#& who has been ignoring me for YEARS is now suddenly popping up on my insta notifs. literally WHY lmao

[ashtray-girl]

the fact that the more you try minding your own business and steering clear off ppl from your past, the more these ppl seem to want to involve themselves back into your life will never not piss me off lmao especially bc if the situation was reversed, and i was the one trying to re-connect and being friendly again, they would never give me the time of the day... if anything, they'd probably start talking shit abt how weird and annoying i am, just like they've always done 🙃🤡

[tybaku]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259/chapters/77712440

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

Chapter 2: Him

Bakugou Katsuki finds himself standing at the foot of an altar fit for something more than a god at a quarter to 1.

The day is bright and clear, and the sun is hot on his head and shoulders. It’s too early to be out here, and yet too late, and there was already a thin crowd formed, curled around the centerpiece like a halo, or a crown. Katsuki shifts where he stands, dark eyes never leaving the piece of art on the bricked alleyway wall. He barely breathes.

He had been dragged here not out of his own accord, directly after a nearly two hour long elective class that was nothing but a bore, despite it sounding vaguely interesting down on paper.

“Analysis of Modern Art and Media 101” taught by Aizawa Shouta had been a bust of a class to choose, and each time Katsuki attends he wonders why the hell there is more of the same damn class, judging by the fact there was a 101 tacked on at the end of the name, and also it was probably the most soul-sucking class he was taking this school year. Katsuki doesn’t even care about art!

And yet, he’s still standing here. He’s standing here in a dingy, dirty back alley and gawking up at this piece of artwork like some kind of fool, his hands curling up inside his pockets. There’s a red warmth to his face that isn’t from the afternoon sun, and vaguely he thinks, maybe he could learn to care about art. Maybe he could learn to care because of this and this only.

“It’s me,” Katsuki says, not fully aware of his surroundings, or the murmurs that trickle about the little sea of people in the alleyway that are witnessing the same thing he is.

Because it is him, it’s the best version of him he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s a perception of him so pure and human, and flawless to the point where it’s perfection is debatable, and he has to take another look at it to really see what’s there. He’s wrong, the painting isn’t perfect, but it’s authentic. It isn't flawless, but it’s him, really and truly him; near flesh as it can get with its graffiti lines and colors and shapes.

Katsuki doesn’t want to look away.

Kirishima, the very guy who had brought him out here to view the godly offering on the wall, then pats his shoulder and grips onto him. “It’s you, man. Your mentions are sky high,” he says, eyebrows raised and obviously impressed. He shakes Katsuki a little when he becomes the victim of a dirty looking side-eye, wearing a little frown. “What?”

Katsuki shrugs his shoulder harshly, effectively shooing his friend off. “The hell you on about, shithair,” he says more than he asks. Kaminari’s head then pops up from beside them unexpectedly, with Ashido right on his toes, smiling from ear to ear. There’s a mischievous little glint in their eyes that they share unabashedly, and Katsuki sneers at it.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? You’re trending!” the other, less important blond exclaims, fishing out his phone to wave it around in Katsuki’s face. “Well, more like the art itself trending, but people are recognizing you! Tagging you in the pics on Insta, at’ing you on Twitter, linking you to this one art blog and shit like—” Kaminari only stops when Katsuki starts to bat his hands at him angrily, irritated at the fact he didn’t understand a word he was saying.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kaminari makes an ugly looking face like he took a whiff of something foul, but Katsuki smells sweet as hell, thank you very much; his shampoo and conditioner have black and white charcoal in them. “Dude do you even check your phone like, ever? This”—Kaminari waves giant circles in front of Katsuki’s portrait as Katsuki himself mumbles a quiet I mute that shit during class—“is trending. Trending.”

Before Katsuki could tear one into him, Ashido pats at her friend’s shoulder, squeezing herself into the terrible excuse of a conversation. “I think he gets it, babe. What Denki’s trying to say is that this”—she gestures to the painting—“is gaining a whole lot of traction right now, not only because it’s stunning, but because the artist is literally one of the biggest deals in Japan right now. Deku’s like, hot-hot. He’s practically famous in the modern art scene, and he just painted your portrait without you even knowing about it. Do you really have no idea how huge this is?”

And, no, Katsuki doesn’t know, since there wasn’t even a reason why he would know in the first place (again, that modern art class sucks, and even though Aizawa-sensei was good enough of a teacher, Katsuki sometimes thinks even he didn’t want to be teaching it from the way he talks and lectures so tonelessly, a whole new level of bored flat) so the only thing he can do is blink, and blink, and glare as he tries to take in this new information.

It’s weird, isn’t it? Katsuki has never heard of this “Deku” guy, despite his supposed status, and suddenly he’s got a whole mural dedicated to him by the guy? He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with any of this, and he can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. He’s just confused, out of place, and so damn flattered that it’s absolutely ridiculous. Someone painted his portrait and painted it well. It should feel freaky, because it is; it’s an unfathomable situation, but it doesn’t really feel anything less than nice. Really damn nice.

“Oh my god,” Kaminari gasps suddenly, the back of his hand hitting the top of Ashido’s chest in exaggerated shock and disbelief, “do you guys know what this means?”

Katsuki’s eyes find their way back to himself. His profile is sharp and frustrated. Kirishima gasps, eyes blown wide in anticipation. “What?” he asks Kaminari quickly, ever the little worrywart of their group. Katsuki raised an eyebrow.

Kaminari goes smug, a little warp appearing in his dumb smile. “Kats-kun here’s got a not-so-secret admirer,” he sings in a tease, wiggling a little in place.

Despite the weird feeling curling in his chest, Katsuki scoffs at the claim, rolling his eyes. “More like a stalker,” he says, but his so-called friends outright ignore him, and turn their attention to, well, him.

Ashido giggles in delight, clapping her hands. “Oh that’s so true, there’s no way this isn’t a romantic thing! I mean, he even got Kats’ little pouty glare right!” she exclaims loud enough for everyone in the alley to overhear, like an idiot.

Katsuki narrows his eyes, and he swears one of them twitches. “My what,” he says more than asks.

Kaminari decides to take the mic, like a dumbass. “You know that thing you do when you get all frustrated about something and you try to pout, but it looks more like you wanna commit first degree murder or something?”

Katsuki doesn’t have any chance to maim him for the explanation he has unfortunately asked for, because Ashido is shrieking again, grabbing Kaminari and holding him close to her in excitement. “Oh my gosh, you’re so right! This is so romantic!” she draws it out annoyingly, before it becomes a straight up whine. “That’s so unfair! Why are you getting romanced and not me?”

And it’s not his place to say, so “Because Spikey has no balls,” stays trapped in between Katsuki’s grit teeth.

Sero then miraculously appears from somewhere behind Kaminari, a muffin and even Shinsou in tow, and Katsuki groans up to the sky when instead of saying something useful he decides to say, “They got that little beauty mark on his cheekbone too,” with a stupid smirk.

Blinking tiredly, Shinsou adds on “That’s some attention to detail,” like it means anything. “Though they missed most of the other ones.” He starts to unwrap his own muffin, peeling back the thin paper with his teeth. Katsuki wants nothing more than for him to choke on it.

“Hanta! Hitoshi!” Kaminari yells, as if the pair of them weren’t standing barely three feet from him. He reaches over and happily pulls Shinsou under his arm as Sero stalks over to Ashido. “Where you’ve been! You missed the big reaction!”

Sero lifts his hand. “Getting a muffin,” he says flatly.

Shinsou nods in agreement, humming in amusement. “Bet he blushed like a flower.” He takes a bite out of his muffin as Kaminari laughs and jokingly goes to bite at the bread.

And if Katsuki goes a little warm in the face at the dumb claim, it’s no one’s damn business. “What the hell does that even mean,” he snarls unkindly, crossing his arms.

Shinsou unwraps the other side of his muffin with his hands this time, and actually allows Kaminari to take a small bite. “I said what I said,” he shrugs, unapologetic.

“Oo, new slur dropped.” Ashido wiggles her pink eyebrows. Sero snorts, and Kirishima laughs amiably at her.

Katsuki has terrible friends, he decides, and they all can go burn in the under. He shoots them all a heavy glare they all ignore in favor of oohing and ahhing at his portrait. Shinsou looks over at him after a quick inspection of the piece. “So,” he starts, giving up the rest of his muffin to Kaminari’s grubby little hands, “what’re you gonna do?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, expression and stance slanted slightly to the right as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocked out his hip, leaning most of his weight onto one foot. “Hah? The hell you talking about?”

Shinsou blinks plainly at him. “The graffiti, genius. You think it’s weird, right? Figured you want to beat the guy’s face in for painting you without permission, or something.”

Katsuki frowns. Shinsou isn’t wrong really, or at least he shouldn’t be, but Katsuki doesn’t feel like violence was the answer here. (A shocker, he knows, but can you blame him? It’s like wanting to punish the Earth for rotating, or the sun for setting at the end of the day. Punishing the moon for moving the tides, and many other metaphors Katsuki can’t think of at the moment.)

He doesn’t want to go about this the wrong way. Beating his admirer’s (damn it, he means artist, thanks a lot Pinky ‘n Sparky) face into a pulp is definitely the worst approach he could possibly take. There ought to be a better, and much more appropriate option, shouldn’t there? What exactly should be done in this instance? What could he do?

There’s only one thing, really.

“I’m gonna find him.”

—

It’s easier said than done in a weird way, tracking down Deku. He really is a popular and well-known young artist, and his art is plastered practically all over every social media you can think of. He’s got his fair share of admirers and haters, and critiques of his more professional work (he’s not just a street artist like Katsuki had first assumed a few days ago, he’s actually got even better pieces than Katsuki’s portrait, if you can believe it) range from big art magazines to small internet influencers. There’s all kinds of stuff about his artwork, including videos and articles.

Deku’s work speaks to all kinds of people, he finds out.

Though unfortunately, there isn’t any public information about the artist himself. In fact, Deku is a pseudonym, and there is virtually no personal information pertaining to him anywhere. His identity is kept closely underwraps, and any interviews with him are all written word (Katsuki knows this because he has scoured all of Youtube trying to find a video with Deku, and has come up empty handed). Katsuki has absolutely no method of contacting him about the alleyway art, and no way of finding him about town.

Pushing his laptop away an inch, Katsuki sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. He’s hit yet another dead end on this art blog in his search for Deku’s damn contact information. It’s terribly frustrating at this point, because he’s so close it’s ridiculous. He’s pretty sure he’s figured out who Deku actually is: Midoriya Izuku, a journalist who looks to be based here in Musutafu, and the guy whose blog Katsuki’s been snooping through for the past three days.

The guy’s got a plethora of articles and photography on a number of different artists, but according to the internet, he’s more known to be a Deku enthusiast, and most of his material stems from Deku’s artwork. In fact, he’s already got an article up about Katsuki’s portrait, dated three days ago. That was the first giveaway.

If you look through Deku’s official Instagram, Katsuki’s portrait (titled Musutafu Delight, after the side of the café it was painted on, but Katsuki ain’t gonna call it anything else but his portrait) was posted bright and early at 7 in the morning three days ago, and Midoriya’s article on The Canvas about said portrait was posted not ten minutes later. Awfully speedy for someone who is allegedly not even the artist of the piece, no?

And if you read through Midoriya’s blog and Deku’s written interviews, the connection between them becomes even more glaringly obvious due to the fact Midoriya writes his articles similarly to the way Deku does in his interviews, so much so that it couldn’t possibly be counted as a mere coincidence. Their wording and phrasing of things is near exact, and their pools of vocabulary are closely shared.

Plus, you’d have to be an idiot to not see where the artist’s pseudonym comes from.

“Deku can be derived from the same kanji as Izuku. It’s literally the same,” Katsuki had explained to his stupidly incredulous group of friends, who dismissed his “theory” on Deku’s true identity like the bunch of morons they were. The only one who seemed even halfway convinced was Sleepy, and even then he just looked amused at Katsuki’s frustration trying to map out what he was talking about to the rest of the group in his overly simple terms.

Anyway, Katsuki had little to no doubt about Deku’s real identity, but that didn’t exactly mean it made finding the guy any easier. Seriously, what kind of a dimwit doesn’t even put down their email on their own goddamn blog?

Deku, apparently.

Katsuki sighs once more before sipping what was left of his coffee and exiting out of Midoriya’s blog with a dull click. Without any other clear leads, there wasn’t much he could do in regards to finding the guy, and he rather not run himself ragged trying to do so all at once. He could always chase his tail looking for Deku later, since he wasn’t really getting anywhere anyway. Such a damn shame.

Unexpectedly a throat clears, and Katsuki looks up halfway prepared to throw a scowl at Kirishima’s stupid little smile (Katsuki told him specifically not to bother him today since he had so much shit to get done, which may or may not have been an excuse to keep on internet “stalking” Deku, as Sparky and Sleepy so eloquently put it), but finds a completely different stupid little smile he doesn’t recognize by a long shot.

It’s a guy with a scatter of freckles all over his face and green highlights in his curly black hair. He has big round eyes and a healthy pink glow to his cheeks. In short, he’s cute, but he carries himself like a wounded animal, a shy and skittish little thing. He looks like a big dork in his glasses and sweater splattered with paint at the hem.

“Hi,” the dork says in a sort of sigh filled to the brim with nerves as his fingertips flinch around the little ringed book he carries in his hands.

Katsuki quickly fits a frown onto his face, intentionally standoffish to lure this four-eyed man away. Somehow, it doesn’t work, and instead of being deterred by the attitude he was putting on, the man sits himself down in the empty seat in front of him, a wobbled smile on his lips. Katsuki narrows his eyes slightly, annoyed but impressed by the gall of the nerdy looking guy.

“Uh, my name is M-Midoriya Izuku, I’m a full time artist and journalist and”—the guy shifts in his seat and lets out a huge huff—“wow, you are super pretty up close.”

Katsuki blinks, and promptly blushes like a flower. (Thanks for that, Sleepy.) He didn’t take Deku for the bold type.

“I, um. That’s not what I—Well, yeah I did mean that, you are very pretty—uh, handsome, but that’s not what I—”

Scratch that, Deku definitely wasn’t the bold type, just the “doesn’t think before speaking” type. Fortunately, Katsuki was well acquainted with those types (i.e. his friends), so he doesn’t find it as annoying as he would've. Plus, Deku wasn’t saying anything bad, he was complimenting him.

“You’re fine,” Katsuki has to cut him off from his quick paced rambling. Every word had sounded like it was stuffed into the last, jumbled and nearly indecipherable.

“You’re Deku, right? I got your message,” he smirks in a tease as he leans back casually. Spikey and Pinky were going to freak when Katsuki told them he found Deku, and Sparky was going to eat his words. (Midoriya isn’t Deku, his ass. All the clues were right there. In plain sight.)

Deku stops, and then color bursts into his face. “How did you…” he drifts off, speechless for the first time since he sat down. Katsuki raises his brows and then holds up a finger in a hold on gesture, clicking his laptop awake and opening up his history tab. He turns the screen so Deku can see all the websites he’s visited in the past three days.

At a glance, it’s obvious everything is related to Deku and his artwork, but Deku’s lips downturn in confusion and Katsuki has to explain. “It’s research. Was trying to find the dork who painted my face on the side of the café,” he says as Deku gives a little squeak. Katsuki clicks the most recent tab and opens up The Canvas, aka Deku’s blog.

“You said your name was Midoriya Izuku? Full time artist and journalist? Izuku can be read as Deku, meaning either you are Deku, you work with Deku, or you’re some freak obsessed with Deku. Your pick,” Katsuki finishes before turning his laptop back toward him and clicking it to sleep.

Deku only gapes at him, eyes wide and shining in something Katsuki could only describe as awe. “You’re amazing,” he says in a certain way that entails he was talking before thinking again, and weirdly enough, Katsuki feels an unexpected warmth in his chest because of it.

“Bakugou Katsuki, by the way. And I ain’t a snitch. It’s obvious you wanna keep your identity a secret. Just knowing I’m right is enough. Did’ya want something from me, Freckles?” Katsuki lolls his head to the side, staring Deku down and ignoring the tingling in his hands.

Deku startles slightly, one step behind and still mouthing Bakugou under his breath like he was trying to familiarize himself with it. Weird, but cute in a way. Deku shifts around in his seat, fiddling around with his fingers in his lap. “Oh well, um. It’s nice to meet you, Bakugou-san, and I, uh…actually had a proposition for you?”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose, but nods at him to continue.

Deku gives him a shy little smile, one that crinkles the tiny freckle above his top lip. “Would you like to model for me?”

[sambergscott]

a peralta guarantee

“I promise I’ll come home safe, Ames. That’s a Peralta Guarantee.”

(missing scenes from 7x08 - amy worrying about jake)

hUge thanks to johanna for inspiring this fic and helping when i had a lil breakdown halfway through

When he approaches her desk mid-afternoon with a decaf coffee and the white chocolate chip cookies she’s been craving from the bakery across town, she knows he’s either a) broken something, b) wants something or c) has bad news. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, detecting an excited bounce in his step which can only mean it’s b and c; he wants something she’s not going to like.

“Hey, babe,” he tries to play it cool, clearing a butt-sized space on her desk on which to sit. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What do you want, Peralta?” She cuts to the chase.

“Damn it, you know me too well,” he mutters. “OK, so, here’s the thing: Doug Judy’s gettin’ married. He invited me to his Bachelor Party this weekend and I know he’s a criminal, Ames, but I really wanna go. Like, so bad. Would you be cool with that?”

She conjures up a mental pro and con list. On one hand, Doug Judy is The Pontiac Bandit, known felon, committer of God knows how many crimes, an overall bad dude. On the other, he’s Jake’s friend, singer of the smush songs CD in the glove box of their car that they always forget to take out, giver of the Le Creuset pot she adores. He’s always been nice to her and—.

“Sarge?” Gary interrupts her decision-making process with a quick question about a perp he just brought in, snapping her back to reality. She’s a Police Sergeant, her job is to serve and protect the city they call home and as much as she loves cooking her mom’s beef casserole recipe in Judy’s awesome wedding gift, she has a responsibility to bring him in.

“I’m sorry, babe. I just think it’s a bad idea.”

His face falls, his disappointment coming through loud and clear.

“What were you expecting me to say? Ignore the million arrest warrants out on this guy, many of them submitted by you, so you can drink beer and go to strip clubs?”

“You’re right,” he sighs. “You’re obviously right. Man, being good at your job sucks.”

She nods in agreement. “Remember last month when I had to shut that binder store down for running a secret drug dealing operation out back?”

“How could I forget? You cried for three days straight.”

“They had the best binder collection I’ve ever seen!”

(It was actually what was so fishy about it. In four trips to buy pregnancy binders, she hadn’t seen any of the founding members of the Brooklyn Binder Babes blog — Mary Sue, Catherine, Margaret or Jane — once. And there’s no way a stationery start-up would attract such long queues without their recommendation. It was a pretty easy solve from there).

“The point is, you can’t go to a criminal’s Bachelor Party.” She pats his hand. “You’ll just have to come maternity clothes shopping with me instead. None of my jeans fit me anymore.”

“As much as I would love to, you can take Kylie. I’m going to the party.”

“What?” She double-takes. “Jake, did you not listen to what I literally just said? We’re cops. We cannot be friends with criminals.”

“But we can be friends with informants who have helped us catch numerous, even bigger, more dangerous criminals,” he says with that look on his face, the one he gets when he finds a loophole that he can use to his advantage. She recognises it from home videos Karen has shown her where, instead of tidying his room like she asked him to, seven year old Jake shoves everything under his bed and carries on enacting a police chase with his race cars. “Captain Holt has given him immunity before, so technically I should be able to go party it up with him in Miami!”

“Wait... It’s in Miami? Miami... Florida?”

It’s a stupid question, she knows. Of course he means Miami, Florida. It’s just... they both promised on the flight home that they would never, ever go back there. After everything that happened with Figgis and not knowing if they’d ever see each other again, a statewide travel ban seemed a good way to put it all behind them, focus on all their future moments together, not on all the moments they missed.

“This isn’t like last time,” he reassures her. “It’s only for a weekend and then I’ll be coming straight home for snuggles with you and —,” he lowers his voice to a whisper because they haven’t told anyone she’s pregnant yet, “the baby.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she bites her lip so hard to stop them overflowing in front of all her uniformed officers. It’s pretty clear that he wants to go and she never wants to be one of them wives who control their husbands’ every move. All she wants is for him to be happy. And if going to Doug Judy’s Bachelor Party makes him happy, he should go, no matter how much she hates the entire state of Florida. She agrees, on one condition: “You have to text me hourly updates to let me know that you’re still alive.”

“Don’t I text you constantly anyway?”

“I guess so,” she sniffs.

He lifts her chin so she’s looking him in the eyes. “I promise I’ll come home safe, Ames. That’s a Peralta guarantee.”

“You better,” she warns, tears suddenly flowing down her face at the thought of him not coming home, not being there to watch Property Brothers with her, not raising their baby and proving to everyone what a great dad he will be.

Used to her extra strength pregnancy hormones shifting her emotions from 0 to 100 faster than John McClane can say “Yippie-Ki-Yay, motherfucker”, he pulls her into a tight hug, careful not to crush the precious cargo that is behind said mood swings.

He strokes her hair and whispers that he’ll be home before she knows it and that nothing, not even the worst state in the country, will tear him away from her.

When it’s time for him to leave, she follows him out to the street and, after a brief argument over the fact he packed his bag before he OK’ed the trip with her and another hormone-induced cry when his cab shows up, reluctantly waves goodbye.

True to his word, he texts her before the car is even out of sight. Miss you already 😘.

--

Her phone buzzes periodically throughout the rest of the day.

In a meeting with Holt and Terry: flying on mark cuban’s dope ass private plane!!!!! ✈️

Cooking dinner: florida is HOT (not as hot as u babe, dont worry)

Doing her crossword in bed: g’night ames, g’night baby, love u both SO MUCH

She smiles, tells him she loves him too and braces herself for the barrage of drunk texts and selfies coming her way.

--

Sleeping without him sucks. The bed is cold, her pregnancy pillow is not as good of a cuddle buddy and she tosses and turns all night worrying about him, where he is, what he’s doing, whether he’s safe.

Her eyes finally slip shut around 1 am when her phone buzzes. Again. And again. And again.

She tries to ignore him, bury her head under her pillow and go back to sleep, but the messages keep coming thick and fast. She groans, giving up and unlocking her phone.

There are 47 new messages from him.

Forty-seven.

Her initial annoyance at being woken up quickly disappears as she scrolls through the thread. He’s mostly sent her random, meaningless emojis and keysmashes, interspersed with the odd “I love you”, “you’re my best friend” and “I’m thinking about you” that warm her heart. He mentions something about their proposal, about crying with Doug Judy, which obviously makes her cry too.

(Dumb pregnancy hormones).

By the time she reaches the bottom, he’s sent her 10 more.

She decides for her sake — and the sake of all of her officers who would have to deal with a tired, emotional pregnant lady — to turn off her phone and reply to him in the morning.

She returns her phone to her nightstand, settles back into a comfortable position and closes her eyes.

She lies motionless for what feels like hours, unable to fall asleep. She tries the breathing technique her brother David brags about constantly, counting sheep like little Matthew, even reciting police codes like Teddy used to go to sleep after sex. Nothing works. She’s still awake.

She turns her phone back on to see what Jake’s up to now, only to see his messages ended abruptly with a caterpillar emoji over an hour ago.  

She immediately panics, dialling 911 into her phone.

Her thumb hovers over the green call button.

She’s heard thousands of crazy operator call stories, frequently reminded the general population to only call in a genuine emergency and watched the YouTube compilations for fun. She deletes the number, positive that if she told an operator her husband was missing because she hadn’t heard from him while he’s at a Bachelor Party, she’s positive she would be added to those videos.

In an attempt to stop her spiral, she contemplates the possible scenarios in which his constant texts would cease.

Scenario 1: He’s living in the moment and has put his phone away (something she has been encouraging him to do lately to reduce his screen time)

Scenario 2: He’s very drunk and has completely forgotten about his promise

Scenario 3: He used up all his battery texting her and his phone has died

Scenario 4: He’s fallen asleep (although a quick check of Trudy Judy’s insta reveals the party is very much still in full flow)

Scenario 5: Judy’s criminal buddies have killed him and thrown his body into the ocean

Once the thought pops into her head, no amount of squeezing her eyes shut will make the image go away.

Holt giving an emotional eulogy about wearing ties and being an amazing detective/genius.  

Some rookie taking over his desk.  

The sympathetic looks when she tells all the other moms in baby group that her husband died.  

Usually Jake is there to hold her when her nightmares get bad. She rolls over, expecting to see his kind eyes and soft smile, the untouched side of his bed only serving to make her cry harder.

She can’t lose him. Not yet. Not until they’re old and grey, and maybe not even then. She spent so long denying her feelings for her dorky partner, rueing every missed opportunity to be together, and when they finally, finally took the plunge, she had never been happier. She can’t lose him yet. They have so much more life left to live.

She can’t lose him because he promised her he would come home safe. He guaranteed it.

She clings onto the tiny grain of hope like one might cling onto a raft in the middle of the ocean.

He would never break a Peralta guarantee.

--

Her phone finally buzzes again an hour later.

From: Unknown

Ames, it’s me, Jake. Judy’s buddies found out I’m a cop + destroyed my phone. So sorry I couldn’t text before. Hope you didn’t worry too much, although I know you probably haven’t slept. You can stop worrying now. I’m safe. Love you + see you tomorrow.  

Love you too, she responds, yawning as she places the phone back on the side table.

Relieved that he’s OK, and exhausted from all the worrying, she falls into the easiest sleep she’s ever had.

--

Before she knows it, it’s the next afternoon, Jake’s keys are turning in the lock, he’s dropping his holdall on the floor and rushing to her side to kiss her all over her face.

“I missed you too,” she laughs, kissing him properly.

“Sorry it took so long — Doug and Trudy made me fly commercial —.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m never leaving you two again,” he swears.

“You’ll have to leave us eventually to go to the bathroom and stuff,” she points out, raking her fingers through the unruly curls that she so hopes their baby will inherit. “Just don’t go back there.”

A solemn understanding passes over his face and he nods. “Never again. Not even if our kid wants to go to Disney World. We’ll take them to the California one instead.”

“Smort,” she says, stealing his line and in an instant, that familiar grin is back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A dozen memories flood back, of oldies in short shorts and shuffleboard and Doug Judy getting away again. Of noice and smort and saying “I love you” for the very first time. Her eyes fill with tears — dumb pregnancy hormones strike again — as she buries her face in his shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and lifting her bridal style to carry her to their room. He places her carefully onto the mattress and flops down next to her.

She snuggles into him, eyes closing once more. “Did we even get an invite to the wedding?”

“Not even close,” he sighs.

“Damn it. I would’ve loved to see that trainwreck.”

“You and me both, babe. You and me both.”

[lightwoodsmagic]

Hi! So I agree Liam is queer, and the pink🔺in his video compels me not to ignore it. I saw one of your Ziam posts making its rounds after the SIU video, so I thought you were the person to ask. I only joined the fandom after Zayn left, and I’ve always had a hard time finding info on why and how that played out at the time (nobody seems to agree). Could you elaborate (or link to previous posts) on why you think Ziam is still a thing, and how they are telling us? Thanks for your insight so far!

 Hi anon! 

Thank you so much for thinking of me! I’m sorry it’s taken me a little while to answer, but it took me a bit to gather all the info I wanted (while I should’ve been working oop).

Okay, please know that this post is gonna be loooooong, so I’ve popped it under the cut.

You’re right about nobody agreeing on Zayn leaving the band, and it makes sense that people have differing views. It’s such a complicated thing; there was a lot happening at the time. 

I’m going to start by saying there’s a brilliant masterpost about Zayn leaving here. It’s incredibly detailed, talks about pretty much every aspect of it, and there’s so much to look into. It’s also wonderful to demonstrate how much the boys and Zayn still hinted at things and loved each other, like Harry using Zayn’s mic one night, Liam talking about him fondly in interviews, Niall still calling him by his nickname, and Louis wearing his clothes.

It’s a long read, but incredibly worth it, as it this stunting timeline.

Everyone is absolutely entitled to their opinion, so I’ll just give you mine. I’m gonna keep it (kind of) short though. A lot of what I’m about to say can be found in the masterposts I’ve linked above.

I believe that Zayn leaving was out of his control, and was never completely his decision. I believe that he was set to return, but for some reason, the plan changed. Mind of Mine was apparently written before he left, and while I think he would’ve been working on solo music before he left (and that all of them were to some extent), to tease an album right after the announcement that he left makes no sense. A contract like the one that 1D had/has with Syco would cost an obscene amount of money to get out of, and Zayn’s net worth didn’t change at all. They made it seem so simple in the very few interviews with Zayn afterwards, saying he just called his security, got on a plane, and left. I think Zayn struggled a lot with everything, they all did, but I don’t think he could’ve just left. There were articles put out about his new album that mentioned Simco and everything, but when people pointed out that it didn’t make sense with the narrative that Simon felt ‘betrayed’, the references were removed straight away. 

There’s also a very solid theory that MoM was counted as One Direction’s sixth and final contracted album, and it really stands up. Check it out! 

Look. There’s a lot to unpack with the whole situation, and I’ve hardly touched on it at all, but I really do encourage you to look into it with everything I’ve linked above  💞

Okay, now onto the second part of your ask! 

Ziam. My loooovveesss.  

I’m going to start by saying that there’s a lot of ways that Liam and Zayn have hinted that they’re still together, and honestly? The boys ain’t even subtle about it. I’ll start by talking about heaps of ways they’ve done that since Zayn left!

Alright, let’s start with the fact that they WILL NOT STOP LIKING, REBLOGGING, AND RETWEETING POSTS FROM ZIAM ACCOUNTS. 

(x) (x)

These aren’t subtle Ziam accounts, and it’s not just these examples. This also isn’t just something in the past; that bottom right one references Stack It Up.

They’ve also both reposted fanart from a well known Ziam where each drawing referenced the other one. 

(x)

The Zayn art says ‘Love Payne’ on the beanie. Well then. 

And the Liam one? That he posted on his personal insta? The artist added the ‘love’ tattoo from Zayn’s hand onto Liam’s. It’s obvious, and it’s not like Liam wouldn’t have noticed that suddenly there was a new tattoo added ON HIS OWN HAND. 

Not very subtle, hey.

It’s also not the only shady social media activity related to the boys  👀

There was the time that Liam explained why he’d written ‘personally’ twice in a thank you post in his insta story to Bvlgari. 

But he hadn’t. What had happened was that Twitter account @TheZiamNews had made a small mistake, and had actually written it twice. The only explanation was that Liam saw it on a Ziam update page VERY quickly, thought he had made the original mistake, and then explained. Interesting that Liam keeps up to date with them. 

There was also the time Liam blocked an account for talking absolute shit about Zayn, or when Herbie Critchlow (a producer from Icarus Falls) retweeted a tweet about Common being about Ziam. Also can’t forget Brandon Colbein posting on insta about some songs he’d written, and somehow there was one for Zayn and one for Liam. 

Oh, and when Liam’s friend Andy (who seems to…split the fandom, but alas) posted a video of him listening to Icarus Falls, or every single mirroring insta post Liam and Zayn can’t seem to help making.

And their eyebrow slits! 😊 this goes allllll the way back to One Direction days.

(x)

Now, this is a constant, recurring thing for them over the years.

It’s usually at the same time, and it usually signifies something. 

Zayn went ALL OUT one day, just after Z*gi ‘broke up’, and put a slit in his eyebrow, but it wasn’t a normal one. It was in the shape of an L. That fucking sap. Not to be outdone though, Liam popped a lil’ Z in the graphics for his show last year in Japan. 

SAPS, THE BOTH OF THEM.

Now, jewellery. 

OOOOOF are we in for it now. You’re probably regretting this ask already. 

Cartier. 

Say that single word around someone who believes in Ziam and you’ve lost them forever. 

Back in 2015 (so yes, a while ago but bear with me) during the OTRA tour, Zayn suddenly started wearing a gold Cartier bracelet. It was interesting because Zayn didn’t wear bracelets at the time. It was particularly interesting because Liam had been seen earlier that day with jewellery bags buying a present. Curious.

Or obvious. 

Either or. 

A similar thing happened when Zayn attended the ‘Straight Outta Compton’ premiere, one of his first appearances after he left the band. He was wearing a Hublot watch, which was also interesting because Zayn didn’t wear watches either. 

But GUESS WHERE LIAM HAD BEEN 2 DAYS BEFORE THE PREMIERE?

You’re damn right, anon. It was Hublot.

Now, the Cartier love bracelet. 

This picture was posted when Liam was getting ready for the Brits in 2017. For those that don’t know, the Cartier love bracelet has little screws, and can only be undone with a little gold screwdriver that comes with it. 

Liam wore it everywhere that year, and so often. It didn’t make sense for it to be ‘given to him by Ch*ryl’, because they would’ve used every opportunity to show that damn screwdriver. 

But they didn’t, because she didn’t have it. Zayn did. 

There’s also the other matching bracelets they’ve worn by Alexander McQueen.

And also the other time Zayn wore Cartier in his film clip, or the fact that Zayn started wearing a ring on his right ring finger that was sold and marketed by Cartier AS A WEDDING RING. 

They also share watches if Zayn decides to wear one, because they’re cute like that.

Now, they also share clothes. 

So many clothes, ohmygod. 

(x)

A prime example of this actually happened just last year! TWICE! IN NYC WHEN LIAM WAS THERE (obviously to see his husband). Both times, Liam was out and about wearing two of Zayn’s jackets. 

It’s also absolutely not a coincidence that when Zayn was staying at G*gi’s apartment on Bond Street, Liam stayed at a hotel a few minutes away a number of times, but when Zayn moved to Soho, Liam suddenly switched hotels to one in Soho, a few minutes away from Zayn’s new place. Just can’t stay away from an old band mate you hardly talk to, hey. 

Also can’t ignore Liam wearing numerous Kooples shirts during the time Zayn was doing promotional stuff for them. Husbands givin’ gifts.

 NYC isn’t the only city that relates to Ziam though! 

Ahhhhhhhh. Ziami. What a time, what a time, what a time (for you and I).

Anyway. 

At the start of last year, Liam and Zayn were both in Miami at the same time filming music videos for Let Me and Familiar respectively, arriving either at the same time or a day apart. It was at a time when Zayn was all over his socials, posting poems and selfies and generally being his relaxed, gorgeous self, which wasn’t incredibly common for a while. 

People were convinced they could hear Zayn in one of Liam’s insta stories, talking in the background just before Liam realises and raises his voice. It’s definitely not firm though, and Liam has someone in his team with a similar accent, but I’ve linked it so you can judge for yourself! Regardless, we knew they were both there, but it was a fun lil’ talking point!

Anyway, according to people who live in the area and know the coastline, they were in the same area at the same time, and we also knew that Liam wasn’t with Ch*ryl because she was back in the UK. Now, Liam posted an Instagram story the next morning half naked in bed, his 4 tattoo (we’ll get to that) and roses on full display, and saying he’d wrecked his voice. 

Well then. 

He also posted this. 

It was a video, but it was Liam, in his room ‘alone’ with two desserts for breakfast at a time when we knew Zayn was there and no one else was, and he suddenly had no voice. 

Okay okay, we get it. 

They also consistently reference the number 25, and honestly, no one knows why the fuck.

Just casually on Liam’s jackets and shoes, Zayn’s shoes and a shirt that was sold (even the red and yellow, ffs Zayn), and also Zayn’s NECK, which he got in 2018. There was also chevrons on a collection for Zayn, just like Liam’s tattoos.

Speaking of tattoos Zayn got in 2018. 

That big, red wolf on his chest just up there?

One of the biggest Ziam things to ever happen. 

Red was Liam’s mic colour in 1D, everything they fucking do seems to be related to red, and Liam’s nickname is Wolfie because he’s from Wolverhampton. 

It’s a red wolf, directly on his chest, and it’s 100% for Liam. It’s not the only red wolf tattoo Zayn has; he also has one on his leg with feathers, just like Liam’s feather tattoo. 

The media often talk about the eyes Zayn has underneath that, and that they’re for G*gi, but the eyes underneath are so much lighter than the surrounding ink, the shape fits easily, and to me, it seems clear they’ve been done in a way that they can easily be inked over. It was designed for a cover up, and hopefully it’s coming. Zayn also has Liam’s name literally inked into his skin. 

They also have coordinating hand tattoos. The mandala on Zayn’s hand and the roses on Liam’s are explained brilliantly in this post. The two of these together mean ‘Symbol of Eternity’. Fucking hell. 

The three roses on Liam’s hand also translates to ‘I love you’. FUUUCCCKKKKKKK.

Liam also wore a ring for a while, until he was forced to take it off, but then he rebelled anyway, and got this.

It’s important because not only is it on his wedding finger, it’s also what he said about it, and when he got it. 

Now, not only is 4 as an angel number about changing the only things that you can in a situation, but Liam directly said that’s what it was. He can’t wear a wedding ring, so he did the next best thing. 

It also came when Liam and Ch*ryl became ‘official’, and when he’d already quashed marriage twice in an interview. Interesting choice, then. He also spoke of the 4 and a ring forming a halo, but still somehow shut down marriage talk? 

…….okay then. 

Some incredibly brilliant people pointed out that it also came just before Valentine’s Day.

And just before he started wearing the Cartier bracelet from earlier. 

There’s also the blatant references to a gorgeous, loving relationship throughout Icarus Falls, especially in Common and There You Are. There You Are was pushed as a Z*gi song, but people realised it was impossible when they found old pictures of the name of the song on his original plan for Mind of Mine, and realised it just hadn’t made that album. It doesn’t fit their timeline at all, but it does fit Ziam.

We don’t see Zayn very much at the moment, and I’m glad that he’s taking his time just doing what he’s doing! It does mean that we hardly see them interact or reference each other much, but I have absolutely no reason to believe they’ve broken up. The fact that they’re both still going through PR relationship bullshit, and the timing of Liam getting a ‘girlfriend’ right now instead of just rumours is very interesting to me, because Z*gi officially finished again not that long ago. When one is ‘single’, the other can’t be, it seems. 

This isn’t even everything, anon. They’re not subtle; Zayn just isn’t in the public eye as much. 

Everything they do screams love, devotion, and commitment to each other. 

And it’s fucking gorgeous.

[illbefinealonereads]

Blog tour! Scroll down for more information and an excerpt from The Bitter and Sweet of Cherry Season by Molly Fader!

THE BITTER AND SWEET OF CHERRY SEASON Author: Molly Fader ISBN: 9781525804557 Publication Date: June 6, 2020 Publisher: Graydon House Books

For fans of Robyn Carr, commercial women's fiction about three generations of women who come together at the family orchard to face secrets from the past and learn to believe in the power of hope and forgiveness.

In cherry season, anything is possible... Everything Hope knows about the Orchard House is from her late-mother's stories. So when she arrives at the Northern Michigan family estate late one night with a terrible secret and her ten-year-old daughter in tow, she's not sure if she'll be welcomed or turned away with a shotgun by the aunt she has never met. Hope's aunt, Peg, has lived in the Orchard House all her life, though the property has seen better days. She agrees to take Hope in if, in exchange, Hope helps with the cherry harvest—not exactly Hope's specialty, but she's out of options. As Hope works the orchard alongside her aunt, daughter, and a kind man she finds increasingly difficult to ignore, a new life begins to blossom. But the mistakes of the past are never far behind, and soon the women will find themselves fighting harder than ever for their family roots and for each other.

Harlequin Indiebound Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-A-Million Target Walmart Google iBooks Kobo

Molly Fader is the author of The McAvoy Sisters Book of Secrets. She is also the award-winning author of more than forty romance novels under the pennames Molly O'Keefe and M. O'Keefe. She grew up outside of Chicago and now lives in Toronto. Follow her on Twitter, @mollyokwrites.

Author Website: http://mollyfader.com/ TWITTER: @MollyOKwrites FB: @MollyFader Insta: @mokeefeauthor Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18435981.Molly_Fader

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

 HOPE

             Night up in Northern Michigan was no joke.

Hope had never seen a dark so dark. It had heft and dimension, like she was driving right into an abyss. She thought about waking up Tink in the back to show her, but the girl had finally fallen asleep and she needed the rest.  

And Hope needed a break.

Who knew traveling with a completely silent, angry and traumatized ten-year-old could be so exhausting?

Hope’s phone had died when she got off the highway about twenty minutes ago. In those last few minutes of battery she had tried to memorize the directions:

Left on Murray Street.

Slight right onto County Road 72.

Your destination is five miles on the right.

But County Road 72 wasn’t well marked and now she feared she was lost. Well, for sure she was lost; in the grand scheme of things she was totally off the map.

But she was clinging to the one ratty thread of hope she had left in her hand.

And then just as that tiny bit of thread started to slip out of her fingers, from the murk emerged a blue sign.

County Road 72.

The road took a long arcing right into the dark, and she unrolled her window, trying to keep herself awake. Adrenaline and gas station coffee could only do so much against two sleepless nights.

Her yawn was so wide it split her lip. Again. Copper-tasting blood pooled in her mouth.

“Shit,” she breathed and pressed the last of the napkins against her mouth. She was even out of napkins.

In the back, Tink woke up. Hope heard the change in her breathing. The sudden gasp like she was waking up from a nightmare.

Or into one. Hard to say.

“Hey,” Hope said, looking over her shoulder into the shadows of the back seat. Her daughter’s pale face like a moon slid into the space between the driver and passenger seats.  “We’re almost there.” Hope sounded like they were about to drive up to the gates of Disney World.

Tink rubbed her eyes.

           “Did you see the stars?” Hope’s voice climbed into that range she’d recently developed. Dementedly cheerful. Stepford Mom on helium. She winced at the sound of it. That wasn’t her. It wasn’t how she talked to Tink. And yet she couldn’t tune her voice back to normal. “There are so many of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.”

           Tink ducked her head to look out the windshield and then turned to cock her head at an angle so she could look out the passenger windows.

           They’d gone to an exhibit about the constellations at the Science Center a year ago and Tink still talked about it. Pointing up at Sirius like she’d discovered it herself.

“Aren’t those the pieties?” Hope got the name wrong on purpose, hoping for a snotty-toned correction from her miniature astronomer. Or at least a throat-clearing scoff.

           But no.

           “Sooner or later you’re going to talk to me,” she said. “You’re going to open that mouth and all the words you haven’t said all day are gonna come pouring out.”

           Silence.

           “Do you want to ask me questions about where we’re going?” They were, after all, heading deep into Northern Michigan to a place she and Tink had never been, and Hope had never told her about until today.

           Tink rubbed her eyes again.

           “Or maybe what happened…tonight?” Her gaze bounced between Tink and the road.

           When you’re older, you’ll understand. When you’re a mom, you’ll understand. She wanted to say that to her daughter, but she herself barely understood any of what had happened the last two days.  

           Still silence.

           Hope tried a different angle. “I’m telling you, Tink. I know you and you can’t keep this up much longer. I’ll bet you ten bucks you say something to me in five…four…three…two…” She pulled in a breath that tasted like tears and blood.

Please, honey. Please.

“One.” She sighed. “Fine. You win.”

Her beat-up hatchback bounced over the uneven asphalt and Tink crawled from the backseat into the front, her elbow digging into Hope’s shoulder, her flip-flopped foot kicking her in the thigh.

The degree of parenting it would take to stop Tink from doing that, or to discuss the potential dangers and legality of it, was completely beyond her. She was beyond pick your battles, into some new kind of wild west motherhood. Pretend there were no battles.

They drove another five minutes until finally, ahead, there was a golden halo of light over the trees along the side of the road, and Hope slowed down. A gravel driveway snaked through the darkness and she took it on faith that it had been five miles.

“This is it.”  

Please let this be it.

The driveway opened up and there was a yellow-brick, two-story house.

The Orchard House. That was what Mom called it in the few stories she’d told about growing up here. Actually, the words she used were The Goddamn Orchard House.

It was a grand old-fashioned place with second-story windows like empty eyes staring down at them. White gingerbread nestled up in the corners of the roof, and there was a big wide porch with requisite rocking chairs.

Seriously, it was so charming, it could have been fake.

The car rolled to a stop and Hope put it in park. Her maniacal new voice failed her, and she just sat there. Silent.

Suddenly the front door opened and a dog – a big one, with big teeth – came bounding out. Cujo stopped at the top of the steps and started barking. Behind the dog came a woman in a blue robe carrying a shotgun.

Tink made a high panicked sound in her voice, climbing up in her seat.

Hope’s impulse was to turn the car around and get out of there. The problem was there was nowhere to turn around to. They had no place left to go.

“It’s okay, honey,” Hope lied. She went as far as to put her hand over Tink’s bony knee, the knob of it fitting her palm like a baseball. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

More desperate than brave, Hope popped open the door. The dog’s bark, unmuffled by steel and glass, was honest-to-god blood curdling. “Hi!” she yelled, trying to be both cheerful and loud enough to be heard over the barking.

“Get your hands up,” the woman on the porch shouted.  

Hope shoved her hands up through the crack between the door and the car and did a kind of jazz hands with her fingers.  

“What do you want?” the woman asked.

“Are you Peg—”

“I can’t hear you.”

She stood up, her head reaching up over the door. “Are you Peg?”

“Never mind, me. Who the hell are you?” She pointed the business end of the gun toward them.

Hope quickly side-stepped away from the car door, and Tink reached across the driver’s seat and slammed it shut.

The heavy thud of the engaged lock was unmistakeable.

“You don’t know me—”

“No shit!”

“My name is Hope,” she said.

The gun lowered and the woman’s face changed. From anger to something more careful. “Hope?”

“Yeah. I’m Denise’s girl. I’m…well, you’re my aunt?”

 Excerpted from The Bitter and Sweet of Cherry Season by Molly Fader, Copyright © 2020 by Molly Fader. Published by Graydon House Books.

[teagrl]

Luke Skywalker and the Death Star Calculus

So one thing that I’m pretty interested in is deconstructing the hero and by this I don’t mean a simple subversion, I mean looking at what it means  to be a hero in terms of costs/sacrifices etc. 

Now my fave case (SURPRISE) for this is Luke because there’s so much interesting material to draw on and talk about. I like looking at him with respect to the motherfucking wreckage boyfriend leaves behind when push comes to shove. Spoiler alert: I’m going to end by drop kicking the Black Fleet crisis trilogy for lacking nuance and fucking up Luke’s characterization. Because I can’t talk about the EU without being a cranky asshole about it. I’m ok with that.

I’ll give it to Black Fleet that it deals with the Death Star calculus up front. 

But I want to start here with the TTT, with Luke’s reluctance there to kill. It’s pretty noted from the get-go in the first Nohgri attack when he wipes out the team sent to capture him before going to go to Han and Leia:

Luke took a shuddering breath. He’d done it. Not the way he’d wanted to, but he’d done it. Now, he could only hope he’d done it in time.

And this pops up more than a few times there and elsewhere. Reluctance to kill is very much a characterization constant for Luke Skywalker. Of course there’s the moral side of it, but there’s also the more practical consideration that as someone who is now trained in the Force Luke actually feels deaths (and this is as early as Truce at Bakura, one day after RotJ:

Two blasts of painfully familiar human anguish wrenched Luke’s spine and stomach and Alliance pilots died.

It’s not academic for him is my point.

Moving forward to my fave, Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor you have him do this:

He stayed with them while every stormtrooper in the entire system, all at once in all their thousands, sagged and shuddered. And died.

Luke felt every death.

This has a pretty severe cost on Luke’s mental health. This is how the dude who comes to interview Luke describes him after all that:

Skywalker pushed himself to his feet. His face was drawn, and far more deeply lined than Geptun had expected from a lad of twenty-four. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping for some few days now. His movements were slightly unsteady, and the shadows under his eyes were shading toward purple—but they were nothing compared to the shadows within his eyes.

This whole scene is super relevant, you can read it here. Luke is...not himself. Anyone who hires and investigator to judge him as a mass murderer, we can agree is...not all there.

And one super interesting thing, is how Shadows of Mindor positions what I call the “Death Star calculus” inflicting terrible damage out of necessity, to prevent even greater loss. While Shadows of Mindor doesn’t explicitly address Luke taking down the Death Star, over and over Luke mentions rather ominously his “best trick.” At the end of the novel, we find out what it is:

Skywalker lifted his face from his hands and his eyes were dark. Wounded. Haunted by shadows. "My best trick is to do one thing--to make one small move, even a simple choice-- and kill thousands of people. Thousands."

More than thousands, but we all get his point. 

Now one of the annoying things from Black Fleet, as I mentioned here was how wrong it got Luke’s characterization, particularly the aforementioned Death Star calculus. I said:

...who is this Luke Skywalker who argues FOR force – to what seemed to me to be overly enthusiastic levels at times and makes light of the Death Star deaths like they’re a triviality? Sure, he then confesses to know the number of those killed but he’s a goddamn Jedi master in this timeline, I expect more restraint and self awareness/maturity and thoughtfulness from him.

I still feel that way, but let’s look at the text:

“Tagge—I remember now,” said Luke. “He was on the first Death Star when Leia was a prisoner.” He paused, then added, “He was probably still on board when my proton torpedo blew it to bits.”

Luke didn’t know what possessed him to make that claim before Akanah, and her response made him feel even more foolish for having done so. She stiffened as he spoke, and he could feel her withdrawing from him, though she barely moved.

“Do you seek honor from me for this? In time you  will understand that the Fallanassi honor no heroes for killing, not even killing one who has been our tormentor,” said Akanah.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, and wondered at his own words. Everything suddenly seemed upside down. It was strange and unsettling that the deed for which he had been so lionized now became touched with regret—regret over the killing of an enemy who had been his own sister’s tormentor. 

Let’s rehearse some timelike. Unlike Truce at Bakura, Shadows of Mindor, and the TTT, the Black Fleet Crisis has Luke when he’s already a Jedi Master (16-17ABY) having trained several apprentices (his first class already “graduated”). Now Shadows of Mindor might be a more recent novel in the EU, BUT regardless, this is a callous, extremely foolish thing for Luke to say (even if he did feel like that reflexively, he knows who Akanah is and her rigid pacifism). It comes out of NOWHERE and the fact that the writer makes Luke aware of how ridiculous and cold it sounds does not in any way make it make any sense characterization-wise in that timeline. For Luke to be “touched with regret” over killing millions at THIS POINT in the timeline, a whopping SIXTEEN YEARS post Yavin makes him a fucking shitty and unaware Jedi Master. A goddamn hazard, if you ask me.

Black Fleet tries to walk that shit back. It’s almost like the writer knows he’s getting his characterization wrong (like yo bro  YOUR CHARACTER should be confused but your READERS shouldn’t), but didn’t know how to fix it. He does try and this attempt is better:

With no ready answer, Luke turned his gaze back toward the flyway ahead. It wasn’t until years after the Battle of Yavin that Luke had first become aware that the Death Star he had destroyed at Yavin had a complement—officers, crew, and support staff—of more than a million sentients.

In retrospect, it was something he should have realized without prompting. But it took a new Battle of Yavin display at the Museum of the Republic on Coruscant to point it out to him. When Luke thought of the Death Star, he associated it with Vader and Tagge and Grand Moff Tarkin, with the stormtroopers who’d tried to kill him in its corridors and the TIE pilots who’d tried to kill him above its surface, with the superlaser gun crews who had obliterated defenseless Alderaan.

But the signs at the massive cutaway model of the Death Star in the museum had  spelled out the numbers in its table of specifications, and Luke could still recite them: 25,800 stormtroopers, 27,048 officers, 774,576 crew, 378,685 support staff—

“One million, two hundred five thousand, one hundred nine,” Luke said quietly. “Not counting the droids.”The calm precision of the recitation brought a look of startled horror to [Akanah’s] face.

BETTER. But why does this reflection happen AFTER he makes that incredibly flippant remark and thinks that it’s “upside down” to feel regret for it? Shouldn’t regret for this massive loss of life be the motherfucking DEFAULT? He’s not Joe Shmoe, he’s fucking Luke Skywalker, head of the goddamn Jedi Order. The first thing he should feel NOW is regret that such an action was necessary. 

You want the meta reason? It’s obvious. The writer wanted to pit Luke philosophically (violence is necessary sometimes) against Akanah (all pacifism all the time). He just didn’t have the chops to do it with nuance so Luke’s characterization takes a hit. Shame because there are some seeds worth considering, like Akanah asking Luke to give up his lightsaber:

“Not while I still call myself a Jedi. It’s more than a weapon—it’s a tool for training the mind and the body. And it’s become part of me—an extension of my will.”

“And a way to enforce your will on others.”

He shook his head. “Most of the discipline of the lightsaber has to do with defense.”

“What about the rest?”

“The rest—the rest requires that you  get close to your adversary, close enough to have to look them in the eye,” Luke said. “An old-fashioned idea, and a civilizing one. If all you want is to kill quickly, efficiently and impersonally, a blaster is a much better choice—the Emperor’s stormtroopers didn’t carry lightsabers, after all.”

Like we laugh at lightsabers (insta-decapitators/amputators) being “civilized,” but sure there is SOME logic to this ahah from a certain point of view.

But my general takeaway is to ignore the characterization faux pas and focus on Luke at some point early on (as in before he becomes a Jedi Master, probably right after the events in the OT) realizing what it means to have dusted the Death Star, even if back then he wasn’t sufficiently adept in the Force to feel the bad vibes, and even if he were totally aware of the necessity of his actions. I like to think of him reflecting on how much he would like to avoid doing such a thing again, now that he’s fully cognizant of what it means. 

And then Mindor happens.

[virtuousbangtan-blog]

Jackson Wang imagine (long)

this is my first got7 fanfic I love writing fanfics I have written some in the past about other people and they seem to do well and I tell my internet friend ( who pops up in the story ) she always fangirls when I talk about them so I said why not  and this is fluff

You will get up early full of excitement knowing that you going to 7 amazing boys who made you smile. You are going to a fan meet to see Got7 , you are going by yourself which was ok because that means you could get a chance to make new friends. You get there early so you can have front row but you also have photo op so you got excited.When you got to the line you were a little nervous because you had a hard time talking to people. You were in the line for a bit when a girl came up and said” hey you look lonely “no igot7 should be lonely , Whats your name if I may ask?”, You said “ Y/N , I have a hard time talking to people “ , Then she said “ beautiful name and hey its ok , try talking to me so you feel uncomfortable ok? “ You said “ ok “ alittle more relaxed , Then she asks “ Who is your bias in GOT7?” You said “ Jackson what about you ?” she said “ jinyoung mine used to bambam but my internet friend torched me with jinyoung pics , oh yea my name is Leilani “ You chuckled at her response “ nice name and wow lets just say I have done that too but to my cousin but with mark”  You both laughed .

It was time for photo op , you and Leilani walked together and sat where you could get a seat when getting on stage. Once you sat down you feel more relaxed knowing you have a new friend and got7. They came out waving and smiling to the mini crowd. Then Youngjae asks in English” have you guys eaten yet?” then some respond some don't. Then it was time to line up for photo op . You got in line with Leilani in front of you and two girls behind you. One of the girls behind you taps on your shoulder , you turn to her , she says “ hi I'm Jacky and this is Alicia, What’s your name?” , You say “ Y/N , whos your bias in got7?” , Jacky says “ Yugyeom “  Alicia says “ Youngjae, whos yours ? “ , You say “ Jackson” , Then Jacky says “ Hey  I love your jacket, and is there a way we can stay in contact with you , we are trying to meet many igot7s as possible” You say” intsagram “  you give them your insta. and turn around.

You were walking on stage when suddenly you tripped on the steps. You fell and said “ ouch , and every time but hey it could be worse”. Then suddenly two arms help you up. You turned around  to see it was Jackson, you blushed and smiled. Then Jackson asks “ you alright ? are you hurt?” , You say “ yea I'm fine , this happens a lot I'm quite clumsy” you say chuckling, Then he says” good no ahgase needs to be hurt and especially a beautiful person like you “ he says with a small blush to his face. You smiled and said” yea, Thank you for helping me “ he says “ no problem”. Then he helps you to the line and says “ hey when sit down I'm going to hand you something”, You smile and say” ok “ with a smile on your face.

As soon you got back behind Leilani she turns to you and say “ umm I think someone likes you” saying with a giggle, You say “ yea probably , if he did that would be cool”  saying looking at the ground with a smile remembering what just happened and think is this real , did that just happen to me. The line was moving. You were lucky and got a seat .When you sat down you were still in shock from what just happened, thinking about this you felt someone tap your shoulder. You looked to see who it was , it was Jackson .When saw him your face light up more than it ever had. Then he asks “ open your hand and close your eyes “, You did as so . Then he says” close your hand and don't open it till you get to your seat”, nod and say “ ok I will and thank you again for earlier” and he said “ no problem and one more thing can I give you a back hug?”, You smile and say “ sure” and then he give you a back hug and almost gets in trouble. You blush at his response. The photographer takes the picture. After the picture was done , Jackson kisses your cheek, again almost getting in trouble , Bambam says “  ohhhhhhhh it looks like Jackson found a crush and wait aren't the person Jackson keeps talking about and wont “ before he could finish Jackson covers his mouth. Then you blush and think wtf and why me and does he really?.  Then Jackson says “  ignore him he has been dabbing to much “ he chuckled and you say “ ok “ still shock what just happened. You got up to go to your seat and you got the stage , Jackson says” wait” , you of course stop. He comes and helps you down the stairs. You say “ thank you Jackson “ you say smile with a light blush to your face , you hide your face as best as you can, Then he says “ don't hide that beautiful face of yours “

You got your seat still in shock like is this real or am I dreaming caus ethis cant be happening to me. You get out of thought and open your hand and see a backstage pass and note that says “ wait at your seat when the show ends I have more for you “ and his number at bottom. Leilani say “ what did Jackson give you ?”  You show her all but his number, she reads the note and lets out a small giggle. She says “ what did I tell you and man are you lucky right now “ You smile and say “ I wouldn't say I'm lucky its just fate “ with a smile on your face. Then you face Jackson and lip say “ thank you so so much “ he lips says back “ no problem “

They left and you sat back and say “ man is this real “ to Leilani. She says “ this real as it could ever be “. You both talk for a bit then about 30 mins later the rest of the crowd came in.

They came back on stage and waved and Jackson says” are you guys ready to have fun tonight?” we all yell back “ yesssssss” . He smiles and says” good now enjoy the show” as saying this looks at you. The crowd yells at this happening. Then after a a bit it was time for game, they get to pick who is in the crowd. Youngjae walks off stage and a looks for a someone once he sees Alicia he picks her and brings her to the stage. Then its was Yugyeoms turn , he seems he knows who he is looking for , he goes to Jacky and walks her to the stage and them it was bambams turn he picks and girl and takes her on stage . Then Mark, and jb go and get their fans and takes then to the stage. It was jinyoungs turn as the same look Yugyeom did he goes and gets Leilani and takes her to the stage. Then last  but not least Jackson , he runs off stage and take you to then he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the stage. The crowd says “aweeeeee” and you blush. Once you got to the stage he put you down . Then the narrator says “ this a game where got7 has to make noises and you have to guess on this white board.  Then explains the rules . You get a blindfold on and the game starts. You get it every one right and win. Jackson runs and hugs you and picks you up and spins you. You smile and blush and think good thing no one can see you. You both stop hugging and you turn to face the crowd . You were a bit nervous being on stage.

Then the show ended , you did as Jackson told you, and apartenly  jinyoung, Yugyeom, Youngjae told Leilani, Jacky, Alicia to stay as well, which was awesome and weird. You all sat talked until they all came out like every single member of GOT7 came out. They all took you back stage. Once you got back stage you started to talk to each member. You first went Bambam because he had called you over to him. He said whispering for no one to hear “ you know  Jackson has not stopped talking to you since he found you on intsagram two weeks ago” , You say surprised “ I didn't , how did he find me?” , He said “well its a long story , you should have him explain to you one day and one question , is he your bias ?” , You say “ yea he his”, He said “ good and I wont tell him unless you say so”. After this you talk to each member, it was Jacksons turn, when he saw you his face light up like when he sees a igot7. He says “ hey you ok from earlier when you fell?”, You say “ yea I'm alright , it was just a small fall, I'm a clumsy person so its normal.” You say laughing , Then he chuckles at your response and says “ ok good I would hate to see you hurt” and then he asks nervously “ are you doing anything after this “, You say “ no why?”, you say crourisly, He says” well I was wondering if I...I..could take you..... you.. to...the amusement park tonight?”, You smiled at his cuteness and said “ sure, Like a date?” and he says “ if you want it to be “ he smiles and says again, “ ok and stay here until I come back”, You nod. They all leave to change, you sit on a small couch nearby with Leilani and jacky and Alicia . Jacky asks “ did you guys just get ask on a date?”, Leilani says smiling” yes , how is this real right now?” , Alicia says “ yes, and same”, Jacky says “ me too , What about you Y/N “ , You say blushing “ yes” and Leilani says” see I told you so “ winking at you.

The four of them come back. They all leave but Jackson. Jackson says”  lets go”. He takes your hand and walks you to the car. When you got to the car he opens the door for you , you say “ thank you Jackson” , He says “ you welcome Y/N”. Jackson was driving and asks you “ you know I'm very coruis about you , I want to know about you more so tell me more about you “ , You say “ well I have lived here in this town my whole life , I have know got7 for over a year know lets just say I'm glad I found you 7 dorks" he says " we are dorks, hmm whats your favorite color ?" , You say " y/f/c"( your favorite color).

TIME SKIP

you get to the park and walk with Jackson hand in hand. Jackson takes you to the ferris wheel. You both run to the ferries wheel . You both got in line. Then you both got on and sat down and locked in . The ride started , Jackson looks at you and say “ are you scared of heights?”, You say “ a little , but I'm with you I'm ok “. He smile “ you are”. Then the ride stops at the stop. Jackson sees the fear in your eyes and pulls you close to him and looks at you and says” I'm right here shh” and you look at him. Your face inches from his and he kisses you .You felt warm and fireworks in your stomach. When you both pulled away and blushed. Then Jackson asks" what did you think?" , You say touching your lips “ it was... amazing, and you are my first kiss which means a lot coming from you” Then he says “ good, and I need to confess, I have liked you these past two weeks , I found you on Instagram, and when I saw you were a igot7, I felt happy and when you said on Instagram you were coming to a fanmeet I said this is my chance , when you came to the fan meet I went with plan” he says smiling and blushing looking you. You say “ well your my bias so this a dream come true and when you asks me on this , I was like is this real or am I dreaming , then you kissed me and felt like the whole world stopped” you say blushing looking away then he turns his face to his  and kisses you again” and says “ will you do the honors and be my girlfriend?” you say “Yes”

what did you guys think if you want request any  ill do my best and sorry for it being so long but hey its awesome. I put my three friends in here who love got7 so yea I love writing btw and if you couldn't tell my bias is Jackson and also yugyeom.

[sianlwhitfield-blog]

Carlisle born and bred street artist talks tiles, truths and tatty spraycan cats.

Sitting in a gem of a Carlisle café, I wait for the mysterious ‘PAZ’. It dawns on me that, as I found him and got in touch online, I have no idea what he looks like, nor him me. By the time he comes through the door, I have awkwardly smiled at about three different people before they sit down with their coffees – quite a few tables away – leaving me looking like a melon. When he does comes in (and thank god its him this time), wearing a talking heads t-shirt (so at least he’s good taste in music), he comes across a little shy, but once we get talking, that all dissipates. Talking about his work, his wife, his life in general he becomes ever more animated, giving away how passionate he is about all of it, including his tiles.

In my first year of university, exploring a new city, trying to ‘adult’ and figure out exactly why anyone ever moves away from the comforts of home, I came across one of these tiles stuck to a bridge on my walk home. A small, black and white image of a building, with the letters P. A. Z. hand written underneath.  I hadn’t noticed it before on any of my many trudges through the rain from tescos back to my home-from-home of the student halls I was staying in. I snapped a quick photo, and posted it to Instagram; Found this today, anybody know anything about it?. Evidently, nobody did, as my question went unanswered (and to this day, that insta only has 2 likes. 2.).  However, wandering around the city, I started to notice them elsewhere; corners of windows, stuck to street signs, hidden in back lanes. It drove me mad. How was it possible that they were everywhere, yet nobody seemed to know anything about them? I asked people who’d lived in Carlisle all their lives (what tiles?) and looked incessantly online. Eventually it was through Instagram and by happy accident I found the account @paz1971, and met PAZ. I’d already decided I wanted to do a project on the tiles, and messaged the account to ask about it.

Part time street artist and full time chef, ‘PAZ’ is just an alias. “As far as ‘PAZ’ goes, I like to keep it anon.” I ask about the local radio station, who recently launched a small scale hunt to find the man behind the tiles. Why say no to them but be happy to meet with me? “I didn’t want to be part of all that  - the ‘carlisle gossip mill’ – nothings going to come from that. It’ll have the neighbours talking, a bit of slagging off, nothing else. What would it do? This project, it could lead to something. It sounded interesting.”

I ask him about how, or maybe why he started his tiles. He laughs. “Well, that depends! Er, I guess, how in depth do you want me to go?” They started with a love of photography; “Landscape photography. That’s my area, that’s what I love. In another life, that’s what I’d do.” But by losing his camera and equipment in the floods that devastated Carlisle in 2015, landscape photography, or at least to the quality he aspired, was suddenly out of reach. “it took me about three years to get anything back. It started again with the launch of the iphone, believe it or not!”.  It also stemmed from the need for a distraction, or an escape; “I was an alcoholic. It came with the trade I’m afraid. It happens a lot in my line of work. I could have had half a bottle of vodka, right now, and you wouldn’t even tell. Over the past ten years, it’s been a lot about finding myself again. I have found I have a very addictive personality, so decided I just had to find something else to replace the alcohol.” Talking about the secrecy of his alcoholism, I draw a similarity between that and the need to keep PAZ so secret. “Er, maybe. I don’t know. It’s a lot of things really. There’s a lot of reasons for why I do it. I’ve got to do something – I can’t still be doing this [working as a chef] in ten years time – I’ll be knackered!”

Curious as to how he makes his tiles, his process, I ask him and he turns bashful – “I’m going to have to tell you, or my Mrs will kill me. She made these coasters as a present for my sister for her birthday; we got these pictures off of facebook and she turned them into coasters by sticking them to tiles and glazing them. I thought, actually that’s really clever, and kind of stole it! I have her to thank!” speaking of family, of his work and how he does it, he has found an eclectic method to fund it. Mortgages have to be paid, and bills can’t be ignored, so funding for his work can’t affect his family life financially in any way. “I started collecting 20 pence pieces. Just saving them up – you don’t notice saving 20p away. I have about £150 saved so far, for the next lot  of tiles – hopefully they’ll be up soon!”  But up where? “When I first started doing them, I was kind of stupid. I was putting them up in in really obvious places. Right in your face. They would either get taken down straight away, or someone would come along and nick them – I only used to use a little dot of glue to fix them up, so they would be easy to just pop off. I used to take pictures of a place and stick them smack bang in the middle of the same place. I’ve learned; I’ve gotten more subtle since then.” How subtle can you really be though, sticking tiles up in very public places? “I’ve not been caught – yet. There was one outside of café nero – its gone now, I stuck it right on the doorway – I’d managed to get the resin on the back and got it on the wall, and was leaning against it, having a fag trying to get it to stick. Theres this group of kids hanging about, and I just knew they were going to bloody ask me for one. I’m trying to act all nonchalant, but every time I move, the tile moves a little bit. It’s a strong resin, but it takes a while to set, and every time it moves I think ‘I’m going to end up stuck to this wall. The resins going to stick to my jacket,! But no, I got away with that. Somehow! There was one down on The Pools [leisure centre] too, I’d just done that one, and had wandered back up the road. I could hear sirens in the distance, and started panicking a bit. They were getting closer and closer, I was trying to act casual, but this bloody police car came screeching right round the corner! I just thought, bloody hell, I didn’t think they were that mad about it! They jumped out the car – and walked straight past me. Some kids were messing around in an abandoned building, that was what they were after. I was shaking.”  

Find PAZ’s tiles all over Carlisle, and on Instagram at @paz1971