel's id Adult #the poetry is adult and the rest are either YA or nonfic

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pricemarshfield · 2 years

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walk with the devil

[Image ID; a woman putting on lipstick as seen in the rearview mirror of a car, edited so that it’s colorized green and with the text walk with the devil | ares3some / 4k over it. End ID.]

Image Source: gosee.news (original article where image was posted no longer active, but the website is still up).

Title: walk with the devil

Pairing: Ares3some

Rating: M for violence and mild, non-explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 4097

Summary: An Ares3some noir AU, focusing on how Johanssen responds after Mark dies (or, at least, is presumed dead).

Warnings: Pre-fic major character death, non-linear narrative, grief, someone being threatened with a knife and gun during interrogation, noir-typical drinking and smoking.

Created For: @anyfandomaubingo, filling out “Detective!Beth Johanssen”, @anyfandomdarkbingo, filling out “interrogation”, @lgbtqbingo, filling out “polyamorous relationship”, @anyfandomangstbingo, filling out “cunnilingus”, @anyfandomgoesbingo, filling out “Walk with the Devil - Karliene”, @anyfandomkinkbingo, filling out “Kitten, don’t make me tell you twice.”, and @mfbingo, filling out “I will never be like you.” (Kind of went crazy with prompts here, but I like how it turned out.)

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Johanssen's always been a bit cynical.

It comes with the job; there's only so many times you can look at gruesome crime scenes before you start to get a twisted view of humanity. The Ares agency is certainly better at solving crimes than the generally-indifferent cops, and that does help. It's not easy, digging through all these victims' worst mistakes only to report back to the family that it's usually who they'd warned their kid or their cousin or whoever away from the first place.

She'd been planning for every worst outcome before Lewis ever recruited her, to the combined chagrin and relief of her parents, happy she's safe but less than happy that she shows no sign of settling down with a nice man anytime soon.

If only they knew how it all actually shook out.

She's distracted from her thoughts when Venkat finally leaves the office like he'd said he was going to twenty minutes prior. The client who'd brought them their most successful case, and a good informant if not entirely trustworthy. He looks harried today, like he usually does, dark circles under his eyes showing Johanssen's not the only one who's had sleepless nights lately.

"Kapoor," she says. She kindly doesn't mention that he'd left her waiting in the everpresent rain, suit soaked through and deeply uncomfortable no matter how used she is to it.

"Beth," he says, and she waits for him to look down at the the sheaf of papers in his hands before rolling his eyes. Beck never has this problem, and Mark always asks--well, asked-- "Alright, got it here. A list of everyone who's asked me or Mitch anything about your operation in the past year. Don't have anything further back than that."

"Thanks," she says, not asking why he'd kept this up for that long anyway. Not smart to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she'll take whatever she can get to try and help solve this. Some of the names aren't surprising--Mindy Park, who they'd helped in locating her best friend Annie; Annie Montrose, who'd demanded any and all information they collected about her during her case destroyed or given back, and one of their best sources of information; Rich Purnell, who worked mostly with Vogel. "See you."

"Wait," he says, and she stops. "If there's anything I can do, let me know. I hope you catch this son of a bitch."

Johanssen nods. "Me too."

The night Johanssen meets Lewis isn't that different from the ones before it. She's busy writing notes about the brainstorming session she'd had to transcribe earlier, editing their half-baked ideas into something that might actually work, even be marketable. No one in the place seems likely to listen to her, but if she presents it along with the notes from the meeting tomorrow, she's sure someone will claim ownership, praise her quick typing, and hopefully it gets implemented.

Assuming anyone actually reads it.

She's at the bar closest to her apartment, a dingy little hole-in-the-wall where the only thing worse than the drinks is the company. People leave her alone, though, after word had spread of her stabbing someone who'd been too-forward with her pencil. Apparently it had gotten infected or something; she didn't care to pry further. Her paycheck is enough to pay for somewhere better, but there's not much point in risking a long walk home when drunk.

When someone sits across from her, she assumes they're going to realize who she is and leave, or the bartender will yell something and distract them enough that she can kick them in the shin. After a minute of that not happening, she looks up, irritated.

The woman sitting across from her--explains the boldness--is quietly refined in a way that doesn't fit this place. Doesn't fit Johanssen much, either. She has this beautiful red hair, even with most of it tied back, a dimple in her chin, and a calm in her gaze that Johanssen can't help but envy.

"Beth Johanssen?"

Her earlier irritation recedes only to make room for anxiety, and her grip around the pencil shifts to be more stab-friendly. "Depends who's asking."

"A friend," says the woman. "And someone who thinks you're wasted at that company. What is it, Infocom?"

"Something like that," Johanssen says. "So corporate espionage is your angle? I don't have my transcriptions on me, I'm afraid."

"I'm a friend of Martinez's," says the woman.

Just like that, Johanssen's a hell of a lot more willing to listen to the woman. Martinez is an old coworker, her favorite, the only one willing to acknowledge her work and funny to boot. He'd left ages back; she figured it was just because the hours weren't great for someone with a kid on the way. "You could open with that next time."

The woman smiles; it's a nice smile, but it doesn't soften her. If anything, she looks even more commanding with it on her face. "I'm Melissa. Lewis."

"Alright, Lewis," Johanssen asks. "What exactly do you want?"

The Hermes building is one of the city's nicest. Well, used to be. When it was built it was this shiny bastion of progress, but it's seen better days. There are bars on the windows of the bottom level, some of the rooms are too hot to do anything but sweat in, and any office too close to the bathrooms...

Less said about that, the better.

The elevator ride up to Ares isn't any less terrifying the millionth time she's done this, the thing creaking like it's going to give out and send her skyrocketing up to the top or careening to the bottom, leaving her as a red mush against its dusty art-deco decals. But it lets her off at the 13th floor like it always has, cheerfully dinging to tell her she's arrived.

Vogel's saying something in German on the phone, words terser and tenser than they usually are. Martinez is hunched over his desk, crossing things off a list. It's running out of leads; Johanssen's running out of patience.

"Beth!" Beck calls, and she smiles at him, sure her exhaustion shows in it. "Did you--"

She nods before he's even done speaking, holding up the paper that Venkat gave her. Martinez whoops, wincing when Vogel turns to him with a glare. "Yeah. Hopefully something sticks out."

Beck nods. Mark would've said "it will", the type of idealistic optimism that only Martinez ever gets close to.

Of course, if Mark were here, they wouldn't still be in the office. Martinez would be home with his kid, Vogel with siene Affen, Lewis in some dance bar with her husband like she's still 20. And Johanssen would be home, warm and comfortable. She could, still, Beck at her side, but it only ever feels empty, too-quiet.

Vogel hangs up. "Nothing from the docks."

Johanssen nods to acknowledge she's heard him before settling at her own desk, putting down the paper. "Where's Lewis?"

"Still searching the parks," Martinez says.

Of the office, he's the only one who refuses to say out loud what they all know, have known since a box showed up at their doorstep with a hand in it days after Mark had gone missing. Some days it pisses Johanssen off, makes her want to scream and claw at him until he says it, because she can't stop thinking about it, so he shouldn't get any peace if she and Beck can't, no one in this city should. Most days, she just stays quiet and keeps working.

"No one at any of the hospitals' morgues have found anyone that looks anything like him," Beck says. "Said they'd let me know if they did."

Before this, they'd been pretty good at keeping up a friendly chatter unless the case was particularly horrible: victim too young, too much blood, found a block away from an elementary school, all of the above. (That last one had kept Beck awake for weeks; he'd drunk more heavily than any of them for too-long afterwards.) Now, they're all silent, the scratching of pencil or pen on paper the only noise in the office.

The sun's long since set when Lewis walks in, visibly agitated, sitting down in her desk and reaching for the bottle of bourbon she keeps in her desk before anyone can so much as ask why she's so pissed.

"So the glitterati weren't helpful?"

Lewis shakes her head before drinking directly from the bottle. "Bupkis. Didn't matter how many greenbacks I slipped the staff, either. Any of you?"

A chorus of no. Johanssen's grip around her pencil is tight enough to snap, and Beck grabbing her hand doesn't help like it used to. "Do we have anything?"

"I haven't finished going through Venkat's leads," Johanssen says. "Most of them don't--I'll let you know."

"That's something," Lewis says, tired and unconvincing.

No one calls her on it.

"I'm not a detective," Johanssen says, disbelieving. The bar's long-since closed, the two of them smoking outside Johanssen's apartment building. (She's not convinced enough to invite her in, yet.) "Martinez recommended me?"

"'Brightest mind in that place' is what he said," Lewis corrects. "And we need another broad in our business. I promise, it'll be better than working with those yucks."

"Doubt the pay's half-as-good, though," Johanssen says. "And sorry, but I'm not exactly looking to get into the business of relying on something that's gonna go belly up the second you cross the wrong person."

"Been going well so far," Lewis says mildly. Johanssen has no idea what it'll take to shake her; she kind of wants to find out. "Look, how 'bout this? Take my business card, drop by on your next day off, and if you're not interested after that, I'll leave you alone. Heck, I'll give you the bourbon I keep in my desk if you do."

"How good is it?"

"Pretty damn good. Saving it for a special occasion. Or a terrible one. Whichever comes first."

Johanssen laughs, dropping her cigarette and crushing it beneath her heel. "You in the habit of making bets you'll lose?"

Lewis smirks. "No."

Johanssen's run through every name on the list she recognizes and a few she doesn't, down to less than six names. She hadn't exactly had a lot of hope going into this--cynicism's stronger than any other way to stay on the beam--but finds herself angry anyway. At the world, at Venkat Kapoor, at Mark, as fucked up as that is.

Beck rests a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't turn to look at him even as she stops aggressively scratching out the name Neil (died six months prior). "Let's head home."

Johanssen thinks she'd rather sleep in the office or go on a bender or taking her revolver and taking everything she feels out on the hide of everyone who let it happen, but she sets her pencil down anyway, follows Beck down the elevator and into their beat-up black Cadillac.

Their place is nicer than the Hermes building, which isn't saying much. It's not exactly in the sticks, but it's far enough that it's peaceful. Mark had loved it, loved the backyard, tending to the plants that had never quite gotten enough sun, loved the quiet, loved watching the neighbors try to figure out which of them was seeing Johanssen and which was the down-on-their-luck roommate who had to live with the newlyweds while the three of them laughed, Beck's arm around Mark's back.

They don't say anything anymore, getting ready for and in bed like it's a chore, even when Beck rolls on top of Johanssen and kisses her, or when she kisses back. This never used to be like this; it was joyful, fun, something she'd smile about, staring off into the middle distance until Martinez elbowed her, calling her khaki wacky or some other stupid slang she couldn't help but grin at.

Now, when Beck makes his way down her legs to get his mouth on her, she barely even moves her hips to help him along, does it more out of affection than any real desire to. She gets a hand on him for much the same reason, enjoys watching the way his face crumples even as she mostly just wants to sleep.

"Aw, duckie!" Mark says as Johanssen throws a pillow at him. "I'm touched! I didn't realize you liked me so much."

"You're obnoxious," she says, smiling too much for the words to have any weight. "Chris, tell him he's annoying."

"You're both annoying," Beck says, ducking as Mark throws another pillow her way. "I'm trying to read."

"Boo, cold fish," Johanssen says. "You have two of the prettiest people this side of town in your bed and you're reading medical journals?"

Tempted as he looks by the less-than-subtle flirtation, Beck turns the page, ignoring them both. Johanssen rolls her eyes and flops back on the bed, head flat against the mattress with most of the pillows on the floor behind her. Mark ends up dropping the pillow and doing the same, landing half on top of her. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I mean, Chris is the dreamboat, but you're not terrible," Johanssen says, and Mark agrees with a pleased hum. "This is generally the part where my gentleman caller would compliment me back."

"I'm pretty sure I've already called you the most beautiful dame in the city," Mark says, propping himself up a little higher. "Or was my constant supply of pet names not enough?"

"Mm, I don't know, I think you could do better."

Beck flips the page in a way that's somehow pointed, even though Johanssen's pretty sure he hasn't read a single word on the page.

"Sweetheart," Mark says, then winces. "Oof, no, makes me sound like a geezer. Darling? Eh, not a fan. Doll face?"

"That was a movie," Johanssen points out. "One that you dragged me to see, if you'll remember."

"Well, it's not like Chris could be dragged from his books long enough to enjoy it," Mark says. "Very pointed observation, chuck."

"Just because Shakespeare used it as an endearment doesn't mean you can pull it off," Johanssen says.

"You're such a square," Mark says, grinning down at her. She rolls her eyes even as she pulls him in, kissing him deeply and only letting him pull back to breathe. "Really? That's the one that works? Unconventional taste, but definitely suits you."

"Yeah, yeah, honey," Johanssen says. "I can definitely think of better things for you to do with that smart mouth."

Beck sighs, sounding more frustrated than annoyed.

Mark's smile turns mischievous. "Oh, really?"

"Really."

They manage to get her nightgown pushed up to her hips before Beck does set down the book, forgetting all pretense of not paying close attention but too stubborn to admit to it out loud. She smiles at him as Mark presses a quick, fond kiss on her stomach. "Oh, but your book."

"Beth," Beck says, warning.

"Mark," Johanssen says. "What about pet names for Chris here?"

"Angel face," Mark says, quickly enough that he'd definitely already been thinking about it. "Or is that only for dames?"

"Hm, not sold," Johanssen says, shivering when Mark moves a little lower. "What about, ah, kitten?"

"I don't hate that," Mark says. "For him, anyway. He's cute, fits him better than me."

"Aw, you're plenty handsome," Johanssen says, hand cupping his face fondly.

Mark grins up at her, settled between her legs. Beck shifts on the bed but doesn't move any closer. "Come on, Chris, you've got Beth Johanssen in your bed and you're gonna keep her waiting?"

Beck groans, eyes falling shut. "You two are gonna be the death of me."

God, Johanssen hopes not. "Kitten, don't make us tell you twice."

The last name on the list is one Theodore "Teddy" Sanders, some bigwig officer who City Hall says gets paid peanuts but somehow lives in the nicest neighborhood here, glittering skyrises almost managing to make you forget the country's barely out of the Great goddamn Depression. She should've brought someone with her, but she's on the knife's edge of losing it, and she doesn't think she could take Lewis' sternness or Martinez's hope or Beck's sad puppy eyes.

And Vogel was busy tailing Venkat in case he'd been holding something back. She doubts it, but better safe than sorry.

For a cop, the man's remarkably careless, getting into his car and tossing his gun into the passenger seat without even looking back as he reverses. It keeps him from seeing her in the backseat, and she's quiet as a mouse as she sits up and gets a knife at his throat.

He freezes. "Who's paying you?"

"I'm not as easily bought as you, chicken," she hisses. "Drive."

He does. "What do you want?"

"What do you know about Mark Watney?"

"Who the hell is--"

Johanssen digs the knife a little deeper, not enough to cut but just shy of it. "I've never heard such cock-eyed crap in my life."

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. I don't know anything."

With her free hand, Johanssen cocks her gun. A bead of sweat runs down Teddy's brow. "That doesn't jive with my information."

"Fine, alright, I get it, you're not gullible," he says. "All I know is that he's some private investigator. I don't know anything more than that, and I definitely don't know why you're asking me."

"Why are you looking for gumshoes? Shouldn't that be your job?"

"It's a--private matter. My wife--"

Johanssen rolls her eyes. "I don't care about your wife. Tell me everything you know."

"That is everything I know."

Johanssen weighs whether or not she believes him. It could be bullshit; all cops do is lie, and they can be half-decent at it. But she's got a gun and a knife on him, and he seems genuinely embarrassed about the wife thing. "Who told you to go to Venkat?"

"Annie, a secretary at the precinct--"

Shit, and Annie wouldn't recommend someone if she didn't trust them. "Fuck! This was useless."

"Yeah, seems like you'd know Annie," Teddy says. "You sure you want to be a PI? This kind of initiative, you'd do well in our office. Annie can tell you, it's not a half-bad job. Probably safer than any of the shenanigans you all get into."

"You don't know anything about us," Johanssen says, venomous, a defense that's been on the tip of her tongue for months.

"You're driven. Reminds me a lot of when I was a rookie on the fo--"

Johanssen laughs, sharp and mean. "I'm nothing like you. I will never be like you."

"The moral grandstanding would work better if you didn't have a gun at my head."

"...pull over."

Teddy does, and Johanssen gets out of the car without a second word, heading back to Hermes with her hand still on her gun, hidden in the folds of her coat.

Hermes is a brand-new, shiny building, the dramatic lines and gold detailing on the building as beautiful as any painting Johanssen's ever looked at. She almost doubts whether or not she's come to the right place, but no, the address on the card Lewis gave her matches.

Johanssen heads up to the thirteenth floor, trying not to twiddle her thumbs too much. She's just curious, is all. There's no way she'll go for this detective thing, told her parents as much when they chatted on the phone earlier, wasn't stung at all by their obvious relief when she said so. It's free bourbon; she wouldn't pass that up.

"Johanssen!" Martinez says once she walks in. "Vogel, you owe me."

"2 dollars," says some German guy, resigned. "You will bankrupt me."

"Very Versailles of you," says some blond guy, grinning at the pair of them. Martinez laughs at that, and Vogel hands over the greeenbacks without much grumbling. "I'm Mark. Good to meet you, Beth. Or do you prefer Johanssen?"

"Johanssen," she says, shaking his hand. They hold the handshake for a beat longer than she normally would, and his cheeks are just the littlest bit pink when he does end up dropping it. "Is Lewis here?"

"Oh, she just stepped out for a second," says someone in the back, an equally good-looking guy with brown hair. He's less subtle than Mark about checking her out, but does duck his gaze when she meets his, more respectful than most of the bozos she runs into. "Should be back before I'm done with this."

"You're such a drip, Beck," Mark says with an eyeroll. "You know most people stop with the studying once they graduate med school, don't you?"

"Most people stay doctors once they graduate med school," Beck says. "I'm already breaking convention. Might as well keep going."

"Can't fault that," Mark says, gaze as intent on Beck as it was on her. That's--interesting. "Let me show you around?"

"Sure," she says, and takes his arm when he offers it. The place isn't that big; the "tour" takes about ten minutes, most of which is spent with him telling a story about how he and Beck got sauced on a stakeout and almost missed their client's mistress sneaking out with half the contents of his safe. It's funny, and she doesn't even have to fake her laugh.

"Did Beck really tackle her?"

"Oh, propriety goes out the window on a case," Mark says. "Never really been my thing, anyway."

"Is that so?" she says, smirking up at him.

Before he can answer, Lewis walks in, smiling when she notices Johanssen. "I'm glad you showed up. Still want that drink?"

Johanssen bites her lip, watches Mark watch her as she does it. "Think I'm alright."

"Thought so," Lewis says, watching them with an expression that's less surprised and more resigned. "Your desk'll be next to Beck's."

"Oh, you'll like the good doctor," Mark says, walking her over even though it's a few steps away. "Handsome guy like that."

"Jealous?"

"Should I be nervous?" Beck asks, looking at the two of them with an expression that's probably supposed to be annoyed, but the smile playing at the corner of his mouth keeps it from being convincing.

"Of course," Johanssen says right as Mark says, "Well, obviously."

"Nothing?" Martinez asks, desperation clear in the lines of his face and the tension in his shoulders.

Johanssen sits down at her desk and scratches out Teddy Sanders harshly enough that the paper tears. "Nothing. Put him through the wringer, too."

Lewis nods, ever stalwart in the face of a crisis. "Does anyone have anything else? Anything?" No one speaks up, and Johanssen wishes she'd shot the guy. Being dragged to prison has to be better than this awful silence. "Shit."

Beck cries at his desk, silent but obvious, and Martinez joins him. Johanssen wishes she could, but she still feels too--cold, even as Lewis offers her a glass. "I should've taken this in the first place."

"Would that really have been better?" Lewis asks, knowing what she means. She hopes Beck won't piece it together; it'd hurt him, no matter how much she means it right now.

Rather than answer, Johanssen drains the bourbon in one swig. It doesn't burn as bad as she's used to, and the second pour's even easier. She tries not to look at the expression on Beck's face, grieving and disappointed, the rage she still feels simmering in her gut either missing or so deeply buried she doubts he'll ever let her see it.

When Beck goes home, he doesn't try and bring Johanssen with him, leaving her at her desk. She doesn't get up to follow, staring down at the photo of the three of them on her desk. She's well-past tipsy, so she doesn't think twice before throwing the thing away from her, the glass of the frame shattering into a million pieces.

Johanssen falls asleep at her desk, dreaming of better times.

"Angel," Mark whispers, close enough to her ear that she can feel his breath fanning out against her skin.

"Mmf," Johanssen says.

"It's a beautiful morning," Beck says, though he notably hasn't gotten up either, from the way the bed dips down in the middle, letting their legs brush.

"You sure you don't want to get up and see it?" Mark asks.

"Mmf," Johanssen says, again. She feels it's a fair point.

"Our girl's not much of a morning person, huh?"

"Mmf!" Johanssen protests.

"Understatement," Mark says knowingly. "We could tip her out--"

"Hey, your funeral."

#anyfandomaubingo #anyfandomdarkbingo #lgbtqbingo #anyfandomangstbingo #the martian fanfiction #anyfandomgoesbingo #anyfandomkinkbingo #mfbingo #my fics #fic: walk with the devil #ares3some #watssen #johanbeck #beckney #beth johanssen #mark watney #chris beck #the martian

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sunshinetoshi · 3 years

Text

love letters over luxuries

timeskip!hanamaki x reader (2.2k words)

Summary: Hanamaki Takahiro thinks you deserve the world with how much you brighten his. But he gets insecure that he can’t provide that.

Content (warnings): some angst (insecurity, financial troubles), is mainly fluff / has a fluffy end

A/N: posting this on this sweet boy’s birthday. this was inspired by the song “all the pennies” by mindy gledhill. i used to listen to this song A LOT and thought this could fit our boy who's “in between jobs.” aughhh I LOVE MAKKI SM askdjf

Hanamaki couldn’t help but feel a twinge of shame when you handed him the beautifully wrapped present.

He hid it with a grin, “Oh come on, angel. I thought I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.” His tone came off light-hearted.

“I know I didn’t have to but I wanted to,” you smile at him. “Plus it’s your birthday! Of course I’m getting you a present!” You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. When you pulled back he can see the excitement building in your eyes, “Okay, open it!”

He cupped your cheek before unwrapping the gift. Inside was a watch, it was beautiful. He inspected it in awe. He gasped and turned to you. “You got it engraved?”

You nodded excitedly.

He smiled as his fingers brushed over those words ‘My love’ and the date of your anniversary. “Angel, I love it. But I told you, you don’t need to spend your money on me like this, really.”

Your smile was playful as you put the watch around his wrist.

“I know, love, but like I said, I wanted to.” You held his hand up to admire the watch on him. He couldn’t suppress his smile from the look on your face, happiness. You whispered the anniversary date in wonder. Only a week from today. “Think of it as an early anniversary present,” you told him, still admiring the watch on him. You giggled, “It looks good, no?”

“It does. It’s perfect,” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in, “Thank you.”

Hanamaki didn’t cave into that little pit in his stomach until you left for work the next morning. When you were gone he grabbed the watch from its box and looked at it again. And he let his mind wonder.

It’s not like he had a problem with you getting him a present, not at all. Or even that you must’ve spent quite a pretty penny on it. It was that he couldn’t do the same for you.

-----

He wished with his whole heart that he could spoil you rotten. You never asked for a thing but he wanted to give it all to you. The whole world. It’s what you deserved. It may have only been a year but he already decided that what you two had was forever. You brought a whole new level of life to Hanamaki and he knew you were an angel he was blessed with.

On your birthday he wanted to take you to that new amusement park. On Christmas he prayed he could get you those shoes he saw you eyeing. But he couldn’t. Not with the situation he was in right now.

You never thought any less of him or of the small presents he did get you though. It was another thing he loved about you. Your heart was always pure and in genuine appreciation and love when you opened the love letters he wrote you, the pictures he printed out, the plushies and snacks he got you. You were so content.

But he still wished he could give you more. To show you how much you meant to him.

With one more look at the watch he decided it. He had one week and he was going to give you an anniversary you deserved.

You were a little shocked at the news when you got home. Apparently an old alumni from his high school was a manager at one of the large supermarkets in town and one of his workers was on vacation for the week. Hanamaki was going to temporarily fill in.

You saw how excited he was to be working again so you smiled and congratulated him. You were honestly a little worried when he told you he’d be stocking some heavy supplies and would be leaving and arriving back home at irregular hours. But you knew he was struggling to land an interview for the job he actually wanted, he had been since he graduated college. You saw how eager he was to be earning a wage, so you were supportive.

But that week was hell for you.

You liked seeing Takahiro happy and more confident during the week but you also hardly saw him. Your worries stayed with you through the week, you could see how laborious the job was on him. And you missed him. Plain and simple. But were you being selfish? Was it selfish to want your boyfriend’s arms around you and for him to whisper jokes in your ear? You pushed yourself to be supportive nonetheless. But you were itching for the week to end.

And both of you were looking forward to it. Because at the end of this long week was your anniversary.

The whole time at work you were restless to get to your boyfriend. Besides a sleepy kiss to him that you were leaving, you two hadn’t even seen each other this morning due to your differing hours. But you did get a little sticky note saying ‘Happy Anniversary’, he had stuck it to your front door for you to see. You fiddled with it the entire day and counted the minutes before you could bolt to him.

When you got home Hanamaki was nowhere to be found. You walked into your bedroom and gasped.

He had laid petals on the end of your bed with his favorite date-night outfit of yours laid out. Near it were a big box of chocolates, a small pretty box and a card waiting for you.

Your heart began to beat fast as you read the words on the small paper.

Hello, my angel. I hope your day was lovely. Meet me at the pond?

-Takahiro

PS I thought this all would look gorgeous on you. Can’t wait to see you!

You grinned at the surprise date, meeting at your special spot. The little pond in the city that not many people knew about. You two stumbled upon it on your first date together.

You nervously opened the box and once again gasped. You pulled out the most beautiful bracelet. Your heart only raced faster when you saw the engraving on the inside of the cuff. My angel. You were speechless. You quickly changed and left to meet with Hanamaki.

When his eyes landed on you he felt like he was floating. You indeed looked gorgeous. And suddenly the strain of his muscles from the relentless labor of the week and the loneliness from not seeing you as much both vanished and he was consumed with an overwhelming amount of love.

“Hey,” he grinned goofily at you.

“Hey yourself, handsome.”

He chuckled. “I’m not the one who looks breathtaking. And I guess I was right about this, it looks good, no?” He imitated what you said when you gave him his watch last week. He lifted your hand and placed a gentle kiss on the top of your palm.

When he let your hand go you pressed it to his cheek and looked at him, “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“Happy Anniversary, angel.”

His smile and the love in his eyes were captivating. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

“But it’s only beginning,” he took a few steps and picked something off the ground behind a tree.

“Oh my gosh,” you laughed when you saw it. A bouquet of the most striking flowers. “They’re beautiful, Takahiro.”

“The best for you, come on, let’s stroll.”

And so you two walked around the pond, finally catching up on the long week. You felt so good being by his side again, holding onto him. And you two reminisced on the past year.

“Okay, one last thing before we head to dinner,” he pulled something out of his pocket, an envelope.

He looked at you with excitement as you opened it. When you did your jaw dropped. They were tickets to your favorite show, one you only ever dreamed of going to. You whipped to face him. “What are these?”

“You know what they are,” he laughed, “We’re going!”

“No,” you whispered in disbelief. You looked at the tickets again. This was too much. The bracelet itself was more than you could ever ask for, he bought you these tickets too?

“We’re going,” he repeated, snaking an arm around your waist. “Are you surprised?”

The look on your face was enough to answer but you nodded your head slowly, “But love, are you sure? These are costly aren’t they?” These were unbelievably amazing gifts but you weren’t used to these kinds of presents from Hanamaki and you weren’t quite sure how to react.

“Don’t worry about that, now let’s get going, the restaurant is just around the corner.”

When you two were near the main street you expected him to guide you to his and your favorite little restaurant. A place you guys frequented a lot in the beginning of your relationship. But he turned a different way and you two stood in front of a place you’ve never been to.

And you gasp realizing it was the new restaurant they just built and you turn to your boyfriend, “We’re not eating here are we?”

“Of course we are!”

“But it’s so expensive!”

“I already told you don’t worry about that, angel, come on,” he gently pulled your hand.

But you didn’t move. “Takahiro.” You knew something was up. “Come here,” you instead softly tug him back behind the buildings back to the path that led to the pond. When you're away from passerbyers you look at your boyfriend. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shuffled your feet a little. What if you were wrong? And would it be wrong to say? “I just, I feel like you’re being different today.”

“It’s our anniversary, I want it to be special,” he gave you a smile but you still saw something in his eyes.

“And it is special but..” you knew there was something going on. You swallowed away the hesitation and looked at him directly. “But something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is. I know something’s up so tell me, love.”

At that moment Hanamaki realized something. That you really knew him, that you really knew his heart.

He sighed. There was no hiding it from you anymore. “I wanted to make our anniversary special. Y/N, I love you so much and I know you don’t ask for these things but I wanted to buy you all these fancy things because you deserve them. They’re all the things I’ve wanted to give you since the first time you smiled my way but I never could get them for you. And I got tired of always feeling guilty when you give me an amazing present and all I give you are letters and kisses.” He lifted your wrist and looked at the bracelet, “You should be showered with gifts like this bracelet, and nice bouquets, and fancy dinners way more than I can afford to give you.” He didn’t realize he was crying until you were gently wiping the tears off his cheek but he continued on. “I wanted you to have these so I got that job, and I would do all that work week after week if it meant seeing your beautiful face showered with love.”

You wiped at your own tears. You never realized how much Hanamaki thought about money like that and you certainly weren’t expecting such heartfelt words. “Oh my love, all these things are beautiful but they’re not you.”

His face scrunched in confusion.

“Takahiro, I know you love me. You treat me like royalty everyday of my life, I can’t believe someone can look at me the way you do. I can’t believe you would sacrifice so much of yourself for that job because you want to get me these things. And yes, the bracelet, the tickets, those are beyond amazing but all the luxuries in the world could not make me love you any better. The love you have given me this past year has been the best love I can ever be graced with. I don’t need money and material things to know you love me. You want to know the things I treasure the most? When you kiss my head in the morning, when you open your arms when I climb into bed, and when you smile and tell me you’re happy. And those love letters? Love, those are the most precious things you have ever given to me.”

His eyes widened at all your words. “Really?”

You nodded, “Can I be honest? When you pulled out that envelope earlier I was excited to read another love letter I could add to my collection.”

He took everything in. You were telling him you accepted him, all of him. And that his love this whole time has been more than enough to let you know how he feels about you. He takes a few moments to process it all before he lets out a sigh of relief, one that’s been weighing him down for a while. And he looked at your beautiful face and smiled, “So maybe we can skip the fancy dinner and grab some takeout? I’ve missed cuddling with you on the couch.” He gently pulled you in closer to him.

“That sounds like a perfect evening.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu angst #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki #makki x reader #makki #tw angst #tw insecurity #tw finances #☀tara writes☀

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stormbreaker101 · 2 years

Note

re: your tag ramble… you are SO correct!!! i wish we got more callbacks to wizard city. i spawned in ravenwood the other day and was like… why don’t they put a copy of malorn in nightside (like how there are 2 dyvims in khrysalis- in bastion/kondha desert)? lil homie’s been standing there for 13 YEARS 😭 you should make that into its own post lol /meursaulty

Luckily I did take screenshots of all my tags on that post, including the ones that Tumblr deleted, so here ya go! All my tags from that post, transcribed under the cut

#unironically i would so enjoy it if the wizard city kids were to be companions

#because we see so little of them

#but they're basically the first characters we meet besides ambrose and malistaire

#meanwhile in pirate the first characters we meet become lifelong companions

#i know the story of wizard101 is one of individualism and a single destiny and loneliness

#but i would love it if the kids could yknow exist for more than the first 30 mins of gameplay

#they deserve to grow as we grow #so #CONCEPT:

#after you do one of the 3 streets the wizard(s) of your school join you until the end of wizard city

#so like. you buddy up with nolan stormgate once you finish cyclops lane if you're a myth

#the gryphonbane siblings after triton if you're storm

#duncan after triton if you're death #ceren after unicorn way if you're life #et cetera

#im not sure what to do for ice or balance since we dont encounter any balance wizzes iirc

#and the only ice wc npc i can recall is mindy. who is in colossus blvd and ergo is side content

#BUT THATS BESIDE THE POINT #our companion joins us up through wizard city

#then when the player goes to krok our companion is like

#'wow! you're so lucky! i wish i could travel to other worlds good luck on your quest and see ya around!'

#and occasionally when we return to wizard city for more than just reporting to ambrose at the start or end of a world

#we can quest with our companion again just a bit of development for them

#perhaps if you've got duncan you can actually get some build up to him joining the cabal

#bc as it stands duncan's betrayal comes right outta left field

#perhaps if you were a life wiz and you talk with ceren he mentions how he's become a good friend and possibly mentor for mellori

#the same way he'd been for you when y'all were younger

#perhaps when you become the scion your companions are there for you. like they can't do the arboreal ritual themselves but

#they give words of encouragement before and support after

#idk i just feel emotional about these dang kids #THEY'RE PEOPLE

#they deserve to GROW #they deserve to EXIST #leah speaks: tag edition

#wizard101 #w101

#wizard101 #w101 #ask #fedoradolokhov #meursaulty #leah speaks :3

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st-agatha-city · 2 years

Text

So! What needs to happen next?

Writing

I need to finish Mindy, Marjory, and Tara’s [good] routes! Then I need to finish the [bad] routes for everyone, which shouldn’t take very long, and do the “epilogues” for each route (also shouldn’t take that long) where you talk to Norman before ending Chapter 0: Welcome to St. Agatha City.

After that, it’s just the secret routes! These are achieved by exploring the map more thoroughly, and also shouldn’t take long, as they are one 15 minutes of content, as opposed to the full routes (Norman, Denver, Tara, etc.) which will give you 30 minutes of gameplay each! The secret routes can be played alongside a main route, as well, so that’ll hopefully incentive the player to find them all!

I don’t estimate these taking long to complete, my mental health providing, as I could not be more excited to do them. I’ve been holding myself back because that is basically my dessert, and I have to finish dinner first (the meat of my work.) :/

Edits

Once writing is done/near done, I’m going to be meticulously combing through this bad boy for typos. I’m also going to be adding sounds, like music and foley affects. This will probably take a solid month, and while I’ll be starting as soon as physically possible, I am devoting the month before release to making sure everything is perfect.

Art

This means finishing up sprites, adding those that are missing, and cleaning up the existing sprites. I’ll have examples for you soon, as I am redoing Cole’s sprite entirely for reasons I’ll explain in that post! Some people who need tweaks are Harvey, Denver, and Tara, so expect makeovers soon.

More dauntingly, this also means… background art and CGs. The CGs are time consuming, and can make it break a scene. As such, I’ve been putting them off for the moment to get the actual writing done, and just thumbnailing the gists of what I want to do in their stead. As far as backgrounds go, that’s what I’m dreading the most. However, I’ve been actually doing a lot of research into what and how I’m going to execute them, so… hopefully that’ll make it a little more doable, as I’ve been doing studies over the past three or so months to prepare myself.

Coding

Mostly this involves getting the mechanics right. And adding accessibility features, and optimizing the demo for replayability (having a button for a hard reset or a soft reset namely, if you want to replay the game to get all of the endings.) I’ll talk more about this later!

Testing

Later this month will be the January Alpha Tests!! But I figure soon I’ll have to open up Beta testing, won’t I? I’ll need more than one pair of eyes on this thing to tell me if it… well… works! About a month or two before release, I’d like to get ten people involved to play through the Beta Version of the game, and give me their feedback. If that sounds like something you’d like to do, let me know! Open auditions will start as early as February, god willing, but please message me ASAP if you think you’ll be interested!

Thank you all! See you soon~!

#st agatha city #dating sim #visual novel #game development #alpha testing #beta testing #english otome #otome #indie game

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c-is-writing · 4 years

Text

i do adore

pairing: wanda maximoff x gn!reader

genre: f l u f f

word count: 1775

warnings: yet again, i did not proofread this lmao. i am just typing whatever comes to my mind. otherwise, it’s just really fluffy so pls enjoy!!

a/n: good morning, i am writing this at 1am. i should be working on my college apps but this fic was just living in my mind rent-free and would not leave until i wrote it. also, this fic is inspired by and has lyrics from a song called “i do adore” by mindy gledhill. it’s a really cute song :’DD

Everything you do, it sends me

Higher than the moon with every

Twinkle in your eye

You strike a match that lights my heart on fire

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, a certain brunette always caught your eye. You’d find yourself paying more attention to her than anyone else. At this moment, you lean against the kitchen counter, completely entranced by the way she spoke animatedly to Natasha. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders. The way she waved her hands around, using her actions to emphasize what she’s saying. How the kitchen lights gleamed in her eyes, illuminating them.

God, she’s so cute. And smart. And genuine. And caring. I- “Hello? Y/N? You there?” You are quickly brought out of your thoughts as a grimy hand waved in front of your face, blocking your view of Wanda. Your face scrunches up in disgust as you grip Tony’s grease-covered hand to stop it from moving, only to release it immediately after. Smiling, Wanda watches you glance at your now-dirty hands and start searching for a towel, careful not to get anything else dirty. You mumble, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just..distracted.”

Natasha notices that the young girl’s attention is elsewhere and decides to put a pause on the conversation. As she bids her goodbyes, Wanda takes it as her cue to head over to where you were, crouched next to the cabinets, searching for soap. “Need help?” The melody of her words steals your attention as you turn your head, meeting her blue eyes. Suddenly, your heart begins to pound and you can hear the heartbeats in your ears. At a loss for words, you shake your head and quickly rush out of the kitchen, not caring about your dirty hands. Wanda just stands in the kitchen alone, wondering about what just happened.

When you're near, I hide my blushing face

And trip on my shoelaces

Grace just isn't my forté

But it brings me to my knees when you say

Hello, how are you, my darling, today?

I fall into a pile on the floor

It’s been only a day since the kitchen incident and that’s when you realized that you, Y/N L/N, have a crush on the one and only Wanda Maximoff. Groaning and draping your arm over your eyes, you ask seemingly no one “Oh, God. What if she doesn’t like me back?” You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as you begin to think about her. You like, maybe even love, everything about her. Flashes of her laughs and smiles run through your head, like cars on a freeway until a knock on your door disturbs you. It creaks open and you have yet to remove your arm that’s covering your eyes.

You feel the bed dip as you hear the voice you’ve grown to love, “Hey, how are you, darling? It seemed like you weren’t feeling well yesterday.” Feeling the blood rush to your cheeks, you bury your face into the pillow as you slowly melt into it. In a muffled voice, “I’m fine, Wans. I think I’m just tired.” She knows that there’s something you’re not telling her but she refrains from looking into your thoughts. “Okay, well, I just wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready.” and with that she gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Sighing, you sit up and start getting ready for the day. Your mind can’t stop thinking about the way she called you darling, causing you to fumble with everything you come into contact with. In your flustered state, you nearly drop your phone, accidentally put on mismatching socks, and trip over yourself as you open the door. Quickly composing yourself, you take a breath and start heading towards breakfast. Oh boy, what a start to my morning.

We're as different as can be

I've noticed you're remarkably relaxed

And I'm overly uptight

We balance out each other nicely

“Y/N?! When’s the last time you took a break?”

“Uhhh, I’m not sure...but I just have so much paperwork to complete, I can’t really afford to take a break.”

“Nope. You’re taking one right now. Your health and sanity is more important than some paperwork.”

“But, Wans, I-”

“No buts. I’m going to a café and I’m dragging you with me”

Admitting defeat, you place the pen in your hand down and mark out where you stopped. Your joints crack as you rise up from the chair that you’ve been sitting in for almost 8 hours. Wanda gives you a smile and holds her hand out, signaling for you to take it. Gently taking a hold of her hand, she pulls you along with her, not noticing how clammy they are.

A few minutes after you leave the compound, you readjust your grip on her hand to interlace each others’ fingers. As you walk at a steady rhythm, you feel more relaxed, all of the stress from the paperwork leaving your body. Wanda takes note of how your shoulders aren’t as tense and you seem to be enjoying yourself. She carefully looks over your figure; how the sun reflects in your eyes, bringing out their color, how the wind gently ruffles your hair, how you sigh contently when you lean your head against her shoulder.

“Thanks for bringing me out here.” She squeezes your hand, “Of course, Y/N. I care about you. Plus, it looked like you really needed a break from that hellish paperwork.” Laughing at her comment, you don’t notice how Wanda looks at you as if you were a masterpiece in an art gallery; her eyes, full of adoration.

Puppy love is hard to ignore

When every little thing you do, I do adore

Arriving at the café shortly after, Wanda holds the door open for you as you step in, the smell of coffee beans and gingerbread floating through the air. She giggles as your eyes light up when they spot the gingerbread cookies on display. You turn your head to face her, offering a shy smile that sends butterflies into her stomach. Walking up to the counter, you realize that you aren’t holding hands anymore so you slowly link your pinky with hers, hoping that she’ll get the message. As she orders your guys’ drinks and a gingerbread cookie for you, she feels your finger hook on to hers. While the barista finalizes the order, Wanda releases your pinky finger, only to reattach her hand to yours, interlocking fingers once more.

After paying, you opt to sit at a table next to a large window with plants placed along the windowsill. Wanda looks at the outside world, lost in her thoughts as she unconsciously brushes her thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. You take this time to commit this moment to memory -- Wanda watching the cars pass by as the golden sunset behind her creates a glowing aura surrounding her body. Spending a few more seconds basking in this quiet moment with her, you realize that you want more than what you have with her. You want to wake up next to her. You want to be the shoulder that she cries on. You want to be the person whose arms hold her up and protect her when she is too tired to do so. You want to be hers.

Hearing her name being called, Wanda pries her eyes away from the cars and sees you staring at her with eyes full of adoration and love. She gives your hand a light squeeze and promises to be back as she heads to the counter to pick up the drinks and cookie. As she returns with the drinks in hand, you graciously take yours and, with a child-like excitement, ask “Is that for me?” when you notice the gingerbread cookie in her hand. Giggling at your reaction, she tells you yes and slides it over to you.

Finding words, I mutter

Tongue-tied, twisted

Foot in mouth, I start to stutter

Ha, ha, Heaven help me

The two of you fall into an effortless conversation that never stops until the café reaches its closing hours. You notice the time and can’t believe that you’ve been talking for nearly three hours with Wanda. As you apologize to the employees for staying so late, Wanda has a fond smile and reaches out for your hand. Grabbing her hand, you step outside and begin your walk back to the compound. For a majority of the walk, it’s quiet with the gentle tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk and occasional car passing by. You keep thinking about Wanda and how much you want to be with her. Wanda glances over, only to see you spaced out, thoughts swirling in your mind.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Aren’t you able to read other people’s minds?” you quip.

She chuckles and says, “Yes, but I would never read your mind without consent.” You pause, debating on whether or not you should tell her. Noticing your sudden silence, Wanda tilts her head in confusion and stops walking, pulling you back to her. The stop in movement brings you out of your thoughts. You quickly glance down and reach for her hand that’s not being held. Holding both of her hands, you look up to see her eyes, filled with concern.

“Look, Wans. I-” You sigh and look down at your shoes, unsure of what you want to say. A few moments of silence pass by as you take a deep breath and confess, “Wanda, I really like you. Hell, I might even love you. I love the way your nose scrunches up when you laugh, the way you take care of me and check in on me, the way you control your powers and wield them with such grace. Everything you do, I do adore. And, I just- I...I was wondering if youwouldliketobemygirlfriend?”

Wanda blinks at you with a dumbfounded expression, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that last bit.” You hesitate, “Well, I- uh, um...Wanda, would you like to be my girlfriend?” After hearing those words, she flashes you a smile brighter than the sun and pulls you in a hug. “Yes, I would love to be yours, Y/N.” You release the breath you didn’t notice you were holding and stay in her embrace, soaking in the warmth radiating from her body. She pulls away slightly and moves to kiss you, pausing and searching your eyes for permission. With a slight nod, you move closer and meet her lips halfway. I really do adore her.

tag list (marvel) - @imnotasuperhero

(if you would like to be added to my tag list, please let me know!!! :DD)

#*mine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x gn!reader #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #scarlet witch #song fic

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roobylavender · 2 years

Note

Sometimes I think about this just because of like how she wrote Selina & the similarities that are often pointed out about the two characters, but like if Mindy Newell had some how been given creative control of Jason’s resurrection what do you think it would’ve looked like?

i think about this so often 😭 what i really love about the way mindy writes characters is she's capable of enlightening (?) them without outright condescending to them and i think that is something that jason desperately needs. bc his worldview is warped about a lot of things, but he needs people to still believe in him and he needs to be able to believe in himself. despite all of the cynicism and doubts and trauma that selina was mired in she was still fighting for that chance to reach happiness and do the right thing where she knew in her heart it felt right to do, which is what i think made her contention with the costume so compelling, bc it was on one hand a viable escape from the abuse, but it was also something she could use recklessly if she wasn't careful with her decisions. and i think newell was able to convey that marvelously bc of how personal her stories and the casts in them felt. like selina had people close to her who believed in her and wanted to see her pull through, and the same goes for lois as well if you've read the solo newell wrote for her in 1986. all jason really needs is a few personal stories about him and the people that matter to him in his life re-instilling that belief. which obv is a bit tricky to execute bc all three of his parents are dead, but you can certainly still accomplish something if you ever let him contend with the memory of them. even newell managed to do that when she wrote her short story for selina in the eightieth anni book, and i bet she could do it with the three of them too, esp in an aftermath of utrh type situation

#outbox #i would highly rec the lois solo btw! very underrated and little talked about but also fabulous!

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dadsbongos · 4 years

Text

It’s in the Walls

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy

Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader

Warnings: you got a whole ass man living in your house without you knowing, you’re a mom

Summary: There’s a large house up for sale on a massive price-cut, who wouldn’t take that deal?

~~~

“Mom!” the shriek was high-pitched and echoed through the winding walls of the maze the manor made itself out to be.

(Y/n) closed her eyes, pretending the scream didn’t happen for a few seconds of cheap bliss before breaking back into her mothering persona. She crept down the corridors, reminding herself to take down every painting on the wall, the eyes followed her. Eventually, she came into her younger son’s new room, leaning her body against the doorway.

The blond child was huddled in a box pressed against the right wall, his small body curled tightly into itself inside the cardboard. He looked to his mother, large blue eyes sprinkled in delight that she came. Pointing to his bed, he murmured, “I saw a rat.”

“What?” she muttered, the realtor said the rodents that only stuck to the yard, but of course, that was a lie, “Oh, sweetie, come here,” the boy stumbled out of the box and grabbed onto his mother’s extended hand, “I’ll take care of him, you go make sure Joey hasn’t lost in mind in the library, okay?”

“Thank you, Dylan,” she cooed, pressing a short kiss to his forehead before sending him off.

His pink lips, shaped nearly identically to his father’s, stretched into a large grin,

“Okay, Mama!”

As soon as her son was gone, the smile drooped and suddenly she felt the weight of her eye bags drawing on her face. (Y/n) carefully approached the bed before getting onto her hands and knees, pulling up one of the draping blankets to peek underneath. A squirming, round, fat little frame poked out in the darkness before it squealed and began scurrying away.

Her hand shot out and she squeezed the fatty body between her fingers, grimacing at the rat in her hand. She never hated the things, they just never piqued her interest in the best ways, either. It thrashed and scratched at her, a small hiss leaving the woman before she tossed one of the windows open and left the rat on the sill outside to crawl away. Shutting and locking the window once again, (Y/n) made another mental note to get rat traps. Unless there were already traps.

Exiting the room, (Y/n) huffed at every creak in the wooden planks of the floorboards. The manor was old, oh, so old, it only made sense that none of the wooden boards would be silent. Even so, it was annoying and she liked to think she had the right to complain.

Eyes drifting to paintings and peeling wallpaper, she tried to remind herself to be thankful. Divorce wasn’t easy, much less so when your ex was a greedy, manipulative joke that milked you for nearly all of your possessions - she was lucky to find the mansion. Especially at such an astoundingly low price - she doubted a typical house would be cheaper than what she got the place for. None of those houses came fully-furnished anyway. Admittedly creepy and strange, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you might not like what you see.

As (Y/n) scanned through cupboards and cabinets, a loud thud alerted her of a new presence in the kitchen. She shot up, banging her head on the interior of a cabinet, her hand settled on the tender curve of her skull, softly rubbing as she stood. At the counter was her elder son, black-dyed hair messy and glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hi, honey,” (Y/n) chuckled at his frazzled appearance, “just get done wrestling one of the stuffed bears?”

Joey rolled his eyes, thumping a thick, hard-cover book against the granite countertop, “No, actually, I was looking for my shoes. Where are they?”

The woman shrugged, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I left them by the door and they’re not there anymore,” the teenage boy scratched at the back of his head, “Dylan’s either lying or genuinely didn’t steal them so I came to you.”

“Did you check everywhere?” (Y/n) questioned, brows furrowing at the absurdity of the situation, “Shoes don’t just walk away on their own, you gotta have feet in them.”

“Yes, I checked everywhere,” the boy grumbled, no longer bumping the book on the hard surface, now content to flip through the pages and allow the smell of old parchment to fill their nostrils. What a lovely smell that was.

Shaking her head, the mother fumbled for an explanation to the whereabouts of her son’s shoes, “I don’t know what to tell you, you brought more pairs, right?”

Joey nodded slowly, eyes scanning through fragmented sentences before turning to the next page, “Yeah, I just really liked those ones.”

“Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually, don’t worry yourself over it,” she grasped her boy’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb into the flesh tenderly before letting go, “We have a rat problem, by the way, if you see any traps, let me know.”

“Oh fun,” he mumbled, forcing a wide smile onto his lips, “I think there’s some in the backyard if you haven’t been out there. They look like shit but they’ll probably get the job done.”

“Language, but thank you.”

“English and you’re welcome.”

Deciding it was better to just walk away at this point, (Y/n) headed for the back door. It was heavy to pull open and nearly slammed shut if she hadn’t pressed her foot into the thick wood, grunting at the responding pain. A trash bag was set out with a pair of gloves next to it on a quaint little side table with spider webs running between the beige wicker legs. As if somebody had put them out for a quick run but forgot they wouldn’t be using them after they left.

After that, what caught her eye was the glint of rusted metal in the thick, untamed bushes of the surrounding greenery. Upon closer inspection, she could see that grass had entangled with the metallic gate on a small wooden box, buzzing flies being the next eye-catcher. She crouched down, instantly picking up on the putrid smell of corroding flesh and dried blood, flies nibbling on the swiss cheesed corpse of a rat.

“Shit!” she gagged, backing away, rubbing her hands on her pants despite having not touched the cage at all.

Looking back up at the house, (Y/n) barely noticed the outline of a person in one of the second-floor windows. She blinked twice, shaking her head before squinting back up at the same window. Just a coat rack. Didn’t seem right - there were pants in the outline! - but then she realized how outlandish it seemed. If there was a secret person living in the house, surely it would’ve been mentioned by the realtor.

‘Forgotten’ rats were one thing, an entire person was another.

“Mom!” another soprano level scream ruptured her eardrums.

In turn, (Y/n) huffed, clenching her eyes shut before turning around and walking back towards the porch. What she first noticed was her seven-year-old, the second being the extremely off-putting, cracked porcelain doll in his arms.

It was half his size and looked to have been haphazardly put back together with some unnamed brand of superglue. Dark hair framed its head quite well with glassy, hazel eyes and pale, pretty pink lips. Grossly realistic and abandoned in a mansion, it seemed to be perfect fire material. Or it would be, if she hadn’t been told by the realtor, very explicitly, to not use the fireplace.

“Whole house could go up in flames,” Mindy had waved her hands about, “I’m not sure how that’d work, but just… don’t test it.”

Dylan held up the doll closer to his mother’s face, “Isn’t he cool?!”

“Yeah,” she lied through her teeth, carefully taking the doll, “Does he have a name?”

Leading his mother back inside, Dylan shrugged, but his loose limbs and lack of control made it appear as though he was trying to toss his shoulders off from his body, “Don’t know.”

“Hmm,” she quietly hummed, pulling back the tightly sewn collar of the doll to peek at a possible name tag, “I’m not seeing anything here, baby. You wanna name him yourself?”

There was another creak, easily dismissed as the manor’s old bones settling as the woman handed the fragile doll to her son. Dylan pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at the toy for a few moments before bursting out an answer, “I think he looks like a James!”

(Y/n) nodded to the boy’s antics, “I think that’s a great name for him.”

Before they could continue the conversation, a hard bang on the wall knocked a picture from its spot above the stove, toppling onto the rather shiny surface. Their heads turned, eyes wide and Dylan was suddenly shaking, grasping onto his mother’s shirt and huddling into her side. The woman settled a hand on her son’s shoulder, pressing her thumb into the tensing muscles before pulling away to inspect the wall.

It was a wall, obviously. Flat, leveled, wall. Nothing particularly interesting about it aside from the wallpaper’s collection of grime and peels. Looking down, she took notice of the framed picture. Three figures stood in front of the home (Y/n) now found herself in possession of. Garden controlled and clean with no windows boarded, cracked, or dirtied. A young woman not much older than (Y/n) herself was holding a four-year-old brunette boy to her hip with, who one could assume was, her husband beside them.

Glancing between the picture and the doll, she frowned at how similar the toy looked to the little boy. Not to mention that haunting family portrait at the foot of the staircase. Turning the frame over in her hands, she opened up the back before pulling the picture out of its frame. (Y/n) searched for a scrawled title of the photograph, quickly finding an answer.

Mummy, Daddy, and Brahms!

She replaced the picture just as quickly as she got it out, debating between putting it back and tossing it out before deciding to leave it on the counter. (Y/n) took her son’s chubby cheeks between her hands, planting yet another kiss on his freckled forehead, “I think his name is Brahms, sweetie.”

“Brahms?” Dylan muttered, almost as though he was testing for another bump. When there was none, he nodded, “Brahms.”

Running away and back up the stairs, (Y/n) was ready to force herself into forgetting the whole thing happened when her older son’s voice was heard.

“It’s funny, you little brat!” followed by a loud wail.

“Give him back!” Dylan screamed.

(Y/n) rushed out of the kitchen to see Joey holding Brahms out of Dylan’s reach, the older boy was visibly angry, “Funny, I could say the same thing to you!”

“Joseph Lowy,” the woman muttered, snatching the doll from her son, and giving it back to her pouting little blond boy, “Here, go play with Brahms,” as he ran up the stairs, she called after him, “Don’t get too crazy up there, you two!”

Joey shook his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, “Little asshole.”

“Hey!” (Y/n) looked over to the sixteen-year-old, “Don’t talk about your little brother like that.”

“He stole more of my shit,” the dark-haired boy tapped at the wall a few times with his knuckles, shaking his head, “Shoes I could deal with but now two of my shirts are missing.”

“Did you leave them at the house?” she tried to reason, leaning against the wall, “Dylan’s been with me for a while, maybe you’re losing it, sweetpea.”

Joey cringed at the pet name briefly before deciding to carry on with his point, “No, I didn’t leave my clothes at the house. I wouldn’t leave a single sock with that dick.”

“Don’t call my ex a dick,” (Y/n) breathed out, turning her son around and nudging him towards the den, “Only I can do that.”

“Unfair.”

“This isn’t a democracy, it’s a dictatorship,” (Y/n) waved off, standing there long enough just to watch the boy sit down on a leather chair and open the book in his hands. She’d have to go into town for rat traps, then.

She bit at her lip, turning towards the flight of stairs and beginning to go up the steps. Without the creeks flowing alongside her movement, the house seemed even more eerie - she didn’t bother to stop and figure out why there were no creeks. It didn’t matter to her at the time.

(Y/n) peeked into Dylan’s room, smiling softly at the sight of her little boy seated at a play table with plastic plates and cups and faux food set delicately on it. He was holding a small pink teacup with Brahms porcelain fingers using a hair tie to keep a similar purple one in his grasp. When the little boy noticed his mother in the doorway, he waved wildly, taking one of Brahms’ arms gently and copying the motion onto the doll.

Continuing down the hall, (Y/n) came upon her room, pushing it open and immediately seeing that her suitcases and bags had been peeled open. She was sure that she’d left them all zipped and sealed before leaving, but, of course, you can never be too certain. Going over to the luggage, she moved clothing around and peered through when she noticed how strewn about her things were.

The ‘fragile-minded’ female role after a heavy divorce was not something (Y/n) ever imagined herself as being. It was so played out and disgusting, she despised it with everything in her body. Yet, as she found that one of her dresses was missing, she suddenly felt as though it was depressingly truer than she’d hoped.

(Y/n) turned to another suitcase; her apple red-tinted skirt was gone. She dug deeper into the case, pulling out a few stray, tossed-around shirts in her endeavor to find her favorite skirt. She tossed a hand up, giving up on finding the articles of clothing for the time being. Not that she’d admit it, but worry was beginning to fester in the deepest crawlspaces of her gut.

Stepping over to a different suitcase, (Y/n) pulled out what probably wouldn’t make her look as though she just woke up and went over to the bathroom connected to her bedroom.

Mindy had made it abundantly clear that the two previous owners drowned themselves while on a ‘two-month’ vacation after leaving the house to a nanny. Who the nanny was or why she left wasn’t made clear to either woman, just that the house wasn’t right. Cryptic language, always appreciated.

Taking into mind the deaths and sudden missing clothing combined with bumps from the kitchen, it may be time to call the kettle a kettle. The home may be haunted. Not that she wanted a literal haunted house, but what other choice was there at this point?

Not even apartments were renting as low as the manor was selling.

As she finished getting dressed, (Y/n) began her way out of the house, stopping at her younger son’s room, “I’m going out for some things. Want me to bring you back anything?”

Dylan looked over to the cracked doll, “Do you want new clothes, Brahms?”

The doll, of course, was completely silent. Unmoving. Watching.

“I think Brahms wants new clothes, Mom,” Dylan beamed at the woman, holding up his plastic cup.

(Y/n) giggled, nodding as she pat the doorway, “Alright, honey, I’ll see what I can do for Brahms.”

“Thanks, Mom,” the bubbly little boy lowered his cup, settling his hand on the doll’s back, “Say thanks, Brahms.”

No words came from the toy, as one would be expected to expect. It sat still, not moving but still watching. Always watching. Unblinking, glassy, hazel eyes stuck on his flesh-and-blood blond friend.

“He says thanks.”

Nodding, the woman gave her boy a thumbs up, “I’m sure.”

The next son was still in the den, reading quietly to himself. Every now and again one’s ear would pick up on a small mumble of a word, small stutters slipping from the teenager’s lips. (Y/n) came up behind the boy, hands slamming onto the back of the chair loudly.

Joey jumped in his place, turning swiftly, “The hell, Mom?”

“I’m going out, bookworm,” (Y/n) teased, running a hand through the boy’s messy black hair, “Need me to pick something up?”

“Coffee grounds would be great,” he confirmed, “There’s none in this entire, literal, mansion.”

“Alright,” she gently brought her older son’s shoulders back so his head was laying against the chair, “Take a break sometime soon, okay? Stretch for a bit, make you and your brother some lunch.”

He hummed in acknowledgment but otherwise, there was no indication of him having even listened to his mother.

The next morning was just as drab and bland as the previous, and there was no doubt that the morning after this would be the same as always. (Y/n) huffed as she climbed out of bed, rubbing a hand over her droopy eyes. She stood, no longer remembering much of what had happened yesterday other than buying children’s clothes for a doll and coffee grounds for her son.

Not even the drill holes the previous owners must have never paid much mind to, which she noticed after dinner. They were strangely large for any typical drill she’d seen or owned.

(Y/n) managed to trudge into the kitchen during her dazed state, neither one of her boys was eating and so she correctly assumed both were still asleep. Scratching under her shirt at her stomach, the woman picked the coffee grounds from under the sink, laying the hefty tub on the counter next to the maker. Seemed a bit counterproductive to have a coffee maker and not a single crumb of grounds or even any beans to actually use. Not that she could say it to the owners’ faces.

“Oh, filters, right,” she mumbled to herself, immediately recalling the thin papers in the walk-in closet style storage compartment.

Her hand scanned over a few shelves, one arm crossed over her chest and the other still running along canned goods and cereal boxes. She tilted her head to rest on the raised shoulder, beginning to hum quietly to herself. The air was pleasantly crisp, oddly crisp for the interior of a house let alone a pantry. It had the same feeling as being inside an attic, if that made any sort of sense it didn’t matter to her at the time. Not much about the house mattered to her at the moment.

A few creeks and Joey was walking into the kitchen, the poor house was only getting older and with his naturally heavy steps, Joey found himself making more noise than he’d like. So much noise. Too much noise. Why did he have to be so loose with his footfalls? He’d been walking for over forty years by now.

Forty years? Forty years.

He was a grown man, he should be able to walk quietly. Just because Greta left him, he suddenly can’t be a ghost anymore?

A scream clutched the air as the pantry door slammed shut. (Y/n) turned, not finding herself much a fan of the darkness. She took the doorknob into her grip, violently twisting and pushing on the knob, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The door refused to budge, like a weight was pressing down onto it. It creaked and rocked ever so slightly but there was no way of getting it open.

“Joseph fucking Lowy, open this God damn door!” she pounded on the busted wood, beginning to kick when her hits proved no help, “Dylan! One of you open this door, right now!”

Suddenly, the lock made a click, and all the invisible weight was gone, a sixteen-year-old boy staring quizzically at his mother, “Mom, what’s wrong with you? How did you lock the door from the outside?”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n) shook her head, giving the pantry a glance over her shoulder, “You locked me in there.”

“You woke me up with all your yelling,” Joey instantly denied, “I’m surprised Dylan’s not up yet.”

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you right now,” she crossed both arms, “It’s not cute.”

“I’m serious!” he shouted in his own defense, neither of them taking notice in the seven-year-old cradling a porcelain doll with a cracked face to his chest, “I wouldn’t lock you in a pantry!”

“Mom…” the boy muttered.

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched, eyes slamming shut and body turning away from her older son to look at the disgusting wallpaper of her kitchen. She sniffed hard, rubbing under her nose before looking back to her younger son, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Brahms made a mess,” Dylan quietly replied, going up to his mother and grabbing her hand, “It wasn’t me, really. It was Brahms.”

“What do you mean it was Brahms?” she huffed, following after the child as he began leading her up to the second floor, “He’s a doll, baby, it was probably just the wind knocking something over.”

“No,” he shook his head, pushing his bedroom door open wider, “Brahms made a mess.”

A mess indeed. Clothes and toys had been absolutely hurricaned around the little boy’s room, some glass from pictures and abandoned dishes shattered across the floor. Dylan’s play table had been toppled over with all the plasticware left on the carpeted ground. Looking over to her son’s feet, (Y/n) felt herself puzzled at the lack of blood; glass was everywhere. How could his reckless little feet avoid all of it?”

“Baby, did you step in any glass?”

“There’s glass in there?” the boy peeked around his mother before looking down at Brahms, “How did you do that?”

(Y/n) turned back to the bedroom, poking her tongue into her cheek as her hands found their places on her hips. Confusion laced into her bones, trickling down the marrow and soaking into her shaking fingertips. Brows knit tightly downward in the midst of her conflict and head thumping for answers, no - no, that was a headache. She was getting a headache.

Taking her son’s shoulders, (Y/n) spun him around to face the way they just came down, “I’ll take care of that tonight, sweetpea, don’t go in here for a little bit, alright? I don’t want you cutting up your feet.”

“Okay, Mama,” Dylan grinned up at the woman, holding Brahms a little tighter in his grasp, “I don’t want Brahms to get hurt either.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she cooed, taking his cheek between thumb and forefinger and pinching gently, “What a good little boy I have.”

Beaming at the praise, the mother-son duo didn’t even notice the panel in the wall rolling back and it’s spidery tendons creeping around the curve of the wall’s edge. Instead, they giggled over nothing as (Y/n) took her son’s small, fragile hands into her own and puppeteered him down the stairs. Doll boy Brahms left to sit on the landing of the house’s flight until somebody, anybody, picked him up.

Passing the portrait of another family was easy enough despite how creepy it seemed. They’d have to take it down, feeling like a guest in one’s own home was never appreciated. Then again, neither were pests in your walls, especially when you didn’t know about them yet.

“Sleep tight, sweetie,” (Y/n) blew one final kiss to her son before closing the bedroom door to her own room.

“Wait,” Dylan whined, stopping his mother in the motion, “Brahms is still gone…”

The woman pursed her lips, “I know, I know. Just try to sleep without him for now, okay? We’ll probably find him tomorrow morning.”

Pouting, the boy kicked his legs out slightly before nodding solemnly, “Alright…”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled tenderly at the child before shutting the bedroom door genuinely. Turning to her other son, (Y/n) forced a much faker smile onto her lips, “And thank you for your upcoming sacrifice.”

“I never said it was a sacrifice,” Joey grumbled, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “You’re just dramatic.”

“Incorrect,” (Y/n) turned her boy around with a few small pats on the shoulder, descending the stairs as a pair until they reached the comically large portrait of a family that wasn’t their own.

Her hand settled against the groove of the curvy golden frame, the other resting against the painted surface as she and her son lifted the painting from the wall.

“Shit,” Joey hissed, assisting his mother in her lifting, “this thing’s heavy. Really heavy.”

“Probably wasn’t meant to be taken off the wall,” the woman reasoned with her son, muscles straining in their removal of the ridiculously big painting.

As the woman handled the painting, deciding to let it rest on the floor. Her backbones screamed as she slowly bent at the knee to lower the portrait of the wealthy family. Knuckles and joints beginning to ache as she did so.

“Mom…?” Joey muttered, voice much smaller and more fragile than she was accustomed to.

“Yeah?” she gruffed, finally letting the painting down completely. Her hands came to press on her tailbone ever so gently, practically already feeling next morning’s soreness, “Something wrong?”

“Only if you think a human-sized hole in the wall is a problem?” the boy chuckled dryly.

“A what?”

Turning swiftly, (Y/n) was quickly faced with exactly what her eldest son had just described to her. A human-sized hole in their wall. Large enough to fit a six-foot person, maybe they’d have to duck, but the fact remained. Her hands reached out for the edges of where the frame met the actual wall. She turned her head both ways, it was dark but when her eyes adjusted she could tell that there was a clear path running through the wall. Pulling her head back out, (Y/n) nodded towards the hole.

“I’ll go first, you follow.”

“Fine.”

Stepping into the hole, she noted how disgustingly crisp the air felt, it reminded her of being trapped in the pantry. It made her question what ways were waiting to be opened up by creeping little fingers inside that quiet, confined space. Her skin bumped and hairs raised at the thought of whoever had made these pathways still being inside the house. But that was insane, not a chance that somebody could live inside the walls of a manor without anybody finding out. There’d be too many creeks.

And suddenly she was remembering being locked in the pantry again, when those loud creeks were cracking into her ears and her sons had still been asleep. Her sons had still been asleep.

(Y/n) stopped, glad that her son’s eyes, though faltering, had adjusted to the dark well enough so he wouldn’t bump into her, “You’re sure you didn’t lock me in the pantry, right? There’s no way you were sleepwalking or anything?”

It was silent, so silent that there was a deafening buzz drumming into her ears.

“Joey?”

Again, all she was met with was the droning, consistent blare of buzzing in her ears.

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you.”

Once more, she was hit with buzzing.

“Joseph,” (Y/n) turned around, not meeting the eyes of her sixteen-year-old bookworm son, but instead with a stained, smelly, thin white shirt.

It hung low enough to expose the oddly shiny slick of sweat glistening over a hairy chest. Her breath grew rapid, fear racing through her body as she shook her head.

Looking up, her gut was wrenched at the dirtied prosthetic mask angled as if the person behind it was looking down upon her, as though she were a frightened rabbit. Now that she thought about it, she was a frightened, shaking little rabbit.

“Where’s my son?” when there was no response, she tossed herself into his body, attempting to push past him, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The arms of the secret man in her walls wrapped around her, squeezing tightly. One arm abandoned her waist, scrambling for something a little ways behind them, when he found it, the arm raised above her head.

“Joseph?!” she sobbed weakly, beginning to choke on her own nasty cocktail of tears and mucus, “Dylan?!”

A thwack left no more screaming to be heard, the tall man dropping his makeshift club in favor of picking the woman up as though she were his cute, delicate bride.

Brahms turned, heading back for the largest panel of the walls with (Y/n) dangling limply in his arms.

Finally coming to, (Y/n) sputtered in a soft muffle, eyesight unclear and spotting in the corners. The spots and blotches eventually leveled and began to mop themselves into one concise picture of the kitchen. She let out a soft hiss, wrists stinging when she suddenly realized that there were ropes binding her arms back and to her chair.

Head toppling to the left, a snoring Joey was also tied down with his glasses already having slipped from his nose. Crashed onto the floor and shattered, it reminded her of her youngest son’s room; her youngest son.

She looked over to her right, spotting an empty wicker chair immediately beside her and Dylan after that. Dylan was leaning far back, head resting on his shoulder and mouth having fallen open to let out quiet whimpers and whines as though even in Dreamland, he was frightful.

Finally, she looked forward, squinting at the collection of chairs in front of her. They were chairs, obviously, nothing too interesting about that but it’s what was in the chairs that alarmed her. Pillows conjoined together by stolen articles of clothing ranging from Joey’s shirt to her favorite dress and skirt and Dylan’s sweatshirt. Between her pillow copy and Dylan’s was the Brahms doll; staring ahead silently. Watching. Always watching.

A high-pitched, airy, childlike voice rang in her ear, it didn’t match the fully grown man standing behind Dylan. Brahms, the real Brahms, pat the boy’s blond hair before ruffling Joey’s untamed dark tresses, “Little brother… big brother…” he moved behind (Y/n), his hands settling on her shoulders before his mask moved to press it’s cold, hard lips against the goosebumped, terrified skin of her neck, “Mommy…”

Sitting down in the empty chair, Brahms smiled beneath his mask, staring into the dead, glassy eyes of his doll before letting his voice take on the deeper octave more appropriate of an adult.

“Daddy…”

#brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #brahms: the boy #can't believe i spelt the movie name wrong :)#clown energy people i'm telling you

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bookaddict24-7 · 3 years

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I said at the beginning of the year that I would share my reviews more on my blog instead of just on Instagram and Goodreads. I’ve been reading a lot so far this year, so my reviews will be delayed on here.

Friend me on Goodreads here to read my reviews in real-time!

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107. Amari and the Night Brothers by B.B. Alston--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wow, this book had more of a punch than I anticipated! I think books like this one are super important--not just because of the content, but because of the audience it's geared towards. Young readers now are learning more and more about society than a lot of us did at their age, so I think it's perfectly fitting that a book like this one is out there for kids to devour. One of the things I liked the most about this book was the allegory of racism in a magical community. Usually in fantastical novels for kids (older ones, anyway), there's this belief that no matter what you look like, the moment you go to another magical place all of your worries about racism goes away because MAGIC. But in this one, not only did our MC have to contend with the racism in her normal life, she had to face more racism in her new life, just with a new title. So many of the actions taken against her by those around her, and the comments (like putting her brother on a pedestal because he was the star of the school and calling him the exception to the rule, or one girl actively telling her that "You can take the girl out of the ghetto, but not the ghetto out of the girl) really made me think that this poor kid went from one ignorant situation to another. Not only is she trying to find her brother and solve the mystery of his disappearance, but she also has to deal with racist and ignorant people around her. Imagine calling a child evil because of something they can't control. Imagine going out of your way to ensure that they fail. Imagine you or your child hearing the things this child heard while trying to just do her best in a system that's always been made to be against her, both in the human world and in the magic world. Imagine, imagine, imagine. Another thing I loved about this book was her resilience. She is brave, and smart, and has such a big future in this new world of hers. I'm so excited to read the rest of this series as it comes out. This book was POWERFUL and I highly recommend it. Not just for the young readers in your life, but I think parents and other readers would highly benefit from reading Amari's story.

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108. Mindy Kim & the Yummy Seaweed Business by Lyla Lee--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Okay, this book was ADORABLE. I haven’t read a 6-8 book in a long time and I’m thankful to my friend on Instagram who recommended these books! Mindy has to deal with not only her grief about losing her mom and her dad’s busy schedule (as well as his own grief), but she’s also at a new school in a new State where she is the only Asian student. I’ve mentioned this in some of my most recent reviews, but I love that these important topics are being discussed in children’s books. We see moments of racism in this book where Mindy is left upset, even if she doesn’t fully understand just why certain comments and actions are so hurtful. And even if she doesn’t dwell on it, a parent reading this with their little one would notice and hopefully learn if they see their own behaviours mirrored in the actions of some of these adults. But we also see moments of kindness and love as a young girl tries her best to find ways to make her dad happy. Despite the heavier undertones in this book, there was an overall feel of sweetness and childhood innocence. The ability to apologize when you know you’re in the wrong, the innocence of emotions getting away from you, and the sweetness of a daughter loving her father. This was a great read and I highly recommend it for everyone, but especially the little ones in your life who will be entering situations where books like these and their lessons are really important.

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109. The Dead Zone by Stephen King--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one, I felt, held more of an emotional punch rather than a creepy feeling. I really enjoyed it! I loved the psychic angle and the MC proving the people who didn’t believe him or mocked wrong. Also, this was a King book that actually made me want to cry at the end. I didn’t give it a 5 because of some really slow moments. While I love that his stories always have a way of coming together at the end, certain scenes sometimes feel long, boring, or confusing. I’d recommend this for anyone who wants to read a King book that isn’t scary and if you’re a fan of 11/22/63!

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110. Takane & Hana Vol. 1 by Yuki Shiwasu--⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one took me a while to read. I found that I wasn’t really in the mood to read it every time I picked it up—which is so different from when I pick up a manga I really want to read. The story had some funny bits and the artwork was gorgeous, but it really bugged me how every new chapter re-introduced the love interest. Over and over and over again. I get it: he’s rich, arrogant, and an asshole. Can’t you trust us to remember these key personality traits? But it wasn’t even just that. We were constantly re-introduced to the premise of the story. I don’t know how common this is WITHIN the same volume, but I haven’t encountered it yet—and if I have, it wasn’t as annoying as this one. I’ll keep reading the story because I’m curious, but this first volume was a bit of a rougher read for me.

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111. You Have A Match by Emma Lord--⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

I think the thing with this book is that the cover tells a different story than what really matters in this book. Yes, there’s a friends to more relationship in this, but the main storyline is about two girls who find out they’re sisters and are trying to solve that mystery. This isn’t a romcom—the romance is a super side story to the main storyline. And to be honest, I really enjoyed it. I wanted to see why these two sisters lived their whole life separated. I enjoyed the process and the friendships created along the way. I felt for the parents, but at the same time, I felt more for the girls. There were instances where I wanted to yell at the parents because they kept putting the reveal off. This was enjoyable overall—a great summer read. Not particularly memorable, but it does what it sets out to do: makes you question the strength of friendships and what they can overcome. Also, Instagram.

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112. Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

When my friend raved about this book I was both excited and intimidated. I usually try to avoid hypes surrounding books because I go in with too-high expectations and a lot of the time, the expectations crush me while I’m reading. Thankfully, the hype is very well-deserved with this one. For me, the most important aspect of this book that stuck with me wasn’t the mystery surrounding the MC’s cousin’s death, but the character growth the MC himself experiences during the time of his investigation. Identity sounds like a pretty clear cut thing sometimes, but it’s a lot harder to know your own when you’re the child of an immigrant family. You live in a new country, get accustomed to new expectations and customs, and inevitably feel a culture shock when you’re re-introduced to the culture your parents grew up in. I saw myself so much in this MC. From my childhood to my current adult years, people have thought that they could define me and who I am simply because I say I’m this or this. But while others make a quick judgment, they don’t see the internal struggle. They don’t see you questioning yourself on whether you’re enough of this, or whether you’re enough of that. I think teenage me would have loved this book even more. The MC is constantly faced with criticism about his father choosing to move them to the States from the Philippines. The judgments and the preconceived notions of him and his family make him not only weary because he recalls how his uncle treated his father the first time he visited, but also wary because it sets him down this road of self-reflection. I haven’t read many (if any, unfortunately) books where a character goes to the Philippines. I’m so thankful to this book. I learned so much about the culture, the foods, and the struggles faced not just financially, but politically as well. I remember reading about some of the topics brought up in this book and it was extremely eye-opening. It’s so easy for us to look away because we have that privilege, but this book says, “No, look at me. I exist.” The MC, in his journey, also learns to speak up and use his voice. Not just against ignorant friends, but an annoyingly smug and verbally abusive uncle (who I hated to all hell). He also learns to listen. He learns that though not every story is perfect, they still have power. I think this is a great read for those who have one foot in two different worlds (hands and arms can be in other worlds, too). Especially if you’re trying to understand this part of you that wasn’t developed as you grew up. I’d also recommend it to readers who want to learn more about this struggle, learn more about a different culture that is more than its stereotypes, and/or want to read about a young teenager trying to come to terms with his grief and guilt.

___ Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

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Happy reading!

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