#stretching my limbs back into writing by trying a few posts and purposely being REAL BAD

[lumiereswig]

Beauty and the beast but the people who are normally the good guys are evil

heheheheheheee I actually have a playlist called “evil batb” I listen to when I am ready to be wicked and commit crimes

Agatha cursed Adam at the last moment not as a sort of justice from hell measure but because he was about to crush her windpipe. sometimes self defense has to be a spell you set with your own blood. she crumples to the floor, dead, as Adam grows bones and claws and nails and teeth—and teeth—and teeth—and teeth….

In this timeline, a girl who might have just once been a dreaming bookworm has gone mad with loneliness, her heart a husk of what it was. she had a mother once, who died. she had a father once, who lived, staring at nothing, his fingers tinkering with gears that never fit. the magic and adventure never came. and when she hears there's a monster in the woods, she thinks I can turn my loneliness to some good measure. I'll go and kill the beast. Maybe then someone here in this village will take me as I am, if I finally have blood on my hands.

why was Adam trying to kill Agathe? because he doesn't trust magic, never has. What good is magic if the people you love can die and they do nothing to stop it? Agathe could have kept his mother from dying. Agathe could have stopped his father, any chance she had. but loneliness and anger creates more loneliness and anger, and in his desire to kill the last magic thing in the forest he becomes it, himself, roaring through the hallways and filling the rooms with a shaggy, aching rage.

Belle shows up and these two souls who don't have one good thing to say about the rest of the world start trying to kill each other—Adam because he has nothing left to be but a beast; Belle because she has nothing left to be but a slayer.

the staff are evil too!! oh my god they’re all so bad! but they’re bad in like, the campy tim curry ooo I’m evil because I wear leather kind of way. they’re bad like muppets. plumette throws knives lumiere wears thigh-highs cogsworth plots and schemes on like, how to set the table with purple napkins instead of white. in a previous life mrs. potts was a master assassin. they're all so busy dancing to lady gaga and being gay they never get around to actually committing any crimes.

what’s Gaston doing here? Gaston is simply a Man of the People! He’s been put down Too Long! he is in love with Belle and entirely unknowing that she’s got a heart made of holes. he's big into examining himself from a "safe and healthy perspective" and discussing every aspect of his personality in therapy but hasn't actually noticed that Belle is lonely or, uhh, not here anymore because she went to kill the monster in the woods and that was five weeks ago.

as naturally happens when two angry toxic people with precisely the same cocktail of loneliness meet, Adam and Belle segue quickly from trying to kill each other to, oopsie, relating over their shared griefs and maybe actually finding solace in each other. Are they in a healthy relationship? Absolutely not! Oh my god nobody go near them! They're surrounded by evil gay furniture why would you even want to! But they are what the other one needs, in this broken and fragile state, and I don't think anyone should fault them for holding onto each other, if it's the only life raft they have, as they patch their broken pieces in the only ways they know how. No one wants to be wicked. Some just have shadows that grow longer, and need a little sun to light the way.

So maybe they're damned. It's not a bad thing to be damned together.

#stretching my limbs back into writing by trying a few posts and purposely being REAL BAD #asks #batb headcanon #this is not good! oh well it's here #beauty and the beast #batb 2017

[ato-matsuri]

On Agartha

Been a while since I’ve written a long text post, most of all one about Fate. It honestly inspires a lot of rambling in me, after all. But I don’t think, this time, it’s due to its good writing, the emotions it makes me feel, or anything good. This, my friend, is about Agartha. I should probably prelude that this contains a metric shit ton of Agartha spoilers. If you haven’t seen Agartha, and you’re actually wanting to see the story -- scroll past. But, having played through Agartha completely and rested on the story for a bit, I think I want to repeat what everyone else has for ages lol.

Agartha, on paper, is incredible. A subterranean world built off fantastical story off fantastical story, made by a woman known for her ability to weave story after story, within stories, on the fly, and from a database of every possible Arabian Nights tale. Where the fear Scheherazade has due to Shahryar's endless abuse and fearmongering has stretched even to men as a whole due to literal years of having to survive Shahryar. Where the only leaders were queens, where the only rebellion force was a man so horrifically corrupt that he'd easily fall for the tricks she played. Her intent -- to reveal magecraft forever, removing any power magecraft has, saving her from ever having to fight and face kings -- and die -- ever again. That... sounds pretty good when I describe it that way, huh? Now if only it were executed with any modicum of sense.

From the beginning, Agartha's writing struck me as remarkably odd. It was like I was watching someone desperately try to emulate Nasu's writing style -- but had absolutely no idea what made Nasu's writing so good. Its exposition dumps, rather than being interesting, ended up being thoroughly boring -- as they focused on the mundane, like the fact that moss glows to light up the landscape -- instead of the magical implications of a world like Agartha even existing to begin with. Albeit, with the mystery of Agartha at that time, we can safely assume that there wasn't much to focus on, but then why spend so damned long talking about this stuff?

The worldbuilding, while passable, feels fairly flawed in execution. The idea of a world made the way Agartha was could've made for some interesting commentary about the way men treated (and still do treat) women in modern society, but Agartha not only misses the point, but tumbles head-over-ass into the uncanny valley and makes the whole thing sound like a continent-wide BDSM session. There's barely any actual subtle or well-done symbolism to showcase misogyny in this way -- and while hyperbole can serve a good point at times, the hyperbole combined with the strangely sexual writing of these segments makes it feel less like commentary and more like a badly-done doujin.

For example -- El Dorado was as simple as it gets. Men are slaves/breeding machines/whatever. The whole 'breeding machine' thing is played off extensively, even with Penth -- a minor at this stage, mind you -- comments on using the protagonists as such breeding machines. I'll come back to this later, because this serves as another point.

Ys was a fucking cool concept -- a world ruled entirely by rampant consumerism and chaos. Men, in this world, are still second-class citizens, pretty much the playthings of the women around them. I say that Ys is the best kingdom comparatively, as it was at least more bearable than its other kingdoms, but it still felt weirdly sexual in its writing tone. Of course, following tone, Dahut (who I'll get back to later) smashes men constantly, and is very keen on fucking Guda as well, following a trend. It's played for comedy, mostly, but it's still uncomfortable as all hell. Even so, I note it's more bearable because it's a very slightly more subtle take on the whole 'misogyny' allegory -- these people are using men for basically whatever they want, and tossing them away after. I'd compare it to a few true crime cases of people who murdered, or assaulted women for no good reason at all, purely out of a want that was either denied (for good reason), or that the want itself was to inflict harm. While the allegory still does feel unintentional here, it's at least slightly less unintentional. It was probably mostly just by accident due to Agartha's generally uncomfortable writing style, but the allegory here feels a little more potent when it's not so blatantly a BDSM fic.

I hate the Nightless City, despite it again being a cool concept. A 'utopia' where speaking out at all means death -- where men are in concept free citizens, but in practice fall victim to the law if they look at someone funny. Again, in concept, great allegory. The law does not treat men and women the same -- and while it differs depending on the case which is preferred, the vast majority of the time, women are pretty much shafted by the legal system (see Brock Turner), especially in very conservative areas. Cases can be made for both genders being shafted, of course -- but for the purpose of this allegory, picking out the prejudices of the legal system against gender is a fair critique. But, like everything else Agartha does, these neat ideas fall flat in practice.

They barely touch at all on the allegory, and nobody seems to even realize it in the cast, making me further believe the allegories aren't intentional at all. In due fact, it's as if the writer didn't even realize that this could be read as an allegory. The men's plights make some sense, as they were yoinked out of nowhere into a world that hates them. But the Servants and Guda don't think about it at all past the 'wow men are slaves that sucks' -- barely even considering that this could be an allegory the world's creator made due to their own horrific circumstances. They do point this out, but to my knowledge, it's very late -- when Scheherazade's called on her bluff, only then is it ever mentioned, and only in passing at that. If anything, the fact they point this out so close to the ending makes the ending itself that much more insulting. But before I get to the ending, I think there's something else about Agartha that sets the scene for just how awful it is -- and that's the way the characters are written, and the dialogue that comes of it. For this, I'll split it up into the characters who portray this the most. I'll even describe their personalities in Agartha's context.

Guda: Crouching pervert, hidden Mash stan. A few non-sequiturs of Guda complimenting Mash despite the mood being completely broken by it. Guda's incapable of taking a situation seriously in Agartha, even when the world's basically due to be changed forever. They keep cracking jokes, creeping on Astolfo/d'Eon, and other such things even when people are literally dying all around him. For that matter, I clearly recall the scene where -- for no real reason -- Guda just changes gears with Mash in tow, and starts trying to decipher d'Eon's gender. There's absolutely no real context to this, nor any reason for Guda to do this. Further noted is the fact Guda has worked with d'Eon before, and should've probably realized d'Eon's situation by this point. The Nasuverse has always been a bit, er, behind on gender norms and such, but it's so prevalent in any scene with d'Eon it hurts -- especially in that particular scene.

Astolfo: Oddly enough, the most tolerable person here (sans one other person). Agartha's refusal to take itself seriously works remarkably well for Astolfo. And while Astolfo isn't exactly written well here either, the fact that Astolfo's always been a bit loopy makes them seem, well, more in character. They're responsible for some of the funnier moments in Agartha, with their input composing approximately 3/4 of the, like, seven or eight funny moments in Agartha proper. Even so, Astolfo's appearance sometimes hurts Agartha as much as they help it, probably since Astolfo is a bit of the reason Agartha won't take itself seriously.

d'Eon: Deserved fucking better. The previously mentioned scene was the worst offender by far in my eyes, with it coming out of fucking nowhere. d'Eon's paired with Astolfo as a buddy and fighting partner, which itself could've made for good material -- instead, d'Eon is constantly dragged into Astolfo's fanservice-y gimmicks, and d'Eon themselves are pretty often creeped on by Guda. I'd go out on a limb to say that d'Eon's implied dislike of gendered clothing (see the maid outfit) made their scenes wearing such outfits far more uncomfortable, especially with how distinctly sexual the Agartha humour is. I just hated it.

Columbus: I can't fucking believe I'm saying this, but Columbus was the funniest character in Agartha. And I don't even think that was intentional. Something about how unabashedly horrible he was caught me completely off guard -- I thought he'd end up sort of like Napoleon at a glance, someone whose Spirit Origin was completely changed due to Europe's collective worship of the dude -- but holy FUCK was I wrong. Something about the hilariously cursed faces Columbus pulls, combined with his loud-and-proud irredeemable evilness, made him a blast to watch -- and an even bigger blast to beat the shit out of. His, uh, toothy grin still cracks me up even a few weeks after playing it.

Penthesilea: One of a very large amount of people who really deserved better. She barely ever shows up -- and when she does, she voices her desire to turn Guda and co. into a breeding machine/slave (recall she's like. 16?), and pretty much throws the whole 'reasonable-ish zerk' thing out the window instantly, because Agartha decided to forego decent writing in favour of 'funny berserker hates achilles haha brrrrrr,' therefore losing pretty much all the characterization they could've given her. The lack of 'alternate views' that show her in greater detail make this far worse, which I'll go into later.

Dahut: God, wasted potential out the asshole! A woman who made an entire world that fucked around and needlessly consumed stuff, she's the epitome of such a belief. But that's all she is. I'd be able to forgive this awful writing if Scheherazade, who 'implanted' Drake onto Dahut, was a bad writer -- but she's fucking Scheherazade! Dahut's a completely flat character, who constantly tries to bed (and kill) Guda, and generally likes the idea of needless consumption. That's literally it. Again, could be explained if Dahut had difficulty keeping control of Drake's body and conscience -- but this isn't explored either! She's just a walking, talking missed opportunity.

Wu: God, look at her design. Do I even need to say more?! She falls under the same problem that the other rulers do -- shallow characterization, no opportunities to flesh them out, etc.

Scheherazade: She could've been so fucking amazing. Scheherazade's story is one ripe with interpretations the Fate series so loves to utilize -- and on paper, her character is amazing. It'd only be natural for someone like Schez to be this deeply traumatized after so many days on death's door -- not many could really get through that okay. The incredible storyteller who fears death, kings, and unconsciously, men as a whole -- creating Agartha as a subtle way of ensuring none of them harm her while she prepares her ultimate plan of revealing magecraft to the entire world. However, as with the other Agartha characters, she becomes cripplingly one-note. Bringing her fear of death above all else, she comes off as an unreasonable asshole, constantly freaking out about death and preserving exclusively herself to a fault. While one could argue it's partially due to a Pillar's influence, Phenex doesn't seem to have a hold on her at all -- it's a basic alliance, and nothing more, as the ending shows us. It just leaves her as a one-note death avoider, with no other character traits at all. I'd go into further detail, but I'm saving that for later.

Fergus: God fucking damnit, man. A literal child version of Fergus, who the entire cast constantly expects to sexually harass every woman in sight. He's a one-note flanderization of Fergus, just without the one character trait Agartha gave Fergus. It just makes him... boring, a character whose only character trait is his refusal to hit a woman. Like... Come on. The fact the entire team is so sure this literal child will start trying to hit on women is just uncomfortable to witness, and the fact he slowly starts gaining these traits feels less like him 'meeting his fate' as Fergus, and more like Agartha wants an excuse to sexually harass more of the cast.

The Fucking Ending I'm giving this its own category, because of just how much of a punch to the face it was. In short -- the plan to reveal magecraft is revealed, more jokes are made, bla bla bla. Agartha can't keep a serious mood at all. ...But the final few scenes take it to a whole other extreme.

Wu Zetian comes out of nowhere despite being squashed by Megalos earlier, stuffing Phenex into a pit of her weird water shit, placing Phenex in a state of 'life and death.' Child Fergus then sac's his own Spirit Origin to summon Fergus inside himself(???), thus gaining the power of Caladbolg to weaken Phenex enough for the player to destroy. ...However, Child Fergus just summoned Fergus inside his own body. So, what happens when you put Agartha!Fergus, a one-note sexual harasser, into the body of a child? You get the final scene of Agartha. For some reason, I guess you need more help from others to take out Phenex. To this end, Fergus decides to convince Schez to join their side. I'd like you to recall that FGO!Scheherazade is implied to have the trauma of Shahryar's abuse, sexual and physical, burned into her memory -- not just the whole death thing. In every form of the story, Shahryar abuses her in such a fashion almost nightly. It's to the point where Schez' first line of defence, and much of her skills, are as much oriented around storytelling as they are charm and seduction (moreso the former than the latter, albeit), because her defence mechanism was that as much as it was storytelling, to keep her abuser happy. This is a part of why Agartha is the way it is -- to keep such men away from her. Hell, there's not a single King in sight, save technically Fergus, and Chaldea's d'Eon and Astolfo. Fergus knows this. Hell, he heard this being called out. He's well aware how terrified she is. So, what does he do?

SEXUALLY HARASS HER. He claims she has to live to have kids. That men and women have to live to have kids. He claims that she should live, because he'd smash her. ...Now, that's insulting enough -- moreso, that it's played dead serious. Nobody even as much as calls him on such a shitty persuasion tactic, and nobody even mentions how awful it is to sexually harass a woman who'd been sexually assaulted at best for the better part of almost three straight years. AND IT. FUCKING. WORKS.

SCHEHERAZADE. IS IMPLIED. TO BE INTO IT.

And because of this, she's swayed to join the heroes and seal Phenex away for good -- giggling about how Fergus' worldview was partially correct even as she fades away. The epilogue features Fergus, sexually harassing Scheherazade ON SIGHT -- calling out 'tits on my 12:00' or whatever, as Scheherazade darts off. However, Schez isn't avoiding him due to trauma. She's avoiding it because, while she's into it, she doesn't want to 'die' so fast. This fucking ending highlights among the biggest issues with this damned Singularity. Even Blavatsky coming out of fucking nowhere to Deus Ex Machina a grail and help into Guda's hands -- despite seemingly being slaughtered by Columbus in a (admittedly a bit funny) way to get the base of the Resistance -- means nothing to me compared to the blatant slaughter of two characters at once. Fergus is a total horndog even outside of Agartha's reach, but he even notes he respects his partners' consent, and doesn't overstep his bounds if he makes them uncomfortable. Scheherazade isn't exactly trusting in the slightest, least of all in Agartha - she barely even begins trusting Guda due to Guda treating her with actual respect. Even then, she isn't actively prostrating herself for Guda in that sense, very likely due to the fact that's more of a defence mechanism to her rather than something she'd enjoy, due to extreme trauma. Albeit, Fate writing does leave the possibility in the air for Guda specifically, but that's very likely just due to Guda being Guda and being careful to treat her properly and help her than anything else (and also the whole 'self insert harem' thing, I guess, but that's a hell of a lot easier to ignore esp in contrast to Agartha) And yet, we see that epilogue, that butchers both of them in one fell swoop so badly that I almost ended up hating both of them. Agartha's biggest problem is that it tried to be deep and intriguing, while having the writing quality of the goddamned Valentine's events. It picked all the right characters to have an incredibly intriguing storyline, and fell flat because the author decided that playing sexual harassment, d'Eon's everything, and even the most serious scenes for comedy was more important than telling a story even half as meaningful as the chapters before it. Lo and behold -- to my knowledge, Minase wrote it. Of course he did. He chose the best, the most interesting characters he could find, and made them so fucking one-note that the story lost all its charm in moments. He chose to emulate Nasu without understanding what made Nasu's writing so good. He chose to make Agartha a laugh fest despite simultaneously trying to make it 'deep.' He chose to fall head-over-ass over a possibly interesting allegory into misogyny and fall right into sexualizing it to the point of feeling like a femdom BDSM fic. And go figure the only character he did decently was Christopher fucking Columbus. I have a hatred for Agartha I can't reasonably place anywhere else. Prillya was just as shitty, but I ignored it, because Prillya itself wasn't great, so of course the crossover sucks too. Valentine's events written by him weren't great, but whatever, it's a Valentine's event. Septem, written by someone else, was similarly not great. But it wasn't insulting. It simply wasn't great, and had a lot of wasted potential. But its ending wasn't out of character to the point of being insulting. Its story didn't make incredible mythological and historical figures too infuriating to like anymore. It didn't almost ruin entire Fate characters for me. Not the way Agartha did. I should probably contextualize that Scheherazade is among my favourite mythological figures. I introduced myself to her through Magi (lmao) due to further research into the base stories -- as well as a favourite Magic: The Gathering card, Shahrazad, which forced you to play a game within your game, like how Arabian Nights featured stories within stories.

Even in Fate outside of Agartha, I liked her. Her design didn't make much sense to me considering her character, but whatever, I didn't need to think too hard of it. It's just a design, and despite my hatred of Penth's design, I still love Penth as a character, so I can handle Schez. But Agartha painted her in such a way that all the subtlety and interesting parts of Schez went completely out the window. No longer was there any hidden references to the aftereffects of her life beyond 'i dun wan die,' and there was hardly an ounce of sympathy or kindness in her bones at all. While her being an anti-hero made some sense, especially as she was only a normal person with far above-average storytelling prowess, there was a point when she stopped being a 'good, but terrified person' and started being a complete asshole. And Agartha was that time. If it weren't for her Interlude, which redeemed her considerably, and Ooku, which did wonders for her character despite being written by Minase (as I believe Nasu was overseeing him at that point), I very likely would've never gone for her at all, despite my love of the myth. In Conclusion This rant is just to say that Agartha is bad. Horrific. Insulting, even. At every step where it could've been good, it tumbled head-over-ass into the most insulting, uncomfortable shit you could imagine. It failed to take itself seriously, and paced itself like a comedy event, but simultaneously acted as if it expected its audience to take it seriously. Like a clown brigade deciding to take on Les Mis, it loses all of its punch when every few lines is interrupted by a jab at Fergus, sexual harassment, or something that comes close to being cool before suddenly turning into a badly-timed joke, or suddenly becoming laden with dialogue so sexual it feels straight out of a porno. It's aggravating, awful, and with only brief reprieves of bareable comedy in between long, long lengths of hellish text and awful characterization. The only good part was the gameplay -- which, laden with interesting mechanics not seen elsewhere, was legitimately fun. My take? Avoid all Agartha cutscenes and plot, and just play the gameplay. The gameplay's fun, and if enjoyed on its own, would probably make for a far better experience than observing the story surrounding it. But good gameplay doesn't make up for a horrible story, especially in a game where plot is as important as it is in F/GO. Agartha's a pile of shit in my eyes, but that's ultimately only my opinion, and nothing more. If others have an opinion counter to mine, that's completely fine -- and don't let this analysis ruin your fun with Agartha if you enjoyed its plot. To be frank, I'd be happy if you enjoyed it where I could not. And if you think my takes are misinformed, or if I missed a spot (or overreacted to a spot), that's what the reblogs and comments are for! I'm definitely not the kind of dude who has the final say in matters like this -- this is only what I picked up. Thank you for reading!

#fate grand order #fate #f/go #fate/grand order #mash kyrielight #agartha #agartha fgo #tldr i hated it lol #agartha spoilers #rape tw #rape cw

[seulgiology]

i like the dances i do with you ㅣjung hoseok

pairing: idol!jhope x choreographer!original character

words: 3.2k 

genre: smut

warnings: smut lol, cursing, mature content

a/n: i really apologize but y/n makes me cringe ITS ADMIN 1 !!!! this is my first post and our overall first post for this blog so exciting. i’m new to writing, this is a very lowkey hobby of mine, admin 2 is the writer out of us two, but that doesn’t mean i won’t try lol. also the gif above is just for an extremely loose reference for the jhope down below, ik what he’s wearing there and the setting isn’t the same just bear with me. i’m open to CONSTRUCTIVE criticism and feedback, i generally want to make this blog a good one

disclaimer: This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

--

“Guys, come on, the next part is really easy. All you have to do is-”

“You’ve been saying that for the past 3 hours Jeongyi.” 

“You wouldn't have to say that if Taehyung would stop trying to make Yoongi laugh every 5 seconds.”

“Yoongi needs to smile at somebody that's not Jimin and if it's anybody, it'll be Taehyung”

You let out a breathless chuckle, not even bothering to remove the sweat collecting on your upper lip and baby hairs sticking to your forehead. As you look at yourself in the mirror, you catch a member missing in the specific formation you carefully put together. You survey the idols until you find the suspect.

Your gaze shifted to the spot in the middle where the second main dancer, Jimin should be. You squint your eyes in exasperation when it was empty of him. There's a muffled snicker that catches your ears. Jimin’s dainty hands covered his plush lips, and his brown eyes disappeared into crescent moons as Hoseok continued to whisper in his ear, not realizing that they were interrupting.

“Care to share with the rest of us?” A playful smile graced your lips at the main dancer who jolts from being caught and bumps his forehead into Jimin’s head from being startled. “Hyung…” He whines, followed by murmured curses flying out of the younger's mouth as Hoseok turns sheepish and mutters an apology to him. 

Hoseok then puts his full attention to you, eyes shamelessly raking over your form. The tank that rose and bunched to a cropped state exposed your creamy skin and waist almost as small as the maknae himself. He doesn't care that you watch him look over the fullness of your breast, constricted in the sports bra. His piercing eyes glance at your sweat-covered collarbone and up to your lips.  They lingered there as your tongue darted out to lick their chapped form, and Hoseok couldn't stop his mind running to the dirty thoughts that plagued him. He forced his eyes away from your inviting lips when he felt himself twitch in his sweats and into your eyes that revealed your thick lashes, a knowing glint in your eyes.

You clear your throat and subconsciously rub your thighs together after feeling a slight slickness after being under his scrutinizing gaze. Yet, you continue to wait for an answer from both. When neither of the dancers moves their mouths to respond quickly enough, you say, “Both of you, upfront. Everyone else, you can take a 20-minute break unless I call you back earlier.” 

A mix of thank you and bows from the members cluster around your ears as they either rest against the blindingly white wall and floor as a worker either wipe a rag under their sweat tipped bangs or massages their sore muscles, or slug out of the practice room off to who knows where in the vast building. 

You look them both over, but noticeably keep your eyes on the main dancer a second too long. His white sweats hung tight around his waist, the strings tied for extra measure, and his loose gray tee showed nothing of his body. You vaguely remember Namjoon joking about how the dancer looked like Yoongi due to his simple colored clothes. 

You were about to move on until you reach that tantalizing stare of his, reeling you into his eyes that showed his desire for your body against his. A breath of a chuckle escaped his heart-shaped lips and he looked away while brushing his long fingers through the front of his parted black hair just for it to fall back into his dark eyes. You couldn’t even imagine how bad he wanted to fuck you against the mirror.

“Jimin-ah, you know what? I believe it was Hoseok’s fault over here that you were out of your formation, right?” You look at Jimin, who threw a confused squint at you from beneath his thick fringe before catching on. “Yeah Hobi-Hyung, you distracted me. I can't believe you would do this to me.” The shorter snickered up at the taller. Hoseok guffawed at me and stuttered over his words, the words “unfair,” were all you heard. 

“I’ll take it from here Jimin, you can relax. And drink some water while you're at it,” You smiled at him as he walked away and threw a victorious glance at Hoseok over his shoulder.  “Dwarf,” The older muttered loud enough for the other to hear. “Don’t act like I won't beat your ass, Hyung,” Was followed by the swift click of the door as Jimin ran from the hands of his member.

 “We’re going to dance, starting from the beginning up to the part you just learned,” You said, stopping to his right slightly behind him as were both looking into the mirror. You don't miss his eyebrow cock and the corners of his lips twitch into a smirk at your challenge. “Easy, I can do that.” He was relaxed, ready for an easy request. “Great, if you mess up, I'll have my best bud Seokjin over there hit you anywhere he wants.” You gesture to the male lazily spinning himself in a chair on his phone, mindlessly blowing raspberries through his plump lips. 

“Play the song from the beginning, with a 5-second countdown please,” you say to no one in particular as I ready myself. You see the amusement and mischief in his eyes as he swiftly positions himself behind you, as part of the choreography, close enough for you to feel his hot breath down my neck. “You’re going to dance your parts but I’ll switch between everyone to keep it decent enough, ok?” You whisper to him, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling between your legs.

“Five.” Namjoon’s voice rings out from behind the table.

You role your wrist and take a deep breath in, clenching and releasing your hands.

“Four.”  Jimin and Yoongi walk back into the practice room together, faces flushed as they quietly take a seat next to Namjoon.

You look into Hoseok’s eyes and soon roll them as he winks at you, a suggestive smile playing at his lips.

”Three.”  Jeongguk discreetly places himself against the wall, plucking Jimin behind his head earning him a wince from the older.

You feel Hoseok shift behind you, his front brushing against your ass in the slightest. You let out an almost inaudible whimper, hoping it went through deaf ears. Oh, the things you wish he’d do to you.

“Two.” Taehyung places himself on the edge of the foldable table, his striking eyes never once leaving your figure.

You feel like he's counting slow on purpose. Why are you getting nervous?

“One.” Seokjin lets out a loud "fuck" and wheels himself as fast as he can to the table with the rest.

The sudden sound of Taehyung's deep voice hits my ears as the first verse of "Fake Love" plays and you move your body to the beat.

«10 minutes later»

Well over ten minutes passed and Hoseok managed to get slapped in the ass, thigh, and back. His shirt stuck to his torso and back from his back and faintly painted the outline of his abs. He tried pushing the sweat-dipped hair out of his flushed face but it just smacks against his forehead. He was panting but stood up strong, ready for more.

Suddenly, a manager walked in and informed everyone in the room that practice for the day was over. Everyone but Hoseok and you bounded up before regretting it as their limbs were too sore and stiff from practicing and sitting too long without stretching. You gave Jin a silent chuckle of gratitude and saluted him as he carried a plush RJ in one arm and threw you a kiss in the other. The rest slightly bow towards you and say they'll meet in the van as their manager makes sure Namjoon doesn't trip over his own two feet from exhaustion.

Once they all pile out, along with the other workers, you allow yourself to rest for a few minutes, promising you’ll get up in 2 minutes

«38 minutes later»

Your eyes fly open at the familiar bass of a popular American song filling your ears. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Hoseok position himself in a stance, getting ready to dance. 

You're so, fucking, precious, when you, smile…

His body twists and turns to the beat, movements fluid yet sharp. His face contorted into one of absolute concentration. Sometimes he’ll stop and do a particular move over again, but he's just making it up as he goes. You would've never known with the way he moved, but being a skilled choreographer lets you see his slight uncertainty in most counts. 

Hit it, from the, back and, drive you, wild…

You sit up and catch his attention. He paused the song and looked over at you questioningly. “I can teach you a dance to that song if you want.” You leaned back and placed your hands behind you to await his response, practically presenting yourself to him.

“Only if it’s good,” he said as he helped you up from the floor. You lifted both hands at him and he slid his much larger and softer ones into yours, his hands warm. But he pulled you up to quick, and a squeal left you as you lost your footing and waited for the floor to meet your back. Hoseok sprung into action swiftly wrapped an arm around your upper back and the other around your open waist. You ended up firmly pressed into his chest, your hands tightly help onto his biceps.

“Damn, your hands are cold,” You hissed out, subconsciously digging your nails into his arms. He grunted and tightened his hold, pressing my breast against his chest. He looked down into your widened eyes, his own hooded from feeling how hard your nipples are against him from your thin shirt. “Alright, let's start,” You sputtered out, his intense eyes giving away everything he felt at that moment. He let out a hum and slowly dragged his hands away from my body, ironically leaving it cold. 

You mentally cursed yourself at the song choice. Back in the states with your own crew, you taught a duet. Specifically made for two people involved with each other in a sexual way. We’ll be fine, we’re professionals. You let your hair out of its ponytail and let it drop to your shoulders, missing the way Hoseok put his hands in his pocket to refrain from gripping the soft strands between his fingers.

You start, instructing Hoseok to stand behind you once again, moving his hands to touch you according to the beat of the music and you find a rhythm in your movements together and find the pace. You dance next to each other, a giddy smile on your face at seeing him fall into step with your movements and he glances at you with that sunny smile of his. 

Girl anything I can do just to make you feel alright…

For that part of the song it all had to happen at the same time, no pausing in between. You needed to execute it cleanly, fluidly and full of pure unconfined craving.

He gripped your waist and pulled his body flush against yours, your smaller body fitting like a puzzle, and you rested your head on his shoulder, your neck exposed to him. His right hand steadily and sensually slid up under your shirt until they lied directly under your breast, his thumb lightly pressed on your clothed nipple. Simultaneously, his left hand danced their way down your open stomach, leaving a ticklish sensation as the tips of his fingers glided over the skin before continuing their trek down to your leggings and over your aching center. 

You both were too lost in the moment to realize that his hands should’ve stopped a safe distance away from your sensitive areas, as a breathy moan slipped past your lips and the sound traveled all the way down to his hard-on. He pressed his soft lips to your unmarked neck and relished in the sounds you emitted.  His hand began to gently cupped your breast and give it a light squeeze just as he began to pull your skin between his lips, sucking to leave a bruise. 

The music seemed to fade into the background as the only sounds being heard was your soft whimpers and the light smacking noises from Hoseok’s frantic kisses and hickeys. He let his fingers dip into her sweats and tease their way her mound over her damp panties.

Slow and steady,

“Hoseok… please,” She whined, her hips unconsciously began bucking against his hand, needing the feeling in her stomach to come undone. A low chuckle rumbled in her ear, sending chills down her back. The feeling passed when she felt his fingers push the fabric aside and speed up their assault.

“Look, baby you’re dripping all over my fingers,” Loud, needier moans with the obscene sound of her wetness filled the now musicless practice room turning them both on to return. The song had ended, but another was about to play.

“Please what? If you want something, you need to say it,” He whispered in her ear, “But that doesn’t mean you deserve it. Not with that bratty mouth of yours,” his lips brushed against your ear lobe, an unrestricted needy whine breaking from her. He brought his hand up to softly wrap around her neck to bring her closer. He drifted a finger inside of her, moving at a slow and tantalizing pace, never fully letting her close to her undoing.

“I- ah,” Another digit slipped in with the other, eliciting a higher pitched moan and the grip she didn’t realize she had on his wrist around her neck to tighten. “Fuck, Hoseok we don’t have all night,” Your words slurred with the pleasure the dancer was providing with his finger toying with your sensitive clit, body jerking with every touch of his quick fingers.

As if your words finally registered in his mind that this is a practice room and you had to be quick, he pulled out his fingers, much to your dismay. He walked your back to the closest mirror, the glass now pressed against your back. “Take these off,” He tugged the band of your sweats trying to relay the message. You hurriedly rid yourself of the clothes, and he wasted no time picking you up and pressing your bareback against the mirror. His hands were under your thighs as he pressed his clothed dick against your dripping folds, eliciting a low groan from him.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, too fucked out to realize he had pulled his sweats down until you felt his dick poking at your entrance. “Wha-,” You never got to finish your sentence because of the delicious feeling of him sliding into you. Both of you let out moans when he finally bottomed out inside of you, the feel of your warm and wet walls sucking him in. You feel so full, yet you already wanted more and he hadn’t even started moving yet. “Shit, baby you’re so tight around me,” he grunted out, already starting a swift pace at the feel of finally having you. You leaned back against the mirror, letting him take you as he pleases, the moans spilling from your lips an absolute sin to his ears. “Hoseok, more, please I want more,” You moaned out in his ear. 

If more was what you wanted, then that’s exactly what you were going to get.

He readjusted his grip and roughly pushed you back into the mirror, his cock rapidly slamming into your hole. “This is what you wanted right? My cock filling you up till you cry for me to keep going, and going, and going” He made sure to enunciate every word of his by fucking into you harder and harder. The moans you were emitting were absolutely wanton, your mouth forming an “O” from his thrusts. Hoseok placed his head at the crook of your neck to try and silence his own moans, but the normally eccentric dancer couldn’t control the moans coming from him because of how good you felt wrapped around his waist and how deep he was buried inside you. 

“Sh-Shit, I’m so close,” he practically whined, he was chasing his orgasm now, his pace brutal and relentless. “Oh, right there,” You sobbed as he hit that place inside you that had seeing stars. You opened your eyes and saw yourself from across the room; Hoseok working his hips into your heat, and you helplessly holding onto him for dear life as your orgasm was quickly approaching you. Your head lolled on his shoulder when you felt his fingers quickly working at your abandoned clit, the added pleasure bringing you to your high faster than you could’ve imagined. “Please don’t stop,” You were both moaning messes at this point, the lewd noises coming from your conjoined bodies adding on to the deeper moans from him and the higher-pitched ones from you. 

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” your body convulsed and you felt him thrust particularly harshly inside you while his fingers hand never stilled their movements on your clit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you saw white. “That’s it, baby, you’re taking me so well,” You sobbed through your orgasm, tears rushing down your face as he kept his pace. He looked up from your shoulder and came from the sight in front of him while whimpers of pleasure were filling the practice room from your lips. You were overstimulated through his own orgasm, his hips relentless as he emptied his seed into your pulsating walls and moaned your name like a mantra. He sloppily milked himself through his high, your mixed cum dripping down his shaft. 

He slowly and carefully slid out of your sensitive area, not missing the wince you made at the action. His softening cock shone with your release, but his eyes sparkled at seeing it drip out of your core. Before it could hit the floor, he pushed two of his fingers inside you, telling you to keep it there as a reminder of him when you returned to your hotel. Like I’d forget what we did here. He put you back down on the white floors, the fatigue kicking in from multiple dance routines and mind-blowing sex. The only sounds left were your heavy breathing, post-sex bliss still suffocating the room as you two silently fixed yourself up, not exchanging a word.

Just before you were about to leave the white practice room, you turned towards him as he just ended his call to one of his managers to send him a car to pick him up. “You know…” You trailed off. He turned his complete attention towards you, waiting for the rest of your sentence.

You were so nervous, but that doesn’t make sense since you were just begging for him. He strode towards you, a smile creeping it’s way up to his face at your sudden reservedness. “I know what?” You looked up at him, his domineering presence almost making you choke up.

“You never kissed me.”

#btssmut #btsmut #hoseok smut #hoseoksmut #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #jhope #jhope smut #bts aus #bts imagines #bts writing #original character #jhope imagines #bts scenarios #jung hosoek smut #jung hoseok

[anyrchyangel]

MDZS fanfic sensitivity beta

Hi~ I’m Ana

I’m,,,very bad at Tumblr >.< but I am writing a fic in the mdzs fandom and would really love a sensitivity beta to look over some of my canon references and use of Chinese terms. I’m very new to the wuxia/Xianxia genre and I don’t want to accidentally say or use a term that offends or misrepresents the genre.

Beta-ing is hard work and I’d never expect anyone to sign up to beta without having first peeked at what they’d be working on, so I’ve placed the first chapter of my fic down below.

Some disclaimers/primers: this fic is a crossover between Kimi no na wa/Your Name and mdzs--you don't have to have seen Your Name to follow along, but it wouldn’t hurt to know the plot I am ripping off >.< It includes body swapping and a major character death (if we count wwx dying and coming back to life as mo xuanyu as actually dying...) and for some reason, I have made everyone witches...yeah. Sorry >.< WangXian is the main (and kind of only) ship! Rated T solely because I am incapable of not cussing. I don't plan on writing any smut or explicit scenes for this series <,< (...for now.)

Anyways, here's chapter one of the series. Please let me know if you’d be interested in beta-ing for me! I really want to polish this fic before posting it on ao3 or anything >.<

he who swallowed a falling star

chapter one [everything must have a beginning]

Mornings have never once been Wei Wuxian’s friend. He hates mornings—he hates the sharp light of dawn and the cacophony of noise that comes with the world waking. He much prefers the night, the quiet and stillness, the ambience and mystery. There’s no mystery in the mornings—there’s only groggy musings as one cracks open their eyes to the stinging light of day and wipes away crust from their lashes. His body always violently protests to waking—sleep is so precious! It’s calming and good and nice and to be forced awake is among the greatest tragedies of mankind.

Except…except this morning he doesn’t feel like groaning and burying his head into his pillow. This time, his body actually feels sort of…good? That can’t be right. No one feels good in the mornings; the only ones who do are sociopaths and masochists.

And yet as he stretches awake with a yawn, his limbs feel light and his mind feels rested. So much so that his surroundings are immediately clear.

He has absolutely no idea where in the world he is.

He’s in a bed, at least that much is clear—a very soft bed with sheets that smell like sandalwood and covers with textured silk. Exquisite fabric, he’d never so much as been allowed to touch something so expensive before—he has a knack for putting stains where formerly there were none, so all of his own clothes and sheets are of durable fabrics. Stains add character! There’s a story behind every stain…not always an exhilarating story but a tale, nonetheless.

The room in which the bed he is resting on is absurdly clean. So clean as to seem clinical, or maybe decorative, as if he’d stumbled into a dollhouse meant for display purposes only. It’s lovely, a pretty screen separating the bed from the sitting area, decorated with an elegant painting of mountains bathed in mist. The furniture is expensive and luxurious and just looking at how nicely it’s all been cared for makes Wei Wuxian break out into hives. What even is the point of owning furniture if you’re not going to use it?

He taps his chin and tries to remember the night before. Just how much liquor had he drunk to find himself warming someone else’s bed? Had he even been drinking last night? Shit…maybe he should take shijie’s advice and cut back a bit. His eyes wander to the finger tapping away and he pauses because…well that really doesn’t look like his finger. Or his hand. Or his arm.

He scrambles to the nearest reflective surface—a basin of water in a porcelain bowl that’s probably more expensive than everything he owns combined. The face that looks back at him is…breathtakingly beautiful. Skin the color of white jade, softer than the inner petals of a peony, silky midnight hair draped down broad shoulders to rest at the small of his back, and bright golden eyes somewhere between the shade of the sun as it reflects on ice and wheat dancing in a breeze upon a gilded field.

It’s so beautiful that it narrows down the theories currently running through his head down to two: A) he has died and (mistakenly) ascended to heaven to live the rest of eternity as the most beautiful angel to have ever existed, or B) he’s dreaming. B) seems more likely, especially since the likelihood of Wei Wuxian going to heaven is probably somewhere in the negatives. Plus, witches don’t go to heaven…or technically even believe in heaven. Not to say that there isn’t an afterlife but—he’s rambling. His mind is whirring with so many thoughts that even he can’t keep up with them all.

“Huh.” Oh this man’s voice is so deep and rich that Wei Wuxian’s spine tingles at the sound. “Shit, even his voice is beautiful.”

He hums a few nonsensical notes just to listen to the different octaves; a deep voice, but a melodic one. He wonders if this person is a singer—he certainly has a lovely voice for singing. His eyes wander around the room, searching for…well he’s not really sure. His own body, perhaps? Proof that this is a dream? Or maybe signs of spellwork gone incredibly wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his experimental enchantments went awry.

He starts rummaging through drawers and opening doors, hoping to learn more about the person whose body he now possesses. The handsome stranger is astoundingly boring. Not a speck of dust anywhere or a book out of place—even the poetry on this person’s shelf is…bland, at best. He tosses open the closet, hoping for literal or figurative skeletons. Someone this perfect can’t possibly exist in real life. Maybe instead of a dream this is a hallucination—Wei Wuxian has trouble believing that his active mind would conjure someone so dull but, well even he has off days. Or nights, he supposes. Is it night where he’s dreaming? Doubtful, given his sleep schedule but—he’s rambling again.

Within the closet hangs a full-length mirror, and he pauses in his rummaging to admire the body of the most boring person he’s…well they haven’t technically met, have they?

He’s even more beautiful in the crystal-clear reflection, tall and toned with arms that should be illegal. Wei Wuxian grins and quickly strips off his outer robes (so white that they remind him of mourning robes. He gets distracted when he imagines the scene he must have made whilst asleep—so ethereal and white and pure); the image that greets him is ridiculous. Abs that could cut steel on skin the color of flawless white porcelain, not a blemish in sight. His fingers dance across the muscle, laughter bubbling out of him. Oh what a sound—this gege really is perfection given flesh, isn’t he?

He smiles at his reflection and conjures as many funny faces as he can come up with. Well if he’s stuck in an angel’s body, he might as well have some fun, shouldn’t he?

.

.

.

Wei Wuxian bounds across the halls, chased by the knowledge that he is most definitely late for breakfast. Dawn has already segued into late morning, and if he wants any sort of meal before lessons, he will have to sprout wings and fly across the residence—an idea he’d actually toyed with before, but enchantments that alter the flesh are too finicky and he quite likes keeping all his fingers and toes.

He mentally prepares himself to face the routine “How could you have slept in so late!?” from Jiang Cheng and the “A-Xian, are you not sleeping well?” from Yanli and the knowing smile from Jiang Fengmian, matched only by the scathing glare from Madam Yu that has accompanied every breakfast he can remember having at Lotus Pier. To which he will smirk and tease Jiang Cheng, complain and pout to Yanli, return Jiang Fengmian’s smile and cautiously avoid Madam Yu’s gaze.

Wei Wuxian loves his morning routine, even if it doesn’t technically count as having happened in the morning.

“How do you always manage to sleep in so late!?”

Ah, Jiang Cheng is so predictable—Wei Wuxian loves that about him.

“I was having the best dream!” He responds as he flops onto his mat at the table, shoveling food into mouth as fast as he can pour extra chili sauce onto everything.

“Oh? What about?” Jiang Fengmian’s smile is no less endearing for being as predictable as Jiang Cheng’s anger—perhaps even more so because of it.

“Hmmm,” he pauses in stuffing his face to try and remember his dreams, but the haze of sleep has yet to lift, “huh—I can’t actually remember?”

“How do you know it was a good dream if you can’t even remember it?” Jiang Cheng’s sneering makes him smile, bits of rice on display for his favorite (and only) brother.

“I don’t have to remember every detail to know that it was a good dream!”

It’s true—although he can’t remember anything of what he’d dreamt, the feeling of joy lingers, even as the fog of sleep lifts under the light of day.

“Here, A-Xian, have some lotus seeds. I saved some for you.”

He gulps down some tea to clear the sticky rice from his teeth and perches at Yanli’s elbow with his lips parted, her eyes crinkling into adorable crescents as she pops a lotus seed into his mouth.

“A-Li.” Even on the best of days, Madam Yu’s tone could strip paint from the walls, varnish from the wood within the halls; it was like listening to the crack of a whip, or the rumbling of thunder. Yanli wilts under her strict gaze, eyes dropping to the hands she folds in her lap.

“I am glad to see you back to yourself, A-Ying.” (I’m not sure this is a good way for jfm to address wwx—in the original text he never actually says wwx’s name, but he does call jc A-Cheng; I want to show here that jfm favors wwx) Jiang Fengmian’s tone is the opposite of Madam Yu’s; soft where hers is harsh, calm where hers is agitated. The difference between them is jarring—like the crack of lightning meeting the quiet currents of a flowing river.

“Yes, how very fortunate we are to see you returning to your ways.” Another crack of lightning, this one closer to the babbling brook that is Uncle Jiang, the waters left disrupted and discordant.

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian has never feared the thunder, nor the storm.

“You went psycho yesterday and woke at dawn. You even cooked breakfast, but it was bland as shit. It was honestly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Where Yanli wilts under Madam Yu’s glares, Jiang Cheng grows more uncertain, and uncertainty breeds anger within him. Except this anger is often a guise, smoke to the fire that is his worry. Wei Wuxian smiles at him, basking in the concern the same way a flower dances in the breeze.

“Aw, don’t sound too concerned Jiang Cheng.”

The way he snorts and rolls his eyes makes it easier for Wei Wuxian to gloss over the fact that he can’t really remember the day before. An odd gap in his memory, but he shrugs it off and sneaks more lotus seeds from Yanli, who hides a smile behind her hand as she passes him the morning paper.

“Did you see? The comet will be visible on the day of the banquet. Maybe we’ll see a falling star or two.”

“Hmm? Would shijie like falling stars? Maybe I’ll catch one and bottle it up, just for you.”

Her laughter is honey, her smile sunshine; perhaps he should bottle that instead, for use on rainy days or cold winters when the lotuses close their petals.

“A-Cheng, you have lessons to attend to. You do not have the luxury of falling behind.”

“Yes, mother.” The only time Jiang Cheng ever sounds subdued is in deference to Madam Yu, and the sound grates against Wei Wuxian’s ears.

“A-Xian, you should head off to lessons too. You don’t want to be late.” Yanli sneaks the last of the lotus seeds into his hand; he’s convinced she’s on a mission to fatten him up, to which he has zero complaints. If he could gorge on shijie’s lotus seeds for eternity, he would.

“Oh? From what I hear, Wei Wuxian’s time is better spent hunting pheasants and flying kites with the younger witchlings.”

What a nasty storm to deal with so early in the day. He doesn’t fear thunder, but nor does he seek rain.

“The kites were actually an enchantment I was testing out. I finally fixed the talisman to facilitate one’s qinggong[1] to the point of weightlessness. Those kites were—”

“You did what!?”

“There’s no need to shout, Jiang Cheng. The actual enchantment is pretty simple if you cast on the right night. I have a theory that the casting is a lot easier during a full moon, but I managed just fine when it was waning—”

“You—Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng’s cheeks puff with indignation, his face as red as the chili sauce Wei Wuxian slathers on every meal.

“Yes, I’m here!” He answers with laughter, snickering and dodging as Jiang Cheng lunges for him, waving at Yanli as he darts out the room. He’d skip class if he didn’t want to write down another idea for an enchantment in his grimoire, of which he’s about forty percent sure is in his desk…or buried under his other inventions somewhere in his room. Or maybe he left it in the atrium when he was searching for a specific constellation?

Jiang Cheng chases him from the residence, out through the courtyards and down into the docks of Lotus Pier. He smiles and waves at the merchants, eyeing all the pastries and water chestnuts, winking at runny-nosed children from the nearby households. His heart feels both heavy and light—too full to dream of moving and yet so buoyant he might drift along with the next passing breeze.

The giant lake gleams under the light, lotuses dancing and swaying in the wind, the sound of home bustling around him. Wild magic whispers through the air, flows through the undercurrents of the lake, along the waterways for miles and miles until it reaches the ocean. An idea pops into his head to attempt to track the energy, map out the ley lines, but he catches the shadow of a pheasant nearby and pushes the thought down his list of priorities.

He smiles and dodges Jiang Cheng’s attempts to toss him into the lake, grappling each other into headlocks as they make their way towards the lecture halls. He sighs at the idea of another long, boring monologue in spellcraft theory, but the idea of enchanting a few papermen to dance behind the Adeptus keep his steps light. The witchlings always love a good show—perhaps he’ll put on his own little play for them. With the right paper, he might be able to craft a jade rabbit and play the story of Chang’e and Hou Yi. Maybe he could make them sing? A whistle from a witch is a powerful thing. Or he could tell the story of Ragnarok, the Twilight of the Gods—his head buzzes with ideas, excitement filling his veins at the prospect of researching more of the lost stories of old gods and immortals.

Endnotes:

[1] Qinggong (in most cultivation/wuxia novels) is the art of manipulating qi to walk on water or move across surfaces; it’s also a real technique in Chinese martial arts. Read about it here

If you got this far, thanks for reading! Even if you're not interested in beta-ing, I’d still love to hear feedback! I don’t normally post such long pieces on Tumblr, but I wasn't sure what else to do >.< I hope you liked it!

#MDZS #modao zushi #fanfic #beta #oh for the record I haven't watched CQL and this fic is based on the mxtx novel #wangxian #also the setting is Howl's Moving Castle (Ghibli not novel) so like modern...ish #with magic everywhere because why not ;A; #I think I started this fic to put wwx in a witch's hat... #6k words in and I haven't mentioned the hat QAQ

[bloodvvit]

[Wanted to write a little ‘slice of life’ look into how Kai was raised once the Boss took him on, as he was mostly looked after by a higher ranking kyodai named Izo. Kai idolizes the boss, but also takes a shine to Izo, seeing him as kind of a older brother/mentor figure.]

Kai’s long eyelashes fluttered against the high angle of his cheekbone as he roused, having not realized he’d dozed off while lounging at the foot of Izo’s mattress. Curled up with his knees to his chest and his skinny arms tangled around a pillow, the fifteen year old squinted against the light unhappily. With a slow stretch in place, he pushed himself to a sitting position and got smacked in the face with a discarded shirt.

“You’re still getting dressed?” the youth accused in an irritated tone. Huffing softly, the young yakuza heir jerked the colorful fabric from around his skull. Rather than throw it back at the preening, indecisive gangster pacing before his closet mirror, Kai expertly flapped the article of clothing out by the shoulder seams and carefully laid it down atop the length of the bed to join the rest of the kyodai’s wardrobe.

“We’re never going leave if you’re taking this long… Why does it matter, anyway? Is it a big meeting between the Bosses?” he asked, sounding miles more interested, if that was the case- rather than watch the man mull over more suits.

Izo held one shirt, then another over his chest as he inspected his reflection in his newly bought and installed full length mirror. Both looked equally good on his skinny frame. That was the one good thing about being built like a tall lamp post — it was easy finding clothing. Nearly anything he bought looked good when it was hanging off his bony shoulders.

“Nah, go back to sleep. I’ve got a hot date tonight,” Izo said as he turned sideways and tried yet another shirt. “Well, not really. I got a meet and greet with some of the guys at a hostess club. I might as well try not to look too shabby.”

The juvenile yakuza frowned even more at this revelation. And here, he’d been hoping for a fun and exciting evening out, not being abandoned at headquarters, when he could have been spending more time leaning how their business worked.

“And you’re wasting time on an outfit? You usually bring me along…” Kai frowned and narrowed his eyes, following the vivid lines of elaborate inkwork decorating Izo’s back, shoulders, and arms in a curious fashion. He’d seen them before, it wasn’t like his partner didn’t leap at the chance to show them off.

“Hey, aniki… Your tattoos. The last time I asked, you said they have certain meanings. Can you tell me more about them now?” he asked in a hopeful, but careful tone of voice. “We’ve been partners for the past three years, almost.”

Heh. Precocious boy slinging emotional words like ‘partners’ around. His devotion to hustling was adorable. Izo knew better, but the sweet way the brat went about saying it was like drinking down warm honey. It was a pleasant kind of warmth. 

“The outfit’s like a storefront window, it’s for convincing,” Izo said as he looked over his shoulder at Chisaki’s ward. He wasn’t looking so sleepy now, and his intense stare made Izo lift an arm to check out the black lines snaking about his rib cage. The ink work wasn’t done yet, just a series of outlines scattered about his shoulders and back. The goal was to eventually get a whole shirt done, but until that happened, Izo was content to only brave the parlors sporadically  It depended when his mood and tolerance for pain was highest.

“They mean a buncha stuff,” Izo hedged, “Sorta slogans like ‘I’m good at this sorta shit’, ‘I believe in that’. Some of it is because ‘a guy I respect has something like it’. Water’s obvious, you already know that one.” After a pause, Izo draped his shirt over the back of his chair. “They’re pretty nice, right?”

“I didn’t think there’d be so many… flowers,” Kai pointed out, unable to mask the wrinkling of his upturned nose at the thought. Eyelids lowering to half-mast, he quite visibly began mulling something over in his mind.

“I was wondering if the Boss was thinking I might have earned the right to get one yet. You think maybe that might happen sooner or later?”

Izo  twisted to look incredulously at the boy on his bed. “What’s wrong with flowers? The’re perfectly manly. Ain’t like they’re roses or nothing. They’re not on my back because they’re romantic.” 

They were there proclaiming his sense of duty, his loyalty and clear mind. They spoke of death and single-minded purpose. His skin was there for important stories and words. He’d sooner cut himself than get something like his girl’s name.

“They’re there for the things I don’t wanna say out loud. Anyone that knows about what ink means will know what they’re sayin’. As for you gettin’ yours…”

 Izo eyed Kai critically. Was he actually serious? He was already that enthusiastic about being a made man? Izo chuckled, “You’re a bit big for your britches already. Nah, it’ll be later. Boss don’t have much truck on taking kiddies on. You’ve got a few more years to go.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just- The last meeting you took me to was the first time I’d even seen the Boss’ ink before and those were… you know, dragons,” Kai explained matter-of-factly. The last thing he wanted was Izo thinking he didn’t understand or respect the meaning behind the imagery.

The teen folded his lean arms beneath his chin, both sharp elbows jutting over the edge at the foot of the mattress. “I was just thinking if I’m gonna stay on, then I should start thinking about it now. Or learning what that stuff all means, like you. I’m not stupid, you know… Wasn’t like I wanted to get something just to flash it at the nearest person on the street.”

Kai rested his chin on his crossed arms and sighed loudly. “Even if the Boss thought I was ready, I guess I just want know what he’d pick. It wouldn’t mean the same thing if it were up to me, right…? That’d be no different than if any civvie waltzed into a parlor and got something done for bragging rights- they don’t earn that like we do,” Kai reflected, often failing to censor his own thoughts due to his familiarity with the gangster he worked with, or simply due to his age.

Izo turned around, folding his arms over his chest as he looked Kai over. Eyes still too big for his head, despite the roundness of his cheeks. Skinny, gawky limbs that were only going to get even gawkier once he started growing — which hadn’t happened yet (and likely wouldn’t any time soon, if he didn’t start eating more.) Izo hadn’t been much older when he’d started getting seriously in over his head, doing significantly more involved things than running messages. That’d been his own damn fault, though. He’d had too big a mouth, had been too smart for his own good and run in ahead right into things he should have steered clear of, if he’d only known better.

Kai had a good little schtick going. He liked to talk big, even going so far as to act like he was already willing to go whole hog into the sorta life Izo was leading. It was a pretty good life, Izo thought, it had its perks, he got pocket money. But talking big and going so far as to get an ill-advised tattoo while sober, well… those were two entirely different things.

Izo crossed his arms over his chest as he hunched over the bed, brows drawing together. “The boss doesn’t pick it. You do. Like I said, they tell a story and it’s the kinda stuff you wanna say but don’t have real good words for it, because saying it would be lame. Get it?” 

Izo turned to the side and twisted, pulling his arms up to show a spot on his rib cage where the outline of a crane was placed. It had yet to be colored in. 

“See this? Got this because of a guy I knew — real swell guy. He’s old now, so he’s sick and dying. Helped me out of  some tight spots and I owe him.  He always had a thing for those weird-ass birds, so I’m getting this put on there as a thank you. Hopefully it’ll get done and I can show it to him before he kicks the bucket.”

“It’s up to you what you wanna say. Most guys just stick with stuff like, ‘I’m strong and I can tear people’s heads off with my damn teeth like a pregnant bear.’ The boss’s dragon means he’s like the emperor. Getting the ink means you’re a made man, but you don’t wanna get a mark someone picks for you either because it makes you theirs. You pick it because it’s what you wanna say. Got it?” Izo hesitated, then added, “There’s some that do that — let someone put their mark on them. I hear some families are into that too, like branding farm animals. If anyone says they wanna do that with you, you tell ‘em no, kick ‘em real good and come and tell me.”  

Kai was far too young for those sorts of relationships and if anyone offered, that meant they were real creeps. Izo would cut bits off them in private somewhere.

The kid pushed his hands against the bed to get a better look, glancing from the silhouette of the bird coming to life on Izo’s darker skin, then back to the elder man’s face as he spoke. Kai had assumed the messages intended to be expressed through the tattoos were qualities others had to see and ‘confirm’ before making them yakuza language fact. To everyone else, he was just like any other middle school student in Tokyo. Now that he was officially partnered with a made man like his 'brother’, he felt… important. Not the way the Boss was important, but needed- Useful, like a part of the machine that was efficiently performing it’s role. In a strange way, Kai felt getting inked might confirm that- solidify his place within their ranks and as the heir to the Boss’ legacy.

“Yeah. I understand now,” he answered confidently, nodding once in affirmation. His gaze followed the swooping 'brushstroke’ of the bird’s neck as it melded to it’s back and folded wings curiously, frowning in silence as one of the notches of Izo’s ribs expanded with his breathing. “Does it hurt a lot? Especially places like these?” he asked, pointing at the thin layer of skin and muscle barely masking the bony landmark.

Izo shrugged, always a bit surprised how into medical stuff the kid was. He didn’t recall ever being like that at the same age. “Well, it always hurts when there’s not a lotta meat. I don’t have much all over, though. It’s not too bad.” 

Actually, it hurt like a bitch and Izo had let everyone up and down the street know he was getting his ink done just by all his screaming. But Kai’s wide-eyed look was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Izo had to give him props for consistency, though. The teen never let up with his schtick and he had to admit in his crusty, old-young heart that there were times he was quite warmed by it. Izo reached out to press down hard on Kai’s head, sending him tumbling. When he was down, Izo dug his knuckles into the teenager’s scalp for good measure. Straightening, he grunted, “What’s this about you wanting ink anyway? Why all a sudden?”

“Hey! Come on- Stop,” the kid half-laughed, half-ordered, trying to dodge the elder man’s hands until he’d lost his balance and tumbled from the bed. He rolled from the foot of the mattress and landed in a soft pile of discarded suits Izo had thrown, unceremoniously, to the floor- vibrantly dyed and patterned silks and sharkskin cushioning Kai’s coltish knees as he fended off more brotherly harassment. The question made him pause and look back up the rail-thin length of Izo’s slouching frame, blinking once as he stared back at that narrow-eyed, searching gaze reading his own expression and body language.

“Like I said. It’s been three years. I just thought, maybe… then we’d be blood brothers. You know, officially. That’s all,” he said, brushing Izo off and leaning back against the foot of the bed. He straightened his hair back out with a few brisk tugs of his thin fingers, tilting his chin up as though challenging the man to say otherwise.

Izo tsks, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth as his movements still and he stares down at Kai staring up at him with that far too serious glare.

The brat. How was he going to say no to a request like that? 

“Ah, you really know what to say, eh? Thought a lot about it, did you?” Scripted or not, he was good. Izo was melting a little despite himself.  He grabbed Kai’s head, looping an arm around his neck and squeezing as he roughly ground his knuckles in with a renewed vengeance. “Think you’re such a big man, EH?”

When he eventually released the boy, letting him drop to the hard floor like he was dropping a sack of rice. He turned back toward the mirror and dragged his fingers through his hair to work out some of the new tangles. Izo made a face and gave up on wearing it down. Finding a tie, he gripped it between his teeth and pulled his hair back away from his face to reveal sharp features that looked too narrow, too fox-like for even his own tastes. 

“Alright, since you say it so nicely, kid,” he muttered around the tie, “You can get what you want. But if it’s stupid looking, it’s on you. Remember that.”

#♛ WRITING #♛ META

[masterturner]

long drawn out personal post

this is a bit stream of consciousness, so if you’re reading this and trying to make sense of it, im sorry. its okay if youd rather not. its a lot and its emotional labour to even read it probably. it’s been almost a year since the breakup now. every day closer to the anniversary of it, i feel a little more broken. i’ve had two suicide attempts since then, a prolonged IOP thing, and i no longer see a therapist (though i really should start again). im not crying about borderline personality disorder though. this is all breakup shit. still.  im still holding together somehow. i dont really know how, some days. ive gone through the whole cycle of grieving multiple times now, cycling again and again through denial and bargaining and all that, ‘til i reach acceptance and think the hurricane is at its end. then i find i’m just in the eye of the storm, and it’ll soon pass as i get caught up in the winds again. then i do the whole cycle over and over again. thats what the therapists in the IOP said it was. a grieving process. you can grieve the terminus of a relationship the same way you grieve a dead person. it sounds so silly when i make that comparison. they also said that progress and healing are nonlinear and that it’s not really necessarily going to be as simple as passing through the grieving process a single time.  i said it sounds silly. its not silly though. its real, and i have to remind myself of that from time to time. i dont usually talk about anything personal on here, and its a little weird that im doing it now. but i guess im doing it because i dont know where else to do it. i could do it on facebook, but it feels attention-grabby, needy in a way i always feel weird being. doing it here under a little ‘read more’ thing feels less obtrusive and private, but not so private that im completely trapped in my own skull again. i hate feeling trapped in my own skull.  the anxiety bubbled up and got bad again pretty constantly. it got that way tonight. i felt my heart race while i tried to sleep. usually the worst points stemmed from me looking my ex up and seeing how their life was progressing along without me. unlike me, my ex has a drive and interest in the performance of social media that i generally lack. my social media experience begins and ends in shallow ways: i look at cute butts on tumblr, reblog dumb memes and get vague impressions of things going on in the world and such through the sometimes nonsensical things other people reblog. thats about it. my ex, though, shes the kind of person that does things like update her facebook profile picture at least once in a 6 month period, unlike yours truly.  i dont even follow her or have her friended anymore on facebook. heaven forbid i had an instagram to see what kind of stuff was going on there. it always got the worst when i saw her with her new SO. now i get to look at that every time i get the nerve to message her. its literally painful to even look to the extent i have to archive or delete every stray line of text we send to one another afterward.  i was seriously in denial - i talked myself into believing the SO wasnt an obstacle, wasnt a big deal, he was just a rebound and it didnt invalidate me. it didnt make me lesser, and it didnt mean that i was being replaced. after all, what stranger can replace 5 years of memories and experiences together? but i was a rebound too, and that led to a deep and intense relationship. why couldnt it this time too?  i was naive, i think. hopeful and naive, and i really wanted to believe this and that. ‘i know her’ i’d tell myself. ‘i know her, and i know she wouldn’t think this’ or ‘she wouldn’t do this’. but it’s wishful thinking.  maybe a part of me always did know better. maybe i stopped listening to that part of my own psyche because i started to recognize how harmful it was.  it’s kind of messed up how that works though? like... you can be happy with someone, but also be terrified of that day when they realize they can do better. and then it becomes a sort of twisted, fucked-up self-fulfilling prophecy because that thought sucks the life and passion out of you. it’s insidious and slow.  and it’s tempting to look at it like ‘i was right all along, everyone will leave me’, but that’s not really how it necessarily is. thats just the trauma talking, the fear, the part of my mind that’s lazy and resigned to suffering and collapse. it was that fear that made it real. maybe if i’d learned to manage that fear, though, things could have been different. would have been different.  it’s pointless to speculate on that though. the reason i say it isnt to speculate though, it’s because im trying to remind myself that it can apply to right now. the friendships and relationships i have now - few and far between as they may be, stretched thin as they may be, damaged and in dire need of repair as they may be - aren’t doomed to failure just because i’m afraid of loss and abandonment. the collapse doesnt have to be inevitable.  maybe talking like i’ve learned and figured something out from all this will make me feel better. maybe believing it all had a purpose will make it feel like it was worth it. eventually. right now, though, it doesnt.  i’m still so upset. i’m still miserable and i still long for things i can’t have. i miss affection. i miss being touched, even in a plain and nonsexual way. i miss being kissed and i miss being hugged. i miss being wanted, and every day i wonder if ill ever feel that again. and then i get to thinking, would it be enough to feel that from just anyone again? why do i feel so starved for... any kind of affection at all? why do i feel so desperate for something - anything like this? could anyone ever love me the way my ex did? i guess the cynical and plain answer to that is no, but thats okay. and maybe someone else can love me better. and maybe that desperate longing to be loved, cherished, cared about, touched, anything is just a symptom of an addiction that’s yet to pass. kind of a cold and clinical way to put it though, and i dont know if thats really me. yet i dont want someone else because its not enough to just have anyone. my ex left me, and now i still have that feeling of being invalidated, devalued, abandoned, and ultimately replaced. even if someone else came along and professed undying love for me, no matter how i welcomed it, that feeling of being tossed aside would remain. and i dont know how to come back from it.  i hate how much my mind... fixates on it. like... everything makes me think of it. i cant make a status on facebook without wondering if my ex will see it, what she might think. i cant leave my house and go somewhere without wondering, what if my ex sees me? what would she think of what im doing? would she approve, or be proud of me? would it impress her? or would it disappoint her? it saps the joy out of almost everything i do. i cant watch an old show without feeling bad im watching it without her. i cant help but wonder if she feels the same, or if shes gotten over it. and a part of me doesnt want to know the answer to that wonder. does she still listen to mili? coheed? does she listen to ‘old flames’ on repeat like i do? when ‘sweater weather’ comes on, does she think of me or someone else?  even now as i write this, i wonder if my ex still stops to peer at my dumb blog from time to time for a hint of how im doing and what im thinking. and i dont even know if id want to know, because seeing this message in that light casts a pall over it that makes me feel sick. i didnt want my ex to see how not okay i am. i didnt want her to see the part of me that feels so sick still. and i dont want to know that she doesn’t look at this either. so here i am at an impasse, writing words and tossing them into the void of the internet, hoping for and expecting only silence, while also hating and fearing the very same. id like to think that maybe this is a sign i dont care anymore, but i think i know better than to really believe that.  i force myself every day to just... not reach out. not say anything to her thats real or vulnerable - the few times ive talked to her it feels forced and fake. and it feels like ive cut off a limb, because im so used to leaning and relying on her. but i feel like i have to, because expecting that level of emotional labour from someone that has cut those ties with me seems silly and foolish... not to mention selfish.  why? maybe a part of me thinks that by hiding it, i’d win her back someday. or maybe im just afraid of being burdensome and difficult. or maybe i just... genuinely do want her to be happy without me. i wish it was that last one. i wish i could just back off and be happy that shes with someone else that maybe will treat her good in a way that i couldnt, or didnt.  i dont know what i want, though. i know what i dont want though. i know i hate feeling like this and i wish i could make it stop, but i cant. its not really getting easier. i had the borderline shit before this, and i could end up meeting the criteria my whole life for all i know. the breakup is just a massive complication in that whole mess, but i dont know if id even know what was wrong with me if i didnt have that relationship in the first place.  there was a day a few days ago, or maybe a week or two ago (i dont remember) where i wanted to hurt myself (not physically though for whatever reason), and in order to do it, i made myself do something i was starting to break the habit of doing. i browsed her facebook profile and scoured it for anything that’d make it sting again. i succeeded - it didnt take much. a few pictures, a relationship status change, that was pretty much it. my mind filled in the blanks after that because of course it did. it snowballed into full blown catastrophizing. they’re probably madly in love. they’re probably moving in together, if they havent’ already done so. they’re probably making plans to get married. they’re probably this and that and this and that - like it matters. like it affects me somehow.  but it doesnt. not really, not physically anyway. i dont have to look, and its like i hope not looking will make it hurt less. but not looking makes me hope, and hope has bred more hurt than anything else in the past year.  since i last looked her up in that fog of need to hurt myself emotionally, a lot of that dreadful hope i had that i could win her back drained away, and i want to believe that the pain will go away now. i havent talked to her since then. i still think about her. i still dream. i still fear and i still wonder and reflect. but i havent talked to her. is that good? is it bad? is it anything other than what it is? does it matter? maybe someday ill be over this. a part of me yearns for that. and a part of me is afraid to ever let go, because what if love wins in the end and all the time we had together meant something after all?  did it not mean anything if it didnt end up taking the shape i wanted it to take? no, it still meant something, but does that matter now?  i dont know. all i know is that to this day it hurts and... that’s all. thats all i know.  eleven months later and it still hurts. but i guess expecting it to be all better after 5 years of dating is a little unrealistic. i thought we were gonna be together forever. forever is a long time, though, i guess.  she makes it look easy, but maybe it isnt for her either, even if she’s better at making it look a certain way. i have no way of knowing and thats maddening in its own way. if i had the ability to close that distance... hear her out, be there for her, could i do it? could i get over my own fear and hurt to build a connection again? id love to find out. but i cant seem to get that far.  it doesnt matter though. its her life, and she has every right to move on without me. its easy to say ‘poor me’, but theres two sides to every story. a lot of pain that led up to the end. questions i still have that will never go answered, and closure i might not ever obtain.  ctrl+a, delete, backspace. that’s all it’ll take, tyler. then maybe you can sleep.  but no, instead you’re going to post this. for what? why? is it a cry for help? complaining for the sake of complaining?  i dont know. i cant leave it all in my own head though.  but the silence that i get back in response is liable to be deafening all the same  

#do not reblog this

[theghostofashton]

i’m giving you all my love

hi so i said i'd post a valentine's day oneshot...and it's now technically the 15th oops i had an exam today and that kinda drained me so it took a while to get into a groove and really write this.

i intended on it being really cute but there's a lot of sad??? god i didn't expect that i thought i was getting better at writing fluff and then this happens

so trigger warning for depression and anxiety i guess. also i listened to 'i won't give up' on repeat writing so y'all should def listen to that while you read. it's where the title's from anyway so lmao

enjoy!

It’s been a long few days.

It’s been blurred edges and unclear endings, stiff-limbed and limp, grease and tangled sheets, all mashing together to form the ache in his head and the lump in his throat. It’s been jagged and sharp but soft and pliable and easily walked over. It’s been stringy hair and sweat soaked fabric and white walls and bleary eyes. It’s been heavy and exhausting and all too familiar.

It’s been depression and it’s been his life for the past week.

It’s not foreign and it’s definitely not the first time but it’s not something he’ll ever get used to. It’s hard to accustom to the feeling of waking up with ledges and pills and what if I just went to sleep and never woke up again wouldn’t that be easy wouldn’t it make everyone’s lives better wouldn’t it make the world a better place.

Wouldn’t it?

Geoff bought him that journal for Christmas and told him to write his feelings but he couldn’t even manage to sort through what he was feeling, figure out where the sadness ended and the numbness began. It all mixed together, draping over him like a weighted blanket that caused him anxiety rather than helping with it.

He was hollow, he was numb, he was nothing. Like someone reached inside his body and scooped everything out, all traces of happiness and light and laughter and sustenance, gone. The flowers shriveled up and weeds began to grow and every shaft of light was sealed off and his skeleton felt like just that. A skeleton. Nothing more. A series of bones arranged in a particular order that he knew had a purpose but didn’t want to give one.

And now he’s here and the worst of it is over – he got out of bed and put something into his stomach and showered, for the first time in close to seven days jesus fucking christ you’re disgusting – Geoff’s at work and he’s alone. Maybe he’ll actually get some work done today, record some more or rework some lyrics he wrote a couple weeks ago. His journal is sitting, untouched, on their nightstand, pen resting on top so every time he looked up in the past week all he saw was a reminder that he couldn’t even be sad right. He couldn’t even put it into words he’s not a real artist he’s nothing nothingnothingnothing.

He jumps when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His heart is racing as he pulls it out of his jeans, startled by the sudden noise. “Hey dude, what’s up?”

“What are you and Geoff doin’ tomorrow night?” Jawn asks. He’s never been one for pleasantries. Awsten chuckles and leans back against the counter, shifting the phone against his ear.

“I dunno,” he says. “Why? You wanna do something?”

“Are you fuckin’ with me?”

“What?”

“Funny one, Aws. I know you got plans tomorrow, don’t even try ta hide it.”

Awsten grips his phone tighter, pulling his lip in with his teeth. What is he forgetting? Is it Geoff’s birthday? His own? There’s something significant about tomorrow…

“M’not joking Jawn.” The words feel weird on his tongue, too big for his mouth. He swallows around them and tries to keep his breathing steady. “What’s tomorrow?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day dude. Did you seriously forget?”

He stops.

The world swirls around him, like someone just put him in a blender and he’s watching everything move around from inside. He presses a hand to his temple and closes his eyes but the dizziness doesn’t cease. “I. Um. I gotta. Go.” He hangs up the phone with shaking hands, barely able to press the button to end the call and cut off Jawn’s higher, now worried sounding voice.

Valentine’s Day he forgot Valentine’s Day how did this happen how did he do this what the fuck is he going to do how did he forget what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck you really did it this time you fucked up you fucked up you fucked up big time you fucked up.

He knows Geoff’s been planning something Geoff is always planning something Geoff always has a surprise up his sleeve that’s not Valentine’s Day that’s dating Geoff Wigington he’s always ready to top his previous gift and he definitely will this time because Awsten doesn’t even have a gift.

He takes a step forward and stumbles, leaning back against the counter and gripping the edge to stay steady. He hears the loud barks before he feels a body against his legs, pressing against his calves. “H-Hey Coops,” he forces out, reaching down with a still trembling hand to tangle his fingers in the dog’s fur.

Cooper barks again, standing up on his hind legs and pressing a paw into his thigh. He swallows and bends down, further and further, until his butt hits the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and Cooper whines loudly, pawing at his kneecaps. When he puts his legs down Cooper practically jumps onto his lap, pawing desperately at his face and raking his tongue across Awsten’s skin.

Awsten rubs at his eyes. He didn’t even realize he was crying. He swallows against the lump in his throat and holds out a hand for Cooper to lick. “I’m fine boy. Thank you. I love you. I’m okay, I promise.”

Cooper stays at his side when he gets up, follows him into the bedroom and jumps onto his bed and even tries to join him in the bathroom a few minutes later.

As calming as Cooper is, it doesn’t take away from the fact that Valentine’s Day is tomorrow and he still doesn’t have a gift and has no idea what he could do for a gift and Geoff’s probably had something planned for weeks this is just another nail in the coffin he’s the worst fiancé in the world and now everyone’s gonna know about it their friends will ask what they got each other for Valentine’s Day and Geoff will lie and be sweet like he always is and he’ll feel his heart pulsate and his skin shrivel up and melt off his body because all he is is a skeleton.

A useless sack of bones that has nothing to give to his fiancé on Valentine’s Day.

…

“Jawn shut up and talk to me. Is he okay?”

“He hung up real quick.” Jawn’s voice crackles through his phone. Geoff shifts the phone between his shoulder and ear and stretches to pull his keys out of his pocket. He unlocks the front door and grabs his phone again, touching a button to put Jawn on speaker. “He…I really don’t think he realized what tomorrow is.”

“He hasn’t gotten outta bed in a week,” Geoff tells him. “I didn’t expect him to remember or even want to do anything, honestly.”

“But you planned something, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he mutters. “He deserves it. He deserves so much more than it.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what ‘it’ is…”

“If Awsten wants to tell you, he can,” Geoff says. “It’s his surprise.”

“Please don’t tell me you got him a fuckin’ sex swing or shit.”

“I’m hanging up now.” Geoff touches another button on his screen and slips his phone into his pocket. Awsten’s car was in the driveway when he pulled in – he didn’t expect him to go anywhere. Getting out of bed is accomplishment enough – but he usually would’ve heard the garage open and come out to see him by now. “Aws? Love, where are you?”

A series of loud barks is his response. Cooper rushes into the room and weaves around his legs. He gets up on his hind legs and paws at Geoff’s thighs. Geoff crouches down so he can see him better and rests a hand on his head. “What’s goin’ on Coops? Where’s Awsten?”

Cooper leads him into the bedroom. Geoff stops in the doorway, bringing a hand to his heart. He presses it into his chest. His teeth sink into his lip.

Awsten is lying on his side, knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are shining with tear tracks. His face looks swollen, like he’s been crying for a long time. His hair is messy. He’s dressed, wearing jeans and one of his favorite sweaters.

He was so close.

Geoff moves to the side of the bed. He slips out of his denim jacket and tosses it into the floor. Awsten’s facing away from him and now, most definitely asleep. The movement would’ve roused him if he weren’t.

He slides onto the bed and pulls Awsten into his arms. Awsten squirms and snuffles a bit, letting out a whimper. He begins to stir and Geoff winces, pressing his lips against the back of his neck, right where his hair stops. “S’okay baby. Go back to sleep. M’here now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

The conversation that followed would’ve been so unbelievably uncomfortable had it happened. But Awsten falls back into sleep quickly, sniffling and choking out another raspy whimper before going still in Geoff’s arms. Geoff sighs, tousling his fingers through the soft lavender strands of hair. Awsten’s roots are growing in, brown mixing with purple to create a blend that Geoff loves but he knows Awsten isn’t happy with.

Depression drains him, draws the shade on saturation like the color has simply been vacuumed out. He lives in achromics, a sea of misery that confines him to their bed, leaves him limp and lifeless, repaints the purple under his eyes darker than his hair because he’s tired but not sleeping, in bed but not resting, surviving life but not living.

“I love you so much,” Geoff murmurs against Awsten’s skin. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be and I hate that I can’t do that for you. But I hope tomorrow makes you smile because I love your smile and I love your laugh and I love when your eyes get all crinkly because you can’t stop smiling. You’ve given me everything and I hope tomorrow shows you that. I love you, angel. More than I’ll ever be able to say.”

…

He’s gonna be sick.

His stomach’s been churning all day, flipping over and over uncomfortably. The closer they get to dinnertime the more nauseous he feels because Geoff definitely has something planned and the shitty thing he did won’t ever match up and he doesn’t want to win the worst fiancé in history award but he’s definitely on the nominees list.

“Love, hey, we’re gonna go for a drive.” Geoff rests a hand on his back and presses his jacket against his body. “I wanna show you something.”

This is it it’s happening he’s the worst fiancé he won it’s happening he’s gonna look like an idiot Geoff is a dream and he’s a nightmare he’s everyone’s worst nightmare why does Geoff want to marry this mess does he even realize what he’s getting himself into.

It doesn’t stop for the entirety of the drive. Geoff takes his hand over the center console and he squirms, sweating and shaking and trying to discreetly pull away without Geoff noticing you fucked up you’re worthless he’s gonna hate you.

“Baby.” The car stops and he looks up. They’re parked…in the park? He was thinking fancy dinners and expensive china and food he’s not even hungry for, making a fool out of himself in front of a bunch of snobby people and watching the smile drop off Geoff’s face as his act fell through. He was expecting disappointment and guilt and fear and shame, not to end up at the park he practically lives at while Geoff’s at work all day.

Geoff comes around and pulls his door open for him, then extends a hand. He bites his lip and lets Geoff help him out of the car and lead him into the park. “What are we…what is this?”

“You’ll see,” Geoff says. “Close your eyes love, okay? No peeking. I don’t want you ta see it before it’s ready. Don’t ruin the surprise.”

Of course there’s a surprise of course it’s something huge he doesn’t know what Geoff did but whatever it is it’s huge and now he has to explain how he couldn’t come up with a better present because he couldn’t drag his stupid ass out of bed he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to do this why is this happening to him why is this his life why is Geoff still with him whywhywhy.

“Alright,” Geoff’s voice sounds farther away. “Open them.”

And when he does, all he can do is stare.

They’re in the part of the park that’s secluded, a little corner off to the side completely enclosed in by trees. The trees are covered in this spider webbed cotton and strung with little white fairy lights honestly how the fuck did Geoff even plug them in there’s a large picnic blanket on the ground with a basket sitting on top of it. “Geoff, I-”

“Hang on.” Geoff steps over to him and takes his hands, moving so they’re both standing in the middle of everything. “I…I knew you didn’t wanna go big this year, Aws. I know it’s been rough for you lately. I know you’ve been in a really bad place and I know this week in particular was really, really bad. I didn’t wanna do something huge. I didn’t think you’d want it either. Save that for the wedding, right?” He chuckles and waves a hand across. “I wanted it to be simple. Just you and me, under the lights, watching the stars.” He lifts Awsten’s chin and looks him in the eye. “Valentine’s Day’s not about how much you spend or how big you go. It’s about love and being together and celebrating that and it is so beautiful. You, Aws. You are so beautiful. And this is the place we met, the place we went on our first date, the place we became boyfriends…this is the exact spot I proposed to you. This is our reminder that no matter what happens, it’ll always be us, Geoff and Awsten, against the world. Okay? You’ll always have me. No matter what happens. I’ll always be here and I’ll always love you, even when you don’t love yourself.” He smiles. “This day is about you, love. I get to celebrate you. That’s why I love it so much. Any day I get ta celebrate you is a good day for me. I love you, Awsten Constantine Knight. You are the love of my life and I can’t wait to call you my husband.”

“Geoff…” Awsten chokes out. Tears are dripping down his chin and clinging to his neck. His cheeks hurt. The smile aches but he leaves it, looking into Geoff’s eyes. His lip is quivering but he leans in anyway, crashing his lips to Geoff’s. “I-I love you. I don’t- this is…” He trails off. Geoff knows him better than anyone. This just proved that.

He swallows and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Of course Geoff’s idea, no matter how simple, would still turn out over the top and absolutely brilliant. His heart is racing. He still feels the nausea, the balloon lodged in the pit of his stomach that’s just about to pop. “I’m so sorry about how bad this is I forgot I know I’m the worst I hate myself it’s okay I’m so sorry I tried so hard but I couldn’t think of anything for so long and then when I finally did I didn’t have time to-”

“Whoa, breathe sweetheart.” Geoff grips his biceps and holds him up. Awsten wobbles. His legs feel like jelly. He’s sure if Geoff weren’t holding him that he would’ve fainted. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath. Listen. I talked to Jawn, okay? It’s okay. Everything’s okay. No one’s mad at you, it’s perfectly alright. I need you to breathe with me, okay angel? Deep breaths. You’re okay.”

He feels hot and cold at the same time ice is breaking over his back and heat is swelling up right underneath he wants to go why did he even start talking oh god. “I-I wrote you a song for Christmas and I. I wrote this. And it’s probably so bad and I’m so sorry and I didn’t even have time to record it or anything I don’t even know if it sounds okay I just. I didn’t wanna give you nothing you always do all these nice things for me and I’m too much of a mess to do the same and I’m so sorry because you deserve so much better.”

“Awsten.” Geoff’s voice is firm. “Stop. Today is about the person I love, and I’m not gonna let you talk like that about him, okay? He deserves every ounce of love this world has and nothing less.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Awsten says again, pushing his phone at Geoff.

He waits, tasting copper as Geoff’s eyes move back and forth. He swipes the screen and Awsten presses down harder, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that are burning.

“You’re my final destination?” Geoff looks up at him. His voice sounds…different. Awsten’s never heard that shift in tone before. “I hope it’s nicer where you are, ‘cause I only wanna lift you up? Aws, this is…this is beautiful, sweetheart.”

He barely gets a word out before Geoff is hugging him, pressing him into his chest. Awsten tucks his head up under Geoff’s chin and lets his tears soak into Geoff’s shirt. “You really like it?”

“You know how many times I’ve listened to Lucky People?” He shakes his head. “After you record this I promise I’ll listen to it twice as much. But baby…this is never going to end, okay? I’m never going to leave you. And wherever I go, you’re comin’ with me. I love you. Good days and bad, I love all of them and I want to be there for all of them the rest of my life. So please stop beating yourself up over this angel. You gave me an amazing present, and even if you hadn’t, everything would still be okay. You’ve had a rough week. Being here, with me…that’s present enough love. Having you is present enough.”

“I love you,” Awsten sobs. His chest feels like it’s exploding. His heart could burst. It’s warm and there are fireworks and everything is spinning but it’s a carousel not a blender it’s a carousel of horses and laughter and light.

He feels his knees hit the ground and he’s there for just a moment before Geoff pulls him into his lap. They press their lips together and he wraps his arms around Geoff’s neck, resting his forehead against Geoff’s when they pull away. Geoff’s crying and he is too. The liquid supply is endless, like his heart decided to lodge itself in his tear ducts and pour out all his love for Geoff.

“I love you,” Geoff echoes. Awsten scoots off his lap and puts a hand on his chest. He pushes him until he’s lying down and curls next to him, rests his head on Geoff’s chest and turns his gaze to the stars. Geoff grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers, then brings it to his lips for a kiss.

They’ve shared many Valentine’s Days and they’re usually full of the clichés, of candy and chocolate hearts and fancy dinners and a wild night to finish things off.

This is different.

This is messy, laden with panic attacks and fresh tears and fear and anxiety, this is blurry and foggy and real, this is how he is most of the time, the real him that can’t be shoved under some candy hearts and a nice suit. And somehow, this is the person that Geoff loves, the anxiety-ridden, depression-heavy mess. But this is also fairy lights and stars and carousels and warmth fireworks fireplaces home this is home Geoff is his home.

This is his favorite.

This is everywhere he wants to be, forever, until the end of time.

This is everything.

#waterparks #waterparks fanfiction #awsten knight #geoff wigington #gawsten #gawsten fanfiction #this got real sad real quick oops #appreciate me #i wrote most of this past midnight #idk if it's even coherent #neha writes

[starry-nightflyer]

Acceptance

Another story for  @doctorroseprompts  tentoosday! A re-vamped re-write of a story I wrote over on Fanficton.net a Looooong time ago...

Rose giggled and pulled The Doctor in for a hug, letting herself be completely content and in the moment. He hesitated before wrapping his strong arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder.

 The cool wind rustled his brown hair, the bench cold beneath them. This was one of the first times Rose had ever knowingly come into contact with him. Things had been awkward between them as they both knew he wasn't the real Doctor, just a copy. She had distanced herself from him at first, shooting him sideways glances when she thought he wasn't looking. 

He didn't blame her for her feelings. 

He knew he wasn't the person she had loved (he was furious with his real self for just leaving her, that much was true), but he decided to hope that he could be someone she could grow to love. 

Someone she would truly love. 

Just as much as he loved her.

If that was even possible.

Then they had begun talking. Not much at first, just a few words of greeting, mixed hellos, and small-talk. But as she began to trust him, they had started walking together. Short strolls around the block became long gallivants around London, the two of them together without a care in the world. This particular expedition had led them to a quiet park, practically empty save for themselves and a couple of mixed dog walkers. "This is nice," Rose whispered into his ear, leaning a little bit closer. He smiled, feeling his heart warm up.

Heart.

Isn’t that bonkers?

"Yeah?" "Yeah." They sat in contentment, just enjoying each other's quiet company. Rose suddenly started to shiver slightly, though she seemed to be trying to hide it. The Doctor gently pulled her to her feet, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face. "Bet I can beat you to that building over there!" He pointed to an apartment that looked to be a moderate distance away. Rose smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Running again, are we? Just like old times." He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. "Ready?" Rose nodded and got ready to sprint, clearly wanting to win. "On three." The Meta-Crisis readied himself as they counted together. "One!" "Two!" Both him and Rose took a deep breath. "THREE!" They shot down the street like lightning, the lead position fluctuating between them as they pressed onward. Rose was quick to notice that The Doctor was purposely taking smaller steps and that he wasn't going as fast as he normally did. She put on a burst of speed and shot ahead of him, panting hard, knowing she couldn't keep it up for long. The Doctor pulled up alongside her, not passing her yet. Rose started to slow down, her heart racing like it would burst right out of her chest. 

The Doctor grinned and dashed in front of her before turning and starting to run backward, cheering her on as he went. He expertly wove between lamp-posts, trying his best not to fall. Rose was so busy watching him, she didn’t know she was falling until it was too late, her slim form sprawling across the damp pavement in a heap.

 She heard The Doctor double back, now running his fastest.

Still him.

She managed to think. "Rose!" She groaned as she felt The Doctor's hand on her back, and she turned to face him. "You alright?" He asked gently, his freckled face riddled with concern. She tried to get to her feet but was stopped short by a pain in her ankle. She sank back to the cement in defeat, still breathing heavily. 

The Doctor offered her his hand, and he slowly pulled her upright. She gasped as her ankle gave out on her, falling against The Doctor's side with a yelp. He caught her in his arms and guided her to the side of a building so she could properly steady herself. "Well, that's just great then, isn't it?" The Doctor considered his options carefully before speaking. "I could carry you back..." He offered, shuffling his feet as he spoke. Rose looked at him thoughtfully. "Could you actually manage to get me back to the flat?" He grinned in his typical lopsided manner. "Only one way to find out!" 

Rose hesitated before stepping towards him, motioning for him to bend over. The Doctor obliged and she took a quick breath before leaping onto his back.

 He jumped slightly to re-position her before starting to jog, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he went.

 Rose leaned into his back and let her eyes drift shut, just listening to his steady heartbeat, gripping him tightly to remind herself that he was real, and one-hundred-percent the alien she had grown to love. 

She didn't notice that she had fallen asleep until she felt The Doctor gently nudge her in an attempt to wake her up. She moved a little as he sighed deeply before slowly sliding her off his back and onto the couch, being sure not to bump her. She blinked blearily, feeling the softness of the cushions around her. The couch squeaked as The Doctor sat down next to her, stretching his legs as far as he could. 

Rose sat up and wrapped one arm around his shoulder, drawing him closer to her. The Doctor didn't resist, letting the blonde use him as a source of heat.  

“You alright?” He murmured into her ear.

“Stay, okay?” He made a happy sound in the back of his throat.

“That, miss Tyler, is something I can do.”

She put a hand over his heart, feeling each pulse in her fingertips. The Doctor blushed beet red, and his heart started beating in double-time. She gave him a peck on the cheek before also turning red and refusing to meet his eyes. He leaned back with a sigh, letting his back rest a little. 

She played with his hair, entwining her fingertips in his spiky brown locks. She put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him to her body, letting his warmth and breathing lull her to sleep. The Doctor smiled as he heard her breaths become even, and he let his eyes closed. "G'night Rose..." He whispered, and for the first time in a long time, the nightmares left him alone.

They awoke in a tangle of limbs, both holding each other as a bright light filtered through the curtains. He stifled a yawn and tried to move, but was stopped short by the weight of Rose on his chest. He smiled sleepily, unsure if he should wake her. He knew for a fact that she wasn't a morning person, and that she wouldn't take kindly to being woken up. He slowly slid out from under her, resting her head on the arm of the couch. She groaned slightly and stretched herself out, yawning as she did so. He gently draped his coat over her shoulders, and she smiled when he did so. "Morning already?" She murmured "It would seem so. You can stay here if you want though, no rush or anything." She rose to her feet, trying to tame her blonde hair without much success. "Nah, lemme cook something up. Pancakes sound alright to you?" The Doctor nodded enthusiastically. "That, Rose Tyler, would be brilliant!" And although that was their first true morning together, it was the beginning of something beautiful.

TWO YEARS LATER...

The Doctor paced back and forth on the beach, surprised that he hadn't dug a trench in the sand with all the pacing he'd been doing. He had a small box in his hands, and he kept passing it between them. He had it all planned out, but that didn't stop him from being nervous. 

You're being stupid. 

He scolded himself. 

You can do this. 

He checked his watch, one minute left. 

One minute until the moment of truth. 

He had been through hell and back, why was this so difficult? His mind raced, full of worst-case-scenarios that could cause this to go down in flames. He forced those thoughts out of his mind. 

You love her. 

He had gone over his speech a couple times beforehand, but he would be considered lucky if he could remember even one line of it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, trying to make this seem like it wasn't a big deal. He looked up, and then she was there. Her hair was blowing across her face, and a smile played on her lips. The Doctor swallowed hard. 

You can do this.

 "You came." "Of course I did!" She closed the gap between them, standing right next to him. He was surprised that she couldn't hear his heart beating out of control. "You said you had something to tell me?" "Yeah, I did yeah." He was tripping over his words, inwardly cursing himself. 

Just say it.

 He took her hand in his and spoke from the heart. "Rose, I know that we don't have the best history with beaches." She squeezed his hand tighter. "That's true." He took another deep breath. "But today, I hope I can change that." He got down on one knee, his heart in his hands. "I've loved you through the ages, and I hope you've done the same. There's nobody else that I'd offer my heart to and I hope that you'll accept." He popped open the box. "Rose Tyler, I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He hardly had time to react before she had leapt onto him, wrapping her hands around his neck and falling with him into the sand. She kissed him long and hard, and he didn't resist. They broke apart with smiles on both of their faces. "Can I take that as a yes?" She grinned hugely. "I think you could." The rest of that day was spent on the beach, Rose leaning into his arm as the sun went down. He gathered her up in his arms, She said yes. The cool water lapped at their legs as they sat on the dock, the sunset reflecting on the waves, casting a thousand rays of light on the water. "Wish I brought a swimsuit..." She mumbled into his ear. He was suddenly struck with a thought. 

She can't unsay it now... 

What have you got to lose? 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. She leaned closer...

 and he pushed her off the dock. 

She splashed to the surface, spitting out a stream of water. She shot him an outright murderous glare, "Oh you did not just do that!" He grinned lopsidedly. "You're the one who agreed to marry me!" She splashed him but decided that wasn't good enough. She grabbed onto his leg and yanked him into the lake, letting out a hoot of laughter as he splashed into the water. He bobbed back to the surface almost immediately, the grin on his face refusing to fade, his hair plastered to his head. 

She splashed him and he ducked back under the waves, giving her leg a slight pull as he swam past. He splashed the back of her head, causing her to whirl around and return the gesture. This continued for a few minutes, neither wanting to surrender, each splash returned with double the power. The Doctor finally threw his hands in the air, sopping wet and more than a little bit tired. "I surrender!" She grinned cheekily, brushing her hair out of her face. "I knew it!" They sloshed back in the direction of the beach, wringing out their soaking clothing only to realize that it was now coated with sand. The Doctor tried to brush the grit off his jacket, and he groaned slightly when the troublesome bits of rock stuck to his hand. Rose sat down on the sand, giving in to her fatigue. He plopped down beside her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "At least our shoes are still dry." He remarked, putting an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. She sighed, her body going completely limp against him. He let himself do the same, tipping his head back slightly to look at the stars. She put her head against his in much the same position. "We're going to have to go see those stars someday." She slid her hand into his, entwining their fingers. "I suppose we are. Whole new worlds out there!" "Together though, right?" He smiled, giving her hand a tight squeeze. "Of course."

#tentoosday #tentoo x rose #doctorroseprompts #ten x rose #proposal

[spiritcc]

Sherlock Holmes 2013

So as per usual part of this marathon, here comes the post with my overall opinion about stuff, this time, obviously, the show known as the new Russian Sherlock Holmes series. The "new" part loses its meaning with each year passing, but anyway.

This is going to be the Vague(tm) type of post written mostly for advertisement purposes, free of spoilers and trying way too hard to encourage peeps to watch a show with a fanbase of 2.5 people. But anyway again.

So, Sherlock Holmes, aired in November 2013, eight episodes in total, one hour and thirty minutes long each. Grossly underappreciated everywhere for no proper reason, I guess it's just this obscure show somewhere from wild Russia, nobody heard of it and so why should they even try. Well, let me spill my thoughts about why you should, I stan this show quite actively. So actively I'm one from the team that subtitled it.

First of all, this show has a quite interesting premise, the idea of "what if the stories Watson writers were romanticized to various extents, and the reality is completely different from what we know it?". Not a brand new idea for the fandom, but forgive my ignorance of other adaptations, it's at least one of the few shows that explores it, and explores it delightfully.

The director of the show Andrey Kavun noticed a thing once when he read the canon: ACD's characters do not develop in the slightest, Holmes is the same in the first story, Holmes remains the same in the last story, where he's already a sixty-something year old man. The world of Sherlock Holmes is painfully static on top of that, it bends to suit the narrative and is barely inconvenient on an every-day basis. At the end of the day, James or Hamish? Injured leg or shoulder? James Moriarty and James Moriarty? Who gives a shit, certainly not Conan Doyle.

And so Kavun decided to take on Dostoevky's approach to his characters, and make the life around them real. This show never fails to remind you that Watson survived the horrors of war, that he is suffering from injuries that never magically vanish past the initial introduction, that the experiences he'd been through affected his personality and views. It contrasts bright with Holmes, a dude somewhere in his world with skewed priorities and a large portion of ignorance to events that affect Watson deeply. These guys are polar opposites, they clash, they fight, but they consider each other friends, for reasons the show explores quite clearly as it goes.

The world they live in? Kavun, actually, secretly filmed a show about Moscow 2013 and its contemporary issues, but in my opinion, even though the approach he takes is very Russian, it's still easily applicable to any country, and makes a whole lot of sense. War veterans like Watson? Hello, they just came back from a gruesome war, lucky if their limbs are still intact. Some never settled for a peaceful life after what they've been through, they turn to crime. Their injuries allow them to take only the most pitiful jobs. And, considering the Afghanistan experience, all of them are blatantly racist. Does it sound logical, true to life? It surely does to me, and I love how raw it is shown in this series. Knock knock, real life coming, meet the real face of war and its aftermath. It's not sensitive, it's not censored in the slightest, and you know it's true. That's the real life, and whatever the non-problematic bullshit can be found in the Holmes stories.

To me, a gal used to the non-problematic approach to adaptations, this was mind-blowing and refreshing to watch. Betrayal, bribery, racism, everything is there and does slap you in the face with what the real world would actually be in this universe.

Watson is not the only one with some quality character representation there, even though he is the main character (again, hello, he wrote the stories, who else would the hero be), everyone has depth to them, and I can say a lot of those characters go through an arc of their own. They might not even change per se, but your opinion about them can. I, for example, felt that by the time of the last episode, I could see through all of them and their bullshit, I knew exactly what they felt and thought. Well, pretty much everything goes through an arc and wraps up in a very satisfying way, in my opinion, but it was still quite nice to realise.

The arc happens because, aside from one episode, the series follows one single grand plot that does a fantastic job of playing with canon and Holmes references of various obscurity, it's extremely well put together, and this story is told from a very great approach. That's what slightly pissed off Holmes will say once, forgive for a bit of a wanky translation:

The curious reader can’t wait to see what happens next? He waits for Sherlock Holmes to come, stretch in his chair, sort everything out and elegantly pull a rabbit out of a hat. And could the reader think of everything himself? He saw everything I saw, and he knows everything I know. <...> So what, now let’s see who will be smarter: the reader or Sherlock Holmes.

Everything the series wants you to know, it will show. You will indeed see everything the main characters see, no more and no less. It always leaves enough information for you to make your own conclusions and assumptions, and if you won't do it, nobody will do it for you. That's why I always nag people to re-watch the series after they're done, because not only will bits and pieces of the plot make more sense in the long-run, but some fresh findings will be completely mindblowing, and I cannot emphasise the last part more, because it's huge. The show will not point you to them in any way, you can completely miss all of that in the first place because the series doesn’t scream “look how genius we are!!!” left and right. You indeed see everything Holmes and Watson do, and it’s up to you to decide what to do with that information. As Holmes says, can you think for yourself? The show assumes you can. 

The plot itself is quite delightful because it mashes so many canon stories together into one, and it works perfectly, and it still manages to be its own thing that serves the show’s narrative. It’s still original and new, so the thrill of case solving from the other side of the screen is back. It still clearly knows its canon, since yeah, Watson must have some inspiration for writing his bullshit off of something. The plot is wholesome, sets in motion since the very beginning, and ends perfectly, no questions left open.

Then there’s the acting, decorations, music and so forth: all of it is great as well. The main theme is very fun, the locations, even though still Russia and nearby countries, manage to do a convincing enough job of portraying London and the countryside (with the help of CGI). But the acting though *inhales softly*. 

The director gave almost full artistic freedom to the actors, letting them work on their characters however they wanted. Which resulted in an incredible job done by everyone involved, their characters have their own quirks, habits, speech patterns (not like you’ll notice it behind the language barrier, but oh well), all of that made up by the actors themselves. It also helps that the actors involved are all beyond fantastic, they look so natural in their roles you don’t even notice the full scale of awesome at first. One man you’ll sure notice, Watson played by late Andrey Panin - a man of so many expressions I did over seventy gifs of his faces and that was still just looking at the surface. His Watson is one of the best, if not the best Watson you’ll ever see on screen, and it’s not just me pulling this out of my ass. That is an opinion I still keep seeing from many people from different age groups and parts of the world, from casual viewers to elderly and respected holmesians alike. Panin’s Watson, being the main character after all, is extremely well thought out, fantastically portrayed, incredibly expressive, marvelously developed in the course of the show. Of course there’s Petrenko’s Holmes that I love with all my heart for his fascinating portrayal, level of detail and characterisation, there’s Boyarsky’s Lestrade that doesn’t do anything interesting at first, but then blasts so hard he might be dangerously close to overshadowing other adaptations, but these guys are up to your liking and are totally subjective. Watson, though, is someone I can bet all my money on, he will not disappoint in the slightest, definitely one of the best, if not the best, Watson ever shown on screen. 

Secondary actors have also done a fantastic job, their characters are well played, likable, sometimes even dangerously likable considering who they are, and are certainly a great part of the show. The fucking Moriarty they have there, hoho, I will die arguing that this guy is a scary genius worthy to be one of the best ones on screen, he is the reason why this show has to be seen at least twice. Love the guy, honestly, 

Does the show have any downsides? Of course it does, it’s really far from perfect. I personally think that it could’ve done much better without Irene Adler or the entirety of the seventh episode, non-important to the overall plot points are beyond bullshit sometimes, even though they are non-vital after all. If you’ve seen the second RDJ movie, the third episode will definitely not be a blast for you. You might not like things I’ve just gushed about in the first place, everything is subjective, after all. Does it stick out so much it might turn you away from the show? Not in the slightest. But it’s there and it’s noticeable. 

So, Sherlock Holmes 2013, here’s the playlist on youtube. Totally worth of checking it out, still fucking awesome. Take it away, Holmes

#new russian sherlock holmes #marathon notes

[deathsdesiign]

I’m posting this, but i’m going to delete it after a day cause it’s not edited for tumblr. but it’s also mort’s original about or whatever for the forum he’s from. and i figure people might want to see it. under a read more cause it’s long af 

The room is bright and sparsely decorated; almost clinical if it wasn't for the collage of somewhat crude pictures and posters on the far wall. Images that are quite clearly of corpses in various stages of the embalming process. Like before and after shots of a particularly gruesome accident, except that a young face is grinning at the camera in each of them. Body bent over the table, offering a thumbs up or thumbs down, in a scale you're not sure you ever want to know. You want to look away, your eyes are burning with the effort, but it's like watching a train wreak. You can't look away no matter how hard you try, and each set of pictures seems to be more gruesome and gore filled then the last.

"You know people used to pay to have their corpses photographed? Wicked, huh?"

The voice startles you, and your heart stops for a fraction of a second. Ironic considering your current location. If there was ever a better place to drop dead, surely the prep room of a funeral parlor would be it. But considering you were alone with three corpses just seconds ago your little moment of fear doesn't seem too uncalled for.

With a spin you're facing the young man. He looks out of place in there; jeans and a black t-shirt, with beat-up converse on his feet. Like he'd snuck in to get a glimpse at the dead, and you should be calling security.

Except of course you know better.

"Yep, they used to drop their loved ones off. Get them all nice an' tidy. Then people like me would prop them up real nice using wires, or you know stands or whatever. Get them looking like everything's swell." He's pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, black ones, if you must know. "Photography was expensive back then, people could only really afford like three pictures tops. Some of them, that's the only family photo." He laughs, and dark eyes drift up to focus on your face. Eyes that are much too old for that childish grin. "Can you imagine that, family photo with all the kiddies gathered around grandma's corpse?"

You kind of just stare at him, what else are you supposed to do? You're here because haven hill needs this interview, and with the three car accident victims laid out in front of him, he'd put off this meeting for the last time. So they'd sent you here. To the last place anyone should ever want to go willingly.

At least anyone human.

"Ahem, Mr. Wynter I-"

"Please, dude. Call me Mort. Or Morty, whatever gets your gears grinding." He's grinning, but he's also prepping a tube and syringe, and just looking at it is making you want to throw up. Never mind the corpse with an unrecognizable face laying on the table between you.

"Um...Mort. You know why I'm here, right?"

"Yeah, you want to hear my story, I get it. You don't mind if I talk while I work do ya? These guys need to be prepped by tomorrow and- are you gonna be okay? You're looking kind of green around the gills there?"

"I'm fine...just-"

"Never been this close to a body before, huh?" He looks sympathetic but you doubt it. For some reason you doubt his ability to be something so...human. Especially not when there's a wall of selfies with corpses at your back. All you want is for this to be over, and to get the fuck out of here.

"Just start from the beginning, alright?"

"Alright, but it's a long story. So I hope you're not planning on going anywhere for a while."

"Just go."

He's working as he talks, but to your relief he's at least talking and for the moment you can forget the bodies laying around you. Car accident victims with their faces a mess and their bodies shattered. Of course your eyes drift down anyway to watch as he begins the draining process, unable to look away even as the body's fluids seep out of the plastic tubing and down a drain. It makes your stomach flip and turn as his voice washes over you; enthusiastic, but almost mechanical. Like this is something he's shared a thousand times before, and its become little more then a script to recite.

I wasn't born. Not in the strict human sense of the word. What I am, my nature, it kind of doesn't allow for that kind of thing, you know? I mean sure there was a moment where I wasn't there and then a moment where I was, but I didn't have a mother. Or if I did she or he or it, wasn't around when I finally realized that I could...well, realize things. There were others that came before me of course, you might recognize them. The oldest was another pair of twins; Light and Darkness, then came Life and her twin Time, then my sister and I.

You're probably wondering; How could you have a twin if you're not born? How do you know? Well the answer to that is kind of simple really. You just did. And if you didn't, you had the older ones to tell you that's how it was. According to Life we flared into existence one instant after the other. We always came in pairs, with centuries between each match.

He laughs and you don't really understand why. But it's a sound that sends chills through your entire body, like you've just taken a dive in ice water.

A little on the bubbly side for my taste, but I could handle that-

Anyway, I'm off track here. Which I shouldn't because this can stretch on for centuries, and I doubt you have that much free time.

Basically it was six of us, three pairs, but the focus of all this is my sister and I. Like I said we were twins, except we weren't. It's just the easiest way to describe us in human terms. Technically we aren't related or anything, we're just there. Concepts, constructs, that help the world and the universe run. Fate's purpose was to write out the stories of each and every being in existence. She knows literally everything, and if you were to go to her 'room' you'd find that it was filled to the brim with books and strings that crisscrossed all over the place. An organized mess with her in the center of it, blank stare focused off into the distance. I asked her once what that was like the whole 'seeing everything and anything thing' and the way she explained it was like having an infinite number of televisions playing in your head at once. Crazy right?

I do not envy her in the least...but then I guess it's something you get used to. I mean it's not like my version of keeping track of things is any less fucked up.

He pauses then, and takes a minute to turn around, arms reaching behind him to tug up his shirt. The process makes you pause in confusion, but then your eyes widen and you feel yourself gasp. It takes a moment but clear skin seems to shimmer away and suddenly every inch of him is covered in bloody scratches..and they're moving. You know for a fact that they're words; names...but they heal and reappear far too quickly for you to even begin to read them.

"Neat, huh? I think it's just our world...but I might be wrong. I feel like the longer I stay here, the more names from this place start to pop up." He's shrugging and the scratches vanish, leaving his skin clear ( at least to your eyes ), before he lets his shirt drop back down. "Doesn't hurt by the way, in case you're wondering."

A gulp, and you find yourself asking "A-at all?"

He shrugs, fixing the tube to start pumping the body with formaldehyde. "I think it did at first...but I don't remember. It was fuck-all-forever ago." Stepping away from the body, he moved to the second table, waving that you follow. "That one's gonna take a few minutes so." He'd set up some bottles with what appeared to be cleaning supplies, hands moving deftly over the man's limbs. Lifting the arms and wiggling the fingers.

"Gotta check for rigor....anyway, where was I?"

"Uh..." it was a struggle to keep the queasiness building in your stomach. Especially with this one. Arguably the worst of the three. "Your s-sister..."

"AH, yeah."

It's just the way it was.

From the get-go we had pretty much one job and we sort of just dove right on into it. I mean it was our entire reason for existing, you know? So it was kind of a given that from nanosecond one we were doing what we were programmed to do. Fate would write out the stories, when someone was supposed to die I'd get the name. ( By the way I mean real honest, to goodness Death. Not 'oh look I kind of sort of died but hallelujah I didn't' ) Like, when I get your name, that's it. Unless Life pulls some divine move bullshit and calls a God or something to intervene, your soul is fucking mine.

I'd like to think she had a little more respect for me then that. Normally she'll give me a heads up if she doesn't want someone to die ( mostly so I can intervene with Fate cause I mean my sister DOES NOT enjoy outsiders fucking with her shit. ).

You should count yourself lucky by the way, not everyone gets a backstage tour of this shit. It happens in another plane of existence. One, people like you can't even dream of. It's broken into sectors and my personal space is kind of like this void where I can go anyplace I want. I just have to think it.

Makes getting souls and tossing them off to their respective resting grounds a hell of a lot easier. Just gotta think it, and boom I'm there. Easy as popping an eye out.

Fate and I, this is what we did. Non-stop. For billions of years. Since the first spark of life it was me and her; writing and reaping. Over and over and over again. You know how fucking boring that is? I mean lets just put aside that we're basically immortal concepts and not actually people, for like five seconds. Can you imagine doing the same damn thing non-stop; morning, noon, and night. From the instant you crawl out from between your mom's legs to the moment you fall ass first into your coffin? It could drive you mad, and you know, I think it kind of did. Well...not me, but Fate? God damn, you should have seen her. Everything that happens next? It was all her idea, but you're not gonna see me complaining. Fuck that. Those were some of the funnest years of my life, and I'm going to tell you exactly why..cause buddy, it's got about everything to do with how I got here.

He's stopped, seemingly to catch his breath, but really he's gesturing animatedly at the body between you two. "Holy shit dude, this guy's ribs are poking out. Come see!"

"Um...no."

"Aww, c'mon it's just like the movies. Here, look." Before you can stop him, he's yanking you forward and your eyes widen because you can't help but stare at where he's pointing. The stark white bones jutting free of the man's side. It makes you want to throw up, and you gag, trying to pull free. Despite the scrawniness of his size; the thin arms, there's a power hidden behind those muscles. Strength that keeps you pinned as one gloved black hand pokes curiously at one of the bones. He's got his face as close as possible too, hovering over the wound, and inches from yours with that same grin. "Neat, huh?"

The urge to throw up is growing stronger now.

He seems to finally sense your discomfort and his hold loosens and drops away. Finally allowing you to shoot back away from the table until you're pressed against the far wall. Gasping for air; and unfortunately finding nothing but the stale air of the morgue. The sharp smells of copper, formaldehyde, and death.

You need a distraction, fast. "C-can you bring people back?" It's the first question that pops into your head. Your eyes by this point are rolling around in your skull in an attempt to look at anything BUT the dead man on the table. Though you finally settle back on him, just in time to see him offering a thumbs up and smile at his phone as he takes another picture for his wall.

"Me? Nah." He snorts, "I told you there was a Life right? Only she can do that shit...now what I can do." His nose crinkles, and he tilts his head "I can keep you from dying. For however long as I want, well, maybe not forever. There is an order to this shit and eventually I have to listen to it." He shrugged "That's when the cuts really hurt you know, when I keep someone kicking even though their name showed up? It hurts like a bitch. It's different when Life does it, cause you're getting a second chance, but me? Nah if I keep you around it's still part of your first. So your name is going to just keep slicing itself in till I get the message." he snorts "Course you might not want me to. I can keep you alive forever but I can't heal you so lets say you jumped off a fucking building; splat. Can you imagine being alive, like that? Would you want to be?" It sounds horrifying and you find yourself shaking your head in horror. "Didn't think so."

He shrugs, spinning a pair of scissors on his fingers. "'Course it's not all bad. I can also keep you alive long enough for someone or something else to intervene? I mean lets say I stabbed you in the heart right here and now. Imagine if the doctors had literally all the time in the world to fix you? They could patch you up, hell they could even take your heart out and wait for a new one to show up months later and you'd still be fine." he grins. "It's relative really. The order's there and I have to follow it...but people can intervene, people 'change it up' or 'cut in first'."

"I-I don't think I follow."

"That's alright, that's what the next part of the story is for."

I mean...I'm not evil either, it's kind of morally grey actually. I have no idea what I am, but anyway...

The games started pretty recently all things considered. You'd expect this whole fiasco to be my idea, but it wasn't. Like I said, doing the same thing over and over again it drove you mad. And if anyone one of us deserved to go mad it was Fate. I mean she had the whole 'infinite tvs in her head' thing going for her. It's no surprise when one day she kind of just yanked the floor out from under me.

I was actually pretty goddamn pissed at first. There's not a lot to get excited about in my line of work, but occasionally. Occasionally I'd get something big. Like war or tragedy big. Sometimes you people will fucking screw each other up so bad and the death count can just blow your mind. Other times it's some freak accident or some natural event. Either way, the big stuff. God that gets my jollies cooking if you know what I mean.

The stream of death on a daily basis is constant. Always flowing, never stopping. It's like the blood flow of the universe. People's souls are moving in and out like air through cells. It's beautiful ( if you're not forced to look at it forever. ), like a work of art. Sometimes though, there's a big rush of it. It's like when your beautiful mountain view is broken by a sudden avalanche. It's still fucking beautiful, it's nature, but it's beautiful in a different kind of way. You feel me? A chaotic, heart pounding kind of way.

That's what was about to happen. A big chaotic something.

A bridge collapse to be exact.

I'd been planning this for months, eagerly anticipating what was going to be the biggest flash point tragedy I'd seen in ages. I was fucking psyched for all the souls that were about to come flooding through my door. Literally the highlight of my existence in that moment as depressing as that might sound to you, I'd like to take this moment to remind you that people dying is how I exist. There's no beating around the bush or lying about it. I live and thrive because people are dying, and it's not my fault I get my jollies from big tragedies. So don't go thinking I'm the one that caused this to begin with. I don't cause Death, I don't kill things. I collect what dies. Simple. Easy. This bridge was going to collapse and all I had to do was stand back and watch it all happen.

That's when Fate did her thing. You see Fate, her job is basically nothing. It's watching, witnessing, writing. She isn't supposed to intervene like Life might, she can't even grant things like deja-vu like Time can do sometimes if he's feeling especially douchy one morning. Fate basically drew the short straw in our little relationship. Which is I guess why she just snapped. I honestly think that she did what she did just so she could see if she could actually do it or not, at least that first time. She wanted to be something more then a bystander is what I'm guessing, and was I mad that her little ego trip ruined the greatest day of my life? Yeah a little bit.

See she shoved what she could see, into one of the bridge victims. He saw and lived his fate down to the very last second. He saw every moment, felt the spray of blood on his face, probably even felt his damn soul leaving his body. Only to weak up like it was all a very vivid, very 'about-to-fucking-happen' dream. Of course dream boy shit his pants and freaked out. Now, he didn't manage to save EVERYONE on the bridge, but he saved six people. Six people living on borrowed time, six names that suddenly hurt.

You see, I'd never known you could skip a name. Before only Life did it, and like I said there were no consequences when that happened. This time? Nah, this time I felt it. I felt those names digging into my skin like whatever divine force held the pen was pissed at me. Not Fate. Me.

I had never felt pain before. It was kind of awkward.

Here he was stopping again, focusing on his work, or gathering his thoughts. This part of story seemed to take more concentration seeing as his demeanor had changed somewhat. He was still at ease in his surroundings but there was a more focused expression on his features. Eyes darkening as he finished prepping the last body and gestured for you to follow him back to the first. "I could never understand my sister. You'd think that she did all of that because she cares. I mean...why else give the poor kid a premonition? Why even bother trying to save anyone's life if you didn't actually want them to be saved?" A huff of breath, that frosted in the air in front of him as though you both stood out in the snow. Morgues and funeral parlors were kept cold, naturally to preserve the dead, but not that cold. That was him.

"She didn't care?"

He had face close to the first victim, and he glanced up to shake his head. "Not one fucking bit." A chuckle "She's not evil, so don't go thinking that either. None of is is good or evil. We're...grey. We're not supposed to feel anything, I don't think...but we do." His head tilted slightly "I used to call it a 'backfire bond'. It was like we were meant to be connected to humanity. To help it run, but something went wrong. The connection was supposed to go only one way and I guess at first it did. Only the more people there were, the bigger the flood of information going through the bond.Until the only way for it to stay open was for all of that to go both ways." He straightened, hands falling to his hips, "Does all of this make sense?"

"Not really."

"Figures. Well, the only other way I can explain it is like a doorway. If you have one of those double doors and the crowd is small you can just open one and everything is fine. The people coming through are usually coming one or two at a time on a good day and it's easy to keep track of everything. But then some huge nightclub or something opens upstairs and suddenly that one door is being flooded with people trying to come in ten or twenty at a time. Not just that but there's people wanting to go out and you're standing there trying to keep track of it all. Eventually you need to open the other door to ease the flow. Except that second door was closed because it actually cut through your home or your office...so now this surge of people is walking through your personal space." He shrugged "You don't want them too but they're there, and when they come through bits and pieces of them get left behind. Clothing, accessories, the stink of their perfume. It lingers inside of your personal space like a disease you can't get rid of."

"I think I get it now...you were absorbing parts of humanity? Parts of us?"

"Bingo."

"And your sister...she.."

"She absorbed a lot more then the rest of us. Enough to make her a little cruel. She's a total sweetheart of course, but something inside of her- nah, something in there is broken. Like I said before she gave the first vision just to see if she could. She knew it'd do nothing, except maybe torture those people, but she did it anyway. Just to see."

"What about you, what'd you do?"

He grins.

Anyway, I stormed to where Fate was and I yelled. After all this was a mess that had repercussions all over the place. The list on my skin was practically having seizures. Simply because as long as these people were alive they were interacting with other people, changing events that they shouldn't have even existed for in the first place. Because of them certain events that should have happened didn't. And I couldn't just snap my fingers and make them all simultaneously drop dead of an aneurysm. I'm Death but up until then all I did was collect souls, I didn't physically interact with the world to actually cause anything.

Fate didn't make it any better. She was pleased with what she'd done. Like the cat that swallowed ten canaries she just kept taunting me. Saying that she was better, that she'd bested me. Laughing because now I was stuck, and she could beat me whenever she wanted. All she had to do was show someone what was coming, and that was it. "Let Fate Decide" She told me, and grinned like a cracked piece of glass right at me. Fate had decided. She'd decided to be a pain in my ass.

Well two could play at that game.

I decided that if she could interfere then so could I. It took a little practice but I managed, following her little 'chosen ones' and playing with the world around them until I caused a brutal enough accident. Sometimes they caught on. ( Even then I had to go in order ) and sometimes they even managed to avoid me more then once. Hell there was even one time where Fate just kept giving the girl visions. Over and over and over again every time she noticed me getting ready to do what I was doing.

Have you ever heard of the game mousetrap? It's a personal favorite. A board game where you have this confusing setup in the middle of the board and everything's connected. When the mousetrap is set off one thing causes another until the cage comes down over whatever player gets caught.

That's what I did.

Turn on a forklift and taking the break off so it starts moving on its own. Directing it towards a shelf full of hardware supplies, knocking the supplies down so that one of the wooden logs bursts the bag on an air compressor making it explode. That explodes knocks some dude ten feet into a wall of spikes or a nail gun with the safety off. Brutal, but effective. If no one stops it or intervenes I win. I get the soul that I needed to get and fix my list. Except, that kind of power...it gets to your head. It makes you want more, and eventually we stopped seeing it as our job. We were seeing it as a game.

It didn't matter that we were playing with people's lives. That we were making humans who were set to die especially brutal and traumatic deaths to begin with, miserable. All that mattered is that Fate could give them premonitions and I could get them killed. It became a race; could I get rid of all of them before they caught on, could I kill the last batch before she started the new one. Of course I was limited by a strict order and she wasn't so there was a bit of an unfair advantage. I could kill people but if they escaped my trap I'd have to swing back for them later, and if Fate started a new group I couldn't get to the survivors of the last one until I'd run through the new people.

Life thought it was disgusting.

Oh but it was so much fun.

We did our damage, and sometimes I even gave them hints myself. Like...did you know that if you're next but you kill someone who wasn't supposed to die. You switch places on the list? Technically since these people weren't supposed to exist in the first place, anyone they killed could arguably be classified as 'not supposed to die'. I told them that, I made sure that they knew...gave them hope. Then I made sure they picked people who didn't have particularly long to live anyway. Nice right?

You look horrified and he can see that, but he just smiles at you. Fingers working to stitch up the broken face of the corpse in front of him. Fixing the damage of whatever accident got him him. "We were cruel sons a bitches, that's obvious...but we were bored. We couldn't help it. I think, in the end, that's how the darkness found us."

Here you perk up. Sensing the closing of the story.

"We're supposed to be background noise, but all this playing with people's lives meant that we had our hands buried deep into the world. We were leaving our little side dimensions and spending more and more time among people. Giving them visions, fucking them over. Fucking each other over. Too busy to notice that something was wrong. There was a taint in the air...a sour taste like rotting corpses." His nose crinkled, and it's almost ironic. "Sis and I, by rights we should have been the first to notice that something was killing people. Something big was destroying the world...wiping out Fates and flooding me with souls, but we didn't."

He sighs, and stands back, hands stuffing in his pockets "When the Darkness was completely here I didn't notice until I finally went back to my dimension. The place was packed. Full to the brim and growing fuller...straining with the influx of death and destruction that was taking place and it was only getting worse. I tried, I really did try to fix the damage. To start the souls moving on but...to where?" His head shook and there might have actually been sadness there. "The places they should have been going weren't fairing any better; heaven, hell, hades, Elysium, purgatory. Didn't matter, they were all feeling it. It was Chaos."

"That bad?"

He nods, and his shoulder's slumped "Fate was freaking out, the tvs in her head were shutting down or something, I guess. But I couldn't even be bothered. All those souls were in my domain and I could hear them screaming, could hear them crying. They wanted to go somewhere, but I had nowhere to put them. You'd think it wouldn't phase me much but that was my purpose it was fundamental part of who and what I am. What good is a Grim Reaper, Death, if he can't traffic souls to their final destination? Worthless that's what."

"That's not-"

"Oh believe me it is. I broke down. I couldn't do it, couldn't even begin to handle it. I tried but it was too much, so I ditched. Didn't even tell Fate where I was going. I just...had to get out of there. Had to go back to the world and breathe. I pretended to be human for a little while, that's how I found out about the portal. I didn't think I'd ever cross. My duty, my job is the animated world. I'm connected to it...stitched into it. I didn't even think I could cross."

You're watching him closer now, the changes in his expression. A hundred different emotions flicker there in the course of all this. Too fast for you to really read any of them. "But you can? Or you could..."

"Yep. I decided to give it a shot. Who knows, maybe if I'm not there people can't die anymore. right? Worth a shot. I took the dive, and now I'm here. Gotta say...being an actual real human. It's a fucking trip." He laughs now, and a bright grin spreads across his face "I knew about all this stuff but to actually get a chance to play with any of it? To watch movies, play video games, take pictures? EAT FOOD. It's great. Better even. No wonder nobody wants to die...fuck if I had all this, I'd want to live forever too." The grin widens, almost maniacal. "Good thing I can, right?"

You shake a little at the look on his face, and then he's suddenly moving around the table to stand next to you. Wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close before holding his camera phone up over your heads. "It's been nice meeting you kid, loved the chat but I gotta head back to work." There's a flash as he grins at the camera before turning and laying a sloppy kiss on your cheek. "Tell your mom to cut back on those candies she likes, and stay away from public transportation." You're left in minor shock as he saunters back to his side of the table, tucking his phone in his back pocket. "I better not find you using any of that in a book without permission, remember I can find you." A teasing wink.

Too bad you didn't see it that way. You were practically running out of there once you'd finished. Desperate to escape the bodies and the chill he'd settled into your bones.

Don't take the bus?

Why?

#( O DEATH | about. )

[set-phasers-to-whump]

whumptober day 7

prompt: isolation

whumpee: aidan waite

fandom: being human (US)

quick disclaimer:  this is horribly ooc bc i havent seen the show in utter ages since its not on netflix anymore and i am well aware that it sucks and im sorry but i have to post something so heres this utter garbage heap of not-even-whump. i promise i hate it just as much as you do.

Aidan Waite wasn’t a good person. He wasn’t even a person, actually. And he had done far too many bad things in his long life to be considered ‘good.’ So he was a bad vampire. No matter how hard he tried not to, it seemed like he always relapsed into drinking directly from people. No good person hurts other people. Ergo, he was bad.

He had been hanging out with Bishop and one thing had led to another, and here he was, feeling dirty with live blood. He kept telling himself that he couldn’t keep doing this, but he never seemed to be able to resist. He returned home around five in the morning, ashamed and slightly drunk.

He was tired of this, the constant pull to just grab someone and drain them. He found himself wondering what he could do, and finally came up with an idea. He could lock himself up, isolate himself from the world, somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to find any humans to drink-a sort of detox. He could bring blood bags from the hospital and stay for maybe a week, and see what that did.

It wasn’t a perfect plan-where would he go, for one thing. The woods? Some abandoned house on the outskirts of the city? He couldn’t just lock himself up in his room-his housemates wouldn’t much care if the door was locked or not, they had ways around it. He couldn’t let them interfere, couldn’t let them know what he was doing. He doubted they’d approve, and they’d try to find him. He needed to do this, just to see if it would work.

And work it did. Aidan had found himself an abandoned cabin in the woods, and had even gone a step further and locked himself in its basement. He had known he would easily be able to break the lock if he wanted to, so he had bought himself some handcuffs which he was pretty sure would be able to hold him, and had cuffed himself to an old iron bed frame he’d discovered in the basement when he was exploring the cabin. His plan was to bring his phone and call Josh after a week and ask him to come unlock the door. He had a power block, plenty of blood bags, and a few books to keep himself busy. 

The first two days went pretty well, he thought. Josh had called him, but he had explained that he’d been called out of town unexpectedly and would probably be back within the week. Aidan was pretty sure that Josh hadn’t believed that for a second, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had drank a few of his blood bags and had read one of his books and started on a second. He was bored, sure, but it was only five more days.

The next two days passed slowly and agonisingly. Aidan’s eyes began to hurt from all the reading, and he didn’t want to use his phone in case he accidentally drained all the battery from his power block and ended up trapped. He tried to sleep, but the basement was cold and damp and he hadn’t thought to bring a blanket. A detox wasn’t supposed to be comfortable, he had thought. 

By the fifth morning, he was ready to leave, but he had promised himself he’d stay a week. He hadn’t really thought this through, he realised. Of course in here he was perfectly able to resist the temptation to drink people, but there weren’t any people around! All this was doing was making him miserable. But he had made it this far, he couldn’t give up now.

So he suffered through a fifth day in the mouldy and uncomfortable basement. His limbs had grown used to not having many places to go, and now everything just sort of ached. He wondered if he’d be able to stand up when the week was up, or if he’d just fall right over.

The sixth day passed in an even worse manner-it began to rain at around four in the morning and didn’t let up until late afternoon. The cabin, being in such a state of disrepair, was far from watertight, and the basement became even more damp, and the mildewy smell only got worse. 

So to sum things up, he was cold and wet and beginning to be affected by the mould, not to mention he was lonely and bored out of his mind. He couldn’t sleep that night at all, and sure, he didn’t necessarily need to, but he wanted to, more than anything. But there was about half an inch of water on the ground and his wrists had begun to ache in their restraints. At least he wasn’t hungry. At least he only had one more day.

Finally, finally, his last day in the cabin arrived. He had actually done it! He spent his day lost in thought, planning out how to better tackle his issue, seeing as this solution had not been the most useful. He did manage to sleep that night-most of the water had leaked out to somewhere else, and although the ground smelled even worse than it had before the rain, he was too tired to notice. 

At last it was the dawn of the eighth day-he had made it through an entire week. He grabbed his phone, which he had managed to keep dry and charged throughout the week. His hands shook a little as he called Josh-what exactly that was from, he wasn’t sure. 

Josh didn’t pick up. He didn’t really know who else to call, so he kept trying-Josh did have work today, he supposed. Maybe he was just busy.

But he didn’t pick up all day. He had Bishop’s number, but calling him might defeat the entire purpose of this terribly planned endeavour. 

Aidan resigned himself to spending another night in the basement. And then another. He had started to worry after his fourth call to Josh, and he was now absolutely panicked-but his handcuffs were doing their job far too well, and he was completely stuck, with the key thrown across the room and the bed frame absolutely refusing to move. He was going to have to call Bishop. He put it off for as long as he could-he was really not looking forward to having to explain himself. 

And then he was saved by the bell, or rather the call-Josh’s number flashed across his screen at last!

“Aidan?”

“Why haven’t you picked up? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my phone broke, I just got it back today. Where are you? I thought you said you’d be back within a week.”

“I’m...in the woods. In an old cabin.”

“What? Why?”

“I was just trying something...I’ve been here for, like, ten days. I can’t even feel my legs anymore.”

“Where exactly in the woods are you?”

Aidan gave Josh the best directions he could, and Josh promised he’d be there as quick as possible.

After what seemed like an eternity, even compared to the endless days he’d spent alone, Aidan finally heard a door open above him.

“Aidan? You in here?”

“Josh! I’m in the basement!”

He heard Josh’s footsteps on the stairs, and finally, the door creaked open.

“Aidan...you look awful. Why are you even here?”

“I was trying something...a detox, I guess.”

“Did it work?”

“I realised a few days in it wasn’t going to be able to do much of anything.”

“Why didn’t you call me then?”

“I thought maybe it could still work, I couldn’t just give up.”

“You’ve been here for ten days! Where’s the key to these cuffs?”

Aidan motioned to the corner where he’d thrown it. “Man, you really made sure you couldn’t get out, huh?” Josh said. 

Aidan didn’t reply. Josh came over to him with the key and unlocked the handcuffs. Finally, he could move his limbs again! Aidan immediately tried to stand up, but his legs were having none of it, and he promptly toppled into Josh, who barely managed to catch him. 

“Let’s get out of here and you can walk around outside,” Josh suggested. “There’s mould everywhere in here, I can’t believe you’ve been breathing this for ten days.”

“I’m not alive, Josh.”

“Still.”

They made their way upstairs (well, mostly Josh made their way upstairs. Aidan’s legs still weren’t cooperating) and out of the cabin. The fresh air felt so nice and clean after so long spent breathing stale, mouldy air. 

It didn’t take too long for Aidan’s legs to work again, and soon after that, Josh was pushing him into his car and driving them home. 

“Aidan!” Sally came hurrying to the door to greet him. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Aidan explained his plan to her and Josh as they looked at him in bewilderment. 

“Why would you think that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t fully think it through, okay?”

“Clearly.”

“You’re filthy, how about you go take a shower and I’ll make some dinner,” Josh suggested. 

“I’ll find us a movie to watch,” Sally offered. “Only fair I get to choose since I don’t get to eat,” she added. 

Eventually, they were rejoined by a much cleaner Aidan, wearing a thick sweatshirt and pajama pants-it felt so nice to be warm again. He and Josh brought their dinners to the couch, and the three of them settled in for a movie. 

Aidan hadn’t really registered how much he’d missed simple human-well, not exactly human-contact until now. Josh was warm against him, and even if he couldn’t actually touch Sally, her presence was solid (for a ghost) and real. He stretched his legs out onto the coffee table in front of him and leaned his head against Josh’s shoulder. He wanted to swear to himself that he’d never do anything stupid like that again, but he knew he probably would. He’d just have to hope his friends would be there for him again.

im so sorry if you read this i know its bad but by the time i realised how bad it was i was too far into writing it to start over

#this fucking sucks please dont trouble yourself to read it if you see it #im not kidding this is probably the worst thing ive written its utter shit i hate it so much im so so sorry you had to see it #but im determined to do this fucking month so here this is #my writing #whumptober2019 #no.7 #isolation #i say things #aidan waite #being hum #tied up