#those seem to be popular ways to tag unsettling things yeah

[rikushka]

"What if I drew teen chuuya he's cool-"

12 year old me taking possession of my body after I saw a few memes: "you spelt Ayato Kirishima wrong."

[capri-ramblings]

Hello! Can I ask for hcs for Malleus, Leona, Jamil, Azul and Floyd playing pocky game with MC uwu and if possible to make it slightly spicy?? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

The format is weird in this one but I still like the outcome of this ask and I hope you do too! Thank you for waiting this long! 💖 Also,I had to take out Leona cause my brain couldn't work out a scenario without him feeling a bit... off? I'm sorry! 😔

Requests are in the works,both old and new. Your patience is greatly appreciated!

[ "Kiss Kiss Fall in Love?" ]

Malleus Draconia

- Malleus didn't even know what a Pocky was at first and MC had to tell him thus the purpose of the game itself

- He's amused, and the way the green in his eyes spiral against the speck of rare mischief in them makes it a little harder to not be nervous

- But he welcomes the invitation, perhaps a bit too eagerly

"You know,you don't have to do this if you really don't want to..."

Malleus's dark brows arched, a slight smile on his lips as he looked to them.

"You make it sound like you're some kind of beast that's held me captive" He let out a laugh,deep and full as if the walls of the room had suddenly turned into caves echoing back the sound of Malleus's voice.

It wasn't unsettling to be with him, more like it was always an odd situation to be in. No one other than his usual entourage surrounded him after all.

"Well, Whatever you think I am, I'm just saying that we don't have to try the game if you don't want to. I told you cause Ace and Deuce were talking about games they played back in their neighbourhood, and I just happened to remember mine when I saw you."

"Oh?" Malleus's smile widened even if it was brief, and the way the hues in his gaze shifted then spoke of an intent they'd wish they noticed earlier.

"I don't mind." Malleus said simply,though the undertone of his voice rang with a hint of laughter that had the other agreeing with confusion.

- MC has to tell him there's different flavours cause he'll get sulky if he finds out afterwards from anyone else

- He'll probably stick with chocolate though

- His lips won't stop grinning at the closeness he and MC have and once he sees them closing their eyes as the pocky stick gets shorter he gets flustered as well and instead of pulling away he just watches them bite off the snack until their lips touch his.

- His eyes grow wide and the sensation of Someone else's lips on his gives him an odd sensation he's never felt. It's like his heart momentarily stopped

- And before MC has a chance to open their eyes, Malleus leans into the kiss, hands grasping the small figure in front of him.

- He's never had such an urgency to initiate something like this with anyone but the way they seemed so shocked and vulnerable had his insides stirring

- The kiss goes on until MC is gasping for air, squirming meekly in his grasp as soft mewls escapes them and once Malleus pulls away,his eyes are glistening.

- "How about another round?"

Azul Ashengrotto

- He's kinda baffled at first.

- Truth be told he has heard of the game but no one ever came up to him and ask him to play

- Azul will try to play it off smugly though, making it seem that he's done it a thousand times but then he sees how you beam and take out three different pocky flavours

- And his mind does this thing where it blanks out before it whirs back to life and he's pushing up his glasses to assert some sort of assurance for himself.

"You're like a small kid, aren't you? So many flavours..."

You look up curiously to peer at Azul's face, the smile on your lips lightly fading as you tilted your head to the side.

"You don't have to do it if you don't wanna? I just got this snacks from Sam so I thought I'd share with everyone and since you're the first person I stumbled on..." You felt somehow shy by the end of your sentence,what with how Azul was looking at you sternly but with the pockys in hand you let your shoulders shrugged and pushed the packets in front of him.

"Which flavour do you wanna start with?"

"S-Start with? You mean you want to do all of them?" Azul sounded so dumbfounded and if you didn't know any better you would've thought he was being bashful, but seeing how you noted the speck of determination in his gaze, you didn't want to suddenly back out.

Azul was a hard person to genuinely like unless you're willing to make a deal with him, but you knew from experience that he wasn't an extremely terrible guy to hang around with. With his past of being bullied and wanting to be better than everyone else, you thought it was admirable he used his trauma to build himself up.

Plus, if he did end up a blushing mess, you'd have something priceless to blackmail him with.

"Come one, Azul! Pick!"

"Can't you wait—Hey! Don't shove them into my face like that!"

You're laughing when he lightly nudges you away from him with his finger before snatching the strawberry flavoured one.

"Ooh, you're into sweet things,aye?"

"What are you? Five years old?"

"I'm joking, Sheesh! Loosen those bones of yours,Mr.It's-A-Deal!"

He's frowning again and you start thinking if he's really the bad villain he acts out to be if all it took to annoy him was teasing his preferences, a sudden spur of softness playing in your stomach at the thought it being true.

When you take one from the packet and place it in your mouth,Azul's jaw stiffens before he leans in to do the same. You're both staring at each other for a solid minute before you decided to make the first move.

It was funny,seeing his eyes widened a fraction as he watches you inch closer to him. You wanted to laugh and tell him to move as well but instead you go faster, and before he has the chance to pull away, you grab his face with both your hands and pull him into a kiss. The taste of strawberry melting onto your tongue.

Azul lets out this small muffled whimper, awkwardly trying to pull away but failing to do so as he feels your tongue entering his mouth and intertwining with his. The warmth of your body as you climb onto him makes his head dizzy but his hands aching to grip at your clothes.

He leans into the kiss almost immediately afterwards, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as he drinks up the sweet intimacy you were giving him. He doesn't even know what the hell happened to the pocky and he doesn't really care.

All he wanted was for the kiss to last forever. And maybe with the other packets you had, it could.

Floyd Leech

- Floyd laughs when you come up to ask him, his toothy grin glistening as he stares at the pocky box in your hand.

- He starts humming a small song when you began explaining to him the game and how it was popular back in your world.

"Hmm? That so,huh? Well, then why do you wanna do it with me, shrimpy?"

The lilt of amusement in his voice makes you lift up your head to look at him. Suddenly feeling conscious of how he loomed over you like an ivory tower.

You knew how a lot of people tended to avoid Floyd seeing how unpredictable and at a times unstable he was, but a part of you was more intrigued by him rather than scared, and so you only thought it was natural to want to be with him as much as you could.

"Well,cause I like you?"

The words stumble out of you lips faster than you could process any thought and Floyd looks at you blankly at first. His brows slumped and eyes dull, but then the sides of his lips twitches and he bursts out laughing.

High pitched and nearing a squeal, his eyes glimmer with excitement when he drops his head low to yours, teeth aligned as if ready to bite out your throat.

"You're incredible, Shrimpy!" He says, giddily as he looks to the packet and back to you.

You're half wondering if you just dug up your own grave, but also wondering why you felt the same amount of excitement he did in your bones at the thought of Floyd agreeing to play.

"You like me,huh?" Floyd asked this with a cheery tone, the kind he has when he's ready to knock the world off its feet.

You blinked your eyes twice, then nodded.

"Yeah, I do".

Floyd's smile grew.

"Let's play then, Shrimpy"

- The flavor you originally bought was vanilla but Floyd pulled a face and said he didn't feel like vanilla and proceeded to drag you back to Sam's shop and switchec it to green tea

- "I never tasted this one! Let's try it,okay, Shrimpy?"

- You agreed, and the both of you set out to the courtyard.

"Shrimpy,are we going to make this into a contest?" Floyd dragged out the last few words in a musing tone, the grip he had on your wrist firm but lax as he dragged you to the nearest bench.

You arched your brows and looked at him questioningly.

"A contest?"

"Yeah,yeah, like a game of tag"

Was he going to make you chase him to get the Pocky? You hoped not. Floyd was light on his feet, and when he ran he could do it for hours.

You took a while to answer and in the meantime,Floyd had already unpacked the pockys and even took one into his mouth to eat.

He beamed when he chewed it down.

"I don't know where you're getting at, Floyd. Do you mean we're going to have to chase eachother?"

"No,no, like this"

He takes one Pocky,slips it into his mouth and grabs you into a kiss.

The sound of the pocky stick breaking in two while Floyd presses into the kiss, has you gaping your mouth slightly,scared you'd bite either his or your tongue by accident. But you don't and when Floyd pulls back he's laughing.

"That's one point for me, Shrimpy!"

You stare at him, dumbfounded and Floyd frowns.

"Don't you get the game now?" He said,head tilting as he watches your expression shift from shock to confusion. It was kinda annoying since you were still so slow about it but Floyd didn't want to get too angry at you, after all, you were kinda cute when he kissed you just then. He wanted to do it again.

So, he explains it to you and none of it makes any sense really. Near the end you realized that all the two of you were doing was eating the the pocky via kissing.

Sure, it was rather sudden and Floyd had a tendency to bite but you weren't complaining, nor did you really have a chance to.

Floyd seemed pretty damn adamant about eating the pockys that way, and when he was that persistent, nothing could stop him.

Jamil Viper

- Jamil's eyeing you with this look that says you're probably half a braincell if you think he'd agree to it, but then he sighs and puts his pencil down and just shakes his head.

- It's a confusing reply,but the fact that he isn't continuing with his studies meant that he was waiting for you to do something.

- So, you took one Pocky out and held it in front of him.

"Is that going to turn into a sword or something?" He asked, a hint of annoyance lingering in his tone. You went and gave him a frown, rolling your eyes and stuffing the snack in your mouth. The crunchy sound of it snapped making Jamil frown as well.

"What was that?"

"You didn't look like you wanted to play."

"So, you pestered me the whole day about it and now you're just going to sulk like a five year old because you just realized your crush finds you annoying?"

You sputtered at the last few words. Cheeks growing hot as Jamil smirks darkly at your reaction.

"So honest." He cooed " You really can't lie through your facial expression,huh?"

You balled your fist, the insides of your stomach doing flips at the nervous thought of Jamil knowing you liked him. He probably did, like half of the boys had but it didn't mean you wanted him to say it out loud. More so in front of you.

"You're not my crush! Who said you were my crush? I have nothing for you!"

You really did try to sound stern. To make your words hurtful but Jamil laughed and cocked those dark brows of his and had you oozing admiration from the way you stared at him.

"That so?"

"Y-Yeah! I don't like you at all! Not one bit!"

You clenched your jaw, arms crossed as you stared him down, but then swiftly Jamil grabbed your chin in-between his forefinger and thumb and pulled your face towards him,so close you almost felt his lips on you.

"H-Hey...!"

"Shut it." He drawled,hot and dark as his breath grazed the plump surface of your lips.

He kept his gaze on you and made it near impossible to look away without having those dark eyes follow you like a serpent seeking it's prey.

The slight sound of rustling caught your ears before Jamil took out one of the pocky and slipped it into your mouth.

"Keep it there" He ordered,smooth and languid it seemed more like a spell rather than mere words.

You complied, and Jamil smiled. Genuinely.

"Good girl."

Then he lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his lower half ever so slightly before he bit the other end.

You felt your heart dropped to your stomach at the sight of Jamil staring directly into your eyes, the thought of him kissing you making you faint.

But just when you thought he was going to do just that, Jamil clenched the pocky with his teeth and pulled it away from your mouth.

The loss of closeness had you frowning almost immediately, but before you could say anything about it, Jamil sent you a rather coy grin, his hand coming up to hold the pocky as he bit into the top half of it.

"What? I thought you said you didn't like me,___."

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Which Fic

I was tagged by @stusbunker!

Which of your fics…

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

Finally. I think reader engagement has definitely declined in general, though.

…got a better reaction than you expected?

The Right Spot. I’m still a little flabbergasted by how popular this was. Like, I thought it was hot, but I didn’t realize that many people would be into it. 

Runner-up, The One Where Reid Is Reading Harry Potter. This is such a dorky little bit of wishful thinking; I really didn’t expect it to get any notes, but I love that so many people shared my emotional attachment to reading out loud. 

…is your funniest?

The Rockstar AU, especially Daisies and Cheers. There’s so much comedic potential in all those characters that doesn’t get put to use because of what they all do; I just started thinking about what they would be like if they were making music and partying, instead of saving the world, and fuckin ran with it. 

Runner-up, Brains Over Beauty. Mostly because I refer to Sam as “Lumberjack Ken.” I’m still giggling over that. 

…is your darkest or angstiest?

Set Yourself On Fire. It’s about Sam between seasons 3 and 4, and it touches on some things that came from a very real emotional place: self-destructive tendencies, depression, drinking, drugs, that sort of fun stuff. I have a lot of fics that are sad or feelsy, but there’s usually some sort of positive spin. This one is just fuckin dark, emotionally. 

…is your absolute favorite?

Probably the Coffee & Psychopaths series. When I started writing Quitting, I knew there were a couple parallels between the characters that I wanted to write about, but the more I wrote, the more I found... and I’m still amazed by the way those canon plotlines wove together. So. Much. Plot. 

This series has become a place for me to dive headfirst into philosophy, psychology, neuroscience, dorky history trivia, and so many more of my favorite subjects, and tie them together with Sam and Spencer character studies, and I love being able to connect all those dots. I love every single fucking sentence of this series so far and I can’t wait to write more. 

 …is your least favorite?

I Can Change. It was my first fic in the Supernatural fandom and when I started it, I had no idea where it was going.

…was the easiest to write?

Big Damn Heroes. I’d had a few of those character exchanges in my head for a loooong time, and the crossover challenge gave me an excuse to finally write them out. I had so much fun writing that and I think it shows.

…was hardest to write?

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home). All of Marked was difficult in its own way (trauma processing! Fun times!) but this even more so. The plot is very very subtle, there’s a lot of emotional nuance happening, and I really wanted to stay true to Dean as a character, and the meta bits are, like, deep and meaningful and shit, and on top of all that I saddled myself with some running metaphors that were tricky to integrate... yeah.

…has your favorite lines/exchange/paragraph? (share it!)

Marked, Chapter 20. The entire conversation with Sam, but especially this: 

“There are good days and there are days when… when it feels like it’s crushing you. And that doesn’t mean you’ve failed, or that you’re not strong enough, or whatever else, because even if you’re doing everything right, the bad days are going to happen. What matters is that you’re trying. Every day you get up and take one little step, in spite of everything you’re carrying, that’s a victory. It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s the step that matters.”

Also, I think a few of the exchanges in Sharp Edges are some of my best work, particularly the negotiation conversation and the last few paragraphs. Such as:

“You good?” he asks, falling back on what seems to be his mantra for the evening.

“I’m… no, not really, hang on,” Spencer mumbles, and Sam flinches, moving away instinctively.

“Shit, sorry, what -”

“No, wait, that’s not - just… can you reach the tissues, or do I actually have to stand up right now?” Spencer asks, with a disgruntled sort of glare at the box of Kleenex on the end table.

Sam laughs, awkward and self-conscious. Spencer blinks owlishly up at him, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Then a smile spreads over his face slowly and he’s laughing too as Sam leans and stretches over to grab the box.

“The male orgasm is really inconvenient sometimes,” Spencer mutters.

Sam lets out another snort of laughter, looking away to give him some privacy as he cleans up. He’s not sure what the etiquette of this whole situation is; it’s such a strange thing, oddly intimate, and even though Sam’s still fully-dressed, he feels exposed in a way he’s not used to.

“Now I’m good,” Spencer says quietly. He’s got his knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, but he tilts his head back against the wall and aims a hazy, heavy-lidded stare at Sam. His lips part and curl up in a barely-there smile, and his tongue flicks out over the pink curve of his lower lip.

Those edges that Sam first noticed are harder to see, now; he’s all soft eyes and softer mouth, flushed skin, messy hair… all except the line of his jaw. That’s still wickedly, unmistakably sharp.

Spencer should come with a warning sign: handle with care. Sam’s not sure who that sign would be protecting. It could be handle with care: fragile, or, just as easily, handle with care: sharp edges.

Either way, there’s a good chance of someone getting hurt here.

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks.

Spencer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly with surprise, and his pupils are huge and dark, liquid-looking, hypnotic. He blinks, slowly, and suddenly looks about ten years younger. He’d been so self-assured ordering Sam not to draw blood; that confidence is gone, now, like he’s had less experience with kissing than with telling people how to hit him.

Oh, Sam thinks, and tries not to let his own surprise show on his face.

Also also, Origin Stories has some of my favorite conversations/overall themes, but they’re long passages and I’m not gonna paste them here! 

…have you reread the most?

Uh not gonna lie I’ve re-read Everything a lot. Because... unf. That’s my go-to fantasy. 

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

Most of my favorites are already cited here! But if you wanted a short, concise kinda one-shot sampler plate, I’d start with:

Let’s Get Married - happy, poetic.

Told You So - sexual tension and snark.

Heart of Gold - feels.

Prey - hot but also weird and unsettling.

…are you most proud of?

Marked. I’ve talked about this fic so much, I don’t think it needs to be reiterated, but Marked means so so much to me.

Tagging: @cockslut-padalecki @deanwanddamons @butiaintgonnaloveem @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @dontshootmespence and whoever else wants to! 

[kuroopaisen]

@kacchand (i couldn't tag your main but i wanted to make sure you saw this fdlkjfdlkj) 

hello dear! i’m sorry it took me so long to respond to this dflskjfdlkfdj i decided to answer your ask in a text post so i can link my thoughts to yours more easily! also, i know i'm going to Ramble, so i wanted to be able to keep it under a cut sdlkfjd

Hi rowan!! I've just finished the final chapter of aot and I just wanted to ask your opinion on it!

(SPOILERS THAT DEPICT MY UNDERSTANDING OF THE STORY'S MEANING AHEAD. READ ONLY IF YOU'VE FINISHED THE CHAPTER)

(FR )

(THERE'S STILL TIME TO BACK OUT)

(DO IT NOW. SPOILER ALERT)

I'd also like to ask a follow up question about it, because it seems that I've come to a different concl. from many of my friends and I'm feeling dumb abt how i feel w it.

first of all (and i say this as sincerely as possible, and if i'm coming off as condesending please let me know hh), please don't feel dumb because you've come to a different conclusion :(

we all read media at different levels (i’ve been told it’s ‘not that deep’ before fdljkfsdlkj) and identify different aspects in it, so the fact that you've had a different experience to some of your friends is absolutely not a reflection on your intelligence. and if anyone's making you feel that way, drop their @. i just want to talk :) furthermore, you’re not wrong for responding to something emotionally, especially if it really... makes you uncomfortable, you know? 

i'm from the PH & I've put off determining whether i'm comfy w the manga til the last chap,,,, but is it wrong that I can't shake the feeling that it's a justification of japanese expansionism and genocide? ik this manga has always been in the grey area, and that's what I love abt it! It often shows that no choice they make is absolutely good or bad, and does such a good job at showing you how each complex character came to that understanding (role of environment, etc...) but this last chapter felt too positive abt the rumbling? Like it was justified because paradis was able to advance and there wasn't much choice? idk.

that's totally valid! some of the best think pieces on the show i read mentioned that the concern with the narrative is less "is isayama a nazi sympathiser?" (he most likely isn't), but if he's a imperial japan apologist. and...

well, let's just say that my father is british, and when i was trying to say that colonisation was bad, using british india as an example, he said "well, we gave them railroads." it's... it's uncomfortable and gross and i think it encapsulates how countries with imperial pasts tend to talk about them; even if they don't officially endorse it, there's often a lot of talk about how "well colonialism was good for this country, actually--"

and if the manga felt like it was justifying japanese expansionism, then chances are it had elements that very much did point towards that. i've had a lot of trouble grappling with reiner, annie and bertolt, because they've existed in this grey area of 'victim of oppression' and 'war criminal'; and their existence raises the question of "do people who commit war crimes simply do what needs to be done?" and by victimising them it... it plays into the whole nuremberg defense of "i was just following orders". it's making you feel bad for the people committing said war crimes (and similarly with eren, and all the awful things he's done). but i'll get more into this point later dsfkjfd

i haven't read the last chapter yet (and don't worry about spoilers! i've been approaching aot from a very... specific perspective anyway, so i actually don't mind spoilers -- i read a bunch of analyses of the series before i'd even watched it hh), but... i think if it came off as too positive about, you know... an awful thing that happened, then it absolutely makes sense that you'd feel uncomfortable?

the modernisation narrative in general is one that always skeeves me out. it's one japanese imperialists use to justify the invasion of korea (and even those infamous tweets from the one account purported to be isayama talk about how the population of korea boomed under japanese imperial occupation, which... stop.)

it's also commonly invoked in cases of development. certain members of society (usually the poor), just 'had' to die for the good of the future. who gives a damn if they consent to that? they have to.

similarly, the 'we had no choice' narrative. that's... a concerning one that crops up time and again with history apologists, the argument that "oh if x country hadn't done y, then someone else would've!" or that acts of aggression were done as pre-emptive self-defence, which is so... ugh. i just. i just hate it.

It also feels really weird w the ymir and the whole loving fritz thing. i wish we got to see more of her thought process and what conclusion she came to that led her to destroying the power of the titans.

i... hate this so much. i get that abuse is complicated and victims often have multifaceted feelings towards their abusers, but... most people would focus on that in their story? the story would be about that? but instead, it's just... a thing in the history of the world and that's... icky.

also having the genesis of the titans come from a slave girl in love with her captor... there's many levels of ick to it and i highly doubt it was handled with the appropriate level of grace and sensitivity.

honestly, this might be one of the things that pissed me off the most because of how... contradictory her backstory was with That One Chapter (you know, instead of ymir crying because she wants to be free or because she’s been trapped she........ wants to see mikasa kiss eren’s decapitated head? i guess? what the fuck?) 

idk...I just think that context is sometimes everything. and i understand that media can portray incorrect things,,,, and that isayama likely didn't intend for it to become a global sensation, but i guess i'm just uncomfortable w the right wing nazis getting a comfort book ahaha.

i totally get that! even if attack on titan is meant to be anti-fascists, the fact of the matter is... a lot of fascists love it. and relate to it. which is... alarming. especially given just how popular aot is worldwide.

it’s hard because before the ending, attack on titan did feel like it was more grey; i remember saying that i wouldn’t know how to feel about it until the ending because the story was either saying “the military is corrupt and war is hell”, or it was saying “the military is corrupt and war is hell, but it is necessary.” 

still sorting out my thoughts, but yeah. I think i'm having a hard time understanding what they really accomplished with the rumbling and how they gave eren a sudden lelouch role and a lot of how they made it out to be a happy thing? perhaps I'm too biased to see it fully but to me it gives a "woah. eren was a hero. he saved us from destruction. those people needed to die for us to achieve this temporary peace and new start". i suppose the rumbling gave them a levelled playing ground?

OH MY GOOOOOD okay. i haven't finished code geass. but i really don't like lelouch. i mean... i think i just don't like characters that sacrifice other people for a purported 'greater good' (i could write an Essay about how much i hate erwin smith looking at him is enough to send me into an unhinged rage), but where i'm up to in the anime, i don't like the direction they're going with eren? i mean, i've never liked eren, but... that whole "martyr for the eldians" is just. ew. especially when you see several eldian characters disagree and resist him. 

why does this one guy get to make choices for everyone else? because he’s sPeCiAL? fuck off 

sorry for not being coherent. maybe i'm basing this too much on feelings ahaha. trust aot to finish it's scandalous run with a scandalous end.

no omg you're being perfectly coherent :( also, if anyone's making you feel bad or stupid for how you experience media, they’re... definitely not as smart as they think they are fdslskjfdlk. 

i'm of that mind that, while media consumption is in part an intellectual exercise, it is inherently very emotional; narrative media tries to make us feel as much as it makes us think. that’s what stories are for, you know? intellectual analysis is well and good but what’s the point of a story if it doesn’t make you feel anything?

that's to say, i don't believe there's such thing as basing your opinion too much on feelings :') especially since it's your personal experience with a piece of media; you don't owe anyone 'objectivity' (which is always a farce when it comes to this sort of thing) or 'logical analysis', because nobody's got any right to criticise you for engaging with media the 'wrong way'.

tl;dr I feel like the mood was too celebratory abt the rumbling, and didn't entail enough on the tragedy so much that it felt like a justification for genocide and expansionism. how do you feel abt it's ending and the message it leaves? is isayama responsible to give a morally correct answer to the cycle of hatred? you're not obligated to answer! and sorry for the rambling.

hhh yeah i guess that’s the thing at the end of the day... is isayama responsible for giving a “morally correct” answer? no, but the way the ending plays out is very telling. 

like armin thanking eren? mikasa’s e n t i r e character boiling down to being in love with a mass murderer no matter how poorly he’s treated her? and one could argue that kind of ending is supposed to be unsettling, supposed to hint that the cycle will just continue, but...

framing is everything. and it’s framed like a Good, Emotional Thing, Aren’t We So Grateful Eren Did All Those Awful Things 

YI think I would've been fine if we got to see more of Eren's or Yif you have a different perspective on how eren is being portrayed please do share! I just felt really yucky watching armin say "thanks for murdering all those people for us" with love,,, I suppose he was trying to make eren feel better. ach maybe I'm just overreacting. idk. im dumb ahaha . i'll send this in anyway cuz I'd love to hear your take!

HHHHHHH i just hate eren and i never got him. i felt bad for him in the beginning, but he's always been too... violent for me. there was a very short period of time in season 2 where i felt bad for him, but otherwise it’s just been... ugh. the main three have always been the weakest part of the series imo, so it’s really not surprising they’re part of the reason the ending was so. bad. 

and... well, that one infamous quote pretty much sums up my issue with armin. he's supposed to be the 'intelligent' one, but he's hopelessly devoted to a homicidal maniac with whom he has a very artificial, unbelievable bond with.

at the end of the day, the "thank you for becoming our monster" thing just makes it seem like attack on titan's core message is "war is horrible, but it is necessary." it feels like it's justifying massacre. and while fiction is fiction, and sometimes it's as simple as that, i think something as politically loaded as attack on titan needs to be looked at with a critical lens when discussing what it’s trying to say or what it means. 

do i think it makes someone a Bad Person for liking aot or being attached to it in some way? no, because that’s dumb, and what media someone likes =/= their Moral Goodness TM. ofc trends are a thing and certain pieces of media appeal to certain types of people, but it’s a false equivalency that misses the point. 

but by that same breath, nobody is wrong or stupid or has Less Valid Opinions just because what they took away from it makes them uncomfortable. 

i’m sorry this is So Long i have so many thoughts about this dskljfslkj 

but at the end of the day, 

levi sexy

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Ten

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: IT’S GRAMMY DAY KIDS LET’S GET THIS BREAD!! Honestly, I thought the Grammys were yesterday so I’ve clearly only got 2 braincells left, but trust those 2 braincells are here to support BTS. Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter! I enjoyed writing it. Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them! Links will be added later!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

“So what am I doing again?” I asked Taehyung over the phone as I saw quietly in the taxi, my dress pooling around my feet.

It had taken what felt like years to get my makeup done, and still in the reflection of the cab driver’s GPS I looked slightly too plain to suit my dress. But in the reflection I caught the brief shimmer of my necklace and, with a grounding inhale, I swallowed and nodded my head once.

My nerves were making my hands sweaty and my knees bounce. Every bump in the street made my jump and, despite Taehyung’s gravelly voice lending comfort, my heart was still racing. I smoothed my free hand on my thigh, letting my fingers play with the beading.

Taehyung chuckled. “You’re just showing up.”

“That’s really it?”

“That’s it.”

I furrowed my brow and sighed. “Seems too easy.”

Taehyung’s voice went distant as he replied to someone I didn’t hear, saying, “Just a second,” before returning his attention to me. “Don’t worry. You just make sure Jungkook is in the ballroom for the speeches.”

“Hey, if you need to go then-,” I began, but he was quick to stop me.

“Nope. I’m talking to you right now,” he said, and the sternness in his voice made my heart thump a little faster. I stared at my painted fingers. “They can wait.”

I stiffened, bunching and releasing the fabric of my dress, adjusting the deep v-neckline so it didn’t reveal too much, fussing with the straps. “Sorry,” I said, chuckling as I finally managed to settle my fidgety body down. “Just…kinda weird for someone to be prioritizing me.”

Taehyung was quiet for a moment on the other end and I wondered if I’d said something uncomfortable. I wished in an instant that my social filter was better, that I could just stop myself from saying things like that with people I was comfortable with, that I could just say thank you and move on. But instead of changing the subject or clearing his throat, Taehyung simply sighed.

“Well, you deserve to be prioritized,” he said, then paused and coughed a little. “N-Not that I’m the one who should do it! And not, like, romantically or anything! Just, uh…you know, in general. Like…,” he trailed off before humming a little. “Anyway, I’ll see you soon?”

The cab pulled over on the curb outside the Exhibition Center and I sucked in my breath, nodding. “Sooner than you think,” I said, sliding my transit card and bowing my thanks to the driver before exiting the cab and standing, shivering, on the side of the road.

“You’re here?” asked Taehyung, a smile clear in his voice.

I nodded. “I gotta go. I think I see Jungkook by the entrance,” I said with a sigh, smoothing my hair down as the wind tried to ruin its styling.

Not awaiting his response, I ended the call and slid my phone into the main compartment of my clutch. I took a deep breath, letting the evening air cool my warm cheeks and stepping forward on the sidewalk. Jungkook stood by the entrance, and as I neared my heart stammered a little upon taking him in.

Dressed in a fine black suit that looked sat just right on his shoulders, his hair was pushed back from his forehead, revealing more of the perfect symmetry of his face. His lips were parted, white vapor escaping into the atmosphere with every silent exhale. He lifted his hands to cup around his mouth, breathing into them with eyes on the ground as his lashes swept across his cheeks. His legs looked long, his shoulders strong, his eyes sharp but somehow still warm. Standing outside the Exhibition Center windows, he seemed to glow from behind and as he gently guided his hands into his pockets I couldn’t help but admire him. Who knew how many opportunities I’d have to do this after tonight…

After all, after tonight there’s no telling what we’ll be…

My heels clicked against the cold concrete and I carefully practiced my smile before quietly approaching him, taking up the spot at his right side without his notice. Once he felt me standing nearby, he jumped and laughed, surprised, before taking a proper look at me.

There it was. That blush in his cheeks that I was getting used to. His doe eyes went rounder than usual as he stared at me, slack-jawed, and I watched him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, before he glanced away and coughed into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey,” I said, fishing around for my folded invitation in my clutch. “You clean up nice,” I teased with a smile.

He laughed, a sputtering, nervous sound, and nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Ah, thanks,” he said, eyes traveling the length of my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, barely exposed through the heels Taehyung had packed in the bottom of the package. “You look…”

I smiled and gave a little twirl, the train of my dress swirling around me. I spread my hands out as I stilled and offered a smile. “Like it?” I asked.

He nodded, lips parted, eyes focused on the trumpet skirt, the slightly sheer skirt revealing just a hint of my legs. “Yeah…,” he said, shaking his head. He returned his attention to my eyes and smiled, face red. “Beautiful.”

I inhaled sharply, mindful to keep a close eye on my feelings, and eyed him. Had he always been this affected by me? Somehow, this felt decidedly…new. “Should we head inside?” I asked, smiling as I jerked my head toward the big glass doors.

He smiled gently. “Mhm,” he said, offering his arm for me to hold.

I scanned him for a moment before, without a word, I saddled up beside him, so close my shoulder brushed his chest, and held fast to his forearm. I felt his muscles stiffen beneath my fingertips and hummed a little, watching my feet as we walked forward slowly, joining the stream of other guests as they presented their invitations to the security guards at the door.

“Honestly, baby,” said Jungkook softly in my ear, his lips close to my skin causing my heart to kick up. “You look incredible.”

I smoothed my hand over his forearm and smiled at the ground as we took our place in line. “Thank you,” I said.

He pouted beside me. “You’re not dressed like this for that Taehyung guy, are you?” he asked, craning his neck to meet my eyes.

I laughed and gently reached my pointer finger out to poke his cheek. “Don’t be so jealous,” I said, then smiled. “I’m dressed this way for me.”

“For you?” he asked, voice smaller now, shy.

I nodded, chuckling at my dress as I ran my free hand over the ornate bodice. “Is that strange?”

“No…I mean…kinda, I guess,” he said, then shook his head. “Not that I’m not for women’s empowerment! Viva la…uh, woman.”

I laughed and turned to him, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his burning hot cheek. “Cute,” I said. What had come over me? It was like that night in the club all over again. I sighed and watched the line move before us. “It’s not about empowerment or anything,” I said with a shrug. “I liked it, so I’m wearing it.”

Jungkook was quiet beside me and, worrying that I’d said something odd, I turned slightly to examine his expression. I found him red-faced, scanning me from above with something like awe glittering in his eyes. His brows were raised as he watched me like a hawk, studying me.

“What?” I asked, concerned. I held his forearm tighter.

He shook his head and his expression shifted from wonderment to a soft smile. “That’s hot,” he said.

I stiffened. Again with that word. I cleared my throat and fixed my hair, guiding it behind my ear before meeting the security guard with Jungkook in tow. The dapper security agent outstretched his hand to me with a smile, asking for my invitation. Gently, I handed it over.

“Ah, and your name?” he asked, peering down at his clipboard.

I smiled. “Y/N,” I said, watching him carefully as he scanned the names on his list. His brows furrowed and worry settled into my veins. “Is it not there?” I asked.

He hummed. “No, Miss. But I’m sure there’s just some mistake. Could you provide the name of the person who provided you this invitation?” he asked, cordial. But his smile had gone tight. Clearly, he was eager to be rid of me.

“It’s Kim Taehyung,” I said, an upward lilt to my voice as if even I wasn’t so sure.

As the man lifted his eyes to meet mine, there was an unsettling measure of distrust there. His smile faltered. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

I raised my brows. “It’s true,” I said, anger beginning to roil in my stomach.

“Mr. Kim has never invited anyone to any of the events he’s participated in,” said the guard with a thin smile and a nod. “If you’ll step to the side, we can sort this out once everyone is inside.”

All of this, for nothing? Was Taehyung playing some sort of trick on me?

I released Jungkook’s arm and crossed my own over my chest, cocking my head to the side. “Once nobody’s around to see you kick us out?” I asked, surprised by the strength in my own voice. Had I always spoken this way?

Jungkook stood close to me and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Maybe we should just-,”

But before he could finish, the guard was crossing his arms too, clipboard stiffly digging into his side. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside,” he said, no longer smiles and benevolence.

Here lied the difference between Jungkook’s crowd and high society, I supposed. At least the guards outside the club had been honest about their exclusivity.

“And I’m going to have to ask you to let me through. I’ve been personally invited,” I said, grabbing for the invitation he held captive in his clenched fist.

He yanked it away before I could as the people behind me in line grumbled and slowly moved toward the other doorman’s line. “I’ve worked every event Mr. Kim has attended and I can assure you that he doesn’t have guests.”

“Then what about my invitation?” I asked, pointing at it. “Forged?”

He sighed. “I’m not accusing you of forgery. I’m simply concerned with the security of our event.”

I rested a hand on my hip and scoffed. “Sure,” I said, eyeing the second doorman as he simply waved people through after only a brief flashing of their invitations. He never once consulted his list. I returned my eyes to him and cocked a brow. “Seems like you guys are very concerned.”

“Ma’am…,” said the man, rubbing his jaw with knitted brows. “We’re not discriminating against any of our guests-,”

“Just us then?” I asked, smiling tightly.

He inhaled sharply, glancing to the side like he was searching for someone to help him. Unfortunately, his associate was too busy waving guests inside. Women dripping in finery, men dressed in impeccable suits, known names that don’t even require a second glance at some arbitrary list.

“I…,” he began, then sighed and shook his head. “Please enjoy your evening,” he said, but the way he spoke made it sound like the words physically pained him.

I smiled and bowed my head, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s as he stared down at me, mouth agape. Before we could enter, however, someone came barreling out into the entryway, spilling through the gaping mouth of the Exhibition Center to join the throngs of people. Breathlessly, he turned to me and his eyes went wide.

“Taehyung?” I asked, brows furrowed as he ran toward me panting. “Whoa, you okay?” I asked.

He nodded, settling his breathing as he greeted Jungkook with what could only be described as a forced grin. He turned his attention back to the guard, gaze imploring. “Sir, these people are my guests. I hope you haven’t given them a hard time.”

The guard’s demeanor saw a marked shift in tension, now standing horribly stiff with shoulders perfectly straight and aligned. He swallowed hard. “I-I was just letting them through,” he said.

Taehyung furrowed his brows. “Really?” he asked.

Gently, I reached out and touched Taehyung’s upper arm, causing him to jump just slightly. “It’s fine,” I said, eyeing the guard sidelong with a smirk. “We were just heading inside.”

The guard’s expression remained stiff as the three of us slipped past him inside. Jungkook took up my right flank as Taehyung guided us in through the entryway towards the grand ballroom. As he turned around to greet us properly, Taehyung’s eyes caught the gentle light from overhead and it was the first time I got a real glimpse of him. My cheeks reddened. He’d finally had a much-needed haircut, letting his honey-colored fringe sit just barely brushing his brow bone. He’d forgone the glasses for the night, his eyes bright and beautiful as they glittered. He was fitted in a suit that was almost too perfect, likely tailored just for him. When he lifted his foot to make sure he hadn’t picked up the black runner leading to the ballroom doors, I noticed the bottoms of his shoes were pure, blood red.

Was it just me, or did he look extremely important?

Jungkook placed a warm hand on the small of my back and I shivered against his touch, eventually leaning into his side as the three of us stood just before the grand ballroom’s open doors. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but the way Jungkook touched me felt…territorial.

He smiled and extended a hand toward Taehyung who accepted it readily. “It’s nice to meet you again,” said Jungkook.

“Likewise,” Taehyung replied with a smile before turning his attention to me. “God, I wish you wouldn’t have hung up before. I was planning on meeting you at the doors so I could get you in. You didn’t have any issues, did you?”

“Your security gave us a pretty hard time,” said Jungkook, examining a cuticle on his free hand before shrugging his shoulders and pulled me closer. “But Y/N handled it.”

Taehyung’s brows raised. “You did?” he asked, angling his body to allow a duo of well-dressed young women to pass, one of them knocking his hip with her bag.

For someone who was so revered by security, he was sure treated like a nobody by the other guests…

I lolled my head side to side, pondering it, before nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Taehyung smiled just barely, the corners of his mouth pinching. “That’s a relief,” he said, almost impressed. “That’s my friend’s guard, so I’ve met him a few times. I knew security would be tight tonight, so I figured you’d need some help,” he said, then laughed. “Guess I was wrong.”

I hummed. “I think it’s the dress,” I said, touching it gently. “Feels like I’m someone different.”

“It looks amazing on you,” said Taehyung with a smile that touched his eyes.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Should we head inside?” he asked, forcing a smile as he guided me with a hand on my back past Taehyung and towards the ballroom.

“Ah! Sure. The speeches start in an hour,” he said as he jogged to catch up to us, taking up my right side. He eyed me from above, casting me a knowing glance. “Make sure you’re here for them.”

I nodded, trying to ignore that ever-present bead of guilt that was lodged right in the back of my throat. Whatever Taehyung had planned, it wasn’t going to be pretty for Jungkook. Whether he’d end up humiliated or incarcerated, I had no way of knowing. As we entered the sprawling, black-and-white ballroom, I took a beat to really absorb it all. High ceilings and gorgeous tiled floors, the room was very open and breezy, black catering tables lining the front alongside a large bar. Guests milled about in beautiful gowns, and a few congregated near the lifted black stage pushed back against the massive wall of windows. A few waiters bounded by with silver trays. Champagne flutes glowed golden atop them and, as a waiter flew by, I carefully grabbed one from the side and took a big enough sip to make me wince.

“Whoa,” said Jungkook from beside me, eyes round as he scanned me. “It’s not a race, baby.”

I shook my head and pried my eyes open, looking back at Taehyung with a clenched jaw, set brows. “We’ll be here,” I said with a nod.

“No, no, no! No, that’s where you’re wrong! Hogarth wasn’t a killjoy, he was a political commentator! It was satire,” I said, slurring just slightly as the multiple glasses of champagne caught up with me.

I leaned across the bar in the center of the ballroom, engaging in a heated debate with some rich old man with a loud voice and awful opinions. His cheeks were flushed like mine, likely just as drunk as I was, and he rested on one elbow, leaning toward me as he countered all my points with some drunken retort. Jungkook, sitting beside me on a white stool, simply watched everything unfold, nursing his whiskey with a sly grin. How out of character it was for me to be picking fights with strangers without even a drop of concern.

The man huffed and stiffened. “Hogarth hated fun!”

“He hated moral depravity!”

“Oh-oh, and now you’re gonna tell me Henry Fielding was a historian,” he said with a scoff.

“Tom Jones is literally a history!” I shouted back, slamming my palms on the pristine, white bar.

“It’s a fictional history and-,” began the man when a woman approached him from behind and smoothed a hand against his back with a soft smile. “Oh, Hayoon,” he exhaled, reclining his head backwards to rest on the woman’s abdomen.

She gave me a smile. “I hope my husband hasn’t caused you too much trouble,” she said with a laugh, fondly gazing at him from above. I felt Jungkook wrap an arm around my waist from behind. “He always gets horribly drunk at these events.”

I smiled and shook my head. “None at all,” I said, giving the man the side-eye.

He furrowed his brow and pointed at me. “You’re half my age, young lady!” he shouted, vaguely chastising.

His wife’s attention was temporarily assuaged and, using the opportunity, I met the man’s eyes and stuck out my tongue. Jungkook sputtered a laugh behind me. “Baby,” he whispered through chuckles.

The man sat up straight and waved his finger at me again. “Look! Look, Hayoon, look!” he said, whipping his head back and forth between me and his wife, Hayoon. The forthcoming woman turned chocolate eyes on me and raised her brows. By then, however, I’d returned to smiling. “She was just making faces at me!”

Hayoon covered her full lips with a hand as she giggled into her fingers, glancing away. “Gosh, Jaesun,” she said, laughing. “I haven’t seen you this riled up since Hwayoung came home.”

Now with his wife beside him, this man didn’t seem quite so pompous. I may have even been fooled into thinking they were normal folks, just like me. The man glanced at me out the corner of his eye before breaking into a grin, his previous ill-will vanishing into the air like water on pavement.

He laughed. “Ah,” he said, reaching out a hand for me to shake. “You’re a good girl, young lady.”

I stiffened, taking his hand with a tentative glance back at Jungkook. He met my eyes and raised his brows, still smiling, as if he was as confounded as I was. I returned my attention to the man, Jaesun, and smiled, shaking his hand twice before releasing it.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Hayoon gently as her husband wrapped a big hand around her waist, pulling her close.

Somehow, I felt like Jungkook and I were a mirror of this couple.

The alcohol made guilt run hot through my veins.

“It’s Y/N,” I said, taking another sip of champagne. I slid the glass back onto the bar, but noted in my hazy brain that it was near the edge.

“Ah!” said Jaesun with a snap, pointing at me. I jumped slightly at his sudden movements, but quickly settled as I noticed him smiling. “Could you be that Y/N?”

I raised my brows. “That depends,” I said.

He laughed. “Ah, Hayoon you’re right. She’s like a little Hwayoung,” he said, smiling brightly. His smile was vaguely familiar.

Hayoon smiled, rubbing his shoulder with a soothing hand. “No wonder,” she said quietly, examining me.

I reached for my drink once more, but as I did I accidentally clipped the side of the glass flute, knocking it backwards off the lip of the bar. The glass went careening towards the polished tile floor, exploding into shards around Jungkook’s feet. I jumped off my barstool and turned to Jungkook with wide eyes. It seemed his smile was burned onto his face, the shock perhaps keeping it in place. My eyes fell to his ankles, left exposed by the hem of his pants from sitting. There, emerging in dots along his unblemished skin, blood.

“Oh my God!” I shouted, immediately falling to crouch in front of his injury.

He glanced down and finally seemed to notice the blood. “Whoa! Y/N, stand up. It’s not safe-,”

“Let me get you a bandaid,” I said, reaching for my clutch as it sat on the bar over my head. But my fingers were fumbling drunk along the surface, and if I continued I may knock another drink to the ground.

Jungkook quickly grabbed me by the upper arms and guided me back to my feet, laughing. “It’s not a big deal-,”

“No! Let’s get you fixed up. It might get infected and-,”

Smiling, Jungkook laced his fingers with mine. “It’s fine.”

I pouted and shook my head. “I’ve got bandaids in my bag,” I said, then glanced around me.

A few partygoers had noticed the commotion and turned piercing eyes on me. Stiffening, I held Jungkook’s hand tighter and grabbed my clutch, casting an apologetic smile over my shoulder at the couple as I led Jungkook toward the grand ballroom doors.

The two of us emerged in the entryway and, still crowded with people, I knew this place was no better than the ballroom. I dragged Jungkook behind me, marching straight into a quiet hallway leading outside. With a sigh, I fell to my knees.

“Wait! You’re gonna mess up your dress,” protested Jungkook, slender fingers seeking purchase on my shoulders which I wiggled away from his grasp.

“Stop fussing,” I ordered, lifting on hand to rest on his hip, hoping to keep him in place as I rifled through my clutch with the other. “Here,” I said, finally producing a bandaid and unwrapping it swiftly.

I pressed the adhesive to his skin and was extra careful around the wound. He hissed as the cotton pad made contact with his injury and gently I lifted my gaze to make sure he was okay. One eye was squeezed shut and the other was heavy-lidded, watching me.

“Hey,” he said with a laugh. “If anyone comes down this hallway, they’ll think something weird is going on.”

My body stiffened and I felt my cheeks go hot. Quickly, I stumbled back to my feet, meeting Jungkook’s warm eyes once I’d righted myself. “I just didn't want it to get infected,” I said, but my voice was small.

He hummed gently, the sound of music still seeping through the hall as he snaked his hands around my waist and stepped back against the wall. On instinct, I laced my fingers behind his neck and sighed, furrowing my brow at him. After everything, why did I still care so deeply about him? Even the way he blinked was beautiful to me, lashes long as they kissed the skin beneath his eyes.

Gently, I poked the freckle beneath his lip. “Hey,” I said. I sounded soberer now, and perhaps in a few ways I was. His eyes flashed up from my collarbone to meet mine. “Did you mean it?” I asked.

He raised one brow. “Mean what, baby?”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” I asked, eyes flashing between his brown irises and his rosy cheeks.

His brows knitted and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words coming for a few seconds. “I…Y/N, why would you ask that?” Again, it looked like he was…hurt by me.

And it dawned on me then in a moment of drunken epiphany.

What bothered me the most was that I had the capacity to hurt him at all. Like he’d hurt me…

“I…Jungkook, I know you haven’t been truthful with me,” I said softly, my fingers smoothing against the back of his neck, playing idly with his hair. I avoided his eyes. “I know you haven’t been with me because you wanted to.”

“What…?” he asked, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“I don’t want to ambush you,” I said, pain I didn’t know I had been harboring clear in my voice. “I just want an answer.”

He exhaled long and slow before taking my chin in his hand and forcing me to look him in the eye. “You’re right,” he said, scanning me. “I…I approached you with bad intentions. I was using you.”

I nodded. “I know,” I said.

He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against mine, skin hot like he was feverish. “But it’s different now. Everything…everything is different,” he said softly, breath tickling my cheeks. “I know it sounds cliche, but…it’s true.”

“When?” I asked, eyes still open and taking in his every feature. “When did it stop being a job?”

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally met my eyes with a sincerity that stunned me. “When you showed up for our study date with a coffee for me.”

I stiffened, eyes blown wide. “What?” I asked. “Th-that long?”

He nodded. “That was when I realized I was compromised.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he said, so close now I contemplated just tipping my chin forward, pressing my lips against his. How plush and pillowy they looked…

But wouldn’t that be cruel? To kiss him and then ruin him?

“So you meant it?” I asked.

He sighed, his head falling forward to rest in the crook of my neck. Thank God, my opportunity had passed. His lips were now safely brushing against my clavicle. “I wish I didn’t,” he said. “But I meant it.”

“Why tell me now?” I asked. I needed answers before I lost the chance to ask.

His hands pulled me closer by the hips and he exhaled against me. “Because I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

I nodded. “So it was serious to you. All along.”

“I didn’t want it to be…”

“Okay,” I said, slowly rubbing circles into his skin.

Before either of us could say something more, something we’d regret, a voice echoed over the PA system. “Attention valued guests, we request that you return to the grand ballroom for a few words from our esteemed speakers. We will begin in five minutes.”

Slowly, I pulled away from Jungkook’s chest and met his glassy eyes. Would he cry? After tonight, would I be the cause of his tears? Something stiff and heavy and icy cold settled in the pit of my stomach. Gently, I smoothed my hand against his cheek and gave him a smile.

“We should head back,” I said.

His shoulders bunched and he furrowed his brow. “Do we have to?” he asked, scanning me. “I…I could explain it all to you right now if you want. We could leave and-and go someplace. I could tell you everything.”

Temptation ached in my chest, beckoning me like a siren song. Was he telling the truth? Could we really leave this place where we didn’t belong, settle in, hold each other as he finally told me the truth? Could it be that simple?

Suddenly, my necklace felt like it was burning through my skin. I touched it with my index finger, my skin hot and my throat constricting with every second that passed. An eternity with every ticking second.

I took a deep breath, shutting my eyes, and took a single step back from Jungkook, letting my hands fall to my sides. “Let’s go back now,” I said, my voice thick, as I turned on my heel and bounded down the hall.

Jungkook caught up with me after a few paces and we’d silently entered the grand ballroom together. We’d spent the entirety of the first speech in silence, not even looking at one another. It felt as thought I’d rejected him. Like I’d acknowledged his honest, vulnerable appeals and cast them aside. And perhaps, in a way, I had. So I stood at his side, sobering up quickly as the speakers began droning on and on. Why Taehyung wanted me to bring Jungkook here was beyond me.

Jungkook leaned down and, with his breath warm in my ear, whispered, “I’m gonna use the restroom.”

I stiffened and turned, grabbing his arm and meeting him with wide eyes. “Right now?”

He furrowed his brow and scratched his neck. “Yeah?”

“Isn’t that…rude or something?” I asked, sweeping my gaze around the crowded, elegant room. All eyes were forward as a tech guru with a sizable online following gave a speech about the power of marketing and charity.

I let my tense eyes shift back to Jungkook, praying he wouldn’t feel my panic. “I…guess?” he said, confusion clear in his expression. He wasn’t convinced.

I exhaled, ready to continue standing by in silence, when the tech guru slowly exited the stage, bowing with a bright grin. As he stepped down the black stairs, someone passed by him. Likely the next speaker.

Quietly, I turned back to Jungkook. Perhaps half-truths were better here too. “Listen, I don’t know why, but we have to stay in here,” I said, meeting his eyes.

He cocked his head to the side, straining against my grip on his arm, and stepped closer. “What? Why?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Taehyung-,” I began, then shut my mouth. I wasn’t sure if implicating Taehyung was the right move. Surely, Jungkook would put two and two together once this ‘plan’ came to fruition. After all, it was Taehyung who had gotten us in.

But still…I couldn’t outright betray him.

“Taehyung?” he asked, glancing over my shoulder with bewilderment in his warm eyes.

I shook my head. “No, forget it. Go pee if you have to,” I said, releasing his arm with a defeated sigh.

“No,” he said, jerking his chin toward the stage behind me. “Up there.”

My heart kicked up and, without wasting a single second, I whipped around to find Taehyung approaching the microphone to uncertain applause. I heard mumblings about the room, asking who he was, hazarding guesses to his title, making idle conversation. I swallowed hard and watched with nerves alight as he adjusted the height of the mic stand to suit him. With a charming smile, he bowed to the crowd.

“What the hell…?” I wondered aloud as Jungkook took up my side again, clearly as stunned as I was.

“Did you know about this?” asked Jungkook, eyes locked on Taehyung with parted lips, awestruck.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “He didn’t say anything about giving a speech.”

The two of us stood slack-jawed as Taehyung cleared his throat and the room descended into utter silence. I could hear my heart hammering in my chest, my pulse like rushing water in my ears. What exactly did he have planned?

“Hello,” he said, a simple greeting that echoed endlessly in the massive room, bouncing off the faulted ceilings. “My name is Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook hummed. “He looks kinda cool,” he said with a chuckle.

I blinked, trying to sift through my thoughts. Jitters made my hands shake, my clutch banging against my thigh. “Uh-huh.”

Taehyung smiled once more at the crowd. “Pardon me if I seem a bit awkward up here,” he said, adjusting his lapel. “I’m not very keen on public speaking. Or…well, public in general.”

This elicited a round of laughter, the guests good-natured as they nursed their drinks or chewed on party snacks. “Wonder why they let him speak,” said Jungkook quietly.

Taehyung inhaled audibly, seeming to center himself with a breath, and lifted his eyes to lock on something in the crowd, probably a single tile on the floor or a panel on the front of the bar. “But tonight is a very momentous occasion. Ori Technologies has done what no tech company has been able to do in decades. They’ve disrupted a long-standing monopoly. And, while this accomplishment is commendable, it certainly paints a large target on the backs of the men and women who dedicated their lives to this company.”

I furrowed my brow. “This is weird,” I mused aloud and Jungkook nodded in agreement. “What kind of speech is this?”

Taehyung scanned the crowd before latching on to something different, and the way his expression shifted made a shiver crawl up my spine. I glanced toward Jungkook, ready to make another comment, but I noticed that his expression had gone darker now too. Was…was Taehyung looking at Jungkook?

“I’m…moved by the courage those spearheading this company have shown, and I’d like to use this opportunity to show some courage, myself,” he said. With a smile that looked a little sinister, Taehyung tightened his tie just slightly. “And so, I’m making my first ever public appearance.”

“What’s he talking about?” asked Jungkook, body hard, muscles tensed as if he were about to fight, eyes steadfast on Taehyung.

I shook my head. “I-I have no idea,” I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Taehyung cleared his throat and gave a deep bow from the waist, eyes shut for a moment. Murmurs emerged around the crowd, all waiting with bated breath for whatever this speech would bring. Slowly, Taehyung stood upright once more and fussed with his cufflink before lacing his fingers before him with a smile.

“My name is Kim Taehyung,” he repeated, eyes flashing around the room before settling once more on Jungkook. “Although you all may know me better as Vante.”

[drink-n-watch]

  Welcome back, one and all, to our Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba discussion post! I’m glad I get to share this show with you and grateful to Crow for taking the time to chat with me every week. I really do look forward to my Saturdays thanks to this. (ok…so there’s a small chance I would have looked forward to my Saturdays anyways but who can really tell?) Naturally Crow will be bold this week, as it just suits him! Before we get into the episode proper, how was your week Crow? Were you looking forward to this as much as I was?

Absolutely I was! So many unanswered questions last week! And then the preview mentioned Zenitsu sleeping? Forget the circumstances — how’d he calm down enough to sleep?

For those of you who haven’t watched the episode, go watch it! It’s a feast for the eyes! We’re going to get into what happened so there will be “spoilers,” but this week’s Demon Slayer isn’t really the type of episode you can spoil. Nevertheless, if you want to go in completely blind, please watch the episode first!

I’m explaining my post title

We left off with all our heroes (almost) trapped in what seems to be a pandimensional house. That was after the demon slayers met two young children who had their brother snatched by a demon. Tanjiro and the girl were separated from her brother and Zenitsu, and were just about to face the demon controlling the house when they got interrupted by a boar head wearing warrior.

I have to say, the lackadaisical demon sounded fairly reasonable. All he wanted was for people to stop bursting into his house and causing a ruckus. I get that. Ok, there was the kidnapping… This is the first depressed demon we meet. They really range a lot in personality. Did you like him Crow?

It’s interesting you should mention “depressed,” because in my notes, I wondered why the demon was sad! A sad demon covered with tsuzumi was just so unexpected! I mean that in a good way, too. It made the whole situation more interesting. Why was he sad? What path had he taken to get here?

maybe he has body issues…relatable!

I’m going to interject here, after the short opening tag we got the OP and I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to mention how much I enjoy the music here. And the singer has a really lovely voice. I don’t think the visuals are that interesting but it’s a good tune and I listen to it every week!

As much as I want to dive into the episode, I watch the OP, too. LiSA’s Gurenge is just beautiful, audibly and visually.

After the OP we got back to business and back to boar head. I don’t know his name (your favorite Anilist to the rescue! It’s Inosuke Hashibira — you do prefer Anilist, don’t you? I do, it has stats!!! Girls love stats!). It occurs to me that I assumed he was a demon slayer because he’s human and hunting demons but I don’t think that the show ever made that official.

it is a great design

Turns out he’s another over the top loud guy, but in a different way from Zenitsu. This is the “I’m going to destroy anything and anyone that stands in my way, and be damned the consequences” type. I wasn’t that crazy about him but I do like the design.

Did boar head dude stepping on the little girl tick you off as much as it did me? Tanjiro was indignant as he said, “Don’t stomp all over her!” You go, Tanjiro!

You know writing Big Personalities is a bit of a gamble. If you get the balance right, you have an almost guaranteed fan favourite who will be highly marketable and your series can pretty much exist on the back of that character. On the other hand, that balance is very difficult to achieve and if you don’t get it, your character will annoy your audience and risk sinking the popularity of your entire franchise. I feel like the demon slayers, aside from Tanjiro, are an assortment of Big Personalities that the author is just testing out to see what works. I hope they find that balance before it gets too exhausting to watch! Boar head reminds me of the kid in the trial that just wanted to get a sword.

that’s kinda weird but you do you

Did you catch him mentioning that his “Beast Breathing” was self-taught? Is he a real Demon Slayer? He has the right kind of metal in his sword… Dang it, sorry! I’m getting ahead…

That’s ok, I get excited too! But I’m really not sure how I feel about this guy. The latest characters are kind of iffy.

And of course, just as I say that, we get back to Zenitsu and the boy. I said last week that I had hope for Zenitsu, I just felt there was more to his character than meets the eye. And Demon Slayer decided not to test my patience. Sure, he started out with the same old exaggerated panic attacks and cowardly routine, but as soon as a demon showed up, Zenitsu stepped up to the plate and actually protected the kid.

d’awwww

Don’t get me wrong, he did not magically turn into a hero. He was still the same snivelling, whining mess, but he stood in front of that demon to protect the kid even while he was shaking and sobbing. He even told the boy to run and save himself. I was fully prepared to see Zenitsu use the kid as a human shield, so this was a surprise. A great one! And the fact that he was so visibly terrified the entire time only made it better. It’s not really brave if you’re not scared!

Maybe I’m easy to please, but it’s all it took for the character to be redeemed in my eyes. I immediately started cheering Zenitsu on!

I was the same way. Like you said — he was terrified, but he not only tried to put himself between the boy and the demon, he even encouraged the boy to run and save himself. I have to wonder if I’d have enough courage to do that! Sure, he’s no Tanjiro, but who is?

good question

And then he reached his limit. All that emotion was just too much for him and he passed out, leaving the poor child to try and save him. Like I said, Zenitsu is no hero and that is one of the best things about him.

He was even snoring! Man, he can nap waaay faster than I can!

Let’s slow things down a little here and talk about this demon. This isn’t the drum demon who’s the master of the house. It seems there are several demons in here and they so far they are not working together. I really liked the design of this guy (again). The double eyes were particularly successful in my opinion. Once more this show has crafted a demon that looks a little childish, almost cute in a strange way, yet honestly scary and unsettling. The saturated colour palette helps with that I think. In any case, the overall aesthetic is fantastically suited to the story. Ufotable is good with that!

They certainly are! And that demon’s tongue! That thing must have been 10 meters long and it sliced through a tough wooden barrel like it was nothing. Talk about capable of a tongue lashing!

people crawling is always creepy

Back to the action. Zenitsu is out, a fit of stress-induced narcolepsy it seems. The poor kid has his back against the wall and the demon is closing in when… We were all waiting for it, weren’t we? Zenitsu finally has his moment of reckoning. And what a moment it is! I knew he didn’t survive on pure luck! Sure, Zenitsu is no hero, but in his sleep, he’s a Big A** Hero! That scene was just so much fun. I could help but physically clap!

And it also works as a sort of metaphor for the show. It’s a somewhat cliché scene but with some nice twists. You see it coming from a mile away but when it does it’s so well executed that you thoroughly enjoy it. And there’s always just a little extra touch that you didn’t predict to keep you on your toes!

That moment was worth the price of admission. It wasn’t just a simple masterful attack. It was the equal of any strike we’ve seen! The sound, the animation, it call came together. Good stuff! And did you think that Zenitsu was almost the anti-Rock Lee? In the original Naruto, Rock Lee trained and trained and trained. He was a powerful fighter, but one time, he got knocked out. He had trained so much that his body continued to fight! Even when he was unconscious. It’s like he was the anti-Zenitsu or vice versa!

the colours are great 

I was wondering if all demon slayers had elemental powers. It’s starting to look more that way, since Zenitsu has electricity (thunder) based powers and he seems to wield them very well, as long as he’s unconscious! If I hadn’t already been sold a few minutes before, this would have done the trick. I’m a Zenitsu fan now, I want to see more of him.

When all was said and done, it became apparent that Zenitsu doesn’t remember anything. He actually does think he’s a weakling incapable of protecting anyone because as far as he knows, that has always been the case. I like this twist, I’m not sure I’ve seen it before!

It borders on tragic! He probably doesn’t know how he survived the selection match. He knows he’s always getting into danger and thinks he has no way out. Poor guy! You know what? I take back “borders on tragic.” It is tragic!

this happens a lot lately

In the meantime, Tanjiro and the girl have left both the demon and Boar head behind and discovered the kids’ brother. He’s alright folks! It seems the boy has special blood, so when he got dragged away it attracted more demons who all started to fight over who got to eat him. The drum demon got injured and lost one of his drums, which the brother managed to grab and use, immediately bringing him to another room, safe for the moment. Since then, he’s just been using the drum as soon as he sees anything and that’s kept him safe.

This is smart! Really smart! I like that. A victim that desperately needs help but isn’t just a prop or completely helpless. It just makes the character more real, you know?

It does. The little boy’s not a plot device to show how awesome Tanjiro is. That detail made him into the little scared boy trying desperately to stay alive. That’s a ton more dramatic!

yeah!

Tanjiro also thinks this was a great plan because he decides to face the demon alone and tells the girl and her brother to keep doing what they’ve been doing. Banging the drum at the slightest hint of danger. He promises to find them again when the battle is over.

Two things I quite liked happened here. First, the show addressed Tanjiro’s injuries. I still think he is inhumanly resilient, but they do go out of their way to show us that he did get treatment and that he is still in serious pain. Enough to affect his abilities. And he has been in pain all along! We even saw that Zenitsu is the form of Tanjiro’s insecurities which was pretty funny.

The explanation is still a little lacking but at least the story does take it into account. Were you happy with this explanation Crow?

also, he used an ointment, good as new!

Yeah, and I’ll do the opening Kimino thing here: Yes, many of us men are really that much of an idiot. We’ll push through pain just to look tough. Who are we trying to impress? Everyone, of course! Especially ourselves. Even worse? I’m an oldest son. Yes, we oldest sons will often go through stupid pain simply because we don’t want to disappoint mom or dad. It’s why medical folks have to make billboards that say men shouldn’t be stupid and ignore pain — we should go to the hospital instead! Well, this billboard kinda sums it up. So, what Tanjiro did isn’t just realistic. I’ve done it myself (though not with broken leg).

The second thing I liked was the fight itself. This was just gorgeous. That constantly spinning room, with Tanjiro’s clothes, hair and entire body weight visibly adjusting to the shifting gravity. The animation was so smooth and consistent that it was mesmerising. I feel a little bad for anyone with motion sickness, as I assume the quick and constant movement must not have been pleasant. However, I thought it was beautifully done! I’m ok with watching fights that take 3 episodes to get through if they look this good!

I think this is what the word spectacular was invented for. It was such a unique battlefield! Last time I saw room spinning like that was in the movie Inception, and I think it was more effective here!

you had to see it

It might, in fact, take three episodes to get through this fight as episode 12 ended before Tanjiro got the chance to get to the demon. And I screamed at my tv!

The pep talk he needed to get himself to that last moment was fantastic! “My injuries are making me imagine the most awful things!” struck me as powerfully authentic. Like the detail of the little boy clutching the drum, Tanjiro’s inner dialogue elevated him from just another hero to a young man struggling to keep it together. Little touches like that are setting this show apart for me.

As much as I enjoyed this week’s Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba, there was one little thing that kept gnawing in the back of my mind. Nezuko is still all alone out there. Is it still daylight out?

I could be glib and say that in the OP and ED, we see Nezuko in the same frame as Zenitsu and boar head dude, so she’s got to be okay, right? Right? Sigh. Yes, I’m worried about her. Not only is the sunlight a danger to her, but other demon slayers haven’t been as understanding of her situation as Tanjiro…

Reviews of the Other Episodes

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 01: Cruelty

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 02: Trainer Sakonji Urokodaki

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 03: Sabito and Makomo

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 04: Final Selection

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 05: My Own Steel

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 06: A Friend fo All Humans

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 07: Muzan Kibutsuji

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 08: The Smell of Enchanting Blood

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 09: Temari Demon and Arrow Demon

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 10: Together Forever

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 11: Tsuzumi Mansion

just want Nezuko back!

Of course, I took a lot of screencaps! And yes, I would love to share them with you!

  Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba Episode 12: Delicatesse Welcome back, one and all, to our Demon Slayer: Kimetsu No Yaiba discussion post! I’m glad I get to share this show with you and grateful to…

[psychicscavenger]

The Spell

@deathbystorm Hi! I was your Shance Valentines Exchange gifter! One of your prompts was for a sleeping beauty type au where they get together afterwards, but Shiro had never intended to tell Lance his feelings for him’

Hope i did the prompt justice! You can read at ao3 here or I’ll post the fic under the cut! Enjoy~

Title: The Spell

ship: Shance

tags: sleeping beauty elements, light angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending

It was supposed to have been a simple diplomatic mission.

Shiro and the rest of the paladins had been invited to a planet for a possible ally ship and hopefully persuade their ruler to join the Coalition against the Galra. The people so far, no matter how beautiful with their tough rock-like exteriors and shimmering eyes, had been very rude with even their King snorting at the idea of joining sides with Voltron. Allura had done all that she could to persuade them but their King seemed uninterested, thinking their small Geode monsters would be enough defense despite the fact they were less than a quarter size compared to Voltron itself.

So they had a brief interlude, the King announcing a quick break with some of his loyal subjects meeting and interacting with the Paladins, thankfully they were hospitable in ways the King wasn't. In fact, the King's son Prince Pyrite was more welcoming than he was. Especially towards a certain paladin who he was sharing a small private conversation with that had Lance giggling cutely every five minutes which made Shiro's blood boil.

So it wasn't exactly known that Shiro had fond feelings towards the Blue Paladin, feelings more fond than the ones he had for the rest of his teammates. He was and always had been a private person, usually going after his interests in a quiet manner however he had ultimately decided a long time ago not to pursue anything regarding his crush towards Lance. One reason being Lance was very flirtatious with him and just about anyone he meets. Shiro recalls with a bitter laugh how one time, Lance had even flirted with a Galran enemy during a mission.

"I was distracting him for you!" Lance had huffed while the rest of the others had laughed at his offended expression while Shiro had sat quietly in the corner, trying to get the image of Lance making bedroom eyes at the blushing agent out of his mind. The most disappointing part was how the flirting had actually worked to their benefit, a fact Shiro was not amused by.

So yeah, Lance probably wouldn't take it serious if Shiro were to come forward with his feelings. There was also the issue that he was essentially Lance's superior officer temporarily given his status of being Voltron's leader. Maybe it wasn't a big deal but Shiro didn't want any relationship of his to be seen as some kind of power imbalance, especially with someone he cared for deeply, so he would do the right thing and keep it to himself. No matter how infuriating it was to watch Prince Pyrite's hands wander closer and closer to Lance's backside every minute they spoke.

"Shiro!" The Black Paladin turned, hoping his glaring wasn't too noticeable as he faced Princess Allura who had a concerned expression as she glanced around, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Allura?" Shirp prompted, curious as to why the Princess was acting weirdly, for her anyway.

"Shiro, we need to leave now. Coran just informed me he had been reading through some communication logs between members of the Coalition when he stumbled upon a log that was between the Galra and our hosts. From what Coran's told me, it seems they were going to do a trade, our lions for their independence." Shiro's eyes widened at that.

"I'll inform the others, we'll make a silent escape so as not to draw too much suspicion." Shiro spoke with Allura nodding in agreement. She slipped away then, heading over to the banquet table where Hunk and Pidge were while Shiro turned back towards Lance only to see he was gone as well as the Prince.

Oh hell.

Shiro quickly made his way over to where he last saw them, noticing a nearby dark hallway that branched off from the main room everyone was in. A sinking feeling in his gut, Shiro made his way down the hallway, hand glowing up in defense as two separate voices bounced across the walls. He pulled out his communicator, sending a warning to the other paladins, telling them to get to their lions as quickly as they could as he slid along the wall, keeping his back against the sturdy bricks until the voices stopped followed by a dull thud noise that echoed throughout the hallway. Ducking his head around the corner, Shiro gasped at the sight of Lance sprawled out on the floor, one of those goblets from the party spilled over the tiles, the puddle of liquid creating a galaxy swirl on the floor, the juice shimmering prettily as Prince Pyrite stood over an unconscious Lance, laughing maniacally in triumph.

"Mighty Voltron indeed! Your precious Blue Paladin has fallen as will the rest of you!" He gestured, sounding just like a Disney villain as Shiro skid to his knees by Lance's side, checking his vitals and sighing gratefully that Lance wasn't dead but rather sleeping. Shiro glanced to the galaxy drink and back at Lance, knowing right away Lance had been given some kind of poison by the Prince which had Shiro's grip tightening protectively even more before turning towards the Prince once again.

"What did you do to him?" Shiro ordered, his hand glowing up once again as the Prince scoffed.

"Please, like we'd ever join your silly Coalition. The Galra promised us our independence and freedom if we at least gave them one of those prestigious lions of yours. Father and I decided why not also dispose of its pilot as well?" The Prince smiled, which was anything but friendly as Shiro scoffed, angry.

"And you think the Galra will honor that? What's stopping them from taking your planets resources? Even if you handed all of the lions over, they will still invade your planet and drain its resources. They don't care about allies as much as they care about making others fear them." He berated. He once again brought out his communicator, alerting the others of the situation before quickly scooping Lance up into his arms, not paying attention to the prince who hung back unwilling to fight as well as reflecting over Shiro's words.

Shiro made his way back to the lions easily with no other issues. Keith had been waiting to extract them in Red as Black and Blue had already taken off back towards the castle, the bonded link between them and their paladins telling them it was time to abscond. He settled back in the cockpit with Lance still asleep in his arms, wondering how bad the damage was and a little unsettled at how Lance seemed so at peace..almost as if he were dead. Once everyone had made it back to the castle, none of them bothering with talking about the species and what had just happened, they immediately moved to the med bay and set Lance on one of the beds, waiting impatiently as the machine started scanning him over, searching for anything amiss in tase a pod needed to be used, all while Lance hovered in the air, still in blissful sleep.

"Aha! It seems the Price had persuaded Lance to drink some of the narcocious berry wine, a powerful sleeping potion made by the berry that can put most species to sleep forever, including humans it seems." Coran explained, twirling his mustache in wonder since he hadn't heard of these things in deca-pheebs. Hunk fidgeted with his hands, eyes grazing over the lifeless body of his best friend as he spoke.

"We can wake him up though right? I mean we need Lance to form Voltron obviously, but I don't want him to sleep forever! Plus, what about when we get back to Earth, what will his family say? Oh no, Veronica will hunt us down..and kill us." Hunk fretted as Pidge patted his arm to calm him down.

"Chill Hunk, I'm sure there's some way we can break the spell. Right Coran?" The younger asked as Coran nodded.

"Indeed Number five! There is a way to break the spell, with a kiss from his one true love!" Coran announced much to the displeasure of the others who bored matching expressions of disbelief and bewilderment.

"Great! How are we going to find someone to kiss Lance?" Keith grumbled. Coran merely snapped his fingers in the air and urged them out of the med bay, Shiro giving one last glance towards the sleeping paladin before following after the others to the main room where Allura piloted the castle.

"After we started taking on allies, so many of the planets citizens sent grateful letters to each of you, I'd say most of you have your own fanbase by now, especially Lance. He's incredibly popular apparently." Coran clicked on some file and a million different pictures and letters popped up of Lance posing with different alien species they had rescued from the Galra. Shiro felt a smile tugging on his face as he gazed at the wonder and glee that adorned Lance's face in every photo.

"If we send out a request to our allies to help our situation, I'm sure one of these fans has to be his true love and break the spell." Coran noted with Allura nodding as well.

"Brilliant Coran! Hopefully we should be done within the next varga and I'm sure Lance will be most excited to meet his true love." She stated excitedly while Shiro felt a pang of despair plant itself in his gut, sure he was happy they'd wake Lance soon but at the same time it would be a bummer to watch some other person, Lance's true love kiss him. He tried not to be too bothered by the idea, as well as when what felt like another few days rolled by and there were hundreds of aliens now at the castle, waiting to plant a kiss on the Blue Paladin's cheek. They decided even if Lance was asleep, the paladin probably wouldn't be okay with strangers kissing him on the lips. Plus, the spell never specified where he should be kissed, so it was a slight loophole. As the hours went by their anticipation became grim as each alien had to turn away in sorrow as Lance did not wake up. The paladins and Alteans grew less hopeful as Lance remained asleep after each kiss to his forehead, cheek, or hand. After what felt like a week had been by, it was down to the final three aliens, only for none of their kisses to work as the Blue Paladin remained asleep, blissfully unaware of the torture he was putting his teammates through.

It went on for weeks like that, they visited many ally planets in hopes somebody could awaken Lance only to be left in disappointment when nothing happened. Shiro took to spending most of his time in the med bay, his hand ruffling through Lance's chestnut locks, wishing the other were awake, to fill the rooms with his boisterous laugh and playful personality. Shiro thought Lance resembled too much like a corpse in this state, his light breathing being the only implication he was even alive, the image a little too haunting at times giving Shiro a chill at the idea.

The weeks became a month and everyone was losing hope by the minute. They had been avoiding any confrontations with the Galra if they could help it, since they were down by one lion and Blue was not lowering her shield for anyone anytime soon, making their situation more desperate. The others had taken to retreating into their own headspaces, Hunk was excessively cooking and baking, wanting to perfect some recipe involving garlic knots so he could present them to Lance when he woke up soon.

They were avoiding the possibility of 'if' for now.

Pidge had greatly missed the older paladin's presence, choosing to spend most of their time with their gadgets in the med bay beside Lance's hovering form. Keith had taken up training almost every second of the day to work off his anger at the situation and concern for his friend as he felt helpless to aid his friend while Allura and Coran constantly kept looking for ally planets that could possibly help as well as researching for another way to break the spell. Shiro spent most of his time reflecting on his thoughts, memories, and regret. His late nights wandering the halls grew more solemn and quiet since Lance used to join him sometimes when he usually took a bathroom break in the middle of the night. Shiro chuckled to himself, recalling fondly how Lance would try to stay up with Shiro as late as he could before eventually succumbing to his own sleepiness, making Shiro the one to take him back to bed and tuck him in. Those late night talks meant everything to Shiro as he learned a lot about Lance those nights.

He learned Lance was the youngest of five children and claimed he was his parent's favorite. "The baby is always the favorite Shiro! Everybody knows that!" Lance had griped when Shiro questioned whether that was true. He learned Lance missed his home very much, talking about Varadero Beach any chance he could. He loved looking at the stars at night, had a particular brand of moisturizer he used the most, talked in his sleep, loved playing with his niece and nephew, and could sing really well. Shiro wasn't sure when he had developed stronger feelings towards the Blue Paladin, but he certainly regretted not telling Lance his true feelings, wishing as he sat by Lance's side, brushing his fingers through chestnut locks that he could tell him his true feelings.

Luckily, that chance came sooner than he thought it would.

They were all in the med bay, running more scans on Lance to make sure everything was okay (mostly to make sure he was still just in a deep sleep) when Pidge suddenly snapped their fingers in realization.

"Guys! I may have found the answer!" No sooner were the words out of their mouth, Hunk grabbed the front of their jacket, a crazed look in his eye.

"Well spit it out Pidge!"

"I'm trying to! Anyways, what if Lance's true love doesn't have to be in the romantic sense? What if platonic love or even familial love could break the spell?" They asked excited for the possibility as the others now were.

"Coran? Is this possible?" Allura asked hopeful as Coran thought over it.

"You know what Number Five? I'd say we give it the ol' mature noggin assessments enhancement attempt!" Pidge merely blinked at him before shrugging his words off. "We use the expression 'college try' but I'm assuming it means the same thing as whatever you were suggesting."

"Hmm 'college' a funny word if I've ever one," Coran stated, talking more to himself than the others who gathered around Lance's bed unsure. Keith eyed everyone, looking obviously uncomfortable with what they were about to possibly do.

"So ah..what do we do?" He asked turning away pointedly as Hunk glanced around.

"Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about kissing Lance, I know he's not dead but,"

"Oh for the love of Beyonce! Move!" Pidge shoved both of them out of the way, ready to get this over with. The younger paladin leaned down, pressing their lips to Lance's forehead, cheeks burning up in embarrassment as the others stood there waiting in anticipation. Pidge stood back up, eyes roving over Lance's face waiting hopefully only to sag in defeat as Lance remained sleeping, not even a slight twitch.

"It's okay Pidge, here let me try." Hunk scooted in front of them and eagerly leaned down to kiss the same spot where Pidge did, leaning back up with hope only to look crestfallen as Lance remained asleep even for his best friend. This made the others nervous now, if Lance and Hunk's bromance couldn't break the spell, what could?

"Keith?" Allura asked, wondering if he was still going to try only for the other man to groan unwillingly before quickly yanking Lance's hand towards himself and planting a firm but gentle kiss to his knuckles. Like Hunk and Pidge, Keith was met with a light snore from Lance that had him growling in annoyance.

"He's not going to wake up no matter what we do!" He griped as Allura decided it was time for her to take a shot with her kissing Lance's hand like Keith did only to sag in disappointment when the other still slept.

"Shiro?" Coran prompted, noting the other hadn't tried yet with Shiro nervously glancing at the others, slightly less hopeful this will work out. He shifted closer to the bed, leaning down and running his fingers through Lance's hair once again, thumb caressing the side of Lance's face before he knelt down and kissed Lance's forehead, a part of him wishing and hoping that this would work and he'd get to see those blue eyes once more.

And indeed he did.

With a slight groan, Lance's eyes fluttered open sleepily, the motion announced by Hunk who nearly pushed Shiro aside to hug his best friend with Pidge and Allura joining him as Keith and Coran stood back relieved. Shiro stood still, amazed that the kiss had worked! He gave a slight laugh of happiness and relief as he cradled Lance in his arms, pulling him close in a hug as the others enveloped themselves around them as well. Lance, who was confused by all this attention merely yawned before joking that he was being squished.

"Guys what's going on? Was I gone or something?" Lance asked once the group hug was over, mildly wondering if he had been in the cryopod again for a while again only to be met with such amused faces full of relief. The biggest surprise was Shiro who still had his arms around him and looking down at him with the softest expression he'd ever seen on the man.

"Yeah Lance, you were gone for a while and we just we really missed you." He explained somewhat with Lance nodding along, not really understanding it but knew how choked up the others were given their teary reactions right now. After a few more rounds of hugs and tears, Lance was allowed out of the med bay after a quick scan proving he was fine where the team informed him of what happened, regarding the prince poisoning him, the spell, and trying to find the right person to break said spell which caught Lance's attention immediately.

"So you guys were just kissing me until I woke up?" Lance asked, his nose scrunching up at the idea he essentially made out with so many different aliens and his hot teammates and of course he was unconscious through it all!

"Well, not quite, the spell said true loves kiss could break it so we searched for everyone you had flirted with and then Pidge got the brilliant idea that it could be true platonic love or even familial and its must've worked considering it was Shiro who brought you back to us." Allura explained much to Lance's confusion and Shiro's mortification.

"Huh..really?" Lance eyed Shiro, his cheeks darkening and the look curious which had Shiro making up a quick excuse about them needing to get the word out to the allies about Voltron being back. The team separated after that, Hunk going to present Lance his garlic knots, a batch he made that finally worked out with Pidge and Keith staying with Allura and Coran to help notify their allies. Coran was especially excited to announce it was a fellow paladin that, "Brought our Loverboy Lance back from dreamland!" Shiro noted Lance yawning once more (there were still traces of the poison still left in his body that would wear off eventually) and offered to help him to his room to rest, which Lance responded with a sleepy nod, getting up and making his way towards the exit, Shiro right on his heels.

With Shiro guiding him back to his room, Lance felt his heart fluttering wondering what he should do given his crush had essentially kissed him! Oh, of all the times he had to be asleep it was when Shiro kissed him! As the two paladins walked in, Lance groaned and flopped on his bed, ignoring Shiro's amused snort as the taller sent a curious look Lance's way.

"What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy you finally woke up after so long." He teased but dropped it as soon as Lance turned to glare back at him.

"Hardly! Mostly I'm just embarrassed you had to find out about my super secret crush on you this way! It's like a story from my niece's fairytales book! So embarrassing! Ugh!" Lance turned around and groaned into his pillow, unaware of the flustered man still standing beside him. Shiro cleared his throat a couple times, trying to get his nerves together as he tried to figure out how sentences worked again.

"S-so you have a crush on me?" Shiro asked hesitant if he should approach this topic when Lance rolled over and sighed. He had such defeated look on his face Shiro almost wanted to drop the subject but Lance spoke before he could suggest it.

"Yeah might as well since it was you who kissed me..wait a minute!" Lance launched to his feet nearly tipping over in his sleepy glory but thankfully Shiro caught him, holding him gently against his chest as he recognized the knowing look on Lance's face.

"It was true loves kiss that woke me up! And it was you!" Lance pointed out as Shiro felt his ears burning.

"Well..I, yes. It was. Or rather required for the spell to work." Shiro suggested but Lance kept on, now pacing across the floor as he begun to think.

"But If I only woke up when you kissed me then that means you're my true love Shiro, but how? You're so cool and well known while I'm just a cargo pilot from Cuba you've never heard of so maybe its wishful thinking to ask this but, do you like me? Like-like me that is." Lance fidgeted with his thumbs, blushing at the thought which Shiro found adorable. He sighed as he crossed over to Lance, putting his hands on his shoulders and taking a deep breath, the jig was finally up, might as well, but knowing Lance liked him back made it much easier now.

"Yes, I do like-like you. Have been for a while and while I wasn't planning on telling you because I myself thought I was being delusional imagining the possibility an 'us'. Now, after not getting to see you everyday with your bright smile, your wonderful laugh, and cute snores, I realized that if I could go back in time and confess to you before the spell ever happened I would. So I'm saying it now." Shiro's arms slid down until they took Lance's stunned hands in his own, caressing the soft digits as he gazed gently into Lance's eyes as he spoke,

"I'm in love with you Lance. Not sure when it started, but I want you to know that even if you might not want to pursue this..thing between us. Just know I'll always care for you deeply in my heart." With a new burst of confidence and affection, Shiro leaned in to press a kiss against Lance's cheek, wanting to show some sign of his physical affection which brought forth a brilliant crimson blush to bloom across Lance's whole face.

"I-Shiro..I can't believe you said those things to me. I must still be dreaming, quick pinch my side for me!" Lance ordered turning in Shiro's grip a little as Shiro playfully groaned.

"Lance I'm serious, I meant every word I said." He stated gazing into Lance's eyes as he spoke. Lance's lips quirked up into a smile as he leaned forward, eyes fluttering closed before he planted a small kiss on Shiro's lips an action that left the older man breathless as he stood there stunned before Lance pulled back, smiling cheekily.

"Then I mean every word when I say I'm in love with you too." Lance breathed when they broke apart. Shiro felt as if a mass of butterflies had sprung loose in his gut, the feeling so light and airy it almost tickled. As he pulled the younger man close again, the two joining in lip-lock once more, he knew he would never doubt his feelings for Lance ever again.

[pllandcompany]

From Now On

Summary: Human!AU. From the outside, Roman Prince had it all. Good looks, charm, popularity, romance. So why was he so unsettled? And why did the sarcastic nerd make him question risking it all?

Pairing: Roman/OC, eventual romantic Logince

Warnings: implied nsfw-ish scene, anxiety, repression of sexuality, a swear or two, spoiler alert! teen pregnancy

Tagged: @ziallwarrior @thefallendog Message me if you'd like to be tagged!

Notes: I literally cannot write romance without angst; it's not physically possible for me. It's a long one but hopefully, it's worth the read. As always, feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!

They were the ideal “it” couple, the envy of every nerd, prep, and jock at Hamilton High. Roman Prince, the varsity quarterback and senior class president. Laurel Hudson, the head cheerleader and unofficial theatre queen. They met doing a show their sophomore year after Roman convinced his coach that dancing would be adequate conditioning for football. It was Grease and they were the quintessential Danny Zuko and Sandra Dee, her blond curls and his strong arms sweeping them across the stage in perfect sync. From then on, their love story played out beyond the stage curtain while everyone watched in awe and envy of her seemingly ideal romance. It wasn’t until the start of their senior year that the wheels of their well-oiled machine began to rust when a single conversation and a pair of wandering eyes became their downfall.

“Roman?” Laurel was hesitant, twisting her hands into the down of Roman’s comforter while he distractedly flipped the pages of Vogue (when did he start reading that? she wondered).

“Hmm? Yes, my love, what is it?”

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?” Roman nearly choked on the gasp of air that misrouted its way to his lungs at that statement. “Love...we-we said we were going to wait until we were both ready.”

“Are you ready? Be-because I was talking to Millicent-”

“Why are you taking advice from that shrieking harpy?” Roman quipped, tone dripping with a casual sarcasm. “Because she’s my friend, you clod, don’t be mean!” She playfully tossed a pillow at Roman’s overly styled coif, mussing it slightly and earning a dramatic noise of offense. “I’m being serious, Ro…I think I’m ready. Millie’s been having sex with Ben for months now and they’re barely in love. We’re literally perfect in every way. We should…take the next step.”

“Laurel-love…if we’re perfect in every way, why do we need to complicate things with sex? I love us the way we are.” Laurel’s face crumpled. “She was right. You don’t find me attractive. I knew it. You don’t want to be with me, not that way.”

Roman sat up quickly, alarmed at how close his girlfriend was to tears. “Babe, no, no, you’re wrong, that’s not it at all. Of course I think you’re attractive. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done anything, we’ve…fooled around.” He ran his hand down her back comfortingly. “I just…still need to wait, okay love? It has nothing to do with you or how beautiful you are. I just want to know that I’m ready, all right?” Laurel nodded silently, still looking unsure but accepting his answer. “Come here, let me hold you.” Laurel climbed over and crawled into his arms, curling into Roman’s broad chest. He let out a sigh of relief, strangely feeling like he had dodged a bullet.

****

It was strange, honestly. Roman had seen Logan Fields around school before plenty of times. They had even spoken. But for some unknown reason, today felt like the first day he noticed him. He noticed his thick rimmed glasses that framed his face perfectly. He noticed his formal dress that so appropriately suited him. He noticed that he was tall.​ Tall, dark-haired with piercing grey eyes, long legs and broad shoulders...

Why was Roman thinking about these things?

Better question, why was he thinking about these things instead of watching where he was going? The distraction of Logan's limbs caused the two to collide like linebackers in the endzone.

"Oh my God, I am so, so sorry! Here let me help you," Roman grabbed at Logan's papers frantically, purposely avoiding eye contact.

"Well. That explains why your percentage of sacks taken in the pocket is so high."

Roman froze. "Excuse me?"

Logan smirked proudly. "You obviously have poor peripheral vision if you couldn't see me walking towards you."

Roman barely processed the slight jab once he locked eyes with the alluring smug on Logan’s face. He couldn’t believe himself as he stammered around his next sentence: Roman Prince was actually flustered. Him at a loss for words, a novel concept. “You, uh…you follow my stats? I didn’t someone like you would be interested in me- uh, football! Interested in football, I-I mean.” Nice going, Prince, really smooth.

“I don’t care about football. I enjoy math. Football has a lot of statistics and physics elements that interest me. But no, I have no emotional investment in whether you win or lose. Although,” Logan leaned in and lowered his voice, slipping a notebook into Roman’s hand, “you are compelling to watch on the field. Your passion is…admirable.”

Should hearts beat this fast?  Roman didn’t think it was healthy to actually feel the blood rush through his veins. “Oh…thank you. It means a lot that you…notice that.” Why he did feel such a strong urge to compliment Logan back? He should be saying sorry and leaving, nothing more. Damned if he couldn’t make his feet move, though. “You know, I’ve watched you from the sidelines as well. At the poetry jam session.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up.  “And I’m supposed to believe that Roman ‘Mr. Popular’ Prince spent a Friday night in the school’s basement listening to poetry?”  It was Roman’s turn to purse his lips into a smirk. “That you are, Fields. I do have other interests than sports, you know. And even more shocking, I actually enjoyed it. Your piece especially was inspired.”

 “Well…thank you. That’s very kind of you.” A beat went by before Logan spoke again. “Roman? May I have my binder back? You still have it.”

“I’m aware. It’s in secure hands; you should know that from my pass percentage.” The quarterback winked at Logan’s annoyance, feeling the control shift back to his realm. He cocked his head to the side casually, purposefully ignoring the poet’s indignant expression. “Hey, we have history together, right? Third period?”

“I’m aware,” Logan fired back. God, he was pretentious. Roman shouldn’t find that so attractive.

Wait. He shouldn’t find that attractive at all.  

“Well then, calculator watch, you won’t mind if we sit next to each other? We have those projects coming up and I’d like a shot at a decent partner. Besides, I owe you for practically flattening you in the hallway just now.” What the hell are you doing? Give him his binder back and shut up! Roman was too busy berating himself to notice the small smile pulling at the corner of Logan’s lips. “I suppose that is satisfactory. Maybe working together will make our mutual admiration for one other a little less…distant.” Was…was he… flirting? It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t gay…right? It doesn’t matter, you dunce, neither are you-

“Hi, baby,” Laurel walked up placed a kiss on Roman’s cheek and snapped him out of his reverie, the squeak that escaped him reddening his face even further. “You okay? You’re awfully jumpy. And you look a little flushed.”

“Good morning, Laurel. I’m fine, just recovering from a little collision with my…with Logan here. Logan, this is-“

“Laurel, your girlfriend, I’m aware-“

“Aware, yeah, I know.” Roman tried for another smirk but Logan’s face had suddenly slipped into something cold and impervious. “So…see you in class?”

Logan nodded stiffly. “That you shall. You two have a pleasant day.” The taller boy sped off, long strides carrying him away with purpose.

“What was that with you and the nerd about?” Laurel inquired. “You two seemed tense.” Roman swallowed thickly, ignoring the…tension he felt swimming in his gut and wrapped his arm around his Laurel-love. “Nothing, darling. He’s fine, let’s go to English.”

That day, when the envied popular couple read the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet for the class, Roman fought visions of himself looking up, directing the dramatic declarations at Logan.​

****

"I'm ready."

Those were the two words Roman uttered after discovering that he and Logan lived in the same neighborhood two streets over. After they had spent almost every day together since the project was assigned, researching and bantering about the history that was and wasn't in their textbooks. After weeks of discussions that trailed off-topic to shared and unshared interests, worldviews, beliefs, and philosophies. After one particularly heated conversation that left Logan red-faced and flustered and Roman wanting to lean over and kiss the incredulous look off the intellectual's face. After Logan closed the gap and Roman melted into him for only a split second before he remembered that he couldn't and broke away frantic, dashing out of the door and sprinting to his house with Logan calling after him. "I'm ready," he panted to Laurel over the phone, who said that she'd be over in fifteen minutes.

She was there in ten. He was still panting. Laurel just took it as excitement. Roman was terrified.

Kissing Laurel felt nothing like kissing Logan.

When it was said and done, they both laid on the bed in silence, feeling something had forever changed between them.

"You didn't enjoy it," Roman said blankly. Laurel said nothing. "I can do better," he pleaded, turning to face her. "It'll get better." Silence persisted in favor of Laurel rising to leave. "Wait! Will you at least say something to me? Tell me what did I wrong? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

She turned around slowly, unshed tears threatening to spill at any second. "You called me Logan," she whispered brokenly. Wide eyed, Roman watched her leave without another word, nausea rising in his throat, choking out any excuse he could have offered.

She broke up with him the next day. News of the demise of the most coveted relationship spread like wildfire. Roman spent the majority of his day numbly fielding question after question of why and how and what happened. He couldn't answer any of it. Truthfully, he didn't know how to answer any of it. Fortunately, Laurel had enough grace to suffer in silence as well as he heard no rumors of his unfortunate...slip-up. Confession? What did it even mean? What did he feel? What did he want? Why wasn't he more heartbroken? He loved Laurel...right? Did he love Logan too? Could he? Roman found himself under the bleachers during seventh period with a tornado of questions spinning in his mind.

Just in time for one Logan Fields to walk by and catch his eye.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" Roman called out. His tone was flat, empty. Logan turned his head to witness a disheveled and red-eyed quarterback staring back at him. He walked under the metal bars and sat next to where Roman was perched, hunched over in some sort of pain. Logan could guess it was far worse than physical.

"I have this period free. I usually study. Today I feel like going home. And you?"

"Came out here to get away from the damn stares and questions long enough to freaking think."

"Mmm, and how's that going for you?" It was said without malice or sarcasm; Logan felt genuinely concerned. Roman exhaled shakily. "Not well. She broke up with me."

"I heard, unfortunately. Damn high schoolers with nothing better to do than revel in someone's misfortune. It should just be your business, no one else's." Roman looked up at Logan, grateful that he understood. "And what happens next? Is that...my business too?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"We had sex, Logan," the ravenette visibly stiffened, "and I...I called her by your name. I said your name, not hers." Jealousy broke way for shock to inhabit Logan's body. He quickly regained his composure and swallowed the torrent of emotions that confession stirred up. "I see...well, what do you think it means?"

Roman stood up suddenly and took up a rhythmic pace back and forth. "That's just it! I don't know what I want it to mean! I'm not...I've never been...attracted to men before, Logan! I've loved Laurel since sophomore year! But then you come along and-and confuse me with your razor-sharp wit and your gorgeous eyes and your...just, you! You confuse me and I feel something that I've never felt before but I can't give in to it, I want to but I can't, I don't know how-"

"Roman. Stop. Breathe. Look at me and breathe." The intellectual allowed Roman to search for his eyes who finally managed to calm himself once they found each other and the glaze of fear began to dissipate. "The only person scared of this is you. I have no expectations. I am not pressuring you to be anyone you're not ready to be nor will I ever do that. So the only question is...what do you want?"

Roman stared into the grey pools that glistened with such care for merely a second before he knew the answer.

"I want you."

This time when they kissed, Roman didn't pull away.

****

They kept their relationship private out of respect for Laurel who unfortunately seemed to be spiraling. She had been absent frequently after a prior perfect attendance record. She quit cheerleading. She had lost weight. Roman was wracked with guilt, here he was living in bliss with Logan Fields while she was burning herself to the ground. It wasn't fair; he might not be in love with her in the same way anymore but he still cared. So he tried to talk to her. And tried. And tried. Nothing ever came of his efforts.

Until one day she showed up on his doorstep unannounced, tears streaking down her face.

"Laurel-love," the old nickname slipped out at the heart-wrenching sight in front of him, "what is the matter? You can tell me, I've been trying to call for weeks-"

"I'm pregnant."

Roman's world ceased to rotate. Alarm bells rang in his ears. His heart threatened to mutiny and exit his chest along with the contents of his stomach. He did only thing he could think to do.

He ran.

He sprinted two streets down to Logan's house and slammed the doorbell repeatedly. His parents weren't home, only Logan would answer. A perceived eternity later, the poet came to the door, an expression of bewilderment gracing his features. "Roman? What are you doing here?"

"She's pregnant." He could barely speak around the gasps of air marching from his lips.

Logan went stone-faced. "What...did you just say?"

"Laurel, she's pregnant. She just came over and told me and...and I just ran like a coward! God, I am trash! I'm a quarterback, I'm supposed to be a leader, a hero but I just fucking abandoned her like the trash I am! And I don't know why I'm here telling you but she just dropped a bomb on me and I had no idea what to do, Logan, I have no idea what to do-"

A deafening crack sounded through the air.

Roman grabbed his cheek, stunned both by the stinging of his skin and the expression of fury and pain outlined on Logan's face. He shook with rage but his eyes told the truth: he was hurt.

"That," he said sternly but evenly, "is for making me love you while you screwed around and got a girl pregnant and then left her on a doorstep!" Roman swallowed thickly, fear freezing his vocal cords. Without warning, Logan stepped forward and brought Roman into a passionate kiss, one he barely reciprocated due to the overload of shock and relief flooding his senses. Logan finally pulled away and rested their foreheads together, both breathless and shaking. "And that...was to show you that I still love you and we will figure this out. But right now, you need to go to her. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. You are not trash but if you want to be a hero, then you go to her. Now. Go!" Roman nodded and took one last longing glance at Logan before he turned the corner. Logan watched Roman's sprinting figure fully disappear before he shuffled inside, shut the door and slid down the frame, collapsing under the weight of how quickly and unfairly things had changed.

****

Laurel and Roman agreed that adoption was the best choice for both of them. She left school to finish her senior year from home with her aunt, the potential of stares and mocking too much for her to handle. Roman visited her as often as he could although it broke him every time to do so. Logan spent weeks convincing Roman that he wasn't getting away with anything, that this was the best outcome of a difficult situation and she was going to be fine and have a life just like Roman would. Logan kept him focused, kept his grades up so he could earn the eventual full scholarship to college with his intelligence and his athletic talent. Laurel chose to go to nursing school nearby, the experience making her realize just how much she wanted to help young mothers going through similar struggles. Roman breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the light turn on again in her eyes. They were forever changed but they weren't broken, even when Laurel had the baby three weeks early and Roman dropped everything to be right by her side, holding her as she cried when the beautiful baby was finally taken away. Their shared pain was terrible, without question, but also survivable because they trusted the love they had for each other. A love that Roman finally accepted was different than the love he held for Logan, who on that same day waited for him in the lobby, holding Roman through his tears when he was done being strong. What should have torn the two apart pulled them together in a way most would only describe as miraculous. Their relationship remained private, mostly for Roman's sake as he learned to accept himself for who he was now in spite of his past. The journey was a difficult one with many battles but their combined resilence persisted and it too proved to be survivable. At the final poetry session of the school year, Roman signed up to present an original work to the sheer surprise of his (now) boyfriend. He slowly ambled to the stage, more nervous than he had ever been for any performance prior, leaned into the microphone and began to speak.

"Good- good evening. I'm Roman Prince and this is an original piece I wrote when I was going through the toughest time of my life so far. Before I begin, I'd like to dedicate this to the two most important people in my world today: my first love, Laurel Hudson and my truest love, Logan Fields. This is called How to Become a Hero."

Logan placed a hand over his chest to steady his pounding heart, overwhelmed by the frankness of Roman's declaration. His eyes filled with tears of pride and love as Roman began the first line of his poem.

"It began in a shroud of darkness and deceit. It ended in illuminated joy and the most brilliant honest love I've ever known."

[zaney-hacknslash]

Death Note - Void Pt2

Ide

               Lunch rush packed the restaurant; customers clumped in the lobby so deep and thick, I could hardly elbow my way through to ask how long the wait might be. Servers and hosts flurried around with menus and congenial smiles, careful, always, to bow and greet everyone who came through the door, despite the fact that the grating sound of the doorbell sounded off every few seconds.

             Thirty minute wait. I checked my watch.

             Lunch rush hadn’t been part of this equation, honestly. I’d thought I could come sit down, alone, with Matsuda, for a handful of minutes, ask him a couple questions, and get back to headquarters in less than an hour. The time of day had never occurred to me.

             This was his favorite place right now, loud and hopping. Pop music blasted, the chairs were too close together, even on a slow day, and it always seemed just a degree or so to cold.

             Beside me, moody Matsuda stood glaring at the floor with his arms folded, like a little kid who’d gotten dragged against his will into an adult dinner party. Once or twice, I heard him sigh, a bit heavily, but the usual enthusiasm that swept him through his day-to-day life showed no sign of reemerging.

             If he hadn’t been so upset, I might have turned around and walked right out to find somewhere quieter to eat.

             I tried, several times, to say something to him, opening my mouth, and then immediately glancing at the other guests jammed in at my shoulder. Matsuda had no filter when it came to expressing himself, so I doubted the presence of strangers mattered, but I’d purposely brought him here to get a little privacy. I kept thinking he’d say something, even if it was just to complain about how long it was taking to get a seat, but he hardly looked up.

             “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded,” I admitted, at last.

             “It’s lunch time, Ide,” he muttered, more than used to my pickiness.

             “Yes, but I had no idea this place was so popular.” At least, I didn’t understand it. The furniture was garish and cheap, and imitation art of American movies stars from decades gone by cluttered the wall, along with vintage knick knacks. One or two photos of Elvis Presley and a single replica of Marylin Monroe’s famous white dress would have done the trick. This place tried entirely too hard to look like an American diner from the 1950’s.

             “This was your idea,” he reminded me.

             Even so, if we left now and went down the street to a place I liked better, he might not be as comfortable. He might not find anything on the menu he wanted to eat. Getting lunch with me might turn out to be something that merely added to his frustration, when all was said and done, especially since I’d more or less forced him to come along when he didn’t want to in the first place.

             Besides, anywhere else might be just as crowded, and if we had to start our wait all over again, not only would Matsuda be annoyed, everyone at headquarters could get mad at me.

             “It’s fine,” I assured coolly, though the doorbell going off over and over was getting on my nerves, like a bad song I couldn’t turn off, and the gentleman at my shoulder kept accidentally brushing against me and muttering, “Sumimasen,” right in my ear. He had bad breath.

             “Normally…” I pressed closer to Matsuda, trying to get away from my neighbor, “we eat kind of early.”

             Normally, he couldn’t stand to sit at headquarters past ten, so there was usually a break to get him coffee or some kind of snack. Either way, he always started whining about being hungry an hour later.

             That hadn’t happened all week, though. I’d barely seen Matsuda eat at all, in addition to hardly talking. Hopelessly, I stared around at the wild, uncomfortable atmosphere, struggling to tune out the door bell and the man coughing on the back of my neck, skeptical that such an unsettling environment could possibly restore Matsuda’s good cheer.

             Finally, a fresh-faced kid jaunted up to us, bowing. “Gentlemen, so sorry for the wait. If you would, follow me, please,” and then he hustled us through the crowded dining room, to a small table set for two, where he turned to smile at us. “Here we are. I hope this suits you.”

             In my opinion, he’d chosen the worst possible location for us, jammed at a tiny square at the center of the room, surrounded by a sea of people, but without Matsuda to assure him everything was perfect and thank the man, it was up to me to muddle through the polite talk.

             The host promised we’d receive timely service, and ran off again. Matsuda threw himself down in one of the chairs, grabbing up his plastic menu to immediately hide his face behind it; I barely got a glimpse of his slanted brows and down-turned mouth.

             I sat down too. The table wobbled, and the vase of flowers at the center was too big, crowding in on my space. The woman seated behind me was so close, I might as well have sat down in her lap, and the doorbell buzzed again and again.

             “You like this place, right?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and studying him.

             “Yeah. It’s my favorite.” The music was just loud enough to make it hard to hear him. That was new, too. Matsuda was normally so loud, he would have just screamed over the noise to make himself heard.

             Shuichi and the others seemed quite committed to letting him be, hoping his issues would resolve themselves, but I couldn’t bear to keep sitting by and watch him be unhappy. I’d do anything to relieve it.

             Just this once, I told myself, and then I never had to eat here again.

             “What’s good?” I wondered, finally picking up my menu. The food sounded just as bad as the atmosphere, the lunch menu cluttered with things like the Elvis Favorite, Marylin Monroe Patty Melt, and James Dean Fries. Absolutely ridiculous. Most of it was hamburgers anyway, but, at the very bottom they’d crammed in a few traditional Japanese dishes, for the old timers who got dragged in here by their kids.

             Although he’d normally rattle off for five minutes, issuing an exhaustive list of everything that looked good and everything that sounded gross, making recommendations, Matsuda just shrugged and sighed, like food had become an annoyance.

             Just once, I reminded myself again, and tried to focus on what I’d come for.

             I’d never seen him this way.

             Even before I really knew him, he’d always been that guy. The one who smiled all the time and greeted everyone he passed, never forgetting his honorifics, never remembering anyone’s name, the guy who always looked like he was about to blow a brain cell every time he had to sit down, be quiet, and do actual work for a minute or two. Back when he first joined the department, some people had sneeringly nicknamed him Nikko-san, partly after his uncle, who’d gotten him the job, and partly because he was Mr. Sunshine, but definitely not out of affection.

             After Chief Yagami and the others left to work with L, plenty of those same people had laughed good and hard about how lucky the task force was to have Mr. Sunshine working with them.

             When I rejoined the task force, I hadn’t been surprised at all to find Matsuda acting just as unprofessional and ridiculous as ever. I’d even asked Aizawa, “How have you dealt with that kid for so long? He’s driving me crazy already.”

             My old friend had frowned, almost as if the words had offended him, and he’d taken his time to answer, much more carefully than I’d expected, “Well…he’s not as bad as he seems.”

             The response had floored me. Here I’d been expecting Aizawa to grumble at least a little about what a pain Matsuda was—we were friends, after all, and pretty used to bitching to each other—but based on his reaction, it had seemed like the kid must have gotten under his skin, and I’d even detected a slight thread of protectiveness in his tone, or at least some disapproval of my talking bad about Matsuda.

             “I’m thinking about taking a day off,” I announced, laying my menu aside. “If I can.”

             Matsuda didn’t bite.

             “Yeah. You know. It’s been a long time since I had so much as an uninterrupted weekend.”

             Normally, he’d be all over that, more than ready to whine about working himself to death, eventually coming around to how important the case was, how we had to do what we could, and then back to how tragic it was to be young and single, carefree and restless without the time to sow his oats.

             Today, he simply muttered, “Yeah.”

             Behind him, I noticed a baseball bat hanging on the wall, supposedly signed by Babe Ruth himself, and steeped in a million vinyl records that had been plastered against the wallpaper. These people couldn’t actually think that enthusiasts of retro American culture would find this charming. They certainly couldn’t believe an American tourist would ever even miss home so much that he’d stumble through the door.

             “I think I’ll catch a ball game. The season’s almost over, and the Swallows are playing the Giants.” I dragged on my cigarette, hopelessly waiting for him to pick up his end of the conversation, if only to save me from the torturous sounds around me.

             He didn’t really like baseball, I remembered, or rather, he didn’t understand it. It moved too slow, he said, and he got bored fast, but I knew he enjoyed the novelty of garbing himself in home team colors, filing into the stadium with all the rabid fans, drinking a beer, eating a hot dog—like a “real American”—having a blast with old friends, and making new ones out of the people sitting near him. I liked going with him myself, because he always screamed loudest about the things he didn’t understand and got himself into interesting situations, or he hung off my every word when I explained, for the umpteenth time, how the game worked.

             “I doubt that workaholic Aizawa will want to go.” Even if Shuichi allowed himself to do something as sporadic as take a day off, he’d prefer to spend it with his family than with me at the ballpark, arguing about which team was better this season. “Wanna tag along?”

             Matsuda never answered, leaving me to sit there like an idiot, wondering why this new attitude of his bothered me so much.

             It hadn’t taken long for me to see how he’d gotten past Shuichi’s angry bear exterior to his cuddly teddy center. Matsuda had a likeable way about him, and where most of the detectives I’d met tended to be taciturn, cynical, and even pompous, his bubbly way of thinking out loud, laughing in the face of difficulty, and admiration for the rest of us made him a breath of fresh air.

             So, he’d gotten under my skin too. And, over the last couple years, he’d accomplished even more than that, becoming part of my life, effortlessly—my lunch mate, my drinking buddy, my sparring partner, my weird, little friend. Sure, he teased me endlessly about my love life and drove me crazy with his goofiness, but he never forgot my birthday, and when I had a bad day, he could tell. Even if I never told him anything very personal or serious, he had this way of reminding me things would work out any time I started to feel like they might not. Before long, I started to understand why even the chief let him tag along everywhere and overlooked so much of his silliness, because Matsuda was honest, simple, and even though none of us would ever say so to his face, really sweet.

             Seeing him so unhappy for so many days in a row was beginning to have an adverse effect on the team: Shuichi was getting worried, and even Mogi seemed distracted, I’d noticed Light becoming frustrated. Long-suffering Chief Yagami alone proceeded with his work unbothered, but he had to be that way, as the boss.

             All of it really rubbed me the wrong way.

             “Well, anyway.” I squinted at the menu again. The lights were too bright and stark, and I wanted to order soon so we could get out of here. “I doubt Light will let two of us take off at once.”

             “Sorry about that,” Matsuda muttered, probably just for the sake of being polite. He must know he was acting weird, even if he didn’t realize it bugged me so much.

             I never planned on any of this, and I barely knew how my relationship with Matsuda had segued so seamlessly from coworkers to actual friends, I just knew that right after I came back to the task force, while the others were busy, he’d taken it upon himself to tell me the whole story of every crazy thing that had happened since I walked away from them outside the station that night. A lot of what he’d said hadn’t been particularly relevant to the investigation, but he’d been so familiar and laidback, like we’d known each other forever, I’d gotten caught up in my astonishment at how cavalierly he was treating me—me, Dai Kaze, the guy no one had ever liked, since at least middle school—like it was just no big deal at all to sit down and have a chat with asshole Hideki Ide.

             By the time he’d finished, I hadn’t really known what to say, but there’d been a few questions to ask, and a few comments to make—routine responses—and I’d never forget the bright interest that had gleamed in his eyes as we talked back and forth, like maybe he couldn’t believe it either, that he was talking so casually with a guy like me, let alone that I’d talk back.

             After being around grumpy, old Shuichi, and Mogi, who sometimes seemed incapable of holding a conversation, it was probably pretty refreshing for him, and he’d chatted with me a lot since then, any time he felt bored or wanted to say something out loud. Over time, I’d been able to intuit that he appreciated how closely I listened, and that, even if I didn’t always have something nice to say, I made him feel important by acknowledging that he had thoughts and ideas and feelings.

             The damn feelings had honestly annoyed me at first, and there’d been times when I’d gone so far as to suggest he keep a diary instead of bothering me. I didn’t like snapping at him like that. I didn’t want him to think I was an asshole and stop associating with me. None of it fazed him, though, he kept talking about whatever came into his head, and, in time, I just got used to it.

             Anymore, I assumed I had the most personal relationship with him, which made me the one he’d feel most comfortable talking to in this state of obvious depression, but it still shocked me that I’d come to care about him enough that I’d take time out of my day to actively try to get to the bottom of Matsuda’s deep well of sentiments.

             “Hey, Matsu-kun. Wanna tell me what’s wrong lately?”

             He sat slouched, now, cheek resting on his fist, staring disinterestedly at the centerpiece, and from the reluctant glance he slid at me, I gathered he’d been hoping I wouldn’t bring it up. But Matsuda wasn’t a liar, so he asked, “Really? You want to know?”

             “You said Sumi…”

             Wincing, he stared all the harder at the flowers.

             “…I’ve never seen you take a break up so hard.”

             Involved in a case as extensive as ours, there wasn’t much time for dating, but Matsuda had a tendency to fall into the clutches of beautiful but shallow women, the kind who just wanted to have fun. They saw a good-looking guy in a nice car, didn’t know enough about the NPA to realize a corporal detective didn’t make much money, and ran the kid around, buying crap with his credit card and saddling him with the bags, like a pack horse.

             It was a trap I’d gotten into a lot back when I was younger—there were a lot of things about Matsuda that reminded me of myself—it had made me cynical about women, and it pissed me off to watch it happening to him.

             But Matsu didn’t have much capacity for cynicism, and, usually, breaking up with a girl didn’t do much more than dampen his spirits for a day or two.

             “Did you really think she was the one?”

             Matsuda suddenly sat up and took a long look around the restaurant. “Where the hell is the server? Hey!” He banged his fork on the wobbly table. Water sloshed from his glass, and I jerked my elbows back into my lap. “We’re ready to order over here!”

             “Geez,” I hissed, mortified, and watched as a frazzled-looking girl ran over, apologizing and jotting down his order. She turned to me.

             “Ah, sorry about that,” I muttered, feeling like the music might drown my voice out anyway. I couldn’t understand why they’d be playing pop instead of American oldies, unless they just didn’t honestly know anything about that era. “I’ll just have…” I’d never decided, because none of it had sounded any good. “Soup, and a salad.” I shot a quick glance at Matsuda, and then at her. “Sorry, really. He’s not normally so… Well, we’re in a hurry, that’s all.”

             “Not at all, sir!” she beamed. “I apologize things are so slow today.”

             She took off, and he settled his cheek back on his fist, glaring at the centerpiece again. “You don’t have to be sorry, Ide,” he announced. “It’s their job to serve us, and we’ve been sitting here forever.”

             “Even Aizawa doesn’t bang his fork when he shouts at the staff,” I muttered.

             With a small shrug, he reached out to rearrange some of the flowers, and I tried to find a way to change the subject to something more lighthearted.

             “These flowers drive me crazy,” he admitted in a moment, listlessly, though.

             They were the only even slightly nice thing in the restaurant, but I asked, “Oh, yeah?”

             “Yellow and purple carnations?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are they thinking?”

             I glanced at the flowers myself. “What if they were pink and orange?” We’d been guessing for a while that the dork might be colorblind, but he got extremely offended any time someone so much as asked about it. “Would that make more sense?”

             Matsuda suddenly scanned the room, eyebrows tilting toward his hairline, as if he’d just realized none of the color scheme in here made sense to him. “Pink and orange,” he echoed. And then, evidently blind to the glaring palette of crimson, chrome orange, and hot pink in the room, he frowned at me. “Why are you being such a jerk today?”

             “I just asked if you’d like that better,” I corrected.

             Instead of arguing, he fell back into the maddening silence.

             “Come on, seriously,” I prompted, after a couple minutes. “Are you really in this bad of mood over a girl?”

             Eyes fixed on the bobbing ice, Matsuda turned his glass around and around on the table, a sure sign of disquiet.

             “Or is there something else?”

             He picked an orange flower out of the centerpiece and stared hard at it, like he was trying to understand why I’d lie to him about its color.

             “It might be a good thing, Matsuda. At least now you’re not wasting time with the wrong person—”

             “That’s all great, coming from a guy who hasn’t been laid in the last decade.”

             I cut off mid-sentence to frown mildly at him, but Matsuda just stuck the orange flower into his water glass and glowered at it.

             “Is that your problem?” I demanded, a little sharply. “You’re not getting any now, so you’re turning into a cranky bitch?”

             “That’s what happens, right? Everyone says that’s what your problem is.”

             I rolled my eyes. “Shit, Matsuda. With a mouth like that, how have you made it through life without getting your face busted in?”

             He just frowned at his flower.

             “Didn’t your parents spend hundreds of millions of yen on your damn teeth? I’d watch who you pop off to.”

             Obviously, he had no intention of answering, so I sat back and studied him a while longer. Once or twice, he’d crept up to that line of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, but he had to be tremendously irritated, and that just didn’t happen all that often. I couldn’t believe he’d say something so crass to me, a superior.

             The fact that I’d brought him to lunch as a friend rather than a subordinate made for a tricky situation. I probably should throw a fit, box his ears, and write him up, but I’d started this by getting so personal.

             That’s exactly why Aizawa and the others have been trying to handle this so professionally.

             Stupid ass me just had to go screw it up.

             Even being here as friends, it probably wouldn’t be out of the question to rescind my offer to buy lunch, get up, and go back to HQ without him. That’s probably even what he expected. For all I knew, he’d intentionally pushed my buttons to get me to leave him alone.

             Then again, what he’d said didn’t actually bother me that much; for one thing, it wasn’t true, and for another, it was the sort of thing I’d gotten used to, growing up with three brothers. I decided to forget about it.

             Besides, overly emotional Matsuda didn’t know shit about putting up walls.

             “Who do you want relationship advice from?” I wondered. “Light? Kinda weird, getting tips about women from a kid fresh out of college.”

             Matsuda’s scowl deepened, and I knew my insult hit its mark.

             “Aizawa? His marriage it apt to fall apart any second now.” I checked my watch. “I’ll bet Eriko’s filing divorce papers as we speak. That guy sucks at love.”

             The next glare was so fierce and disapproving, I knew he really didn’t like me picking on his hero.

             “The deputy director?” I suggested. “Now there’s a guy who hasn’t been laid in a long time, Matsu.”

             At once, the frown fell completely apart, giving way to a gaping, shocked mouth and popping, horrified eyes. He checked over both shoulders, like Deputy Director Yagami might be listening in, and I knew he’d forgotten all about his wall of sugar glass. “Ide,” he hissed, “you don’t just say stuff like that.”

             “No?” It was my turn to shrug. “Well, my bad, I guess. I’m just saying, not a lot of great options. If you’re gonna tell anybody what the deal is, it might as well be me.”

             “Oh, yeah right,” he barked, suddenly, in an acidic tone. “At least the others won’t make fun of me.”

             I blinked at him. “What? Why would I make fun of you?”

             His hard eyes glared at me, like he couldn’t believe I had the audacity to ask that. “Trying to trick me into thinking I’m colorblind—”

             “I think you actually might be—”

             “Dissing on my music—”

             “Not everybody likes—”

             “Acting like it’s ridiculous for me to get upset after Sumi cheated on me.”

             Bingo.

             Go figure, all it took was to get him talking a little, and the truth spilled.

             I had to work very hard not to allow a satisfied smirk to pass my lips. Instead, I pretended to be bothered, fumbling with my cigarettes and mumbling, “I didn’t know all that annoyed you so much.”

             Matsuda glared at me, quiet again, probably realizing he’d said something without meaning to.

             “So…” I lit my cigarette. “She cheated on you, huh?”

             “Yeah,” he sputtered, “yeah, she did. With some…loser biboi she met in a trashy club. I don’t think she was even drunk, she was just done with me because I’m so boring, working all the time, not paying enough attention to her, even after I’ve spent every yen I earned last year on her. She didn’t even bother to lie about it, just showed up one day to give back the key to my apartment and laugh at me.”

             Calmly, I ashed my cigarette. Wasn’t that the story of my life?

             “Go ahead and laugh, Ide,” he dared. “Tell me I’m stupid, I should have seen it coming, and my taste in women is terrible, like you always do. Tell me it was dumb to think she was the one, and all women suck, and that you told me, months ago, she was just using me. Because you did, and you love being right.”

             I’d never seen him explode like that, half-shouting, drawing the attention of everyone on our side of the room, face burning with shame, eyes fierce with outrage. I never would have guessed the kid had such a temper hidden beneath all the manners and cheer.

             “Settle down, Matsu,” I advised, lowly. “What are you, nine?”

             Outrage turned immediately to rage. “You—”

             “Knock it off,” I snapped. “I didn’t say any of that.”

             He threw himself back in his chair, seething, and probably the only thing that kept him from all-out screaming at me was the fact that I was higher ranked than him.

             “Jeez,” I muttered, when I’d given him a few moments to get himself together. “I’d hate to see you get really mad about something.”

             “I am really mad!” he professed.

             “Right. Look.” I put my cigarette out, not wanting the rest, and glanced around for our food, thinking it would be nice to have a distraction right now. “What do you think this is? Some victory lunch? Like I brought you here just to rub it in your face that your girlfriend cheated on you? Damn. Here I thought we were friends.”

             His breath hitched, and his eyebrows tilted up in a sulky expression. I guess I’d never called him my friend out loud before, but it wasn’t exactly the time for a big, stupid grin and a victory dance.

             “I just wanted to know what’s got your panties in a bunch. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you—you’re the one being a little prick, talking about the last time I got laid and saying I’m bitchy because I don’t get enough sex.”

             Shame colored his face.

             “So, could you just take it down a notch?”

             Matsuda scowled at the table, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Sorry.”

             “Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really care.” And then I looked around for the food again, but I was just about to give up and go somewhere else. “I’m just saying being a jerk doesn’t look so good on you.”

             Slightly, he nodded.

             “It’s fine if you’re upset,” I told him, after another moment. “What she did to you was really shitty. But I don’t like to think that you’ve been pouting because you think nobody would care.”

             “No,” he murmured, “It’s just not work talk.”

             “Nothing you ever say is work talk. Anyway, you could have at least told me. I know a lot about dishonest, heartless women.”

             A hint of sympathy shaded his eyes.

  ��          “That’s why I said you shouldn’t let it bother you so much. Girls like that are cheap—you can pick one up anywhere—and they’re not very creative. Cheating with losers, bringing back the key just to laugh at you…” I shrugged. “They aren’t worth the trouble. They definitely aren’t worth ruining a perfectly good lunch your buddy buys just to cheer your ass up.”

             Bewildered, he finally met my gaze again.

             “So, come on.” I smirked at him. “If you’re gonna be pissed off and sad, let’s order some whiskey.”

             Whiskey helped a little. After the first round, he’d started talking a little more normally about the usual nonsense that occupied his mind, and then the food came, so he was quiet a while. Mine wasn’t very good—the soup was thin and the salad was gritty, so I mostly talked and smoked, trying to keep him distracted. Regardless, his expression showed me he still was unhappy.

             After the second whiskey, we left the restaurant. It was a relief to be out of the noise and harsh lights of the diner, but Matsuda seemed content with lunch at least. In a few blocks, he started joking with me, so I knew the anger had burned out fast.

             I doubted anyone would believe me if I told them about it.

             Outside the headquarters, he hesitated, staring up at the building to sigh, and then he admitted, slowly, “I know you’re right…but…I really liked her, Ide. I…I loved her.”

             He did have terrible tastes in women.

             “Yeah.” I squeezed his shoulder. “That’s how it goes sometimes, kid. Sometimes, you really love somebody, and they just don’t feel that way back.” That, too, was the story of my life. Suppressing a sigh, I gazed up at the building too, with all its sparkling windows and the roof that tried to vanish in the clouds. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured. “There’s only so much you can do.”

             “I guess not,” he whispered.

             “You can find someone else, though.”

             Swallowing hard, he nodded.

             “Just don’t get cynical about it, okay? They’re not all like that.” I said the words, but the only reason I could so much as bother to think it was because of Shuichi and Eriko. She’d stood by him through everything, possibly the most loyal and genuine woman I’d ever met.

             I’d just gotten incredibly unlucky.

             “You’re not gonna wind up like me,” I assured him. “It’s impossible.”

             “How can you be so sure?” he asked, quietly.

             So many reasons, some he might not ever understand, some I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to tell him.

             At last, I teased, “’Cause you’re so damn cute,” and slung my arm around his neck. “If I were as cute as you, I might have a chance, but I got screwed in personality and looks.”

             Matsuda smiled a little. “I don’t know, Taniki-tan. Your personality’s not that bad.”

[athousandrows-blog]

when I was eleven, my friend introduced me to a game that I will never forget

When I was eleven I had a friend who claimed she was a witch.

It’s not a big deal when you’re eleven; kids are flexible. If you call yourself a witch, kids will believe you. I believed her. We all did.

I ran with a small group at school. The witch girl – Mari – and four others. Jasmine, Alex, Harry and Kia. We were tight-knit, we played with each other every school day and even most weekends.

Now, our group were the ‘weird kids’ at school. Every school had them and we were indifferent about the title. They started calling us that after Mari introduced us to a strange variation of ‘make-believe’. Lots of kids liked to play pretend with their dolls, or role-play family dynamics in the wooden gazebo on the field, but with our group, we liked to play around with different ideas.

You’ve heard of imaginary friends, right? Well, our group had ‘ghost friends’.

A/N: Hello everyone, I’m a new horror writer on the block and it’d mean the world to me if you gave my work a read. @sixpenceee care to help?

Ghost friends was Mari’s idea. One day she came to school and didn’t speak a word to any of us all morning. She talked, alright, but not with us. Instead, she would talk animatedly with something we couldn’t see that was always right next to her. She saved a chair for it in class, left a gap in our circle when we had our snacks at morning break, she even claimed it was feeding her answers every time she raised her hand in maths.

She said it was her ‘ghost friend’ and we could all have them. They were simply spirits who had never passed on. Kids, a lot of them. She claimed kids were never happy about dying. Refusing to pass on was like a whole game to them. Mari enforced this story with one based in fact. It was common knowledge that a kid had passed away a few years prior from our year group. He’d gone in for a rudimentary surgery when we were seven, but there had been a complication with the procedure. He’d died on the operating table and the school put a plaque on a bench in the gazebo in his honour. It was the first and only time I’d ever seen our teacher cry.

Mari spoke proudly about this kid, that all of her ghost friends knew him and played with him regularly on the other side of the veil. Soon enough, we all had ‘ghost friends’ of our own. Except, I think Mari was the only one to ever truly believe what she was seeing. Jasmine, Kia and I usually grouped up when Mari declared we would be spending lunch break with our ghost friends, mostly because that way we had someone real to talk to. Alex and Harry played along at first, but soon the ruse lifted and we forgot all about our ghost friends. We started playing tag instead.

Mari never gave up. In fact, after a while, she suggested something new. ‘Better than make-believe’ she’d said.

I remember the day it all started. It was close to summer, and the playground smelt uniquely of burning asphalt and an overzealous use of sun cream. Kids screamed and tumbled on the grass, and Jasmine made a daisy chain with flowers she’d picked that morning.

“Do you remember your ghost friends?” Mari asked indifferently.

We all paused to look at her. We were sat by the main school block, legs crossed, playing stupid games that didn’t involve much movement. In truth, it had been months since we’d even thought about them. I shared a look with Kia, and Harry and Alex suddenly looked very guilty. Jasmine continued her daisy chain.

“It’s alright if you don’t,” Mari added, shrugging. “The ghosts lost interest in us. Even me.” She seemed genuinely upset about this.

“Yeah, but it was never real, was it?” Harry asked. “I mean, you never actually saw no ghosts.”

Mari didn’t respond to that. She was a powerful young thing, I’ll always remember that of her. With bronzed skin and chestnut ringlets, she would be popular with the boys in a few years without even trying. Her dark eyes though, they always unsettled me. Even in direct sunlight on that summer’s day, they were still as black as coals. As she held her gaze with each of us, we felt a chill pass through the air, thrilling us to our core.

“I have something new to show you,” Mari said, straightening her back. “They’re called shadow people.”

It was impossible to look away from her now. There was an intenseness in Mari that seemed to accumulate the longer she held you captive with her eyes. She smiled at us, each of us, and glanced away. “They’re not like our ghost friends, they don’t live on the other side of the veil.”

“Where do they live?” Kia, bless her, seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Come off it,” Harry said, knocking Alex in the arm. “We ain’t doing this again, Mari.”

“Can we jus’ play bulldog?” Alex complained.

“No!” Mari’s tone was forceful and it silenced us all. Then she smiled again, bright and genuine. “You know when I said that I was a witch?��

Harry snorted, Mari ignored him. “Technically, my mum and dad are,” she said. “But I’m their prodigy. They gave me something. I want to show it to you all.”

Mari kept it in her bag in the classes’ cloak room. It was a small rucksack packed tightly with a rectangular object. At the end of the school day, Mari led us through the school gates, down three streets, through an alleyway and down to the old playground. It had a few swing sets and an old slide, but most kids came for the skate ramp and zip wire. They were new additions to the park that could be located further down the field. The swings were just out of sight of the newer park and Mari took us there, sitting herself down on the one swing that wasn’t crooked.

The rest of us sat on the grass.

Mari made a big deal out of pulling the object from her rucksack. It was a book, we realised. Some kind of old children’s picture book. On the front of the book was a title scrawled in staggered curls the same colour as blood.

SLEEP LIKE THE DEAD

“No way,” Jasmine said, shaking her head.

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“It’s a book my parents started reading to me,” Mari said. She seemed very proud. “I’m old enough to learn about their world now. This is their world.” She tapped the book in her hands. “This is the book of the shadow people.”

“It’s a picture book,” Harry said blankly. “My brother still reads those. They’re shit.”

“What picture books have you seen that look like that?” Kia asked quietly. Her eyes were wide.

“What’s that?” I asked, standing. Mari let me come closer and I ran my fingers across the cover. It was course on my fingers, but I still followed the shape of the creature indented on the cardboard. A dark shadow-like blob. I looked at, at the bright white eyes that were drawn on what must have been its head.

“That’s my shadow,” Mari said fondly, stroking the surface. “And the title is its game.”

“Sleep like the dead,” Alex said, reading it aloud.

Harry hit him. “Don’t tell me you believe this.”

Alex pursed his lips.

Jasmine shook her head again. “I don’t like this,” she said. “This doesn’t seem right.”

“Its game?” Kia said, talking over her. “Is it better than ghost friends?”

“Much better,” Mari said. “Ghost friends get bored and they leave you alone. Shadows never leave you, they’re loyal, they can always find you.” Mari pointed at her feet where a long black shape stretched from her body. The shape’s feet dangled along with her own. She giggled. “We’re connected to them, see?”

I was suddenly very frightened of my own shadow. I remembered a scene from Peter Pan, a cartoon that I adored, and recalled the moment that his shadow had broken from his feet. At that time, the shadow had had a life of its own. Only when Wendy managed to sew their feet back together did the shadow lose its autonomy.

My shadow was as it always was, of course. A perfect, dark, image of myself, stretched by the sun but completely reliant on my movement to guide its own. Of course, I moved my arms to confirm this, and all around me my friends did this as well.

Mari chuckled fondly. “Of course, a witch’s shadow is different! It’s not your body blocking out the light, it’s its own thing! My shadow is darkness. It’s… it’s void!”

“That’s stupid,” Harry said, sniffing. “A shadow is a shadow. Your shadow ain’t no different from ours.” He stood from the grass. “I’m goin’ home, I’ve had enough of this crap. I’m not playing along jus’ ‘cause you wanna be more special than us.”

Alex went to stand as well, but Mari glanced at him and he stayed where he was. Kia was completely enraptured. Jasmine was a lot like me. We were both there because we were curious, but we were also incredibly terrified. I took a step away from the book and felt my stomach clench. Something cold settled inside me, and I had the urge to reclaim that step, to remain where I was beside the book. Instead, with a lot more effort than I anticipated, I joined Jasmine on the grass.

Harry began to storm away, but Mari called after him, “My address is,” and she told him her address, “join us tomorrow after school. I want to show you the game!”

Harry paused long enough to listen, but he didn’t come back that evening.

Mari tapped the book cover with a far-away look in her eyes. “It’s time we go home,” she said. “But I want you all to meet me at my house tomorrow. My parents will be away, they’re collecting ingredients for a big trip we’re taking on the weekend!” She was thrilled by this. “It means you’ll all be able to stay as long as you like. And we won’t be disturbed.” She slipped the book back into her bag. “I’ll explain the rules then,” she said, glancing up at us. “Then we can play.”

We all gathered our things ready to leave. Kia walked by Mari’s side, asking her a hundred questions at once. I stayed with Jasmine, and Alex tagged along with us, looking a little lost without Harry to bounce off of.

We were just out of the alleyway when Mari called me back.

“You go on with Jasmine,” Mari told Kia. “I just need to speak with Allie alone.”

Kia did so as dutifully as a cult groupie. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to follow Mari into the dark of the alleyway, but I did anyway.

Mari took my arm, linking us together. I could feel the warmth of her and it warmed me too. She was bright with a wild energy, like she could do all and anything she so wanted. Still, as the sky darkened, I couldn’t help but feel unnerved. I’d very rarely been alone with Mari, and I suddenly felt exposed.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” Mari asked. “When you touched the book?”

“I don’t know what I felt,” I told her.

She made a small humming sound. “After school tomorrow, I want you to help me set up for my shadow.”

I didn’t know what that meant and I think she could tell by my silence. Mari laughed sweetly. “It’s alright, it’s nothing too spooky, I promise. We’ll just be lighting some candles and burning a few things that my shadow will like. Then we can play the game!” Mari stopped suddenly, turning to me. “You’ll love it,” she said, “I promise.”

I didn’t agree with her, but I smiled.

She walked with me a little longer before we parted ways. I walked home alone and tried desperately not to think about the things I’d seen or the way I felt. That is, not until the next day.

When we got to school, our group was a lot less talkative than usual. Mari, however, was bright and boastful throughout the day. She answered questions like clockwork in class and on the playground, she kept us all on our toes about what would be happening that afternoon.

“What did she ask you?” Jasmine asked me just before lunch. Mari had marched out of the class the second the bell had rung, but Jasmine loitered in the cloak room, ready to grab my attention.

I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to tell her. I had always been closest to Jasmine, but Mari’s words hung with me. She’d wanted my help and she understood the way I’d felt when I’d touched the cover of her picture book. Magic or not, that coldness in my chest was still present nearly a whole day later and I didn’t like it. I felt as though to say anything about our conversation would be to betray Mari. The cold feeling twisted itself a little deeper, like a sharp screw.

“It was nothing,” I told Jasmine. “She wanted to borrow my homework to copy. I don’t think she wanted anyone knowing she hadn’t completed it herself.”

It was a strong enough lie that would match Mari’s personality. She was a very astute girl and to be caught missing an assignment was her idea of social suicide. Jasmine seemed to believe my lie enough to let it pass, and we spent the rest of the day chatting about anything other than Mari’s special game.

My head felt light by the time we were let out of class that afternoon. We could all feel it – that same apprehension - but I knew now that I had been placed with a responsibility beyond that of my friend’s.

None of us had been to Mari’s house before. She always said that after school was time she spent with her parents, and they were teaching her more about witchcraft and the powers that she possessed. Of course, Mari never performed any spells in school. She claimed that was against the rules her parents had set for her.

Mari didn’t live far from the school and her house was completely unassuming from the outside. A typical detached house in British suburbia. The front of the house was decorated with old Tudor frames. The front garden was neat and trimmed and summer flowers grew in abundance by her front door.

Mari unlocked the door and we stepped inside. The hallway was large and wooden and the air was lightly fragranced with cinnamon. Mari guided us into a moderately sized living space with two brown fabric sofas and a boxy TV. There were shelves on every available wall space, filled with flowers and pottery, old books and jars of what looked like jams and honey.

A brown Norwegian Forest Cat lay on one of the sofas, accompanied by a black and white tabby. They were indifferent to the company our group posed and promptly went back to sleep the moment we were settled on the shaggy red rug in the centre of the room.

Mari motioned to me. “Come on, Allie,” she said. “I need your help.”

I tried to look confused by this – as though Mari hadn’t asked me yesterday. Jasmine shuffled closer to Kia and they both muttered and pointed around the room. Alex sat a little ways away, admiring the cats from a safe distance. Harry hadn’t turned up yet, but Mari was adamant that he would arrive soon.

Harry hadn’t spent lunch with us and he’d swapped seats with another boy in class so that he’d sat on the other side of the room from us all day. He’d played with another group of friends at break time and I hadn’t seen him after the bell had rung to dismiss us at end of day. I didn’t have the same optimism as Mari, but then again, I wasn’t sure anyone did.

Mari guided me to a kitchen behind a wooden panelled screen door. It was larger than the living room with enough space to sit a dining table and chairs in a small nook on the far right. The kitchen was spotless, almost as though it hadn’t been used. Mari was quick to open one of the cupboards, lifting out a handful of tea lights.

“Take these,” she said, “and spread them in a circle on the table.”

I did as she asked. The tea lights were red wax and smelt of pomegranate.

Next, Mari left the room only to return with a larger, thicker red candle. She placed this at the centre of my tea lights on top of a silver dish.

“Is that real silver?” I asked her, to which she nodded happily.

“It’s real alright,” she said. “The candle is homemade. My parents made it with a drop of their own blood mixed into the wax. They took a drop of mine as well. It gives the candle its power over the shadow people.”

I stared at her, unsure how to respond. Everything about what she was saying should have horrified me, should have activated my fight or flight response, but instead I just stood there.

Mari chuckled. “It’s not that scary,” she told me. “Anyway, what we need to do is light the candles. Then,” and she strode to one of the draws, “we take this thread and we burn it on the centre candle.”

It was a red piece of thread and, as I watched, Mari began to wrap it methodically over her index finger, muttering something quietly under her breath.

After a few moments of this, she gestured to the matches on the table and told me to light the candles for her.

Now, as an eleven-year-old, I’d only used matches a handful of times and never done so unsupervised. Still, muscle memory was enough for me to strike the matches and light them after five failed attempts. I quickly went about lighting the tea lights, swearing softly each time one burned out and I was forced to light another. By the fourth match, I felt like a pro, watching the fire as it danced idyllic on their wicks.

Mari took the matches from me for the special candle at the centre. She said loud enough for me to hear, “I tie and bind, I tie and bind, I tie and bind.”

She repeated this as she lit the candle, and again for several minutes after. I could feel that coldness inside of me again. It felt like the ice was melting into even colder water, puddling through my chest and further into my stomach. I didn’t feel sick, though. I wasn’t sure I felt anything. I simply stared into the candles as she spoke those same words over and over.

Then suddenly, there was a bang. I nearly screamed, but fortunately I froze instead. My jaw locked and a hard breath rolled out of my lungs like fire. I glanced to where the noise had come from and instantly felt the heat inside of me evaporate. It had been the front door. Someone was knocking on it.

“It’s unlocked,” Mari called out happily.

A moment later, I watched through the screen door as Harry passed by. I could see Alex pop his head out of the living room and welcome him inside. I looked at that scene before me with uncomprehending eyes. Harry had been so standoffish all day, and I knew that boy. I knew him the way any kid who’d grown up with him would. He was stubborn, and it was rare for him to change his mind.

I looked at Mari for an answer, but she only pressed her finger to her lips – the one with the red thread – and gave it a gentle kiss. She then unwrapped the thread from her hand and stretched it out over the blood candle’s open flame.

I watched the flame eat away at the thread from its centre. It snapped apart and Mari held them both under the flame, letting it eat them away at the exact same moment.

“Done,” she said, looking at me with a satisfied grin. “Tell the others to meet me in the garden.”

There was a door that went out to the back garden from the kitchen and, as I left, I felt as though I was walking through a thick mist. A mist of my own mind’s creation, perhaps, but it was still unnerving. I hadn’t known what it was to disassociate until that moment, but as I told my friends to follow me out to the garden, I did so without feeling my body at all.

The air was cooler now the sun had begun to set, and Mari had laid out a picnic blanket on the grass near the back of her garden. There was a generous amount of space and as I walked out there, I felt a little of myself return as I joined her on the blanket.

She’d taken the candles and placed them at the blanket’s centre. I didn’t think to ask about how safe that was, I was still a little out of it. Jasmine did instead, and Mari waved her off exactly as I expected her to.

“I’ve done most of the work for you,” Mari said with a secretive smile. It looked all the more unsettling with the candlelight licking shadows under her eyes. “               All you have to do is play the game.”

“How do we play?” Kia asked eagerly.

“Simple,” Mari said, teasing the flames with her fingers. “You have to pretend that you’re asleep.”

Mari elaborated: “I’m going to play some music, and you are all going to dance to it. When the music shuts off, you’re all going to drop to the ground and pretend to be asleep.

“Here’s the catch. You have to sleep like the dead. That means relaxed breathing and no movement of any kind. You move and you lose the game. Make a noise and you lose the game.” Mari looked at us all very closely. This expression was heightened by the growing dark and the candles flickering across her face. “I can’t stress this enough. Whatever you do, no matter what happens, you can’t open your eyes. Open your eyes and I will ban you from playing the game ever again. You’ll be disqualified. Whoever is the last one left wins. I’ll start the music up again when its safe for you to open your eyes. That means there’s a winner. Okay?”

I immediately looked at Harry. His expression was hard to read, but I could tell he didn’t believe what Mari was saying. Was he going to ruin the game? Was he willing to play along?

“So it’s a waiting game?” Jasmine asked. “I don’t get it. Are you saying that all this game is is lying still on the grass?”

Mari grinned. “It’s not as easy as that.” She looked at me and winked. “Think about the cover of the book.”

The coldness was back, but more nagging than uncomfortable this time around. I found that Jasmine was watching me, like she’d noticed what Mari was implying to me. I ignored her look and got to my feet. “Are we starting now?” I asked.

Mari clapped, standing as well. “I’ll get the music started.”

There are few things more surreal than dancing in the dark, the smell of pomegranates in the air, to music you’ve never heard of. It was strange music, and I was sure the lyrics were being sung in another language. Now I think back on it I’m positive it was Swedish. The song had Nordic ties to it, the low humming of men and women and a hypnotic beat on traditional drums. We danced to it because that was what we’d been told to do. The music heightened the sense of dysphoria I’d been experiencing and, as I looked around myself, I realised I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

Kia was bobbing along on the spot, arms spread wide, face staring up at the stars beginning to litter the sky. Jasmine was giggling, she couldn’t seem to help it, and she whirled from right to left, her eyes glazed and warm. Alex was dancing in an odd way, jumping with his arms stretched to the sky before landing, pounding his hands against the grass. He did this repeatedly without tiring once. Even Harry was dancing, although his dance seemed to just be him aimlessly staggering from one foot to the other, mouth hung slightly agape.

To an outsider, we may have looked possessed, but we were enjoying ourselves. We were captivated by the music, by the candles, by the new senses that had opened up to us.

And then the music stopped.

It was like a weight dropped from my head down to my feet. My whole body suddenly felt incredibly heavy and without thinking, without knowing how or why, I collapsed to the ground. I held my hands palm down close to my face. The grass cushioned my head and I found myself in a rather comfortable position. Around me, I could hear the grass rustle as my friends dropped along with me.

Soon, we were all lying there. Pretending to sleep like the dead.

I kept my eyes closed. What Mari had said seemed very important to me and so I did it without question. I stared at the darkness behind my eyes and felt the cool wetness of the grass beneath me. I could feel moisture sink into my clothes, but I ignored it. I ignored everything.

The silence stretched on. My breathing was relaxed and calm despite the energy I had been exuding to dance. I felt the real urge to sleep begin to claim me, but I refused to let it drag me down. If I moved in my sleep, I’d lose the game. I wasn’t quite sure why I cared so much about that but in this moment, I did.

Time passed without any of us knowing how long. I was beginning to feel pins and needles in one of my feet and tried to focus on the static inside my blood as a way from keeping my mind from wandering.

Then I heard it.

A rustle. Barely perceptible, but enough to change my attention. At first I thought it was one of my friends moving in the grass, but then I remembered the rules of the game.

Then it happened again.

This rustle was more distinct, and I realised that it sounded like footsteps. One footfall followed by another. A few seconds would stretch by and then it would happen again. It was coming from the house. It was coming closer.

I wondered if it could be Mari. She was playing the referee role. I wondered if this was part of the game. Maybe she’d try to tickle us or poke us to get us to move. It was a game of endurance, right? We’d have be tested in some way, otherwise we could all very easily lie here forever. It wouldn’t be much of a game without a hidden factor.

The grass rustled again. The footfalls never changed their pace, but they were coming closer with each one. My stomach began to clench with apprehension and I had to force my breathing to remain calm. I tried to map out where each one of us had fallen. Who would meet the footsteps first?

Kia, I remembered. Kia had been the closest one to the house. The rustling stopped. I heard a muffled sound. A sharp intake of breath.

Don’t make a sound. That was one of the rules. Kia’s breathing caught in her throat. I could hear more shuffling. Then I heard a shriek.

My body locked instinctively. The rules pounded inside my head and I refused to move even an inch. Kia shrieked again and with it I heard a hard, dragging sound. Fabric dragging against grass. Kia dragging against the grass.

Was Mari dragging her to try and get her to move? Or had she screamed and forfeited? I stayed where I was. I didn’t move. I refused to move.

My breathing calmed.

It wasn’t the first time I heard the dragging. It was following by other things along the way. I heard a thump at one point, a tear as someone’s fingers caught in the dirt and ripped the grass away. I heard Jasmine scream, heard Alex hiss out a swear word. Harry yelled out, too.

I was the furthest from the house, but eventually I could hear the rustling movements coming towards me. I don’t know how much time there had been between each of us, but I imagined that Mari grabbed us each alone, dragging us a little way and smiling brilliantly when we caved. I refused to lose like that.

The footsteps came slowly. My heart hurt in my ribs but I continued to breath as calmly as possible through my nose and teeth. The coldness in my chest blossomed again and I could feel cold sweat on the back of my neck. Anticipation was murder.

Then I felt something.

Even looking back its hard to find the words to explain my first experience with it. All I can say is that I remember it like all the warmth in the air had been sucked away. A chill flooded over my body like a wave of cold water. It settled there, digging deep into my bones. At the same time the quietness in the air above me was replaced with something else. Like whispers that are just too faint to hear. My ears were filled with them. Words that made no sense, words that weren’t words because I couldn’t hear them properly.

Then came the most horrendous sound of all. There isn’t anything I could say that would come close to what it sounded like, but think of a fox when it cries out in heat. Think of a cat yowling in the most inhumane way you could imagine. Take those sounds and throw them in a mixer, lower the vocals and feed it through slow motion. Imagine that sound and imagine it from the mouth of a creature that you can’t see, but you can feel. You can feel it in the absence of warmth around you, can feel it in the darkness behind the eyes that you aren’t allowed to open.

Can feel it in the cold dull claws that suddenly wrap around your ankles and drag you… no, propel you across the grass.

It dragged me so quickly I felt my stomach burn against the grass.

Still, I didn’t move.

I don’t know why I didn’t scream or cry or try to hold onto the grass to keep from losing myself. I can only assume that it was because I was still, somewhat, away from my body. Away from all of this. The Nordic music was still pounding through my blood and the smell of cinnamon and pomegranate permeated my nostrils. Preparing with Mari had somehow prepared me for this. For keeping calm.

And so I did, even when the pain against my stomach and chest felt so great. Even when the thunderous, yowling roar of this creature threatened my every instinct.

I was dragged a few more feet before the claws evaporated from my ankles. They fell clumsily against the grass, just like that of a dead body. I lay there for several moments before the Nordic music started again. Harsh drum beats and throat singing on the bed of a low, droning horn.

The air opened up to me again and the warmth of the summer greeted my back and soothed the rug burn on my stomach. I still kept my eyes closed, even when I heard Mari laughing and clapping.

She grabbed my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “Open your eyes. You won!”

And so I did. It was nearly pitch black outside now and the candles glowed fondly beneath the night sky. I realised that I was nearly ten feet from where I’d been dancing, and my limbs jolted to life alongside that realisation.

I pushed myself up, staring at the picnic blanket and my absence from it. I looked at Mari. Then I looked for the rest of my friends.

I was the only one on the grass.

“Come, come!” Mari said, grabbing my arm and heaving me onto two very unsteady legs. The pins and needles had come and gone and left me with little support to recover. I struggled awkwardly for a few steps, balancing myself against the wall of her house.

“Where is everyone?” I asked her. “What… what was that?”

“I’ll tell you in a second,” Mari said. “Come on, they’ll be around somewhere.”

Mari jumped through the kitchen doors, calling out at the top of her lungs.

“THE GAME’S OVER. YOU GUYS LOST. YOU CAN COME OUT NOW!”

I saw the living room door open and Jasmine, with grass sticking from her hair, staggered out. Her eyes were wide, haunted.

Next there was a thump from upstairs. Mari jerked her chin at me and I ran out, blinking rapidly to force my eyes to adjust to the new level of light. I ran to the carpeted stairway, grabbing uselessly to the railing. A moment later, I saw Alex there, looking very dazed.

“Alex!” I said, running to hug him. “Oh you’re alright, thank God.”

Alex’s skin was very cold. “What was that?” he whispered.

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I told him honestly. “I… I don’t care, actually. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Did you win?” Alex asked.

I snorted. “Yeah, I think I did.”

“Thought you would,” he muttered. “You’re fearless, you are.”

I helped him downstairs, only to realise Kia was now in the kitchen too. Her hair was a mess and her skirt and tights were torn. She was sat at the table, shaking like a leaf.

“I was in the garden,” Kia said hopelessly. “The front garden. Right next to a rose bush. I don’t… how did I…”

Mari placed a steaming cup of chamomile tea in front of her. “Drink up,” she ordered. “You’ll be fine soon.”

The last to appear was Harry. He walked through to the kitchen drenched head to foot with water. His dark hair stuck to his face and he grimaced, hugging his chest. “I want to go home,” he said.

Harry had been in the bathtub. From the sounds of it, he’d panicked and pulled the shower chord on his way out. We all sat at Mari’s dining table and drank tea. We were all suddenly far more grown up than what we had been that afternoon. The night’s events had changed us. I’m sure they had changed us for good.

“I think congratulations are in order,” Mari said after twenty minutes of silence. She looked directly at me. “Well done, Allie. You won the first round!”

Jasmine slammed her cup down. “First?” she ground out.

Harry had his hands pressed against his face. Alex looked ill. Kia stared blankly at the wall.

I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“What was that thing?” Jasmine demanded fiercely. “We’re not gonna pretend we didn’t hear it, we didn’t feel it. It dragged us away!”

“It carried me up the stairs,” Alex said meekly. All the colour had drained from his face.

We all looked at Harry. He’d been upstairs too, after all. He didn’t look at any of us.

“I told you to think of my book.” Mari chuckled. “It’s all in the book.”

“We didn’t read your stupid book!” Jasmine shouted. “Or do you not remember that?”

Mari pouted. She walked over to the kitchen counter and picked a drawer almost at random.  From it she plucked the book she’d had in the park yesterday. We all stared at it, motionless, voiceless. She placed it on the table for all of us to see.

The shadow creature with no discernible shape stared up at us with its pale white eyes. I stared back at it, Jasmine and Alex did too.

“My shadow,” Mari said proudly. “It likes to play. When you move, my shadow will take you away to other places inside the house. Kind of like being disqualified and having to go sit on the bench. Whoever wins is the one that’s still outside.”

“I don’t believe it,” Jasmine said quietly.

Kia whimpered.

“First round,” Harry said suddenly. He dragged his hands from his face. “Are you saying we have to play this stupid game again?”

We all looked at him, at the anger in his eyes, the terror.  

“My shadow likes to play,” Mari said again. She perked up. “This time next week, then?”

Mari let us each borrow the book to read up on the rules throughout the week. I was the first to have it - a winner’s perk, she’d said - and after reading through it... it was harder than I had imagined to let it go.

It was a children’s picture book as we had all known. The pictures inside were hand-drawn and simple, but there was something so captivating about this shadow-like blob with the white eyes. Something I could never understand.

MY SHADOW LIKES TO PLAY

The first page was an introduction like any other, written in a similar curling font. The same picture as the one on the cover stared back at me, except, along with it, there was also a drawing of a sleeping girl. A girl who looked a lot like Mari. I began to wonder if her parents had made the book for her as some kind of sick gift.

PLAYS AT NIGHT, SHUNS THE DAY

There was a picture of the little Mari girl playing in the daylight, a passive shadow just like anyone else’s attached to her feet. The next page was completely black, save for those pale eyes.

MY SHADOW NEVER GOES AWAY

I watched the little Mari girl lying on the ground in the grass. There were other children on the grass too, drawn as little coloured blobs.

WITH MY FRIENDS MY SHADOW PLAYS

The coloured blobs had faces now. Drawn, pale faces.

I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAY

The faces were scared.

DEAD ON THE GRASS WE MUST LAY

A dark garden exactly like Mari’s. Little children-sized blobs lying in the streaked grass. Above them, almost as an afterthought, two white circles had been painted. They hung over the children, watching without being seen.

MY SHADOW TAKES US EACH AWAY

The child’s face was filled with anguish, drawn in more detail than I’d seen in any previous picture. It was hung over the shadow-creature’s shoulder. The child seemed to beat the creature’s body. The child had no eyes.

UNTIL THE LAST ONE WINS, HOORAY!

A victory medal. A child holding it, bathed in the safe glow of the day.

AGAIN, AGAIN WE MUST PLAY!

At this moment I realised the pictures were repeating themselves. I saw the same shadow, the same garden, the same eyeless children lying in the grass.

SLEEP LIKE THE DEAD ANOTHER DAY

Over and over again the drawings repeated.

I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAY!

A double-page spread of the front cover with Mari stood next to her shadow. She was grinning.

SLEEP LIKE THE DEAD ANOTHER DAY

The poem left me with a deep feeling of dread in my stomach. The pictures continued to repeat themselves along with the words, burning deeper indents into my brain until finally, I came across the final few pictures.

A red candle burning on a silver plate.

ITIEANDBINDITIEANDBINDITIEANDBIND

Three figures. Mari holding the hands of two faceless adults.

The last page was blank, and yet I still felt as though those eyes were watching me from somewhere behind the page.

I gave the book to Jasmine over the weekend and Jasmine gave it to Kia. On Monday, Alex read it and then together we sat Harry down and forced him to read the pages. None of us liked it, but we were being driven by a force that none of us knew or recognised. We were kids. We were young and impressionable. And our best friend was a witch.

We played the game again the same day and time the next week. Mari asked me into the kitchen just like before and I helped her set up. The kitchen was in the same state as the week prior, and her two cats watched us with mild interest from the dining chairs. Mari said her parents were out getting supplies again, something about their trip being pushed back and now they needed to get more things to prepare. I wondered whether they were planning some kind of camping trip. My gut twisted at the thought of any darker theories.

We played the game for months. Mari’s shadow would take us and drag us away and it would be terrifying every time. The more we played it, the better we got, but that never deterred the shadow. It seemed more adamant than ever to trip us up.

I didn’t win every time. The shadow would dig its claws into my leg and force a scream out of me, or it would suck all the heat from my lungs so that I spasmed on the floor. When that happened the yowling and mewling began. The deeply unsettling roars of the creature would warp the very atmosphere around me and I would feel a great and heavy presence descent upon me. I could feel it like a large, demented figure. The creature had arms that were wide and wet and cold. They felt like wet fur. It stank as well, of old meat and fish.

It carried us differently each time. I found myself thrown over its shoulder one night and taken to the master bedroom. Another time I don’t even remember the journey, I only know I came to in a wardrobe with a coat sleeve wrapped around my neck. It was always in the boundaries of the house, though. Even if that meant being left in a foetal ball by the front gate.

The shadow was rough with us. We came home with carpet burns and red lines across our ankles and legs. It never cut us, but that didn’t mean the welts were painless. I found myself hiding these injuries from my parents, trying to explain away the ones they noticed as accidents during school. I know that they were worried, but rough-housing happened and I remained adamant to them that I wasn’t being bullied.

Looking back as an adult, I know that this was more than bullying. This was manipulation to the highest degree. Of course, what could we have done about it? The creature, the shadow wasn’t within the realms of possible. You couldn’t tell a teacher or call the police. All we had was our small group and the only leader we knew to follow was Mari.

Mari seemed to get less and less stable the longer this ‘trip’ was postponed. Sometimes when she took me to the kitchen to prepare, she’d lose herself. She nearly set fire to the table one night and I had to encourage her to let me finish. I caught her talking to herself, muttering things more than the usual witchy gibberish. She became less bright, less intense. After all this time, we still never saw her parents, never saw any signs of life in the house other than the games we played that night once every week.

Mari yelled at nothing in the middle of class one day and got sent out to cool down. The teacher went out to talk to her and she came back tight lipped and pale faced. She didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the day. Later that same week, she really did ask if she could copy a homework assignment from me.

It wasn’t long after that that Harry appeared on my doorstep, looking pale and incredibly sleep deprived. We all felt that way, the shadow took its toll on all of us, but Harry walked to school with me that morning anyway. My parents had been worried about him. They thought he was sick. I think a deep part of all of us had been sick the moment we’d let the shadow in.

Half way to school, Harry snapped.

“We need to see it,” Harry said. “I don’ care if we get disqualified from the game. Actually, I’d like that. We need to see this fucking thing.”

Swearing was still a taboo in my mind and I flinched at the use of it. Harry could be quite misspoken, and he’d had several interventions with teachers about it, but he only swore when he was being passionate about something. I couldn’t help but agree with his logic.

“We don’t know what it is,” I said carefully. “What if you don’t like what you see?”

“Then I’ll never have to see it again.” Harry snorted. “Don’t you see? This is our way out!”

Harry tried talking all of us into doing it, and the game had frayed our minds so much so that we were each just crazy enough to consider it.

“What about Mari?” Kia asked. “She wants us to play!”

“Screw Mari,” Harry sneered. “She’s been using us all this time. Haven’t you seen her, anyway? She’s gone nuts, she’s one detention away from being suspended.” Harry threw his arms up. “Why are we followin’ her still, hm?”

“Because she’s a witch,” Jasmine said bitterly.

Alex winced. “We don’t know that.”

“I don’t know what that shadow is,” I said, “but I think it makes her pretty flippin’ close to a witch.”

Harry’s expression was grim. “I’m doing it. This week, I’m opening my eyes.”

Whether or not we agreed with Harry, we could each understand what he meant. We were scared of the shadow, but Mari had said it herself. If we looked at the shadow, then we’d be banned from the game. If we couldn’t play the game, then maybe Mari wouldn’t see any use for us. Maybe we could just leave her to find some other kids to play her sick little game with.

Mari brought us home that week. I sat in the living room with everyone else until Mari was ready for me. This time, however, Alex took my hand.

“Are you gonna do it?” he asked.

“Not sure,” I said honestly.

“Me either,” he muttered.

I shared a look with Jasmine and Kia. “Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” I told them.

“Says the bravest of the brave,” Harry said suddenly. “Allie, the fearless. Allie, the girl who went and won the first round. You can’t really sit there an’ say you don’t wanna do it?”

“Allie!”

Mari’s voice.

I didn’t respond to Harry. Instead I stood and walked out, leaving for the kitchen as always.

Mari’s hands were shaking as she tried to light the candle. She was restless, and she kept turning her head as though she was listening to someone speaking.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered.

“Mari?” I asked uncertainly.

She jumped, nearly dropping the match. “Sorry!” she said, grinning a strained and dull smile. “I just…” she shook her head. “Remember when I said our ghost friends got bored of us?”

I nodded, unsure.

“Not anymore,” Mari said brightly. “They talk so much. It’s doing my head in. Hah!” She lit the candle. “I keep hoping the next game, my shadow might do something about it. Might shut the veil up. My shadow is darkness, you know? It’ll block the light out. I know it will. One day.”

She wasn’t making sense, but there was nothing I could say. I was scared of her, I’d always been scared of her, right from our first meeting.

I helped her light the candles and we went out to the garden together. Dancing to the music was always the best part of the evening. No matter how terrifying the shadow was, as soon as Mari started the music, we all fell into a trance-like state. Nothing could bother us. We danced uninhibited, wild. I still miss that feeling. No matter what else happened, dancing to that music was the most content I’d ever been.

When the music stopped, our bodies turned to led and we fell to the ground like puppets without a master. I kept my hands by my face like usual, closed my eyes and waited for the shadow.

It was always slow, but it didn’t wait around like our first game. Now, the shadow was let loose the second the music stopped. It stepped into the garden, grass rustling around whatever appendages it had. I liked to imagine what it looked like sometimes, but the images that came to me were always grotesque and disturbing. Nothing like the bodiless image in Mari’s book. The only thing identical in my mind were the eyes.

Harry was near me. I knew that. I’d planned on that. I hadn’t decided whether I would open my eyes, in fact, a part of me wondered if I would be able to at all. After all, our bodies fell like bricks without our control. Would it be so hard to believe that our eyes wouldn’t open, either?

I could feel the air begin to cool around us and I could hear Jasmine whimpering and writhing on the ground. The creature made a strange chittering sound, low and guttural and threatening to its core. Jasmine screamed and the next moment she was thrashing, yelling out, the grass ripping away from the soil. It sounded awful and, like every time before it, we all just lay there. Asleep like the dead.

The creature took different routes with us each time, a way of messing with our heads. I could feel its claws run over my ankles and tried to breath calmly through my nose. Winning a round was always easier for our psyche, and sometimes we’d fight over it after the game was over for the week. Kia had begged that we take it in turns, that we agree to let someone win every week. Of course, none of us liked the feeling of being touched without our consent by a creature we couldn’t see, but none of us could make the promise that we’d be able to remain unresponsive to the creature anyway. It seemed to learn from us, and the fact that we’d tried to create some kind of pattern led it to randomising its own.

My legs lifted only for them to be dropped suddenly. My ankles ached as shockwaves of pain rushed through them and I held my tongue to keep from sobbing. The shadow moved around me, the pressure of its presence so intense that I could barely breathe. I could feel its wet, furry appendages slithering over me, playing me like a rag doll. It would lift me only to lower me down. Hold me close, letting the stink of it meld with my clothes, and then drop me again.

Then I felt something cold and wet slither into my ear. I didn’t want to know what it was, didn’t want to think about it for a second. I clenched my jaw so hard it burned. Finally, the shadow let me go.

It moved on to Harry.

I heard the rustle in the grass and imagined in my head where Harry would be lying. I linked that to the movement I could hear and together it created an image in my head. The creature moved over Harry, chirps and deep, bass groans dripping from its maw. Harry didn’t make a sound, and I wondered whether he might not go through with it.

The creature moved on. Teasing back and forth between Kia and Alex, Harry and me. I tracked it back, listening for Harry’s breathing, wondering what would happen next.

And then I heard a sound. A wet smack of flesh against fur. Someone must have hit the creature.

I kept my eyes closed, but my fingers sank hard and fast into the soil as the shadow let out a terrible howl. A sound that would surely peel wallpaper. It staggered, a thousand whispers shooting from its body. I tracked its footfalls, the way the grass rustled. I heard another wet smack, following by another howl.

Then there was a scream. A horribly high-pitched, incredibly human scream. Someone choked, and then someone yelled, “I SEE YOU!”

Underneath the yowling and growling the voice was hard to make out. The next sound, however, was very easy to track.

The wet, thick sound of ripping paper. The crack of something like bone. The garbled screams cut short by wet gargling.

The heaviness in my limbs redacted and I pushed myself upwards. I was terrified, the cold was everywhere, the voices were whispering from every direction and there was still someone screaming. I grabbed my face, ashamed by my own fear. My heart thudded so hard I felt sick. Finally, as another wet sound resounded, I opened my eyes.

I don’t know what I saw. It was so quick that the picture in my mind may have been false.

In the short moment I could see, the creature was black. More than black. It was so dark that it was darker than the night itself. It wasn’t a creature, more like a shape that sucked light right out of it. A very literal, walking shadow.

But the edges were serrated by tufts of fur and its long arms stretched down to the grass, dragging by its feet like some kind of ape. The creature was large, taller than seven foot, surely. I didn’t see a face, though. Its face was a void.

Then one of its wet appendages struck me and my whole body was ripped through the grass. I travelled so fast that the world blurred around me. I remember feeling pain as my body collided with the wall of the house. I remember my shoulder taking the brunt of the hit.

Another slap and I saw Kia come skidding to my side. I looked out to the garden, but the dark shape was gone. The pain in my arm was blinding. From somewhere near me I could hear drum beats ringing through the night, and low voices chanting song lyrics. I felt a hand grab my shoulder and looked up in terror to see Mari, grinning brightly. It may have been the pain, but as I stared at her, I couldn’t see her eyes. Just two bright, pale lights where they should have been.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the rug in the master bedroom. I’d been in various places here before, and I immediately registered the familiarity of the surroundings.

Mari’s two cats were stretched out on the bed. They watched me as I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to understand what had just happened.

Then I remembered the screaming, the wet ripping, the bones crunching. I reached for my own shoulder, confused when I felt no pain. I pushed my hands into the floor, steadying myself as I stood. I needed to get downstairs, to meet up with everyone. I had to know what happened.

I met Kia on the stairs. She was crying freely, hugging her own body as though to let go would mean falling apart entirely.

“What did you see?” I asked her, holding her arms.

She shook her head, her lips trembled as a sob broke from her throat.

Jasmine appeared in the downstairs hallway. “Guys,” she said. “I think, I think something bad happened.”

In context with a normal game round, hearing Jasmine say that was equivalent to quite possibly the worst thing we could have heard. We followed her without questioning. I nearly tripped over myself in a bid to get to the kitchen.

The first thing I saw was red. Red liquid oozing over the kitchen tile, puddling down from the table. My head spun, I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t breathe.

Jasmine shook my shoulder, and I took a step inside. I let out a harsh breath, nearly laughing at my own stupidity. The red liquid was wax. Wet, red wax that had melted from Mari’s candle. She must have brought it back inside and forgotten to put it out. The flame was gone now, the candle had melted completely.

Harry was sat at the table, a grim line set to his face.

“Hey,” I said, moving to take his shoulder. “Did you- did you get disqualified?”

“Allie,” Jasmine said quietly.

I heard Kia sob again.

I looked at them, then back at Harry. He had his face in his hands now. He was shaking his head.

“I hit it,” he muttered. “Proper hard. Just went for it.” She shook his head. “I didn’t open my eyes. I was so scared an’ I jus’ couldn’t open my eyes.”

He was shaking.

“You’re lying,” I said. “You hit it and you yelled at it, didn’t you?” My stomach was sinking already. “You hit it. You saw it. I… I thought I saw it too, but it wasn’t looking at me. It was looking at…”

My chest hitched. I looked around the room. “Where’s Alex?” I asked. The blonde boy was nowhere to be seen. “Did he come out from where the shadow put him?”

“No,” Jasmine said bitterly.

Kia was crying fully now, thick tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Mari never came back either,” Jasmine added.

Harry’s fist slammed against the table. “I shouldda opened my eyes. I was stupid! I didn’t open my eyes and that fucking shadow took him!”

“Took…”

I shook my head.

“It took Alex?”

“Must have,” Jasmine said. “He’s not in the house. I’ve already looked.”

“Oh god,” Kia sobbed. “I heard, what I heard, out there… what I heard was awful.”

I shuddered. Bones breaking. Screaming. Something wet ripping. Could it have been Alex? Had the shadow…?

I wanted to be sick, but the coldness in my chest opened up to take that feeling away. All that was left was a bitter emptiness. An emptiness where Alex should have been.

“What do we do?” I asked. “Where’s Mari? She can’t just be gone, this is her house!”

“How do we know that?” Jasmine shot back. “We’ve never met her parents, the house never has any mess! This could be anyone’s house!”

“No,” I said. “She’s a kid. Guys, she’s a kid like us, she wouldn’t have… she wouldn’t have.”

“She’s a witch!” Kia moaned. “A real witch and she took Alex!”

None of us said a word until the following day. We all remained in our modest dream world, hoping against hope that Alex would show up for school in the morning. Of course, he didn’t.

Mari didn’t turn up either.

That’s when the phone calls started. Alex’s parents rang my parents, rang Jasmine’s parents, rang Harry’s, Kia’s. The police were involved. And what were we supposed to say? Were we supposed to tell the truth, tell the cops that we’d been playing a game with a witch and her shadow? That we’d been manipulated, brutalised, tortured by something that went beyond the realms of possible?

What did we say?

We said that we’d been at Mari’s house and we’d been watching scary movies. We’d said Alex got scared, left early and that was the last we saw of him.

When the police went knocking at Mari’s house, no one was there. No proof of address could be found. Nothing linking Mari or her family to that house at all. The house we’d spent months in, the house we’d grown intimate with each and every room. We were forbidden to go there again. It was another mystery in a sea of mysteries. And we were all terrified.

I remember feeling so cold after that. Like whatever had been inside me since that night so long ago by the swing set had finally had enough. It opened up and swallowed me whole. There was a constant coldness in my blood. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t feel, couldn’t dream. I think we all felt that way after Alex’s disappearance, but no one felt the cold like I did. I had no way to explain it to anyone.

Not until one night, at least. A night I felt so tired and so destroyed that I got out of bed and snuck out of the house. The night I walked all the way to Mari’s house and just stared at it. At the dying flowers by the door, at the rotting wood on the front wall.

In that moment, I felt the cold shift. It crept from my chest and moved into my blood, rushing to a single spot on my shoulder. The shoulder I should have shattered weeks ago.

I turned into that feeling and stared at a little blonde-haired boy about my age. A blonde-haired boy named Alex.

He was so cold.

“Thought you were never afraid,” he said.

“I was wrong,” I said. I thought I was disassociating again. There was no way this could be real.

We stared at each other for a long time.

“You saw it,” I said. “What did it look like?”

“I saw it,” Alex confirmed. “I can’t tell you, though. All I can say is it looked how you think you remember it. All dark. No light.”

“How do you know that?”

Alex shrugged. “I know a lot now.”

“You’re not really here,” I said. “I’m going mad. My parents think I must be.”

“You’re not mad,” Alex said. His smile was intensely sad.

“Where did you go, then?” I asked him. “You can’t have just disappeared. Did Mari take you?”

“Mari’s around,” Alex agreed. “She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like any of us. I think I get it now, though. The reason she’s like that.” He shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s not her fault. I think her parents just got her into some bad stuff, y’know? Those shadows have to stay fed…”

“Any of us?” I asked.

“The shadows always play games. People like Mari, they just help, I think. And then there’s kids like me who play the game and get disqualified.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Yeah.” Alex’s smile was close to heart breaking. “I definitely can’t play the game again.”

A sob broke out of my throat. I grabbed him, hugging him hard. He wasn’t soft or warm or human. He was cold and hard and nothing.

“She did this to you,” I muttered. “I’ll kill her.”

“You can’t,” Alex said softly. “And I don’t want you to. Just… things are going to be different in a few days. I want you to let them be. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“But you will,” he said, smiling sadly. “I have to go soon. I have to see Harry, still. And then… then I have to go back.”

“Where?” I demanded.

His eyes creased and I think if he could, he may have started to cry. “Do you remember ghost friends?”

The next day at school, no one talked about Alex like before. No rumours about his disappearance or the grizzly stories people were concocting about him being dead, cut in two on some rail tracks or found face down and bloated in a lake.

No, the next day the faculty told us about an idea they’d had. We were going to sign a card for Alex’s family and then we were going to have half a day off to see a new plaque installed on one of the benches in the gazebo. Kids died in freak accidents all the time, and what happened to Alex in hospital after that allergic reaction was heart breaking. But at least we knew where he was. At least we knew we could pray to him if we wanted.

If the day had played out in any other way I may have decided that seeing Alex had been nothing but a dream. Instead, Harry, Kia, Jasmine and I all met at the school gates after the plaque ceremony.

Harry kept kicking the wire fence by the gate.

“You saw him?” I asked.

Harry nodded.

“We all did,” Jasmine said.

“This sucks,” I said. “This is so wrong. He… Mari killed him.”

“Sh,” Kia whispered.

“No!” I said, louder. “Mari killed him and she’s going to get away with that!”

“Will I?”

The air froze in my lungs. A collective chill ran down each of our spines.

I can’t tell you what went through my mind when I saw Mari stood there. Her dark ringlets were perfect and her eyes were black, intense, smiling at us as though she wasn’t revisiting a crime scene. I wanted to kill her. In that moment I’d never wanted to kill anyone more than I’d wanted to kill her. I took a swing at her but Harry grabbed me, pulling me back. I kicked at him, but he didn’t let me go, not even when I was sobbing.

“I killed him,” Mari said. “Is that what you want to hear?”

None of us said anything.

“If it’s any consolation,” Mari said, “he won’t leave me alone.”

“How many?” Harry asked suddenly.

Mari’s dark eyes moved to him, solid and cold. “How many?” she repeated.

“How many are there?” Harry asked. “That you’ve…”

“It’s not a simple answer,” Mari said. “My family are quite old and if you can believe it, that’s the first that my shadow has…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’d understand. Maybe one day you might. But not today. Not tomorrow.”

“He’s behind the veil,” I spat. “You said kids who couldn’t move on were there.”

“He died a very terrible and painful death,” Mari said matter-of-factly. “Where else did you think he would be?”

I wanted to strike her again and I think Harry did too, because he tensed where he was holding me. We both stayed where we were, though.

“You’re not welcome here, anymore,” Jasmine sneered. “Wherever you live, whoever you live with, none of you are wanted back here. Alex said you were leaving. I hope you stick to that.” She sniffed. “Least you could do for him.”

Kia didn’t say a word. Her body shook with a hatred so pure that it hurt to look at.

Mari nodded solemnly. “My family will be taking me away now. I won’t tell you where we’re going. What will happen.”

“Don’t come back,” I growled.

Mari smiled solemnly. “It was a nice service,” she said. “I’m glad his parents get some closure.”

Yes, ‘closure’. Alex’s parents would spend the rest of their lives with a warped version of reality inside their heads. A reality where Alex had had a fatal allergic reaction and had passed away in the early hours of the morning the same night he’d been at Mari’s. Alex had been torn to pieces by a shadow, but outside of our group, no one would ever know that.

Mari walked away from us, down across the road where two cats were waiting for her. I don’t remember seeing them go any further than that, but they were gone by the time we had blinked. Just like that.

I sometimes wonder if Mari will ever come back. More than fifteen years down the line, I wonder if she’s the same little girl I met on the playground. It’s impossible to know what she was, aside from what she’d told us. She was a witch with a shadow and after months of postponing, she finally got to go on that trip with her family.

For fifteen years, no one outside of the four of us knew what really happened to Alex. Now you do too.

[scuttleboat]

There’s no cursing in The Good Place... (spoilers for season 1)

This post may contain graphic and sexual language. Most of my blog does. Sorry this is way too fucking long.

I had a thought a few weeks ago about how the “no cursing” rule is used on The Good Place, and how a benign act of “appropriateness” is actually an early sign that the characters are living in a dystopian scenario.  And how--bear with me here--this reads to me as a clear analogy for dramatic flailing of fandom groups this last two years. Now, I may not make this point in the most thorough or elegant way possible, as I feel vaguely intimidated talking about a show that has such thoughtful philosophical consideration behind it, but I’m going to give it a shot. If I flub, blame the messenger not the essence of the idea.

In season 1, Eleanor and the audience are presented with a world that is supposed heaven, specifically a “neighborhood” of the good place that is specifically curated to fit its residences (in this case, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jianyu, and others). Of course, we learn right away that Eleanor believes she’s there by mistake, and one of the first rules that demonstrates her “wrongness” is that she wants to curse, and can’t.

Eleanor: “Why can't I say ‘fork’?” Chidi: “If you're trying to curse, you can't here. I guess a lot of people in this neighborhood don't like it, so it's prohibited.” Eleanor: “That's bullshirt.”

The show glosses over this pretty quickly, and it’s played for laughs for the rest of the season. It very cleverly supports the show’s season 1 misdirect: any awkward or unsettling aspect of The Good Place is excused away by the audience (and by the characters) as simply being a side-effect of Eleanor’s misplacement. Of course you can’t swear in heaven!  Swearing is for bad people, and good people wouldn’t even want to hear it. So, therefore, it doesn’t exist here.

And yet, this is not just a subtle form of personal torture for Eleanor (as she is, of course, really in The Bad Place), it’s actually a pretty grotesque form of censorship on all of the characters. Notice that Chidi doesn’t say he is particularly averse to swearing. He says “I guess a lot of people in this neighborhood don’t like it.” Although not nearly as much as others, Chidi does curse a couple times in the show, himself. So, clearly, it’s not a thing he feels particular discomfort about---so why is it censored when they’re alone?  If this were truly a heavenly place customized for each soul, then Eleanor would be able to express herself and Chidi would be able to hear it, but other people who didn’t want to hear it would simply not be subjected to the cursing. 

Instead, the neighborhood completely outlaws cursing anywhere, at any time. In the s1 premise, it’s not enough for the other citizens simply to not hear the swearing, it matters if it’s even happening anywhere in their environment, whether they themselves are witness or not.  So why am I focusing on that idea, when we know the whole thing is manufactured, and the people who made up this rule did so as a lie, just to be cruel?

Because that line of thinking is so endemic to certain parts of fandom right now. Whether it’s making a story or fanart that contains content someone morally disapproves of, or whether it’s only a simple text post or meme going around, there’s thing now where people feel like content boundaries and warnings aren’t enough. It’s not enough to acknowledge that public platforms like Tumblr are unmoderated and that venturing forth to search or browse is accepting a certain amount of risk that one might run into something that makes one uncomfortable.  

[read more below the cut]

When people are campaigning that content they disapprove of--sexually, romantically, politically, morally, paternalistically--shouldn’t exist, they’re doing what the demons of The Bad Place have done to Eleanor and Chidi. They’re saying “This offends me, so it should not exist anywhere that I can know about or ever possibly visit.” Yes, that’s fic about characters who are underage having sex. Yes, that’s fic about characters having sex in a way that doesn’t fit their canon sexuality. Yes, that’s fic about violence and torture being done to characters for brutal and bigoted reasons. Yes, that’s fic about rape, assault, and abuse. Yes, that’s fic about uncomfortable, even disgusting things. Yes, it’s fic about noncon, dubcon, bad bdsm, ABO, slavery, fetishism, power differences, incest, and unrealistic depictions of drugs or sex. It’s fanart and headcanons about those things too.

These ideas, posts, fanworks, and concepts are part of fiction and literature. They’re part of fandom too, and are in fact one of the ways that fandom has pushed the edge of creative development for decades. As they said in Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, “We do the weird stuff.”  Now most people in fandom don’t want to be a dick and just shove things in the face of someone who isn’t interested in consuming it--the artists and writers usually want their work to be found by people who want to consume it. So various media platforms have tools or informal conventions for negotiating shared spaces: tags and ratings on AO3, for example, serve a primary service of sorting the archive and secondary service of warning people of undesired content. On tumblr, it’s most an honor thing where people typically don’t follow blogs that post stuff they know they don’t like, and if someone is going to post something controversial they usually throw up an “FYI” at the top, or put it behind a read-more tag. Those decisions are voluntary, however, and everyone who uses a site like Tumblr is doing so with the express acknowledgement that they cannot control what others post, and may in fact browse a post with content they don’t like. For emotional, personal, or political reasons. ((Note: I’m not referring to personal targeted bullying  and harassment, which may violate the TOS of particular social media sites, and is off-topic for this discussion.))

What happens when you see that post that offends you? Well, you have three primary choices. You can engage with the OP, you can ignore it, or you can hit the “block user” or “report” options. At any given time, those various options may be what you decide to do, and that’s fine. That is, pretty much, the system working. It’s not a perfect system for sure, but it’s a reasonably functioning one on sites like Tumblr that try to accommodate the needs of millions of users. (don’t worry, fandom wont stay on tumblr and twitter forever.) AO3 has similar protections in place, with the difference being that AO3 is a far more opt-in user process: there is no personal “dashboard” or “my feed” on AO3. A person has to seek out content and utilize filters, and doing that only gets the user to the basics like title, summary, and tags. To actually SEE content, the user has to willfully click into the story.

I’m describing these processes (which most of you reading this will already know) because it’s important to keep in mind scope when we’re talking about content exposure and potential resulting damage. When you use these sites (and for the most part, the whole internet), the onus is on the user to curate their experience. On Tumblr that means blocking or blacklisting what you see, and on AO3 that means not clicking the link to a story unless you’ve read and accepted the warnings and description. On Google, it means don’t search “HS History teacher Dean takes teen Castiel in the locker room” if you don’t want to read something fitting that description. Yeah, it may offend you that it exists, but that doesn’t mean that you have to engage with it to prove that it’s harmful to you.

I’ve seen a lot of discussion this last 18 months about what people “can” or “cannot” write, draw, post, or squee about. I’ve seen it in The 100 fandom, I’ve seen it in Teen Wolf fandom, I’ve seen it in Star Wars fandom, I’ve heard about it in anime/cartoon fandom, and I’ve even seen it crop up in, OF ALL THINGS, Game of Thrones fandom.  (side note: if you complain about sexual content in fic while also posting gifs of GoT or Sense8 then I personally would like to throw a pie in your stupid face.) For some people, the answer to “I don’t like that this thing exists” seems to be to aggressively rail against it, to the point of targeting the creator, harassing them, or campaigning for websites or forums to change their rules so that XYZ offensive content does not exist. They say “I don’t care if you write it, just don’t post it where I might find it.”  The idea here is that the world around us is better without XYZ being part of our creative works or discussions, and that shunning that content and those creators makes the world (the internet) a kinder, softer, more welcoming place. 

A good place. 

A place where only good things can be. Where no one is made sad, and nothing that happens here can bring discomfort to anyone. And if you want something that’s not allowed in the good place, the righteous place, then it’s you who doesn’t belong. 

To circle back, the show The Good Place has gotten more popular this season, and I couldn’t be happier. I think it’s a fascinating examination of the ambiguity of people, as well as how mental stress can be used to torture. It’s a funny show with a lot of heart, but it’s a dark show too. And one of the darkest, subtlest things the show has ever done was reach into Eleanor’s mouth and change the words she is speaking. Not to prevent actual harm, but to make sure that other people could live in a world where things they abstractly disapproved of didn’t exist at all. For that, Eleanor was denied her basic concept of self and expression. The elimination of communication like that is such a profound violation of individuality and self that it’s almost incomprehensible that any world in which that happens could be ever perceived as a “good” place. That’s not a nice neighborhood where everyone gets along and is sheltered. That’s mind control. That’s gaslighting. That’s Hell.

There are a lot of ways to handle the struggle of content filtering, and hopefully we’ll figure out new and better ways in the future to balance the needs of artists with the needs of consumers, but one way that doesn’t work is censorship. AO3 isn’t going to change its rules to prevent content you don’t like. They know where that road ends. Tumblr might someday, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for it. And if they do, this whole network of fan culture will migrate to another site without those constraints. It’s already happened twice since I’ve been around. Purity wank is an old problem for fandom, but it used to be an attack from the outside. Now it’s coming from the inside too, probably because the community is so much bigger. So it’s time to really examine the discussions we hear, and sort out if silencing each other is really going to fix anything.

[all-year-autumn]

I haven’t seen anyone else post their Notice Me Senpai Secret Santa yet, but I’m going out of town tomorrow, so here we go. Hope you enjoy, Kashi!

Merry Christmas, Sensei

The boy with the fluffy brown hair stepped into the library and glanced around. Aha. He had quickly spotted the very person he hoped to speak to.

It wasn’t so much that Takeru had a particular wish to talk to the quiet, bespectacled boy who sat next to the tower of books. It was simply that he needed to ask someone from C Class a question, but keeping up with his A Class work didn’t leave him a lot of time to make friends with boys from other classes. Of all the students in C Class, Izumi seemed like he might be the most … approachable. Or the least eccentric, perhaps.

Glancing around to make sure Izumi’s red-headed, self-appointed guardian wasn’t hiding in the stacks, waiting to get the wrong idea, Takeru strolled over to the book-laden table. “Hello, sorry for interrupting,” he began. “You’re Izumi-kun, from Kyouya-sensei’s homeroom, right? I’m Takeru.”

Izumi lowered his book and adjusted his large glasses. “Hello.”

“Do you have time to answer a question for me?”

Izumi looked a little puzzled, but said, “Sure, have a seat if you like. What do you want to know?”

Takeru sat. “I drew Kyouya-sensei’s name for the Secret Santa exchange, and I’m having a hard time figuring out what I should get him. I was hoping that, as one of his homeroom students, you might know a bit better what he likes.”

Izumi considered it. “He likes Lurky the Dinosaur.”

“Huh, Lurky? What’s that?”

“He’s a mascot character. I think he was more popular before Pyo-kun came out.”

This was a surprising revelation. “So, sensei’s a fan of cute mascots. I never knew he had that side to him.”

“Although, it might be hard to find Lurky gear that sensei hasn’t collected already. Oh, but, you know, he and Haruka-sensei are good friends.”

“Are they?”

“Yeah. I bet he would have a better idea what Kyouya-sensei might like.”

“Well, thank you! That’s very helpful! Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Well,” Izumi said, a little bashfully, “as it happens, I drew Haruka-sensei’s name, and I am also having trouble thinking of a gift, because I’ve never really talked to him. I’ve just sort of stood in the background while he patches up Wacchan.”

“Wow, Wakatoshi-kun really doesn’t let anyone put a finger on you, does he?”

“Well, no.” Izumi quickly changed the subject. “Er, anyway, maybe, when you go talk to him, I could come along and see if I get any ideas? I tried asking Kyouya-sensei, but he didn’t really tell me anything. He tries to pretend like they aren’t friends.”

How strange, Takeru thought. But he agreed to let Izumi tag along.

They met up the next afternoon, once classes were over, to ambush the doctor before he left the infirmary. He was startled to seem them lingering outside the door, but a little smile quirked the corner of his mouth when Takeru told him why they were there.

“Kyouya-sensei, eh? Let’s see …”

“I did tell him about Lurky,” Izumi piped up.

“Oh?” Haruka’s smile turned slightly unsettling, though his voice remained soft. “So that secret’s slipped out? I guess it’s all right, then. But it would be hard to find something with Lurky that sensei doesn’t already have.”

“That’s what we figured,” Takeru agreed.

“I mean,” Haruka chuckled, “apparently he even has the Lurky kigurumi!”

Both boys stared at the doctor in wide-eyed silence.

“Well, everyone needs something cozy to sleep in, right? Anyway, probably the only Lurky gear he doesn’t have are the really expensive, limited-edition items, and of course, the Secret Santa exchange is only meant to be a small token of appreciation. So, let’s think, what else for Kyouya-sensei …”

“What about Kyouya-sensei?” asked someone behind the boys.

They turned, but they had already recognized the voice. There stood the very teacher they were talking about.

“Oh, I was telling the boys I couldn’t stay and chat, because you and I were meeting for coffee,” Haruka said casually. “I wondered if maybe you would like to go down to the cafe instead of the office, just for a change?”

“Hm?” Kyouya scowled, just a little, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sure, if you want. As long as it isn’t too noisy.” He looked at the boys. “Would you fellows please excuse us?” When they nodded, he turned toward the stairs.

Haruka winked at the boys as he moved to follow. “I’m sure the students hanging around in the cafe will be nice and quiet, right?” he murmured.

As the adults walked away, Izumi turned to Takeru. “I think he wants us to follow them.”

“Eh?”

“Didn’t you get that impression? He wants us to listen in on their conversation, so he can give us clues.”

Takeru looked unsure. “That sounds like something out of a story.”

“Well, yeah.”

Not really knowing what else to do, though, Takeru went along with the idea.

After giving the sensei a few minutes’ head start, the boys went down to the cafe. When they spotted the men, they saw that Kyouya was seated so that his back was to the door. Had Haruka actually contrived it that way for them?

Kohai-chan started to call out a greeting to the boys, but cut herself off, confused, when Takeru desperately motioned for her to be quiet. She made a beeline for them, though, when they seated themselves right behind the sensei.

“What’s going on?” she asked, careful to keep her voice down.

Izumi whispered an explanation to her. Takeru felt a little jealous.

“I see! I’ll help, if I can. First though, what can I bring you?”

While the boys waited for their drinks, they focused on listening to the conversation one table over.

“Don’t you wish there’d been a cafe like this when we were students here, Kyouya?”

Eh? They knew each other going that far back? Takeru hadn’t known.

Kyouya took a long drink of his coffee. “Do you think I would have come into a place like this back then?”

The boys couldn’t see their teacher’s expression, of course, but Haruka had a tiny, amused smile. “One more place to get thrown out of, I suppose.”

Thrown out?!

“Hm. Maybe I could have behaved myself if the coffee was good.” He turned his head toward the counter. “Or depending on who was there.”

Wha-- did he -- was sensei looking at Kohai-chan while saying a thing like that?!

“Ah -- haha.” It was a weak attempt from Haruka. “You know, every time I patch up Wakatoshi-kun, I see a little reflection of you.”

Kyouya sighed. “I know.”

“Why does that make you sigh? Maybe he’ll turn out like you did, too. Nice and respectable.”

“Hm, maybe. Say, why are you bringing up old times, anyway?”

“I wonder why … I guess I just realized that I also see something of myself in Izumi-kun. All that time in the library, I suppose.”

“Ugh, don’t say that. He’s got enough bad influences around him without being like you.”

“What are you talking about, Kyouya?” Haruka pouted. “I was a model student.”

“... As far as anyone knew.”

The doctor couldn’t hide his smile. “Anyway. Those two are such good friends, even though they are such an unlikely pair.”

Behind the sensei, Kohai-chan arrived with the boys’ drinks.

“So I couldn’t help thinking,” Haruka continued, “… if we’d just talked to each other back then …”

“Hm. Well, I probably could have found a use for your devious mind.”

“... Say, what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Enjoying peace -- and quiet -- on Earth.”

“Nothing special?”

“I might pick up a fried chicken meal to mark the occasion.”

“Aw …”

“Oh? Do you have big plans, Haruka?”

“Not yet. Are you asking if I’m free?”

“Wha-- You certainly don’t mind interpreting things whatever way you like.”

Kohai-chan was still standing at the boys’ table, listening in as well. She had a strange look on her face. Suddenly, she leaned close to Takeru’s ear and whispered, “I’ve got a great idea. It’ll solve everything for both of you!” She hurried away.

Takeru hoped that his face was not as red as he suspected it might be.

A few days later, the school buzzed with the exchange of gifts. Hinata was seen gleefully hugging a smartly-wrapped box to his chest. He wouldn’t say who had drawn his name, but everyone could guess. Hajime managed to bring an enormous takio to class. Viktor didn’t so much as blink. Reiji announced that he and Seiichi had something really special planned, and then introduced a confetti-spewing robot into the mix.

Wakatoshi looked as his feet as he presented a small package to Izumi.

“Oh, so you drew my name, Wacchan?”

“It’s fine if you open it now,” he grunted, still staring down.

Yamoto passed by as Izumi was peeling back the wrapping paper. “Hey, thanks again for the guitar strap, Toshi-kun,” he said, then walked on.

Izumi peered at Wakatoshi.

“What?” Wakatoshi blushed. “I just noticed you were missing this book in the series. It doesn’t mean anything special.”

“Wacchan … would you like to go get some fried chicken after this?”

“... Sure.”

Elsewhere, Takeru hesitantly approached Kyouya. He’d always been a little intimidated by the teacher, but after what he’d overheard in the cafe, he wasn’t sure what to think. Had Kyouya-sensei really been a delinquent in his school days, as it had seemed?

But all he could do was hope Kohai-chan’s gift idea would turn out to be a good one.

“Oh, so you drew my name, Takeru-kun?” Kyouya said pleasantly.

“Yes. It’s fine if you open it now.” He passed over the envelope.

Opening the card, Kyouya was a little surprised by what he found inside. “Well, thank --” he started, but he looked up to find Takeru was already gone.

As soon as possible, Kyouya escaped from the hubbub to the sanctuary of the infirmary.

“Ah, a headache pill so early?” Haruka admonished.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that Christmas is only once a year,” Kyouya grumbled.

“Oh, I thought the gift exchange was fun, though. Izumi-kun gave me a ticket to a figure skating exhibition.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it looks like fun!”

“... Takeru-kun gave me the same thing.”

“Really? What luck! We can go together.”

Luck, Kyouya wondered. He felt as though he’d been set up. “Well, I hadn’t decided whether I was going to go or not.”

“What? Oh, you have to go! It’s a waste otherwise. Think of poor Takeru-kun if he finds out you didn’t use his present.”

“Well, that’s true … but it will be so noisy.”

“I looked up the show after Izumi-kun gave me the ticket. It looks like there will be some former pro skaters there. It should be pretty good.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll be sure to dose you up on headache medicine before we go in.”

“Ah --”

“I’m really excited! We never go places together!”

“I didn’t actually say I would go, you know. And -- hey! Why are you talking about it like it’s a date?”

“After the show, would you like to go get a bucket of fried chicken?”

“... Sure.”

[brotherzachariah]

"#the last hours #not gonna lie #i want nothing to do with this series if matthew and james aren't canon" really? wtf?

yes, i said it.

first of all, james and matthew are very gay/bi/pan-coded in nothing but shadows, the book from shadowhunter academy where they meet and basically follow the classic enemies to friends to lovers trope that we all love so much. there are so many quotes that made myself as well as my best friend (we are obsessed with this otp together) believe that james and matthew were into each other in a non-straight/bro way. here are a few:

“That was when Matthew Fairchild said, “Sir,” and smiled.

James had forgotten about The Smile, even though it was often broken out to great effect at family parties. The Smile won Matthew extra time before bed, extra Christmas pudding, extra anything he wanted. Adults were helpless to resist The Smile.

Matthew gave his all to this particular smile. Butter melted. Birds sang. People slipped about dazed amid the butter and birdsong.”

okay sorry but does one really wax that fucking poetic about some guy they’re not attracted to? no.

then later, to further prove this point:

“Matthew glanced at him and smiled: it was The Smile, gradual and illuminating as sunrise, and James had the sinking feeling that he might not be immune after all.”

ha. not immune to The Smile. james refers to matthew’s smile as a proper fucking noun. that’s not gay at all, folks. also, referring to your bro’s smile as being akin to the sun, just bros being bros.

“I was jealous of you first. I was jealous of everything about you, and I still am.”

“Wait,” said Matthew. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t like me because I am so very charming?”

He threw his head back and laughed. He kept laughing. He laughed so much that he had to come and sit beside James on the step, and then he laughed some more.

“Stop it, Matthew,” James grumbled. “Stop laughing. I am sharing my innermost feelings with you. This is very hurtful.”

“I’ve been in a bad mood this whole time,” said Matthew. “You think I’m charming now? You have no idea.”

James punched him in the arm. He could not help smiling. He saw Matthew noticing, and looking very pleased with himself.”

THIS IS GAY.

“He found Matthew looking at him. Matthew had known, all the time, exactly where he was.

“Jamie,” Matthew said, sounding unsettled but impressed. “That was terrifying.”

“It’s James, for the last time,” said James.

“No, I’m calling you Jamie for a little while, because you just displayed arcane power and calling you Jamie makes me feel better.”

James laughed, shakily, and that made Matthew smile. It did not occur to them until later that a student was dead, and the Shadowhunters feared and distrusted the demonic—that somebody would be blamed. James did not discover until the next day that his parents had been informed of everything that had transpired, and that he, James Herondale, was now officially expelled.”

to quote my best friend and roommate “when ur gonna be expelled but it’s chill bc ur crush smiled at u”

“Father, please,” James said in a quiet voice.

“Mr. Herondale, please!” said Matthew. “We cannot be parted.” James braced himself for the explanation about truth and beauty, but instead Matthew said, with devastating simplicity: “We are going to be parabatai.”

James stared.

Father said: “Oh, I see.”

Matthew nodded encouragingly, and smiled encouragingly.

“Then nobody should come between you,” said Father.

“Nobody.” Matthew shook his head as he said “nobody,” then nodded again. He looked seraphic. “Exactly.”

HMM INTERESTING. CAN’T BE SEPARATED FROM EACH OTHER. BUT DIDN’T ACTUALLY PLAN ON BECOMING PARABATAI, DID IT ON A WHIM. SOUND FAMILIAR? YEAH ITS THE SAME EXACT SCENARIO AS EMMA/JULIAN. BINCH

now here comes the gayest quote

“We don’t . . . have to be parabatai,” Matthew said, his voice quiet under the sound of the blast. “I said it to make your father take me with you, so I could execute my new plan, but we don’t . . . have to. I mean, unless you . . . maybe want to be.”

James had thought he wanted a friend like himself, a parabatai who was shy and quiet and would enter in on James’s feelings about the terror of parties. Instead here was Matthew, who was the life and soul of every party, who made dreadful hairbrush decisions, who was unexpectedly and terribly kind. Who had tried to be his friend and kept trying, even though James did not know what trying to be a friend looked like. Who could see James, even when he was a shadow.

“Yes,” James said simply.

“What?” said Matthew, who always knew what to say.

“I’d like that,” said James. He curled his hands, one around his father’s coat sleeve, and one around Matthew’s. He held on to them, all the way home.”

GAAAAYYYYY

moving on to my actual points.

i feel like it’s important to take into account that so far, emma and julian are the only parabatai relationship that’s been canon. (unless you count michael and robert, but since they never acted on those feelings in canon, and it never actually came to fruition bc robert had his Big Gay Panic, i’m not counting it for the sake of this argument.) if cassie is really telling us that in her four main series, as well as her side novellas and miniseries, etc. the only parabatai relationship we get to actually see be together and fall in love is a cishet couple, i will fucking scream. that’s really homophobic and gross, considering. but honestly cassie has never been into qu**r-baiting, that’s not her style. and homophobia has never been her thing. which is why i have to believe that matthew and james will be canon.

also, matthew is obviously not straight. and i’m not going to search for the ask, but cassie was once asked about matthew’s sexuality specifically, and she was like “i would rather… wait… till the books come out… for you to know.” or something to that degree. like, fam she would never say that if matthew was straight. like i said, not a qu**r-baiter. matthew is obviously into james, and their relationship as i said before was gay/bi/pan-coded in nothing but shadows. BUT you say, MAYBE james is straight and matthew’s love for him is just one-sided! and then he just ends up with a random dude side character!! um, no. that’s the same thing that happened with alec-jace-magnus in the mortal instruments. it would be lazy af to run with that same storyline again, and i honestly would fucking lose my mind if i had to deal with another unrequited gay parabatai love story ever again.

next, and honestly this is REALLY important to me as someone who’s not straight. clary, tessa, and emma. the three /main/ characters of the last three series were fucking straight. they were written straight in the books. canonically straight. yes obviously we all headcanon them as lgbt bc why wouldn’t we, but the point is that the narrative painted them as straight. (disclaimer, i have not read lord of shadows yet, so if emma and christina somehow got together in that book, i take this statement back.)

with her fourth and possibly final (??) series coming out, how could she pass up the chance to make the main character lgbt? the world has changed since she started publishing her books ten fucking years ago in 2007. readers and publishers are much more open and willing to accept lgbt main characters and main relationships. she made alec gay back in 2007, which honestly seemed groundbreaking at the time, but having a side lgbt relationship in your novel is hardly groundbreaking in 2017. everyone’s doing that. but, she has a chance now, with all her popularity and money, and the fact that her books no matter what are instant bestsellers, to finally make her /MAIN/ main character non-straight. she can do anything she fucking wants. so!!! why!!! not!!! make!!! james!!! fucking!!! herondale!!! bisexuall???

and another thing, while i’m ranting like the crazy person that i am. yes, clearly james and cordelia get ~married and have kids or whatever the fuck according to that family tree we saw when clockwork princess came out. BUT keep in mind that at the time, cassie herself said that the family tree had purposeful inaccuracies and she left out the fairchild family line on purpose.

cordelia imo is obviously going to bi, pan, or a lesbian, and end up with anna. that’s just my two cents, and honestly i’m really happy about that because in all her fifty or so books, the amount of wlw is astoundingly low. obviously theres helen/aline, but they are background characters and a background relationship, and we didn’t even see them get together. so i’m glad there will be a wlw relationship in the core main group of the last hours. STILL though, still, that just means that cordelia and james got fake married so they could be with other people. but back to my original point: it makes more sense for that person to be matthew, rather than grace.

another thought to consider is that tlh and tda are meant to parallel each other in multiple ways. i know this seems obvious, but i have to believe that one of these parallels is the whole falling-in-love-with-your-parabatai-making-you-both-monsters drama that jem brought up. JEM, who had a very close relationship with his favorite nephew james and tried to comfort him when james thought he was ‘becoming a monster’ in nothing but shadows. i haven’t even read lord of shadows yet but idgaf bc this obviously still holds up.

SO

tldr; obviously james and matthew should and can be together. and like i said in those tags, if they aren’t i have no interest in the book series.

[cupkayke]

Cupkayke Rewatches/Liveblogs Boueibu!

Season 1, Episode 3

So I dropped off the face of Tumblr for awhile, sorry guys! I also rewatched the entirety of Yuri on Ice with my boyfriend and he now likes ice skating anime so that took some time lol But I am back JUST IN TIME FOR YUMOTO’S BIRTHDAY OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRECIOUS CHILD. So, have a liveblog/collection of my stupid thoughts about one of the more ridiculous episodes! Yay! 

Also, I apologize in advance- some of this episode’s subtext led to an impromptu dissection of the boys’ sexualities/orientations and there are some brief mentions of unsavory teachers (because what kind of teacher holds a pretty boy contest???) so if any of my terminology/speculation is incorrect or you find any of my discussions potentially triggering or in need of tags PLEASE inbox me and I will tag the post as such/correct any misinformation! I am a literature student- I like to analyze things. Sometimes I get carried away~

I SAW THE PREVIEW IMAGE FOR THIS EP ON CRUNCHYROLL AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT ‘HERE WE GO I REMEMBER THIS EPISODE IT’S GONNA BE A TRASH PARADE AND WTF CITY LET’S GO’

Okay- I always wondered about the pretty boy contest… like why? What purpose does it serve? Why are there posters put up in a fucking BATHHOUSE advertising the local boys’ high school’s PRETTY BOY CONTEST. .3 seconds into the episode and it’s ridiculous. 

What do you mean ‘weight with the ladies’ c’mon man I have a hard time believing you care ANYTHING about ‘the ladies’ -eyebrow waggle-

He’s doing pirouettes in a towel… okay seriously bro I danced ballet for like 10 years and I never pirouetted in a towel OKAY THAT’S PROBABLY A LIE BUT YOU CAN’T PROVE IT OTHERWISE

"EWWWW TEACHER DICK”

Aww Yumoto. So innocent. So naive. So willing to point out he just saw his teacher’s penis-

...well that’s an odd question. Yumoto why would you ask-

Oh, shew, it’s because you’re not ashamed of bodies! How sweet and innocent and refreshi-

WAIT BACK UP NEVERMIND YUMOTO WTF THAT’S CALLED VOUYERISM

Those are the faces of some senpais that just came to the realization that their kouhai has probably been checking them out.

Well he got dressed fast.

How do you hire someone by accident?

Took the words right out of my mouth, Atsushi.

This is disturbing on several levels. Pedo Principal? -shudders-

FEET SHOULD NOT BEND THAT WAY

GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. AKOYA AS A BALLET DANCER OMG. IMAGINE. HAS THIS BEEN DRAWN? THIS NEEDS TO BE FANART SOMEWHERE. HE’D BE SO PRETTY JUST IMAGINE HIM IN TIGHTS BEING THE PRINCIPAL MALE LEAD IN SWAN LAKE OR FUCK EVEN IN A FUCKING TUTU BECAUSE HE’D BE GORGEOUS IN EITHER ROLE I CAN’T EVEN AWKEJFLASJFASLDJFOSIJFOAJ -Cupkayke Explodes-

Arima speaks truth

Io why do you have an exact copy of the calculator I use at work that’s terrifying.

RYUU YOU ARE LYING YOU GO TO AN ALL BOYS SCHOOL THAT IS APPROXIMATELY 0% WOMEN TRY AGAIN

Io looks so disappointed he can’t talk numbers with Ryuu

THEIR CHEESY CATCHPHRASE AGAIN

Side note I feel like the quirkiness of the school got toned down in later eps but perhaps that’s my faulty memory. Which is why I’m rewatching it lol.

Pretty and savage AF

PINK RIVALRY! I mean seriously, “you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me?” Maybe not even a rivalry but something else ohohohohohoh I’m alone on this ship

Okay this creepy teacher apparently calls all the boys ‘sweet honey’ which is disturbing on its own level but that got cranked up to 11 on the creep scale when he referred to YUMOTO as sweet honey. 

Yumoto is a precious cinnamon roll you freak

Paper airplane contest lololol why do I feel like this happened at my school back in the day?

Wombat sounds like a jealous lover lolol

OH BOY! PUNS!

RYUU AND AKOYA TIED FOR THIRD???

HOW DOES AKOYA NOT WIN IN THE LINEUP OF THE SC???

LIKE SERIOUSLY KINSHIROU????

AKOYA IS TEN TIMES PRETTIER!

This school must have a thing for ice princes I s2g

En's boredom is dangerous. I mean... the face says it all.

Ryuu is all “this is NOT up my alley”

A bit slow on the uptake, Yumoto.

Io that’s so sweet... I guess? Well Ryuu seems to think it is- look at his face!

...nevermind. His expression is all “Thanks... I guess...”

Either Yumoto was hoping his senpais would teach him how to be popular with the ladies, or he’s just confused as to what in the hell it is that older boys want. This entire scene is just a clusterfuck of innuendo BUT I’M GONNA OVER ANALYZE IT ANYWAY.

The surface meaning of En and Atsushi’s statements here- or what the audience is supposed to get- is that being popular with girls will only get you so far. It may get you ‘love’ but having a girlfriend means jack squat if you don’t have guy friends (most likely to brag to). 

It also could be taken that En at least would rather appreciate women than exert his energy into making them lust after him, which is rather sweet if you think about it.

Atsushi’s point also draws attention to the fact that stereotypical displays of machismo are much more well-received by other men than women- ie outward displays of strength, aggression, bragging about sexual encounters... er- yeah. No need to go on, there.

So. In order to be a well-rounded man, a man needs to be popular/be admired by other men! So you aren’t a lonely loser the rest of your days.

Buuut... because I’m me... LET’S LOOK AT THE SUBTEXT IN RELATIONSHIP TO THEIR SPECULATED SEXUALITIES 8D

En basically says straight up it’s more beneficial to be admired by men. Putting aside the above statements about admiring women... En’s likely gay. Fosho.

And the top screencap of Yumoto, instead of just clarifying his senpai’s intentions, that could mean that he’s more interested in girls. HOWEVER-

With a c: face, Yumoto admits his heart flutters watching rugged young men!

Bi Yumoto anyone? (He also unironically uses the word ‘flicks’ but that’s either a translator thing or another example of a mysterious dialect but ON TOPIC-)

At least within the context of this scene, Yumoto implies he’d be interested in being popular with girls and he is attracted to at very least a certain type of man. Buuut the rest of this episode (which I will get to later) potentially directly contradicts this implication as to Yumoto’s romantic and/or otherwise attraction.

It’s too bad that we don’t get Ryuu or Atsushi’s opinions on the matter- although Ryuu makes his attractions pretty clear just from his character (and then the subtext with Io). Atsushi is a bit of a mystery, for now. 

As for Io, we get this  exchange-

Le sigh. Io is moneysexual. Anyway...

Wombat so salty- I guess helping Ryuu win a contest is more entertaining than being superheroes.

Me about halfway through this post

En's expressions in this scene are great.

Tho does anyone else now headcanon En as really into athletics when he isn’t being lazy?

Like him really liking competition just fits so well but without a goal he’s just like ‘why bother’

Atsushi sounds so awkward calling him Yufuin

“I can’t just announce him as Enchan that’s weird but I don’t think I’ve ever said his last name ughhhhhhhhh”

Io is NOT playing by the unspoken one urinal in between rule

ALSO I JUST NOTICED YOU CAN SEE THE GUY ON THE LEFT ACTUALLY PEEING WTF

Water go swoosh swoosh

Also their bathrooms are fancy AF

GDI why does Io make the best seduction face

Even tho it’s more predatory here still...

THEY WERE REALLY HEAVY HANDED WITH THE INNUENDO IN S1

The triplets WHY ARE THEIR EYES SO WEIRD

WHAT IS IT WITH THIS SHOW AND SIDE CHARACTERS WITH WEIRD EYES

Ryuu so destructive lol

I TAKE BACK WHAT I SAID ABOUT EN BEING ATHLETIC RYUU DOES FUCKING KARATE

Sparkles

Ibushi is still savage AF

I had to giggle and cap his character card because the image of Atsushi doing gigantic jigsaw puzzles was adorable

YOU’RE A TEACHER WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE A PRETTY BOY?

LIKE SERIOUSLY WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE VALIDATED BY HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS

Did he get scorned and that’s why his self esteem is in the toilet???

1579th pretty boy contest??? Damn Pedo Principal is thirsty AF I am still shuddering at the implications

Tho seriously that’s -does math- ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY ONE YEARS OF PRETTY BOY CONTESTS WHAT THE FUCK

And that isn’t taking into account there would probably be a month or two where school isn’t in session on the 27th to have the pretty boy contest. Like December wouldn’t they be on break? And don’t they have a summer holiday at some point?

IT ISN’T JUST ONE PEDO PRINCIPAL IT’S A DYNASTY

EWWWWWWWWW.

YUMOTO AND RYUU BROTHER RELATIONSHIP I FRIENDSHIP IT LOOK RYUU IS BLUSHING

Yumoto knows he’s a lil shit

What the fuck kind of sound effect is swan swan???

I’m suddenly reminded of Kronk doing his own theme music-

Ryuu so salty he wanted to know the winner

Yumoto that writhing mob of students is pretty gross I agree

SO ZUNDAR WANTS THE ENTIRE WORLD TO BE GAY

THAT’S HIS EVIL PLAN TURN EVERYONE GAY

HE SOUNDS LIKE A SHITTY GROSS POLITICIAN

With that shot angle I was just waiting for him to lay a fucking egg but thankfully that didn’t happen

The subtitle is inaccurate- he actually said ‘GIMME HUG’ which is slightly more unsettling.

EN YOU WANT TO MARRY IT WTF

Yumoto still just like c: “I have no idea what’s going on”

I NOW PRESENT TO YOU THE BEST BOUEIBU SCREENCAPS IN THE HISTORY OF SCREENCAPS 

ATSUSHI SO GRACEFUL

SO ROMANTIC

EN IS JEALOUS

THEY’RE ALL RIDICULOUS

Speaks for itself

And here is where Yumoto contradicts his earlier implications. Okay. 1) Writers make up your minds, although 2) ...shades of gray here.

Perhaps Kurotori’s feather spell represents sexual love (Eros for all you YOI fans~) and Yumoto is either a) too young/innocent to understand or b) somewhere on the ace spectrum. The others were affected because they are either simply older than Yumoto/past puberty or allosexual to the point where the spell could manipulate their feelings despite their existing attractions whatever those may be.

Yumoto’s earlier comments, then, could be taken to mean simply romantic attraction, even though his wording of his “heart fluttering” thanks to Yakuza men is a bit misleading in that respect. (Disclaimer: I am not on the ace spectrum so perhaps I am misrepresenting/misinterpreting here- please correct me if I have made a mistake in my understanding of asexuality- I definitely do not want to offend anyone! Just analyzing~) 

Though to play the other side, En’s comment about marriage, even though he’s under the influence of a spell, also indicates that the spell has romantic components as well as potentially sexual ones. If the spell plays to BOTH- wouldn’t Yumoto be affected as well, based on his earlier assertions?

OR PERHAPS- if it is both, Yumoto is ALSO potentially aromantic and his comments were purely of an aesthetic nature or self projection (that is, he wants to be a dashing Yakuza heartthrob, not necessarily date one). Or he was simply trying to relate to his senpais and was bluffing the entire time.

Damn, this episode can seem REALLY deep if you squint hard enough. Headcanons, abound!

Moving on- WHEN IN DOUBT, HUG THE ENEMY!

Now I’m starting to see some cleverness on the part of the writers- hear me out below- but first- MORE CUDDLES

With this, Yumoto can be read several different ways. 

On the surface and probably most importantly, regardless of what Yumoto’s personal attraction/orientation is (if he’s even figured it out at this point), he knows love at its purest form. He loves his brother. He loves his senpais (even though at this point they barely know each other- Yumoto probably latches on quickly). But more importantly, he is so in tune with his own feelings he realizes that self love is at the core of any type of love. That if you aren’t secure in yourself, if you don’t care about yourself on some level, how can anyone else care about you either?

This is another reason why I love Yumoto even though he can get a bit heavy-handed at times and seem like a one-note character; HE ISN’T.

Yumoto is incredibly introspective and even though his senapis make comments about how he just kind of shoves everything together to fit the situation he really does understand the monster-ified characters’ insecurities.

(Which can lead to some sad headcanons about how Yumoto has probably felt all of these things at one point or another... oh no...)

But back to my over-analysis of Yumoto’s orientation- with this... it’s really up to interpretation.

He can be read as a young character who hasn’t figured things out yet, he can be read as interested in romantic relationships of any variety but not necessarily anything else, he can be read as only interested in platonic relationships- anything. And while the inconsistency in his portrayal can be a bit maddening- it’s GREAT headcanon opportunity.

Thus, unless s3 gives Yumoto a canon interest- he’s whatever you think he is. Which is AWESOME! DO YOU SEE WHY I LOVE THIS SMOL CINNAMON ROLL?

Aaaand some closing, not very deep thoughts to wrap up-

SO BLUSHY. MUCH ANGELIC. WOW.

En you’re always tired

Kinchan... why do you want people to grovel at your feet...?

That’s certainly a random question, En- but for shits and giggles; these are their responses if I’m hearing their voices right:

Atsushi - My neck, I guess?

Yumoto - My arms

Ryuu - Armpits

Io - The nape of the neck.

My brain hurts so I have NO idea what these could mean but I highly doubt they’re throwaway lines- SO YOU GUYS TELL ME. Over-analyze what parts they wash first LOL

OKAY WOW THAT WAS LONG AS FUCK AND I GOT TOO DEEP. Again, let me know if I fucked anything up or need to add tags~ And let me know what you think/what your headcanons are/if there’s something from another canon source that could add to this!

I’ll try to get ep 4 up today as well since it took me forever to get back to this but this shit takes longer than I thought. I watch the ep first and take notes, then go back and re-watch and screencap and take more notes, then copy/pasta everything into tumblr and add more thoughts and make it readable. Shew.

[sideshowjazz]

The Subtle Art of A Balance Life

Summary: Jon is most of the way through his first year of university at The Magnus Institute of Arts. He's stuck in a melancholy of nostalgia for a past that he hates and pining for a future he can't possibly know.Then Michael shows up. and things go horribly, wonderfully wrong.

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Alcohol Mentions

Read On AO3

“No, absolutely not.” Jon says firmly.

“Please Jon!” Georgie puts her hand on Jon’s shoulder and gives him those puppy dog eyes that used to get him in so much trouble back when they were dating. Now he doesn’t have that romantic obligation to do things for her. And yet, he feels that tugging in his chest to do this for her.

Jon sighs. “Alright fine.”

Georgie squeals.

“But,” Jon raises a hand. “I will not drink.”

“Oh I don’t care about that.” Georgie waves her other hand. “I just need a plus one. It’d be weird to go with just those two now that they’re dating. So I need you to tag along. And no, before you start, it’s just a friend thing.”

Jon winces. He really didn’t need reminding that they were no longer a thing. They’d broken up in high school and now she was moving on with Melanie, and Jon felt even more alone. Speaking of which…

“Why can’t you just go with Melanie?”

Georgie crinkles her nose. “She has to work a late shift again, so no dice.”

“Right,” 

“Look,” Georgie gestures. “I don’t need you to be social. I kinda don’t even wanna see you try.”

“I’m not that socially inept!” Jon interjects. 

Georgie ignores him. “I just need your physical presence.”

Jon sighs. “Glad to know you want me to be a part of your life.”

Georgie pats his shoulder before removing her hand. “Of course, Jon.”

...

Jon stood outside The Salty Pug. The pub was a two story building. The bottom floor being the actual pub while the top floor was an upstairs loft that the owner presumably lived in. It was one of those new trendy pubs that popped up around universities all around London. This one seemed geared more towards the young hipster demographic. For starters, the name. The Salty Pug, what a ridiculous name. According to Tim, it had gotten that name because “pugs are popular in London and being salty is a thing”, which while technically true was still stupid. 

Jon was staring at the pub sign, a stylized neon orange pug with a disgruntled expression when he heard Georgie and the other two girls coming. They were already starting to chat animatedly and Jon could feel his mind start to check out when Georgie called his name.

“Hey Jon!” She smiled that cheerful smile of hers and for a second he forgot that he didn’t want to be there. “I’ve brought company!”

The two girls had one thing in common, they both had the same stern confidence. One of the girls was tall, with dark brown skin and eyes and was wearing a red and white headscarf. Jon assumed this to be Basira. The other was short, with pale skin and green eyes and hair that seemed to almost smolder with how red it was. He assumed this to be Daisy.

“You remember Basira and Daisy right?” She gestured to the two girls standing beside her, confirming Jon’s assumptions in the process.. “They were in our Calculus class back in secondary school.” 

Truth be told, Jon had spent most of that year preparing his portfolio and hadn't paid much attention to the other students in his year. Still he smiled. “Yes I remember. What uh, have the two of you been getting on with since then?”

Daisy fixed Jon with a hard look that told him point blank that she didn’t give a damn about what he was saying, but Basira answered kindly enough. “We’re both trying to join the police academy. It’s been slow going though since we’re so young and neither of us have our degrees yet.”

Daisy nodded sagely as if to confirm Basira’s statement. Then she asked. “Are we gonna drink or what?”

Georgie smiled. “We are, Jon doesn’t drink.”

Jon waited for the inevitable mockery that always came when people found out he didn’t drink. Instead Basira said. “Yeah I get that. I’m technically not supposed to drink but here we are. Let’s go inside.” 

...

Jon was really starting to regret coming out here a couple of hours into the night. The bar was crowded and the loud sounds of university students having fun was almost too much on it’s own. That coupled with the smell of alcohol and the sound of Georgie complaining drunkenly to Daisy about how her girlfriend was always ditching her for work or studying and you’d have a recipe for a very miserable Jon.

Jon’s mind started to wander off to the cold embrace of a melancholy nostalgia. It was surreal being here. He was surrounded by former classmates and his former high school sweetheart. Had this happened maybe six months ago, he might have been happy. Now he just felt nothing. He wanted to be like Georgie, to be able to move on and start over with his life after her. But he couldn’t. Though to his credit, he almost had. 

Martin had been in Jon’s first year drafting class. He was quiet but not the way Jon was quiet. Martin was timid, borderlining on shy. But when he talked to him, Jon could feel his entire world come into focus. His mind always felt sharper when he sat beside Martin. 

Once, when they’d left class late. Martin had asked him for a ride to the bus station. It was dark and cold and the air was thick and heavy with the smell of an approaching storm.

“Sure.” Jon had said, unable to disguise his own eagerness. “What station?” 

Martin told him the station and they got in Jon’s car. It was old and cramped and had that weird used car smell but Martin seemed to blend right in until he just looked like he’d always been there. Like this was an old routine coming to fruition. They’d talked for the entire ten minute drive. Jon mostly tried to keep the conversation off himself. He was boring, pedestrian. It was Martin that was interesting. Jon learned that Martin was a fine arts major and that he dreamed of becoming a gallery artist. This had struck Jon as very odd. Gallery work required a lot of networking and one look at Martin had told him that Martin was not very good at networking. 

When Jon had dropped Martin off at the bus station. Martin had smiled at him with the most charming of smiles. It was soft and warm with a subtle hint of sadness to it. Martin had thanked him for the ride and said, “See you later, Jon.” before boarding the bus that presumably took him home. That was the last time Jon ever saw Martin

They’d barely know each other more than a semester but Jon knew that he had fallen hard. He’d known it from the moment Martin had bumped into his drafting table that first day of class. So when Martin had stopped coming to class entirely, Jon had been worried. Martin was a lot of things; clumsy and timid being the two major ones. But he was always punctual. 

So every day Jon kept an eye out for Martin and every day he felt a pang of disappointment when Martin was in absentia. Finally he just straight up asked his professor where Martin was. They’d told him he’d dropped out. 

Jon had no reason to feel hurt by it. He barely knew Martin. They’d had one conversation outside of class. And yet, Jon couldn’t help the sense of hurt that flowed through him like boiling tar. Martin had just decided to drop out without a word to him. And Jon had no way of contacting him. No way of getting any explanation or closure. All he had now was the faded memory of a wonderfully mundane conversation and a horrible crush. 

Jon forcibly roused himself from his destructive day dreaming and stood up from the booth. “I need some air.” He said, more to himself than to the group.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come with you?” Basira asked but Jon just shook his head before walking back outside. 

The night air was cold on his face. The sky was a deep inky black with the lights of the shops and bars illuminating an otherwise empty street. Jon stood under the neon orange sign of The Salty Pug and tried to focus on the world around him. Directly across the street from him was a dark alleyway. Bin bags were piled high up beside the overflowing dumpster but otherwise he couldn’t see much inside it. But he knew something was in that alleyway. He could feel it in the cold sweat that began to trickle down the back of his neck and in the shake of his palms. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know?” The voice that came across the alleyway was quiet but also loud. It felt like the sound was coming from directly in front of him but he knew it was coming from inside the darkened alley. The voice was cold, and shook with a deep tremor. Not like the tremor of fear. No whatever was in that alley was not afraid of Jon. 

Jon watched in horror and one of what he had thought was a bin bag uncurled itself into the vague outline of a man. He was shrouded in darkness but Jon could see that the vague shape of his hands, his large and sharp hands.

With a courage Jon didn’t know he possessed, he called out. “It’s rude to yell at people from across the damn street.”

“Hmmn,” The Quiet But Loud Voice spoke. “I suppose you’re right.”

There was a gust of warm air and the unmistakable sound of a wooden door slamming and then Jon felt a presence beside him. He turned to see a tall, blonde man standing beside him. He was handsome, but in an uncomfortable sort of way. His features taken on their own were beautiful: long curly blonde hair that fell to his waist, a high sharp face, and eyes that were neither brown nor blue nor any other shade that Jon could recognize. Assembled together however, it came to be quite unsettling a picture. Jon looked down at the man’s hands and saw that they were perfectly normal.

“Well Jon, you have my presence. What did you want to do with it?” The man’s voice was that same combination of quiet and loud. A combination that shouldn’t be possible and the impossibility of it made Jon’s head ache. Wait…

“I didn’t want your presence and how did you know my name?”

The man laughed and immediately Jon felt woozy. The sound seemed to bounce around his head like a bullet. “Oh but you did want my presence.”

“No I didn’t and how did you know my name? “Jon repeated. 

“What is a name really but a sequence of letters and sounds used to denounce identification? It has no meaning or purpose.” The man grinned at Jon with shining white teeth that seemed to glow in the dark. 

Again Jon repeated. “So why do you know mine?”

“I have been here for so long Jon. Do you think I do not know who comes and goes?” The man’s voice was dry with irritation and Jon felt a low dread settle in his stomach. 

“I suppose.” Jon stammered. “But um, who are you then?”

The man smiled again. “I am not merely a who, I am a what Jonathan. But you may refer to me as Michael.”

Michael reached up and set his hand against Jon’s face and the buzz of fear and panic that shot through him was almost enough to send him to the floor in sheer terror. Michael’s hands were heavy, heavier than they should have been, and the ends of them were sharp and cutting. His, or possibly it’s, nails dug into the side of Jon’s cheek. 

“See you later, Jonathan.” There was a slicing sound as Jon’s cheek was torn open.  He hit the floor hard, clutching his face in pain. There was so much blood, more than there should have been. Jon must have hit the ground hard because he could feel a cold darkness seeping into the edges of his mind. The last thing he heard as unconsciousness began to overtake him was the sound of a wooden door closing.