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ditttiii · 4 years

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Brothers Conflict || 03.

Thrust into an already established family, you struggle to find your footing while dodging the advances of seven, incredibly good looking stepbrothers.

Your father marrying, and you suddenly having to live under the same roof with seven step brothers was a royal mess or so you had thought, Because them falling in love with you was so much worse. Or was it?

◈ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Humour, Smut and maybe a little angst. (PG-18) (step brother AU) (I do NOT support incest, this work is inspired by the popular anime/manga Brothers Conflict)

◈ Pairings: OT7 x Reader (reverse harem)

◈ CHAPTER THREE

WC: 2.7k

Warnings: Language (sfw)

Masterlist

"How about this?"

"Nah, it's too sideways," you reply from where you are standing near the doorway of your bedroom.

"Right or left?" Sunmi asks, as she grips the frame and distances her torso from the wall, trying to see for herself where she should shift the frame. From the looks of it, she's failing spectacularly at it.

Suppressing a snort, you answer ‘left’ and hum when she tilts the frame and you are finally satisfied with its position on the wall. Walking back in, you marvel at the sheer grandness of your room for the umpteenth time as you take in all the space around you. Roughly four times the size of your old bedroom, it was huge.

Floor to ceiling windows on the side opposite the bedroom door, before which was your queen-sized bed. A decent size, intricately designed bedside table beside it, with the floor underneath covered with a soft, plush rosy white carpet. A walk-in closet the size of your old bedroom, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, curtains heavy enough to suffocate and kill you if they were to ever fall upon your body; your new bedroom screams rich.

It would be a lie to say that you don't feel intimidated. Raised in a middle-class, humble neighbourhood, you hadn't in your wildest dreams ever imagined living in a room like this. But here you are, soaking in the reality of the moment; and realising that it feels like something between a dream and a nightmare.

Nearly four hours since you first started unpacking, and five since you had first met your new family, most of your room was organised. All boxes untaped and emptied as you and Sunmi worked hard to make the unnecessarily large, empty room less of a hotel room and more like the bedroom of a 19-year-old girl.

Sighing, you push the last book of your novel collection into the bookshelf. Made from some sort of whitewood, much like everything else, it was designed intricately and looming large over your small shadow.

"This is it."

Slouching, you fall onto your back, eyes straying to the ceiling above and the textures carved onto it, refusing to reply to Sunmi’s statement. Agreeing would mean that you'd have to let her go and you don't think you can, the isolation and abnormality of the situation already sinking in and scaring you.

"Mmn," you reply noncommittally instead.

A long sigh, and then your best friend is curling on the floor beside you, her hand snaking around yours, fingers intertwining, as she silently lets you know that she is here for you. Repressing the tears you can already feel trying to escape your eyes, you squeeze her hand back.

The clammy, ice-cold touch of your skin against hers goes unmentioned as you both lay there in silence.

"I'll call you every day," you whisper, your voice choked as your death grip around Sunmi's waist tightens, and she lets out a strangled moan before pushing you away.

"Woman, stop being so dramatic! You'll see me back in college every freaking day once summer ends and you know I'll come to see you whenever you want me to, the hour-long ride be damned," Sunmi chides. There’s no bite in her words, and her voice wobbles despite her trying to act tough, but you don't call her out on it and only nod.

"You better, you airhead, lord knows you'll probably sob your body dry without seeing me every day."

A giggle comes out of your best friend's tall, lean body, one you are entirely too envious of, and her eyes soften, your smile softening with it.

"Take care, will ya?"

"Always," you whisper back, and with one last kiss thrown over her shoulder, she leaves. Her figure grows smaller and farther with every step she takes, and you bite your lip to prevent a call from tumbling out. Not moving an inch until you hear the distant roar of her car driving away, you finally shut the door when you no longer hear or see her car.

Suddenly you feel scarily small. Like a tiny, irrelevant existence born in a world too large and glamorous; a world where you evidently do not belong.

Meandering through the floor, you gaze at the picture frames on the wall as though you are the actress of some old seventies cinema, bemoaning the absence of a long lost lover.

Dramatic, yes, but you have always been more on the theatrical spectrum of humankind, and it isn't like there is much you can do right now anyway. Not unless you want to hole up in your room and stew in your sadness alone. And even though that might sound appealing to most (considering what your room now looks like), it wasn't something you felt like doing at the moment.

So you mindlessly gaze at the pictures, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow in the darkening hallway as you try to find some semblance of familiarity, a speck of comfort or intimacy.

"Y/n?" a soft voice calls out to you, and you twist on your heels, your eyes meeting with those of Yoongi.

"Yoongi-oppa." Voice coming out soft, your words fade at the end as your eyes track the way Yoongi's face glows when the rays of the setting sun hit his skin. Long messy dark blonde hair makes space for his glittering curvy eyes to shine through, and your breath gets caught somewhere in your chest when you look at the vision that was Min Yoongi.

"Exploring?" he asks casually, but even without knowing him for all that long, you can detect the underlying layer of concern in his voice. You don't know if he is being open with you right now, or if you can just read him well, but the concern makes your heart feel a little warmer.

"Something like that." Your answer is ambiguous, but Yoongi doesn't ask you to elaborate, so you don't add anything more, turning back and looking at the pictures again instead.

"This something you enjoy?" Yoongi asks as he moves beside you, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his pants, and leans; making himself comfortable against the wall.

Your eyes stray to him. "Sounds like you don't."

"Not really my forte, I can appreciate it from a distance, sure, but not an enthusiast," he replies, the back of his head hitting the wall behind as he looks up at you.

Humming, you shrug. "Same, I guess, it's just fascinating to me. I wish I was smart enough to understand what half of these actually mean, but I am not, so I just appreciate the beauty and move on."

"Fair enough."

You nod and let the silence reign again, but it's a comfortable silence, the kind of quiet where you are both lost in your own thoughts but at the same time appreciate the company of the other.

Slowly the sun sets behind you, and the glassed walls shimmer one last time before the ceiling lights are switched on, bathing the entire floor in warm but bright light.

Yoongi had been silent the entire time as you explored the floor like a child in a zoo, poking and prodding the potted plants, oo-ing and aah-ing over the art around you, fascinated and occupied with the attractions around.

But when the lights switch on, he clears his throat and gets up from the couch he had taken a seat on some time ago, head tilting as he wordlessly asks you a question. You nod back and smile, making your way to him as you finally get ready to spend some time with the rest of your newly acquired family.

As you both make your way to the main hall, you don't miss how your heart is feeling much lighter now. The silent company that Yoongi had provided you with seems to have put you at ease and calmed your racing thoughts.

Walking into the kitchen alone, you try your best to make as little noise as possible. Yoongi, much to your displeasure, had promised that he'd meet you out in a few minutes only to disappear inside of his bedroom and leave you to your own devices.

The sudden bout of bravado from earlier had left your body too, in its place leaving raring, gut-twisting anxiety.

Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, you take out a bottle and pour yourself a glass. The chilled water slides down your throat, quenching your thirst, and you let out a satisfied sigh, smacking your lips in contentment after.

"That thirsty, huh?"

You jump, startled, heart racing and in your throat, as your gaze snaps to the doorway and finds Seokjin standing there. Suit coat hung over his left arm, and a button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, he was clearly returning back home after a workday.

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit outta me!"

Your brain to mouth filter is seemingly not working after being startled. Feeling anxious was a problem enough, but being scared after was evidently enough to send your last two brain cells out the window. Your common sense and the knowledge that Kim Seokjin was now your stepbrother, eldest stepbrother, flying out the window along with them.

You hear crickets chirping in the distance as an awkward silence blankets the room, and in that moment you want to die. Spontaneously combust and float away into thin air, disappear, dissolve, vanish—die.

"I am so sorry, can we pretend I didn't say that, “you voice out meekly, your eyes avoiding Seokjin’s and instead finding purchase on the wall behind him, seemingly fascinated by the utter whiteness of it.

Hearing a chuckle ring and break the awkwardness in the air, you shift your gaze to the source of said chuckle and catch your eldest brother's gaze. "It's alright Y/n, I get that this is a big adjustment. Please don't feel like you need to rush on anybody's accord, take your time."

And then Kim Seokjin smiles—his pouty, full lips stretched into a small but ridiculously warm smile, and something in your chest clenches at the sight of it. Warning bells ring in the back of your mind, and you squash the thoughts threatening to come forward, their not-so-appropriate nature resulting in an immediate rejection from your end.

Mumbling a thank you, you let him know you'll be down soon and then dash to your bedroom, slamming the door closed once you're inside and sinking down onto the floor.

What the hell was that!?

Raking a hand through your hair, you groan in annoyance, wincing when said hand gets stuck in a tangle and pulls a few strands loose.

Looking back at your impression so far in front of Seokjin, one of your seven step brothers, it had been nothing but absolutely marvellous. So you can't imagine what could possibly go wrong when you sit down at the dinner table and are surrounded by all seven of them.

Nothing, nothing at all, nope-nada-zilch!

Frustrated, you slide a hand down your face, hoping to calm down, but the move only ends up irritating your skin under. The day has been long, and all that you pray for now is that it ends soon. Your bed, which from the looks of it was fit for royalty, was beckoning you over too.

With one last huff, you are pushing yourself up onto your feet and to the bathroom to splash some water, before you go and join the rest of your new family.

Pulling the chair in, you wring your hands nervously under the table, away from any prying eyes. One by one, the rest of your family filters in and takes a seat; Seokjin and Yoongi both pick their seats at the two heads of the table. Hoseok and Namjoon sit on either side of you, with Jimin plopping himself down opposite you, and getting flanked by Jungkook and Taehyugn on either side.

Not much conversation had taken place as they picked their seats, everyone sufficiently tired enough after a long day, but they had smiled or nodded at you when they first entered the dining room.

'Well most of them at least,' you think, eyeing the two youngest, who had both refused to give you even a cursory glance, resulting in your smile going unseen and unreciprocated. Their attitude, however, doesn't bother you too much at this point; as it was, they were virtually nothing more than strangers to you.

Conversations pick up around you, and you feel slightly out of place, as though you are a guest over for dinner rather than their new stepsister, but the feeling doesn't last long, because both Namjoon and Hoseok soon pull you into a conversation. Inquiries come forth about your day, and how your unpacking had gone.

The conversation is mostly superficial, nothing too emotionally challenging; neither of them ask how it feels being a part of their family or something like that, and you are relieved. Grateful, because you don't know if you'd be able to answer those questions anyway. The whole situation is still very odd no matter how many minutes of the day pass.

Someone clears their throat, and your eyes snap to Seokjin, who was pushing his chair back and picking up his glass, the red wine inside sloshing with the movement.

"I've done this before, and yet it never gets any less nerve-wracking," Seokjin starts, and your eyes furrow in confusion, but he continues before you can think about it any more. "Y/n," he says and tips his head in your direction, "I know this must feel a little scary—actually, scratch that, you're probably terrified right now, and that's okay.” he pauses, and takes a breath before continuing, “I'm sure it feels crazy suddenly being thrust into an already established family and being told that now you're one of them, and I just want you to know that I get it. We get it, and we are here for you. If you don’t want to accept us as family, that’s okay too; all of us would understand and support whatever decision you make. I just...” Sighing, he locks eyes with you.

“...I just hope you can let us in eventually, family or not."

Seokjin's eyes bore into yours as he says this, stressing the 'us', and you gulp, feeling the back of your throat tighten at his words. Sensing the fine thread of control that you had over your emotions loosening, you swivel your gaze to the table instead, nodding, your vision growing blurry as you try to blink back the burn in your eyes.

The room goes quiet, as the boys give you time to collect yourself—or sob, you don't know, but you appreciate the consideration nonetheless.

It was going good, it really was. You were holding on, no matter how precarious the hold was, you were holding on. Grasping onto that last string of control and restraint you had with all of your might.

But then Hoseok is wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his side, letting you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and the string snaps, his neck growing wet as tears streamed down your face and slid down his skin.��

For a few minutes, you forget that you were now surrounded by strangers who you had to accept and call your family. For a few false, delusional minutes you forget that they don't know you, that the care they were showing was genuine and not something they were obligated to. That the one whose hands were drawing circles across your back, the one whose voice was whispering reassurances in your ear—stupid sweet-nothings that you would tell a small child to make them feel better, actually gave a shit about you.

You forget the reality and slip into a safe headspace, letting the warmth of another human encircle you, hold you, wrap you in its cocoon as you weep.

A/N: dedicating this chapter to @mel-gonzalez07, one of my oldest, most loyal readers, and more than anything else an amazing friend. ily angel 💖

Y/n is going through some shitt here. Imagine being thrust into a dynamic that has been established for years, and then having to act like you are meant to be a part of it.

The taglist for the story can be found:- here. A kind reminder that tumblr sometimes doesn’t give an alert for a tag notification, but you’ll find the notification in your notification dash. So, check it once a week as I usually update weekly.

Feedback means the world to me, so tell me what you thought. What would you do if you were in oc’s shoes?

Until next time! Take care you sweet soul and Oo! Go stream folklore 💖

Tag-list: @mel-gonzalez07 @favsssxx @imluckybitches @nomimits7 @alex4243 @calling-dips-on-j-hope @joonsinnerchild @iconicgguk @untamedfaith @kaheryn @nottodayjjk @moments-of-melancholy @gee-nee @confusemonkey @beautyyounggirl @blossoming-cherrytrees @seoul9711 @btsismybiass @toochie-too @sugakookie0698 @maboiisuga @kurohas-world @namseokiesmoonv @kerikaaria @chiidbits @girlyyzzyz @loveyoongles @btsfeelzies @knjkitten @honeyspillings @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @starrykook97 @xanny91 @leilalago @jiminie-08 @voguejoonie @lovelikeyouwant

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flowesona · 4 years

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The Chariot - Yandere! Yoongi x reader

The Tarot Series

No matter how hard he tried to stop it, the blood refused to cease flowing from Yoongi’s nose. Accompanied by a horrific pain and the cruel laugh of his enemy as they snatched up the crumpled envelope and walked away, counting the bills triumphantly.

Yoongi managed to stagger to his feet, breathing heavily as the blood continued to flow, staining the back of his hand ruby red. He cursed upon seeing how they’d crushed his phone out of pure spite, rendering it useless and him unable to call for help.

A few passersby stared at him and his injury, but none offered him help. None, except one young woman who stopped him as he took a shortcut through the park.

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding!” She dug around in her pockets for a tissue, offering him a crumpled one which he took gratefully.

“Yeah, I just… I need to get home.” Yoongi muttered, trying to push past her shyly but she blocked his way.

“Did someone do this to you? If so, we need to call the police!” Yoongi shook his head.

“No, there’s no point. His dad has connections anyway, they’d find out and it’d only piss them off more.” He wasn’t sure why he owed this girl an explanation yet he did, letting her dab at his nose.

“That’s not an excuse to do nothing. Hey, don’t you go to my school?” The woman gasped suddenly. “You’re in the basketball team right? Min Yoongi! I’m (Y/N), I’m part of the Judo team!”

“Y-yeah.” He hated that this girl could tarnish his reputation, make him out to be a total sissy for getting beaten up by another student. He would’ve given the world to start the day over, yet here he was being babied by one of his peers. “I need to get home. Leave me alone.”

With those words he turned away from her, still holding her gifted tissue to his nose.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“Where’s my money, little kitten?” The oldest boy snarled, shoving Yoongi until back hit the metal fence.

“I-I don’t have it. Payday isn’t until next week.” He gasped in pain as one of the boys grabbed his arm and twisted it until they heard the crack of ligaments.

“Well. You know what I'll do. I'll hurt you until you can cough it up.” Yoongi prayed someone might pass by, a dog walker or a parent & child who could intervene. His prayers were answered when he heard a loud voice shouting “Hey!”

The boys ran as soon as they heard the voice and caught sight of a figure striding towards them, leaving Yoongi cradling his injured arm.

“Hoseok’s the one who hurt you?! Yoongi, why didn’t you tell me that?” It took him a few seconds to recognise the voice, looking to see (Y/N) standing next to him with a pissed off expression. “There’s got to be a way that you can fight back!”

“My debts are none of your concern.” He sighed.

“What if I teach you self defense? I took lessons for a while to protect myself, you should do the same!”

“Fine.” Yoongi muttered, hoping that a few lessons would satisfy her and perhaps help him.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“That’s enough for today.” (Y/N) sat down, huffing. “Man, you’re getting better by the day.”

Yoongi nodded, his heart fluttering at her compliment. He wasn’t sure how, or why, but he had caught feelings for the girl. Maybe it was the long hours they spent together messing with his head, but Yoongi could swear on his life that he’d never seen someone more beautiful whilst drenched in sweat from the summer heatwave.

“(Y/N)?” She turned to give him her attention when he called out her name, making him feel slightly nervous but determined nonetheless. “Would you...maybe… like to get an ice cream or something? My treat? Since it’s so hot…”

(Y/N) nodded happily as he trailed off.

“Let’s go.” She took his hand, oblivious to the heat in his cheeks.

Once they’d settled in the corner of a local ice-cream parlour with a bowl each, Yoongi decided to speak up.

“(Y/N), do you… have a boyfriend?” The young woman paused, the spoon in her mouth.

“No.” She replied quickly, swallowing. “Why do you-”

She cut herself off as she glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey, isn’t that Hoseok?” Yoongi felt his blood run cold, turning around to see the menacing figure lingering by the doorway. The second Yoongi met his eyes, Hoseok scoffed and walked away. He didn’t need to stay, not when his threat had been made clear.

Yoongi had given himself a weakness. And now, (Y/N) was in danger.

“We need to- fuck!” Yoongi cursed to himself. Truly, he felt like he was more stuck than ever. He had to protect her, he couldn’t let Hoseok get his filthy hands on her.

“Yoongi, it’s going to be okay.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as she spoke, shame and guilt hanging over his head.

“(Y/N). Call one of your friends and go home.” He said quietly.

“I’m not leaving you alone. I know what you’re thinking.” (Y/N)’s hand grasped his, giving him a deep blush. “We know that Hoseok is out there. But I just can’t let you get hurt on my conscience. I’ll fight for you, if I have to.”

She pulled out her purse to leave a tip on the table, before standing up, still holding Yoongi’s hand.

“Do you want to walk me home, then, Mr Tough Guy?”

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Hoseok didn’t strike. That would’ve been too expected, too easy. He was waiting, toying with his prey. There was more to it than the money. Hoseok loved the thrill of it, and he wanted nothing more than to crush Min Yoongi’s hopes beneath his foot.

It’d been just over a week when Yoongi next asked to meet up with (Y/N). He’d stayed away, scared of putting a target on her back and hoping to shake Hoseok off, but his heart wouldn’t let him stay away any longer. He needed her, to distract him from bleak reality and remind him what it was like to have hope.

“Why did you choose a horror movie then?” (Y/N) whispered, her smirk barely visible in the dark of the cinema. “Did you want the cute girl to cling to your arm when she’s scared?”

“Maybe.” Yoongi whispered back, his heart pounding as (Y/N) slid her hand into his.

“I’m not easily scared, Yoongi. What are you gonna do now?” The look in her eyes, the feeling of her hand in his. It was the perfect time.

“This.” He leaned in, a frenzy of butterflies in his stomach as he finally kissed her. For a moment he was terrified he’d done something wrong, only to have her reciprocate seconds later, tilting her head and allowing him further into her mouth.

Yoongi was ready to go all in, reaching down to his zipper only for her to rest her hand on top of his to stop his hasty actions.

“Look, it’s getting to the good part.”

The fire in his stomach was still burning, his passion ignited. Truly, he was happy to finally have the girl. Even though she could be snatched away just as easily.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“Just saying, their lives would be so much simpler if they didn’t summon a ghost for the hell of it.” (Y/N) complained about the movie, swinging their hands as Yoongi walked her home.

“Then the movie wouldn’t be entertaining!” He chuckled, feeling himself get hot up as (Y/N) laughed alongside him.

“Hey, there’s a shortcut here.” She commented, pulling him towards the park. Yoongi wanted to protest. This was one of Hoseok's spots after all. There was probably even a bit of blood on one of the footpaths, from a week where he’d been underpaid at work, and paid the price severely.

“I don’t know about this, it’s dangerous.” He warned, putting one hand in his pocket to grasp the switchblade he’d started carrying around for safety. Just so he could take care of Hoseok and his goonies, in case they decided to come after (Y/N).

“It’ll only take a few minutes.” She dismissed his concerns, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

For the first few minutes, it truly did seem like they were safe. Yoongi was about to lower his guard, when he saw someone lurking in the shadows in the corner of his eye.

“(Y/N), I want you to run. Right now.” He muttered, but she shook her head stubbornly.

“I won’t leave you, Yoongi.”

“Isn’t that just the cutest, little kitten?” Hoseok’s voice came from behind the couple as he finally emerged into view. In a matter of seconds they were surrounded.

“You’ve got your girlfriend here to protect you.” The older boy snarled. “But I want my money, Yoongi.”

“You know damn well I’ve given you back way more than I owed in the first place.” Yoongi retorted, his hand’s grip on the knife in his pocket growing tighter by the second.

“And? That’s just called interest.” Hoseok pulled out his own blade. “Now, if you don’t want your girlfriend to have a few cuts on her precious face, give me the cash you have leftover from last week’s wages. And I know you have them, don’t try to lie to me kitten. How else are you paying for your little dates?”

“Go fuck yourself.” (Y/N) hissed at him. “He doesn’t owe you shit. Get out of the way before I beat your ass.”

“She’s a feisty one, kitten.” Hoseok smirked, striding over. His hands started to roam along her arms, running down any part of exposed skin he could get his hands on. “No wonder you’re so smitten. I bet she’s a real freak in the sheets.”

“Let go of me, you bastard.” (Y/N) elbowed him in the crotch, giving a momentary triumph as Hoseok doubled over in pain.

“I’ll teach you a lesson in respect, sweetheart.” Hoseok snarled. “And maybe it’ll teach your boyfriend to give me my money when I ask for it.”

Yoongi just couldn’t stand and watch this beast hurt his (Y/N). It was his responsibility - no, his honour - as her boyfriend to protect her from the cruelest parts of this world.

He withdrew the knife from his pocket, and straightened his back to appear as tough as he could be.

“If you touch my girlfriend, I’ll kill you Hoseok.” The delinquent didn’t look even remotely scared.

“Disarm the kitten for me. I’ll teach him his lesson once I’m done with his girlfriend.” He ordered the punks behind Yoongi, but when one of them reached out to grab Yoongi’s arm, the knife was planted in his shoulder and ripped out. The recipient of Yoongi’s lash tried to hide the pain, gritting his teeth as blood trickled down his arm. Nevertheless, once the two punks saw the serious threat Yoongi was posing now, they decided to run, not ready to face the consequences of their actions.

“Hey! Can’t handle a little boy with a toy knife? You fucking pussies!” Hoseok shouted after them, not ever deterred by the blood.

Hoseok shoved (Y/N) to the ground.

“Guess I have to take care of you.” He said, stalking towards Yoongi who was still holding the now bloodied knife in front of him. “Maybe when this sweetheart sees what a true man looks like, she’ll want to be in my bed instead.”

He towered over Yoongi, holding his own knife to Yoongi’s neck. But Hoseok was in a world of surprise when Yoongi, rather than cowering as he usually did, drove the switchblade into the stomach of his nemesis, twisting it and pushing it deeper as Hoseok groaned in pain.

Once he was satisfied that the damage had been done, he pulled out the knife and shoved Hoseok away, letting the boy collapse to the ground in pain. But his retaliation was far from over, as he delivered a swift kick to Hoseok’s hunched over for, not having an ounce of mercy as the boy curled up into a fetal position, trying to protect himself.

“Stay away from my (Y/N). Don’t talk about her, don’t think about her. And don’t you even dare touch her.”

After delivering a few more beatings to the man who’d hurt him for so long, Yoongi was finally satisfied, and turned to find (Y/N) so they could leave.

But (Y/N) wasn’t going anywhere. She was frozen to the spot, utterly terrified.

“Yoongi… you shouldn’t have…” (Y/N) finally started to back away, pulling her phone out of her pocket to call an ambulance.

“No, (Y/N). I had to.” The once sweet boy was now gone, replaced by a shivering monster. “I had to teach him a lesson. He’d start hurting you, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

“You’re no better than him! I wanted you to defend yourself, not kill him!” (Y/N) protested. “If you don’t want to get arrested, you should leave. And don’t ever talk to me again.”

“I-I w-won’t leave you a-alone, (Y/N).” Yoongi stuttered, having suddenly paled as what he had done was setting in. “It’s way too dangerous for you here a-all alone.”

He offered her his bloody hand, but she refused to even touch him.

“You need help.” Before she could even dial another digit on her phone, Yoongi had snatched it out of her hand and dropped it to the ground, digging his heel into the screen to maximise the damage.

“You're the only thing that can help me, (Y/N). Please.” He took her shaking body into his arms, his breathing and heart rate slowing as he held her close. “Don’t ever let me go and I’ll be okay.”

#yandere #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere au #yandere bts #yandere bts au #yandere yoongi #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere suga #yandere suga x reader #yandere oneshot #bts suga #suga #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #the tarot series #yandere min yoongi #yandere x reader

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

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TwiFicMas2020 Day 2: Kidfic

Happy Day 2! Nothing interesting to say today, just on with the offering.

This was written as part of an anthology entitled ‘Five Ways Alice & Jasper Never Met’, which remains unfinished *gestures at WIP list*. After the messed up life I gave the Whitlocks in Against A Wall, I decided I should probably show the family having a slightly happier life. I feel like there’s probably the potential of a series of ficlets in this, showing the pair growing up together, but we’ll see.

Alice being adopted by teacher-Esme and doctor-Carlisle was definitely influenced by the sweetest fic, A Family For Alice by kr2009.

—

Louise Whitlock stacked the leftover pizza in the fridge, long since ready for bed. It had been a very long day. It had been a very long year.

Juggling four kids and a full-time job was exhausting in ways Louise had never considered. The errands list on the fridge was already two pages long; and that didn’t include the other lists on her phone, in her date-book, and doodled on the whiteboard next to the fridge.

It had been over twelve months since she had decided that, after her husband’s sudden death, she couldn’t stay in Texas. She needed a fresh start. And so did her kids. At first, she had just planned to stay in the south, find some small town with a hospital that needed a nurse. Far away enough to get some space, but close enough to be familiar. And be near friends and family.

She didn’t even know why she applied to a hospital in a tiny Pacific Northwest town, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe facing down bills she couldn’t comfortably pay, living in a house that was haunted with memories of her husband, she had applied. It was the furthest place she could imagine from home, without leaving the country.

And then she got the job, and there was really no good reason to turn down the offer, especially when they offered to cover some moving expenses. She had wanted a fresh start, after all.

Looking up Forks to try and convince her kids of how wonderful the move would be had been a shock to all of them. Her three girls had been horrified – no cinema, no malls, very few sporting teams; the rainiest place is the entire country, and the house that Louise had chosen, thinking it was cute, suddenly looked small and cramped when she saw it through her daughters’ eyes. Ten-year-old Lydia had freaked out at leaving her grandparents and her cousins behind; twelve-year-old Ava threw screaming fits about leaving behind their father’s grave. And Fern did nothing but whine about how boring Forks would be.

And then there was Jasper. Jasper had been in the car with Will when it crashed, leaving her baby boy covered in nasty scars. He had only been four, a little ray of sunshine who was always giggling. But afterwards, he was so sad and angry and quiet. He just didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile. It was almost as if she’d lost her baby boy in that accident at the same time. He just shrugged at Louise’s attempt to discuss their move to Forks, staring down at his Lego model.

It had been completely miserable. After she finally got the kids to understand that it was happening, and nothing they could say would change Louise’s mind, she had to deal with her extended friends and family trying to convince her not to leave. Will’s parents had actually threatened legal action to keep their grandkids in the state; by the time the house was sold, Louise wasn’t entirely sure they were even speaking to her.

The truth was that she had no idea if it was a good plan. No one seemed happy or positive about her plan; no one seemed to want to understand why they had to go. Even Louise was conflicted - was this her way of healing, of embracing a new normal and their new reality, or was she running away?

But a year later, looking back, she knew she’d done the right thing - just by looking at her son.

They had arrived in Forks on a rainy day – water falling from the sky in sheets – and Louise then spent a hellish week unpacking, trying to calm down three girls who thought Forks was worse than prison, and getting all four of the kids registered and ready for school before she started at the hospital. It was exhausting and frustrating in new ways – proper grocery shops involved driving to the next town over, since Forks only boasted a mini-mart; despite her best efforts, Ava and Jasper both needed new weather-appropriate clothing, whilst Lydia and Fern pitched fits about their hand-me-downs.

And the house was far from perfect - the carpet was filthy, the bathroom tiles were chipped and loose, Fern’s bedroom window had been broken in a storm, and the kitchen ceiling leaked. It was enough to make Louise to actually contemplate calling her mother for the money to drag the kids back to Texas. This wasn’t what she had signed up for.

But finally, the first day of school – and work – dawned. And it was chaos - Ava couldn’t find her backpack, Lydia wouldn’t get out of bed, and Fern was hysterical about starting at a new school. Jasper was just silent and solemn in front of his cereal, whilst Louise tried to remember where she’d left her own paperwork.

But miraculously, they made it out of the house on time. Forks had a combination Middle-Elementary school, so it was only one drop-off – at least for the next couple of years. And it looked like a nice school - lots of green space for the kids to run when it wasn’t raining, cheery murals on the walls, and many happy-sounding kids crowding the parking lot. That was always a good sign.

Ava, Lydia and Fern loudly protested their mother escorting them into their classrooms, and headed off to class with their assigned guides, all three of them looking like soldiers bracing for battle.

But Jasper was still glued to her side, staring blankly ahead. It was only because she knew her boy well that Louise noticed the nervous way he tugged at his hoodie as they headed towards the kindergarten building.

The kindergarteners were scattered throughout their gated playground – a sea of giggling, happy faces. One particularly pretty little blonde girl was perched at the highest point of the climbing frame – pink hair ribbons, pink Mary-Janes, even her little pink jeans had ruffles on them – smirking at the boys below, trying to climb up with her, but were struggling to find the right footholds. Two other little girls were sitting on the swings, whilst a redheaded boy lingered in the background, clearly trying to join in their conversation.

Kickball games, chase games, squealing and laughing and yelling: it was happy five-year-old chaos.

Jasper was hanging back, looking concerned, his fingers twisted through Louise’s belt loops. She’d had to call him back on his very first day of school last semester to say good-bye; Peter and Charlotte had been sitting alone, and he’d raced up to them, so eager for friends he’d left without saying good bye or even taking his backpack.

And now he was here, hiding behind her and pleading with his eyes not to leave him.

Her poor baby.

“We have free play until nine o clock, unless it’s raining,” the teacher, a Ms Yorkie said sweetly, noticing Jasper’s reluctance. “Kick-ball, and hopscotch, and climbing, and tag.” She looked around the playground, and pointed at the climbing frame – a solid looking boy was sitting on the railings below the pink clad girl, laughing. “There’s Emmett and Rosalie. They’re very nice, would you like to meet them?”

Jasper shook his head and buried his face against Louise’s hip.

Miss Yorkie exchanged a look with Louise – it was the universal look of a kindergarten teacher warning that the separation would be ugly, but it would have to happen – the faster it happened, the better it would be for everyone.

“Jasper-”

“Hello!”

Louise turned around at the interruption to see a tiny little girl standing behind her. She looked like a little doll, with black hair cut in a bob, with an enormous red bow in her hair, a red dress over tights, and a pair of well-loved mary-janes.

She was beaming at Jasper, and held out her hand. “I’m Alice. Come and play.”

Jasper stared at her.

Louise didn’t expect Jasper to respond at all, to dismiss or outright ignore the invitation. Ms Yorkie was smiling at the little girl – Alice – who seemed to be bouncing with either energy or excitement.

Jasper stared at Alice for a moment, before stepping out from behind Louise, and taking Alice’s hand.

“D’you like monkey bars?” Alice asked as she dragged Jasper after her. “I like monkey bars.”

Louise watched as Jasper shed his backpack, and joined Alice, never looking back. She could see the little girl still talking to her son.

“He’ll be just fine,” Ms Yorkie said to her. “Alice will take care of him.”

Louise nodded and thanked the teacher, turning to leave.

As she slipped out the gate, she heard a squeal of laughter, and looked back to see Jasper holding little Alice around her legs so she could reach the monkey bars and swing all the way to the other side. Alice was giggling so hard she could barely grip the rails, and Jasper had a tiny smile on his face.

And that was enough for Louise.

It didn’t take long for Louise to learn about little Alice, and her family. Her full name was Mary-Alice Cullen, and she was the adoptive daughter of the local surgeon and his wife - who was an English teacher for the middle school students. They lived just outside town, and every afternoon, Alice would dash out the gates and into the middle school to find her mother.

It was easy to pick Alice in a crowd – not only did she wear bright colours, she always wore an enormous bow in her hair; it was almost like a satellite. Having seen how quickly the little girl could move, Louise had to wonder if the largeness of the hair accessories, and brightness of the clothing wasn’t completely intentional.

And where Alice went, so went Jasper.

Every single morning, Alice would be waiting faithfully at the kindergarten gates for Jasper; on the rainiest days, Ms Yorkie had to retrieve her several times from standing out in her raincoat and gumboots – a nearly blinding pink and yellow ensemble. And every time she spotted Jasper, she’d bounce on her toes, clapping and beaming with happiness. Louise couldn’t help wondering if Alice Cullen was the reason the kindergarten was enclosed with a fence.

Alice’s friendship with Jasper brought good things to all of them. Alice had had her mother call up Louise that very first weekend Jasper was in school, with an invitation for Louise, Jasper, and the girls to join them for a weekend barbecue they were hosting.

Esme Cullen was a sweet and gentle woman, who clearly doted on her daughter. The Cullens had the most magnificent house, with a garden that spilled into the forest. Esme had taken the opportunity to invite some other local families, especially those with children the same as Louise’s. It had been nice to talk to other adults, ones that didn’t know her whole story from birth for once in her life. Who didn’t look at her and the kids, and have pity written all over their faces.

And that’s how they settled into Forks. It was strange, how Alice brought Jasper back to life, dragged them all into the fabric of Forks. They became inseparable; when Jasper started soccer, Alice joined the team too, complete with pink cleats and enormous hair ribbons printed with tiny soccer balls. When Alice broke her arm falling off the monkey bars, Jasper had spent the entire weekend sitting at the end of her bed, glaring at any doctor or nurse who caused her pain or scared her. Jasper joined the Cullen family for at two vacations – one camping trip, one beach holiday. On the nights when Louise pulled the night shift, it was Dr and Mrs Cullen who had all four of the Whitlock children to stay, so Louise didn’t have to pay for an overnight babysitter.

It didn’t take long for Alice’s other friends to warm to Jasper either; Alice’s closest female friend was a girl named Rosalie Hale, whom Louise recognised as the pink-clad girl from the first day. A plain-spoken but beautiful girl, Rose was always clad in shades of pink, and seemed to be more of a set-piece for her parents than a child. She was obsessed with Jasper’s car racing set, and more than one rainy Sunday ended with both Rosalie and Jasper sprawled on the carpet, racing those remote-controlled cars.

Emmett McCarty was another of Alice’s friends – a tall, solid boy who seemed to always be laughing – who marched up to Jasper one day, introduced himself, and that was that. The middle child of half a dozen kids, Emmett was full of mischief and fun. The boys had begun construction of a club house in the forest just outside the Whitlock’s back fence, a hopeful lean-to that Louise didn’t think would last longer than the first bad wind. For a moment, she was sad that Will wasn’t there to help Jasper build a proper treehouse or clubhouse for the backyard. But, eventually, she realised that it wasn’t the actual clubhouse the boys wanted; it was the building and planning they had fun with.

There were other two that hovered on the fringes of their group - Isabella Swan and Edward Masen. They were similar – both quiet, awkward, and fairly disinterested in the games the others would engage in, but would tag along. Louise felt sorry for them – Isabella’s mother had divorced her father and left town before the Whitlocks had arrived in Forks, and the little girl seemed to be taking it hard. Edward’s parents were both older, and didn’t seem to understand how little boys were supposed to act, discouraging loud, rowdy games, or sport, and preferring for him to spend his time practicing the piano or reading quietly.

But Alice welcomed them, and so the others did too; though Louise noticed Jasper wasn’t thrilled with Alice lavishing her attention on Edward. The only one less thrilled with the addition of Edward was Rosalie; the two of them fought like cats and dogs, and the Cullens and Louise both had stories of trying to break up whatever argument they had gotten into. Even Louise’s own daughters didn’t have such loud, angry arguments with each other that Rosalie and Edward had.

Everyone was happier in Forks. At ballet practice, Lydia had met twin girls from the Quileute reservation – Rebecca and Rachel – and the three of them were as thick as thieves. Ava had a friend in a girl called Tanya, and Fern had fallen in with a pair of cousins called Leah and Emily. Most weekends and vacations, Louise’s house was overflowing with children, and she couldn’t say that she didn’t enjoy it.

Her kids were happy. That was all she really wanted from the move in the first place.

Tonight, there were nine children under her roof; nine kids who had tumbled into the kitchen to wolf down pizza and soda, and were now tucked in their bedrooms. She knew that Ava and Tanya were up in Ava’s room, giving each other make-overs, and that Lydia and the twins were in the middle of one of their huge and incredibly messy art projects – Lydia’s bedroom usually looked like a giant art and craft project, with glitter and paint everywhere. And Leah and Fern would play elaborate games with their Barbie dolls until they passed out. The girls knew the rules: ‘bedtime’ just meant ‘quiet games in their bedrooms’ during sleepovers. Louise wouldn’t enforce sleep unless they woke her up.

And then there were the other two.

Louise paused to look into the living room, the television still flickering some cartoon. Two little figures were sprawled out on sleeping bags – one bright blue, one sparkly pink – on the floor. They were almost sharing a pillow; one of Alice’s arms thrown over Jasper’s chest, clad in the pinkest, most ruffled nightgown Louise had ever seen. Jasper’s plush dog was tucked under one arm, and Alice’s rag doll was squished between them.

It didn’t matter how many times they begged to be able to stay up late - watching movies or television, or playing one of their elaborate games with action figures – they always fell asleep long before they planned to.

Snapping off the television and the lights, Louise smiled to herself. She remembered her own mother’s stories about her and Will. How inseparable they had been as children - there was always a place at the dinner table for both of them, that it was perfectly normal for Will to spend the night in the bunk below hers. Everyone had warned her parents their friendship would fizzle out in middle and high school.

But it hadn’t. It never would have. Will Whitlock had been her best friend for two decades before he became her husband, and she never forgot that. It might even have been the part of him she missed the most. There was only one thing that could have broken them apart – Will not paying attention to the road and dying in a head-on collision. And only one thing had helped Louise keep it together - their beautiful children.

Maybe it was just a pretty thought; that Alice and Jasper would follow in hers and Will’s footsteps – childhood, the teen years, high school and college, a wedding and a family. That they’d forget all about the time before they met, because they were so in tune that it was strange to think of a time they weren’t friends. Maybe they wouldn’t fall in love; maybe they’d just be crazy-best-friends for life, dragging spouses on vacations to visit, an endless stream of emails and Skype calls. Or even fall out and drift apart – a name in a yearbook, and a hazy memory.

But Louise thought about all the little things – the text messages Mrs Cullen sent her to warn Jasper when Alice was sick on school days; Jasper saving the green lollipops he got from the businesses around town, because Alice liked the green ones the best. Alice tackle-hugging him whenever a weekend went by without them seeing each other. Alice beating up the boy who made fun of Jasper’s scars, her knees and palms skinned and bloody as she defended herself to the teacher, Jasper holding her backpack and looking stunned.

Louise knew that loyalty.

It might not turn out to be anything, but she was definitely betting on Alice Cullen being by her son’s side forever.

#twificmas2020 #ficmas2020 #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #my fic: five ways alice and jasper never met #my fic #human au #kidfic #juxtaposing this vs what i'm posting on the discord is quite startling

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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How I got Into Twisted Wonderland

(The pic has nothing to do with the story I just though it looked funny)

So here is the long-awaited story...How did I end up in the twisted wonderland fandom?

So as a child I adored the lion king. That along with Aladdin where my entire life as a child. As most of you guys can guess my favorite character in lion king had always been Scar (and shanzi) IDK why I liked the evil lion, according to my sister I use to like the idea of having a scar over my eye and at some point, I even tried making a scar over my eye with a pencil (I don't remember this but meh) okay so enough about that, flash forward to 2019, the lion king reboot has just come out and I've been begging my mother to go see it. We finally go I think on the 20th. I won't bore you with what happened during the movie what's important is what happens after. So we get out of the cinema and I had to open my damn mouth and start complaining about how they messed up Scar and how he was a great character, heck my favorite character! So my mother being ...well her decides that it's a great idea to start debating why scar was the worst villain in Disney history. Do note that this all took place in front of the cinema and so many people were staring. Finally, mom gives me a death glare and just tells me to zip it.

Now it's about 9:30 pm and where we live the local cinema is located right next to a shopping center. SO mother decides that it would just be better to go grocery shopping now than waiting until tomorrow. SO we head to the ever lovely Walmart. There, mom decides to do some shopping, while my sister decides to drag me and my brother to the toy aisles. There what do we happen to find? Lion king stuffies! I think there was only one of Simba and Nala, but did that stop me from looking around to try and find a Scar stuff? NOPE! So I go digging behind the Nala and Simba stuffies hoping to find a scar one. It's at this point that my "lovely" sister decides to hit me on the head with a goddam lion stuffy! Being the good little sister that I am, I calmly walk over to my brother hand him my phone and headphones for safeguarding, pick up (I think) a stuffed Simba, and charge at my sister. IDK how long we spend hitting each other and yelling but at some point, a Walmart employee comes over and yells at us to stop!

Reluctantly we literally run out of the toy allies and go hide in the clothing aisle. It's at this point I get a mini heart attack thinking I left my phone in the toy aisle and almost run over there to get only for Jin (my brother) says that he has it. IDK how he got into my phone cause I'm 90% sure he didn't know my password. I look over his shoulder to see what he's doing and I see he's on tumbler searching up the lion king tag. I try to grab my phone back but Jin just keeps running away. I literally have to chase him around freaking Walmart until he somehow runs into our mother. Who tells us she's basically done and that we have to get our sister. so Jin gives me back my phone and I call her telling her to meet us by the cashier. While where walking Jin shows me this post. THIS GOD DAME FREAKING POST! That has a picture of 2019 scar compared to.... a VERY HANDSOME anime boy. So jin asked if this dude is from an anime? I click on the post read the tags and figure out that his name is Leona king scholar form something called twisted wonderland. Dude I couldn't stop looking over Leona's tag literally my mother at to keep nagging at me to help put the groceries in the car. But yeah that basically how I got into twisted wonderland and feel in love with Leona-sama. I'm pretty sure that;'s the full story, honestly, it surprises me that we are still allowed in Walmart after that night.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar #genie talkes #genie's life stories

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julie1706 · 4 years

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Julie’s incredibly aesthetic incredibly autumny list of movies that she maybe recommends:

Alright! Hi there!

My name is Julie, and I really love fall. I love hot tea, warm blankets, candles, ghost stories, fog and I really, really love rain. I never get tired of any of the aspects of fall, but I think the easiest way to really soak up the atmosphere (aside from amazing books, which I don’t really have the time for), is movies! Here, “autumny” movies.

But that’s a really vague term, and I think many people have a very individual idea of what a fall movie is, that don’t really line up with mine. So the most obvious thing seems to me, to make one myself.

I’m guessing one, maybe two or three people will see this, and I count myself as one of them. The others (hej Sif og Malin!!) might not even get to read this, but if they do, I hope they like it. I hope you like it, Malin and Sif! Also, I love you! And miss you!

Right. I’ve seen a lot of examples of the “list of movies to watch in the fall/autumn”, and they’re all fine and great, but I guess I’ve never been completely satisfied with them, as I mentioned.

So after like 10 minutes of research, I’ve made up my own list, of movies I thought seemed interesting or just plain cozy and nice. I admit, they aren’t ranked, sorry, and I haven’t watched all of them, so a good deal of these will really just be mentioned because of optimism. Also, I don’t think there’s a lot of scary ones, so don't worry.

And I promise I will mention if they’re very spooky. I’ll put a warning like: “Warning! Spooky!”, at the top or something. That should do it.

Lets get started! :-)

1. Practical Magic

This first one I actually saw some years ago, with my mom, when I was much younger. I liked it, but I have a feeling I will like it even more, if I watch it today. A really classic halloween, witchy movie, that was surprisingly touching in the family aspect!

Official synopsis:

Two witch sisters, raised by their eccentric aunts in a small town, face closed-minded prejudice and a curse which threatens to prevent them ever finding lasting love.

//Not very spooky, as I remember it. But good! Lovely witchy aesthetics!

2. Silence of the Lamps

Ugh, I love this movie! That might be a not so good thing to say, it’s really twisted. But I like how creepy it always is, no matter how much i watch it, and how the twists and turns never fail to be interesting, even though I know the plot by heart now. I love Clarisse, I love the foggy, grim nature of the movie, and I don’t really love Hannibal, he’s creepy, but you can’t deny that Anthony Hopkins really carry this movie! Perfect serial killer acting. If that’s a thing.

Official Synopsis:

A young F.B.I. cadet must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims.

//VERY spooky! Or just plain scary. Sif - do not watch!! Many people are killed in many, gross ways.

3. Witch

Haven’t seen this one! I really want to, and have since it came out, but there haven’t really been any (legal) places to see it. I love the tension that was present even in the trailer, and the whole aspect of an oppressed young girl evolving and breaking free in the scariest way possible is really interesting. Not all horror movies are my thing, but I really hope this one will be! And I love everything about witches, so.

Official synopsis:

A family in 1630s New England is torn apart by the forces of witchcraft, black magic, and possession.

//Warning! Just from the trailer, I can conclude that this one is very scary.

4. Julie and Julia

This one I haven’t actually seen either! I think I’ve spotted among my mom’s dvds, but nope, haven’t seen it. I don’t really know a lot about Julia Child either, but it seems like a super-heartwarming film, so I hurried to include it!

Official Synopsis:

Julia Child's story of her start in the cooking profession is intertwined with blogger Julie Powell's 2002 challenge to cook all the recipes in Child's first book.

//This one seems safe.

5. The Addams Family (Both of them are good!)

This one, the “first” one, I saw last year. It’s actually a remake of an older movie, which is apparently based on an even older comic -who knew? And there’s a second one, following this one, I might add later. But tt was so good! Gah! I loved it, and I’m definitely rewatching this year. Wow the whole vibe of this family is fantastic, and I wish more families in movies were as dedicated to an aesthetic as the Addams! Watch it! It’s so nice!

Official Synopsis:

Con artists plan to fleece an eccentric family using an accomplice who claims to be their long-lost uncle.

//I know it seems scary, but trust me, it’s fine! It’s really more funny than spooky. You’ll enjoy it, trust me!

6. Hocus Pocus

Alright, never seen this one! But when I joined tumblr, the americans were always bringing this one up, and it’s always included in those lists I was talking about earlier, and again, witches, so a no-brainer for me, to include on this list. Man I can’t wait to see it, I hope I’ll like it.

Official Synopsis:

A curious youngster moves to Salem, where he struggles to fit in before awakening a trio of diabolical witches that were executed in the 17th century.

//I have no idea what the spooky-level is in this, but it doesn’t seem that bad.

7. Halloween (the original)

I have wanted to see this in FOREVER! It’s such a classic, and a really iconic, classic, older horror movie. I don’t actually know why I haven’t seen it yet, it might only be because there was no place to watch it, the last time I checked. I hope it has changed, I really want to see it. It has all the classic tropes, and a scary serial killer, it really is a peak-halloween movie. Spot-on name, huh!

Official Synopsis:

Fifteen years after murdering his sister on Halloween night 1963, Michael Myers escapes from a mental hospital and returns to the small town of Haddonfield, Illinois to kill again.

//Might be a bit too scary for some.

8. The Princess Bride

This is so good!! All the characters are straight of a fairy tale (literally), but they’re neither flat or boring. And the love story! Ah! I loooove it! I really enjoyed it last year, when I watched it, so I understand why it’s become such a classic. And there’s so many iconic lines in this movie. The whole mood of it is such good, and the plot isn’t the craziest thing, so watch it to relax!

Official Synopsis:

While home sick in bed, a young boy's grandfather reads him the story of a farmboy-turned-pirate who encounters numerous obstacles, enemies and allies in his quest to be reunited with his true love.

//Not scary, fret not!

9. The Craft

Have never seen or heard about this movie, until the morning, when I compiled this list. I kind of want to though, now that I’m promised 90′s teenage witches. Hell yeah! The more witches the merrier!

Official Synopsis:

A newcomer to a Catholic prep high school falls in with a trio of outcast teenage girls who practice witchcraft, and they all soon conjure up various spells and curses against those who anger them.

//No idea how spooky. Might be a little scary.

10. Sleepy Hollow (the one with Johnny Depp)

The legend of the Headless Horseman is famous, so that one I know. But this movie, which is based on that story, I haven’t seen. I can guess, though, the vibe from it’s original source material, and Johnny Depp and the male lead, and that makes me want to watch it! Also, how can you not, when you see all that fog?? So spooky and mysterious! I love fog!

Official Synopsis:

Ichabod Crane is sent to Sleepy Hollow to investigate the decapitations of three people, with the culprit being the legendary apparition, The Headless Horseman.

//Might be, like, ghost story-spooky. Or Tim Burton-spooky. Either of those. Hm. I don’t think it’s that bad?

11. Scream

I LOVE SCREAM. SUCH AN ICONIC HORROR MOVIE. THANK YOU FOR USING ALL THOSE CLASSIC TROPES!! I love everything about this movie, and I might actually put it on when I’m done with this post, and watch it with a cup of tea and some popcorn if I can find some. The characters are delightfully flat and simple, what you see is what you get, and that actually makes this movie even better! It really feels like you’re watching THE halloween movie, it’s delightfully creepy and spooky, and I love it all. So. Much. Also - the lovely 90′s aesthetic is very much present in this one!

Official Synopsis:

A year after the murder of her mother, a teenage girl is terrorized by a new killer, who targets the girl and her friends by using horror films as part of a deadly game.

//Spooky! If serial killers are not you thing, don’t watch it. Not that it’s my thing either, but, uh, if watching characters be chased and killed off by a masked individual really freaks you out, stay clear of this one :-)

12. Dark Shadows

Love this movie. Watched it in the cinema, have it on DVD, have watched it numerous times since, and I always enjoy it. Another Depp-movie, and he really pulls it off in this one, as a creepy but also weirdly funny vampire, who has lost his one true love, and wakes up in the 70′s (i think), to help his relatives, now living in his ancestral home, with getting back on their feet. A lot of wild stuff happens in this movie, and I adore it.

Official Synopsis:

An imprisoned vampire, Barnabas Collins, is set free and returns to his ancestral home, where his dysfunctional descendants are in need of his protection.

//Actually not that spooky! It’s not that bad, I think. Some places are a little scary, but there’s enough of humor present, that it should be fine!

13. Eve’s Bayou

I had never heard of this movie until this morning! But wow! It looks so dramatic and promising, doesn’t it? We will just have to see, I guess!

Official Synopsis:

What did little Eve see--and how will it haunt her? Husband, father and womanizer Louis Batiste is the head of an affluent family, but it's the women who rule this gothic world of secrets, lies and mystic forces.

//I have no idea. Really. I hope it’s a little bit spooky!

14. Clue

I have just played the game, sorry. And I enjoyed that, so I hope I will enjoy this too! No, I know I will, I love these stories, with really defined characters, like when someone is named “the soldier”, or “the socialite”. I’m sold, when stories like that are introduced to me. I really want to watch this movie! Also - young Tim Curry! Cool!

Official Synopsis:

Six guests are anonymously invited to a strange mansion for dinner, but after their host is killed, they must cooperate with the staff to identify the murderer as the bodies pile up.

//Nah. You’re good, with this one. Don’t worry.

15. Every Agatha Christie Movie

Yeah, sorry I want to watch every single film adaptation of her stories, and love them dearly. None of them can be bad, to me. But the only one I have watched, is the “Murder of the Orient Express”, and if I have to describe how much i love this one, this list will go on for much too long. I just really love this movie. I love the characters, I love the scenography, I love the choreography, just - Everything! It’s so pretty, and you will NEVER figure out the ending! I didn’t, at least. Watch it! It’s so good!

Official Synopsis:

When a murder occurs on the train on which he's travelling, celebrated detective Hercule Poirot is recruited to solve the case.

//Don’t worry about spookyness - there’s none! But watch it!

16. Twilight

Perfect Autumn vibes! There is darkness, fog, rain, coldness, weird pale vampires, a nice love story - and most of it is out in a forest! Amazing! This whole movie seems to consist of only blue and green tones, in varying degrees of darkness, and I always sit with the feeling, that i can almost smell the rain and damp earth in these scenes. Great movie! Even greater use of atmosphere!

Official Synopsis:

Bella Swan moves to Forks and encounters Edward Cullen, a gorgeous boy with a secret.

//Not spooky!

17. Knives Out

Saw this in the cinema with my brother! I really love the main characters, and the plot is great too - I couldn't figure it out at all! I think it is a very creative, “new! approach to a murder mystery, and I applaud! Very autumny, very great sweaters from the female lead! Actually most of them have nice clothes, for this crisp, cold mystery movie!

Official Synopsis:

A detective investigates the death of a patriarch of an eccentric, combative family.

//Not very spooky! Don’t worry!

18. 10 Things I Hate About You

I watched this when i was like, 12, and definitely didn’t appreciate it. I think it based on Shakespeare’s “The Taming of the Shrew”. It’s one the best Rom-Coms I’ve ever seen! The dialogue is funny, the acting is fine, and the love stories are very cute! Also, I just adore Kate, like, in general! She’s so sour and surly! Watch this one, when you want to unwind and relax! Maybe with your friends. Or alone, that’s cool too!

Official Synopsis:

A pretty, popular teenager can't go out on a date until her ill-tempered older sister does.

//Not spooky, lol.

19. Mona Lisa Smile

I haven’t seen this one, except for the very last few minutes, on evening when my mom and I was zapping channels. So I have very little, very confusing knowledge of this movie, based on an ending, with no context. But my friend told me about it once, and wow, it sounds heartwarming! And Julia Roberts is pretty great, normally!

Official Synopsis:

A free-thinking art professor teaches conservative 1950s Wellesley girls to question their traditional social roles.

//Not spooky!

Well then! That was all the movies I had the time to compile this morning! I might add more, I’m sure there’s a few classics, I have forgotten!

I hope you have a great fall, with many chances to be with your family and friends, and experience all the amazing things this read, yellow, brown and orange season has to offer! Have a great day - and thank you for reading!

- Julie :-)

#autumn #movie recommendation #movie list #fall #fall aesthetic

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tillmays · 4 years

Text

Is just Her...

the next day

they falled asleep at the fireplace the sun was softly bright. is 7:00 am mac's phone couldn't stop ringing. he woke up saw Riley by his side and smiled then removed her hair from her face, he got distracted looking at her that by the time he grabbed his phone he missed the call, he checked up and had 10 missed calls from matty.

Mac- oh crap .. Riley .. *he shacked her to wake her up, what! ... * she said grumpy* -Riley! *he raised his voice to wake her up, he was in the other room changing his shirt, Mac went back to the fireplace putting his jacket back on* Riley wake up we have to go now!, Matty called. *Riley got up fast and touched her body as if something was missing and she let out a sigh of relief and laughed and sited back* mac just looked at her funny and raised his eyebrows* come on let's go.

on their way to work.

Riley- ahh my head hurts .. we drunk to much. *she touched her face*

Mac- i have a migraine too.

Riley- we need to stop at the gas station.

Mac- we are already late and you want to make a stop?

Riley- trust me, we need a boost. and besides we can't go to work like this. and my head hurts like hell, to be listening matty's screams.

Mac- You are right on that.

they are at the gas station, Riley went to buy something that could help with the hungover and got back in the car.

Riley- here, drink it.

Mac- Riley are you crazy, we already have a hungover and you buy more beer?!

Riley- can you calm down, trust me. this has worked for me before you will feel better. Well at least for a while. *he wasn't sure about it* -you trust me? *he looked at her* then drink it, relax. *he drank the beer and he in a weird way felt quite better.*

Mac- ... i don't understand the logic in this but it worked.

the phoenix somewhere in los angeles.

Matty was ANGRY bozer and desi were already there. the tree of them waiting for them to show up. then finally they walk thru the door.

Bozer- thank god i thought you will have us waiting another 3 hours here.

Mac- matty i'm so so sorry we just ..

Matty- save it I don't want to hear it. i called you more than 3 times you have a responsibility you know how important it is to be on time and if this happens again you will be in trouble.

Mac- and what about riley?

Riley- * she punched him in the arm * dude what the hell ..

Matty- it goes for both of you. i don't have time to play we have work to do.

Matty- today you all were invited to a wedding! *she starts to explain the case* the guy you are going to be tracking is..

Bozer- the groom right? what did he do?

Matty- surprisingly, this time wasn't the groom, its the father of the groom. *photo pops up*

Bozer- ah that's new.

Matty- his name is Oliver Hudson. and he is about business. the man doesn't have a break from his work, a source discovered evidence of uranium thefts at a nuclear treatment plant and informed us that his team it's the responsable. It's his sons wedding, the source told us that he already has someone who want to buy it. And I need to know who. So today he is...

Mac- is going to sell it at his son's wedding.

Matty- yes, and that's when my dream team appears, you stop him from selling it arrest him and bring me the person who's buying the uranium.

Wiltshire, England

they arrived to this 14th century village of Castle Combe, there was a lot of people celebrating for the newlyweds. Riley was wearing this beautiful long formal emerald green dress featuring a-line silhouette, backless design, with low v-neck and her hairstyle was passion/spring twists and was styled with a middle high ponytail.

Desi was looking gorgeous wearing this light yellow dress with a v neck adjust to her waist with a crossed nod as a detail,with a diamond necklace with this loosely hair and only a lock collected with this silver hair pin and mac and bozer in their neat black suits as always.

Mac- has anyone spotted our star yet? he said while walking to the bar.

Riley- not yet. *she had a drink on her hand and passed by his side, mac saw her passing, at first didn't realized it was her, he make a double take and checked her up and down, you could see in his eyes that his jaw was on the floor.

Bozer- Nothing on this side of the room.*changed to the other room and desi was walking down the stairs and walked behind Bozer, she grabbed a glass of wine while she kept walking*

Desi- this is stupid, how are we going to find this man in a freaking castle, who gets married in a castle anyways...

Riley- the little brats just like the bride.

Desi- mmm, but i get it, her man is attractive.

Riley- mhjm... he can get it *Desi laughed*

Bozer- he literally looks just like that actor that was Christian grey in 50 shades of grey..

Riley- i.. didn't know you liked that type of movies.. i thought you liked the real cinema. but youre right if i didn't know him he looks just like that actor.

Bozer- i don't but leanna make me watched those movies with her..

Mac- ok i think you're oversharing boz..

Desi- yes, but we need to be looking for his father not him, so focus.

Mac- everyone pick a floor and move we can't let this man sell the uranium.

Everyone started searching. Bozer and Desi went together to the first floors, were the party was happening, behind the castle, while Mac and Riley went upstairs, while they were searching in an really big open room, Mac reclined to the back of a white sofa and said: - i dont think its here. we have to keep looking. they heard someone was coming to their way, that part of the place was all alone and only them were there.Riley- Mac someone’s coming. *Mac grabbed the glass of champagne he took before to pretend that he was drinking. - Riley come here and grab your drink. *he said almost whispering with an anxious voice, Riley walked towards him, Mac did not think what he was going to do, surprisingly he didn’t think this time he just acted. Mac grabbed her by the arm, opened his legs and placed Riley between them, he pressed her body next to his, He ran his hand across her back, venturing into her skin for that little moment, until he reached her hip a little lower if you know what i mean. they were so close that anyone who had seen them in that scene could see that light, that flame between them, which unfortunately this two did not see, he held her as tightly as if she were going to leave, but at the same time he held her delicately, as if she was made of glass. they didn’t speak for that little unreal moment, they just looked into eachothers eyes like everyone left and was only them. Riley was surprised, and he took her by the arm she though *what the hell is this boy doing* but then her body got loose and she understood what he was doing, she put her arm around him and played with the back of his head, crossing her fingers thru his hair. the both of them felt a they felt a little tickle in the stomach and in the throat but they thought that feeling was for the adrenaline rush of almost getting caught looking for the secret room. the people who they heard coming in was a group of drunk guys they were laughing and tumbling on of them saw them and said - oh we better give them a little privacy.. they went to the next room making more noise. Mac and Riley stayed like that for a minute. when riley snapped out if as if they got hypnotized by each other’s energy.Riley- mac.. *she whispered softly, but he didn’t react* mac.. *she said again* something about the way she said his name that made Mac squirt inside. Mac- Riles.. *with his deep deep voice* Riley- they already left. *she said with disappointment in her voice as she wanted to be in his arms forever. she removed her arm of his neck slowly, mac reacted to that.Mac- oh yeah … they did … * cleared his throat, and as he slowly took his arm from her waist, he didn’t want to set her free.. Riley- oh i will go to the bathroom so i can use the laptop without distractions. Mac- yeah i’m gonna keep on looking on this side.

Riley went to the bathroom to use her laptop in private and she needed to see the blueprints of the castle, she starts to give directions to mac, apparently Oliver make his sells in a back room. then someone is trying to open the door and riley jumped of surprise and closed the laptop and hid it, she opened the door and for her surprise there was the bride who was really really drunk and wanted to use the bathroom.

Riley- oh don't worry, i was just living and smiled.

the bride- oh please i know i don't know you but can you please help me.

Riley- i really have to go

the bride- oh please. *Riley took of her communicator cause she kinda knew were she was going and wanted to give her some privacy*

Riley- ok what do you need?

bride- can you hold my dress while a use the toilet?

Riley- *opened her mouth and in her mind she said -i knew it- she raised her eyebrows and she said: yeah sure why not, is your day anyways.. *she picked up her big dress and the vail who was really long and the bride started talking and talking, Riley in her head was thinking god how much longer is she going to pee?,this is the longest pee i have ever seen.

Riley- heeey girl how many glasses of... whatever you were drinking did you have? cause..

bride- *started laughing* oh just a couple... and giggled.

Riley- great, are you done?

bride- yeah im done.

Riley- *Riley bent down to fix the bride's dress*

back with the team at the castle courtyard.

mac- hey does someone knows where Riley is? i need to know where is that room.

desi- i don't know where is she but i do know where is oliver.

mac- where?

desi- he is sitting at his table with some family and some kids.

bozer- what we do know?

mac- we have to wait, we need to catch him in the act, in the min time desi keep an eye on him, boz go see where is Riley i will keep searching for that room.

back at the restroom

Riley- well your dress is fine.

bride- thank you so so much* she hugged her and gave her a kiss in the chick* you know your my best friend.. i love you.

Riley- thank you, Chloe.

Chloe the bride who was really dizzy and very drunk already forgot those 3 minutes they were in there and said to her- wait how do you know my name?who did you come with?

Riley- oh you're not having more drinks *Riley smiled* i'm marks girlfriend,remember? the best man of your boyfriend i mean husband, and speaking of mens i think your husband is waiting for you should go find him

chloe- you know how beautiful you are, marks very lucky to have you.

*Riley blushed and grabbed the bride hands and turn her around to make her walk to the door* thats very kind of you, but i want to use the bathroom now, she said to make her leave, she knew Mac was waiting for her indications, Chloe walked to the door and she started to stumble and she felt on her back*

Riley- oh not again.

Mac is walking thru the castle following the little indications Riley could give him, he knew he was close so he was in this library and started to look on the room to make this type of device that would work like a magnet but not at the same time to help him find the secret room, looking through the room with the device that he had made with a cocktail glass, a chewing gum wrapper and his swiss knife, he was close to finding it but not that close.

back with Riley.

Riley- ok Chloe come on, you ok? i'm going to take you to your room. she grabbed her by the waist and make it look natural like nothing was going on she didn't want to get anyone's attention, she made it look like Chloe wasn't drunk and walked down the hallway, Riley memorized the blueprints so she knew were to go, one of her many skills. they got to the room and she placed her in the bed, as she was to walk of the room, she heard some steps outside there were three men and she hid and she saw another door and walked into this little room but she knew that it wasn't the one they were looking for, Riley put back her communicator on her ear again, and said: guys how's it going?

Bozer- Riley, girl i have been looking for you.

Mac- Riley where have you been?

Riley- i'm sorry but the bride find me in the bathroom and asked for help she's really drunk, and apparently she thinks we're best friends now. *she kept walking and entered another room*

Mac- glad you made a friend but i need to find that room.

Desi- Mac Oliver is about to leave the table, his bodyguard gave him the phone he just received a call, bozer is with me, we are going behind him.

Bozer- wait,*he said to desi and put his hand in her shoulder to make her stop* look he going to dance with the bride. look Chloe's is there.

Riley- what?! i left her in her bed.. damn that girl is fast.

Mac- Riley can you please look in your laptop and tell me the indication to go find that room.

Riley- well i dont have my laptop with me. tell me where are you.

Mac- what??

Riley- mac tell me where are you i memorized the structure of the castle i know where is the room.

Mac- *makes that face when he is surprised*

ok well i didn't know that you could do that, well i'm at the library, i went to the kitchen, the wine room, and then to this cellar there is by crossing the kitchen and nothing

Riley- that's why you are looking in the wrong places.wait you said that you're at the library? *she walked out the little room and walked to the other room, it was the grooms room.

mac- yes, why?

Riley- there is a door right? not the one you entered of there has to be another.

mac- yes here it is.

riley- there is the room, in there is a big painting.

mac- how is going to be in there.?

Riley- mac move it. but be careful i can't remember but i think it has motion sensors.

mac- you can memorized the blueprints of a castle but can remember if a room has motion sensors??...

Riley- well what can i say.. im Riley.

mac- *he had this cute smiled while she said it* yup the one and only.

Riley- laughed.*while she was in the room she was looking thru the window, while someone walked in, it was the groom. she turned around, and looked him very cold, she was just distracted, but for him she looked like a vision*

the groom- oh sorry i didn't know it was someone in here, excuse me.

Riley- no its ok, its your room anyways.

the groom- how do you know that?

Riley- well there is a bottle of whisky that says for james aka the groom, and you left your vows on that chair.

James- oh that's from my friends *he blushed*

Riley- yeah i notice.

James- and yeah i forgot those.*he laughed* Riley knew she had to make him talk, see if she can get something out of him about his father. but then he asked: so what's your name and what are you hiding in here? im james by the way.

Riley: first of all, i'm not hiding and second of all i already know your name remember* she pointed to the bottle.*he was embarrassed and blushed*

james- well then why are you alone?

Riley- isn't it everyone.. *she said while giving him this penetrating cold stare. James looked at her with more intrigue he was really curious about her. he took of his tie and started to play with it in his hands. he looked like it was having a bad time some said that he looked sad.

Riley with just one look could see the mind of this mans was trying to get over something*- and you what are you hiding. *she said sitting in a couch that was under the window and in front of him but at the side corner of the bed*

James- first of all im not hiding* he said trying to mimic her *Riley smiled*

Riley- oh ok. you look very tense to be the day of your wedding why aren't you with your wife?...

James- mjh i don't know maybe.. because i got an arranged marriage and i don't really love her like that and just married her because of my father.

*yess riley said in her mind, she was going in the right direction*

Riley- i knew it, you have that type of look of my father is an asshole,* he just sighed and laughed* but don't worry my dad is an asshole too.

James- *with his arms on in legs sitting on the bed and was looking to the floor and when she said that, he looked up and looked at her with more interest*- you still haven't told me your name- *he was starstruck by her, he loved how mysterious she was*

Riley- das not important, i wanna know why you think your so miserable.

back with Mac

Mac was hearing the hole conversation between the groom and Riley. He managed to move the painting without activating any alarm, the cameras of the place had already been manipulated by Riley so the image they were looking at security was a frozen image of the empty rooms. he hid and had to wait until Oliver and the man who was going to buy it came in, but he was thinking why was Riley talking with the groom and couldn't stop thinking what was happening there and why was she alone with him in that room.

.........................................................................................................

later will post the whole story, let me know if you would like me to add photos to the story or if you guys prefer to remove them, i like to add them for you, so yall can see what i actually imaginated and make it feel real and close like watching in some way the show...¿ idk ahha and of course this is the following of the las one “i'm here if you need me”. Ik this one had little macriley, but i love to see the jealous angus. (And don't ask me how but that trick of the beer it has really worked for me lol)

#macgyver #macgyver 2016 #angus macgyver #macriley #lucas till #tristinmays #jack dalton #wilt bozer #bozer #matty #desi #desiree nguyen #series #show #fanfic #mine #story

16 notes · View notes

luluwquidprocrow · 4 years

Text

i will get there

part 1 of 2

originally posted: september 4th, 2017

word count: 6,097 words

rated: not rated

laura palmer, donna hayward, dale cooper

alternate universe, alternate universe – canon divergence, depression, eventual happy ending, demons, your general twin peaks level of existential dread, because laura palmer’s life is anything but easy, I wrote this before the finale and weirdly enough it’s applicable, 2020 edit – there’s a few lines in here about leland and sarah in the second half of the fic and lines about the ring and coop is i think too self-aware all of which (especially the lines about leland and sarah in the second half) I do not agree with anymore because I did not totally understand all the vibes when I wrote this in may 2017 and I intend to fix that in the still-being-written second part of this

summary: Laura Palmer lived.

opening notes:

so funnily enough, I really did write this back in may when s3 first started, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but after last night’s finale, you know what????? who cares!! who knows anything!!! so here it is. there's some references to the Missing Pieces in here, specifically the muffin scene, and also the idea that the ring prevents possession instead of drawing someone back into the lodge/denoting possession/the million other things the freaking ring does title from 'what you know' by two door cinema club, for some reason

who even knows what happened that night? laura palmer doesn't. she guesses she should know. but she doesn't. sheriff truman asks her over and over again what happened that night and laura doesn't know. ronette hasn't woken up yet, truman tells her. her father is barely alive. her mother is in shock. you have to tell me what happened, laura, he says.

she tells him she doesn't know. she can't remember and she doesn't know if she wants to.

(and if she has vague flashes of her hands tearing apart a man in a denim jacket, and her screams sometimes ring in her ears, then that's for her to think about, and no one else.)

laura doesn't sleep for days. she stares at the ceiling of the hospital room and pinches herself when her vision blurs, because it can't have been that easy. he can't just be gone, just like that. if laura knows anything, it's that nothing is that easy. she doesn't want to be responsible for bringing him back and hurting someone else. if she's awake then she's her. then everyone else is okay. she still has the ring, and she twists it around her finger and shakes and shakes and shakes and never takes it off, but she doesn't know if it's enough, if she trusts it.

she drifts off sometime on the fifth day, and jerks awake with a gasp. she's still in the hospital. the windows aren't open. she looks at herself in a mirror and sees her face. she's all there. everyone else is all there.

bob is not there.

laura starts sobbing, and she doesn't stop for a long time.

she spends weeks and weeks getting the taste of blood and cocaine out of her. and then it just feels like there’s nothing left at all.

donna wants to talk, and james just wants to hold her, and they don't understand that all laura wants to do is sit and stare at her hands and try to convince herself that she must be lucky to be alive, because all she thinks about is how much less effort it would be to just be anything else.

she thought she wouldn't have to pretend anymore, that no one would expect all that much of her now, but everyone still wants so much from her, and she hates it, or she thinks she would if she could feel anything. you were such a brave girl, everyone tells her, and she wants them all to get that smile off their faces, because she wasn't. she's not. she doesn't want to be touched and she doesn't want to be looked at and she just wants to try and figure out what she's supposed to do now. she can't wrap her head around anything. everything she used to do feels stupid and fake or hurts too much to think about.

she doesn't go to the roadhouse, so jacques renault doesn't try to catch her eye. she barely leaves her house, so she doesn't have to worry about running into leo johnson, or anyone, really. she stays home and donna brings over her homework for a while until she realizes laura's not doing it. bobby doesn't want to see her, which is good, because she shouldn't see him. she doesn't hear from josie packard. she thinks for a long time about johnny horne. ben horne sends audrey to see her, and they just look at each other until audrey gets up and leaves. james tries to call her, and she lets the phone ring and ring and ring.

someone asks her to talk to jacoby, says it'd be good for her. laura thinks she could laugh at that, but she doesn't.

ronette wakes up. laura goes to visit and sits beside her. it's the only thing she willingly leaves the house for.

"what did you do?" ronette asks, wide-eyed. "how did we get out? how—"

"i don't know," laura says. "i don't know."

ronette looks at her, but it's not that piercing stare james gives her, it's ronette's soft, doe-eyed gaze, so it doesn't feel bad. ronette was there, ronette gets it, a little. laura still can't forgive herself for the fact that ronette was there, but at least someone almost gets it. she's grateful all the same.

"who was that man, laura?" ronette says.

laura shakes her head. "he wasn't a man," she says. "he was something else."

her brown shoes are soft and silent against the hospital hallway when she leaves, and she wants to run so she can hear herself and then curl up and never move again so she doesn't have to think about herself either. it's hard to figure out which one sounds better.

bobby is at the end of the hallway. "laura," he says, a little breathless. he can’t be here for her, laura isn’t even here anymore, and she doesn’t even want to know why he’s at the hospital.

bobby briggs, she'd say, she'd sing it with a short grin, if she was a different person, if she was the girl of a few weeks ago instead of the shell of this one. she doesn't even know what to do with bobby anymore, what to say, how to pretend.

"i didn't know you'd left," he says. "here. the hospital, i mean." he clears his throat and looks her over carefully. "you—you okay, laura?" like he almost doesn't want to ask.

what a stupid question, laura thinks, and she'd say it, but she shouldn't. she should apologize, is what she should do, do something, say anything, but laura is so tired. it drags at her bones.

she doesn't say anything.

her parents are not the same people. laura knows that, at least. her family has never been perfect but it's maybe not even a family now. it's three people, three ghosts, haunting the same house. they aren't pretending they can go back to what they had before, at least. at least there's that. they all know something happened, even if they aren't sure what.

it still hurts somewhere. it stings hard in her chest because she just wanted her life back, she wanted her family back, she wanted to look at her parents and her father without feeling sick, and she can't, she still can't. her father won't look at her and her mother doesn't look at anything. she doesn't see much of them at all. she'll catch the smell of her mother's cigarettes, hear the long shuffle of her father's footsteps down the hall, but she rarely sees them, like they don't want to be near her.

did i do the right thing, she asks herself, and she doesn't know the answer to that question. she thought she was alive but she doesn't know if this is living. it's something. she just doesn't know what it is.

laura feels trapped in twin peaks.

"i don't get it," donna says, when laura tells her she's leaving.

laura looks out the window. "what's there to get," she says. "i'm leaving. it's not rocket science, donna."

"where are you gonna go?"

"i don't know," laura says. "somewhere else."

"you're not gonna tell me?"

"i probably wouldn't tell you even if i did know."

"i'd come with you," donna says quietly.

laura scoffs. "and do what? follow me around like you do here? wish you were me? a fucked-up girl who can't do anything right?" she doesn't know what makes her say it, why she lets herself take the empty anger and frustration inside her out on donna.

donna starts to cry, that soft sniffle where her face falls and she stares at the floor of the hayward living room.

laura closes her eyes. "don't be like that, donna," she says, but there's no venom behind it. it comes out hoarse and quiet. laura's tired of hurting her.

"i'm—i'm sorry," donna says, wiping her face on the edge of her sleeve.

"don't be sorry," laura whispers.

are you my—are you my best friend? laura had asked her. she remembers that, vivid and sharp in her mind, the horror that had crawled over her skin.

of course, donna had said, because she was. she had been. when they thought they could pretend things were okay. laura's not in the business of pretending anymore, and donna shouldn't be either, and she'll miss donna like an ache in her chest but she thinks it'll be better for both of them if they don't see each other anymore.

she couldn't stand it, if donna asked her that question again. why do you do it?

why had she done it? because it was fun, laura thinks, because she wanted it and had it and then everyone told her she was wrong and warped and shouldn't want, because she wanted to try and to know and someone cut her open instead, and then she couldn't separate it out from what she wanted to do and what she'd felt she had to do, what she deserved, what people gave her and she forced herself to take because okay, that was how it worked, she guessed. the world pushed her down and told her what it did to people like her. then she'd tried to take it back and now she has nothing.

i don't want you to be like me, laura had told her. she still doesn't. donna should live a quiet life, one that doesn't involve demons or trouble or laura. especially laura.

"what i wanted," donna says softly, "was your strength, laura."

and i wanted yours, laura thinks. all your strength, all your kindness. she looks back at donna. "i'll miss you," she says. "i really will." laura owes her that much.

"i'll miss you too. more than anything." donna sighs, twists her fingers together. "before you go," she says, "you want a muffin?"

laura wants so badly to smile. she tries, but she can't do it. "seven whole huckleberries, donna?"

"and counting."

laura shakes her head. she wants to hug donna, just like she used to, but she doesn't think she has it in her. she just gets up and shrugs instead. "bye, muffin," she says.

donna smiles, her mouth trembling. "bye, muffin."

her mother always seems to be shaking. not just now, laura thinks, but she always was. sarah palmer's hands, her mouth, her head, her shoulders, her eyes. she leans against the doorway to the living room and pulls the cigarette out of her mouth.

"are you—" sarah begins, and then she stops. her eyes dart around the room, like she's looking for something. "do you need anything? anything at all, laura?"

"no," laura says.

sarah's lips tremble again. "will you come back?" she asks, with a helpless little smile.

"i don't know."

sarah sighs, and then she takes a long, long drag from the cigarette. laura watches the edges of her mother's fingers shake. it's like her mother's going to blur out of existence one of these days, just rattle apart.

"you should—you should write," sarah says. she says the words slowly, her lined mouth curling around them awkwardly. "let me know you're okay."

laura knows her mother is five seconds from shouting that at her, or she would've shouted it, if laura had tried to do this before. let me know you're okay, laura thinks. just tell me i'll be okay.

"maybe," laura says. "maybe i will. maybe i will be."

laura leaves twin peaks. she takes trains and buses at night, in the darkness where no one else can watch her. she leaves washington state and heads east, stopping when she runs out of money.

laura doesn't know why she applies for a job at a bar, but she does. the atmosphere isn't comforting but it's familiar, and she hopes she can just disappear there, just try to scrape something for herself out of whatever this is.

the owner looks her up and down. "what do you have to offer?" he asks.

laura thinks about when she would've charmed her way straight into the bar, straight into the job, straight into the owner, how she would've played every single person she could get her hands on, but she doesn't have the energy or the will for it anymore. and then she thinks, nothing. i have nothing to offer. because what are her skills, now? what can she do? what did she even do before? who are you, laura palmer?

"i don't know," laura says.

"least you're honest," the owner says. "alright, fine."

she works nights. she gets a small hotel room and spends a whole afternoon channel surfing and letting the noise wash over her, the curtains drawn tight and the lights off and the tv glowing blue against her skin, just to see what it feels like, if it feels like anything.

laura's washing out glasses behind the bar when a man sits down in front of her. he doesn't order anything. he just stares at her, traces the curve of her hair against her shoulder.

her whole body tenses. she gnaws on the inside of her mouth and looks at her hands, grips the towel tight so her nails dig into it and the fabric rubs into her skin.

the man looks at her, eyes glazed and his mouth a lopsided grin. he smells like other bars and glistens with sweat. "i've seen you around a lot," he says.

"i work here," laura says, her teeth grinding together. he sounds like leo johnson and looks like jacques renault. she knows how he works, what he wants, what he has. there’s a rushing in her head and her whole body aches. she wants to kill him with her bare hands.

"what's your name, cutie?"

she quits, right on the spot.

laura cuts her hair so it swings short around her chin, and buys the longest sweaters and wraps herself up in them. she gets another job at a convenience store where no one looks twice at her, and she hopes it's enough.

she still hangs out at bars, just because they're everywhere, they're nowhere, and most of the time no one ever notices she's there. she sits in the back with the shadows and just watches and tries to figure out how people do it, how they want to live when everything around them is so—whatever this is.

it comes in handy one night.

there's a girl not much younger than laura, sitting in a booth, being held by a friend.

"you've gotta tell someone," the friend says.

"i told you."

"besides me. you've gotta—this isn't right, we should do something—"

"do what? who's going to believe me? it's—it's not like i can explain it. like, this thing's after me, this horrible thing in the woods and it watches me and i can't—and why me, huh? why me?"

laura's heart races, her chest heaving as she tries to breathe.

it shouldn't surprise her, that there are horrible things out there, everywhere, not just in twin peaks. every place has history. every place has demons. literal demons. but she's still shocked to hear it's real, there's something else, there's someone else living her life.

laura holds herself tight and closes her eyes. she doesn't remember what she did before, what she did to him, but she'll be damned if she doesn't try it again.

she haunts the local bars and clubs, staying in the back, in the shadows, where no one can touch her, and she listens to people talk. she watches their faces when they talk about it, when someone brings it up—the demon in the woods. it makes her skin crawl and her heart slam in her throat but she stays there and makes herself listen.

it takes her a few weeks, but she figures out where it is, how it operates, and she has herself and that's all when she walks into the forest to find it.

she kills it, and she remembers every single second this time. her bare hands and her willpower and the ring glinting in the darkness when she takes the thing in her hands and pulls it apart like she did with bob. she doesn't know how it works. maybe it's because she has the ring. maybe it's because she's been there, and came out on the other side just as twisted as them. but she really doesn't care. she just does it.

laura doesn't know how they know it was her, but a group of girls—two of them the ones from the bar—find her before she leaves town and thank her. they look like her, a little, or she just sees herself in them, lost and alone.

if laura was a different person she'd tell them it's not a big deal. but it is, because she knows it is, and she just tells them to watch out for themselves.

"what's your name?" one of them asks.

laura thinks about it, because she doesn't know if she wants to say it, and she finds herself remembering what she'd said to donna that one time. and the angels wouldn't help you, because they've all gone away, she'd said. alright, then, laura thought. that'd have to be her. she just wouldn't go away. she would not go away. she grits her teeth and clenches her hands into fists and thinks i will not go away.

"laura," she says, louder than she has in months. "laura palmer."

she does it again, and again, in different towns and different places, and it doesn't hurt her anymore to do it.

laura doesn't know what this feels like. it's not what she thinks life is supposed to feel like, but it's not the gaping emptiness that had stabbed at her every single moment she was in twin peaks.

they start to know her name. demons, humans, all of them. they whisper it in the darkness, in the woods, like a curse, like a prayer. laura doesn't hear it, but she knows it's there. it makes her feel a little real.

things still scare her. it's been a year, and things still scare her. laura doesn't know if that's okay. she can't stand long hair, denim jackets, the color red, certain men, certain smells. sometimes she sees a picture of a mountain or too many trees and her heart speeds up, even. it all makes her hands shake and she finds herself crying over her lunch that she barely eats sometimes.

sometimes she wants to feel her hands against someone else's skin but then the thought of it is simultaneously too horrifying for her to handle, after everything. laura wonders if she'll ever—love again sounds stupid and like something donna would say, for goodness sake. and she doesn't have time for that right now, anyway. she doesn't have time to try to figure out how to handle all of that.

be okay enough, is what she settles on, early one morning, wiping the tears off her cheeks. i want to be okay enough. good enough.

she still tries not to think about twin peaks.

laura finds herself in philadelphia. she's on the trail of a demon with a darkness around it that worries her, and she doesn't like it.

she gets the hotel room and seeks out some low-key diner, because sometimes she honestly wants to eat and this is one of those times. she still feels uncomfortable ordering too much. she doesn't know what she wants, what she'd like, what she thinks would be okay.

she sips at her water and looks around the diner. it's small and quiet and there's only two other people in there, two men sitting across from each other, wearing crisp black suits and arguing over what looks like the three slices of pie that one of them ordered. then she looks at their faces. one of them looks not so much angry but fondly irritated, as if this happens all the time, and the other one, eating the pie with a calm, peaceful expression—

i know him, laura thinks, gripping her glass tighter so her hands won't shake. i know that face. she'd seen it in her dreams, the night before she what she did in twin peaks. he was in a red room with a jagged floor, which means he can't be real, he can't be right, he has to be another one. she's going to scream, right there, in the diner, she's going to fall apart.

his eyes meet hers, and he puts his fork down.

laura bites down hard on the inside of her mouth as her whole body trembles.

federal bureau of investigation special agent dale cooper, meanwhile, immediately understands everything, because that's the kind of person he is. he's seen that woman's face before, in a strange dream that wasn't much stranger than any other dream he's had, really. but it stood out to him, her face and her quiet smile and the heavy, startling weight of the air in the room. he knew and could feel the darkness of that weight.

(and if he had another dream, where he was trapped in that horror for year upon year and her face was the only thing he knew for sure in the midst of an almost-constant, almost gnawing laughter, a laughter he also heard in dreams as a child, well, he's certainly never told anyone.)

he'd had a thought at the time, that maybe she was the victim he'd envisioned after teresa banks died, but he looked through every single file in the bureau and hadn't found her face. until now, across the diner, looking at him with wild eyes. cooper is so relieved she's alive but he doesn't want to frighten her. she's overcome so much, so much he doesn't know, but he has to talk to her.

"you have that look on your face again," albert rosenfield says, in a tone of long-suffering. "the one you get when you're about to do something stupid."

"i know," cooper says.

"well, at least you're becoming self-aware."

cooper stands. "please wait for me outside, albert."

the man gets up and walks over to laura. she breathes fast through her nose, her eyes darting back and forth between his. he doesn't feel like any of the others. he doesn't look like them either. he looks kind and worried, but that doesn't mean he isn't just as bad. there's a cold horror spreading down her spine that she doesn't like, so she doesn't like him.

he extends his hand. "special agent dale cooper," he says. he smiles, just a little bit.

laura doesn't shake it.

"may i sit down?" he asks, lowering his hand.

laura frowns up at him, gripping her glass again. she can feel her shoulders shaking. she grinds her teeth together. "why?"

"i'd like to buy you breakfast," agent cooper says. "if that's alright with you."

"you don't know me," she says.

agent cooper smiles. "may i ask your name?"

"laura palmer," she says, and she wants to scream it so everyone hears, she's laura palmer and she's going to tear everyone apart if they're not careful, if they don't stay away from her, she didn't go through hell to get pulled back in because she wasn't on her guard.

"miss palmer—"

"laura."

"laura." he sits down across from her. "do you think it's possible for two people to know each other, even though they've never met before? to have an acute understanding of the other's life because, perhaps, in another, they would have met for certain, one way or another, and helped each other? and that in this lifetime, if they happen to meet, something strange but wonderful could happen?"

there is the tiniest of creases between his eyes when he talks to her, a tension laura has seen in her own eyes. he doesn't feel wrong. he doesn't look at her with anger or lust. she doesn't get that twist in her throat she feels when she looks at a monster. a regular guy. that's all he is, just a regular guy, not a demon or a joke, just someone who looks and sounds like he's seen what laura has and more. she feels sorry for him, a pity that makes her want to cry, but she also wants him to keep talking.

she twists her hands together in her lap, the line of her shoulders still pulled tight. "i don't know," she says.

"i think it's an interesting possibility to think about," agent cooper continues. "the infinity of space, the relationships of individuals. the multitude of possibilities, and their intersections. what we take from one part of our lives to the next."

"what have you taken?" laura asks.

agent cooper looks startled for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to ask. then he smiles. "the knowledge that there is so much more that i can do, that i will do, to help," he says. "and you, laura?"

"i don't know," she says quickly. "or—i don't know, yet."

his smile widens. "how about that breakfast?" he picks up the menu to look it over again, even though laura knows he's already looked at it. "the cherry pie is particularly excellent," agent cooper says. "i'm afraid that's the most experience that i have with the food here, but i think it works as a good baseline for anything else."

laura swallows. she still doesn't know what she wants. all this time, and she still can't order something in a diner? damn, laura, she thinks. what would donna say?

but she knows exactly what donna would say.

"a muffin," laura says. "i want a muffin."

agent cooper's smile is almost blinding this time. "a muffin it is, then." he calls the waitress over and tells her with much more enthusiasm than is really necessary what laura wants.

"we only have huckleberry today," the waitress says. "that okay?"

"that's fine," laura says.

agent cooper orders another slice of pie. the waitress comes back a little later and sets down the pie and the muffin. laura stares down at it. then she frowns and picks the whole muffin apart.

she finds the remains of eight whole huckleberries.

laura really almost laughs, this time, and she eats them all, one by one.

agent cooper and agent rosenfield are tracking the same demon. agent cooper doesn't come right out and say it—laura thinks he can't—but she knows they're after it, and agent cooper knows she's after it too.

"the fbi does things like that?" laura asks. "fight demons?"

"from time to time," agent cooper says. "i get the feeling it's something you do as well." he gives her a knowing look.

the corner of laura's mouth twitches up, just for a second. "from time to time," she says.

agent cooper takes a bite of his third slice of pie. "if it's not too personal a question," he begins, "can i ask how you do it?"

laura looks down at her hands, her fingers still sticky from the muffin. she rubs them along the condensation on her water glass. "i don't know," she says. "i just—i don't even know how i did it the first time." she closes her eyes and immediately sees his face, the way his jaw would move and crack as he laughed, and she forces her eyes open wide. "i grabbed hold of him," she whispers, "and tore him apart." she frowns and pulls her sleeves of her sweater down over her knuckles. "what about you?"

agent cooper looks at her with a quiet curiosity. "there are other ways of doing it," he says. "to destroy darkness with darkness is to feed into it. to help it become something lighter is to overcome it. if these things are the evil that men do, then that evil has to go somewhere.”

laura digs her nails into her palms, and she feels afraid, truly afraid, for the first time in a while. "there are some things you can't," she says. "what if there are some things you can't overcome?"

he doesn’t have an answer for her. if anything, he looks a little afraid too.

laura swallows hard and changes the subject. “so do you want my help or not?”

agent cooper clears his throat. "laura, while i respect you and your abilities and your knowledge, at the end of the day you are still considered a civilian and i would be remiss if i put you in any danger. however, i would appreciate any general assistance you could—”

"you won't get to that demon without me," laura says. "you won't be able to stop it without me." it's the one thing, the only thing she feels confident in.

“if something happened to you—”

“i can take care of myself,” she insists. she twists the ring hard around her finger and stares him down.

he looks like he wants to say no. he’s going to say no, laura knows it. her heart pounds in her chest, a frantic rhythm that reminds her she’s here, and she won’t let anyone take that from her.

something pinches in his face and then softens. he sighs.

agent cooper likes to talk to her. he likes to take her out to breakfast and talk. laura doesn't do much talking, but she doesn't mind listening to him. she enjoys it.

sometimes they talk about the case, the demon. it's slow-going, this one, and neither of them have found anything concrete yet. mostly, agent cooper likes to talk about ducks. he pulls polaroids of ducks out of his wallet. agent rosenfield joins them reluctantly for breakfast one morning and tells her about the numerous times agent cooper has braked for a family of geese. laura almost smiles. she wonders how agent cooper does it. how he's seen so much darkness and hasn't let it touch him, how he can still smile like he does. he's okay enough. what has he done that laura hasn't?

"tell me about where you're from," agent cooper says one day.

laura shrugs, uncomfortable. "it's a small town in washington, near the canadian border." she shoves her hands into her pockets. she thinks without wanting to of jacques renault's cabin in the woods, and chews hard on the inside of her mouth. "lots of trees," she mutters.

"what kind of trees?" agent cooper asks, sounding interested.

"i don't know," laura says, quicker than she wants. "they're just trees." but they weren't just trees to her, they were eyes and secrets and she didn't feel safe in them, and she doesn't want to think about it now. she ran away so she wouldn't have to. "i don't want to talk about it."

agent cooper is quiet for a long time. "fear is a powerful thing," he says. "it's unwise to let it consume you."

"i know!" laura shouts. there's still so much she doesn't know, but she knows that for sure, she stared fear right in the face and didn't let it kill her. she killed it instead, and she'll keep killing it, tearing it apart, over and over, as long as it takes until it's all gone and she's safe.

agent cooper is still calm, still quiet, and laura suddenly hates that look on his face.

"i'm not afraid of it," she whispers.

"what are you afraid of?" agent cooper asks gently.

laura glares at him. "what are you afraid of?"

agent cooper answers with only minimal pausing. "that i will be consumed by my own fear. that what i do, and what i am, is not enough, and will never be enough."

and what is she afraid of? that i'll never be okay, laura thinks. i'll never be enough, either. i'll never hold something i can call my own. i'll be alone forever because no one will love me, no one could, even i couldn't. and she could do it, she could survive. but she's done that all her life. she's come so close to living, and she wants it, she wants it more than anything else.

"how do you do it?" she asks.

"i am under no illusion that it is easy," agent cooper says, "and if i gave you that impression at all, then i'm sorry, laura." he looks sad. it's a strange look on him. "there are some things i wish i hadn't taken with me. but i'm stuck with them. i try to do what i can, and at times it is harder than others."

"how do you know it's worth it?"

"i don't." he smiles slowly. "but i like to believe it is."

laura lets herself think about twin peaks. it's a scary thing, her memories of that town, but it's what she has, like it or not.

she thinks about donna, and wonders how she is. if donna's with james or not, and laura sort of hopes she isn't. what james is even doing, if he's grown up at all. how bobby's doing with shelly, if he's okay, if shelly's okay. what ronette is up to, if she still sees leo and jacques. laura hopes not, because there are better people out there for ronette. if audrey's sorted out her problems. if her parents—

there aren't that many memories of her parents that haven't been tainted and twisted and pulled apart. but she digs through them all and remembers them dancing, the way her mother would laugh and how her father would smile.

she hopes her parents still dance.

agent cooper finds the demon.

laura tells him that she'll handle it. agent cooper insists they handle it together, which laura immediately refuses. they go back and forth for longer than the average breakfast as laura tries to get him to let her do it alone. she has to do it alone. this one, for sure. she's been thinking about what agent cooper said and she needs to do something, and this is how she's going to do it.

ultimately, agent cooper tells agent rosenfield that he and laura will handle it, and agent rosenfield looks less than pleased about it. he spends what laura thinks is longer than necessary glaring at her while he lights a cigarette. she gets the impression that he doesn't like much of anything, except agent cooper, because he lets them do it.

then agent cooper, who says it's against his better judgment but understands why laura wants to do it, lets her do it alone.

"wait for me," laura tells him, before she walks into the woods. everything is washed in cool red from the sunset, and she twists the ring around her finger again.

"without a doubt," agent cooper replies.

laura thinks all of them, all the demons, look like bob, a little. in some way or another. they all do. they're all different, but they're all sharp and horrifying and she still sees his face, every time. she holds it tight and closes her eyes. the darkness is heavy on her skin, in her mouth. she knows that weight, that darkness.

don't be afraid.

she's been that darkness. she is that darkness, maybe, twisted up and hurt and wrong. she still hurts so much. it's hard to get up and it's hard to fight and it's hard to do anything.

but it's enough.

laura opens her eyes and stares it down and tells herself she is stronger than it, than anything, and she starts to believe herself. there is a darkness, and there will always be a darkness, but she and her presence are enough and she will live every day staring it down until it's so small it doesn't even matter. there will always be monsters, but there will always be laura palmer.

i will not go away.

the ring sparkles bright on her hand, and the demon bursts into nothing. its screams echo and laura’s don’t.

agent cooper looks ridiculously pleased, and agent rosenfield just looks like he wants to leave town as quickly as possible. it's a nice sight, the two of them. laura will miss them.

"laura palmer," agent cooper says, "it has been an honor to work with you."

laura smiles and lets herself be pulled into a genuine hug for the first time in a long time. agent cooper smells like pine trees and laundry detergent, and she buries her face into his jacket and holds on.

"what are you going to do now?" he asks.

laura picks up a postcard.

donna—

had a muffin with eight whole huckleberries. and counting.

love, laura

#twin peaks

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thevividgreenmoss · 5 years

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Like much folk horror, The Wicker Man first appears to be a rural exploitation story in which an urbanite stumbles across a backwater burg where society’s standardized pieties aren’t observed. But it twists into a story about how useful a naive scapegoat—the “fool,” as Howie is positioned by Summerisle—can be in keeping the pitchforks pointed down at the land and never up at the landowner. Whether Lee’s character buys into his folksy, back-to-the-land heresy is irrelevant. For all his rituals and ceremonies, he remains gentry. This is what governs his actions, and what seals Howie’s fiery fate.

In Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019), a group of curious American millennials decamp to a remote Swedish hamlet for a highly Instagrammable solstice festival (think Maypoles, peasant dresses, flower crowns, and all the other summery, Coachella-chic accoutrements). In Wicker Man fashion, their arrival is more auspicious than it initially appears, as they end up embroiled in a conspiratorial pagan plot, unfolding against the ceaseless daylight of the Scandinavian mid-summer. Even before Midsommar, the ideas and imagery of The Wicker Man have sprouted up across the landscape of contemporary horror cinema, tapping into fears about manipulation, xenophobia, urban-rural divides, crowds gone mad, post-truth epistemology, and a lurking sense that personal agency is illusory, with the actions of the individual governed by forces that are (or are presented as being) beyond our ken.

In Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange, Adam Scovell identifies isolation, landscape, skewed morality, and a happening/summoning (often in the form of ritual sacrifice) as the four links in the “folk horror chain.” In Robert Eggers’s The Witch (2015), a family of seventeenth century Puritans banished from their New England village must carve out their place in a hostile, unforgiving landscape. Crops fail, family members disappear, livestock is unsettled, and adolescent girls fall prey to the hysterical throes of puberty. In Eggers’s film, it’s as if nature—that immortal “devil’s playground”—is avenging itself on the colonizers who came to tame it.

...In contrast to horror films that teach us to fear Satanists simply because they are Satanists (Rosemary’s Baby, The Mephisto Waltz, House of the Devil), The Wicker Man and its progeny force us to reckon with the deeper implications of the hooting-and-hollering heretic cabal. Folk horror may be best distinguished not by its mere depiction of Satanists, pagans, witches, buxom nudes wreathed in summer garlands, but by the manner in which they pose threats to our fundamental beliefs. Unlike most horror, in which an interloping monster is either destroyed (in order to purge a threat to an established order) or otherwise incorporated into that order, folk horror operates by implicating the viewer in the dissolution and destruction of that order.

...The first wave of folk horror crested during the waning of a vital counter-culture that had wholesale rejected long-held beliefs about social order, gender, sexuality, and imperialism. If 1968, the year Witchfinder General was released, marks the beginning of the folk horror cycle, it also marks the moment where utopian visions of social revolution were abandoning a politics of collective liberation and ceding to New Age philosophies of personal transformation. The genre’s development maps onto the what Scovell describes as “a backdrop of confident optimism disintegrating impossibly quickly into a nihilistic pessimism.” The films crack open the space between the promise of Paris 1968 and the repression of Kent State 1970, between the dream of Woodstock and the nightmare of Altamont, between The Beatles and Black Sabbath.

Folk horror’s original social context saw the energy animating the 1960s collectivist repudiation of traditional values fizzle and fade into the following decade’s interest in esotericism, astrology, and the occult. Some hippies who suspected that the existing social order could not be willed away with songs about peace and love reasoned that they could at least build their own Buckminster Fuller-style domes and settled into agricultural communes to experiment with pantheistic spiritualties.

...While The Wicker Man’s viewers are not exactly invited to cheer as Howie burns, the merry music and free love of the Summerislanders does seem more fun than the dour abstention of the film’s ostensible protagonist. Teenage daughter Tomasin’s entry into the forest at the end of The Witch is also treated with similar ambiguity. The witches’ coven is both a source of fear for the viewer and freedom for the character, who after accepting the enticing offer of a talking goat—“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”—gets to literally fly away from her overbearing, repressive family.

The overlapping intention here is not mere proselytizing, or preaching the ethical superiority of some alternative, some hippy-dippy, left-liberal, or openly Satanic worldview. Indeed, some read the end of The Wicker Man as a defense of Howie’s beliefs (a reading encouraged by the rictus grinning Summerislanders who gaze upon his burning body, joined together to sing some sinister folk shanty). But finding horror in the space between opposing belief systems, rather than in the content of belief systems themselves, allows these films to appeal both to the permaculture-curious anarchist sporting a “Cops for Crops” back patch and the Christian viewer scared of the Beltane-observing freaks who hate their un-freedom.

A 1998 reappraisal of The Wicker Man in a Scottish broadsheet identified the shifting appeal of a film that, since its release, was regarded as little more than a relatively obscure Brit-film cult classic:

Now, as demonstrated by the enthusiastic remarks of a group of New Age twenty-somethings with Celtic tattoos (that’s Celtic with a hard C, folks) and faces full of ironmongery, The Wicker Man has become keenly appreciated not only by mainstream film buffs and horror hounds but by people who find it a vindication of their own mystical beliefs. It is as though a movie of The Diary of Anne Frank were to become a hit with Nazis, who’d come along to cheer the feel-good ending when the storm troopers haul the Frank family out of the attic.

It’s a sarcastic quip that probably seemed absurd at the time, invoking a comparison so far outside the sphere of consensus that it’s easy to brush off as a harmless joke. But it seems, like so many historical absurdities, considerably less funny now, as white supremacist attacks on synagogues and racially motivated murders regularly dominate the fickle news cycle. The surge of blood-and-soil, volkish fascism in North America makes the counter-cultural embrace of folk horror antagonists seem more deeply uncomfortable, especially when groups like the Soldiers of Odin and the Wolves of Vinland incorporate runic symbols and pagan iconography that seems culled from some hard-bound Compendium of Folk Horror.

In Gods of the Blood: The Pagan Revival and White Separatism, Mattias Gardell argues that during the 1990s, Ariosophic occultism and Norse heathen religions like Asatru overtook Christian Identity as the spiritual dimension of the white supremacist movement. This might seem like a crude projection of the fears of the present onto the films of the past, demanding a revision of that old Mark Twain quote: “To a man with a Hammer film, every nail driven into the palms of a scapegoat looks like brigades of /pol/ cybernazis unleashing Pepes of pestilence to trigger the libs.” But the association between the appeals of paganism and fascism was not lost on The Wicker Man helmer Robin Hardy, who in a 1979 interview was quoted as saying: “It was no accident that Hitler brought back all those pagan feasts at the Nuremberg rallies. The ovens would be lit later.”

Such evaluations may be reasonably deemed a little suspect; like a variation of the internet-favorite Reductio ad Hitlerum fallacy, in which the themes of Hardy’s film gain consequence in their evocation of the world-historic cataclysm of the Holocaust. But they gain a renewed (and again, sinisterly absurd) significance in the present moment, where symbols of paganism and white nationalism are being revived not only in conspicuous tandem, but confused confluence. In place of a more conspicuous swastika, a more obscure runic symbol—a Celtic cross, Thor’s hammer, the German Wolfsangel—will suffice. Once again, the symbols and regalia of the past (be it the imagined distant past of pre-Christian heathenry or the more recent past of the Third Reich) are being revived. We live in an age where, ludicrous as it may seem, certain viewers may well cheer the Nazis hauling Anne Frank out of her annex.

...At its core, folk horror is speculative fiction about the failures of the Age of Enlightenment. In Tentacles Longer than the Night, Eugene Thacker explains how the universal maxims of Enlightenment thinkers are conditional. Kant’s categorical imperative requires one to act “as if” the values dictating their actions are universally valid. In supernatural horror, the conditions of this logic are violated by the appearance of some entity that threatens the anthropocentric view of the world, evoking terror from the knowledge that Enlightenment rationality is bumping up against its limit.

Folk horror, by contrast, inverts rather than negates Enlightenment philosophy: the mob sacrifices the individual, peasant superstitions supplant science and reason as the true source of knowledge, a holistic and animistic conception of the universe overtakes an atomistic and mechanistic one. The genre presents a return of these things that had to be repressed in the transition towards a rational, individualistic, and ultimately capitalist social order: witchcraft, female empowerment, sexuality, and an organismic, earth-based conception of the universe.

Here the idea is not so much that logic and reason have reached some natural limit, but rather that the promises of the Enlightenment are always provisional, subject to revocation following one too many bad harvests. Again, the ideological structure may seem warped and inverted, but it possesses an internal, contingent consistency. The death of Sergeant Howie turns the standard horror trope of sexuality and impropriety leading to death on its ear. Unlike the many slain corpses stacked elsewhere in the horror genre, Howie’s sin is precisely his dopey virginity and piousness.

For all its dabbling with the supernatural, the folk horror genre is ultimately one rooted in materialism. The landscape holds considerable power over its people, but not in a mystical way. Allan Brown argues that The Wicker Man specifically can be read as a sci-fi story about technological failure—without the barren fruit trees caused by the poor performance of Lord Summerisle’s experimental botany, no sacrifice would be needed. If the Enlightenment philosophy that provides the grounds for contemporary liberalism involves a faith in humanity’s ability to transcend material conditions, to behave as if laws were universal and human ingenuity had no natural limits, then The Wicker Man brings us back down to earth, and we are reminded of the material conditions that make modern society possible.

Chained up in the wooden structure, Howie attempts to reason with the Lord:

Your crops failed because your strains failed. Fruit is not meant to be grown on these islands. It’s against nature. Don’t you see that killing me is not going to bring back your apples? . . . Don’t you understand that if your crops fail this year, next year you’re going to have to have another blood sacrifice? And next year, no one less than the king of Summerisle himself will do.

In this moment, Adam Scovell argues, the film is “laying down the law/lore of folk horror; that fear supplanted into communities comes back to haunt those who sowed its first seeds.” Burning to death, Howie calls out to his Christian god; the villagers sing and dance as they offer him up to their pagan lords. The viewer may feel that Howie is right, the apples won’t come next year, but the horror comes from the realization that Summerisle is also right: the sacrifice will be accepted.

Like the detestable vogue in white nationalist movements, which cop their iconography and philosophy from the rubbish heap of some imagined pre-Christian, Aryanist past, the renewal of folk horror (particularly in the American context) speaks to an unsettling truth, festering in contemporary political and cultural life. The return to symbology of Neo-Paganism, or the back-to-the-land return to the supposed “realness” inherent in far-off solstice festivals (an attraction of authenticity alluring the lambs of Midsommar), suggests not so much an antidote to the cult of Enlightenment rationality as its uncanny complement. Think only of Julius Caesar himself, whose grisly imagery of human bodies crammed into a flaming wicker statue was utterly self-serving: casting Gauls and Celts as paranoid pagans in order to justify their slaughter and conquest at the tips of legionnaires’ spearheads.

The horror latent in folk horror, then as now, is not an abject fear of pagans or free-loving hippies or straight-up Satanists. It’s the unsettling knowledge that the people are often all too willing to trade one form of power and subjugation for an aesthetically different manifestation of those same conditions, if only to restore faith in power itself. Even if the crops continue to fail, and the heathens of Summerisle never again taste a locally sourced organic apple, it doesn’t matter: the sacrifice succeeds. Killing Howie need not bring back the damn apples themselves, so long as it restores faith in ritual, mysticism, heathen magick, and the other counter-Enlightenment energies that Lee’s Summerisle, in all his sinisterness and sartorial preposterousness, wields in a perverse seasonal pageant, all undertaken to consolidate his own power: as gentry and patriarch, one Lord substituted for another.

#I love this #like the end of the witch is thrilling and seemingly and maybe to an extent actually liberatory but also like tomasin's escaped one horrible #situation to now be in a seemingly better one but even there she'll be under the thrall/control of black philip or w/e so she isn't truly #free or in control of her own destiny #but all the ideological collisions and the inadequacy of colonial new england puritanical insanity #or modernity & the trappings of western/christian civilization as embodied by the wicker man guy #ie general bourgeois liberal enlightenment values being seen as the highest/most ideal form of living/thinking #in providing actual meaning/freedom for the people living under it makes them prone to being overtaken by like an insane death cult which #may have some aesthetic differences + some differences in lifestyle which are genuinely more appealing/fulfilling in certain ways but #ultimately still hold everyone under the domination of an unchallenged power structure #same with the impotence of contemporary liberal multiculturalism when it comes to actaully reckoning with the historical legacy/contemporary #impact of a racist society as seen in get out #and on and on #essays #*

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muertawrites · 5 years

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An Unwanted Guest (Loki x Reader) [Part 1]

Summary: The house at the end of your street is supposedly empty, and it very much appears that way... That is, until one of the neighborhood kids comes to you claiming to have seen the monster that lives within it.

Word Count: 4,000

Author’s Note: I originally planned to write multiple fics over the month, but none of the ideas I came up with ended up working out, so I decided to devote the month to just writing one really good, long, suspenseful fic instead. I’m personally very proud of this one, especially since she’s so dummy thicc - part 2 comes tomorrow! Have a safe and spooky time this weekend, and don’t go exploring abandoned buildings without the proper equipment. Happy Halloween, freaks!!!

~ 🕸🎃💀Muerta💀🎃🕸

{ masterlist }

You had no reason to believe the house at the end of your street was haunted. It was simply empty; abandoned since anyone could remember. You assumed it was the mystery of the place, combined with the fact that you lived in a town so old that storied horrors were commonplace, that the rumors surrounding the house’s phantasmal residents began. Kids liked to scare other kids, and adults were unnerved by the unknown; the mystery and unease surrounding the ancient, empty house gave way to imaginings of what sort of terrible things could have happened inside for it to stand uninhabited for nearly a century.

Murder was a common theme in many of the stories you heard:

“The man who built that house was having an affair, so he killed his wife and children and buried their bodies in the basement. When his new wife found out, he killed her and buried her down there, too.”

“That house belonged to a serial killer. She used to kidnap kids and torture them, and she used their bodies for fertilizer in her garden.”

“A mortician owned that house. He went crazy, and instead of burying the bodies like he was supposed to, he kept them in his house because he was lonely. He hid them in the walls. When people got suspicious, he left town, and all the bodies are still in there.”

While all were creative and entertaining, you wrote most of the theories off as sensationalism - scary stories made up by children who wanted to scare their siblings, and parents who wanted to scare their children.

Still, sharing a street with the old property made you curious. From the front of your own house you could see it; perched atop a steep hill, its facade peeking through a threshold of dense trees. You often sat on your porch or by your front window and looked up at the house, watching the neighborhood cats slip in and out of its hidden porticoes. It did nothing that any other abandoned house didn’t do, its dark, vacant eyes looking sadly upon its livelier counterparts below.

And yet, there was something entirely wrong about the house that made you believe it wasn’t as empty as it seemed. Though you saw nothing in the motions of the day-to-day that suggested life within, the building itself seemed to be alive. It seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling in time with the wind. When your eyes met the windows in the second story, you felt as though they were looking back at you, watching you as intently as you watched them. It seemed to observe everything around it, taking stock of each change in season and weather, its attitude shifting with their rhythm. The house had a soul - a soul that felt entirely as human as your own.

When Halloween rolled around, the house was something of a main attraction for the kids living in your neighborhood. Kids who were too old for trick or treating would attempt to break in, only to find the task impossible due to how terribly rotted the decrepit building was; younger kids would get in on the action too, daring their friends to go up and try to knock on the door. You found that most of the kids scared themselves before the house could, amused every year watching them scatter in fear when they attempted to traverse the curtain of dense foliage that protected the house from their prying eyes.

This Halloween was the same as any other; you stood on your porch and gave out candy, enjoying the liveliness the holiday brought to your sleepy little corner of the world. It had gotten late; most of the houses on your street had turned out their lights for the evening, and only a few groups of children old enough to be out without chaperones wandered about, searching for something to do that could delay the night coming to an end. You decided, looking down at your nearly empty cauldron, that the remaining candy would be your own treat, and began to gather up your decorations to shut down this year’s haunts.

Not long after your decision to turn in, the peaceful din of nighttime around you was broken by the sound of someone shrieking your name.

Jack, the twelve year old boy who lived beside you, sprinted up the street towards your house, his face twisted with panic. He was accompanied by one of his friends; they were dressed like Batman and Robin, their booted feet shaking the boards of your porch as they clambered up onto it. Their faces were red, their brows glazed with sweat, and their chests heaving, each breath they exhaled reeking with terror.

“Jack,” you cried, dropping everything you held and catching him as he skidded into your arms. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“We’re fine,” Jack panted, “we didn’t let it get us.”

“What?” you asked. “Didn’t let what get you?”

“There’s something up there,” his partner explained. She pointed up the hill, your gaze falling on the shadow of the abandoned house against the haze of the night sky.

“The house is actually haunted,” Jack told you, his voice pitching with fear. “There’s a monster in there and it tried to kill us.”

You furrowed your brow, letting your eyes shift between the two shivering children at your doorstep. The horror on their faces was undeniably genuine, but you had a hard time believing that supernatural forces could have caused it.

“Jack, there’s nothing in that house,” you said, reaching out and patting his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. “You and I see it every day, right? Have you ever seen anything up there before?”

“We went into the garden,” his friend interjected. “There was something in the window, and then when we started to leave it was right in front of us.”

“Yeah, it blocked us from the road,” Jack added. “We ran through the woods and it chased us. It was going to kill us, I swear it was!”

The poor boy was hysterical. You pursed your lips together, looking back up to the silhouette of the vacant house atop the hill. All was dark as usual; you couldn’t even see flashlight beams to indicate anyone snooping about the grounds.

“Are your parents home?” you asked Jack.

“They went to the cinema,” he replied. “I don’t think they’ll be home until late.”

Deciding your decorations could wait, you ushered Jack and his friend inside. You sat them at the kitchen table and heated some cider for them, serving each cup with a plate of chocolate biscuits. You waited until the warmth returned to their bodies and a relative calm had set in, their biscuits and cider half gone, before inquiring any more about their ordeal.

“What did it look like? The thing you saw?” you prodded as you added fresh cider to the cooling cups on the table.

“I didn’t really see it,” Jack admitted, clutching his mug close to his chest. “Emily saw more than I did.”

Emily - Jack’s friend - nodded.

“I thought it was a man at first,” she told you. “It looked like a man, but it was too tall, and it had glowing red eyes. I screamed when I saw it and grabbed Jack and we ran away through the forest. We could hear it chasing us and growling but it stopped when we got back to the road.”

You hummed, pondering her words as you leaned back against the kitchen counter. You’d heard of teenagers playing some pretty mean tricks on younger kids that came around the house on Halloween, but such tricks were common enough to be expected. Jack wasn’t an anxious kid by any means; he’d never been easily scared, and was used to the older boys’ pranks to the point that he would often warn the really young kids in the neighborhood what to look for when they went exploring up on the hill. Someone - or something - was definitely up there, working with more malice than usual for a kid like Jack to come away terrified.

“The older kids have probably just gotten creative this year,” you assured the two of them. “We could call it in, but I’d rather go up and make sure they’re not hurting anyone so we don’t waste the the police’s time on a night like tonight.”

“With all due respect, miss,” Emily said, “have you ever seen a scary movie? Nobody ever goes to check something out and comes back alive.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed, nodding his head furiously as fear began to creep back into his expression. “What if it really is a monster?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their concern as you pulled a flashlight down from one of the cupboards, slipping it into the pocket of your jacket.

“I’ll have my phone with me,” you told them. “I’ll text you to let you know where I am at all times, and I’ll call the cops if anything goes wrong.”

You then went to the hall closet and retrieved a heavy crowbar, which you swung menacingly over your shoulder, grinning mirthfully at the kids as their eyes went wide.

“And besides, no one who ever died in a horror movie had a very good weapon,” you said. “Michael Meyers wouldn’t have stood a chance against me if I’d run into him.”

Though Jack and Emily continued to protest your going to investigate, you assured them that everything would be fine; nothing truly dangerous had happened in your town for decades, and you promised that you wouldn’t be going too close to the house; just checking around the property for any kids causing trouble. You told them to stay inside, lock all the doors and windows if they needed to, and with a click of the switch on your flashlight, you were off.

The climb up to the top of the hill was lonely and black, your path lined with dense forest on either side. Wind rustled angrily through the trees above, sending up a tempestuous din that drowned out the neighborhood’s quiet evening ambiance. Crows called to each other from either side of the road, and all you could see was what was illuminated by the dim beam of your torch. As you neared the top of the hill, the crunch of leaves beneath your feet began to fade into the churn of gravel, the pavement crumbling into dirt as it turned off into the rounded driveway of the old house.

Upon a cursory glance around the front yard, nothing seemed amiss; no beams from other flashlights, no screams of stray trick-or-treaters, hardly even an animal to be found. All was silent, which unnerved you.

You made your way closer to the house, shining your torch upon its face. It had been a nice home once; far grander than any of the other houses in the neighborhood, which had all been built after the end of the first World War. The abandoned house was much older; you guessed as old as the 1700s, or maybe even earlier.

It was built of sturdy red brick, some of which had begun to come free from their holdings and tumble into the yard below. A large, pointed structure made up the center of the building, from which two separate wings stretched on each side. Each wing was two stories high, with the center of the home standing a story taller than its siblings. The house was preceded by a rounded driveway; one traditionally intended for horses and carriages. A grand stone porch stood hardly supported by a crumbling set of stairs, atop which were a set of large wooden doors. The lantern that had once lit the entryway lay shattered at their feet. Every window of the house that wasn’t broken was boarded up, and most of the roof’s shingles had either been blown away or were barely clinging on. Vines and moss covered the house’s brick facade, the vines creeping in and out of crevices in the masonry and making their home where they were least wanted. As you rounded the side of the house, overgrown grass and shrubbery grasped at your feet and ankles, threatening to trip you if you made a misstep. One of the trees lining the house’s north wing had reached its branches through a second story window, growing into the building as if it intended to move in.

The back garden was in an even worse state than the front of the property. Herbs, flowers, and weeds overran the place, taking up every available inch of once neatly groomed land. The foliage reached all the way to the treeline, many hundred yards from where the garden began. Brick pathways that once brought order to the space were now in ruin, many of them buried beneath vines and shrubbery that had begun to strangle them decades ago. The house itself had almost completely fallen apart in the back, entire sections of its foundation missing and the steps leading to the back patio completely fallen away. You raised your flashlight up over the windows of the conservatory, its windows shattered and coated in a thick layer of grime.

You circled around the other side of the house, peeking into the surrounding forest to try and catch anyone who might be hiding. By the time you came back to the front yard, you’d only managed to startle a few crows who were picking at a few bits of candy left behind by visitors earlier in the night. The house was just as lifeless as you’d said it was; the monster the children had seen must have been the work of a particularly twisted bully. Satisfied, you began to make your way back to the road.

The metallic sound of splintering glass stopped you in your tracks. It was faint; not as if someone had thrown something through a window, but as if a shard of glass had been dislodged from its frame, shattering to the ground below.

You turned back to the house, raising your flashlight to the lower story of the south wing, where you were certain the sound had come from. For a split second, something got caught in the beam. It slipped out of sight before you could make out much of what it was, but you managed to steal a glimpse of its face before it disappeared into the darkness; sharp, ghoulish features set into skin the color of a stormy sea, with bright crimson eyes that flashed under the glare from your torch.

The thing was certainly not human.

You made your way back up the front drive of the house, curiosity getting the better of your fears. The broken lantern on the porch was too massive to traverse, so you made your way again to the back garden, where a bit of crumbled foundation lay dislodged from the rest of the house below one of the conservatory windows. You easily scaled it, allowing you to access the room via the gap in the broken pane.

You smashed what was left of the window with your crowbar and tossed the tool inside as discreetly as you could, holding your torch between your teeth so your hands were free. You swung one leg over the threshold, then the other, cursing as your knee scraped a stray shard of glass and was sliced open, causing you to lose your balance. In an attempt to grab hold of something and steady yourself, you cut your palms on the jagged edges of broken glass protruding from the window frame. You tumbled gracelessly to the conservatory floor, dropping your flashlight as the back of your head smacked against the tile, the impact vibrating through your skull.

For a few minutes, you lay where you fell, clutching your bloody knee with your equally bloody hands, eyes shut in agony. Of all the idiotic horror movie decisions you could have made, you chose what might have been the worst; you were injured, possibly concussed, writhing on the ground in a growing puddle of your own blood, and you’d dropped the only weapons at your disposal. You stood no chance if the monster lurking in the shadows (if it were a monster at all) happened to be hungry for human flesh.

Once your head stopped ringing from its collision with the floor, you slowly turned yourself onto your side, feeling around as far as your arm could reach for either the flashlight or the crowbar. As your fingers, wet and starting to become sticky with drying blood, roamed over the tile, however, you noticed something odd; the floor wasn’t cold.

Being well into the midst of autumn, the air had been chilled and damp for weeks now; you would expect the conservatory of an abandoned house to be freezing. Instead, the tile below you met your skin with a comfortable coolness, like the underside of a pillow overturned on a hot night. The air around you was considerably warmer as well; you could feel the heat radiating from a fire that couldn’t have been more than a few dozen yards away.

You opened your eyes to find the clawed foot of an ottoman’s leg staring resolutely back at you. The darkness you expected to find around you was instead a warm, gentle glow, flickering from an entryway at the side of the room and casting deep shadows on the furniture inside; furniture that looked well kept and frequently used.

Slowly, as not to dizzy yourself or further upset your injuries, you sat up, turning your head carefully as you surveyed your surroundings. The tall, arched windows and glass ceiling of the conservatory still stood above you, but were replaced with glass and fixtures that were entirely intact, the only broken window being the one you entered through. Instead of a greenhouse, the room was fitted as a sitting room; the ottoman you were acquainted with stood between a loveseat and a set of living chairs, all intricately carved from fine, dark wood and upholstered in rich leather. Furs were draped over the backs of the chairs, and low shelves stacked with antique volumes lined the walls where the windows ended and the house’s foundation began. Velvet curtains hung partially open over each set of panes.

You rolled, pressing your uninjured knee to the floor and hoisting yourself onto your feet. Once standing, you faced an archway that led to the rest of the house; the light that spilled through it emanated from a fire, which you could hear faintly crackling in the next room. You peered as far into the room as you could without taking a step, assuring that, as far as you knew, the creature you saw from the outside of the house didn’t lurk within. You found your crowbar at the foot of the window you broke and, wielding it over your shoulder as best you could with your lacerated hands, made your way cautiously forward.

The next room over was the entrance hall. Again, instead of the dilapidated, decaying structure you expected to find, you were met with a space that was very much lived in, lit by a chandelier and warmed by a large fireplace at the foot of the stairs. These stairs led to the upper stories of the center building, as well as to the second floor of each wing, and split into two descending limbs which wrapped around the wall the fireplace was set into; its chimney climbed up into the ceiling, obscuring the second story landing and the stairs that led up to the building’s third floor. Corridors on either side of the room led into the north and south wings of the house, each guarded by a set of ornate wooden doors. A massive, intricately woven rug covered the expanse of the floor. You were baffled by the place, starting to become unsure where exactly you stood in terms of reality.

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you ventured forward into the south wing, cautiously pushing its sentry doors inward. You were met by a long hallway, upon which one wall was lined with tall, arched windows shielded by more sets of velvet curtains. More sets of doors were laid into the opposite wall, each lit by a wall sconce glowing with orange flame. Upon the walls hung multiple detailed tapestries, each depicting scenes you could only guess came from myths; most of their imagery featured large beasts and various godlike deities. You examined these stories as you walked, only noticing you reached the end of the hall when the tapestries themselves came to an end.

You stood in front of the last set of doors in the row, wondering if you should risk attempting to open them. Your head swam with confusion, and you felt the only way to clear it was to continue exploring. Had you fallen into some sort of time warp? Was this an alternate dimension where the house remained inhabited? Had you hit your head hard enough that you were hallucinating all of this? Maybe you’d wake up in a hospital bed and find that it was all some sort of vivid dream. Or maybe you were dead and this was purgatory. No matter what the case, something propelled you forward, desperate to find answers, and you reached for the handle of the door before you.

You entered a library, one which spanned both the ground and upper floors of the south wing. Windows as high as the second story covered two walls, while the rest of the room was split by a balcony, each floor housing built-in bookcases filled to their brims with albums and artifacts. A fireplace beside the door you had just come through was beginning to die out, its embers flickering gold in the darkness, illuminating a set of leather sofas draped with furs; they were much like those you’d encountered in the sitting room, but much larger, plusher, and more welcoming.

Beyond this area stood an ancient looking desk, its legs engraved with Celtic knots and its top littered with various scrolls and huge, leather bound books, each scrawling with characters in a language you’d never seen nor heard of. Further befuddled, you wandered upstairs, where, nestled between the bookshelves, were another set of doors. You eased them open, leaning forward to peer behind them before you stepped in.

The connecting room was a bedroom, and a grand one at that. Though the only light came from a dim lantern placed upon a table in its center, you could still take in the room’s layout; a bed dressed in pelts and linens sat pressed against the wall to your left, its wooden headboard leaning between more sets of towering windows and curtains. At the foot of the bed was yet another sitting area and fireplace, furnished in the same fashion as the others you’d encountered. The ceilings were high and domed, coming together in a graceful point above the center of the room like the ceiling of a Gothic cathedral. Moving inside the bedroom, you caught sight of an archway leading to what you assumed was a bathroom, and two more pairs of double doors that must have led to other parts of the second story.

You crossed the room, choosing one of the doorways and resting your fingers upon its handle. As soon as your skin grazed the cool metal, a broad, frigid hand landed firmly on your shoulder, digging its nails into your flesh and spinning you roughly around to face its owner.

Part 2

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wetalkinboutbooks · 5 years

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Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan

Summary: Each year, eight beautiful girls are chosen as Paper Girls to serve the king. It's the highest honour they could hope for...and the most demeaning. This year, there's a ninth. And instead of paper, she's made of fire.

In this richly developed fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most persecuted class of people in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards for an unknown fate still haunts her. Now, the guards are back and this time it's Lei they're after -- the girl with the golden eyes whose rumoured beauty has piqued the king's interest.

Over weeks of training in the opulent but oppressive palace, Lei and eight other girls learns the skills and charm that befit a king's consort. There, she does the unthinkable -- she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens her world's entire way of life. Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at heart, must decide how far she's willing to go for justice and revenge. (Taken from Goodreads).

Our Ratings:

→ Geena: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

→ Kae: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: We really enjoyed this book!! It was well-written, had both engaging characters and an interesting plot. The world building is well done, the plot twists are WILD, and the romance is wholesome. TW: Assault, but Natasha handles that well. The spoiler-full discussion is below the cut.

The Good:

Lei and Wren

Kae: Okay. So we have Lei, the main character with these ~wonderful~ golden eyes. She is taken from her home on account of her golden eyes and delivered to the King as a gift. This all happens because a guard wants to get back on the Kings good side. Now, our girl is a concubine

Geena: We also meet Wren and we know almost nothing about her other than she’s hot (according to Lei) and cold. In addition, a group of other concubines, one of which... Blue... has it out for Lei.

Kae: Wren! I liked Wren from the start. She captured my attention the way she captured Lei’s. She’s always watching. Always calculating. Always alert. We soon learn that Wren’s cold demeanor is just a facade and she’s secretly a bad bitch.

Geena: I agree, I also liked that Wren was written aloof, but not like an asshole like Blue was shown to be. Both Blue and Wren were from powerful families, but Wren knew how to act. Also! The development we see from Lei seeing Wren and just thinking she’s hot like every other girl and slowly falling for her was *chefs kiss*.

Kae: Watching Lei slowly fall in love with Wren was so nice to see. In a lot of YA books, the character meets the love interest in one chapter, then they’re declaring their love two chapters later. So it was refreshing to see them fall for each other the way they did. I liked how the audience knew Lei liked Wren, but LEI DIDN’T KNOW SHE LIKED WREN. Silly girl! Wren also takes her time with Lei and allows Lei to take the lead most of the time. They’re going at Lei’s speed and whenever she isn’t ready for something, Wren backs off like the suave lady she is.

Geena: Oh my god, you’re so right, I didn’t even notice. Wren is probably the most respectable love interests I’ve seen written in a long time, she didn’t force Lei into doing anything she didn’t want to. And like Kae said, it wasn’t INSTA-LOVE, also I don’t know if I’d classify this as YA? More like New Adult, since it does deal with mature subjects like assault. Also god, every time Lei was like “Wren looked ravishing, and it made me feel a type of way… I wonder why…” I wanted to throw my book, she was clearly infatuated but refused to acknowledge her feelings.

Kae: “NA.” That should be a genre. New Adult. That’d work really well. YA shouldn’t even be “YA”. It should be like, not “YA”. ANYWAY. UNRELATED. Yes. Lei had a BIG OL CRUSH. Like, GIRL. YOU LIKE HER. MAKE A MOOOVE. And then… Wren made the move. UGH POETIC CINEMA. Or... Poetic literature.

Geena: Overall, Natasha wrote a really sweet wlw pairing, and it was refreshing to read… Especially the fact that it was well written AND the main pairing, and not just a jab at “diversity” a lot of books tend to do. 10/10 Romance.

Worldbuilding

Geena: Time to dive into that furry shit. First off, the author takes inspiration from her Malaysian roots, which is cool and all but GODDAMN there was some furry shit going on. She did explain the class separations and overall history really well, right?

Kae: I 100% agree with you on the furry shit and how well everything is explained and written. So basically, we have the Moon Caste (the full on furries/demons) which are the ruling/upper caste. The Steele caste (humans who have partial animal/demons qualities) aka the middle class. Then last but not least (well, absolutely the least in their case), the paper caste who are humans with no special qualities. Except Lei, who has literal golden eyes.

Geena: Natasha did a really good job on simplifying the differences between the castes and the history that led to their current states. BUT I wasn’t sure of how her magic system worked? Like can only furries be shaman, how do people become shamans? Are they born with it, or is it Maybelline. ANOTHER THING, it was kind of hard to visualize the demons she described, only because my lizard brain always thought of the animals from Kung Fu Panda. Though one thing that threw me for a loop was the fact that Natasha chose to have a Bull-Form demon as the king, because 99% of the time Lions are used to represent rulers (It was cool ngl). What wasn’t cool was when Lei called the king handsome.

Kae: GEENA I CACKLED. But yes! Kind of freaked me out that she thought he was a cutie. Also was super interesting to not have the king be a lion. But I guess she was going for something different? It definitely works! Natasha also elaborated on the uh- *ahem* way that they’re all built the same when it comes to certain parts which made me think and I didn’t like my thoughts! First thought: HOW? Second thought: OUCH! Third thought: Size LMAO! But give it up to Natasha for explaining that in the simplest way possible without making me have any more than those three thoughts. Either way, moving on, did we explain that Wren, Lei, and these other girls are his concubines? I think we missed that. Surprise…? The Bull King also goes on to explain how he doesn’t have his own name. I also got a hint of him being a little… off. Off as in kind of crazy. Eh?

Geena: RIGHT I FORGOT that by the end the so-called ‘handsome’ Bull King goes batshit crazy, and I’m wondering if this was the product of the Sickness (which isn’t really discussed) or him being mad that he’s shooting dust and has no kids. Also, thank you for Natasha for constantly reminding us that he was jacked. BUT ANYWAYS.

The Bad:

Characters that DIED for NOTHING

Geena: Kenzo and Zelle were two different characters that provided both Wren and Lei with support as they all conspired to be free from the King. Kenzo (Wolf demon) being the King’s advisor and Wren’s training partner, and Zelle lowkey Lei’s confidant (who was also a prostitute). BOTH were passionate and the part of the same cause: Get rid of the King and liberate themselves. But then THEY DIE… FOR WHAT? For that BITCH to still be ALIVE?

Kae: Kenzo and Zelle. Both very likeable characters and both a little sketchy at the start. Just a little. But yes, as Geena stated, they totes died for nothing and it was such a huge let down to see them fall. Especially Kenzo (at least for me), because I thought he had a chance. In the end, he didn’t make it. You know who SHOULD’VE got murked in the end? Blue’s little annoying ass.

Geena: I LOVED KENZO. I have this bad habit of getting attached to side characters the inevitably don’t play a big role. It would’ve been cool to see his motivations behind getting rid of the King. Zelle, who was paper caste, had made her motivations clear. But Kenzo? Also, Lei and Wren essentially lost, as Natasha described it, a ‘brotherly’ figure. FOR WHA?. 0/10 character deaths that made sense. Blue should’ve eaten shit for ratting out Lei/Wren.

Kae: EAT SHIT BLUE.

The Ugly:

The Demon King

Kae: Alrighty. The Demon King aka little BITCH. The Demon King presents himself as somewhat of a decent bull-man at first. He is described as handsome and like Geena said earlier, freakin’ ripped. Suspicion of him not being too good of a dude came to me after he had finished with one of the girls. She came back bruised and beaten and shooketh. Didn’t like that. I assume these girls are a lot smaller than him so I expected him to be… gentler? At least considerate. But, that was just a glimpse. When Lei is finally summoned, she decides that she absolutely does NOT want the Bull-King D and fights the guy off of her. He doesn’t like that… at all. He’s up in arms and ready to fight because he has been denied something he wants. Lei is sent to what’s basically solitary confinement for a week with no food. But she does get a special visitor who brings her food and potential cuddles. The King doesn’t summon Lei for quite some time after that and when he finally does, he takes what he was denied from the start. The scene, thank goodness, is not described. But the after-thats what sucks. Lei is beaten and battered and bruised and has to be carried to her rooms. It’s horrible and I couldn’t imagine how that must’ve been. Especially since he’s a literal animal humanoid. Blegh.

Geena: KAE SUMMED IT UP SO WELL. The king, who has no name and honestly he doesn’t deserve one, is the embodiment of an entitled piece of shit that deserves to be made into ROCKY MOUNTAIN OYSTERS. The scenes that we get a glimpse of including him and the girls is scarring, he does NOT know the meaning of consent and it’s obvious the way he wrecks Lei that he doesn’t care. That made me unbelievably uncomfortable and like you said, I’m so glad that we weren’t subjected to a description of that. In addition, the King was also manipulative as fuck? The way he made Aoki (another concubine, and Lei’s friend) fall in love with him *cough* Stockholm syndrome *cough*. We hate his guts, and he should’ve choked on his blood but :/ I guess the fact that we hate him with such a passion is a good indication that he’s a well-written villain. How the hell he only have like 4 scenes but those 4 scenes just emitted the WORST VIBES. The moment lei said he was handsome and jacked I knew this bitch was going to fuck shit up (a handsome bull demon…. Like really,,, if we’re leaning into that furry shit the only handsome demons are tiger and wolf demons).

Conclusion

Kae: ALRIGHTY Y’ALL. So this concludes our thoughts of Girls of Paper and Fire. I give it a 9/10. I really enjoyed it and it was a good read. The story was very well written as were the characters. I hope we get to see a little more of the magic of this world in the next book. I look forward to what more Natasha has to tell.

Geena: I’d give it an 8.5/10, the 0.5 less comes from the fact that the bitchass king survived at the end. Personally, he could’ve died and there could’ve still been another book BUT I DIGRESS. AND I AGREE, it’s a well-written story with likeable characters, and I’m curious to see how Natasha tackles the mystery behind Lei’s golden eyes in the upcoming books.

#Girls of Paper and Fire #Natasha Ngan #booklr #book review #Lei Zhi #bookworm #Bookblr

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

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Wordtober Day 9: Swing

I’ll be honest, I think this is pretty weak, mostly because the techniques I had to describe were pretty tricky. But it was fun and I learned A LOT about aerial dance!

PS: I never actually went to a circus in my life lmfao

Past the curtains, the people gave a flimsy cheer. Their claps were sparse, measured, and all there was, was their gasps of awe, brief and hollow. She looked through the curtain; the trapeze artist flung himself in the air, catching his partner’s hand just in time.

The artist stretched her back, her legs, her feet; she felt the hardened muscles tense and relax, joints popping and cracking, and every part of her body fell back into place in harmony, connected again by the filaments of that human body made to contort and twist beyond the marvels the audience expected. She put on a wide, glowing grin—somehow fake and honest at the same time—just a bit beyond her compulsion—and poised gracefully before the ringmaster made the announcement.

The trapeze artists finished their act; the crowd fell into brief silence, enough for the ringmaster’s voice to flutter into a metallic reverberance as it travelled through the imponent circus, and then, there was cheering again. The spotlights flashed all around, nearly blinding the artist, but her smile didn’t die—and the curtains drew back. She poised again, hand stretched far graciously with the promise of a good show.

She tapped the silks, swaying ever so slightly at the soft breeze that blew, and hid a frown upon noticing it. She detested whenever there was a draft, but nothing else to do but to carry on. Unwelcomed winds were far more problematic things for the trapeze artist; all she needed was her long silk tails.

She twisted her foot gently around the red fabrics, brushing against her skin with the same tenderness of an age-old lover, and locked it strongly with a wrap, heaving herself—as high as she possibly could. Below, the gasps of awe came again as they watched her—one single circular spot of yellow casting a glimmer on the clambering artist and her two red silks. It certainly helped the lack of certain resources; the artist would have preferred to be given a crane for additional swinging movement, but the small town the circus settled in didn’t have so much. She would have to create movement and clamber her way to greatness by herself.

A fallen angel to steal some breaths, she thought, and twisted and turned into a drop, round and round as she fell. The crowd gasped—there was even a shriek—and she grinned. It delighted her always to get a grip of that sense of peril, of dropping her head just a pair of palms away from the ground, and the crowd thinking she lacked skill or grace enough to prevent disaster. It excited her.

She locked again, straddled to the red silk, and climbed her way up under the applause. In the back, the calliope organ sang, and she thought for a brief moment about how much it annoyed her when she noticed its high-pitched, childish melody. In the past, the ringmaster had employed real musicians, with decent instruments worthy of an orchestra—but those had been other times. Long times. Times in which they were venerated, adored, admired for the same grace and skills she displayed, and others—when the freaks were stars, the ugly were cast into beauty, the outcasts coming together for a marvellous performance.

They had delighted, seduced, charmed; it was the magic of the circus. A trapeze artist, back in the day, was but a cheap-trickster, and after a show, one would find the little ones sneaking to the back, lights out and curtains pulled shut as everyone retired to their own privacy. But the kiddies ventured into dangerous corners, sneaking past the sleeping lion and its tamer, or the fire-breather who minded not their presence, and all for one thing: to figure out just what the trick was behind their trapezes. Eventually, a soft, whispered scream would be heard, in the childishly excited tone of a little boy, saying: see!, I told you they had nets below and straps on their bodies, it’s all fake!

Then, the ringmaster—who had caught on to their presence a long time before—would sneak under the shadows to catch them in the act. But he always released them back into the wilderness of their own jovial and perilous curiosity.

But there was nothing fake about the artist with the silks. She floated and swung and flew like a swan clad in lustrous silk, wafting in balletic poses, hung high in the air. The silks and she were one and the same; she never got friction marks on her back, no matter how skimpy her maillot, and her ankle protections had gone from leather straps to just the cold skin of her body. She was a soaring angel drifting far and wide—no matter how small the space around her: she glided. She was a tamer of silks, a contortionist and a dancer; more skilful than any ballet dancer, more dramatic than the most tuneful opera singer.

In a time long gone, they had cheered them for their grace. Back when they travelled far, to forgotten corners of the world, the populations trapped between mountains or enclosed in tall ridges of snow; the uneducated people, illiterate, barely able to write their own names, who just wanted to be given the chance to appreciate the beauty city-folk were offered on a silver platter. Men and women in ragged clothes, dirty fingernails and shoes filled with holes—they, of all, loved the circus the most. With carmine cheeks and yellow teeth glistening into a bright grin, they loved—they appreciated true artists. Not the fraudulent spectacles of major cities, not the opera singers clad in monumental costumes of paper-mâché and tall wigs, not the boring poetry-readers of a Parisian Café-Théâtre.

But now, with their televisions and their entertainment, and their lives filled with distractions—their actions movies and special effects and green screens—nothing seemed to please the crowd anymore. Nothing impressed them.

The clowns bored them—they deemed them creepy and unfunny. The lion tamer amazed no one, because they had all seen a lion already—in person, even! The fire-breather was an inconvenience, and they complained about the heat. To their listless eyes, the magicians were spurious performers, and under scrutinous observance, these demanding little idiot insisted they did not bear real magic to their hands, but cheap tricks with spotlights and hidden trapdoors. Even as the magician floated above the air, suspended in gravity alone, they were unimpressed. Even as the magician made a member of the audience disappear to never be seen again, trapped into a nothingness far beyond the world he had ever known, they rejected his true skills. They had seen it all, seen all the movies and all the tricks, and they thought they knew.

Children never wandered into the back again, daring to uncover the trapeze artists’ secrets, and the ringmaster grew bored. Pesky little audience.

The only thing they liked, the only thing they admired, that made them feel, was the imminence of danger to an act. An unnatural, inhumane twist of the body, a second short of smashing a skull against the hard floors—and they gripped their seats in dread. The moment a trapeze artist’s hands nearly slipped the grip of his companion, threatening a deadly fall, they revelled—in morbid and twisted pleasure, they adored that lingering danger. The fright, at least, brought some colour to their faces, and they lived for a little while, distracted from the things they knew and disbelieved because they lived in a world of forgeries, vague and insipid, where everything with the littlest speck of beauty meant, of course, it just had to be fake.

It was up to the artist and her silk to make the crowd rave again. To send them into a feverish reverie they’d fall trapped to, enchanted and cursed, never to realize the hypnotic powers of her dance. Not in time, anyway.

It was her flowing, swinging red silks the only thing that stole their focus, until their pupils dilated and they were made of stony awe as they watched, rigid on their seats before a delicious mix of horror and amazement began to bubble in their flesh. It was her, the artist suspended in her silks high above, who made them prisoners to the artistry they failed to see.

Straddled way up high, the artist stopped. The show must go on, she thought, and the calliope organ rattled like old keys in the distance. She still hated its sound, but it helped create the effect. The music was always quite cheerfully grim, if such a thing could even be possible.

She missed the emotional, epic tunes of the old orchestra that used to accompany them, but that too had ended. Before industrialism came, musicians felt joy in accompanying the most magnificent circus, from where the grace of all artists shined bright atop a ladder, or where the fine red silks of the aerial artist hung and swung; a time when clowns made little boys and girls laugh and magicians shared their true power to delighted audiences. But then machines came, and they riddled the air with thick, grey fog—dirty, unbreathable fog—and rail wheels and tracks substituted horses and carriages. Nobody even said ‘break a leg anymore’.

Then came the movies, with their special effects, and cinema charmed all as the truest form of forgery, of lying and deceit—and the circus artists were cast aside, laughed at, left to oblivion. The musicians stopped seeking them; nobody liked to accompany them anymore. All they had left was an old man and his calliope tune, but he too had been with them for hundreds of years, and he too would never leave.

She smiled wide, silk wrapped around her right thigh, and let her body fall back, arms dangling high above and head gently bent back as she closed her eyes—as if she soared alone in the air. For a moment, the artist swung freely, back and forth as the silks took over her entirely, and from then on, they would dictate her next movements—where to go, where to dance, where to be. Suspended in grace, floating in beauty, the world existed only in silence; from below, not a single gasp, a cough, a cheer. They were bewitched already—otherwise, she knew, someone would be tearing open a pack of crisps or a cell phone would disrupt her meditation. They show so little respect, these days, she thought.

Then, she rose slowly to grab her silks with both hands, strapped her left leg, and tumbled back into a swift falling cadence, stranded in the air, upside-down, in a perfectly vertical line; she watched: their dull eyes, frozen into that enchantment they couldn’t entirely explain, but felt under their skins—that soft vibrancy running in their blood, like tiny critters gnawing at their flesh. It looked more beautiful like that: inverted. She twirled her feet on each strap of silk, swayed her arms with grace, and rotated up; the tails of red danced behind her like hovering feathers.

The artist held the silk behind her, straightened her body like an up-standing peg, perfectly balanced and weighted on one wrapped leg, and looked down; she opened her arms wide and dropped—swirling, swirling—once, twice, three and four times—and the gasps of dread and near-horror came then. And she fell and fell, silks tensely curled around her leg, though they let go and go and go—and she stopped. The crowd was collectively pale, and she knew they wanted to cover their mouths—but they were absolutely frozen.

The artist looked at the ringmaster, and he made a bow, stepping back slowly, offering her the spotlight. Then, she twirled herself into her silk again and began another climb—the real menace would follow. Her legs opened into a split, and she hovered above the crowd, frozen into her position. Arms stretched wide, as balletic as any high-paid performer of a Grand-Théâtre, she closed her eyes, and her legs contorted; they bent, the joints cracking as they rose, and the split wasn’t a split anymore, but something inhumanely impossible—like spreading wings, her legs twirled more and more into the silks, and that hollow crack of bone began to echo into the silent circus.

She reverted back to her human position, both feet locked into the silks; if the crowd still failed to admire her strength, they were all just senseless idiots—so she made it all the more bewitching. She stood, straight and tall, as if on two walkers made of soft, swaying fabric, and looked down. She could swear some were crying, and it made her laugh; it would teach them something, she thought, if only to appreciate true artistry. Her legs spread open again, but this time they didn’t stop into a simple split—they moved up and up and her body twisted below them; gripping the silk, she fell down, her torso rolling between her perfectly stretched legs as if the two weren’t even connected, and going round and round until one arm cracked again and there was a loud pop in the joints of her shoulder.

She laughed when the screeches came. How much they wanted to move, but were glued to their seats, motionless and gripped by inner terror, though something—they could certainly tell—could sense it already. A little boy’s lips quivered, and his mother’s hands wanted to reach out and cover his eyes, but it was stuck to the bench; a man trembled on his seat, and his eyes rolled away, to the door that would dictate his freedom, but they always seemed to find the charming dancer up above to be far more enticing.

They were possessed by a growing sense of veneration, though bittersweet it must have felt for them—reverence and terror, delight and horror, as they watched the graceful artist’s body contort into inhumane shapes, as they were certain what they were hearing was the sound of her joints dislodging and her bones cracking, but somehow she transformed back into the same beautiful woman who glided above their heads like an angel.

Then, she twisted an ankle, and another, into perfect locks; she wrapped the red silk around her body, and gave it a slight push—and danced and danced. She swung, as freely as a gliding swan above the still waters of a lake; and with one last hypnotizing glare, shot mercilessly onto the crowd below, she dropped.

The silk dictated the way down, and it rolled and tangled around her body; like a mortuary shroud, it wrapped her dislodged members and muffled the cracks of bone that should have meant it was broken, but somehow—somehow, against all auspices of the contortionist that twisted herself into a tangled, broken marionette—certainly no longer human to their eyes—somehow, she reached the end of her act.

She stood, hovering in silence just a few inches above the hard ground. Her leg was twisted below the kneecap, the bones of her shoulder jutting from below the skin, nearly ripping it apart; below the ankle, her foot twisted the opposite direction, and on her neck, one could see the tightly pressed folds of her twisted skin, as she looked at the crowd with dull eyes from above the bare skin of her back.

They watched in silence. Their eyes were glazed with tears. They could not speak, but breathed deeper than they ever had; the air was sucked out of the circus through every gaping mouth that watched with horror, wondering if the artist was even alive.

But the artist blinked her eyes. With several deafening, loud cracks and pops, she pieced her body back together, fitting back the bits of joints and bone, none but a puzzle, and again she was human. She swung one last time, and with a graceful jump, her feet touched the ground and she landed beautifully in a conclusive, marvellous poise of victory.

Before the artist, the crowd was collectively covered into a pallor of dread and horror. There was no cheer, no applause, but she bowed still. She thought then it might just have been her best performance yet.

The ringmaster sounded a bell, and they all snapped their eyes open, their bodies slowly releasing themselves from their prison. He wanted to thank them for coming, wanted to present the artist by the name, make them remember just whose stunning and unmatched skills they had just witnessed, first-hand—the unique chance to see it before their eyes, a two-hundred-year-old artist who had danced for kings and common folk alike. But by the time the clapper of his bell stopped moving, they stood up and ran.

And when the artist stretched her body again and flexed her muscles, the circus was emptied of attendees.

So the artist giggled. Let them learn to enjoy true artistry, she thought; and at last, she realized the calliope organ had fallen silent.

____

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #my wordtober

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originaljediinjeans · 5 years

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MCU Rewatch: The Avengers (2012)

I cut out a lot from the individual character metas but it’s still pretty long and IDK how to summarize, maybe just read the bolded text for some of the juicier points

LOKI: Unpopular opinion, I do not believe that Loki was directly mind-controlled by Thanos. I don’t care if it’s “canon.” However, there is no denying that Thanos hurt and tortured Loki. Whatever he went through, it was bad enough that Loki agreed to cooperate. But Loki thinks he 100% deserves a planet to rule of his own after being kicked out of Asgard when he was the “rightful ruler”. (Who thinks that when they’re being mind controlled, really?) He must have done some real persuasion to convince Thanos that he could bring him the Tesseract and that he would not fail. But even then the Other is really hard on him. Loki is doing someone else’s bidding and he knows it. And he tugs at the leash. But he’s “come too far”--been tortured too much--to fail.

Loki as the villain of this film is perfection. And the scene with Natasha blows me away every time. The montage during his speech just syncs with it perfectly. Poetic cinema, as they say, but in the most literal and professional sense of the phrase.

My headcanon ever since the first time I saw this movie is that Loki can read the minds of Midgardians. Even if Barton told him everything (which I might not sure is even possible), Loki being slightly psychic is still cooler. Loki in this movie is freaking SCARY. (but that’s why he’s great, give Tom Hiddleston an Oscar already, Hollywood what is wrong with you?)

Who is the Other? He kind of reminds me of the Mouth of Sauron in LOTR. Is he another sick, twisted sycophant who believes in Thanos’ cause? Of course. He is proud to represent Thanos, and what’s more, acting creepy and giving people poetic threats is his way of doing his job: intimidating people into cooperation. Well, not like it matters much. I laugh every time I watch GOTG and Ronan kills him.

Coulson’s murder made Loki a murderer

I love Loki but I still want to punch him for what he did to Barton and Selvig and not to mention Coulson and just doing lots of bad things for bad reasons and I hope when I do punch him that it hurts, I don’t care if he’s a fictional character I’m going to punch him

THOR: Asgard must have some kind of dope intelligence system. They knew about the Chitauri–they didn’t know where they were from or who they were working for, but they knew enough and Thor knew enough to figure that he’d better get Loki before it got out of control. Also, the rest of the universe knows that one paramilitary organization on a small planet was experimenting with an Infinity Stone a really powerful energy source to use as a weapon. So Thor going to Midgard isn’t just about getting Loki: it’s making sure that a world under Asgard’s “protection” isn’t overrun by an invading army. And don’t forget, Thor has officially designated himself the Earth’s protector–he’s willing to share that responsibility with the Avengers, after these events. Willing enough to go search the universe for answers about the Infinity Stones. Maybe after Infinity War he regrets that.

Thor admits to Coulson for being embarrassed for himself and his people because of all the destruction and chaos Loki has caused

The moment when they’re in New York and Thor and Steve are taking a break–that’s when they bond. Other people see Steve Rogers as a mere wooden soldier but Thor recognizes a kindred warrior spirit. Thor and Steve’s friendship is criminally underrated and has a heinous lack of screentime.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: I have to admit, on this viewing Steve’s characterization seemed a little wooden to me. But it makes sense if you keep in mind that Steve is under stress about being in a new place and time.

I’ve always liked Steve’s uniform in this one, even though it’s not very popular or not as “cool” or practical as some of the others. What I dislike, though, is the helmet. The more it’s off, the better.

Steve actually doesn’t deal with stress that gracefully

I hate to say this, but Steve walks away from this movie with a deep-seated mistrust of Tony Stark and it’s only going to get bigger and get worse

I can’t help thinking of this famous saying: “It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, rather than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.”

All of the above considered, Steve Rogers went through a lot of crap during the War. And it wasn’t all just fighting Hydra. He must have led the Commandoes on other not closely related missions, too. But he’s been in a lot of different situations. He knows how much bad there is in the world. He knows what kind of people want to take over the world. That’s why he isn’t taking crap from anyone.

And even if Steve isn’t psychic he sees right through Loki. Steve and Loki don’t get much screen time together but Loki knows how Cap feels about him and it bugs him. And that’s why Steve is so pushy about wanting Tony and Bruce to stay on task because he knows Loki and Loki’s accomplices are up to no good and they need to stop it

Cap actually has been on some pretty bumpy plane rides.

I agree with the fandom that it is unfair that someone as young as Steve (only like 25 years not counting the ice) is pushed into a lot of leadership positions. But he gets called on to lead because he has that wartime experience. He knows how to lead a team, he knows how to fight battles of all sizes. And being a leader, Steve knows when and when not to trust the people in charge. I think Tony takes a cue from him when he deals with Loki.

IRON MAN: Between Iron Man 2 and when Avengers opens, Tony is actually Living his Best Life(TM) with Pepper and the fact that the events of this film ends it forever kills me.

When he sees the portal open and the Chitauri coming out, the response “Right–army” sounds cute but he’s genuinely terrified. He’s already bruised from his brief encounter with Loki when he literally flies into the Mark 7.The longer the battle goes, the worse it gets.

The Nuke: Tony made his fortune building/designing weapons and then he stopped when he saw that they were being used to kill innocent people. The government ordering a nuclear strike on Manhattan is horrifying to him. He figures out a good way to get rid of it and stop the Chitauri. He doesn’t let go until he’s absolutely sure that it’s over, regardless of the cost to himself.

Summary: Tony goes from being in a good place to a bad one. There are some things even shawarma cannot cure.

Tony already knows Bruce Banner’s history and has studied his scientific work. Tony already knows about all the crap that Banner has been through. Tony relates to what Bruce has been through. He validates both the Hulk and Banner. The science bros are actually a really big deal and they mean a lot to me.

I am so glad Pepper was in this movie and I am so glad that Pepperony exists so help me if the Russos kill off Tony in Endgame–

Steve and Tony really almost got into an actual fight in that lab scene. They really did.

I never got the line “We are not soldiers” until this time around. He’s referring to those airmen in Afghanistan who died in vain to protect him from the terrorists that kidnapped him. He doesn’t want to think that of himself, or anyone else of the Avengers, or even Coulson. I wonder if maybe to an extent he can’t deal with the guilt or the mentality of going to war. Golly, figuring that out is a gut punch.

THE HULK: I don’t really feel like there’s much to say about Bruce this time around. Except that I’m so proud of him for actually going to Calcutta and helping people who needed help. I’m glad that SHIELD wanted him for his expertise and not just the Hulk. He is happy to be used for his knowledge. And meeting Tony Stark was probably the best thing to ever happen to him.

Even the Hulk cares about Tony–the Hulk likes Tony Stark/Iron Man better than he likes Bruce Banner.

BLACK WIDOW: Natasha has a legitimate fear of the Hulk and it’s actually kind of incredible that she did get past that. If there was something in this film about Natasha’s fear versus the Hulk that was supposed to be continued in Age of Ultron, bad writing killed it. Either that or there wasn’t enough exposition.

There’s an implication, with how Natasha is the first of the big 6 shown, how she’s asked to go find Banner, that Fury and Coulson kind of looked to her as a leader or co-leader for the Avengers. Would her responsibilities include bringing and keeping them together? Yes.

Natasha still thinks about the big picture during the battle. She knows that her teammates have limits. She knows what they’re up against.

I think she does get kind of scared when she’s riding the Chitauri chariot thing and she’s trying to control it. It’s not an easy task and there’s also speed and the risk of falling.

Clint and Natasha’s relationship is amazing. It’s one of the best things about this movie and it’s a travesty we don’t really see this again in the MCU (holding out hope for Endgame). They talk and fight and work together like they’ve known each other for years. She looks up to him because he helped her change her life. And now he looks to her because she saved his.

HAWKEYE: I just…need more Clint Barton in my life. Seriously he is so cool. Like he really needed a stand-alone movie in Phase 2. He just deserved better period and by that I mean more screen time. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked for him to have been in Cap 2 but he needed something.

COULSON: Agent Phil Coulson is the heart and soul of this movie.

The Stark Tower visit: Pepper calls him “Phil,” she notices that he looks shaken (even though it’s hard for even me to tell). She asks Phil about the Cellist and Tony offers to even fly him out to Portland to see his SO–do you know how much plane tickets cost that is huge. It is more than safe to assume that Phil has kept in touch with Tony and Pepper and even come over to hang out. Like enough that Pepper can read his moods. Good grief Pepper must have been destroyed when she found out.

Despite the initial bureaucratic unfairness, what if Coulson has kept in touch with Jane and Darcy? Maybe been a liaison to SHIELD for them. Did he suggest to SHIELD that they recruit Selvig?

Coulson is naturally a friendly person, and Thor is comfortable enough with him to talk about his concerns about Loki. Like they are friends. Like THOR WATCHES HIS BROTHER STAB AND KILL THE SON OF COUL, CHAMPION OF MIDGARD, AND HE WILL LIVE WITH THAT FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE.

If Steve Rogers thought he’d escaped the Captain America fans boy was he wrong

But more importantly, Captain America is Coulson’s hero and Steve knows it. When Coulson dies, Steve knows that it was because he was trying to stop Loki and that Coulson was a good man.

Do you see why I want to/am/should be writing fanfiction about Coulson?

Coulson also knows Nick Fury very well. I would go so far as to say that on a certain level they are like brothers, even. Gosh they better get quality screentime in Captain Marvel!

Of course Coulson has known Clint and Natasha for years, maybe even as long as they’ve been at SHIELD. You hear the concern in Coulson’s voice when he tells Nat that Barton’s been compromised. It’s redundant to say this but it’s audible. He knows what Clint means to Natasha. He’s probably one of the 5 people who know about Clint’s family, maybe Phil is friends with Laura. And it’s implied that he has a personal relationship with Clint.

TL;DR Phil Coulson genuinely cares about the Avengers individually and as a group. He probably knows about Steve, Tony, and Banner more than they know each other by the end of the film. He knows that they’re the only real line of defense. He knows that the guys and Nat are capable of doing great good. He believes in heroes .Nick Fury tells them as much in his pep talk and for dramatic effect he uses the cards. Subtext: Coulson cared about you guys. He believed in you. And he wanted you to go kick Loki’s butt. Phil Coulson just really cares about people no matter how well he knows them. And I love him for it.

NICK FURY: Knowing what we know now--because Coulson and Fury will be in Captain Marvel which takes place 15-ish years earlier--Coulson and Fury in this movie already know that there are bad ETs and they play rough. Even after the Chitauri are finished, Fury knows that this is just the beginning. He may have even suspected that Loki didn’t get that army on his own. That explains why Nick Fury asked the World Security Council to approve Insight. And the Dark Elves in Thor TDW may have made it more urgent.

You have to keep in mind, though, that Nick is under pressure from the Pinheads on the World Security Council and Hydra sleepers working under him

Nick is no stranger to pressure, however. He knows what he’s doing.

“I was playing something even riskier.” Riskier than weapons because people with superpowers can’t always be controlled or at least do what you want or even ask. Riskier because he suspects (rightly) that they won’t always get along. And that if they do disagree they may turn on each other. Riskier because people with superpowers cause destruction, sometimes more than they can fix. But always less than they prevent if they can do their job.

The events of Civil War may not have been that surprising to him as he watched from a distance wherever. He may have been quietly rooting for Cap. Or even worked with the Secret Avengers...where was I?

(Not that he doesn’t love Tony)

I actually appreciated Nick more on this viewing

Nick Fury is, in fact, the Main Character of The Avengers. We just didn’t realize it until now.

SHIELD AND MISCELLANY: I may need to watch this movie again soon because the peanut gallery that is My Family made it kind of hard to watch

But one of my brothers suggested why not have Cap hook up with Maria Hill? I admit it’s intriguing but they don’t actually have that much interaction in this film or in CATWS. Ships have sailed on more shallow waters but I don’t think this one floats for me.

The soundtrack is perfect, a great blend of dramatic epic themes with spy movie beats, with some chilling backdrop music to set a sinister tone for Loki. Alan Silvestri’s best work.

THE AVENGERS THEME MUSIC IS MAGNIFICENT, IT DESERVVES AS MUCH ATTENTION AS THE STAR WARS THEME

Infinity Stones do what they want.

Infinity Stones are also connected and that might be important in Endgame.

This is still one of the greatest superhero movies ever made. Still one of the best movies ever made period. Granted, you have to have seen the other movies for it to make any emotional sense but The Avengers is a masterpiece. Every character interaction has weight. Every detail is connected. The storytelling here is matchless. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it as fact.

Age of Ultron was just so “bad” that the rest of y’all forgot how good The Avengers is.

I would love to see this movie on a big screen again one day. Maybe a summer drive-through. It might be the only MCU movie besides GOTG that would be appropriate for that.

Jane Foster isn’t stupid y’all. She would have figured out something was up when SHIELD shipped her to consult at a remote observatory. The moment she saw Thor on the news her suspicions would be confirmed, when she heard about Coulson and Loki she would be even more hurt and confused about why Thor didn’t even at least look her up to say hello

The Original 6 Avengers are bonded in a way but they’re not really a family.

Actually they are but they aren’t at the same time, it’s hard to describe. Even when they spend more time later and build a working relationship they aren’t quite the family some of them think they are. Some of them are part of each other’s families but they’re not really a solid unit. Age of Ultron and Civil War split them along the subgroup lines that are already there.

Eric Selvig looks like a mess when he comes out from the mind spell. Is he ever okay again?

The guy who found Banner in the abandoned hangar may have seen aliens before.

While Thor opened up the MCU to “other worlds” it was really The Avengers that established that there was an entire UNIVERSE beyond where the Avengers were from--beyond even Asgard and its conquests--full of worlds that had lots of alien races--and plenty of them could pick a fight with a puny blue planet of people with relatively primitive technology if they wanted to. I think GOTG establishes that most don’t. But some still do.

I really don’t think there’s anything to compare with being on a movie set where Robert Downey Jr has been turned loose.

I still think Loki should have had that drink and I hope he did

Coulson might one day forgive Nick Fury for doing what he had to do--but those trading cards were in near-mint condition. Sheesh.

Well, that’s down to ten pages from around what could have been sixteen.

#SUPER LONG POST #meta #the avengers #aka the dysfunctionals that avenge stuff #avengers assemble #long post #mcu rewatch

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eyebright-iris · 5 years

Text

Review: Detective Pikachu

I step outside the cinema, having just witnessed Detective Pikachu in 3D. The streets look half empty with the lack of Pokémon companions tagging along with their human counterparts. I feel like I’ve been robbed of a partner that never existed.

I want a god damn Pokémon.

[mild spoilers below the cut!]

Detective Pikachu is a sheer delight, a love letter to every Pokémon fan who ever closed their eyes and wished their battle-ready team of all their favourites could appear in front of them. Seeing Pokémon come to life and be exactly how they’re supposed to is such a weirdly emotional existence; I almost cried because Pikachu has little whiskers. I’m not going to pretend I’ve been there from the very beginning – my first console was a DS Lite and my first core game was Platinum when I was about 9 – but I’ve been hooked since I first got my hands on the series and my love has just grown more and more as I’ve gotten older. It’s a beautiful system of numbers and statistics; it’s a fun adventure; it’s an immersive world of unique levels of connection.

Detective Pikachu sees us. It sees those who love Pokémon and says here, this is for you. This is what you’ve waited for all this time, for so long. And we take it with both hands because it’s everything our hearts want. What really sold this movie for me was that, despite the copious amounts of nostalgia it plays on – I’d say upwards of 80% of the Pokémon that appear are Gen 1, from Mewtwo to the Kanto starters – it also works Pokémon from across generations into its worldbuilding, such as Comfey, Morelull, Torterra and Greninja. These later-Gen Pokémon make the film feel more like a tribute to the world of Pokémon as a whole, rather than just a heavy indulgence for 90s kids who were there at the beginning (though I recognise it does this too); putting Bouffalant on a rural farm when you could have easily chosen Tauros just made me smile because this movie is more than a nostalgia-fest for those who were there when Red and Blue launched.

I massively appreciate the movie’s dedication to making this feel like a functioning Pokémon world, rather than lifting religiously from the games and anime. One thing I noticed was the distinct lack of more anime-like moments, such as catching Pokémon: though we open with an attempt to capture a Pokémon like we would in the core game series, the iconic Poké Balls actually make very few appearances because they’re a dynamic that works better in anime than in a live-action movie. Also, as a Brit I definitely appreciated Ryme City, being a clear cross between London and Tokyo (I see you, Tube signs and The Gherkin being fused with Pokémon’s Japanese roots).

In terms of plot: yes, it’s a little simple (and by ‘a little’ I mean ‘a lot’), and there’s more than enough convenient moments used to push it forward that almost make you say “um, how many of these lumps of information are you planning to drop in front you our characters?” but it doesn’t freaking matter. This movie wasn’t about its plot, its characters, its themes (though I appreciate the villainous roles of overreaching capitalist monopolies on an entire city). This movie was about one thing and one thing only: seeing Pokémon in a real life situation, seeing Pokémon as if they could still be there when you walked outside, seeing Pokémon in a way that throws up the same colossal middle finger as Pokémon GO to the edgelords who pushed the “no, real Pokémon would be super DARK and TERRIFYING” for years. I kind of saw the final twist coming (I was super aware of how we never saw Harry’s face, or even his hands) but honestly, who cares. I went there to see a real life Pikachu and god dammit I got one.

Verdict:

A tribute to the unique heart and soul of the Pokémon series, realised into a pseudo-realistic, functional world that made me vibrate with joy with every background Arcanine and casual Dodrio that happened across the screen. Proof that a video game (and anime!) movie can be beloved if they just stick to what makes the source material great (looking at you, Sonic the Hedgehog, whose trailer embarrassingly preceded Detective Pikachu today). This film is nothing short of a delight and it wants you to feel it with every inch of your Pokémon trainer heart. Like Pokémon GO before it, it brings the joy of Pokémon a step closer to us and leaves reality sorely wanting.

8/10

#pokemon #review #movie review #detective pikachu #detective pikachu review #pokemon review #film #films #movie #movies #film review #pikachu #ryan reynolds #pokemon spoilers #detective pikachu spoilers

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cinnamayroll · 6 years

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I LOVE YOUR BLOG!!!! GOM reacting to other dudes catcalling and trying to hit on their s/o while they're out on a date? I feel like that'd be interesting heh. Please keep writing this blog is so good!!

THANK YOU!! ^^ This request is so good, I can’t! Love me someprotective boys!

-May

Warning: Some swearing for Aomine!

Kuroko:

Neither of you had thought of anything bad that could happen. Youwere walking home from Maji Burgers where you had something to eatafter your date in the city. Kuroko’s hand was intervined withyours, dangling between your bodies. He was just telling you somestory about a match he had with Seirin last year when you suddenlyheard the voices behind you.

“Hey, sexy! What are you doing here all alone this late?” Itwas some guy walking up behind you. Unfortunately, he seemed to betall, taller than Kuroko and way taller than you.

And if it wasn’t bad enough already, a second one came up behindthe first, an even nastier look on his face. “Yeah, girl! Do youneed any help getting home?” a smirk was on his lips and heextended a hand towards you.

What the hell where you gonna do? Kuroko wouldn’t be able totake on these guys. Oh right! Kuroko! “I-I’m not alone... M-myboyfriend’s here!” you stuttered out and lifted you arm to showoff your extended hand.

To find it empty. This was like the worst time ever for yourboyfriend to vanish!

“Aww, look, she thinks she’s got a boyfriend!” The secondguy laugh and elbowed his buddy in the side. “Should we show herwhat a real boyfriend i-”

“I’d really rather not have you do that. Now would you pleaseleave ______ alone, so we can continue this date?”

It was almost hilarious how the big tough guys started to choke ontheir breath as Kuroko suddenly appeared right in front of theireyes.

“Holy shit, where did he come from?!” the taller one asked,taking cautious steps backwards. Kuroko’s stern glare wasn’tmaking it better for them either. “I don’t no man, but it’sscary, let’s go!” And with that they ran of, still cursing underther breath.

“I’m really sorry this happened, ____.” he apologized andtook your hand back in his own, squezing it gently.

“It’s alright. You were there after all.” you smiled back athim.

Kise:

“Oho, what have we got here?”

There was a sudden voice very near you, pulling you out of yourthoughts. Confused, you took a step back, only to be confronted withsome creepy guy’s face up in yours.

“Your sissy boyfriend over there seems to be busy, so how aboutI keep you some company, eh?” his voiced was a weird mix betweenintimidating and trying to seduct you. You honestly just wanted torun away.

“Leave me alone...” you said quietly, hoping he would just goaway if you showed no interest in him at all. Sadly, that didn’tseem to be case at all.

“C’mon sweety, don’t play hard to get with me.”

You took a step backwards, trying to ge away from the creepy guy,when you suddenly bunped into another chest behind you. Half-afraidit would be yet another guy you hastily turned around, only to bewashed over with relief when you found Kise hugging you tightly tohis chest, his embrace making you feel safer at once.

“Haven’t you heard her? She’s not interested.” Kise said,his voice icy and lacking all of his usual playful and cheeryattitude. “So get away, how pathetic can you even be. Picking on agirls who’s on a date.” he spat and held you even tighter.

Even though he was acting up all tough for this guy, you couldfeel his hands shaking at your back.

You heard an annoyed huff and the slowly retreating steps behindyou, meaning that damn guy was finally gone. Kise relaxed around you,now leaning down to hug you properly and you took time to inhale hisscent.

“Are you alright, _____cchi? He didn’t touch you, did he? God,I’m so sorry!” he mumbled and looked you all over once he let yougo from his arms. His face was twisted in worry.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Thank you, Ryouta.” you answered and tooka step forward, stading on your tip toes. Your signal for asking fora kiss.

Midorima:

Midorima and you were standing by the small ice cream booth at thebeach. Even though he wasn’t exactly the beach person, Oha Asa didsay that sand was his lucky item today, so he was fine with it.You were also pretty sure he had been blushing when you got reallyexcited at his suggestion of coming here.

The both of you were having your ice cream in peace, a comfortablesilence while you watched over the sand and waves and the lots ofpeople around here.

That comfortable silence was broken when there was suddenly astrange guy stading uncomfortably close to the both of you, givingyou a weird look.

“Uhm, excuse me?” you asked, making clear you wereuncomfortable with him being there. Judging by his look this hintflew right over his head.

“You’re looking pretty sexy.” he slurred and tried to reachout for your face, if it hadn’t been for a hand wrapped in tapesuddenly slapping him away. When you looked up to Midorima’s faceyou could practically see the concealed fury boil under his coolface. The look was really intimidating.

“And wha exactly do you think you’re doing there?” hehissed, pressing the man’s arms back down.

“Oh, shut up you nerd, how did you even get a girl like her?Luck or something?” the stanger laughed. “I mean, look ather, no sexy girl would go for some glasses nerd like you!”

In that moment you could literally see your boyfriend’s patiencesnapping.

It took a few steps and he was towering over that creep, armspushing you behind him swiftly. “What do you think is giving youthe right to speak of her like that. You don’t even have the rightto look.” he growled.

The guy, who had clearly underestimated Midorima’s physicalbuild from the few feet away, took some cautious steps back. “Yo,chill man. She’s all yours. No need to bitch about it.” he saidand held his hands up, slowly backing away.

As soon as he was gone from sight, Midorima turned around to youand looked at you, somewhat protective and somewhat worried. “Youare okay, aren’t you?” he asked and stood back in his sport frombefore.

“Don’t worry, I’m all good.” you answered and then gavehim a smirk. “After all, you saved me really heroically,Shintarou.”

“Shut up, _____.” he stuttered, hiding his slight blush bypushing up his glasses.

Aomine:

“Wow, look at that butt!”

At first you didn’t even realise that it was directed at you. Only when the words were followed by a sharp whistle you began to turn around. Aomine and you were on a date to the cinema and he was just getting you some popcorn while you waited by the entrance with your drinks.

When you turned you noticed a man standing begind you, making a show of letting his eyes wander over your body. Yopu shrunk into yourself.

“No thank you.” you said politely, trying to wave him off as quickly as possible and started looking around for Aomine.

“Don’t be like that. What is a beauty like you doing all alone here anyway? Isn’t that sad? Watching a movie by herself when she has so much to offer.” he said, looking you up and down like prey again. Didn’t this asshole even care that there were other people around here?

“I’m not alone, I’m here with my boyfriend.” you anwered now a little more stern. Looking at your drink, you wondered if you would have to throw it at him. Where the hell was your boyfriend, this was starting to get way too scary. Little did you know he used the moment you had your concentration away from him to step forward.

His hand barely stroked the side of your face and your mouth was already open to scream when he was suddenly gone. You almost didn’t realise what was happening until you heard the shouts coming from the floor at your feet.

“You pathetic motherfucker!” Aomine yelled, his furious gaze fixed on the guy. The both of them were lying on the ground, popcorn sorrounding them.

“Aomine!” you gasped, torn between relief and worries. You didn’t have too much time to thin about it with the security coming towards you though.

***

“All I did was fucking defending you, why the hell did they throw us out?!” he cursed, wrapping his big jacket around shoulders.

“Daiki. You literally tackled him to the ground.”

“He was about to touch you. Would you rathe have that? We can go for that the next time.”

“No, no. Of course. Thank you. That was really cool, actually.” you smiled at him and you swore you could see him smirk to himself.

Murasakibara:

“______chin, I don’t like how that guy is looking at you.” Murasakibara grumbled as you two walked around the Kanto Matsuri festival together.

“What? Who do you mean?” you asked frantically looking around. You had been so busy looking at all the lanterns and helping to carry Atsushi’s food that you hadn’t even noticed that somebody was looking at you.

The man that had been checking you out for a while didn’t make it hard to spot him though. No, instead he took some long steps toward you, cutting into your way.

“Who do we have here? Not bad, not bad.” he whisteled and extended his hand towards you. “I happen to know this place very well, want me to take you on a tour?”

You couldn’t believe how blatantly this shameless guy was daring to flirt with you when it was clearly visible that Atsushi was standing right next to you! Anger began to start bubbling up in your chest and your grip on the bag you were carrying tightened.

“Excuse me, but can you literally not see that I’m already here with someone? By the way, we live here too, I really don’t need you to show me around.” you spat at him and turned your chin up.

“Alright, alright, no need to be such a bitch about it, god...” he sighed annoyedly, not even registering how much worse he was making his situation. “That damn freak is not good enough for you, does he even fit?”

This time you didn’t even have the time to react to his words before your boyfriend took a long stride forward and grabbed a fistfull of the strangers collar. “No one dares to speak to _____chin like that.” he growled, towering tall over that guy. “You wanna get crushed?”

Of course, the guy was running off in a matter of seconds. If he wanted to, Murasakibara yould be very intimidating and you loved it.

“Thank you, Atsushi.” you sighed, slightly leaning against his side. “What an asshole, who even does that?”

“Hn. Dunno.” he grunted, obviously still calming down. There was a large protective hand on the top of your head for a second. The gesture he dd when he was silently telling you he loved you. You smiled back up at him. “C’mon, let’s look at the stands over there, ____chin.”

Akashi:

To be frank, it was almost fair to feel sorry for the guy that was wolf whisteling after you when Akashi and you passed him on your way to the restaurant you two were headed to.

Of course, Akashi immdiately stopped, tightly squeazing your hand before letting go of it completely.

He slowly turned around, giving the stranger that kind of look that you’d never want to recieve yourself. Using one of his arms, he tried to get you behind him a little. Then he started talking his voice icy.

“And what exactly do you think your doing there?” he asked. You could only imagine his expression by the freaked out look in the guy’s eyes. The guy cautiously took a few steps back.

“Sorry man, I’m going already.” he said, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs. “She’s all yours.”

“No you’re not.” Akashi immediately answered. His usually rather quiet voice attracting attention from the people surrounding you. “And for that matter she doesn’t belong to anybody, do you understand that?”

If the situation hadn’t been so tense you might have smiled at that. Your boyfriend was a gentleman as always.

“How do you dare to whistle at her? You’re lucky that I don’t care enough about pathetic folks like you or my forces would be at you in no time.” you were pretty sure you nearly never heard Akashi using such a sharp voice before. Maybe concerning family business, that was also a bit touchy. But other than that? Never.

“Ch-chill dude. I’m going for real.” the stranger stuttered, obviously scared shitless, before clumsily staggering a few steps backwards and then hurrying off into the opposite direction.

Akashi turned around to you at once. His eyes roamed over you, looking for any kind of discomfort. “Are you alright,____? Do you want to head home?” he asked worriedly, placing a hand at your arm.

It only made you smile at him. God, you were so blessed with this guy, honestly.

“No, it’s quite alright, Seijuro. Let’s get something to eat, he didn’t do anything to me.” you tried to calm him, motioning to finally continue your way.

“He wouldn’t have had a chance to.”

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