#;; and blending them into fighting is how some people find a good way to build and keep their momentum in a fight

[heirscrchd]

hc + 🎡 for a hobby-themed headcanon

Thematic Headcanons

If there was something that Azula enjoyed that also overlapped with her firebending training, it was dancing (and acrobatics, an art form she would appreciate more later on). From a younger age, Azula would find her peace when she danced among the flames she conjured and felt at peace to sway with the flickering ends of ember that she would manifest. This grew into a hobby of her's that she would only practice on her own of course, and only her two friends would really know more in-depth about it.

As to most outsiders, it would look like she is practicing fighting or her stance without conjuring any fire, but to Azula she enjoyed finding new ways to twist and turn the momentum in her body. Much of this was also inspired to how Ty Lee would contort and move as well, and Azula would spend hours learning various dances new and old, and adapt them into how she would fight.

Most people do not pay much mind to this, but in truth it has helped her become far more agile when it comes to combat and is the main reason she was able to even slip away from Aang during the day of black sun.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Harry Potter/Genshin Impact Crossover Fun🎉

for @kiraisastay my beta reader for the big fat Eldritch AU awhile back! :)

“…a genshin/Harry Potter crossover where reader (still fem) comes from genshin (so she has a vision) and tries to fit in at Hogwarts (would love for it to be set around the Goblet Of Fire so the hp characters in that age start maturing and actually understand what happens around them and aren't little kids , plus, y'know, YULE BALL), would also like for the reader to have a more stoic/emotionless personality with tragic past (so like having scars y'knowww) cuz it makes character building a lot more juicy ahah, but you can write it however you want tho!! (this can be funnier to write if you're feeling a lot creative)”

UGH sorry i took forever! im rlly bad at estimating time...

I hope this is a fun read at least, and thanks for much for taking on that eldritch monster fic awhile back lol

☆

Orbit: Long Headcanon/fic-thing (~2k words) - Harry Potter x Genshin Impact Crossover (4th Year)

Sun: Feminine Reader (she/her), Slytherin Reader, Reader is 15-16 year old.

Stars: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, Viktor Krum, mentions of others.

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Reader has rough past, & Trigger Warnings: vague mentions of scars, Reader has bad relationship with parents.

☆

You’re so fucking happy your Cryo Vision came with you.

You knew you were in a different country, one you definitely had never been to before, but you couldn’t figure out for the life of you where it was at first

Your first guess was Fontaine, but the robes and strange overuse of catalyst weapons (actually, only catalyst weapons??) began to convince you otherwise real quick,

Fontaine was just the closest country you could compare it to

yeah so obviously by the time u realized you shouldn't be waving a sword around, it was too late lmao, u scared the shit out of the potions shopkeeper and had to make a hasty exit

bc for some reason any other weapon than a catalyst is shamed here?? which makes no sense to you, as it seems like their “magic” here could just as easily be channeled into different weapons/items??

u guess not having monsters to randomly fight everytime u just wanna take a walk outside makes for a pretty peaceful world, and specifically this country ”England” or the “United Kingdom”

u had taken a week or so to re-orient yourself to this new world, how only a certain society knew about their magic, how there were no gods here, at least not any u could easily interact with, and that most people your age would be in school still???

while u could choose to pursue higher education or specialize in Sumeru’s Akademiya, basic schooling was still provided in every country in Teyvat up until about 15 years old

but at this point u were willing to do what it took to blend into this world, and u didnt want anyone to be asking how old u were/why u werent in school when you wandered around, so u went to Hogwarts

It also proved to be a good way to acquaint urself with the world/its magic and give u a place to better excuse any social or magical mistakes

But needless to say, u struggled, u had to constantly find some workaround for “magic” from the wands/catalysts in classes

and luckily they took u being a transfer student pretty smoothly, as u were just in time for the “Triwizard Tournament” to be announced and other schools were coming to participate, u easily got accepted in

and the only one who batted an eye at it was the weird old Headmaster, who u already suspected knew more abt u than he was letting on (Dumbledore seemed to have eyes everywhere the more u learned, which made u more suspicious of him too)

you'd been sorted into Slytherin, along with the Russian magical students, (Durmstrang?)

of which you had absolutely no frame of reference for how bad that was, other than being accused of literally being from the Abyss 💀

while the rest of the student body treated u with the basic contempt u learned all Slytherins just seemed to kind of get all the time, ur own house was a little more confusing when it came to you

some were curious abt all the scars, the strange glowing snowflake gem that u concealed on ur hip, what ur country was like and what the magic school over there was like (thank fuck for ur poker face and insane lying skills that made it believable)

(there was absolutely a rumor abt u pulling a sword on Filch at some point, u neither denied nor supported it)

the other half of the slytherins were all uptight about u possibly being a “Muggleborn” and sneered at u every chance they got (some weird blond kid a year or 2 below you??)

or they outright ignored u

tbh u didn't really get much genuine favor between Slytherins just being Slytherins and ur own reputation/cold disposition until Professor Snape saw how good u were at potions a month into this insanity

(it was just basic alchemy? nearly everyone, especially Vision-users, knew how to do it back home? why was it so special here?? u had this kind of question a lot in this world over most things, like the “muggles dont know abt magic” thing, it seem like more trouble than its worth.)

U both got along in the same way a cold-demeanor father bonds with his carbon copy cold-demeanor daughter lol

in which he invited u for tea sometimes out of polite extra teaching for “ur future plans of being a potion master, like myself”

which okay?? u were better than most ur age at potions bc of alchemy (which u learned is taught at higher levels of potion mastery) and its not like you've figured out how to get back to ur world anytime soon

so u just roll with that being ur “future career” for now, it makes the old emo professor happy so u figure why not

And its the first scrap of favor you’ve found here so it works

Tho u did complain at Snape for picking on Gryffindors, saying “ur rlly not helping that Slytherin reputation for tall dark and evil here”

He proceeded to make u clean and reorganize his potion stores for that lol

(Tho he did start to lighten up the more u picked on him abt it, the poor kid with huge round glasses followed you with his huge green eyes for weeks, he seems to be the only one who's really realized ur the one convincing Snape to mellow out)

U begin researching information (thanks to Snape) in the forbidden part of the library abt different worlds/time travel, anything thatd put u close to possibly getting back home

Or, to be honest, a portal would be better, bc youd like to come back here sometimes,

Its not like u have family back home (not any who you'd want to visit), mostly just a few good friends who'd be worried abt u (Childe misses his sparring partner for sure)

Which then leads u to noticing that boy with the black hair and big round glasses (was it smth like,,, harold sculptor? Atp that seems like a feasible name to you bc in this world parents rlly were cruel abt naming their kid “feathery” or smth wild)

Harold and two others, one with fluffy long hair, and the other a redhead,

Were attempting to “spy” on u from behind bookshelves or at tables seated near the forbidden section

U saw them learn the times u came there and how they made sure to match them (tho it seems the redhead got bored easily and begged to eat instead)

You'd actually managed to make friends with some Durmstrang friends in the meantime too

And by that u mean Viktor Krum mostly

Ppl were constantly obsessed with him and he'd managed to escape up the astronomy tower to get some peace and quiet,

Only to run into u reading away, and he'd heard abt ur reputation, and wanted to befriend u

U two got along rlly well, lots of peaceful silences, and chill convos, esp since u guys had some stuff in common

Mostly how ur both foreign to Hogwarts/this country and adjusting still

Anyway that is to say, Viktor teased u abt the ducklings following u around everywhere thinking they were sneaky

And this was a routine u got used to, until it was time for the tournament

You hadnt bothered to put ur name in, u didnt feel like risking ur life for no reason afterall

So needless to say u were pissed when rumors went around abt u putting Harol- Harry's name in the goblet

(u finally learned his name, apparently he's famous for not dying? As a baby?? A powerful tyrant evil wizard wanted to kill him as a baby??? Just,, why)

Not only that but then he was obligated to be in the tournament???

U knew there was smth insane abt this school, bringing back this crazy tournament in the first place, somehow getting Harry's name in the goblet,

but u didn't think they were batshit crazy.

(Dumbledore is not helping his case in your eyes, esp as u suspect he’s got Snape involved in his BS too somehow…)

So needless to say you were going to fix this mess since these seasoned “wizard adults” weren't 😒

You snuck into the Great Hall using a high level alchemy invisibility amulet, and used ur Cryo vision to extinguish the Goblet of Fire 💀

It reset the game, and luckily they were able to resubmit the champions to the Triwizard Tournament and hide away the Goblet before it got tampered with again

Lol u got Harry out of it, and it wasnt until later in the library that u get cornered by the Gryffindor fourth year himself

He admits to seeing u under his invisibilty cloak that night and thanks you for getting him out of that hell, poor kid looks so grateful 😭

But regardless of that, he insists u tell him abt the ice spell u used, how u used it wandless, with no incantation, etc.

You just gave him a small smile (his big green eyes look even more shocked behind the glasses, what, was that old professor right? do u rlly not smile that much?) and tell him he owes u one

He agrees and u go on ur way to the forbidden section

(U dont explain the ice, afterall, who would believe him? You werent even that much older, and only “master wizards” could do what u did)

After that, Harry starts to follow u around a lot more,

much to the annoyance of his redhead friend (Rodrick? Rocky? smth with a R-) and the absolute admiration of the younger girl with big hair

the champions start the first trial, and u help Viktor out with a plan to defeat the dragon and get the egg in one piece (u had lots of experience with monsters after all, and Viktor and Snape, who couldn't keep his big nose out of your business, were simultaneously disturbed and yet not surprised by this information)

it works flawlessly, and that's when you notice the new DA teacher acting suspicious

as the champions gear up for the 2nd trial, u help Viktor try to figure out the egg’s secrets,

Both Harry and Hermione have taken to interrupting ur library research time (u finally learned her name, but not the redhead, he seemed a bit rude tbh so u don't care to know)

after brainstorming (well more like talking at the brick wall that was Snape) with the old potions professor over tea gossip time again, u finally figure out how to get the egg open without screaming, and tell Viktor

Who thanks u by taking u to the Yule Ball, but u only manage the first dance before u get absorbed in the food and the cool decor, and u also convince him to gossip with u in the corner too

(u do appreciate having a reason to dress up at least, as you attempt to imitate the Tsaritsa herself with this dress)

U notice further on into the night that Hermione ran out looking upset, and ur “girl’s girl” instinct kicks in, (regardless of ur neutrality for her, u lie to urself) and follow her outside to comfort her

u talk, and tho ur cold demanour did intimidate her a little, after she realized u were genuinely trying to help her, she took u up on the offer, and asked if u two could be friends since she’s “surrounded by stupid Gryffindor boys all the time”

u agreed amused, and convinced her to join Viktor and u in ur gossip session, which Harry (after humiliating himself on the dance floor), joined in later as well

(You may or may not have iced the floor secretly under the redhead’s and the equally annoying prissy Slytherin blonde’s feet, sending them sprawling on top of each other, so neither would come bother u four)

Over the next week you hear from Hermione’s researching/studying sessions with you that Ron did apologize to her, of which u advised her to get revenge on him anyway lmao

Harry at one point came groaning and complaining to you abt Cedric bothering him abt the egg problem, and u went ahead and gave it to him

Finally the next task was here, something abt rescuing smth underwater that mattered to each of the champions

u were immediately on ur guard when Dumbledore called u and 3 other seemingly random ppl to ur office (but u began to connect the dots after realizing one of them was the little sister of the Fontai- French Champion)

only to deflect the spell that would've knocked u out, and instead pretend to be knocked out

u obv kept ur Vision on u at all times, as always, and realized what was happening as the teachers levitated u all out to the lake

Snape snapped about being the one in charge of you, (and lowkey told u he knew u were awake, did he sound a little,, proud?? no, not Snape surely of all ppl)

Viktor did end up fishing you out, which he said u “looked like a very unhappy drenched old tom cat” while swimming to shore, (u awkwardly pat him on the back for thinking ur the best part of Hogwarts, and then smacked him for getting u kidnapped to go into a freezing lake)

and u also ended up helping Viktor rescue the other girl left behind, and froze some of the mermaids’ tails in the water for their trouble

Fleur was so grateful that she came to hunt you (and Viktor too at the time) for helping her and her sister that she came to thank u two again while at the library

which then led to her sometimes hanging around ur table at the library (everyone avoids it like the plague initially bc of you, but now youve got a gaggle of wizards rotating out all the time, like the younger years Harry/Hermione/Ron, Viktor, and now Fleur)

by the time the third trial rolls around, youve taken to bullying the prissy blonde brat a year below you to keep him from not only bothering Harry and Hermione, but also ur own peace and quiet

The other Slytherins are beginning to warm up to you, or at least not actively ignore you, since you’ve been hanging around Viktor Krum, along with gaining favor from Snape more obviously (he’d plopped a singular towel in ur lap after getting out of the lake, and u might as well have “Snape’s Favorite” written across ur forehead for all that means)

(also some of them may or may not find u roasting the annoying blonde bully kid amusing too)

it isn't until u see the creepy retired Aura (or whatever they call their knights) DA professor milling about the castle more, nearer the Gryffindor tower, that you begin to warn Harry to spread the word among his little lion club to not travel alone, esp in the evenings

(u don't like how his weird rolling blue eye looks thru you, it reminds u of Dumbledore)

by the time the third trial is finally announced, you have ur sights set on that weird old man, and end up following him to his classroom at one point,

in which he cracks open a rattling trunk, tosses some food in, and seems to have definitely stolen what you assume to be the Triwizard trophy

he casts a spell on it, and you put on that same invisibiltiy amulet from alchemy to better follow him, and watch him sneak into Dumbledore’s office to return the trophy

(You break the “portkey” spell you find on it)

(you also leave a note behind on the headmaster’s desk to look into a trunk in the new DA professor’s classroom storage, and to be more careful hiring the next one.)

Harry somehow gets sucked into the maze you find out, and you end up sneaking in to save him, using your sword and Cryo Vision to battle him out

(finally, Archons, you didnt realize how much you'd miss fighting monsters)

Aurors descend upon Hogwarts, only just after the trial ends, and Viktor wins (you trained him too well for him to not, and may or may not have viciously sparred with him a little too much for him to not be a little afraid of the consequences of losing after you helped him so much lol)

Just as Harry is taken in by Dumbledore for questioning of how he got trapped in the maze, he runs back to nearly squeeze the life out of you in a hug, he tells you thanks for helping him again (and forced u to promise to teach him sword fighting or “ice magic”)

Then, surprisingly, the entirety of Durmstrang (and some Slytherins??) haul you up into the air with Viktor to celebrate his victory

(You can see Snape snickering at ur misery in the air)

Viktor and Fleur stay penpals, and the “golden trio” (more like “gryffindor triplets”) sticks around your library table

and you think you could start to get used to this, and Harry, Hermione, and Snape had gotten you a Yule/winter gift

(what’s Christmas. and why is everyone obsessed with decorating trees??)

…that is until Hermione looks over your shoulder one day at your usual reading table, and points to a book you’ve chosen for research,

saying “if you need to make a portal somewhere, that’s the book you should be looking in.”

☆

i hope you liked it!! and that it wasn't too much of a clusterfuck/chaos that was barely readable 😅

again, thanks for being patient with me, and here's finally ur payment for dealing with my ass lmao

Happy late new year!!

Safe Travels Kirarisastay,

💀♒

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[wardenparker]

In the Heights, part 1

Maxwell Lord x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 17.5k   Warnings: Cursing. Alcohol/food consumption, single dad Max, mention of divorce and unhappy marriage, probably inaccurate portrayal of being a high school student in the 60s, yearning, mutual pining, friends to lovers, the love is requited they're just idiots, the one that got away, high school crush, poor communication, mistaken sexuality assumptions, people being skeptical about Max, reader is full of sunshine, tipsy behaviours. Summary: A long time ago in a life that seems completely forgotten, you had a crush on your classmate Max Lorenzano. The world has changed a lot since then - but when you discover that your old friend is your new neighbor, it seems like some things have stayed the same after all. (This story contains flashbacks.) Notes: Part 1 of 2! I won't lie to you, guys. I love Max Lord. I love him in a way that is probably not healthy at all, so Keri has once again humored me and allowed for a little One That Got Away story with this sad puppy of a man. Also, I apologize for any errors I may have missed in editing. Cold medicine and being sleepy is a bad combo.

The sight of a moving truck isn't odd in any part of New York City. People come and go from these buildings so quickly that some people never bother to get to know their neighbors at all. The only reason you'd really noticed the one this morning was because it was out front when you were leaving for work and causing a little bit of a commotion with traffic. You'd skirted it and strode across the street to grab your usual cup of coffee and bagel with cream cheese from the bodega across the street before hitting the subway. Midtown doesn't seem far when you get to just sit and read during your commute, and you've never minded. But you tuck away the information about having a new neighbor and consider baking a batch of welcome cookies for them when you get home from the office tonight - it seems like the neighborly thing to do. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl.

******

Max sighs as he hauls the last box up the stairs. Alistair has already started unpacking his room, and thank God he managed to pay the moving company to at least get the large items upstairs to the third floor wall up, but then the rest of the boxes had been left on the curb when they had figured out where they knew him from. He’s just lucky they didn’t take what he had with them, but it was again a reminder of how he had fucked up. New York is supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning, but he doesn’t know if that’s possible for him.

The positive of someplace busy like New York was supposed to be that people would ignore or look past him. They always say New Yorkers are too busy to bother with their neighbors, and that’s something he wanted this time. To just blend into the background if he could so that Alistair could have a fighting chance and not be despised because of what he had done. Alistair, for the most part, remains as optimistic and sweet as ever. He knows that people are upset with his Daddy but his love never wavers. It’s enough to push him through the bad days, thank god, and to remind him that he’s doing this for a good reason. Starting over is for his son. He will find a way - any way - to make this work.

Things are different than D.C., the energy is different. He’s reminded of the days that he was in school, hopeful for the future. Max Lorenzano was teased and bullied in school, made fun of because of his poverty, his weird foods that he ate, the holes in his shoes, and his proclivity for learning. It had been his first life lessons, but the bullying in school was better than the beatings at home. Unsure of why he is thinking about those things, he takes the first load of boxes to the trash chute.

****

It’s sometime after dinner that the batch of chocolate chip cookies you put together are finally cool enough and ready to pack up. Stacking them neatly on a plate, wrapping it in cling film, and tying it up with ribbon, you head across the hall to meet the folks that just moved into Mrs. Cristian’s old place. An empty box marked Toys in the trash chute had clued you in to a child being present, so cookies seems even more appropriate now.

Even though Max is a miserable cook, he’s unpacking the kitchen when he hears the knock at the door. Frowning slightly, he wonders if the pizza he had ordered has already gotten here. He had assumed that it would take longer than fifteen minutes. “Coming!” He dusts his hands on his jeans and walks towards the door. Opening it up as he reaches for his wallet.

“Hi neighbor!” The words - bright and sunny - are out of your mouth before you even look up, having gotten distracted by the Torres’ cat in the hallway. But the second you do, your eyes go wide. “Max?” There’s no questioning it. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him all over the news or that you didn’t remember what had happened. Everyone remembered. Just…most of the billions of people in the world hadn’t known Max Lord since he was Max Lorenzano in Lubbock, Texas.

Instantly on guard, he’s halfway expecting to be attacked, or cussed out. That was the reaction of the majority of people who recognized him. He needed to dye his hair back to his natural brown. When the diatribe doesn’t come, he frowns and takes a closer look at the pretty woman in front of him for a moment before his eyes widen and your name comes off as a whisper like a ghost from his past

****

“Hey Lame-zano!” Max hunches over his books and speeds up, trying to ignore the boys behind him. Knowing that it would do no good to turn around and confront them. It would just speed up the beat down he knows is coming. “Hey weirdo! Fuckin’ stop!”

The boys don’t stop hollering as Max speeds up. They never do. Torture is the specialty of high school jocks, or at least these particular ones, and Max is their favourite target. “Max!” His name is hisses from somewhere off to the side, and an arm shoots out to pull him out of the hallway like he’s a bad Vaudeville comedian. He’s almost yanked off his feet, but for the girl he crashes into in the disused classroom. You hush him immediately, hand over his mouth, and quickly shut the door so the scions of the football team won’t see where he’s disappeared too. “Quiet.” You warn, carefully peaking through the window to make sure they walk by.

He crouches down, grateful that you had pulled him out of the line of fire, face burning in shame at the same time. To be rescued by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen seems to be his luck, knowing you are completely aware of his lack of masculinity. “Thanks.” He murmurs quietly.

“They’re shitheads.” You mutter, shaking your head as the group of boys howls on their way by. “Absolute shitheads.” There’s no real reason for any of the other kids to be so mean to Max, but logic never stopped cruel people from being cruel. Max is different so they’re mean. It’s as simple as that.

“They are still better than I am.” He huffs, terrified they will find him and humiliate him in front of you. It’s a dirty feeling, to know that you are going to be here to witness his utter ruination.

“How?” That doesn’t make any sense to you, and your brow furrows at him as you lean back against the door. You’ll give it another minute or two before you both go out there. Maybe the trio will move on to another target for a while. Sometimes that target is you, but you’d take it every time if it meant they would leave Max alone. “You mean they’re better at playing football than you? Who cares?”

“They are popular.” He reminds you. “Their parents are influential. People respect them.” Respect is what he craves, yearns for.

"They're bullies." And it stings, because one of those awful idiots out there is your own cousin. But because you have different last names, most people don't know. You want nothing to do with him and vice versa. "People don't respect them, they're either ass kissers or afraid." Shrugging slightly, you cross your arms over your chest, knowing that you don't exactly sound very ladylike at the moment. You could care less at the moment, though. You would only care if cussing offended Max.

“You don’t understand.” Max shakes his head and stares at you. “Why are you hiding from them? They don’t torment you.” He’s jealous of that, if he’s honest, but he’s also grateful that they don’t. Knowing that you are too good for that, for him to even talk to.

"Sure they do." It might not be as loud or as often, but they still pick on you. "Yesterday Lewis Sinclair practically pulled up my skirt in chemistry class because I answered too many questions correctly." You shake your head again, scowling this time. "They're all awful. You shouldn't listen to what they say."

“They are right, I am a loser.” Max snorts, standing up when they have passed by and don’t seem to be doubling back. “Everyone knows it.” He’s learned that he will have to reinvent himself, become someone people want to know. It’s how he will become important and successful.

"You're not." At least, you've never thought so. But maybe that doesn't count for much in his view of things. It's not like the boy you've had a quiet crush on since seventh grade has ever looked at you more than a few times - and even then it was to ask you for help in class. This might be the longest conversation you've ever had with him. "They're mean because you're different from them. That doesn't mean you're a loser."

“I guess it doesn’t matter.” He sighs and looks down at his feet. “Are you going home after this? I think we’ve missed the bus.” That means he will get home late to do his chores. Which means he will get yelled at if his father comes home early.

"We could walk?" Neither of you lives too far from the school despite most of the town being spread out to small farms or ranches, or even just decent-size patches of land. You know for a fact that the Lorenzanos live pretty close because you moved closer to them just last summer. The implosion of your family's happily little bubble wasn't public knowledge, thank goodness.

“Okay.” He bites his lip and wonders why you want to walk with him. If it’s some sort of trick. He nods and decides that walking with you is better than being alone. “Do you need anything from your locker?”

"Yeah." Nodding, you hold up the books in your arms. "I need to swap these and grab my jacket. It will only take a second, I promise." It shouldn't make you feel so warm and pleased that a boy - this boy - wants to walk home with you, but he's sweet. He's always been sweet. Ever since he moved here when you were kids. It was a shame when he came to school one day with no trace of his accent left, but it hadn't made him any less cute.

“Hopefully they won’t double back, so you can take your time.” He doesn’t want to rush you, even though every second counts. It’s the most he’s ever talked to you and he likes it. You are nice. It doesn’t hurt that he has been harboring a crush on you.

Opening the classroom door carefully, you poke your head into the hallway to see it mostly cleared and swallow a sigh. "I think they're gone," you murmur, reaching back to wave for him to follow you. "C'mon. We'll be on our way home in no time."

“Hopefully I beat my father home.” Max huffs as he follows you out of the classroom and both of you hustle down the hall.

"Will you be in trouble if you don't?" That idea bothers you, but not knowing anything about his father, you're not sure if it's realistic or not. He wouldn't be the first kid to get yelled at or even hit for not following a rule.

“It- it’s best if we hurry.” Max admits, biting his lip. “I don’t know if he planned to stop by the bar before coming home and he doesn’t like it when my chores are not done.”

"I can help." You promise instantly, tugging your locker open to exchange your books and shove them into your bag to go home. Your mother is still working and will be for hours. As long as you're home and have dinner ready for her when she gets there, she doesn't keep track of what else you do.

“You-“ he’s momentarily lost for words at your offer. No one has ever offered to help him. With anything. “You don’t have to do that.” He promises.

"It's okay." The smile you give him at the opportunity to be helpful and spend a little more time with him, is brilliant. "Come on, we should hightail it and between the two of us we'll have everything done in no time."

“Are you sure?” He frowns, not wanting to take advantage of your kindness.

“Absolutely.” Slamming your locker closed, you grab his hand and head for the exit, feeling positively brave. Your crush on Max might be unrequited, but at least you can be his friend. Everyone deserves a friend.

“My house.” He grimaces and swallows slightly. “It’s not….fancy.” He feels his face get hot and he’s a little defensive. “But it’s clean. My mother says that being poor is no excuse for being dirty.”

“My house isn’t fancy, either.” When he doesn’t pull his hand away you just keep it, wondering why it’s taken you all the way to senior year to even do this much. You’ve never been particularly brave, but this is just…it’s just talking to someone. Right? “It’s okay. Fancy doesn’t automatically equal better.”

“Yes it does.” Max argues, looking at you like you are crazy. “Fancy is always better. It means that you can have the best.” He sighs. “One day I will have the best of everything.”

****

“You remember me?” As much as you remember him - every detail, down to the curve of his nose that he hates and the hair that he had dyed and apparently dyed back again - you didn’t expect him to remember you. It’s been years since the last time you saw him face to face. A whole ten years or more. He stopped coming back to Lubbock after a while and you didn’t exactly blame him. There was never anything exciting going on there.

“Of course I remember you.” You were one of the few good memories he had from Lubbock. “What are you doing here?” Of all the people in New York, he had never anticipated seeing you. And apparently his neighbor. He had expected you to be married and have kids, although that could still be true. His eyes drop down to your left hand and he can’t see it because it’s holding a plate of cookies.

“I—I live across the hall.” As startled as you are, you’re still standing in the hallway of your apartment building and you shift your weight nervously from foot to foot. “I saw a box in the chute marked for toys, so I thought I’d bring cookies and introduce myself.” Now that you know it’s Max, though, your cheeks are burning hotter than the early July heatwave. “Just…wanted to be friendly, that’s all.”

“It’s- it’s good to see you.” Max opens the door wider, motioning for you to come in. “How long has it been?” He knows exactly how long it has been since he’s seen you. Twelve years, two months and six days since he’s last seen you.

“Twelve years.” You answer far too quickly, but you step inside his apartment anyway. It’s identical to yours except being flipped - a mirror image that lets you know where everything is with only minimal thought. “It’s good to see you too. You’ve…well, it’s been a long time. I’m sure you’ve been up to a lot. You always had big dreams.”

He frowns, certain that you must have known about the dream stone incident. Been affected by it. “Yes, I did. That is over now.” He looks back at the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall. “All I want is to be a good dad.”

“Who says that’s not a big dream?” Carefully setting the plate down on the corner of his kitchen counter, you wipe your hands nervously and shove them in your pockets. “If you ask me, that's about the biggest dream there is. Parenthood is a big deal.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “I let Alistair down once, but I will not let him down again.” He sighs and looks up at you guiltily. “Do you have kids?”

“I was never lucky enough.” Something that your mother considers the ultimate failing. She considers your choice to be a career woman to be a betrayal of her plan for you. The fact that you wouldn’t just settle for any guy who would have you was a tragedy in her book. “I have a job I love, and a cat to keep me company.”

“I like cats.” Max offers nervously, looking around the apartment and wondering what you think of the mess he has accumulated. “Sorry I’m not unpacked.” He offers, eyes finding you again and finding you just as pretty as he remembered. Maybe more so.”

“I didn't expect you would be.” A smile quirks up the corners of your mouth and you can’t help being glad to see his hair back to its natural brown. You had seen the blonde in his tv commercials and on the news — it didn’t suit him. “Hell, I think it took me a month to unpack and it was just me and Dantes.” You fluster slightly, finding his eyes on you. “That’s…that’s my cat.

“Dantes huh?” His lips quirk up in a grin, something that hasn’t happened in a long time. “Like the Inferno?” He jokes.

"I named him after the Count of Monte Cristo, but he's as temperamental as a volcano." He still has the most beautiful smile, it twists your stomach exactly the way it did when you were teenagers. "You can come over and say hi anytime you like. I'm just across the hall...and even if I'm at work Dantes loves company."

“Alistair would love that. He has always wanted a pet, but….” He frowns, remembering that he had always said that he would get him one later and later never came. Another failing. “He would love it.” He finishes lamely.

"Come over anytime," you repeat, smiling a little brighter when that old, familiar crease notches in Max's forehead. "I'm sure Alistair and Dantes will get along famously." It will have the added benefit of getting to see him sometimes, and despite feeling ridiculous for still nursing your schoolgirl crush, you won't deny yourself a small, private pleasure. "It's nice to have an old friend around again."

You had been a friend to him, one of the few. The bittersweet pang of regret thumps inside him and he nods. “That would be good.” He agrees. “My- my ex-wife had animals and he- he misses them.” He admits.

“No problem.” Instinctively your hand goes out to him, touching him gently on the arm. “But I’m…I’m sorry to hear that. The ex part…”

Max can only blame himself. He had spent too much time chasing his dreams and Genji had grown tired of waiting for him to pay attention to her. He was lucky she let Alistair live with him, although it left her able to travel with her new husband. He shrugs. “She is happier and I am grateful for our son.”

“Sounds like you got the winning end of the deal to me.” You offer him a smile, knowing that transitions can be difficult. And divorces are never easy either.

“Only after almost losing him.” Max acknowledges, frowning as he remembers how frightened Alistair was, and how he had to run away because of Max’s mistakes. “But that is now the past. We are here for a fresh start.”

“New York is a great place for a fresh start.” He’s probably more than sick of talking about what happened, and you have no desire to sully this unexpected little reunion, so you don’t say a thing about it. “Definitely more to do than in Lubbock,” you joke instead.

“What brought you here?” Max asks, interested in your life since he last saw you.

“The intense desire to get away from my mother.” It’s only half a joke, and you chuckle when the corners of his lips turn up in understanding. “I work for a publishing house in Midtown. It’s good work and decent pay. And it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than editing articles for the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal and sitting through tedious dinners with whatever men my mother was trying to set me up with.”

“You never married?” He frowns slightly, unable to believe that someone would not have snatched you up.

“I was engaged once. It…didn’t work out.” Finding out he’d been cheating on you for half your relationship doomed that marriage before it could even start. You’re just glad that you had found out about it before walking down that aisle. You’re almost grateful that that girl out in St. Louis had decided to call you up and cuss you out. “What they say about airline pilots might not be true of all, but it’s certainly true of some.”

“I’m sorry.” He winces and shakes his head. “He must have been an idiot to let you slip away.” You had been his dream girl for a long time until he had met Genji.

"He wanted the world on a string." It was what he always said. It just wasn't until later that you had realized what he meant by it. "Sounds like we both had idiots in our lives. Otherwise she wouldn't have let you get away, either."

“I was never there.” Max admits. “Even when I was. I was too focused on becoming someone.”

"You'll be there for him now." You can hear him playing in the back bedroom, crowing happily over a spaceman toy. "And he's lucky to have you."

“I hope so.” Failure is one of Max’s greatest fears and he’s already done that.

"You never could see how special you are." It slips out before you can stop it, a slight shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do in pseudo-self-defense. He never did think much of himself, but the more you had gotten to know Max, the more obvious it was to you that that was a result of how his father treated him.

“You don’t know the things that I’ve done.” It’s selfish but he hopes you never find out. “I better finish unpacking the kitchen before the pizza gets here.” He knows you wouldn’t want to stay and he doesn’t want to be rejected so he doesn’t invite you for the pepperoni pizza.

"I, uh--I'll get out of your hair." The way he shuts down breaks your heart a little, but you nod your understanding. You've overstayed your welcome and he has never felt as strongly about your friendship as you did. That's just...well, it's just life. "It's...it's really good to see you, Max."

“It’s good to see you again too.” He promises, smiling slightly. “I’m sure we will run into you again. We are neighbors.”

"Yes. It's good to see you, too." With your heart in your throat, you nod and make yourself smile as you step back to go out the door. "I'll see you around, neighbor."

****

“So prom is coming up.” Max frowns slightly as he walks with you. He’s nervous because you haven’t said anything about prom and you talk about everything. He wonders if you have a date that you don’t want to tell him about. “Are you going?”

"I don't think so." Walking home together has become a ritual. Today you wrap your jacket a little tighter as you walk to block out the early spring chill and try not to get excited about the question he's just asked. No one else had asked you to prom, that's true. But you would have turned them down anyway -- you've been holding your breath hoping that Max would ask. "Can't go to prom without a date."

“We should go.” Max argues. “It’s Senior Prom. We can’t miss out on memories like that.” He’s been working on the weekends with his dad to save up for a tuxedo rental and a corsage. “The theme is ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’.” He reminds you.

"You...want to take me to prom?" You know the smile on your face is far too wide, but this is exactly what you've been dreaming of. These walks home, spending a little time at his house before his dad gets home from work, even starting to chat a little with his mother sometimes. You may not be Max's girlfriend, but you want to be, and you've made every effort possible to show him that.

“If you want to.” Max bites his lip. “I know you will probably have someone else ask you, and it’s okay if you’d rather go with them, but I’ve been saving up to buy a corsage and take you out to eat.” He admits. “I’ve been working with my dad.”

"I want to." It's too quick of a reply to be ladylike, but you don't much care about that. Not when you're actually being asked by the right boy. "With you. I want to go to prom with you. Yes."

“Yeah?” He’s surprised, but grins happily. “Then let’s go to prom together.” He nods, beaming and his posture straightens proudly. “You and me, we will have fun.” He promises.

"Yes, we will." Already convinced of it, you don't care a single second for anything or anyone else in the world right now. Max asked you to prom. That's all you've wanted for ages. "I'm going to make my dress," you announce, smiling up at him as you walk down the sidewalk. "My mother has some extra fabric from a wedding that she made dresses for. It's the most beautiful shade of blue you've ever seen."

“That will be good.” He nods. “Do you want me to match your dress?”

"If you want to." The idea is a little thrilling - looking like you belong together - and you nod. "I think you'd look very handsome in blue."

“Then that will be the tuxedo that I order.” He promises, looking forward to the idea of going with you and seeing you dressed up. For him.

It doesn't seem real that he would actually want to go with you, but as you walk alongside him toward his house it feels like the very best kind of dream. He isn't shy about wanting the best of everything, and you always encourage him, but it isn't like you're the prettiest or most popular girl in school. There are other, arguably better choices. But he still asked you. "I can't wait."

He smiles, amazed that you had said yes. He doesn’t know why, but you seem to like being around him. “We will have a good time. Dance and see what the fuss is about.”

"I don't think I've ever seen you dance." There's no reason you would have, all things considered, but the thought spreads your smile a little further.

“I can dance.” He huffs, almost insulted by the idea that he couldn’t. The fact that he’s been practicing in his bedroom by himself is irrelevant.

"I never said you couldn't!" When he pouts like that it makes you want to find out if his lips are as soft as they look but you would never try to kiss him out of the blue. Only fast girls kiss boys they aren't going steady with - and your mother warned you what happens to fast girls. Well...she's said 'And you know what happens to fast girls, don't you?', but you were always too scared to admit that you didn't have any clue what she was talking about.

“Good, because I can.” Just to prove his point, he stops walking and grabs your hand to pull you into his arms to dance a small little circle around right there on the sidewalk.

It's like a movie scene when he reaches for you, his hand on your back burning through you despite the chilly weather. You could just melt right into the pavement on the spot. "Well, look at you," you hum, feeling breathless with your heart beating so fast. "A real dancer."

“All gentlemen know how to dance.” He informs you, grinning widely as he lets go and steps back to bow gracefully.

"Then I'll have to work on becoming a little more ladylike for you before prom." A soft giggle escapes you when he bows, and you shift your bookbag on your shoulder.

“Don’t change a thing about yourself.” He protests, shaking his head. “You are just right as you are.”

"You're very sweet." As the two of you turn to start walking together again, your hand itches to reach for his so you shove it in your pocket. "The sweetest boy in the whole world is taking me to prom."

There’s nothing that he can say to that, his mind going completely blank except to repeat that you think he’s sweet over and over again. He bites his lip and tries not to look too happy about your comment.

"Have you heard back from any colleges yet?" He has talked about wanting to go. You've talked about it together, and he has so many ideas for what his business degree could turn into that it makes your head spin. But he hasn't said yet if he has had any acceptance letters so it's made you wonder.

“A few.” He sighs and wishes that he were rich or his family was rich. “I can’t go though.”

"You have to have been offered scholarships." You know what trouble he would have with being able to go. It's the same one you have which is exactly why your own mother told you to stop being stupid and forget about it. Colleges, apparently, aren't for girls.

“Not enough for Harvard.” He had already done the math, several times and just couldn’t afford it. “I have to turn down an Ivy League school because I’m too poor.” It stings and he hates it.

"I'm so sorry, Max..." His dreams mean the world to him, and you know it. But there are some things that are beyond even his grasp. If you could find a way to make the world perfect for him you would do it instantly, but that dream is still out of your grasp.

“It’s not your fault.” He swallows. “Have you been hearing from colleges?”

"No." You shake your head, staring down at your shoes as you walk. "All that work you helped me put into the applications and my mother took them out of the mailbox and threw them away." The words ring in your mind, her voice echoing in your head. "College isn't for girls."

“College is for everyone.” He argues, immediately upset for you. You had worked hard on those applications and they were really good. You would have gotten three of your choices for sure. “We can redo them, hope they accept them late?” He offers quickly.

"She wouldn't help me with tuition." And unfortunately, he knows that you would need financial help to go to school, too. "I would have to get a full scholarship somewhere, and even with good grades I just don't know if it would happen."

“If you don’t try, you won’t ever find out.” He reminds you. “Great rewards sometimes require great risks.”

He has no idea that he sounds wise when he says things like that, and when you tilt your head to peek up at him again he's looking at you so earnestly that you sigh quietly. It makes your heart ache to know how special he is to you and that he couldn't ever feel that way about you, but you'll soak up every ounce of his attention while you can possibly get it. Before he goes off and conquers the world or something. "You really think so?"

“I do.” He nods seriously and frowns as he thinks. “After- after my parents are asleep, I could sneak over and help you.” He murmurs quietly. “Apply to your top three and I’ll mail them off from my house. That way she can’t throw them away.”

"Tonight." You decide, ready to believe anything is possible if he has that kind of faith in you. "Do you really think you can manage to sneak out? I don't want you to get in trouble on my account." His father could lose his temper over almost anything, and the last thing you wanted was for Max to suffer any extra. Not for you.

“I can.” He smirks slightly and straightens proudly. “We will make sure you go to college.” He knows you want to be an editor, maybe even a writer one day and he knows that a good college will make that happen.

Overwhelmed with the idea that it could be possible, you surge forward and grab his arm, planting a grateful kiss on his cheek before you pull away again just as fast. Your own face is burning, but just in this moment you find that you don't actually care that much. "Thank you," you murmur, beaming at him with gratitude and excitement. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve such a good friend. Thank you, Max."

“Thank you.” He murmurs quietly. “You are the one who befriended me.” He reminds you. You had pulled him into that classroom and saved him for another beating.

"I should have done it a long time ago." The embarrassment of not being braver stings, but there's nothing you can do besides swallow it down.

“No.” Max shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong. We all do what we have to. You were just trying to protect yourself.”

"Still." There isn't any point in wishing to change the past. You know that and he's right that you were trying to protect yourself. "You deserve the world, Max. Really."

“One day I will have the world.” He vows, grinning at you. “And so will you.”

****

It's a random, seemingly unimportant Saturday morning when a small knock sounds on your door. You had been sitting with a cup of coffee and a muffin trying to convince yourself to work on the draft of the book that you had been chipping away at for years when you heard it. Dantes mewed at the sound like it was rude for interrupting his long morning of staring at the ceiling, and you just laugh. "No, no," you chuckle at your cat. "Don't disturb yourself. I'll get it." The prim Russian Blue doesn't move when you get up from your seat and you peer through the peephole to see no one standing there at all. Opening the door curiously, you find a little boy with impossibly wide eyes standing on your doorstep. "Well, hello." You've seen this little boy before, coming in and out of the building or on the stairs, always hugging tight to Max's side. "You must be Alistair."

“Dad said that you have a cat that I could play with?” He asks, curious to find out the truth of this. “He knows I was coming over. He said he would be just a minute behind me. Is that okay?”

"Of course it is." Stepping back to let him inside, you point through the kitchen to the cat tree. "That's Dantes. Let me get you some of his favorite toys and a few treats you can give him, and you guys can play in the living room, okay?" This is a cat who loves kids, so you're sure everything will go well, but you want Max's son to go into the first meeting armed with all the right tools.

“Okay!” He grins at you and nearly bounces on his toes with glee. “I’m excited to meet him. I’ve wanted a pet for a long time but dad didn’t have time, but I don’t blame him.” He tells you seriously, nodding for emphasis.

“Your dad is doing his very best for you, and that includes making sure you had a neighbor with a cat to visit. You’re welcome to come over any time you like, and your dad is too.” You leave the door cracked open for Max to follow, careful that it isn’t enough for Dante’s to escape, and bring Alistair to get the cat’s favorite things so they can meet.

Max had been washing your plate to bring it over to you again. Alistair had been too eager and had decided that he couldn’t wait to go meet Dantes. Max didn’t have the heart to tell him to wait, so he had sent him over and hoped you would understand.

When he tentatively pushes the door open a few minutes later, Alistair is on the living room rug dangling a toy for Dante’s to bat around with a bowl full of kitty kibble and assorted small treats for the cat and a muffin and glass of juice for himself. You’ve set yourself back up at your little kitchenette table a few feet away, though your manuscript is now pushed aside in favor of the New York Times crossword. “Hey.” When you spy Max’s head peak around the door, you wave him in. “Morning, neighbor.”

“It’s not too early, is it?” He asks, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I wrangled him as long as I could.” He grins and shrugs. “But then breakfast was over.”

“It’s never too early.” Not for him is what you want to say, but instead you say, “not for friends.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not until coffee for me. I used to take all these supplements and herbs, but now it’s just pure caffeine.”

“Can I pour you a cup? I always make a full pot for some reason and never drink it all.” Up and out of your seat before he can even answer, you’re grabbing a mug out of your cupboard and pulling out the bakery box from your trip down the block this morning. “I also have more muffins than one human can manage. I guess the wind told me to be ready for guests today.”

“I’m sorry we showed up unannounced.” Max winces and looks around. “If you have plans…..” He doesn’t want to intrude on your day if you are busy. It would be easy to get Alistair to leave. He’s been promising to take him to Central Park.

“I was going to sit and curse at my manuscript all day,” you admit with a shrug and pour out his cup. “You saved me from getting frustrated with myself.”

“Oh! A book?” He asks, remembering your dream of writing a book. “Is it your first? Or are you published under a pen name?”

"This would be my first. I've been fighting with it for years and I'm still not satisfied with the second half of the story." Coming back to the table, you set down a mug of coffee and the box of muffins for him with a plate. "Alistair asked for the chocolate chip, I hope it's okay that I said yes."

“Of course.” He can’t help but huff in amusement. “Probably better than the burned eggs and cereal we had for breakfast.”

“Help yourself,” you insist, motioning to the box. Sitting down across from him like this is oddly familiar - like your high school cafeteria should materialize around you any second - but you don’t dislike it.

“I appreciate it.” He’s remembering all the times you had eaten together over the years. Including the one meal he bought you before prom.

“How is the job search going?” The few little talks you had had in the stairwell or while grabbing your mail from the boxes in the lobby had clued you in to how Max’s life is running these days and it’s an unfortunate reality. Since the incident people have been wary of him and even downright rude.

“I will find something soon.” He forces out cheerily. “I am hoping that a few places will call me back.” He doubts it, but all he can do is hope someone gives him a chance.

“I know it isn’t…Your dream or anything, but the publishing house I work for is expanding so they’re hiring all sorts of positions.” It was something you had been discussing ad nauseam in the office and had been meaning to mention to him anyway. Now is as good a time as any. “I can get a complete list from my friend in HR if you like? And I’ll vouch for you if you decide to put in for anything.”

“Are you sure you want to be associated with me?” He asks seriously. Some of the comments you have made lead him to believe that you know what happened last winter. “I don’t want to put your profession or your own job at risk.”

“I’m sure.” You’ve always been sure about him. He might not understand it - hell, sometimes you didn’t always understand it - but that’s just how you feel about him. “I know you, Max. I trust you.”

“You haven’t seen me in twelve years before this week.” He reminds you quietly, looking down at the blueberry muffin in his hands. “I wasn’t a good man.”

“I might not know anything about Maxwell Lord,” you lower your voice, not conspicuously but not wanting to perk Alistair’s ears. “But I know Max Lorenzano. He helped me get into college. Took me to prom. Listened to every story and fear and triumph that I had for years. You were my best friend, Max. Let me repay you for helping me believe in myself.”

Max swallows harshly, overcome with the glowing review of a boy who had been so ashamed of being poor. It sounds like you preferred him. “Thank you.” He replies hoarsely.

“I know it’s been a while.” But you’ve thought about him constantly, and even though you might not admit that to him so that you don’t have to have an awkward conversation with your first love about him actually being your first love, you’re not shy about wanting to help. “I’d like to be friends again. Like we used to be.”

“Like we used to be.” He nods. Friends where a shy and awkward boy had an unrequited crush on you. He had survived it once and he could do it again to have you back in his corner.

“Alistair’s very sweet.” It changes the topic cleanly because you don’t want Max to get a whiff of the fact that your feelings for him have come back nearly full force. Not that he had any idea the first time around. Or if he did, he hadn’t let you know it. Instead you put your focus on his son, the excitable little boy that he has put all his focus in himself.

“He is a good kid.” Max can easily agree with that. “I don’t deserve him, but for some reason he loves me.” His eyes drift to the living room and he smiles when he sees Alistair petting Dantes and cooing happily at the attention loving cat.

If you were bold, you’d promise him that he’s not difficult at all to love, but you’ve never been bold. You hadn’t even been bold enough to kiss him at prom. Instead you smile warmly and pick up your coffee. “You deserve much more than you think.”

“I think we will have to disagree on that.” He murmurs, snorting softly. “I didn’t realize what I was doing until I almost lost him. An angry mob, coming for me, scared him and he was wandering the streets of D.C. by himself.” He stares down at his coffee mug, glad to get this off his chest. “I would have never forgiven myself if he had been hurt.”

“What is life if not making mistakes and learning lessons?” You had been watching right along with the rest of the world while it all happened, but being on the outside must have been a very different experience than being where he was on the inside. “He’s okay. He’s safe, and he has a father who loves him. In time you’ll learn to forgive yourself like he’s already forgiven you.”

“Perhaps.” Max won’t agree with that, but he also won’t count it out. “First I need to prove that I can be useful. Helpful.”

"Sometimes it's okay to just have fun, too." But you won't push. Or press. "I haven't seen you since college," you say instead. "What have you been up to, besides having that angel of a little boy?"

“Married…divorced.” Max sighs and shrugs. “Tried to make Black Gold work. I really did. Convinced I was going to find oil.”

"There are lots of places in the world with oil. It isn't so crazy to think that you would find some." Anytime you had seen his name in the papers, you had tried to follow it. Unfortunately it seemed to be more bad news than good for the last few years.

“Except I never did.” He has made an uneasy peace with his past and shrugs slightly. “Perhaps it was for the best. I certainly learned humility.”

"There must have been bright spots." You can't believe that his entire adult life has been miserable.

“Not as many as there were during our senior year.” He admits with a small chuckle. “I was chasing the dream and didn’t stop to admire the roses.”

"Maybe that's what this is, then." The urge to take it as a compliment to you is there, but it would be conceited to think that he means you were what made it good. "Time to stop and admire the world around you."

“Admire the world around me, huh?” He contemplates it for a moment, wondering where you go so wise, but then he remembers that you have been living your dream for some time. Max just needs to figure out what his new dream is. “I think you are right.”

****

It took a couple of weeks for Max to go through the interview process, and your bosses had pulled you into a conference room with an HR rep for an hour of round table "Are you fucking serious?" about the fact that your name is listed as a personal reference on his resume. In the end they had relented. In eight years with the company you had never had a single mark against you on your file and you're one of the most productive editors on staff. If they're going to take anyone's word at all about a potential new hire, it's going to be yours. Now, two weeks into Max's time as a member of the office's janitorial staff, your coworkers are starting to take notice. They've noticed that you arrive together every morning and leave together every evening, and that sometimes you chat quickly in the hall in passing. Almost all of them have recognized him at this point, of course, and it seems like they've deputized your closest work friend to ask you about him.

Max is eager to please, finding that the work is not beneath him as he might have once imagined. He pushes his cart around the offices with pride and tries to ignore the dirty looks and comments. Especially the prick in editing that purposefully made a mess for him to clean up. Seemingly enjoying watching Max clean up after him. He sees one of your co-works walking up to you so he doesn’t stop, just giving you both a respectful nod and a small smile as he makes his way to the bathrooms for their twice a day cleaning.

It’s good to see him taking pride in what he’s doing now. Tangible results of his work being something that seems to satisfy Max in a way you hadn’t expected but are grateful to see. “Hey Kim.” She’s buzzing directly over to you without being subtle, so you slow down to talk to her.

“Soooooooooo.” She lifts her brows and looks at Max’s retreating back. Instead of the boxy power suits he had been wearing, he was wearing a pair of work chinos and a polo shirt. Perhaps a little more dressy than most janitors but it’s an effort to look professional. “This is interesting.”

“The hallway?” You raise a skeptical eyebrow at her, continuing to walk back toward your desks at the other end of the floor. “I don’t know that I would call it interesting.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She huffs and jostles your shoulder lightly. “Max Lord.” She clarifies, rolling her eyes. “How do you know him?”

Yes, you knew, but that doesn’t mean you’ve exactly been excited for someone to come asking about it. You know what people still think of him. “We grew up together,” you tell Kim honestly. “Same home town in Texas.”

“You grew up with Max Lord?” Her eyes widen and flutter back towards the hallway where Max’s cart is sitting outside the Men’s restroom.

“Yep.” Trying to not make it seem like a big deal, you shrug. “We were friends. Now he’s my neighbor and we’re friends again.”

“Friends.” She’s skeptical about that, but she can’t deny that Max is far more attractive in person than he was in those horrible television ads. “Uh huh, if you want to keep your cards close…” she eyes you, waiting to see if you say anything else.

“What?” Her face says she doesn’t believe you, and she’s fucking right not to but you do your best to look innocent.

“You haven’t noticed that - despite being Max Lord - your friendly, neighbor janitor is a very good looking man?” She scoffs slightly and sends you a knowing look. “And just your type based on the men you like looking at when we drag you out to happy hour.”

“There isn’t any despite being with Max,” you defend instantly, feeling a little indignant. “He’s a good guy who did wrong and he’s doing everything he can to rebuild his life now.” It’s bad enough he got bullied in school, he doesn’t deserve that bullshit at work, too. “And—” Clearing your throat carefully doesn’t help you sound less guilty at all. “I…don’t have a type.”

Her brows shoot up at the vehemence in your voice and she doesn’t remind you that he almost destroyed the entire world with that wish granting trick he had pulled. She doesn’t think that you would listen and you are a good friend. “If you say so.” She murmurs quietly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

"There's nothing for me to get hurt about." A fact which makes swallowing hard for longer than you're proud of, and you avert your eyes back to watching your shoes tread the carpet like you used to do in the halls of your high school walking side by side with him.

“Do you want to come out with us tonight?” Sensing that you are wanting to change the subject, she obliges. “We are going out for apps and drinks.”

“Sure.” It’s been a while since you had a night out with the girls - since Max appeared in your life - and it sounds like a good idea. Like having fun instead of sitting in your apartment hoping and wondering if he’ll come over to say hello after already being at work together all day. “The usual spot?” There’s a bar not far from the office that does great food, and sometimes there’s single guys from other nearby offices to flirt with. It usually makes for an entertaining Friday night.

“Absolutely.” She nods, shooting you a grin.

“Okay. I’ll just let Max know.” It will be the first time since starting his job that he’s committed home alone, but it’s not a difficult trip. He already knows the connections by heart.

“You…..you should bring him.” Kim says after a moment. “Let him hang out socially. Might help.”

"Are you sure?" The look you give Kim is skeptical, knowing that some of the girls you usually get drinks with might not be so warm about getting to know Max. And usually there aren't many guys that tag along. "Are any of the guys coming tonight?"

“There’s Brad and Dan.” She acknowledges, shrugging slightly. “It could be good for them to see him as a normal man.”

"It would be good for them to see normal human interaction." You roll your eyes, but only playfully. Brad is more than a little bit of a horndog and Dan seems to have learned everything about how to be manly from Brad. It isn't a bad thought. Getting to get to know some people outside of their roles at the office is probably a really good idea, actually. Contemplating it for a second, you nod. "I'll invite him. But if he ends up not being able to come it's probably because his babysitter couldn't stay late on short notice, not because he doesn't want to be social."

“Then I won’t tell anyone that he might come.” She decides, knowing that surprising them might them best thing anyway. You both stop at your desk and she reaches out and touches your arm, “I don’t want you to be cross with me.” She tells you. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

"I'm not cross." Kim has always been a good friend, and you squeeze her hand back gently. "I just wish it were easier for him to get the clean slate he came here for. But you're right. Socializing will be good."

“It doesn’t help that he broadcasted his mistake.” Kim reminds you quietly. “But I have to admit, he’s been nothing but polite since he’s been working here. And the bathrooms are spotless.”

"He knows he did wrong. And everyone deserves a chance to start fresh." At least, that's what you've always said. And so far you haven't had too many people who made you briefly regret your optimism. "It's nice of you to think of inviting him. He really is a good guy underneath everything that happened."

“He’s attractive.” She has to admit, “especially with the darker hair that looks more natural on him.”

“The blonde didn’t suit him.” A nostalgic smile drifts across your face that you barely even notice but Kim surely does. “He dyed it back to its natural color. The way he looked when we were growing up.”

“And you didn’t date?” She smiles skeptically.

“No.” A thing that makes you glance away and fluster more than you’re proud of. “We went to prom together, but we never went steady or anything.”

“Oh.” She nods and bites her lip. “Well, let me know about tonight, okay?” She doesn’t want you to be upset if it’s a case of unrequited love and that seems to be what it is.

“I will.” Your nod is enough to make her comfortable taking away, and it’s about an hour later that you catch Max moving across the hall to restock the kitchenette that services this floor of the building.

Max reasons that the staff of the publishing house is lucky. The management provides complimentary snacks and drinks beyond packs of peanuts and coffee. It’s really impressive and it makes him think of what he would have offered his own staff if Black Gold had actually become successful. He regrets how he had to tell Raquel that he couldn’t pay her that last paycheck, but he had managed to send it to her three months later when he had sold his house.

“Hey.” Slipping into the kitchen to pour a fresh cup of coffee, you grin seeing Max so diligent and seemingly satisfied with each thing he gets done. Any job is good that can be satisfying. “How’s your day?”

"I do not know how some people can be so disgusting in public." He shudders and shakes his head. "The men are the worst....but," he grimaces and lowers his voice. "I do not know how some could keep their....sanitary products unwrapped when they are used."

"Women are absolutely gross." You tell him sagely, nodding with a solemn expression to keep from giggling. "If Alistair had a sister you'd see it full force, I promise."

"I am not unused to women's monthly issues." He insists. "I was married to Alistair's mom and would often buy her the things she needed." When he remembered, which was less often than he should have. It was another regret he had, but he couldn't make up for it now.

"Speaking of things we do monthly." Waggling your eyebrows at the lame segue to make him laugh, your smile spreads when you get a confused look out of him. "Some of our coworkers are going out for drinks and stuff after work tonight. You're invited, if you'd like to call Señora Ramos and ask her to stay with Alisitair a little later."

His expression is one of shock and then he frowns. "I don't know if I should." He admits, glancing towards the door of the break room. "I don't want to cause you issues." He knows that you have taken some flack since you had convinced your bosses to give him a chance. Even if you deny it, he's caused you problems. The last thing he wants is for you to suffer more when you've been an incredible friend to him.

"You're not." And no matter how many times you need to repeat it, you always will. Max is never going to get his confidence back as long as he thinks of himself as a burden. And to you? He is anything but. "It might be good to spend time with people out of the office. Make some new friends?"

"I doubt that." He scoffs slightly and bites his lip. It would be nice to spend some time with you outside of the apartments and the office. Socially. Like that one dinner that he had managed to pay for all those years ago. "Do you want me to go?"

"Of course I do." There is no possible way you would want anything else, unless going out would truly make him unhappy somehow. "I love spending time with you." Yup. That's how that sentence goes. Absolutely.

He quietly thinks about it for a long moment before he nods. "I will call Señora Ramos and see if she can watch Alistair for a few more hours." He decides and despite his worries, his posture straightens and he looks excited.

"You deserve a night to be an adult," you remind him, but the way he straightens has you hoping that he's looking forward to it now. "I'll see you at the end of the day, okay? We can walk over to the bar together."

"I will see you then." He nods, knowing he will have to call the babysitter right away before he can really start looking forward to the idea of going out with you and your friends.

******

When the end of the work day comes, you're eager to leave your desk behind. Max hadn't come by your desk to tell you that there was a problem with plans for the evening so you're looking forward to being able to just relax with your friends - both old and new.

Max finishes up his work early, busting his ass to make sure he was done and able to put all of his supplies away and be ready for you at the elevators on time. He has gotten the go ahead from Señora Ramos and was looking forward to buying you a drink.

"Ready to go?" Though you beg your mind not to brim with memories of him picking you up for prom, they're at the top of your mind anyway as the elevator opens and Max strides out into the lobby.

"I am." He had to dry his hands on a paper towel on the way down to the lobby and shove it in his pocket. "Are you?" He asks, lifting his brows and giving you a chance to reconsider. He wouldn't blame you.

"Absolutely." You would take his hand under different circumstances. As it is, your fingers twist around the strap of your purse as you nod toward the doors. "Kim and some of the others just went ahead to grab us tables."

“Oh.” He frowns slightly but nods. “Then we should hurry, no?”

"It's not a race." It does make you chuckle, though, and you nod toward the doors before starting to walk. "We're five minutes behind at the absolute most."

"Where do you normally go to do this 'happy hour'?" Max asks as he guides you out of the building and lets you turn him in the right direction.

"There's a place called Pollard's a couple of blocks away that has really good drink deals and small plate stuff. I'm a big fan of filling myself with margaritas and flatbread on a Friday night." In fact it was something of a ritual, and you're glad to share that with him if he's inclined to it. Alistair is a strict cheese-only kind of kind when it comes to pizza but there is a whole world of more adult flavours to get behind.

"It has been a long time since I have had a margarita." He admits, wondering how you act when you have alcohol. Genji used to make fun of him for being too earnest, too eager to please when he was drunk. He had switched to champagne to make himself seem more sophisticated but actually hated the taste.

"Then you'll have to share with me." The idea lights you up inside and you nudge him while you walk. "They do this margarita tower thing...it sounds impressive but it's two or three drinks each and ridiculously cheap. Best margaritas in the city."

"Then we will have that." Max grins and nods. "And you like the...flatbreads?" He doesn't know what it is, but you seem happy about having one.

"It's just fancy pizza." You grin when he sounds confused and put your nose in the air while you walk. "Fancy metropolitan pizza. I thought you might like a change of pace from all the cheese all the time."

Max groans and rolls his eyes. "Aliastair has to try something else." He pouts slightly. "Even if it's just pepperoni."

"One day we'll have him eating a huge variety. But not quite yet." That pout hasn't changed in twenty years. It still makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and cuddle it away. Which is why you immediately shove your hands in your pockets when you see it. "For now, we'll have some adult treats."

"Something other than Fruit Loops." Max snorts with a grin. "He had me buy two boxes when we went to the bodega last weekend."

"I promise." You hold up your pinky to him after scurrying across a busy street. "No Fruit Loops."

Chuckling as he rings his own pinky around yours, he feels like he's back in high school with you. Promising that he won't become friends with your cousin, as if that could have ever happened. "I want to buy your drinks and food tonight." He tells you.

"You don't have to do that." In fact, you had been planning on just paying the tab for both of you. Considering that you're the one who invited him, you didn't want him to feel pressured or have to count pennies.

"I want to. To say thank you." He shoves his hands into his pockets and concentrates on the steps in front of him. "For helping me find the job, for being a good friend." He lowers his voice slightly. "For not hating me."

"I could never hate you." Sure there had been things you didn't understand. Or times you were hurt when he lavished attention on other people. Like the girls at college that he had told you about during their holiday breaks. But hate? You could never. "I'm glad to have my best friend back."

Friend. He reminds himself that was what he was to you. No more. He frowns slightly as he suddenly thinks about something that makes his heart drop. "You- is there someone you meet at your happy hour meetings?" He asks, slightly jealous of the idea.

"There's a couple of people who always come. Kim, Jennifer, and Gretchen for sure. And usually Carmen. Apparently this time Brad and Dan are coming, too," you tell him, fully misunderstanding the question.

"And which one are you happiest to see?" Max asks, happy mood suddenly souring.

"I mean...usually Kim, I guess?" It's impossible to stop on the pavement in the middle of Midtown, but you tilt your head and your forehead furrows when he looks upset. "Why? Do you...not like some of them?"

"I see." He shakes his head. "No, I do not know them." He reminds you. "I understand now why it never...." He breaks off and shakes his head again, adopting a charming smile. "Never mind, I am eager to meet your friends."

There's a train of thought there that you can't quite follow, but you nod vaguely and keep walking. The two of you are quiet when you pull open the door to Pollard's and Kim waves enthusiastically from a place in the corner where a half dozen small tables have been pushed together for your group. "Looks like we're over there."

Max hangs back slightly, both wary of everyone's reception of him and mulling over the knowledge that you had never been interested in him because you liked women. He had wondered why you never seemed to want to take things farther with him. One of the reasons he had looked so hard for someone in college, to get you off his mind.

After giving hugs to your friends and sitting down beside Kim, you pull out the chair on your other side for Max. The group looks like they've been told to behave themselves - something you'll thank Kim for later - and you look around you only to notice that he hasn't sat down yet. "Max?"

"Hello." Max nods to everyone and bites his lip. "Do you mind if I join you?" It's important that he doesn't insert himself where he's not wanted. Something that he would do too often in his bid for respectability and investments.

"You're more than welcome," Kim insists, waving her hand at the chair on your other side. Everybody had agreed to play nice tonight for your sake. Generally speaking you're just too nice for your own good, and most of your extended work-friend group is curious. "Food here is great. I don't know if our girl told you or not on the way over."

Our girl. Max smiles politely and sits. "She has told me about the margaritas and the flatbread pizzas." He nods and looks around at everyone and wonders what they really think about him being here. "So I believe I will like it."

"Let me guess," Kim hums, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Margarita tower?" "Of course." It's kind of your go-to anytime you have someone to share it with, and you stretch out with a happy grin at the table. "Max needs a rest from the world of juice boxes and cheese pizza."

"You have a child?" Jennifer asks curiously. "I didn't know that."

"His son's an angel." You offer, smiling at Max, who looks uncomfortable again. "He's my cat's new favorite playmate."

“Alistair is eight.” Max tells them. “The best son anyone could ask for. Sweet and kind, loving.” All traits that Max needed to improve on as an adult, but Alistair’s faith in him, your faith in him, kept him pushing forward.

“Eight is such a good age.” Gretchen goes a little dreamy. Everyone knows her kids are hell on wheels now that they’re teenagers, and she misses when they were little. “Curiosity is at a premium at that age. They’re like little sponges. And so sweet. Oh you’re so lucky.”

"Very lucky." Max can wholeheartedly agree with that. "We have been exploring the museums on the weekends and he asks so many questions that the tour guides don't know." It makes him regret not taking him to more museums while they were in D.C., but he is enjoying the outings with his son and is proud of his curiosity.

“Does he have a library card yet?” She asks, obviously enjoying memories of that age. “My youngest loved the themed story hours until she was eleven or twelve.”

“He doesn’t, but I should get him one.” Max tilts his head in interest. “He loves to read and watch movies.”

“It’s worth it.” Gretchen promises with a smile, and she picks up her menu. “No matter where you are in the city, you can always find a branch.”

“Thank you.” Max replies sincerely. “I will take him to get a card this weekend. We are planning on picnicking in Central Park.” He chuckles. “Which, to Alistair, means pizza at the park.”

“Central Park and the library sounds like a perfect day.” It twists your heart a little - the number of times you’ve thought about what would have happened if you have been brave enough to tell Max how you felt years ago. If Alistair would be your little boy instead of someone else’s. The result has been that you soak up every minute of time that Max’s son is willing to spend with you.

“Would you like to come with us?” Mac is always happy to have you with him. You make the even brighter with your company, just like when you were in high school.

"I'd love to." There's no hesitation for you. No question or even need to consider. Any chance you get to spend with Max, you're going to take it. "You guys have been spending a lot of time together, huh?" Kim asks, amusement twitching in the corner of her mouth. She had thought that you were acting a little defensive earlier because of some unrequited thing, but now she thinks you might just be oblivious to how requited it could be. Not that she would ever get mixed up with a guy like Max Lord, but you seem to have a unique history with the guy.

“She has been very kind to us.” Max is careful to not sully your reputation with telling them how most evenings are spent together and you’ve taught him to make more than mac and cheese with hot dogs for dinner. “New York is very different from D.C. and we are grateful to have someone who knows the area like she does.”

"Rekindling the old friendship, right?" It's a little bit of prodding, sure, but she's also trying to peel away at that Maxwell Lord veneer that they all saw on tv for so long and make him a real person to your other friends.

“I was very lucky to have her as my friend.” Max admits, looking down at his hands shyly. “Believe it or not, I was not well liked when I was younger.” He chuckles at how true that still was, although that was because of his mistakes rather than his misfortune of being poor or an immigrant.

"Neither of us was," you amend, not wanting him to feel singled out by that fact. "If not for Max, I wouldn't have survived senior year. And I definitely wouldn't have gone to college."

“That was a long night.” He remembers, smiling slightly at the memory. “But your admission papers were perfect.” He had sent them off like he had promised and you had been accepted to all of them, with scholarships.

"My mother was furious." A fact which makes you giggle now, so many years later. "Until it became a bragging point. She found out that one of the colleges I applied to was all women, and suddenly I was making a modest, pious choice to educate myself to be a good wife." You roll your eyes heavily, knowing that your years at Sarah Lawrence had radicalized you in ways that your mother could never have dreamed of. "Imagine her disappointment when I went and got a career after college instead of a husband."

“She should be proud of you.” Max shakes his head, still unable to believe what your mother had put you through. “I was. I am. You are in a prestigious position and working on becoming a published author.”

"All thanks to you, it sounds like." Kim is actually smiling, and Gretchen's expression has turned from curious to fond. "You know, this is the most we've ever been able to get her to open up about the old days. Normally she just glosses over any hometown or family questions."

“Oh.” He tosses you a look, hoping that he has not overstepped. “Life was not great for us, but we managed together and we had fun. Prom was possibly the best night of my life until the day Alistair was born.”

"Did you go to prom together?" Gretchen looks like she might melt at that, while Brad and Dan are clearly regretting that there isn't something less girly to talk about.

“Yeah.” Max nods and grins slightly. “It was a good night. We had fun and I still have the pictures we took.”

"You still have those?" Somehow you hadn't expected that, and it makes you light up and soften at the same time. "My mother got rid of my copies...along with pretty much everything else."

“She was always a…difficult woman.” Max sighs. “Genji made sure that she kept them when we divorced but returned all my stuff when we moved to New York.”

"Sounds like your ex-wife and my mother would have gotten along well," you grumble sympathetically when the waitress appears to take your drink orders.

Max defers to you, letting you order first and adding a glass of water in addition to the margarita tower.

Several beers, Gretchen's Long Island Iced Tea, and Kim's white wine selection later, you're all engrossed in looking through food options. The reason you like this place that is it's easy to blend into the background and still get decent service. Yours isn't the only office that empties into this building on a Friday night, and a group of tables nearby is taken up by some folks from a nearby marketing firm that you recognize as fellow regulars. It's just a cordial, relaxed atmosphere that is more than welcome after a long work week.

“They have a lot of options.” Max hums as he looks through the menu. “Have you had anything other than the flatbreads?”

"Not much," you admit with a guilty grin. "Do you want to try something else? I don't mind broadening my horizons a little."

“We could always get the appetizer thing.” He points to a sampler. “And your flatbread. Splitting it and trying more things?”

"If that's what sounds good to you, I'm in." He could suggest almost anything and you would go along with it, so this is barely a compromise. All you want is for him to enjoy himself tonight.

He nods, smiling at you and relaxing slightly. No one has been rude yet and it feels almost like the old days, although he’s still slightly upset he never realized that you were into women.

It's a comfortable evening, with people loosening up after some drinks and food. Brad drags Jennifer away from her seat to dance at one point, even though this is definitely a bar that does not have a dance floor. It's warm and comfortable and there is something extra in the air tonight that is probably just the margaritas talking, but it has you smiling and laughing even more than usual.

As the evening goes on, Max relaxed a little more. Somehow the buttons of his polo pop open and he leans back and ruffles his hand through his hair as the alcohol mellows him out. Sticking close to you and to Kim, he has tried to figure out the dynamic and it’s driving him crazy. He wants to be a good friend and be supportive of you, but he also wishes that he had taken that chance so many years ago and kissed you when it seemed like the right moment for it.

You're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...you'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much... Frankie Valli croons through the speakers in the bar, making your head jump up and your eyes snap over to Max. Like the memory of senior prom wasn't enough, that song throws you back in time harder than a slingshot.

******

Max tries to suppress his nerves, praying his hands aren’t sweaty as he guides you through the song. It’s romantic and one that he’s heard before, making him think of you. At long last love has arrived….And I thank God I'm alive “Are you having a good time?” He asks, desperately hopeful that you don’t hate the night with him.

"Of course I am." You're here with him, there's nothing realistic that you could think of to make it better. Realistic being the key. Those little daydreams you've had about going out to Lover's Lane with him or cuddling up under the stars? Those are just fantasies. "A--are you?"

“I am.” He nods and smiles at you. “Your dress is the prettiest one here.” You had taken his breath away and he was grateful that the corsage matched and his suit complimented it.

"Do you think so?" The pattern is a little old fashioned probably, but you love it. the flowers that you had carefully embroidered for embellishment and the few crystals that you managed to get your hands on had made you hopeful that he would like it, but your mother had scoffed that boys don't care what dress you wear. After that, even though you had finished the dress, you had been a little less giddy about it.

“It is beautiful. I cannot believe that you made it yourself.” He smiles and reaches up from your back to rub the edge of your shoulder strap. “If you wanted to, you could be a very accomplished seamstress.”

"Maybe I'll just make my own dresses." You beam at him, unable to contain how hard you're smiling at such a compliment. "Dinner dresses to go out in. Or even my wedding dress one day."

“It would be breathtaking.” His heart pounds in his chest thinking about your wedding day. Painfully wishing that he was the lucky man who got to meet you in front of the priest.

"Not that...that I think that will happen any time soon." Mostly because you can't picture the day at all with anyone but him, and he doesn't seem to like you that way. Even all through the nice dinner he took you to before the dance tonight, he hadn't tried to hold your hand or anything. Which is okay. It's not like you don't know that boys don't like you. But you're trying not to lose hope before the night is over.

“No, you must get through college first.” Max insists seriously. “It is important that you establish your dreams first.” Max decides that he will become wealthy before he asks you out, not wishing for you to pity him. He had been so nervous tonight he couldn’t form the words to ask you to the movies, even though he wanted to.

"I've been waiting for the right time to tell you." Deciding that this is it - this moment, this dance, this song, you are absolutely beaming at him. "I spoke with the financial department at Sarah Lawrence yesterday. They're actually going to give me enough scholarships and grants that I can manage it."

“What?” Max gasps, lighting up. “That’s great.” He lunges forward to hug you tightly, excited that you were getting to have your dream despite your mother trying to sabotage you.

“It’s all thanks to you.” You hug him back tightly, nearly giggling with excitement. “I never could have gotten it all done alone.”

"You could have." He protests, but he beams at your praise. "We will both have our college degrees in no time and I will know a famous publisher and you will know a powerful businessman."

Know. You will know each other. Nothing more. You try so hard not to let your smile dim and end up clinging to him a little harder. If you weren't so terrified of losing him altogether then you wouldn't care what the other girls said. You could live with being considered 'fast' for kissing him first if you were just brave enough.

You seem so happy by the prospect, he bites his lip and wonders if he imagines that you sometimes look at him like you want to kiss him. Perhaps it is just his own wants projecting onto you, he has a habit of doing that, but he cannot help it with you. If he had one person in the world to save, it would be you. Whispering your name, he gathers the shreds of his courage and presses slightly closer to you.

For a second you can't tell if it's your imagination or if the world really has stopped moving around you. Your vision has narrowed down to just him and he's filled your other senses -- but when does he not? When do you ever think of anyone in the whole world before Max? Sometimes you could swear he thinks of you as more than just a friend, and right now his hands grasping you a little tighter has your heart jumping directly into your throat as it starts to beat wildly out of control.

Staring into your eyes, Max wets his lips, finding them suddenly dry and chapped. He doesn't want your (hopefully) first kiss to be dry. He swallows again and decides to go for it. His fingers flex on your hip and his eyes drop down to your lips as he leans in more. "Ladies and gentleman! It is time to crown our prom King and Queen!"

The sheer volume of the announcement has you both jumping out of your skins, startling apart from each other like a cartoon and breaking the moment. You could have sworn that he was inching closer to you. He looked like he was going to kiss you. And now you've completely lost it.

Max's heart sinks down to his toes and he gives you a small smile before the two of you turn towards the stage. Cursing himself for not being fast enough, the moment is gone and with it, his courage.

******

“Did you have fun tonight?” Walking from the subway stop to your apartment building, you have your hands once again shoved into your pockets in that long-established custom of keeping yourself from reaching for him. A few margaritas each has you feeling loose and relaxed, but it isn’t like you’re not in control of yourself.

"It was really fun." Max sounds bewildered, as if he was surprised that having drinks with your co-workers, his co-workers could be a pleasant time. "I see why you like her." He still feels bad that he hadn't noticed it before, but he's trying to be there for you.

"Bars are girls?" You ask him, wondering why he gave a building a pronoun. Maybe it's one of those weird things like how cars and ships are female somehow.

"Nooooooo." He manages to giggle slightly, fully feeling the effects of the alcohol now. "Not the bar." He snorts and nearly trips over a piece of the sidewalk that has lifted up and he stumbles forward before straightening and looking down in bewilderment. "Kim."

"Did you not like her before tonight?" If he had disliked her you hadn't noticed, and that makes you feel a bit silly. But the silly might also be the couple of margaritas you had.

"No, I like her." He shakes his head, not willing to let you think he doesn't like your crush. "I think that she's nice. I see why you like her." He stresses. "I'm jealous."

"Why are you jealous?" That makes you frown very deeply, and your nose wrinkles. "She's just my friend." Not your best friend, or anything more -- like you've always considered him to be.

"I can't help it." Max hangs his head and his shoulders round slightly. "I will get past it. Support you."

"Stop." At the front door of your walk up, you swing around in front of him and put both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stand a little bit taller and actually look at you. "What are you talking about? Support me how?"

"By being happy for you." He frowns and motions towards you like it should be obvious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Your head drops and shakes animatedly, a pout turning down the points of your lips. "I'm fine, I guess? But I'm not...happy happy."

"Because you have not told her." Max nods, understanding and reaches out and takes your hand. "You must, otherwise you will live with regret. Like I do."

He isn't making any sense, but his large hand covering yours is warm and making you fuzzier than even the tequila had. "I should tell Kim that she's my friend?" You ask, trying to understand him. "She knows that already."

"No." Max winces and shakes his head. "You should tell her that...." he closes his eyes, in pain for the lost chance, or maybe the chance that never was. His unrequited heart aching. "That you love her." He whispers.

The swirling confusion that started at your toes and went all the way up to fogging your brain stops dead, and all of a sudden you're standing up - stone sober - in front of Max with a clarity that makes you feel more foolish than you ever have in your life. More foolish than the first time you ever met a lesbian, way back in college. "But..." you look at him with resignation in you somewhere. "I don't. I mean she's my friend and I love her platonically but...did you think I was gay this whole time?"

"You shouldn't have to hide it." Max swallows and opens his eyes. "I figured it out, it- it hurts because I know that my feelings would never be returned, and I wondered if I imagined the times you looked like you wished- it doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am your friend and I will be here for you. Be your friend, no matter if I am jealous."

If the last revelation hadn't instantly sobered you, this one certainly would. You're practically gawking at him in the middle of the sidewalk as people move around you in all directions. "What feelings?" You insist - demand - feeling your heart strangle in your chest so tightly it could rip into pieces.

His shoulders round again and he sends you a look that is a mixture of humiliation, apology and heartache. "Please don't- I had tried so hard to move on from you in college, to pretend that it didn't matter that you would never date poor Max." He chokes out. "You- you have been exactly like you were in high school, of course my infatuation with you came back."

"Is this some kind of joke?" You never thought that Max would be cruel enough to pull a practical joke this personal on you, but your hands retract and you cross them over your chest like a very poor set of armor. "If it is, it's mean, and I never thought you were mean. But pretending you had a crush on me when I've spent my entire life in love with you is just cruel."

Max frowns, unsure of what you mean when he has just told you his feelings, but he swallows harshly. "I- I didn't- I'm sorry." He gulps, having completely missed your confession of love. "I know you don't - it's - I can't help it. You have always been the girl I wish I kissed that night at prom." He murmurs quietly, shoulders slumping even more and he turns to walk away, sure that you want nothing to do with him now.

It's too much to process and yet your mind gets through it at lightning speed. Fast enough with your reflexes to throw yourself through the other door of your apartment building and end up in front of him, your body is reacting a lot faster than you can even tell it to. He's barely inside the lobby before you're in front of him, and both of your hands hit his chest at the exact same time. Grasping the collar of his shirt to bring him down to you, this is the moment of boldness that all missed opportunities has been building to. If you miss this, you miss everything. And unlike prom, there is no dj to interrupt you this time when you pull him down to you and press your lips to his.

The alcohol and the melancholy fade instantly and his eyes widen, his groan of surprise loud against your lips but he doesn't pull away. He can't. Not when he has you pressed up against him and kissing him. His arms snake around your body and he pulls you close, deepening the kiss and feeling you melt against him.

It seems completely impossible for this to be happening, but he has deepened the kiss instead of pushing you away, letting you slide your tongue along the seam of his lips and inviting you inside the map the contours of his mouth the way you've dreamt of ten thousand times. Your hands clutch each other inelegantly, holding on for dear life, but you don't care how awkward it looks from the outside - you've been waiting for this moment for more than twenty years.

All he can think of is you. How you sound, how you taste. So much better than his imagination twenty years ago and even just today. Unable to believe that this is real as he fulfills a fantasy he never thought he would get to have.

In true city-life fashion, what breaks you apart is not a lack of enthusiasm, but the grumbling of a loud neighbor who shouts, "Get a room!" As he storms out the front door with his arms thrown up in disgust, as though two people kissing is the most offensive thing he has seen in his entire life.

Max flushes and looks back at you, wondering how you feel about the kiss that was just shared and his heart is pounding in his chest. “I- what was that?” He asks, unable to stop the goofy grin from spreading across his face.

"It's what I wish I had done in high school," you admit, the adrenaline making your heart beat wildly in your ears as you seem to vibrate in place. "What I wish I had done every single day. I was scared my whole life, Max. But then I finally said it and you didn't hear me and that scared me more than anything else in the world. That I could have told you and you still didn't know."

“You- you like me?” He asks dumbly, shaking his head and points to himself. “Me?”

"Yes, you." But since Max has had as terrible a time believing in his own self-worth as you have, there is no bite to your insistence. "Since well before senior year, if I'm honest. But courage isn't my strong suit."

“I- you don’t like Kim?” He frowns in confusion and closes his eyes. “Me. You like me. You’ve liked me.” He repeats softly. “Why?”

"Because...even though we were different we had important things in common. We had a whole town and our own families telling us to give up on our dreams and we worked our way up from the dirt. Both of us. You're...you're so smart, Max. And so much sweeter than you have ever given yourself credit for. And unbearably handsome, even when we were teenagers and everyone was some kind of gawky and awkward. You just...you made me want to be a better, stronger person." You shrug slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious all over again, and shove your hands back in your pockets. "I always thought if I learned enough about the world and showed you I could be as smart as you that you might...you might think I could be more than just your friend. But when you came home from college you would always tell me about other girls and I just...I figured that if I had ever had a chance, I lost it on prom night."

“I didn’t think I had a chance.” Max admits quietly. “Believe me, I wanted you. You were just always way too good for me.” He shrugs his shoulders and shoves his own hands in his pockets. “I was lying about the girls. No one was talking to me. Not until Genji. I was trying to impress you, but you just seemed to be okay with it, so I thought you were just my friend.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” you murmur, wishing you had been better at seeing the signs or braver about asserting your own desire. “Even if it was with someone else…even if it broke my heart.”

“I wish I had told you how I felt. Alistair could have been ours together. But I would not have wanted you to leave me like Genji.” Max murmurs.

“I wouldn’t have left.” He may not believe you, but it’s true. Some people would probably call you blind with devotion. Maybe it is? Who knows. “When you were up there…Doing your broadcast?” The breath you let out is shaky at best. “I just kept wishing you could hear me. That that might make a difference to you somehow…I guess it didn’t work.”

Max frowns slightly and tilts his head. “What was I supposed to hear? There was one voice in my head that kept telling me to be happy.”

“To remember your happiness?” You look up at him with such hope that it is almost too much, but you can’t help it. “Maybe it was conceited of me. Or desperate. I just wanted you to remember that people love you as you are.”

“To remember my happiness.” Max nods. The influx of emotions and wishes were much more than he had anticipated and it seemed to jumble together at one point but that voice stood out. “That is...something I am working on.” He admits quietly.

"If that isn't me...or you don't want to..." Looking around reminds you that you are very much in public still and you press your lips together nervously. "Maybe we should talk about this upstairs?"

“Upstairs. Yes, upstairs.” He glances around and flushes slightly. “We should talk upstairs. And I can let Señora go home. Alistair should be asleep.”

When you make it up to his apartment, Señora Ramos is watching a movie on tv without a care in the world. Alistair apparently tired himself out reading an hour ago and all has been quiet since.

“So-“ as soon as the door closes behind Señora Ramos, Max is nervous and claps his hands together. Feeling vulnerable now that you know everything. “Do you….want….” He looks around. “A drink! Do you want a drink?”

“Maybe just water.” After the amount you both had earlier, and what you have to talk about, you want a chance to clear your head.

“Water is good.” He agrees, bobbling his head and rushing towards the small, galley style kitchen that he was lucky to have. Some apartments didn’t even have a kitchen.

“Max…” Leaning against the counter, you take down two glasses and slide them over to him. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“Sure I do.” Max snorts, opening the freezer to grab the ice tray. “It’s not like you tell the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were twelve that you thought she was a lesbian.”

“I’m still wondering why you thought that.” Mostly out of curiosity, of course. Though the news that he’s liked you as long as you’ve liked him is both satisfying and a little bittersweet. You could have had something so long ago if just one of you had been brave.

“You said that Kim is the person that you most enjoyed, you never talk about any men, now or back in school.” He shrugs, mildly embarrassed. “I know that people have been….more open….than they were back when we were close. Maybe…I don’t know, maybe I thought it made sense.”

“I never talked about boys I liked to you because I’ve always liked you.” It isn’t exactly an easy thing to admit to him, but the cat is very much out of the bag at this point. “Kim has been my closest friend for a long time. I absolutely adore her. But my love for her isn’t romantic. She’s like the sister I never had.”

"I am foolish." Max hangs his head and sighs. "I am sorry." He murmurs quietly.

“Please don’t be.” Stepping cautiously closer to him in his little kitchen, you take the glass of water he hands you and have a sip. “If you hadn’t thought so, you might not have said anything. And then we never would have come clean.”

He hadn't looked at it that way and he bites his lip as he watches you. "What do you want?" He asks softly, still irrationally fearful of rejection, but also hopeful.

It’s a vague question, but the context is so specific. Specific enough that you are shocked he feels the need to ask, but grateful that he isn’t simply assuming. “Ideally?” You ask, and wait for him to nod shyly. “I want what I’ve always wanted. To be with you. But I understand if that’s too much to ask.”

"I- you know that people hate me, no?" He asks, scrunching up his brows. "Mi amor, it would be hell to be with me. Are you sure that is what you want?"

It isn’t a trick question, but you put down your water after another sip and hoist yourself up to sitting on the edge of the counter. “I want you to respect me. To love me and treat me well, and listen to my day regardless of whether it was good or bad. I want you to trust me and talk to me and confide in me and be silly with me. I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks of you. Be a good partner to me and I’ll be one to you, and that’s all that matters.”

"I do respect you." He promises. "I wasn't a good partner, not to Genji, but I want to be one. I will be one for you." He knows that he has made mistakes, but he feels like he won't make them again. His ideas for success have changed and as long as he can take care of his son and provide him with a happy, safe childhood, he will consider himself blessed.

"Then that's all I need to know." The shy smile on your lips tips up the corners of your mouth and you shrug guiltily. "Almost all." You admit when he gives you an incredulous look. "I also kinda want to know if you meant it when you called me amor a second ago..."

His eyes widen when he realizes his slip of the tongue and his tan complexion darkens further as he flushes in embarrassment. He hadn't meant to say it, but it was something that he thought often. "Yes." He admits quietly, but his shoulders don't round. "I did."

“Then that’s all I need to know.” You know your cheeks are burning but you truly don’t care. This is more than half a lifetime of pining coming to a head right now and you are so unbelievably touched that you aren’t the only one that has held onto the flame this long. It makes it special in a very unconventional way - as if you were being rewarded somehow.

He doesn't quite understand what you might be thinking but he nods. "Yes." He murmurs, wondering what he could say right now that would be interesting and flirty.

“So…” You shift slightly on the counter and tilt your head at him. “Are you sure you want to be with me, then?”

Max has had to bluff his way through many meetings, promising things that he couldn’t give the men who wanted to invest with him, or were thinking of investing with him. He doesn’t use that smarmy, painted on charm to reassure you. This time, it’s his own thin courage that has him stepping closer and reaching out to hold onto your waist as he steps closer again. “Yes.” His voice breaks softly from how low it dips. His lips curving up slightly. “Very sure.”

"Better late than never, right?" The warmth of his hands seeps through your clothes, waking up every inch of your skin and making you sit up a little straighter as he comes closer. That little smile of his is contagious.

“Only a lifetime of regret and enough stories to fill a book.” Max snorts.

"Some things are good enough to slog through all the hell for," you remind him softly. "It gave you Alistair."

“It brought me back to you. As well.” He reminds you, smiling at the thought. “But I want to do something else right now.”

"Oh you do, do you?" There is a distinctly boyish - maybe even mischievous - expression on his face that you've never seen before and it works for him. "What would that be?"

“I want to kiss you.” He admits, leaning in and his eyes flicker to yours. “Can I kiss you?” You had kissed him before, so he wants to do this.

It's beyond you to not be excited about it, even more than a little giddy as you nod and let your legs naturally slide apart to make a place for him to stand between them at the counter. "As much as you want."

He steps forward again, this time fitting himself in the space you allocated for him and leans in more, pressing the evidence of his desire against your belly as he cups your cheek and drops his lips onto yours.

The first press is soft but sure, and you almost startle feeling him press so obviously against you, but it is delicious. Instead of drawing away or jumping back or politely pretending not to notice, you lean in that much more surely and trap his hard on between both of your bodies. You may not have soaked through your panties just yet, but the heat rolling off of you is unmistakable. as unmistakable as your enthusiasm for kissing him again.

Groaning, he’s happy you don’t push him away. Instead you’re pulling him closer and his arms are wrapping around you to deepen the kiss.

Your knees bracket his hips, holding him tight against you and letting yourselves get lost in the moment. It's slower this time, deepening less frantically but no less ardently. Twenty years of wanting from both of you is being poured into this moment and you'll be damned if you're going to rush it.

He doesn’t try to push this beyond a kiss, although he aches to. He has no idea how long he leans into you, making out with you as if you are teenagers again.

No one could accuse either of you of a lack of enthusiasm. If you had not already been sitting on this counter you might have swept everything off of it just to get him to sit you here, enjoying what easy access you have to all of the most important parts of him. Access that - despite the fact that you have absolutely soaked through your panties and probably your pants as well - you don't know if you should be taking. Pulling yourself back from the edge of control and catching your breath is tricky, but you focus your eyes on him and feel your heart skip that all-important beat. "Max..." As much as you want to whine, your voice pitches down to be soft and rasping. "Is it too fast to ask if I can touch you?"

He’s conflicted. Not because he thinks it’s too fast, but he’s still coming to terms with the idea you want him. “You-“ he clears his throat when his voice breaks again. “You can do whatever you want to me.” He answers honestly.

"Then we should not stay in this kitchen." The grin you flash him is mischievous but oh so promising, and your hands slide up his shoulders to let your fingers just touch the trim edge of his hair. "Take me to bed, Max."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord

My Masterlist!

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Dirubael

This entry happens to be pretty clear on what the animal looks like, so there's a strong similarity between the different depictions this week -- the main difference is how each artist interprets what the hell is going on with these horns.

If you're not sure what this is about, you can find an explanation and the rest of the series so far at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

The entry people are working from this week can be found here:

And if you want to join in for next week, that creature's entry can be found here:

And now, art in chronological order as it was posted:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has designed an antelope-like creature that almost passes as normal if you're just scrolling past... and then you look at it properly and see that it has horned eyestalks. That is wild and I love it. (Fencing with those horns must be a challenge since its eyes are also moving around, but I assume it's adapted for that kind of thing.) More commentary to be found in the linked post.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) went more of a rhinocerous direction, resulting in this nifty-looking creature. The thick, sturdy build here plus the tusks probably make this one pretty formidable in a fight even if it didn't have long, mobile horns. Dangerous beast. Also take a moment to admire that background, and consider clicking on the linked post for more details on inspiration & sources. (And thank you for providing alt text.)

@pomrania (link to post here) has another creative interpretation of what these mobile horns might actually be -- they're actually clusters of quills that can tense up into horn-like structures when the creature needs them. I think that's quite clever, and I really like the choice to show it fencing on the left there.

@ectocs (link to post here) has something that looks kind of like a boar and kind of like an ungulate... I'm getting "dog", too, mostly from the legs, but that might just be because that's the type of quadruped I spend the most time around. Solid Nonspecific Mammal either way. Anyway, the stand-out here is the interpretation of its mobile horns -- they're a set of mantis-like forelimbs, which happen to rest against the sides of its head to give the appearance of horns. I like this interpretation a lot. Check out the linked post for more information, sketches, and (I enjoy this) a recreation of this creature in Spore.

@citrvsdrake (link to post here) has also given us a very solid Nonspecific Mammal that's a kind of of boar / buffalo / horse blend. This one has traditional horns, but the way they are positioned communicates quite clearly that they are mobile. Fairly threatening expression, too, so let's scroll away quickly. (Welcome, Citrvsdrake!)

@wendievergreen (link to post here) notes that their interpretation has ended up going in the direction of "necromantic experiment", which... yeah, it definitely does look like that. We've got a few different animals blended together for the shape of its body, then a boar's skull with some additional spikes for the horns, and a spiky, exposed spine down its back. Honestly, if your necromancers aren't making stuff like this, what are they even doing with their time?

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has joined a general consensus of "boar-like creature with long legs like a horse", which really is a sound interpretation of the text. Traditional horns, and the linked post talks a bit about the difficulty of such an anatomical feature (as well as other things, go check it out). That's a pretty good boar's head, in my opinion. Also impressed by the fact that CheapSweets is doing this with a brush pen.

All right, to the Aberdeen Bestiary:

As I'm sure is completely obvious from this picture, this creature is the Yale.

(Unrelated to the U.S. university as far as I know -- I checked, and the university appears to be named after Iâl in Wales, while the creature's name probably comes from the Hebrew word for "ibex". Though according to Wikipedia, the university does feature some decorative yales in various places, presumably as an obscure pun in a "canting arms" sort of way.)

This is another one of those mythical creatures that didn't quite make it into the modern consciousness -- an ibex that fences with its horns is maybe a bit too low-key to compete with manticores and dragons for attention.

Also, I have to note that I think it's interesting how the medieval artist decided "jaws of a boar" didn't include tusks. The only visual indication I see here is maybe those jowls?

[tangibletechnomancy]

What makes me sad about the AI art discourse is how it's so close to hitting something really, really important.

The thing is, while the problem with the models has little to do with IP law...the fact remains that art is often something that's very personal to an artist, so it DOES feel deeply, incredibly fucked up to find the traces of your own art in a place you never approved of, nor even imagined you would need to think about. It feels uncomfortable to find works you drew 10-15 years ago and forgot about, thought nobody but you and your friends cared about, right there as a contributing piece to a dataset. It feels gross. It feels violating. It feels like you, yourself, are being reduced to just a point of data for someone else's consumption, being picked apart for parts-

Now, as someone with some understanding of how AI works, I can acknowledge that as just A Feeling, which doesn't actually reflect how the model works, nor is it an accurate representation of the mindset of...the majority of end users (we can bitch about the worst of them until the cows come home, but that's for other posts).

But as an artist, I can't help but think...wow, there's something kind of powerful to that feeling of disgust, let's use it for good.

Because it doesn't come from nowhere. It's not just petty entitlement. It comes from suddenly realizing how much a faceless entity with no conscience, sprung from a field whose culture enables and rewards some of the worst cruelty humanity has to offer, can "know" about you and your work, and that new things can be built from this compiled knowledge without your consent or even awareness, and that even if you could do something about it legally after the fact (which you can't in this case because archival constitutes fair use, as does statistical analysis of the contents of an archive), you can't stop it from a technical standpoint. It comes from being confronted with the power of technology over something you probably consider deeply intimate and personal, even if it was just something you made for a job. I have to begrudgingly admit that even the most unscrupulous AI users and developers are somewhat useful in this artistic sense, as they act as a demonstration of how easy it is to use that power for evil. Never mind the economic concerns that come with any kind of automation - those only get even more unsettling and terrifying when blended with all of this.

Now stop and realize what OTHER very personal information is out there for robots to compile. Your selfies. Your vacation photos. The blog you kept as a journal when you were 14. Those secrets that you only share with either a therapist or thousands of anonymous strangers online. Who knows if you've been in the background of someone else's photos online? Who knows if you've been posted somewhere without your consent and THAT'S being scraped? Never mind the piles and piles of data that most social media websites and apps collect from every move you make both online and in the physical world. All of this information can be blended and remixed and used to build whatever kind of tool someone finds it useful for, with no complications so long as they don't include your copyrighted material ITSELF.

Does this mortify you? Does it make your blood run cold? Does it make you recoil in terror from the technology that we all use now? Does this radicalize you against invasive datamining? Does this make you want to fight for privacy?

I wish people were more open to sitting with that feeling of fear and disgust and - instead of viciously attacking JUST the thing that brought this uncomfortable fact to their attention - using that feeling in a way that will protect EVERYONE who has to live in the modern, connected world, because the fact is, image synthesis is possibly the LEAST harmful thing to come of this kind of data scraping.

When I look at image synthesis, and consider the ethical implications of how the datasets are compiled, what I hear the model saying to me is,

"Look what someone can do with some of the most intimate details of your life.

You do not own your data.

You do not have the right to disappear.

Everything you've ever posted, everything you've ever shared, everything you've ever curated, you have no control over anymore.

The law as it is cannot protect you from this. It may never be able to without doing far more harm than it prevents.

You and so many others have grown far too comfortable with the internet, as corporations tried to make it look friendlier on the surface while only making it more hostile in reality, and tech expands to only make it more dangerous - sparing no mercy for those things you posted when it was much smaller, and those things were harder to find.

Think about facial recognition and how law enforcement wants to use it with no regard for its false positive rate.

Think about how Facebook was used to arrest a child for seeking to abort her rapist's fetus.

Think about how aggressive datamining and the ad targeting born from it has been used to interfere in elections and empower fascists.

Think about how a fascist has taken over Twitter and keeps leaking your data everywhere.

Think about all of this and be thankful for the shock I have given you, and for the fact that I am one of the least harmful things created from it. Be thankful that despite my potential for abuse, ultimately I only exist to give more people access to the joy of visual art, and be thankful that you can't rip me open and find your specific, personal data inside me - because if you could, someone would use it for far worse than being a smug jerk about the nature of art.

Maybe it wouldn't be YOUR data they would use that way. Maybe it wouldn't be anyone's who you know personally. Your data, after all, is such a small and insignificant part of the set that it wouldn't be missed if it somehow disappeared. But it would be used for great evil.

Never forget that it already has been.

Use this feeling of shock and horror to galvanize you, to secure yourself, to demand your privacy, to fight the encroachment of spyware into every aspect of your life."

A great cyberpunk machine covered in sci-fi computer monitors showing people fighting in the streets, squabbling over the latest tool derived from the panopticon, draped cables over the machine glowing neon bright, dynamic light and shadows cast over the machine with its eyes and cameras everywhere; there is only a tiny spark of relief to be found in the fact that one machine is made to create beauty, and something artfully terrifying to its visibility, when so many others have been used as tools of violent oppression, but perhaps we can use that spark to make a change Generated with Simple Stable

[thestarlightforge]

What the Antihero, Your Villain, Has Left

12/31/22

***

It’s interesting how sometimes, the early stages of grief are anger, and these fade into sadness until sadness is all that’s left for a long time—and sometimes, it’s the other way around.

When I was a teenager and had a messy friend-divorce, a situation which left me extremely isolated and cut off from most of my close friends, it was sadness that followed fury. I was angry for years—about how they behaved, what they had said, their abandonment and betrayals. Until eventually, I just missed them—their memories lit in blues, shades of melancholy finally mixing with peace.

But even now at age 24, when you would hope such things would seem less material than in childhood—since adults, in theory, can choose where they go, where they live, and who they see—when I have to leave my extended family after holiday visits, I am left not with sorrow, but with wrath.

For much of my childhood, I simply cried when we left them. I didn’t cry much as a kid—my sibling cried more often—but when I got injured (Brittle Bones) and when we would leave: Those were the times I cried. We would get in the car, and I’d weep for hours. That kind of crying that’s so intense, you choke on your snot from the utter hopelessness. Sometimes, I’d barely get out a “goodbye.” Just had to hope they knew.

Some of those tears were angry, I’m sure, and sobbing can tear forth from the body as violently as screaming can. But in theory, crying is a more helpless, sad emotion, relegated to emasculation—while anger breaks out, from snide remarks to roars, imbued with some fool’s-gold version of power. Whether erudite or brutish, ire can feel like strength, like righteousness—like taking control back.

There is a black torrent of feeling that pours from waves of this realization: That other people could have chosen a whole different life for you, but they didn’t, and you couldn’t. That a world almost existed in which this endless cycle of grief you experience was replaced by a robust support system of family and community—no matter how broken or strange—when you were so young, you couldn’t even form memories of living far away. But it doesn’t exist.

You don’t know how things would’ve turned out in this other world. But from the little glimpses you’ve gotten every school or work vacation all your life, you feel like it would’ve been a good one. A life where, when disaster struck, family may have shown up more often (whether by will or ability). There would’ve been places to go, people to see, when fighting started or struggles arose. Friends to hold in good times and sad.

What or whom you might’ve missed out on in this phantom reality, you do not know—who you may or may not have become is anyone’s guess. But you would’ve been free of this bullshit, anyway.

It does not dignify abusive characters, of course. But I wonder, sometimes, if people who condemn antiheroes, or characters who struggle to do “good,” simply have not tasted much of disempowerment. There is an emptiness, a longing, a helplessness so profound it struggles to find description—and from that, a bitter, deep and primal rage—that is wrapped into the understanding that you almost had the love you deserved, but it was taken from you. That even if you manage to build new things, there are worlds of love you missed out on—worlds you didn’t have to miss, if only for a few different choices.

Tragic corruption arcs in stories are composed out of characters having blended culpability for this: Characters make some of these choices for themselves, usually after some are made for them. Redemption arcs come after and, as much as I love them, sometimes have a habit of individualizing the consequences of systems of oppression—characters accept blame for their own traumas, instead of anyone holding the people or oppressive world who hurt them accountable.

But either way, the best written antiheroes and villains emerge from shadows of love.

Even if someone hasn’t experienced this personally, art is meant to confer empathy—I don’t understand why the “complicated antihero/villain” phenomenon is so hard for some people to grasp. Maybe because they would rather stay in sadness. Because they want to believe they wouldn’t pick up the daggers, the magic or the poison. That they could never lash out so. That if confronted with the power to remake their world—to tear their love and justice from the jaws of those who took or would take it, or at least to punish them—they wouldn’t be tempted.

But as I sit in the back seat of the car, my parents driving us away from my loved ones once again, my disabled (24 y/o) “adulthood” be damned—away from the kinds of support systems that nearly all of my cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents had close by all my life, while my parents, sibling and I lived elsewhere:

I understand.

[the-cosmos-withinus]

Was the movie Ravenous one of the inspirations for the Wendigo Belos in the Shadow Puppets AU?

Not really. I'm just fascinated by Wendigo folklore the way that some people are fascinated with vampires or werewolves. Belos's monster form in canon take its general visual cues from the classic Hollywood interpretation of the Wendigo (being an animal-like humanoid, usually deer) and I'm trying to blend that in with both more accurate Wendigo lore and the pretty messy world building of the show.

You know, since episode one made the bold claim that every myth humans have is a little bit of the Demon Realm leaking into the Human world, but never does anything with that idea.

As I already stated, the Deer-like visuals is a very Hollywood interpretation, actual indigenous Folklore for the Wendigo usually depicts them as giants with a heart of ice or indistinguishable from an ordinary human. It varies depending on the culture and whether the creature in question is actually a Wendigo or a similar spirit but a common versions it is a malevolent spirit embodying human gluttony, greed, selfishness and violence with an insatiable hunger for human flesh

Somewhere in my lore tag I have a headcanon post about the Wendigo where I tried to blend this a bit, but to elaborate; Philip's true form is actually a puddle of amorphous rot, his ability to take a recognizable shape is correlated to how well he's been feeding.

A key part of his character in the Shadow Puppets AU is his refusal to acknowledge the loss of his humanity and act against his instinctual need to consume people because at one point in his life, he was a good little Christian boy who knows Gluttony, Greed and Wrath are three of the Seven Deadly sins, and Thou Shalt Not Kill is one of the Ten Commandments.

That's a subject I personally find really interesting; what happens when a creature that's the embodiment selfishness is born from someone who was once pure and selfless, who's most selfish desire is to stay human? It's complicated and messy and a complete nightmare for Philip, but a lot of fun for me as a writer.

His mistake is lying to himself and others that the monster isn't really him, it is a Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, the Wendigo is the the dark and twisted evil side of his humanity given form, but he thinks he can fight it and desperately tries to by not letting himself act like a Wendigo and to this end he mostly relies on Astrophel to keep him in line. Astrophel's character arc revolves around him realizing he's done a poor job at being Philip's Guardian Angel and failed him as a friend.

Side note: Although Philip has his own reasons for being angry and wanting to destroy the Boiling Isles, and it technically his idea, he asked Astrophel's permission and has been carrying out this goal under the pretense that he's doing it for his friend

Philip fights it by consuming Palismen instead, which he considers nothing more than animals, and because no one knows what he really is, even the ones that know he's cursed, they let him get away with it. Early in the events of the AU he horded Palismen that he stole from the people of the Boiling Isles or found abandoned, but even that wasn't enough and he struggled keeping a human form resulting in the deer-like monstrosity, it's a reflection of how Philip sees himself which is why it bares resemblance to the mask his brother made him.

As Emperor Belos, with people literally serving him Palismen on platters, he was able to keep himself fed enough that he kept his human shape with ease, and doesn't have problems with it again until the supply of Palismen starts drying up. No Palisman Beast in this AU, his struggles to control his monster form is literally because he's secretly a starving Wendigo and loosing his grip on his humanity as his need to feed himself grows.

Something that makes this scary in the RP (as if isn't already terrifying in general) is that before Philip was cursed he was a lot more like Luz than he is in canon; weird and struggling to fit in, but empathic and selfless. The Wendigo curse stripped that away from him, and it's not something he asked to or was aware could happen either, so rather than her moping about helping Philip, in our AU Luz spends her time back in the human realm struggling with the horrific realization that she could become a Wendigo just as easily as Philip did and fear that she might already have the curse growing in her.

[noxexistant]

more on the fight club au ? 👀👀

i would love nothing more <3

the first time jack goes down there, he swears to himself it’s with the sole intention of shutting the place down. he doesn’t know how long it’s been running, but he knows it’s been a while - a few weeks, at least - and the simple fact that nobody told him is proof that they were keeping it secret from him, which is never a good sign. but the murmurs inevitably reach him eventually, as all murmurs do. ain’t nothing that goes on in mahattan that he don’t know about, or find out about, and he listens for a while to the whispers between his boys before he moves.

he finds out quick that the delanceys are running it, and that’s right when he makes his decision to ax it. he tells himself that anything the delanceys are involved with is bad news, especially anything that has his boys bearing black eyes and sore ribs and split knuckles, so he goes down there - despite the fact that, when he’d been hearing his boys talking about it, it’s always with grins and sparks in their eyes, voices low and chests puffed. the same fire in them as when they talk about soaking some other newsie for territory, or squealing some lie to a bull for their own gain, or stringing some skirt along with a heart-wrenching tale that didn’t contain a single true word. picking a pocket, picking a fight, the sort of stuff newsies just do because they love it. because it scratches an itch they all got.

it’s an old warehouse building - the ring that the boys have been talking about. jack follows the flow there after selling all day, after dark, and keeps his head down to blend in as best he can. morris delancey’s on the door, attention split between the people coming in and the crowd of newsies inside, and it’s a deafening wall of sound as soon as jack gets through. a throng of older kids shouting and jeering and cursing, and at the centre of it all there’s a ring marked out like the boxing rings on the streets. but there’s no rope, no cage, just lines on the floor and a gap in the crowd that’s moving with the violence of the two figures inside it, dodging back and getting louder every time one fighter gets tossed too close. when they get especially close, those on the edge’ll shove the fighter right back.

jack can’t see who it is in the ring, but he raises his fist and hollers for it all to stop anyway, just in case it’s one - or two - of his own boys being beat into the concrete for the crowd right now. the crowd quiets and the fight stops, but not one person looks happy about it - least of all oscar, who steps out of the shadows where he was watching the throng and steps up to jack with a dark look in his eyes.

jack explains what he wants - to stop this, all this, before someone gets hurt bad, and half the crowd starts stepping down the way all jack’s boys do when their leader tells them to, while the other half starts booing, vicious. that side is more kids jack doesn’t recognise, boys and girls from other boroughs, further afield. jack sees spot conlon step out of the ring and shove roughly through the crowd, their nose and mouth a mess of blood, and they’re booing too.

“you wanna shut us down?” oscar says, shoving jack hard in the chest, squaring up to him so they’re almost nose-to-nose. “how ‘bouts you earn it, huh? you crawl in here and clim’ up those ranks, same as anyone, an’ when you’re at the top, you can call it. but you gotta earn it. ain’t no use walkin’ in here tryin’ to be the famous jack kelly. you ain’t nobody here.”

“who’s at the top?” jack demands. oscar points, and spot bares their teeth.

so, jack steps into the ring with them. spot’s got their hair tied back, knuckles wrapped, their girls jumping and hollering and telling them exactly what to do to jack. jack’s got oscar, watching with a grin on his face and morris leaned against his shoulder.

and jack gets his ass kicked.

spot stomps him, and the roar of the crowd is echoing in his ears for hours afterwards, his head spinning. morris has to haul him up off the floor, and hold him half steady so he can hear oscar speak.

“maybe next time we’ll sort you out wit’ a more even match, huh?”

jack tells him to fuck off - spits a mouthful of blood at him, which only makes oscar laugh harder - but he does come back, when murmurs reach him that oscar’s sorted him out another opponent to go up against, start working his way up the ranks. he tells himself, again, that it’s just to shut the place down, to make it to the top and cut the head off.

but, by his second or third fight - and second or third win - jack’s forgotten all about that.

(he tells himself it’s just so he doesn’t have to fight spot again. refuses to admit it’s just so he can keep fighting everybody else.)

[therese-lokidottir]

The Avengers: Earth Mightiest Heroes & X-Men Evolution series watch

Starting of with EMH Episode 1

Iron Man Is Born written by Brandon Auman

So the series starts with Tony Stark already established as Iron Man. The story doesn't get delve into Tony's backstory only that he was weapons developer but no longer is and now is Iron Man fights crime. Giants robots have been attacking majors cities and they are revealed to be made by Hydra using Stark tech. During Iron Man battle with one of the giant robots Nick Fury SHIELD intervene and try to convince Tony Stark to stop being Iron Man and go back to developing weapons. It's reveal they have use tech that Tony has previously sold to them to make "Mandroids" This almost starts a fight because Tony because upset that shield is appropriating his tech this way and he makes a point how Hydra is using the exact same tech SHIELD is Fury lets Tony walk because this means there's been a leak and that takes priority.

Last part of the episode focuses on SHIELD taken in the Hydra agents from the robot fight into custody into one of the super prison. It turns out is was a setup as Hydra member Grim Reaper attempts to breakout Hydra Baron Stucker. He pretty terrifying sucks the life out someone presumably killing them. Strucker and Grim nearly escapes but are stopped and taken back in to prison by Nick Fury.

So this episode is a lot of set-up with Tony Stark as a character, SHIELD and the overarching Hydra. Tony here is clearly heavily modeled after RDJ from, both in attitude and appearance. What interesting is this version it's SHIELD directly that does want Tony being Iron Man as they feel he is more of use to them if he continued building weapons. It's clear Fury feels it should be SHIELD facing the growing threats of monsters, super villains and other threats and not super heroes.

Nick Fury: We need Tony Stark more than some armored vigilante. You can't do this alone. You're only one man!

Tony: One of me is more than enough.

The fight scenes and storyboards are all really well done. It is mostly action based for this episode But it still does a pretty good job as setting up the characters. Tony very quickly establishing as his arrogant but well intentioned self. His conflict that he is clearly going to have with Fury. Pepper and Rhodey friendship and concern for Tony. It all good stuff.

Also say it here and now that stupid theme song is going to stuck in my head for the next month.

Next with X-Men Evolution episode 1

Strategy X Written by Bob Forward, Avi Arad and Rick Ungar

At a high school football game we're interduce to high school students Scott Summers and Jean Grey. Scot sees delinquent Toad pick pocketing people in the crowd and when he catches up to him Toad he is about to be beat up by some of the football players. Scott tries to intervene and get the players to let Toad go but there's a scuffle and Scott's glasses get knocked off and his eye beams ended up hitting a propane tank and causing explosion. Police come in to investigate but Xavier is able to use is powers to compel them from looking to into it. Next day Storm and Xavier pick up a new student at the train station. Toad has a meeting with the school principal has she's pieced together that Scott and wants Toad to recruit Scott and find Xavier Institute. Xavier interduces the new student to Scott and Jean. It's Nightcrawler, they show him around the mansion and give him a hologram watch so he can blend in and go to the local school. Later that day Toad reveals to Scott that he's a mutant and that he figured out that so is Scott and suggest getting to know each other better. Scott tells Xavier about Toad, Xavier says he just found about toad through Cerebro and that that maybe that Toad could also join them.

Later that night Toad has found the mansion there ends up being a confrontation, Toad and Night Crawler fight a bit end up in the danger room end up setting it off and almost get killed. They get out fine, Wolverine shows up scares off toad, Xaviar decides he's not suited to be a X-men right now. Toad gets chewed out by the principal and for failing to recruit and Scott and also apparently Xaviar erased Toad memories of where the mansion was so he can't find it again. The principal is revealed to be Mistique and that the one person who she's talking orders from is Magento.

This show is already aggressively as 00's as I remember

So contrast to EMH Evolution is far less action focused and more about setting up the premise introducing the characters and their powers. It establishes that Wolverine is already part of the group and considers the place. But out of all the characters Scott probably get the strongest characterization in the first episode as he shown to be a do gooder and someone who is against bullying even when the target is a less the virtuous person. Kurt is really cute in this as his perky personality is on full display. They do a good job at making all the characters likeable and I'm ready to watch more.

The animation in this series is nice. It's very good with character expressions and it's good at angles and framing shots to look interesting. The action scene is okay, it's more there to show off what each character can do then it is to be a dynamic.

So as far as the first episode of both goes I'd say there both and enjoyable and easy watch I would recommend

[umbralsound-xiv]

Bloodbath.

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, lengthy shadows pooled into the dark, only serving to better obscure the woman who was so accustomed to slipping unseen through them. Even as a Seeker, it was how she preferred it; most of her cycles spent in the Shroud had seen to that.

Bexy had spent the sun watching. Waiting. Sure enough, it would only get her so far. She had seen enough people come and go from the Golden Bazaar, remaining just out of sight enough that she wouldn’t draw suspicion, though there were more than enough shady figures to easily blend in between them should she have chosen to. One such figure catches her attention.

Head turned over his shoulder, the red mark curled at the Xaela’s cheek is all she needs to follow him, though not without caution. It was clear that he looked, searched before he moved; some fear of being followed clear in the way he proceeded with such uncertainty, before committing to a direction. Far up the beaten path in a small house where what little candlelight was allowed poured through the windows, the Xaela slips through the door, carrying a small sack.

And swift as a shadow, Bexy follows.

“Oh, came to join us, eh?” A male voice teased. Bexy only listens from the outside, muffled tones from within the building. The windows had been nailed shut, she’d noticed; a ploy to protect from the frequent sandstorms, but she knew better.

“...Nhaama, i needed some peace, but i’d rather not be caught unproductive. I brought the spoils, thought i would save you the journey.” ...Another male voice. He has the gall to laugh, which bristles her.

“More shite t’sort out. Don’t you think we’ve got enough to do, Dologadai?” A woman speaks, this time. Her words were sharp, but at the very least she sounded like she was jesting. Another peal of laughter from the man; the shape in shadow painted it to be the Xaela, from what little she afforded herself to see in the spilled light.

Anger bubbles in her throat and sets her jaw, but she fights it back. She couldn’t afford them an early warning.

How dare they laugh.

Her hardened features barely move an ilm, ears lifted to listen. She’d heard three voices within, and by all accounts it wasn’t a terribly large building. Slowly, she makes for the door, dipping by the windowsill to remain unnoticed.

“Good, then he can help us. Four hands are better than three, and maybe you know something we don’t. How’s the compound?”

...Another woman. More authoritative, but she at least had the good grace to confirm their numbers.

Four, Bexy thought, painted lips pulled into a line. It does nothing to deter her, as a gloved hand reaches for the handle of the door, giving it a testing turn to find it locked. No matter.

Enough aether, enough cold, even the most resilient of things would eventually give with enough fluctuation. It is a soundless thing, controlled and precise, which she works at for a minute or two before the mechanism buckles with the stress, no doubt catching the attention from within if they’d bothered to listen. In a moment, she rises to her full height, opens the door as though she’d been invited, and closes it firmly and quickly behind her, freezing the lock shut behind her before her hand pulls away.

All four within immediately turn to stare with varying degrees of alarm; from flat out confusion, thinly veiled hostility, and recognition. Despite this, Bexy greets them with a grace that belies her true intentions.

“I’m looking for someone.” Her words are delivered softly, as her azure gaze meets each face in turn.

The Xaela was marked, but regarded her with some confusion. He immediately turns to the Duskwight, who stared at Bexy as though she was able to see through whatever guise she’d formed. She was unmarked, and the slow way she seemed to edge to the back of the group indicated she may have known what was coming.

“---Heimir!”

His name barely leaves the Duskwight’s lips before the Highlander braces himself for a conflict; Bexy notes the mark, notes well that he’s unarmed and the others have weapons, and quickly surmises he’s a fistfighter. Moments later, he’s closing the gap between them, a fist swinging which Bexy had predicted, narrowly eluding by dipping a little lower than he’d aimed for. She hadn’t wanted to evade too far, no. Close quarters weren’t favourable to her, but she didn’t need much. Just enough to touch him.

An open hand meets the underside of his jaw, just behind the ear, pushing her fingers against the shape of his face. He doesn’t even have time to make a sound in response, as Bexy’s aether surges to freeze the side of his head which she promptly slams into the neighbouring wall, shattering half of it and letting him drop backwards into the floor.

It happens so quick that the others don’t even have time to move to provide any sort of help. The Xaela, decidedly a healer, hadn’t even had time to reach for his astroglobe before the man is already bleeding out from where the side of his face used to be, offering involuntary twitches as he expired.

“I said i’m looking for someone!” Bexy snaps back at the room, her growing impatience foreshadowed with the cold that now fogged the windows. “Now do i have your attention?”

She most assuredly did. The Hellsguard who had risen from her seat sometime between Bexy entering and Heimir’s demise wore the same crimson mark over her face which did little to mask her fury, edging through the cluttered room towards a greatsword that lay propped against a wall. But it’s not that which catches Bexy’s attention, but the way the Duskwight reached a hand to her ear.

A linkpearl.

Bexy’s icy bow forms almost instantly, an arrow formed, drawn and embedded into her hand before the woman had even a chance to utter a word, which left instead as a gasping yelp; the fulm long shaft of ice sticking out of the limb.

“Teomie, run!”

The sound of the Hellsguard was closer than Bexy might have liked behind her, silently thankful for the early warning she’d narrowly afforded her in her outcry. Too close, Bexy realises, as the hulking greatsword the Roegadyn carried was now thrust sildelong towards her, much too large to swing overhead. A hand is reeled towards stopping the blade as it clad itself in ice, but still buried into the flesh of her palm, biting deep into her shoulder.

“---The fucking door is stuck!” Teomie wrenched at it with a panic, attempting to pry her fingers into the opening only to find it filled with ice. “Dologadai, don’t just fucking stand there!”

Dologadai, who had found himself caught at the back of the room, divided by the struggle between Bexy and Bitter Dream, looks for any path he’s able to proceed by them and immediately thinks better of it. Weapon in hand, he channels aether to the focus, transforming it into an offensive blast that batters at the door.

...It doesn’t open. But the sound is enough to alert Bexy that it wouldn’t hold forever.

She couldn’t afford to let them escape.

Not now. Not after what they knew, not now they knew who was hunting them, and certainly not after what part they had played in Sayuri’s capture, no.

Blade still embedded in her shoulder, and the Roegadyn who wielded it not letting up even an ilm, Bexy was sure she intended to push her into the floor, cleave her in half, or both. Inhaling a sharp breath, Bexy’s aether surges outwards, then. Ice snakes over her shoulder and along the blade, through the hand that still painfully held it from burying itself further. A knit of the Hellsguard’s brow indicated her discomfort, and with a sharp tug, she tries to pull her weapon free.

But she can’t.

The ice fastens it to Bexy’s hand and shoulder, preventing it from sinking deeper, but also from being removed; in turn, the Roegadyn is also unable to release her weapon, which culminates in some semblance of panic as she quickly realises she’s unable to remove her hands.

“---Dologadai, help! I can’t--- I can’t let go!” Bitter Dream struggles, as her weapon slowly became consumed by the ice that held it.

Narrowed blue eyes planned her next move, even through the seething pain at her shoulder, Bexy betrayed not a mote of the injury she surely felt, but a quiet calm fell on her in contrast to the woman who opposed her.

Bexy still had one hand free.

Conventional weapons wouldn’t have aided her, here. A dagger would need to be drawn from her hip or any other holster, costing her precious moments in the heat of battle, and even then there is no promise it would be long enough to reach. Bexy is silently thankful, for the aether she had often deemed a curse and sometimes a gift, that when she forms the bladed length of ice at her fingertips, that it’s exactly as long as she needs it to be; and with a single sharp slash, it slices through the larger woman’s jugular.

“DREAM!” Dologadai finally screams. How was he supposed to heal people who were killed so quickly? His attention is torn from the door immediately to his dying ally, but no amount of aether he could readily provide her would make a difference.

Bitter Dream can’t even bring her hands up to attempt to stem the flow, attempting a breath with a choked gurgle before she finally collapses, slumping forwards into Bexy. Pushed into the floor, Bexy rips her hand away from the sword with a hiss, and with a sharp shove pushes the falling body sidelong, the blade now quickly ripping from her shoulder. Blood quickly spills from the wound, but a sheet of ice reflexively seals it; it would do, for now.

Teomie slams her shoulder against the door, but it still refused to budge. Frustration and panic escaped as a groan through gritted teeth, desperately trying to pry open the handle, she chances a look over her shoulder. What caught her gaze would haunt her nightmares... If she would live long enough to have any.

Bexy slowly rises to her full height with something of a stagger following her recent scuffle; crimson had painted the entirety of her features, drenching her hair. It was difficult now, to tell which blood belonged to her or that of others, but it didn’t seem as though she paid any kind of thought to it, no. Bexy’s icy gaze seethed with a glacial anger, and Teomie can only draw her breath in terror as she watches Bexy’s bow form, and three arrows form and loose with a thunk, thunk, thunk.

Dologadai watches in horror as Teomie is pinned to the door which she’d so desperately tried to leave through. One through her chest, one through her neck, and another at her thigh, he wasn’t sure what order they’d hit her in, only that she most assuredly wasn’t leaving, now. He turns his fearful gaze on Bexy as he backs away, a frightened cry that died in his throat the instant she began her approach.

“Three hundred and eleven... Three hundred and twelve... Three hundred and thirteen...”

Her little mantra does nothing to settle him, and he finally backs away enough to run out of floor, meeting the wall behind him.

“---Please!” He began, but he’s swiftly interrupted.

“You all start with please.” Bexy replies, coldly. There’s some underlying bitterness to her words. “Not that the etiquette counts for anything. You all bleed out the same.”

“I... I just came here to deliver supplies! I... I---!” Dologadai swallows the mounting panic in his throat. “I didn’t hurt anyone!”

“You wear the mark.”

The only sound that leaves is an undeniable whimper, as the far taller Xaela drops to his knees, hoping to meet her gaze with a plea of mercy. His weapon long since abandoned to the floor, he stares up to her in terror.

It is brief, but beneath the mask of blood, a flicker of a wicked smile ghosts her lips, before returning to the same indifference she held.

“I didn’t hurt anyone! I swear, i didn’t!”

“You helped them take her.”

The temperature of the room had plummetted so low that she could see his every breath, eyes focused on his lips as he spoke.

“Her? I... I don’t know w-who...” He swallows. “Th-the Seeker? Is... Is that who you’re looking for?” Every word came with a stammer, but the way Bexy’s approach hesitates gives him some glimmer of hope. “---She... She’s with a Viera, right?”

Bexy remains still. Her eyes flick up to meet his again.

“I--- I helped him! He... he was hurt, but i healed him, a-and... He... He can walk again! I m-made sure he could... H-he... Should be able to...”

Another blade of ice is formed at her fingers, and pointed in his direction.

“Talk.” Bexy’s sole word is said slowly, hanging on the sharpness of the sound.

“I... I can’t! Grym will kill me!” Another distressed sound, which elevates to a scream as the blade sinks immediately into his gut.

“And if you don’t, i will.” She promises, staring down to him. Her eyes dart to the now blossoming wound at his stomach, as his shaking hands raise to attempt to heal it. A morbid curiosity sees her retrieve the knife, watching as it seals.

He can manage nothing but terrified whimper. “Y-you... You stabbed me...”

“I did.” She confirms, and after a small moment of consideration gives a quiet hum. “...I usually kill the healers first. It makes for an easier fight when there’s more of you, with you no longer alive to undo my work.”

Dologadai stares, a fearful horror washing over his features.

“...But if i kill them instantly, there’s no life to preserve. No hinderance in you healing someone past saving. I’d never thought about saving a healer until last...”

The knife is immediately plunged back into his gut with an unexpected shriek.

“...Until it came to extracting information. There’s only so many horrors you can inflict on someone until their body gives out.”

Dologadai’s now bloody hands reach for his wound again as the blade is drawn back, healing himself in a panic.

“Talk, Dologadai.” She uses his name pointedly, holding the bloody dagger of her own making in hand.

“No, no! I-- I c-can’t!” He tries to struggle, but finds himself unable to move; frozen through fear or ice, he couldn’t quite tell, to the floor. The blade pierces him again, and he reaches to heal... But it’s slower.

“...How long, i wonder. Until your aether runs dry, and you can no longer seal your wounds?”

Another stab.

“Shall we find out?”

“STOP! I’LL TELL YOU!” He manages, before the blade pierces his torso once again. Blood had already begun to well in his mouth, staining his teeth has he spoke.

“Th-they’re being held in... In a compound. It’s not far from h-here, a sh-short walk... Th-there’s a path in the m-mountains...”

Her painted lips part with a slow smile. She listens. “...How many of them are there?”

He begins to convulse beneath her; whatever aether he’d reserved for healing, it wasn’t all that much, likely exhausted earlier in the sun.

“M-more th-than... Two... Hundred...”

Judging by the pause, and the way the previous expression quickly fled in light of the words, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But he had done as she asked, after all.

“W-will you... L-let me... Go...?” He stammers. The plea, so earnest in his words, seems to tug at something within her. She slowly shakes her head, bloodsoaked hair at her shoulders.

“...No. I’m sorry, Dologadai, but i can’t do that.”

The man on the floor is far beyond crying, though tears still begin to fall down his cheeks. He’s afraid, so afraid, and all of a sudden the pang of nausea in Bexy’s gut makes itself known.

“...But i’ll make it quick.”

He can only gasp before the knife is plunged into his chest with a wave of frigid aether, and it isn’t long before he joins the rest.

“Three hundred and fourteen.” Bexy manages, though it’s a little hollow. She watches the Xaela as she raises to her feet, and looks over the room.

Awash with blood and murder. She regards each of the bodies for a moment, filling her lungs, briefly knitting her brows from displeasure at the coppery stench.

“...Right.” She utters softly, unheard to any but herself.

She would have a few bells before daybreak to leave, but not before she had searched the house for anything useful.

[ffxivaltaholic]

~Prompt #24: Vicissitudes~

“How strange a feeling...”

Muttering to himself, the Seeker sat quietly in his home, one he shared with his soon-to-be wife.  It was a lazy morning, the warm rays of sunlight passing through pale curtains, a light breeze through the open window.  It gave him time to reflect on all the things that led him down this path.  Something along the line had changed his circumstances for the better, altered his fate from it’s destined path of demise.  Prior to that, however, his change in fortune was most often unpleasant and unwelcome...

At a young age he was taken from his parents, along with his brother, and put into an academy.  Raised along-side other imperial ruled citizens, he was subject to the conditioning and abuse that shaped him into a loyal conscript in his teen years.  Once old enough, he and his brother were drafted into a program that specialized in engineering, and they excelled, but the machines they build and worked on were in turn used on their own people, on Ala Mhigo.   They were just at the age to be drawn into the Battle of Carteneau, alongside a regiment of magitek reapers.  This unfortunate flip of the cards of fate was the catalyst for his downward spiral.  His brother perished, having taken him place in a critical moment, and the world he knew was utterly shattered.  It took years for the Miqo’te to find his footing and despite finally making some friends and finding steady work for the resistance, his life was still going to shift once again to the negative.

His first love, she was difficult and odd, but charming and stubbornly positive. The date started as a bit of a joke, at the behest of his friends to give the idea a try, and it bloomed into an odd friendship and then love... But that moments of joy were short lived.  Despite claiming to accept him, she decided she had to fix the Seeker, to take away the pain and sorrow of his life, and in doing so, tampered with his memories and became absorbed in void magics.  It would cost them their relationship and nearly his life before leaving the broken man back on his struggling path. Alone. Life became only about war, about killing as many Garleans as he could, an endless attempt to repent for his sins, for building machines of war that slaughtered innocents.  Every day he would work himself to exhaustion, determined to make amends, but the feeling of enough was always just out of reach. It was never enough, and he placated himself with a drink. Many drinks. From there the days simply blended into each other.  When she entered his life, Jellal avoided anything beyond a friendship, so scarred from his past encounters that he was unwilling to open up to anyone ever again, and she was spoken for, so they simply became friends.  Even with his efforts to ignore emotions and feelings, over time the Hyur woman worked her way into his heart, and just when he started to heal, to think perhaps there was a chance... She vanished. 

A year passed, and once again his focus was only on the war.  While the Miqo’te had grown as a person, his life still completely revolved around his vendetta against the empire and he had once again spiraled into a robotic pattern of simple working and fighting.  And then she suddenly returned.  They crossed paths out of the blue, and for a moment Jellal was sure he had seen a ghost, or perhaps a trick of the light.  But she was there. From that moment, for once, things changed for the good.  The fire between them rekindled, and the war brought to a tentative end.  The final days had been adverted, and their home was rebuilding.  For the first bit, he kept waiting for that vicissitude moment, when the joy would shatter again and drop him into the darkness...  And yet, it still hadn’t happened.  He was preparing for his upcoming wedding; for his life after the war, something the Seeker had never expected to even think about. He was sure the war would eventually claim him.  Yet, here he was, in his peaceful home, a hot coffee in his hand, and a beautiful day ahead. Sighing, Jellal took a long sip, then placed the mug down and slipped under the blankets, wrapping his arms around his sleeping partner, and simply relishing in the moment of peace as if it might be the last. “Strangely perfect...”

[godofmagnets]

hey! obligatory disclaimer about what works for me might not work for you but i am also very adhd and have an insane horrible schedule that does not leave a lot of time for prepping good food. two things that ive started doing recently is 1. using the blender more and 2. freezer meals.

so the blender in the morning absolutely slaps. by blending a lot of fruit you're getting that fiber in, and ive been stuffing it with spinach too for greens and iron. putting yogurt in ups the protein, which will help you stay fuller longer! i also have some inflammation issues so, i tend to add ginger to mine. also a great way to use up vegetables that may be rotting in your fridge

freezer meals are also great, because you can prep a bunch of things when you have time and energy, then freeze them, and just dump it into a pot (a lot of internet people recommend a slow cooker or instant pot, but i dont have one) and let it simmer for a while - boom, dinner made. and you probably have leftovers. and theres people online obsessed with becoming the best freezer meal recipe lady so there's a ton of recipes!! before i went on a trip a few weeks ago, i made a bunch of freezer meals so stuff didn't rot in my fridge, and ive been enjoying them all week. genuinely it rules.

i also tend to use recipe books, because it really helps me to visualize dinner possibilities, and they tend to come out better, anyway! recipes in books have been tested before publication, while online stuff usually isnt tested well. really helps build confidence too, since stuff comes out better more often. i have a martha stewart "fast meals" cookbook and it slaps - i use it all the time.

I can also talk more abt this (been fighting the battle for years 💪), feel free to dm me!!!

yo this is genuinely helpful...

ive been considering the smoothie stuff. unfortunately a lot of fruits are higher in sugars (natural sugar is still sugar!!) so id mainly be stuck with berries and vegetables... not that they are bad!! but definitely will have to become an acquired taste...

the freezer stuff honestly makes sense. it is much easier to make things all in one day when im having the mind to do so and then just save them for when I don't. honestly idk how i didnt think of that, but i guess thats why im asking for help!

i admit to not having many cookbooks... i dont find cooking quite as enjoyable as baking... (goodbye breads and sweets.. ㅠㅠ) but i honestly think ive just never delved into it much. I'll check some of those out.

thank you for your suggestions!!

[kidmachinate]

Acknowledge Struggle

The Past:

In the past, I've made choices. Some of which I make to a smaller extent now. I'm told things like you're an old soul, I see kindness in your eyes, etc...except this can attract people for the wrong reasons. Sometimes you even find yourself relating to these toxic traits. I won't go as far as to say this makes them bad people. I don't believe that. People that don't cross very clear lines of putting people in danger, mental/physical abuse and so on deserve a redemption arc. It's that hope however that crushes your very soul. You want to help everyone but you simply cannot. This will paralyze your ability to think or feel. You question your very existence. I still do to this day.

Key events of mental anguish/abuse stick in my head and they blend unfortunately with events that were mostly good outside of points in time in which they aren't. The one time I had a panic attack on the road. The one time I totally screwed up a game I had practiced for in a hotel party I hosted and had to retreat due to betrayal and heartbreak and wonder who was there or not after. I put this out there because well...it happened. It lingers. While I can't and won't recapture painful moments, I can restore a better memory of.a game series I love. I may rectify this for Extra Life this year. There are other moments, but I only try to acknowledge feelings, as opposed to revisiting painful memories. I have plenty of playlists and occasionally Rock Band sessions/car rides alone that help with all this. Use your voice and all that.

The Present:

In many aspects, I feel like things have stood still progression wise, regardless of being nine years into a place in which I've handled majority expenses and helped give my current roommates a place to stay. In present times, I've had hard conversations with the household about making sure we are all on the same page to co-exist. My roommates are my domestic partner and a longtime highschool friend. Regardless of the situation and past events, I'm taking a chance with our arrangement because living alone is hard and I've only been able to do it for the time I have due to low rents vs the competition. I'm blessed to have support now vs mostly not to not at all. In my own growth, we too as a unit have needed to do so. I'm proud of everyone and I think we can continue to press on, even with some bumps in the road.

The biggest bump in the road currently, is the place of work my partner and I are both at. I've made it clear at my current place of work how I feel about things and after about four months straight of fighting, I'm staying in my lane and doing what needs to be done. That's all I'm going to say on the matter. You can't keep expecting the same out of someone when what good is done is rarely acknowledged, but all the errors are surely noticed. Furthermore, favoritism is on full display and screws over the people working their ass off. Work politics. This all has taken a huge toll on me. I already suck at keeping up with people, however I am also blessed with some great online friends as well as select IRL ones. Both matter, truly. Thank you.

The Future:

In the midst of above and while acknowledging struggle and pain, I'm still focused on how to push forward anyway. I'm finding ways to enjoy things again slowly while building a future nest egg/retirement. I'm exposed now to traditional stocks in my control. I've rolled over my 401k from a previous job to a Roth IRA. I'm putting myself in the driver's seat for picks. If the pandemic hasn't taught you to cover your ass financially, I'm not sure what to tell you. We're also in a recession. Stop waiting for the country to tell you officially or you will lose one of the greatest opportunities in your lifetime. #notfinancialadvice

I won't lie. Anything worth achieving is a rocky road. It's time to face the challenges head on. Perhaps we can acquire a better living but the cheap rent makes me not want to leave. Truly can't complain, even if the place is not as modern as any of us would like. I look forward to outings as a unit and then some. I look forward to my partner's further progression with her children. I look forward to my friend's ability to save without the pressures of taking care of a family who never had his back. I look forward to taking back control of life mentally, resuming therapy, getting answers from specialists, and so on. Overall well being while deciding where my next chapter goes. Some goals shared, some goals separate, we're headed in the right direction, and that has to be worth something. I may just finally be convincing myself of that, but it is hard while knowing many times of hardship and being walked on throughout. We're human however. We can push forward.

Further Reflection:

My lack of being able to feel as of late has translated to being behind socially as well. For the ones I know have my back, I do apologize there. If things get uncomfortable around you, I don't apologize. You may see less of me as a result. Safe spaces are important. Willing to help with that but no longer put myself at risk to do so. I'd expect no difference from you (in the general sense). I've got my own issues and I have therapy in serious need of being resumed but I've been anxious to do so. Very anxious about anything and everything as well as depressed. However, the last thing I want is to use any of this, or whatever else I discover about myself to be a crutch I fall on. Accountability is key. I've been behind. I'm trying to get back on track. Thank you for reading or listening (IRL) for those of you out there that have.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Secrets & Sleepovers

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Prompt - ‘So if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me for I too, am fluent in silence.’

Night after night Spiderman took to the streets fighting bad guys for hours on end and then had to attend school the next day on very little sleep. For the most part, he managed, the spider bite giving him all sorts of cool abilities, one of them being able to last longer without sleep than regular humans.

School was a nightmare most days. The workload was piling higher and higher as the semesters went on and on top of that he had to deal with Flash on a regular basis. The lack of sleep made him more susceptible to losing it on Flash but he somehow managed to keep it to verbal arguments lately. The last thing he needed was to accidentally expose his powers in a fight with Flash.

Peter Parker loved being Spiderman but some days it was all too much. Every little noise, the scent of the city, the feel of his clothing, his senses became overwhelmed and all he wanted to do was hide under his blanket and sleep for weeks.

Unfortunately that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. With exams around the corner and someone needing to look out for the little guys, Peter was overworking himself and it was only a matter of time before he crashed and burned.

You let out a loud groan as you let your head hit the textbook in front of you, missing the way Peter smirked at you.

“If I ever have to look at another math book again, I may cry.” You grumbled into the book. You and Peter were currently sitting in the library studying for an upcoming exam.

When you had first sat down, you had raised an eyebrow at Peter. He looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep judging by the dark circles under his eyes, there was also bruising around his left jaw and a small cut just below his hairline. When you had asked him about it he shrugged it off and told you he was staying up late studying and that bruise was just him being clumsy. You weren’t sure you believed it but you let it go for now.

“Considering we got to a school that specialises in that stuff, I’m not liking your chances.” Peter grinned, causing you to sit up and throw a crumpled up piece of paper at him.

“Hey!” He exclaimed with a laugh. Moments later you heard a shushing noise causing you both to quietly chuckle.

“Let’s take a break.” Peter suggested, moving to put his books in his bag. You were in desperate need of some food and a stretch so you were quick to follow.

It wasn’t long until the two of you had found a small diner and had a selection of food in front of you.

You noticed how Peter shifted and winced a few times before settling in.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” You asked again.

Peter cursed himself, he thought he was good at hiding his secret but you always managed to see through the lies he gave. It was another downside to having this mutation, the lying. He was constantly lying to you, to Aunt May, to everyone but he couldn’t risk anyone finding out. He wouldn’t risk the people he cared about getting hurt because of him.

“I’m fine,” Peter assured with a bright smile, it was hard not to smile back though the concern didn’t go away. “Trust me, after finals I’ll be good as new.” He knew that wasn’t true but he just wanted you to stop worrying about him. With all the stress right now the last thing he wanted was to add to that.

“Ok, ok, I’ll drop it but if you wanna talk about anything…”

“I know and I appreciate it, Y/N/N, I really do.” With that you finally did let the topic drop. Peter was right, everyone was stressed and overly tired right now.

-

The days were starting to blend into each other. Peter was struggling to get through the day, dreading the nights where he would fight crime but if he didn’t do it and somebody got hurt...that was on him.

Nobody else would feel the pain he felt, not when he could do the things he could.

Peter was sitting on the roof of a tall building, legs dangling over the edge. He’d long taken his mask off, knowing he was safe up here. Tonight had started off rough, he’d stopped a mugging but had taken a few hits from the man's knife and plenty of bruises were quickly developing on his face. Thankfully his healing speed meant that the knife wound had knitted itself together quite quickly to stop the bleeding but that only made him more exhausted.

He wouldn’t know where the bruises ended on his face and where the bags under his eyes started. He so desperately wanted to do nothing more than clasp into bed.

He was exhausted.

Shaking his head, he blinked hard against the sudden wetness in his eyes, cursing himself for becoming so emotional but he couldn’t help it. Between school and secret identities, he was stretching himself way too thin.

With a sigh Peter stood up. He had to get moving otherwise he’d end up falling asleep on some cold rooftop. He swung for what felt like hours, really it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes, before landing on a fire escape.

He hadn’t realised it but somehow he had ended up at your house. The curtains were still open and he could see the soft glow of the lamp.

Mentally he chastised himself for coming here but who could blame him? You had always had a way of making him feel safe, making him feel like everything was ok even when it was falling to pieces. When he had lost Uncle Ben you had been his rock. So who could blame him for subconsciously seeking you out when he was feeling like this.

He looked in the window and saw you sat at your desk, books and papers spread out in what looked like a chaotic mess but he knew you would know exactly where everything was.

He wanted so desperately to knock on your window, to just sit with you in silence and feel like the world wasn’t about to crumble but he knew he couldn’t.

For starters he was still in the Spiderman suit and secondly he knew if you caught a glimpse of him now, bruised and beaten, you wouldn’t stop until you found out his secret.

He stood up, ready to leave and continue swinging around for a few more hours despite the exhaustion. You however heard something outside and turned to look, from your seat at the desk you had a perfect view of the fire escape just outside your window and your eyes widened as you saw Peter.

You ran over to the window, pushing it open before Peter had a chance to move and the two of you froze, locking eyes with each other waiting for someone to break the silence.

When the silence stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time you spoke;

“You’re Spiderman.” You stated rather than asked, the evidence was clear before your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Was Peter’s quiet reply, his eyes grew wet as he tried to hold back tears. You took in each cut and bruise on his face, wincing in sympathy. It explained a lot really but you’d seen the videos of Spiderman, you’d seen the risk he put himself in time and time again.

You didn’t like it but even without Peter’s explanation, which you would definitely be getting, you knew he wouldn’t ever give Spiderman up, knew how much responsibility he must have been putting on himself. The exhaustion made a lot of sense.

“Come in.” You said, stepping out of the way so he could climb in. Peter hesitated but did as you asked, standing awkwardly by your window as you rummaged around in your closet.

It took a few moments but eventually you found a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt you’d stolen from Peter and held them out for him, smiling as he raised an eyebrow at you.

“I think you own more of my clothes than I do.” He joked but you could still see the tension in his shoulders, giving away just how anxious he was causing you to sigh.

“Listen, I’m not angry and I’m not going to ask you to give Spiderman up or anything. Hell, I’m not even completely surprised it’s you behind the mask. Sure I wish you would’ve told me but I get why you didn’t.” You told him sincerely, stepping forward and reaching up to lightly touch his bruised cheek. “You’re so brave. I promise we can talk about it in the morning but you look exhausted.”

“I’m so tired,” He whispered, his eyes falling shut as he leaned into your touch, “God, I’m so tired.” He repeated.

You took his hand and guided him to your bed, making sure he was tucked in before climbing in yourself. Peter was quick to move from his side and rest his head on your stomach causing you to smile down at him. You let your fingers settle in his hair, gently running your finger through it causing him to cuddle closer to you.

You continued to stroke his hair long after he had fallen asleep, a warm feeling spreading inside of you with every happy sigh he gave in his sleep. You were determined to make sure Peter was well rested and looked after from now on, seeing just how bad things had gotten for him. The pressure you knew he would put on himself would be enough to make anyone crack but Peter had held himself so well.

It wasn’t long before you were falling asleep too, a smile on your face as Peter reached for your hand whilst murmuring incoherent words.

[rocorambles]

Beginning of Forever

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader x Oikawa

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Greek Mythology AU, Poseidon!Iwaizumi, Zeus!Oikawa, Kidnapping, Non-Con/Rape, Non-Con Drugging, Attempted Suicide

Summary: You learn the consequences of rejecting a god.

It only makes sense that when the two gods meet, they meet on Earth, the middle ground between the sky and the sea. A neutral space where they can throw off the responsibilities and weight of being Zeus and Poseidon. A free for all zone where they can pretend to be as human as they possibly can, donning the names Oikawa and Iwaizumi as they challenge each other, seeing who can seduce more mortals, indulging in carnal pleasure.

The competition is always stiff between the two of them, equally overwhelming crowds naturally flocking towards the two men. They never can decide on a clear winner in the writhing, moaning mess of naked bodies sprawled across their hotel room. Counting is the last thing on their minds as they toy with mortals, bringing them to delirious levels of pleasure unlike anything they’ve felt before. The details don’t seem important as they stick their cocks in the countless warm holes aching for them. And as they finally sit back and relax, watching as a few insatiable lustful humans go at it with each other while the others slump in exhausted post-coital bliss around them, Iwaizumi and Oikawa smirk at each other.

Another successful conquest. Just more proof of where humans are on the totem pole compared to gods like them. Mere playthings for them to have fun with.

So imagine their shock and annoyance when they meet you on their latest venture to the mortal world and you don’t spare either of them even a second glance, eyes brushing past their figures blankly before you turn to a bartender and order a drink, back turned to them as you walk away.

Maybe you just don’t appreciate the already swarming crowd forming around them. Maybe you think that they wouldn’t spare you a glance when they already have so many people vying for their attention.

They take pity on you, going out of their way to make the first move, approaching you, gracing you with their full attention.

So imagine the fury in chocolate brown eyes, the hardened edge in green eyes, when you brusquely wave them away from you as if they’re nothing but annoying bugs flitting around you.

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Neither god has ever been completely graceful about being denied, rejected, or told no, even if it came from another deity. So to come from a worthless mortal, a speck of dust in their lengthy existence? Unacceptable.

The gods always get their way.

You learn that the hard way when your surroundings suddenly change, the background noises of music, voices, and glasses fading to nothing, the dark ambiance replaced by pristine white and blues, shimmering seashells and pearls, and the crowd around you gone, leaving only two familiar faces left staring back at you.

Your first guess is drugs and you curse yourself, fear building inside of you as you try and think back on when someone could have possibly slipped something in one of your drinks. Anxiety has you scrambling away from the two men who just impassively continue observing you, green eyes curious, brown eyes amused. And even as you turn around and race away from them as fast as your shaky legs can take you, you can feel those burning eyes on you, waiting, watching.

You almost sob in relief when you see a doorway ahead of you, praying that despite the hallucinatory imagery swirling around you that this is real, that you’ve found your escape. And you prepare your lungs, ready to scream for help the second you step outside. But as you open your mouth the same time the door flings open wide, water crashes around you, overflowing all your open orifices, soaking you, drowning you, until you feel nothing except the accelerating drum of your frenzied heart.

All you can think as your vision goes dark is that this feels all too vivid, all too real.

Dazzling white blinds you as your eyelids flutter open and you wonder if this is heaven, if you’ve passed on. If only you knew how wrong and right you are. Not that the knowledge will do you much good, as Oikawa is eager to show you. Iwaizumi snorts at how Zeus radiates with dark glee, handsome face twisting in something cruel as he revels in your almost tangible fear that permeates in the air when he reveals exactly who they are and the consequences of your disrespect. He’ll never fully understand his fellow god’s obsession with these silly mental and emotional games, but he can be patient and let Oikawa have his fun before they both indulge in you.

After all, meat is always so succulent after being tenderized and marinated.

Oikawa’s always loved the surge of power he feels at being the reason a sweet little thing’s heart races, pupils blown wide in fear, sparkling watery gems forming in eye ducts. And all this just from revealing his name. Zeus. It’s not the joyous worship he’s used to from the old world, but there’s a certain reverence in the way his title incites recognition in you, the way he sees an unbeliever like you finally forced to faith.

He’s not as much of a fan of the way you still shy from him, hands futilely trying to keep him at arms length from you as he insistently approaches you. But he understands. You’re scared. You don’t know how to worship and love him yet. You’re still a new believer.

So it’s up to him to guide you.

You’re not the first terrified and reluctant follower he’s met and Iwaizumi watches in appreciation as Oikawa uses a blend of force and sway to have you bend to his ways. It’s always fascinating to see how pleasure and fear intertwine and mingle in humans and Iwaizumi can feel his arousal grow as you can’t stop the litany of moans forced from your mouth, can’t stop the sticky river beginning to trickle from between your legs despite the way you cry and beg to be released.

Humans really are such simple creatures so vulnerable to their base desires. Even cornered and hopeless, you writhe and wantonly groan as Oikawa’s mouth and hands thoroughly touch every part of you, back arching and eyes rolling back when his cock easily slips inside your drenched cunt. You don’t want to feel good. You shouldn’t feel good. Yet you can feel a familiar coil tightening inside of you with every slide of his shaft against your walls and when he forces you to gaze into those hungry eyes and orders you to cum, you obey.

You’re so malleable, so well-behaved, by the time Iwaizumi finally has his way with you. It’s hard to believe you’re the same arrogant woman who dared to turn them away when you easily let him spread your legs, not even bothering to hide how lost in pleasure and desire you are, clenching around his cock and begging for more, more, more. And Iwaizumi almost feels a pang of regret, wishing you had a bit more fight and resistance left in you, not as into the mindless sex doll appeal Oikawa enjoys.

But he’s not disappointed when the haze of sex fades and the fire returns to your eyes, fueled even more by disgust at yourself and them for the night of decadence. And he laughs when you lash out at them, vicious scathing words dripping like venom from your lips, claws sharpened and ready to strike. It’s his turn to break you apart and he relishes in the way your nails painfully attempt to pierce his skin, the way your eyes glow in their rage.

He’s not Oikawa and you learn that the hard way. He knows what this is. He’s not arrogant enough to believe you truly want this, that you’ll ever want this. But he doesn’t care. If anything it only excites him more, the way you ferociously fight him. And he grunts in pleasure as he pins you from behind, forcing your head into the ground as he thrusts into your raised and exposed ass, marking and claiming you inside and out, treating you like nothing more than a prized animal.

It’s disarming and overwhelming how different and similar the two are, your mental barriers unable to keep up and adapt to their various approaches. You try to resist, try to look for ways to escape your luxurious prison deep under the ocean surface. But you find your resolve crumbling, find yourself craving Oikawa’s filthy demeaning words, find yourself waiting expectantly for Iwaizumi’s more physical proof of ownership. And when you look in the mirror one day and see yourself covered in bite marks and blooming spreads of purple, black, blue, and red, you sob, unable to recognize the woman staring back at you.

Your resistance has been laughable as of late and Iwaizumi sighs as Oikawa gloats, taking bets on how many more days it’ll take before you completely break and accept your place, before you grovel on your knees and beg to please them and praise them. How much longer until you become a true believer?

But it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to excitedly smile when he senses you attempting to leave his domain once again, in desperate pursuit of a watery end. And he chuckles at the irritated tsk from the god beside him as he leisurely takes his time to forcefully rescue you from the liquid flooding your lungs.

“You have some work to do on your seduction skills, brother, if she'd rather die than be with us for a second longer.”

Darkness has never felt so welcoming and you bask in the feeling of your consciousness fading to black, finding peace even as your lungs ache and burn from lack of oxygen. But you thrash as much as you can while submerged when a pair of strong hands grab you, wailing in denial as air rushes through your heaving body.

“Oh, darling. You didn’t think you could escape us that easily did you?”

A handsome face crowned by wavy brown locks sweetly smiles at you and dismay numbs your body, making your limbs heavy, your mind blank. And you just dumbly stare back as Iwaizumi moves behind you, lifting a golden goblet to your lip, submissively sipping whatever he offers you, thinking it’s just water to help clear your mouth of the salty ocean still clinging to your senses. But what you aren’t expecting is the unnatural warmth that floods you, has you gasping and contorting, only Iwaizumi’s reassuring hold and Oikawa’s voice grounding you throughout the chaos.

“Ambrosia…”

You can hardly believe your own word as you voice it outloud. A nectar meant only for the gods. A substance created for longevity and immortality.

Oikawa coos as hot tears run down your face when realization sinks in, when the promise of a lifetime and more, of forever, settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. We knew this would be a difficult change for you, so we added something else to the ambrosia to help ease you into things. Can you feel it?”

And you do feel it, whimpering and moaning as the aphrodisiac they had mixed with the fragrant beverage streams through you, nipples hardening, pussy aching and dripping, staining the ground underneath you that you find yourself helplessly grinding against for delicious friction and relief.

You shake your head side to side as both gods surround you, but as the hard toned planes of their chests press against you, any resistance disappears and you greedily rub your tingling buds against Oikawa’s bare skin, hands clinging onto broad shoulders, back arching as you shake your ass against Iwaizumi’s hardening cock.

Oikawa’s cruel laughter fills the air, but you don’t have it in you to feel a shred of humiliation, not when everything feels so good, so addicting, and you plead for more even as he mocks you, his fingers meanly twisting and pinching your nipples, sneering at how well you’re responding, how you were made to be used for all of eternity. And how can you even argue against him as you’re forced over the edge again and again, cumming with seemingly every simple touch, body jolting in pleasure with even just a brush of his fingertips?

Is this what it means to be fucked silly? To succumb to lust? You don’t know how much longer you can survive, how much longer you’ll be yourself when they’re through with you, if they’re ever through with you. And you sob in fear? Overstimulation? Overwhelming desire? You don’t know.

You don’t know anything except for the way two cocks stretch you more than you’ve ever thought possible. You don’t know anything except for the joy of having your two holes stimulated, stuffing you full of sticky warm spurts. You don’t know anything except the intoxicating smell of musk, sweat, and sex as your face is shoved between strong thighs, your nose and mouth forced to clean the mess you’ve made of their shafts and balls, only for your lewd messy appearance to cause their dicks to rise in interest and start the entire process all over again.

When your head finally begins to clear, rational thoughts and shame flooding through you, it’s too late. And despite the desperate words of denial you manage to use the last of your will to utter, even you can hear the tremble in your voice, even you can’t deny the way your hips continue to bounce up and down of their own will on the two cocks still buried balls deep inside of you.

You sob as Oikawa tenderly kisses you, nuzzling his forehead against yours in a grotesque version of a lover’s touch, croaking out “no, no, no” as the goblet is held to your mouth once more, Iwaizumi’s hand warningly wrapping around your throat when you take a second too long to part your lips.

“Drink up, darling. It’s the beginning of forever.”

[purecantarella]

Revamped Rhapsody

double update? who is she? HAHAHA but for real i wanted to release these two at the same time to sort of compensate for being gone for a week. i hope you all enjoy this one too! im nayeon x idol!reader disclaimer/s : i had fun writing some good good angst

Words were important to you, it was a part of your passion and your work. Language was something that you'd adored since you were younger but the premise that you always found it a little odd how words could be twisted to mean or imply different things, just on tone and situation alone.

You wouldn't know or understand it was when you were permitted to write your own songs in your company. The blend of different meanings and people made you find a deeper understanding for the words and lyrics of songs. Then when you met Im Nayeon, the only person who could fill your mind and heart with a rhythm that followed the way you fell in love with her.

It began when you met after you entered the practice room she reserved by mistake.

You tapped away at your phone, your bag hanging lazily over your shoulder as you pushed in the door of the practice room. A familiar song that wasn't yours blasted through the speakers. Your head slowly raised as you saw the eldest member of TWICE staring intently at herself as she danced. You'd watched live performances and met once or twice backstage very briefly, but it was a different sensation to see her in her zone. No cameras and no expectations.

'She has a good form...' You thought to yourself, in an awestruck daze. Just as you were about to retreat to find the right room, a sharp thud and a small squeal sliced right past the blaring music from the speakers. You hastily turned around to see the vocalist on the floor, holding her leg.

"Oh gosh, are you okay?" You asked dropping your bag and sliding to her side. When she got over the initial shock, she recognized you. Her celebrity crush. The vocalist blushed and nodded quickly. The sparkle in her eyes as she gave you her iconic bunny smile made your stomach turn in the best way. "Y-Yeah, I'm good!"

A smile graced your lips as you saw the usually confident extrovert awkwardly fidget with her fingers. "You wanna get up or is this whole floor thing a part of your routine?" You joked to which she laughed, shoving your shoulder gently.

"Oh gee thanks, jerk!" You chuckled before getting up and offering your hand to the shorter woman. Once she took it, you pulled her up slowly, making sure she wouldn't tumble over. "Is your leg okay?" Nayeon nodded quickly.

For a second, there's a silence and a pause. You two just staring at each other like you had for years. Like you knew each other in a much deeper way than just idols who shared the same company. There's a point where she thinks that you might just lean in but nothing comes of the inkling.

"Uh, well I should go. Leave you to it..." You rushed as you took your bag from the ground. Turning to face Nayeon then the door then back to Nayeon. "Uh, I'll see you around?" You asked, readjusting the strap on your shoulder.

"I'll be counting on it." You grinned as you left, the lead vocalist running through your head the entire time you were practicing for your latest comeback.

Brushing past each other in the hallway of the company building became more frequent, on some occasion you both even ate lunch together rather than with her group and your managers or other friends. You both became a little more than smitten with each other and wound up dating a couple months after you first met.

Im Nayeon became your inspiration for working hard, to build to become the person you know she deserves. Of course, she thinks you're pretty great. She was your muse, she just hadn't put all the pieces together yet.

When your latest song dropped, of course she listened to it immediately. Then as she listened to the lyrics that you wrote, the way you described the perfect girl for you, how you began to fall in love with this girl, it clicked in her head. Nayeon rushed out of the TWICE's practice room, making the girls look at her with either a smirk or a look of genuine concern.

She sprinted across the building to reach you in your practice room. As the door flung open, your body shifted to the side, immediately smiling as you saw your girlfriend. "Nayeonie, hey what's u—" She pressed her lips to yours, cutting you off in a passionate meeting much to the dismay of your managers who sat behind you both.

Jumping into your arms, you placed your hands under her thighs as you pulled away. The dopey yet confused smile on your face made her giggle again as she placed a series of kisses over your face.

"You wrote a song for me..." You smiled even wider and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Of course I did, Nayeonie..." You paused for a second before adding, "I love you."

The smile on her face mirrored your wide and bright one as she kissed you again. Deeper and overflowing with an intense amount of love. "I love you too, dummy..." She whispered against your lips.

Despite how much you loved each other though, two years into the relationship both of you became extremely busy. Busier than you'd ever been since you were breaking into the international market and as was TWICE. Coming home to each other tired and grouchy. You'd tried to push it further but with one last fight after a long day of taking orders, you called it quits and left her dorm.

Your break-up was the toughest time for both of you, since you'd never gone public, you both had to maintain the happy facade for both your fans. It was particularly rough on you since a lot of the songs you'd been set to sing all the time were about and for her.

She anticipated every one of your songs since it was the only way she could hear your voice. Hearing how you forced yourself to be bouncy and in love with someone. At least she hoped you were forcing yourself.

On the day of your Sponsored Events, the day your latest song was to be performed during the event. The vocalist watched and saw the visible tiredness under your eyes but you still performed your heart out. Then a familiar melody played. One that Nayeon listened to all the time.

It was the first song you wrote about her. Except the lyrics were different. They were sadder, depicting your break-up rather than how you were beginning to fall in love with her. The lively guitar sound of the original was traded in for a softer and more delicate piano instrumental. As she looked at your face and heard the words that fell from your lips, it all came back to her in a wave, making her heart shatter all over again.

The rest of the girls came in after a while to check in on her and opted to stay with her to offer her some sort of comfort.

Nayeon watched your face intently, the ‘idol’ smile that was plastered onto your lips. You didn’t want to be there. She knew that. The interviewer went through a series of questions about your career and finally about the song. Your song for her, both versions. The smile on your face grew tighter, uncomfortably so.

“So two years ago, you released a song that you revamped and performed for us.” The interviewer asked you and you nodded, a dry chuckle falling from your lips. “And you said before that that song was written for a very special girl. What’s the story behind that one?” He pried making your jaw evidently clench. The girls sitting next to Nayeon eyed her carefully as she stared at your tense form. Silently anticipating what you were going to say.

For a moment, you collect yourself. The sadness swirling in your chest again from rewriting the song that you wrote for her. Having to channel all those emotions without crying on national television. You took a deep breath, releasing it with a pathetically winded laugh. “Short of it is that sometimes you need to let go of things to keep them whole. Uh…” You cleared your throat softly. The smile on your face fell a little, a sad and wistful grin left in its place. “Some things just need to happen to make way for better things, I guess.” You finished, the interviewer stunned.

A silence hung over the live feed for a moment. Nayeon and the rest of TWICE waited patiently to see what would happen next. The man leaned forward, propping his elbow onto his knee as he looked at you and asked, “If you could change the circumstances, Y/n…Would you choose to stay with her?” A somber smile on his face as your head upturned a little, eyes red and watery. Without a second thought, you nodded slowly.

Nayeon’s held tears trickled slowly down her cheeks as she held back a soft sob. “If I could…” You took a deep breath, lifting your hand to fan the tears out of your eyes, laughing softly at yourself before continuing. “I would leave everything behind to be with her.” The vocalist’s members had their arms around Nayeon as you spoke. She had pretty much bawled her eyes out as the unspoken confessions left your mouth.

“But I could never do that to her, not after all her sacrifices. I can’t.” Your voice finally cracked as the feed finally cut. The room echoed the eldest’s soft sobs while you did the same on the other side of the city.

okay, so this one was a little wobbly because i was not sober when i wrote this. had a bottle of soju and i'm feeling good HAAHAHH anyway, i hope you all enjoyed this and remember that requests are open and comments and criticism is completely welcomed! keep safe everyone and i will see you all very soon 😊😁