#to quote myself: the show beat me half to death and left me on the side of the road

[milfjensenackles]

castiel’s top 13 taylor swift traxx

1.7k words | read it on ao3 

“What’s this?”

Dean looked up at Cas from his desk chair, confusion apparent in his curled lip and furled eyebrows. Cas had stalked into his room a moment before and unceremoniously dropped a small rectangle on the table in front of Dean.

Cas gave Dean a small, close-lipped smile while rubbing his hand over the other repeatedly. “It’s a mixtape. Like the one you made me.”

Dean flipped the mixtape over in his hands to read what Cas had written on it. Apparently Cas was getting a lot of use out of the rainbow pen set Sam bought him last week, because ‘CASTIEL’S TOP 13 TAYLOR TRAXX’ was spelled out in bright purple ink on the front of the tape. Dean smiled at Cas’ loopy handwriting before clearing his throat and asking, “Taylor?”

“Taylor Swift. I know your favorite artist is Led Zeppelin and you shared their music with me, so I wanted to return the favor. Sam taught me how to make the tape.” Cas beamed proudly at this accomplishment.

Dean almost grimaced but caught himself so he wouldn’t disappoint Cas. “That’s great, Cas. Thanks. I’ll check it out later.”

Satisfied with that answer, Cas folded his hands behind his back and left Dean to himself again.

About an hour after Cas left Dean’s room, Dean put down the papers he was looking through for a case to reach for the mixtape again. Dean knew why he made that Led Zeppelin mixtape for Cas, but he didn’t think Cas understood human customs like making a mixtape for someone. His feelings for Castiel had become… complicated, as of late. Dean was terrible at expressing himself, but he’s always been able to understand his feelings a little more through his favorite songs. He recently realized (embarrassingly enough) that he had developed quite a crush on the former angel. He knew that he would explode if he didn’t do something about it, but he didn’t want to ruin their friendship. Thus, ‘Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx’ was born.

The only tape player Dean still had was in the Impala, so he grabbed a jacket and shoved the tape into his pocket. He managed to avoid Sam on his way out, which meant that he avoided having to give a lame excuse for going to sit in his car for thirty minutes or so by himself. He opened the door to the Impala and slid onto the bench before pulling the tape out of his pocket and sliding it into the player. A twangy country beat immediately sounded from the speakers and Dean groaned. How was he going to get through a whole mixtape of just Taylor Swift? She was talented and all, but not Dean’s thing. The things he was willing to do for that angel. He closed his eyes and leaned back to rest his head against the bench, listening as a young girl’s soft voice began to sing.

I like the way you sound in the mornin’

We’re on the phone and without a warning

I realize your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard

Dean sat straight up at that, hitting his head on the roof of the car. He rubbed at the bump forming on his scalp while trying to process the lyrics that were still playing repeatedly in his mind. What did Cas mean by putting this song on a mixtape he made specifically for Dean? Probably nothing, he tried to reason with himself. This is just one of Cas’ favorite songs. It doesn’t have anything to do with Dean. Maybe Cas was trying to tell Dean that he was interested in someone else. Maybe Cas did understand the meaning of Dean’s mixtape and was trying to let him down gently. Dean had apparently been lost in thought for the entirety of the song, because as the final chorus filled the Impala he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Whoa-oh, I’m feeling you baby

Don’t be afraid to jump then fall

Jump then fall into me

Baby, I’m never gonna leave you

Say that you wanna be with me too

As the first song ended, Dean picked up the case the mixtape had been inside to read the names of the songs that Cas had listed on the back. The next one was called Sparks Fly. Dean smiled to himself at that, reminded of the night he and Cas had met in that barn covered with sigils. Sparks had flown, but not for romantic reasons, like Taylor suggested in the song. He guessed Cas probably took the lyrics a little too literally, as he did with most things. This theory of Dean’s was proven to be true, as a song that was apparently called Don’t Blame Me blared loudly, causing Dean to rush to turn the volume down.

And baby, for you, I would fall from grace

Just to touch your face

If you walk away

I’d beg you on my knees to stay

This one was a little too on the nose, Dean thought to himself. Again, he allowed his mind to wander, questioning the reason behind Cas’ decision to put this song on a playlist for Dean. It took quite a bit of effort to make a mixtape, especially nowadays. Dean would know. Cas would have had to painstakingly record the songs that he chose for some particular reason that Dean couldn’t determine so far. He allowed himself to fantasize for a moment that it was Dean that Cas so desperately wanted before shaking himself from his thoughts.

Dean had to admit, these songs weren’t half bad. There was even one about cowboys that was probably his favorite so far. Not that Dean’s biased or anything. The next song faded in softer than the others, which caught Dean’s attention immediately. He focused on the words, leaning forward slightly with his hands folded in his lap.

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Dean frowned at these lyrics. Is this how Cas felt about himself? Did Cas really think that he brought only chaos to their lives? Dean supposed that Sam and himself hadn’t really ever said anything to suggest otherwise. He made a mental note to do better about showing his appreciation for Cas. The next few songs played through, and against his better judgment, Dean was starting to really enjoy himself. Before he knew it, the last song was playing, and the tape stuttered to a stop. He sat there quietly for some time after the last note played through the speakers.

He had two options here. He could be a coward, like usual, and let this mixtape thing be forgotten over time as they continue to dance around one another. Or he could confront his friend and potentially destroy their relationship. Eventually, Dean gathered his things and moved back toward the bunker.

Cas was in the kitchen by himself, drinking a cup of coffee out of a mug that said ‘Plant Daddy’ on it. Dean had purchased it for him as a joke when Cas got into gardening, and it immediately became Cas’ favorite. He had his reading glasses on along with an old flannel of Dean’s, which made Dean feel like he was going to explode for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Dean walked up to him and placed the mixtape on the table, as Cas had done to him only a few hours previously.

“Why did you make me this mixtape, Cas?”

Cas pursed his lips for longer than Dean could handle before taking his glasses off and standing up from the table to move toward the sink. He rinsed out his mug before turning back around to face Dean, bracing himself on the counter behind him.

“I find myself… able to relate to the words she sings, moreso than the artists that might be considered more ‘age appropriate’” – Cas’ hands went up to form finger quotes around the phrase – “for myself. Since becoming human, these new emotions have been very difficult to process. I feel like Taylor understands me. The songs I chose… I picked them because they reminded me of you. That’s what Sam told me humans do when they make a mixtape for someone they care about.”

Dean felt himself freeze. He looked down at the mixtape in his hand for a moment, before looking back at Cas again. He thought back to the tracklist he had already committed to memory. It all came to him at once, the lyrics flooding his brain.

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hands

We’re driving down the road, I wonder if you know

I ain’t gotta tell him I think he knows

Please don’t be in love with someone else

Dean stepped forward, crowding into Castiel’s space. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Dean closed his eyes to steel himself, before opening them again and confidently saying, “I’m not in love with someone else, Cas. It’s you. It’s always been you. And I’m sorry if I’m reading the wrong thing into this situation but I – “

Dean was cut off by Cas, who had reached out and grabbed his face before crashing their lips together. Once Dean’s brain caught up to the rest of his body, he started kissing Cas back, pushing the angel into the countertop. This was nothing like Dean’s fantasies, which were always aggressive and usually the result of an argument or a near-death experience. This was achingly slow and sweet with the promise of more.

Cas was the one to pull back to breathe first. Dean followed his lips, wanting more. He would have gladly drowned in Cas. Cas noticed Dean’s eagerness and laughed softly. “I love you too, Dean. I made the mixtape hoping that you would understand what I was trying to tell you. Evidently, it worked.”

This time, Dean was the one to wrap his arms underneath Cas’ to pull him in for another kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, Dean pulled back and smirked, running his hand through Cas’ hair as he spoke. “So… you’d really ‘fall from grace just to touch my face’, huh?”

Cas rolled his eyes, but nonetheless gave Dean an endearing smile. “I already did, Dean. And I’d do it over and over again if it meant I could have this.”

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 2: The Confession (Chapter 1 here)

Ichabod couldn't move, couldn't take his eyes off of the mirage before him, could barely breathe. How could she be standing here, days after she'd disintegrated into that confounded box that'd then combusted into nothing, looking none the worse for wear? Looking as gorgeous as the day he'd met her. Looking as real as the heartache clawing at his insides felt.

It had to be some monster's trick, a devil's devious ploy to destroy him. He raised his arm, his forefinger pointing to the sky. "Who are you?" he managed to demand harshly, though he felt none of the power the words conveyed. The creases of her smile deepened, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling at his confusion indulgently. "Crane." He longed to close his eyes and revel in her presence, let her voice wash over him and sluice the grief away, soothe the hurt in his heart like a healing balm. She hadn't answered his question, instead speaking his name as a statement, and he nearly gave in to his desire to accept this fake as the genuine article. He opened his mouth to speak, but she began before he could formulate any words. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions....and I'll do my best to answer them. I can't imagine what the past few days have been like for you," she lamented, her voice and expression dripping with sympathy. "And before you ask, it's really me." He squinted his eyes at her, doubtful and hesitant and simultaneously so damn afraid and desperate to believe her. "Prove it," he challenged. One side of her mouth quirked up as if she expected nothing less from him, and she held her fist out towards him. He eyed her hand skeptically, unable to reach out and touch her, even with a simple fist bump, until he knew for sure it was her. She waited a handful of seconds, but when he didn't reciprocate, she slowly dropped her hand. "I know this can't be easy. I know it doesn't make sense, not yet. I can't quite believe it myself. But it's me," she entreated him to believe her. "Prove it," he repeated, more heatedly this time. She thought for a moment, the intense look on her face willing him to trust her. "We were in Pandora’s lair, and the last thing I said to you was to never give up. The last thing I heard from you was...you calling my name." He nodded, the moment indelibly imprinted in his memory, a cursed experience his eidetic mind had relived a thousand times already in the past few days. "Before that, we sailed to the entrance to the catacombs. Found Betsy Ross in the hidden chamber inside the temple just before the essence of Pandora's box wrapped its ugly black tentacles around me. You carried me out, had..." she paused momentarily before continuing, "words with Betsy, and then she left. We followed not long after." The more she spoke the harder his heart beat against his ribs, the more heat flooded his body, returning warmth to him and the empty house he'd inhabited for over three days. "Abbie...?" he dared to believe. She smiled fully at him, and his heart broke itself back into place. "Oh, Abbie," he breathed in a broken whisper of relief, and she easily launched herself towards him as he moved to embrace her. 

They covered the several feet between them in a single heartbeat, and he snaked his arms around her, holding her fast, his knees nearly giving out at the feel of her alive, warm, breathing, the smell of her fragrant and clean, her arms cinched around him, a welcoming comfort he'd expected never to  experience again. "Abbie," he murmured again, nearly gasping out her name on a heaving cry, his eyes dropping closed. He knew it bordered on inappropriate to hold her so long, but he couldn't make himself let go for fear she'd fade away before his eyes again. He cupped her head, holding her against him, though by how tightly she held him she had no intention of letting him go either. He breathed her in, grateful for and reveling in every movement she made, inhaling, exhaling, her body pressed against him, her presence more powerful than any drug. Reining his emotions in, he slowly released her from his embrace, gripping her shoulders and peering at her like a vision from heaven. She still smiled gently at him, not overwhelmed or fearful of his desperation in the slightest. "Abbie, how...? It's been three and a half days. How are you here?" he marveled. "Miss Jenny and I searched for a way... Miss Jenny," he interrupted himself. "We must tell her! She needs to know." He patted his pockets searching for his phone but stopped when she pointed to it lying on the coffee table. He grabbed it up and scrolled through his recent calls. "Don't tell her over the phone; it’d be too cruel. Please, just ask her to come here. I want to tell her, show her in person." He nodded, sure Miss Jenny would think him drunk again anyhow if he told her Abbie had walked through the door and hugged him. He clicked on her name and stared at Abbie as the phone rang, unable to let her out of his sight for even a moment. Voicemail picked up after a handful of rings. "Miss Jenny, it's me, Ichabod. Please come by the house as soon as you're available. There's... something we must discuss. It's of the utmost importance, and I beg of you not to delay. I eagerly await your visit. Respectfully, Ichabod Crane." Abbie nearly smirked at him, and he wanted to query her about it, but he refrained, needing so much more than her wit and banter about his entirely too prim and proper voicemails. Without thinking, he sank to his seat, still staring at her in awe. "How is this possible?" "I don't exactly know," she admitted, moving the box of tissues from the couch to the coffee table, dropping to the cushion and angling towards him. "I emerged from the lake, much like I did—like we did—when we returned from the Catacombs. It's just down the way from the river cave where you were buried. All I can figure is that that body of water or that acreage of land is somehow linked to...whatever realms exist beyond." His brow furrowed in consternation, and she continued. "Anyway, I came out of the water a bit ago, without memory of where I've been or what happened after I felt myself slipping into the box. But I had this..." She fluttered her hand in a circle, trying to find the right word. "...this knowledge, like it'd been downloaded into my brain." "What knowledge?" he questioned warily. "You said it's been three and a half days?" He nodded, wondering what this count of 84 hours and—he looked at the clock—34 minutes had anything to do with anything other than being the exact count, nearly down to the minute, of how long he'd suffered in anguish without her. Her smile surprised him, and he waited, quite impatiently, for the punch line. "We've called ourselves Witnesses. Others, our enemies, have called us Witnesses. But we've never paid attention to the passage from Revelation that speaks of us. I woke up with this knowledge, this…unmarred understanding of our role, our destiny. And not even Pandora, her box, the Hidden One, or death can thwart that. As eternal souls, we’ve been given power against the antagonistic forces of evil. And this job of making things right, of justification, is never brought about by a single witness. There's always got to be two.”

He stared intently at her, in awe of both her and the information she relayed. Indeed, they’d never read much from the Scriptures about their role, instead merely settled in to their roles as warriors. This knowledge she now had seemed to grant her a lighter countenance, a more secure understanding of their place in this world. And it’d brought her back to him. He waited for her to continue. "See, Revelation chapter 11 describes the death of the two witnesses only after the testimony—our role to fight against evil—is done. We're only to die at the end of all trials, after all of the tribulation. And we're only to die together." "But you did die...didn't you?" "I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, visibly confounded. “All I know is Pandora, while she may have held more power than anyone we'd ever faced before, is no match for the biblical prophecy. You said it yourself once: the Bible foretells two witnesses. You and I must remain together if there is any hope of victory." He hung on to every word, trying to comprehend all she detailed, not to mention her presence here once again. "You’re saying...we're invincible?" "No, not as I understand it. We've been endowed with... fortitude and strength to fight these battles, the demons, the witches, the monsters, the ungodly. We can still die. And will. But not until our appointed time, and no one other than big-G God determines that. And even then, it's only for three and a half days." "Three and a half days," he muttered, the wheels in his brain trying to keep up with her revelation of their part in the cosmic war they fought. 84 hours. All this time he'd been calculating not how long she'd been gone but how long before she'd return. The notion filled him with a heavy dose of incredulity, and not a little fear.

Something tickled his brain, a conversation from long ago, and his fingers twitched as his tired mind drew up the memory. “Not long after we met, you told me about your encounter in the woods. You said you’d been missing for four days.”

“Four days,” she repeated quietly as her eyes went wide. “Closer to three and a half, if we’re being specific.”

“And Miss Jenny was spared too. Perhaps because of her relation to you. Or her proximity at the time.”

Eyebrows raised with uncertainty, Abbie nodded.

“You’re right,” he claimed in surprise. “Moloch couldn’t defeat you then, and Pandora and her hellish box couldn’t conquer you now. Three and a half days, and you’re revived.”

“Just as the prophecy says: we’re given power, able to overcome our enemies. And at the end…‘But after three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet,' Revelation 11:11," she quoted. "That's why you're here," he marveled. "The prophecy isn't complete, and He...He sent you back." She nodded resolutely. "We still have work to do." He couldn't respond, trying to take in all that she'd relayed, the weight of their destiny, the fact that she sat before him in perfect form, speaking to him of their future after he'd mourned the unspeakable loss of her for over three days. His heart's undulation from sorrow and despair to relief, wonder, awe, and astonishment left him reeling and emotionally spent, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. "Crane?" The concern in her voice made his heart ache anew, and her hands settled on him like cool silk, one gripping his arm, the other clasping his fist.

God's wounds, how he'd missed her! Missed her quirks and foibles, her goodness and passion, her fierce spirit, persistence, and kindness. Her contagious laugh and beautiful smile, expressive brown eyes and teasing nature, the way she explained things when he felt confused and teased him when he became too academic. How she cared about people, held herself to the highest degree of integrity, defended him against any naysayers, made him feel valued in this time he was only beginning to truly settle in to. He missed hearing her putter around the house after he'd gone to bed, playing chess with her, discussing and solving cases with her, listening to her sharp mind delve into fine details, her surprises of confections or ethnic foods he'd never had the joy of experiencing before. Missed seeing her first thing in the mornings, bleary-eyed and coffee-deficient, bedhead hair wild and sexy, so excruciatingly adorable sometimes she stole the breath right out of his lungs. Missed the sound of her voice, her big brown-eyed stare, her petite frame next to him, how she'd always protected his back. Missed her flirtations and irritabilities, her soft touches and fierce hugs. Missed every single detail about her, flaws, favors, and features all. "Crane..." "Yes, I...I merely need a moment," he nearly begged. She started to pull her hands away, but he grasped them, gently but firmly. "Please," he murmured so softly he barely heard his own voice. "Don't go." She squeezed his hand in response, trying to comfort him, and the silence of the room filled with the knowledge of her presence. "I'm sorry. Crane, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice full of sympathy. "You shouldn't be. You quite literally saved the world, Lieutenant." She turned her hands over in his until their palms met, and she clasped at him. "I mean... I'm sorry for the loss that you and Jenny have endured the last few days. Losing Joe and then...."

"And then you," he finished for her when she'd gone silent. "It must feel like whiplash, having me here." She almost sounded regretful, though he knew she merely sympathized with their suffering. He stared at her intensely. "Yes," he admitted honestly. "But I wouldn't trade you for a hundred battalions of soldiers to fight this war with me." A shy, appreciative smile eased over her face, and she looked down at their joined hands. His eyes followed, and he stared at the ying and yang of them, her hands so small and dark in contrast to his large, pale ones. Complete opposites in nearly every way, and perfectly complimentary because of it. The memories of all the things he'd wanted to say floated through his mind, the reasons he'd spent days mentally flagellating himself, how he thought he'd never have the chance to make up for all the times he'd swallowed down his affection for her, of the words of all those who'd seen that he loved her before he'd faced the realization, and too late it'd seemed.

Master Corbin knowingly prompting him to ‘talk to her.’ Miss Corinth blatantly denying his words. “I think you are ready for someone. I just don’t think it’s me.”

Master Mills’ words upon their first meeting. “Take good care of my daughter.” Betsy had spent less than an hour in their presence. "Only one truth matters: your heart belongs to Abigail Mills," she’d declared. “You love her, don’t you?” Pandora had stated. “She is your hope, your everything. I took her from you.” His mind flashed in picture-perfect fashion to his desperation for her, his need to rescue her from Purgatory and the utter desolation he'd felt at having left her there; the absolute despair that'd come over him when she'd become lost in the Catacombs, the numbness he'd forced upon himself to secret his emotions away in order to focus on finding her. The way he'd fluttered around her when she'd returned, ensuring she ate, making her laugh, keeping her company, wooing her with full candlelit dinners and rousing late-night games of chess. He had so much to make up for—he’d caused her such pain over the years when he'd only ever wanted her safe and cared for. He needed to tell her—now—what she'd come to mean to him. He watched his thumbs rub over her soft skin, the feel of her warm hands pouring liquid heat back into his frozen veins. "Having you back, I cannot begin to express my elation." He lifted his eyes to hers. "But I shall try." She lifted her eyebrows in innocent wonder. "Abbie, when I awoke in that cave four years nigh, I never could have comprehended this world and what my life would become. I felt lost. Defeated, and alone. And then you walked into the room. Despite our initial and mutual misgivings regarding one another, your compassion and integrity drove you. Your tenacity for the truth and your strength of character made me believe I could trust you. And I've never stopped. I know I've done things that've hurt you, things I regret and I'd go back to erase if I held that power. Please," he asked sincerely when she started shaking her head against his words. "Please, hear me out.” She nodded once, and he took a fortifying breath before continuing.

“So much of our time together has been me chasing an old life, one that’d become lost to me before I ever even crawled out of the ground. I tried to cleave to it…” He balled his hand tightly into a fist. “And the harder I held on, the further it slipped away from me.” He slowly opened his fist. “And through it all, there you were. You helped keep me grounded as everything I’d ever known and relied upon disintegrated. You spent more time trying to fix…the Crane family problems than you did grieving all you’d lost because I appeared in your life. And never did you complain. You’ve been the epitome of kindness, patience, virtue, and strength. And it’s more than I deserve.”

He threw a finger up in the air to halt her protests. “I’ve made some grave mistakes, the greatest of these being...  You’ll have to forgive me. In my day we weren’t quite so free with our sentiments. We were more…”

“Puritan?” she offered.

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Indeed. Though I am striving to become a 21st century gentleman.” His expression turned serious again. “I’ve missed you gravely these past few days, Abbie. You’ve come to mean so much to me over the years, and when I thought you were gone before I ever took the chance to tell you how much I care, I…”

His trailed off, staring into her wide, trusting eyes. His heart beat wildly at this step he was about to take. He swallowed hard and plunged forward, her expectant look filling him with hope.

“You have been the greatest surprise and the most valuable treasure of my life. I love you, Abbie. I have for longer than what’s appropriate and more and more so every day. And I regretted it profoundly when I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you so. I love you. And there’s nothing in this world I desire less than to be without you. I want you with me always. That is...if you..." His words faded away, uncertainty replacing his resolve. She could reject him—dear God, he hoped not, but she could—and still he wouldn't regret letting her know she was loved. Not after the abject self-loathing of the past few days. In one smooth move, she tucked her legs beneath her, kneeling next to him on the couch, sitting back on her haunches. She reached for him then, one hand lacing through his hair and resting at his neck, the fingertips of the other settling against his scruffy jaw. She gazed at him from eye-level, tears flooding her eyes but not falling. He didn't know what they meant, but she'd moved so close, invaded his space in a way she'd never dared to before. He could only peer at her helplessly, not comprehending how he'd arrived at this moment after losing her. How her warm hands could be touching him, her ears hearing the words he thought he'd choke on for the rest of his lonely life, her eyes staring into his soul like the sun blazing onto the frozen tundra. She mesmerized him, his mind simultaneously reeling from and numbed by her presence. The trauma of the past few days and lack of sleep had him spent; he had nothing left to give at this moment and everything to lose. "Ichabod." She breathed his name, and his heart clenched in his chest, recalling the only other time she'd done so. Then, too, she'd left him speechless, though he should've spoken up; he couldn't now even if he wanted to. Her knees pressed against his thigh, and he felt the soft puffs of her exhales ghosting over his skin. Her fingers absently teased along his neck, and he felt tingles race down his body. It'd been so long since anyone had touched him so intimately, caused such sensations to course through him, and he stayed frozen in place, nearly overcome by sensory overload. He watched her, helpless, wondering what came next. Her eyes, filled with desire, flicked between his gaze and his mouth as she inched towards him. Strewth, he must be dreaming! Passed out on the couch after drinking heavily to try to numb the pain and grief. Hell of a job he'd done too, to conjure such a perfectly sensual fantasy. He let her close the distance between them, unable to think straight, unable to move, but prepared for the feel of her lips, the taste of her kiss, the heat from her flowing into his frozen limbs. Her expression, so soft and vulnerable, made his heart ache fiercely, the cavern inside his chest closing with each inch she moved closer. All he could do was watch her. Time had slowed, frozen just like he had, as if the heavens had pressed a pause button, and his blood pounded loudly in his ears. Then, without warning, it seemed to scramble forward, and he watched as her eyes dropped close. His did the same as her lips pressed against his. He was not prepared. Whether the torrential cocktail of the past days' emotions or the reality that his fantasy had come true deserved blame, he couldn't say, but he sat completely at her mercy. She moved slow, patiently, her kiss soft, tantalizing, hot, and he moaned out a soft breath in disbelief and wonder. She started to ease away from him, but he chased her lips, not ready to wake from this searing dream, and she easily fell into him, her arms looping around his neck as she pressed herself against him. He came alive then, blossoming under the scorch of her ministrations, and he turned towards her, one hand cupping her head gently, the other roaming her back, pulling her more urgently against him. "Abbie," he murmured heatedly against her lips, but she silenced him easily, her tongue teasing his, her mouth drawing another moan from him, even as she matched it with her own. She moved to straddle him, and he helped her, his hands steadying her hips as she slid one leg over his lap. His large hands nearly spanned her small waist, and he moved them over her petite frame, from her lower back to the curve of her...buns (that word didn't seem so offensive at the moment), up the line of her spine to her shoulders, then down again to her hips and up her sides until he felt her rib cage beneath his hands, his thumbs just below her breasts. He wanted so much more, but even as she allowed—encouraged—his handsy exploration of her and continued doing marvelous things with her mouth and tongue, his mind screamed at him to cease, the impropriety of their situation a haunting specter he couldn't shake. Before he could muster up the willpower to pause their fervor, his phone both vibrated and rang, and he reluctantly, regretfully eased away from her. He touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, self-conscious about his shortness of breath—though he immediately noted that Abbie suffered from the same affliction. His phone continued warbling loudly and sputtering across the coffee table, infernal thing it was, fraying his sensitive nerves. Clearing her throat, Abbie slid off of his lap and grabbed for the phone. He watched her, cheeks tinged pink, lips rosy from his kisses, contented look on her face, and wanted to pull her right back to the place she'd vacated. Instead, she glanced at the phone, then held it out to him. "It's Jenny," she intoned softly. He nodded, still not entirely convinced he wasn't dreaming, drunk or not, and took the phone from her. He swallowed hard before answering with a meek hello. "Crane, are you alright? I got your message." He peered at the petite woman in front of him, overwhelmed and grateful, exhausted and thrilled beyond reason she hadn't disappeared like a desert mirage, and wanted to weep at the realization that she was real. She stared back at him as if he'd hung the moon, eyes dilated, corners of her mouth upturned in a perpetually pleased smirk. His heart nearly gave out knowing he was the cause of such a wondrous look. "I am...alive." Miss Jenny wouldn't understand his dual meaning. Yes, his heart still beat, but more than that his body zinged with fervor, full of passion and longing, his lips hot from Abbie's kiss, his mind reeling with all the possibilities that lay before them. "Stay that way. Be there in five." And she hung up. Ichabod cupped the phone in both hands, drumming his fingertips on its back, trying to think of something to say, something to do that wouldn't find them back in a compromising position, especially with Miss Jenny on her way. He began twirling the phone in the palm of one hand, the fingertips of the other tapping out a beat against his knee. "Would you like to sit back down?" Abbie's eyebrows shot up, an amused smirk on her face, and he realized the unintended innuendo in his words. "Oh no, not... Of course, I didn't mean to imply... I meant..." His hand fluttered in a circle in the air, his tongue tripping over his words. God's wounds, he felt depleted. He needed sleep. But not just sleep. Rest. Still, he couldn't help thinking if he fell asleep he'd wake up to find this was an exquisite dream he'd never get back.

Focus, you imbecile. "I just thought you might want to sit a spell," he managed to explain, his hand indicating the other end of the couch, the large comfy chair. "Miss Jenny will be here soon and..." And he didn't know what. He could barely keep his thoughts in order after the past 20 minutes, let alone the past three and a half days. The look on Abbie's face turned to concern. "Jenny's not going to take this well," she surmised, beginning to pace. “Not at first.” He'd laid his heart out, spilled the words he'd thought would plague him to eternity, played all of his cards. And while she'd seared him with her passion, she was already moving on, unaffected. His heart sank, broken all over again for different reasons. What came next for them? For him? How could she feel so indifferent after branding his lips with hers? "We don't have nearly enough time for me to say all the things I want to say to you before she arrives."

He hadn't realized until this how many ways a heart could be devastated. Hearing her now... Wait, had she just...? He watched her pace in frustration for a moment, her words sinking in to his daft, sleep-deprived brain. His heart, lying in the pit of his stomach, fluttered to life, making him queasy and anxious to hear what came next.

"Abbie...?"

She stopped moving and faced him, the coffee table standing between them. Her hair, full around her face, sat perfectly, her wondrously pouty and kissable lips called to him, her eyes filled with compassion and—dare he think it?—love. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

"There's so much more I want to tell you, so many things we have to talk about." Her eyes pleaded with him. "This isn't over, Crane. Promise me this isn't over."

The desperation in her tone simultaneously ignited concern and anticipation. "It's not over, Lieutenant. It's only just beginning," he promised fervently, resolutely.

She opened her mouth to respond but was silenced by an urgent knock at the door.

Jenny had arrived.

[luviedovey]

the you i fell in love with

connor murphy x female!reader

a/n: not me writing a fic about mike faist’s connor murphy 2 years after he left the show...... also Connor is probably ooc 

summary: you were Connor’s girlfriend who lived in the next town over, a little over a half hour away. his family didn’t know about you, no one did. he didn’t want his family or anyone he knew to scare you away. in the end, it didn’t really matter. he was gone. when the Connor Project came to be and Evan resigned from being co-president, you ran into him. you questioned him about his “friendship” with Connor and he told you everything.

set after the Murphy’s find out the truth and before the Evan/Zoe reunion at the orchard.

second person pov

warning: a few swear words, also very brief mention of depression and taking your own life, and Larry Murphy kind of being a dick

word count: 5,573

______

“Who are you exactly?” Evan questioned the girl who pulled him off to the side of the supermarket where no one else was around. To say he was a little nervous would be an understatement, he was freaking out on the inside.

“I’m so sorry! I probably scared you half to death dragging you along like that.. I just have some questions for you, if you don’t mind answering..?” You smiled at him sheepishly. Something about your awkward smile eased his mind a bit, but not enough. “No, sorry my mom actually is waiting for me by the-” “It’s about Connor!” You interrupted, looking at him through sad, heartbroken eyes. “..Please. Evan Hansen. I know you weren’t really friends with him. I know you weren’t even secret friends with him.. Because if you were, I would’ve known.”

Evan looked around before looking back at you, confused. “Who are you?” He asked for the second time. “I’m- I was Connor’s girlfriend. Y/N L/N. I met him 2 years ago at the apple orchard you guys rebuilt?  We both went there because we thought that no one else would be there and that it would be the perfect place to escape. His family and classmates never knew about me because he-” you laugh slightly,” he was afraid they would take me away from him. Or that his family would fight in front of me and he’d lose his cool or that his sister would say nasty things about him to ‘spare me from being in a relationship with him’ or even that the bullies at his school would turn me against him even though he knew damn well I could never.” You stopped rambling and passed him a Polaroid picture of the two of you, sitting against the chain link fence that surrounded the old abandoned apple orchard. You were looking up at Connor with heart eyes as he smiled back down at you. A real smile. This was the real Connor Murphy.

Evan looked up from the picture at you, shocked before quickly returning it to you. “Oh my god... You must think I’m such a h- horrible person for doing all this and pretending to be best friends with your- your dead boyfriend- I’m so sorry for your loss by the way- and making up all these stories about things we never really did and starting a whole online campaign about-” “Evan!” He stopped ranting, breathing heavily. “Breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Relax.”

It was silent for a moment before Evan mumbled a quiet, “Thank you.”

You smiled knowingly. “Now. Mind telling me everything?”

The two of you sat in your old beat up truck, as Evan told you everything. And by everything i mean everything. He started from the very beginning, “My dad left when I was 7 so now it’s just me and my mom. She works all the time at the hospital to support us and to pay for her education- she’s studying to be a paralegal- and so I’m usually home alone. I have anxiety so I take medication and go to therapy where I have to write a letter to myself hyping myself up for the day and trying to be positive and stuff-” “’Dear Evan Hansen’...”

He looked up from his hands at you, “Yeah.. Connor had one of my letters when he- um.. he took it from me earlier that day..” “It was your therapy letter? Why did he take it from you?” “Oh! You see he didn’t actually know it was a letter to myself for therapy he just thought I was being creepy and writing about his sister in a letter to print it out where he would find it and freak out and explode or something- That wasn’t why though, I didn’t even know he was in the room with me, I thought I was alone. He signed my cast before he read my letter, though. He said, ‘Now we both can pretend we have friends.’ Which is why I thought doing what I did would be okay but it wasn’t and it never will be and I really shouldn’t justify my actions because it was-” “Evan breathe.” “Right, sorry.” “Don’t apologize, it’s okay.” “Okay sor-” You gave him a pointed look.

“O-okay...” You giggled slightly, looking out of the window at the supermarket parking lot, “So.. he ran out with your letter, pissed because he thought you were fucking with him... And then he killed himself.” “Yeah.”

“So what happened after that?” “The Murphy’s showed up in the principal’s office three days later. I knew something was wrong because Connor and Zoe both weren’t in school and I know Connor skips but it’s not likely that they would both be out on the same days. Zoe doesn’t really skip school- she’s not that kind of person.” You nodded, gesturing to get to the point. “Right, they called me into the office because Connor had my letter and my name was on it so they thought the letter was for me. I tried to tell them it wasn’t- that I was the one who wrote it, but they were in denial. They kept reading parts of my letter back to me from memory, trying to make sense of it but I couldn’t tell them- I couldn’t get through to them....” He sighed.

“They invited me over to dinner and I went because I wanted to set the record straight but when I got there, they wanted to hear everything I knew about Connor. But I didn’t know anything, so whenever they brought something up I just nodded and agreed. Zoe was getting suspicious so I started to make things up. ‘Connor loved to talk about how much he hated skiing.’ ‘Connor took us to A La Mode and we ate our ice cream in the apple orchard where we climbed trees and raced across the open fields.’ ‘We would quote songs by our favorite bands.’ ‘We’d tell jokes no one else would understand.’ All lies. And they believed them. They wanted me to keep talking, they needed me to. They were broken and I just wanted to help them. I told them that we were friends on the internet where we’d email each other to talk about our day and stuff. And Connor would use a secret email account because he knew his dad was checking his regular email, and he didn’t want anyone to know we were friends.... Now that I think about it, this kind of sounds like your story.” You laughed, lightening the mood, and nodded.

“You know, you really aren’t that far off from who Connor was, despite the fact that you were making it up as you went. He wasn’t the monster that everyone thought he was. I mean sure in 2nd grade he pushed over a printer because he had a little tantrum about being skipped for line leader, but what kid doesn’t have a tantrum at least once in their life? It definitely didn’t help that all those kids grew up, making the story sound worse than it really was. He was always angry and stand-offish because everyone in his life would say shit about him that wasn’t true or be nice to him to get close enough to learn something new about him and then turn around and make fun of him for it. He was battling depression and needed help but his family didn’t want to believe there was anything actually wrong with him. I was the only one to believe him. To believe in him. But I’m just one person, and I guess that wasn’t enough..” You trailed off. Evan awkwardly put a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it with his thumb as a way to console you.

It was silent for a moment. “I think he would’ve liked you. It would’ve taken him a while to warm up to you, but I really do think the two of you could’ve been friends.” Evan smiled slightly, before frowning. “I pretended to be his friend for so long, but Alana- she’s the co-president of the Connor Project- started getting suspicious about our friendship, saying that the letters didn’t make sense because it sounded like Connor was getting better so I showed her Connor’s ‘suicide note’-” “Dear Evan Hansen, It turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because, why would it be?”

“...Yeah. She believed me too. I told her not to show anyone because it was a really private thing, but she just said that was exactly what people needed to see. She posted it and people on the internet started to attack the Murphy’s, saying things like ‘They’re a rich family who couldn’t bother to pay for their son to get help?’ and ‘I’m not saying to do anything illegal but their house is the pale yellow house at the end of the cul de sac with a red door.’” Your hand flew to your mouth in shock. “They even leaked Zoe’s phone number and their house phone! Everything was just spiraling out of control and I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and the only thing I could think of to do was just.. them the truth. So I did and I told them everything. I wrote the letter, Connor took it from me, we weren’t really friends, and it was all a lie. I haven’t spoken to the Murphy’s since.” He fiddled with his hands in his lap and sighed. “And.. I’m scared. Scared that one day I’ll go to school and everyone will hate me or that the Murphy’s will ruin my life.. Not that I don’t deserve it, after what I did? I deserve worse.”

“Evan.. No one deserves that, especially not you. What you did wasn’t exactly the right thing to do but you had the best intentions.” He nodded silently, “What did you want to ask me earlier anyways?”

You turned, facing down at the wheel in front of you. “I wanted to ask you if you knew where he was buried.”, a tear slipped from your eye as you sighed, smiling sadly, “I didn’t exactly get to say goodbye..” “I could go with you if you’d like. To show you the way?”

“Thank you, Evan.”

___

During the ride to the cemetery, You and Evan talked, trying to lighten the mood, and quickly became best friends. The two of you didn't have so much in common but you were both very comfortable and supportive of each other. You were like the siblings neither of you had.

The two of you stepped out of the truck, and begun walking to Connor’s grave. “Oh! Hold on..” You turn back, grabbing a beautiful bouquet of red roses and pink tulips, with a small white card that said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you enough when you needed it, Connor. I will never forget you, mon amour. I love you, always.” Connor didn’t have a specific favorite flower but he did appreciate their meanings. Roses represent love, and tulips represent a declaration of love. You hoped that even though he was gone he would still appreciate the thought you put into it.

The two of you walked up to his grave. It was at this moment when it hit you that he was really gone forever. You dropped to your knees, carefully placing down the flowers. Tears streaming as you silently sobbed, Evan’s hand on your left shoulder and the ghost of Connor’s hand on your right.

“I’m sorry, Connor. I love you more than you’ll ever know..”

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, before agreeing to leave in case the Murphy’s decided to visit. Neither of you really wanted to run into them and have to explain who you were and why you were there. “Do you want to come over to my house? You look emotionally exhausted.” You laughed and nodded, starting up the car.

___

“Why didn’t you come to town sooner?” You sighed, “I just.. I didn’t want to believe that he was really gone, you know? And coming here, seeing his grave, and his grieving family just confirmed what I prayed wasn’t true.” You sipped on the hot chocolate in your hands, staring out of the window at the pouring rain and cloudy night sky. “Have you met them yet?” Evan mumbled, typing on his laptop on the couch beside you. He pulled up the Connor Project and read about all the many different things Alana was doing. “No.. But I feel like I should? Like I know things about Connor that would give them closure but I can’t bring myself to go over and talk to them.”

“If only there was a way for you to show them what Connor was really like so you wouldn’t have to talk to them...” It was silent for a moment, “Actually... Connor and I used to write each other handwritten letters and take a lot of pictures together..” “Well what are the odds..” he giggled, “Maybe you could give those to them? The ones that aren’t super personal?” You sat together deeply in thought.

“But I can’t exactly bring myself to just give them away... Maybe I could copy them and white out all the personal stuff? Like the things between me and Connor only, and my face and name?” Evan nodded, agreeing that that would be the best option. You’d create a box filled with things Connor wrote and pictures of when he was truly happy, then leave it on the Murphy’s doorstep. It was a safe, no-contact interaction.

___

The next night, you went over to Evan’s house with the box labeled “The Real Connor Murphy. (i’m so sorry for your loss.. i thought maybe you would like to have these to know who he really was.)” Evan gave you directions to the Murphy household. Eventually, you parked in front of the pale yellow house, all three cars were in the driveway. “You better be quick if you don’t want anyone to see you.. Just.. keep the car running, drop off the box, ring the doorbell, and book it back here and drive off. Don’t turn back.” “Okay super spy.” You laughed nervously.

You walked up to the door, placing the box neatly on the ground with a single rose and tulip tapped on the top, rang the doorbell, and ran off. You jumped into the car and drove off just as Evan, who was previously hiding away from the car window, saw the red front door begin to open.

___

“Larry!” Cynthia Murphy exclaimed, picking up the box from the front porch to the dinner table, placing it beside the small card they had found on a mysterious bouquet of flowers they found the day before against Connor’s gravestone. “What is that?” He asked, looking at it with disinterest. “I found it on the porch, it says ‘The Real Connor Murphy. I’m so sorry for your loss.. I thought maybe you would like to have these to know who he really was.’ It’s in the same handwriting as the note we found on that bouquet of flowers. It even has the same two flowers! It has to be the same person. Someone who really loved him...” “What’s inside?” Zoe asked while reading and rereading the small card.

Cynthia opened the box to find handwritten letters from Connor and a mystery girl, photos of Connor laughing, smiling, pouting, hugging and kissing someone with a scratched out face. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. This was the real Connor, a whole different version of him that the three were completely unaware of. Seeing him like this was just so unfamiliar to them, they couldn’t believe their eyes for a moment. Zoe picked up a letter, reading it aloud,

“Dear Y/N

Things haven’t been going so well lately, my parents are always fighting, my mom pretends like there’s nothing wrong, my dad doesn’t pay attention to anyone but himself anymore, and Zoe hates me.

Not that I blame her, I hate myself too. But I don’t hate myself when I’m around you. I’m so glad to have you around. You make life just a little easier every day.

It’s harder when you’re not around, I get angry easier when I get bullied at school or when Zoe says something awful about me. I just feel like I’m an airplane about to crash, but with you around I feel like I’m flying. Smooth sailing. Floating even. You are the most perfect girl I’ve ever met.

Thank you. I love you.

Sincerely, Con”

“He.. he had a girlfriend..?” She said, in shock. The three began to shuffle through the letters, photos, and little post-it notes, putting them in piles. “These are all copied..” “Maybe whoever left them didn’t want to give the originals away..?” “Maybe because she still cares about and loves him and didn’t want to give these away. They seem so.. personal.” Cynthia picked up a post-it note,

“Tu es belle Y/N, je t'adore.”

“What does that even mean?” Zoe pulled out her phone going straight to google translate, “It’s says ‘you are beautiful, i adore you.’.. I didn’t know Connor knew french.” “He never took a class for it. Maybe he learned it on his own?” Larry picked up a photo this time, Connor was standing in front of the apple orchard’s rotting old sign in the middle of the field, fake pouting and wearing a thin little flower crown you had made him. “I didn’t know Connor had any feelings other than anger.” Cynthia hit his arm. “Wait,” Zoe said, grabbing the attention of her bickering parents, “This letter has a picture and a post-it note attached to it.”

“Dear Con,

Thank you for the painting, it’s absolutely beautiful. You are so so talented. The way you put so much thought into every detail is truly admirable. You make everything you paint so exciting and captivating, even if the thing you’re painting isn’t very exciting at all. You see the beauty in the things that most people never give a second glance.

It kind of reminds me of the way I look at you.

To most people that don’t know you, you are a “freak” or “school shooter chic”. But, when I look at you, you are none of those things. You are beautiful, you are captivating, you are perfectly imperfect. You are worth it. Don’t give up on me darlin’.

I love you.

Sincerely, Y/N/N”

Attached to the letter was a photo of the painting mentioned. It was a painting of your beaten old navy blue truck parked beside a chain link fence that blocked it off from the open field. In the background, the sun was setting in a perfect blend of yellows, oranges, and reds. It was so detailed that if you weren’t already aware that it was a painting, you would’ve probably thought it was a photo taken from a fancy camera. “It really is beautiful..” Cynthia trailed off, wiping a stray tear that fell from her eye, “He was so talented. I didn’t even know he liked to paint! I mean I knew he took an art class but because he skipped school so much, I never even thought he went..”

“I guess we really didn’t know Connor at all..” Zoe begun to get angry, “What kind of family does that?! I mean we lived with him, I grew up with him, you two raised him, and we still didn’t even know who he was?! This.. this stranger even knew more about him than we did! Do you realize how sad this is? We have to learn about our dead family member from a complete stranger because when he was alive, we were too busy pretending like he was just acting out for attention instead of actually needing help! He needed help and we didn’t give it to him! It’s not like we couldn’t afford to take him to therapy! We just pretended like he was a monster and if we ignored him, he would stop..” She took a deep breath, “Maybe we were the monsters and his anger and tantrums were his cries for help...” “Zoe..” Cynthia reached for her arm but she pulled away, running up to her room while choking back tears. “..She’s right.”

The two were quiet for a long period of time, reading and rereading every letter and every note, memorizing every photo.

Cynthia held up a photo of Connor and a girl, whose face was completely scratched out, “Who are you..”

___

The next day was a particularly warm day so you and Evan drove over to A La Mode as a victory ice cream run of sorts. You really believed in treating yourself after small, seemingly insignificant, victories such as dropping off a box of precious letters to a grieving family. They needed closure, and you were willing to give it them. Evan, despite talking about A La Mode with the Murphy’s before, had never actually been. You two talked and ate your ice cream sitting in the back of your truck, looking out at the orchard across the street. The orchard was renamed the “Connor Murphy Memorial Orchard”, which made your heart a little heavy. Another reminder that he was really gone.

In the distance, on the other side of the fence sat the Murphy’s who were packing up from their weekly picnic. As they got up to walk out of the orchard, Zoe looked across the street. “Wait a minute..” Her parents stopped walking. “What is it Zoe?” Larry asked. She pointed at the car parked across the street, “Isn’t that the car that Connor painted his girlfriend in that letter? And Evan?” They looked across the street to find the same navy blue truck and a familiar face.

Evan paled, “The Murphy’s are looking at us!” he whisper-shouted. You began to turn around, but Evan stopped you. “No don’t look!” Your head whipped back to him as your face paled, “They recognized my car..” “How could they? It was night time when you dropped off the box and the door barely begun to open as you drove away..”

You smiled sheepishly, “I may or may not have given them a picture of a painting Connor made me of my truck parked beside that exact fence...” Evan facepalmed and gave you a deadpanned look. “Well they’re starting to walk across the street now.”

You shot up, “Let’s go.” “I mean would it be so bad to meet his parents?” Evan asked as the two of you scrambled into the front seats. “I’m just.. I’m not ready to have that conversation just yet.” You reversed out of the parking spot and drove back onto the road.

“Wait!” The Murphy’s shouted to the car as it begun to drive off. “There was a girl driving. Maybe that was her?” Cynthia asked, hopefulness clear in her voice. “She was with Evan, do you think the box of letters were fake?” Larry, always the optimist. “They couldn’t be, they were handwritten in Connor’s handwriting. Even the french notes.”

Zoe thought for a moment, “Well if we’re going to find her, we should probably start with Evan’s place first.” “Who said we were going to look for her?” Larry asked, “I’m not wasting my time on a wild goose chase. She’s already shown us enough about Connor.”

Cynthia turned to her husband, “How could you say that? She could be the one thing to bring us closer to our son. Our son who took his own life because he felt that that was the only path left for him. And you don’t want to try to find her? Find closure? Honestly Larry, what is wrong with you lately!” “I’m sorry. We’ll find her.”

___

The Murphy’s found themselves at the Hansen household. They knew you were there. After all, your truck was parked in the driveway. Inside were you, Heidi, and Evan. You had just met Heidi, but she loved you. She was thrilled to find that Evan had made a friend like you. You hung out with Evan even after learning he lied about being friends with your recently deceased boyfriend, and helped him when he started to rant and breathe heavy about it. You were so kind-hearted, forgiving, and calm by nature, that he was finally comfortable around someone. You were quickly best friends.

A knock at the door startled the three of you. “Are you guys expecting anyone?”, Heidi stood up to get the door as you and Evan turned to each other. He placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “I suppose now’s a good time as ever, even though I really only had 24 hours to prepare myself..” You muttered, the two of you walking towards the front door.

The Murphy’s stopped and stared at you. “Are you.. Were you Connor’s girlfriend?” Cynthia asked. You nodded slightly, rubbing your arm as a nervous habit. “I’m Cynthia, this is Larry and Zoe.. We’re Connor’s family.” “I know.”

Heidi invited them in, everyone heading to the living room. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.. We just wanted to thank you for all the letters and photos of Connor. It feels like we’re finally getting to know who he really was on the inside.” You looked up from your lap, “No offense ma’am, but shouldn’t you have gotten to know your own son when he was still around?”

Zoe laughed, awkward and uncomfortable. “I really don’t think that’s funny.. especially considering you didn’t bother to get to know him either.” You said getting defensive, sticking up for Connor. Even if he was gone, you would never stop fighting for him. You did truly love him after all. “And before you say ‘Connor wasn’t easy to talk to. He would always yell and storm off.’, just think about the fact that having a relationship with someone is a two way street. You can’t expect someone to make an effort if you don’t try to do the same.”

The three looked at her in shock. Heidi and Evan smiling sheepishly in the background. “I..”, Larry started, but trailed off, not being able to come up with a proper response. Cynthia and Zoe looked deep in thought, unable to do the same.

It was quiet for a long amount of time.

“You’re right. You’re right and I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. And the only thing we could do now is learn from our mistakes. We don’t exactly know how we’re going to do that but we’re willing to try. And we’re hoping that you could help us? Help us figure out what to do and help us learn about who Connor was?” Zoe finally spoke up, her parents nodding along in agreement.

You were trying to heal from everything that happened and them putting all their hope on you wasn’t really helping. But maybe grieving together would allow everyone to heal and remember him in a more positive way? At least you hoped.

There’s a lot of hope pinned on others here.

“I suppose helping you all would let us heal.. together?” You said, slightly questioning your own words, turning toward Evan. He shrugged, giving you a thumbs-up. “But I don’t feel comfortable talking about Connor unless Evan is around.” You paused, “It’d be nice to have a familiar face around and we’re practically best friends now.. so..” “Yes of course.” The three stood up, walking to the front door, “We’ll come back here at 11AM tomorrow and drive to the orchard for a picnic if that’s alright with the two of you?” You and Evan nodded simultaneously. “Are you allergic to anything dear?”

With the shake of your head and a quick goodbye from Evan and Heidi, the Murphy’s were off.

“Am I doing the right thing here? Connor didn’t even want his family to known I existed! And now we’re going on a picnic with them? Where I have to talk about him?” You sat down, head in your hands as a headache begun to grow. Heidi placed her hand on your shoulder gently, “It’s going to be tough right now, and it’s going to be emotionally draining, I’m sure. But, if you really think that they deserve to know who he really was, that how they perceive him is wrong, then I think you are doing the right thing. You’re helping them, you’re helping yourself, and you’re helping Connor. You did say that he wanted to change the way people saw him. And you’d be doing that for him, even if he’s not physically around to see it happen.”

“Thank you, Heidi.”

___

“It’s really nice of you to agree to meet us here, Y/N. And Evan, it’s nice to have you here too.” Cynthia smiled, putting down a blanket for the picnic. Everyone sat down in an awkward silence.

“So... is.. is there anything you wanted to know that wasn’t already in the letters?” You asked, picking at the blades of grass beside you. Evan slapped your hand away from the grass, silently scolding you in true forest ranger fashion for messing with nature. The Murphy’s turned to each other, silently debating what to say and who would say it. No surprise to you and Evan that the one to speak up was Cynthia. The past couple of hours really showed that she was the only one who seemed to care, at least a little bit, about Connor when he was around, though Zoe and Larry were trying their best now.

“Why didn’t Connor bring you around to meet the family? It really seemed like you brought so much light to his life. I mean, you brought out parts of him that we didn’t even know existed!” “We thought he was a monster...” Zoe muttered sadly.

Your heart ached for this family, they really knew nothing about him.. “Connor didn’t bring me around because he was afraid you’d all ‘scare me off’,” you laughed slightly, “And Connor may have been a monster to you, but the real Connor was never a monster, to me or to anyone in my small town. In the next town over, no one knew who Connor was or what he’d done in the past. It was like a fresh start. Which I knew he desperately needed. I mean, with all the people bullying him, hurting him physically or emotionally or both, and spreading fake rumors about him since he was in the second grade? He was angry and hurting and he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he would lash out. But wouldn’t you react the same way? Build up walls so people wouldn’t hurt you? Isolate yourself so people couldn’t get close enough to?”

It went silent again, the only sound was the wind blowing in the summer breeze and the trees rustling in the background.

“She’s right.”

Everyone looked up, faces showing some form of shock. Larry continued, “All that stuff was going on in school and we made it worse for him at home. He asked us for help and we always assumed he was doing for attention. No matter how hard we tried to be a perfect family, we never were and we probably never will be.”

Zoe wiped away a stray tear. “Even though you couldn’t save your kid, maybe there’s a way you could save someone else’s?” He turned to you with a questioning glance. “I mean you have to admit, you’re a pretty wealthy family, maybe you can spend some time donating to suicide prevention hotlines and foundations that were created specifically to help those who are suffering from depression and suicidal thoughts like Connor was? I know for a fact that Connor hated the way that he felt, and would never want anyone to go through what he’d been going through, no matter how much of an asshole they were.”

Cynthia reached over to you, placing a hand on your knee, smiling as tears fell freely from her face, from all of their faces. “That’s a brilliant idea, Y/N.”

___

The picnic went on as you told them stories of your’s and Connor’s adventures together. Jumping over the fence to lay around in the yellow fields of the old orchard, helping your mom arrange flowers in her flower shop (he would always make sure his bouquets were well thought out in their meaning), buying junk food and snacks when having movie marathons on a Saturday night, sketching and painting moments together so you two would never forget them.

With each little story, his family knew more about him and you felt as close to him as you had been before that heart-wrenching summer day. 

You fell behind from the group as you all walked out of the orchard. Turning back and taking one last look at the entrance, the fields, and the growing trees of the Connor Murphy Memorial Orchard, you notice a figure dressed in black standing with his back against the fence. He gave you a smile, a genuine yet sad smile, mouthing the words “thank you” and “i love you”, before disappearing in the wind.

[bookofmariokingofmaiami]

This is the second time making this post because i am angry as fuck because for some reason when I added the names it didn't save so I'm doing this shit again 

Hey! I had a stupendus idea, the past few days I've gathered a bunch of mitten squad quotes and captain sauce quotes

Soooo, I'll put wich book of mario characters would say each quote and we'll see what happens

Yes I know 99% of the mitten squad quotes is gonna be bolivia and carbon

Also, some quotes reference characters and locations, so I'll put an [ ] with what I think the book of mario counterpart would be

MITTEN SQUAD SEGMENT 

Lewis:"I have successfully turned an ordinary kitchen utensil into the most valuable fork in the known universe, no one man should have this kind of power, but I am not mortal man, as a sexualy identity as a big rock being thrown into the ocean"

Princess of peaches, talking about 1 TEC-20"The robot wasn't able to pick the lock and I lacked the fire power to blow the bitch open" 

Marc:"I left a broom there too so my bucket wouldn't be lonely"

Carbon:"Calm down vegetarians I am talking about animals in video games, animals in real life matter way less"

Barney one:"Killing it isn't the hard part, the hard part is getting away from the explosion of the goddamm Nagasaki bomb strapped up its ass that was rigged to explode once it died"

Bolivia:"Todd Howard [barbie], even in death you find a way to fuck me"

Bolivia:"We came back to the little shit with the ant problem and killed most of the ants, I left one alive for the boy, either he becomes a man or that ant will have a very good day" 

Goomb:"Me brain fixed gud no hurt no more"

Marc:"Picked up trash for the make a wish kid"

Bolivia, talking about maria:"Because she hits like a bull with down syndrome and has the personality of a piece of plywood"

Belize:"You might be wondering, who is the boy and who is the girl? I won't give it away but I will say this, the knife is a whore"

Maria:"I had armor, i had supplies, i had pockets full of room temperature tomatos"

Bolivia:"For some reason I thought that stupid the horse v2 could fly, bad decision on my part"

Carbon:"For some reason this shrapnel character had 200 BB's, what a weirdo, who caries around 200 BB's?, anyway, I talked to daddy and brought my 300 BB's and headed off to clear off the Jefferson memorial"

Goverman::"Get a juice box and strap on your helmet, because we're going to hell"

Carbon:"I punched a puppy to death"

Marc:"My iq is similar to that of a 14 year old block of cheese"

Lewis:"Theres an oxygen exhaust pipe, the second best tipe of pipe to suck on to keep yourself alive, for those who need hand holding, that was not a drug reference, this is a family friendly channel, it was a suicide joke"

Bolivia:"I got an amazing slow motion shot of dogmeat getting fucked to death by a nuclear warhead"

Maria:"My only option was to become a vampire, wich sucked"

Bolivia:"But just as when like how every virtual dog goes to hell when it dies, what the fuck does that even mean?"

Carbon:"I took advantage of a unconscious military officer and beat him to death"

Barney one:"Nothing else says more victory than overdosing on drugs after a war"

Prof. Ceasar reality:"And decided to go to the much bigger and much more research facility x-13 research facility facility center, WHAT? I think I had a stroke"

Bolivia:"Used more than 3% of my frag mines to blow up a dog"

Carbon:"The last few coursers ran for their non existence lives and I went after them because I'm not letting anyone get away, one got away"

Maria:"I got a warning saying that nuka world is intended for those level 30 or above, Mathematics show us that me being lv11 is close enough to lv30"

Carbon:"Killed a pain-maker and got a glimpse into the big G in the sky who manifested himself as a fire axe floating in the air, this voodoo shit has no place in zion so I chopped of the pain-maker's legs and arms so If there is an afterlife he will be a cripple in hell for all eternity"

Goverman:"Its head turned into jelly, I threw its egg down into the nightmare bellow, and then I jumped after it"

Carbon:"A herd of big hornets paid the ultimate price for being alive"

Goverman:"Used his gun to turn off a woman"

Maria:"Me being the player can't open the door, theres a know you have to twist it its a whole process"

Goverman explained why maria survived the fall:"One of them belonged to God and refused to die"

Goombell, talking about hoko saba:"The dragon I pretended to not exist a few minutes ago is one of my mom's friend's kids so I had to play with him even tho he's weird"

Belize:"There was no hamster's luck in a garbage disposal chance that I would follow this giant fuck all the way to the cit ruins"

Lewis:"Along the way i saved a shopping cart from drowning and returned it to its family"

Prof. Ceasar reality:"Its about 24 million cheez its away from New vegas"

Bolivia:"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to bedworld"

Carbon:"With enough notches in my pistol to spell psychopath in braille"

Gooverman:"I spie with my little eye a ville whore who deserves to die, I cleaved her back in half with my stick and what I saw was glorious"

Maria?:"Its kinda like playing the floor is lava, but you can't see the lava and instead of burning to death you turn into a vegetable"

IDK"I hid from Ringo by hiding in ringo"

Bolivia:"The plate worked as well I thought it would, wich means it didn't work"

Bolivia:"There was a 3 for 1 discount on dead raiders if you use the promo code granade at checkout"

Belize:"The only explanation is that has a 5th appendage wich he pulls out on special occasions, wich probably isn't the case, we all know elmo doesn't pull out"

Goomb:"You don't need those things, Jesus got trough his life without any guns"

Goombape:"When i played it as a children"

Barbie:"Its like how you don't know if your life has any meaning until you die and see your score"

Belize:"This was the most stealth oriented part of the game by a metric mile"

Bolivia:"I stripped him naked, talked with Elliot [lewis] whose face bothered me for some reason,Talked with the samurai[maria], talked with red dead redemption [barney one]"

Carbon:"Some idiot spilled red paint on the clouds"

Bolivia:"Before traveling with the wizard, I spent some time pestering earnie with the prospect of friendship, by walking back and forth in front of him, making him think i wanted to talk to him just for me to keep on walking,I was voted the quietest guy I high-school and I know how loud earnie is screaming inside his head right now, it's kinda fun to be in this side of it :) ,also this isn't related to the video in any way, I just wanted to make it known that i have a sealed copy of elmos letter adventure for Nintendo 64 and you don't"

Maria:"I knew I could use that as a lighthouse of sorts in order to cast myself further into the ocean until i drowned in my own disappointment"

Goombell:"Vulpes[carbon] was adopted, his mother is both infertile and imaginary"

Belize:"Being alone is mental, you can be surrounded by friends family laughs and love on Christmas morning and still be alone in your head"

Bolivia:"I acted in self defense by committing various war crimes"

Carbon:"My throwing spears were broken and wouldn't fly,stupid fucking game" 

Bolivia:"That wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the truth"

Maria:"If there's anything Shaun b knows to do is die"

Boombell:"The number of bear traps I activated for sexual reasons turned my angles into a fine powder"

Goverman:"Where the grass is green and the air is even greener"

IDK"I consulted a doctor who flucked out of medical school and followed his advice by killing myself"

Belize:"Being a futuristic[X-nauti], nazi dominated world version of polly poc,etc it has its own set of drawbacks"

Marc:"They're mass effect 3 of fallout 3's 5th dlc, I've never played mass effect"

Lewis:"Who loves their father like how their brother loves his mother's sister"

Carbon:"Like most existential crises it went away after I killed somebody"

Carbon:"If you're wraped in chains and dropped into an empty bathtub to drown, a snorklew won't save you"

Goombape:""A wise man once said "hi! Jeanie may's here"  and he's right, there has to be a better way""

Browser:"After it took 3 grown man to kidnap a baby with a gun"

goldbob:"The lever action gun riffle can kill a mutant in a single shot if you land a shot that can kill it in one hit"

Maria:"Its 2020, Noone wants to use their hands anymore"

Bolivia:"Before journeying into more death, some jackass hit me with a granade and killed me, not the explosion, the granade bouncing off my soon to be corpse is was what made me dead"

Belize:"Some Neanderthals gave me their bullets to hold in a pretty rude way >:("

Princess of peaches:"Im not worried about offending blind people, it's not like they'll be watching this"

Carbon:"30 seconds is longer than you'd think, ask anyone whose been on fire"

Lewis:"I was as useful as a comatose toddler with a nerf gun at pearl harbor"

Goomb:"I also poused the challenge to satisfy the curiosity of mine regarding the birds in the sky that Don real because birds aren't exist"

Marc:"Any doctor worth their weight in styrofoam cups can fix a leg with their feet"

Bolivia:"I had me a silenced weapon, but I didn't account for today being his birthday, this changes everything, so I shaped for hollow point"

Carbon:"Maybe if Steve earlin had a gun instead of a snorklew he'd still be alive today"

Marc:"It took me 30 minutes and 3 phone calls to get my food because I'm too much of a pussy to go outside at 10 o'clock at night while drunk in a Christmas sweater after news year to steal my own food of one my neighbors doorstep"

Maria:"We've got rogue, tank dampse, and squidword"

Lewis;"And they're no joke, but I am, I am the big joke and my body is the punchline"

Bolivia:"I got mentally Nagasaki'd by this guy at the stables"

IDK"And went outside where Victor is unhappy with me, after killing Victor, Victor came out of the lucky 38 to avenge victor" 

Bolivia:" i shot a kid, i sent that little bitch to the moon"

Sushiya,  testing her products:"The door was of its axis, a plate was misbehaving on the chair, a cattle was dancing on the table like the whore she is"

Carbon:"And went shopping for dead bodies, they weren't in stock,  but i know a guy who knows a guy who could help me out, both of those guys are me"

Bolivia:"Now vault yosh is I your head too, and he won't be going anywhere"

Maria's son:"As much of a monster that I look like, I think it's gonna work"

Sushiya:"But you know what they say, imagination is what happens when annoyance meets drug use"

Carbon:"If they're stupid enough to be in my way they might as well be my enemy"

Goverman:"But the slippery bastard was too clever, he walked around it, I didn't even know that such a maneuver was even possible"

IDK"Homeland security at this point has yet to be impregnated by a sentient barrel of oil"

Bolivia:" if I drunkenly put a giant hole on my sink with a goddam coffee cup imagine what I could do with a gun"

Belize:"Got ambushed in the freezer while searching for chicken nuggets"

Goverman:"But the fucken bullet Williams come flying out of fucking nowhere"

Maria:"The next second you're in a universe where everything that exists is the sick bastard child of a drunken fuckfest between a pin screen and a light brush"

Bolivia:"Ask the cashier if they have a granade, if they say no, say nothing for a few seconds, put a big smile, put your hands on theirs and quietly ask, would you like one?"

Sean hampton:"Can't do anything until I have my arms around a fat man"

Barbie:"The premise of this run is that I have no arms and I must dab"

Maria's son:"I told you before that I was a genetic disaster"

Bolivia:"And in that cabin, theres some west Virginian mountain folk who are so deep in incest that one of them somehow managed to be his own father"

Bolivia:"Can you hear that? It's…. It's an air conditioner! And it's so fucking anoying, aw no I hurt it's feelings :( "

Goverman:"He could probably put the end of his musket inside his mouth, pull the trigger and still miss"

Barney one:"The big beaver ended his life in stile, he even made a summersault into the afterlife"

Goverman:"Im a good Christian boy,  I'll save my ammo for my suicide"

Carbon:"I am not Cinderella, I'm a parasite"

IDK"I played with a doggy too, it used the flesh on my arm as a chew toy, and I booked his nose with a nuclear newspaper to show that that kind of thing isn't allowed in the mitten squad household"

Sean hampton:"The crusable is a magical weapon like divorce papers, capable of tearing everything it comes across in half"

Barbie:"The curse of grandma sparkle managed to reach me all the way in hell"

Barney one:"If you are gonna get a cat, you might get a gun aswell"

Belize:"Corn on the Joe sat back not helping his brother's"

Carbon:"I bought 24 regular bullets,28 hollow points, and 60 that need to wear a helmet"

Bolivia:"After the squad died I had to content with the leftovers, the scraps, statically speaking the majority of what remained"

Lewis:"What I need to face is like a toddler with a learning disability, that would be fair"

Carbon:"I took both left eyes of this dead guy "

Carbon:"It took longer to pull out the Esther than it took of kill the general"

Sushiya, while high:"Deeper inside shit got weird, i killed a giant skeleton right? Nothing weird about that, but then his body just kinda danced in place really slowly, I tought speeding up time would fix it, that was a massive fucking mistake, and changing time back to normal was an even bigger mistake, he'll be hunting me until I die, but until then he'll still be dancing"

CAPTAINSAUCE SEGMENT 

Carbon:"They're old, how hard can it be to turn them into blueberry jam and ram them into the grass"

Belize:"I guess if you do electrocute a tank enough it would just explode"

Boliviz:"Id have a better chance of finding a snowball down here than winning a coin toss"

Marc:"How does my Christmas lights break to a stiff breeze but these ones are practically terminators"

Barney one:"I never tought id see the day where I would have to hire a sniper to assassinate a troublesome light bulb but here we are "

Lewis:"I get the feeling if you try to milk a minotaur then you're gonna be its wife"

Sushiya:"In the history of mankind do you think we've ever seen a snake fight an octopus?"

Goverman:"Lets see if you can wobble your way trough the grim reaper" [the grim being carbon]

Goldbob:"Its a steaming pile of something ill tell you that much"

Goverman:"He died? How! Did he have an allergic reaction to the sun?"

Goomb:"Michelangelo is Swiss cheese and where good to go"

Bolivia:"It really looks like I'm taking a sharpened stick to a bazooka fight"

Maria:"HOW DID I GO FROM FIGHTING AN OCTOPUS IN A SUIT TO WW3???"

Princess of peaches, talking about 1TEC-20:"Im playing pictionary with a blind robot"

maria:"Theres on the nose dialogue and then there's punch you in the nose dialogue"

Bolivia,  talking about barney one:"This lady looks like her father was half refrigerator"

IDK"Im supposed to sabotage the mail missile assembly line but it looks like someone got here before me"

Belize?:"And the ghosts of previously murdered pianos???"

Maria:"Im getting outsmarted by puppets"

Bolivia:"After careful deliberation with my associate we've come to the conclusion that the local government must have Removed all quarters from circulation,  the laundromat went under and before you know it the entire society fell into nudism and then anarchy "

Carbon?:"This is like the hunger games of sesame street"

IDK"Im a weird shotgun santa"

Garlic?:"Oh damm! CTHULO IS THICC"

Krump:"What kind of interdimensional time traveling toilet is this?"

Carbon:"Wheater it be cultural appropriation or demonic abomination,  i don't realy care im just gonna try to hit it with a pee bucket" 

Carbon:"THIS IS THE MEDIEVAL RUSSIAN VERSION OF DRIVING INTO BATTLE WITH A TANK BUT SHOOT PEOPLE WITH A BB GUN"

Belize::"I DIDN'T KNOW GRANNY WAS TAKING GRAVEDIGGER TO CHURCH THIS MORNING" 

Goombell:"This isn't a bridge its just the worlds weakest motorcycle trebuchet "

Bolivia:"Oh hellow mr berry"

Carbon:"Giant alien space worm 2020, make America worm poop again"

Bolivia:"When did snuffy[barney one] decide to judas me and join the hobbits?[origamis]"

Lewis:"Theres a surprisingly high amount of chickens in this map and a dramatic lack of eggs"

Bolivia:"Im pretty sure we've sent the first claim to the moon"

Maria:"And yet I'm forced to defend myself from stuff like bloodthirsty scp's using nothing but uncooked t-bone stake, I mean technically its doable but it doesn't make It any less ridiculous"

Barbie:"What's the point of a metal detector if literally everyone here has somekind of cybernetic, like I swear to God If I walk trough here aND you guys start pounding the shit out of me just because I got a couple of extra inches of robo-dong IM GONNA BE PISSED"

Bolivia:"Everyone's wearing slick black suits meanwhile I look like somebody skinned a couch from the 70s"

Sushiya:"Is this bacon flavored weed or weed flavored bacon?"

Sean hampton:"Do you think that Darth Vader ever had to deal with a rebel or a henchmen who was into getting chocked? Like starts force checking them and they tell him to go harder?"

Koopley:"I was stabbed to death by a naked man with a spear and my arm is perpetually running"

Koop kotu:"So I'm crazy enough to be locked behind bars but not crazy enough to think I can fly*

Bolivia:"Usually spooders have 8 arms not 8 abs"

Carbon:"I just bludgeoned Jesus to death with a stick of meat, I'm guessing he's gonna be back in a couple of days he's gonna be looking for me so we'll start running now"

Carbon:"Im done with words, shooty goody time"

Maria?:"Id have a better time cutting down bushes then these strange little robo hobits"

Belize:"Dad this is not the time to be dancing with crabs!"

Maria:"Thats my little brother, who has a fully posable deny devito action figure,I've always been jealous of that one"

Bolivia:"The turns are tabbleling"

Maria, talking about barbie:"She's not exactly the brightest tool at the picnic"

Belize:"Are you kidding me mom? Realy?, you were the one that said you're sick of seeing donkey kongs donkey dong"

Maria:"I have no idea what was in that Wonster energy drink that made him go master roshe style"

Bolivia:"I want to file a complaint against Stacy [belize] for T-posing to assert Dominance over me"

Marc:"Believe it or not dangling a padlock the size of a shoebox from a doorknob does as much work as I want to"

Caesar reality:"You can never have too many rotten floor bananas"

Carbon:"Poisoning your boss is probably not the best way to skip work, but ya boy gotta do what he has to do"

Goverman:"I'll take nicknames of my penis for 300$ alex"

Starvinden?:"I guess we'll just leave you in your special sarcophagus mr tutan-deez-nuts"[browser]

Lewis:"I've been skipping work for 2 weeks now and I'm starting to think that my computer isn't even plugged in"

Bolivia, talking to maria:"Your suit smells like a wet fart and your mouth smells like a ashtray"

Bolivia:"If anyone needs me I'll be on the insane asylum,  why am I caressing a mannequin on top of a boat?"

Carbon:"Would you like to hang yourself or be crucified? Dealers choice!"

Bolivia talking about carbon:"He's doing something ingenious probably diabolical……..or he's dressed as a panda"

Marc:"We should really pay for security around here not only are people breaking in there is also a giant spine breaking chickens"

Maria to Bolivia:"You are very angry at that stake"

Sushiya, after using its products:"I wonder why was I twerking at the office statue"

IDK"WHY IS THERE A GIANT NAKED MAN IN THE LOCKER CHOCKING ME TO DEATH WITH A CHAIN??!!!"

goombell:"I guess we're gonna leave the cookie monster dildo in the locker"

Sean hampton, to Maria:"My love for you is like diarrhea, sometimes I just can't hold it in"

Bolivia:"You're watching me In a Google video platform playing a game from a Google gaming platform that was translated using Google translate, if this isn't a dystopian future I don't know what is"

Bolivia?:"I couldn't have predicted the run after her like a velociraptor made out of pool noodles"

Lewis:"Jumping Jack neighbor help me!"

Bolivia:"Bread! There's no bread,there's your bread! That's a cookie God dammit"

Belize:"So I can be invited to the worlds saddest birthday party"

Maria:"I guess we're playing ring around the Rosie till I lose his dumb ass"

Carbon:"If you see jehovah's witness you tell them to eat shit"

Bolivia:"HOW CAN YOU AFFORD A GUARD BIRD AND NOT A DOOR STOP?"

Bolivia::"For my shopping list I need to find a floppy disk with a s, but for the distraction I could use a floppy dick with sunglasses and a tie"

Carbon:"I really hoped that your little bird bath had a couple inches of water so I could steal a tiny toaster to throw it in with you"

Belize::"Its pretty safe to say Mr voice bad Benjamin good, but we just saw Benjamin talk with the grim reaper and pull around a cart wich is about the size of a child's body"

Goombell:"She may have a crush on the interdimensional death fox"

Maria:"Its like the herpes of craft supplies"

Barney one:"Everyone wants to split checks for keano Reaves, even if they're a 10ft dragon made out of logos and seizures what is going on right now?"

Sushiya, high, again:"When I dilapidated the banana and poked the mayo's brain then had an indept conversation with the strawberry cocoon did bread get arrested? I didn't see the police come by, that would make sense because the alcoholic cat ran away"

Carbon:"IF THEY HAVE AN ASS TO PULL PUNS OUT OF THEY HAVE TO HAVE A BRAIN TO THINK THEM UP"

Goombell:"I think I graduated for the university of food torture"

Well, this is all, took some time but it's here, hope you enjoyed

Frequent reblogers

<《{[(@boom-fanfic-a-latta )]}》>

<《{[( @gumdorp )]}》>

PLEASE REBLOG!

[sometimes-i-write-4-you]

Hi I was wondering if I could request something for JJ from outer banks (I saw you had request open for it) with when him and Pope are getting beat up behind the movie he protects reader, you can decide the rest just make it fluffy:)

Fight for me - JJ x reader

a\n: i feel like there’s more angst than fluff but this show is lowkey the defenition of teenage angst so honesly not suprised.

trigger warnings: cursing, fights, gun mentioning, underage drinking. if i missed anything lmk.

word count: 3227

"so" Kiara started. We were standing in the line at the beach for a movie screening they had. It was in the Kook's area, but Kiara invited us. JJ and Pope were there too, but Kiara and i went to get Pepsi. "now that it's just us girls, spill it" she said. "spill what?" I asked her, confused. "don't deny, you know what I mean" she insisted. "Kiara, is this about JJ?" I asked.

I was sitting at the beach, a red solo cup in my hand. I'm not too sure how many beers I had at this point, but it really didn't matter. After everything went down, I run as fast as I could. I needed quiet, and so I went to my favorite spot at the beach – the balcony over at the deck. What the fuck was JJ thinking?

"hi" a quiet voice said. speaking of the devil. "hi" I relied, taking another sip of beer. "hey, (y\n), that's like, you're 7th cup and you know that I'm the last one to say such thing,  but that might be too much beer" he said, taking the cup away from me and leaving it on the table as he sat down next to me. I moved to the end of the bench. "look, (y\n), I'm sorry. I saw you running off after the fight and-" he says, and I laugh. "you call that a fight? That was not a fight, JJ, you pulled a gun on the guy-" "he was drowning John B! why doesn't anyone understand, I'm not the bad guy here" he cuts me off, and our eyes finally meet. Even in the dim light, his eyes were shiny, or maybe they were glossy from the tears that threatened to burst. " JJ, I don't think you are a bad guy, but you know that they are going to paint you as one" I said, my tone cold. It took every muscle in my body to keep calm, because deep down I wanted to cry. "you are so stupid, JJ. Do you have any idea how much trouble you are going to get into?" I say. "well, jeez, (y\n), If I wanted to get yelled at, I'd stay with Kiara. I came here to see to you, but whatever man, if you don't want me here, I'll just leave" he said. "how did you know I'd be here?" I asked, and he froze halfway through getting up. "well. It's your favorite spot" he said, sitting back down. "oh" I said, "yeah, it really is".

We sat there quietly, and I moved back toward the center of the bench, resting my head on his shoulder. He tensed up for a second, surprised by my actions considering the fact I moved when he first sat down, and then proceeded to tell him he's stupid. He stretched his hand behind me, brushing my shoulder. For a guy that just was at party full of alcohol, sweat and fights, he smelled good. "look, (y\n), I'm sorry if I scared you. You know, when I" he said, and shot the air with his fingers along with a terrible impression of a gun. "it's okay, I guess. I mean, you were scared too" I said, and he sighed. "yeah" he said and kissed the top of my head. "thank you" he suddenly said. "for what?" I asked. "for not walking away when I got here and for not letting me walk away when I wanted too" he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "no problem JJ" I said, looking up at him. I finally noticed the tears that were running down his cheeks. His voice didn't even break, and if it wasn't for the shiny stripes on his face, I would never know. I set up straight and cupped his cheeks, rubbing my thoubs against his tears to wipe them away. A pair of lips crushed on mine, kissing me hard, desperate to feel my lips move, and I kissed back. JJ's hand stroked my jaw line, pulling me closer. That was the moment I realized that you don't think about how shiny your friend's eyes are and you don't think the smell of beer and sweat is good unless you see someone as more than a friend. "oh my god, I'm so sorry" he said, pulling away. "what?" I said, confused. I kissed back, it's not like I pushed him off me, "I can't- you are drunk, and I'm taking advantage of that, you're my friend, that's not-" he said, leaning on the bench. "JJ, it's fine, I really didn't mind it" I say, smiling at him. he looked at me, "it's the alcohol speaking, kiddo. Let's get you home".

"yes, thank you very much" Kiara sighed, bringing me back to reality. "look, it was just a moment, and anyways, there's the rule. No pogue on pogue action" I said, hoping she wouldn't notice the sadness in my voice. I of course never mentioned all the details, I couldn't do it. Kiara, John B and Pope would kick us off the team, or at the very least kick us. Especially JJ, since I only hung out with them for the past month, since I moved to Outer Banks. I simply told her I think I have a crush on him. "great" Kiara smiled, "and thank you for like, talking to me about that" she added, and I laughed. "Kiara, it's normal girl talk" I said. "yeah, well, if you think I ever had those…" she laughed, and it was finally our turn in line. "two Pepsis" Kiara said to the guy behind the counter.

"hey kei, what's up?" someone asked. It took a moment, but I recognized him as the guy who almost killed my friends more than once. "how are you?" Rafe asked, and Kiara rolled her eyes as she told him she's fine. She turned to him, wondering what the heck does he want from her. She might be a Kook by social status, but those guys don't like her, and she doesn't like them. "good, good" he mumbled, "tell your boy that we know what he did". His posture was threatening, and I wanted to disappear, even though his attention was on kei. "sorry, what boy are you talking about?" Kei asked, returning his don't-mess-with me attitude. I had no idea how she is not terrified. "he'll know" Rafe said, and Kiara had enough. She took the Pepsis and started walking back to our spot. I followed. "bye" he said, and I don't know if he heard, but she called him a douche. She was right. "man, that guy's a creep" I say. "yeah" Kiara sighed.

We got to Pope and JJ. "just saw Rafe, and he said, and I quote ' tell your boy that we know what he did', what is that?" Kiara asks the boys. They looked at each other and I knew something was going on, and they were not about to share it. "where is he?" JJ spoke. He was wearing his hat backwards. I used to think it look dumb, but he looked good. We acted like normal ever since the party, never even mentioned it. I think he thinks I was too drunk to remember, and so he doesn’t bring it up and I'm scared to do so, cause he's my friend. "right there" Kiara replied, looking at the direction me and her came from a second ago. Both boys turned around to look. Topper, Rafe and Kelce were looking right at us, smiling like they are some Disney villain. "great. The whole death squad" Pope said, and JJ turned his head back to us. "don't stare bro" he said. "just warning you bro, if they corner me, I'm coming on swinging, okay?" JJ said, and I wanted to tell him to satay the hell out of trouble, but I knew he wouldn't listen. "slice and dicin', I'm on the edge right now" JJ kept going, and I was almost tired of hearing it. "yeah, yeah" Pope said, half dismissing JJ's words. JJ had so many fights with those stupid Kooks, but they always win, and I find it hard to believe this time would be any different. I love him, I really do, even if I have to keep this as a strictly platonic love and seeing him getting beat up by some rich bullies is breaking my heart. "If that doesn't work" JJ says, sensing the septicemic in the air, "I got this right here" he said, picking up his bag. "yeah, yeah, so we just gotta stay in group" Pope nodded his head, "they can't get us in the group". "like school of fish" JJ agreed. "stay in school, can't leave the school" Pope said, and it seemed like he is calmer. "I'm sorry JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun hear?" Kiara said, half disappointed but not surprised. Kiara looked pissed, and rightfully. He looked anywhere but at us. "JJ, there are kids here. . She was annoyed, and upset, and I felt for her, but it really seemed like it was not my place, so I got up. "Kie, I didn't bring the gun, okay? Everything is fine" JJ blew her off, and their voices slowly fade away as I got closer to the water.

A few moments passed, and I felt someone is approaching. The mystery figure stopped right by me. I looked up to see JJ. "hey, you okay?" JJ asked. "yeah" I said, but his voice overpowered mine as he kept talking. "because you left up, and I just wanted to check up on you" he said, turning his face to me, but his body still faced the water. "just felt like it's not my business, so I-" I started. Our eyes meet and it's just like that night. The both of us facing the water, looking at each other's eyes, and one of us has tears in his eyes. I look away. "well, it is your business, you are a part of us, (y\n)" JJ says, placing his hand on my shoulder, "just to keep you updated, things might go down tonight". "you'll get yourself killed, JJ" I say, regaining the courage to look in his eyes, and the dammed salty liquid is now running down my cheeks. it's just a few drops, barely noticeable, but JJ is quick to pull me into a hug. "hey, hey, it's okay, I won't die. Don't worry, okay?" he said, slightly pulling away from the hug to wipe away the tears. He doesn’t move his hands, and as he's starting to lean down, and I'm about pull myself up to meet his lips halfway, we hear someone calling our names. (y\n), movie stars!" Pope screams, running toward us. We clear our throats and step away from each other and turning back to the seats.

Fast forward to a few hours later. The moon was out, along with the stars, and Pope's need to pee. Him and JJ went together, which I thought was funny until I realized why. Minutes pass, but there is no sign of them. "kei, we should check on them" I say. "and risk catching them pee?" Kei replies, laughing, "no yeah, you're right, they've been peeing for really long" she admits after she realized I'm serious. So, with that, we get up and start walking at the direction they went, taking JJ's bag with us. The sounds we heard could not be mistaken.

"get off of him, Topper, you fascist asshole!" Kie called without thinking to much, hitting Topper with the bag. If she's on helping Pope, guess I gotta save JJ, who's taking punches from Rafe as he struggles to escape Kelce's grip. "leave him alone" I say, approaching them. Violence is not my thing, but if words won't help with those guys, which is highly likely, I might have to use my self-defense skills. My mom forced me to learn those when I was younger.

"or what, you gonna paint my nails?" Rafe laughed, leaving JJ alone and getting closer to me, which allowed the blond surfer to escape Kelce's hands. My goal was to make Rafe leave JJ, so goal achieved, I guess. JJ punched Kelce's Jaw and ran toward me, but his body was all bruised and he still needed to breath a little before he can do anything. i was scared, but rule number 1: don't let the other guy know you're scared. Well rule number 1 is actually to avoid fights, which I already failed, then rule number 2 is to never attack, only defend yourself. Now that I'm thinking about it. I'm not sure "don't let the other guy know you're scared" is anywhere on the top 5 rules of fighting.

"look, bitch, I don't care that you're a girl, a pogue is a pogue and I'll beat your ass back to your dirty neighborhood" Rafe said, raising his punch and aiming at me. I adjust my legs and move to the right. Rafe's punch hit the air, and I used his loos balance to push him on the floor. I pushed so hard, I lost my balance and fall over him, he quickly pushed me down, getting on top of me and holding me down. His hands were sweaty and dirty, and the spots on my hand he pursed on hurt really bad. I started kicking in hopes to hit a sensitive spot. "aw!" he groaned in pain, put it wasn't me who pushed him on the ground, it was JJ. "stay out of this Kiara!" I hear Topper scream as he's shaking her off of him, and she rolls on the ground, landing next to JJ's bag.

Speaking of JJ, he was sitting on Rafe's stomach, punching his face. "you fucking dick, don't ever touch her again" JJ calls. He pulls Rafe's shirt to pick the bleeding Kook only to smash his face on the ground. "you hear me?" He yells, "I want you to promise, say it!" JJ says, and his fist meets Rafe's face once again. In the background I can hear Topper yells something about admitting something. "I barely touched her man, she should've just stay out of it" Rafe insisted. "say you'll never go near her ever again" JJ doesn't give up. The smell of something burning Is finally shaking me off the shock and I get up. "JJ, come on, let's go" I say, looking at the burning screen. "say it!" JJ yells. His knuckles are covered in blood, and I couldn't tell if it was his or Rafe's. "JJ, there's a fire we have to go" I say, and I reach my hand, pulling his shoulder back to sign him to get up. "yeah, you should listen to your stupid bitch of a girlfriend" Rafe smirks in an attempt to keep JJ there. "JJ, get off of him right the fuck now" I say, and finally, he looks at me.  "look, I'm fine, let's go, okay?" I say, he nods and gets up. Before we walk away, I kick Rafe's chest. "that's for calling me a bitch" I say, and JJ's fingers intertwine with mine to pull me away from the scene.

"what the fuck, JJ?" I ask when we finally stop. I look around I see that Kiara and Pope are nowhere to be seen. We're at the beach, at the pogue part of the island. His hand still holds mine and he pulls me closer to him. "listen, man, I gotta ask you something" he said. "no JJ, first give me my answer. What the fuck happened there? What did Rafe and his goons wanted from you and Pope?" I asked him once again, insisting to get my answer. "the other day, we were doing deliveries and they jumped Pope. Told him they never wanna see him on their side of the island.  Those fucking assholes, and I wasn't there to protect him, (y\n)" he says, taking my free hand in his. "you promise not to hate me if I tell you what happened next?" he asked when I looked at him waiting to hear how the story continued. "JJ, I can never hate you" I admit. "okay, cool, so uh, we-, Pope and I, we drowned Topper's boat" he said, half a proud smirk on his face. He tried to stop himself, but when I started laughing, he couldn't hold it any longer. "that's-" I tried, "they had it coming, JJ, you did nothing wrong". He smiled and pulled me into a hug, whispering "thank you".

"you know how you said you can never hate me?" he asks, breaking the silence and the hug in the same time. "yes?" I say, my tone turning the word into a question. "well, there's something I have to tell you. At the party a few days ago, I kissed you. I was pretty sober, but you weren't and as much as I wanted to kiss you, I stopped" he confessed, "and you know, you said you were okay with it but I'm pretty sure it was the alcohol – you drank way too many beers, (y\n), and-" "you can stop talking, JJ, I remember that" I said, smiling at him. "you- oh" he laughs awkwardly, "then why- cause you never mentioned it". "I don't know, I guess I just thought there was nothing to talk about, you said I'm your friend" I said, my eyes meet his. The sea of blue he had for eyes was now surrounded by a sea of red. "do you think I'll beat Rafe like that for just a friend?" he asks, slowly wrapping his hands around me. "I think you'll beat Rafe for pretty much anyone" I laughed, and he pulled me closer. My hands reached to the collar of his shirt, fidgeting with the stained fabric. "shut up" he laughs. "no, JJ, you shut up. And kiss me while you're at it". I have no idea where I got the courage to say that, maybe it was the adrenaline or whatever, what mattered was that he did. "thought you'd never ask" he smiled before connecting his lips with mine. I pulled his shirt to get him closer to me as our lips moved in perfect sync. My hands reached for his jaw and settled on his cheeks. "ow, man" he says, laughing into the kiss. "shit, sorry" I laugh and pull away to look at his black eye where I touched. "nooo" he calls, disappointed the kiss came to an end. "JJ, we can kiss anytime, however you don't have a black eye all the time. Please, let's go over to my place, I'll get you some ice, and-" "really?" he asks. "well, yeah, I'm not gonna let you walk around with this thing and not take care of-" I said, confused. "no, I mean, really, can we kiss anytime?" he asked. "sure, yeah, it's- yeah" I replied. His smile got wider. "so like, are you my girlfriend?" he asked. "do you want me to be?" I shoot him a question back as I take his hand and start walking toward the street. "yes" he says, a little scared. "well, JJ, than yes, I am your girlfriend" I say.

[popculturebuffet]

Top 12 Christmas Episodes!

Merry Christmas Eve Everybody! We’ve reached the end of my christmas reivews and what not on this blog. 

But as a wise barrel chested canadian man once said, I fucking love christmas, So if i’m finishing up the holiday on my blog I want to go big and stay home. So in honor of the holiday, my memories of it and just how GREAT it makes me feel i’m counting down my top 12 christmas specials! After last year’s worst of list I really wanted to do the oppsiite.. but it was naturally a lot harder. Shows usually put a LOT of effort into their christmas outings, even the ones who do so once a year, so the good FAR FAR OUTWEIGHS THE BAD. To show the contrast I could only find like.. 8 I was comfortable with putting on the worst list and even some of them aren’t that bad just not good. With the best of list? I had over 60 considered and even once I started narrowing down.. it was still around 30 or 40 REALLY GOOD specials I had to work down into this list. It took a lot of work and up to the last one it was really HARD to cut it down this far. But this is the best of the best of the best of the best of the.. you get the bit. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and this review was already supposed to come out on christmas eve, so, since I won’t be able to use this for another year...

Er. Top 12 Christmas Specials.

12. Merry Christmas Johnny Rose (Schitt’s Creek) So I finally watched all of Schitt’s Creek this year.. and i’m kicking myself for not powering through it’s terrible starting decent ending first season earlier because the show is easly one of the best comedies of the last decade and rightly earned it’s emmy sweep this year. Heartfelt, hilarious, and starring some of the best names old and new in comedy, the show is really great and I recommend checking it out.. just again be aware the first few episodes are not very good and if it wasn’t vital to the rest of the show story wise, i’d just recommend skippping season 1. While the characters minus patriach Johnny are insuferable at first... it’s their growing from self absorbed assholes to still self abosrbed but really good and decent people that is the beating heart of the show. And no where more is this heart on the show’s sleve than at christmas time as this episode is baked in just how far our cast have come.

The episode centers on Johnny Rose, played by Eugene Freaking Levy who co created the show with his equally talented son Dan who desrves the lion’s share of the credit for the show’s upturn in quality. Since the Roses used to have big lavish christmas parties once a year, Johnny decides to throw the equilvent of what they can do on a budget at the Motel they all live in. But his family all has other plans with daughter Alexis, now happily with Ted again, meeting his friends for the first time, son David, played by Dan Levy, busy at his store with his partner, in both senses, patrick and his wife Moira having a performance with her acapella group. At first it just comes off as something typical of johnny: Something well meaning and what not but ultimatley just not something his family is into or that he planend well for.

It’s only when Johnny finds himself alone at the local diner with Moira coming to see him we find out why he’s REALLY doing this: the old lavish parties, which we see one of at the start.. ultimately ended up with him alone, sad and everyone off to their own corners. WIth the family having actually come together over the past 4 seasons, Johny simply wanted to celebrate that and says such in one of the best moments in the entire show and with one hell of a line.

"I just thought, in spite of all the hardship, we found ourselves coming together, the kids, you and me, as a family. And it just seemed like the perfect day to celebrate that. The perfect day for a Rose Family Christmas Party." But Moira has already taken care of it and thus takes JOhnny home to find all their friends and the rest of the family gathered, wtih the Jazzagals serandading eveyrone with a beautiful rendition of silent night. It’s just a warm, well done character piece that really fits the holiday while also really cementing what the show had become: a show not afraid to make dirty jokes or humilatie it’s cast but one that has a true sweetness to it. It’s only that the first half’s jokes don’t quite pop all that well and feel a bit at johnny’s expense that holds it back. Otherwise this is one i’ll be coming back to every year.

11. Father of the Bob (Bob’s Burgers) Bob’s Burgers is a damn great show i’m season’s behind on. Warm, charming, weird and with an expansive side cast played by a whos who of whose in comedy today. It’s a damn fine show and i’m happy it seems to have manatained it’s quality long after the simpsons and family guy lost theirs. And the show really loves christmas.. and halloween.. and valentine’s day.. and thanksgiving. Oh god does it love thanksgiving. Point is, the shows good at holiday episodes and loves doin em and has produced some stellar ones and I had a lot to pick from here.. but I ended up going with my gut and my personal faviorite. It’s not the most christmasy despite the trappings, but the character work is just too good to leave it out in the cold.  It’s Christmas Eve and the Belcher’s are visiting Bob’s Dad. As you can tell by the fact the most we’ve seen of him is a picture of his restraunt, big bob’s diner in the belcher’s living room and a flashback where he told bob to work instead of play as a kid that set off an episode’s plot, they don’t have the best relationship. Bob has a firm rule about not spending more than 15 minutes with his dad, as that’s the point they run out of things to talk about and his dad starts getting overcrytical and making jabs at bob’s life and restraunt. Linda, being Linda, decides to meddle and when she finds out Big Bob’s short order cook is missing, has our Bob fill in.  But as we see in flash backs it’s not THAT easy to repair things, as there’s a long, bitter history between the two: When a youngbob made his first unique burger and served it to a customer, his dad threw it out without even letting anyone taste it. He then offered bob a partnership when bob was a young man but Bob snapped at Big Bob in front of his friends and left to make burgers his own way, leading to where we are now. And honestly i’ts the perfect origin story for Bob and adds a lot of shades to his character. He’s obessed with the restraunt not just because he genuinely loves cooking but because it’s HIS. His place, to create creative burgers, his family and his regulars. It’s his corner of the sky. It makes the restraunt’s existance and surivvial that much more heartwarming to know the meaning behind it.

Naturally things end up blowing up with Bob pointedly serving the burger to make a point and Big bob walking out angrily and sadly. It takes bob’s gift from the kids, who had their own neat subplot of making gifts for bob in the basement, a snowglobe wrapped in newspaper.. to find out hsi dad kept the newspaper with the review of his first restraunt and kept ALL reviews of Bob’s Burgers. Despite being a stone faced critical ass on the outside, Big BOb STILl cared.. and bob relizes he needs to make amends and actually make an effort instead of just avoiding his dad or gettin gback at him. And through the power of gay club next door line dancing, and nick offerman whose a wonderful guest star here, the two reconcile with Bob admitting he shouldn’t of humilatied his dad even if he had to go his own way, and Big Bob admitting he’s hard to work with, the loss of his wife hit him hard, and he was a bit too much. The two hug, and it’s genuinely just a good, well done story of father and son that somehow gives even more dimension to Bob, an already pretty damn fleshed out character. Just a really great episode whose holiday timing makes it better.. though not being AS much a holiday episode as a really good bob’s burgers that’s enhanced by it is why this one’s so low. Next!

10. Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (MST3K) I”m honestly surpised i’ts taken me THIS long to get to something MST3K related. I’ve loved the show since high school, first exposed to it thanks to a dvd from the library and continuing from there to present day. I love the show’s combination of riff’s on perfectly cheesy movie and fun skits with really good puppets especially for the budget. It’s just good comfort food in show form and no where is comfort food more welcome than christmas, and each era of MST3K, so far hopefully the show will come back again eventually, has had i’ts own damn good christmas special, with this being my faviorite out of the three. 

The other two are good: ironically I have a poster for the santa claus over my computer, or rather crow and tom as santa and pitch aka satan respectively. Yes really, that’s the premise. IT is as awesome and batshit insane as it sounds. Point is I like that one and year without a santa claus, this one just has more personal warmth to me. I jus tlove the holiday feeling of joel and the bots readying for christmas in the host segments. It just feels like christmas and it’s wonderful to see the bots act like kids.  That being said.. it’s still also fucking hilaroius, with the mad’s hilariously petty wish squisher, a device that turns good gifts into socks and other unwanted presents, the best Crow T Robot quote of all time as he gives joel his santa wish

And of course, one of the best and most patently insane christmas songs ever: Have Yourself a Patrick Swayze christmas, which has become oddly sweet after his death and got me to watch road house for the first time last year... and it’s as awesome and wonderfully rediclous as this song inspiried by it and even better once you get the refrences

But while the host segments are what push this film into the list, the movie is still a delightful bit of 60′s cheese as, to restore their children to being children, a couple of martians kidnap santa to bring christmas to mars. Fights iwth robots, an asshole martian and an obnoxious sidekick named droppo, yes really, insue. IT’s just some fun cheese for the holiday and a staple of my holidays. 

9. The Three Wise Men (Letterkenny)  It’s no secret Letterkenny has quickly become one of my faviorite shows. After watching it last January, it’s become part of my being and one of my go too feel good shows, a funny as hell, uniquely weird slice of life show set in rural canada. While like it’s fellow recent legend of canadian television Schitt’s creek it’s first season CAN be a bit rough.. but it’s not as rough and getting through it is worht it as the show immiedatly picked up and became one of the funniest things to ever exist. It’s also uniquely tied to christmas as every year a season of the show has dropped on that day on it’s home streamer Crave TV in canada, and on boxing day here in the us. So it’s only fitting the show also has a REALLY great christmas special. 

It’s Christmas eve and our heroes the hicks, are having a christmas party. For the uniniated the hick’s aren’t really all that “hick” ish just hardworking farmers who still accept everybody and work damn hard. Leading man, terse talker and certified badass Wayne is suprisingly really into christmas, as he spent pretty much every holiday spouting out inacuracies about it but this day? He genuienly enjoys, even insiting on awful holiday drinks only and a midnight toast, the titular three wiseman (Canadian, irish and American Whiskeys, one shot of each). “It’s tradition”.  And thanks to tradition we get the main gag of the episode: most of the episode is wayne calling in various members of the town, most of whom he dosen’t like very much and some who deeply annoy him, to give them presents. And  while i’ve admitted to being a guy who dosen’t like a plot that basically repeats itslef.. it works here.. mostly because while the setup is the same, each member provides something new and hilarious: while it starts innocently enough with Bonnie Mcmurray, local fanservice, nice lady and fangirl of wayne, getting a camera and offering to be an elf, an offer wayne is forced to take up, it soon becomes a parade of weirdness and bullshit Wayne really dosen’t want to put up with and that really makes me laugh hard: Local loveable sex maniac and bar owner Gail goes on for a good minute about her sexual antics with Wayne’s beloved departed uncle eddie after Wayne gives him a picture of the guy, Glenn, another of wayn’es unwanted admirers and local pastor, obsesses over a christmas themed digeredoo, local druggies and emos the skids intitally refuse to open their gift out of prinicpal until wayne simply asks “What if theres drugs in it” (It’s insted vitamin d), the local hockey coach sings a hilarious and gloriously cringe song about having sex with his wife when they were alive and the hockey players make wayne uncomfortable both by crying a bit. Also tanis gets an apron. 

But even if the reactions horrify or piss off our hero into needing his elf’s help, the heart is in the fact that despite hating most of these people, he still got them a gift and one that’s hearfelt and well meaning. And naturally the sweetest is saved for his family of choice with the hicks: Squirrely Dan gets a pencil case for his oft talked about women’s studies class, Dary gets some clonge since he wears his barn clothes everywhere, and Katy gets an obscure korean christmas movie since her subplot that episode had been spent trying to get a christmas movie going, only for everyone to pick it apart: from the racisim of santa and co towards rudolph to pointing out how profoundly fucked up the premise of the santa claus is (including the fact various serial killers could’ve gotten the suit), which I agree with, it’s just a sweet gesture that shows how well he knows his friend. Overall it’s just a fun hangout of an episode that feels like a real christmas party and in these troubling times we could all use that. Now let’s all have a spit.

8. The Feast of Alvis (Sealab 2021) Another Christmas staple for me.. and a gloriously strange one at that. This time we’re checking under the sea with Sealab 2021, one of the earliest adult swim shows and the blueprint for the abriged series format, it took a dry hannah barbara show about an underwater research station and remixed it into the antics of a bunch of idiots and lunatatics throughuly unequipped for the task. Except Dr. Quinn, the only sane person aboard.. most of the time. It was comedy gold courtsey of Adam Reed, creator of the later Frisky Dingo, a throughly underated show, and Archer, which is like Frisky Dingo but refined into it’s truest and most sucessful form. It was magical and just talking about it makes me want to talk about it again at some point, probably in a best of list.  So naturally this madcap energy was perfect for the holidays. Originally the crew planned to use ACTUAL religions for this, but were forced by network to change it.. which ended up being one of those cases where the network ended up actually making the right call as the creators instead created thinly veiled substute for the various religions... and centered it around Alavanism, which is christianity.. but if christ was instead born in the us at some point, and instead of being a pacifist, was a drunken beligernt gun loving redneck who shot a guy in the face, has “vengance is mine” as one of his quotes (from said face shooting) and still had pomp and circumstance as part of his holiday.  Helping this though is our Alvian for the evening is Captain Murphy, the series best character and often the center of it’s best moments, played by the wonderful and sadly late Harry Goz, a half crazed half chidlish cloud cuckoolander who often comes off like a demanding child in an old man’s body. So naturally this holiday is for him and even more naturally he’s holding a massive alvis day cermeony that’s as batshit as he and his religion are in the main deck: he’s got buffalo, a buffet that’s deeply unsanitary, and a hallogen light mimickign the alvistide star that he wants to plop a baby under.  Naturally no one else is happy about this. Well Stormy, local hilarious dumbass, is as the only other alvian on board for this, and a general sucker for dumb shenanigans but he’s so plastared he’s even less coherent than usual and can mostly muster the desire to kick something’s ass or a weak “shut up” Most of all Quinn and his girlfriend debbie, who point out religious tolerance is a part of the sealab charter and that this kind of grotesuqe celebration really isn’t in season. I’ts also a nice dig at “War on Christmas Assholes”, long before that was as big a problem with Muprhy very much being the asshole and his cleebration rapidly crumbling. He also attempts to fire Sparks for being a wiccan stand in so yeah he deserves it. It’s all capped in Muprhy getting visted by a drunken halucination of his lord. All in all easily one of the best and most insane christmas specials ever put to film. If you have HBO Max watch it today or tommorow you will NOT regret it. 

7. Arnold’s Christmas (Hey Arnold)  A classic of my childhood, Hey Arnold is one of the best animated shows period. It’s something i’m not shy about saying, I bleivie I said it in my thanksgiving list and i’ll say it quite a bit. It’s not PERFECT, it has it’s flaws.. but it’s still damn good and the golden standard for slice of life shows. 

This episode naturally is one of it’s best and, while I didn’t catch as a kid the signifigance or what this was about, touches on of all things the vietnam war and the children who were helicoptered out. In a heart destroying story, Mr. Winn, one of Arnold’s boardinghousemates, reveals he has a daughter he has no idea where she is as to give her a better life, he made sure she got on one of those helicopters as an infant. While he was able to immigrate later, he never found her. Arnold being our own personal jesus, refuses to let this stand and goes out of his way to figure it out and goes on a quest that seemingly ends in failure. It falls on Helga to save the day as Helga actually gets what she wanted from her parents, a pair of nice boots, and gets the rare moment where they actually acknoledge her.. but loving arnold and seeing the noblility in his quest.. she gives it up. Just to make someone elses’ dream come true. He may never know who did it and tha’ts okay. An utterly heartwarming and heartbreaking episode. Nuff said. 

6. Santa Claus is Comin To Town  Speaking of classics this is how you do a santa origin story. Not the first or last i’d see, and we’ll get to one of those in a moment. While i’m not a huge fan of Rankin Bass’ other big hit with Rudolph, this one really hits the spot for me and is only this low because it’s pacing is really slow at points. Otherwise this special is near flawless, looks good and holds up today.  As I said this is a good Year One for santa establishing how he became immortal, how he met the elves, he was raised by them, how he started giving out toys, how he met mrs claus you know all the stuff you’d ask about.  To me what really sells it the best though is Mickey Rooney as Santa. While I had no idea who played him till literally writing this article in my mind his earnesness, kindness and genuine nature just.. fit the old elf to me even as a young man and everything from his humble beginings to his wanting to help children just out of kindness to his teaching an old man to dance to his romance just feels.. genuine and warm like christmas should. It just makes me feel good and like others on this list.. FEELS like christmas if that makes any sense. Not a lot else to say. Burger Meister Meisterburger isn’t the best vilian, but it was the early 70′s and we weren’t quite to diamond levels of complex interesting villians just yet so fair enough. Baiscally I don’t have a TON to say about this special in short, I may review it next year, we’ll see, but  it’s really good, really fun and sometimes simple just works I guess? Speaking of stop motion..

5. Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas (Community) I love a good sitcom. I haven’t shared that love enough on here, I should try and change that at some point, but I do, as a fourth of this list should make crystal clear. So while sadly some of my faviorites like Brooklyn Nine Nine, Parks and Rec and Roseanne didn’t make the cut, Community thankfully did. Community is a show that’s really damn good and had THREE awesome Christmas episodes. All three, all winners and all in contention for some time. Regional Holiday music just barely didn’t make the cut. But ultimately I went with the best of the best, the most creative, most character driven, and most intresting. And the one that in Community’s traditional style, decided to take a spin on an old genre.  In this case Abed, the study groups resident pop culture junkie, guy who thinks in tropes and future Huey Duck, is seeing everything in stop motion and may get thrown out of school as a result. With his friends deeply worried, they turn to Greendale’s local psychologist and british areshole Professor Duncan, played by my spirtual father John Oliver. ALL HAIL THIS MAN

Duncan takes the two into Abed’s fantasy and thus into a rankin bass special where Abed slowly weeds out his friends and tries to get rid of Duncan, whose naturally only intrested in proving a case. It’s a fun, chaotic ride including christmas pterodactyls, and the cast all in bizzare forms based on what Abed thinks of htem. it’s really damn creative and beauitfully animated at that.  Naturally like most of these what clinches it is the heart and soul. We find out towards the end WHy this happened: Abed’s mom is spending christmas with her new family instead of him and it’s broken him to not be able to watch specials like they do> Thus the group rally behind their friend, beat duncan in a wonderful christmas number and watch specials with their buddy, as the weird ass family some of whom have or will make out, they are. 

4. A Charlie Brown Christmas With my love of comic strips and sentiment, it should suprise absolutely no one this is on here. I love peanuts and have only grown to love it more over hte years for it’s mealancholy, finely constructed cast and weird bits people forget about like Snoopy’s disco phase, that really damn good arc where his house burned down, his brother stealing his fiance only to have her stolen from him, the fact Lucy threw Linus out once, that peppermint patty was once held back a grade and her snores took her place at her desk, the fact there was a character named 5, Charlie Brown and Linus’ friend roy who introduced peppermint patty to the cast, the fact a character named crybaby boobie exists, the fact there are specials devoted to a pastiche of call of the wild, a friend of linus’ getting cancer, and Flashbeagle. Just flashbeagle. 

It is glorious. And I really need to add that to my review queue.. maybe for late january. Seriously, tis glorious. And I OWN this one. So yeah. What were we talking about? Oh yes the special that made all the specials, especially flashbeagle, possible: A Charlie Brown Christmas This one has always been part of my life, but even beyond it’s signifigance to me, having grown up with it and grafted it to my soul, it’s just .. good. It has some good commentary on the consumrisim of the holiday with Charlie Brown rightly a bit upset about it and ending up roped into directing a christmas play. Great gags, and charlie brown trying to stick up for a scragly tree no one enlse likes insue. Oh and scripture as this is probably the only overtly religious special on the list. Not that ther’es anything wrong with not being religious and celebrating christmas: i’m not anymore but I still do and while I respect people who celebrate the holiday int he spirit of christ I have none for people who bash anyone who dosen’t just see it religiously and whose over zealous about it. Your just as bad as war on christmas people and you should feel bad.  But yeah overal it’s just an inconic special whose clunkyness in production and audio just adds some charm to it. It shows it’s age.. but only in the animation and production values, which is just.. charming. It’s message is timeless, it’s characterization is perfect as you’d expect from peanuts in it’s prime, and i’ts ending is truly heartmelting. If you’ve never seen this one.. just go do that. I can wait. 

3. How Santa Stole Christmas! (Ducktales)  I”ll be brief on this one as, since it only aired a few weeks ago, i’ve already done a full review on it. But I will justify why such a recent special is this high up: because it’s just that good. It may of JUST been aired, but it’s as good as anything else here and age dosen’t matter. Quality does. There will likely be future specials worth this list i’m sure but for this moment in time this one earns it. It has Santa perfectly charactrized and tells an utterly heartrending story of friendship that ends up ending simply because the two are moving in opposite directions and of Scrooge learning the meaning of christmas. Not thorugh the ghosts, they already brilliantly messed with that one. It’s just really fantastic, gets the christmas spriit perfectly and uses the characters just as flawlessly. I will defintely be watching this one every year. Just a warm, creative, funny as hell special. 

2. Comfort and Joy (Justice League) Speaking of reviews I held off reviews of my final two so I could save more thoughts here. I probably still will review them eventually, especially this one, I just felt i’d be repeating myself or have to be brief like the last one. But yeah this one slaps. The Justice League cartoon is easily one of the best superhero cartoons, if not superhero properties, period. Taking the base already built in from the previous three dcau cartoons, this one builds out the world and expands it , and introduced a young me to my lifelong loves of Martian Manhunter, The Flash and especailly the green lanterns with John Stewarts badass reciting of the oath easily etched in my brain. The only reason he isn’t my faviorite lantern is because mogo exists.. aka the lantern that is a living planet. 

You can see why. But yeah Jon stuck in my mind. So it’s probably no suprise that the christmas special heavily featuring all three. It’s Christmas Time and after the league stops it’s usual disaster, they head off for their usual holiday activities. Batman and Wonder Woman are missing, but it’s fine. While I love both, especailly DCAU Batman, the episode is probably better off not trying to shove them in there just for the sake of it. One of the show’s greatest strength’s was character ballance, not forcing EVERY member of the big 7 into every episode and just using whose needed and shuffling them in and out FAR BETTER than say, Ducktales. Point is this, much like being loved by anyone, was not unusual and it makes the episode tighter. Even more so since this is the ONLY half hour episode in the first two seasons, the rest are basically hour long episodes split into two parters, though still paced for being two episodes so it’s good.. and three movie length three parters for the premire, and the season finales. Fun Fact: As a kid I missed starcrossed and thus had to find out second hand, and barely at that, why hawkgirl was gone at the start of unlimited. I still have not seen it. I will correct this eventually. It was a diffrent time. 

So yeah this episode not only has a main character cast of 6, with 3 other major supporting characters, but is handily split into three amazing plot lines. The first has Green Lantern try to teach Hawkgirl how to have christmas fun by playing on a snowy world, while Hawkgirl takes him to a bar to show how she celebrates.. i.e. getting hammered and starting a fight. Nanananana, she’s gonna start a fight. It’s a fun really sweet segment, and some nice ship tease between the two.  The other two though are what make this special.. not that the first one is bad these two are just really inspiried for the characters involved: For the Flash, who in this series is both Wally and a bit of a smug quipster.. we see beneath the ego and flirting he’s really a sweet, caring guy and spends his christmas finding a toy for the orphans in this case a rapping duck. 

Not QUITE as embarassing btu close. He runs into the Ultra Humanite whose destroying the toys because he hates the comercialism and how it dumbs things down for the kids. Have I mentioned that I love the Ultra Humanite? Because I do.. the animated version. The comics version is REALLY fucking creepy but this version? He’s fucking great, an intellectual whose a formidable threat.. and honestly sympathetic. His motive here, while misguided, is well meaning and his price for selling out the injustice gang and going back to jail quitely? one of the best gags in human history. Getting PBS to say “This program was supported by viewers like you.. and the ultra humanite” He’s just awesome and i’ts a shame he never returned for unlimited. His comic version, while not BAD is just.. not NEARLY as intresting or deep and I wish the comics would have him take after this version.  And that depth shows as once he learns what was going on, he willingly helps flash and simply reprograms the duck to recite the nutcracker. It’s a really nice gesture, that flash returns by giving his foe a christmas tree. Really good stuff.  And I saved the best for last. Heading home for the holidays, Clark takes Jonn with him since otherwise he’d be stuck at the watchtower and batman was apparnetly “Begging” for duty. Granted one wonders what his surrogate dad and adopted sons think but odds are alfred would just drag them up there anyway no mater how much Dick protested. And of course Alfred has watchtower clearance, he’s alfred: he’s the only one besides Diana looking out for bruce.. and no I don’t buy the bullshit from the batman beyond comics that never happened. And Clark too, this is true... but it takes a village to get bruce to go the fuck to sleep and most of that villiage is alfred. And if your wondering “wait won’t he be in danger”... the only thing that can kill this man is apparently bane. He’s survivied earthquakes, poisonings, turning into a supervillian via radaition induced crazies, yes really, apparently dying leading to the supervillian thing, being stabbed, being shot at, having to help raise damien... my point is the guy’s been through a lot in comics, I doubt the dcau version is any less resilent and god damn I miss this old man. Salute alfred, salute.  Where was I oh yeah, Clark insists on taking John home. And it’s stuff like this why I freaking love superman. Many dismiss him as corny, unrelaistic or boring.. all untrue. Sure he’s a boyscout, but he’s meant ot resprsent the best in mankind, what we can truly be powers or no, what we can achieve and the kind of moral, kind person we can be. He’s an inspiration for us all. And this kind of act is what shows that: his response to one of his friends having nowhere to go on christmas and not having been around the holiday? Take him to his house to share in the warmth and love.  And Clark’s parents here show WHY he’s the hero he is and why I freaking love them in all flavors.. except Zack Snyder flavor and even then tha’ts only for Pa “Letting people die is the right thing to do now i’m going to throw myself into a tornado to prove that” kent. But it’s christmas so i’m not here to bitch about zack snyder and if you want that in full, you can pay for it.  My point is they show, as they should how he became the moral paragon he is: they meet a man from mars, who they’ve never met and their son just invited.. and welcmoe him without a thought. While this isnt’ their first alien obviously, and they say so, it’s still really sweet they just warmly welcome the man in and give him their surrogate daughter/their sons’ biological cousin’s room while sh’es away. Oh Kara’s away conveniently skiing with barbra. Also she lives with them in this continuity. Also maybe that’s where dick is. I dunno, but I hope so. Dickbabs for life.. depending on the continuity. I”m still dick and star for life in the titans cartoon.  Point is we get nice of sweet, and hilaroius, holiday stuff: Jonn is suprised to see this side of clark: while he’s always warm and inviting as Clark.. he can also be relaxed, enjoy the holiday and get real spirited. For one day he dosen’t have to be superman. He can just be clark. Evne superman can take a day off.. and he’s superman, he desrves one. Let Bruce and Diana take care of it after they finish marathon sex and Diana finshes with Cheetaah and Maxwell lord.  But yeah as I was saying hilarious as we find out clark used to peak and they had to, and still do, line it with lead foil to make sure he can’t peak, and Martha gives John a sweater, saying his company is all they need for a gift and when it’s a bit big he charmingly grows into it. Jonn also walks among the humans a bit and we get a great little bit of him sneaking down a chimney after hearing the thorughts of a girl whose worried santa isn’t real. It’s just all great stuff that cumilates in Jonn joyfully singing a song in his native tounge while stroking Kara’s cat Streaky.. who sadly does not have a cape or super powers in this universe. Yet. Just a really good superhero story, a damn fine christmas story and one of the best episodes of a stellar show that thankfully is still remembered in this new age of heroes. 

1. It’s Christmas You Dorks (Harvey Beaks) Yup not probably a lot of people’s first choice but fuck it. I’ve loved this one since i saw it a few years ago shorlty after the series ended, having grown far behind and caught up just as it was ending... and regretted it as Harvey Beaks is easily one of my faviorite shows from the wall to wall hit parade that was the 2010′s. It’s charming, hilaroius, heartfelt, and creative.. and really weird if not as weird as CH Greenblaht’s previous show chowder.. but still weird enough.Thankfully Big City Greens is carying the banner for this kind of show, as is Craig of the Creek, so the kind of gentle, slice of life stuff hasn’t gone away, but this show was still it’s own thing and i’m sad it’s gone.  But while it was here it was spectacular and this is one of the best of em if not the best. And naturally for a show like this it has a neat approach: The episode is dialouge free, only having some singing in the last act and that’s diagetic, the characters singing a christmas song. We’ll get to that. This isn’t the FIRST silent christmas special i’ve seen, Courage the Cowardly dog did it’s own take on the nutcracker, but it’s still the best. And given Courage the Cowardly Dog is one of my faviorite shows, that’s high praise. Each segment is charming, unique, and well done. 

As for what each are: The wraparound is a gorgeously animated bit of stop motion or something like it where the spirit of winter goes around and turns fall to winter or helps the kid with winter fun. It’s a bunch of really adorable stuff. The first proper one is the kids having a snowball fight when a bunch of asshole adults interupt, and hte kids end up getting even by hiding in some snowmen. Again just some really fun, really well done stuff.  But the first one that really makes it follows Technobear, local wannabe ladies man in training who has a crush on Harvey’s mom and fantasies about giving her some lovely read shoes and skating with her. His hopes are dashed when instead her daughter michelle, the horrifing baby child pictured above, takes them instead. But not only is it heartwarming to see the stone faced future rule of the world crack a smile, Techno instnatly realizes whats’ improtant and takes the bby ice skating.  The next segment is just some goofy googus with the squirrels, the local crooks who are also squirreels, but it’s still pretty good. We then get Jeremy trying to be santa which is both funny but genuinely heartwarming and finally the best bit as Dade, local killjoy, gets annoyed at everyone singing a popular new christmas song instead of the old standard he likes and being a dick about it before softening a bit when Harvey genuinely offers him camradere. It’s just.. good stuff that’s hard to put into words, and given putting it into words is my thing, it really speaks to just hwo good this special is. it just, makes me feel nice, and really gets the spirit of the holiday in all it’s forms. It’s gorgeously aniamted, well paced, and never stops being entertaining and that’s why it’s both my faviorite and why every year.. i’ll be coming back to little bark. And if nothing else.. it’ll keep this warm, great show alive in my heart.  So with that I end this list. If you didn’t like it tha’ts fine, this is my opinon. But I wanted to share my faviorites with you and hope you’ll check them out this or next chirstmas. Until we meet again... Merry Christmas to all,and to all a good night. 

[hobidreams]

The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}

determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.

The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”

“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”

You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.

“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”

You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.

There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.

Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”

You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.

“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.

“It’s me.” You say your name.

A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?

That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”

There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”

“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”

“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.

Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”

“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.

“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”

Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”

“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.

You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.

“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”

That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.

But you’re here to get the truth.

Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.

You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.

Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.

“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”

He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”

“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.

“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”

“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. “Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”

You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.

“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”

“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.

Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?

The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?

Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.

“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.

“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?

“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”

Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”

“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”

“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”

“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”

“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”

So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.

Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”

You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”

“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.

That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?

“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.

Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.

“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”

He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”

“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”

Yoongi still looks unconvinced.

“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”

“And this is what you want to use it on.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.

You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.

But wait… The melody sounds familiar.

Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…

“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.

Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.

On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”

Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.

“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”

“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”

You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”

“Just drop it.”

“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"

“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”

You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”

He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”

His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”

“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”

Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”

“I... Uh...”

“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.

So you drop to your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.

You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.

But he’s not about to let you take control.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.

“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.

Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.

Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.

“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.

“Then take it.”

You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.

You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.

Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”

You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.

“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.

With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.

“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.

Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.

“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.

“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.

“Yo—”

“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”

…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.

“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.

You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look back.

To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.

Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.

But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.

Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.

The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.

So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—

“Hellooo? Anybody home?”

A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”

“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“...Nothing important.”

“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”

“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”

The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?

“Because he’s always late?”

“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.

“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”

“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”

He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”

Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.

As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.

Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.

Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.

Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.

“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”

“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.

Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.

“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”

“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”

“I noticed.”

“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee this time, please.”

“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”

When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.

“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”

To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.

Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.

The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.

True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.

It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.

He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.

Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”

“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.

“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”

“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.

You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”

“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”

Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.

Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.

It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.

“Hey.”

You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?

Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”

“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”

“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”

Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”

Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.

Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.

“Jiwon!”

“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.

You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”

“Yup. You get me.”

Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.

The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.

“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”

The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”

a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!

thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞

and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡

want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)

[luulapants]

Digging into the Teen Wolf credits

So I fell into a bit of a rabbit hole researching the shift in writing and directing credits in Teen Wolf, trying to find some explanations for the lack of continuity, whiplash change of directions on storylines, and the messiness of the later seasons. A lot of people (myself included) tend to focus on casting issues and Jeff Davis as the be-all-end-all of these issues, but here are a few interesting things I’ve put together:

1. Waning involvement from the original producers/directors - 

Russell Mulcahy was a producer/exec on all 100 episodes and directed 39 episodes, including every season finale and all but one season premier (5a). He was a big-shot music video director in the ‘80s. According to his Wikipedia, “Mulcahy's work is recognisable by the use of fast cuts, tracking shots and use of glowing lights, neo-noir lighting, windblown drapery, and fans.”

Tim Andrew came on as a supervising producer and progressed to executive producer, holding a producing credit for all 100 episodes. He directed 35 episodes, including some of fan-favorite suspense episodes like Night School, The Girl Who Knew Too Much, and Riddled.

While their producer credits stayed steady, it’s the director credits that interest me. Between the two of them, they directed 75% of S1, 100% of S2, 83% and 75% of 3a and 3b. S4, it drops to 58%. Back up to 70% and 90% for 5a and 5b, then plummeting to 60% for all of S6. It’s worth noting that S4 is the first season where we start to notice that whiplash effect, not really sure what characters’ motivations are. In one episode, the focus seems to be family financial drama, and then we forget about that and focus on Lydia’s powers. Then the focus is assassins, then Kate Argent - and what the hell is up with Peter?

It’s hard to say for sure, but one could draw the conclusion that the decline in director credits from Andrew and Mulcahy also suggest a decline in interest from them in maintaining the show’s storylines.

In fact, in 5b and season 6, you see a third long-time producer, Joseph Genier, step in to direct a few episodes: the rather sloppy Maid of Gevaudan, Blitzkrieg, and Genotype. We can’t give him too hard a time over it, since his only other directing experience ever was a 2016 Netflix horror movie The Secrets of Emily Blair, shitty even by Netflix standards. He also has some late-season writing credits, but we’ll get to that later.

2. The curious case of Angela Harvey - 

In order to understand the writing on TW, you need to know Angela Harvey. She climbed the ranks from personal assistant to writers’ assistant, then, starting in 3a, staff writer.

A staff writer is a salaried, stable figure in the writing department, who works with what is often a rotating door of producers and head writers. They’re usually not the “ideas” person and don’t get the final say, but they help the head writer work through the story and stay on track. Most larger shows have a whole team of staff writers. TW never had more than one at a time.

Shortly after her promotion to staff writer, Harvey got her first full writing credit for Frayed, which is a controversial episode! It’s both praised and detested for the non-linear storyline, the sometimes confusing flashbacks, and Allison’s emotional hallucination of her mother.

After that, she went back to staff writer and was a rock for the show for all of S3 and 4. In S4, she got full writing credit for I.E.D. and Time of Death. Both got mixed reviews on-par with the rest of the muddled mess of S4, but I will note one thing: the human factor. I.E.D., for me, was the first episode that really gave a more rounded picture of Liam, who until that time felt very much like a new puppy coming in to replace our favorite old dogs that went to live on the big farm in the sky.

S5, Harvey gets a promotion to ‘story editor,’ which is pretty much just a title and pay promotion. She wrote A Novel Approach and Strange Frequencies, two more mixed-bag sort of episodes with some golden moments and some crippling larger-story issues. Then she writes the slightly stronger The Sword and the Spirit and... 

Gone. She vanishes from the credits for the rest of season 5. I haven’t been able to find any specific explanations, but I did find a rather telling quote from her in an article about how black writers get hired but not promoted in TV:  “I repeated staff writer four times,” she said.

Harvey then returns for 6x2 with a shiny new title: executive story editor. I can only draw one conclusion from this sequence of events, which is a contract dispute. Harvey demanded a promotion (as she should have, given her longevity on the show!), was denied, and walked off. The show floundered in her absence and begged her back with the new title.

She got full writer credits for two more episodes for S6 but left the show for good after the second, After Images.

To me, it seems clear that they had a strong, stable voice in Angela, but her commitment to the project waned as she realized that the show had no commitment to her. She may not have been the strongest head writer, but she was an essential core, a beating heart of the show. Her contributions were undervalued and, ultimately, the show suffered because of it.

3. The rotating door of writers - 

It’s not unusual for head writers to come and go on shows. Then again, most shows have a stable core in the writers’ room to host those head writers. TW had Jeff Davis, who has frequently been acknowledged to be overly hands-on with the writing (even in episodes he did not take writing credit for), and a single staff writer: Angela Harvey and, before her, Andy Cochran (who was staff writer for S2).

S1 did not have a staff writer, but that was because Jeff had a very firm grip on the story and also because there were only four writers other than Jeff Davis (and the original Teen Wolf movie writers). Interestingly, none of those 4 writers ever returned to the show after S1. This would become a theme for TW writers.

Jeff kept even tighter control on S2, writing 8 of 12 episodes with the help of Cochran. Other than them, there were four other writers, two of whom were a writing team.

Jeff wrote 15 of 24 S3 episodes and brought in 6 new writers and one S2 writer, Christian Taylor who also produced and directed. Of the new writers, only Ian Stokes, who wrote The Fox and the Wolf would become a regular writer afterward (though Alyssa Clark did write two more episodes in S4). Stokes wrote three S4 episodes and three for 5a.

Jeff wrote 6 of 12 episodes in S4, 5 of 10 in 5a, 4 of 10 in 5b, and then did not write again until the series finale.

Starting in Season 4, the writing credits are all over the place. Most writers come in for a single episode and never again. The few notable exceptions are:

Eric Wallace, a later seasons producer

Will Wallace (not sure if related) who was a writers’ assistant that seems to have been randomly granted writing credit for 5a’s Ouroboros, despite having no other writing credits to his name previously. He got writing credit for 4 other episodes in S5 and S6, plus a random staff writer credit for 6a’s Ghosted. 

Lindsay Sturman, a lalter seasons producer who now writes and produces for Supergirl. 

And producer Joseph Genier who, as he had been allowed to direct later seasons with no previous directing credits, was also allowed head writer credit with no previous writing credits.

What can we divine from this? Chaos, honestly. An inability to resist the uninformed and careless whims of the producers. The lack of lower-level writing staff, who are usually the ones there to give stability and cohesion to the story, meant that every new writer brought in new and contradictory ideas of what the story was about and where it should go. Looking at these credits, I can’t tell if the problem was that everyone wanted to write and writing spots were being given as thank-yous in exchange for producers laying down money or if they had such a difficult time finding quality writers willing to work in that environment that producers had no choice but to step in and write as well as they could given a lack of resources.

4. The vanishing first assistant director - 

Compared to the other issues, this one seems minor. However, it seems like TW gave up on the position of ‘first assistant director’ at some point. This position is essentially the right hand of the director, making sure that set runs smoothly and the director has everything they need. 

James J.D. Taylor held the position for 50 episodes, including all but 4 episodes in S1-3a. In the first 3, Jeffrey January filled in. For the fourth, Eric Sherman, who would come to be Taylor’s backup, it seems. For 3b and the first half of S4, Sherman and Taylor traded off every other episode. Taylor tried his hand at directing for S4′s Monstrous, at which point Sherman started trading off episodes with Matt Rawls.

Taylor went back to first assistant director for S5, but intermittently and with no backup for his position. 8 of 20 episodes in 5a had no first assistant director. Taylor directed 6x2 and was first assistant for 6x4 and 6x5, but 17 of 20 episodes of S6 had no first assistant. 

Sure, there were second assistant and second second assistants, but it seems very odd to neglect such a pivotal position. What is especially baffling is that 6b had first-time directors Tyler Posey, Linden Ashby, and Joseph Genier all working without a first assistant director. To me, this speaks to staffing issues and difficulty organizing a show that was clearly on its last legs.

In summary -

Where the early seasons had focused attention and investment from the original core producers, directors, and the show runner, clearly their attention and care for the project waned over time. They failed to promote the show’s most valuable workers and failed to bring in lower-level staff to do the grunt work in the writers’ room. Instead, they pulled in more and more higher level executives, who tend to have lofty ideas about where a show goes but no willingness to dig into the nitty gritty details. Film schools could make a study of Teen Wolf: “How to run a show into the ground.”

[badwasabi]

WRITING ADVICE: How not to write thoughts

Disclaimer: The following advice represents the opinions of One Nitpicky Guy. Readers should accept or reject it as they please. 

Jen opened her door and stepped out into the night.

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone out here?”

The trees rustled, blocking the streetlight. She mused that she had told Chris to cut them back, but nooo, he just said he’d get to it. Someday.

She pulled her handgun from her coat pocket, flicked on the flashlight, and panned it around the yard. Nothing. She wondered what had made the noise.

With her left hand, she reached for the porch light, tightened the bulb.

Nope, she thought, still out. But she decided not to stick around and replace it, not at night.

Something rustled in the bushes to her left, and her gun snapped around.

“Come out with your hands up!” she yelled, her heart beating loud in her ears.

A grey cat - the neighbour’s cat, Jen recalled - sauntered out of the bushes, stared at her insolently. As cats do.

She lowered her gun, and went “Jeez, Malky! You scared me half to death!”

She could just barely make out the cat’s features, the eerie greenish glow in his eyes. He looked at her, then right past her. Which meant, she reasoned, as the hairs on the back of her neck went up, that there might be someone right behi-

She was surprised when the killer’s arm wrapped around her throat.

There are certain words that you see a lot in writing, which are almost never used in conversation. If you think there’s a prowler in your backyard, you don’t call 911 and say “Police? I think I see a figure hiding in my primroses!” You don’t look at someone’s “features” when they’re talking to you, you look at their face. I’ve never “regarded” anyone, and how many of us actually know what “flashing eyes” would look like?*

IMO, it’s fine to use words like this in, say, an article or opinion piece, which is deliberately artificial. If you’re writing a story that’s in omniscient third-person (EG Hitchiker’s, Discworld), sure, why not. But using these terms in a close third-person or first-person narrative can be somewhat jarring, even if the reader never consciously notices.

And some of the biggest offenders are the “thought” words.

In reality, people don’t really “muse”. We seldom “consider”. Or “make mental notes”. Not in our own heads. Have you ever been telling a story about something you did, and you went “and then I made a mental note?”

One common mistake is going “X thought of [subject]” without ever explaining, thus;

Dolores licked her lips as she thought of what she’d do to that sandwich.

as opposed to

Dolores licked her lips. First she’d pick up the sandwich, gently, gently. She’d nibble at the end, just a bit, just to get a little taste. Then she’d open her mouth as wide as it could go and take that big chomp-

That’s a stronger image, more evocative. If you have to use “X thought of [subject]”, try to use it like a sort of thesis statement.

Dolores licked her lips as she thought of what she’d do to that sandwich. First she’d pick it up, gently, gently. She’d nibble at the end, just a bit, just to get a little taste. Then she’d open her mouth as wide as it could go and take that big chomp-

or

Dolores licked her lips as she thought about what she’d do to that sandwich. She thought about how she’d pick it up, gently, gently. About nibbling at the end, just a bit, just to get a little taste. Then she’d open her mouth as wide as it could go and take that big chomp-

In general, try to avoid saying “X thought of [subject]” just by itself and letting it sit there. There needs to be some kind of payoff. Even if it doesn’t show up right away. Even something like another character breaking them out of their thoughts.

I see way too many people who just use “X thought of [subject]” to summarize a character’s thoughts, but don’t unpack.

But more importantly for these tips are what I like to call inline thoughts. It’s when you present the characters thoughts, in the text, without italics. While I like to use ‘inline’ thoughts for the POV character, I sometimes used italicized thoughts when I want to give emphasis.

Speaking of interruptions;

Jimmy frowned.

Well, someone with no taste might think “Dangerous” is the better album, but it’s clearly “Bad”.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash from the next room.

Never say that. Just show the interruption, and then what interrupted.

Jimmy frowned.

Well, someone with no taste might think “Dangerous” is the better album, but it’s clearly “Ba-”

There was a loud crash from the next room.

Also, some people use single quotes to indicate thoughts. As far as my highly-compensated** research team can tell, this is grammatically incorrect, and you shouldn’t do it ever.

You know what’s even worse? No, not 'irregardless’, though that counts. Using both italics and single quotes. Which gets especially confusing when it’s in the same paragraph as italicized dialogue.

“Look,” I said, “I’ll get you the money, so you don’t need to be all nice place you have here, shame if something happened to it.” ’Please don’t ask how, please don’t ask how, Please don’t-’

Please don’t write

X, I thought to myself.

Pop quiz; how many stories are there where the protagonist has access to telepathy? Mind-to-mind communication?

Not many.

Exactly. So who else would they be thinking to?

If your writing is focused on a POV character, you generally don’t have to use “X noticed/saw/perceived/reasoned/etc.” Just describe what they saw, just like you described the interruption instead of telling the audience there was an interruption.

Look at this “inline” bit;

Sanjay locked his computer, picked up his smartphone, and headed for the empty break roo-

Oh.

“Hi,” Ingrid said.

“Hey.”

Now, watch what happens when I tell, not show.

Sanjay locked his computer, picked up his smartphone, and headed for what he thought was an empty break room. Needless to say, he was surprised to find Ingrid already there.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.”

Just kinda sucked the emotion right out of it.

But what if I want to convey a non-verbal thought? Like an impulse?

Well, Timmy, then you lie.

What?

Lie. Fake it.

Carlos had a sudden urge to tickle his cat.

vs 

Carlos looked at his cat. He could tickle her…

or

Carlos looked at his cat. Would she mind being tickled?

As a general rule, you should use thought verbs the way you’d use “said”  verbs. For me, that means 'not at all, if possible’.

“So what’s the problem?” Jones asked.

“The anklet says she has a pretty set routine,” Brown said. “Home, work, grocery store. Sometimes she jogs around the block. But on one day, the day of the explosion, she stops at this donut shop. If she didn’t have a sudden craving for some Timbits…”

Jones thought that was interesting. “Coincidence?”

Vs

If she didn’t have a sudden craving for some Timbits…“

Interesting. "Coincidence?”

or

If she didn’t have a sudden craving for some Timbits…“

Interesting. "Coincidence?”

Or

If she didn’t have a sudden craving for some Timbits…“ Jones leaned forward. "Coincidence?”

Or

Jones’ eyes narrowed. “Coincidence?”

Or

Jones narrowed his eyes. “Coincidence?”

Remember when I said you should generally use thought verbs like said verbs? That doesn’t often apply when you’re using physical reactions instead of thought tags (which I personally prefer). People put more weight on actions than words, and from the outside we can only know most people’s thoughts by what they do and say. More specifically, try to put the physical reaction before the dialogue.

Sometimes you may want to use “X thought” to make the narration seem disconnected and distant from the POV characters. Let’s say some character has a concussion or just got some shocking news.

Jane blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” “There was a complication,” the doctor said. “His heart stopped on the table.” This is impossible, Jane thought. “No, he can’t…I just talked to him yesterday. How can he be de-dea-”

or

Jane blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“There was a complication,” the doctor said. “His heart stopped on the table.”

Jane thought it was impossible. “No, he can’t…I just talked to him yesterday. How can he be de-dea-”

This works even in first person.

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“There was a complication,” the doctor said. “His heart stopped on the table.”

This is impossible, I thought. “No, he can’t…I just talked to him yesterday. How can he be de-dea-”

Any questions?

Good Hunting -Jon

PS: Oh, right, forgot;

Jen opened her door and stepped out into the night.

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone out here?”

The trees rustled, blocking the streetlight. She told Chris to cut them back, but nooo, he just said he’d get to it. Someday.

She pulled her handgun from her coat pocket, flicked on the flashlight, and panned it around the yard. Nothing. What had made the noise.

With her left hand, she reached for the porch light, tightened the bulb. Nope, still out. Best not to stick around and replace it, not at night.

Something rustled in the bushes to her left, and her gun snapped around.

“Come out with your hands up!” she yelled, her heart beating loud in her ears.

A grey cat - the neighbour’s cat- sauntered out of the bushes, stared at her insolently. As cats do.

She lowered her gun, and went “Jeez, Malky! You scared me half to death!”

She could just barely see the cat’s face, the eerie greenish glow in his eyes. He looked at her, then right past her. The hairs on the back of her neck went up. Was there someone right behi-

A strong arm wrapped around her throat.

* I do. But that’s another show. ** I throw a cheeseburger down their dungeon steps sometimes

[codenamewitcher]

Mistress of Death Part Four || Geralt of Rivia

Title: I Never Thought I'd Be A Killer

Pairing: Geralt x assassin!reader / Geralt x half-elf!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Song: Make Up Your Mind - Florence & The Machine

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

— ‡ — 

"Why is he going with you to Belhaven?" Flavus said from my bedroom, I wasn't able to see his exact whereabouts because I sat in the bath in my bathing chambers.

"He wants to, and I quote, 'to keep an eye on what's rightfully mine.'" I grabbed a soapy rag and started scrubbing at my skin.

"I heard that, but why?" I heard the clatter of blades then the scrape of them on whetstone, he was sharpening blades.

I paused, starring into the cloudy bath water, and drummed my fingers on the side of the tub. "He smelt who I'd been seeing on me and lost his shit."

The scrape of a blade stopped for a moment and then resumed. I draped the clothe on the tubs edge and lifted myself out of the water. I dried myself off, slipped a nightgown on, and walked into my bedroom. Flavus sat on the edge of my bed, sharpening one of my blades.

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I needed something to do with my hands, so I didn't go and strangle the bastard." I snort at his remark.

"Stop being so dramatic." He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. His skin was golden brown with hazel eyes to match, and his long dark hair was pulled back away from his face.

A smirk found its way on his lips, "Says the girl that was cutting and stabbing at her food tonight like it was the man himself."

I shrugged and made my way toward my bed. "Was it that noticeable?"

"Honey, if they didn't notice why you were cutting your food like that, they sure as hell thought you were insane, if not both."

"Maybe I am." I said as I got under the covers. "Now, I want to get some sleep, so are you going to stay here or leave?"

He turned to look back at me, blade and whetstone still in his hands. "I do something nice for you and this is the thanks I get?"

I raised an eyebrow as if I was saying 'and?' He shook his head and got up, picking up the blades that sat beside him and placed them on top of my dresser, next to the rest of my blades. He blew out the candle on said dresser and then got in bed next to me.

"What are you going to do about you-know-who?" Flavus asked breaking the short-lived silence between us while referring to Geralt.

"I don't know." I scooted closer to him in the cold sheets, letting him wrap his arms around me, enveloping me in warmth as he pulled me towards his body.

"I hate that I can't go with you."

"I do too." I reach my hand out for his, he took it, and gave it a squeeze.

"Goodnight Y/N."

"Goodnight." I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep filled with old memories.

— ‡ —

We had been on the road for two weeks and had another two weeks left of travel before we reached Belhaven. We stopped in Aldersberg even though there was plenty of daylight left to reach the next town. He had gotten two rooms at a more high-end inn in town and requested that I find a dress in the market that hid my weapons but still gave me ease of access to them, apparently there was some sort of big dinner that we were attending tonight. I wasn't looking for anything extravagant like I normally would because one it was Aldersberg and two I had to travel with it - if I had known I needed to dress up for this trip, I would've packed one of my dresses that I owned along with some cosmetics because yes, I was that bitch.

After a long search I finally found a dress, it was a long black dress with bell sleeves and a hood to cover up my ears it also had intricate blue stitching to it that while moving in the light looked like the night sky. I was surprised to find such a beautiful dress in this shit hole, but I tipped the older woman a few more guldens than what was owed just for the beautiful stitching.

I now waited for Ramerd to get done getting ready, I had multiple knives strapped to me and hidden in little folds of fabric. He stepped out of his room, he eyes racking up and down my body, my skin crawled in disgust, but I played it off.

"You look ravishing my dear." He pulled the dresses hood closer, so it not only covered my ears, but my face altogether, then held his arm out, I forced a smile on my face. "You'll want to stay in the shadows tonight."

"Thank you," I place my hand in the crock of his arm, I could do this. He patted my hand, a smile settling itself on his face.

Instead of taking a carriage like I thought we would - we walked, which the place we were going was just up the street.

It was a larger and grander town house compared to the others in the city besides the Duke and Duchess of Aldersberg's manor which stood at the top of a hill, overlooking the city.

Ramerd stopped before the front doors of the house and looked down at me, trying to make me feel small.

"I want you to remember dear," He patted my hand, wickedness adding a sparkle to his blue eyes. "That if you don't do as I say, I will make you watch as I skin the man you've been sleeping with alive and make you watch."

I didn't let a drop of fear show in my eyes or body, I was not going to give him that kind of satisfaction. I only nodded in response, wanting to get the night over with as quickly as possible.

He turned his head back towards the door and knocked, a smirk on his lips.

A butler opened the doors, he started to speak but Ramerd cut him off. "I'm here for an appointment with Rebrild Pard over some trading plans."

The butler nodded and stepped aside, letting us in. He was trying to peak under my hood as sly as possible to see what the mystery girl's face looked like, but I kept my head down. Thoughts were racing through my head about what this meeting could possibly be about. 

Rebrild Pard was a large weapons merchant in Rivia, he specialized in both silver and steel blades. I knew him and Ramerd were trade partners, but it was concerning for me because he never took anyone but Yrnar with him on meetings like this

We were led into an office towards the back of the house, a desk sat in the middle of the room, the man that sat behind it had pale skin, empty grey eyes, and lifeless, short blond hair. He was on the skinnier side, but still had muscle, and he was dressed in slacks and a light blue silk tunic, showing off his wealth - this must be Rebrild Pard. He motioned towards the two chairs that sat in front of his dress, the door shut behind us, the butler left after Pard told him to leave us in privacy. We sat in the two armchairs, Ramerd leaned back into it, making himself comfortable, but I kept straight up, not wanting to make it easier for the man to see my face. 

"May I know who's under the hood?"

"No." 

The man let out a sigh through his nose and drummed his fingers on his desk. "I'm assuming since you brought her here with you, she's allowed to hear what we're to discuss?"

"Are you doubting my judgment Pard?" From the way his fingers froze, and his eyes widen, I know the look on Ramerd's face was to kill.

"No... No."

"Good." I didn't have to look at Ramerd to know he was smiling just by the tone of his voice. "Do you have my weapons?"

The man pulled out a trade book from a drawer in his desk, flipped a few pages, cleared his throat, and started to read from the pages. "Three hundred steel daggers, one hundred fifty steel long swords, one hundred silver swords, and eighty axes."

Ramerd hummed, "Are they ready to travel to the Keep?"

"Yes, for one hundred thousand guldens."

It felt like all of the blood had drained from my body, I knew Ramerd was regularly buying weapons, but at this extent... This wasn't right.

Ramerd chucked, "I only brought ten thousand."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this wasn't a payment plan he paid off with time, I knew and from the reddening of Pard's face - he knew too.

"We agreed on one hundred thousand six months ago." He seethed, I couldn't tell if it was stupidity or bravery for the way he was speaking to Ramerd.

"And now I'm telling you ten thousand." Due to the tension in the air, I kept my back straight, body still - not daring to make the wrong move in fear of Ramerd.

Pard scoffed and shut the boom. "Then it all goes to Nilfgaard, seeing as they're willing to pay the right price."

"Kill him." Ramerd ordered, not missing a beat. The air was now filled with the man's fear as his eyes widened and turned to me.

"No, no, no, no. Please." The man bagged, I looked over to Ramerd and when I met his icy blue eyes, I seen that he would not hesitate to kill Geralt if I didn't follow through.

I turned to face the whimpering man again, hating the drowning feeling I felt. I kept my face stoic and grabbed a throwing knife from one of the folds of fabric. The man shot up from his chair, knocking it to the floor and turned to run for the door that was behind his desk. But before he could even get two steps away from his chair, I was on my feet and my knife lodged itself in between his skull and cervical.

And with a drop of a body, Rebrild Pard was dead.

I never cared to remember anyone's name that I killed because in my opinion they didn't deserve it - besides my first kill, and now I wouldn't forget Rebrild Pard because he didn't deserve it. I knew I killed people, but this was different.

I never truly felt like a killer until now. 

I wield numbness throughout my body as I stared at his body, I was not going to show Ramerd any type of weakness - of regret. I heard a sigh escape Ramerd's lips as he stood up.

"It’s a shame, he was a damn good arms dealer." I slowly dragged my eyes over the assassin master, he was straightening his sleeves, completely unaffected by the fact that I just broke his code. "Get your dagger and keep it out."

He moved over to the door we entered through and I stepped over to Pard's body, bent down and yanked the blade out. I stood to find Ramerd opening the door.

"Ladies first." A devil of a grin found itself upon his lips, he hand gesturing towards the hall.

When I stepped out into the hall it was empty and silent, as if everyone in the house knew someone was dead and wasn't going to dare to show themselves in fear of facing the same fate.

After shutting the office door, Ramerd started walking deeper into the house, and stopped in front of a single, dark wooden door. His large hand wrapped around the knob and opened it. It was another office, but smaller. A man that looked like Rebrild in the face but younger sat at a desk, a servant was placing a goblet of wine on the surface when we walked in. The servant girl looked up to see who had walked into the office. She took one look at the bloodied blade in my hand and disappeared through the servant’s door - smart. The man that sat at the desk didn't look affected by mine and Ramerd's appearance, it was Ramerd who spoke first."

"My deepest condolences Adrik Pard, I regret to inform you of your uncle's passing." I wicked smile was on both of the man's and Ramerd's faces - Rebrild's death was planned. "But despite his untimely death, a congratulations are in order seeing as you now control his empire."

Adrik stood from his seat, "Thank you for taking the time out of your travels to bring me the news Ramerd, I shall reward you with whatever weapons my uncle was in the process of delivering to you at no cost out of a token of gratitude."

A sticky smile was still on his face despite the news of his uncle's death. I knew the conversation between them was for any prying ears - all of this made me sick.

"It is greatly appreciated, again I send my deepest condolences." Adrik and Ramerd titled their heads in a farewell, he grabbed my wrist and lead me out of the room, closing the office door behind him. He turned to me, "Put your knife away."

I did as I was told, hating the blood was getting on this dress, but I didn't show him any disgust; I still didn't when I slipped my arm in his waiting one. He didn't say anything else as he led us out and I couldn't decide if his silence was good or bad.

— ‡ —

That night, when the two assassins got back to their inn, the girl's master had followed her into her room and grabbed her by the throat, shoving the door close as he slammed her body into it. The master's lips were pulled back into a snarl, but the girl showed no fear despite the man cutting off all of her air. She didn't show a fear until he brushed his teeth and lips against her ear giving a new promise.

"Seeing as the threat of killing your lover wasn't enough, I'll add Flavus' death to the table too. This is my very last warning girl."

He applied more pressure to her throat before throwing her to the side. Without so much as an ounce of regret, the man opened her door and slipped out, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Alarm bells went off in the girl's head, terror shot down her spine, and dread filled her veins with his words. He'd never threatened Flavus' life because like her, Flavus brought him in the majority of his money.

Y/N realized two things as she laid in the floor that night, the first being that if she were to win this war, she'd have to hand away her humanity. The second thing she realized that night was the reason why death was always following her, and it was because Ramerd Gamward was death and he was always following her every movement.

The girl slowly picked herself off the ground and lit a fire in the fireplace. She watched the flames build up as she stripped the mainly knives off her body - letting them clatter to the floor - and then her dress was off too. She balled it up and throw it into the flames, thinking that maybe she did deserve this emptiness and pain.

— ‡ —

"When do you think we'll run into Y/N again, it's been, almost two months... Normally we run into her by now." The bard wondered while he walked besides the witcher into Aldersberg.

The witcher said nothing as he inspected the normally loud town that was now quiet, even Jaskier had picked up on the odd air that covered the town. 'Something had happened,' Geralt thought to himself.

He tried Roach to a hitching post and followed Jaskier into a tavern. Whispers filled the bar, all that Geralt heard was about the assassination of Rebrild Pard from two days ago, about how the women and children were too scared to go outside in fear of the death that had visited the town two days ago would come back. 

Jaskier sat by a round, lone man whose face was just as red as his hair, Geralt reluctantly sat next to Jaskier who had begun talking to the man next to him.

"May I ask if you know what has happened here?"

The man grunted and took a sip of his ale, he didn't say anything for the longest time Jaskier thinking he wasn't going to get an answer from the man until, "My wife works at the Rosebud inn which is a block away from Rebrild Pard's house." The man paused and took another sip as Jaskier started to lean in towards the man. "Two nights ago, one of the maids that works my wife was working that night and the following day, Nele is her name. She said that Ramerd Gamward checked and a woman was along with him."

The witcher's hand froze midair, ale sloshed on the sides of the mug due to the sudden stop, the man paid no mind and kept on with his story.

"She said that while she didn't know where to two disappeared that night, is was long enough to go to Pard's house and murder him. She said that they came back in the clothes they left in, not a speck of blood on neither, but she said that when they came back anger, disgust, and death surrounded the air around the two. When they checked in, Nele seen the girls face, said she was the most beautiful woman she'd seen walk through the inn, but before dawn the next day Nele was doing laundry and accidentally ran into the woman, she caught a glimpse of her face and said she looked dead. Y/E/C eyes that were sparkling with anger were now red and held no emotion, she even seen a light bruising around the woman's neck."

Jaskier swore under his breath and Geralt's blood boiled, but the man continued anyways.

"It was before dawn when they left, prior to when news broke of Rebrild Pard's death. Nele feared for the girl's life and even though I never seen her, I have to say the same."

Before anymore was said, Geralt slammed the tankard of ale down on the counter and got up, nearly tipping the stool over in the process. The tavern was quiet as the witcher stormed out, Jaskier giving the man a quick thank you and followed after him.

Jaskier came out just in time to see Geralt untying Roach from the post.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"After Y/N." Geralt turned to start leading Roach down the street.

"Woah, woah, woah." Jaskier stopped in front of Geralt, hands held up in the air. "How do you know that it was Y/N that was with him and not some other woman."

"Because Y/N is the only woman in Ramerd's guild."

"Okay, but you don’t know where they're headed, that man in there didn't say where they were going."

The witcher paused and studied the bard's face while he thought about what he'd just said. Geralt opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a hooded man and his horse storming down the street. Him and his horse stopped before Geralt, Jaskier, and Roach and sniffed the air - Geralt's hand started inching toward a blade while Jaskier took a step away from the man.

"Are you Geralt of Rivia?"

"Who's asking?" The witcher grunted, hand falling upon the hilt of a dagger. The man smiled, white teeth glowing from the darkness the hood gave him, which he then pulled back revealing pointed ears, golden eyes, and dark skin.

"Y/N said you were brash," He pulled on his horse reins who wanted to continue running. "I'm Flavus, I'm sure my sister has told you about me like she has told me of you."

"How is Y/N your sister?" Jaskier asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"They grew up together." Geralt answered, not daring to break eye contact with the assassin. "Why are you here?"

Flavus' smile dropped, a solemn but deadly expression was now on his face. "I was told Ramerd brought her along with him to kill anyone who gets in his way of his plans, but I also feel he's doing it to break her in the process."

Jaskier's defensive stance faltered while the gears in Geralt's head started turning.

"Where is he taking her?"

"Belhaven."

— ‡ —

Masterlist

There will be a part five!

Geralt Tag: @alwayshave-faith​ @boiled-onionrings​

Tags: @pippin248 @american-duchess @agentdedf1sh @didi0666 @ayamenimthiriel @a-dorky-book-keeper @boiblunder @stretchkingblog97 @newtdisneywho @toribentleyva 

If I missed you in the tags, please let me know!

[seaweedbrain-wisegirl-andasatyr]

What a Live-Action Tartarus would look like: or, the complexities of Cosmic Horror in Middle Grade Fiction

I've always been really interested in film- it's my dream to work in this field in the future. So of course with news of an adaptation of this series so close on the horizon, of course I had to think about how, if for some absurd reason, I was personally hired to direct/design an episode, how some of my favorite scenes in this series would they look in live action form.

Some context: This is after Percy and Annabeth's fall in Tartarus. I think the scenery of this place is very interesting, yet extremely complicated to replicate in live action form. Tartarus, at least Rick's version of Tartarus, is horrifying when you think too hard about it, especially in a middle grade fiction series where characters can't even say the word "dam" properly, and monsters dissolve in a dust of sand. I think Tartarus is very similar to Lovecraftian horror. It's like, the idea that something is so terrifying that a human mind can’t even perceive it. You can't accept it because it's just too horrifying. You can’t even describe it because there are no words for it or things to compare it to in our world.

I made some personal rules for myself. Firstly, I think obvert violence thrown in your face is overrated. Any PJO or HoO series would be rated PG, at most, PG-13. Using these guidelines, I tried to construct a version of Tartarus that isn't fueled on gore or blood, but more this dark, deep nothingness.You know how, in many YA movies/tv shows, especially those trying too hard to be "edgy", we always make fun of how dimly lit the scenes are? Well, these scenes in Tartarus should, for once, actually be like that- so dark it almost makes our(as an audience) eyes hurt. Everything around our main characters are dark and hazy. Fog swims around them.

But we don't see much of this environment, no matter how dark it is. Everything is filmed so up close, the camera sticking so close to the characters it's uncomfortable. We are stuck with Percy and Annabeth in this huge, intangebly huge space. Two small ants in this great, unescapable landscape. Have y'all watched Stranger Things? you know that strangely filmed darkness we see when Eleven goes into the upside down? Tartarus should be filmed very similar to that. Everything except for Annabeth and Percy should be engulfed in black, pure darkness all around, when the two first enter this place. It's only when Annabeth and Percy stay too long, finally perceive this landscape for what it is, the body of Tarturas himself, that we as an audience sees this too. It's not abrupt or sudden. It's a gradual, uncomfortable recognization. The music that has always been in the background gets a little louder, pounding a little too similar to the beat of a human heart. We hear wet, sloshing, horrible sounds every time Percy puts his foot down. Dark liquid and goop drips from all around, and the camera stays just a little bit longer on these elements. The darkness slowly lifts, just a bit.

The Arai curses fight scene is, for me personally, the scariest scene in everything Rick wrote. It's utterly horrifying to think too long about. Again, I don't think it needs to be overtly graphic or visual.When you really think about it, there is so much death and killing in every one of the PJO and HoO books. But this sort of murder is made child-friendly in every way- monsters resolve into dust only to be reborn, death is written off in a few paragraphs, kids get shoot, cut, burned, maned, and we just ignore it. This scene really brings us to the reality that these monsters are still beings, about the sheer numbers of monsters just Percy and Annabeth themselves have brought to death. In a live-action adaption, this realization and horror should be replicated.

(more under read more ↓↓↓↓↓↓) 

At first, we think this is just a normal fight. Percy and Annabeth have went through plenty of those already- this is HoH, by now the audience has watched 12 year old Percy fight a god, 15 year old Percy become almost invincible- a little run-in with some winged monsters is just another Tuesday. The music increases, but it's still just regular, action-movie fight scene music (behind it is a heavy dropping beat. Again, just like a heartbeat. Is it Percy's heartbeat? Is it Tartarus's heartbeat? we can't tell). But as soon as Percy takes that first swing, we know something is wrong. think this scene would be interesting if the camera switches jarringly from Annabeth's pespective to Percy's. When Annabeth strikes down the arai that curses her with blindness, we are suddenly plunged into darkness too. Sudden, startling darkness. It is quiet, too. too quiet. We are engulfed in pure nothingness. It's so sudden and holds out for so long that the audience must think something is wrong. They get uncomfortable, squirming in their seats. Is their tv broken? Did they accidentally click mute? We see dim flashes of light, waving like somebody stumbling around in the dark, with a dim flashlight,but they are too gone so suddenly.

The camera swings, and now we see this scene from Percy's perspective, but everything is all wrong. The music is not this dramatic, action music we are use to, but instead, while the beat is the same as before, we are only left with this uncomfortable, startling heartbeat. It goes: dun, dun, dun. Percy is in pain: you know when you're in so much pain everything is fuzzy at the edges and you don't know if what you're percieving is real or just a halluciation? This scene is that feeling times a thousand. The techincal term is called a dolly zoom, but more casually a "Vertigo shot" the camera pulls back sudden at the same time it zooms in. It is often used by Hitchcock, espeically in the movie Jaws. You can google it, but what we get is this effect where the subject (Percy, here) not quite moving, but the background shifting around him so quickly it almost gives you motion sickness. The camera then spins jarringly around him, again, so quickly it's dizzying. we don't get to see too much. There are so many of these creatures, coming from all sides. It's too much. Behind this still pumping heartbeat, there is RINGING. God, so much ringing, in your ear. Because of all this action happening on screen, again it takes the audience a moment to even perceive this sound. But when they perceive it, they can't unheard it. it's so loud, it comes from everywhere, it's getting higher in pitch, it's uncomfortable, you're about to throw up, yet just like Percy you're pinned to the spot, unsure what to do, as everything goes out of your control.

Olf. That was a long one. But for a little TL;DR, undershowing is often scarier. There is a quote, I'm not too sure where it first came from since it sounds much too smart for me to think up myself, but to paraphrase, it goes something like: "The scariest thing in the world is what our imaginations can conjure up." Here's a simpler one for you:  "The most frightening monsters are the ones that exist in our minds." I've had the personally experience of laying awake too many nights, stuck in a mind loop, scaring myself half to death with my own thoughts. Let me repeat this again: A story, even a horror one, doesn't need excessive blood, guts and sexy stuff thrown at it to make it dark and horrifying. A lot of this post was inspired by talking with a lot of fellow PJO fans, you know who you are :), while also being influenced by this great video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OTO7Rqln9Q. It talks about the complexities of writing comic horror. I highly recommend watching it. Also, for a few examples of this kind of horror done well, I recommend Birdbox, and also, strangely the ending fight of Spiderman Far From Home. I won't spoil it, but it was a very well directed scene that really made me feel jarred and uncomfortable as I watched it. I've also heard The Thing is good at this, but I really do scare myself too much, and can't watch truly scary horror movies without freaking myself out. Anyway, if you've made it this far, I hope you all have a nice day/ night and comment if you want me to write out any other scenes from PJO or any Rick books. Film, whether that's in screenwriting/cinematography/set/costume design, or, most of all directing, is both my dream and plan, so this is good practice.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Heathers | Sweet Pea

A/N: Last part! I hope you guys enjoyed this and that it’s all you hoped for. I think Riverdale ruined the musical for a lot of people. I mean, I didn’t even know about Heathers until the episode of Riverdale and back then I was like ‘WTF is this???’ but then I started watching Carrie Hope Fletcher’s vlogs about her being Veronica in Heathers and I decided to give the album a listen and it’s SO GOOD? Like I’m offically obsessed with it. I’m just sad you can’t watch a good quality video of either the off-Broadway version or the West End version. Not gonna lie, I did watch part of the shitty quality bootleg on YouTube, but it’s just not quite the same is it?  Anyway, hope you enjoy this last part!  Also, GIF has nothing to do with this part, I just love Christian Slater as JD and this is one of my fav quotes for some reason, along with “Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling”. 

Act one - Act two - Act three - Act four - Act five - Act six

Words: 4002

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Warnings: panic attack, cursing, sexually tinted scenes 

Act six: Seventeen 

I was right not entirely trusting ‘Stoner chick’ and ‘Preppy kid’. The next day, I get a text from Margot, telling me to meet them at Pop’s before school. I’m not entirely sure what to think of it until I enter the diner and find Margot and Ella in a booth with Sweet Pea. A bunch of nerves sets in my stomach. I feel like I’m going to hurl. So, before they can even see me, I run into the restrooms. There, I try to calm myself down. My hands grip at the cold sink until my knuckles turn white. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, I’d never seen my eyes as dark as they are now. “You can do this,” I tell myself, “You’re Veronica Sawyer for Christ’s sake.” One talk with a boy will not change anything. I’ve been able to have a steamy scene with him and kiss him multiple times on stage, why can’t I just do this one thing? This doesn’t make any sense. I’m not making any sense. After heaving in a deep breath, I gather all my courage and walk back into the diner. “Hey, guys,” I greet, trying to play off the fact that I’d just had a mental breakdown in the restroom. All three of them look up at me. My friends get this wide, bright smile on their faces while Sweet Pea’s lips curl up into a more tender smile. A very cute smile, I might add. “Hey, Y/N!” Ella exclaims overexcitedly. “Join us!” She points at the seat next to Sweet Pea, and without asking anything else, I slide in next to him. Then Margot claps in her hands while Ella places hers on the table as if she’s getting up. “We’ve got to motor though. So…” Margot trails off suggestively. “Have fun!” and without getting another word in, both my friends have dashed off and out of the diner. I stare at their empty seats for a moment before turning to the tall guy next to me. “What a terrible set-up,” I say to him, chuckling. Then my eyes widen when I realize how bad that sounds. “Not that the company’s terrible, just the way they did it was terrible. You’re cool,” I ramble, then sigh when I finally shut up. Sweet Pea sniggers beside me, and when I look up at him, he has that same adorable smile on his face he had when I walked in. “I went ahead and ordered you a vanilla milkshake,” he slides the glass of white goodness towards me. “Margot did drink from it already though; hope you don’t mind.” I roll my eyes. Typical Margot. “Nah, it’s fine. We share lots of things,” mental face palm, “Wait, that sounds so wrong.” “Calm down, Y/N,” Sweet Pea says, grabbing my hands, “Why are you so nervous all of a sudden? You’re never this nervous in rehearsals?” A lump forms in my throat and I really have to try hard to swallow it. “Are you okay?” I look into his eyes to try and find calmness again. Then, I heave in another deep breath and begin my ramble. “IjustlikeyoualotSweetPea, but I’m scared it’s going to change the musical completely somehow or you don’t like me back or you think I’m weird or you’re going to distract me from going to drama school or you’re going to break my heart or Reggie’s going to break your face or… Something like that…” I look up again to find him staring intensely at me. “You don’t like me, let’s go for that.” I nod my head and prepare to get up, but Sweet Pea grabs me by my arm and pulls me back down. “I do like you back, Y/N. But you might be right about it changing the musical. And besides, you don’t want to be with me. Being a gang is a dangerous lifestyle and I don’t want to drag you into that.” A relief washes over me. It’s not exactly what I’d hoped for. But at least I know he likes me back. “So, we agree that this just isn’t the right time for us to start something?” I ask, just to be sure. “Yeah, I guess so… Maybe in a few months or years when we bump into one another in a bar in New York or something,” he smiles a happy smile. “You really think I’ll get to New York?” He nods in response, and from there, my complete outburst has been long forgotten and we’re chatting about the future. About my future in Musical Theatre and Sweet Pea’s possible appliance to some community colleges. It’s a relief nothing really changes between us. We’re on the same page about us being a thing. It’s just the wrong place, wrong time. But still, I can’t shake the feeling of wanting to kiss him. Thank heavens I get to tomorrow night on stage without any strings attached.  

“Are you ready for the show?” Sweet Pea’s voice makes me jump as he’d walked into the dressing room I shared with the Heathers. The girls had already left, and I was alone until a few seconds ago. Since I got dressed and ready, I started stress-reading and stress-singing all of my lines whilst pacing the room, just to make sure all of the lines were still in my head. Playing Veronica Sawyer was a dream, but there’s so much I need to remember and so much I could possibly forget. “No, I don’t think I know any of my lines, my dress is starting to itch, I’m not sure where I left my diary or the pen or the note I have to give to miss Fleming at the start. When do I go on again? And what are we going to do about Dead Girl Walking because I kind of liked our choreography more than Kevin’s and I—” Before I can even finish the last sentence, I’m shut up by his soft lips pressed to mine. I’m startled at first, but once I realize what happens, I relax a little more. My rapidly beating heart slows down again and air is pushed back into my lungs. “You need to calm down, Y/N. Dress rehearsal last night was more than amazing. You know the script by heart, you are Veronica Sawyer. And if you want, we could still do Dead Girl Walking the way we did it the first time. Fuck Kevin’s comments,” he smiles a little as he holds onto my cheeks to force me to look into his eyes. It only relaxes me more, thankfully. “You’re Veronica Sawyer,” he repeats. “Yeah, it’s going to be fine,” I sigh, nodding my head in agreement. “We start in two minutes!” Kevin’s voice sounds from the hallway. Sweet Pea reaches his hand out for me and I take it. He leads me towards the door and then we go to the wings where all of our other co-stars are. Ella and Margot give me a little smile, knowing how nervous I was, and when they see my hand in Sweet Pea’s, their smile turns into a smirk. So, I let go of his hand and walk up to them to talk a bit before we have to get on. “Break a leg,” Sweet Pea tells me before I have to go on for Beautiful. And then, before I know it, we’re already on Dead Girl Walking. To say I’m nervous about what Sweet Pea’s going to do is an understatement. I sing every line, hit the high notes and belts perfectly, and then I’m already in JD’s room. The nerves are building in the pit of my stomach. But then Sweet Pea’s voice calms me down. “Veronica? What are you doing in my room?” I shush him exaggeratingly. “Sorry but I really had to wake you See, I decided I must ride you 'til I break you 'Cause Heather says I gots to go You're my last meal on death row Shut your mouth and lose them tighty whiteys! Come on!” I strip myself of the blue blazer before continuing to sing. Everything is a complete blur until I’m straddling him and we’re full-on making out. I’m so lost in the kiss that I almost forget I need to sing more. “YEAH! Full steam ahead Take this dead girl walking!” "How'd you find my address?" “Let's break the bed! Rock this dead girl walking!” "I think you tore my mattress!" “No sleep tonight for you Better chug that Mountain Dew!” "Okay, okay" “Get your ass in gear Make this whole town disappear” "Okay, okay!" “Slap me, pull my hair Touch me There and there and there And no more talking!” We do exactly how we did it the first time in rehearsals. The second Sweet Pea tugs at my top to open it, there’s loud uproar in the audience and cheers coming from the wings too. It only charges my confidence to nail those last high notes and belts. “Whoa! Love this dead girl walking!” For the rest of the first half of the show, I don’t trip over any lines and don’t forget any. Having Sweet Pea by my side almost constantly calms my nerves down. And the extreme uproar my top coming undone caused powered my confidence for the rest of the show. The only disadvantage to all of this, is that I realize I want to be with Sweet Pea all the time. And be with him. As in be his, kiss him without it being a scene, hold his hand, hug him. I want to be able to kiss him like he kissed me in the dressing room just moments before the show started. “You did great, Y/N!” Sweet Pea tells me at the start of the interval. “I can’t do this, Noah. Either we have to be together or I don’t want to see you anymore after tonight,” I tell him, and look in his eyes to find an answer. I only see confusion and sadness. Nothing that even indicates he wants the same. “Just, don’t make it harder than it already is,” I say before turning around and getting to my dressing room. “Are you okay?” Betty asks when she sees the tears running down my cheeks. All three of the girls rush towards me when her question just makes me break down more, and they embrace me as if they’re protecting me from something. “He doesn’t want to be with me,” I sob out. One of the girls rubs my back soothingly. “What makes you think that?” Cheryl asks, knowing exactly who I’m talking about. I think everyone knows who I’m talking about. It was probably very obvious what was happening. They probably knew before I did. “That boy is crazy about you.” “I told him I either want to be with him or I don’t ever want to see him again after tonight, and he just stood there with that sheepish smile as if he felt sorry for me,” I manage to bring out between ugly sobs. The girls only wrap their arms tighter around me. “Did he actually say that he felt sorry for you or that he didn’t want to be with you?” Veronica asks me, her voice soft and soothing. “No…” I trail off, “But I mean… It was pretty much written all over his face.” I wipe at my tears, knowing all too well I’ll have to redo my makeup after I’ve stopped sobbing. “I think you ought to talk to him,” Betty says, “Like Cheryl said, the boy’s crazy about you. It would surprise me he’d say something like that.” The blonde girl then cups my cheeks and tilts my head, so I’m looking directly at her. “Here’s what you’re going to do, you’re going to rock the second half of this show as Veronica Sawyer because, girl, there’s no one else who could play her better than you. Then after the show, you go talk to Sweet Pea and become the happy couple you’re supposed to be.” “But he told me before right now is bad timing. We agreed not to date since it was bad timing,” I explain, remembering our conversation at Pop’s. “But you changed your mind, didn’t you?” Cheryl asks, her eyebrows raised in hopes I would catch on. “So, maybe he changed his mind too?” The realization begins to sink in that I might have been a little rash into deciding he doesn’t want the same as me. I should’ve let him talk instead of trying to find the answer in his eyes. “You might be right,” I say and wipe the last tears away, “I’ll talk to him after the show.” I nod my head determinedly and the girls let go of me. “Yeah, you better blow him up first before talking to him,” Veronica jokes, making all of us chuckle a little. This musical is crazy. I knew it was when I saw it off-Broadway and when I saw the 80’s movie a few years ago. But I love it, nonetheless. “Let’s fix this make-up first,” Betty then suggests. Cheryl guides me to the chair in front of my mirror and they begin redoing my make-up for me. We chat about how great the first half of the show was and how much they loved that Sweet Pea and I did what we did in rehearsals during Dead Girl Walking. I bet them and Margot, Ella and Jodi were the ones cheering in the wings. Maybe all of them did, I’m not entirely sure. “Break a leg!” Betty says to me when we’re back in the wings after the interval. Then, Kevin gives us our cue to go on. It’s just me and Sweet Pea now, just before Ram and Kurt’s funeral. “There’s been a lack of girls climbing through my bedroom window lately,” Sweet Pea says after I’d sung a different version of Seventeen, which is a song we still have to sing and to say I’m nervous about it is, yet again, an understatement. “Take a hint,” I reply, clearly upset about the fact we killed Heather Chandler and the two jocks now. “Okay, you’re mad, I get it.” He walks closer to me until he’s in the spot that’s focused on me, mostly. “No, I don’t think you do. “Ich luge” bullets? You lied to me.” “You were lying to yourself, you wanted them dead too.” “Did not!” “Did too!” “Did not!” We’re arguing like little children until Sweet Pea raises his hands in defense. “Hey! Did they make you cry?” he then asks when he’s mere inches away from me. “Yes,” I respond, furrowing my eyebrows. “Can they make you cry now?” he gives me a suggestive look like JD would’ve done. “No, but you can,” and you did – but that has nothing to do with this musical. “Just wait until you see the good that comes of this.” I turn to face the audience, looking over each of the attendants’ heads as to not get distracted by my parents sitting there or the other jocks or anyone else. “No, nothing good could possibly come of this,” I tell him, wagging my finger without looking at him. “Call me an optimist,” he raises his arms sideways. And then I get to say one of my favorite lines from the movie, “Dear diary; my teen-angst bullshit has a body count.” The audience laughs as church music is played through the speakers. Sweet Pea grabs my hand and leads me towards the benches that were placed while the others come onto the stage too for the funeral scene. During this scene, I only have to sing back-up vocals for Dead Gay Son, and it gives me the time to think of some other stuff. Like the lines I’ll have to say after this or what I’m going to say to Sweet Pea when all this is over. Before I know it, the funeral scene is over and it’s Sweet Pea and me all alone again. For a while I go on automatic pilot with my lines until the volume of his voice grows and startles me. “Evil fucks that make life so unbearable that you can’t even stand to live in the world anymore?!” “JD?” He looks at me, and I pause for a moment to think or to pretend to think because I know my line. “How did your mother die?” I then ask. Sweet Pea stares at me for a second, then, in frustration, rubs hand over his chin. “You really want to know?” “Yeah,” I reply because I have to. “My dad said it was an accident. But she knew what she was doing,” he steps forward, “She stepped into that building two minutes before dad blew it up. She waved at me out the window and then…” he imitates an explosion with his hands whilst saying, “Ka-boom…” I heave in a deep breath and then sniffle as if I’m crying. “I’m so sorry. I—” but he interrupts me with his next line. “It’s okay. The pain gives me clarity,” then his voice grows louder again, “You and I are special, we have a lot of work to do.” “What work?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Making the world decent for people who are decent!” he shouts again, making me flinch slightly. “When does it end?” I ask as I walk up to him, but then he leans forward and his voice is so loud that it even scares me a little, even though I know this is supposed to happen. “When every asshole is dead!” he screams it right in my face. I flinch a little, but then push him away in pure frustration and anger. The music for Seventeen starting makes it even more dramatic. “Fine, we're damaged Really damaged But that does not make us wise We're not special, we're not different We don't choose who lives or dies” My voice sounds angry and a little gravely, but it makes the song even better somehow. For the next verse, I sing a little softer, making my voice sound more tender. “Let's be normal, see bad movies Sneak a beer and watch tv We'll bake brownies or go bowling Don't you want a life with me?” Sweet Pea still doesn’t look at me. He just stands on the other side of the stage, staring into the audience angrily with the most intimidating scowl on his face I have ever seen. “Can’t we be seventeen? That's all I want to do If you could let me in I could be good with you” “People hurt us” “Or they vanish,” Sweet Pea sings. “And you're right that really blows But we let go,” then Sweet Pea adds, “take a deep breath” “Then go buy some summer clothes We'll go camping” “Play some poker” I chuckle a little when he finally looks at me. “And we'll eat some chilli fries Maybe prom night” “Maybe dancing” “Don’t stop looking in my eyes” “Your eyes,” Sweet Pea echoes. The scowl on his face has been exchanged for a sad puppy face that nearly makes me cry. I reach my hand out for him to coax him to come closer to me as we sing the chorus together, our voices blending perfectly. “Can we be seventeen Is that so hard to do?” He carefully inches closer and closer. “If you could let me in I could be good with you” He finally takes my hand in his and pulls me a little closer, taking my other hand too. “Let us be seventeen If we still got the right” I let go of one hand and cup his cheek with his as I sing the next line. “So what's it gonna be I wanna be with you” “Wanna be with you” he echoes, and I almost believe him singing it to me instead of JD to Veronica. “I wanna be with you tonight” We belt out the note together, and then he pulls me in for the scripted kiss whilst the music still blares. I pull away from him – even though I don’t want to – when it’s my cue to sing. “Yeah we're damaged,” “Badly damaged” “But your love's too good to lose” our voices blend together again. I then step closer, wrapping my arms around his bicep, pressing my cheek against his shoulder while facing the audience. “Hold me tighter” “Even closer” he wraps his other arm around me. It feels so good and so natural to do this. “I'll stay if I'm what you choose” We then alternate between lines. Our voices soft and vulnerable.   “Can we be seventeen?” “If I am what you choose” “If we still got the right” “’cause you're the one I choose” I get out of his grip and turn back to the spot I was in before, facing him. Now, I can look in his eyes properly. They’re finally telling me the truth. Sweet Pea’s truth, not JD’s. Sweet Pea’s. He means the words as Sweet Pea to me.  Not as JD to Veronica. “You're the one I choose” “You're the one I choose,” we sing the last line together. His eyes dart from my eyes to my lips, and even though I know we have to kiss according to the script, I feel like he actually can’t wait to kiss me. And then he does. His lips curl up into a tender smile first before he places them on mine, gently. I almost forget the show must go on and the next scene is one we’re in too. I mean, we’re Veronica and JD, we’re in pretty much every scene. The end of the show comes sooner than I think. We’re already on the reprisal of Seventeen. It’s a bit bittersweet. I loved doing this musical and playing this part more than anything, but I’ll also be glad it’s over because then I can finally talk to Sweet Pea. “I meant every word I sang during Seventeen, Y/N. I want to be with you,” he tells me in a rush when I run into the wings after the last song. But now, we all still have to go on for the bows. “I want to be with you too,” I tell him with a little smile tugging at my lips. He then leans down and plants his lips on mine. It still feels the same it did when he kissed me in the dressing room or when we kissed on stage. That was never a stage kiss. “As much as I love this, guys,” Evelyn’s voice makes us break up, “You’re almost up for the bows!” I peck Sweet Pea’s lips quickly before running to the other side of the stage where I need to run up for my bows. First it’s Sweet Pea, and I watch him as he waves and then takes his bow. He begins clapping as I run up, a proud smile on his face. I bow and wave at the crowd before Sweet Pea grabs my hand and we bow together once. We then join the others and bow together twice until the music speeds up again and all of us begin dancing like crazy. Veronica and Betty run up to me and hug me sideways, each of them flanking me. I wrap my arms around them too and kiss Betty on the head. They then let go as we lapse into a chorus of “Beautiful” as it’s kind of part of the reprisal of Seventeen still. When the music dies down and all that’s heard is the audience’s applause, Sweet Pea grabs my hand and pulls me towards him, dipping me down to kiss me passionately. I faintly hear cheers, but I can’t focus much on that. All I’m focusing on is Sweet Pea and his tender, warm lips on mine. It is a beautiful freakin’ day.

[drnikolatesla]

Nikola Tesla’s Thoughts On the Soul and Life After Death

Tesla’s reasoning are the thoughts of a practical man of science, who has not only conducted experiments, but deep mental consideration to the question of immortality. Tesla was destined by his parents at an early age to enter the clergy, but the inventive genius, inherited from his mother, took him into the realm of science. Most of his life was spent in deep meditation to the question of the soul and life after death. His conclusions on the subjects will most definitely not run parallel with most others, but are indeed food for thought.

Here are 6 quotes made by Nikola Tesla:

1. When a child is born, its sense organs are brought in contact with the outer world. The waves of sound, heat and light beat against its feeble body, its sensitive nerve fibres quiver, the muscles contract and relax in obedience—a gasp, a breath, and in this act a wonderful little engine, of structure, is hitched to the wheelwork or the universe. Left to itself the engine stops; it has no power to draw energy from Nature’s inexhaustible store.

“The little engine moves and works, changes size and shape, performs more and more varied operations, becomes sensitive to more and more different influences, and now there begins to manifest itself in it a mysterious force. It becomes capable of responding to stimuli of a more subtle nature and of drawing, for its own use, energy from the environment. Gradually the engine has been transformed into a being possessed of intelligence, which perceives, discerns, does like others of its kind.

“The experiences multiply, the knowledge increases, the discernment becomes keener, the human being responding to the faintest influences, is awakened to the consciousness of Nature and its grandeur, and in its breast there is kindled a desire to imitate Nature, to create, to work itself the wonders it perceives.

”But the exercise of this power does not satisfy the mind, which rises to still higher, undefinable perceptions, not of this world, and inspired by them the artist, the inventor and the man of science give expression to the longing of the soul.

(“Shows How Men Of The Future May Become As Gods.” NEW YORK HERALD . December 30, 1900.)

2. “That an aggregation of impressions, thoughts and feelings having no materiality, and vaguely designated as mind, or soul, should be substance susceptible of quantitative determination is altogether too absurd for discussion.

“The change however, which takes place in the human body during its awful transition from life to death is a great subject for scientific investigation which may possibly lead to important results. If the experiments of Massachusetts physicians are to be at all seriously considered, it is only in this respect.

“I could not help being struck by the fact that men of a scientific caliber sufficiently large to undertake measurements requiring the greatest delicacy and skill, should not be correspondingly resourceful in devising the apparatus for the purpose. A scale responding to the weight of one tenth of an ounce is not a fit instrument for weighing the human soul.

“It is not less astonishing that such trained observer should have overlooked a trivial cause responsible for the seeming lightening of the body. I use this term designedly, for accepting the exudations which have been taken into consideration there was no loss of substance in death.

“When the rigor mortis sets in there is an increase of volume for various reasons. Just to give a rough idea I shall assume that the living body, weighing a hundred and sixty pounds, had filled a space of three cubic feet. The air in a sick room may weigh about fourteen ounces per cubic feet. Half an ounce of the air would consequently occupy a space of sixty-two cubic inches, and that would be only one percent of the original volume of three cubic feet. As will readily be seen, a very slight general deformation of the body, scarcely perceptible, is adequate to explain the puzzling observation. The sudden tipping of the scale demonstrates nothing except the coarseness of the instrument. Had the balance been very sensitive, owing to the resistance of the air, the platform would have ascended slowly.“

–Nikola Tesla

(“Scientists Doubt The Human Soul Was Weighed.” New York World, March 17, 1907.)

3. “Since time immemorial the most profound thinkers have tried to lift the veil that hides the beyond. I have read thousands of volumes of literature and thought for years in the hope that I might get some kind of evidence to show that death is not the end. But all in vain. To me the universe is simply a marvelous mechanism, and the most complex forms of human life, as human beings, are nothing else but automatic engines, controlled by external influence. Through incessant observation I have so convinced myself of the truth of this that I cannot perform any act or even conceive a thought without locating at once the external stimulus that prompted it.

“A forceful argument in support of the existence of a creative agent is made of the law, order and harmony perceptible everywhere. But it must not be forgotten that Kant’s reasoning and conclusion in this respect are irrefutable. According to this philosopher, the conception of fitness has been created in the speculative mind of men, which thus admires a miracle wrought by itself.

“Granted a planetary system, it is absolutely inevitable that in the course of eons such organized beings as we are will evolve. The cooling of the hot masses results in a precipitation of water, and under the influence of the sun’s rays heliotropic action takes place and life is started. Through chemical and other agents and continuous adjustment complex mechanisms come into being, and these ultimately develop into structures of marvelous complexity with capacities of response to the faintest stimulae from the environment.

“When we realize this as a fact we begin to grasp the great idea of Buddha–that self is an illusion. Indeed, we are nothing but waves in space and time which when dissolved exist no more.

“There is this to be said, however, that science without hope is not satisfactory, and unless one has some ideals he cannot achieve happiness. The religious is the most lofty ideal, and it seems that the great reformers who, ages ago, laid down rules of conduct were right in their conclusions that a peaceful existence and a continued onward march of man on this globe is essentially dependent on the conception of a God.

“I have read Mr. Burbank’s statement in which he expresses an opinion shared by most natural philosophers, but one must not be too rash in contradicting the conclusions reached by countless men of genius who spent their lives in endeavors to ascertain the destiny of the human race. A single individual, however well informed and capable, may be partially unaware of if not utterly blind to evidences of a certain kind, which might be quite sufficient for others. This is the reason why I am distrustful of my own findings. Possibly Mr. Ford, who I understand is accepting old traditions, may be closer to the truth than such men as Burbank and myself.

“I have searched during many years for some process or means to test the possibility of future existence by scientific experiment, and I have devised one, which, to my great disappointment, has failed. But perhaps some more skillful experimenter might succeed if I suggest to him the course. To put it briefly, it is this:

“Our bodies are composed of molecules of various elements, harmoniously united. Do these molecules retain any after-effect when the body is dissolved? To ascertain this take, say, two molecules of hydrogen from the body of an individual and also one molecule of oxygen. Furthermore, provide another molecule of oxygen taken from some other body. Now place the two molecules of hydrogen so they can combine with the oxygen, and if they prefer that molecule of oxygen with which they were previously united, then reincarnation is proved. For, though it may take ages and ages, ultimately the molecules which constituted that body will get together again, just as in a vast city individuals from a distant land finally meet and establish close contact.”

(“After Death — WHAT?” Lima News, Lima, Ohio, March 14, 1926.)

4. “We are all automatons obeying external influences. We are entirely under the control of agents that beat on our senses from all directions of the outside world. Being merely receivers from the outside, it is a very important question how good the receivers are—some are sensitive and receive accurately. Others are sluggish and their reception is blurred. The individual who is a better machine has so much greater chance of achieving success and happiness. An individual who is an offender of law is a machine in which one or another organ has been deranged, so that the responses are no longer accurate.

“There is no chance in nature, although the modern theory of indeterminacy attempts to show scientifically that events are governed by chance. I positively deny that. The causes and effects, however complex, are intimately linked, and the result of all inferences must be inevitably fixed as by a mathematical formula.

“I also absolutely deny the existence of individuality. It took me not less than twenty years to develop a faculty to trace every thought or act of mine to an external influence. We are just waves in time and space, changing continuously, and the illusion of individuality is produced through the concatenation of the rapidly succeeding phases of existence. What we define as likeness is merely the result of the symmetrical arrangement of molecules which compose our body.”

“How about the soul - the spirit?” he was asked.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “but there is no soul or spirit. These are merely expressions of the functions of the body. These life functions cease with death and so do soul and spirit.

“What humanity needs is ideals. Idealism is the force that will free us from material fetters.”

(“Tesla Seeks to Send Power to Planets.” New York Times, July 11, 1931.)

5. “One of the most fundamental and also one of the saddest facts in human life is well brought out in a French proverb which, freely translated, means:

‘If Youth had the knowledge and Old Age the strength of doing.’

Our condition of body and mind in old age is merely a certificate of how we have spent our youth. The secret of my own strength and vitality today is that in my youth I led what you might call a virtuous life.

"I have never dissipated. When I was a young man I understood well the significance of that old French proverb, although I doubt that I had even heard it then. But I seemed to have a clear understanding while still young that I must control my passions and appetites if I wanted to make some of my dreams come true.

(“Tremendous New Power Soon To Be Released.” By Carol Bird. Charleston Daily Mail, Charleston, West Virginia, Page 40. September 10, 1933.)

6. “To me, the universe is simply a great machine which never came into being and never will end. The human being is no exception to the natural order. Man, like the universe, is a machine. Nothing enters our minds or determines our actions which is not directly or indirectly a response to stimuli beating upon our sense organs from without. Owing to the similarity of our construction and the sameness of our environment, we respond in like manner to similar stimuli, and from the concordance of our reactions, understanding is barn. In the course of ages, mechanisms of infinite complexity are developed, but what we call “soul ” or “spirit,” is nothing more than the sum of the functionings of the body. When this functioning ceases, the “soul” or the “spirit” ceases likewise.“

(“A Machine to End War.” Liberty Magazine, February 9, 1935.)

–Nikola Tesla

[arrivisting]

Can I request the part that starts with "Thats a fine ring you wear, my friend" from A wandering fire for the author commentary?

Let's do this! Sorry it's so belated - I wrote half an answer on my laptop but I don't have it with me today, so I'm starting afresh. I apologise for my natural tendency to talktalktalk! You can see why I had to write this on a computer, not my phone.

Anyway, I thought it was very interesting you picked that bit! That's the bit I had in mind most strongly in the first flash of inspiration. I will show you my first notes (which were mixed up with those for the dawn from on high, since they began as the same idea):

I just had this strong, clear idea of Cirdan watching the first people come from the West, and then watching the ship leave at the end of the Third Age (which I wanted to have Maglor on - the idea that Cirdan had seen him come and finally go, and everything in-between).

I didn't keep to the notes - I forgot that I meant them to talk about beards ("Gandalf taken a note from Mahtan"), and for Cirdan to look at his humble guise and think that the Eldar would never again trust a stranger arrayed in silks and jewels, never again after Sauron as beautiful as the morning at the gates of Ost-in-Edhil.

Anyway! Obviously the Maglor and Gandalf stuff split off into the dawn from on high, and what was left of the bookend-idea - the ships arriving - went into a file I didn't touch again for over a year. All there was of what became a wandering fire (which was the original title of the dawn from on high) was the beginning - from 'Fëanor and his seven sons and their followers had arrived in their stolen white ships at what had seemed Beleriand’s darkest hour, and their arrival had come as a great balefire' to 'Help had come from the West at last: but not in time for Beleriand'; and then part of the conversation you asked for commentary on.

The joy of scribbling on my phone and across various computers and Gdocs is that I can pull up the original version (and oh, right, I've just reminded myself that this story was originally to be called a fire in the heart):

“It was never made for my hand,” Cirdan said. “I have been holding it in trust and in safety. Celebrimbor meant to wear it himself. If it was in Feanor that the spirit of fire burned most fiercely, and in Feanor’s voice that the power to move others to action was strongest, it lingered to the end in his line; although fire had ceased to be a friend to them long before.”

Olorin looked at him under his white brows. “The power of Feanor is no gift to wield lightly.”

“Celebrimbor was many things, and not all of them were wisely chosen, but he meant the Ring to be something far subtler than Curufinwe Feanaro ever was. The Ring of Fire will not kindle a sudden flame in men quickly, and burn as quickly to ashes; it is a coal, burning not brightly but long, to warm hearts and not to scald them.”

“I regret that I am come too late to know him,” Olorin said. “Too late for Celebrimbor of Eregion, and too late for Ereinion Gil-gilad; but in good time, I fear, to face again the shadow that was their doom when it gathers itself in might once more.

This is the oldest bit of the whole two-fics mess, back to 2019. It needed a little refitting to go into the dawn from on high, not least that I took away Gandalf's name. Let's (finally!) look at the published version (everything not quoted above being new, only written this April):

“That is a fine ring you wear, my friend.”

It had taken the stranger many weeks to speak of it. Círdan turned his hand over to regard Narya as though for the first time. Such gem-work did not kindle his blood. He bore it only for Gil-galad, who he had loved as his own son, though he had known better than to give his heart to any of that line. He had seen them all come from the West, and he had seen them all die. All but Eärendil, who had been translated beyond the world, and who had deserved a warmer honour.

Because this was always meant to be about beginnings/endings, arrivals/departures, I didn't go a lot into the meat of Cirdan's life, although a proper Cirdan-story, in the way I wrote an Elwing-story and a Finduilas-story, would do that; I would have written much more about his time in Beleriand-under-stars, and building the Falas with Finrod, and his feelings about Thingol, and much much much more about Gil-galad and Earendil, and the kind of life they managed on Balar and at the mouth of the Sirion! It really had to be compressed into a few lines here, though a lot of the material about fallen Lindon and Cirdan's watch there is really about his sublimated feelings for Gil-galad, and I got in a bit in other paragraphs:

Eärendil, who Círdan had loved, and taught, had sailed away in the ship they had built together, a desperate hope hurled into that same impossibility.

and

As though the great ships from Númenor might arrive again on the horizon with their holds full of strange things and strange stories! As though Aldarion might once more swing down from the deck of one, laughing, the image of Eärendil with his tousled blond head and his bright blue eyes, bellowing already for Gil-galad. As though Gil-galad himself still held court in Lindon’s empty halls, filled again with life and music; as though he would ever again put aside his work for this newest and youngest of cousins, and come sweeping down the halls in his robes of state to greet him, his eyes shining and his dark hair a floating banner under his silver crown and Elrond on his heels…

Oh, my Second Age feelings, and my curiosity about that world caught between apocalypses, and my wondering about what the fall of Numenor meant to that world, and to those who had known Elros, and many of his line.

We know Cirdan taught Earendil to build Vingilot, that Earendil was part of some of his swift ship attacks up and down the coast towards the end of the First Age: I wonder what it means to him to know that Earendil sacrificed everything for them, to watch him sail the heavens every night? I've said here he was translated beyond the world, 'and deserved a warmer honour', and my reading of canon is that Earendil is indeed beyond the world; that Elwing may fly to him, night after night, but that he himself never sets foot on land again. I hate that reading, though. I think it's in the text(s), but in my personal accounting Earendil is living his best life - sailing the skies, exploring the world from afar, and at times fighting bristling things in the Void - and still able to spend a day shift with his wife, in her Tower, and to see his family, to have a few snatched mortal joys. But I don't think that's what Tolkien meant for him.

Narya was always warm. It glowered in its golden setting, a clot of blood in a slice of sunlight.

What's funny is that this is a story about the Ring of Fire, but I got a lot of my Ring-feelings out after this idea, but before I posted this fic, in last love song for now. My stories are never in the same continuity unless I explicitly say so, put them into a series - I don't have the temperament for committing to a single reading of a scene or a character etc, not when there's so much room for play - but my Ring-feelings are pretty continuous. I think of Narya as Celebrimbor's ring, linked with fire-Feanor-heat, and I always have; though Tolkien never tells us it was meant by him for his own.

“It was never meant for my hand,” he said. “I believe Celebrimbor meant to wear it himself. It may have been in Fëanor that fire burned most fiercely, and in Fëanor’s voice that the power to move others to action was strongest, but those gifts lingered to the end in his line; although fire ceased to be a friend to them long before.”

You know, I think I like the original version better! Not all rewriting is good.

The Messenger’s brows rose in respect, and there was none of the usual flinching at the name. “The power of Fëanor is no gift to wield lightly.”

I wanted Gandalf to respond to this: I think this is a constellation of facts I'm pulling together here. Gandalf inherited the Ring of Fire, and wielded it; Gandalf spoke of Feanor's skill with real regret and wonder, with that catch-in-the-heart Tolkien quality that refuses black|white lines and sees the glory of the morning even after night has fallen; that remembers who Feanor was and who he could have been, and grieves for it:

‘No,’ said Gandalf. ‘Nor by Saruman. It is beyond his art, and beyond Sauron’s too. The palantíri came from beyond Westernesse, from Eldamar. The Noldor made them. Fëanor himself, maybe, wrought them, in days so long ago that the time cannot be measured in years.

and

"Have I not felt it? Even now my heart desires to test my will upon it, to see if I could not wrench it from him and turn it where I would—to look across the wide seas of water and of time to Tirion the Fair, and perceive the unimaginable hand and mind of Fëanor at their work, while both the White Tree and the Golden were in flower!’

You give Gandalf the power to look back in time, and he would want to see Feanor at work! That's the most wonderful thing out of his grasp that he could imagine! That is I think part of the bond between Gandalf and Galadriel; who is in some ways what Feanor could have, should have, could never have been. I would have loved for Gandalf to meet Celebrimbor - not as much as he would have, though - and I think that is a huge motivation behind this scene.

“Celebrimbor was many things,” said Círdan, “and not all of them were wisely chosen. Yet he meant the Ring of Fire to be something far subtler than Fëanor Finwë’s son ever was. Narya will not kindle a sudden flame in others too swiftly, nor burn them as quickly to ashes; it is a coal, burning not brightly but long, made to warm hearts and not to scald them.”

Me, beating my drum: justice for Celebrimbor!!!!

I do think of Celebrimbor's life, up until the moment of his death, as such a willed decision to not be Feanor. To turn against his father and uncles; to open the doors of Ost-in-Edhil and to share skill with those who came; to share artistic credit: to refuse kingship, to share lordship. To be trusting rather than suspicious, open-handed rather than jealous. It is such a tragedy that living his life in that way - unpicking all the old patterns and turning them inside out - didn't help him; only brought him to his hideous death, only gave him fatal vulnerabilities through which darkness could enter. But I think that choice to open doors and hands and heart, to be vulnerable, was nevertheless an important one. Wise? Perhaps not. But sometimes there are more important things than wisdom. (Another reason I would have liked Gandalf and Celebrimbor to meet).

Is this story really an elegy for everything and everyone lost in the First and Second Ages? Yes; and Celebrimbor not least. Anyway, I think of the Ring here as a desire to perfect Feanor's skills; to crystallise that ability to rouse hearts and minds as he did in the Great Square after the death of Finwe, and to use it for good. To warm rather than burn. In the Appendices, indeed, that seems to be its function:

Take this ring, master, [...] for your labours will be heavy; but it will support you in the weariness that you have taken upon yourself. For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.

That's what makes Narya such a good match for Gandalf, for me: that link to what the Feanorians could have been, that refining of what was worthy in them that Celebrimbor strained from the ashes, kept in trust until it could be given to someone who understood that too.

The Grey One bend (that should be BENT, I must go edit) his head. “I regret I am too late to know its maker,” he said. “To know those already lost. Still I come in good time, I fear, to face again the shadow that was his doom as it gathers itself in might once more.”

I regret it too!!! Always too late, the Shining Ones; at least in my reading.

Círdan had known it when the ships from the West began to arrive, though they came so quietly, with none of Eonwë’s trumpets. He had known even as he had seen Isildur turn over the ring of Sauron in his bloody fingers.

Oh, Thingol; dear his lord, whose silver blood from before the coming of the sun still ran in the mortal veins of fallen Númenor’s children. Who had died for peerless and perilous Noldor gem-work, when he might have instead lived all the Ages of the World with Melian beside him. That Doom, it seemed, was not yet done.

I really like the idea of that dilute Maia blood spreading out through all of Elros's line, filtering in lesser and greater degrees through innumerable daughters and second and third sons of that house; otherwise how else do you get the tall, beautiful, dark-haired and grey-eyed Numenoreans? The Hadorians were blond; the Haladin a middling brown; the Beorians were dark, but the Beorians were almost wiped out. There were few of that House left when Elros founded Numenor with the Three Houses of the Edain. I like the idea of seeing Numenor as a personal, familial loss: I know part of the oddness of its fall, in a Doylist sense, is Tolkien working backwards to insert it into Middle-earth when it was separately conceived, but for me: how do the Eldar live with it? These are the great-great-great(-greats) grandchildren of Elros himself: these are the descendants of Earendil and Elwing, of Turgon and Fingolfin, of Beren and Luthien, of Thingol and Melian, Finwe and Indis.

Okay, yes, some of them have joined a goth death-cult and they're getting into human sacrifice and are all ungrateful and slamming their doors and saying they don't love you anymore (adolescence is rough), but how do you watch a continent get fed to the sea and live with that? When you're Cirdan, and these are all still Thingol's children from afar, when you've watched the generations turn and loved some of them (Elros, Aldarion) dearly?

I also like the idea of dying for sparkly jewellery being an inherited doom, from Thingol's side as well as Earendil's, not to be worked out of the line until Aragorn refuses the Ring.

Three times he had seen an Age die, and yet his own work was not ended, and neither was the loss.

“How long do we have?”

The Grey Messenger spread his hands. “I cannot say. It is only a shadow and a whisper even yet, even in the sight and mind of those whose power and wisdom far exceeds my own. But shadows grow, and whispers swell. As you know, my friend.”

why do I like Gandalf calling people my friend so much? anyway, even the Valar are fallible. That's why they're bearable. If they could see all of Eru's design, if they were all-powerful and all-knowing, I would have to hate them for what they do and fail to do; but because they are not, I can see them as very alien but well-intentioned powers, doing their best, and sometimes doing ill. Intention means a lot; and I do think there's a lot about the Children they do not and cannot grasp, which is why you get things that are clearly going to lead to great disaster or pain, like Finwe's remarriage, or Ulmo telling Feanor he is part of the dissonance in the Song, or Feanor getting exiled, or the Doom; or Earendil, fixed in the heavens, or the cruel choice of the Peredhel -

He had known in his heart when he had set eyes on the Grey Stranger and seen that strange knotting of mortal and immortal in him. He had seen Nienna’s servant, come in humbleness rather than glory, to help and to weep together. He had watched him delight in his first biscuit, and he had known what to do when the shadow came again.

It is important to me that Gandalf learned much from Nienna. I do think it's why he wears grey. I like to think of him as her avatar, walking where she cannot, offering grace and mercy where she/he may. That is what makes Gandalf so successful an Istar; when so many other Maiar we see go wrong. Not that Melian herself is wrong, but she is almost too close to the Children (especially since Eru tells the Ainu that they are not to consider themselves the Children's parents; Melian literally becomes such), so much so that she is damaged terribly by the loss of Thingol, and her flight wounds Doriath. What happens to the Blue Wizards? We don't know; but not what should. The Brown Wizard hews too closely to Yavanna's creatures. The White goes too far in the other direction, in the path already beaten by Sauron and his Ainu kin before him: to power, and to might, and to ignoring Eru's will for their relation to his Children. I see Eonwe as too glorious and too distant for real connection. But Gandalf is neither too close nor too far: he is kind, and he can be powerful; he has humour, and a delight in small things. Age and experience have drawn him close. It hurts a little that his rebirth as the White takes a little of that humanity from him and replaces it with majesty, but the essentials are still there.

Anyway, that's why I wanted him already to be quite proud of his beard, and trying biscuits, and being delighted by them.

He slid Narya from his finger and watched surprise wash like morning light over the Messenger’s face.

This is a call back to the line "Too late, when great white Swan-ships arrived at last with the Valar’s blessings from the West, their white sails washed yellow-gold with the dawn." That was at the end of the First Age; now, at the beginning of the Third, we have another morning, and another start, and the Valar have refined their touch upon the world; it is much more careful, and their proxies (or at least Gandalf) better fitted to help Middle-earth save itself than Eonwe and his host of Vanyar were.

“It was made to be wielded by a counsellor,” Círdan warned. “Not a king. Never a king! Celebrimbor knew better than that. It was intended for guidance and for wisdom - in war, and in dark times.”

This is part of my thinking from last love song for now: that the most powerful ring was meant to be Vilya, and that the choice to associate fire (/Feanor) with a lesser ring was meaningful, and part of Celebrimbor's overall purpose. And again working with what little we know of Narya from canon: For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.

The Grey One did not reach for it, though one hand had risen from his lap, age-spotted and painfully Mannish, and hovered in the air. “I am not of the Eldar,” he said. “It was not meant for me.”

“I have seen kings and lords enough rise and fall to know that the right to an inherited Doom is no recommendation. I have seen every arrival from the West since Fëanor, who came blazing and ended in darkness; and in Narya, you see certain of his gifts as they might have been. It belongs, I think, to the hope from the West that he should have been; to one who might use it to bring light to the darkness of this land where the Valar themselves will not come.”

Oh, so this is all newer stuff - and the right to refuse an inherited doom is meant to call to another new bit (Elrond refusing to be Gil-galad's heir in the mold of the High Kings). And you see again me beating the Feanor as he might have been; Feanor's skill at kindling hearts used wisely, sparingly drum. Oh, I'm subtle!*

*I am not

This is also a little bitterness that I don't know I necessarily think Cirdan feels - what patience there is in his long service! - but I have built in this a case for a little bitterness, at this moment, at the end of the Second Age. (To lose everything in one Age is accident; in two, incompetence!!). When the loss of Gil-galad et al is so recent, and so too is the loss of Numenor. If one is ever to feel anger at the Valar for their oscillating pattern of non-interference/over-interference, it is now.

“Cannot come,” said Nienna’s servant, and took the flower of so much Noldor genius and pain from Círdan, who had never wanted it. “They do what they can, Lord of the Havens. As do we all.”

But Gandalf is here! They've got the balance right, in him! He is going to warm the chill in your heart, Cirdan, and give you the strength to face yet one more long Age of slow bleeding-out and loss; and you will see an end to it. And again you see me beating my 'the Valar have good intentions, but imperfect knowledge and understanding, but they're trying' drum.

Sorry again this was so late!

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

I know there’s still a lot of shit happening, and I’m aware that we need to remember the protests  haven't stopped, but today was an especially good serotonin day, so I finally pushed myself to finish this three month-old thing, and now I’m posting bc i have no impulse control.

------

”There’s the signal.”

”Yeah.”  Fuck that.

Oh sure it’s a life changing opportunity, a new hope, a second chance, but for some reason Doyle would rather stay here.

Next to him Katsumi turns and pats him on the shoulder, a small half-smile shinning on his face. Ah. That might be a reason.

“Katsumi-” He starts, cutting himself off. It’s not possible. They’ve known each other for less than a week. He’s still a fugitive, he has no contacts, no money, no place to stay, and Unchained is still very much after him. But he wants to stay. He wants to leave the job behind, he wants a new home, he wants- he wants to be around people he can get to know beyond the usual discreet suitcase or credit card, beyond being on one or the other side of a gun.

He can’t though. It’s not something assassins can have.

“Yeah?”

He forces his voice to stay even. “Nothing, just -” I think I like you after just a week, I can't ever repay you for this, you’re pretty cute under this light, I don’t want to leave, “thank you. For everything, I mean. The food, the medicine, and the trip. I owe you.” Forever, his mind adds silently.

Katsumi’s smile fades into a concerned frown, and he brushes Doyle’s shoulder with his own - fuck that’s the first time in years anyone’s touched him without violence being involved - as he speaks. “You don’t owe me anything, Doyle,” his hand is swinging closer and closer to his, “I organized this of my own free will, because I wanted to. You deserve a-” why is his voice hitching like he’s about to say something else before he changed his mind - “You deserve a second chance, just like anyone else would. You’re not as bad as you think, an-and it’d be easier for you to start a new life somewhere they can’t find you.” I should leave, Doyle thinks to himself, it’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me, and it’s the world’s biggest favor, and , and-

He doesn’t want to leave. Doyle may not know every aspect of the local culture, but he speaks the language, gets the economy, and with a skillset like his, he could easily get a job in any field. It’d be a new life, a real change, a- A fugitive on the run with no official documents, no actual job prospects, and a death penalty waiting. Not an option.

Katsumi’s sharp turn to face the ship take him out of the train of thought and he watches as the captain suddenly starts flicking the lights of the cabin on and off. Doyle doesn’t know what that means, (or why the idiot doesn’t just use morse code or better yet, simply come out and shout down), but Katsumi’s face hardens.

“There’s a threat on board,” he’s backing away and pulling Doyle with him as he speaks. “It’s Yanagi! Look!” Doyle can now see the shape Katsumi was pointing at, the short and distinct silhouette clearly visible with the lights on. The deadly aura, and the stench of fresh blood mixed with old metal confirm it.

He’s not sure why they’re running away instead of taking Yanagi on together, but Katsumi practically throws Doyle into the drivers seat and chucks the keys at him before flipping over the car and into the shotgun. Instincts kick in. Years of training and being in intense situations have his reflexes following through without question, and Doyle only realizes that he’s done anything when he makes a sharp turn left away from the pier and the tires screech against the pavement. Katsumi’s looking trough the rearview mirror, but slumps in relief. No visible pursuer then.

“Merde, lousy figlio di puttana, dickhead, shove it up his own-” Doyle keeps the rest of the curses in his head, muttering what he can’t through gritted teeth. Right when he was about to finally leave that freak has to show up and ruin it. The hell was his deal anyways? Doyle did some research after he’d found the other four, and this guy seemed to be revenge motivated and not associated with the Shinshinkai. Katsumi probably hadn’t fought him, and the odds of a death row convict deciding to just hijack a boat for no foreseeable reason were laughable. So Yanagi was most likely after either him or Katsumi.

Like he’d read Doyle’s mind, Katusmi speaks. “Was that guy after you? Did you do something to him to get him pissed at you?”

“Nah.” It comes out sharp. Doyle wants another smoke. No smoking while you’re driving, his mind plays back the drilled-in lesson again, the car will reek, the light will be visible, and you either deal with the smoke clogging up your vision and breathing or open the car and beg to be shot. Later. “Best guess? He thinks I broke some weird ‘honorable rule’,” he makes the quotes with his right hand before returning it to the steering wheel, “because I decided to change and accept that you defeated me. Old people get like that about honor sometimes.” He knows it the wrong thing to say, but it’s true. It’s why he went to Japan in the first place, plenty of badasses with a code of honor and a too-large ego. Piss off the right guy, have him kill you. If he fails, kill him, find new guy, rinse and repeat. If they don’t kill you for reasons that aren't weakness, taunt them until they snap.

Thankfully Katsumi is a better person than him and mutters a “Makes sense,” at him instead of starting up an argument. He drives in pointless dodges and turns and alleyways for a while until he’s sure it’s safe, and then Katsumi gives him directions back to his apartment.

They get there. He gets out and, on some old and long-buried instinct, moves to open the door for Katsumi before the karateka gets out on his own.

“I texted dad while you were driving, and he said he was grabbing Shibukawa and going there as soon as he could. The police report was playing on the tv screens a street back or so, and they showed a picture of Yanagi  with a broken neck and missing his right arm, still on the boat.” Katsumi walks up the stairs as he talks and Doyle follows, unsure of what else to do. “So I’m guessing either they got there on time, or someone beat them to it. Either way, Yanagi’s not a threat anymore.” They’ve reached the landing, and Katsumi holds his hand out, presumably to get the key ring back from Doyle. He hands it over and chokes out the goodbye.

“Well, see ya around, I guess.” He’s trying very hard to not pretend that he isn’t just the slightest bit crushed about not being able to stay when something grabs his wrist.

“Wait, Doyle! You still don’t have a-” whatever he wants to say, Doyle doesn't wanna hear it. He turns away and keeps trying to walk down the stairs.

“I’ll find something or someone to get me out of Japan. Probably be gone by morning.” He tries to shake the hand off. It doesn’t budge. Stupid guys who have stupid grip strength and their stupidly effective and nice muscles.

“Just hang on, you idiot!” Suddenly Katusmi pulls him back hard enough that Doyle either risks dislocating his shoulder or stumbling back, so he chooses the latter. “We don’t know where Sikorsky is yet, and for all we know he’s after you too. Look,” his voice finally lowers to a reasonable volume that won’t wake the entire neighborhood, “just come in for half a minute, okay? I just gotta make a phone call to check that it’s safe, and then you can leave on your own if you want to, or stay here until we can reschedule stuff and get you on a boat to the Middle East again. It’s won’t take longer than a minute, Doyle. Please?” How the fuck does he do puppy dog eyes like that? Better question, how does Doyle feel himself falling to the them?

“One minute,” he says as calmly as he can when all he wants to do is either leave or stay forever. “One minute, and then I’m gone.” Katusmi nods, unlocks the door, and walks in. Doyle follows, and despite everything they just said about the one minute thing, copies Katusmi’s actions of taking off his shoes. A drink is thrown at his face and Doyle is shocked enough by the fact that this is happening to just open the drink and start sipping instead of realizing it’s intentions.

Katsumi is speaking to what sounds like first one, then two, then five people  as he paces, (and the static from the phone when he’s not the one yelling suggests at least one person is speaking to the other people over their own phone), his speech getting faster and faster until Doyle has a hard time distinguishing most of it. He catches bits and pieces of what sounds like legal jargon though, like they’re negotiating a deal. Something involving jail, prisoner, transportation, papers, parole, psychiatry visits, Hector  - Hold the fuck up.

Jail. Prisoner. Parole. Hector. Those are not words that should be involved in a conversation asking where Sikorsky is. Scratch that, there should not be this long of a conversation, or with this many people, for asking where Sikorsky is. Or all of the other legal crap in there. What is Katsumi doing?

Finally, an eternity of thirteen minutes and sixteen-and-a-half seconds later, Katsumi speaks at a normal volume, bids a formal goodbye over the phone (probably didn't even realize he was bowing as he did so), and then he’s turning to Doyle with a weirdly happy expression on his face.

“What’s Sikorsky’s status?” he asks.

“Well,” Katsumi sheepishly looks away for a second, “it’s complicated. See, first i called dad and he said he didn’t know and he asked Shibukawa, and he also didn’t know, but then Tokugawa was in the same hallway or something and heard them and started talking, and he was saying some stuff that he had planned for Sikorsky so apparently he’s out there somewhere, but Jack and Gaia are gonna pay him a visit soon so that’s all good.”

“Great, bye.” Doyle stands up and moves to get his shoes back on, but Katusmi has other plans because he grabs Doyle’s arm and keeps talking.

“Thing is, it turns out that Unchained was stopping by that hospital because he wanted to talk to Kureha about something, I think they were at the hospital cause that’s where Kureha usually is, anyways, and they talked about how he was gonna pick up Sikorsky and then you, and then dad and Tokugawa started talking, and somehow between everything the four of them phoned the director of that prison you broke out of and long story short, they pulled some strings and you’re not on death row anymore. So you don’t need to leave!” Doyle blinks.

What. the. fuck?

His first words to this are the more eloquent, “Not on death row?”

 Katsumi takes this as a cue to keep talking.

“Yeah, well there’s conditions and that sort of stuff. You have to stay with one of the approved people from Unchained’s list, to make sure you don’t go all assassin-y on innocent people, you gotta visit a special psychiatrist-slash-therapist once a week to help you settle in, and any new crimes will get you thrown into jail no matter what they are, but yeah. Other than that, it’s just some paperwork and stuff.”

“Just to double check, I,” Doyle motions at himself, “can stay here,” waving a hand vaguely to encompass all of Japan, “because your,” poking a finger at Katsumi’s chest, “dad is friends with Unchained and they “pulled some strings”?” he makes the air quote around the last part as obvious as he can because no. This can’t be real. That’s not how things work. Apparently, no one informed Katusmi of this.

“Yep!” he almost chirps the affirmation out as Doyle’s already confused  and fragile worldview crumbles in it’s entirety. His entire record, gone as long as he kept obeying the law. A new life. No more death sentence. No more prison.

Deep breath in, he coaches himself through the internal crisis, deep breath out. Right. Okay. He can work with this.

“So,” Katsumi immediately looks back at him, nodding to show he’s paying attention, “Who’s on the list of people I can stay with, and how many of them are already warned?” It’s close to two am, but he can pick the locks, and all he needs is a name to find their address. Katsumi starts talking, listing the names off on his fingers as he speaks.

“Well there’s dad, but he’s still paranoid after what happened to mom, so that’s out. Jack would be okay but we’re not sure if he even has a home, and nobody called him yet. Shibukawa knows but this isn’t the best way for you to meet him, Baki got ruled off the list because he’s too young, Yujiro’s too crazy and would kill you, Unchained vehemently refused to even consider hosting you temporarily after you broke into the station, and Tokugawa claims you ‘concern him’, so that just leaves Strydum, and me. So either you can stay here or-” he trails off. Doyle almost snorts inwardly because Yeah, like that’s a hard choice.

“If you’re okay with it, could I stay here?” Katsumi’s face lights up the same way it did back at the docks, and Doyle feels his heart skipping a very small beat.

“Of course! Grab something form the fridge, I’ll get a spare futon for you in a sec, and sure. We’re gonna have to think about the rest of the stuff in the morning though, but I know a guy for the psychiatry thing, dad was visiting him in the hospital in the first place, and then there’s paperwork, and Im balls at that kinda stuff, and-” Katsumi’s words blur as he keeps moving and talking, but Doyle nods along, a small smile finding its way onto his face. He’ll get through this. He’s got nobody chasing him, a future therapist to talk to, and Katsumi to help him if anything goes wrong.

This, Doyle thinks as Katsumi moves on to talking about how Doyle will love his friends, might just work out.

[alextriestowritestuff]

House of Hades Read With Me

Hey everyone, I’m back with an update. If you haven’t been following this thread, I’ve been reading the Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan. I read the first three books in this series back in 2012 and never finished. If you want to know my background with the PJO series and my thoughts on the Son of Neptune (I started my re-read with that book because Lost Hero is trash imo), you can find that here. My thoughts on Mark of Athena is here. So let’s get into the House of Hades 50% update that will include spoilers so you’ve been warned. 

Okay so I’m going to use two images to convey my thoughts on this book so far:

Okay so let’s address the first image... um. I’m fucking terrified. I’m scared of Percy and I’m scared for him and Annabeth (She told him that she loves him ahhhhhh, I need him to say it back tho). My past read with me’s have been pretty harsh on the HoO series so far but I really like this book so far. Dear gods, please let the other half of the book be good! Rick you’re doing amazing sweetie (kind of-we’ll get into it). So far, I’ve cried at Percy and Annabeth thinking about each other and how tired and hungry they are. And when Percy and Annabeth were surrounded by Kelli and the other empousai and I really thought it was done for them (I know they don’t die but the fear I felt was real) then Bob came in and saved them. And when Percy was surrounded by the Arai and Annabeth was temporarily blinded by a curse. Like he literally says, if I’m going to die, I’m not going to let them hurt Annabeth and he went out fighting (out meaning unconscious in this case) ughh my heart. It was torn out of my chest!! 

Brief pause because the Arai said that Calypso cursed Annabeth because Percy left her and I just can’t really emotionally deal with that fact because Battle of Labyrinth is my favorite PJO book BECAUSE of Calypso’s appearance. I’ve held a torch for that girl to find happiness for years and to think she cursed Annabeth (Obvi she didn’t know it’d actually affect Annabeth years later), that shit kills me. But I remember thinking in the Last Olympian why Percy didn’t ask for some sort of amnesty for Calypso when he was telling the gods to claim their kids, etc. So I’m glad he realizes he f-ed up there but ugh why Calypso?? It’s okay, I know that her and Leo get together so she’ll be happy eventually. I just have to wait. 

But let’s also talk about the fact that I’m starting to feel bad for monsters? Annabeth and Percy have been reflecting on what it’s like to be sent to Tartarus by a demigod and slowly reforming. And all the curses the Arai gave Percy were manifestations of how he killed those monsters so he felt their deaths which seeing him in pain, put me in pain. Like Rick don’t do this to me. I don’t want to feel bad for monsters but I do. I’m curious to see how this experience will change Percy and Annabeth’s willingness to kill monsters in the future. I really like this presentation of the monster’s perspective, I think it’s very interesting. In relation, I’ve noticed HoO is a lot darker in theme (even before this book) just by the way they phrase things. Like the demigods will say ‘kill monsters’ or ‘kill’ very easily compared to PJO where I felt that death was sugar coated because it was a middle grade genre. Most deaths were off screen (off page?) like Beckendorf’s. Or not very grim. And this series is much more in your face about it, especially in House of Hades. It was hard to get used to at first but I think it shows maturity, it’s well within the realm of YA to kill off characters and explicitly say so it’s just strange going from PJO to this imo. 

Moving onto the next image, the slowly being seduced one. AHAHA Um can someone tell me why I was briefly seduced by Frank and Percy?? So Percy, I’m always seduced by, that’s not new. But him being scary makes him 100x more attractive. Like imagine if Percy had been on the titan’s side? The gods wouldn’t have had a chance. Here’s some quotes:

(This is after Percy kills Arachne, on pg 6) Percy kicked the dust on the rocks, his expression grim and dissatisfied. “She died too easily, considering how much torture she put you through. She deserved worse.” Annabeth couldn’t argue with that, but the hard edge in Percy’s voice made her unsettled. She’d never seen someone get so angry or vengeful on her behalf. It almost made her glad Arachne had died quickly. “How did you move so fast?”

Then when Percy convinces Bob to kill the reforming Hyperion, Annabeth thinks this: 

How was he keeping his cool? The way he talked to Bob left Annabeth awestruck…and maybe a little uneasy, too. If Percy had been serious about leaving the choice to Bob, then she didn’t like how much he trusted the Titan. If he’d been manipulating Bob into making that choice…well, then, Annabeth was stunned that Percy could be so calculating.

He met her eyes, but she couldn’t read his expression. That bothered her too (22). 

Like what?!?! Please come pick me up, Uncle Rick. I’m scared. What’s happening to Percy?? I need them to get out of there STAT! I have no theories as to why he’s acting like this (maybe it’s the energy of Tartarus) but I’m excited to see where it goes. But Scary Percy is also right up my alley so ugh, I’m conflicted. 

So next, Frank. Rick did something hella problematic here but before I get into that, here’s the line where I was slowly being seduced by him:  

Frank was faster. He lunged at Trip and slammed him into the wall, his fingers locked around the god’s throat.

“Think about your next words,” Frank warned, deadly calm. “Or instead of beating my sword into a plowshare, I will beat it into your head” (19). 

Like ngl, that choke thoo?? I’ve never been attracted to Frank but my god, the dangerous tone, the threat. I had to put my hair up and get a cold glass of water when I read that. Frank was the last person I thought would do something like this but I am not mad at all. Very Ares of him.

What I am mad about, however, is the fact that after this scene, Frank (or it’s Hazel that notices) notices that he’s becoming taller and better built. Because Mars/Ares gave him a little ‘grow spurt’. Now let me say this: I’m not one of those people who think that everything problematic was meant to be intentionally offensive/stereotyping/harmful. I know that Rick has had his fair share of controversies ever since he’s been incorporating diverse characters. That comes with the territory of writing marginalized character-I’m black and I still have watch myself in how I portray black characters. He has do the research and I don’t he did it. Sorry. 

And I’m sure I haven’t even caught half of the problematic things brought up in HoO (there’s times where Hazel’s hair or skin is described as cinnamon, like food when other non black characters don’t get that kind of description. Also the fact that her name is Hazel like Hazelnut has always bothered me but I digress). Back to Frank’s growth spurt. Prior to that, other characters have described him as a bit on the chubbier side, baby faced, ‘big guy’ (that bothers me tho but that might be an internalized societal mentality that any word like fat or big = bad. And that’s not always true but I personally don’t feel comfortable calling someone that), etc. And he’s of Asian (spec. Chinese) descent. For what it’s worth, I’m not Asian so this may be out of lane to talk about but from my personal life experiences, Asians tend to be on the smaller end of the scale when it comes to size. I am 5″7 ish, size 6 and I would be considered overweight in mainstream Asian stores but in Western stores, I’ve never had an issue fitting in something or finding my size. I also tend to have a lot of options fashion wise. I have an Asian friend (Lmao I feel like one of those yt people who are like I have a black friend so I can say this and that. sorry I’m trying to get a point across) and she is plus sized. She doesn’t fit into the straight sizes in America so by Asian standards, she’s considered anywhere from moderately to morbidly obese. And she faces a lot of judgement from her Asian relatives because of it in addition to the fatphobia that has infiltrated American society as well. 

My friend doesn’t see a lot of representation for Asians her size. If she does she sees Asians that isn’t as thin and small, it’s people with my size who are considered thin by Western standards but ‘big’ by Asian sizing. My problem with having Frank be given a growth ‘spurt’ is that it’s erasing that plus sized Asian representation. This wouldn’t have been a good thing to do to ANY character that was plus sized but do you see where it’s even more problematic to do because of his Asian ancestry? It would’ve been fine if at the end of the series, he got hella fit and happens to be more in shape because of all the fighting he’s done but to be given that growth spurt implies that there was something wrong with his size in the first place. And so far, the other demigods have been taking him more seriously (Frank notes that Leo has stopped teasing him as much) which is kind of thin privilege esque to me. Frank may not be my favorite character but he deserved respect, no matter his size. I think this growth spurt aspect was hella problematic and Rick shouldn’t have done it. It was also unnecessary as hell. He looked fine before and could do everything the other (thinner) demigods could do just as well.

This is getting long so let me get to my last couple of points: Nico and the many, unnecessary POVs.

As y’all know by now, I think Nico deserves rights. He deserves friends and place to call home where he belongs. Both Frank and Jason didn’t want to be alone with Nico because they thought he was creepy and I can see where this is a set up to eventually have him fit in but damn, he’s just a kid. Be nice to my son. I feel like one of those mom’s who just wants their kid to make a friend at school. Will Solace as his love interest please come sooner. Again, I’ve been spoiled to this. I’m interested to see how this pans out and if this relationship will be a kind of aside mention like the fact that Grover and Juniper are dating or will it be given the same focus as opposite sex couples like Percabeth and Jasper. And I already knew Nico liked Percy but I didn’t expect it to come out in the way it had. It makes his relationship with Percy make a lot more sense. And I see how Nico could view him in that sense after Percy saved him and Bianca in Titan’s Curse and how he was like the real life version of his Mythomagic games (also I totally forgot he played that, he’s not that excited little boy anymore ugh, his innocence left ever since Bianca died). Overall, I think Nico being gay was handled well-Jason’s reaction was very straight but supportive so he gets a pass there. My point is Nico deserves the world. That’s all. 

The POVs. Again, I don’t know if people who aren’t writers would have an issue with the POVs in this series but I do. So far, we’ve had Hazel, Leo, Frank, Annabeth, Percy, and Jason narrate. I said this before, Rick needs to stick to 3 or 4 POVs because this shit don’t make sense. Annabeth and Percy are in the same setting together, they can’t even go on side quests because they’re in Tartarus so like why do we need both of them to narrate?? If they separate at some point, maybe. Don’t get me wrong, I love their narration but it’s jarring as hell to keep bouncing from POV to POV. I also saw somewhere that they don’t get a narration POV in Blood of Olympus in which case, I sure as hell don’t want to be reading the POV in the HoO characters who I don’t really jive with except Leo. So Hazel is going to be important to the Mist thing whatever, it makes sense she gets a POV (and she hasn’t had one since tSoN/same with Jason but the Lost Hero instead) but Frank and Leo? And I really thought since it’s 5 demigods (Percabeth in Tartarus) they’re going to be able to do side quests with all 5 of them that we didn’t need so many POVs but guess I was wrong. Idk it’s driving me insane, Rick should’ve done third person omniscient (Think Harry Potter and it can still follow different people like Percabeth in Tartarus). 

Damn, if this is how much I have to say about the first half of HoH, I’m really excited to get back to reading the last half. I’m HELLA looking forward to have Reyna join the quest temporarily (where I left off, she is on her way to the 5 demigods). I want the Piper/Reyna/Jason thing to be resolved (a lil drama would be nice) so Piper can stop being annoying and insecure. I want to know who Coach Hedge has been talking to and is he a good guy? Oh and another thing that’s been bothering me is Gale, Hecate’s polecat? It just farts all the time. And I have to remember I’m 20 and this books isn’t targeted to me so juvenile humor isn’t funny to me anymore but it’s just kind of gross and unnecessary?? 

Anyway, I’m going to have to start a new post for the last half of my HoH read with me because this thing is long. But you guys, I am invested into this book. It is on par with my love for PJO books so far. I could give this book a 4.5 stars (despite some faults) if it keeps going this way. Thanks for reading!