#this may have not been what you imagined but all I could see is creek being dumb and ruining things between them

[taborc]

Could you draw breek as teens breaking up because Creek's popular and Branch an outcast

popularity > happiness

[rafedarling]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

pairing: drew starkey x reader

summary: you and drew have been best friends since childhood, sharing everything-until drew's acting career takes off. as odessa enters drew's life and their on-screen chemistry blurs the lines of their friendship, you feel the deepening void between you and the boy you once knew. invited to a family bbq at the starkey, you hope to reconnect with drew. however, you soon find yourself on the sidelines, watching as odessa captures all of drew's attention. a devastating scene in ‘hellraiser’—a film that stars both drew and odessa-sends you spiraling into the realization that drew may never see you the way you see him. over the course of a painful night and the aftermath, long-buried emotions rise to the surface, culminating in a heart-wrenching confrontation. will drew finally realize what you mean to him, or will you be forced to let him go for good? | words count: 7,3k (sorry!!!)

warning(s): NO HATES TOWARD ODESSA OR ANY ACTORS/ FRIENDS OF DREW! english is not my native language. severe emotional turmoil, themes of unrequited love, detailed internal conflict, intense feelings of isolation, push-and-pull dynamics, emotional abandonment, moments of painful rejection, and slow-burning angst.

au: like, reblog and comment are much appreciated. i actually listen to THIS SONG while writing this, discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. taglist | tagging: @rafeyslamb @tracymbcm @drewstarkeys-world @maybankslover @akobx @rubixgsworld @enjoymyloves @xoxohoneymoongirl @rafecameroncoke @httpsdrewstarkey @tiaamberxx @wxn-drlst @ratatioulle @zizuras @flvredcas @abrmscline @noobmazter69 @wearemadeofstardust0 @xoxosblogsblog @saviorcomplexrry

The summers were always the best part of your childhood. You and Drew Starkey had been practically inseparable since you were six years old, running through the wide backyard of the Starkey home, laughing until your stomach hurt and your lungs ached from the chase. Your families were close—so close that your mothers, Jodi and your mom, would joke that you and Drew were "destined for each other."

"Y/N and Joseph," Jodi would say with a smile as she watched the two of you playing in the grass. "They’re going to get married someday. I’ve always known."

Your mother would laugh, glancing over at you, sweaty and carefree as you chased Drew through the sprinklers. "I’d be happy with that, Jodi," she’d reply, "It would be perfect."

You didn’t think much of it then. To you, Drew was just Drew—your best friend, the boy who pulled you out of the creek when you fell in one summer and got scraped knees trying to rescue you. You couldn’t imagine life without him, but back then, you were still young. The idea of growing up and getting married seemed like something distant, almost laughable.

One summer, when you were about six, you had a moment that defined your bond. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over the Starkey backyard. You and Drew were sprawled on the grass after an afternoon of playing tag, breathing hard but smiling at each other.

“Joseph,” you began, turning your head toward him as you lay beside him, “can I call you something else? Like a nickname?”

Drew raised an eyebrow and rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “Like what?”

“I don’t know... Drew? It sounds cooler.”

He blinked, then laughed, as though the idea of you giving him a special name was the best thing he had heard all day. “Sure,” he said, grinning. “Call me Drew.”

From that day on, the name stuck. Only you called him that, while the rest of the world called him Joseph. It was your little secret, a bond that made you feel like you shared something special. And you did.

Every summer, you counted down the days until you could visit the Starkey family. It was tradition—long, lazy afternoons spent playing outside, followed by evenings watching the stars come out. The best part, though, was the mornings.

Drew knew how much you loved watching the sunrise. Each summer, no matter how early it was, he would wake up with you before dawn, just so the two of you could sit on the hill behind the house and watch the sky change from dark blue to shades of pink, orange, and gold.

“Think we’ll always do this?” you had asked one morning, your knees pulled to your chest as the horizon turned golden.

Drew looked at you, the early morning light reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah,” he had said simply. “We’ll always be friends.”

At that moment, as the sun bathed you both in warmth, you believed him with all your heart.

When you were twelve, your family made the big move to Asheville, North Carolina, to be closer to the Starkeys. At first, it was a dream come true—you’d see Drew year-round now, not just in the summers. But as exciting as the move was, it came with its own challenges. A new school, new classmates, and a feeling of unfamiliarity that settled deep in your bones.

You weren’t exactly the social butterfly Drew was. He thrived in new environments, easily making friends with his magnetic personality. He was taller than most boys his age, athletic, and undeniably charming. He played basketball, acted in the school plays, and it seemed like everyone was drawn to him. You, on the other hand, were quieter, more reserved. Drew was your anchor, the one person who made you feel like you belonged.

Despite being in different classes, Drew always made time for you. He’d wait for you after school, leaning against the fence near the basketball courts, a crooked smile on his face as he waved you over.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he’d tease. “I’ve got snacks for us before practice.”

It became a routine—him waiting for you, you showing up at his basketball practices with snacks or a drink to keep him going. Sometimes, you’d sit on the bleachers, watching him run drills, marveling at how easily he seemed to fit into this new world. You were happy for him, of course, but there was always a small, nagging feeling inside you, something that whispered that you were being left behind.

You brushed it off. After all, Drew was still Drew—your best friend, the boy who stood up for you when some kids at school made fun of your appearance. You’d never forget the day one of Drew’s classmates, a girl from the drama club, sneered at you during lunch.

“How can someone like you even be friends with Joseph Starkey?” she had said, her voice dripping with disdain.

You had felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, your fists clenching at your sides. But before you could respond, Drew had appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of you protectively.

“What did you just say?” Drew’s voice was low, dangerous, his eyes narrowing at the girl.

The girl faltered, shrinking under his glare. “I— I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” Drew snapped, his voice ice-cold. “If I ever hear you say something like that again, you’ll regret it.”

The girl had stammered an apology before scurrying away, and Drew had turned to you with a reassuring smile, as if nothing had happened.

“Don’t listen to people like her,” he had said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You’re worth so much more than their words.”

From that day on, you never doubted that Drew had your back. He was your protector, your confidant, the one person who made you feel safe in a world that often felt overwhelming.

When Drew turned seventeen, he became more serious about his future. You spent countless nights together, talking about his dreams, about how he wanted to pursue acting full-time after high school. It was clear to you that he had the passion, the drive, and the talent to make it big.

The day Drew landed his first acting role was a day you’d never forget. You were sitting in your living room when Drew burst through the front door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Y/N! I got the part!” he shouted, holding up a script in triumph. “I actually got the part!”

Your heart soared with pride as you jumped up from the couch, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Drew, that’s amazing! I knew you’d do it!”

The two of you celebrated that night, just the two of you. Drew asked you to help him practice his lines, and for hours, you sat on the floor of your living room, reading through the script with him. He was nervous, pacing back and forth as he recited his lines, but you were there, steady and patient, helping him work through every scene.

Before his first day on set, Drew had come to you, his usual confidence replaced with anxiety. “What if I mess up?” he had asked, his voice wavering. “What if I’m not good enough?”

You had smiled softly, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small, crocheted keychain—a little dog with floppy ears that you had made yourself. “Here,” you said, handing it to him. “Consider this your good luck charm. Keep it with you, and I promise you’ll be fine.”

Drew had chuckled, pocketing the keychain with a fond smile. “Thanks, sunshine. I’ll keep it with me, always.”

That first role was just the beginning. After high school, Drew went off to college to study acting, and though the distance was hard, you made sure to keep in touch. Late-night phone calls, long text conversations—Drew made sure you were still part of his life, even from miles away.

And when he landed his breakout role on the Netflix series Outer Banks, you were the first person he called.

“Y/N! Guess what?” Drew’s voice had crackled through the phone, filled with excitement. “I got a role on a Netflix show! Can you believe it?”

Your heart had swelled with pride, even as a small, selfish part of you wondered what this meant for your friendship. “Drew, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you!”

You meant every word, but as Drew’s career took off, the distance between you began to grow—not just physically, but emotionally. His life was changing, and you weren’t sure if you still had a place in it.

The first time Drew mentioned Odessa A’zion, you hadn’t thought much of it. She was a fellow actor on Outer Banks, and Drew had talked about how they had become fast friends on set. But as time passed, it became clear that Odessa was more than just a friend to Drew—she was someone important to him.

At first, you tried to brush off the feeling of unease that settled in your chest every time Drew talked about her. After all, he was bound to make new friends in the industry. But it became harder to ignore the way he talked about Odessa—the way his eyes lit up when he mentioned her name, the way she seemed to occupy so much of his attention.

The first time you met Odessa was at Drew’s birthday party. He had flown back to North Carolina to celebrate with friends and family, and you were excited to see him in person after months of only talking through texts and phone calls.

When you arrived at the restaurant, your heart raced with anticipation. It had been so long since you’d seen Drew, and part of you hoped that things would feel just like they used to. But as soon as you walked in, you saw him sitting with Odessa.

They were deep in conversation, laughing together as if they were the only two people in the room. You felt a pang of jealousy, something you hadn’t expected. Drew had always been your person, your best friend. But now, watching him with Odessa, it felt like he was slipping away.

When Drew finally noticed you, his face lit up with a smile. “Y/N!” he called out, standing up to wrap you in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

You hugged him back, but something felt off. The easy familiarity that had always existed between you was strained, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

Odessa greeted you with a polite smile, introducing herself, but the way she looked at Drew—like he was the center of her universe—only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Drew introduced you to his castmates, and while everyone was friendly, you couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. Drew and Odessa were inseparable, their laughter filling the room as they shared inside jokes you weren’t part of.

Later that night, as the party began to wind down, Drew pulled you aside. “I need to take Odessa home,” he explained, his voice apologetic. “She had a little too much to drink.”

You forced a smile, even as your heart sank. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

As you watched them leave together, something inside you shifted. You couldn’t ignore it anymore—the distance between you and Drew wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. And it hurt more than you were willing to admit.

Months passed, and while you and Drew still kept in touch, things weren’t the same. The texts were shorter, the phone calls less frequent, and every time you tried to bring up something personal, something about you, the conversation somehow always shifted back to Odessa or Drew’s new life in Los Angeles. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about his success—you were proud of him—but it hurt to feel like an afterthought, someone on the periphery of his increasingly glamorous life.

When Drew invited you to his family’s annual BBQ, you hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn down the invitation, not wanting to face him and Odessa again. But the other part of you—the part that still longed for the closeness you once shared—couldn’t say no. This was the Starkey house, the place that had always felt like a second home to you, the place where your friendship with Drew had blossomed.

The afternoon sun was just beginning to set as you arrived at the familiar Starkey home. The front porch was adorned with string lights, and the smell of grilled burgers wafted through the air, mixing with the sound of laughter from the backyard. It should’ve felt like a homecoming, but instead, all you felt was a growing sense of unease.

As you stepped into the backyard, the knot in your stomach tightened. Drew was there, sitting beside Odessa, his arm casually draped along the back of her chair. They were laughing, their heads close together as if they were sharing some private joke. For a moment, it was like watching strangers—people you knew but didn’t recognize anymore.

Before you could retreat, McKayla spotted you. “Y/N!” she called out, running over with a grin. Her hug was warm, and it reminded you of why you had come. The Starkeys were still like family, even if your relationship with Drew had changed.

“I missed you so much!” McKayla said, pulling back to look at you with a beaming smile. “It’s been forever.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, your smile softening as you hugged her again. If anything, McKayla had always made you feel welcome, like you were still an important part of their family.

Just as McKayla let go, Todd walked over, his familiar grin lighting up his face. “There’s my favorite little girl!” he boomed, wrapping you in one of his signature bear hugs. “How’ve you been, Y/N?”

“I’ve been good, Todd,” you said, your voice a little quieter now. “How about you?”

“Oh, you know, keeping busy,” Todd replied, his tone warm. “We’ve missed you around here, you know. This place isn’t the same without you.”

Jodi joined the group, pulling you into a soft hug. “Y/N, it’s so good to see you again,” she said, her smile kind but tinged with something deeper—an understanding, perhaps, of the distance that had grown between you and her son. “How are your parents?”

“They’re good,” you answered. “They’re actually in Rome right now, celebrating their 35th anniversary.”

“Ah, Rome,” Jodi sighed wistfully. “Lucky them. They always did know how to celebrate big.”

You smiled at the familiarity of their banter, grateful for their warmth, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tightening in your chest. Every few minutes, your eyes would drift back to Drew and Odessa. The easy way they sat together, the way Drew’s hand occasionally brushed her arm as he spoke—it was hard to ignore. Even harder to accept.

“Let’s get you something to drink,” McKayla suggested, sensing your unease and pulling you away from the crowd. As you followed her inside, you passed Drew and Odessa. Drew glanced up at you, a smile briefly crossing his face.

“Hey, Y/N! Glad you could make it,” Drew said, his tone casual, but there was a distance in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, even though your heart ached.

You could feel Odessa’s eyes on you, though her smile was polite. “Nice to see you again,” she added, her tone friendly but not warm. You nodded, but the knot in your chest tightened as the conversation shifted back to something between her and Drew.

As the night progressed, Drew suggested watching Hellraiser—the movie he and Odessa had filmed together. It was the project he had talked about non-stop for months, and while you had been happy for him, you had avoided watching it. The idea of seeing Drew and Odessa on screen together, so intimately connected, made you uneasy.

“I think you’ll like it,” Drew said as the group settled in front of the outdoor screen. “It’s one of my favorite projects.”

You sat between McKayla and Todd, grateful for the distance between you and Drew, but as the opening credits rolled, the familiar knot in your stomach returned.

At first, you tried to focus on the movie, telling yourself it was just another role for Drew—just a job, nothing more. But as the film progressed, your discomfort grew. Drew’s character, Trevor, and Odessa’s character, Riley, had an undeniable chemistry, one that felt far too real. Every glance, every touch between them on screen felt intimate, too personal.

And then the first love scene played out.

You had prepared yourself for it, but nothing could have braced you for how raw it felt to watch Drew and Odessa in such a vulnerable, intimate moment. The room around you seemed to fade, and all you could focus on was the way Drew looked at her on screen, the way their bodies intertwined in a way that felt too real to be acting.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you fought to keep your expression neutral, but the weight in your chest was growing unbearable. You hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see him like this, to be confronted with the reality of how much you were no longer a part of his life.

A lump formed in your throat as you forced yourself to stay seated, but when the second love scene began, you couldn’t take it anymore. The emotions you had been pushing down for months suddenly overwhelmed you, and without a word, you stood up, muttering a quick excuse to McKayla before making your way to the front porch.

As soon as you were outside, you collapsed onto the porch steps, gasping for air as the tears finally spilled over. You had been trying so hard to keep it together, but seeing Drew and Odessa like that—so close, so connected—had broken something inside you.

“Y/N?”

McKayla’s voice was soft, and you quickly wiped at your eyes as she stepped outside, sitting down beside you. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just sat with you in the quiet, the sound of the movie still playing faintly in the background.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked, her voice filled with concern.

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I don’t think I can do this, McKayla. Watching them together... it’s too much.”

McKayla sighed, her brow furrowing in sympathy. “I get it, Y/N. It’s hard. But you have to talk to him. He doesn’t know how much you’re hurting.”

“I don’t think he even cares,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “He’s so wrapped up in Odessa and his career... I don’t think I matter to him anymore.”

McKayla shook her head firmly, turning to face you fully. “That’s not true, Y/N. I know my brother. He still cares about you—he’s just blind to everything right now. But you need to tell him how you feel. You deserve that.”

You wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” McKayla said softly, her hand resting on your shoulder. “You’ve been there for him through everything, Y/N. He needs to understand how much you’re hurting.”

You nodded, but the thought of confronting Drew still terrified you. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him, to lay everything out on the table. But one thing was clear—you couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. You couldn’t keep carrying this hurt on your own.

The next morning, you woke up with the same heavy feeling in your chest. You had tossed and turned all night, replaying the movie over and over in your mind, each scene only deepening the ache in your heart. You needed to leave. As much as you loved the Starkeys, being here—being around Drew and Odessa—was too painful.

You packed your bags quietly, leaving a note for McKayla and Todd, thanking them for their hospitality. Slipping out of the house before anyone else woke up, you drove home, your heart heavy with unresolved emotions.

Back at the Starkey house, McKayla sat at the kitchen table with Todd, sipping her coffee as the morning sunlight streamed through the windows.

“She left early,” McKayla said quietly, setting her mug down with a frown. “She didn’t say goodbye.”

Todd looked up from his newspaper, his brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like her. Did something happen?”

McKayla sighed, glancing out the window. “I think things are worse than we thought. Y/N... she’s been really struggling, Dad. Watching Drew and Odessa together... it’s been breaking her heart.”

Todd’s face softened with understanding, his eyes clouded with concern. “She’s been a part of this family for so long. I hate to think she’s feeling left out.”

Before McKayla could respond, Drew wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes groggily. “Morning,” he mumbled, heading straight for the coffee pot. But when he noticed the tension in the room, he paused, frowning.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking between McKayla and Todd.

McKayla exchanged a glance with her father before turning to Drew. “Y/N left early this morning,” she said, her voice heavy with worry. “She didn’t say goodbye.”

Drew’s frown deepened, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What? Why?”

Todd sighed, folding his newspaper as he looked at his son. “I think you know why, Drew. Y/N’s been feeling like you’ve pushed her aside for a long time now. Last night... watching you and Odessa on screen... it was too much for her.”

Drew paled, guilt washing over his face. “What? I— I didn’t mean to—” He trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion.

McKayla crossed her arms, her tone gentle but firm. “Drew, she’s been there for you through everything. But you’ve been so caught up in your own life that you didn’t realize how much you were hurting her.”

Drew’s face fell, the weight of his sister’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had known something was wrong between you two, but he hadn’t realized how deep the hurt ran.

“I need to fix this,” Drew muttered, setting down his coffee and running a hand through his hair. Without another word, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door, determination written all over his face.

You weren’t expecting Drew to show up at your door. After the overwhelming emotions of the previous night, all you wanted was some distance—some space to breathe, to think. The moment you opened the door and saw Drew standing on your porch, his expression filled with a mix of regret and urgency, your heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

“Y/N,” Drew began, his voice soft but strained. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

You hesitated for a moment, gripping the edge of the door, your mind torn between letting him in and closing the door on everything you’d been feeling. Part of you wanted to push him away—to protect yourself from the pain that had been eating away at you for so long. But another part of you—a much deeper part—wanted answers. Needed them.

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped back and motioned for Drew to come in.

He walked into your living room, the air thick with tension. As you closed the door behind him, you couldn’t help but notice the way he looked around, as though searching for something familiar to hold on to. His eyes briefly landed on a photo of the two of you from years ago, sitting on the mantle—a reminder of better times, of the friendship that had once been your anchor.

Drew stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes downcast. It was clear that he was struggling to find the right words, but the silence between you was too much to bear.

“You left without saying goodbye,” Drew finally said, his voice almost a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something you hadn’t heard from him in a long time.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah, I did. I couldn’t stay, Drew.”

He glanced up at you, his eyes filled with guilt. “Why? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you looked away. “Talk to you? Drew, when have we really talked lately? Every conversation we’ve had for months has been about Odessa or your career. You barely even notice I’m there anymore.”

Drew flinched at your words, the weight of them hitting him hard. “That’s not true, Y/N. I care about you—I’ve always cared.”

“Really?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it. Do you even realize how long I’ve been feeling like this? How long I’ve been watching you slip away, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t losing you?”

Drew opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. The dam of emotions you had been holding back for so long finally broke, and the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Do you know how hard it’s been, Drew? To sit on the sidelines, watching you live this new life, while I feel like I’m not even part of it anymore? I’ve stood by you through everything—every audition, every role, every milestone—and when it was my turn, when it was something important to me, you weren’t there.”

Your voice cracked as you continued, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. “You missed my graduation, Drew. Do you know how much that hurt? You promised you’d be there, and you didn’t show up. I waited for you. I waited for you because I thought, ‘This is Drew. He’ll come. He’ll be there for me like I’ve always been there for him.’ But you didn’t. And when you said you’d make it up to me, I thought maybe, just maybe, we’d have one night where it would just be the two of us, like old times. But you brought her.”

Drew’s face fell, his expression filled with regret. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize because you never asked,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken pain. “You were so caught up in your own world, in your new life with Odessa, that you didn’t even notice I was falling apart.”

Drew’s eyes were filled with anguish, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you said, your voice cracking with the weight of those words. “You hurt me, Drew. Every time I saw you with her, every time you talked about her like she was the only thing that mattered to you, it felt like a knife in my chest. And I tried to be okay with it. I tried to tell myself that you deserved to be happy, that you deserved to have someone who understood your world. But it didn’t stop the pain.”

Drew took a step closer to you, his hands trembling as he reached out, but he stopped short, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. I was selfish, Y/N. I got caught up in everything—my career, Odessa—and I didn’t stop to think about how it was affecting you. And I hate myself for that.”

You wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, but the hurt still sat heavy in your chest. “You forgot me,” you whispered, the words so quiet you weren’t sure if he even heard them. “I was there for you through everything, and when I needed you, you forgot me.”

Drew’s face contorted with guilt and pain, and he stepped closer, his voice pleading. “I didn’t forget you, Y/N. I swear, I didn’t. I just... I got lost. I let everything else consume me, and I pushed you away without even realizing it. But I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped needing you in my life.”

You met his gaze, your heart aching at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. Part of you wanted to believe him—to believe that he hadn’t meant to hurt you, that he was still the same Drew you had always known. But the pain was still too fresh, too raw.

“You didn’t need me, Drew,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You needed her. Every time I saw you, it was like I was just... there. Like I was some ghost from your past, watching as you built a new life without me.”

Drew shook his head, his voice breaking. “No. No, that’s not true. Odessa was just... she was just a friend. I never saw her as anything more. But you—I’ve always seen you. You’ve always been more than just a friend to me.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. “What are you saying, Drew?”

“I’m saying that I love you, Y/N,” Drew said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long, but I was too blind to see it. Too blind to realize how much I was hurting you by pushing you away. But it’s always been you. It’s always been you, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

You stared at him, your heart racing, your mind struggling to process what he had just said. “Don’t say that, Drew. Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” Drew insisted, stepping closer to you. “I’ve been an idiot, Y/N. I let everything else get in the way, and I lost sight of what really mattered. But you—you’re what matters. You’ve always been the one who’s mattered the most to me.”

Tears filled your eyes once again, your heart warring with your mind. You had waited so long to hear those words, but now that they were finally being spoken, you didn’t know what to do with them.

“How can I believe you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How can I believe that you won’t hurt me again? That you won’t forget me the next time something else comes along?”

Drew’s eyes filled with desperation as he reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. “I won’t forget you. I swear, Y/N, I won’t. I’ve already hurt you once, and I will never make that mistake again. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re the most important person to me. Just... please, give me another chance.”

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let go of the hurt and let Drew back into your life. But trust wasn’t something that could be rebuilt overnight.

“I need time,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I need time to heal, to figure out if I can really trust you again.”

Drew nodded, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “I understand. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for as long as it takes, Y/N. Just please... don’t shut me out completely.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the Drew you had always known—the Drew who had stood by your side through everything, who had been your rock when the world felt too heavy.

“I won’t shut you out,” you said softly, your heart aching with the weight of it all. “But this... it’s going to take time.”

Drew nodded again, his relief palpable as he let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be here. No matter how long it takes.”

With that, Drew slowly stepped back, giving you the space you needed. The air between you was still heavy with unresolved emotions, but for the first time in months, there was a glimmer of hope. A possibility that maybe, just maybe, things could be repaired.

As Drew turned to leave, he glanced back at you, his voice soft but filled with quiet determination. “I love you, Y/N. And I’m not going to give up on us.”

You watched him go, your heart conflicted but not as heavy as it had been before. There was still so much to work through, but for the first time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you and Drew had a chance to find your way back to each other.

The days after the confrontation felt different. Lighter, but still uncertain. The emotional heaviness lingered between you and Drew, but there was something else now—a shared understanding that things needed time, that rushing back into the past wasn’t an option.

Drew kept his word. He didn’t push you, didn’t try to force himself back into your life as if nothing had happened. Instead, he started with small gestures—things that reminded you of the Drew you had known before everything changed.

Each morning, you woke up to a text from Drew. Simple things, like: "I saw the sunrise today and thought of you. Miss those mornings." Or, "Found an old photo of us. Remember this day?" They were small messages, but they carried the weight of years of shared history and memories you had thought were forgotten.

One evening, about a week after the confrontation, Drew showed up at your door with coffee in hand. The sight of him standing there with your favorite caramel macchiato, looking uncertain but hopeful, stirred something inside you.

“I thought you could use this,” Drew said, offering a small smile. “And I... was hoping we could talk. Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, but then nodded, stepping aside to let him in. Drew walked into your living room, his movements tentative, like he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore.

As you sat together on the couch, sipping your coffee, the silence between you was less suffocating than before. There was still a lot to work through, but at least the distance wasn’t unbearable. Drew glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the framed photo of the two of you from years ago, taken on a family trip to the beach. The both of you were grinning wildly, arms around each other, as if nothing in the world could break your bond.

“I remember that day,” Drew said quietly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “We spent hours building a sandcastle. It collapsed after five minutes, but we didn’t care. We thought it was the best thing ever.”

You chuckled softly, the memory warming something inside you. “Yeah, we were so proud of it.”

Drew shifted in his seat, his expression turning more serious. “I miss those days, Y/N. I miss us. I know I messed up, and I know it’ll take time, but... I want to get back to that.”

You turned to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. For so long, you had felt like you had lost Drew—the Drew who had been your best friend, your confidant, the person who knew you better than anyone. But now, sitting here with him, you realized that maybe he hadn’t been lost forever. Maybe he was still there, waiting for you to let him back in.

“I miss it too,” you admitted, your voice soft but full of emotion. “But... I need time, Drew. This isn’t something that can be fixed overnight.”

“I know,” Drew said, nodding. “And I’m not going to rush you. I’ll take as much time as you need.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could be different this time. Maybe you could rebuild what had been broken.

The weeks that followed were a slow process of healing and reconnection. Drew made an effort—an effort you hadn’t seen from him in months. He started texting you every morning, checking in to see how your day was going. The texts weren’t long or overly sentimental, but they were consistent. They were proof that he was thinking about you, even in the midst of his busy schedule.

Some days, the texts were simple:

"How’s work going? Thought of you when I passed by the old park today."

Other days, they carried a heavier weight:

"I’m sorry again, Y/N. For everything. I just want you to know that I’m still here."

And as time passed, you found yourself replying more. The walls you had built up around your heart began to slowly crumble, brick by brick. Drew wasn’t just making promises—he was showing you that he meant them. He wasn’t rushing you or pushing for more than you were ready to give. He was patient, and that patience made all the difference.

One afternoon, Drew surprised you by inviting you to lunch at the café you both used to frequent when you were younger. It had been years since you’d been there together, but as you sat across from each other, sipping coffee and talking about nothing in particular, it felt like you were slowly returning to a version of yourselves that had been lost.

The conversations were lighter, more comfortable. Drew listened intently when you talked about work, your hobbies, the things that had filled your life in the time you had drifted apart. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t competing with Odessa or his career for his attention. Drew was fully present, and that made all the difference.

A few weeks later, Drew showed up at your door with something unexpected—a small gift bag in hand, looking both nervous and hopeful.

“I, uh, thought I’d bring this over,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I know it’s not much, but I saw it and thought of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious, and took the bag from him. Inside was a small journal, the cover embossed with the words “For Every Sunrise.” Your breath caught in your throat as you pulled it out, your fingers tracing the delicate lettering.

“I know how much you love watching the sunrise,” Drew explained, his voice soft. “I thought maybe... you could use this to write down your thoughts. Or even just to keep track of the sunrises you’ve seen.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind the gift. Drew had always known how much sunrises meant to you—those quiet moments when the world was still, when everything felt possible. And now, here he was, reminding you of those moments in a way that felt so personal, so deeply connected to the history you shared.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

Drew smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I’m glad you like it.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were being seen. Not just as someone in Drew’s life, but as someone important. Someone who mattered.

As the weeks turned into months, you and Drew continued to rebuild your relationship—slowly, carefully. There were still moments of doubt, moments when the hurt resurfaced and threatened to pull you back into the past. But Drew was patient. He never rushed you, never pushed you to move faster than you were ready for. Instead, he met you where you were, showing up for you in the ways that mattered most.

One day, Drew suggested a walk through the old park you used to visit as kids. It had been years since you had walked those paths together, but as you strolled through the park, side by side, it felt like you were reclaiming a piece of the past that had been lost.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” Drew said as you walked, his voice quiet but steady. “About how much we’ve been through together.”

You glanced over at him, your heart tightening at the vulnerability in his voice. “Yeah, me too.”

Drew stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes were filled with a kind of determination you hadn’t seen in a long time. “I don’t want to take you for granted anymore, Y/N. I’ve been thinking about everything, and I know I hurt you. I know it’s going to take time to earn back your trust, but I want to be the person you can count on again. The person you deserve.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you—it was different now. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. He meant every word.

“I want that too,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to know that this time... this time, it’s real.”

“It is,” Drew promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear, Y/N, it’s real.”

And in that moment, as the sun began to set behind the trees, casting a golden glow over the park, you knew that maybe—just maybe—you and Drew were finally on the right path. It wasn’t going to be easy, and there were still wounds that needed time to heal, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could trust him again. Trust that he wasn’t going to let you down.

Months passed, and the slow process of rebuilding trust continued. Drew didn’t let up on his efforts—he made time for you, prioritized you, and showed you in small, meaningful ways that he was committed to repairing the damage that had been done.

The two of you began to fall back into an easy rhythm. Movie nights, long conversations over coffee, quiet walks through the park—it was like rediscovering an old friendship, but with the added depth of everything you had been through. The love you had for each other was still there, but now, it was stronger, more resilient.

One evening, Drew invited you to his house for dinner. It was just the two of you, and as you sat together on the back porch, watching the sunset, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the future,” Drew said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You turned to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Yeah? What about it?”

Drew’s eyes softened as he reached out and took your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. “About us. About what we want.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening at the intensity of his gaze. “And what do you want, Drew?”

“I want you,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want you in my life, in every way. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N. I love you. I always have.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words washed over you. It had taken so long to get to this point, to rebuild what had been broken, but now, sitting here with Drew, you knew that it had all been worth it.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I don’t want to lose you either.”

Drew smiled, his eyes filled with relief and happiness. “Then let’s not waste any more time. Let’s be together.”

And as he leaned in to kiss you, the weight of all the past hurt and pain seemed to fade away, leaving only the promise of a future—together.

THE END!!

i was thinking about writing a drabbles for this, hehe maybe their future together, if you have any suggestion, ask box are always open!! and i hope you all enjoy this imagine 🖤

[applesooyoung]

NSFW! SUB!SKZ headcanons (ooooh she bacc and alive (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧)

Genre: Spicy A/N: Applied fem! reader Warnings: Adult and suggestive stuff not gonna list them all cuz we'll take the whole day when I list all bc this is N A S T Y

Now playing: Baby I - Ariana Grande

Bangchan - Don't even get me started you guys- - I hope it's already clear that subby Chan is my fave - This baby boy DEF loves quality time and words of affirmations - He's just the best baby boy hands down - Choke him, spank him, tie him, chain him, blindfold him YOU WOULDN'T HEAR ANY WHINES HE'S OK UNTIL HE PLEASES YOU AND I AM NOT OK - and as a person with size kink, him being canonically smaller than me just makes wanna- - though i feel like he has a few bratty streaks but that only happens once in a blue moon - He likes to go vanilla and half kinky but leaning on the vanilla side more ykwim?? - Like he loves borderline bdsm shit but he gets more turned on w/ vanilla shit idk idk but i hope you peeps get my point - YO ALSO IMAGINE PEGGING HIM IN THE MUSIC STUDIO WHILE HE'S MAKING ONE OF THEIR SONGS - Just loves soft yet passionate sex - oh and his moans too? - He has a mommy kink and I'm right so you may shut up - A mommy's boy omg - IM STOPPING HERE I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO STOP MYSELF, YOUR HONOR (plstellmeifyouwantmetomakeapt2idgladlydoso)

Lee Know - sugar and spice and everything nice™ - bratty ≥ sassy - lowkey himbo and trophy bf vibes im sorry - he just reminds me of kento in todome no seppun and it's not funny - my fave manwhore </3 - it's power bottom or nothing - the type to force your hips down in his cock type of guy - demanding 10000 - He's cocky at first but ISTG this mf becomes the most submissive piece of schitt's creek when you fuck this little guy - oh don't get me going with the aftercare - he's just so vulnerable at this point that his once asshole facade fades to that an innocent little kitten - He still might have remnants of the a-hole attitude but he's probably ruined by you so there is a chance that he won't - ngl i kinda feel he a switch- but sub!lee know supremacy

Changbin - hard bot :j - The whiniest award goes to.......... SEO CHANGBIN!! - did i mention his pretty whimpers too?? - LOVES it when you hold his hands while doing it - Sugarbaby changbin ; v ; - maybe it's just he loves plushies and I could just see his s/o buying and spoiling him with a fuck ton of plushies -oof what if he fucks those plushies while your gone wtf - that's kinda cute not gonna lie - also i feel like he loves any type of love language as long as you love him, that's enough for him - OH YEAH UM - Phone sex with changbin- - Subby Gamer changbin while you dom him in a discord call - interesting, eh? - ok i just realized that sounded a bit weird but it's kinda cute if you put it in an ok way yk?? - imagine his baritone-ish voice moaning for you ;[ - looks intimidating at first - BUT TRUST ME, HE'S A BABY - a big, submissive, and cuddly one

Hyunjin - sassy ≥ bratty - pillow princess/passenger princess material tho- - REAALLY whiny too not that it's annoying but rather cute - often mistyped as a power bottom... He is - loves praises - he's a people pleaser so we're not really surprised - "Am I a good kitty, y/n" um yes you are, you sassy mf- - DEF loves dressing up for you - IT'S BECAUSE HE'S AWARE OF HOW HE LOOKS LIKE WHEN YOU FUCK HIM OR IF YOU LIKE WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE OR NOT - it's cute ngl gijrothtlrjbdoijth also imagine sugar baby!Hyunjin? - I'm looking respectfully like- - imagine buying things for him because he's been a good boy these past weeks and he's (surprisingly) not been pissing the shit out of you - like buying him accessories and jewelry and treating him like your very own pretty little princess - lipsticks, new dresses, necklaces etc... he loves those - He really loves it when you gift him stuff, he feels loved and appreciated - spoiled little baby omg - I lowkey think masochist!Hyunjin is a thing too so- - Loves punishments (shockers)

Jisung - ngl I kinda feel like he's a wild card (? ?) - but I feel like he's the literal borderline of bratty and good boy - he's really touchy when horny... cute - also, really needy imo - like think of him being horny and he'd definitely and most likely would hump your pillow bcs it has your scent and he couldn't help it - speaking of humping I'm thinking petplay Han -weird ik but not like the extreme bdsm with those whipping and brat taming stuff that needs cages, bowls, collars, leashes, and stuff... right? - hahahahahahahah right, guys? - r i g h t ? */slowly descends into insanity - All jokes aside, I could actually imagine Jisung being like that tho especially since I already put it out there - he's literally the middle of everything... he's neither kinky nor vanilla, good or bratty, top or bottom. That's why I said he's kind of a wild card - weird thought but I feel like he's the type to cum like fast FAST - he's just maybe sensitive on those parts and shit but u get my point - like you could just jerk him for a while and he'll cum under 5 minutes and it's not funny - he loves it when you're protective but in a good way like how you always take care of him and love him always - he also loves when you spend time with him + doing stuff together even if it's silly like who eats the most chips wins $100 and the loser washes the dishes for a week. - he just loves being close and intimate with you

Felix - ok ok ok omg - ok so first of all, he loves his cuddles - you're working? cuddles, sleeping? cuddles, driving? cuddles, cooking? cuddles. - So I hope you get the clue already, yes, he's clingy and touchy - He's so fucking cute omg - burying his face in your chest or the crook of your neck sexual or nonsexual aspects honestly, he loves it - he's so fragile and soft pls protecc him > ﹏ < - spewing out random words of affection is his favorite hobby - he wants you to ruin him </3 - HE SQUEAKS WHEN HE MOANS - I know y'all are suckers for his deep voice but Felix with a higher-pitched voice >>> - He'll melt when you put your hands on his hips while you fuck him, do it, I dare you - whimpers and everything - a kinky baby tho- he likes being tied up - he kins with changbin and I love it - loves degradation - he gets soooo turned on when you stand as his parental figure of like just being the person that takes care of him - Thigh riding >>>

Seungmin - Step aside ladies and gentlemen, the goodest of the boys is coming thru~ - his favorite petname is pup or puppy and that's canon - He's so cute that everything and I mean EVERYTHING you do turns him the fuck on no shit on that - but be careful, he doesn't really enjoy degradation that much, he's vvv sensitive so please take care of your baby seungmin - but instead, give him words of affirmation. This builds his confidence - he cries when you go rough with him, you're being a meanie >:[ - he's your personal fuck toy but again, please be careful. He's so fragile - but I can actually see him taking care of you instead during aftercare - "I hope I did well for you today, Mommy" hufduighdfiughig hold me back, hold me back- - size kink, def size kink. He loves it when you wear your heels - he likes his look simple, just a plain pair of white thigh highs and that's it! He looks so fucking gorgeous and it's not funny - leashing him while he rides your cock is just- - and also when you hold his hands during missionary? Take my money and go. I'm a slut for that and I'm proud of it - but besides those soft things about him... - I believe he has a breeding kink - those puppy eyes when you fuck him in front of a mirror as you hit it from behind- ugh - overall, seungmin is a cute and soft little babyy

I.N - a BEAM of sunshine!! - so bright, so cute, so eager, so.... fuckable - He's such a good boy too and it hurts - although he sometimes kinda brats you but please he's 3% brat and 97% angel descended from the heavens above - idk if it's just me but it's always the maknaes that radiate the most golden retriever energy? Maybe bcs they're so young but nonetheless, I'm living for it - he always greets you with smile and always hugs you awe ;[ - LOVES IT when you mark him up - It doesn't matter where his neck? go, his thighs? go, his arms? go, his jaw? go! go ahead - + the moans and whimpers he'd make while you mark him up is straight up the epitome of immaculate - he has a heck of a stamina - i mean what do we expect from a goldret energy he radiates - loves your regular quickies - can actually handle a lengthy amount of handjobs, he's so good at keeping edged and overstimulated - buff baby boi - clip on fox ears >>>> - doesn't really like dress ups but on special occasions like your birthday, he'd wear his pretty lingerie set you bought him as a gift. - and ofc we know what happens next ;]]]]]]]]

[docholligay]

Choose your own adventure: July

I cna't speak to the quality of it, but I did get this month's DONE. I'm going to be honest with you: I worked really hard at this. I know the transitions are a little wonky and I'm not sure the blocking works, but that's not the point of this exercise and STUFF HAPPENS HERE. 4300 words.

“My client has passed a cognitive test that puts her beyond the understanding of an six year old, Doctor.” 

They might have been a bit too hard on Ollie--Oliver, she supposed--for having the audacity to go to law school and learn how to sound posh. It didn’t mean he was too good for the East End. Aunt Lily and Uncle Clive were bursting with pride. It was only them, she and Parvati and Florrie and Raj, who had decided it was wrong of him. Who picked at him.

“And whatever you may believe, they are capable of parsing reality and imagination,” he looked over his glasses at the doctor, “even in working class London.” 

Right. She definitely owed Oliver an apology. A series of apologies, more like. He was terrifically nervous. He’d half-lied his way to Lena’s side, and severely tested the legitimate half. He was in over his head. 

But wasn’t that the most Oxton thing of all, to be in over your head and plow ahead anyhow? 

The doctor smiled. “Of course. But given the traumatic experience she’s had, Mr. Parekh, it’s reasonable to assume that--and Lena, this happens even to the strongest of people--”

Condescending prick. 

“There might be some level of instability. The mind is a fragile thing. Hallucinations--” 

“I’m not cracked.” She shook her head. “I’m not.” 

“You alright over there?” 

“Hearing and seeing things is a common part of--” 

“Lena.” 

“It ‘appened, and it was real, and I’M NOT INSANE!”

“Well,” Doc leaned over and picked up the knife, “I wasn’t gonna say that, I was gonna say you look like you got off the world a minute. But, okay, you’re not insane. Understood.” 

Lena wiped her face. A thin mist of sweat. She shook out her hands, tried to stop the trembling. She hadn’t thought of that day in years. It came to nothing. He’d been removed from her case shortly after. There wasn’t even a note in her personnel file. No one thought that. No one thinks that. 

“I’m all right.” 

Doc’s eyebrows raised, accompanied by a huff. “Yeah, you look it.”

You’ll feel better when you eat. You’re hungry and tired, is all. You don’t feel it, but you are, I promise. Right. What had she even heard? She hadn’t heard anything, nothing, whatever it was that said to hurt Doc--if it had even said that, she couldn’t remember all that well, it can’t have been that--had just been a memory or something fluttering thorugh her mind. She had a busy mind. Always had. Right, right. This place is safe. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. 

Lena’s eyes flicked upwards to Doc, and she took a deep breath. She rubbed her hands together and offered up a shrug and a smile. 

“Need to eat something. Sorry.” 

Doc cut off the prolonged stare and nodded down to the pot in her hands. 

“Can I interest you in some intensely mediocre soup? Thank god canned food’s salty as it is or we’d be up shit creek. Bland as all hell, still.” 

Lena jumped down off the counter and picked a handful of spoons out of the drawer. 

“Brilliant. As an Englishwoman, I crave disappointment.” 

She looked down at the spoons. All perfectly matched, all with a letter engraved heavily into the end of the handle, all covered in tarnish. She frowned a little at it. Fareeha wouldn’t like it, the spoons looking so dirty, even if it were only tarnish. The last thing she needed right now was to hear another lecture about impressing the representatives of the Kaioh family, as if they hadn’t already decided what they were going to give. As if it weren’t just all a game to see what they could get out of it. 

But Fareeha was still her friend, even if she was aggravating and fussy. This meant a lot to her. Fareeha did a lot for all of them, Lena included. She scrubbed at the bowls of the spoons with the edge of her t-shirt, a few of the bits of greyish-black fading under the effort of her scrub, but a thin veil of tarnish remaining over the silver. The handle would have to stay black as it was, but Lena would do her best for the business end.

She helped Doc gather up everything and headed back to the group, trying to ignore the glint of the knife under the moonlight, and the quiet humming song of something she could not quite identify. 

___

It wasn’t much, but it was dinner, and that would have to be enough for now. If anyone wanted to question us on it, they could damn well get something else themselves. 

“I ask you something?” 

She met her eyes to mine, unwavering and intense even as the fire drew out them out bright. They were nice. I’ve always liked brown eyes. I’ve made a study of the ways they’re different from each other, like people always seem to do with blue eyes. Hers were that sort of russet color, that looks a little reddish when the light hits it just right. 

“I guess.” 

I shrugged, and put another ladle of soup into a bowl, and passed it the whole thing to Minako, who took it from my hands with a strange sort of caress. She stared at me as she walked back over to Haruka, like she wanted to pin me to a mounting box and cut me apart. 

“Where did you come from, exactly?” 

“Montana. It’s in the US, right up by Canada. Yellowstone and all that.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

I knew damn well that’s not what she meant, but I’m not used to having the point pressed on me in these sorts of situations. I don’t even know how to handle it. This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever experienced, and the longer I sit here in the house with it, the more real it seems. The more I want to go home. That’s a risk, isn’t it? You fall into a story, and you never want to leave. It builds itself around you, and it tells you the things you want to hear. It’s a horror story. 

I suppose that would make more sense if I was having even the slightest good time. 

Lena shook her head and grinned. “Not trying to be--you’re the only one I don’t know, right? ‘Ere.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “This is me girlfriend. Girlfriend, like I’m in school.. Partner sounds odd, though. Rubbish, not to have the right word for ‘er just yet, but I will, and soon. I ‘ope. Emily. I miss ‘er. Funny, innit? ‘aven’t even been gone too long.” 

She didn’t have to tell me who it was. Not that Lena could have known that. A picture of her and Emily, bright-eyed, red-headed, the two of them nestled together under an errant bough of mistletoe in what could only be one of a dozen Christmas markets. Lena’s bright blue and burgundy scarf--her cousin had made it, I knew--was well-loved and pilling, but it looked cozy against the chill, and complemented perfectly Emily’s purple knit beret. They looked so happy. 

“She’s pretty.” 

“Right?” Lena took the phone back from my hand. “Don’t tell ‘er she’s too good-looking for me, even though it’s true. Less she knows, the better.” 

She let out a bark of laughter, which shattered into a million pieces and echoed off every surface in the room. Mina and Haruka turned to look. Fareeha and Angela paid no attention, normal as the peal of the bells of the church down the street. The smile stayed. Whatever weird thing she’d been worried about in the kitchen seemed to have been forgotten in the thought of Emily. 

“So, you ‘ave anyone? Like that?” 

“I’m married, yeah.” 

Lena looked at the fire, thinking for a moment and then letting out a little huff. 

“Right so, I love ‘er. I would do near anything, for ‘er. And she loves me. I want to marry ‘er. I’m proposing in a few months. I want you to know. I want you to know she loves me, and I don’t want ot ‘urt ‘er, and that’s why I’m going to ask you something I don’t really want to ask. Makes me sound mad, it dones, and it will, but I ‘ave to.For Emily.” 

“Do you want my blessing, or--”

She turned back and gave me that same wide-eyed, intense look. 

“Are you ‘ere to kill me? To ‘urt me?” 

Holy shit. I felt a sledgehammer hit my chest, and I desperately looked away from her, trying to take in a deep breath that wouldn’t come. Staring at the shadows thrown on the wall. No, I’m not here to kill you, but you do have to die. Not today. But not that far off, either, if I’m right about where you are in life. I have to take you from Emily, and from Winston, and from your entire family who adores you. Your arc is complete and your death is essential to Fareeha’s larger growth as a person, I hope that comforts you as your body falls apart beneath you. 

I felt a little bit like an asshole. 

I chuckled, though. “Ain’t you supposed to be a big Overwatch agent? What exactly am I gonna do? I’m a writer. No,” I clapped her on the shoulder and squeezed, “I’m not here to kill ya. Not even a little bit. I like you, for starters. I like you a lot. 

“That’s outside of the--you want to know what I’m doing here? I saw a once in a lifetime opportunity to see people I’d been writing about, in a human sense. That’s all. I lucked out, and I know it’s weird as hell, but fuck, hasn’t everything today been? ” 

Lena laughed, rocking back on her heels. “Course. It’s only--never mind! Nothing!” 

I did it. She believed me. She’s not stupid, but I am telling a kind of truth, and that helps. She shook her head, and went to go grab the spoons to distribute so everyone could finally get eating. She stared at them a long while, ran her finger over the deeply carved letter, noticed the glint in the light as she turns them. I wondered where she got those up from. They look brand new. 

She called back to me as she gave Fareeha a spoon. “If I die, it’s me own fault, right?” 

“Sure is!” I called back. 

I am an asshole, after all. 

___

Annoying.

“Boy, Overwatch has a crack culinary team, huh?” Mina’s nose wrinkled as she looked at the soup. “Not that I was expecting much. Leave it to England to make starving look good.” 

Nothing. Lena didn’t even look up at her, busy looking at the spoon in hand, biting her lip as she held it up to the light, bright silver and gleaming in the firelight. Lena just shook her head and put it  down on the table. 

Lena had struck her as having a little more pride in her home, or at the very least firmly being one of those people who would say a million bad things herself, but take it personally if it came from somewhere else. She hadn’t expected the dedicated study of old flatware. 

It was probably some kind of weakness in Mina that made her want so badly to crack open every single person she spent an extended period of time with, but to her mind, it was like being able to see color. If you never had it, you could see how someone would never miss it. There are always plenty of other ways to identify objects. But once you opened that door to Oz, once you had the ability to rifle through people’s minds and see what built them, the level of control you had over any given situation doubled. At worst. 

But she didn’t need it. She kept telling herself that. She’d become like one of those people who’d started usin Door Dash for the deals and now believed it was the only way to exist as a working person. She’d forgotten how to make a sandwich. But intellectually. 

She looked around the room as everyone quietly ate the soup. It wasn’t as bad as Mina had pretended, but it wasn’t good either. Sort of like the general mood of the room. 

Haruka was across from her. Generally an easy read, but was always hard to know exactly when she was going to blow. She was tired and stressed and feeling intimidated by the general strength and athletic prowess in the room. Her ability to run fast and throw herself at a problem was less impressive when the tour guides they had could bench press her, or out manuver her. She hated being bossed around by anyone but Michiru and Mina, anyways. She looked forward to when Haruka’d had enough, it would add some spice to the situation. 

Lena was eating her soup in a way Mina could only describe unnecessarily aggressive, slurping it down and taking another ladleful. Mina watched as she closed her eyes, took deep breath, stretched, and smiled, giving herself a little nod and a quietly mouthed pep talk. Whatever had been bothering her when she had walked in, she had made some decision to sidestep it. 

Fareeha never seemed to wander too far away from Angela. Some of it made sense, because Mina had Touched Angela: Dead parents in one of those character-defining sort of tragedies, workaholic, haunted by the people she couldn’t save, all that shit. If she wanted to get to Fareeha, she’d have to get to Angela. 

Doc was leaned against the dark wood of a small series of shelves in the corner, pulling off a bottle of some dark liquor and ….She was nervous about something. More than anyone else here, there was some quality of her that didn’t quite belong. It was almost like Mina was looking at someone who was cut out of a magazine and pasted into the room, the edges of her not quite fitting onto the backdrop. 

And why didn’t the Touch work? 

It had never failed her before. She’d never seen nothing. Sure, a talented Seer could block to some degree, maybe even completely, on their best day. But that was the feeling of a door being shut in her face, not of pawing at the empty air. Not of the darkness. It wasn’t that she blocked her history, it was that she had no history to look at. Even something from outside the Sol System would show her--

Or…

No. 

Minako wasn’t about to think that. In no way could that be the answer. It was a gift, given--no fuck that, it wasn’t a gift, it was a trade. It was a salary. For all the things Mina had been asked and would be asked to give up, for all the tough calls she’d be forced to make, that was the exchange. She could see people’s pasts, she could dive into their feelings, she looked at people the way a watchmaker sprung open the back of a Rolex. 

It couldn’t be gone. The moon couldn’t take it back. The house couldn’t touch it, she’d used it in some Dark Kingdom labyrinths before. No. Impossible. 

Turns out, an impossible thing can still make you sweat. 

She turned to Haruka. Had to call her off first, or she’d just make things worse, and everyone was already careful, already wary. 

“Do me a favor?” 

“Yeah?” She looked up from her unimpressive soup. 

“No matter what happens, stay here. Don’t get mad. Don’t defend me.” 

Haruka looked at her moment, trying to mount some kind of defense against whatever was about to come, her mouth slightly open for the words that would not form themselves into being. She shut it, and then shook her head, resigned.

“I hate it when you say shit like that.” 

“It’ll be fun.” Mina began to stand up. 

“No it won’t. It’s never fun.” She called after her in a stage whisper. “It’s never fun! Minako!” 

Minako walked. No, she didn’t walk. She glided. She swanned. She wheedled her way across the room, delighted with herself, until she stood in front of Lena. She leaned up against the chair and let her breasts just sort of enter Lena’s space. Casually. It wasn’t enough to get any of Lena’s attention, as apparently the fire was so much more than her tits could ever hope to be. 

“Hey.” She cooed, moving to touch Lena’s arm, missing the skin at the last moment from an errant twitch. 

“Yeah?” Lena leaned back and looked up. 

“What are we gonna do about,” Mina sat on the edge of the chair and leaned in, “Sleeping arrangements?” 

Lena stopped for a minute, stared up at Minako, tilted her head neatly to the side, and slipped out of the chair, her back to Mina completely. 

“Few pieces of furniture in ‘ere. You can push the chairs together, make a bed. I’ve done it before, it’s not bad. I’ll take the floor,” she was moving toward Fareeha, she had seen what Mina was doing and didn’t want it. It made Mina angry. It brought out the artist in her. Life was complicated that way. “Rug’s softer than me mattress at ‘ome, I’ll be grand.”

Okay, strike one. No big deal. She was a professional, of course it was going to be harder to get to her than your average idiot in any given bar. 

Mina came up next to her. “I was thinking we all might feel a little less crowded somewhere else. But of course,” she reached her hand toward Lena, brushing the edge of her sweater with her fingertips “I’d feel better if you were with me.” 

Lena dodged, but turned to face her. “Can you not?” 

Big, sad eyes now. Slumped shoulders. “You don’t think I’m pretty.” 

Didn’t work. Lena’s eyes narrowed. 

“I think you’re nineteen, I have someone, not looking to cause an incident, and also, I think you’re lying about wanting anything to do with me like that. Don’t know why, but leave it, alright?” She stepped away from Mina, more forcefully this time, “Fareeha..” 

“I’m tired of you thinking you can order us around!” The time for the seductress was over. It was time for the brat. “We deserve your respect!” 

Fareeha stepped forward. “You have it, Aino-san.” 

“Oh don’t Aino-san ‘er.” Lena chuckled as she perched on the edge of  chair. “Over ‘ere, like she’s on the pull, after me, don’t know what san means, right, but I don’t think it’s that.” 

Mina tried to keep herself from smiling. It was a joke, a little barb meant to annoy Mina, but Mina had been watching. It was a defensive strike. Mina’d been pressing on Lena ever since they’d started this little campaign--for sport, mostly, but she wouldn’t say no if Lena wanted to--and she’d seen that it was finally wearing on her. Whether she was afraid of the dark or irritated by all the logistical issues or just tired and hungry, finally she might have been able to push Lena far enough. 

She thought it would be seduction, but this would work just fine too. Any port in a storm. 

“I’m after you??” Mina grasped at her chest in mock horror. “You’re the one who won’t let us leave! You’re the one who wants to sleep in the same room as me. Are you hoping I’ll strip down? Is that why you built the fire so hot?” 

Fareeha put a hand out. “It is safer here. Commander Oxton is a profession--”

Mina lunged forward to Lena. “Why should we all stay here? What’s the point, why can’t we get separate rooms?” 

Lena leaned toward her. Closing the gap. “To start, it’s freezing, if you ‘aven’t noticed, and it’s easier to keep one room warm. We’ve no idea when this’ll let up. We don’t know what’s round ‘ere, neither. Close up one room, watch your exits.” 

Mina was sick of flying blind. Bring on Door Dash. She had to make Lena touch her. If she couldn’t convince her to do it out of affection, she could almost certainly pull her anger. It was so close, Mina could feel it. Her mind fluttered, ideas running through it like flipping through a book, looking for the passage she remembered. She’d read a little bit about Overwatch before she’d come, hadn’t she? Just keep nipping. It’ll come. 

There was a whisper, something like a touch on her shoulder. A sound Mina had never heard before, in the back of her head, like the echo from the back of a cave. London. Remember the news, on a high rooftop. Remember the shot? You saw it while you were drinking coffee on the train. She will remember it, I assure you. You can win this.

“I just don’t get the point of it all.” She stalled for time, reaching for that image. It began to come into focus. 

“The point of it is that we ‘ave a responsibility to protect you. Protect you. Nothing else, not listening to your bloody whinging, not fulfilling whatever fantasy you have. Just protecting you. I am doing that, alright!?” 

There it is. Stop on this page. A small grin came across Minako’s face as she fired back. 

“What, about as good a job you did protecting Mondatta!?” 

The air went out of the room. Direct hit. Lena’s fists balled up, her teeth gritted, body tensed, a spring off the back leg. Here it came, she was ready to catch it. It would hurt, but all knowledge was got by an inch of pain, at least. Mina closed her eyes.

She felt Lena whoosh by her, narrowly missing her, the thick velvet chair next to Mina falling to the ground. In a show of restraint Mina would not have predicted, she had vented her temper on a chair that had probably seen at least three kings. Lena backed away from Minako, slow, careful steps away as she tugged at the back of her hair. She turned away as Mina watched her eyes flutter from anger to pain. 

“I! --I don’t!” 

Go in for the kill. 

Something animal filled her in that moment. She smelled the blood, and she attacked. Did she even want Lena to hit her, then? It had been like something inside of her, someone inside of her, coming through her, pushing through her, digging into Lena’s flesh. She felt it rush around her, speaking in tongues as she saw Lena shrink before her. 

“Protected him by moving out of the way of the bullet? By saving yourself? Are you proud of the job you did there? Did your family like it, showing the world that the Oxtons are cowards when it comes down to the wire?  Aren’t we all at least so fucking glad your dad never lived to see that! Imagine what he would say to you.”

Lena stood, silent, in the middle of the room. Doc whispered a swear into her whiskey. Everyone was waiting. The stage was clear for her, wasn’t it?

“You should have died that day, and everyone knows it! Everyone!”  

“Mina.” It was Haruka’s voice. 

Haruka had never done this, in all the years they’d known each other: Not when she was picking at Michiru, not when she told usagi to stop crying, not even when she was going after Haruka herself. The single fact of Haruka Tenoh telling Minako Aino, in one word, to stop, that she had gone too far, suddenly filled her with a deep and pervasive shame. Why hadn’t she stopped?

But it was too late. The light was out of Lena’s eyes. She backed toward to door, searching. Lena’s sorrow filled the room like smoke, posioning the air, inescapably squirreling into every crack, into Mina’s lungs. 

Fareeha reached her hand toward Lena’s shoulder. Lena twisted away, her back to the wall.

“It isn’t--”  

“Don’t.”  Her voice was choked; she cleared her throat.  “Please don’t.” 

She ran her hand through her hair, and went through the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Lena had taken neither candle nor match. Her flashlight lay on the table by the fallen velvet chair, its burgundy plush ominous in the firelight and silence. 

Fareeha stood quietly, and turned her eyes to Mina, sharp as a hawk’s. 

“I do not want, or need, your money. I will take you to the airport in the morning.” She pulled her shirt straight. “If I have to walk you there myself.” 

Fareeha picked up the flashlight and the faded blue backpack, leaving the room quickly, her footsteps fading into the darkness. Minako sank into the loveseat, hands folded in her lap, still not quite believing what had happened. She could have done it, of course she could have. But it didn’t feel like she did. 

Angela, a tear running down her face, poured herself some of Doc’s whiksey, taking the bottle straight out of her hand. She stood in front of Mina, shaking, and spat out the words. 

“You. Are so. Cruel! You should know shame.” She stomped to the other end of the roomand flopped into a chair, breathing heavy. 

She wasn’t wrong, all told. It wasn’t necessary to do what she did, and even haruka, sitting next to her, couldn’t even look at her. No one wanted to look at her, because she’d acted like a complete asshole. Lena hadn’t even done anything to her other than not be Touched. Other than be in the wrong place while Mina wondered what was wrong with this house, or with Doc, or both. All that was true. And she was ashamed. 

But Mina thought of one thing, sitting there. 

She hadn’t known Lena’s father was dead. 

Who else is going to find Lena and where are they going?

[my-darlng-angel]

HOLA HERMOSAAAA 😘

may i pretty please request wally with a quiet and reserved reader BUT they're a musician??

they've been in the neighborhood for a bit now and they're super shy (softly spoken, awkward in most situations) but they love music!! they play an instrument (love guitar, acoustic and electric) and sing! (insane vocal range) they love all kinds of music ranging from rock and metal to upbeat and quick! hopefully this ain't too much for ya dear 🫶🏽

Wally with quite musician s/o❣︎

Warnings: none!!

A/n: HELLOOOOOO

This isn’t too much for me at all!! I’m happy to deliver!

I hope you enjoy and have a great day or night!!

- When you first moved into the neighborhood, Wally was one of the first people to say hi to you and he was the person who showed you around

- He was quite excited to learn that someone else was going to join their lovely community

- However you seemed rather shy

- He didn’t mind much tho, he would talk until you feel comfortable too

- He will talk about the other neighbors and even Home

- He was very happy when you started to talk to him more

- He would try and get closer to you as much as he could

- He was just drawn to you

- Whenever he saw you out of your house he would be running just to talk to you

- You got use to him fast (mostly because he was pushy about it)

- And thats when he learned you like music!

- He was thrilled to learn about your interests!

- He begged you to give him a private concert

- He would love to sing with you if you want!

- He things you two will sound absolutely beautiful together

Wally’s smile began to drop as he eyed the white canvas in front of him. He wanted to paint since it was such a nice day but he just didn’t know what to draw. He looked around at the beautiful scenery.

That is when he heard the sound of a guitar deeper inside the woods. Curiously, he placed his paintbrush down and followed the sound. After a bit of walking, he noticed you playing your guitar by the creek. The sound of the flowing water and the guitar sounded very relaxing.

His cheeks heated up as he smiled hearing the beautiful music. He knew you were rather shy so he figured you came out here to avoid getting attention from the neighbors.

He didn’t want to be rude and interrupted you, so he waited for you to finish.

“That was beautiful!” He clap and you jumped. You turned around to see Wally who sat down next to you.

“How long were you there for?”

“Long enough” His smile faded slightly “are you mad?”

“No.. just startled” Your face was red. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Hearing him laugh only made it worse.

“You are a very good musician! Why didn’t you tell me you played?”

“It didn’t come up so” you shrugged. You two sat in silence for a few minutes before Wally finally spoke again.

“Maybe we could play together sometime. Start a little neighborhood band haha”

“You play an instrument?” You tilted your head.

“I know how to play the drums and the piano” you chuckled. Imagining Wally on the drums just made you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Wally asked, not understanding why you are laughing.

“Nothing… I think the band is a good idea”

“Great! Lets get started” He stood up and brushed himself off.

“W-wait- now?!”

“Of course! Now, come on. It’s about time you played with the other neighbors!”

[le-fils]

Interlude: A prince on the march

One good thing about being dead is the fact that, under normal circumstances, you do not really get tired or hungry anymore, meaning that you need little rest and can cover a lot of ground in quite a short time.

That’s what Eugène realizes once he has crossed the river Lot. He notices that he gets closer to the limits of Murat’s domain as he sees dawn breaking. By the time the sun has fully risen over the horizon, afterlife Cahors has disappeared behind him, and he finds himself on a small footpath leading into some unknown forrest. The mountainous region seems friendly enough. Smell of resin fills the air, with the sun glistening on tiny creeks and wagtails wading through the shallows.

Monsieur Goya has not left him any directions on where to find him but Eugène has already understood that those might not do him much good anyway. Travelling through these parts seems quite unrelated to compasses, maps and milestones. Eugène assumes – and he may be right or wrong about this – that reaching a certain point here has a lot to do with imagination and intention, probably willpower as well.

Eugène does have the intention to seek out Monsieur Goya, make no mistake. He has not yet given up on the idea of his portrait. But now – especially now that the alluring paints donated by Marshal Soult are not under his nose anymore – he also feels tempted to just go explore a little. To see the unknown, discover new places, meet new people, make new friends.

I should have loved to be a sailor, he thinks, not for the first time.

Maybe it’s this rather vague intention of his why his road does not lead him to Monsieur Goya’s house right away. Instead, he follows the path into the forrest and onto a rather large clearing. A small circus seems to be resting there, only three or four waggons, the horses grazing nearby.

There’s a juggler on the rooftop of one of the waggons, practicing his art. He’s incredibly good, the balls circling over his head so quickly Eugène finds it impossible to even only count them. The man seems to carry a mask, the mask of a fox, and, somehow, he also seems eerily familiar.

It’s only when the juggler jumps off the roof onto the ground, doing a somersault in the process, and somehow still juggling the balls, that Eugène realizes that the man’s mask seems to have melted onto his face. And it’s only when the juggler adresses him in a familiar voice that Eugène recognizes him.

Why, if this isn’t our beloved prince, our dear Viceroy of Italy, the charming Son forever in search of a Father. He whom everybody loves and nobody respects.

Fouché!

Indeed. Though, from somebody renowned for his politeness, I should have expected a different form of salutation.

I beg your pardon, Your Excellency. I have been rather surprised by your appearance. You have taken up a new profession in this afterlife?

The man in the fox mask pretends to drop one ball, only to catch it at the very last moment, and shrugs.

A man has to make a living somehow. Even if he’s dead. It’s not like I have a mother married to an emperor. Or other friends in high places making sure I will survive no matter what happens. It’s also not as if you have gone out of your way to help me, when I had to leave France and asked for your support, back in the days, is it?

Eugène remembers. Clearly. And as Fouché treats him in such a hostile way, he sees no reason to be less confrontational.

There was no way I could in good conscience suggest to my father-in-law to allow you into his country, Monsieur le Duc d’Otrante. Not after all the scheming, double-dealing and betrayal you had committed. If you allow me to be frank, I even find it hard to believe to see you in freedom like this. There must have been thousands of people in France praying for you to go to hell.

The juggler laughs.

Adorable! The puppy is baring his milk teeth. Well, my prince, it may not have occurred to you yet but heaven and hell are fleeting concepts, depending a lot on personal preferences. Maybe I am in hell, who knows? Or maybe I have been to hell and have run from it? I could tell you, of course, but if I did, would you believe me?

He stretches out one open hand, and all the juggling balls drop into its palm, melting into a single one that he casually puts in his pocket.

But I am in fact delighted at this meeting. It’s rare for us to come across our old acquaintances from our living days, almost as if those do not want to have anything to do with us. And I say ‚us’ because I am not alone. Come, let me take you to our impresario. You may find another familiar face in him.

He is right. This time Eugène has no problems recognizing Monsieur Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, despite the man’s rather shabby, worn-out habit of colourful fake silk, and a horrible wig of shrill pink colour. Talleyrand even wears thick layers of make-up and powder. He looks like a mixture of a Pierrot and a cheap whore, sweetish perfumes included. Eugène bows, somewhat baffled.

Monsieur de Talleyrand.

Your Imperial Highness. Or was it Royal Highness? Ah, what does it matter. Neither of them has been very high, in truth, have they?

Talleyrand’s voice has grown hoarse, and Eugène suspects that hidden under all the make-up is the face of an old man, even if the body looks young and healthy – with one peculiarity: The clubfoot that has troubled Monsieur de Talleyrand so much during his lifetime has turned into a hoof.

I see that death has stripped you of your former good manners, Prince de Benevent. Nevertheless, it has been good to learn that even a version of you exists in this afterlife. But as I have no desire to see myself insulted any further by the two of you, please allow me to wish you a good day and to take my leave.

Yes, go, go. If it had been anyone but you I might at least have asked him to join our troupe. As you can see, we are still quite in need of attractions. Monsieur Metternich is in one of the waggons though. He aspires to become a knife thrower, yet so far his attempts to frame a female assistant with knifes have had dire consequences. Truth be told, we are desperate enough to still hire him or anyone else for the arena. But, as you should be aware yourself, unfortunately nobody is as little suited for the limelight as you.

That need not be a bad thing. - The juggler has taken to practicing again, the balls circling over his head in a flurry of coulors, reminding Eugène of a rainbow, or of a painter’s palette. - Unfortunately neither the prince nor his sister, despite all she claimed, ever learned to truly embrace this.

A pair of eyes empty of all emotion stare at Eugène from behind the fox mask.

Becoming invisible is a most powerful thing, little prince. Aspiring to be nothing… maybe you should have learned in time to make the most of it?

How would he have done that though? Nothing and its sister, Everything, are too powerful concepts for one like him to grasp.

Eugène has had enough. He bows briefly, because that is what one does, then he quickly leaves the weird circus troupe without even trying to search out its third member. He hopes that those three old traitors indeed will turn each others’ hours in this afterlife to hell.

But knowing them, they still will find a way to thrive, and to start mischief.

Eugène breathes a sigh of relief when the circus waggons have disappeared behind a line of trees. With new determination, he continues his way to find Monsieur Goya.

.~.~.

((OOC: This is merely an introduction post. A while back on the discord rp server, it was mentioned that we do not have many antagonists in these afterlifes. Maybe this circus troupe can fill that void if need be. Whoever wants to use them in an rp scenario is free to do so. They probably have the means to go from one place to another really quickly, and may show up in different masks or professions as well.))

[jerzwriter]

Tension

This magnificent artwork was a commission from the incredible @/artbyainna. This left me breathless! Look at that lighting! Look at them! I love seeing my little people come to life!

I hope you enjoy this beautiful piece, and the accompanying story too! It's nice to take a little break from the angst in my WTD World.

Book:                Wake the Dead

Pairing:            Eli Sipes x F!MC (Zoe Rivera); feat. Troy Hassan

Rating:             Teen

Category:        Fluff / Friends to lovers / Pining

Summary:       On a rare afternoon of respite, the colonists all find a way to unwind... except for Eli and Zoe. Taking the opportunity to perfect their skills leaves them anything but relaxed.

Words:             2035

A/N:   I imagine this scene to take place just before the trip to the amusement park in Chapter 10. These two are fighting a hell of a lot more than zombies. :) Participating in @choicesjanuarychallenge - Day 17 - Relax

WTD Masterlist Full Masterlist

It was an unusually quiet afternoon at the lodge. The colonist’s hard work had paid off: fortifications and watch crews were keeping the drones at bay, and the gardens and livestock left the pantry full. With daily chores out of the way,  most were free to enjoy a rare afternoon of tranquility.

Troy reclined on one of the couches, humming quietly as he took in the scene around him. Shannon sat nearby, gripping an old magazine she had found as if it were the holy grail. Published around the time of the outbreak’s start, she was adamant it could contain something to help her research. In a distant corner, Minna was setting up a table with May, who was eagerly prepping a tea party for her stuffed animals. Seeing his friends relaxed and experiencing joy… just as he was… brought a smile to his face. And then… there was Eli….

Troy fully expected to find him crouched in front of the fireplace, working on his bow or doing something else… productive. To Troy’s dismay, that’s how Eli defined “resting.” But today, Troy was amused, watching his friend surreptitiously as he hurriedly walked in and out of the room at least half a dozen times. Stretching his neck in every direction, Eli was definitely searching for something. Troy could have asked what he was looking for… as if he didn’t already know… but this was much more fun. Entertainment like this didn’t come along daily, and Troy wasn’t about to let it end too quickly. But on Eli’s sixth go-round, Troy took pity on him.

“Looking for something, Eli?”

Eli turned gruffly in his direction. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been in and out of here six times… you’re either looking for something or working up the nerve to ask me to take my night watch shift tonight… any chance on that?” Troy begged, using his best puppy-dog eyes. They might have worked on half of the colonists in Olympus but on Eli… not a chance.

“Keep dreaming, Hassan.”

“So then you are looking for something….” Troy winked. “Or better yet, someone….”

“I didn’t say I was. I….”

“She went outside… mentioned something about going to the range for target practice on the one afternoon we get some downtime!”  Troy shook his head with disgust and pointed a finger Eli’s way. “I hold you responsible for this! She used to be fun. Now, look at her!”

Eli did his best to suppress a smirk. Shrugging his shoulders, he strode past his lounging friend.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he replied straight-faced.

“Yeah, my ass,” Troy yelled after him. 

“Troy… I will never be looking for your ass,” he mocked before heading out the front door.

The moment the fresh air hit him, his feet carried him swiftly in the direction of the range. He was moving at twice his normal speed, though there was no need to rush. No drones were on the property, and no one needed immediate protection. His chores were done, so he wasn’t completing a task. Still, just the slightest bit faster, the man would have been running. Even the elders from Sunflower Creek seated on the porch commented on it. Eli couldn’t help but overhear… then his mind went into overdrive.

This is just how he walked, he tried to convince himself. There was nothing suspicious about it. He was headed to practice himself and wanted to get there before the sun went down. Of course, the sun wasn’t setting for another five hours… but still. There was no reason to be suspect. None at all.

As he neared the range, he could hear the twang of her bow as an arrow released, then seconds later, the dull thud of a target being hit. He waited patiently for the next sound; there could only be one of two outcomes… and a smile crossed his lips when it was the one he had hoped for.

“Yes!” Zoe cheered. Followed but a string of happy little noises Eli couldn’t describe if he tried.

But another sound broadened his smile and made his heart race…. silence. She was alone, and while he’d reprimand her for being unsafe later, for now, he was delighted… Zoe all to himself. He almost surrendered to the rush that washed over him, but without warning, that voice was back in his head. 

What does it matter if she’s alone? She’s not why I’m here. I’m going to practice. Zoe being here is good because we can offer each other tips. If someone else was there, that would just be more input. This means nothing. Nothing at all. His head may have listened, but his heart hadn’t heard a word, and Eli cursed it for continuing to hammer in his chest. This. Meant. Nothing.

Zoe was startled when she heard footsteps approaching through the brush, raising her bow in preparation.

“It’s me,” Eli hollered, “Don’t shoot.”

Her bright smile appeared naturally when she saw who it was, but she quickly turned it into a coy little smirk by her own design.

“Not so much fun to be on the other side. Is it, Mr. Sipes?”

“Are we ever going to stop talking about that?” he deadpanned, but Zoe was astute, and she didn’t miss the smile in his eyes.

“Absolutely never!”

He walked blithely past her and settled down on a large rock to prepare his bow. Zoe’s eyes trailed his every move, returning to shooting? It wasn’t even a thought. She didn’t flinch when he looked up, catching her in the act, and only a slight blush rose to her cheeks when he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes? Do you need something?”

“Oh… so, so many things,” she chirped, not missing a beat.

His lips twitched as he turned back to his bow, looking anyplace but at her. He tested the strings before standing.

“It sounded like you had a good shoot when I was walking down here.”

“Of course I did! I’m good!” she boasted, chest sticking out with pride… how he tried not to notice.

“Yes,” he chuckled, and now her heart was racing. She couldn’t describe how she felt when she made Mr. Grumpy laugh or smile, breaking that cold façade. All she knew was it was intoxicating, and each time it happened, she desperately craved more. “You are good,” he continued. “Very good. One day, you may even be great.”

“Oh,” she teased, slinking over in his direction. “And what’s standing between me and greatness?”

He all but lost his ability to think, though he knew he needed to come up with a response. He could just turn around and aim for the target, ignoring what she had just said, but at the moment… he had forgotten how.

“I.. uh… I mean… you…”

“Don’t worry,” Zoe laughed. “I know what I need… even if you don’t.”

“Oh, and what is it that you need?”

“I need to perfect my shot with a standard bow,” she offered immediately, “That’s why I’m here. Most of my training back at the tower was with a crossbow, and I rock the crossbow. But there are differences, and I want to improve there.”

“There are differences. And lucky for you, the traditional bow is my specialty.”

“Oh, I know,” she winked. “That’s why this is my lucky day.”

Her heart fluttered when he smiled again, she could tell he was trying to fight it, but he didn’t stand a chance. Again, she was left yearning.

“Come over here,” he demanded, and she quickly complied. “Now, get into stance. Remember, your feet need to be parallel to the shooting line.”

Zoe glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I’m not a complete idiot, Eli.”

“I didn’t suggest… I’m just taking it from the top!”

“And I’m just teasing you,” she giggled.

“Zoe, if you want to perfect your shot, you should take it more seriously.”

For a split second, she almost felt embarrassed, but only for a second. Her sass was quick to return.

“And if you want me to perfect my shot, perhaps you should show me and just bark orders,” she goaded.

“Fine!”

She assumed he’d get into position, raise his bow, and pull the string with godlike precision. They’d watch his arrow fly through the air like the work of art it was until it hit his desired target… dead on. That’s what she thought would happen. Instead, she gasped silently when she felt his hands on her waist.

“Get into position,” he commanded, and her mind went numb.

Somehow, she managed to raise her bow. Her shirt rose a bit when she lifted her arms. Suddenly the sensation of the rough pads of his fingers brushing against the delicate skin took her breath away.

“Now, turn a little more. Just like this,” he instructed, twisting her the slightest bit to the side.

She wondered if he felt like she did right now, and if her heart wasn’t thumping, she would have felt his pounding against her back. For his part, being this close to her was doing things he hadn’t fully expected; the feeling was overwhelming. But Eli’s game face was unrivaled, and, despite the longing of every fiber of his being, he presented a somber, almost stone-like effect.

“Now, relax your knees….”

Was he kidding? If she relaxed her knees, she was quite confident she’d dissolve into a puddle at his feet.

“Right… relax…” she muttered. 

She was flustered, and he saw it. A chill ran throughout his body, and Eli was uncertain. Was he winning or losing?  

“Your shoulders should be a little more in line with your bow arm,” he began, “and you want to use your back muscles to aim….”

He hadn’t finished his sentence when her back muscles aimed for their intended target, lying flush against his chest. Neither of them could breathe, and if not for the sould of the gentle breeze rustling through the trees, they would have believed that time stood still. Each waiting, in silence….

“Try shooting,” he blurted. He had to say something.

And she did… instantly… without a single thought. The ping of her bow was followed by silence as her arrow flew through the air, ultimately falling to the ground. But Eli hadn’t moved at all, and neither had she.

“Well…” she stammered.  “That totally sucked.”

The two broke out into a fit of nervous laughter, still leaning in closer to one another when interrupted by an approaching voice.

“Eli! Zoe!” Angel called.

“Over here,” Zoe shot back. “What’s going on.”

“There’s a brawl breaking out in the kitchen,” Angel said breathlessly. “I don’t even know what it’s about. All I know is even Feather looked like he was ready to flip out.”

“Oh, that can’t be good,” Zoe chuckled.

“It’s not. That’s why Troy said I should go get you….”

“Oh, Troy sent you,” Eli sneered.

Angel scrunched her brow in confusion, “Uh.. yeah… I mean, is that a problem… or….”

“No, it’s not a problem at all,” Zoe said, gathering her things. “Let’s head back now.”

“Yeah,” Eli scoffed. “I’ll handle Troy later.”

The three made their way back to the lodge, with Angel running ahead. Trailing behind, Zoe looked up at Eli with a coquettish grin.

“Yes?” Eli acknowledged with a raised brow.

“I just think I was really getting it back there,” she grinned. “We’ll need to do it again soon. I think I’m perfecting my shot.”

“Really? I wouldn’t say that based on your last one,” he half-smiled.

“I don’t know,” she said, starting up the steps. “I think certain good things could be said about it.”

“Like what?

“Like….” Zoe opened the door, and they could hear the clamoring and chaos at once. “Oh, my….” She sighed.

“It’s probably best you tell me some other time…” he smiled. “It looks like you’re needed in the kitchen.”

“Me… needed in the kitchen,” she laughed. “Words I never thought I’d hear!”

“I’ve gotta admit,” he smirked. “Neither did I.  Perhaps I should join you.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want any cooking breaking out with me unattended.”

“Lead the way,” he grinned, “then when I’m done… I’ll handle Troy.”

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[wh0lemilk0vich]

misha, i have been thinking about this post of yours the entire day and i have no clue if it's gonna float your boat, but i've been reading some of my local folklore on like, mermen the last couple days and how there's this myth around my area about how their king lures young women in by promising them to care for them and give them all the riches they desire. and then earlier my mind catapulted back to a post of yours i believe it was where ian caring for mickey has been mentioned in a way that indicates he just likes to know mickey is not going hungry anymore - and just imagine ian as one of these mermen [which is funny because he's often depicted as the sun or fire, anyway] finding mickey drinking water from his creek or something, and he's obviously not the best of and ian just wants to care of him and ends up taking him with him.

aaand this was a wall of text [sorry i'm out and about and had to be fast] and probably likely not at all what you've been getting at, but i also already typed it soo i'm sending it in anyway. because i also just generally love to read you talk about them. thanksokaybye i'm also hugging you.

Ahhh Nosho I'm IN LOVE with this, this is exactly what I meant too!!

It could be so fairytale which I absolutely love

Underwater realms and underwater kings seem so important cross culturally, like immediately I think of the Erlking (which I think is also fantastic in translation, there's a great Irish translation), Sadko and the Undersea Tsar, nymphs, and spirits. I'm such a slut for fae and spirits.

I can absolutely picture Mickey escaping Terry to the woods. And he's tired and starving, wild and angry and sad, finally breaking down at his brook to rest and sleep, and hopefully be safe for a minute. And so here he is drinking from Ian's creek and Ian is immediately enamored, obsessed. Ian is this eternal, powerful, playful and capricious thing but if there's one thing he values it's beauty and seeing Mickey just takes his breath away, he wants him so badly because he's so pretty, and he can't entertain a scenario where he doesn't get what he wants, where he doesn't get to keep Mickey.

I have this image in my head of Mickey waking up in the glade with this creek and Ian's there in his nature taking a humanoid shape and he's just naked and glistening and enjoying the warmth of the sun dappling through the leaves. I can't decide whether he's sunning himself on a warm flat stone in the middle of the creek, or bathing under a little waterfall (imagine him with thick long curly hair), or laying next to Mickey on the shore just staring at him and his beauty.

And regardless Mickey wakes up eventually and he's surprised because he's not alone, and he's scared because Ian's a stranger, and he's embarrassed because Ian's... beautiful. He shouldn't think that, shouldn't notice that; that's why he had to run away in the first place...

His eyes snap back to Ian because he hears laughter, and it's like the twinkling of little bells. Ian's looking at him and he wants to get smaller, doesn't want to be perceived, doesn't want to betray himself. Ian wades over to him through the water, naked with a naturality and confidence, almost indifference, that Mickey could never imagine possessing.

"Thou'rt beautiful," Ian says.

Mickey's eyes go wide because how could he know that, he hadn't said it out loud. But then he saw Ian's eyes and he realized those weren't just his own thoughts.

"Thou'rt beautiful," Ian says again.

And there's a strangeness to it because when he says it, Mickey hears it like it's true. Like stating a state of nature. Putting a name to the weather. As if Ian had said 'The sun is shining.' It's not what he'd ever been told, and would not otherwise think.

"Thou'rt frightened. Thou need'st be not. Pray, Beauty, what desirest Thou most, that I may give it Thee?"

"I hunger..." he doesn't know whether he should add a title. He's never met someone like this. He doesn't want to cause offense. But he laughs again. Like Mickey's request is trivial. Like he would do far more.

"Then Thou shallt eat, and Thou shallt have thy fill, and Thou shallt want for naught," and his words were the promise of rain in spring.

Mickey readied himself to speak, but Ian does first.

"Bathe in my waters, and while Thou makest Thine ablutions, mine shall be to fulfill thy whim."

And Mickey watches Ian walk from the banks to the edge of the wood, watching him the whole time. When Mickey hops up and tries to follow he's gone.

Mickey feels odd, he feels happy and it makes him feel ashamed. He doesn't want to, but he undresses, it takes him a long time to allow himself to be bare, to allow himself the kind of confident vulnerability that Ian had. But he does it and he enters the water and it's... just...so...warm. It's like being hugged at home, a feeling of protection he'd never known before. And he bathed and he swam and he actually smiled. And then he heard from the bank

"Thou'rt beautiful."

Mickey stills, covers himself, tries to hide himself in the water. Ian laughs.

"Come. Thou hunger'st."

THIS IS GETTING SO FAR AWAY FROM ME but like I just imagine Mickey eats roasted venison and game and berries and he eats so joyously and deliciously that Ian can see him shining and he wants Mickey to feel like that always. And he wants there to be evidence of him of his love on Mickey and he grows so beautiful and loved and soft and cared for when he comes with Ian and allows himself to know fully and loved and filled like ugh. I don't know if any of this makes sense?

Oh my God haha

[hazbincalifornia]

Mother Knows Best

The idea of that one character being Alastor’s mom compelled me. That is all.

Summary: Alastor goes to his mother for advice when a spell has an unexpected consequence.

Wordcount: 807

Warnings: Mentioned mpreg

He was worried.

She could feel it through the door that he was hesitating outside of, static crackling the little radio across the kitchen that was playing a jaunty swing as she drummed her fingers on the oak of the table. 

“It’s not polite to darken a doorstep for too long, dear. In or out?”

The static intensified for a moment before he knocked, and she told him to come in. Much better.

“It’s been an… unusual day.”

“I imagine, if something has you all ruffled like a puffed-up hen.” She gestured at the chair next to her and he folded into it, legs crossed at the ankle but foot bouncing for a moment before stilling. Up close, she could see the dip in his ever-present grin as teeth hid behind lips, as well as the way his knuckles tightened around that microphone stand he had clung to like a lover even before taking one. “Don’t leave your poor, weary mother in suspense, out with it. Did that girl of yours do something ridiculous?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He glanced at the door before leaning closer, despite being aware that few knew of this place. “We were planning to have a second child-“

“Good! It took you a hundred and fifty years to give me a grandchild, you have plenty of time to make up for, mister.” He groaned a little and she grinned, patting down her dress slightly. “Go on, go on. I’ve earned a bit of a right to gloat after all this time, you know.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, congra-“ It took a moment for the words to process properly, and she would swear there was a record scratch screeching through the air if she’d been granted the same abilities he had. “Excuse me?”

“The spell was rather more undiscerning about who should bear the child than we thought it would be.” His knuckles were gray, and her eyes darted down to his coat as she adjusted her glasses. Still trim, no visible bump at all. He must have just found out.

“Are you keeping it?”

“I'm… torn about that, I must admit.” She could hear a hint of his natural accent underneath the practiced one he’d smothered himself in for the airwaves, a slip of the baby boy she remembered bouncing on her knee as he gnawed at chicken bones and spilled the story of his life every day to the rocks by the creek. 

She drummed her fingers again, feeling the fur of her mink catching the sweat from her neck. She’d been planning to go out for a walk on the town. “Does she know?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Will it kill you?”

“That is up in the air. Most likely not, but she was equipped to carry, while the spell apparently rearranged some of my organs. However, she has a family friend who helped with Clove in magical matters.”

“Well, now you know some of how your poor mother felt when she had to bring you into this world.” A pause. “You’re a dead man walking, Alastor, and have been for over a century. If this is about the amount of pain birth will be, I know you’re strong enough to manage. And if it’s about anything else, you’ll figure it out if you want to. You’re clever.”

“So you don’t think it’s-“

“Odd? Certainly! But we live in Hell, dear. Our neighbors are men shaped like animals and the walls watch us if we step too far into the city. My tolerance for the absurd has gone up quite a lot.” She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he rolled his eyes but she could see the way his smile loosened a little, a touch softer than before. “You ravaged this world and turned it upside down to show what you were made of, you can handle this if you choose to.” She tilted her head. “Besides, I want more grandkids, you hear? If you decide not to, I expect her to pick up the slack.”

“She’s perfectly fine with that, although the spell may not work again, based on how it backfired this time. Who knows, perhaps next time it would hit some random civilian, wouldn’t that be a sight!” A dozen stations cycled through in a fraction of a second before he nodded, more to himself than anything as he patted her hand and stood up. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dearest. Do let me know so I can bring a gift basket around to that gaudy building you call a home now.”

“What can I say? The rent is free and the company burrowed under my skin.” He laughed with a wave of his hand, the music from across the room back to flowing smooth as butter, and she knew he was going to be just fine.

[alluralater]

i don’t talk about it. i don’t write about it. but oh how i miss you. hands worn in by the jagged presses of the world. lips curved up at me like the sun, eyes brighter. i miss whatever words you’d use to make me feel at home. when you called me love. my love. your- love. there is not a void where you are gone. just… a space. i imagined it should feel like a ravine or unending crevasse. instead, it is creek bed, shallow ground. stepped over. too noticeable to give me a start may i trip upon it. it feels like a question. a confusion. why. but i know why, and i know the answer is not the reason i ask. i knew you. i did. and then suddenly- so suddenly, i didn’t know you at all. you and your words so vile became a stranger to me in seconds. i buried you beneath those words. whatever love i carried is there too. i dig it up on occasion, just to be sure i have not made the grave too small. because it is- small. the space you occupied was larger than all things. now that you are gone, there is more room for me to think on why. i light candles in the long ends of night. illuminating what fails to be seen. i loved you. the good parts. the sobbing sensitive emotional mess, the smiling humorous hopeless romantic. i loved you and all your selfish ways, soft manipulator. i loved you even when it was hard to. when you said things that made my skin settle uncomfortably. when you ripped me apart to feed yourself. i loved you even then. i loved you when you begged me not to go anywhere, throat filled agony. when you told me i would leave you sometime again, the only question— when. i loved you like the trees loved the wind. kindly. take the leaves, take the branches. take it all. take it all and give me your ferocity in form unrelenting. i asked you for that. you asked me… for everything. all of me. i wanted to slip away quietly, softly. to love you and leave room to love you again someday if i could. but then you said those things. those awful things. like they didn’t matter to you at all. i saw you then. who you were underneath your love for me. you’d been pretending- for me. a better person for me. i withheld my affection, and you chased me, looking for something i no longer could give you. i saw it in you, like i see in everyone— panic. i wonder how i could be so stupid, so in denial. so hopeful that i could turn water into a well. i thought if i was there for you, you’d be who you were again. lovely and noble heart. instead you became something different. suggestible and terrifying. how quickly your morals changed. how easily they sway. i loved you until then. when i saw the pieces fall one by one. god how i loved you. for anyone else, it would have taken just that. once. for you, dozens of pieces i watched fall. the death of you, i could tell you in what ways i saw it. how each decision you made soured my love. it did not happen overnight. so many nights i traded my love for the hope that you would return to what i knew. the last time i looked at you, you were a different person entirely. a stranger to my eyes. i never understood that when people described it, not until then. your eyes did not make my heart swell. in fact they were not the dark pools of earth i knew. they were lighter in a way i’d never seen them before. entirely opposite how i had always known them to be. like i had ripped my love from your body. when i asked you to return my things and you finally did, i saw your hands shaking. you knew it was the end. that i had taken my time and known and wanted it to be over. it didn’t hurt to watch you go. it was like i turned my back on a stranger. face in a crowd that could remind me of someone i used to know, had i glanced a moment longer.

i loved you. i hope to love you still, whatever is left that i can hope to love again when in full bloom. i don’t talk about it, i hardly think of it. i keep my love on ice for you. maybe one day there will be a way that i can love you again. hope is there, ever lingering. like a shout through water. dull. i don’t want to think of you, and so i don’t. i don’t want to hear your voice. i don’t. often what i miss is your laughter. i see you in everything. it feels like nothing. absence. apathy. i see you in everything and i wait. one second. two seconds. three seconds. four. i wait a few more. nothing at all. you are something of a dull echo. i still feel you in a room, like a pull in my chest. like the love of my life is nearby. like the first time we met. like your fingers in mine or on my thighs, or sweeping my thumb over the back of your hand. you telling me that i am the love you never wish to forget. you describing what our wedding will be like. you, who did not believe in marriage. love. love in all the deep places. i wonder why it does not feel like a void. like a pain that could kill me. i do feel only half alive, though it is no less than when i was with you. you were different for me. protective, loving, kind, warm, adventurous, noble, morally enriched. it did not take long at all for it to come away, all of the things you were for me. to others, someone else when i was not around. morally wrong. not the nurturer. i came to see how selfish you truly were. how you would turn on your friends, those who deserved and needed kindness. i watched you ruin any sense of self you had created because you didn’t want to be lonely. i watched you lean into a person who wishes only for your misery yet only mildly enjoys your company. i saw your carefully crafted image, the one you had created for me… i saw it break. so casually, so flippantly. i remember i was cutting vegetables, a sharp edged knife in hand. i stopped everything i was doing, too shocked to move or speak. the things you said, i couldn’t believe. by the end, i knew. i knew you were someone else entirely.

it is something in me which creates a lack of love for someone. something protective, something of an instinct. like i cannot invite danger. i have to look after those i care for. and somehow then it was you. that was all it took for me to stop loving you. something in me recognized you… as dangerous. you whose hand would be at the small of my back, leading me through swaths of people, tightly packed bars and clubs. you whose eyes were made of knives and glared at anyone who dared look at me too long as we walked down busy streets. you you you. stopping to have enlightened conversations with snails on the sidewalk. plucking worms from the road on rainy days and ushering them back to the safety of grass. it was you. walking in the street and on the curb, telling me you’d rather be hit by any passing car than let me be hurt. you walking me home at night. your lips and your hands and your voice. you and your brilliantly dark eyes telling me that you will always be there, safe to me. you were none of those things anymore. in an instant— less. all at once it came into view. who you had been becoming. the way i hadn’t seen it clearly. it was you. it was you telling me that the amount of clothing a person wears shows you their level of assumed consent. it was you, minimizing the pain your disingenuous best friend had caused to another person both physically and emotionally. it was you, sympathizing to such degrees with a person who i stopped seeing when they showed a lack of moral compass as it pertained to sexual harassment. it was you, lying to me over and over again. it was you, telling me that you had picked up terrible skills after dating so many toxic people. it was you, telling me on my birthday while i was surrounded by other people who wanted me the way you did, that you wanted to be with me when you were ready to be with someone. it was you on multiple occasion, trying to kiss me when i was nearly too drunk to stand. sometimes after only just a few sips. it was you, creating fantasies from my words so clear and deciding what you believed i meant by them. it was you, sitting in the grass next to my two best friends and ignoring yours, telling me how pretty i looked, how you’d rather stay here with me. it was fucking you. loyalty bonded to possibly one of the most deceitful people i’ve ever met, someone who carries nothing but malice toward me and you, for reasons i cannot understand. you, telling me all these years that i am the love of your life, that you’re afraid to lose me. it was this and so much more which made you lose me in an instant. because i care, and i realized that you don’t. because i refuse to bend or break my values, and you will break yours any moment it becomes beneficial, or when they become an inconvenience to you. i don’t think it was all a lie. you can be so very lovely and so very corrupt altogether in one vessel. i had not seen the other side in full. i do now, though my heart is traitorous. it wishes to make water into well. and so well it could be, to know you only as the other half of yourself. this is the first time i’ve written about it, talked about it at such length. i keep it all to myself, where it cannot be given tangible form. i do not think about you much at all, as i know that i cannot want you partially. my mind does not allow half truths. i will not love you in parts, and so i suppose i do not love you at all. i do not intend to ever love you again if you are the same. years will go by and i will still not love you. not even the memory. you are a stranger there, too. i still ask myself why. it’s easy to brush aside. except now, now i will kiss every pair of lips, each unlike yours, and the answer will be simple.

though i miss you, i hardly grieve at all.

[therecordconnection]

Ranting and Raving: "Sleeping with the Television On" by Billy Joel

1980 was a good year for Billy Joel. His seventh studio album, Glass Houses, continued his upward momentum as a superstar in a number of ways. Glass Houses was his second number one album (52nd Street was the first one, released two years prior), he scored his first number one hit on Billboard (“It’s Only Rock and Roll to Me”), and three other songs from the album were Top 40 hits (“You May Be Right,” “Don’t Ask Me Why,” and “Sometimes a Fantasy”). 

Glass Houses was an album that made a deliberate attempt to break away from the lighter, softer, and more ballad-y songs that he had been starting to become critically trashed for. Songs like “Just the Way You Are,” “She’s Always a Woman,” and “Honesty” had been successful hits, but the cost was that it started giving people the wrong impression that Billy and the band couldn’t rock with the best of them. By 1980, Joel had started playing arenas and stadiums, so those songs would only do so much and go so far in larger venues. He was gonna need to start coming up with bigger sounding songs that packed a real punch if he was gonna continue the upward swing and deliver a rock show that the growing audiences at his shows would really remember. 

“Sleeping with the Television On” represents the best attempt at doing that. It also might be one of the best songs that represents every strength Billy had as a songwriter. 

Billy Joel is a man who would rather talk to you about his album cuts rather than his hits, which makes sense. I imagine someone can only talk about “Piano Man” or “Uptown Girl” for so long before there’s nothing left to say. “Sleeping with the Television” on the other hand, is a song I have many things to say about.

The song begins with the end of “The Star Spangled Banner,” which then fades out and segues into a droning tone. This used to be the norm back in the day. TV stations would sign off for the night (imagine that!) and just transmit static until morning. That’s what the warning "Tomorrow morning you'll wake up with the white noise" means. If Diane, the woman Billy is singing to in the song, really did fall asleep with her television on, that's what she would hear. Nowadays, Diane would either hear some random channel if she still pays for cable for some reason, or she’ll wake up to Netflix asking her if she’s still watching Schitt’s Creek. Other than that little explanation, the lyrics to this song have aged very well. 

Lyrically, the song is all about refusing to take chances on possible love interests. This is expressed by looking at it from two points of view that Billy sings about. The first set of verses are aimed at a woman named Diane, whom Billy has been watching all night somewhere. The last set of verses are about Billy himself. Diane is described as a hard and overly defensive woman, someone who puts up a front and won’t let anybody try to sweep her off her feet. Billy argues, “You'll shoot 'em down because you're waiting / For somebody good to come on.” The criticisms he fires at Diane are the same ones he will also fire at himself. You can’t know for sure who the “somebody good” is unless you take a chance and talk to somebody. Billy puts Diane down probably because he sees too much of himself in her and he’s aware of what happens to those who don’t take chances.

Oh, You say you're looking for someone solid here You can't be bothered with those 'just for the night' boys Tonight unless you take some kind of chances dear Tomorrow morning you'll wake up with a white noise

In a way, one could find similarities between Billy singing to Diane here and Billy singing to Virginia in “Only the Good Die Young.” Both songs involve him trying to convince a woman to take a chance on the wild side for a change. There’s also the connection of Billy trying to convince both girls to take a chance on him. In Virginia’s case, that’s having a Catholic girl try to laugh with the sinners instead of cry with the saints. For Diane, he’s warning her about what will happen if she doesn’t give anybody a chance. There’s nothing more sad than going home alone and having only the television to keep you company, as far as this song is concerned. Billy decides that he can see through Diane’s defenses and determines that it’s her attitude that’s the big problem.

Your eyes are saying talk to me But your attitude is "don't waste my time" Your eyes are saying talk to me But you won't hear a word 'cause it just might be the same old line All night long, all night long You're only standing there 'Cause somebody once did somebody wrong (all night long, all night long) But you'll be sleeping with the television on

Billy Joel has always had great strength as a lyricist. When compared to the other piano man Elton John, Billy tends to shine more, probably due in part to the fact that Billy writes his own words, Elton doesn’t. It isn’t just that Billy writes his own words, it’s more that he tends to be a very honest man in his lyrics, perhaps a bit too honest sometimes. You hear him sing the words to his songs and you just get the sense that what he’s singing is coming from the heart. This helps him greatly when he has to perform and sing his own words to an audience. Last time I wrote about Electric Light Orchestra’s “Telephone Line” and how Jeff Lynne never leaves any trace of himself on the page. Billy on the other hand, leaves a lot of himself on the page. Part of what makes the lines in the later verses have real impact is that Billy has never tried to sell a version of himself that didn’t feel authentically him. If you consider Billy Joel a “rock star,” then he has everything going against him when trying to carry that title. He’s a short king at five foot five, he looked like a weird cross between Sylvester Stallone and Billy Crystal (especially during the seventies when he had that bushy afro thing going on), and he was a piano player in an age where the only beloved members of rock bands were the guitar player, the frontman, and maybe the drummer (if they’re lucky). He’s a “rock star” in the same weird way that somebody like Elvis Costello is a “rock star.” They’re dorks, but they’re such honest dorks that they wrap back around to being cool. If you wanted to make an analogy and link him to a Beatle, he wanted to be cool like George but had to settle for being dorky and earnest like Paul, which isn’t a bad thing.

In the case of “Sleeping with the Television On,” there might be more truth to his words than fiction. The best verse of the song is when Billy starts pointing the zap gun at himself:

This isn't easy for me to say Diane I know you don't need anybody's protection I really wish I was less of a thinking man And more a fool who's not afraid of rejection All night long, all night long I'll just be standing here 'Cause I know I don't have the guts to come on And I'll be sleeping with the television on

“I really wish I was less of a thinking man / And more a fool who's not afraid of rejection” is one of the best and most honest lines Billy has ever written in my opinion. If any rock star of the era had said this I would’ve laughed it off as a lie. Mick Jagger has never thought this, David Bowie has never thought this, none of the Beatles could’ve ever sold that. Part of what I think makes Billy Joel’s music hold up is that his words resonate with every dork and lovable loser that’s just like him. The ones that have had to step out of their comfort zone and take a chance, knowing full well it might blow up in their face. I said that Billy puts Diane down probably because he sees too much of himself in her, but I also think it’s a case of Billy wanting to shoot her down before she even has the chance to reject him. 

Your eyes are saying talk to me, talk to me But my attitude is "boy, don't waste your time" Your eyes are saying talk to me, talk to me But I won't say a word 'cause it Just might be somebody else's same old line

In his mind, he can’t be rejected if he never makes a move and he curses his inability to take a risk. We’ve all been there at one point or another. Don’t waste your time because it’s probably gonna end badly. Don’t use a pick-up line that some poor woman has had to hear a million times, both in person and on various dating apps. It’s not simply a song about a guy dunking on a woman for being too choosy and overly defensive, there’s more to it than that and Billy sees it. He’s criticizing her because he acts the same way she does and he doesn’t want to see it happen to her. It’s a song about defense mechanisms and how a reliance on them will cause you to possibly lose out on something that could be good for you. Unlike ELO’s “Telephone Line,” which was a song about a romantic situation where the outcome was undetermined, Billy knows how this scenario ends: “We're only standing here 'cause somebody might do somebody wrong / and we’ll be sleeping with the television on.” 

I admit that there are probably better ways to highlight loneliness. I imagine a lot of people who aren’t alone fall asleep with the television on. My parents have been falling asleep with the television on together for over thirty years. I have plenty of friends who say they turn on long Youtube videos or they’ll turn on a movie, get comfy in bed, and then immediately conk out. However, Billy sells the idea that sleeping with the television on is a sad fate. You can picture it, right? Sad, lonely little Billy Joel goes back home, probably cleans up his house a little, makes a late dinner or something, sees what’s on TV, and then falls asleep on the couch in a dark living room, the only sounds he hears waking up the next morning are the news or whatever channel was on during the night before. There are more gut wrenching ways to show loneliness, but Billy picks one that probably not a lot of people would think of. 

The lyrics aren’t exactly positive, but the music sure as hell is. Billy set out to make bigger sounding and more rocking songs with Glass Houses and he absolutely succeeded and then some. “Sleeping with the Television On” is just incredible! It’s this wonderfully concise song that’s just barely three minutes, it’s tight as hell, it’s bouncy, and it’s just a fun tune to listen to. What blows me away with this song is how weirdly herky-jerk it is. That intro has strange places where the band starts, then holds a note, then starts, then holds a note again. It’s like a jet ski riding on a lake. It’s smooth, then you hit a wave and you jump up a bit, then you’re back on the lake like nothing happened. It’s a real testament to the talent of Billy’s classic backing band because this song sounds deceptively easy, when in reality one bad mistake can fuck it all up and get it wrong. If you play it too slow, the song just sounds like you’ve got a band that doesn’t know what they’re doing. If you play it too fast, the rhythm gets all messed up and the song becomes too herky-jerk and way too much, it becomes too loose. The band plays this at the perfect tempo and they know where to start, when to hold, and when to keep the rhythm consistent. 

Speaking of consistent rhythm, the real star on this song has gotta be drummer and “Most Italian Sounding Name In Town” award winner, Liberatori “Liberty” Devitto. Focus on him when listening to this song and it’s such understated work but it really adds a lot. He’s constantly switching up the beat every few measures to match the changes in Billy’s vocal melody and where the song is going. It’s wonderful. I’ve counted at least four different kinds of beats he plays in the song. He never stays on one of them for too long and you can hear Neil Peart do something similar on Rush’s “Subdivisions.” What makes it stand out and makes it so wonderful is how it’s only a slight change every now and again to keep things fresh. He never throws a wrench in the song and he doesn’t bring a lot of attention to it either so it’s easy to not even notice how often he’s changing things up.

“You May Be Right” and “Sometimes a Fantasy” were the songs from Glass Houses that proved Billy was capable of writing hard rocking songs that could stand with the best of the them, but if “Sleeping with the Television On” proves anything, it proves that Billy Joel understood the genre of “new wave,” which was something that was only just beginning to crop up at the start of the decade. Arena rock bands of the early eighties like the Rolling Stones or Foreigner or Journey wouldn’t be able to pull off a song like this, but early eighties new wave acts like Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Joe Jackson, or XTC absolutely could. The song rocks, but it still retains and mostly keeps the polished pop elements that made Billy a huge star at the end of the seventies and would keep him working through the eighties and beyond. That little keyboard solo in the middle of the song lasts less than twenty seconds, but it’s such a fun little thing. It’s another memorable part of a very good song. Nothing overstays its welcome here and the song has no wild tricks up its sleeve. It knows what it wants to do, what it wants to be, and just goes for it. Most importantly, it does it right and it doesn’t waste your time. It’s just a fun and enjoyable little song on a pop-rock album, which is sometimes all that you really want. 

“Sleeping with the Television On” wasn’t one of the singles from Glass Houses, but it absolutely could’ve been. In a way, it might be better for it that it wasn’t. It’s tucked away on the second side of the album, waiting for any curious listener who wants to find it. Its creator certainly wants you to find it. It still gets played today as part of the many songs Billy Joel performs as part of his residency at Madison Square Garden that seemed endless (until he announced that it will finally be coming to an end in July 2024, with his 150th performance at the venue. Get tickets while you still can!) Billy Joel’s hits are more than worthy of attention, but so are his album cuts. What you get with “Sleeping with the Television On” is a wonderful piece of pop-rock that serves as a warning and explores the consequences of not taking chances. It’s a lesson in not being so defensive; that there’s a beauty in leaving yourself exposed and open for what could be a good opportunity. There’s the obvious risk that you’re gonna get hurt, but the song argues that taking a chance and getting hurt is better than going home alone and having nothing but the sounds of the television to comfort you. Hell, if any rockstar was gonna tell you that taking a risk might lead to something good, it’s Billy freakin’ Joel. That man is the epitome of “shoot your shot.” After he got divorced from his first wife in 1982, that man dated a supermodel who later had the nickname “The Body” (Elle Macpherson)! That guy got to be married to Christie Brinkley for nine years! If he can make stuff like that happen, shit, we all should take a chance and shoot our shot. Sometimes it works... though it helps if you’re a really successful and good piano player on top of that.

Regardless, it’s a good lesson from one of New York’s finest. Take a risk and make a move. Fortune favors the bold and if you’re lucky, you’ll still fall asleep with the television on, but there will be somebody to share breakfast with in the morning.

[lonelyfanboy48]

Steven Universe Of The Creek Chapter 23 Walking On Water In Freedom

Steven and Connie un-fused after the group left Ninja Garden Waterfall with Omar taking the lead for once. He wished there's a way for him to contact the person from his phone, but he doesn't have her number. The only guess he has is the place where a few people from the other side of the Creek go to ever since the Capture The Flag war ended. He once went there with the person he used to be enemies with.

"Omar." Steven replied. "You sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes, it's just I'm trying to find one person who could be at another waterfall."

"There's another waterfall?" Connie spoked.

"Bigger than the last one."

Craig can tell who he's trying to find, but he's not happy to meet her again. He's unsure if she heard about Steven this morning, but he hopes she doesn't do anything that could lead to disaster. Soon Omar started to remember the trail that leads to the waterfall itself. The more he continued following the trail, he heard the waterfall and so did the group.

When they arrived at the location, they witnessed the huge waterfall pouring down behind trees. "Wow!" Connie commented. "That's a big waterfall."

"That's not it. Look down there." Omar pointed to focus their attention. Not only there's another waterfall above, but also a lake that the waterfall is pouring into. "Some kids have their swimsuits on if they want to take a dip in there."

"Swimming in there?" Craig replied. "If I had this in my map earlier, I would've offered to have you swim here Steven."

"I would be happy about that but I was never in a swimming mood all day." Steven crossed his arms. "This may bring me memories of when I went swimming back at Beach City and this place is wonderful, but last night has still been on my mind."

"Still though, I would swim here if I had my swimsuit." Connie smiled.

Omar looked everywhere to find the person, however, he's out of luck. Then Lion walked up to him, getting a better view of the lake he found appealing. As he looked at Omar, he wondered what person he wanted to show his group, giving the history he had with her. "You wouldn't believe what me and Craig went through in Capture The Flag." He then looked away from him. "Even though what you, Steven, and Connie went through was a lot difficult, it was still a tough time before the war in the creek."

"I would've been more enticing if I meant someone who's part of that one, especially the former king." Steven walked up next to Lion.

"Trust me, if those gems from last night were part of our war, on the enemy's side, we would actually lose."

"We wouldn't be hanging around if Xavier took over the creek." Craig filling in.

"I can't imagine how you would feel if you came here that way." J.P. added.

"I would take matters in my own hands, but forbidding my powers, just the more mature way." Steven replied.

"You would probably not like the way he reacts when you talk to him." Omar said. "His former BFF would tell you everything about him."

Then Maya, who just hiked with people from the other side of the creek an hour ago, took off on her own as she arrived at the waterfall. The first person she noticed is Steven himself who heard her footsteps close by. "Is that his former BFF?" He pointed.

When Omar saw Maya, it made him relieved that he found her. "Yes, she is."

Maya walked up to Steven while she crossed her arms. She didn't say a word, she still remembers the photo she saw from her former BFF's bedroom where Steven hugged Craig. She knows Craig's around, but she'll give him space knowing he wants nothing to do with her. Steven didn't feel suspicious, but he's still unsure if he'll trust her if she changes after the war.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Maya." She answered. "And you must be Steven." When Lion looks at her, he also doesn't trust her, but can see she isn't pulling any tricks. When she looked at his pet, she wasn't fazed, like Aquamarine and Ruby from earlier. "You've got to prove to me you have at least found another lion who's pink."

"No, he didn't, nor did I." Connie walked up to Maya. "How can we prove that to you?"

"Because I've been through weird things from kids that aren't from the other side of the creek. If I meet more pink lions, nothing is really weird to me anymore."

"You're asking for too much, right?" Omar placed his hands in his pockets.

"I only came here to relax after hiking, were you trying to find me?"

"Yes."

"I wonder why."

Craig sighed while hiding behind Lion. He wanted to fill in who Maya is to Steven, but interfering in the conversation wouldn't do him any favors.

"During the last minutes of Capture The Flag, I had a sword battle with her in the Overpass." Kelsey replied.

"That is where I realize that the summers I had with Xavier were all a waste. I was in tears and if he won, I would've wasted more summers." Maya lowered her head.

"You're starting from scratch?" Steven asked.

"For the most part."

"We agreed to hang out from time to time. Last time we hung out, we came here to this waterfall. It became her new comfort place in the creek." Omar replied.

Maya then walked up to the edge of the waterfall as Craig went to Lion's side. Maya looked down at the lake, with the others walking up next to her. "I don't usually get comfort before the war happens, especially how Xavier used me. But this almost made me feel better."

"I couldn't imagine what he would've done if he won the war, while witnessing this place for the first time." Connie said.

"He would definitely turn it into his personal swimming pool."

"With only himself for company." Omar added.

"Everyone would definitely go to the beach if they can't go swimming here." J.P. commented.

"I got to say Maya, if Xavier gave you more comfort, you would feel worse than you already have. I've learned that from experience." Steven continued to look at the lake.

"Who are you referring to?" Maya turned to Steven.

"My mom."

"Your mom?"

Steven nodded while Craig spyed on them while still hiding behind Lion. "If you're willing to listen to everything my mom did, you would think I'm crazy."

"I find Craig crazy whenever he talks to me, but the thing is, when I heard about...you know what from last night, those two gems are way more crazy than you."

Steven didn't retort, learning that she knows who Aquamarine and Ruby are. "You think they're crazier than my mom?"

"If I knew your mother, no."

"Do you know where they are?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

The group including Craig catched on to where the gems are staying. From what they heard from Omar, the kids hope the creek isn't in danger in the future. "It is obvious and I'm not leaving until they're gone from the creek, but me and Craig have our own problems tonight."

"Is Craig around?"

"He's hiding." J.P. answered.

"Well that explains it."

"Craig, come on out." Steven called as Craig popped his head behind Lion. "Come here." He walked up to them as Steven placed his hands on his hips. "I don't want you to make amends with her, but you don't have to hide from her."

"It's more embarrassing than stupid."

"Maya, when I took Steven out in the Creek during the whole day, I wasn't even planning on taking him to the other side of the creek, which included meeting you." Craig replied.

"One of your friends did that for a reason right? Just like how a grown up like Steven's spending his time with you?"

"A person who never went to school, unlike us? And who's seventeen years old still planning out his future?" Steven felt offended which took Craig's attention. "I didn't mean that Steven."

"I know, but please don't say that again." He sighed.

"You should understand it's hurtful when he doesn't have the same life as me." Connie replied.

Maya kept her words to herself, not trying to be hurtful unlike her former king. "I really don't know what I would do if we did something as friends, Steven."

"Not that I wanted to hang out with you but..." Steven then turned to Lion, remembering he has an ability that will blow everyone's mind. "...do you want to ride on Lion?"

As she looked at Lion, he looked at her back. "I'm not really much of a pet person."

"He won't hurt you, just hold onto his mane. At the very least, you can give my friends a demonstration when they get a ride."

"Not that I wanted to, but what can he do that's unbelievable?" Maya hopped onto Lion, grabbing on his mane with her hands tightly. Lion looked at her briefly while not hesitating, jumping off the cliff much to her surprise. "Whoa!" She reacted as she saw Lion diving into the lake. She closed her eyes before she splashed but when she and Lion reached down, they stopped without a single drop of water splashing on them.

When she opened her eyes, she's in the middle of the lake. She looked down at Lion's feet standing on the water. From above, the jaws of Craig and his friends dropped with Steven and Connie closing them. Maya lifted her body up slowly, all the while still shocked in the position she's in. "Unbelievable." She blinked. Lion then ran in circles on the lake while Maya still held onto him. It wasn't difficult but soon Lion ran faster to the point she almost lost her grip. But she grew a smile, way more than the last time she went to her comfort place. "This is way better than anything Xavier would ever give me!" She cheered.

"Were you two shocked when he walked on water?" Craig spoked.

"Yes." Connie answered.

"This isn't even the only thing he can do." Steven smiled. "It's getting close to sunset."

"You wanna see another trick he can do before the day's out?"

"Big time." Craig replied. "I got to have my sister meet him. What I'm really thinking about is how Wildernessa would take it if she meets him."

"For a girl who adores animals, she would search high and low to find another pink lion...where there's only one." Omar smiled.

Back on the lake, Lion slowed down with Maya laughing in satisfaction. "I don't believe you nor Steven are crazy. You and him are awesome." Lion looked at her again after listening to her. "Whatever those two gems are, I bet they don't stand a chance against you and Steven." She patted his head. Lion roared, causing a beam to come out from his mouth with a portal appearing, catching Maya by surprise. They went through it as it disappeared, then another portal appeared from above the edge they dropped off. Everyone got out of the way as Lion flew out of the portal while landing on the ground. Maya jumped off while crossing her arms. "Walking on water isn't crazy, especially along with portals."

"We've already seen he can do that." Craig awkwardly grinned.

"Trust me, it's not his portal. Something part of him you couldn't believe is possible." Steven leaned down.

"Anyway, I'm gonna head home for the day. Chances are, we might meet again before you leave." Maya walked up to Steven.

"We'll see what happens then." Steven gives Maya a handshake.

"And Craig." She turned to him. "Don't explode when you see me hang out with Steven."

"I wasn't thinking about it." He responded.

"Just don't push it." Maya leaves the waterfall as the sky turns orange. The group has enough time before the timekeeper of the creek alerts everyone before dinner arrives. As they leave the waterfall, their final objective of the day is to get Jessica and find Wildernessa. Steven will look forward to what he has in store for Craig just before they head home.

[dinkflocculent]

Old Prey: Chapter Three - Nightmare

Leo

I have finally found her.

My sweet Soleda.

My life has been an anguish to live through ever since she left me. All alone. So lonely without her. Now here she is. Standing right in front of me for us to be together forever.

Woefully, something terrible has happened to her. She has lost all memories of her life and our love. Brainwashed into this upturned reality. I have to take her home to make her remember.

She will never leave me again.

“M-Mr. Santifelon…” she says in a hushed, shivering voice, scooting back as takes a step closer to her. “I… I-I—”

She’s horrified of me. She shakes as if she’s in the freezing storm outside. Her chest rises and lowers at a frighteningly quick pace. She holds her chest to soften her heartbeat.

Oh, my poor, sweet Soleda.

“Please… don’t devour me. Imagine how long you'd be in prison being a meat defender. Because of your carnivorous curiosity?” her voice cracks. “…I don’t want to die.”

Devour her?

“Why would I do such a thing to you? Why do you keep calling me by such a formal name?”

“W-What?”

“Oh, you are so terribly frightened… Just come with me. You will be back to normal.”

She takes slow, shaky steps back as I come closer. She may think I’m going to do the worst to her. Devour her? The worst thing I could ever do… and to such an angel of mine.

Her gaze treads to the floor. She holds her heart as her breathing becomes more and more clear and quick. She can’t calm down. I’m scaring her.

She’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey…” I go to pick her up.

“Don’t touch me!”

Being as gentle as I can, I grab her wrist. She frails as I put the cloth over her snout. The sweet aroma of the chemical fills her nostrils, her eyes getting heavy.

She falls limp in my arms. So calm when she’s asleep. So beautiful.

Soleda, you have filled a hole inside my cursed heart.

***

Beau

I wake up to an early Saturday morning. I should be energetic to start the break, but my head is agonizing to deal with. My limbs feel like I’ve slept for years. My vision takes time to clear.

My bed doesn’t feel right. I have more space. It makes me not want to leave the comforting covers, yet I can’t understand why my bed feels so unfamiliar.

My vision eventually clears, and I don’t depend on touch to see where I am. The floors are wooden, not carpeted. The window is gone. A large wardrobe replaced my bookshelf. The wall wasn’t the familiar white. It was a vintage yellow with a flower pattern. Everything about my room isn’t the same.

Wait.

This isn’t my room.

Mr. Santifelon kidnapped me last night.

The room feels like it’s running out of oxygen. I try to clear my head, but I can only think about how painful a beast eating me to death feels. Claws digging into my flesh. Some of my fur getting pulled off in a struggle. Sharp teeth ripping my body apart.

God, it’ll be so painful.

I can’t let that happen to me. I throw the covers off of me, pulling my feet to the ground. The door was only steps away. Yet I don’t know the surroundings of this house. A frightening sound stabs my ears, knocking me out of my thoughts.

Footsteps.

Large footsteps.

He’s coming.

I jump back into bed, pulling the covers over me in haste. I shake as I curl into a ball, the soft, terrifying creek of the door hitting my ears. I cover my mouth.

I need to move. This monster is going to eat me alive. The exit is so close. If I can just…

“Soleda?”

He calls me by a familiar name, but it isn’t mine. Are there other monsters in this house? Are they in the room with me? My heart pumps faster than it ever has. Is this how I’ll die? Was my anxiety right every time I went outside? Every time I spoke with a carnivore?

A sweet aroma fills my nostrils, filling my head with pleasant memories of my childhood. It almost calms me, but it won’t let me forget where I am. His hand touches my back to shake me awake, freezing me with fear. He slowly pulls away the covers, seeing my terrified, curled-up body.

He looked down at me, holding a tray of freshly baked cookies. His big smile on his face mocks me for what’s to come.

“Are you cold—”

“Get away from me!” I scream, scurrying to the headboard while not taking my eyes off of him.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he sets down the tray on a dresser and walks forward.

He’s going to kill me.

“No, no, no! Please don’t devour me, it’s not worth it! I don’t want to die, I don’t want to!”

His expression changes. He doesn’t have the look of someone who is about to eat me alive. He looks surprised at my behavior. Devastated that I would beg such things. What does he expect? For me to be okay with going through such a brutal demise?

“Soleda…” he has a deep distraught look in his eyes. “I would never do such a thing to you.”

“…no?” I sniffle, tilting my head in confusion.

“I have finally found you after all these years. Why would I throw it all away for my feral, carnivorous desires? Soleda, you need to stay here so I can keep you safe.”

I stare at him, my mind going blank. He finally found me after all these years? He is the first lion I’ve seen in person. In our conversation, I do remember him talking about his dearest leaving him. How sad he got after bringing it up.

Does he think I’m her?

“Mr. Santifelon, you’re mistaken—”

“Call me Leo!” He slightly raised his voice, causing my ears to lower and my lips to close. He notices, changing his demeanor to a more softer look. “Now that we have calmed down, how about you try some of the cookies I’ve made?”

I eyed the cookies as if they were going to jump out and bite me. He cooked them, and he wants me to eat it. I don’t know what he put in that. Eggs, flour, and a sedative to paralyze me? He made me faint while forcing me to inhale chloroform. He wouldn’t hesitate to trick me into drugging me.

“Do you think I drugged it?” he chuckles. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Eat one. All of it.”

He sighs, taking a cookie and eating it fully. I stare at him as he swallows, waiting a moment.

He’s fine.

“Now can you please eat at least one? I spent all morning making them just how you liked it.”

I take one, a comforting warmth filling my paw. I sniff it, being cautious. Even though it smells good, I can’t bring myself to consume anything he gives me.

He takes another and eats it whole. He looks at me, his gaze anticipating for me to take a bite. I raise it up to my lips, taking a bite.

It’s… delicious.

I go to take another. Then another. Until he stops my hand from getting the fourth.

“Now, now,” he talks to me as if he’s my father. “That’s just a treat. But we need to eat breakfast. Stay put until I come back, my Soleda.”

He gets up, taking the tray with him as he leaves.

My anxiety returns, reminding me of the situation I was in. He thinks I’m ‘Soleda,’ someone he clearly cares about. I’ve only talked with him for one period and this happens.

I don’t know what he wants with me. He wants me to stay. But I won’t be safe. I’ve heard he has a temper, even if they were only rumors. What makes him mad? What if one day I piss him off and he hurts me? Or snaps…

Then devours me.

I can feel my heartbeat start to quicken. I can feel it in my ears. The thought of him killing me in such an agonizing way makes me dizzy. He has the power to do it. I could do nothing to escape it other than scream and run.

My nose twitched, a sweet, comforting aroma filling my nostrils. It’s coming from the kitchen. He must be cooking, and he’s wonderful at it.

Tip-toeing to the door, I take a peek. He stood against the stove, stirring the pot as he sang a soft song. He held everything so delicately like it was glass.

He is just a delicate flower. A broken soul, who clings to me to put the pieces back together. But I can’t be a part of this. I have nothing to do with it. I am not who he thinks I am.

And I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.

My body reminds me that I didn’t eat anything last night, and I try to find something to distract me from it.

The large wardrobe with peeling paint caught my eye. After a struggle, I open it. It’s filled with casual dresses, not bigger than my size by too much. They look out of date, decades old. But they’re in prime condition.

They probably belonged to Soleda. He holds onto anything of remembrance of her. He obsesses over her. I don’t know how I’m going to possibly convince him. He’s set on this.

“Soleda?”

I close the wardrobe and jump back into bed, pulling the covers over me. I don’t know what he’ll do if he catches me rummaging through his prized possessions.

“You can’t eat under the covers…” he shakes me, alerting me to peek from under them.

He holds a tray. A bowl with a delicious smell has hot steam coming from it. Another small bowl with some fruit.

He sets it down on the bed on my lap. I stare at it, sniffing it. It smelled good, yet I wish I had the nose of a canidae to detect if he put anything in it.

“Soleda, I promise I didn’t put anything in it…” his ears flatten.

Both in pity and a smudge of trust, I pick up a spoon and cup some of the stew. I take a sip.

Males aren’t known for culinary, but he is.

I haven’t eaten in hours, but it feels like weeks. I pray that this isn’t drugged, because I am eating way too fast.

“How do you cook so well?” I ask after I swallow.

“You taught me. You must not remember…” he says with a sad tone. It must be a pleasant memory. “I didn’t know how to cook, even anything simple. My father never taught me since it was ‘only a female’s job,’ so I didn’t know how to fend for myself. But you came and guided me.”

“…Oh?”

“You showed me to show my soft interior my father told me to cover with a tough exterior.”

“She sounds like a wonderful beast.”

He sighs, rummaging through his pocket and pulling photos.

“Soleda, I will do anything to bring back your memory. I know things that you will never forget, and I have them stored. Ever since you left…”

He shows me a picture. A picture of a bear no older than me and a young Mr. Santifelon. His mane wasn’t as long, and his teeth weren’t as sharp. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said I and Soleda looked similar. She looks like she could be my mother.

“Remember this? It was just after prom. The night was so cold but it didn’t stop us from playing in the lake deep into the forest,” he smiles. “It was the best night of our lives.”

I just stared at the picture, looking at him as he spoke. My ear twitches in curiosity. He talks so softly, recounting everything in the moment.

“The nights when we would just talk about our dreams. We wanted to live in a cabin in the snowy woods, away from the outside world. No pressure from society’s expectations. Away from all wars. Just living together.

Dying together.”

That snaps me out of my thoughts. The thought of living with him for the rest of my life is horrifying. I don’t want to be with him. I shouldn’t be. I’m not Soleda. I’m Beau. I want to live with my father. I want to live out my final year of high school.

“Would… you do anything for me?”

I don’t know why I said it. Curiosity? That was part of it.

“Of course, I would! Getting rid of anyone that could get between us. Like that friend ‘Duko’ of yours.”

He has no place in our relationship.”

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard Volume 28

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Let’s meet our next author:

@cheesecurdsgravyandfries / Poutini

How many fics have you written?

Roughly 70, all but one in the Schitt’s Creek universe, and one, dipping my toes into Red, White, & Royal Blue

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

April 27, 2020 

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

“Oh, I have an idea!” turns into me thinking about it in my head as I fall asleep, drive to work, etc, so that by the time I open a Google doc, it’s practically written.  

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

I have a WIP in the RWRB fandom.  It’s my first there.  I have always loved the book, and then when they announced the filming of the movie and the actors, my brain kicked into overdrive.  I love that it’s very on-brand for me, but folks in that fandom may not know it yet. I have no regrets or things I’d change…as of right now.  It’s just tough being new in a fandom and kudos and comments are slow like molasses. 

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Do it!  Do it for you, because it’s an accomplishment unto itself!  Fuck that grade 12 english teacher that doubted you, and publish that shit.

If you work with a beta, what sort of feedback is most helpful? Do you always work with the same beta or do you have more than one?

I do not.  Sometimes, I give the GDoc link to a trusted pal, but it’s more for validation prior to publishing than anything else.  

In your mind, what’s the most important element of good writing?

Oooh.  Plausibility.  I can suspend it for certain things (like maybe refractory periods), but I need whatever I am reading to be plausible, at a bare minimum.  For example, please don’t have your characters doing butt stuff with spit as lube.  It’s not hot.  Just give them lube.  Taking care of your partner is sexy, I promise.  And there’s no shame in researching what you don’t personally know.  

How much of yourself do you put into your stories or characters?

I think just the fundamental pieces of not doing harm, or taking care of your partner, and writing sex that is plausible.  Anything I write, one should be able to read and think “yeah, that could happen,” or imagine themselves in the situation.  

The beginning, middle or end of a fic. Which do you like the most? Which is the worst?

The end.  Give me a satisfactory end.  Wanting more is a compliment, feeling unsatisfied and like you’ve been left hanging is another.  

Who is another fic writer you admire and why?

Houdini74.  Someone I have followed for three years.  Though their writing has always been something I’ve enjoyed, it has really evolved over this time, and if you read their works in chronological order, you’ll see this growth, and it really is quite incredible.  And when you add in that they’re a talented and creative artist, and overall a wonderful human that I am so pleased to call a real-life friend, then you’ve just got the best possible reason to participate in fandom.  

[appelia]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ He Gave Me The Stars

Craig x Tweek

IMPORTANT: all my characters in my fics are aged up to 19-24. Side note: excuse my poor English.

Warning: NSFW

Genre(s): Fluff, Smut

A/n: This is sort of like a separate segment from a chaptered Creek fic I'm currently working on called "He Thinks He Took The Train To Mars"! Depending on how well this does, I might post the fic to both Tumblr and AO3 :)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The morning brings sweet guinea pig squeals to the ears of those closest. It brings soft sunlight peering through the open part of dark blue curtains. It brings feather-light kisses on cheeks, noses, foreheads, and lips. It holds a sliver of a guarantee that you survived yet another night with your lover.

But, as happy as all that made Craig, he still preferred the night. Because the night brought arms wrapped tightly around waists. It brought sensual touches paired with deep kisses. It brought deep conversations with the person lying next to you.

Craig genuinely believed he loved the night sky so much, not only because of what it brought, but also because his blond haired lover hung the stars in the sky for him.

Tweek preferred the morning sky, but that didn't stop Craig from being smitten to the idea that Tweek was his universe. Every kiss, every touch, every movement had Craig seeing stars. Tweek was his StarBoy.

And, in the night, Craig's StarBoy would find himself sat on the floor, in between his lover's legs. He'd work his stardust in order to take Craig apart, in order to have him whining Tweek's name.

With one hand on Craig's base, and the other slowly teasing his tip, the only sound that could be heard in the dead of the night was soft moans and heavy breathing. Tweek's thumb rubbed circles into the tip, smiling with pride at the way precum leaked out of the slit. He bent down to lick it up, enjoying Craig's loud whimper.

"Please, honey," he whispers.

"What do you want, baby?" Tweek teased. He knew what he wanted, but he wanted to hear it put into words. He kept giving kitten licks to Craig's tip.

"You... I want your mouth, please," Craig muttered, looking away from where the blond male sat pretty in between his legs.

Tweek smiled before engulfing Craig's dick into the warm heat of his mouth. Everytime the two found themselves in this position, Tweek's usual twitchiness ceased almost entirely, as if his mind replaced the feeling of anxiety with arousal, allowing him to give his utmost attention to pleasuring his boyfriend.

And pleasure his boyfriend he did, his head bobbing up and down on Craig's dick, his cheeks hollowed. Craig reached down to tangle his fingers in the mess of light hair, pulling as he groaned into the sensation of the warm, wet mouth around him.

He looked out the window, which had the curtains pulled back to reveal the clear night sky. All those stars, and yet, the only one that mattered was currently sucking him off.

He loved Tweek more than anything. He couldn't ever imagine being in this situation with anyone else. Tears welled in his eyes, from both the ethereal feeling of Tweek's mouth, but also because he couldn't contain just how much he loved his lover.

Tweek pulled off when he noticed Craig's tears. "Is everything okay, babe? Should I stop? Was something wrong?" He internally panicked. His boyfriend was usually stoic, and certainly never cried when receiving head.

"No! No, of course not," Craig wiped his eyes and cupped Tweek's cheek in his palm. "I just... love you so much. Please keep going, you're so perfect."

Tweek kissed Craig's palm before latching his mouth back on the dick in front of him. All it took was a couple of tongue flicks to the slit to make Craig break. He loudly moaned Tweek's name repeatedly, like a mantra he'd never been allowed to say until now. Hot, salty liquid shot into Tweek's mouth. He happily swallowed all of it, even lapping up the bits he may have missed on the tip.

When done, he pushed himself up onto Craig's bed, pushing the other back so he can wrap his arms around him.

"I love you, Craig," he said softly, pressing a kiss to his lover's nose.

"I love you more, my star."

[hologramcowboy]

Hello, I’d like to share some of my thoughts on what Jensen said about his take on learning lines and how he may have gotten to this point. These are just my observations and “feelings” on it. So, I’d love to hear anything you might want to add. Or correct.

The more Jensen talks about his “craft” as an actor, the more it makes me wonder when exactly he stopped trying. Because I don’t think he was always the way he is now. He’s spoken of memorizing pages and pages of lines back in his soap days, and I doubt he was making up his own lines on Dark Angel or Smallville, and Dawson’s Creek, from what I hear, did not welcome line changes. So, he clearly CAN, or at least COULD in the past, memorize lines. The fact that he doesn’t now and frames it as just a “quirk” of his, or even a thing to brag of, speaks of huge entitlement or laziness. I’ve done some very amateur acting, and I can’t imagine acting with someone who never says the lines exactly how they are in the script. This approach to acting demands everyone else has them memorized backwards and forwards to be able to adjust to their costar not using the words on the page. I would think this would be more work for the scene partners. Unless everyone on set is skilled in improve. Obviously, Jared could work with this, but he reads his scripts multiple times and knows everyone’s lines cold. But if someone doesn’t know their lines as well, surely another actor not giving them their cues would be frustrating. No matter how pretty he is.

I think Supernatural and the atmosphere created behind the scenes and by fans has warped his sense of reality. I love the show and I’m glad we got it for so long (minus season 15), but I think it did a number on both Js. The constant praise making Jensen’s ego enormous, while the implied or direct comparisons to him adding to Jared’s self-consciousness.

After being petted and praised for over a decade for his raw talent and handsomeness, Jensen has clearly bought into his own hype, while getting lazier about his work. He was given too much free reign or the writers were too lazy to care to do the work to build up the characters. Late seasons Dean is like Sam’s version of Dean in Tall Tales, a slob shovelling food or drinks into his face, at times. It makes sense that people, and characters, would change over the years but they shouldn’t become caricatures of themselves. Dean became a parody at times and Sam became faded at tines.

The difference for me between Jared and Jensen in response to lazy writing is very telling. Jared found small ways to show Sam’s trauma even though the writers ignored it. He added unscripted things to build up a sense of history with his character when they didn’t care to. Jensen want done favours by the writers at times either, but he leaned too far into the extremes of Dean’s character and he becomes a bit of a buffoon or and anger bomb, depending on the scene. He still gives some great performances, but it taught him bad habits of winging it or leaning into the flashy.

I don’t always love the way Jared plays Walker. But he is a distinctly different character from Sam. Even though I don’t love the way Cordell speaks with the hesitation, I get that Jared has reasons for making that choice. Because he is a smart actor. He thinks about the characters inner selves.

Meanwhile, Jensen’s fans all coo about seeing glimpses of Dean again in SB and Beau, but that’s not really a good thing for showing range. SB should not have been a version of Dean, at all. Beau having some similarities is understandable, but he doesn’t have a clear character otherwise, so it’s not great.

To me, Jensen just seems tired and lost. He’s currently either unwilling or unable to do the necessary work to flesh out and solidify his characters. Whether it’s because he thinks he deserves better characters to play or he’s bought into his natural talent hype doesn’t even really matter because the end result is the same. Shallow characters. He needs to dial back the ego and get some testing or at least do the mental work.

He needs therapy and/or an acting coach (as you have pointed out a lot), or something because he doesn’t seem happy or satisfied. He seems empty and also frantic. He’s like a pebble skipping across the surface of a pond. He’s touching a lot is surface but never going deeper. Maybe he’s afraid to be still and go deeper into anything.

My final thought. A fan in Nashville asked J2 who they would like to have dinner with (they narrowed it down to choosing people who have passed away). Jensen said his grandfathers and Jesus Christ. The former because he regrets not getting to know more about them and the stores they could tell, and the latter because he has a lot of questions for him. The crowd cheered, probably assuming Jensen would simply give him an earful of criticism or something. But, to me, both of Jensen’s answers speak of someone feeling a bit lost, confused and looking answers, for a sense of belonging, and groundedness. Or maybe the choices were random and I’m over analyzing. Anyway, I hope he gets the clarity and support he seems to need for his mental health if nothing else.

Sorry for the length of this ask, and thank you for indulging me if you chose to post this.

Happy holidays!

I got teary eyed earlier but now I am in full tears. Thank you for taking the time to express eveything you perceived so eloquently, kindly and intelligently. You have no idea how much your post comforts me. I resonate deeply with everything you wrote and I too hope Jensen gets the support he needs before he ends up damaging his physical or mental health severely. I wish I could send him endless love and I wish he could feel it, if it would help. I hope someone from his side of the family will step in and look after him, help him find his way. I've perceived the same things you have and in my humble opinion I think there's deep suffering consuming him over something, yet I can't put my finger on what that is exactly but what I do know is that those that care about him need to step in and love him, show him support because he puts on bravado but he's clearly hurting.

May your Holidays be full of Love, Warmth and Magic! ♥️