#in hindsight even optimistic

[thankstothe]

im...................

#house md #james wilson #lisa cuddy #screencap #s05e07 “The Itch” #long post #longpost #this convo makes me feral #am i supposed to be buying that this is wilson wingmaning? was that the original intent? not girls gossiping about their crush?!? #bc thats the vibe here #not only wilson starts swinging at her sassy style #he then asks “why not” with a look of a man who already went and rationalized why not #Cuddy lays it out - not only had she thought about it she is right on the money with her predictions #in hindsight even optimistic #BUT THEN #WILSON GOES “HEY WHAT YOURE SAYING ALL TRUE BUT SOUNDS GOOD ACTUALLY” #RED FLAGS? NOT TO ME #it also reflects core difference in their perception of house and their relationships #and wilson is right with his statement too because he sees house differently #argh

[origamistarsandco]

Not me sitting here thinking about my progression from "I'm gonna save people by becoming a psychologist and lobbying for reform in the public sector" > "I'm gonna save people one at a time by becoming a counselor" > "I can't even save myself what makes me think I can save others" > "I'm just gonna try to be a good person and do the best I can." And realizing why I love TGCF so much.

#not me projecting onto my favorite characters or anything #gosh i love xie lian so hecking much #i have too many feelings about this #lets ignore the fact that i thought psychology was the way to go to lobby for reform #in hindsight there were like twelve (at least two) better options #i could have gone into polisci #or even neuroscience #like???? 2015 me was very optimistic #but also very dumb #bless her

[anthurak]

Takeaways from the Volume 9 Epilogue:

--

One thing I really like about Oscar’s ‘If there was anything I wish I could borrow from you…’ monologue is that it laid out/confirmed something I’ve always felt was a major aspect of Oscar’s dynamic with Ruby that I nonetheless feel a lot of the fandom has missed: That Oscar very much sees Ruby as a mentor and an example to follow, and how their dynamic is specifically a foil to what we saw between Ruby and Ozpin. That Ruby acts as a mentor and example to Oscar in the same way Ozpin was to Ruby, and that Ruby is a far BETTER mentor and example to Oscar than Ozpin ever was to her. Which, as an aside, is a dynamic I can’t help but feel a lot of people have been misinterpreting as ‘ship-teasing’ and is one of the main reasons I’ve simply never been able to see Oscar as any kind of viable love-interest to Ruby. Frankly the dynamic of ‘Ruby is the mentor and example to Oscar that Ozpin couldn’t be for her’ is simply so much more INTERESTING than any kind of romance could ever hope to be.

--

Even in animatic form, Winter basically going overdrive on the maiden powers was a sight to behold. And her own monologue had all the self-deprecation we were expecting. Our girl is clearly holding on by a thread and it’s going to be REAL interesting seeing how she reacts and adjusts to her sister not actually being dead. As in, I can imagine a situation where Winter tries to throw herself into a heroic sacrifice with the belief that Weiss would make a better Maiden than her.

Also, Winter’s monologue giving major focus to how Penny is super-super-dead-dead-and-definitely-not-coming-back-for-really-realsies, as she is talking to the sister who she ALSO believes is DEFINITELY also dead? Specifically with the words that Penny is gone, when Penny’s last words to her were that she’d be ‘part of you’?

Yeah, there is no way in hell we’ve seen the last of Penny XD

--

The CROWN. Like it was only a few shots, but as someone who read the CFVY Books (which you totally should if you haven’t, they’re great), holy shit I was NOT expecting them to pop up here.

I mean, in hindsight it makes perfect sense that they’d be involved in Volume 10. They’re basically Vacuo’s equivalent to Vale’s criminal element and the White Fang splinter faction as Salem’s co-opted insurgency group, with Jax and Gillian joining Roman, Adam and Jacques as the latest of Salem’s unwitting patsies. It’s definitely going to be real interesting seeing the crew deal with them. Like it’s really fun to imagine Team RWBY in particular being kind of exasperated at seeing Jax’s probably doing a whole ‘With Salem’s help I shall be King!’ shtick after everything they’ve seen with Roman, Adam and Jacques.

Oh and if you don’t know, Jax has a mind-control semblance, so him trying to use that on Yang could actually lead to a sneaky callback to the Justice League crossover, ie; Yang doing a ‘Yeah, I’m not doing THAT shit again.’ XD

--

Qrow’s whole vibe through this is fascinating. Like his section may have been the one we already saw, but after seeing the abject depression and growing despair of all the other characters, Qrow actually being OPTIMISTIC hit so much harder.

--

Raven showing up at the end is… interesting.

I’ll admit that ever since we saw that specific clip a few months back, I’ve been rather conflicts about Raven showing up to deliver RWBY+J to Vacuo, particularly after Ruby’s tree vision. Like for one it felt a bit random and unnecessary. The tree already deposited the Ever After team outside of Vacuo so they didn’t exactly need help getting there. Not to mention that it kind of clotheslines the story-thread set up by Ruby’s vision; that she now has a reason to track Raven down to get the ANSWERS to what happened to Summer. Finally, it’s just kind of… random? Like where did Raven even come from to get the team?

But now having seen the clip with its intended context, I’m definitely more on board with it. Particularly hearing from Kerry and Eddy that the original ending for the penultimate episode had RWBY+J going through the portal to arrive at their memorial stone, and met by a ‘Mysterious Figure’, ie; Raven. Here it feels like were getting more set up to get answers later as to what Raven was doing at the memorial.

And really, now that I’ve thought about it more, this method kind of puts the thread of Ruby going to Raven for answers even MORE into focus. Like the story reintroduces Raven in the present right after Ruby got a vision basically saying ‘hey, Raven is important’. And now going into Volume 10, we’re pretty much perfectly positioned for Ruby to pull Raven aside for those all-important ‘Why were you fucking my mom? What happened to my mom?’ questions.

--

Finally… yeah that ending hit me a LOT harder than I was expecting. Like that ending was HOPE in its purest form and it was honestly beautiful to see. Particularly right now with the future of the show seeming so uncertain. I’ve personally been optimistic about RWBY’s future (in a manner not unlike Qrow’s vibes I suppose lol), but damn the hopefulness of that ending hit especially hard, and was something I’ll admit I needed. And I imagine the rest of us could use as well.

We'll be getting Volume 10. And 11, and 12, and however many more it takes to finish this story. At this point, I have no doubt of that.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 9 #rwby volume 9 epilogue #rwby ramblings #Team RWBY #Ruby Rose #Yang Xiao Long #Winter Schnee #ozpin #oscar pine #Raven Branwen #Qrow Branwen #rwby after the fall #rwby before the dawn #jax asturias #gillian asturias

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 03 Withdrawals

Simon Riley x gn! reader

Warnings: mentions of substance abuse, opiate withdrawals, vomit

Simon was concerned, he'd been concerned since the bullet tore through the meat of your thigh. He’d been the one to pull you to cover, it had been his hands staunching the blood flow and it had been him you’d leaned on during physical therapy.

Even when the medics had prescribed opiates for the pain. He’d swallowed his discomfort attempting to keep a close watch over you and your usage. You’d seemed fine, seemingly as off-put as him by having to rely on such addictive substances in order to stave off the pain. 

You’d seemed fine. 

Your recovery was going well, the doctors, physical therapists and psychologist had all seemed optimistic that you’d be field-ready in near record time. 

You’d seemed fine. 

How had he failed to notice? He’d seen it before in his father, in Tommy. In hindsight, all the signs had been there. You’d tired more easily, were calmer - lethargic even and your attention span was even shorter than usual. You’d waved it off as the effects of vigorously throwing yourself in training, wanting to get back to your peak physical form. 

Simon had ignored the signs, desperately not wanting to admit that another one of his loved ones had succumbed to the addictive effects of prescription drugs. He’d ignored the signs until it was too late, until he’d found you slumped over in a hallway shivering and covered in sweat. You don’t even notice his presence, not even when he hauls you into his arms and starts running down the hallway all the while trying to shake you back into consciousness. 

It’s not until he deposits you under the cold spray of a shower that you start to stir, moaning in confusion as you attempt to orient yourself. You try to move but Simon has you locked against his chest, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto the tiles. 

“Wha?” you slur, blinking lethargically as you struggle to keep your eyes open. Vaguely you recognise the voice of the person holding you, but you struggle to make out any of his words. Your head is so heavy, chin resting against your chest, giving you a close-up view of a familiar tattooed arm. “Simon?” 

The man grunts his affirmation, one hand moving to sweep the hair from your face. You don’t get to appreciate the gesture for very long before you’re slumping to the side as far as you can within the confines of his arms and emptying the limited contents of your stomach. It burns your oesophagus, choking you as you attempt to breathe through the bile. Tears spill from your eyes from the pain and embarrassment. 

Simon doesn’t comment on it though, simply continuing to hold you up and whisper words of encouragement. You’re uncertain as to how long you stay under the cold spray but at some point, you close your eyes only to wake up in another room, a towel around your shoulders as Simon attempts to dry you off. 

“You need to get out of these clothes love, can you do that?” Giving it a few seconds of thought you nod, waiting for Simon to reluctantly turn around. It’s a struggle but you manage to wriggle out of your wet shirt and dry your torso enough to slip on the shirt Simon had laid out next to you. It’s a long and tiring process and more than once you’d had to reassure Simon you were still ok. 

Though you were quickly forced to admit that you needed help, all of your muscles shaking uncontrollably. “Si, I need help” you quietly admitted. Turning your head to the side in shame, closing your eyes so wouldn’t see his disappointment. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Simon is infinitely respectful, averting his eyes to maintain as much of your modesty as possible. 

His touch is gentle, though every slight brush of fingers on your skin burned. He continues to act in silence, bundling you up in what you now recognise as his blanket. It’s enough that the dam finally breaks and you start sobbing earnestly, chest heaving for air as you lay shivering in his bed. 

“‘M sorry.” You moan unable to articulate your shame in any other way as you continue to apologise over and over. Simon doesn’t offer a verbal reply but he does take a place by your side, smoothing his hand through your wet hair. 

Time becomes meaningless after that and all you know is misery. Your body fluctuates rapidly between hot and cold flushes that have you attempting to escape from the cocoon Simon has you trapped in. Yet the hulking abomination won’t let you move, even as you snap and scream at him. He’s not even phased by the intense nausea, placing a bucket beneath you just in time as your traitorous stomach continues to expel bile even when your stomach is beyond emptied. 

He wipes your sweat and hydrates you, taking your hurled abuse stoically, never once blaming you. He maintains his silent vigil, sacrificing his own sleep to watch over your own incredibly broken slumber. Much to your own horror he even escorts you to the bathroom, never more than a few feet away. It’s a new level of mortifying, the entire experience frays your nerves down to nothing. Yet no matter what you throw at him, Simon stays. 

“Why are you helping me? You should’ve handed me off to the med bay. ‘Ts not your job to clean up my fuck ups” you whisper. The question comes a few days into the torture, you’ve regained some clarity but the hellish symptoms showed no sign of improving. A few minutes ago you’re pretty sure you’d even called him ‘fuckin cunt’ when he’d refused to give you any sort of medication. He pauses in his movement of using a wet cloth to wipe the sweat from your forehead, barely taking any time to think of a response. 

“Do I need a reason?” There’s a heaviness to his words that you don’t quite understand and he doesn’t elaborate. How could he explain to you, the sheer terror that had grasped his heart when he’d found you slumped over? The self-loathing he’d been battling since he’d come to terms with your affliction? 

“No… but I’d like one. I’m pretty sure I vomited on you a few times and you didn’t even complain. I’d have decked you for that.” It’s an attempt at a joke but it evidently doesn’t land, his hand stilling in its path as he seemed to have some kind of internal debate. 

“I care about you, that’s reason enough.” He offers no further elaboration and you sense that you’d already pushed far enough for the moment. 

“Well now I just feel like an arsehole” you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. Luckily your remark gets a light chuckle from your brooding companion as silence descends once more. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hits you and for once you don’t fight its pull, though you vow the next time you wake to grill Simon even further. Before you fall asleep once more you manage to mutter, “I care enough about you that I’d let you vomit on me too.” 

The last thing you hear before the darkness overtakes you is a laugh, the first genuine laugh you’d heard from him in days. It’s a small victory but you take it, allowing yourself to finally feel just a little bit of hope.      

#x reader #cod mw x reader #cod simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #whumptober #tw withdrawal #tw substance abuse

[triple-asstro]

rottmnt!donnie x makeup!reader

a/n: a quick fic i wanted to write, hope you enjoy! love you all <3

            “Wait, you understood…all of that?”

Disguise: blown. You’d been hunkering incognito in the public for a few months now because of the optimistic and rather chaotic opening of your makeup brand. The internet was absolute chaos frothing over the strong pigment and affordable prices: everything a makeup brand should strive to be. It got orders, and that was what’s most important. However, the noise was overwhelming, and you needed to escape. Working under the guise of a pseudonym proved more useful than ever, and it let you breathe. Because of your newfound skills in makeup, you gained a few facts or two about cosmetic science and science‌. That proved to be your smoking gun when Donatello, your science friend, was ranting about his latest project going awry. He ranted, you listened. But this time, you corrected him. Two miracles: one, he was wrong, two; you knew more. 

Now, you were sneaking into your own lab to sneak Donnie in to see your lab: his request. Do you feel stupid? Ashamed, even? Going out of the public eye because of your contributions to the makeup industry, only to have it return like an unwanted family member. 

Donnie zipped to each glass window showcasing the millions of rows of pigments and chemicals, eyes wide like a sleep-deprived child. 

“You have all of this? Locked away?” 

“Yeah, mostly parabens and formaldehyde, but we also keep some chemicals like polonium, radium and-” 

“Uranium?” he said, zipping from the window to your face to an uncomfortable distance. The smudges in his drawn-on eyebrows were more visible than ever, his breath resting on your face. “You have it?”

“Yes. I’ll get you some if you wait.” 

You moved away, inching towards the door. Digging through your pocket brought up a dusty old keycard you kept. The photo you took on your first day, the excited face of you, the same age but optimistic. You owned a company, like a big kid. It looked hideous. The words: “FOUNDER” faded, but still legible. This is your lab, your company; should it count that you’re stealing from your own company? No, right? You made this place, and you’ll take what you want. This is your big kid company. You take what you want. 

Your eyes glanced back, just for a moment, and you can already see Donnie staring at you as if you grew spider legs on your back. Right, making this quick. In, out, five minutes. You quickly scrubbed in, dressed in a white coat and blue gloves. Entering the room, a wave of dust hits you. This caused you to cough vigorously, trying to get whatever entered your throat out. 

Eventually, you got your breath back in you, and gave Donnie a thumbs up. His expression is unchanged, giving you one back without looking up from his notebook. Of course. 

“How much do you want?” 

“As much as possible, five grams exactly.” 

It’d been a while since you strolled down your lab, but the descent reminded you of when you were mixing your first lipstick formula. Olive oil, coconut oil, and beeswax into a bowl and adding a few drops of purple food coloring were the first of many that you made. It was rudimentary and tacky at best, but all your mother did was pat you on the back. Mommy’s little chemist. Now, she speaks to you more like a coworker than her child. In the eyes of success, you got robbed of the thing you didn’t know you’d miss: an embrace. 

But now’s no time to reminisce. Now’s the time for uranium, which was conveniently at the back of the hallway in a little lead container locked behind a plastic door. The uranium had probably five grams from the size of it. You looked around the room, seeing if there were any drawers or cabinets, and thankfully there were plenty. Cabinet after cabinet after cabinet, you finally found the keys in a drawer a few steps away from the uranium. You didn’t question why the uranium was there, which in hindsight sounds idiotic, but that wasn’t on your mind at the moment. You unlocked the case and quickly took the disc of uranium out of the cabinet and was out of the door faster than you could count. An alarm was what you’d expected, but surprisingly, it was quieter than a mouse. A relief. 

Before you could blink, the disc was out of your hands and into Donnie’s embrace. He practically cradled it like it was his child. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Donnie’s head clicked towards you. “Oh, thank you. This means a lot. I’m not trying to be sarcastic about that, really, thank you.” 

“No problem, can’t wait to see what you cook up with this,” you said, noticing a hidden square behind his back. When you stepped to his side, you spotted an open notebook with what looked like scribbles.

 Scribbles? When did Donnie draw? 

“You draw?” you questioned, looking at the notebook without a second thought. Donnie tried quickly turning back around to hide the contents, but you’d already gotten a view: it was a drawing, or more a sketch of an invention. A new eyeliner, covered in holographic purple metal, was obviously marked with his signature on the bottom. Then it clicked. This was a gift. Donnie’s gift. 

Donnie froze, staring at you as if to judge and gauge your reaction. In truth, he was terrified. To him, giving handmade gifts was everything. The attention to detail, the effort and work to make it personal, it was everything. But people hadn’t always appreciated those gifts in the way he hoped. So, with this, everything changed in the balance. Whether he’d keep or lose a friend, that friend being you. 

“Is that for me?”

“No…it’s not finished yet. It’s unpolished, barely even refined. That doesn’t make a suitable gift…” 

You could see the lies that covered his obviously first plan for a gift, but knowing Donnie, it wouldn’t do any good to call him out on his lie and injure his already egregious ego. However, a snort escaped your throat as you tilted your head to the side. It was adorable to see him stare in confusion, clutching the notebook like it was his personal schoolgirl diary. 

“I won’t judge, honest. I thought you’d sketch on your many tablets.” 

“Those are for calculations, not meaningless sketches.” 

“Can I see your drawing?” 

If we’re being honest, Donatello’s opinion shifted about you so many times that day. It was troubling. When he first met you, he thought of you as he did everyone: ordinary. Another known person to wave to when you crossed paths. But in just one night, it catapulted into something he could never imagine. First, you corrected him on one of his experiments. You listened, and you were right. But one data point isn’t enough to make a valid analysis for someone. So, he inquired more and went to your lab. Second, what he failed to get for how many years now, you simply got like that. He didn’t know if that ticked him off or if it made him adore you more. You were an equal, maybe even more. Hell, probably more than he could ever imagine. Two points. 

You can’t make an assumption on just two data points, but Donnie handed over the notebook, trying his best to make it seem nonchalant. 

He failed. But you wouldn’t say that. 

Now that you were looking at the drawing Donnie did up close, it was, to say succinctly, amazing. The lines were grainy, yet perfectly straight, the shapes were sleek, and of course, lovely shimmering purple as an official coat of paint. It was better than any of the chicken scratches you called designs. This could be the best design for any packaging you could’ve asked for. 

Donnie was silent as you, obviously, surveyed the designs he made. At first, he was in a mix of utter panic. You’re looking at his designs. But they were drafts, sloppy scribbles. If he wanted to present his design to you, it should be polished. Just like him, or more, the confident persona he presented. But, as your observations grew longer, that panic bubbled into terror. Was there a mistake, a potential oversight he overlooked? Could there even be one? 

“You made this, Donnie?” 

“Yes…I did- make it just now.” 

“It’s…” 

Donnie’s shoulders tensed up. This could be- no, this was the loss of a friend. 

“... amazing. You made this just now?” 

Huh? 

“Huh? Oh, yes. I got a flash of inspiration, if you should know.” 

“It’s great. I can’t wait to see it polished. Send it to me and I’ll try to make it real.” 

You slammed the notebook back into his arms, walking towards the door. You had enough events to happen tonight. But surprisingly, Donnie followed with eager enthusiasm, more than you ever saw in him, and even though it could’ve been the bright light of the moon, you could’ve sworn you saw a smile. 

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt #rise donnie #donatello #fic writing

[ariesmoontarot]

♡Come into the Light♡

This reading is to help you gain clarity on what you aren't seeing, understanding, or accepting.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴:

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘛𝘰 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬:

𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘯𝘦:

Hey pile one. What you aren’t seeing right now is that things are a bit unstable and you are feeling insecure about your relationships and family life because of a lack of financial support or stability. I see that you are feeling unaccomplished and like you do not have enough of what it takes in some way. Some of you could be feeling insecure about many things. I feel like there is someone who is creative, rational, and idealistic about their endeavors and what they set their mind to and they are someone who is going to help you overcome what you are feeling right now. You might be feeling scared to take action or make any decisions because of your fears and I feel like being impulsive and risky isn’t the way to go about things at this time. If you’ve been feeling very possessive or holding onto control in some way, I feel like the best thing to do is let go and surrender to change. Accept things for what they are in this moment and only focus on what you can control, especially financially & romantically. Be patient and perseverant at this time. I feel like whatever imbalance and instability you are dealing with is only temporary and is going to soon be restored. Learning from your past decisions and choices is going to help you navigate your way making decisions moving forward and you are aware that these old, impulsive, immature ways of doing things isn’t the way to do them forever. I feel like you may be in fear of taking any action or making serious decisions in a situation because of the past, and it’s leaving you feeling indecisive. I see that you’re second guessing your thoughts because things did not go as well before, so you’re trying to listen deeply to how you feel. You are healing from betrayal and a heavy feeling of disappointment for others of you. I feel like listening to others peoples ideas and opinions may help you gain some hindsight over your feelings. You are feeling a little apathetic and unhappy because of secrets or painful realizations you may have had and I feel like you aren’t seeing how your attitude is affecting opportunities you have in this very moment. Things are moving gradually at their own pace and it’s the type of progress that lasts long term. I feel like you are having a hard time seeing how things actually are progressing, I see that it’s because it’s happening in energy first, beneath the surface of what you can physically see. You have to allow yourself to feel open and optimistic. Allow new feelings to flow through you instead of focusing on disappointment and sadness. You are not a failure, and your relationships and goals aren’t going to be the way that they were forever. It’s all about your perception and how you choose to see things, especially when they seem challenging. Ask yourself if the challenge or situation that’s happened is actually negative or if there can be a positive result. Ask yourself if you can find a way to turn the situation into something you can use as fuel and motivation, instead of discouragement. I feel like what you’ve been trying to build and invest your time and energy in is going to pay off soon enough. You may not see it in this moment but it’s happening. Allow yourself to let go of any fear and negative emotions that are weighing you down and keeping you in an unhappy place. You don’t have to be sad forever. You can let go of control and allow things to flow more freely. Allow yourself to be happy even when you feel like you don’t have all the things you want. I feel like for a lot of you, there is a relationship you really want to work out and emotional immaturity is getting in the way of you being able to fully open up and feel confident in this connection. I feel like you’re feeling discouragement because of pain you’ve experienced in terms of love. The best thing to do right now is to keep focusing on moving forward mentally. You don’t have to replay the past in your mind. If you’re focusing on positive things, this will create feelings of optimism and joy rather than wanting to just sit and sulk in your sadness.

Positive things are happening for you, but you have to trust that they are. It is safe to love and be yourself. It may take you time to open up, but trying makes the biggest difference. I feel like the love and joy is going to be reciprocated. Even when you least expect it to be. I also see that in your career positive changes are coming and already happening in this moment. Try to approach things with more excitement and enthusiasm.

𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘛𝘸𝘰:

Hey pile two. I feel like you want to walk away from something you feel like isn't serving you anymore. You could feel happiness exists elsewhere or that you just aren't happy in this situation. I feel like right now you feel tired and not wanting to fight for what you want anymore. It's this energy of you just giving up and maybe even being a bit non-compliant. I feel like this is because you are holding onto past experiences. Maybe you're feeling stuck in the past, overthinking, and having a hard time moving on from what happened. I feel like there is a truth that was revealed to you a while back and it's something you are still holding onto in this moment. I see you are trying to balance out your energy with more productive things, but it's been difficult for you. You've been pushed to have patience, and I feel like that is good for you right now. Especially because you're working through things you are having a hard time with leaving in the past. There is no need to rush. I see an opportunity is presenting itself to you and this is something you've been wanting for a long time. I feel like this is what you're ready to walk away from, but just when you feel like giving up, I see something happening unexpectedly for you. I feel like for a lot of you, you've been overwhelmed by things that are outside of your control and I feel like an important message for you is to be brave. Have confidence and face these hard times head on. Try your best not to be pessimistic and unenthusiastic. I feel like self-criticism and self-doubt holds you back from growing in the way that you know you need to. Maybe even other people's opinions and what they've done or said to you has gotten the best of you as well. Try your best to block these negative things out and use it to better yourself instead. It's always easier said than done, but you need more compassion towards yourself. Love and nurture you in the ways you love and care for others. For those of you who have been wanting a long-term relationship with someone who is genuine and not super high maintenance, I see this coming in for you. You may love the simple things and being able to just be real with someone and all that materialistic, superficial stuff does not serve you. I feel like some of you met someone unexpectedly and you never knew things would ever go the way they did with them. You may have not even expected to feel as deeply as you do towards them, but you do. Things are a bit of a mystery for you right now, but you are going to be seeing much clearer very soon.

𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦:

Hello pile three! I see multiple people in your energy. I feel like you're carrying this burden right now that feels overwhelming and it could be responsibilities, feelings, literally other people's energy, or whatever could be draining you right now. I see you've been dealing with some trouble in relationships (familial, platonic, romantic), finances, or in terms of your career and work. I feel like you've expressed how overwhelmed and exhausted you are to someone you trust; however, you still feel burnt out. I feel like you're letting go of bad habits, addictions, fears, and anything that keeps you in an egotistical energy. Things feel stagnant and a bit hard to understand right now because there are so many things clouding your perception you don't really know what is good and what isn't or what's temporary or long term. Especially in terms of love and friendships. I feel like you have options or multiple people you are feeling for, and you don't really understand your feelings for them or what they mean. I feel like right now you're just in a phase of your life where you're still figuring out what you need and what's best for you, so of course there are going to be many options and things to choose from generally speaking. Right now, isn't necessarily the time to act on any impulses or emotions. I feel like some of you have been trying to escape your feelings and you may be feeling all over the place emotionally. There is something you are trying to ignore emotionally, and it obviously does not feel good. It could literally be what's draining you. You could be giving time and energy to people who don't benefit you and you know it's time to change, but you ignore it. I feel like this attitude and way of living is not going to benefit you in any way. It could be that you're in your ego and pride is blocking you from accepting how you feel and not resisting it anymore. I feel like you resist it by continuing to do things in order to distract yourself, instead of actually facing it. You have been hurt many times, but you cannot control how you feel by avoiding it. You can only control the way you perceive things, who you allow to influence you, and the decisions you make. Maybe spend time alone, not allowing others to interfere with your growth. You don't have to give yourself to everyone who comes to you. Set emotional boundaries with yourself and others. Things are hard right now, but they won't be forever, this is only temporary. You are not obligated to be there for everyone, even if you love them. Loving can sometimes become detrimental to our own health in draining situations. At times we may feel like our love ties us to a specific thing or person, but be aware that it does not. We must be selective and wise when it comes to who what really invest our time and energy in. Things are going to get better when you allow them to. Have faith and trust that no matter who or what you let go of, life is going to get better. Even if you feel like it could never ever get better for you, it will!!

#spirituality #healing #spiritualjourney #positive vibes #tarot #tarotcommunity #spiritual #love readings #love #pick a card #intuitive reading #love reading #personal healing #tarot reading #pac reading #pac

[hardlyinteresting]

Can I request an Aaron x f!reader story based on the song “One of Us” by ABBA? Like they’re together but going through a tough time and separate. They get back together in the end tho 😊 Completely up to you if you wanna write it!

PS I love your Aaron stories, you write him so well hehe

One of Us

I am so so sorry this took so long. I am also so sorry to Aaron Hotchner because he is in a constant state of sleep deprivation in all of our fics.

Warnings: none that I'm aware of As always Request here! | Masterlist

Each decision he’s ever made has been made with someone else in mind. After a year of tremendous heartache, and life-altering losses, Aaron had been convinced that a life of simple joys was not in the cards for him. 

His relationship with Haley had been tumultuous towards the end of their marriage, but they had both been young and optimistic in the beginning. He had thought then that marrying his high school sweetheart was the perfect way to rail against his mother's expectations, but in hindsight, he had only met them. 

Despite the reservations his mother harboured about the social status of Haley Brookes's family, a wedding was a surefire way to get her off his back. He loved Haley, just not as he should have or maybe even could have if his life had been a little kinder. 

Her idealism and compassion were admirable but quickly began to clash with the realities of the life they had built together. A life he could not afford to change. Yet, Haley was who paid the ultimate price. It's a debt he knows he cannot repay. 

He had not expected to find another love in his life, and certainly not as soon as he did with you. Right place, right time. it's too good to be true; like a real love he's undeserving of. Worse perhaps, even still, it might be a love he's had too much of already. 

There's a warmth in his chest that refuses to shift when he's around you, it lingers after you leave. New smile eyes form by the corners of his eyes, and he'd hate them if you didn't love them so much. 

You are a beacon of a life that has not been his to live in many years. He thinks about Haley; how it had felt to fill a similar void in his life with simple kindness and gentle joys. History repeats itself in his mind's eye and he wonders if this might just be a warning. Maybe it is too soon. Too good to be true. He works too much anyway, he tells himself. 

And so he breaks your heart. And he breaks his own too. 

Half his bed is too cold. His apartment is so silent it's unnerving; he yearns for more than he misses, the sounds of dinner or baked goods being made in the kitchen. Uncontrollable laughter is never heard on the nights he's alone. The warmth he carried in his chest started to ache. 

He knows he's made the wrong choice, and berates himself for it as he stares up at the ceiling every night. He curses himself for thinking he deserves a second chance to make it up to you.

The knock at the door in the middle of the night should startle him. The sudden interruption would usually have him reaching to unlock his gun safe before heading to the door, but something about the hesitant knock, knock, knocking is too familiar. He pads slowly to his door, unlocking it without hesitation. You’re a sight for sore eyes, the very picture of everything he’s been missing the last few weeks. Like himself you stood in the doorway pyjama clad, and weary with a lack of sleep. Your name is a whisper on his lips, some kind of prayer, a near-silent plea. “you need to let me in, Aaron,” You tell him.

He knows you don't just mean into the apartment as your hand reaches, resting on his chest right above his pounding heart. “I know,” he says, “I will”.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fic #hotch x reader #answered

[tyanis]

"Long as we stick together, we'll be fine."

I have not been able to stop thinking about this line from the ending of RE 2 Remake. In the original, Leon's final words are about stopping Umbrella. And at the time, I assume that's what Capcom intended. Everyone grouping up to stop Umbrella... but things changed and RE 4 happened.

Can't really blame them for losing that story thread (actually you can and should, but I digress). In hindsight, they probably regretted it. But they didn't have a crystal ball to know the future with.

Can't really say the same thing about the remakes though. By virtue of being a remake, Capcom kinda already knows how the story is going to go... so why have him say this line when they know for certain that they'll be separated from each other very soon? Maybe to give new players an optimistic note to end on while also twisting the knife for veterans?

Maybe...

Or...

There was a recent IGN interview with RE 4 Remake's producer, Yoshiaki Hirabayashi, that has stirred up some rumors of an Operation Javier remake of some sort. Combine that with the ever present rumors of a Code Veronica remake and...

What if we ARE getting that CV remake with Operation Javier being a "Separate Ways" style dlc later on? Maybe the game could even start with Leon saying those words only to go on to show how he, Claire, and Sherry all get separated from each other and how they all ended up very not fine.

Anyway, that's just where my mind has been lately and this is purely speculation. But please excuse me while I go cry into my pillow.

#resident evil #resident evil remakes #resident evil code veronica #operation javier #code veronica #re code veronica #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #claire redfield #sherry birkin #jack krauser #cleon #resident evil: code veronica #resident evil 2 remake

[cvrnelians]

black sheep

dark!eddie brock AU - After years of struggling with your mental health, you are relieved to be diagnosed with and treated for bipolar disorder. You finally feel strong enough to move to New York and pursue your dream as an artist.

When you respond to an ad for a newspaper interview for World Mental Health Day, you meet Eddie Brock, a reporter that you instantly take a liking to. You write it off as a silly, one sided crush, and continue to focus on yourself and your career. But not long after your interview, you start to feel like someone is watching you.

Perhaps Eddie Brock likes you a little more than you think…

warnings: stalking, manipulation.

You were not sure why it caught your eye.

Interviewees Needed for Article - Pay $50 per interview

We at The Daily Bugle are looking for individuals with various mental health diagnoses for an editorial as a tribute to World Mental Health Day. Pseudonyms allowed if preferred. Participants of any age are welcome.

Having just moved to Brooklyn, you figured you would download the app for the local newspaper, The Daily Bugle. You sifted through the upcoming events, remaining optimistic that you would at least attempt to be social. Being a freelance artist, you mainly wanted to keep an eye out for any potential job leads. You considered posting an ad of your own to promote your small business, but you weren’t sure you could call it a business quite yet. At times, you weren’t even sure that you could confidently call yourself an artist. Even so, you had managed to sell enough commissions to land yourself a tiny apartment in the city.

The ad was simple and straightforward. You probably wouldn’t have even found it if you hadn’t scrolled all the way down. It wasn’t the paid gig you were looking for, but fifty dollars was fifty dollars. If there was one thing you were completely sure of, it was that you were a qualified candidate for this article.

Your official diagnosis, courtesy of your psychiatrist, had been an unexpected relief. Bipolar II. You routinely beat yourself up for not coming to that conclusion on your own, for not realizing it sooner. You had been on and off various SSRIs for years, ever since you were a teenager, and they had either not worked at all or made your symptoms worse. You learned a lot about yourself in hindsight. Your mother always referred to you as a “night owl.” Little did you realize, all of those late nights spent creating more paintings than you knew what to do with were the product of hypomania. Your depressive episodes were always far worse than your hypomanic episodes, the last being your most severe. It nearly landed you in the hospital.

Finally—finally—after years of trial and error, you decided to start seeing a new psychiatrist about six months prior. You credited her for changing your life, for helping you find a medication that not only helped you function on a basic level, but helped you to thrive. You had wanted to move to the city ever since you graduated high school. With the way your mental health had been deteriorating, you never thought you would actually do it.

But you did, and you did it all on your own. As lonely as you felt and as broke as you were, the thought made you smile. It gave you hope.

After a few minutes of staring at your phone, you figured you would give it a shot. If you wanted to protect your privacy, you could just use a pseudonym. Or maybe, just maybe, the article would provide you with an opportunity to promote your art. Startled, you heard a raspy and exhaustion laden “Yeah?” on the first ring. Whoever this man was, it sounded like he had just woken up.

“Um…hi,” you said awkwardly. “I’m inquiring about an ad that I found in The Daily Bugle, the one about World Mental Health Day? Do I have the right number?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Hey.”

You could hear the person grumble on the end of the line, almost as if he was stretching.

“Are you still conducting interviews? I tried checking on the app, but it didn’t say when the ad was posted.”

The man chuckled. “Yeah, that stupid thing. They just launched it recently. They’ve been trying to get it up and running for ages. They’ve had some kid who’s not even qualified working on it.”

“Ah,” you said. “That explains a lot actually. It kept, like, zooming in and out as I was scrolling through?”

“Hah, figures. I deleted the thing from my phone two minutes after I downloaded it. It crashes pretty much every day. The website sucks, too. Honestly, you’re better off just buying the actual paper, but no one does that anymore.”

The man cleared his throat.

“But yeah, I’m still doing interviews,” he said. “Where in the city are you located?”

You agreed to meet at a hole-in-the wall cafe nearby. You had never been there before.

“It’s quiet enough that we’ll be able to actually hear each other speak, and secluded enough that no one will hear what we’re discussing. I, uh…I know this stuff is really personal and hard for people to talk about, so I want to give you that respect. We can go to a more popular place if you’d be more comfortable with that. Or we could meet up at the park. If you need proof that I’m a real reporter, my name’s Eddie Brock. You can google me…or search for my articles on that app we love so much.”

You smiled to yourself. You liked Eddie Brock.

“No,” you said. “The place you suggested should be just fine.”

Luckily, you didn’t live too far from one another. The coffee shop was only a ten minute walk for you. You got there before he did, ordering yourself a large coffee. The place was kind of shabby, but the old woman at the counter had a kind face. She made you feel seen, like you weren’t just a number in the vast metropolis that was New York. She reminded you of home.

You shoved some cash into the tip jar and walked over to an open booth. As Eddie had stated, the place wasn’t very crowded. You had quite a few spots to choose from. You sat there for a few minutes, your fingers fidgeting as you took large sips of your coffee and scrolled through Instagram. As rundown as the place was, you had to admit that the coffee was pretty spectacular.

Fifteen minutes after you were supposed to meet up, a man in a worn out leather jacket stumbled through the doorway. He seemed to have some trouble opening the door, pulling at the handle despite it being a push door. You couldn’t help but smirk, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. As he walked in, the woman at the counter shook her head.

“Eddie, I’ve told you ten times now!” she said.

They both spoke in unison. “You have to push the door open.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, May,” Eddie said. He suddenly dropped what appeared to be a motorcycle helmet on the floor, causing you both to jump.

“Jesus Christ…” he grumbled.

“The usual?” May asked, already turning towards the cappuccino machine.

“Yup,” he said, placing some crumpled up bills and a bunch of coins on the counter. He peered around the cafe at the very few patrons, his brows furrowed. You gave him a little wave.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, barreling towards you. It was quickly becoming clear to you that Eddie was not the most graceful person in the world.

“Hi,” you said timidly. The prospect of talking about your mental health issues with someone you didn’t know suddenly felt very intimidating. You stood up from your spot as he reached out to shake your hand.

“Eddie Brock,” he said, giving you a smile that instantly put you at ease. It wasn’t one of those polite, surface level smiles that acquaintances typically doled out. It seemed genuine, like he was actually happy to see you. “Nice to meet you.”

He sat down and placed his helmet on his side of the booth.

“You rode your motorcycle here?” you asked. Ugh. Obviously. Why were you so awkward?

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry I’m late. I try to be on time for my interviews, but it’s rare that I’m ever on time for anything. I did run into some heavy traffic today, though. I swear.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I’ve got all day.”

“Day off?” he asked, smiling warmly at you.

“Um…” Every day was a day off for you lately. “Yes…?”

May slammed his drink on the counter. “If you want your drink, you better come over and get it, Eddie. I’m not a waitress.”

Eddie playfully rolled his eyes. “Hold on, hold on,” he said in mock exasperation. May stood with her hands on her hips. He picked up the mug and tipped it up at her. “Thanks, darlin’.”

May smiled and shook her head again, redirecting her focus on cleaning off the counter.

You took a sip of your drinks at the same time as he sat back down. You shot him a knowing look.

“Good, right?” he asked. “This place is a real gem. I’ve been coming here for a while now. May takes up a big chunk of my paycheck.”

“No joke, this is probably the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had,” you conceded.

“Right?!” As you eyed him more closely, it was plain to see that he was both freshly showered and a bit hungover. He smelled like mint and aftershave, and his hair was still slightly wet.

“Alright,” he said, rubbing beneath his eye with his knuckle. “I’m not going to ask you to tell me a little bit about yourself. As a reporter, I hate that question. I really, truly do. The answers are almost never honest or authentic—not completely, anyway. I like the complete story, the real one. Besides, this isn’t a job interview, and I’m not going to put you on the spot like that.”

Okay. You really liked Eddie Brock.

“If anything I’m asking makes you uncomfortable, though, tell me and I’ll scrap it. It’s an editorial. It’s meant to empower people with mental illness, so you control the narrative. If we finish up this interview and you start feeling remorse, tell me and I’ll scrap it, as long as you tell me before the first of the month. Once I submit it, there’s nothing I can do. But you’re getting your fifty bucks either way.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

“Alright. You ready?”

You nodded.

“Let’s get down to business, then,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Is it okay if I record this? I won’t post it anywhere. I’ll delete it after I finish the article, I just need to transcribe it.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem.”

The conversation was really fluid and natural for what it was. It felt like a normal, everyday discussion. Initially, he just asked you a lot about your job and your life before moving to the city. He would occasionally interject and tell you about himself, providing the right amount of give-and-take to make you feel at ease. He was originally from San Francisco. He moved to New York for college and wound up staying after he graduated. He had been a reporter at The Daily Bugle for a few years, and preferred to delve into some serious investigative journalism whenever the opportunity presented itself. He dabbled in photography, too.

It was around ten minutes in that he started asking you about your mental health. It was bizarre just how comfortable you felt with Eddie, more comfortable than you had felt with anyone in a very long time. It was like a dam had broken. The words came out of you before you could stop them, perhaps because you had spent so much time alone since moving to the city, without anyone to talk to. More likely, though, it was because you knew you wouldn’t be at risk of oversharing. He actually wanted the whole scoop. That was what he was paying you for.

More than that, though, it seemed like he was truly listening—like he actually cared. There was something about the way he looked at you.

“I don’t think I’ll even need that audio file,” he chuckled. “I don’t know if you could tell, but I feel really…invested, I guess is the right word, in your story.”

“Sorry…” you said. You weren’t sure why you were even apologizing. You swore it was just a natural reflex for you. It was something for you to work on.

“I just want you to know, it means something to me that you told me all this.”

You let out a nervous laugh, averting your eyes towards your coffee. You ran your pointer finger over the edge of the mug.

“No,” he said, placing his hand over yours. “I’m serious. Look at me. Look up at me.”

When you looked up, you were caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, the unwavering sincerity there. The color of his eyes was interesting; not quite blue, not quite green. Hazel. Kind of pretty, really.

“This isn’t just another story for me. The fact that you trusted me enough to be so honest…I don’t take that for granted. Thank you.”

You gave him a small smile. He grabbed your hands and enclosed them with his, squeezing a tiny bit before letting them go. “I’ll do right by you with this article. I meant what I said about you controlling the narrative. You have any regrets, you call me and it’s gone.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you said. “It’s been really nice talking to you. And thank you for the money. I almost feel tempted to give it back to you.”

He waved his hand flippantly at you, as if the gesture would wipe that thought away completely.

“Oh, by the way. Did you want to use a pseudonym? I’m totally fine with that. But—and this is not to sound patronizing—I think using your real name would be a great opportunity for you to promote your business, and I would like to give you that opportunity.”

You were somewhat hesitant to do so given the personal nature of the article. You had initially replied to it because the offer of a pseudonym meant that you had nothing to lose. But when you thought about it, you needed more than just this fifty dollars to tie you over, and you could really use that kind of exposure. Not to mention, you were tired of being made to feel ashamed of your diagnosis. As scary as it was, being open about it was consistent with your values. It helped set a precedent. You quickly gave him your social media handle, along with the name of your website.

You both sat in silence for a while. Your drinks were finished. You had already thanked each other for your time. There was no reason to stick around. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and leave. You felt a little drained from releasing all of that pent up energy, and you assumed Eddie felt tired from listening to all of it. How long had it been—an hour? Two? That was a lot of talking.

“Can I ask you something?” you probed, the words escaping before you could stop them.

“Ah, now it’s my turn to be in the hot seat,” he mused. “Maybe I should order another coffee.”

“Why did you want to write about this?” you asked. “Was it something your boss assigned to you, or were you just interested…?”

Eddie paused for a long moment, thinking to himself.

“Well,” he said wistfully. “I would be lying to you if I told you that I didn’t have my own issues. I think we all do. Some people—” he gestured towards you. “—are just more honest about it than others. I wanted to take on this project because I have a personal connection to it, and I think it’s important for people to talk about. To tell you the truth, I got fired from my job a few months ago. Not for long, but long enough for me to sink into a pretty deep depression. I didn’t get out of bed for a while. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t checking my mail, I wasn’t paying my bills, I wasn’t even showering. It was really dark for a while. I know there are other jobs out there, but I felt crushed. I was lucky that they decided to bring me back on. I pretty much had to beg for my spot back, but I’m here now nonetheless.”

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

He shrugged. “It could’ve been much worse, but thank you.“

“Can I ask why you got fired?”

Another sigh. “I was writing a piece about this serial killer that was terrorizing the city for a good six months or so. That story became my whole life. I ate, slept, and breathed that case. It meant that much to me. I wanted to be the one to catch and expose the killer. I genuinely felt like I had the capacity to do it, like I was on the edge of finding the truth.

“I ended up finding out who the killer was. At least, I thought I did. I told the police, and they ended up conducting an investigation. They turned up with nothing, but I was just so sure of myself. I ended up publishing the story in The Daily Bugle. I didn’t ask my boss or any of the editors for permission. I did it entirely on my own, which you’re never supposed to do. I sort of…snuck it onto the front page. It took a lot of finagling, but I was desperate. I really wanted people to know who this guy was. It wasn’t even about my ego as a reporter at that point. I didn’t care about breaking the big story anymore. No one at work believes me when I tell them that, but really I just wanted to protect people. That was all I wanted.”

“It wasn’t the guy, was it?” you asked.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

“That kid that I mentioned, the one that created the app? He was the one that caught the guy. My boss wrote an article exposing me for doing what I did after talking to him. He was the one who got me fired. Peter Parker.”

Even though you agreed with what Peter did, you liked Eddie enough to want to make him feel better about the situation. He was only human, after all. His intentions had been good, but the way he went about it had been godawful.

“That’s a stupid name,” you blurted out.

He chuckled wryly. “Yeah, I thought so, too. But he helped protect the city. I didn’t. Not to mention, I accused an innocent man of something he didn’t do. I tried to have him incarcerated. What if he had been? I feel terrible about that every day. I’ve tried reaching out to him to apologize, but he hates me. I can’t say I blame him.

“Even though the story itself wasn’t about my ego, the fact that I screwed up so royally and lost my job bruised my ego quite a bit. It was just so humiliating. I’m lucky my family doesn’t give a shit about what I’m up to, because if they found out what happened, they would torture me about it until the end of time.”

You suddenly felt lost for words. All you could come up with was, “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He gave you a light smile and turned to look out the window.

“I always say that I came to this city because I wanted to try something new. I wanted to live in New York; see the sights, become a real journalist, carve out a path of my own. Now that’s all true, but the real story is that I probably would have gone anywhere to escape where I grew up. Ask anyone in my family, and they’d be happy to inform you that I’m the undisputed black sheep.”

In spite of his wrongs, the look on his face tugged on something within you. You loved your family, but you could relate to feeling like an outsider. It was glaringly obvious that your parents would always like your older sister more than they liked you. And why wouldn’t they? She was smart, hardworking, beautiful. She had a well-paying job and a perfect little family of her own.

And she wasn’t bipolar.

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was nasty towards that Parker kid long before he broke that story about me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not in my nature to be a bully. I used to beat up kids like that in school,” he emphasized, raising his hands defensively. “But something about that boy reminds me so much of my little brother, and I hate my brother.”

“Why?” you asked. “Was he a jerk?”

“No,” he said. “Not at all, actually. That’s the worst part. When I was much younger, I loved my brother. He was a nerd, and I was always very protective of him. But when I got to be around—I don’t know, thirteen or fourteen—things changed. My parents saw him as the golden child. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on. I kind of understand it now. He was a good kid. He was smart, he did well in school, and he was just so nice. Good-natured, eager to help out. Like that Parker kid. I was a bit of a rebel, so…”

He took a large gulp of his coffee. “He’s a doctor now, the little prick.”

You laughed. “Probably a very good doctor, I’m guessing?”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said. “Neither do my parents. I don’t really speak to him if I can avoid it. He used to try and reach out to me, but he doesn’t anymore unless it’s around the holidays. Whenever I’m caught up in an episode of self-loathing, I’ll unblock him on Facebook so I can see what he’s up to. I’m sorry to bore you with all this, though. I know this ain’t about me.”

“Y’know, I could definitely picture you being a little rebel,” you said, a grin spreading across your face. “Did you have a motorcycle as a teenager, too?”

He shot you a look. “Oh, I had a motorcycle alright…if you could call it that. It was seriously a deathtrap. I bought it off Craigslist for five hundred bucks, long before I got my motorcycle license. I would ride around the neighborhood without a helmet on and rev the engine to try and impress girls. I still have the tattoo I got illegally, too.”

He turned his head downwards and lifted up his jeans to show you his ankle. On it was a faded red anarchy symbol with very shaky line work.

You laughed.

“Wow. Badass.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “I was so embarrassing. No wonder why my parents didn’t like me.”

He gave you the money he promised and even bought you a coffee for the road. He informed you that the story would be published the following month, the morning of World Mental Health Day. You parted ways with a friendly hug. Part of you was hoping that he would ask if you wanted to hang out sometime, but you quickly shoved the thought from your mind. He was a writer doing a story. Just because he was nice to you one time didn’t mean that he owed you his attention. Even if you would never see him again, you felt grateful to know at least one person in the city. Actually two now, having met May.

The following week was a strange one, to say the least.

It started off promisingly enough. On Monday morning, you received an order on your website for some small prints you had done a while ago. It was all from the same person. They wanted the prints shipped to a P.O. box, and they had listed their name as ‘Alien Symbiote.’ You had to laugh. If there was anyone out there that you wanted as a customer, it was someone that referred to themselves as ‘Alien Symbiote.’

You swiftly mailed the prints out and decided to stop by that cafe Eddie had introduced you to. You wanted to start off your week seeing a familiar face, and May did not disappoint. She gave you your drink to-go with a smile and a “Hope to see you back here soon!”

"Don’t worry,” you reassured her. You will.”

You made your trip to the cafe quick. A part of you secretly hoped you might see Eddie there, but that made you feel like a massive creep. If he was going to show up any time soon—which you highly doubted, given how hectic his job probably was—you skedaddled before he could. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You just really, really wanted that coffee.

You took a stroll through the park for half an hour or so before sitting down on a nearby bench. You put your headphones in and set to work on some random illustrations in your sketchbook. You must have listened to the same song thirty times—as you were prone to do when you found a new song you liked—before you finally got sick of it and changed it to something else. Hours passed as you scribbled, shaded, outlined and erased anything and everything that crossed your mind. Lately you were on a wildlife kick. The cornfields and pastures you drew made you feel a little homesick. You stopped yourself before you would inevitably cry, and focused on running errands instead. Walking around with music playing in your ears made grocery store runs much more enticing.

When you got home, you collapsed onto your bed to take a late afternoon nap. Just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt a nice breeze circulating throughout your room. You opened your eyes slowly, your gaze shifting towards your window—which had been left wide open. You couldn’t remember opening it; not that morning, not last night. You typically kept all of your windows closed and locked, but you had woken up feeling pretty exhausted. In fact, you were waking up pretty exhausted most mornings. You wrote it off as a side effect of your medication. Maybe you had opened it while you were getting ready and left it ajar without being fully aware of what you were doing. You left it as it was during your nap. You would make sure to shut and lock it when you woke up. The breeze was just so nice.

The next few days were when things got weird.

Your psychiatrist from your hometown had referred you to a new psychiatrist a few blocks from where you lived. You knew you could trust her referral. Your new psychiatrist had a very warm presence. He exceeded your expectations. When you brought up the tiredness you experienced from your medication, he said there was likely an easy fix. He suggested that you try a new medication. If it didn’t work out, you could always switch back to the old one. You were a bit wary at first, but he reassured you that a large number of his Bipolar II patients recounted positive experiences with this particular drug.

It all started on your late night walk home from the pharmacy. You took out your headphones for a brief moment to untangle the wires, and that was when you heard it. There was a set of footsteps walking directly behind you, almost like they were trying to keep pace with you. You whipped your head around, spotting some typical passerby. A family, two women laughing, a guy walking his dog. You figured that maybe a cat had skittered by right next to you or something.

But it happened again the next night. And the night after that. And in the afternoon, and in the morning. You kept hearing those footsteps right behind you. Sometimes when you turned around, you could see another shadow in addition to yours, only for it to quickly disappear. It felt like someone was watching you, like someone was following you. You tried to reason with yourself that this paranoia was due to your new medication, but you remembered hearing those footsteps the night prior to even starting it.

There was other stuff, too.

You kept forgetting to lock your window at night, which was strange, because you could never remember unlocking it. You woke up on Friday to find that you had misplaced a few of your drawings. After scouring your entire apartment to find them, you realized they may have fallen out of your sketchbook during one of your many walks through the park.

It didn’t help that your new medication was making you nauseous. Your psychiatrist had reassured you that this was a typical side effect within the first two weeks, and that it would most likely pass after that point. If it didn’t, you could always try something else (as frustrating as that idea was). In spite of the nausea, you were starting to feel less tired in the mornings, and you hadn’t been experiencing any racing thoughts or depressive symptoms.

You lost your headphones at some point in the midst of this, which was disappointing. Although you received a few commissions via Instagram that week, you didn’t want to factor a new pair of headphones into your budget this month. You figured you would wait for another online order or commission until splurging on yourself.

Your concerns about money and issues with nausea seemed to have no effect on your coffee intake, however. You stopped by to see May every few days, more than willing to spend as much as you needed to in order to get your fix. On Friday afternoon, May stopped you before you could head out the door.

“Eddie was here this morning,” she said. “I think he’s been looking for you. He asked if I had seen you at all this week.”

You felt a rush of gaiety at her words.

“Really?”

May nodded. “I told him it was none of his business until he bought something. And then when he bought something, I told him it was still none of his business,” she chuckled. “But then he tipped me, and I relented.”

You wondered if the number you called him with was a landline at work or something. But it couldn’t have been. When you first spoke to him, it sounded like he had literally just woken up, unless he had fallen asleep at his desk. Maybe he received a lot of phone calls due to the ad, and wasn’t sure which number was yours in his call log.

May leaned towards you and gestured for you to come closer to the counter. When you leaned in, she whispered, “I think that man is a little sweet on you, to tell you the truth.”

You felt your stomach flip, and you suddenly felt flustered. You really wanted to believe that. It was hard not to like Eddie. He was kind and perceptive and real. But it was more likely that he wanted to speak with you about the story. As disappointed as that made you feel, you were happy to help him out in any way you could.

“Thanks, May,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ll get in touch with him.”

🕷

You laid in bed, scrolling through your phone as a Hulu documentary blared at you from your tv. It didn’t take long to find Eddie’s number. The only other people in your call log since moving to Brooklyn were your mom, your sister, and a few telemarketers. You typed in his number like you were about to text him, then deleted it. You did this several times. You wanted to contact him, but you also didn’t want to seem like some clingy weirdo that lacked boundaries.

But he had been looking for you…

You set your phone down on the dresser next to your bed and restarted the documentary. You hadn’t been paying much attention to it, and it seemed fairly interesting. Maybe you would text him in the morning.

When you were just on the verge of sleep, your phone startled you awake. Someone was calling you. You scrambled to turn down the volume on your tv. With blurry vision, you reached to grab it, your fingers fumbling as you got ahold of your phone. You moved your finger across the touch screen and held it up it to your ear without even really looking at the number that was calling you.

“Hello?” you said with a yawn.

“Hi. This is Eddie Brock, the writer from The Daily Bugle? I conducted an interview with you about a week ago.”

You immediately sat up. “Yeah! Eddie. Hey.”

If you weren’t mistaken, it was like you could hear him smile through the phone.

“I’m sorry to be calling so late,” he lamented. “If you want, I can call you back sometime tomorrow at a more reasonable time. You sound a little tired.”

You looked at the clock. 9:15pm. Wow. Given all the naps you so enjoyed, it wasn’t like you to fall asleep so early in the evening.

“Nonono, it’s totally fine. It’s really not that late. How are you?”

“Ah, well. Overworked. Underpaid. You know the deal,” he said. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad. May told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah,” he said with a breathy laugh.

Did he sound…embarrassed?

“I’m so sorry to bother you with this, but I was hoping I could see you again sometime soon. I have a few more questions I wanted to ask for the article. Also—if this makes you uncomfortable, stop me now—the bossman suggested that we get some photos to go along with it.”

“Photos?”

“Yeah, a few pictures of the people I interviewed; only the ones that were okay with sharing their identities, obviously. They won’t be printed in the actual paper, but they’ll be posted online when the story comes out.”

You mulled that over for a second. It was scary thinking of people seeing what you looked like and knowing so much information about you. But if you wanted to promote your business and be seen as a legitimate artist, you figured there had to be some price to pay. Besides, if anyone decided to take a peek at your social media after reading the article, they would end up seeing your face, anyway.

“You can say no,” he said, his words adamant. “We can just finish up some more questions for the interview, or we can forgo those altogether. I know this is a lot to ask from you, and I have more than enough material t—”

“No,” you interrupted. “No, Eddie, it’s fine. I’m totally okay with that. If I’m willing to fully reveal my identity, I think it’ll help normalize my diagnosis in some small way. It shows people they shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“That’s what my boss said, and I mostly agreed. I just don’t want to risk it being exploitative on any level. But are you really sure? The last thing I want to do is waste your time.”

“I appreciate that. I’m sure.”

“There’s just one little thing,” he said.

“…Okay?”

“I’m going to be the one taking the photos. I actually started off as a photographer at The Bugle before I landed my writing gig. We can shoot them literally anywhere you want. The sidewalk, the park, your apartment, wherever. But I can find you a female photographer if you’d be more comfortable with that.”

“No, I trust you. But if the photos turn out bad—which won’t be your fault, I assure you—I’m not above begging you to throw your camera into the ocean.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” he said with a laugh. “I think you’re gonna make my job very easy…”

Then, more quietly, “…being such a beautiful subject and all.”

He was just being nice, you told yourself. He didn’t really mean it. He just needed to get photos for his article, and he was probably schmoozing you to persuade you to do it.

Even so, it was nice to hear, especially coming from him.

🕷

Okay. So you didn’t know Eddie super well. It was probably not the best idea to invite this virtual stranger to your apartment. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, as ridiculous as that sounded. Maybe it was because he told you about his dynamic with his family, a dynamic that you were all too familiar with. Or maybe it was just your new medication, which you were developing a few concerns about.

You could feel yourself becoming increasingly scatterbrained as of late. You kept losing things; paintbrushes, your favorite shirt, the sketchbook from your freshman year of college. Once every few days, you would arrive home to find something out of place. Your window was unlocked, the cabinet drawers in your kitchen were left open, your blankets were all over the place when you thought you made your bed that morning. You even started to wonder if your apartment was haunted, but you were experiencing that same uneasiness every time you went out.

Wherever you went, you could swear you heard a set of footsteps trailing behind you, especially at night. But whenever you turned around to see who it was, no one was there. The worst part was the heavy feeling of eyes on you at all times. You weren’t sure why, but you could feel this energy in the air like someone was watching you. One night while you were attempting to cook, you spotted someone out of the corner of your eye. They were across the street, a shadow staring up into your window. When you looked outside, however, all you saw was the normal rush of people walking along the sidewalks. You started keeping your curtains closed at all times and bought a few cheap lamps to try and create an illusion of natural light. Even though you knew you were just being paranoid, your blackout curtains made you feel just a tiny bit more comfortable.

A teeny, tiny bit.

But you wanted to give this new medication a chance. Apart from the paranoia, you felt pretty stable. You weren’t buying anything impulsively or lying in bed for days on end. You woke up most mornings feeling refreshed and energetic, and kept yourself on a routine as you worked from home.

When the day came that Eddie visited you, you were really happy to see him. It was borderline pathetic. You stood up from the couch as soon as you heard his motorcycle pull up outside. You peered out the window to find him struggling to open the front doors, pushing instead of pulling. You chuckled as you watched him curse at himself and lean his head back in defeat, finally jarring them open.

When he knocked on your apartment door, you waited a few seconds before opening it. You didn’t want to appear as eager to see him as you felt. You pulled all the curtains open and turned off the lamps. It was a sunny day out, and you didn’t want him to think you were weird. As soon as you swung the door open, he smiled brightly at you.

“Hey,” you greeted him shyly.

“Hey you,” he said, as if you were old friends reuniting after a long time apart. He dropped his helmet onto the floor and pulled you into a tight hug, twisting and lifting you up slightly as he did. That same smell of mint and aftershave wafted through the air. Your feelings of paranoia and uncertainty felt like a distant memory.

He shifted his focus to your marginally messy living space. Although clean, you had paintings on canvases of various sizes stacked up all along the floor. Your charcoal pencils and oil pastels were strewn across your desk, along with a pile of unfinished commissions.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“I know it’s complete and utter chaos in here. I meant to clean up before you got here, but I’ve been kind of bus—”

“No,” he said, approaching one of your paintings on a larger canvas. You had completed it a while ago, a still life of the house you grew up in. He lifted it up and examined it carefully. He turned towards the other canvases and rifled through them.

He turned back towards you and raised his eyebrows. “You made these?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Not my best work, but—”

“If this isn’t your best work, then your best work has to be, like…godly.”

You snorted. “Eddie.”

“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I’ll admit it. I’ve creeped on your social media, and you were as talented as I thought you would be. But these are on another level.”

You figured you would spend the day walking around the park—which you did—but only after Eddie took you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You talked for hours, so much so that you hadn’t realized how few questions he had asked that were pertinent to the interview. You mostly just chit chatted about your daily lives, and thoughts and feelings on various topics. Your favorite movies, books, music, places. Your dream vacation, your favorite stores. He didn’t ask to voice record any of it. The only Daily Bugle related thing you did was pose for a few photos in the park, which you refused to even look at.

“I’m going to tear myself to shreds if I see them,” you said over your second cup of May’s coffee. “I’m serious. Don’t show them to me. I want you to have photos for your article and I don’t want to be annoying and ask you to retake a bunch of them.”

“We can retake as many photos as you want,” he said sympathetically. “But you really do look great in these. No surprise there.”

You could seriously get used to being complimented by Eddie Brock.

It was dark by the time you decided to call it quits. You couldn’t believe how quickly the day flew by. Eddie couldn’t, either.

“The article will be published in a few weeks. If by any chance you want to see the photos, you can take a look at the website. They should all be there.”

“Or, y’know. The app,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes. “No, not the app. Never the app.”

True to his word, the article came out the morning of World Mental Health Day. It was beautifully written. He had inserted well-researched facts and figures throughout, and paid respect to the subjects he interviewed, maintaining and promoting their dignity. The photos he posted were really good quality, edited in black and white. Apart from you, he had photographed around five other people. Yours was at the very bottom of the page, a candid photo of you laughing. You were pleasantly surprised. You actually looked kind of nice. He had even printed your website and social media handle in bold.

You shot him a text, opting not to call him during the workday.

Eddie, oh my god! It’s amazing!!!! Thank you so much!

You received a reply just a few seconds later.

Like I said, you made my job easy.

In the hours that followed, you received an overflow of commission requests and hits to your website. You were beaming as you replied to the incoming messages. Not much later, you received another text from Eddie.

Bold question for you. Would you want to grab a celebratory drink sometime?

Um…YES. Was that even a question? You let out a happy sigh as you texted him back.

As long as I’m buying. I owe you big time.

Later that night after finishing a few commissions, you set to work on a sketch for Eddie. It was risky, but you wanted to help him see his hometown through new eyes, just as you had been doing lately. You wanted to recreate San Francisco as something beautiful and safe for him to take the edge off of some of his crappy memories. He told you he always enjoyed visiting the Wave Organ when he felt bummed out. You took that tidbit of information and ran with it.

In contrast to the elation you felt, you were startled from a deep sleep the following morning by a jarring nightmare. As you were sitting in bed working away on your Wave Organ illustration, a gel-like string came through your open window and curled itself around the walls. Your eyes widened as more and more of these long, black strings came through the window. You sat there stunned, unable to move as they took up larger and larger amounts of space within your tiny room. Suddenly, a head poked its way through your window. It was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. It looked like some kind of alien you had only ever seen in movies, with giant white eyes and sharp teeth. It was massive and looked insanely strong. It moved closer and closer towards you, clutching onto the edge of your bed with its claws. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. You couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream. You could barely breathe. After staring at you for a few seconds, twisting its head to the side, it poked its tongue out at you and let out this awful roaring, screaming noise.

Without even thinking, you flipped to a blank page in your sketchbook as soon as you woke up. You picked up a charcoal pencil and etched the creature onto the page in under an hour. You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to recreate what you saw. It was like something else was controlling your hands as you drew. When you finally finished, you threw your pen down on the page and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

🕷

“Bold question,” Eddie said, clinking his beer against yours. You hated beer, but he was adamant that the hole in the wall bar you met up at had a beer selection that even you would enjoy.

“Oh no. Not another one,” you joked, taking a sip of your drink.

Huh. He wasn’t wrong. Your beer (which he refused to allow you to pay for) was actually pretty good.

He leaned his cheek against his fist, sliding his elbow across the counter.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t. Why do you ask?”

He smiled, taking a swig of his drink. “You would think I’d have asked you before. I really should have. I mean, I’m pretty invested at this point…but yeah, no. It’s good that you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I would have to agree. I don’t have the best track record when it comes to those.”

“No?” he asked. He placed both his elbows on the counter and draped his wrists along the edge, leaning closer towards you. He was looking at you like that was some kind of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t. “I think I can change that.”

You felt an inkling of courage at his words, reaching into your bag to pull out the Wave Organ drawing in its silly little dollar store frame. You were slowly starting to accept that Eddie Brock had a crush on you, maybe an even bigger crush on you than you had on him, if that was possible. You really, really hoped he wouldn’t think your thankful gesture wasn’t cringeworthy.

He craned his head around you to peer at the drawing. “What’s that?”

“Well…” you said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I can ever properly repay you for what you’ve done, but this is my attempt.” You held it out to him abruptly, resisting the urge to clamp your eyes shut.

He gently picked it up, pulling it closer to his face to get a good look.

“Is this…”

“The Wave Organ. I felt really sad when you told me about all the bad memories you had growing up. You mentioned that this was one of the places you liked to escape to when you were feeling low. I know this in no way erases those memories, but I wanted to give you something that could help you see San Francisco from your own, untainted point of view. I hope one day the city won’t be as ruined for you as it is now. It’s not just your family’s home. It’s yours, too. No one gets to take that away from you.”

He stared at the drawing for a long time before squinting his eyes shut and clearing his throat. He twisted his head to the side to crack his neck and cleared his throat before opening them again.

“Man…you’re getting me a little choked up over here,” he said, his voice gravelly. He set the frame down on the counter and wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Maybe it hadn’t been the best move to give him such a personal gift in such a dingy bar. It wasn’t your intention to make him upset or bring the mood down. You placed your hand over his, scrambling to come up with a good apology.

“Eddie, I—”

“This just might be the best gift anyone has ever given me,” he said, brushing his thumb along the side of your hand.

He looked like he actually meant it.

And then he leaned in and kissed you. It seemed like it was simultaneously the shortest and longest kiss in the world. You got totally lost kissing him, forgetting that you were in a public place, forgetting everything.

Yup. You really, really liked Eddie Brock.

After a couple of hours, you decided to call it a night. Neither of you even really drank that much. You had one beer to his two, with lots of water and some stale chips in between. Before you could start on your walk home, Eddie stopped you.

“Hey, would you, um…would you want to come back to my place for a little bit?”

You raised your eyebrows and smirked.

“It doesn’t have to mean what you think it means, ya little goofball. I would be happy to just hang out and watch a movie with you. Like, actually watch a movie. If there’s anything I have an excess of, it’s popcorn. The good kind, too. Not that microwave shit.”

“Huh,” you mused, pretending to exaggeratedly think it over. “The good kind of popcorn, no microwave shit. A tempting prospect.”

You had to admit, you were kind of curious about what his apartment looked like. Eddie had somewhat of a messy vibe to him. Being just as engaged with his work as you were (if not more so), you figured he probably had a ton of paper and pens and post-its all over the place.

“And you’d get a free ride out of the deal with a very safe driver. I’ll even let you wear my helmet.”

You had never been on a motorcycle before.

“Well, no. I’m not letting you wear my helmet. I’m making you wear my helmet.” Before you could say anything, he pushed your hair back and slid the heavy black helmet down over your head. Once it was fully on, he lightly knocked on the side. “Gotta protect that beautiful little noggin.”

“But what about you?” you asked.

“What about me?” he asked, motioning for you to come closer as he got on the bike.

“Don’t you need a helmet?”

“Like I said, I’m a very safe driver.”

He wasn’t, but you didn’t mind.

🕷

Eddie Brock’s apartment was just what you had expected. It was very him, with brick accent walls and hardwood floors and a massive leather couch. There was a large bookshelf in the corner of the living room next to the kitchen, which was pretty clean if you ignored all the mugs and portable coffee cups in the sink. The space was dimly lit in spite of the vast quantity of light fixtures he had positioned everywhere. The living room was cluttered with random pieces of furniture he didn’t seem to know what to do with, and the coffee table had piles of papers stacked up on top of it.

“Well, this is it,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter haphazardly. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess. Honestly I hadn’t been expecting any visitors tonight, so…”

“No?” you asked, leaning back against the fridge.

“You would think I’d have a hunch about these things, right?” he asked, pouring you a glass of water. “But no. I don’t know, I really was hoping you would want to come over here sometime, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. When I really like someone, I try not to build my expectations up too high. I’m kind of surprised you’re here with me right now, actually. When I texted you this afternoon, I figured it was kind of a longshot.”

“Really?” you asked. “I thought it was pretty obvious that I had a massive crush on you.”

His face lit up as he shrugged his jacket off. “You had a crush on me?” he asked incredulously. “For how long?”

“I did. I do. Like, from the first time I met you.”

“Really?” he asked. “From when we did the interview at May’s? Are you sure?”

“I mean, that’s not something I’m typically uncertain about,” you chuckled. “I honestly thought you might have picked up on it.”

“No. Not at all! I wish I would have picked up on it. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so nervous sending you that text today if I had an inkling that I had a shot with you.”

“Why did you send it if you felt like you didn’t have a chance?” you asked playfully.

He shrugged. “I mean…can you really blame me for trying?”

He encouraged you to get comfortable on the couch as he set to work on the popcorn, none other than Jiffy Pop. You were surprised to find that he had a ton of DVDs in addition to being subscribed to a variety of streaming services.

“What are you in the mood for?” you asked.

“Hmm…” He turned his head towards you as he moved the pan over the stove. “Would it be weird to say horror?”

“Say no more.”

You settled on John Carpenter’s Halloween.

“Oh, where’s your bathroom?” you asked.

“Just down the hallway to the left. The lock doesn’t work, so…yeah. I won’t come bursting in on you.”

You laughed. “Good to know.”

After fixing your smudged eyeliner, straightening out your shirt, and taming a few stray hairs, you started heading back towards the living room.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it.

In the crack of a doorway was a familiar assortment of colors and lines. You pushed the door open just a tad bit more. There it was, just as you suspected: a collection of prints you had sold from your website the month prior. Your heart warmed at the thought. Eddie was the one that bought them. Eddie was ‘Alien Symbiote.’ He wanted to support your business without you knowing. He meant what he said. He really had liked your work.

You had no clue why he picked such a hilarious pseudonym, though.

You peeked down the hallway to see if Eddie had caught you snooping into his bedroom, but his back was turned to you as he worked on the popcorn. You weren’t sure why, but you pushed the door open just a tiny bit more.

You weren’t quite sure what you were seeing at first. What you were looking at was so overwhelming, so completely and utterly destabilizing that your mind couldn’t process it right away. There was just too much to take in. Eddie’s bedroom was much like the rest of the apartment, homey and cluttered and warm. But this type of clutter was…different.

Along his desk were piles of papers in complete disarray. But even through the mess, it was unmistakable.

Those were your drawings. Those were your headphones. Those were your paintbrushes. And that was your sketchbook from freshman year of college.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Your mind was spinning. There had to be some rational explanation as to why Eddie had those things. Your things. Things you thought you had lost or misplaced. Maybe you left them at May’s and he just so happened to find them and pick them up for you. That was a possibility, wasn’t it? That was a perfectly viable, reasonable explanation. Eddie wasn’t some kind of freak. Surely he wasn’t stalking you.

But you knew better.

Most damning of all was the bulletin board hung up above his desk. You could barely count the number of photos that were pinned up along that wall. There were photos of you walking to the post office, photos of you drawing in the park, at May’s, in your apartment. There were photos of you laughing, photos of you texting, photos of you watering the plants along your windowsill, even photos of you sleeping.

You felt like doing several things simultaneously as your nausea kicked into overdrive. You wanted to scream, cry, hide, jump out the window. You wanted to melt through the walls and avoid having to see him ever again as you bolted out of the building. You looked to the window to check for a fire escape, to no avail. It had to have been just outside the living room. You wondered if you could make it out there without him noticing, but that would be impossible. Eddie was super perceptive, and apparently hyper aware of your every move.

Almost every move. You had discovered his little…whatever this was without him knowing.

Not only was Eddie Brock a stalker, he was also a reporter. It was as if he was following you with the same fervor that he would a corrupt politician or a local hero or anyone else he was writing some in-depth exposé about. It was just so jarring. Only a few seconds ago, you felt lucky and hopeful about getting to know him better. Now all you wanted to do was erase yourself from his memory entirely.

If you lingered there any longer, you knew he would start to suspect something was up. You took a few deep breaths, trying your best not to hyperventilate. You crept down the hallway into the living room as quietly as you could. You looked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room a few times, making sure he wasn’t looking your way. Just when you were about to open the window, you heard his voice.

“Looks like we’re in business!” he exclaimed, walking towards you with a large bowl in his hands. “Now I know I talk a big game, but I’m like 99% certain that this will be the best popcorn you’ve ever had in your life.”

You whipped around instantly. Every muscle in your body felt tense and rigid. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You just stared at him.

A look of concern flashed across his face. His gaze shifted towards your hands, which were visibly shaking. “You alright?”

“Um…yeah, no. I’m fine, Eddie. I’m just not feeling very well…”

You could feel the pinpricks of tears in your eyes. Shit.

“I think I need to go home. It’s late and I think I should get some s-sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. “C’mere, I’ll give you a ride h—”

“No!” you cut him off, your voice louder than intended. Then, more quietly, “No, no, that’s okay, Eddie. I can walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. I need to know that you got home safe.”

His words made your stomach turn. He didn’t need to know anything.

“No, Eddie. No.” You pushed past him as you walked towards the kitchen counter, where you had left your phone. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“No, wait,” he said, jutting out in front of you. His hands hovered over your elbows. He was really close to you. Way too close. He smiled at you; a nervous, cloying, shifty smile. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You could feel warm tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breath became labored as you struggled to speak. “Please just let m—”

His face fell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You reached to grab your phone, but he was quicker. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he ripped your phone out of your hands, but you let out a little gasp when he did. You attempted to claw it away from him, but he pulled it out of reach every time you tried. His other hand was held out defensively, lightly pressing against your sternum as you lunged at him.

“Give me my phone!” you yelled. “Eddie, give me my phone!”

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked. Baby. That stupid, sickly sweet concerned look was still plastered on his face. You felt a rush of anger burn through your chest. He really had the audacity to act like he meant you no harm, like he was exactly the person you thought he was, to call you baby. But you weren’t just angry at him. You were also angry at yourself. How did you not see the signs sooner? Were there even any signs?

“Give it back to me now! You can’t just take my phone from me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Calm down. Just calm down! I’ll give it back when you tell me what’s going on,” he said. It was clear that he was slightly panicked, too, trying his best to keep his voice even. “I…I thought tonight was going so well.”

“Yeah?” you mocked. “Yeah? Me, too!”

After one final attempt at reaching for your phone, you gave up and darted past him towards the door. He tossed your phone onto the couch and jumped out in front of you once again, gripping onto your upper arms.

“Let go of me!”

You were hoping if you screamed loud enough that the neighbors would notice, but you couldn’t hear anything outside of the apartment.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

“Oh no, we’re not gonna do this,” you sobbed, backing up against the door. He followed, caging you in.

“What are y—”

“Stop acting like you don’t know what’s going on!”

“Baby, I don’t know what y—”

“I found your room. I saw it. The pictures, the drawings. That’s probably not even all of it,” you said. Your voice didn’t sound like you. It was rough, raspy. “For the last month I thought I had been going crazy, that I was losing things. But you had them all along. All that weird stuff in my apartment—the window, the cabinets. All those pictures…you’ve been following me. Why?”

He stared at you with a look akin to a deer in headlights. Panicked and confused.

“WHY?” you repeated, making him wince.

He let out a breathy sigh, giving you that same nervous smile as before. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You pushed him only for him to shove you back against the door. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was examining you carefully, his brow furrowed. It wasn’t a judgmental look so much as a contemplative one.

“When you’ve been manic, have you ever had any hallucinations?” he asked.

“What?” you asked. “No. I don’t have full blown mania, I have hypomanic episodes. You know that. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ve read up on this,” he said, as if he was trying to level with you. “After I interviewed you, I did a bunch of research on bipolar disorder.”

Oh, I’m sure you did.

“And I read that if you’re having a really bad manic episode or if you’re sleep deprived, it’s possible for people with bipolar disorder to experience psychosis. Sometimes you don’t even have to be manic or sleep deprived to have hallucinations or delusions.”

Oh my god.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious with this right now? Are you hearing yourself? You’re really trying to tell me that what I just saw was all in my head?”

“Baby, please just listen t—”

“I thought you were disgusting, but this is fucking vile,” you snapped.

“Come on. It’s me! You know me. Do you seriously think I’m some kind of creep? Do you seriously think I would hurt you, or violate your privacy like that?”

“I know what I saw!”

“Have I ever once made you feel unsafe?”

“YES!” you yelled. “You’re making me feel unsafe right now!”

“Just LISTEN to me!” he yelled, shoving you against the door once again.

You almost screamed when you heard it. A separate voice was yelling in unison with Eddie’s; a louder, deeper, distorted voice. An otherworldly voice. It conjured up an image in your mind of that thing you saw in your nightmare—tangling its way along the walls, tilting its head at you, roaring so loud that it startled you awake.

Maybe you were hallucinating.

“No!” you yelled, pushing him as hard as you could. You ran down the hallway and he followed, grabbing you from behind. You hit and kicked at him, escaping his grasp every few seconds before being trapped once again. You were stumbling and clawing at one another as you moved closer and closer to his bedroom door. “You want to prove this is a hallucination? Let me see your room!”

“Wait!” Eddie yelled, blocking you from elbowing him in the nose. “Nonono, wait. Hold on. We’re not going to my room. I’m not going to entertain this delusion. Okay? You shouldn’t have gone into my room in the first place. Are you listening to me? If you’re having a psychotic break right now, you shouldn’t—”

You kicked him in the stomach as forcefully as you could, catapulting yourself onto the bedroom floor. You landed hard, but you couldn’t focus on the pain in your elbows. All you could see was the window in front of you. It was wide open. You could have sworn that it was closed when you first entered the room. Most alarming, though, was the inky black shadow crawling its way from the corner of the wall, out of the window. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Wh…what…?”

When you turned your head to look at the bulletin board, there was nothing pinned to it. No photos. Not a single one. Even the desk was free of clutter. No papers, no headphones, no paintbrushes, no sketchbook. The only remaining item of yours were those prints he had purchased, propped up along the wall just as they had been a few minutes ago.

You sat in stunned silence.

Eddie caught his breath, curled up in a ball just outside the doorway. He was cradling his stomach, looking just as stunned as you were. He didn’t make a single move towards you. “Are you seeing anything right now?” he asked breathlessly.

“I…”

You had never cried so hard in your life.

🕷

“I don’t understand. I’ve never experienced psychosis before.”

You were lying on Eddie’s couch with wet hair and puffy eyes. You had asked if you could shower at his apartment to try and calm down, and he was polite enough to let you. He even sat outside the door to make sure you didn’t fall, and offered you one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts when you got out.

You really didn’t deserve his kindness.

You were lying against his chest, your hands lightly gripping onto his flannel. He had one arm wrapped around your torso while the other lazily played with your hair and massaged your scalp. You were still shaking pretty badly, but his warmth was helping to soothe you.

“Didn’t you switch medications recently?” he asked.

“Yeah. Do you think that could have caused it?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Maybe. I had a weird feeling about it. It was making me really paranoid.”

You were both quiet for a few minutes as Halloween provided the space with background noise. Eddie had asked you if you wanted to turn on something more lighthearted considering the circumstances, but you refused. There was something about horror movies that made you feel safe—like those things were just fiction, the product of a writer’s imagination. Those things weren’t happening now, and they would never happen to you.

The silence between you took your mind to some dark places. You felt absolutely mortified that you had put Eddie through whatever the hell that was. He had been nothing but kind to you and this was how you repaid him?

“You must think I’m insane,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “No. I would never think that. You’re a lot of things. Insane isn’t one of them.”

“It was like I was hearing two voices at once,” you said, your stomach twisting. “Your voice, and this…other one. It didn’t sound human. I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

He wrapped both arms around you, burying his chin into the crook of your neck.

“Tomorrow morning I think you should call your psychiatrist,” he said.

“It’s a Saturday. They’re not open,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Well,” he chuckled. “I think you should call and leave a message.”

“I definitely don’t want another issue like this one. I’m just so tired of all the trial and error. It’s been such a long road for me with this.”

As the credits rolled, you turned and looked up at him. You were about to ask if he was up for Halloween 2, but when you saw the look on his face, you decided against it. He looked a little irritated. How could he not be? You had just accused him of being a stalker and gotten into a full-blown physical altercation.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked. “I can go.”

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t want you to go. I really, really don’t. It’s just…do you ever feel like your life is one monumental screwup?”

“Um. What?” you asked.

“It’s just…it upsets me a little bit, y’know? This is in no way your fault, and I know you couldn’t help it. Hallucinations can be really vivid. But it’s damaging to know that you would think so badly of me to immediately conclude I would hurt you like that.”

Your heart sunk as he continued working his fingers through your scalp.

“Eddie, I don’t think badly of you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, giving your hair a light tug. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“That’s not fair. If you could see what I saw…it looked so real. It was all there when I first walked into your room, I’m telling you. And then it was gone, just like that.”

“What did you see when you were in there?” he asked.

“Pretty much what I told you. Some stuff that had gone missing from my apartment, pictures of me all over the place. It looked like some twisted shrine or something. It was really terrifying. If you saw a shrine of yourself in my room, wouldn’t you be scared, too?”

“Like what, if you were stalking me, you mean?”

You nodded.

“Hah. Well…I can’t say I would be too upset about that.”

“Stop,” you chuckled.

“Kidding, kidding,” he said. “I’m being an idiot. I’m sorry. I don’t expect any kind of apology from you or anything. That wasn’t your fault and you were just as scared as I was. It’s just that all this time I feel like you’ve gotten the chance to see me for what I am, you know? The actual me. Not this horrible person that everybody seems to think I am. It’s been so rare for me to find people that are truly willing to get to know me, and things had been going so well with you. I didn’t want that to change. I’ve been terrified that I’m going to mess it up somehow, and it hurts that, even for a split second, you saw me just like everybody else in my life does.

“This is going to sound awful, and maybe it’s an ego thing, but I kind of…I don’t want you to look up to me, that’s not what I’m trying to say. But I do want you to know that you can trust me. Like, I want to be the one that you call when you need something. Or even just for no reason at all. I want you to feel like you can call me whenever you want.”

“If I called you whenever I wanted, you would probably block my number,” you said.

“No, I definitely wouldn’t,” he laughed, smiling softly. “I just want you to feel safe with me, that’s all. And I want to help you figure this medication thing out.”

You sighed. “I just want to be normal. I’m so tired of this, Eddie.”

“I know. And I know you can do it on your own, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to go through any of this alone anymore.”

You had a sinking feeling that Eddie didn’t know what he was signing up for. You already felt terrible about what had happened tonight. You weren’t sure if you or he could handle any even remotely similar reoccurrences.

“Eddie—”

“No, I mean it. As long as you want me around, I’m not going anywhere.”

A state of calm overtook you as Eddie shut the tv off. In spite of all that happened, you were overcome with a sense of ease and weightlessness you hadn’t experienced in years. He was just so warm, and he made you feel accepted in the wake of your most embarrassing moment. You were just about to drift off to sleep when your eyes snapped open.

You had never told Eddie that you switched medications.

🕷

shoutout to all my fellow bipolar girlies lol <3 love u, stay safe <3

#yandere marvel #yandere eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x reader #dark!eddie brock #yandere eddie brock

[hyobros]

Cheritz's changes in staff over the lifetime of The Ssum

I wanted to write a post about this because it was the nail in the coffin convincing me that The Ssum won't get better. I really want to be optimistic, I was for the first year of the game's release. But with how hard they're fumbling June's route, and having some context by seeing the dramatic changes that happen behind the scenes, I don't have any hope for the game's future in its original concept.

So here's a big fat list of credits, comparison of them, and my own stupid commentary.

A comparison of the beta OPs credits (2018) vs the new OP credits (April 2022)

Project Directed by-

Sujin Ri (this stays constant)

Project Managed by-

Heinrich Dortmann (this stays constant during the time periods I'm comparing- we'll come back to this later)

Character Model by-

Yuseung An (this credit never appears again so uhhhh)

Game Designed by-

Yoonji Shin, Haeyoung Go (this credit also never appears again)

Project Assisted by-

2018:

Youngtak Lee, Heetae Lee, Yeonwoo Jung, Kyungha Kim, Kyungho Kim, Jihyun Jang, Hyejin Hong, Daniel Hong, Seungiim(?) Hwang, Dakyoung Lee

April 2022:

Heetae Lee, Junghee Choi

Art illustrated by-

2018:

Ilbo Sim, Jinhee Lee, Jihyeon Choi, Hyunju Na, Juhul Kim, Jaehee Hwang, Mirae Kang

April 2022:

Ilbo Sim, Jihyeon Choi, Minji Kim, Mirae Kang, Youngjoo You, Yura Lee

Programmed by-

2018:

Mansu Park, Marcos Arroyo, Rachel Tay, Soonyong Hong, Seungjin Lee, Myungjun Choi

April 2022:

Gunsoo Lee, Kukhwa Park, Moonhyuk Jang, Myungjun Choi, Seungjin Lee, Wonbok Lee, Youngkwon Jeon

Scenario Written by-

2018:

Jinseo Park, Minjeong Kim, E Hyun Kim, Eunchong Jang

April 2022:

Jinseo Park, Lilly Hwang, Minjung Kim, Saerom Shin, Summer Yoon, Youngran Moon

Language Localized by-

2018:

Sunhee Moon, Minkyung Chi, Sungjae Choi, Junhee Kim

April 2022:

Minkyung Chi, Pilhwa Hong, Saenanseul Kim, Sorim Byeon

Sound Resourced by-

2018:

(N/A)

April 2022:

Songhee Kim

Customer Service/Communication with Users by-

2018:

Sunkyeong Yun, Hyeseon Yang

April 2022:

Donghee Yoon, Joyce Hong, Sanghee An, Subin Kim

Credits from 2019

These are in the lyric booklet included in the Teo Love Bundle. Strangely enough, I'm already seeing differences between the 2018 credits and 2019. Uh oh?

As of release + a few months

These screenshots don't feature all the credits, unfortunately. I'm relying on screenshots someone else took because I'm not proactive but hindsight is 20/20.

Changes: Project is no longer managed by Heinrich Dortmann, instead by Juho Woo. Scenario team cut down to 2 people, one of which is a new name (Jooyoung Lim). Art team also cut down to 2 people. Sound is no longer resourced by Songhee Kim, but Jaeryeon Park and ROGIA. All new team of directing assistants as well, it expanded to 4 people but they're all new names. 2 fewer programmers, only one of the listed names was already working.

October 2023 (June's release)

Here's where it somehow gets worse lol.

Changes: A lot. Directing assisted by 1 person. They were not a part of the team credited in the OP. Down to 3 programmers, only 1 being in the OP. Entirely new art team! It's up to 4 people, but all of them are new, even compared to only a few months prior. Down to 1 scenario writer pobrecita (but we're coming back to that). Since I don't have screenshots of the project assistant credits from launch, can't say anything for that, except that Gui Zhenghao is new compared to the OP but the number of staff there remained the same. Flaming Heart is gone for the BGM! He's been working with Cheritz for forever but is gone now. One person from the communication team left, so they're down to 2. That would explain why emails have been slower since October. Only 1 translator, though Cheritz is now looking to recruit new ones.

Important note:

According to Cheritz's post acknowledging their use of gAI, Sujin Ri was not involved in writing season 1 of the game, but IS the main writer for season 2. I won't make a rant about how much I hate what she's writing cuz this isn't the post for that, but it explains why season 2 is so vastly different.

The fact that only a few people (like, in the lower single digits) remain even from 2019/early 2022, let alone who's still around from 2018, is really frustrating for the game. The game started with one vision, but now it's being turned into something completely different. Even the app's functions are inconsistant between season 1 and 2 (and a little so between Harry and Teo). According to an email I got from Cheritz, season 2 takes place a few years before season 1. Just sit with that knowledge for a bit :P. It's like the current people in charge of The Ssum (*cough Sujiin Ri*) couldn't be bothered to keep the original concept in mind, let alone how the timeline would work.

This post was a long time coming, I was caught up in just how bizarre this all is and finding tons of stuff that I haven't even included in the post. Writing this has taken about 3 hours (including the time I spent on a post ONLY FOR TUMBLR TO NOT WANNA WORK PROPERLY WHEN I TRIED TO POST IT SO IT GOT DELETED) and uhhh yeah. Now I gotta wait a few years to ask former staff if their NDAs are expired yet LOL

#the ssum #cheritz #im full of hate and rage

[wingsoverlagos]

Lewisohn vs. Shepherd

I'm still at work on the whole Kim Bennett thing, but here's a quick Lewisohn vs. post to spice things up. Actually, the book from which I was cross-referencing was due at the library, so I started work on this, quickly realized the source was also readily availble online, but decided to finish it anyway.

The source at hand is Jean Shepherd’s October 28th, 1964 interview with the Beatles, published in the February 1965 issue of Playboy. You can find a transcribed version here or a scanned copy here. It’s a great, quick read - seven pages sparkling with Beatles wit and a concerted effort by George to convince the interviewer he's in love with Ringo. Small tw for transphobia in the form of a tired pronoun joke at the expense of April Ashley.

Tune In pulls three quotes from Shepherd's interview. Two of them are below the cut - their are minor changes (one exceedingly minor) to those quotes, but the first quote I'll address is taken wildly out of context. It's not the most offensive distortion of history that Lewisohn has put forward, but its maddeningly blatant - and pointless.

Tune In 26-20 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.54

The quote of interest is highlighted in green, but I included the preceding paragraph because the context matters greatly here. The Beatles & Brian were down in the dumps, having struck out with every record company with any semblance of artistic merit. Lewisohn highlights that John and Paul in particular were down in the dumps, but that “their young friend George stayed optimistic. He rallied them, he showed them that while they might be thinking the worst, he was remaining hopeful.” His evidence for this is the quote highlighted in green, in which John says Brian and George knew they would make it big.

Well. Let’s check the source.

If you look at the quote, once again in green, it’s almost correct—Lewisohn drops “our manager”, but it’s close by Tune In’s standards. Take a look at what’s around the quote, and you’ll see it’s taken wildly out of context. John isn’t talking about George’s confidence in the Beatles ability to score a record contract in 1962; he is unambiguously referring to George’s confidence that the Beatles will succeed in America in 1964. And that confidence didn’t stem from “the Beatles’ mantra” that “Something’ll turn up”—George thought they’d be successful in the states because he was aware of their U.S. record sales.

The thing that gets me here is that it’s so unnecessary. As a historian writing for a general audience, the Beatles must be a dream: you have a core group of four complex, interesting, musically gifted people whose personal and artistic growth played out in the public eye, exhaustively documented. They were surrounded by a supporting cast of vibrant characters to root for or revile, who all played a role in a story brimming with friendship, romance, rivalry, wit, and tragedy. There's no reason to rewrite history for the Beatles - their story can be both factually correct and narratively compelling, yet Lewisohn joins a storied list of authors who have felt the need to gild the lily.

What does this add to the Beatles story? How does it benefit the narrative to portray George Harrison as a plucky kid from an afterschool special, cheering on his elders with unflagging optimism when things look bleak? It’s trite, and it’s fake. It's not the Beatles.

This isn’t the most earth-shattering act of historical revisionism Lewisohn has committed to print, but its brazenness is galling. In the introduction to Tune In, Lewisohn states, “I’ve wanted a history of deep-level inquiry where the information is tested accurate, and free of airbrushing, embellishment and guesswork, written with an open mind and even hands, one that unfolds lives and events in context and without hindsight, the way they occurred…” And yet we get this. He knowingly took this quote two years and a whole Atlantic Ocean out of context, and he had the audacity to tout his book as “tested accurate, and free of airbrushing, embellishment and guesswork.”

He's pissing on our feet and telling us it's raining, folks.

Tune In 29-4 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.56

An impressive number of little deletions and changes for such a small quote.

Tune In 33-1 vs. Shepherd 1965, p.54

This one almost isn’t worth mentioning. The only change is the emphasis removed from Ringo’s “them” in the original quote.

Sources:

Lewisohn M. 2013. The Beatles: All These Years Vol. 1: Tune In. New York (NY): Crown Archetype. [ebook]

Shepherd J. 1965 Feb. Playboy Interview: The Beatles. Playboy 12:51-60. Accessed online 2024 Mar. Available from: https://imgur.com/a/HY2Ji

#mark lewisohn #tune in #the beatles #lewi-sins #jean shepherd

[sleepypotatostudio]

Well, I got a bit carried away with this one... (つ ͡ꈍ ͜ʖ̫ ͡ꈍ )

I've heard a picture is worth a thousand words, so I wrote a short passage of the scene I had in mind while drawing this.

Also on AO3 + Wattpad

word count: 1,003

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: violence, injury, blood, you get the picture (lol sorry)

I hope you enjoy <3

Although the estranged world of Demos had slowly grown on Alaris, the place that lay dormant below still induced a sense of dread. The infested tunnels, a living tomb of otherworldly creation. Damp and suffocating as the walls undulate around, leaving the sensation of spindly tendrils beneath the skin as the stagnant heat drapes over the environment. A place she rarely dared step foot herself, but with him she found herself a touch more courageous.

With Umbra she wasn't alone, the connection they shared was dissimilar from the other frames she’d piloted. For his mind lies at the surface of his being and not ensnared within the infested consciousness. Moving without aid, pulling her back from her missteps with a guiding hand. A companion in her regularly programmed solitude, there even when the fear reared its crippling head and accepting of the scars that define them. Like shattered seriglass imbued with restorative veins of gold, perfectly imperfect.

Not unlike the quirky place around them, with its ever-mutating splendor. Viborent in alarm for your impending peril, an ever-expanding labyrinth of dead ends. Where one must always remain vigilant, turn away for even a moment and the world keeps churning around. Beings manifest within the hollow walls and strike without mercy.

Something felt before it's seen.

Like an edge piercing the dulled rumbling of Umbra's restless mind, a silent cry across the rift that tethered them to one another. He turns to catch sight of the vile beast that's struck her, an overgrown tumor of meat and teeth that's emitting a sickly green glow. Alaris staggers backward as the putrid haze envelops her, a visceral cloud of living spores that's coated her lungs. Leaving her momentarily defenseless to the onslaught of infestation if not for her sentry wolf.

In an instant, the hostiles are eviscerated in a wisp of inky smoke, left in pieces scattered in every which direction; His divine blade making quick work of whatever unfortunate being dared to stand in its path. But his attention is trained elsewhere, a crumpled mass on the ground before him, and all he can see is red. Different from the writhing flesh of their surroundings, the red of Alaris’s blood, a fading warmth as life slips from the gash in her side. He kneels before her to press a guarded hand against the matted remains of her tunic, desperate to staunch the bleeding.

“I’m okay,” she tries to reassure his tilted gaze but the words come out as a distorted rasp. Coughing violently as a pained look consumes her features, composure siphoning away. Instead attempting an optimistic smile but it comes off overtly strained as her brows knit together, creases of sharp anxiety set between them. She reaches a small hand out to him but it lacks the strength to maintain grip, instead slipping down his face before going slack at her side. Looking up at him but with a dewy gaze already half empty and wishing nothing more than to be pulled back by the void’s song, but with the viral decay snarling and twisting around them, her mind's eye is clouded.

The link wavers.

Umbra’s giving her that hard stare, mutual understanding that she should retreat but she won't. Doesn't want to leave him here alone, for abandoning him in this wretched place is more than she can bear. Her fogged recollection is left pondering why they had come here in the first place. In hindsight, anything seemed minuscule to merit such a fate as this, but the thought fizzles out. Jarred back into focus by the gurgled chorus of snarls echoing down the corridor, an ominous reminder of their current plight.

Alaris turns back to him, looking for some sort of reassurance in his gaze but finds his attention also trained down the far passage, tensely awaiting the next confrontation. Her heart all but drops into the pit of her stomach as Umbra's grip leaves her to redraw his Nikana. More than certain he's about to jolt from her side to eradicate the oncoming enemies, but he doesn't. Instead sinking the blade into the fleshy ground before them. Conjuring up an ark of swords that cast forth and through the frenzied infested, lancing them into the cavernous walls.

Their wretched shrieks of agony echo down the passageway before reciprocating back with sharp refrain, a call for reinforcements. His hand returns to her side as she stiffens back a pained whine at the contact. Venting her growing frustration, Alaris grasps out with a strained hand. But without the conduit of her amp to filter the attack, it erupts from her palm untamed in shards of raw energy. Strong enough to maim but lacking enough malice to stagger the reinforced mutations slowly encroaching on them.

The appendage drops once more as her breath slows to a shallow murmur. Leaning against Umbra to feel the low rumble that's begun rapidly building in his chest. The offendingly loud howl he produces sends out a wave of pressure across the surrounding area, stunning the near-constant onslaught. Keeping the hostile beings at bay, if just for the moment, and blanketing Alaris’s nerves in unexpected solace.

His grasp wavers, glancing down at her weakened form with that sharp gaze of his. A wordless plea, a clear opening for her to leave before things take an uglier turn. Her features soften, eyes basked in familiar clarity before the air begins to crackle with charged static. The space before him shifts, warping around before she's lost to sight, here and not in the blink of an eye. And although he knows Alaris now lies in the safety of her transference chair, it never gets any less jarring. Watching powerless as she evaporates in a twinkling array of sparks, the void granting her safe passage. Melting away the pesky wounds as her corporeal timepiece rewinds, a gift and curse all at once. She would be okay, for he could still feel her caress in the back of his mind.

The link is stable.

#my art <3 #i spent too much time on this #warframe #excalibur umbra #warframe spoilers #tennocreate #warframe tag #warframe fanart #warframe fanfiction #warframe tenno #fanart #cw gore #cw blood #hurt/comfort #excalibur #warframe umbra #warframe oc #umbra #drawing #art #digital illustration #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #horror #video games #fanfiction #fanfic #sleepypotato #blorbo #self ship

[lollytea]

((Part 2 of my La La Land Machine posts!! Introducing Gus!!! And maybe some other guy idk, it's a little unclear.))

((Part 1))

One of the first things Willow does when she learns she will be working alongside Amity Blight is pick her jaw up off the floor, clamp it shut and smile pleasantly.

She is not going to cause a scene. She is not going to throw a tantrum. She is not going to be a source of conflict on this set. Willow is going to keep her lips buttoned and behave herself. She's lucky to have this role and she's not going to lose it.

She and Amity are two of the first few roles casted. The show is still in the process of putting itself together. Willow finds it a little weird that their chemistry wasn't checked out via screen tests before the two of them were signed on and it makes her anxiety spike.

I mean obviously, there's a lot of awkwardness and tension between them and an audience would surely pick up on that? Willow is gnawing off her fingernails worrying that she's gonna get fired before she even gets her first paycheck, all because she had to and get herself dumped by Amity 7 years ago. Plus they're supposed to be playing best friends?? How the fuck are they supposed to make that believable?? They're actors, sure, but...

In hindsight, this is the point Willow looks back on this as an obvious red flag but she was too stupid to realize it at the time. Of course they didn't need to see if Amity and Willow had chemistry. They didn't give a fuck if they had chemistry. That was never the point of Willow's character on this show.

As far as Willow can tell, Amity does not remember her. She's curt, polite and a little chilly with her during those first few days of pilot shooting but nothing overtly hostile. Nor familiar. At least not right away. She's blunt and she's critical and she does not hesitate to tell Willow when she's doing something wrong. Still a perfectionist after all these years. Even more so than she used to be.

Theyre going to be sharing a dressing room. Which can only lead to good things. Yay.

If Willow had to describe one of the most awkward experiences of her life she'd definitely recount shooting that goddamn Hexside Pilot and having to throw her arms around Amity Blight in a tight, loving hug back when they still wanted nothing to do with each other. It's nothing compared to how excruciatingly awkward her first kiss was but it's certainly up there.

Willow learned from the second she walked in for that audition that the character of Paulina was a comedic role and she was optimistic about giving it a shot. True she didn't have any friends to gouge an opinion from but she made her Dads howl with laughter pretty often so she liked to believe she was moderately funny.

The exaggerated faces she made certainly scored some giggles at the audition. They liked her disposition and line delivery. It makes her swell with pride. Paulina's meant to be a little on the ditzy side so she gives it her all. Willow is excited for this role, she gets to silly it up!!

Although once the scripts start rolling out and Gilbert reads them aloud to her at the kitchen table, she notices that Paulina is....way ditzier than she initially thought. And well, Gilbert seems a bit uncomfortable with it. But Willow assures him it's fine. It IS fine. Sure, she might be a little much but it's not that big of a deal.

The director of Hexside, Adrian Graye is....difficult. As in he expects you to be a mind reader and berates you relentlessly if you can't follow the vision in his head. And maybe Willow is too sensitive but in those first few days of filming, before she really understood the kind of person he was, he made her cry a lot.

She found a place to hide between takes when she's recovering from the hurtful words and it's in the school room, underneath a desk. This is where she meets the boy who's gonna become her best friend in the entire world. He also happens to be the boy she's pretty sure she saw a few people searching the set for. So what's he doing huddled under a desk, choking on his own ragged breath?

Augustus Porter is something else entirely. There are kids like Amity whose parents have sunk thousands of dollars into professional acting classes and she's STILL hasn't mastered the craft. You have kids like Willow with minimal training but enough natural talent to make a living but not win an Oscar anytime soon. And then you have Augustus. Who is made of stars.

As the son of a former performer turned news reporter, it was not difficult for Augustus to find an open door towards the spotlight. His Dad has a lot of connections. And it was the ideal setting for him. He likes to perform, his likes the dazzle and he likes attention.

Augustus has a lifetime of theatre experience under his belt by the time he auditions for Hexside. It could not be any more obvious that he is SEVERELY overqualified for this role. He can sing, he can dance, he can act, he's been on Broadway, he can even do magic tricks, like cmon!!! What the fuck is he doing here??

The simple answer is that he wants to do something fun and goofy right now.

Augustus has been on stage and screen since he could walk and let's just say that it's made him a liiiiittle....out of touch with reality. As a result of this, he's genuinely enraptured by mundane aspects of human life that he's never experienced. And that includes attending public school and having his own locker and backpack and GASP!!! Waving flags at a sports game!!!!

Unfortunately, as Willow tries to calm him down, the reason becomes apparent why he's auditioning for a teen show instead of attending an actual school.

Augustus doesn't have friends. He DOES however have a teenage neighbour who seemed very eager to become buddies. Quickly after, Gus tried to help his new friend get his acting career off the ground by asking his Dad to put in a good word with his friends in the industry. It wasn't until the day of his audition that he overheard from his assumed best friend that he was being used. And it stung. It stung bad.

He managed to hold it together all throughout the car ride to the studio. It wasn't until they arrived that it all burst out of him and he had to go hide somewhere so nobody saw him cry.

Augustus is painfully trusting. And no matter how hard he tries, he never ever EVER learns. He's a prodigy and he's famous. So many people who seek him out have an ulterior motive but he chooses to believe that they're genuine every single time. Willow would be wary about sending him to school too. They'd eat him alive. Just like what they did to her.

He likes showbiz. He likes the excitement of sets and castmates. He likes the illusion of living a normal life but also having the upper hand of knowing exactly what's going to happen and what everyone's intentions are because he already read about it in this week's script.

That doesn't mean Augustus wants to live like this forever. He dreams big. He wants to travel the world. He wants to rattle the world around and turn it upside down. He wants to get into politics. He wants to become an ambassador. He wants to talk to people and learn their stories and gather up a million friends. He wants to ride public transport. (Buses are....so cool.) But he's not ready yet.

He gets a role in Hexside because of course he does. He's Augustus Porter. He will be playing a flashy and charasmatic child villain, a role he was born to play. And Willow is indescribably relieved to have him here. Especially since those early days of shooting would have been Hell without him.

They take care of each other, Willow and Augustus. She comforts him when he fails projects or gets trapped in his head. She's his second pair of eyes who can let him know if somebody is messing with him again. And Augustus helps her read scripts and finish her homework. He sits beside her and makes her laugh after a long day of Amity's condescending comments.

Oh yeah, the condescending comments are gradually getting worse. Both on and off screen. By this point, Willow has realized the point of her character. Paulina exists to make Amity's character look better. Paulina is not ditzy, but is borderline illiterate. Paulina is not endearingly skittish, but is a complete invertebrate. Paulina is nothing but a combination of mockable characteristics rolled up into one character. She's supposed to be the protagonist's best friend, so why does Amity have new lines every week where she makes jokes about her brainlessness as the laugh track plays? It makes the occasional affectionate scenes between them feel pretty hollow.

Willow keeps trying to tell herself that she's being too sensitive. That she's being ungrateful. This job is paying the bills. This job is keeping her Dads from getting ulcers. This job is gonna put her through college (She is 100% gonna flunk out of college but she can't afford to dwell on that right now) and she's over here getting her feelings hurt because she's the comic relief.

But like. It does hurt, man. It REALLY hurts. Especially considering that out of everybody in the cast, Amity is given the most lines about what an idiot Paulina is and its hitting a little too close to home. Amity has plenty of comments to make in the school room about Willow obviously struggling with reading. The close proximity of a shared dressing room is beginning to lead to some hostility on both ends. So the line between where Paulina ends and Willow begins are already blurring. She is trying her goddann best to suck it up but coming to work every day and being an object of ridicule for profit isn't fun. It really isn't.

But she follows all of Adrian's notes and does what she's told.

Willow doesn't speak much on set anymore. She shows up, puts on a performance and either hangs out with Augustus, or makes herself very very small. And it seems to be working for her.

It's not like she's not used to treatment like this. But she has Augustus. And she's never had a friend to soften the blow before. So yknow. Pros and cons.

Willow and Augustus have a lot of fun together. Neither have ever gotten the chance to do normal teen stuff with a friend. And even tho they're not allowed to wander far off the lot, there's a fast food place, a skatepark, an arcade and a movie theater nearby, which gives them plenty to do between takes.

"The special effects kinda sucked," Says Augustus as the two wait in line at the studio canteen, discussing the whimsical fantasy movie they just saw.

Augustus has little to no interest in fantasy and magic. Willow is more of a comic books/superheroes kinda gal but she can appreciate a fun little flick every now and again. Plus one of the characters was really hot.

"I wanna sink my teeth into Sir William," Declares Willow with a wide grin, making Augustus scoff and wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"You want to BITE ME??" Pipes up an incredulous voice from behind, causing them both to whip their heads around, startled.

Willow nearly screams in blood curdling terror, but all she can manage is a pitiful little squeak.

He is standing. Right there. Sir William. Waiting in line at the studio canteen. His head is cocked quizzically, looking a little insulted. His bottom lip is hanging open and....there's a gap in his teeth. He did not have a gap in his teeth in the movie.

However, the arrangement of the guy's teeth does NOT matter right now. What DOES matter is that the blood is scalding under Willow's skin and there is no way the furious flush is not pathetically obvious.

Okay, lesson learned. No more thirsty comments in public.

This was definitely also on the list of her most embarrassing moments but it really lost its cringe factor after a few years. Because nowadays, she'll openly tell 'Sir William' that she wants to munch on his shoulders and it makes him blush and giggle.

But at age 14, it's....the kind of unbearable shit that makes her seriously contemplate quitting her job. Especially when she and Augustus learn that 'Sir William' is apparently filming something on the same studio lot and they might be bumping into him pretty often. There's even talks about him attending the same school room sessions as the other Hexside kids.

Willow would like to disintegrate. She really would. Fortunately the co-learning sessions have not been established yet but....this studio is now a minefield. Willow needs to avoid that boy or die trying. She's lucky to have Augustus. They've come up with a codeword ('Chew Toy') to mutter every time he sees the dude, giving Willow the opportunity to duck her head and subtly turn the other way.

So yeah, filming of season 1A of Hexside is going.....Well, its going. Pros (Augustus) and Cons (Everything else) but Willow is determined to make the best of it. She's given herself so many pep talks, she's pretty sure her own reflection has gotten sick of the sight of her.

Maybe her confidence isn't doing well. Maybe she and Amity are struggling to even co-exist in the same dressing room. Maybe she feels herself shrinking with every passing day.

But things are gonna improve soon. They will.

Because Willow is about to meet Luz Noceda.

#La La Land Machine AU #it was Athena that suggested that the kid manipulating Gus be showbiz based and not academic based and that fits a lot better #thanm you Athena

[play-on-skinners-box]

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER FIVE OF RAINCODE(And a LARGE amount of text)

I wanted to do more Raincode furries cause they're honestly so fun and are really good practice because I'm kinda rusty in general. I only did Yuma and Makoto this time just cause it's a more manageable workload and they are some of the last ones I'm especially passionate about.

OKAY, BUCKLE UP BABY, THESE CHOICES HAVE LAYERS TO THEM. L A Y E R S

OKAY SO, at some point scrolling on tumblr I saw this post by Nadox showcasing a piece of Yuma's concept art, and in the art he was depicted with long hair. They theorized that this was what Number One originally looked like and he sheared his hair into that wimpy fresh almost bowl cut so he could pass as a trainee, AND I L O V E THAT. I herby declare it as correct on the grounds of I said so.

Going along with this idea, Yuma is a young wolf that has a lame haircut so everyone THINKS he's just a dog. I know a wolf in real life would be a lot harder to reasonably pass as a dog, so this requires a bit of anime logic tomfuckery, but I'm fine with that because Raincode already deals in its fair share of logic jank. I am simply being true to game in that regard! The way I drew him already isn't super wolf-like cause I made him all squishy looking like human Yuma, and made the veerrryyyy tips of the ears flop over because the pointy ones just didn't feel quite right. I know real wolf ears are only ever depicted as pointy but it was for the VIBE. Yeaahhh in hindsight I might have taken a few too many liberties. I suppose to make it a little more sensible you could say he's a wolfdog and not full wolf or something. Other than the logic I really like this choice because everyone would naturally assume Yuma's just a pathetic little puppy dog when his real identity is hiding in plain sight!

I went back and forth on alot of the fur aspects. How smooth is too smooth? How much of it should just look like blunt cuts? Should I even give him his human hair? Usually I don't like giving my furries human hair in general because I want them looking a lot more like animals rather than people, but for Yuma his hair is such an important part of his design that I ultimately decided to keep it on both him and Makoto.

MAKOTO IS A WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING AND THAT IS SO FUN, SO SILLY, SO GOOFY, HOOOORAY(Specifically a dall sheep cause they have those big curly horns). In theory, the hardest part of choosing an animal for Yuma is that whatever his animal is needs to tie into Makoto, and also be able to be implemented in a way where their connection isn't obvious. Makoto having a mask helps of course, but if you pick a really distinctive animal for Yuma you'll have to come up with better ways to hide it. Others have gotten a lot more creative with how Makoto hides his species, but I didn't do that and went in the full direction of just giving him a disguise. Its a littlllleeeeee lazy but I'm too smitten with the idea to care. I was a little confused on what to do with the tail. I considered just chopping off the majority of it to make it look like a short little sheep tail and put the justification for it in his suuuuppper tragic past(Though I honestly don't know if homunculi can regenerate like lizards). Luckily, the pose makes it so you can't see it anyway so I don't have to grapple with the responsibly of weather or not I need to brutally amputate one of Makoto's body parts. I consider this a win.

Disregarding his actual animal, I think the sheep is also weirdly fitting because of some of their associations. When I met Makoto I wasn't sure what to make of him besides being cautiously optimistic about him not letting Yuma die(What a fool I was), and sheep/lambs/rams and animals in that ballpark can vary wildly in their depictions from literaly the devil to good little fluffy guys!

For his actual look I wanted the sheep parts to look costumey sort of. I was going for a similar effect as the blood in chapter 0, where it's very noticeable but you write off the weird things about it because it's not immediately relevant. So, the mask has fake horns attached. The hand hooves are just little caps over the paw fingers, and there are two gold and silver caps to mimic his rings and point to their artificiality. The feet are also fake and are suppose to look a little clunky like Makoto's actual shoes. His hair is also much more full looking, a little less limp; because his actual ears need some place to get tucked away. I think the main problem with this design is it'd make for a really awkward reveal, cause when he dramatically gets the mask taken off then he'd just be a canine with hooves.

For both of them I think wolf works very well in terms of their characters and their shared forte. Yuma spends most of the game struggling with needing to rely on others, and Makoto has been carrying the weight of Kanai Wards secret on his shoulders alone for like three years. They also both have the Coalescence forte, which by it's very nature requires the help of other people, and at the end of the day being with others and working together is what brings them farther then they could do alone(even if some of the themes get muddled at the end and arn't really as clear as I'd personally like I find that Kodaka's games can have some not so rock solid theming with shakey conclusions but this is what I chose to take away from it)

These aspects of their characters fit perfectly with the stereotypical idea of a strong and stoic lone wolf in contrast to real wolves being pack animals that work together to survive!

I thought I'd like Yuma's design more by a landside cause I've grown really fond of his human design, but I actually really love this version of Makoto. I guess any designs with horns or hooves just appeals to me in a way that paws don't. Still really happy with these two. They could most certainly be worse! I think they're both cute little guys though and I learned a lot about how to like, render from this so that's a bonus!

#raincode #rain code #yuma kokohead #makoto kagutsuchi

[chaifootsteps]

Honestly, while I'm not surprised Angel called Charlie a bitch, it makes me just a tad bit worried for their dynamic. Of course, characters can change, but they only really have about sixteen episodes to do so (assuming season 2 has the same episode amount as season one). And I was really looking forward to Angel and Charlie interacting, because I feel like they could be so good for each other (not in a romantic sense). Angel is an asshole, who seems the type to lay things straight in a very brutally honest way. This could help Charlie start thinking of things realistically, and because Angel doesn't listen and bucks authority, Charlie would have to assert herself more, as well as start thinking and going about redemption in a realistic way. She would have to open her world view more. Charlie is patient and seems to be a forgiving person, so she could really chip away at Angel's hard exterior. She is kind and optimistic, which could nicely counter and curve Angel's pessimistic tendencies. She believes the best in everyone, and given Angel's current situation, he could use someone who supports and openly voices their belief in him. Overall, they would be so good together, and thought they could really help the other grow.

Unfortunately, this will probably not happen. But, I can still write a fanfic at least. Sorry for the ramble, I just love these two goobers.

-Shower Anon

That's my feeling too. It's not that Angel calling Charlie a bitch is the end all, be all shattering of his character or even wildly implausible, it's what it signals the start of, especially knowing Vivzie.

So far Charlie's been really good at what you said, chipping away at Angel's hard exterior. She did it in the comic and to a lesser extent in the pilot, wriggles around his cynicism with her sheer earnest kindness and brings out a softer side to him. It said something, even if only in hindsight, that he never directly called her a bitch, directing the bulk of his nastiness towards Vaggie instead.

They could have been great for each other. This all could have been so, so great.

#Anonymous #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #shower anon #actual blog post

[morsartis]

Compliment Part 2

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Tagged: @floraroselaughter

It’d been weeks since your rather awkward encounter with Peter, well maybe awkward wasn’t the right word for it. Hindsight had been a bit of an eye opener for you after that day and you had spent that time growing more and more embarrassed with yourself. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, not at all, in fact it was more the urge to keep doing it that had caught you off guard. Watching Peter the way you liked to do had revealed he didn’t have many friends and certainly even less compliments. Your one off handed compliment had seemed to brighten his week and as you watched him revert back to his old self you couldn’t help but feel… Sad. Everyone deserved compliments. While you yourself hadn’t been on the receiving end of many compliments that didn’t mean others weren’t deserving of them. Your mother had drilled into your head to be the change you wanted to see in the world and mostly you just wished people were kinder to each other. Especially with all this mutant nonsense that seemed to be cropping up. Perhaps you were tenderhearted with your belief that one should do unto others as they’d wish others would do unto them, perhaps you were overly optimistic in the hope that humans and mutants could coexist. You weren’t sure. 

But you did know that you liked seeing others happy. 

After having worked yourself into an embarrassed mess over the compliment a few weeks ago it took you some time to work up the courage to try it again. This time however you took your time formulating the compliment you wanted to give. It’d be something small, insignificant to most, but something only someone who was watching might think to give. Arguably you knew he was self conscious of certain things. It was quite obvious in the way he acted what made him jittery. So there you were in your shared class with your chin in your palm as the teacher droned on in the background. Peter seemed to be developing heterochromia in his eyes, that pale blue ring to them more visible now than before. But you had already complimented them. You didn’t want to come off as a broken record. Instead you had zeroed in on his hair. Years of watching your mother straighten her own hair had given you a clue what natural straight hair and ironed straight hair looked like. As track season had begun and Peter had taken to it you’d noticed that his hair had gotten almost curly at the roots. Why he’d hide such a thing didn’t make sense to you but you figured that was just something he did. His eyes darted to your own and he tensed clearly not expecting you to be watching, giving him a warm smile you hummed to yourself in thought. The smile was what made him pause. His lips parted to speak and you were reminded that he also had nice lips. They looked soft despite most likely being chapped. Kissable. That particular thought was set aside for later. 

“You’d look nice with curly hair.” You spoke, interrupting him before he could speak himself. The soft incessant tapping of his foot paused. For a moment he merely stared back at you. He blinked the words setting in slowly. But just like the last time you complimented him that barely there blush threatened to rise to his cheeks. His face was more round than other boys, betraying a youth that hadn’t yet left him in favor of puberty. He cleared his throat after a moment, eyes darting nervously around the room to see if anyone had heard or was paying any attention. Or perhaps he was looking to see if you’d been set up by someone. That thought rather hurt. 

“I look weird with curly hair.” He mumbled after a moment. His hand scrubbed over his face and you couldn’t help but smile a little more. 

“I think you’d look handsome.” You shrugged. To your fascination that blush deepened, his face reddened in such a way that you could clearly see the pink. Those interesting eyes darted between you and somewhere off to the side as if trying to think of something to say. Something to refute your claim. But you continued to gaze at him with a warm smile. 

“You have nice lips.” He blurted out your eyes widened the same time his did. That blush now a bright flaming unmistakable red as he ducked his head. “Fuck.” He hissed to himself. 

Huh. You thought past the embarrassment. You tried not to immediately deny the compliment as sudden as it was. Had he been staring too? Your face felt warm as your smile curled a little at the edges with the heat. Going more crooked as the embarrassment set in. Taking a steady breath you willed your voice not to crack. 

“Thanks.” Your voice swelled with that bashful feeling threatening to overwhelm you. Gnawing on your cheek you glanced away. When you glanced back you found him staring right at you, some strange expression on his face you couldn’t place. Unsure of yourself you shuffled nervously in your seat. Strangely enough you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate but that was silly. 

He cleared his throat suddenly and flipped erratically through the book you were supposed to be reading for your class. Taking that as your cue you opened your own book and flipped to where you’d marked the pages. Self consciously your fingers trailed to your lips. You couldn’t help but let out a silent huff of amusement at what an awkward pair the two of you must have made. As the teacher continued to talk you glanced shyly back up at him and found his eyes. 

“I like your jacket too. It’s cute.” 

He shuffled around in his seat, teeth digging into his lower lip. A pretty deer in headlights. 

“I like the little hearts you doodle in your notebook.” He blurted and then flushed red yet again. It was clear he hadn’t meant to say that either. The confession caught you off guard, you didn’t think anyone noticed the little absentminded doodles you drew when you were struggling to focus. Much less noticed enough to realize what they were. Which meant that somehow Peter had been watching you like you had been watching him. All without you having noticed at all. The heat in your face returned but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. 

“You do?” You asked, unable to hide the bashful tone of your voice. Those wide eyes skittered across your face and you wondered what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Yeah.” He answered plainly. “They, uh, they’re cute. I mean…” He trailed off clearly trying to think of something to say and grasping at straws. Taking pity on him and on yourself you found yourself stretching your leg out to rest your ankle against his. The featherlight touch had his foot immediately stilling, freezing him momentarily in place before he swallowed so hard his adam’s apple visibly jumped. 

“Thank you.” You told him genuinely. It was strange how that was the compliment that caught you the most. An unwitting admittance to being perceived by someone else. You had gone to pull your leg from his when his leg suddenly twisted to lock yours into place. Shifting so that the back of your ankle was pressed against the front of his. A new, surprising, development. Did Peter… Like touch? Did he want it? In all your time observing him you hadn’t noticed a preference for or against it. But if he wanted touch… You forced your leg to relax against his. Letting it rest there as if it were the most natural thing in the world as you turned back to your book. For the rest of the class period the two of you stayed like that. Ankles locked together harmlessly under your desks.

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #quicksilver x reader #Its just fluffy guys #I wanted to write something soft and this is what happened #I thought it could use a part two #reader insert #if anyone wants to be tagged in anything then please let me know! #I also finally figured out how to do the read more thing #I am seriously not very good with tech lol #I hope this lives up to expectations #I thought it was cute at least #xmen