#i know this is to emulate the look of fluorescent lighting but i feel like the coloring is so fucking intense

[thewrongmoon]

the colorist when the scene is in a lab/bathroom/hospital:

#i know this is to emulate the look of fluorescent lighting but i feel like the coloring is so fucking intense #like i watched the hospital scene and i was like 'why the fuck did they make it so GREEN?' #stylistic choice i suppose #shitposts #color stuff

[dreaming-tonite]

Pairing: Eldrich monster!Jason Todd x f!reader

Warning: monster fucking, non-con, major size diff, unprotected penetrative sex, biologically unrealistic everything (if the warning for monster fucking isn’t enough of a red light already), don't come at me talking about how it doesn't align with canon I don't care—

Word count: 1.8k

Jason Todd died and came back, that one bit we all know.

But what if instead of coming back the way we know it, he came back wrong, so so wrong.

Whatever it was in that green, endless pit, it did not do for him what it was supposed to do. Instead, the fluorescent seeped into the pores, the lungs of his lifeless body and found all the fear, the bitterness, and the anger that its owner felt right before his last breath.

And it reached down, and it reached down until all that venom transformed Jason Todd's body into something else entirely.

The pit brought him back but without a soul, and a creature without a soul was no man.

Anger gave it glaring fangs and nails that were pointy and curled like fangs, bitterness warped its face, and fear made it grow and grow until it was as big as the shadows that lurked in nightmares haunting the empty hallway of the quiet manor where they mourn the lost of a son.

There were no traces of the boy it once was left in the eldritch horror it had become, nor did any of its vessel's memories, only an aching void in its chest, which it did not have a word for.

The only thing it remembered, was that it must return to this faraway dot on the map called Gotham, where it could taste the heartache on its inhuman tongue just to think about despite not having a heart.

The way back to Gotham was long but it managed to get there by travelling in the shadows no one knew to look at.

There must be something that called for it, but the more it tried to think about it the more it hurt.

Until night came and the light came on.

Somehow, even though there was only very little of it left, the littlest bit of soul left inside the creature still knew to respond to the bat signal that illuminated the Gotham sky.

And it was all sort of confusing emotions mixed into one, and the creature felt a sharp pain in its pitch-black eyes the longer it stared.

So it ran, through quiet alleyways and under broken lamps where no one would pass by, without knowing where it could run to.

And it felt fear, and rage, and grief over something they could not remember despite how hard it tried.

It stopped after running for god knows how long, in front of a window that emulates a warm, yellow glow.

The creature usually avoided light, after trying several times and realised that light irritated it to no end. But something about the white curtains flowing behind the window still beckoned for it to go closer like fire calling to the moths.

Something in it erupted when you appeared in the room, the sickeningly sweet scent filling its nostrils and tugging at something deep inside.

There was a strange sense of familiarity, and despite there being nothing about you in its empty brain, it just knew that you belonged to it one way or another.

It must have you.

Like the moths, the creature would stop at nothing just to feel warmth again.

You were too afraid to scream when the large, shadowy monster lurched from the corner of your room, and everything else was a blur from there.

You were stunned, completely, and it took you many seconds of your ears ringing to register the situation you were in. The fabrics that once covered your body were torn to shreds under its monstrous claws, the dull ache it left on your skin making soundless shrieks left your throat when it dug its fingers into your supple flesh. The back of your head hurt from when it knocked you onto the floor, the saliva from its glaring teeth dripping onto your face as its hot breath fanned your face, the puffs of air coming from behind its snarling mouth and long, long tongue.

Your heart was pounding inside your ribcage, fear and shock pulsing through your veins when you realised that you could not escape. It was massive, back hunched as it perched on top of you and caged you in without even trying. With each breath it took, the shadow on your walls grew bigger.

And its face, you could not bring up the courage to look at its face.

But when you fought back your primal instinct to shut your eyes tight and look, something in you clicked.

There was nothing alike between the person who appeared in your head and the monster in front of you. But something in its eyes, behind the darkness, reminded you of someone who you tried your hardest not to think about when the nights were late and you felt weak.

No, it could not be. Every single fibre of your being told you that it was impossible, but something in your heart, something that echoed through your brain past logic and reason, told you that it was him.

Blood receded from your face at the thought, hoping you were wrong more than anything else.

"Jason...?"

And to your dread, it let out a chest-ripping whale at the name that was so familiar yet so strange on your tongue like a dagger was stabbed through its ears just from hearing it.

You wanted to cry, not from knowing your own fate, but from thinking about what your dead lover had gone through to become this.

Seeing tears run down your face did something to it and it— he, paused for a brief second as something that resembled panic rose within.

But the roaring desire to mark you, to take you surpassed the budding humanity that was starting to appear, which it strongly disliked.

You bit back at the taste of acid in your mouth when it shoved its tongue inside your cavity, almost gagging at how far it managed to reach as it greedily took in your scent. It was near explosive in its head, and the more it got, the more it wanted. Large hands groped and dragged along your now naked torso, rough and merciless as it felt you all over.

Drool was leaking from the corner of your lips as you gasped for air, lightheaded and coughing when it finally pulled away from your mouth to lick a long strip up your vulnerable, exposed neck. If it bite down, it could break you in an instant, you were sure of it, yet the possibility of death was not even the scariest thing you could think of at this point.

The heat left your face when it grabbed you by the back of your thighs, pushing both of them up with just one hand until your knees were pressing against your chest.

You could not even see through your tear-stained vision, but the hardness pressed up against your cunt was unmistakable, and you could feel the angry vein as it rocked against your hips. You gulped, dreading the wetness you felt as it pushed your folds apart with its terrifying girth, the leaking head brushing at the inside of your thighs as it growled in animalistic fever.

You finally screamed when it pushed itself inside of you, your eyes seeing white as you were stretched behind your humanly limits by its massive, bulging cock.

Your back arched involuntarily, hitting the cold floor under you as it pushed, and pushed deeper and deeper inside. It hurt, and tears gushed out when it was still going deeper even though you thought it was not possible until it was resting deep inside your belly. Your stomach must be bulging from just his cock snuggling deep inside your womb, the shape prominent against your walls as you winced and sniffled.

It let out a beastly grunt at the tightness, with nothing but the sole thought to breed and fill up the tiny body under it. A loud smack followed with each thrust it took, heavy balls slapping against your ass every time it hilted deep against your cervix. The burning in your walls became numb after a few hard strokes, your insides accumulating it slowly to your surprise and against your wishes.

You tried to shut your eyes tight so you could imagine that it was him instead, but the monster left you no room to escape with each piston jolting your eyes open to acknowledge reality.

You had prayed for him to come back many times, but this was nothing but a sick joke fate had played on you if this was how they decided to answer your wishes.

It filled you with dread when it stopped being unbearable halfway through and you felt the heat pooling up in the pit of your stomach. "No, no—," you plead, not to the creature but to yourself, "I'm gonna... I'm— please... please!"

Your face flared up in shame at the unmistakable signs of your own climax, wetness gushing out and the sloppy noise filling your ears. To think that your body even reacted to this in the slightest was worst than the reality that you were having your brains fucked out by something so ghastly.

How would he have felt? To know that he was trapped being something so disgusting you could barely look at and yet, you still cum from its cock like some broken slut?

It howled when the sweet scent of your orgasm filled its head, panting and grumbling as thick strings of white filled up your spasming walls. It kept cumming and cumming, yet it did not stop. With each thrust into your abused hole, you could feel its length pushing out the cum from your cunt and pooling onto the floor.

Still sensitive from your high, the soundless moans stuck at the back of your throat while it kept fucking your overstimulated hole. At this point, you could only lay there lifelessly as it forced its way back in again and again, your stomach so full of its release that you might just finally break.

Your vision had turned black by the time it was done, head lolled to the side while your limbs twitched. Pulling out its half-limp cock, cum gushed out from your puffed-up cunt that fluttered around nothing, still so full the second before.

The creature stared at your fucked up body as it took in the salty scent lingering in the air. It felt warm in the chest for a brief second as it watched you, feeling something tugged at what was deep within.

It did not know what it was when it felt something wet running down its void-like eyes.

Only that hollowness that followed each heave of its chest hurt beyond measure.

#~oh the feminine urge to be fucked by something big and scary~ #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut

[1ore]

Hey, sorry if this is a bit out of the blue, but can I ask what programs/brushes you use? I've been trying to learn how to paint digitally, but it often feels so sterile, and I really struggle with it. I envy how well you are able to achieve a traditional look with digital tools, and would love to learn your secret.

I'd love to see a tutorial/process video by you too honestly, but that's more just wishful thinking - I know you probably have a lot going on.

Cheers, either way! (And wish me luck)

oh my god. I went and did all that organizing and almost forgot to let you know! I put together a tag containing all of my resources/materials/art process stuff. It also has every timelapse video I've done. Each video has process rambling + lists of brushes / materials used in their YT descriptions.

I have a hard time talking about my process like I'm any kind of authority, but I tried to think about it a little and share whatever i've found helpful, answer questions I've been asked in the past or struggled with myself, etc.

Re: emulating traditional media specifically:

ok, first of all. Disclaimer: it's not all about the tools.

but if you're a hack like me it sure feels that way!!!!

When I moved from Photoshop to Clip Studio Paint, a big growing pain for me was finding real media tools that felt good to use. It's pretty obvious in the art I made during that time. Both the tools that ship with the program and the tools made by the community felt like they for completely different styles/workflows than mine. It was a struggle to adjust, and I'm still feeling it-- I don't feel like I have *my* sketch brush, or *my* workhorse painting brush. I miss my brick shithouse lineart every day ):

BUT. but. I've found some keepers along the way. Even the ones that aren't perfect analogs are still pretty great at what they're meant to do. If you're thinking about using Photoshop or Clip Studio Paint, then I can share those toolsets-- I list a few of them in my 'about', and I talk about them in more detail on those timelapse vids. I'm very picky about how my tools handle so they're probably not for everyone, but maybe you'll find something that makes digital art a little more bearable in there.

There's also a lot to be said for the little things, like slapping a paper texture on that bad boy and calling it a day. Even just applying textures to the canvas before you draw does a lot to make the drawing experience feel like it has... idk... warmth, dynamism. Tooth. It's cozier in there when I can see the paper. Admittedly it's been so long since I last looked at my sketchbook that the harsh fluorescent lights of the blank canvas no longer faze me, but it's still good for the eyes and the soul.

Other tools/programs:

Apart from the stuff I use(d) in my main workflow, I've also played with some other programs that are specifically geared towards emulating traditional media.

Realistic Paint Studio - Reasonably priced real media art program that has a decently beginner-friendly interface. This is probably the one program that came with brushes I genuinely liked, right out of the box. They feel good to use + the engine does a pretty nice job of emulating wet media in particular.

Some draws:

^^^ This was a style emulation of the wonderful Fiachmara's art, and also a gift to her, featuring her character Gealach. Didn't originally intend on sharing this publicly, but I think it illustrates this program's knack for inks.

It can also do most of the digital art cheats that I need to do in Clip-- it has analogs for the selection tool, layers, clipping masks, etc. It does not have a brush editor, so you need to be sure that you like the brushes it ships with. I also find that none of the brushes scale up large enough to accommodate absurdly large canvases (5000x5000px+ ) so you'll be stuck working at... well... normal canvas sizes. (Gealach above was about 2000 px wide before resizing-- pretty reasonable LOL)

My only real complaint is you can't export your art without the canvas texture applied to it. One time the textures bugged out on me, and I couldn't get them to fix themselves (you can see the carnage here, RIP.) I've been scared that it'll do that again to me someday, but it's been completely stable apart from this one random flub.

And hey, it's got an Actually Good Pencil Brush, so. There's that.

Rebelle 5 - hoo boy this is big $$$$$, but the brush engine in this one is just. bonkers yonkers cool for emulating real media, especially oil, acrylic, and watercolor. (I'm admittedly lukewarm on its charcoal and pencil brushes. You can create your own brushes, but there's not a huge community that's into making custom brushes yet.)

It's a mighty little art program as far as I can tell. Has most of the bells and whistles Clip does, which is a lot of things that programs like Realistic generally won't have, but are kinda necessary if you want to get into the weeds with like... Advanced Digital Art Skullduggery. (things like gradient maps and tools for ripping lineart from scanned drawings. I think that's honestly it, as far as things I do in clip that are clip-exclusive.)

Doodles:

Rebelle asks you to think like a traditional artist when you're using its tools, particularly its watercolors. Ironically, I Do Not Like This! I want to have my cake (real media tools) and eat it too (dont want to use my brain). But I think it might appeal to you for bringing some of the process into the digital space. If nothing else, it's novel to watch the paint dry.

(thats a real mechanic in rebelle)

((its fantastic, but I am allergic to it (see point one) (((dont want to use my brain ): )))))

if you play with the demo and find that it scratches that real media itch for you, might be worth reaching out for a student discount or something like that. They have educator licenses and student licenses and generally seem like a pretty accommodating lot.

Another disclaimer: these are just the tools that I've played with recently and have used enough times to talk about. There's lots of other stuff out there that I've tried but didn't like, and it could very well be that I didn't like them for the same reasons that you'll love them. There's a ton of really good free/open source programs in particular that I feel like I would be using if I didn't already have my workspace carved out. Krita and MyPaint stick out in my mind. (MyPaint was my main program for a Long time in highschool. come remember my baby art with me. )

ok its 3 am I need to close this out:

I'm tapping my other disclaimer again. Tools are not the end-all-be-all of making digital art that emulates traditional media. Pieces like No Dominion and this pic of Dia and co. required some actual neurons to fire when I was figuring out how to tackle them. But for me, finding the right tools and creating the right workspace for myself was a stupidly big part of getting comfortable with digital art. I have to take care of the little QOL things like that before I can even begin to worry about the big things OTL

#uncaptioned #my brain is a scrambled egg. if I reread this in the morning and it doesnt make any fucking sense: sorry!!!!!!!! #but THANK YOU for reaching out I hope something in there catches your interest. #I talked an inordinate amount about tools because I talk more about process stuff in the tag above + on those vids #and i hadnt really talked about how weirdly important it was for me to have these cheap gimmicks to make art look Good #before i could worry about the bigger things like studying the blade #really anything that lowers the barriers to Having Fun is vitally important to me #1ore doesn't want to use her art blog

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Lover, Please Stay

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get shot and Hotch worries about you while trying to keep it together. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: swearing, shooting, blood, injuries, hospitals, some angst and then fluff, mostly just wanted to write some worried!Hotch 

A/N: here we go! this is my first fic, so enjoy

Masterlist

---

As far as dates go, getting shot in the stomach twice was definitely not the way you wanted the night to end. Especially because you actually cared about the man sitting across from you in the dim lighting of the restaurant and you definitely had something else planned involving him, your clothes hitting the floor, and then the wall, kitchen counter, possibly the sofa, and of course, your bed and maybe the shower—but all that would have to wait as you slump back in your chair, stunned and bleeding. To his credit, however, Aaron Hotchner is not about to let the man who shot you get away with it, and swiftly tackles, disarms, and subdues the shooter, in record time, you think hazily to yourself with a small smile. After making sure the unsub won’t do anything else –not that he could even if he wanted to– Aaron turns to you. Eyes wild, he finds you –rather dramatically if you say so yourself—bleeding out and losing consciousness. So much for after-dinner plans.

“How romantic,” you gasp out and suddenly at your side, Aaron tips you out of your chair and lays you on the ground, immediately shedding his jacket to apply pressure to your abdomen and the growing red spots staining the dark green dress you had worn tonight. Fuck you loved this dress. And his jacket.

“….Sweetheart? You still with me?” Aaron’s voice wavers, and you realize he’s leaning over you and trying to gauge how you’re doing, aside from the obvious, of course.

You huff a laugh out—big mistake—and a small cry tears out of your throat as the pain in your midsection makes you regret your actions. Turning your head with a surprising amount of effort, your eyes float over him, taking in the way his hair sticks up, the frantic gleam to his eyes (tears?) and then down the black button-down he wore to his bloody hands on your body. You try for a reassuring smile—it doesn’t land—and then there’s some sort of commotion on the other side of the restaurant which you belatedly realize is the stampede of patrons out, as the ambulance slams to a halt outside, sirens blaring.

“Love, y’need t’figure this out,” you grit out, knowing that he won’t—can’t—argue with you as you look up at him.

“Y/N...”

“No, Aaron. Get th’ team,” your eyes are closing and breathing is getting harder so you stop, and hope that he figures this out. He has to. You know Aaron will want to protect you and go to the hospital this instant, but you can’t let him do that just yet. Not this time. It’s not everyday a BAU agent gets shot in a crowded restaurant in front of her boyfriend, who is also a BAU agent. It’s too weird to be random and the rest of the team needs to get here now.

The next few moments pass in a blur of shouting and pain, as you are lifted on to a stretcher and poked and prodded. Tiredly, you try to keep your eyes on Aaron, but in the noise you find your head rushing and with a sharp pain in your stomach, you fall into darkness.

Barred from climbing into the ambulance with you, Aaron has never been so scared and enraged. The ambulance screeches towards the hospital as he quickly fires off a text to the team –you’ve been shot, it doesn’t look good, meet him at the restaurant. And then he sits on the sidewalk. And thinks. And seethes.

How could he not have noticed the man advancing toward your table sooner? How could he not have noticed how out of place the man looked and the way that he kept a hand in his jacket pocket? And finally, why didn’t the man shoot him before getting taken down? Head in his hands, Hotch lets out a sigh before clenching his fists and closing his eyes, waiting. There are police officers milling around, taping off the restaurant and the unsub is in a car around here somewhere, or maybe already on his way to the police station, but Aaron can’t shake the fear in his mind. He should be speeding off after the ambulance, keeping you company, and pacing the hospital lobby until he knows you’re okay. You need to be okay. But your words ring in his head, figure this out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. You need him to try. He needs to focus.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Aaron jerks his head up to find Morgan and Prentiss looking at him with sad eyes. Accepting Morgan’s hand, Hotch stands, and after a beat, straightens up and becomes SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and not Aaron Hotchner, concerned and, quite frankly, terrified boyfriend.

“Garcia is pulling security footage from the restaurant and surrounding area. She’s also keeping tabs on the unsub at the police station and will let us know as soon as the cops figure out who this guy is.” Morgan says as Hotch looks around at the crime scene that’s sprung up around him.

“Unless she figures it out first,” Prentiss adds “which she probably will, it’s Garcia.”

A black SUV pulls up, and Reid, Rossi, and JJ emerge. Rossi immediately takes stock of the blood on Aaron’s hands and the usual chaos of a crime scene. Reid looks shaken to his core, and JJ isn’t much better, although she is valiantly trying to put on a brave face if only for her own sake.

“Aaron, you should be at the hospital. We can handle this,”

“Dave, she told me to figure it out. It was one of the last things she said and if I don’t and she…” Aaron trails off as the rest of the team looks at him, worried.

“I need to do this for her,” he says softly, thinking of how you looked as you were whisked away by the ambulance. How you passed out, face contorted in pain and then still.

“Hotch…” JJ lays a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“We got this. You can run point from the hospital with Garcia,”

That shakes him a bit.

“Garcia is running point from the hospital?” he wants to smile, but he can’t. Not while you’re possibly fatally injured.

“Of course she is,” says Morgan with a small smile.

“She went directly there after you texted us. She said she doesn’t want Y/N to be alone, ” Spencer supplies, and Hotch can’t help but be startled by how much he appreciates the thoughtfulness of his team in this moment.

Looking around the circle, he realizes that he doesn’t have to take on the investigation and your injury alone. No shit, he can hear you say. That’s what they’re here for, dumbass. Teamwork.

Halfheartedly, he tries “but the police need to take my statement and—“

“—and they can do that from the hospital after we’re done here, I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the Unit Chief of the BAU since his girlfriend got shot,” Rossi finishes for him. “Aaron. Go.”

“Come on, Hotch, I’ll drive,” and as JJ pulls him into the SUV, he watches the rest of the team disperse amongst the police and crime scene techs with a determination and focus he wishes he could emulate right now. Instead, he tries to focus on getting to you and how good it’ll feel to hold your hand again.

---

The ambulance ride is blurry and the lights are too bright and the noises too loud as you slide in and out of consciousness after initially passing out. Vaguely, you hear something about a perforated something or other and blood loss, but that’s really all you can understand before going back to being unconscious. Again. If only falling asleep was this easy.

---

Aaron never particularly liked hospitals, but now, with your life in danger, he hates them. Striding into the lobby, JJ at his side, his eyes find Garcia, furiously typing and wiping away tears as fast as she can. As his feet carry him to the desk, JJ breaks off to comfort Garcia.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I’m here for Agent Y/L/N she should have arrived half an hour ago with two GSWs to the abdomen,” his voice is surprisingly collected, as the nurse looks up at him from her computer.

“She was rushed into emergency surgery almost as soon as she got here. I don’t have an update for you now, Agent Hotchner, and it could be awhile until I know something for sure,” the nurse replies with a sad smile.

With a curt nod, Aaron walks over to Garcia, who now has JJ’s hand firmly in her own. Upon seeing him, Garcia springs up and sets her laptop and JJ’s hand aside to instead throw her arms around her stoic Unit Chief. Stunned but not unwelcome, Hotch reaches around to hold the crying tech analyst. Pulling back from the embrace and sniffling, Garcia looks at Hotch and her eyes widen almost comically.

“Blood. Oh my God, blood,” she states in a hurried breath and it’s only then that Hotch realizes that his arms and torso are covered in your blood still; he hasn’t had a chance to wash it off. Looking down at himself, his vision blurs for a second and the weight of his appearance takes a toll. Stumbling to the bathroom as JJ and Garcia reach for him, he staggers through the door and to the closest sink before throwing up. Leaning heavily on his hands, he hangs his head and catches his breath before turning the tap on. Slowly, methodically, he cleans his hands, then up his arms. Splashing water on his face he looks in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes, the way his hair sticks up on one side, and the dried blood on his black shirt as it catches the shitty fluorescent lighting.

You’re laughing at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. In the light of the restaurant he loves the way your eyes shine when you look at him. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, but you’re still laughing and he loves the way you look when you laugh. Bang. There’s screaming. Bang. You slump in your chair across from him. His stomach drops and there’s a roaring sound in his ears and years of training take over. The unsub stands still, gun in hand, and Aaron moves. Takedown. Push the gun out of reach. Hold the guy down. Swift punch to the face and the guy is out. You make a sound—a whine? a scream? his name?—and Aaron turns. You. Hands on your stomach, but Aaron can see the blood seeping through your fingers. Gently, as gently as he can, he gets you to lie on the ground and uses his jacket to try and staunch some of the bleeding. Your eyes flutter and he calls your name, asks how you’re doing, something to keep you awake and talking and with him and—

A knock on the door draws him out of his mind and JJ pokes her head in.

“I found a sweatshirt in the back of the SUV and thought you might want to put it on instead of having to stay in your shirt since…” she trails off and gestures to his bloody clothes.

Wordlessly, Hotch takes the sweatshirt from her. It’s one of his, he knows that, but he can’t remember why it’s in the SUV, especially because he hasn’t seen it since—You. You had it last. Inhaling your scent off the piece of clothing almost shatters him again and he holds the sweatshirt to his face as he tries not to cry. Slipping into a stall he slowly undoes his shirt before crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he takes a moment to collect himself before stooping down for his shirt and walking out the bathroom door back into the waiting area.

Sitting next to Garcia he can see that there’s a picture of the unsub on her screen, as well as general demographic information and stuff streaming past that’s too fast for him to read.

“Garcia, what have you found.” Business as usual. Except for the part where he doesn’t know how you are or if you’re alive.

“Well, Sir, the bastard who shot Y/N is Parker Harrison and from what I can tell, he’s a creep. Like look-through-your-windows-and-take-photos-while-you-change kind of creep so—“

“—so it’s weird that he came up to you two in a crowded room and shot Y/N when there is nothing that Garcia’s found to suggest that that’s even something Harrison would even consider,” JJ finishes while continuing to glare at the photo on the screen.

Hotch sighs and puts his head in his hands. Again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looks at JJ.

“Call the rest of the team and let them know that we know who the unsub is, but he doesn’t fit the profile for the crime and see if they’ve found anything out of the ordinary.”

With a nod, JJ moves to her feet and goes out the front door to make the call. Garcia makes a noise somewhere between frustration and surprise before renewing her furious typing. Aaron looks towards the nurse at the desk, the same one he had spoken to earlier, and catches her eye. She shakes her head and he tips his head back against the wall behind him, eyes closing.

---

You don’t think you’ve died. At least, not yet. Maybe this is some fucked up afterlife precursor, but you really, sincerely, hope you aren’t dead because that would suck for you and for Aaron. And Jack. And the team. Fuck you really hope you aren’t dead, but the fact that you can’t feel your body really isn’t helping you figure out what the hell is going on. There’s pressure building in your chest and as it expands, it feels like you are going to explode. You fight against whatever is happening—it hurts, dammit—and then back to nothingness.

---

He waits for hours. Pacing, sitting, standing, silent. Garcia mumbles to herself as she works, and calls the team with possible updates, but Aaron can’t bring himself to focus on anything but you. JJ comes and goes, standing, sitting, pacing, leaning over Garcia’s shoulder. She calls Will and the team a few times to give or get updates and for that, Aaron is grateful. He knows he should be doing more, as Unit Chief and as the person you told to get the unsub, but you you are his focus. He nods when Garcia shows him something and shakes his head when JJ appears with food and coffee. And he waits. At some point a police officer shows up and Hotch mechanically rattles off what happened. There isn’t much he can say since they have the shooter in custody already. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the team show up and all of a sudden Hotch is suffocated by the amount of people in the waiting room. Prentiss moves to JJ’s side and Morgan to Garcia’s, talking quietly. Reid and Rossi trade glances before descending on Hotch.

“Any news?” Rossi asks, but Hotch shakes his head.

“You guys find anything at the scene?” And Hotch is hoping for something anything to make this make sense.

“Well, according to the security cam footage, the unsub was dropped off at the restaurant and then walked inside, bypassing the hostess and making his way to your table. It seems like Harrison knew exactly where you were going to be and when, which is concerning. But after you take him down and he got to the station, he didn’t talk—and still hasn’t which indicates that he may be trying to protect someone which furthers the idea that he really didn’t come up with this on his own given that his previous criminal record didn’t indicate that he would shoot someone that he deemed a target, although Garcia is currently going through the contents of his electronics to see what she can find and—“ Reid is effectively cut off by Rossi, who states “and so we still don’t know enough about this guy to draw any concrete conclusions, but this isn’t an ordinary unsub and if he does have a partner, we need to figure out who that is before someone else gets hurt; possibly someone on this team.”

Aaron frowns to himself at this information. He thought that the team would be able to find something find more about Harrison, but it seems the universe is making him wait not only on you, but the fucker who shot you as well. Collapsing down on to the nearest chair, Aaron tries to come up with a plan, a preliminary profile, something that will help him figure out what exactly you’ve been drawn into. Staring down at his shoes, he fails to notice the way the team looks at each other, and then at him. With a sigh, Prentiss moves from JJ’s side to Hotch’s and sits. He doesn’t look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, but doesn’t shake off the hand that she lays gently on his shoulder as he continues to study his shoes.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the team is alerted to a development in your wellbeing by the loud squeak of the swinging door that leads to surgery. Half asleep, Rossi wakes the others from their various levels of slumber as Aaron stumbles to the doctor after he announces your name, eyes wide and hopeful.

“First, Agent Y/L/N is alive. She coded in surgery about two hours ago,” Aaron swears he stops breathing “—but we were able to revive her and finish stitching her up and repairing the internal damage. The bullets entered her abdomen and tore through her large intestine, and she did suffer more blood loss that I had hoped, but in time, she will recover.”

Aaron’s breath rushes out all at once and he almost collapses with the weight of his relief. He hears the gasps and murmurs of the team behind him which confirm their own happiness that you are alive.

“Can I see her?” the words leave him quickly, and he knows you won’t be awake, but he needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still here, with him.

“As you can imagine, she won’t be awake for quite some time. Her body has sustained major trauma, and we will be keeping her under watch for at least a week, depending on how long it takes her to wake up and then the rate at which her body’s healing process takes place. However, you may see her, one at a time, and are welcome to be here during official visiting hours tomorrow.”

Without turning to the team, Aaron nods and gestures for the doctor to lead the way, mind spinning with relief and worry, a dizzying rush of feelings at knowing that you’re alive. Stopping outside of a room, the doctor looks at Aaron before opening the door and stepping aside. Making his way to the side of your bed, Aaron can’t help but take stock of your appearance. Eyes tracing your face, fingers lightly following the same path before coming to hold your hand as he sits in the chair next to your bed. Exhaling slowly, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, eyes finding your sleeping face and finally, Aaron allows some tension to leave his body. You’re here you’re here and you’re alive and breathing.

---

Your return to actual conscious reality is slow, to say the least. The steady beeping of your heart monitor catches your attention first because it’s just so damn annoying. But hey, it means you’re alive—what a relief—so you really can’t find it in your hazy mind to care too much about the incessant beeping noise as you drift into consciousness. The next thing to draw your focus is the scratchiness of the sheets surrounding your body—are hospital sheets purposely so uncomfortable?—and the way that you can feel someone holding your hand. Aaron. Fighting to open your eyes damn those fluorescents you manage to squint your way awake. Well, as awake as one can be after what you just went through, but it’s an improvement to whatever semi-alive state you had been in even if you are still in a moderate amount of discomfort.

“…Sweetheart?” there he is. You squeeze his hand and turn to see him more fully, eyes raking over his face. Teary-eyed and smiling, you’ve never seen him look more handsome (okay besides when he was wearing his black button-down and black jacket at dinner before you got shot, but that’s obvious).

“Aaron,” his name leaves your lips on a breath and you smile back at him as he kisses your hand before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“I was so worried, Y/N. So worried about you,” he continues down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally, finally, he presses his lips to yours. Hands intertwined with his other one coming to cup your face, you pull apart just enough to look each other in the eye. And to think you might not have survived to do this ever again. The thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes and as they fall down your cheeks, Aaron kisses your forehead again before leaning his head against yours.

“You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re here, I’m here, the team is in the waiting room. We’re all okay,” he says gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You continue to cry, soft whimpers escaping you as the pain in your midsection sets in and you realize how much you could have lost if you died.

“Th’ team. Need t’see ‘em,” you mumble through your tears, and Aaron nods before reaching for his phone and texting someone, staying by your side the whole time. Your tears continue to fall, but Aaron’s presence and steady reassurance calms you and soon you’re just staring at each other, hands clasped, reveling in your closeness.

A nurse enters the room and checks your vitals on all the machines you’re connected to before remarking on how good it is to see you awake and then she’s gone; Aaron doesn’t leave your side.

A swift knock on the door turns your head, and a smile breaks across your face as the team shuffles into your room and gathers around your bed. You watch them as they come in, looking for injuries or something out of the ordinary. However, they’re all okay, looking at you with sad hopeful eyes, but they’re okay just like Aaron said.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, wide-eyed.

“We’re okay? Mama, we should be checking on you. You’re the one whose been unconscious for a day and a half,” Morgan chuckles.

“’M okay. Good. Great. Sp’tacular,” you assure them with a smirk and a wave at your general hospital-chic appearance. You don’t have to turn to Aaron to know he’s rolling his eyes as the others let out small laughs at your answer.

“Glad you’re awake, Y/N,” Rossi states with a smile as Reid nods behind him.

“We were worried,” JJ adds.

“Don’t you ever do that again! I mean it,” Garcia says, pointedly. You huff out a laugh and grimace as your abdomen twinges in pain. Note to self: don’t do that again. You catch the rest of the room in a collective wince out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is now on Aaron, as he leans impossibly closer to you, gauging your level of pain through his furrowed brow.

“We’ll be back later,” Emily suggests, laying one hand on JJ’s arm and another on Reid’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Y/N.”

“Will do,” you grit out, pain subsiding only slightly in your stomach. Your eyes shut and over the sound of your heavy breathing, you hear footsteps retreating and the closing of the door. Aaron’s hand brushes your hair back off your forehead and comes to rest on your cheek. With your eyes closed, you realize just how fucking tired you are now that you’ve confirmed everyone is fine with your own eyes. You squeeze Aaron’s hand, and as you give in to your exhaustion, you feel him kiss your knuckles with a sigh.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and then you’re out.

---

You wake up to a hushed argument taking place between Morgan and Rossi at the foot of your bed and surprise surprise Aaron’s scowling at both of them.

Fighting through a yawn, you mumble, “G’morning, everyone,” pointedly glaring at Morgan and Rossi who at least have the decency to look sorry for disturbing you.

“Afternoon, princess,” Morgan says with a nod. “Nice to see you awake again.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but notice the careful way Aaron’s watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing his hand—has he let go of it since he got here? A thought to pursue at a later time—you turn your attention back to the agents at the end of your bed.

“What have I missed?” Rossi looks at Aaron before taking a breath and facing you.

“We think the guy who shot you has a partner and we’re trying to figure out who it is.”

Well shit. Schooling your face into a somewhat neutral expression, you repeat “…a partner…?” and something akin to fear washes over you. There’s someone out there who wants you dead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Steeling yourself, you look over at Aaron for confirmation and the hard look in his eyes is all you need. Fuck. Sinking further back into the pillows behind you, you stare at the ceiling and try to fully comprehend what you’ve just learned. Breathing deeply, you try and quell the panic that’s rising in your chest. Shit. Now what happens. Eyes clenched shut, you address the room.

“So, what now? There’s another guy so what do we have on him what do we know has the unsub said anything that might help us? Something? Phone calls at weird times, unusual credit card activity, change in schedule, unexplained absences from work, something has to stick out,” Your words rush out before you can stop them.

“Well—“ Morgan starts but you cut him off, rambling.

“—and what’s the name of the unsub anyway? What’s the name of the fucker who shot me two times?” you ask, eyes flying open at the realization that you only know him as “the unsub” and not his actual name.

“Parker Harrison,” Hotch states with enough contempt for you to stop and squint at him, worried.

“Sounds like an asshole,” you remark, but Hotch doesn’t smile like you thought he would.

It’s at this point that Morgan wisely makes some excuse about seeing if Garcia has found anything new and he herds Rossi out the door before the other man can protest. The click of the door behind them is deafening as you continue to watch Aaron’s face while he stares down at your joined hands on the bed. Tracing your knuckles, he doesn’t elaborate on the unsub and so you wait. You focus on your own breathing, Aaron’s hand in yours, and his presence next to you.

However, there’s only so much silence you can take when you have so many questions that you would like answered. Tugging on his hand, you wait for him to look up at you before speaking.

“Aaron, who is this guy?”

Silence.

You try again.

“Aaron, I can’t help you profile the partner if I don’t know who Harrison is. Let me help you catch this fucker,” and that catches his attention. With a small quirk of his lips, he exhales and leans closer to brush some hair out of your face.

“You shouldn’t be profiling or working at all, Y/N. You got shot. You need to rest,” he says as his hand settles on your cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes. As if.

“I can multi-task, love. Also, I need to work this case. Do you really think I’ll be able to rest and recover knowing there’s someone out there who wants me dead? Harrison is the first step to figuring this out and I can help, Hotch. I’m a profiler and he’s an unsub. This isn’t anything we haven’t faced before and we will catch him. So, once again, I’m asking you to let me help,” you implore. “I’m on bedrest, not dead. I can be semi-useful, even while lying in a hospital bed.”

With that, Hotch sucks in a quick breath and his eyebrows pull together.

“But you did die,” he says lowly. “You died you were dead. The doctor said you coded on the table. I could have lost you,” and with that last admission, his voice breaks. Bowing his head, the slight shake of his shoulders is the only sign you have to know that he’s crying. Crying over you. Oh, Aaron. Carefully sliding over in your bed—ouch—you pull on Aaron’s hand insistently.

“C’mere, love,” you whisper, and Aaron maneuvers his way on to the bed. Has he always been this tall or are hospital beds just smaller than normal ones?

Slowly, mindful of your injuries even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil, he curves himself around you as tears continue to fall. You lift your hand to card through his hair at a steady pace and eventually, just rest your hand on his face, catching tears and brushing them away. You raise your other hand, which is still holding his, to your lips and softly kiss his fingertips.

“I’m here. We’re here and we’re okay, and I love you,” you repeat gently until the shaking in his shoulders subsides and his breathing evens out to match yours. Holding your hand to his face, Hotch gives it the gentlest kiss imaginable before clearing his throat.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. So much. I was scared you weren’t going to make it, and then to find out you almost didn’t?” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“It’ll take more than a few bullets to take me away from you, Aaron Hotchner,” you say. “I mean it.”

Instead of responding, Aaron nuzzles the top of your head and moves impossibly closer to you on the bed.

“I just—“ he stops. “I waited for hours to hear how you were doing. I was basically useless to the team because all I could think about was you and how you told me to get the guy and figure it out, but I couldn’t. Not without you.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you shift so you can smile at him warmly and then he’s leaning down to you, cradling your face, and kissing you with a desperation that makes your heart ache. You return his kiss with all the reassurance you can offer. I love you. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sorry. Tilting your head, you move a hand to his chest, over his heart trying to do what you can to get closer to him. I love you I love you I love you. 

Breaking for air, Aaron presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before settling back into your side. Heart racing, you smile contentedly at the man in front of you before trying to get comfortable. Leaning just a little too far forward, your breath leaves you in a whoosh before the pain sets in, letting you know you’ve overdone it just a bit—and just when things were getting good, too. Ever the protector, Hotch readjusts your pillows and presses the call button for the nurse as you let out a whimper. Soon enough, a nurse makes her way into the room and asks you how you are—brilliant—and what level your pain is at—an eight—before giving you a very welcome round of pain meds.

As your body relaxes and your mind starts to drift, you turn your gaze to Aaron, still by your side. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead softly as you close your eyes. Safe for now.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #cm fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #david rossi #penelope garcia #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #spencer reid #bau #andi writes

[taste-in-music]

My Favorite Albums of 2019

It’s that time of the year again folks! 2019 was year filled with exciting new releases by some of my all-time favorite artists being dropped left and right at an overwhelming rate. Not only that, there were so many debut full-length projects from artists that had been simmering in the EP zone for years, or had otherwise gotten onto my radar from their shorter efforts in years prior. Needless to say, I found this year to be even more enjoyable and enthralling than last year, and last year was pretty great. I’m going to stop rambling. Like last year’s list, this is in no particular order with the exception of the final album, which is my favorite album of the year. 

Dedicated by Carly Rae Jepsen: Part of me was nervous for this album’s release. How could Queen Carly Rae possibly follow up the modern pop masterpiece that is E•MO•TION? However, my nervousness was sated when I heard the single “Now That I Found You,” which, I’m going to say it, is the best pop song of the year. Hands down, no competition even came close. It slams every single time I put it on. The whole album is a lot of fun to listen to, from the glimmering sugar-rush synths on the opening track “Julian” to the playful Popeye sample on “Everything He Needs.” If for any reason you’re still a Jepsen skeptic stuck on her being the “Call Me Maybe Girl,” give this album and E•MO•TION a try and you will realize just how much she has to offer.

My Top Tracks: Now That I Found You, Party For One, Happy Not Knowing

Heard It In A Past Life by Maggie Rogers: This album dropped in January and it’s safe to say it was my first favorite album of the year. I’d been counting down the days to this since falling in love with Now That The Light Is Fading early last year. I made an entire post reacting to this album, and while some of my thoughts have changed since then, I can still say that this project has an array of great folk-pop songs with excellent vocals and lush production. Classics like “Alaska” are always fun to return to, but the deeper cuts are what really shine on this project. The bounciness of “The Knife” cements it as an essential Summer bop, “Say It” is an achingly relatable and sensually delivered unrequited love song, the fluttering opening chorus of angels on “Retrograde” gives me chills every time, and “Back In My Body” reduces me to an emotional wreck.

My Top Tracks: The Knife, Retrograde, Back In My Body

Sucker Punch by Sigrid: Sometimes you just need to listen to something that will make you happy, and this album offers joy in spades. Sigrid’s vocals range from fleeting and emotional to raspy, but are always charming. The production is vibrant and colorful, from the flurry of strings that open “Sight of You” to the splashy sound effects that pepper “Business Dinners” or that giant, stomping chorus on “Mine Right Now.” The hooks on this album are catchy as ever, crawling their way right into your brain and making a home there in the best kind of way. Sigrid is such a reinvigorating presence in the pop world, and while I do wish that she could have made more of a splash stateside, seeing her European success gives me hope for the future.

My Top Tracks: Sight Of You, In Vain, Don’t Feel Like Crying

Keepsake by Hatchie: If I had heard Hatchie’s debut EP Sugar & Spice last year, I’m sure that it would’ve made it onto my year end list. Thankfully, this year we’ve got an album, so I can continue to gush about Hatchie and give her the notoriety she deserves. Her vocals are filled with genuine, love stricken euphoria as they drift over fluorescent, guitar driven soundscapes. Listening to this album feels like floating away on cotton candy clouds, it’s a sugar rush of dreamy indie rock that will sweep you clean off your feet.

My Top Tracks: Stay With Me, Without A Blush, Her Own Heart

WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO? by Billie Eilish: Listen to this thing with a pair of really good headphones and you’ll be in for a whole experience and half, the production is amazing. Not only that, it’s creative. Take the vocal warping on “xanny” and “bad guy,” or the knives scraping along “you should see me in a crown,” or the sample of a dental drill used on “bury a friend.” (The only exception to this is that first track where she takes out her Invisalign. Those slurpy sounds make me cringe every time.) The rest of the albums is pretty great though. Billie Eilish and Finneas O’Connell went and crafted one of the most lyrically tight and sonically textured pop albums this year had to offer, and for that I have nothing but respect.

My Top Tracks: when the party’s over, all the good girls go to hell, bury a friend

Jade Bird by Jade Bird: Jade Bird has been one of my favorite up-and-coming artists of the past year or so, dropping not only the wonderful Something American EP but also a slew of firecracker singles in anticipation for this album. This project contains not only rock bangers that showcase the firepower and grit in Bird’s voice, (“Uh Huh,” “I Get No Joy,” “Love Has All Been Done Before,”) but also softer, somber ballads that allow her lyricism to shine, (“17,” “If I Die.”) This album is a strong debut that showcases not only promise, but prowess as well.

My Top Tracks: Uh Huh, Love Has All Been Done Before, I Get No Joy

Pang by Caroline Polachek: This album transports me to another plane of reality, melding frosty art-pop soundscapes with glistening synths and captivating melodies. Polachek’s vocals are some of the most expressive and impressive of the year, gliding through runs and jumps with ease. Each song feels like its own little world, whether it be the wistful seas of “Ocean of Tears,” the flitting pianos on “Go As a Dream,” or the funky groove of “So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings,” the most instantly addictive song of the year.

My Top Tracks: So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings, Hit Me Where It Hurts, Look At Me Now

Cheap Queen by King Princess: Everything about King Princess’s music and aesthetic is so self-assured and cool that I feel slightly unworthy of being in her presence. That doesn’t mean that this album is devoid of relatability, however, as the lyrics still touch on themes of self consciousness, (like on the opening track, “Tough On Myself,”) and the trials and tribulations of relationships, (”Prophet,” “Ain’t Together.”) The production on this album meshes King Princess’s modern feel with vintage flourishes, such as old vocal samples or record crackles, that come together to give the record a sense of timelessness. 

My Top Tracks: Tough On Myself, Cheap Queen, Hit the Back

Cuz I Love You by Lizzo: From the very first note of the very first song of this album, you know that Lizzo is putting in 1000%. Can we just sit back and thank the powers of good for allowing us to be in her presence? We truly don’t deserve her. This album has everything, from empowerment anthems, (”Like A Girl,” “Tempo,”) to heartbroken ballads, (the title track, “Jerome,”) to roof-raising bops, (”Juice,” “Exactly How I Feel.”) Every element of this project, from the vibrant production to the powerful vocals to the lyrics, emulates such a sense of confidence and love that by the end of each listen I have no choice but to stan both Lizzo and myself. 

My Top Tracks: Cuz I Love You, Juice, Jerome

Atlanta Millionaires Club by Faye Webster: This album is one of the most charming listens of the year, I heard the very first line of the very first song and fell head over heels in love. Faye Webster’s tear-stained R&B-infused folk pop walks the line between catchy and melancholic, joyful and melodic, just perfectly. “Kingston” gets my award for dreamiest song of the year, I can’t think of any other song that is able to put me at ease faster. Whether she’s lamenting about her best friend being her dog or letting Father jump on a track to deliver the chillest rap verse ever, she’s got something you’ll love up her sleeve.

My Top Tracks: Kingston, Jonny, Room Temperature

Norman Fucking Rockwell! by Lana Del Rey: As soon as I heard “Mariner’s Apartment Complex” last year, my expectations for this album skyrocketed through the roof. Needless to say, this album didn’t disappoint, and is in my opinion Lana’s strongest work to date. Norman Fucking Rockwell! features some of the most mature and sharp songwriting, beautiful performances, and sweet melodies of her whole career. The title track works like a diss track, as Lana roasts the subject in question with beautiful eloquence. The lilting syllables on the chorus of “Bartender” allow the song to nestle deep in your brain and stay for a while. The atmosphere of the album reminds me of a cool day in early September, driving down the coastline of rural California, and I adore it.

My Top Tracks: Norman fucking Rockwell, Cinnamon Girl, Mariners Apartment Complex

Don’t Feed The Pop Monster by Broods: What a fun and refreshing listen this turned out to be! Whether it’s with a Summery synthpop jam on “Peach,” the 90s-eque grunge of “Old Dog,” or the heartbroken pleading on “Why Do You Believe Me?” Broods always deliver. While the sound of this project is a bit all over the place, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t cohesive, as it is grounded by the creative force that is the Nott siblings. If you’re on the hunt for some pop that’ll keep you on your toes, then this should be right up your alley. (Also, get some good headphones, wrap yourself up in a fuzzy blanket, and really take in “Life After.” You won’t regret it. That song continuously brings me to tears. Just beautiful.)

My Top Tracks: Peach, Sucker, Life After

Practice Magic and Seek Professional Help When Necessary by Tōth: I think I’ve finally found an album that can finally help define as “warlock music.” I stumbled across Tōth due to his involvement in the band Rubblebucket, (whose song “Fruity” made my favorite songs of the year list last year,) and what a hidden gem his music turned out to be. There’s a kind of sweet peacefulness that inhibits this album that always keeps me coming back for another listen. The lyrics follow a painful breakup and the healing process after, and the tone of the music wonderfully matches the fragility of that state of mind. The instrumentals are soft and somber, but also have some unique elements sprinkled in, (take the trumpet solo on “No Reason” or the clip-clopping groove on “Copilot.) If you need an album to put on to just unwind, give this one a try, I really love it.  

My Top Tracks: Copilot, No Reason, Picture Of You

Good At Falling by The Japanese House: Let’s contextualize my love for this project. When I heard the single “Follow My Girl” last year, it literally made my jaw drop with its beauty. Now, it’s not even my favorite song from this album. The plucky guitars on “You Seemed so Happy” gets me smiling from the very first chord, and the rhythmic rush that follows each chorus in “Wild” makes my heart skitter. Amber Bain’s vocals are coated in their signature layer of slick vocoding, allowing them to drift over the icy soundscapes with ease. Just lovely.  

My Top Tracks: Follow My Girl, We Talk All The Time, You Seemed so Happy

LÉON by LÉON: And here we have it folks, my favorite album of the year. After years of only releasing EPs, LÉON finally delivered her first full-length project, and it did not disappoint in the slightest. This album’s got it all, both the ever-bouncy bops and the heartbroken ballads that make me miss a relationship that isn’t even mine. LÉON's vocals are as warm and smoky as ever, the melodies are instantly catchy, and the lyrics are to-the-point yet endlessly effective. “Hope Is A Heartache” discusses working through possessive feelings following a breakup, and hits like a gut punch every time. Her voice shines on the “Cruel To Care” voice memo, where she sings in one take over a simple plucked guitar. Other favorite moments include the airy, vocoded “Pink,” (an excellent unrequited love song that tunes into my clownery,) and the doo-wop “ooh-woo”-ing add-libs on “Baby Don’t Talk.” 

My Top Tracks: Baby Don’t Talk, Falling, Pink

Also, if Saved by Now, Now had come out this year it would be #1 on this list. 

What were your favorite albums of 2019? Did you listen to any of these albums? Leave your recommendations and thoughts down below.

#album #albums #album of the year #album recommendation #carly rae jepsen #maggie rogers #sigrid #hatchie #billie eilish #jade bird #caroline polachek #king princess #lizzo #faye webster #lana del rey #broods #tōth #the japanese house #LÉON #now now #taste in music #taste in music 2019 faves

[harringtonheartache]

Call It Fate, Call It Karma | Part One

Part Two

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Y/n is one of the Scoops Troop who finds herself in the underground Russian base, and ultimately ends up strapped to the back of Steve Harrington whilst facing imminent death. (Essentially Steve & Robin’s interrogation but the reader is in Robin’s place). 

Warning(s): Stranger Things 3 spoilers, descriptions of blood and violence, cussing

Word Count: 1,951

A/N: I am 100% in fucking love with Steve Harrington. The title is taken from a song by the same name by The Strokes, it’s cute, maybe give it a listen. Request more ST fics if ya want, Steve prompts in particular are appreciated :-). I love my chaos boyfriend. This is a part one! If you bitches want a second part tell me, although I will probably do it anyway because I feel weird leaving this story without a true conclusion. Okay enjoy. 

The next punch to her face hit the air with the sound of a popping balloon. Her hand gripped the underside of the cold metal bench, the cool surface stimulating a sense of relief against her warm palms. This was not the first blow she has received in the past hour, as her expression was painted with reds and blues to match the Fourth of July festivities going on elsewhere. She closed her eyes, tired of fighting a battle with the fluorescent lights that seemed to hang from the ceiling just to cause her discomfort. This was taken as an act of insubordination to the Russian man who crouched before her. He took her whole face in one of his large hands, insistent on holding her full attention. His finger pushed aggravatingly on her swollen eye, an action that heightened the pain in her face. He spoke to her in English, but not even the removal of the language barrier would allow her drained mind to understand what was said to her so sternly. 

Apparently whatever was spoken acted as a preface to a change of location. As her body began being dragged out of the small room, she felt a strange alleviation of fear. While she made sure to remember that they could very well be taking her into a kill room to rid themselves of her as a liability, she took comfort in knowing that one phase of her torture interrogation was over. Her legs followed her upper body limply, her front side facing the ceiling as a large man pulled her like a wagon by the arm. She pulled once against his grip, as if this feeble attempt would grant her an upper hand in anyway. As if it was nothing to him (because it wasn’t), he slung her across the floor in front of him. She slid a good amount, smashing into Steve like two children at the bottom of a sledding hill. 

Their bodies laid there for a second, like two corpses awaiting disposal. Exhausted and half-conscious, Y/n used her knees to turn herself around to face Steve. “St- Steve? Hey, can you hear me?” He was with matching bodily damage, although it was safe to say that he had it a little worse than her during the interrogation phase. Her fingers met his shirt for a second, and she got one tug in before she herself was pulled from the floor and sat in a chair. Her shouts of disapproval were ignored as if they went unheard. Steve was removed from the ground as well, and placed in a chair that met the back of Y/n’s. Being the only one of the two imprisoned who remained conscious, she yelled profusely in displeasure. Much to her dismay, the men funneled out of the room like penguins, leaving them alone for the first time since their abduction. 

“Steve, wake up. Steve please fucking wake up, please. For fucks sake! Steve wake up.” Her voice was strained and weak, matching her worn appearance. She had endured her share of beatings without any urge to cry, but it was in this moment she felt that straining in the back of her throat that was usually followed by tears. “Steve fucking wake up,” the volume of her own voice added slightly to her increasing panic. She stirred indignantly in her chair, hoping that her movement -in addition to her rasping voice- would be enough to steal Steve from his unconscious state. After a few minutes of this, she was rewarded with a sound from him. “Hmm? Y/n?” 

“Steve! Oh fuck, thank you. Steve? Wake up. Are you awake?”

 “Uhhhh uh huh,” he dragged out the “h’s” of his speech, still struggling significantly with being awake. She let out a relieved laugh, but still worried for his physical state. “Are you okay?” She asked. “My ears are ringing, and I can’t really breathe. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but you know, apart from that I’m doing pretty good.” Although laced with sarcasm, the exchange of full sentence-length speech was reassuring. 

She closed her eyes again, this time able to do so without being met with an angry hand to her face. An almost content sigh left her bruised body. “What about you?” He asked. “I’m, uh.. bleeding. But okay,” she told him. Now that he was awake, her mind calmed, and she gave herself a moment to take in the room and weigh their options. There were a few drops of blood notable against the pale tile, a detail that some might overlook. Despite the contrast of the deep red and polished blue, the blood did not look abnormal splashed against the floor. The nature of the room invited spilled blood as a decoration. She leaned her head backwards to rest on Steve’s shoulder, physical contact that was comforting to the both of them. In a moment of dumb concern, she worried about bloodying his work uniform with her face. This maybe a thoughtful fear, had the interrogators been just as considerate in preserving his clothing during his own beating. 

She lifted her head after a minute or so, recognizing that she’d better use her time wisely. While the situation was very much real, she could not picture herself meeting her end in the minute room she sat in, strapped to the back of Steve Harrington. Looking to her left, she counted six metal tools spread out on a tray, like something you would see at the dentist’s office. The first of those six items was a pair of shining scissors. An excited huff of air left her nose as a smile spread across her mouth. “Hey, look to your right. There's a pair of scissors. If we hop together, maybe we can reach them.” It seemed like a solid plan, and Steve was enthused to follow her direction. “Oh shit, yeah let’s try that.”

Two hops in and perhaps feeling a little too confident, a third jump knocked them from their triumphant state and landed them on that pale blue floor. Despite their situation, the cool tile felt nice on their burning faces once they were down there. A drop of blood that had been making it’s way down Steve’s neck had it’s path redirected, and now moved horizontally, painting him a necklace of red. When it reached the floor, it added another splash to the already bloodied tile, looking just as natural as the others had. 

Given the circumstance, cuss words were the only vocabulary Y/n felt were appropriate to spill. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” A fitting trilogy of words. She started off her next sentence with another word from her list of obscenities. “Shit, we’re really dead, huh?”

 “No, no, no, we’re not dying here. We will not die in an underground Russian base that we didn’t know existed twenty-four hours ago,” he told her in a manner that he hoped would convince both of them that it was the truth. Y/n longed to blindly believe him; to be able to take his word for it that they would survive the rabbit hole their curiosity damned them down would be paradisaical. How polite of childish wonder to dig a grave for you (and a friend!). 

“I admire your optimism,” she spoke to him slowly. She felt defeated in every sense of the word. A brief silence fell over the two, but didn’t last as Steve spoke again. “I am optimistic that we will get out of here, but while it still looks like we are facing inevitable doom, can I say something?” He wished that he could read her face, but he remained incapable of doing so whilst strapped to the fallen chair. His hands laid in tight correspondence with one another, although the wraps that held them together with his legs were a sub-concern in comparison to the hurt he felt in his face. His hair had dried significantly since it had stuck to the back of his neck with sweat in the room that he was beaten. It had still managed to frame his face without flaw, although a tad messier than before; it worked for him. Not even a severe assault hindered his hairstyle. He laid stiffly on the floor, still forced into sitting posture from the chair he was tied to. With his head against the floor, his side profile emulated an artistically tragic painting, one that used watercolors to detail the bruises and blood.

Y/n, with her back to him, felt the slight shift in conversational atmosphere with her entire body. “Sure,” she didn’t leave him in much anticipation. An aimless memory had risen to the top of Steve’s consciousness, like bubbles appearing at the surface of a boiling water pot. “Do you remember when you helped me pass senior year English?” Truly a bizarre event to summon to mind when faced with death. Nonetheless, she did remember this. She remembered in great detail. While many found their newly developed friendship a curious occurrence, their personal progression from demodog mercenaries to honest friends was a comfort to both participants. “Yeah,” she reassured him, prompting him to continue. “I would come home actually excited to study, because with you it was fun. I mean, we became friends because all of the end-of-world demodog bullshit, but it was nice to do something normal with you. And you know we’ve hung out a lot since then, and now we are back to our more life-threatening pastimes, but I guess I just wanted to tell you how much fun I had while it lasted,” he said, his voice honeyed. “I know I am totally throwing a wrench in my optimism facade but I had to say it because to be honest, I am not completely sure Dustin isn’t utterly lost in the vents right now,” Steve finished, returning to a more light-hearted way of talking.  

This monologue flared a laugh from Y/n, and one that actually wasn’t tinctured with delusion. “Thanks, Steve. Me too. I agree, it was fun while it lasted. It is weird that it took the end of the world to bring us together.” Another chuckle left her and spread to Steve as well. “Is that pitiful or just fate?” she posed a question. “I’m just going to call it fate,” he said, his voice airy and amused. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps karma was instead more suiting a word. If they were in all actuality saving the world, maybe becoming close with one another was their compensation. To draw a line between inevitable outcome and simple cause and effect seemed unnecessary, though. “If it is at all a comfort, I have a little more faith in Dustin’s navigation skills than you,” she added, her tone conciliatory. 

Their wild cachinnation grew, but was cut short when the Russian men returned to the room. The two were pulled from the ground just as harshly as they had been thrown down. It was then that a syringe was presented to the two of them. The needle sticking out of the top end took the hostages right back down to reality; pulled them from their previous conversation that had acted as a rather effective distraction. It was that needle that put a new, sick thought in Y/n’s head: was it good karma they had acquired, or bad? Maybe they saved Hawkins, or maybe they messed with an entity they were to leave alone. Perhaps their relationship was a reward, or perhaps it was a punishment, for it would end cruelty in torment and death in this small doctor’s office of a room.

#st3 #st3 spoilers #stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington reader insert #joe keery #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #robin #lucas sinclair #el hopper #jim hopper #joyce byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers

[nightsonights]

one shot ii - z.k.

masterlist

summary: a continuation of this imagine. feel free to read that one and then come back!!

warnings: slight cursing.

author’s note: p.s., tired of putting “y/n” as being the main POV so her name is aaliyah ;)

•••

“aaliyah. wake up.”

the voice echoed incoherently through the passing wisps of my fading sensation; urging me out of my perturbed slumber.

with very little self-awareness and energy, i rubbed the lids of my eyes with my palms of my fingers. i peered groggily into the darkness of the unfamiliar room.

in the still absence of light, i could make out the outline of zion’s ghostly figure.

the starts and ends of his plantium ringlets. the plump tissues of his lips. the dark densely laid hairs of his brow ridge.

i watched in hushed trepidation as his low hung eyes flickered over my body hidden beneath the darken blue tones of the guest bed’s duvet.

zion’s sluggish stature stood hesitatingly in the corner of the room; emulating the fictional demons that appeared in childhood nightmares.

“aaliyah,” he spoke again, stepping into the umbra of the street lights outside,“let’s go home.”

*home*

zion and i’s shared space had grew foreign to the memorable tissues of my amygdala.

the space where the decor was the my perfect combination of whites and light blues alongside the occasional unmatched piece of furniture that came as a result of zion’s attempt at interior design.

the pee stain simba left on the living room carpet that never quite got out.

the slightly slanted painting in the bathroom that hung adjacent to the toilet.

the exceeding capacity of the ash tray on zion’s night stand.

the creak of the bedroom door from the slams of frustration.

*home*

i didn’t wanna go home. it didn’t reside in the familiarity that home was supposed to imprint on me. my home was no longer the pee stains or paintings or the creeks in the structure.

home tonight was the foreign, cold sheets of the guest bedroom in someone else’s house. the softness of nick’s embrace. the complicated innocence of his lips. the unsettling recognition that zion didn’t love me anymore.

my new home consisted of sinking my weight into the plush cushions of zion’s fleeting unconditional infatuation.

curling my toes into the fibrous fur blanket of scandalous and revengeful betrayal.basking in the oncoming rays peeking through the curtains of emotional anguish and grief.

*home*

“we don’t have to talk. please, let’s just go home” zion pleaded.

zion’s remorseful offer appealed to the guilt lingering in the forefront of my conscious. i couldn’t tell him.

my mouth could never uttered the words of absolute betrayal. the type of treachery that happened in the most dramatic of Spanish soap operas.

i will hold onto this secret until my breath is staggered and my heart pumped fewer units of blood to my brain. and even then i would never let it slip into the ink of any letter from among my grave.

i knew zion. and i knew he would never forgive me. he would never forgive nick.

this secret would be a liability; a constant enraging anxiety in the back of his mind. it would effect his career and his relationships.

i couldn’t tell him.

i silently pushed away the suddenly overwhelming duvet, leaving my body exposed before the cold air that left goosebumps on the bare of my legs.

i sat up and dragged my feet off the bed. i slipped my feet into the low memory foam pads of my slippers.

digging into my hoodie pocket, i retrieved my keys. i momentarily toyed with the set of keys enclasped within the palm of my hand.

“okay. you drive” i muttered.

•••

zion slipped the gold key into the lock, opening the padded door that revealed the dark living room of our condo.

his long digits searched for the panel on the wall before flicking the switch upwards; the lamps turning on in a symphony of fluorescent rays.

simba’s small paws scratched against the floor as he scurried at the presence of company. he let out a series of loud barks, cheerfully scampering around my feet.

“hi simba baby” i cooed, kneeling down to pet the adorable furball.

i trailed my fingers to the back of simba’s ears and gently rubbed.

i caught the last glimpses of zion’s silhouette as he mutely disappeared down the corridor towards our bedroom. the long familiar high-pitched creak sounded within the silence of the flat before the stern, abrupt close of the bedroom door.

i dishearteningly turned my attention back to simba, who’s playful energy settled down as he found himself slowly crumbling to the floor in pleasure.

“you like that buddy? you should be asleep right now. it’s late” i chastised, continuing to apply pressure to his soft fur. “cmon, let’s go to bed.”

i scooped the large fur ball into my arms. i carried him into the kitchen where his bed resided; gently placing him down onto the mess of small pillows and chew toys.

my fingertips connected with the short curly strands of his coat again; calming his energetic heaving down.

“good night buddy” i departed, switching the lights off on my way out.

i retreated towards the corridor, following the stream of light coming from under the bedroom door. the wood of the door creaked again at my arrival.

zion sat on the bed of bunched up blankets and sheets; joint hanging dangerously between the slips of his fingers.

i watched in intriguing annoyance as he inhaled sharply; letting the smoke seep into the intricate structure of his intercostal muscles.

the pungent earthy suspension of carbon dioxide left me lightheaded as i lifted the sturdy cotton of my hoodie over my head.

i tossed the article of clothing into the laundry hamper before tugging open my draw in search of a tank top. in my peripheral view, i witnessed zion’s reflection fixate on the straps of my bra from the mirror propped up against the dresser.

i ignored his hostile stare and continued to search the folded contents of my draw.

“are you and nick fucking?”

the accusation awakened a jump of bewilderment, causing me to immediately glance up into the mirror at zion’s nonchalant mirrored clone.

he gazed longly at the simmering embers of his blunt as another curl of smoke escaped the full of his lips. my lack of an answer impeded on enjoyment of his marijuana hypothesis.

zion turned towards his ash tray and pressed the cherry against the glass before being met with my antagonistic glare.

“why the fuck would you ask me that?” i snapped defensively.

“just answer the question aaliyah.”

i whipped around to face him, disregarding the need for a shirt.

“no, you don’t get to say you don’t love me and then ask me some fuck shit” i spat.

“i can ask you whatever the fuck i want when you walk into my space with another mans scent on you!” zion exclaimed.

the truth of his words left me in a temporary state of speech paralysis; not sure whether to eclipse into a state of panic or scold myself for being so careless in the attempt to cover up my secret.

my lips quivered in search of a response but the signals possessed by the cerebrum struggled to find one.

he knows. zion knows about my infidelity. my infidelity with his one of his best friends.

a series of prolonged pain surged through the ventricles of my heart as it came to terms with the depletion of my short lived façade.

i was gonna lose my boyfriend. the late night cuddles. his tender kisses. the silly voicemails and text messages. all the tear inducing laughs.

i was gonna lose the love of my life over a moment of accidental fervent inclination.

“wow” zion breathed. his eyes dilated in a wave of horror as he recognized the truth behind my delayed response.

“zion, pleas-“

“no! answer the fucking question.” zion’s voice was stern, his clinched jaw serving as a representation of his inner emotions of insecure rage.

i wiped a lone tear that rolled down my cheek; staring up at the ceiling in hopes that my eyes would stop watering.

“we kissed. nick and i kissed.”

i avoided zion’s expression, not able to handle the shift that this truth would weigh on him. my fingernails dug into the blenched white oak wood of the dresser, waiting for the deafening silence to pass.

i tore my vacant eyes away from the corner of the room and slowly looked over at zion. his eyes narrowed at me with a hard rigidness. there was no trace of tears or incoming punt-up anger ready to explode in fits of broken glass or furniture.

just the unrelenting, still look of a person who no longer viewed me as a friend. as a girlfriend.

i believed if my imagination enhanced its stimulus i could catch a glimpse of the once loving, playful signature of my dread headed lover.

but as of now, as i looked into the dark of zion’s pupils, i could see no longer recognize the man that sat before me.

“zion, i’m so so sorry. it meant nothing. please, j-just say something” i chocked, my voice cracking under the suffocating air of the room.

zion hesitated before his upper lip curled into a nonchalant pout; shaking his head conclusively. “i’m done. we’re done.”

my eyes widened in horror as i watched zion with teary vision lift himself up and make his strides towards the door.

i quickly ran over to obscure his only exit. i blocked the door with my body; fiercely standing my ground.

“move” he ordered, his tone hard and stable.

“no zion. please.”

unable to control my final urges, i leaned forward and cupped his cheeks; pressing our foreheads together. he immediately gripped his large hands around my wrists, ready to tear my hands from his face.

but as we stared into each other’s teary eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“zion. i love you,” i sobbed, firmly pressing the palms on my hands into the soft of his cheeks, “i love you so fucking much. and i’m so sorry. i didn’t want this to happen. i would never ever hurt you like that. please. don’t leave me.”

tears slipped down the olive of zion’s cheeks; finding refuge on the tips of my fingers. he finally pulled my hands away, gently pulling them into the heaving of my chest.

“fuck you. we’re done” he voiced confidently.

and with that, zion slipped past me; door creaking as he closed it behind him.

#prettymuch preference #zion kuwonu preference #prettymuch #zion kuwonu #nick mara #kyla

[spookyspaghettisundae]

All Eyes on You

Maybe it could have been a regular weekend for me, but there’s no way for me to tell if I was the one who screwed everything up. I was a bit hungover from the night before, so my head weighed a ton and every source of bright light made me cringe in pain—whether it was the fluorescent neon tubes overhead or the daylight streaming in through the store’s front windows.

Every single beep of the cashier running items over the scanner at checkout was like a tiny knife being stuck into my skull, over and over and over again, even though I was fairly far away from it, browsing the unnecessary amount of different brands of laundry detergent.

I grabbed some random one that had nice soft colors and chucked it into my shopping cart. It caused the whole thing to shake and rattle and a person pushing past me gave me a dirty look.

Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wasted any thought on this, but today was different. Now, everything was different. Now, as I looked up, and past that guy shooting me the disparaging glance, I realized that everybody in the store was looking at me.

“Feeling watched” would have been the understatement of the century.

It was so weird and jarring that I forgot about the effects of my hangover for the next few minutes. In part because my heart was racing, in part because my mind was going wild with conspiracy theories and rampant paranoia.

Although I pretended to not care or not notice, I could tell that everybody in the store was looking at me at one point or the other. Normally, I would have chalked this up to something silly, like one of my friends having written something on my forehead with a magic marker while I was passed out.

But with what had happened the night before, I knew better. I knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

It didn’t help that some of these people would pretend to not be looking at me, either—furtive glances, eyes quickly darting down to study a shopping list on their phone, or to act like they were looking over grocery items on the shelves. Anything to avoid eye contact with me.

I know what you’re thinking. Just allow me to dial back and explain before you make up your mind.

The night before, I was feeling pretty depressed. I was still pretty new in this town and knew nobody around there. Just some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. The rent on the apartment I had found there was cheap, and the commute to my workplace only an hour which was a vast improvement over my last home.

So I grabbed some beers, drove up to a lonesome little picnic area on the forest’s edge that I had seen on the first day I had visited town when I went to go scout out the apartment a few months ago, and decided to chill out there and watch the sunset after a tedious Friday at work.

The whole day had dragged on at a snail’s pace and I just wanted to unwind and not stare at any screens for a few hours.

I sat there, nursing my first beer, sitting on top of the backrest of the bench like a rebel, when I spotted a mansion near the forest’s edge. I mean, I had seen it before when I first took a drive through this town, but it was only now that I noticed a few funny details about it. And when I say “funny,” I don’t mean the amusing sort.

It had a large red brick wall encircling the entire yard—and that place was as big as a football field. The large mansion matched that appearance, also featuring red bricks and sandstone and wood in its construction, and a lot of unusual details like a tower built into the corner of it. Everything was overgrown with lush green ivy, and there were some nice-looking trees on the property.

So far, so idyllic.

The weird part were the men in green camo clothing, carrying what I think were assault rifles. They patrolled around the inside of the walls, so it was no wonder I hadn’t seen them when I drove through town earlier that year, but being up on the hill at the forest’s edge gave me some elevation and allowed me to see over the walls somewhat.

They were all pretty big-looking dudes. I pegged them for soldiers or something like that—though my imagination wandered to this being a mafioso’s estate and these guys being some well-armed thugs.

It would make sense for some gangster boss to be living well out on the countryside where everything’s nice and quiet, right?

I downed two whole beers and while I had been trying to distract myself with unpacking everything that had happened over the course of the week—both at work and in my personal life—my curiosity got the best of me.

I had to know what the hell this mansion was.

With a simple plan in mind, I packed up everything, and drove back down from the picnic site, now taking a detour so I could casually roll past the mansion. A large steel gate obscured any way of seeing into the mansion’s premises, which was frustrating. In my mind’s eye, I had expected one of those metal fence gates that you can see through, but this one was just a solid surface instead.

Tossing out my original plan, I parked my car across the road by the grass, got out, and walked over. You may be thinking that I was crazy, and I can assure you I am. I was always a bit of a tomboy growing up, and I possessed a fearlessness that got me into trouble every now and then—and because I always got away with playing dumb or innocent, I always got away with my shenanigans and I never learned. Not until this day.

I pressed a button by the gate that I figured to be a buzzer and waited.

Within seconds, a small metal slot opened on the gate, from which a man wearing sunglasses peered through, and it was so sudden and swift in response to my pressing that button that I nearly choked in surprise.

“Yes?” asked the man behind the gate.

“Uh, I was, uh, I was,” I started stammering until my wit finally kicked in. “I was up at the picnic site up here to relax and I had no reception on my phone whatsoever, but I need to make an important call. I figured I could ask here if I could use your land line, or something?”

I slung out my phone and waved it around like a magic wand while flashing this man a dumb smile and shrugging. He looked over his shoulder as if he was responding to someone behind him, but he didn’t say a word. I think he looked up at the picnic site and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Because he turned, though, I saw a weird tattoo on his neck: just a single eye.

Not like I know anything about ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, but if I had to describe it, that’s what it reminded me of. No fancy elaborate details, just a simple eye. Wide open.

His head turned back with a painful slowness. I could sense the gears churning behind his forehead.

“My phone’s got reception just fine,” said the man. “Here, you can borrow mine.”

I guessed my charm had worked its magic. He held out his phone through the small slot, offering it to me.

Realizing way too late that all of this was a terrible idea, I glanced at my phone and flicked its display on, then chuckled—way too nervously, I presume, “Hey, look at that! I got a bar back. Maybe it was just up at the woods that was not working out for me. Thanks, though.”

The guard slowly withdrew his phone and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could have sworn he was glaring at me. I smiled back at him, hoping to disarm any ill will, and started getting really scared about this being some sort of gangster hideout.

“Have a nice day,” he said. But it sounded more like a threat.

He shut the slot with lightning speed and I turned to leave, holding up my phone and pretending to make a call. I yapped away into the void of the non-existent phone call, cringing at my pathetic attempt at emulating a one-sided conversation and the resulting blandness, until I had gotten into my car and slammed the door shut behind me.

My palms were sweaty and cold when they clasped the steering wheel and stick, and I drove away. I was pretty rattled for the rest of the evening although I got back home without any further incident. On the whole ride home, I kept looking into my rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed. And in my paranoia, I thought that some people on sidewalks were shooting me looks, but I dismissed it at the time.

Back at home, I drank the rest of my beers and distracted myself with lousy TV shows until fell asleep.

Then I woke up the next morning, sporting the splitting headache, and decided that things couldn’t be so bad. Because, hey, when it feels like gremlins are pounding the inside of your skull with a jackhammer and your brain’s a funny soup, a lot of worries stop existing. With that state of mind, I went to do my grocery shopping for the week.

And now—this. Everybody watching me. In the confines of my own head, I was calling myself names and cursing myself out for being such a paranoid idiot. There was no reason to be afraid.

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Even outside, as I put my groceries in the trunk, I knew that even the people driving in and out of the small parking lot were looking at me.

Watching me.

Worse: I saw that tattoo again. On someone’s forearm. Some lady returning an empty shopping cart to the storefront. She never looked at me directly, but with my back turned to her, I had felt a burning gaze transfixed upon me.

What the hell was this? As an avid reader of strange fiction and horror movie enthusiast, I immediately thought they had to be some sort of cult. What if this entire town was run by a cult? Stranger things have happened.

This was all so surreal. I felt very small and like I was just a passenger in my own body. Everything tingled. My fingers felt numb.

I drove home and shut myself in for the rest of the weekend. I tried to distract myself with TV and video games and even talking to a friend who lived halfway across the country, but nothing helped. I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking that this entire town was crazy and that I was being watched now. I even started getting paranoid if they could tap into my phone or hack my computer, so I avoided telling my friend about anything I had witnessed here.

Just shot the breeze about how life had been for her lately, and put up a good show in pretending that everything was normal on my end.

Come Monday morning, I snuck out of my home and got into my car. Paranoia got the better of me again, so I started checking my ride quite thoroughly, not caring if I would be late for work that day. I had watched too many stupid shows to not think that someone might have tampered with my car. I checked to see if the brakes were working, if there were any bugs, pawing underneath my seats for foreign objects, you name it.

I’m not any sort of professional and if anything was there, I probably missed it. But hey—I tried. Still, I found nothing.

After wasting half an hour on this exercise in futility, I drove off. I never felt so exhilarated to go to work as that day. Because work, for the first time, felt like an escape from something worse. It also felt like an escape from my own head, because I was questioning my own sanity. Surely, the whole town couldn’t be in a cult, right?

I cranked up the music on my radio and sang along to a song I normally hated. And I felt good. For a short while, at least.

It stopped when I drove down the road I usually take to leave town to go to work. A nice narrow road meandering through the wooded area, just like the ones you see in horror flicks.

There was a roadblock in the way once I rounded a curve, with a small jam of cars lined up in front of it. Two police cars obstructed the path and there were some officers standing beside them, one of them talking to the driver in the car at the front of the line. My heart sank, plummeting right into my gut region. I could feel my belly pulsing with my accelerated, anxious heartbeat.

I wonder—does everybody get as nervous as I do whenever I see cops nearby? It’s not like I’d ever done anything wrong, but it had always made me nervous. Even under normal circumstances. Even before this weekend.

But today was different. The events of this weekend had multiplied my paranoia—they had mutated it. If this whole town was run by some weird cult, what if the cops were in on it? What if they were looking for me?

Right when one of the cars was let past the roadblock and drove off, I panicked. I steered out of line and made a U-turn, swerving back onto the road with screeching tires and driving off. It took me a few moments to realize in retrospect that this made me grind my teeth and may have been a stupid move, but I started speeding up and driving away.

The trembling started when I saw a cop car show up behind me, half a minute later. They let the siren wail at me for a split second to grab my attention, and used their blinker to signal me to pull over.

With growing dread, I planned to play along, but step on the gas if things went south.

Even with all the adrenaline rushing through my body, and my attempts to stop my trembling by gripping the steering wheel way harder than natural, I gently steered the car as best I could, driving it onto the roadside and letting it roll to a stop. But I kept the engine running.

A police officer emerged from the car behind me and approached. His hand was resting on the gun at his hip and I wondered if my running motor had anything to do with that.

Or because of this damned cult. Or whatever the hell was going on here.

I rolled down my window once he had arrived there and he looked me up and down. My resolve crumpled and I cut the engine as a token of good will.

“License and registration, please?” asked the police officer in a gravelly voice.

His whole posture was rigid, like a statue—his body language tense. So was I.

Remembering what can go wrong in such an encounter, I carefully leaned over to retrieve the documents from my purse and hand them over. I could feel him watching me all the while, and for the first time in days, I felt like someone watching me was the appropriate action, given the circumstances.

I handed the cop my license and papers and he looked them over, his hand now finally away from the gun, and taking off some of the edge. He studied my face after inspecting my ID.

Then he handed back everything.

“Pardon the interruption, ma'am. Have a nice day,” he told me, and swiveled.

Right when he was walking away was when I saw the tattoo on his neck. The eye—staring at me. Almost as if the damned tattoo itself was watching me.

I never believed in the supernatural or UFOs or any such bunk. But my paranoia was really taking me for a ride now, and I questioned everything I believed in.

When I revved up my engine again and drove off, I still felt the officer’s eyes on me.

Anyway, now you know. That’s how—and why—one day, I bounced from that awful little town, leaving all my belongings behind. How I drove halfway across the states, and started a new life after changing my name.

I’d tell you the town’s name so you can avoid it, but I keep seeing that tattoo in my nightmares. In some of them, it’s like people have an extra eye on their body where there shouldn’t be one, in place of that tattoo. Like the skin breaks open and some bloodshot, weird eye stares at me. Always the same eye.

I still feel watched out in public sometimes. Hell, sometimes I even feel like someone’s watching me at home. I know I should talk to a therapist about this, but I’m afraid they won’t believe me. Or worse.

I got an anonymous call from someone telling me not to talk about what I had seen, but I had to get this off my chest, and maybe nothing bad will happen if I don’t tell you where this was.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #creepy #watched #stalker #eye #tattoo #eyes #conspiracy #paranoia #fear #cult #isolation #helplessness #middle of nowhere #nightmare #unnatural #supernatural #warning #new life #us and them

[benbarnesescape]

Part 1: Co-Ed Problems

AU Frat!Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: Language

A/N: I wrote this a while ago and then found it again when I was trying to debate which Billy story to update so I’m sorry but this won’t be a story I start and kill...just add it to the rotation.

Let me know if you want to be tagged! Also banner created by me so please don’t use for your own. 

He’d grown up.

No longer a snot nosed, loud, lanky obnoxious kid that had grown up with you in the Bronx. The kid that was always pulling at your perfectly braided pigtails that your mom had tightly woven together since you were five, or found pleasure in convincing you to go bug hunting down by the marina on hot summer days.

Nope that Billy was gone.

Sitting a few tables in front of you in the library, body hunched over his laptop as he typed furiously, flipping through pages of the thick textbook beside him was a new version of Billy.

A Billy you hadn't seen since he got adopted at the start of middle school on a hot August day, not saying goodbye but delivering the news through your mother. Never to be seen or heard again - at least to you.

Which had been fine because you hadn’t mourned his leaving too much.

Except now he was sitting in front of you in the Colombian library, a frat sweatshirt, Delta Sigma Phi and sweats His hands were running through that thick mane of his hair that he was always trying to tame, none the wiser to your presence.

Billy ‘the beaut’ Russo.

You try to focus on your Theater in the Modern World book, you really do. But you can’t not keep flickering your eyes up to him, to the scrunched way his forehead knits together as his dark eyes read passage over passage. The way he bites his lips in concentration, the bulge of his bicep that peeks from his rolled up sleeves.

Fuck.

Billy had not only lived out his prophecy but did so ten-fold. A beaut indeed.

You dedicate ten more minutes before you throw in the towel. There was no way you were going to be able to finish a paper fully if you stayed here - you had better chances getting it completed in your room with your headphones blaring.

If that was what it would take, that was what it would take.

You pile your laptop in your bag, your books. Grab the half eaten coffee cake you had started in on and the empty large Americano you had downed thanks to Billy’s handsome form.

Its just when you’re standing that your phone buzzes in the your hand and you’re going to ignore it but the large bold letters that spell out Dinah causes you to pause, to re-shift the items in your hands.

You had texted her the minute you realized the hot co-ed you had been checking out was Billy. She had grown up with you, been your best friend since the second grade when she had punched Billy in the nose for making you cry and you knew wouldn’t believe you.

D: No way its B. Russo. I heard he got sent off to military academy

Y: Well then it served him good because I swear he was sitting across from me wearing a Delt Sig sweatshirt

D: Was? Where’d he go!?

Y: He’s still there

D: ……. Don’t leave

Y: He’s distracting! He’s fucking handsome now. All that those awkward features long gone

D: Then go say hi!

You pause mid stride. You were halfway to where he was sitting, still oblivious to your presence.

You could.

It wouldn’t hurt.

It just felt awkward.

You tell Dinah as much as you move again.

Y: That feels…...awkward

D: Does it? C’mon go say hi. For me.

Y: you hated Billy

D: Yea but there’s an excuse to go say hi

Y: With you not around so he knows I’ve been checking him out for 20 minutes? No thank you

D: C’mon Y/N don’t be a little b -

You don’t finish reading the rest. In perfect fashion you’re body has naturally steered of course, running flush into the chair in front of his table, causing you to double over. Your empty coffee cup rolls onto the glossy wood, your coffee cake flinging onto the ground your backpack nearly toppling you over more than you already were.

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Billy always did have beautiful eyes. Hickory brown, bold and calculating they could break you down to your core before building you back up again. It used to infuriate you when it worked in your disadvantage - like in 5th grade when you were asked if you liked him and you tried with all your heart to lie.

You knew he knew when you had fumbled through the lie back then, though he didn’t reveal it. Instead he had smiled at you knowingly, rolling his eyes and running away.

He always seemed to know things when it came to you.

Just like now, when something behind dark irises clicked, familiarity and he frowns as he mutters out,

“Y/N? Y/N Arden?”

You groan as you look up from your place on the table, torso still hunkered over the oak chair, backpack digging into your neck.

“Is it that obvious?”

He looks at you for a few seconds before he laughs, pushing out of his chair as he lets out,

“I mean, do you honestly want my opinion?”

You groan more as you shake your head no, bracing your arms to help you stand up,

“Save me the embarrassment. I’m sure half of Columbia knows by now.”

You’re referencing the few students who have pulled out their phones, posting it on whatever social media site they favored. Lucky you.

Hopefully your ass in the sky and your backpack covering your face can save you the shame.

“Nah it’ll be old news soon. This is New York - nothing ever sticks.” Billy is on his knees picking up your coffee cake, the old recyclable cup that you had been sipping on.

“Oh man that was going to be ¼ of my dinner.” You eye the coffee cake sadly as Billy wraps it in the thin plastic and he laughs as he throws it in the cup, shakes his head.

“First or second dinner?”

You snort as you grab your phone, ignore the splurge of texts that have gone through from Dinah.

“Second - duh. It's the perfect midnight, dessert snack…..”

You shoot your eyes up to him as he laughs, shaking his head,

“You really are Y/N. You had the healthiest appetite I have ever seen on a human.”

“Food is amazing.” you narrow your eyes at him. You don’t mean to be rude but you were also insecure about your healthy eating habits.  You were a woman - society had trained you to hate your body despite how well you took care of it and though you exercised and kept active you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

He raises his hands  in peace,

“Hey, hey I come in peace. It wasn’t meant to be rude - I have always been genuinely impressed by your appetite.”

You blink slowly, before shaking your head.

“You are definitely Billy Russo. Only idiot that would know how to compliment a girl with an insult.”

“Ouch. And there is the punch.” he pretends to cover up his heart in pain and you roll your eyes though you can’t help the smile that follows,

“Anyways...I gotta go. Speaking of dinner it's close to it and I’m starved.

Nice to see you again.”

You don’t wait for him to answer, swiftly moving past him. You had embarrassed yourself enough for one day and the last thing you needed was to continue to do so in front of the neighborhood kid that you used to pick on you.

You scamper down the stairs, reading over Dinah’s texts when you hear a faint voice behind,

“Y/N! Wait up.”

You stop halfway through the library lobby, a lot louder and less conspicuous in the bright, fluorescent light as Billy’s lithe frame navigates his way through the crowd.

“Did I drop something back there?”

Billy laughs, huffing a bit and shaking his head,

“No just - you don’t want to catch up? I haven’t seen you in like...what nine years and you aren’t curious at all to where I moved to?”

You cross your arms,

“Billy - my life has never been about how I was going to ever recover from Billy Russo moving from my block. Oh wait, I’ll re-frame that,” you clear your throat, throwing a hand on your forehead as you emulate your best southern accent, “Oh my gahd my heart has finally recovered from the devaSTATION of Billy Russo departing from my life. HowEVER did I live without him.”

Billy smiles at you, all teeth that sparkle in the light and his eyes glowing as he claps his hands,

“You were always a really good actress.”

“Whatever do you mean?” you dont drop the accent as he shakes his head knowingly,

“I didn’t mean it like that for once. I meant - you’re one of the few people back from the old days that I’ve missed and I’ve always wondered where you got off too and…..it just feels like….

Let me treat ya to dinner? I know this great place and they serve the best dim sum.”

You tilt your head, look down at the time on your phone. Technically it was dinner  time and technically a bag of ramen and maybe a cracked egg (unless Dinah had gotten into them) was on your menu. Moving off campus your third year had been liberating but also re-humbling.

“Fine Russo. But I expect beer with this amazing dim sum.” you say pointedly and he laughs and nods,

“Deal.”

Tag List

@ rockintensse @missphanosaur18 s @ninjathrowingstork @charlieimaginesstuff @ benbarnesfanforever @ladyblablabla @deerprongs @ugh-my-back @padfootagain @aylinnmaslow  @ marauderskeeper@caitlyn-blackwell  @princessderavenclaw @starlesskyox @thesandbeneathmytoes @ marauderskeeper @ youveseen–thebutcher@xgminigypsy@iheartbinbons @just-nikkii

#ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy the beaut #the punisher #billy russo au

[mysticsparklewings]

Sparkle By the Sea

Pardon me as I just barely squeeze a MerMay piece of art in. I'll be honest with you guys, I've been pretty lacking in artistic motivation since NaPoWriMo ended. Although if you've noticed my lack of uploads, you probably could've already guessed that.  This isn't abnormal for the aftermath of a month-long challenge for me, especially with a brand-new video game calling my name at every moment of the day, but even so I feel like this particular motivation drought was a bit different. Part of it definitely had to do with the changes to DeviantArt that I'm sure I don't need to remind everyone of, but that's been more of me dreading seeing what the state of the community is than anything else. (However, I have noticed I'm not a fan of the new tag system over the old category one, as confusing as the category system could be sometimes.) Rather, I think this lake of motivation has more to do with the fact that being largely absent from all social media during NaPo reminded me...well, that I hate social media. This is really a bigger discussion for a journal or something, but suffice to say it did not feel good to realize just how many literal hours I had previously been spending trying to desperately to scrape up just a little bit of support on other social media platforms (namely Twitter), versus the more natural growth I see here on dA that also feels a lot more genuine and less forced/obligatory. I can't really explain it, but that reminder/realization really helped my brain slip back into a place where I felt like creating again. And with that, I'll transition into talking about the art and save the social media talk for, as I said, a journal or something later on. Naturally, I've been seeing a lot of mermaid art this month and every year I feel the urge to get in on the fun, though I know better than to try actually doing the MerMay Challenge (especially not this year after having just done NaPo), so I usually either do a one-off drawing or if I'm too busy with other projects I just skip it. But I was starting to feel that need to make art in my brain again and I've had a specific set of stickers from the dollar store sitting in my stash for quite a while now that more or less sealed the deal for me. How do these stickers fit into the mix? Well, I originally fell in love with/picked them up because they are mermaid-themed and absolutely adorable--See for yourself! And I thought they would make for nice decals in a book project since they're wall stickers and therefore repositionable with minimal adhesive-yuck. And at first, I thought maybe I'd end up making them into said hypothetical book project in time for MerMay...except that felt a little cheap in combination with my lack of uploads. Did I really want to come back with a book project featuring mermaids I didn't even draw? And for MerMay of all things? So I sat on the idea and left the stickers out where I could see them, and eventually I sat down and took a closer look at them. The art style, upon further inspection, actually didn't look like it would be too far outside my usual art-making realms...Most of the coloring looks a lot like watercolor, except for the skin which I thought was flat and smooth like alcohol marker and the glitter accents which from my perspective pretty much had to be digital, but could potentially be replicated with glittery/metallic supplies... And that was the moment the idea hatched.  I decided I'd try drawing a mermaid myself in the same style. This would work for MerMay, have something to do with the stickers, and based on my plans would work well for me as a mixed-media project, which as I'm sure I've said before is where I think my artistic talent shines best. I thought the scariest part was going to be replicating the looser and less strict line style, and to a point it was, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. I find it's usually kind of tricky to explain this, but really what this part of the process boils down to for me (if I'm replicating an existing style and not using my own), is really just studying the original artwork(s) and looking for patterns, then trying to stick to those patterns. For example, the style here features fairly large & rounded faces, and the hands are more like hand-shaped mittens (which was great news by the way because hands are always a pain in the butt for me), so I did my best to emulate those features. As per usual, I did start with a sketch, but I tried to keep it looser than usual, and then when I did the inking I started with my 0.2 Micron, again trying to keep things loose and no be too fussy if I could help it. Then I went back with a brush tip liner from Prismacolor to get more natural variation in the lines and to force myself to not have quite so much control over the line weight. I was also very careful with my choice of liners because I knew pretty much everything except the skin was going to see a lot of watercolors, which meant the lines had to be waterproof. And of course, I went with watercolor paper (my nice 100% cotton stuff this time) to make sure I didn't have any issues with blending or layering. Now, at this stage, I didn't know what I was going to do for the background, though I was leaning towards the idea of making one separately and placing the mermaid on top afterward, as sort of a nod to the original mermaids being stickers. But I wasn't totally sure yet. What I was sure of was how scared I was to just dive into coloring. The sketching and inking and gone so well I was thinking I was in for a rude awakening at any moment. So, just in case, I scanned my uncolored lines as a fall-back if I royally screwed up. With my paranoid mind set at ease (for the most part), I could begin with color application. I started with the skin since it was the easiest; Just one good layer of alcohol marker, leaving a little white space here and there like the artwork I was emulating. Although 1. The marker color turned out a bit darker than I was expecting and later blended too well with her tail, so I had to lighten it in Photoshop, and 2. because watercolor paper really soaks up the ink, I ended up with less white space than I thought I would. But beyond that, this step went off without a hitch. So then came the second-scariest part: The watercolor. I used a mixture of my Master's Touch watercolors and Mermaid Markers (yes, that was a very conscious supply choice ) and tried to take my time and be mindful of the color balance I was looking for. I'd decided ahead of time that I wanted to try and stick with a soft-ish palette like the original art, but I still wanted my choices to be different. Since yellow/gold is featured in the original but not used for a tail color, that's what I went with, and I opted for the blue-y-purple hair since a soft blue and purple are also prominent in the original and based on color-theory would be a nice contrast to the gold-orange tail. Though I did also try to get some pink in both the tail and the hair for a bit of unity and calling back to the pink in the original art. The trickiest part with the coloring was actually the tiny lips and blush spots. I ended up using a fluorescent pink for that turned out as more of a red originally and had to be touched-up via Photoshop because of that and also because of the lightening I did to the skin. It's more that it was a bit of a challenge to get the shapes of these much smaller areas right and in the correct place, since I had to use very minimal pencil markings, lest I end up with nasty graphite marks mixed into the paint. Getting the hair to be dark enough without being extreme compared to the rest of the drawing was also a great test of patience, but it ultimately worked out, I think. I also had a hard time deciding what color the piece of coral in her hair should be, which is why it ended up as this vague dusky-orange color. And I got more pink on the sand dollar next to it than I intended, but neither of those things is a huge deal. While I waited for all that to dry though, I had to decide how I was going to go about tackling all that extreme sparkle the original art had. I could have just added it in digitally and not even attempted it traditionally, but everything else had gone so smoothly that I decided to push my luck this time. Originally, I started with just glittery gel pens, but I found pretty quickly that they were sinking back into the colors underneath them too much and thus just weren't doing what I wanted. I wanted high-impact sparkle. After some brief consideration, I turned to the metallic watercolor sets I have made by Art Philosophy, which are very high-impact metallic and pretty opaque, which would work well over my failed gel pen and would work wonders for the areas where I wanted that high-impact over an opposing color. (I.E. Where I wanted the blue sparkle over a very orange-yellow area, which would normally make brown mud if the color on top wasn't opaque.) The funny part about that is that I originally used a different shade of purple and gold for those areas of sparkle that I ended up completely covering with different shades (the purple needed to be lighter and the gold needed to be darker/more gold and less yellow). And her eye shadow cover saw all three colors before I settled; The purple just seemed wrong, and the gold blended too well with her skin. I thought the blue wouldn't work so close to her blue hair, but it actually ended up looking the best out of the three. Although, I do have to make a full disclosure that the high-impact sparkle you see here is in fact where I went in and re-did it digitally once I scanned the artwork in. Unfortunately, glitter and metallic supplies just don't scan very well and usually end up looking too dark, dull, or flat by comparison. The metallic paints work just fine in person since you can move the art and see how they reflect the light, but it just doesn't work in a still image that's been captured by having a bright light uniformly shined over it. Still, re-tooling the sparkle digitally ended up being an interesting challenge, especially since it's been a fairly long time since I was messing with digital textures like this. Also worth noting is that I had to re-paint some of the metallic areas because they weirdly lifted off onto the plastic cover I used to protect the art when I pressed it onto the background to make the glue stick. I'm not sure if it's because those were the extra-layered areas and they hadn't fully dried all the way down to the paper, or if that particularly plastic just picks up this metallic paint really easily or what. And speaking of that background... Like I said earlier, I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do for a background for a while, but after reviewing my mermaid-centric Pinterest board I decided a simple rock seat and something to vaguely suggest the ocean/water without getting too detailed would suffice just fine. Based on that, I felt like using gouache would work nicely (and I just really felt like using the gouache since I don't find a lot of opportunities to use it) and that a color scheme that flipped her hair and tail colors would be best for the effect I wanted. I've found I really like the Strathmore 400 series mixed media paper for gouache because of how smooth it is, so I cut a piece down to size and got busy. For the most part, I just kind of went in with the colors doing whatever felt right, and trying to use some gouache I'd already mixed from past projects (since gouache can be reactivated and I've found this kind, in particular, seems to reactivate really nicely) either on their own or to mix the colors I felt like I needed. And I also tried to do a lot of blending straight on the paper to get more variations in color and make things a bit more lively. Oddly enough, this ended up being a good example of gouache's covering power because I accidentally started applying the colors upside down--using more greens and blues on top and more pinky-purple on the bottom--and not only had to flip the paper around but also had to do a fair amount of covering the colors I'd already put down with colors you don't really want to mix with them because they don't make very pretty results.  But it worked out just fine, so yay! I also added some clouds for a little extra ambiance, which I think looks quite nice. Believe it or not, the most difficult thing about the background was the rocks. I spent far longer than I care to admit (or bothered to document, for that matter) trying and in many ways failing to mix the proper shades of gray I wanted, and the end result didn't turn out quite as clean and graphic as I had hoped, but by the time I put the mermaid on top, you really can't tell because you can only see a fraction of what's actually there.  And I mean, the end result isn't terrible, it's just not quite what I was picturing in my mind's eye is all. Personally, I know it's kind of an odd choice, but I really like how there's no defining line between the water and the sky, and yet you still get a clear idea that they're separate and the rocks aren't just floating in space. I'm not sure how, but I think I'd like to work with this kind of ambiguity more often. It's like a step between abstract and more structured art. Anyway. With the background done, the next step was to attach the mermaid, which I felt like doing in a more 3D and less flat manner, so I chopped up a cardboard box that previously held a chocolate bunny I had on hand and glued some pieces together to boost the mermaid up a bit. This where those deep shadows between her and the background are coming from.   Here I feel the need to insert a comment about how difficult it was to get my tacky glue to dispense the glue for me, though there's a chance this is because I need to poke the opening in the tip to be a bit wider. (You have to poke it open yourself and I always felt like I never did get it open quite enough...unless you like strenuous hand exercises...) Of course, once all the above was done then I had to scan the art in, which I was admittedly a bit nervous about after the incident with the plastic cover peeling off the metallic paint (though fortunately, the scanner glass didn't have the same effect), and then all that was left wad the digital retouches. Overall, I'm really happy with how this turned out. It doesn't blend in as well as I originally wanted it to with the original art, but in the end, that doesn't really bother me. It's just a nice piece of art on its own that is also unique from what I normally do...except it's still got a lot of similar elements to how I normally make art. It feels a lot like the days when all I made was fanart. The key difference here is that I know myself better as an artist now and thus can use that knowledge to my advantage. I can't promise this a return to regular posting for me, though I do hope it's a gateway to me posting more frequently at least, but I can say I do intend on getting back to working on art more often and therefore being more present online again. At the very least, I can happily tell you guys that I have a couple of new art supplies en route to me that I've been wanting for a while and am excited to share with you once they arrive.  If nothing else, we at least have that to look forward to! ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#mermay

[minimonojoon]

night drive | ksj

g e n r e: just pure, unadulterated fluff, friends to lovers!au. p a i r i n g: groomsman!seokjin x bridesmaid!reader w o r d s: 3k+ words. s u m m a r y: coming back from your best friends’ wedding, the last thing you’d ever expect is seokjin confessing his love for you.  w a r n i n g s: it can cause cavities, but other than that, none. a / n: this is just 3k words but to me feels like they’ve been 6k and more, lol. Surprisingly, I kinda like the way it came out, so I’m pretty satisfied with it! I really hope you enjoy it, because I put all myself into it despite its shortness - well, it’s technically a long drabble.. but still. An huge, big, fat shout out to @kyut-tea for bearing with me and hyping me up so much these past days. She’s an angel and she deserves the world, truly. Go read her fics! <3 

This, so far, has been one of the best nights of your entire life.

As predictable as it might sound, the dearest memories you jealousy custody in your heart can be counted in just one hand, and your best friend’s wedding definitely gained a place right there. 

You couldn’t ask anything better for a night to end like this, the crisp air of the late night coming from the window of the black pick-up brushing your hair and kissing your warm skin. It’s like a damn movie scene, one from the comedies about life, love and transition phases, which philosophical quotes everyone on the internet post about and (guilty from hair to foot) you so dearly love.

The content smile on your face slowly surfaces as you outstretch your arm out, feeling the chilly air passing through your fingers and caressing the wind like you’d do with waves in the sea. Fighting the tiredness that threatens your eyelids to close, you recollect the memories of the evening with a soft chuckle, as the loud cheering and the embarrassing chants to celebrate the newly married birds you’ve sing till your voice croaked reverberates in your ears, the tingling of glasses whenever someone proposed a toast – which where many, much to your dismay for your current state of inebriation.

You stifle a laugh, remembering how Taehyung broke an entire bottle of champagne treating the main table where he and Jimin sat like a ship ready to sail. Brushing your morbid lilac dress still sticky with gold liquid, you can’t stop thinking how good you feel.

“Thought you were more the angry type of drunk person, not the crazy one,” Seokjin snorts with a quirk of his eyebrows, as he checks the route in rearview mirror before he overtakes one of the few cars you’ve encountered so far. His eyes are focused solely on the street, but you don’t miss the way his eyes tingles with mischievous amusement.

“I think throwing Friskies at people because they don’t agree with you can be classified as both angry and crazy drunk type of person,” you retort with a smirk on your face, your habits as a drunken person quite well illustrated as stories to embarrass you by your small group of friends. “But in this case, I was just thinking about Taehyung improvising himself some kind of authority ready to inaugurate some ship, like it’s 1912 or something,” you emulate his gesture of breaking the bottle with a very much crazy look in your face, teeth exposed in Taehyung’s typical wide, boxy smile.

“That little shit almost dirtied my clothes,” Seokjin tsks, “sometimes I think he likes to copy Namjoon too much.”

“Nah,” you retort, pointed finger up as an elementary teacher correcting his students, “he just follows whatever Jungkook does. And Jungkook loves imitating Namjoon.” Your laugh erupts inside the car, as well as Seokjin’s, thinking how the youngest of your group have unconsciously chosen the blondeish boy as his guru for life. What a dismay for him, but such a source of amusement for you.

“Can’t believe he’s married now,” Seokjin sighs, as you mold your body to the seat, searching for warmth and comfort. “With Jimin, of all the people,” you shake your head this time, sharing a knowing look with him.

“Could you ever imagine?” He jokes.

Jimin and Taehyung are like day and night. Opposite to each other, yet without the other time wouldn’t be the same, nor the sky would shine bright as it does now. They literally illuminate the whole room with their love whenever they’re around and not in a sicky lovey-dovey style. Although their bickering has always been both frustrating and exhilarating – more one than the other, to your opinion – the love and support they give each other is something that makes you both envious and ecstatic at the same time.  

Smiling bittersweetly, you mentally count all the times your relationships have miserably failed. Out of love, misunderstandings, different plans for the future were some of the reasons you knew, deep down, where just mere excuses for fleeing yourself from what ended up being just distractions whenever you realize the excitement of meeting a new person vanished like a camp fire.

You’ve never looked at one of your lovers with the same passion and adoration Taehyung does whenever he sees Jimin dancing on stage or in class, when he’s teaching new choreography to his students. That look has always been reserved to one person only and right now he’s sitting next to you, driving yourselves home.

Seokjin’s big dark eyes glint in the night, illuminated by the faints lights of the car’s controls in front of him, the first buttons of his white cottoned shirt loosen and his hair still damp from the previous dancing. You can’t help thinking about how effortlessly gorgeous he is and how you seem to be unable to pry your eyes from his form before he realizing you’re observing him.

Despite being friends since college years, having someone else handling with you the volcanoes that were Jimin and Taehyung was much of a relief, especially when the two of you formed a great team to balance your student, social and jimyung life (the nickname is cringy and creepy, yet Seokjin found it extremely amusing when he created it and you, always the soft heart, just let him pass with this one). Yes, to most of the people out there you might sound crazy, yet Taehyung has always been there for you and you know he will always be. And you’re no less, even if it means holding his hand while he’s crying because Jimin said he didn’t like fluorescent turquoise as their bathroom painting color, while Seokjin was comforting Jimin in the other room.

It’s a cycle that always repeats itself, really. You’re sure you wouldn’t survive this alone if Seokjin wasn’t there with you.

“Are you just admiring how the moonlight shine on my flawless handsome face?”

Your cheeks heat up immediately at his teasing, your heart thunders inside your chest because in his cocky and confident remark he’s right. You dismiss your current turmoil with a scoff, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “I was just noticing how disgustingly sweaty you are,” it’s a big, damn lie yet your grimace seems prettily convincing with how Seokjin’s mouth opens, offended to the heart.

“I went to the bathroom before leaving!” he whines, pursing his lips as you try to hide the giggle that threatens to erupt from your mouth. As a revenge, his hand reaches your tight and squeezes the supple flesh right where your tight meets with your knee. He perfectly knows it’s one of your weak points, because it has you squeaking and jolting in your seat, hitting the dashboard of the pick-up. You flinch from the pain, while Seokjin’s booming and hiccupping laugh fills the although silent vehicle.

Now it’s your turn to be theatrically offended, as you massage the aching point.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault karma’s a bitch,” he smirks, but his hand travels upon yours until he manages to be the one massaging your sore point with carefulness, gently pressuring your flesh until you melt into a puddle. You force yourself out of certain thoughts, diverting your gaze elsewhere as you let him do whatever he wants. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he moves his hand, searching for yours.

You’re puzzled, speechless when he squeezes your intertwined fingers and you look at him with your mouth opened, while a whirlwind of emotions is currently making your brain completely blank. You stay there, frozen as you follow him with your eyes when he delicately presses kisses on your skin, a faint smile on his features. You can feel his warm breath hitting the back of your hand, goosebumps appearing everywhere. The banter you two were having just seconds ago is now just plain silence.

It’s the intimacy in his gestures that has shivers running down your spine, taken aback by something only your wild imagination could have ever conjured. His casualness he puts in just few movements has the power of making your stomach doing somersaults, the butterflies returning like a tornado unannounced. Partially, you fear them. It always takes your full willpower to not let your feelings for him overwhelm you and trashing years of friendship into the toilet, even when you share moments like this one happening now. For the other part, you hate them. It’s the limbo you find yourself into, the rejection angling right over your head threatening to fall yet the strong desire to just go and kiss him already which constantly clutches your brain and confuses you.

You hear the thump thump thump of your heart in your ears and the trepidation that surges in your veins is like iced water, thinking he might hear it too. However, you remain in silent state as your hands are still interlaced. You’re not sure what to do next as you are unsure on what hell of a meaning you should give to all of this. After all, you’ve always been the best friend of his best friend’s boyfriend. Sharing awkward situations and couple crisis is nothing so important. Seokjin is a catch. You remember girls being head over hills for him, always surrounding the guy whenever he went. He’s a charmer. You’re just… you. A friend, a confidant sometimes. It’s not right for the both of you doing this. It’s intimate.

As you try to untangle your hands to both free yourselves, Seokjin squeezes harder to stop you. You can feel his muscles stiff under your touch and suddenly this feeling of urge coming from him you can’t quite decipher.

“I was thinking,” he says hurriedly, before clearing his throat, “I was thinking how everything could be if we were together.” There’s a bit of silence. “I mean, as boyfriend and girlfriend.” He clarifies. You miss the way he bites his lips out of nervousness, because you’re damn shocked.

What did he just say now?

Your mouth agapes like a fish out of water and your brain has a sudden malfunction before you actually register what just came out of Seokjin’s fully plump lips. It has your eyelashes battle furiously, while you try to wrack your brain on why he has just asked this. He must sense your confusion and your shock, because he laughs, but it’s not a wholehearted laugh. It’s more like it’s forced, nervous. Like he’s trying to hide dust under the carpet hoping no one would see him.

“What, you’ve never thought about us?” his tone is light, as if he’s asking you about the weather today.

He has? It’s the only coherent question that pops in your mind. You don’t know what to say.

“I-I..” Your brain reels while you try to come up with an answer, which inevitably doesn’t come out. You’d have expected anything – from one of his infamous dad jokes thrown here and there more often than not, to some useless fact he heard from Namjoon to start a conversation. Certainly, not this.

“Does the idea has never crossed your mind? Am I that repulsive?” This time, the hurt in his tone does not go unnoticed.

“No! You’re not,” your haste response is quick, frowning as he might be thinking something like that. You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “It’s just… you took me by surprise,” you sheepishly admit, tangling one of your fingers in your hair. Seokjin nods, probably coming to the terms he might has just thrown off a bomb without thinking. He just doesn’t know it has nuclear proportion.

The thick silence afterwards is tense, to the point it can be cut with a knife. You don’t dare to meet his eyes, focusing on the road instead, as he drives. The humming of the pick-up becomes your blanket for a while, shielding your thoughts from hunting you with question unanswered. But soon, the noise became too loud. So you have to ask.

“What would have changed?” You turn your head to him, as you catch the jolt in his shoulders, like he wasn’t expecting you to say something. But he’s quick on catching on and the answer is on the tip of his tongue before you can battle an eyelash.

“Nothing,” he confesses, “it wouldn’t have change nothing much.”

“Why is that?”

He snorts at your question. “We pretty much have everything there,” he says as the most obvious thing in the world. He gulps, then he continues. “You’ve always been there. When I struggled with assignments back in college, or when I freaked out because I thought no one would want to hire me right after graduation,” he recalls, shaking his head. Seokjin has always been the confident one, leading his way with his chin up and a beautiful, charming smile on his face, yet seeing him so downcast was a first. You were sure you had done an awful job trying to cheer him up. “Or whenever Taehyung and Jimin fought. Damn, that one time we went skiing? If it wasn’t for you, I would have lost my shit.” True to his words, the only thing you recall affectionately were the two of you in a random café drinking hot cocoa and laughing at stupid jokes he threw here and there, far from your very stressing friends. You smile fondly, your eyes landing on your hands. You didn’t even notice that you start fidgeting with them.

“Today, tonight… would have been the same. Driving back home, drunk but happy because, god, our best friend finally married. I’d have hold your hand just like I did, probably mocking you because you were so naïve shielding me from that bottle of champagne. But I’d be grateful to you to no end, because this suit costed like half of my salary and I didn’t want it to be ruined. So, I’d say that I love you so, so fucking much.” He finishes with shuddering breaths, like he has just run a whole marathon. His words sound too much like a real confession and you can’t move, can’t breathe as you watch him with eyes full of tears, ready to spill them.

“Pull over,” you say finally. Seokjin starts to panic, looking frantically between you and the street.

“What? Why? It’s late and we’re in the middle of no—”

“Just do it!” you huff exasperatedly and Seokjin can’t do nothing but silently comply your request, stopping the car at the first improvised parked lot he finds. When the engine is turned off, you turn to him the same moment he does, and you notice how his shoulder are stiff and his body weary, as if he’s scared you can run off that same moment.

“You can’t do this.” You gulp, trying to force yourself to a steady tone. It’s fruitless. Your voice quivers and your lips tremble, so you take a deep breath to compose yourself. Seokjin looks puzzled, confused and scared.

“You can’t talk about ifs and maybes. You can’t say we have everything there, Kim Seokjin. How dare you? How dare you built a castle like it’s nothing to you, saying these things? You sure are something, huh? You’re always been a little dense, but I’d never thought it was so serious.” The frantic movements of your hands have Seokjin’s eyes to widen, as you sputter all those words. Angry, exasperated, you’re not sure anymore. “I don’t let you say those things when I do seriously love you, sounding so serious about—”

You don’t get to finish, because Seokjin’s mouth collides with yours, shutting down your little rant.

Breath hitched and eyes widened, you’re motionless. His lips are plump and soft as you’ve always imagined them to be, pressing gently to yours. He cups your face with his hands, brushing his thumbs on your cheeks with loving strokes. You finally close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy his touch as he finally moves slowly his plush lips onto yours. The kiss has your head to start spinning, clutching to the collar of his shirt as his cologne mixed with sweat and alcohol flare your nostrils, making you dizzy. You’ve never been this close to Seokjin in your life, yet this proximity has you already addicted, skin tingling as your pads brush his neck, fingers silently tangling in his dark locks. You feel his hands travelling from your cheeks to your back, pressing you closely to him, his toned arms surrounding you. You feel like you’ve found home after years of hopelessly wandering and you’re sure your heart is going to explode, because you can feel it thundering everywhere in your body.

As the pace of the kiss quickens, Seokjin’s tongue caressing your lower lip gently to enter your mouth, you feel your skin slowly heating up. You tug his hair, eliciting a moan from him that has you growing goosebumps. Time seems to come to a full stop, yet you feel like the fast forward button has been pushed, because the moment you face yourself you want to kiss him again.

You press your forehead on Seokjin’s, as your elaborated breaths are the only sound in the although quiet pick-up. “So, to answer you question, Kim Seokjin,” you begin, whispering, “I do have thought about things going differently.” You finally admit and Seokjin simply smirks, closing his eyes. He pecks your lips before distancing himself, looking at you with a fond smile on his face.

“If that’s so, ___, maybe we can both agree that from now on, things can really go differently.” He solemnly speaks. You nod, stifling a laugh. “I think so, yeah.”

You both fasten your seatbelts then, and Seokjin starts the engine to re-enter the roadway as everything goes back to normal. But it’s not entirely true, not anymore at least. The smile on your faces and your interlaced fingers proves that. You stay like this for the most part of your trip, even when you finally succumb to sleep.

You won’t let go his hand so easily.

And neither will he.

#thebtstown #armyofwriters #hyunglinenetwork #seokjin fluff #bts fluff #seokjin scenario #jin scenario #jin fluff #bts scenario #bts imagine #jin imagine #seokjin imagine #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #bangtan sonyeondan #friends to lovers!au #fluff #bangtan fluff #bangtan imagine #bangtan scenario

[isabot1234-blog]

Gallery Project

For the photo critique assignment, I viewed Betwixt and Between at the Laurence Miller Gallery. The gallery feels tucked away, on an upper floor of a building full of galleries next to the High Line. You have to take an elevator to get in (unless you like stairs a lot), and it opens into the gallery space. The space is modest and the exhibition begins immediately on the walls outside the elevator. There is no clearly marked starting point, the images are hung on all the walls in the ‘lobby’ and display room. There was no receptionist on duty, and both gallery staff members were discussing work together in their glass-walled offices, leaving me to browse in peace. The atmosphere did not feel particularly reverent, as some gallery spaces might through their lofty spaces and lighting. The ceilings were relatively low and the whole photo room was brightly lit and quiet, no spotlights were needed on the photos. The works were not framed with any kind of consistent approach, some had white frames, others black, and images of different sizes were mixed throughout. I first walked around the whole space and looked at everything without reading the information. In this first approach, no theme was apparent to me, and had I not known better I wouldn’t have even assumed it was a cohesive exhibition. No narrative seemed to emerge as I walked through, although many of the images were compelling, they seemed to differ quite widely, and had different photographers. Then, I read the pamphlet with exhibit information, which revealed the context behind some images. While their backgrounds are wildly different, many images (at least those with information provided) challenge our ideas of reality, show people caught in the middle of contradictions or political moments, and question our perception of the images themselves in a present day context. They all intend to emulate the ‘Betwixt and Between’, dictionary definition “not fully or properly either of two things”. I would have liked more backstory for the images and analysis, but that’s always my feeling in art spaces. The exhibit showed images with a compelling presence and curious backstory, capturing the in-between, I mostly wish I found out more about each photo and artist from the exhibition. 

My favorite works on display were by John Dowell. His “African Union Church”, 2018, shows a church located behind a field of cotton in Seneca Village, the integrated community of free African Americans located from 1825-1857 in what is Central Park today. Seneca Village was the largest community of African American landholders in NYC in the 19th century. http://www.centralparknyc.org/things-to-see-and-do/attractions/seneca-village-site.html

Seneca Village ceased to exist in 1857 when it was leveled by right of eminent domain to make Central Park. This image by Dowell is not just a photo like many of the others on display, it is a collage or visualization of an alternative universe, one that symbolizes freedom. ‘African Union Church’ shows a field of cotton before the church, and an abstract fire/explosion of cotton bursting forth from what would be the steeple of the church. The image is relatively symmetrical in composition, and your eyes are drawn upward from the field to the church to the outpouring. The image has a pleasing texture from the collaging and the sketching done on top of the more photographic elements. The fire feels intense, like the mourning of what was lost in Seneca Village combined with the all-encompassing legacy of what it’s destruction represents. The metaphors and hypotheticals brought up by this image are powerful. 

John Dowell’s other work on display, “Williams and Neighbors of Seneca Village”, shows more traces of the former community, with the home of the first settler Andrew Williams outlined by pieces of cotton and sketched lines. This image is more grounded in contemporary reality, with the modern road and lights of Central Park curving through the background, and a biker and woman picking up her dog’s poop pictured on the trails, positioned as if the woman is casually aware of the fictional home, too. This image is less symmetrical and intuitive than the other by Dowell, but contains an interesting juxtaposition, and question, through the interplay of modern and historical, hypothetical. 

Hillary Swift, Racoons, Central Park, NYC, 2018

I really love this image. It’s almost unreal, something you’d be astonished if you saw. A family or pack of raccoons peering out from the greenery onto the road in Central Park, with buildings towering over them in the background. It looks like they’re trying to cross the road, checking the coast is clear. The composition and moment captured is incredible, the image is divided into thirds in a subtle way, each telling a different story: the city in the back bustling on, the mysterious greenery holding who knows how many other creatures, and the family of raccoons on the road, navigating the modern city obstacles that have encroached on their habitat. The image is very literal in its perspective of reality but the content is rich with room for interpretation.

Denniz Darzacq, Hyper No 3:

Note: I didn’t remember to take photos of all the pictures I wanted to discuss in the gallery so this is a screenshot from the gallery’s website. 

This image quite literally depicts the magical, and the in-between/suspended state of ‘Betwixt and Between’. No background context is provided, but the moment of suspension captures the imagination. It actually even reminds me of a still from a Tik Tok video. The banality of the surroundings, the grocery store meat cabinet, enhance the surreality and alternative reality-like quality of the image. The lighting and colors are dull with the dreary cast of fluorescent lighting, giving a realistic look, in turn making the mystery of the picture even greater. The body is positioned in a sort of perpendicular or slanted manner to the ordered lines of the background grocery ceiling, cabinet, and floor, the body standing in opposition to the ordered and meticulous background of consumption. Based on online searches about Denis Darzacq, his work frequently uses the body to explore precisely these contradictions between humans and our modern environment/system. 

All in all the exhibition was interesting, seeming a bit random at first, but upon digging into the history of all the artists work ties to the theme of ‘Betwixt and Between’ were obvious. 

[ficletsandthelike]

Flying Wingless (Part 2)

Read Part 1 Here!

Alas, we have returned to the world of mermaid Lance. The first part was really well received, so hopefully you all will enjoy once more!

     “Lance, I want you to promise me you won’t tell a single soul besides your family.” His mother cupped her hands around his cheeks, wet with ocean spray and tears of relief to finally return home. 

     Confusion clouded his features. He opened his mouth after a beat to protest, but her soft hold tightened as she shushed him.

     “They’ll try to take you, Lance.” Her hands trembled slightly, sending a shiver of fear up her son’s spine. “When people find something special, something unique and beautiful...”  A sob choked its way past her lips, swallowed back hard as Lance whimpered.

     “...they destroy it.”

     Lance held his mother’s locket up to the light, letting the fluorescent glare bounce off the golden heart and matching chain. Dropping it back into his palm, he opened the well-worn clasp and studied the photos inside, scrutinizing every spot of color as if it wasn’t already embedded deep into his memory. 

     The left showed him at around six; he smiled a gap-toothed grin, proudly standing near a sand castle almost as tall as him. That was the first day he had been allowed back to the beach alone, and he spent every minute digging and sculpting until he was satisfied that he had, in fact, made the best sand castle in Cuba. Lance recalled his sunburned cheeks glowing at the praise from his papa and laughed to himself.

     The right was the soft features of his mama. She smiled at Lance at he rubbed the picture. She had hugged him tightly, beaming with pride and waving his Garrison acceptance letter in every face she could find, but Lance knew how her enthusiasm faltered when she thought he wasn’t looking. He knew he was leaving her all alone, and still he had packed his bags without hesitation.

     The door slid open, jerking Lance back to the present. He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and looked up to see Hunk’s nervous figure filling the doorway.

     “Yo, dude, Iverson’s going to have an aneurysm if we’re not by the training area in ten,” The larger boy warned, fussing with his feathers as if the commander was already breathing down his neck. Lance yawned, placing the locket on his pillow before standing lazily.

     “Would that really be so bad?” Lance replied. Their shoes clacked against cold metal, filling the brief silence until Pidge materialized from the next hallway over.

     “Pidge, my man! What’s going on in that crazy genius brain of yours today?” asked Lance, dropping back to peer at his classmate’s laptop screen. He earned a glare and a pointed shift to block his view; he squashed a pang of hurt and grinned wider. “Any idea what we’re doing today?”

     “Whatever it is, you’d better not screw it up like yesterday,” Pidge responded, scowling up at him. 

     “Hey, I seem to recall that none of us followed procedure! Besides, wasn’t I the one that saved your butt from snapping at Iverson and earning us all detention?” Lance retorted. Their argument was cut short as they reached the training hall, sliding into the back of the crowd as Commander Iverson began the debriefing.

     “Listen up, cadets,” he boomed, causing several students to flinch. “Today will be a break from the regular routine. Hopefully it’ll give some of us a chance to study basic maneuvers while we test out new situations.” He stared at the group, and Lance gulped.

     “We’ll be working on our reactions to dangerous circumstances for the next week or so, specifically problem-solving and escape. Today...” Iverson shifted to the side, bringing up a hologram with instructions. “We’ll be simulating an ocean crash.”

     Lance felt his stomach drop and bit his cheek, trying to push back the panic rising up his throat. 

     “Each trio will fly the aircraft as normal for a random period of time. The engine will fail, and the team will be tested on their ability to resolve the problem before hitting the water or escaping safely before water fully submerges the ship.” A chorus of whispers exploded, and Lance took the opportunity to think.

     He couldn’t get out of it by pretending to be sick; everyone was scared to have their wings potentially bogged down by the water, and Iverson would scold him for being weak despite his advantage. Lance ran his fingers through his hair, remembering his mother’s face creased with worry. He couldn’t let them know just how much of an advantage he had, no matter whether or not he failed.

     He turned to Pidge and Hunk, who looked almost as terrified. “No matter what, we need to get out of there before hitting the water,” he declared. Even Pidge bobbed his head in agreement, and Iverson yelled over the chatter.

     “Team Jenson! You’re up first!”

     “Team McClain, you’re up.”

     Lance slid on his helmet and stepped into the fake airship, trying to ignore the pit of dread coiled tightly around his middle. He heard the door hiss shut as he plopped down in the pilot’s seat and cracked his knuckles. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said with false confidence.

     As the commander had said, everything began smoothly. Hunk prodded at various wires, Pidge double-checked each system, and Lance flicked various switches to keep the craft flying strong. Blue skies stretched endlessly through the screen, emulating the feel of the mid-afternoon flight that Lance had always dreamed of.

     A beeping sound came from behind Lance, and he knew the test had begun. “Pidge, scan for overheating and leakage. Hunk, check configurations.” He steered as best he could, guiding them out of various tilts and even a tailspin. After nothing but grunts and silence, he could feel his agitation growing.

     “Pidge, status?” He asked, sharper than he meant to. “Nothing’s showing up; it’s got to be something with the wiring, but Gutbuster over there’s too busy trying not to lose his lunch,” the boy snapped back, adjusting his glasses and returning to furious typing.

     “Hunk, come on buddy! Worry about food later and get on that engine fixing! We’re kind of getting close to the water, you know...” Lance called, clenching the wheel harder as the ocean came into view. “I’m- trying but-” A disgusting belch caused Lance to roll his eyes. “Okay, okay, this is fine, just give me a minute,” Hunk replied. 

     “Altitude: way too close,” Pidge said, tapping at the alarms that had started to screech in the cabin. “Yeah, real helpful!” Lance barked. A sizzling sound came from Hunk’s corner, followed by a “got it!” The alarms faded, and Lance sent the ship back up into the air. The sky faded to black, replaced by glowing green text and a robotic voice announcing “MISSION PASSED.”

     They stumbled out to the deck, awaiting Iverson’s comments. The commander loomed over them, sending shivers down Lance’s spine despite the relief at their success. “Team McClain was able to fix the engine and maintain acceptable altitude. Can someone tell me, however, why that was nothing but luck?” Lance felt Hunk stiffen beside him, and Pidge muttered an angry “what?” under his breath.

     “They yelled at each other instead of working as a team.”

     “They did their own jobs, but didn’t help each other at all.”

     “The engineer puked.”

     Iverson swept his gaze over the trio before facing the class. “Exactly. Even competency in your own job will never make up for lack of teamwork in a real flight.” He turned to Lance, who felt a bead of sweat drip down his face. “You may be improving as a pilot, McClain, but your pride and sour attitude are going to leave you in the dust, just like Kogane.” Lance bristled at the mention of his old rival, but Iverson had already moved on to the next team.

     After the bell had rung, Lance sped straight back to his room, not even stopping to admire ladies in the dining hall. His skin longed to be under the cool touch of water; after the unfulfilled promise of ocean from class, every molecule in his body clawed against his rigid decision to hide his needs. Opening the bathroom door, he wrenched the shower handle and dipped into the tub, sighing heavily as the water stung his toes in a cold welcome. 

     Filling the tub to the brim, Lance shut off the faucet and rinsed his face gently, letting the scales peek out along his cheekbone. His tail glittered underneath the surface, free yet still cramped in its porcelain trap. He let his back rest against the wall, closing his eyes.

      “You may be improving as a pilot, McClain, but your pride and sour attitude are going to leave you in the dust.”

     “Just like Kogane.”

     “I’ll never be like Mullet,” Lance mumbled to himself. “I’ll never be hotheaded, or think I can do whatever I want because I’m the best thing since sliced bread. I’ll never get to fly away because my idol disappeared in space. I’m not some weird ninja pilot. I’m just the goofball cargo pilot.”

     “I’m just the screwup.”

Part 3 is here!

#langst #lance mcclain #voltron lance #vld lance #lance vld #mermaid!lance #mermaid lance au #my writing #flying wingless

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Subtext

So i saw Cats. I had to know if it really was as bad as everyone says. It is. It’s terrible. It’s literally one of the worst films i have have ever seen but for different reasons than publicized. I plan to describe every short coming this film proudly presents, at length. Before we get into why it’s so goddamn awful, there are certain things that deserve recognition.

The Good

Cats is kind of ambitious. I like that they decided to build actual sets to scale. There is a sense of realness to this world and you have to this movie that i didn’t expect.

The actual effects on the cats, themselves, are pretty legit once you get outside of that uncanny valley. Like, the process to create those fur suits was ridiculous. It’s every bit as impressive as what Cameron did with Avatar. The theory of those cats i mean.

Francesca Hayward is pretty dope in this. She’s a great singer, brilliant dancer, and absolutely gorgeous. If this were a play, it would have been dope. If they would have used actual makeup and sh*t, it wold have been dope. choosing the way they decoded to present this sh*t? A waste. This was a waste of Francesca’s talent.

Jennifer Hudson singing Memory was f*cking incredible. I’m told the version she sang on one of those reality talent shows was much better, so i googled it, and it was. So much better. Still, the one they decided to film was decent. Hudson is one of the best singers of her generation and Memory has ample opportunity to belt out them emotional notes.

You can tell Tom Hooper had a passion for this material. Like, he wanted to make this grandiose film based on the garish play. That’s going to come back to bite him in the ass overall, but it’s nice to see a director making something that the actually loves.

The Bad

Literally everything else. his entire film is, quite literally, one of the worst films i have ever seen in my entire life. There is just SO much wrong with this thing. So goddamn much. Every decision made during this production was wrong and it’s kind of amazing.

First and foremost, why the f*ck did they choose to portray the Cats the way that did? These things are HIDEOUS! I mean, uncanny valley, for sure, but i’ve seen enough films and played enough games not to be unnerved by bad graphics. But this? this sh*t is so much more than that. These little cat people things are unforgivably odious in so many ways. I’m not going to get into the way they have people hands or can’t decide to be bipedal or how ridiculous they look on all fours. No, my thing is the way the faces are integrated into the fur suit. That’s not makeup. It’s legit CG. They tried to emulate the Cats Broadway makeup in a more realistic way and it misses the mark by a long shot. They’re gross. Gross and weird. Your main characters are gross and weird to look at.

Bro, these cats are constantly f*cking Like, all of the time. It’s not outright but you can tell they are constantly making with the coitus, figuratively. I’m pretty sure there’s a catnip fuels orgy there toward the end? Middle? i don’t know. I thought maybe it was just, you know, Hooper being cheeky in the beginning but then Jason Derulo, f*cking Rum Tum Tugger, shows up and just simulates the f*ck while Rebel Wilson cat, quite literally, makes overtly objectifying about Tugger’s tugger. It’s gross and weird.

Everything is washed in neon lights and i don’t understand why. The majority of this film supposed to take place at night so it make sense that there would be neon signs and everything but. even indoors, during that big Taylor Swift number, fluorescent neon lights. It’s unnerving and grates on the eyes, man. You put in all this work to create these detailed sets and thing but then immediately erased the detail by saturating it in artificial, scathingly colored, light? Really, dude?

There is no substance to this film. There is no character growth, no pathos, no stakes. Nothing. It’s a bunch of dance numbers introducing a bunch of asshole cats, looking to be ritually murdered. That’s it. That’s the entire plot. One cat wants to be murdered more than all the others so he’s kidnapping the competition to be the only option left for sacrifice. That’s stupid when you hear it like that, right? Because it is. Cats is stupid. Giving it that big budget, Hollywood Oscar bait treatment doesn’t change any of that stupid. The play Cats is fundamentally retarded so how could the movie version not be? I hate films that never grow, that never have resolution but this sh*t doesn’t even have anything to resolve. It’s a literal waste of time and my time is actually valuable.

Im not going to get into the many, many, MANY plot contrivances because then i’d have to actually think about this movie instead of just referencing the notes i already took down. I did the work beforehand and i do not want to revisit this feline hellscape any time ever. That said, nothing makes f*cking sense in this move. There are Jellical cats, magic cats, gangster cats, thief cats; it’s all over the place. Motherf*ckers are in cahoots with the main villain cat and when the does a villainous thing, they are all, “ We didn’t know he was a villain.” Really? Magic cat is magic but literally doesn’t us it until the plot absolutely demands it making that use that cat the definition of deus ex machina. Like, they’re not even clever about it. It’s actually insulting how blatant it is.

Interesting enough, outside of Memory, the music in this musical is forgettable. I can’t name one song from this thing that sticks with me. I still remember the first few lines to the opening song of Sweeney Todd. I can sing to you the colors of the wind. Hakuna Matata means no worries. I can show you the world. We’re of to see the wizard. I bet you know those songs. Bet you don’t even know the original track Swift and Webber wrote for this fart of a film.

The writing in this thing is f*cking putrid, man. The source material is sh*t and i didn’t expect anything great from an adaption but this? I expected more than this. Nothing makes sense. The dialogue is, one could say stylized but i’d say it’s dumb. This sh*t is dumb. Nothing feels organic, especially at the end. That whole situation with Judi Dench accepting Francesca James into her little weird stray cat cult was all cringe, no love. Everything said in this ridiculous movie is cringe. It’s just a goddamn cringefest! Seriously, the writing in this “movie’ is about as good as the writing in a Michael Bay flick. It’s that bad.

This movie has some of the most uninspired camera work i have ever seen in my entire life. It’s shot like a play; A single camera, centered on the shot, with no dynamism at all. There’s no pans or strafe or anything of that nature which works if you’re filming a play but this ain’t a play. It’s a film. Take Sweeney Todd for example. That’s how you make a film musical. West Side Story is another decent example. F*ck, that one movie with Gosling and Stone, La La Land? Yeah, even THAT one was shot dynamically. it was shot like a f*cking film. An even better example? the Les Miserables example. That Hooper, himself, shot! You did this once before and got Oscar for it. The f*ck happened? Yu forget hoe to make movies or something?

While i’m on Hooper, the f*ck kind of direction is any of this? It’s terrible! All of these performances, outside of Jason Derulo who was truly awful but brought a very refreshing energy to his nonsense, were uninspired. Like, they all just kind of went through the motions, you know? tom Hooper had been trying to get this film made for years and THIS was what he was able to muster? With THAT cast? are you f*cking serious??

Now, i lauded Francesca Hayward in her performance as Victoria, and that is legitimate praise, but everyone else in this thing is sh*t. Like, James as spectacular in her role, but her role is sh*t. That’s the ebb and flow of this movie. One thing is decent, but it’s mired in sh*t. James is gorgeous in real life and you see a bit of that in Victoria’s face but Victoria is a computer generated monstrosity and this movie insists upon reminding you of that every time she does anything with her face It’s weird and gross, man.

Speaking of probably brilliant performances mired by the outright sh*ttiness of the visual aesthetic in this clusterf*ck masquerading as cinema, i’m pretty sure Rebel Wilson has a beautiful voice. I wouldn’t know for sure because they limited her character to kind of a terrible lounge lizard set piece full of cockroaches and baby mice. I got a whole eyeful of her cat puss though. Thanks for that, assholes.

Another anecdotal performance that it thought might have been really good belonged to Idris Elba but i think his shortcoming had more to do with the character writing that screen time. Elba is almost always brilliant in any role he accepts and dude is musically incline, Elba was once a DJ and raps wonderfully if you didn’t know, so i can see them throwing a hip-hop curve to Macavity that could have worked if approached with respectful aplomb. Nope. This motherf*cker is a campy goober in a fur coat and a derby. Macavity is the main villain if this entire bullsh*t and i’m supposed to be afraid of him when he looks like a brown, nude, 70s style pimp with cat ears? For Real?

Jame Corden is the goddamn worst. That’s it. That’s the grievance. James Corden is the goddamn worst.

Why was Jason Derulo in this? He’s a singer, not a film actor, which is easier than being a theater actor. Dude just acts like he’s in a music video. Like, i’m watching his little set pieces or whatever and all i see is 90s Usher, dancing to My Way or some sh*t.

Why was Taylor Swift in this movie? I mean, i know why. They promised her a chance to win win an Oscar with an original song, that’s why. Hooper thought this thing was going to sweep the Oscars but this it sh*t the bed in theaters. it probably should have sh*t Swift out before production, though. She’s kind of awful.

And then there’s the two most egregious offenses in this entire film; The casting of Dame Judi Dench and Sir Ian McKellen. These are Actors. They are Oscar caliber talent, Dench winning several while McKellen being nominated twice. Both of these individuals have a background IN theater. Hell, Dame Dench was cast as Girsabella in the original 80s run but had to drop out due to injury! They live this life! How are they so goddamn awful in this movie??

The Verdict

I said this in the beginning but Cats is one of the worst films i have ever seen in my entire f*cking life. I feel like there were more decent performances in this thing, Idris Elba was probably fantastic, bit the material the had to perform and the god-awful cat effects just wash over anything these actors can possibly do. Who is this for? Why are all of these cats so f*cking horny? What was the point of this aimless journey Hooper took us on? There are no answer for anything, which is hilarious, because this movie asks no questions. It asks nothing of the audience. It just kind of happens to you. I reference the writing being as terrible as a Michael Bay film but Cats IS a Michael Bay film. If you replace the dance numbers with explosions or creepy shots of Francesca Hayward’s butt, and it’s Revenge of the Fallen. Straight up Bayhem in a fur suit.

Cats is vapid, superficial, and insists upon itself. This movie thinks it’s more than what it is and believes it should be recognized when, in reality, it’s lowest common denominator film making and should be forgotten. This thing was constructed to swoon over the Academy but it ends up grossing out the audience. Cats is hollow and a waste of time while being one of the most visually revolting experiences i have ever had the displeasure of enduring. Do not watch this film unless you want to be angry you wasted damn near two hours of your time. Also, it’s ugly.

#Smokey brand Movie Reviews #Cats

[smokeybrand]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Subtext

So i saw Cats. I had to know if it really was as bad as everyone says. It is. It’s terrible. It’s literally one of the worst films i have have ever seen but for different reasons than publicized. I plan to describe every short coming this film proudly presents, at length. Before we get into why it’s so goddamn awful, there are certain things that deserve recognition.

The Good

Cats is kind of ambitious. I like that they decided to build actual sets to scale. There is a sense of realness to this world and you have to this movie that i didn’t expect.

The actual effects on the cats, themselves, are pretty legit once you get outside of that uncanny valley. Like, the process to create those fur suits was ridiculous. It’s every bit as impressive as what Cameron did with Avatar. The theory of those cats i mean.

Francesca Hayward is pretty dope in this. She’s a great singer, brilliant dancer, and absolutely gorgeous. If this were a play, it would have been dope. If they would have used actual makeup and sh*t, it wold have been dope. choosing the way they decoded to present this sh*t? A waste. This was a waste of Francesca’s talent.

Jennifer Hudson singing Memory was f*cking incredible. I’m told the version she sang on one of those reality talent shows was much better, so i googled it, and it was. So much better. Still, the one they decided to film was decent. Hudson is one of the best singers of her generation and Memory has ample opportunity to belt out them emotional notes.

You can tell Tom Hooper had a passion for this material. Like, he wanted to make this grandiose film based on the garish play. That’s going to come back to bite him in the ass overall, but it’s nice to see a director making something that the actually loves.

The Bad

Literally everything else. his entire film is, quite literally, one of the worst films i have ever seen in my entire life. There is just SO much wrong with this thing. So goddamn much. Every decision made during this production was wrong and it’s kind of amazing.

First and foremost, why the f*ck did they choose to portray the Cats the way that did? These things are HIDEOUS! I mean, uncanny valley, for sure, but i’ve seen enough films and played enough games not to be unnerved by bad graphics. But this? this sh*t is so much more than that. These little cat people things are unforgivably odious in so many ways. I’m not going to get into the way they have people hands or can’t decide to be bipedal or how ridiculous they look on all fours. No, my thing is the way the faces are integrated into the fur suit. That’s not makeup. It’s legit CG. They tried to emulate the Cats Broadway makeup in a more realistic way and it misses the mark by a long shot. They’re gross. Gross and weird. Your main characters are gross and weird to look at.

Bro, these cats are constantly f*cking Like, all of the time. It’s not outright but you can tell they are constantly making with the coitus, figuratively. I’m pretty sure there’s a catnip fuels orgy there toward the end? Middle? i don’t know. I thought maybe it was just, you know, Hooper being cheeky in the beginning but then Jason Derulo, f*cking Rum Tum Tugger, shows up and just simulates the f*ck while Rebel Wilson cat, quite literally, makes overtly objectifying about Tugger’s tugger. It’s gross and weird.

Everything is washed in neon lights and i don’t understand why. The majority of this film supposed to take place at night so it make sense that there would be neon signs and everything but. even indoors, during that big Taylor Swift number, fluorescent neon lights. It’s unnerving and grates on the eyes, man. You put in all this work to create these detailed sets and thing but then immediately erased the detail by saturating it in artificial, scathingly colored, light? Really, dude?

There is no substance to this film. There is no character growth, no pathos, no stakes. Nothing. It’s a bunch of dance numbers introducing a bunch of asshole cats, looking to be ritually murdered. That’s it. That’s the entire plot. One cat wants to be murdered more than all the others so he’s kidnapping the competition to be the only option left for sacrifice. That’s stupid when you hear it like that, right? Because it is. Cats is stupid. Giving it that big budget, Hollywood Oscar bait treatment doesn’t change any of that stupid. The play Cats is fundamentally retarded so how could the movie version not be? I hate films that never grow, that never have resolution but this sh*t doesn’t even have anything to resolve. It’s a literal waste of time and my time is actually valuable.

Im not going to get into the many, many, MANY plot contrivances because then i’d have to actually think about this movie instead of just referencing the notes i already took down. I did the work beforehand and i do not want to revisit this feline hellscape any time ever. That said, nothing makes f*cking sense in this move. There are Jellical cats, magic cats, gangster cats, thief cats; it’s all over the place. Motherf*ckers are in cahoots with the main villain cat and when the does a villainous thing, they are all, “ We didn’t know he was a villain.” Really? Magic cat is magic but literally doesn’t us it until the plot absolutely demands it making that use that cat the definition of deus ex machina. Like, they’re not even clever about it. It’s actually insulting how blatant it is.

Interesting enough, outside of Memory, the music in this musical is forgettable. I can’t name one song from this thing that sticks with me. I still remember the first few lines to the opening song of Sweeney Todd. I can sing to you the colors of the wind. Hakuna Matata means no worries. I can show you the world. We’re of to see the wizard. I bet you know those songs. Bet you don’t even know the original track Swift and Webber wrote for this fart of a film.

The writing in this thing is f*cking putrid, man. The source material is sh*t and i didn’t expect anything great from an adaption but this? I expected more than this. Nothing makes sense. The dialogue is, one could say stylized but i’d say it’s dumb. This sh*t is dumb. Nothing feels organic, especially at the end. That whole situation with Judi Dench accepting Francesca James into her little weird stray cat cult was all cringe, no love. Everything said in this ridiculous movie is cringe. It’s just a goddamn cringefest! Seriously, the writing in this “movie’ is about as good as the writing in a Michael Bay flick. It’s that bad.

This movie has some of the most uninspired camera work i have ever seen in my entire life. It’s shot like a play; A single camera, centered on the shot, with no dynamism at all. There’s no pans or strafe or anything of that nature which works if you’re filming a play but this ain’t a play. It’s a film. Take Sweeney Todd for example. That’s how you make a film musical. West Side Story is another decent example. F*ck, that one movie with Gosling and Stone, La La Land? Yeah, even THAT one was shot dynamically. it was shot like a f*cking film. An even better example? the Les Miserables example. That Hooper, himself, shot! You did this once before and got Oscar for it. The f*ck happened? Yu forget hoe to make movies or something?

While i’m on Hooper, the f*ck kind of direction is any of this? It’s terrible! All of these performances, outside of Jason Derulo who was truly awful but brought a very refreshing energy to his nonsense, were uninspired. Like, they all just kind of went through the motions, you know? tom Hooper had been trying to get this film made for years and THIS was what he was able to muster? With THAT cast? are you f*cking serious??

Now, i lauded Francesca Hayward in her performance as Victoria, and that is legitimate praise, but everyone else in this thing is sh*t. Like, James as spectacular in her role, but her role is sh*t. That’s the ebb and flow of this movie. One thing is decent, but it’s mired in sh*t. James is gorgeous in real life and you see a bit of that in Victoria’s face but Victoria is a computer generated monstrosity and this movie insists upon reminding you of that every time she does anything with her face It’s weird and gross, man.

Speaking of probably brilliant performances mired by the outright sh*ttiness of the visual aesthetic in this clusterf*ck masquerading as cinema, i’m pretty sure Rebel Wilson has a beautiful voice. I wouldn’t know for sure because they limited her character to kind of a terrible lounge lizard set piece full of cockroaches and baby mice. I got a whole eyeful of her cat puss though. Thanks for that, assholes.

Another anecdotal performance that it thought might have been really good belonged to Idris Elba but i think his shortcoming had more to do with the character writing that screen time. Elba is almost always brilliant in any role he accepts and dude is musically incline, Elba was once a DJ and raps wonderfully if you didn’t know, so i can see them throwing a hip-hop curve to Macavity that could have worked if approached with respectful aplomb. Nope. This motherf*cker is a campy goober in a fur coat and a derby. Macavity is the main villain if this entire bullsh*t and i’m supposed to be afraid of him when he looks like a brown, nude, 70s style pimp with cat ears? For Real?

Jame Corden is the goddamn worst. That’s it. That’s the grievance. James Corden is the goddamn worst.

Why was Jason Derulo in this? He’s a singer, not a film actor, which is easier than being a theater actor. Dude just acts like he’s in a music video. Like, i’m watching his little set pieces or whatever and all i see is 90s Usher, dancing to My Way or some sh*t.

Why was Taylor Swift in this movie? I mean, i know why. They promised her a chance to win win an Oscar with an original song, that’s why. Hooper thought this thing was going to sweep the Oscars but this it sh*t the bed in theaters. it probably should have sh*t Swift out before production, though. She’s kind of awful.

And then there’s the two most egregious offenses in this entire film; The casting of Dame Judi Dench and Sir Ian McKellen. These are Actors. They are Oscar caliber talent, Dench winning several while McKellen being nominated twice. Both of these individuals have a background IN theater. Hell, Dame Dench was cast as Girsabella in the original 80s run but had to drop out due to injury! They live this life! How are they so goddamn awful in this movie??

The Verdict

I said this in the beginning but Cats is one of the worst films i have ever seen in my entire f*cking life. I feel like there were more decent performances in this thing, Idris Elba was probably fantastic, bit the material the had to perform and the god-awful cat effects just wash over anything these actors can possibly do. Who is this for? Why are all of these cats so f*cking horny? What was the point of this aimless journey Hooper took us on? There are no answer for anything, which is hilarious, because this movie asks no questions. It asks nothing of the audience. It just kind of happens to you. I reference the writing being as terrible as a Michael Bay film but Cats IS a Michael Bay film. If you replace the dance numbers with explosions or creepy shots of Francesca Hayward’s butt, and it’s Revenge of the Fallen. Straight up Bayhem in a fur suit.

Cats is vapid, superficial, and insists upon itself. This movie thinks it’s more than what it is and believes it should be recognized when, in reality, it’s lowest common denominator film making and should be forgotten. This thing was constructed to swoon over the Academy but it ends up grossing out the audience. Cats is hollow and a waste of time while being one of the most visually revolting experiences i have ever had the displeasure of enduring. Do not watch this film unless you want to be angry you wasted damn near two hours of your time. Also, it’s ugly.

[zinniapetals]

For the drabble thingy. Oikage + yellow by coldplay. :))

tbh i don’t even know where i was going with this. but yeah, this drabble is pre relationship oikage and probably not as fluffy or what you wanted but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i hope u enjoy it anyways! (AO3link)

Kageyama stood outside of Oikawa’s apartment waiting forsomeone to open the door. He knocked again, harder and a bit more impatientthis time. He heard Iwazumi’s comingthrough the wood and relaxed, thankful that at least someone was in the apartment. 

“Oh, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi said, relief written all over hisface. “He’s in his room. I was gonna go get some food real quick but if you’rehere then..” 

Kageyama stiffened his grip on the convenience store bag,shifting his weight between his legs and frowned. He really didn’t want to bealone with Oikawa. He still hasn’t forgotten the older setter’s face from thelast practice match, pissed off, hurt, guilty.

“Can you come back?” He asked in a timid voice, looking awayfrom Iwaizumi’s knowing stare. “Take your time Iwaizumi-senpai, just come backplease.”

“No problem,” Iwaizumi smiled, placing a comforting palm onKageyama’s shoulder as he left the apartment. “I’ll text you when I’m comingback.”

Kageyama nodded and walked into Oikawa’s place, the AC onhigh as he shivered and walked towards the kitchen. He set the plastic bag onthe table and carefully treaded towards Oikawa’s room, knocking gently on theclosed door.

“Go away.”

He coughed and licked his lips.

“It’s me Oikawa-senpai. Can you let me in?” 

“No.”

He sighed loudly and leaned against the door, sure that thebrunet was in his bed, curled up in the comfort of his blankets and fluffypillows. He didn’t press his senpai to let him in nor did he try to get hissenpai to talk to him. He simply turned around and sat against the white door,head leaning back and hitting the door with a gentle thud.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, in fact, Kageyama didn’tknow why he even said that. Was it because he felt bad that he didn’t know whatto do? Was it because the look on Oikawa’s face from their practice matchagainst Austria reminded him of middle school? Was it because the competitivenature in him was happy about the setter switched and the ultimate win underhis steady but powerful spikes?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, closing his eyes and hoping thatOikawa would just take the apology and warp it to what mattered the most.

He sat there for a good hour if he were to estimate, untilIwazumi entered the apartment again, the smell of takeout, making his stomachgrumble.

“Did he leave his room?” Iwazumi asked, eyebrow rising asKageyama walked into the kitchen eyeing the food ravenously. 

“No,” he answered, looking away from the table, guilt risingin his chest as Iwazumi sighed heavily.

“It’s not your fault Kageyama. You know how he gets,” hesaid, shrugging and handed Kageyama a white box full of Mongolian beef. “Thechopsticks are in the bag.”

“Thanks,” Kageyama murmured, reaching into the bag fordisposable chopsticks and looked around the kitchen. “I’ll leave when I’mfinished eating.”

“If it makes you feel better, he was spewing insults andcomplaints up till the moment you got here.”

It didn’t make him feel better, but he gave his senpai a half-heartedsmile and continued to eat.

- 

In their next practice match, Oikawa played the entire game.He was blazing bright with intensity, his spikes were sharp and untouchable, andthere were no wasted movements in his steps. He’s the perfect emulation of aprodigal volleyball player. Something in his stomach clenched as Kageyama heardthe final whistle, the ref telling them to line up and he avoided Oikawa’sgaze.

“I see you didn’t break,” Ushijima said and if it wereanyone but him, Kageyama would think they wanted to start a fight. 

“As if I would break over something like that,” Oikawascoffed; rolling his eyes but takes the hidden compliment.

He passed by Kageyama, nodding his head at Kageyama’s soft good game and walked away from the teamtired but rightfully proud.

Oikawa doesn’t play in the next two matches. 

-

“Your serves were shaky in the third set.” 

Kageyama paused in his stretching, his fingers shaking a bitfrom the exhaustion of the last rally. 

“I know, the coach already gave me an earful.”

“You also took too big of a step for your last toss almostsending the ball over the net. You did thank Ushijima for managing to hit thatshitty ball right?” 

“Yes Oikawa-senpai, I did.” Kageyama said. He actuallythanked him twice, once for receiving a serve that he was too slow to react toand for hitting his toss that was absolutely hideous. “He said not to worryabout it and to train harder in order for it not to happen again.”

“Sounds like him,” Oikawa sniffed, footsteps coming closingand Kageyama finally turned to face him. “Need help stretching?”

“I’m good,” Kageyama said, going back to reaching to histoes.

Oikawa sat down next to him, a bottle of pocari sweat settlingbetween them.

“Iwa-chan said I needed to thank you for the milk bread.”

“You’re welcome,” Kageyama mumbled, ignoring the petulanttone of his senpai. “I wasn’t sure which brand you liked so I just got themall.”

“Yet you managed not to get my favorite,” Oikawa snorted,rolling his eyes and brought his knees to his chest so he could rest his headon them. “How are you doing in school?”

“I’m only taking online classes so it’s not hard,” Kageyamasaid, bringing his feet together for a butterfly stretch. He turned to Oikawaand asked the same question back.

“It’s going good, not as easy as my second year but I’llmanage.”

Kageyama nodded and finished up his cool down, standing upand eyeing the water bottle.

“It’s for you,” Oikawa said, getting up from his weirdposition and lifted the bottle to the younger setter. “I figured you needed adrink.”

“Thanks.”

“You were really good today,” Oikawa said, his complimentsounding extra loud in the empty training room. “I couldn’t take my eyes offyou.”

“I feel the same,” Kageyama blurted, looking away anddowning half the bottle after that confession. “I mean, when you play. I don’tdare to look away.”

“I guess you haven’t changed from middle school in thataspect,” Oikawa said, smiling softly at him. “I acted pretty spoiled a couplegames ago. It was my fault for over practicing and messing up, I had no rightto treat you like you were the problem.”

“I understand,” Kageyama said, nodding along because thefrustration of being pulled from the game is something that he’ll never getused to. “Coach already told us that we’re going to be switchedindiscriminately in order to keep the other team on their toes. I don’t mind ifit’s you I get switched for.”

“Hah,” Oikawa huffed, crossing his arms. “Is that acompliment? I’m not sure what to take that as.”

“Take what you will,” Kageyama mumbled, rolling his eyes atOikawa’s puffed cheeks. “I’m going now. Goodnight Oikawa-senpai.” 

-

Their qualifying game for the Olympic semi-finals was tense.Too much passion and nerves and mistakes made them the ones struggling to catchup. Kageyama was one of the youngest on the team and he could tell that thestress from his teammates was affecting him, his tosses too early and hisreceives too sloppy. 

Being relieved for Oikawa should have left a bitter taste inhis mouth but as he watched his senpai go onto the court, hope filled his veinsthat if anyone could turn the game around, it was Oikawa. 

They won. It wasn’t shocking. It wasn’t a terse affair ofrallies and crowd silencing spikes. It was an absolute dominance over thecourt, courtesy of Oikawa. Every toss, every receive, every pass was soaccurate to the point that their own teammates were shocked at the rate theywere gaining points.

Their win was enhanced by the screaming fans, the cheeringof their teammates, and the happy yelling from their coach. Kageyama got upfrom the bench grabbing Oikawa’s wrist as another teammate ruffled his hair.

“I knew you’d do it Senpai.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened before he broke out into laughing,covering his mouth as his teammates slapped his back and praised him.

“Thanks for holding out,” he replied, and Kageyama knew whathe meant.

“We still have more games until we can take home the goldmedal.”

Oikawa stopped covering his mouth and the rest of the teamquieted down after Kageyama’s reminder. 

“Yeah we do.”

-

“Don’t get too cockyjust because you brought the gold medal home,” Oikawa said, handing Kageyama a rollof sports tape.

It was just the two of them in the locker room, the rest ofthe team already headed out to finish their interviews and head to the hotelwhere they would all leave together to go celebrate.

“It was a team effort Oikawa-senpai,” Kageyama said, notcaring that he hadn’t stop smiling since the ref declared their win. “Icouldn’t do it without you.”

“Pft, yeah right,” Oikawa teased, closing his bag as hewaited for Kageyama to finish up. “But in all seriousness, good job startingthe game and giving us the first set Tobio.”

Kageyama slowed down his application of sports tape on hisfingers at the usage of his first name without the annoying honorific. Hewanted to hear that again and again, the word sounding so different coming fromOikawa’s mouth than his friend’s or mother’s.

“One more time,” Kageyama requested as he stood up andstared intensely at his teammate.

“Good job?” He joked, eyebrows scrunched together inconfusion as to what Kageyama really wanted.

“My name.” 

“Oh.”

Kageyama waited as Oikawa flushed slightly, looking away andrunning his hand through his hair, having slight difficulties due to the driedup sweat.

“You were absolutely amazing out there Tobio.”

Kageyama laughed slightly and looked away from the browneyes that seemed to glow under the fluorescent lighting. He focused on a waterbottle wrapper left under one of the benches as he thought of something to say.

“You were pretty great as well Tooru.” 

The name slipped off his tongue, foreign and unsure, howeverOikawa seemed to take great delight in his kouhai’s attempt to close thedistance between them. 

“Ah, aren’t we a little eager to start being familiar witheach other?” He teased, reaching out to ruffle the younger setter’s hair. “Comeon, the team is waiting.”

Kageyama lifted his bag on his shoulder and followed Oikawaout, heart beating fast and pink dusting the apples of his cheeks. Tooru, he mouthed, holding in a laugh ashis medal pressed against his chest.

#oikage #lizwrites #ahhh I'm really not feeling my oikage vibe anymore #i hope I'm still writing them in character thoough #and whoever requested this i hope this is to ur liking