#( wearing authentic misery || face )

[nomsfaultau]

my trick or treating rounds this year involve any [and possibly all] of your Philzas, so… trick or treat!!!

[Yes, I scaled the cliff wall to the Ravengence nest]

[my costume is a witch, I have a crow, he sits on my shoulder :3 ]

(in order)

Where do babies come from!Philza: *You approach a normal house. When you knock there's a flurry of activity and laughter. When Philza opens the door he's batting off a hoard of kids trying to grab the treat bowl that he's holding over all of their heads. Philza blinks at you in surprise. He's also wearing a witch costume.* Hey mate! We're twinsies! Haha here you go- *Gives small piece of candy. He's poor lmaoo*

Where, then, do your loyalties lie?Philza: *The house is dim, and there is no response from within even after a few rings of the doorbell. A faint shuffling inside, lethargic, as if it's too much effort to try. When you call for Philza, there is a soft, choked sob. The door never opens. When you leave, you are tailed by people in soldier uniforms that are a little too authentic to be costumes. They want to know why you're looking for him.*

Golden Apples (Gilded Atrophy)!Philza: *There's a loud swearing when the doorbell rings, and a harried assurance he's coming. A winged man props open the door, clearly digging through a bag to try and find some type of treat to give you. At last he pulls out a shimmering golden apple, and he freezes, staring longingly at the magic pooling at his clawtips. You, too, are drawn in, instinctively reaching for the golden apple, and Philza scrambles back.* Trick, *he snaps, slamming the door in your face so you can't steal it from him.*

Where Hearts Roost!Philza: *The witch stares at you, large claws digging into the floor a little. He half laughs.* Now that's cultural appropriation, there. Almost enough to earn you a trick! But no, here you go. *A flick of his hand, and a cauldron flies over, some type of caramel sweet floating out and into your waiting hands. A second one flies over to the fake crow. Or- it was a fake crow too seconds ago, but now he lives and breathes. Philza grins at him. The candy tastes like laughter on a summer day and the spray of a waterfall. When you skip back, your feet barely tough the ground. You round the corner. The cottage isn't there when you look back.*

Mandatory Family Reunion!Philza: *Klaxons start going off. Bars slam down over the windows and doors. Helicopters whir overhead. The sound of sliding metal and thumps and steel toed boots. The doors burst open to find an out of breath Philza. Well maybe. A blanket has been thrown over head to make a very last minute ghost costume, and the draping doesn’t really hide the many many guns strapped to his body armor.* Haha trick or treat mate! Here yah go. *Philza hands over a full sized candy bar. You will be stalked for the next month*

Fault!Philza: *The chatter inside immediately dies the moment there's a knock on the door, almost fearfully so. A passing buzz of a bee, by your face, and an argument starts inside, raucous enough you can make out what sounds like a debate on murdering you. Uhhh...was this supposed to be a haunted house? Someone marches through the house...in the wrong direction, like they aren't familiar with the layout. Eventually the door is thrown open to a cool dragon costume. He's holding a very recently and messily carved turnip with an ember glowing inside.* And a happy Allhallows' eve to thee! Uh. Haha forgot to get candy or soul-cakes this year... *He hands you a napkin with a chunk of roasted squirrel and morsel of bread* That should be enough to appease the spirits of your loved ones. Good luck with the fairies!

The Altars We Sacrifice Our Futures On!Philza: Uhhhhh huh. You do realize this is a cult, right? *The man squints at you as if utterly baffled why you'd come to the dark forbidding temple well known for serving a god of Blood and Misery.* Very very evil cult. You should leave before you're sacrificed- TOMMY! *A young kid races past and Philza scoops up the wriggling giggling brat. Peeking around Phil, you find a gaggle of scruffy orphan kids racing after a giant wolf covered in bows* Evil dastardly cult. This squirt right here is the newest sacrifice to The Blood God. *Philza rolls his eyes as Tommy blows a raspberry at him, and gives up the ruse.* Look if I give you some altar offerings will you not tell anyone we're here? It's a lot easier if no one realizes we've disbanded the cult.

116 East Normal Street!Philza: *A man in authentic 2nd century BCE Chinese attire throws open the door and showers you with homemade candy the likes of which you've never even heard of before from so many cultures you can't keep track. There appears to be a party for introverts going on in the living room, and you are invited for tea.*

Worth far more than your weight in gold!Philza: *Lots of confused squawking. Like a LOT. The sonic force almost sends you flying off the cliff you scaled. Your ear drums are ringing. Out of the questioning words of his chicks, Philza pieces together an awful lot of questions about murdering you. Luckily he's calmed down, although is skewering you with a suspicious look and shoving all gold out of reach. Tommy gives you a slice of stolen berries with jam. Techno convinces Philza to fly you back down, and soon you are safely delivered to the ground. okay well the Ravengence is definitely doing a few fake out rolls and dive to scare the bejesus out of you, but you don't die.*

Lord, what fools these mortals be!!Philza: Ahh! A guest! How wonderful. You must be quite the powerful sorcerer! *The King of the Winter Court is an incredibly courteous host and provides a full feast of food you probably shouldn't eat. He is utterly and ridiculously convinced that you are a real witch, and blabbers on about spells and rituals that you somehow manage to bluster your way through a magically academic conversation, convincing him you're a magical genius in the process. You end up freezing to death sorry happens to the best of us. Honestly that's a good ending compared to what might've happened.*

Lighting Lanterns to Bring You Home!Philza: *The door opens on a man leaning upon his cane. Philza nudges a giant fat pig, who grumbles upon the topic of festivals but showers upon you fruits and vegetables till your knees bow and buckel. Lo! What a bountinous blessing the gods hath bestowed! A bit of prompting and Technoblade boasts of how much work he accomplished that the earth would produce all it had to give.* It's a balance, mate. We must enjoy the fruits of our labor with celebration lest it be for naught.

A ghost is a tragedy reliving itself!Philza: *The old man welcomes you in. There is no choice. Forced into a comfy chair that you practically melt in. In time it becomes a refuge, some place soft to sink into as he fills you with warmth and food and relieves you of the burden of life. You come to the house more and more. The old man is always there, always kind, always welcoming. You come to the house more and more and more. Tired and worn out from the world outside, ache filling your bones, stiffening joints, greying hair. You talk of your woes to the young man, sinking into the chair once more, not quite able to recognize him. The dementia is getting to you. But he helps you around the house as it gets harder to walk, until at last one day he helps you sink into a comfy chair one last time. You never get up. The young man continues to talk kindly to your bones.*

The Lambs Wolves Wear!Philza: *His eyes dart nervously back inside. Someone walks up behind, and he slips out the door, firmly shutting it behind to block off the approacher. Philza shoves a lump of hardened maple syrup in your hands, closing your fingers around it, and firmly nudging you to leave. He's insistent that you leave. Please leave. Please.* You shouldn't wear that. People will only get hurt if they start looking for witches. That aren't there.

[pandoraimperatrix]

In the white of her palm is your heart

NejiHina Week 2023 

Day 3:  Dating 

READ ON AO3

The Hyuuga do things the old way, so, they didn’t date. 

Dating were for modern girls, for the daughters of civilians, and the new growing class of merchants, Hinata, being born daughter of the oldest shinobi clan of what came to be Konoha, would never be allowed such freedom.  

In truth, from the moment it was made obvious that her mother had given her father a daughter, her destiny was already sealed. She would marry Neji, the would-have-been perfect heir, and produce the purest of byakugan blessed children. And when it became clear that her temperament too soft for the ruthlessness of shinobi life, it reinforced the council's opinion that Hinata’s only utility was to bear the son that would take over after her father stepped down and fix the line of succession. 

There was nothing romantic about this plan, the trouble was that, despite the old geezers of the Hyuuga Council believing themselves as their masters, they never counted on Hinata’s newly wedded husband being a rebel. Had always been a rebel and would not be playing his part as planned by the same people that robbed him of his father and his freedom. 

He had tried rejecting Hinata, once upon a time, it didn’t work, and it didn’t last. Some things are more powerful than fate, stronger than hate and more persistent than any wish of rebellion. 

And instead of hating her of trying to reject her further, of persisting in the misery, Neji rebelled in a different way, he loved his wife, instead of letting himself to be used by the very same powers that hurt both of them so much by simply using their union to procreation, he tried his best to make her happy instead. And if the heavens one day blessed them with children, unlike their parents, their sons and daughters would never doubt their worth to their parent’s eyes.  

Neji, when he decided – because it was his decision, not obedience – to marry Hinata, he also decided that he would give her what being born the Byakugan no Hime stole from her options in life. A warm home life. The normalcy of a date nights, kisses under the moon, flowers, chocolates and teddy bears. 

Trouble was, she didn’t quite care for any of that. She knew she should, but she didn’t. But Hinata wouldn’t tell him that and break his covert romantic soul. 

The man adored her, she owed him at least that. 

So, she played along, she indulged him, playing the part of the blushing bride, because she knew he liked it so much. And she’d make eyes to him in the semi-public space of a fancy restaurant with moody candlelight, and she would let her fingers touch his when serving him tea, always so very proper, so very chaste.  

It wasn’t a task, and she wasn’t pretending, she was indeed a private person, and although their relationship had never been, at least on her part, akin to the suffocating infatuation that rendered her speechless and a fainting mess (looking back, being able to tell to his face all her thoughts about him, even those not too pleasant, when she used to be a depressed, timid little genin might have been a sign).  

After a month of marriage, she knew that the easiest way to drive her cold, austere Hyuuga husband absolutely mad with desire was to act like her meek authentic self. 

After all, he never wanted anything or anyone but her, he had told her so. 

But when they were back home, when it was only the two of them... Well... 

She giggled when he pulled her up as soon as the shoji doors slid shut behind them. 

“Anata, they’ll hear us,” she warned him, her ears ringing as she tried to not slip from his grip as he swiftly hooked her legs on his shoulders. 

“You are the one being loud, Hinata-sama,” and then he stopped, and looked up, eyebrows rising and mouth watering, “tsuma...” oh, it was absurd how hearing him call her that made her feel, mostly because it was so rare “you are not wearing your bottom hadagi.” 

“I-I was feeling too warm,” she didn’t lie, but feeling warm in the middle of the winter had little to do with the weather. It was him. Just him. Neji licked his lips and somehow pulled her even closer in a rough move, making Hinata huff, already panting, and he haven’t even really touched her. 

“And why is Hinata-sama feeling warm when it’s snowing outside?” He teased her first with words and then with actions, one of the hands that had been supporting her lower back slid across her butt cheek to the top of her thigh, softly pulling the lonely fabric of her kimono, as if he was unwrapping a present. “Does she have a fever?” 

Hinata wanted to rub her thighs together to relieve the ache between them, and Neji must have felt the pressure of her muscles squeezing his neck, because he pushed the last bit of silk off, exposing her lovekissed inner thigh and her expecting weeping core. 

His breath hitched, and she could see the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he looked at her pussy as if it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. 

“Anata” she breathed, “please...” 

Without looking at her, his hand slid inwards from where it was resting on her top of her naked thigh, carefully, with his thumb, Neji separated her labia and Hinata trembled, goosebumps spreading across her skin as his grip from her lower back moved to hold her hip in place as he continued his exploration, spreading her moisture down to her opening, an up around her pulsing bundling of nerves. 

“Oh, no, no, don’t t-tea-” she protested as he continued to massage her but refused to touch her where she needed him the most, “ ah Neji...” 

“What?” he asked, finally looking at her and revelling to Hinata with his tortured expression how teasing her was taking the toll on him too, she wanted to reach down and discover for herself how much. She loved how dominating he could be, but it could also be frustrating when he got in one of those moods.  

Neji sighed and pillowed his head on her thigh, threads of chestnut hair falling on his eyes, clearly amused by her flushed cheeks and obvious impatience “do you want something, Hinata-sama?” 

And then, holding her gaze and with a small smile playing in his lips, he flicked her clit for the first time, finally. 

How Hinata didn’t come instantly was a mystery to her. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, enduring the violent waves of pleasure as he kept moving his finger in the pattern he found out wouldn’t get her there too fast, but would rend her completely defenceless against his power over her. 

“Ahhh” she panted, that was torture, absolute torture, she wanted to cry she wanted to push him to the floor and ride him all night, she wanted- 

Suddenly, Hinata found herself pressed against a wall, her husband using his free hand to push the silk away from her other thigh as he opened her legs wider and kissed her feverish skin of her inner thigh. She threaded her hands in his hair, pulling off his headband, uncovering the birdcage seal, something that caused so much pain, for so many years, she never thought that seeing it up-close would one day take such an erotic meaning. 

She wanted to kiss it, to kiss him, desperately, but he did it first. 

Hinata cried out as he sucked her clit into his mouth, his thumb intruding into her opening in tandem and curling up, it was overkill and she trashed on his shoulders, spilling wetness down his chin and neck, but he didn’t stop. He took his thumb out with a little struggle to not hurt her as her walls spasmed and when she was starting to calm the contractions, he fucked her with his tongue instead. Hinata choked, her legs shaking uncontrollably, heels hitting his back making Neji chuckle against her folds. 

When she managed to open her eyes again, he was waiting for her, lower face moist with her juices, hair mussed, cheeks dusted with red ardour and an arrogant self-satisfied look on his bright white eyes. Hinata sighed lowered one hand from his hair, touching his face softly, he moved his face, eyelids fluttering, following her caress like a kitten, and when her fingers touched his lips, he sucked them in. 

Not in a million years Hinata could have guessed that being married to Hyuuga Neji would be like this. 

“Bed,” she managed to say finally, “our bed, I... I...” 

“Are you sure?” his voice was so smooth, Hinata shivered, her legs squeezing him again, “because I’m still hungry, Hinata-sama, and I could make you come with my tongue again, and again, and again...” He punctuated every ‘again’ with a lick on her still pulsing core and Hinata fussed, desperate. 

“No, no, please I want to touch you too, please” she all but sobbed. 

He gave her a last lick before wordlessly helping her down, pushing her legs from his shoulders, and sliding her body to the floor where she stood on weak legs and, as usual, almost a head and a half smaller than him. 

Hinata grabbed he lapels of his haori and pulled him down for a searing kiss. She could feel now, through his hakama, how hard he was, and was very pleased with herself even thought, to be fair, she didn’t do a lot yet. 

She pulled back before he got too much control back, and pulled him by his hand to their canopy wedding bed. Hinata released his hand to climb on the soft beddings, and Neji just followed her, sitting at the edge, waiting. Eyes locked to his, she sat on her calves, oh so properly for a woman who had ruined an heirloom silk kimono by refusing to use underclothes soiling it with cum just to tease her already besotted husband. Hinata took her hands to her obijime, but her husband shook his head. 

“Let me,” and he reached forward, Hinata smiled and took her delicate fingers off her obi, choosing to rest her hands around Neji’s neck even if she knew, that he would take forever to unwarp her, that it would be absolute torture, that an entire ocean would be waiting between her legs when he finally slipped the last strip of silk from her body as if he wasn’t desperate to drown again. 

Frustrating as it was, because she needed him desperately, it never got old, how reverential he was at each inch of skin revealed, as if he had never seen her before, as if he had never had her before, as if he wouldn’t have her forever. 

She shivered when he finally pushed the kimono off her shoulders, covering the absence of fabric with bruising kisses and tried to make her lie down, but Hinata stopped him with one hand on his chest. 

“Anata, you’re still dressed,” she reminded him, and he truly seemed surprised when his clouded eyes glanced down, eyebrows knitting as if his genial brain couldn’t fathom the mysterious presence of his three-piece kimono. Hinata giggled and slapped his hands away when he went straight to the front knot of his hakama. “Your haori first, love, I’ll take care of the rest.” 

Obediently, he undressed from his upper garment as his wife fumbled roughly with his trousers. Each pull made him harder and when she all but hugged him to reach behind to undo his obi, burying her soft face on the crook of his neck and breathing him in, Neji’s dick twitched, begging for attention. 

Tired of waiting, Neji cupped her tight rump and pushed Hinata on the bed, pushing the nagagi off his shoulders himself as she lay there, with a too sweet smile, creamy white skin framed by the endless waves of her midnight hair. 

And she was his. Only his. 

He had planned to take his time with her, to make her beg, to make her taste at least a little of the insanity she put him through ever since they were barely people. How many nights had he spent as a teenager, trying to go back to hating her, because it hurt less than seeing her bloom into a beautiful woman that would never be his despite been promised to him at birth, all because of a mistake made by other people, mistake that drove him to resent her and push her away dangerously close of vacating the place in her heart that he had always been entitled to. 

But he had been wrong. 

He didn’t lose her after all. 

She would explain to him that too, on their wedding day, he was frightened, and she was so serene, she was so wise, his wife, his Hinata-sama. And she explained to him that his place in her heart would always be his, that she would always be his, they were destined to be one and nothing would ever change that. 

So, what was the use of trying to stall the inevitable? 

He plunged into her with a guttural moan, she was so wet that no matter how incredibly tight she was, he slid in with ease. 

Hinata’s mouth opened agape in a perfect ‘o’, and she spread her legs wider as Neji pulled back and entered her again, now deeper. 

“Oh Hinata-sama,” he said like a prayer, head lowering to suck a path of fire down her throat, his hips starting a punishing pace, one hand holding his upper body up while the other grabbed her hand, threading his fingers with hers over her head. His lips sucked under her bouncing breast and then he bit on it, she cried out. 

Her free hand grabbed a handful of chestnut hair, pulling hard and Neji moaned in protest, in pleasure too, before dragging his lips to her waiting mouth, letting her suck his tongue like her pussy sucked his throbbing cock viciously. He could feel she was close and he let go of her hand to reach down and flick her clit rendering Hinata into a sobbing mess as her arms flapped around with the aftershocks of her powerful orgasm. 

Neji stopped moving, but remained inside of her and her body stopped shaking to become limp and putty under his. He kissed her temple and her eyes, easing her to come back to earth, to come back to him. And then he bit softly at the cartilage of her ear. 

“I’m not done with you yet, Hinata-sama.” 

She sniffled and blinked her half-moon eyes open to him. Her lips were swollen with kisses, cheeks blotchy, perspiration covered her face, absolutely gorgeous. 

“What you need?” She asked in a breathy voice. 

“Turn around.” 

She swallowed hard, nodding and obeyed. Neji hissed when their movements made his cock slip out of her. 

“Not all the way,” he said holding her hip in place. “There,” Neji pulled her hair out of the way and kissed her sweaty temple, “perfect,” he put his tip against her folds and started pushing in again, Hinata squeezed her eyes and he stopped. Neji slid one arm under her head, making it serve both the purpose of pillow and also to force the face to be turned to his. “No, look at me.” 

She bit her lower lip but did as told, he pulled her leg up, hooking it backwards around his hip and then, with her eyes locked to his and one of her breasts in his hand, he fucked her, hard. 

“Ah ah ahhh” she made as he hammered inside her shaking the entire bed, her juices coating both of them and the sheets as his hips hit hard against her ass, Hinata could feel a new orgasm building up in tiding waves again, the urge to close her eyes and just let the feeling drown her was big, but he told her to look at him so who was she to deny the man that did nothing but love her, protect her, pleasure her? 

“Nej-j-j-jiii ahhhhhh,” she barely noticed his husky chuckle as she shook again in a fit of orgasmic spasms, but this time he didn’t stop, as endeared as he was always were at her body’s adorable reactions, he was close too, and as Hinata was forced through a second orgasm, he came spilling inside her with a groan against her ear. Neji held her tightly for a few more moments before his body relaxed and he rolled onto his back. 

Hinata took a couple of deep breaths and then turned to cuddle with him. 

“Anata?” 

“Hn,” he made, his chest heaving. 

“Thank you for the date night.” 

He responded only with dry chuckle. Hinata smiled satisfied and kissed his jaw before letting her eyes fall shut and following him into slumber. 

--- 

I don’t remember if I wrote NejiHina smut before. Mostly because I used to not write porn at all lmao. And now Lene (Cyanis for you) has me bugging her to do a NejiHina smut week, I’ve became a depraved old woman, shame on me! 

[lighthousenewsnetwork]

BREAKING: 'Squid Game' Creator Announces 'Squidward Game,' A Reality Show About Finding Joy In Perpetual Misery SEOUL/BIKINI BOTTOM — In what critics are calling "the most ambitious crossover since depression met anxiety," Netflix and Nickelodeon announced today that "Squid Game" creator Hwang Dong-hyuk will helm a groundbreaking new reality series titled "Squidward Game," featuring contestants competing to match the profound despair of everyone's favorite morose cephalopod. The show, set to premiere during peak existential crisis hours, will follow 456 aspiring artists-slash-retail-workers as they navigate challenges designed to crush their spirits in increasingly creative ways. The grand prize? A one-bedroom apartment in the exclusive Tentacle Acres community and a lifetime supply of Krabby Patties – which they'll be too dejected to enjoy. "We wanted to capture the essence of what makes Squidward Tentacles such a relatable character – his soul-crushing job, failed artistic ambitions, and the perpetual torment of living next to optimism personified," explained executive producer Sandy Cheeks, who joined the project after her underwater science career hit a predictable dead end. Contestants will live in a massive reproduction of Squidward's Easter Island head house, where they'll be subjected to SpongeBob's iconic laugh played on loop for 456 hours straight. "It's like combining the psychological warfare of the original 'Squid Game' with the everyday torture of working in food service," said showrunner Patrick Star, who reportedly got the job after accidentally eating the original producer. Daily challenges include maintaining a straight face during SpongeBob's jokes, perfecting interpretive dance routines while being heckled by a panel of art critics, and the dreaded "Opposite Day" elimination round, where contestants must convince Mr. Krabs to give them a raise. Players who show any sign of joy or satisfaction are immediately eliminated by a giant mechanical spatula. "The beauty of 'Squidward Game' lies in its authenticity," explained leading reality TV critic Fish Perkins. "Unlike other survival shows where contestants face death, these participants face something far worse – customer service shifts at the Krusty Krab during rush hour while trying to practice their clarinet solos." The show has already sparked controversy, with marine biologists questioning the psychological impact of forcing humans to live underwater in a pineapple-adjacent community. "We've had to remind several contestants that they cannot actually play the clarinet underwater," admitted safety coordinator Pearl Krabs. "Though honestly, given the quality of Squidward's playing, that might be for the best." In a surprising twist, leaked production notes reveal that SpongeBob SquarePants himself has infiltrated the competition wearing a convincing human costume. "His perpetual optimism has already caused three contestants to quit and pursue their backup careers as interpretive dance instructors," reported an anonymous source who would only identify themselves as "definitely not Plankton in a trench coat." The final challenge will require remaining contestants to explain their abstract art to Patrick Star, who will serve as the head judge despite his well-documented inability to distinguish between fine art and a dropped ice cream cone. Applications are now open for "aspiring depressed artists" who meet the rigorous eligibility requirements, including having failed art school at least twice, maintaining a minimum of three unfulfilled dreams, and possessing the ability to play the clarinet poorly enough to cause emotional damage but not poorly enough to be considered avant-garde. "In this game, everyone loses – just like real life!" proclaimed the show's tagline, which marketing executives insist tested well among focus groups of burnt-out millennials and Gen Z viewers who find existential dread relatable. The show is set to premiere whenever everyone feels most

vulnerable, exclusively on Netflix's new "Crushed Dreams" streaming tier, which costs subscribers their last shred of dignity per month. At press time, sources confirmed that the entire production is actually just security camera footage from the real Squidward's daily life, edited to include dramatic zoom-ins and ominous clarinet music.

[beyondspaceandstars]

The Military Dog Tag Dilemma

Relationship: Stucky x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluff Summary: You just want to wear the military tags of both your men but Steve seems to run into some issues. A/N: I am also always a sucker for Stucky writing ok and this was my first personal attempt at it and i thought it came out well <3

masterlist

Bucky gave you his dog togs within weeks of establishing your relationship with him and Steve.

You loved to mindlessly play with them as the three of you cuddled up in bed, enjoying some pillow talk after, particularly long days. Steve spooning you from behind as you laid on Bucky’s chest, his arm thrown around you, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Your fingers would fumble with the shiny tags, turning them over in your hand, watching the minimal moonlight hit them every now and then.

You didn’t know what it was about the tags that had you so captivated nearly every night. It felt so simple yet so intimate as you stared at your lover’s name and information engraved in them. While you weren’t exactly an expert on wartime, you knew the tags could serve as gifts to partners, assuring your heart to one another. The concept definitely drifted through your mind from time to time, but you never brought it up.

Bucky, however, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Wordlessly, one night, he slipped off the silver chain, tags clinking together musically, and slid them over your head. The coolness of them tickled your neck as the tags fell to the valley between your breasts.

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was pounding as you ran your fingers around the necklace. Even Steve seemed a little shocked by the actions. But Bucky was fully pleased as evident by the cocky grin he wore watching you ogle at the gift. He had to admit — knowing you were walking around with his name dangling from your neck did something for him.

"Where are your tags, Steve?" You had asked after placing a loving, appreciative kiss on Bucky’s lips. Now that you obtained Bucky’s tags, it only seemed fitting you wore Steve’s as well.

Steve shifted. You looked up at him only to find him watching the wall across from the bed, seemingly lost in thought. "I-I’m not really sure, honey."

You let out a sad hum at the response. "Well, if you find them, let me know," you yawned, shuffling down in the bed to get comfier. "I’d like both of my men close to me all the time."

Since then, Steve had been on a mission to find dog tags. Going through archives, chain of custody notes, discarded boxes… Everything. There was just something about the entire thing that was driving Steve mad. He was honored you wanted to show off the claim your two lovers had on you but he was also deeply concerned about the fact that currently you only had Bucky’s to wear.

While Steve wouldn’t exactly call himself jealous in this situation, knowing you didn’t love him any less, the relationship was established the way it was and he felt you should still have something of his to truly show for it.

This led Steve on what felt like a manhunt for the "damn dog tags," as he kept referring to them when Bucky would check-in asking if all was okay. Nothing was really okay. He had looked high and low for them, going through every potential record in the database trying to at least confirm there was something to even look for.

He pounded his fist against the desk late one night. Steve had pushed you and Bucky to get some sleep, claiming he had some reports to look over before bed. You two had looked at him suspiciously but eventually agreed, planting loving kisses on his cheeks, and telling him not to stay up too late.

"I get cold without both of you there," you had mumbled with a sleepy yawn following. Your words almost made Steve give up for the night but then he caught a glimpse of the silver chain on your neck. Seeing you like that, using your tired, loving voice, he remembered what he was doing this for. It was you. It was all about you and your love for sentimental things.

He grudgingly agreed to be there in an hour and that seemed to please his two lovers. Except — it was way past an hour. The sky was close to daybreak when he hit the desk in frustration.

Pushing the folders away, Steve leaned back in the chair, sighing. Within seconds, footsteps came from the hall and Bucky appeared in the doorway, watching a frustrated Steve.

"Everything okay in here?" Bucky asked, leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine," Steve nodded. "Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a bit."

But Bucky didn’t look the slightest bit convinced. He had a knowing look in his eyes which Steve tried to avoid by looking down at the now splintered desk.

"How are those reports going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, letting out an annoyed groan. Deep down he knew he couldn’t hide anything from Bucky but still, worth a shot.

He pushed all the folders away this time, leaving them at the very edge of the desk. "I did have dog tags, right?"

"That’s still bothering you, huh?" Bucky crossed the threshold into the office and made his way to one of the chairs in front of Steve’s desk. He took one of the folders and sat directly across from Steve. Casually, he thumbed through it, waiting for his partner to start talking.

Steve didn’t really want to get into it again as he had probably hounded Bucky about it all last week but acting like it wasn’t bothering him was getting him nowhere — obviously.

"Yes," Steve sighed. "I just want her to have something from each of us. It’s- It’s hard watching our girl…"

Bucky frowned, "I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve waited to give them to her."

"No, Buck," Steve leaned forward, reaching his hand out. Bucky took the signal and leaned, placing his own hand in Steve’s. "You wanted her to have them. That’s your call. I just feel disappointed I have nothing to give."

"Well…" Bucky hummed, tilting his head in thought. Steve’s eyes furrowed, trying to get his partner to spit out whatever he was thinking. "What if we ordered you new ones?"

"Can you do that?"

"I honestly don’t know," Bucky chuckled. "But I don’t understand half of what you can do these days, so, I’d imagine there’s a way to get dog tags made."

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair, disconnecting their touch. It seemed reasonable and would do the job except for the fact— "But they wouldn’t be in combat or- or from the actual military."

Bucky just shook his head. With an annoyed scoff, he said, "Do you think that really matters to her?"

"I guess not…"

"Steve, honey, I promise. It’s about the presentation, the show of it. Our girl is just looking for something personal from you to keep close to her," Bucky assured him. "Plus, I think we can get it updated and personalized. Maybe even write something nice just for her on the back."

Steve had to admit, his heart was jumping happily at the idea. He really couldn’t argue with anything and agreed to the plan. The only issue was — they were a bit out of touch with ordering anything online. You had always been the one to assure online packages and food deliveries arrived but now they had to take you out of the equation. While excited to surprise you, they were slightly unsure about ordering and had to enlist the help of the team who all turned out to be more than happy to assist once they explained their idea.

A few weeks later, you were laying in your shared bed, back against the headboard, body cozied up under the duvet. You were engrossed in a cheesy romance novel, waiting for Steve and Bucky to join you for the night. Eventually, the two came in, but they were still in their work attire.

You frowned at their appearance. "Aren’t you guys coming to bed?"

As you asked your question, you couldn’t help but note their unusual stance. The two men were side-by-side, standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at you. Bucky had his hands in his pockets while Steve appeared to be hiding something behind his back. You eyed them suspiciously.

"We will in a bit, doll," Bucky said. You watched him as he came around to the side of the bed. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, shifting right next to you, sneakily taking the book out of your grip. "But first, Steve has something for you."

"For- For me?" You asked, whipping your head around to face Steve. He had a bit of nervousness to him as he nodded, making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Silently, he handed you a small box. You eagerly accepted the item, turning it over and over in your hands. Giving it a light shake, the box made a jangling noise. "What is it?" You asked, wide-eyed looking between the two men.

Steve and Bucky both let out soft chuckles at your excitement. "You have to open it to find out," Steve said. He still had an air of anxiousness, running his hands up and down his jean-covered thighs, fidgeting.

To put your poor boyfriend out of his misery, you opened the box. At first, all you noticed was something slim and shiny. Eyes furrowed in confusion, you pulled out what appeared to be a chain. You could feel a slight heaviness to it — and then you saw it. Your jaw dropped as you tossed the box next to you. In your hands was another set of dog tags nearly identical to the ones you already had adorned on your neck — only this pair were inscribed with the name Steven Grant Rogers.

"Steve-," you gasped, staring at the tags laying in the palm of your hands. You were at a loss for words as you read the tag.

"Are- Are they okay?" Steve asked, his nervous hand came up to rest on your thigh, pulling your attention back to him.

"Are you kidding me?" You let out a breathy laugh. "They’re wonderful, honey, thank you so much."

"You’re sure?" He asked again. Bucky gave him a pointed look for his ridiculousness but that didn’t stop Steve from rambling. "I-I couldn’t find mine so, I got a new pair made. I know they’re maybe not as authentic or something but I still wanted-,"

"You had these made?" You cut in. "For me?"

Steve nodded, "You had Bucky’s, so, it was only fair you had something of mine, too."

You couldn’t hold your emotions back at his word. Tears began forming as you looked at your soft, loving partner. You let out little sniffles as you turned back to the tags, still soaking in their meaning. Bucky placed a light touch on your arm as Steve scooted closer, probably suddenly scared by your tears.

"They’re perfect, honey," you whispered as you looked back at him and leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on Steve’s lips. He eagerly accepted, practically sighing from relief under your touch. "They’re going to go perfect with the tags from my other man." You mumbled and turned to now give Bucky a kiss, who felt very pleased to get a turn to lock lips with you.

Facing Steve again, you handed him the chain. He looked down at it, confused.

"Well, soldier, are you going to put them on me?"

Both of the men chuckled at your actions but Steve happily slid the silver chain over your neck, watching as the tags fell to your chest. Once they landed, they clang nicely with Bucky’s. It sounded like music to your ears.

"I love you both so much," you said, your hand mindlessly running over the pair of tags. "Thank you."

"We love you too, doll," Bucky said. Steve nodded in agreement.

Smiling, you gave them both quick pecks and said, "Now, are you guys coming to bed?"

Bucky scoffed, "How could we ever deny you?"

You giggled. "I don’t think you can seeing as last time I checked I was a special girl."

At your words, both their gazes dropped once again to the tags hanging between your breasts, seeming so at place there.

"You sure are, honey," Steve mumbled, placing a kiss on your cheek.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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[aquamarinescarlet]

The Half of It

Pairing: Gerri Fields x Reader

Word count: ~ 5.5k

Warnings: catfishing (kind of), crushing on a straight girl… y’know, the basics

Request: Hello there! Not sure if you take requests but there’s a movie titled the half of it and I thought it would be a great fanfic idea for a lizzie (or any of her characters) x reader (if you’re not busy of course)

Author’s note: Alright, I cut this in two parts ‘cause it needed a lot of editing and I wanted to post it soon. Thank you anon who sent the request, I loved writing this, I hope you like it. Stay tuned for part two.

Taglist: @b0mbdotc0m

Part 1 - Part 2

The ancient Greeks believed the human body was once formed by 4 legs, 4 arms and a head with two faces. They were complete. So complete that the Gods, fearing their wholeness would not require a need for worship, separated them in two, leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery, forever longing for their other half. It was believed that when one half meets the other, there’s a harmony, a moment of no greater joy.

Of course, the ancient Greeks never went to high school, or realized they don’t need the Gods to mess things up for them.

Perhaps humans spend too much time looking for someone to complete them. How many people find true love? And if they do, make it last?

All the more evidence to support Camus theory that life is irrational… meaningless.

And that, my friends, is an A plus is philosophy. You thought to yourself as you discreetly passed around the papers during quire class, your phone chiming with notifications from money sent by Tori, Steve, Coraline, or whoever had paid you to write their essays this time.

Mr. Fields, completely oblivious to your secret scheme, stood in front of the class, explaining something about the talent show which you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. Soon enough everyone was standing, per the professor's request, following along to some music sheet he had handed.

You sat by the piano, following along with the rest of the band, although completely lost on what you were, in fact, supposed to do.

There were at least half a dozen seniors singing, and yet you couldn’t help but only pay attention to her. Gerri Fields. The girl dating the hottest, most popular guy in school. The girl who always had her nose buried in some book. The girl with the most angelic voice you’ve heard.

Maybe it was all in your head, but she overpowered the whole room. Her voice completely filling the space.

Unfortunately the moment was short and soon the bell rang. Since quire was your last period, you now found yourself biking back home. The ride was boring, as much as it was every single day. You appreciated the nature surrounding you, the peace and quiet, seemingly alone, or so you thought. You were pushed to the floor, being completely broken from your daze.

“What is your problem?” You said while picking yourself and your bike up.

“Sorry- I’m sorry- I just…” the boy trailed off and you noticed he had a paper in hand.

“Ten dollars for three pages, twenty for three to ten.” He looked at you nervously.

“I’m not trying to cheat.” He simply stated.

“Then what’s that?”

“A letter.” He handed it to you and you quickly opened it.

“Who even writes letters these days?” You read the name on the top, Gerri Fields.

“I thought it’d be romantic.” You folded the paper back, looking at him with disbelief.

“Dude, I’m not writing for Ger- some girl.”

“Why not?”

“Letters are supposed to be authentic not-”

“That’d be great,” he interrupted you.

“No,” this boy must be stupider than you thought, “I cannot be you being authentic,” your patience was starting to wear thin “look, get a dictionary, read some poetry, and good luck Romeo.”

“I can pay more for authentic.” You heard him scream, but you were already far ahead.

Back home, you took the interaction off of your mind and focused on your studies in the living room, while your dad watched a movie. Your concentration was broken by the lights flickering, you knew he hadn’t paid the bill, so you made a mental note to call the company first thing the next day.

And that’s exactly what you did. You rang them first thing in the morning and was put on hold. While you biked to school, during class, while you practiced piano alone in the band room, at least two times in which you had to avoid the boy in the corridor... throughout all that you were on hold.

You were so concentrated that you bumped into someone on your way to class, all your stuff falling to the floor. You leaned down to pick’em up when a pair of shoes came into view.

“These hallways are murder,” you looked up to find none other than Gerri Fields.

Her brown hair tied into a bun, a few loose strands framing her face perfectly. Her body dressed with the characteristic boho-chic clothes, and somehow her green eyes out shined all that color.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you muttered when you noticed you were staring.

“I know,” she responded while picking up your stuff, “you’ve been playing my dad’s services for years now. You’re his favourite, he hates mediocre accompanists,” you couldn’t think straight when her eyes met yours.

She handed your stuff, while you just remained completely silent, and walked away. You just stared, the hallways now empty due to the bell just ringing.

You were brought back to reality by the voice on the phone.

“Miss Y/L/N, your bill is three months overdue, we will need a minimum payment of fifty dollars by tomorrow or we’ll be forced to terminate your power.” Your mind was empty with ideas of how to solve this.

On cue, the boy from yesterday, who was running down the hallway, stopped by you, looking expectant.

“Fifty dollars. One letter. After that, you’re on your own,” your face was one of pure annoyance.

He raised his hand in celebration, but you just turned and walked the other, him following suit.

Dear Gerri Fields, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d wanna know you, because you’re smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl, but even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.

You were shocked, to say the least. The fact that normal teenagers wouldn’t write essays such as yours was not news to you, but this letter, this was something else.

About me: Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma… who’s dead now. Nevermind my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime? I work part-time and I have a truck. Let me know whenever. Thanks. David Avery.

“So what you’re trying to say is-”

“I’m in love with her.” He blurted out, not giving you enough time to take that all in.

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“I- I- I’m not good with words.” Shocking, still you pitied him as he looked at you, slightly ashamed.

“And you know you’re in love with her?” You tried to take in the whole picture of what you had gotten herself into.

“I know I think of her when I go to sleep, when I’m working at the ice cream stand, when I go to the beach, when I’m at the studio, when-” you cut off his rambling.

“That just means you’re stubborn, not that you’re in love.”

“No, it’s love. Love makes you screwy. Don’t you get screwy?”

“No.” Who gets screwy because of someone? How does that even make sense? This thing was going to be more trouble than you initially anticipated.

Your attention shifted back to the piece of paper on your hands. A pen scribbling over the words, trying to figure out how you could fix the mess that this was.

“Oh, I get it,” David said, while you mumbled random ideas, “you’ve never been in love.”

He got into your nerves. What does it matter if you’ve been in love or not? You considered getting out of this, leaving him to try his own luck, but you needed the money, so you just got up, shoving the letter onto his chest and saying,

“You want a letter about love? I’ll write you a letter about love,” and stomping away angrily.

Writing it turned out to be more of a challenge than you thought. You were again sitting in the living room, watching a french movie with your dad, struggling to get the words onto the paper.

You were close to giving up when a sentence, uttered by one of the characters on the TV, caught your attention.

“Longing… longing for a wave of love to swell up in me.” That would work.

The next morning you handed David the finished piece, sealed so he couldn’t look at what you’ve written.

Yet again you were caught by David while biking back home. Thankfully this time he didn’t throw you onto the floor, he didn’t need to since you stopped immediately when he said she’d written back. Of course you had said ‘one letter’, but you were allowed to be a little curious at her response.

He caught up with you and handed the letter.

Dear David, I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’a plagiarized him though. - Gerri

She was good, better than you expected.

“Who’s Wim Wenders, and why did you cheat off of him?”

You couldn’t be bothered by his confusion, completely ignoring his question, you were interested, you were hooked, you were eager to see what she would come up with next.

“This is good.” You mumbled.

“How?”

“It’s- It’s like a game. She’s challenging us. But in a good way.” And for some reason, you were willing to take that challenge.

You biked away leaving him behind like a lost puppy.

“Game on, Gerri Fields. Game on.”

Dear Gerri, okay, you got me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17. I’ve lived in Squahamish my whole life.

“Such a downer,” David finished reading the, still incomplete, second letter you wrote for him.

“Not a downer,” you retorted.

“Major downer, ask her to hang out.”

“What do you mean by ‘hanging out’?” You asked with genuine curiosity, doing everyone’s homework had kept you from having an active social life. The fact that you lived in such a small town did not help. “Like… what do you do?”

His friends interrupted the conversation before he could explain.

I hang out with my friends. I keep my head down. I’m a simple… guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. - David

“Psst, in here,” David called from the confessionary, “she wrote back.”

The second letter had been finished and sent, and now you had another response.

Dear David, Did you know it takes 11 muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from… well, yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. So, yeah, I turn to other people’s words, too. When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but that’s why you’re even writing me, right? When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in ‘I like you’, but like them as in ‘I am like you’. So I’m like a lot of people, which makes me kind of no one. - Gerri

“Can I text her now?” What was up with this guy and going so fast?

“Too soon,” you quickly shut him down.

You left him inside that church, mind bubbling with ideas as to what to write next.

I never thought about the oppression of fitting in before. The good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them. - David

Doesn’t everyone think they’re different, but… pretty much we’re all different in the same way? - Gerri

Says the girl perched on the rarefied peak of Mt. Popularity. - David

Easy Mr. I-Know-Nothing-About-Love. I may surprise you. - Gerri

The messages became shorter, and somehow deeper. It was no longer a simple exchange of letters, it became some sort of a game, and Gerri was a damn great player. So much so that you didn’t even notice her coming into the bathroom while you washed your hands, lost on thoughts of the conversations you’ve been secretly having.

She was leaning against the wall, her hair pulled up by those bandanas she’s always using. When your eyes met, you stopped breathing for a second, nervousness prickling at your skin from the prospect of getting caught on the scheme you had with David.

But she just smiled, and you could’ve stayed there, looking at her for hours. Unfortunately the other girls chatting in the bathroom, oblivious to both your presences, scared her away when the topic of her boyfriend came up.

You could sense how hurt she was by those words, how they talked her down by talking him up. It was the first time you’ve seen first hand how this universe that she was trapped in could suck sometimes. All you wished was to punch their faces. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

What’s surprising is: people don’t see what they’re not looking for. - David

The obvious unseen. - Gerri

You were getting too caught up by this. No longer writing people’s essays for them. To the point where even one of the teachers started to notice. It was funny how she knew everyone cheated and still preferred to cover for them over having to read what they’d actually write.

You didn’t care. You were getting the money and Gerri Fields was piquing your interest immensely. She was much more than you expected.

I’ve been thinking about what you said - about seeing and not seeing. I had a painting teacher once tell me that the difference between a good painting and a great painting is typically five strokes And they’re usually the five boldest strokes in the painting. The question, of course, is which five strokes? - Gerri

Along with the message came attached a picture of a painting. It was a challenge. Would you be able to see those five strokes?

I get it. After one’s slaved away at making a pretty good painting, the last thing you’d want to do is make a bold stroke and potentially… - David

Ruin everything. - Gerri

You spent hours analysing the painting. You had your ideas of what those strokes were, but had she seen the same thing? Or did she see it from a totally different perspective?

You tried to explain to David the strokes. How to read a painting like it was a book. Showed him the painting she’d sent. Explained what made that painting a great painting.

Sure, he didn’t understand any of it, just nodding along, which surprised you since he has interest in pictures. It was pointless, but he was still the one she was flirting with, the least you could do was to keep him alert, curious, aware of who Gerri Fields was and what he was in for.

That’s why I gave up painting. Still, I wonder if that is how I’m living my life. It’s a… pretty good life. Probably the best life one could hope for in Squahamish. - Gerri

It was time to step up your game.

Perhaps… but how well do you really know Squahamish? 41.1º24’12.2”N 2.1º10’2.65”E - David

You found a simple stroke of paint on the mural you had prepared. The coordinates you sent her led to this empty wall, a few bottles of spray paint sat at the bottom. Since you’re talking about paintings, why not make one yourselves?

Oh, so that’s your boldest stroke? - David

I’m into the slow build! What was that? - Gerri

The conversation had shifted from a paper and pen to paint and a wall. You had added some random pattern, and came back to find she had done some of her own as well. Let’s see what you can do, Gerri.

Decisiveness, but please… take all the time you need to be BOLD. - David

Is this BOLD enough for you? - Gerri

What was once a splash of light green paint was now overpowered by a golden figure in the center, specks of a darker green surrounding it. Now that’s a bit more like it.

And thus was abstract art born… - David

And transformed. - Gerri

It wasn’t just the spray paint this time. She had broughten tools of her own. The golden figure had taken the form of a woman, delicate shades forming her body and marking the roots of her hair. A star at the tip of her hand.

It was a great painting. No change needed. No more bold strokes.

Unfortunately, it was gone as soon as it came to life. A now white wall hiding what was once a great piece of art.

Or not. - Gerri

Everything beautiful is ruined eventually… Maybe that’s the thing. If you do ruin your painting, you gotta know you have everything in you to get to that pretty good painting again. - David

But if you never do the bold stroke… - Gerri

You’ll never know if you could’ve had a great painting. - David

“But when does the dating start?” Why does this boy have to be so impatient?

“This is dating.”

“No, dating is burgers and fries and shakes. And maybe another order of fries. And…”

This was a shallow way of putting it, you thought, there must be more to dating than eating fast food and talking about dead grandmas. Although you wouldn’t know, life hasn’t given you much opportunity for dating.

“... I’m gonna text her.” Your eyes went wide with those words.

“Wait, what?”

Before you reached him he had already sent out the message. Fast food emojis, tonight was spelled ‘tonite’, it was all wrong, so wrong. You watched the phone intently, waiting for a response, hoping you’d get a response.

Those three little dots appeared and disappeared, making your heart sink in your chest.

You had to think, and you had to think fast. David was getting utterly frustrated behind you and no response was coming. A thousand ideas went by your head when a specific one seemed a good enough excuse.

“Little sister hacked my phone. Can we take this to a safer platform? Ghost Messenger? My handle’s ‘Smith Corona’.” You typed frantically.

“Who’s Smith Corona?”

“Just… a guy,” you shrugged him off.

The both of you were staring anxiously at the screen when, once again, those three little dots appeared and disappeared, earning loud sighs from you. So this was it? All that for a stupid message to ruin everything? Would Gerri really give up that easily just because she now thinks David’s a moron?

The sound of an incoming message on your phone broke you out of your thoughts, raising your hopes back again. You fumbled to your bag and there it was.

‘New Ghost Message’

DiegaRivero: So… where are these fries?

“Yes!” You and David celebrated. Gerri wasn’t that easily scared off after all.

Although now you had a completely new problem. Gerri and David would go out together. On a date. Just the two of them. And you couldn’t be there to help him. The heavy feeling at the pit of your stomach was screaming at you that this wasn’t going to work.

Sparky’s Diner was the place of choice. Secluded, not that popular, nice food. A good choice. You had David on the phone while he drove.

“She prefers abstract to representational. If she brings up Remains of the Day, talk about how the movie loses out by not spending more time on the Nazis.” You explained, more to comfort yourself than to help him, you really didn’t want him to screw this all up.

“Relax. I got this.” This boy is too confident for his own good. “It’s a date, not a book report.”

He kept you on the line, his phone on speaker, but with no volume, so you could hear into their conversation while being at home. You were dreading having to listen to this.

“I got two of them signed when he came to Powell’s Books last year.” You heard her voice for the first time in a while, you assumed she was talking about Remains of the Day just like you had predicted. “I drove all night to get there.”

“Oh, uh… cool.” What an idiot.

“You’ve probably already read it. Thought you’d like one.” You were starting to pity the girl and the night she was in for.

“Uh, yeah, totally. No, I- I love, uh… Nazis.” You almost hit your head on the wall out of frustration. “I mean the- the- the ones in the book. I mean, like, more of those Nazis. Am I right?”

Silence settled for a few seconds, a pretty uncomfortable one you’d bet, before Gerri spoke again.

“Uh, speaking of Nazis, thank you for meeting me here. My dad… he isn’t a Nazi exactly, but, uh… he can be pretty strict. You know, people talk.”

“Um, yeah. Talk. Ugh.”

More silence.

“It’s nice… to make a new friend, though.” Points to Gerri for the effort, but damn was this going badly.

“A friend. Good.” He sounded disappointed but what did he expect, for her to propose or something? She has a boyfriend, and he knows it.

Silence filled the conversation more than words, David saying the stupidest things that definitely didn’t sound like what she expected of him. They didn’t sound like you. This was over and done with, but he just couldn’t accept it.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he tried to convince you the next morning while you biked.

“What about that date wasn’t bad? You have nothing in common.” You argued. “Game over!”

“I can’t give up!” He retorted.

“Look, you and Gerri Fields, not gonna happen.” You needed to get some sense into this boy’s head.

He, on the other hand, didn’t give up, following you all the way to this abandoned school bus.

“Gerri Fields thinks you’re into abstract art and repressed British literature. None of that is you.”

“It could be, I started reading that Remains of the Day book.” You were pleasantly surprised. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“There are no points for effort.” Gerri already thought highly of him, he could no longer win her over with just ‘trying’.

“Isn’t that what love is? How much effort you put into loving someone?” Is he right? You never experienced love, you wouldn’t know for sure.

“Well, whatever love is, we just blew it with Gerri Fields.”

On cue the sound a notification came from your phone, leaving the both of you shocked.

DiegaRivero: So that was… weird?

Maybe not everything was lost.

“We can do this!” David exclaimed. “I’ll pay you double,” he added when you didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to pay me,” the words were out of your mouth before you could process them.

“Don’t be weird, why else would you do this?” You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t even know why you were still doing this.

You quickly accepted the offer so he wouldn’t get suspicious and, let’s be real, some extra cash could always come in handy.

Now that the game was back on, you devised a three week plan to get David ready for the next date. You didn’t have time to teach him everything, you had to be selective, deep versus broad-based learning. Spy on Gerri and specialize David on her favourite things.

Existentialism. Sartre. Camus. Hepburn. The Philadelphia Story. Conversation Lessons. Reconnaissance. Following Gerri around the movies, the pharmacy. Kathenne. The Roman Holiday. Mapping out her boyfriend, her interests, favourite foods. Watching her family, night dinners. Soon enough the entirety of the abandoned school bus was covered with information on any and everything you could gather on Gerri Fields.

Other than quire class, Sunday services were the only moments in which you could see Gerri Fields without creepily following her around town. Her father, Mr. Fields, was in charge of the church quire as well and, as Gerri had pointed out weeks ago, you were his favourite accompanist.

DiegaRivero: Do you think Father Shanley has any idea what’s going on around him?

You received the message in the middle of one of the services, after Father Shanley, who was in fact too old, had one of his ‘moments’, which basically meant he screamed some nonsense for no reason.

SmithCorona: I think Father Shanley KNOWS ALL

Your heart ached when Gerri turned and smiled at David, sitting amongst the crowd, while you watched from your place on the piano, above everyone else. It was lonely. But the fact that her eyes were on him just made it all the more lonelier.

The training with David kept going, conversation lessons making you both closer. While playing ping pong you’d learn about your past and present, suddenly aware of how sad it is that neither of you have ever been anywhere other than Squahamish. He has his truck, but the beach and his family business keep him stuck in town, and also away from pursuing his dream of working with photography. You, on the other hand, never even thought about leaving.

DiegaRivero: So… why you always up so late?

Night had fallen upon the small city before you even noticed.

SmithCorona: World’s asleep, more room for thoughts

DiegaRivero: Hour of secrets?

SmithCorona: Something like that

DiegaRivero: So what secrets… ?

It was in moments like this that you were reminded of the fact that she wasn’t talking to you, she was talking to David. Or, at least, that’s what she thought, and that secret was killing you inside.

After one of your ping pong/conversation lessons, you caught yourself wondering what it was about Gerri Fields that was so enticing to David. He knew nothing about her before this whole scheme started, and they had nothing in common.

“What do you like about Gerri?”

“She’s pretty,” he answered with no hesitation, “and smart… and she’s never mean. And she smells like fresh-ground flour.” See, nothing in common. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“What else could I like about her?”

The question got you thinking about what it was in Gerri that enticed you so much. Why you kept up with the game. Why you were so invested on it.

“I don’t know.” So many thoughts were flooding your mind. “How her eyes look right into yours. How… she twirls her hair when she’s reading.” Images of these moments going through your head. “How her laugh busts out like she can’t help herself and she stops being so perfect for just a few moments. She has at least five different voices. How you could live in an ocean of her thoughts and… feel like she knows, like really knows-” You stopped the moment you noticed David’s expression had turned into a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“I’m so stupid.” Your heart stopped for a second. “I’m so dumb.”

“No,” you were getting desperate, “don’t think that I-”

“What you said,” his voice was louder, “that’s what you say when you love someone.”

“No I- I was just talking,” you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or him, “I- I would never, ever actually-”

“No, it is, and- and you don’t even care,” a rush of relief took over you. “I mean, I love her and I can’t even… agh!”

He was getting frustrated. He wanted to be as good as you were with words. Poetic and… romantic. That wasn’t his thing. You felt sorry for him, you really did. So much so that you caught yourself contradicting what you’d said weeks ago to him.

“You try… harder than anyone I’ve ever met,” your voice was soft, soothing his nerves, “to show a girl that you love her. And if love isn’t the effort you put in… then… what is it?

He smiled a little, calming your own nerves. This boy was starting to grow on you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

David was becoming a friend, someone you truly care about. Despite how much it killed you to flirt with Gerri for him, you wanted him to be happy. You wanted this to work.

SmithCorona: No secrets. Just a good guy… and you should be with a good guy

These late night talks weren’t particularly helpful.

Three weeks passed and that second date was long overdue. This time you wouldn’t stay too far away from him, but close and ready to come to the rescue whenever he screwed up.

“Okay,” you opened the door to his truck, “Gerri. If she brings up immigration, you’ve been talking about the recent-”

“I know.”

“When in doubt, if the name is Italian, probably an artist. If French it’s probably a-”

“Hey.” You stopped your rambling. “Thanks.” His voice softened.

“Oh…” you were surprised, he had not thanked you yet for all of this, you did not quite know how to respond, “uh, sure.”

“I’m probably gonna crash and burn, but thanks for sticking it out with me anyway.” He was nervous, it was endearing.

“Well, not like you didn’t pay me,” you tried to lighten the mood, earning a gentle scoff from the boy. “You’re not gonna crash and burn.” You reassured him while he left the truck.

You didn’t believe your own words. He was totally gonna crash and burn. But a little boost of confidence couldn’t hurt.

They were sitting at one of the window seats at Sparky’s Diner. You could see them clearly, and, by the confusion on her face and the nervousness on his, you could tell it did not start well.

The conversation was clearly taking a weird turn. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you could see none of them seemed to be enjoying the date that much. So you had an idea. You picked up your phone and typed Gerri a message.

SmithCorona: I get nervous when you’re close

She smiled at him. She bought it.

DiegaRivero: Why?

David, on the other hand, was totally confused by what was going on, and soon enough you received a message from him.

“Wut????”

“Look at your phone!” You typed back, she had to believe it was him who was texting her.

SmithCorona: …

DiegaRivero: …?

SmithCorona: …..

DiegaRivero: I’m just a girl

SmithCorona: You’re not just a girl

David was quick to interrupt, still being kept in the dark.

“WUT. ARE. YOU. SAYING???”

“STOP. LOOKING. AT. ME!!!” Why can’t he just go with it?

DiegaRivero: I’m not? Then what are you?

SmithCorona: Also… not just a girl

She giggled at the joke, and boy what you would have given to listen to it. David, still oblivious, gave her thumbs up, while she just stared him up and down, totally confused. You don’t blame her, it feels like it’s two different people because it is, and if the boy doesn’t learn better, he won’t get her ‘cause she’ll be stuck in this idea of who he is.

DiegaRivero: You’re strange, but cute

SmithCorona: You have classic bone structure

You typed, instead of sending all the things you were thinking about her just by staring at her through a window.

DiegaRivero: ...Thanks

Your mind tried to think of something, what to say next, but came out empty. While you brainstormed something that was fit for Gerri Fields, David decided to take matters into his own hands.

“I don’t wanna be just friends,” he stood up abruptly and spoke loud enough that even you could hear.

No, moron, that’s how you crash and burn. But of course David wouldn’t listen to you, your advice. Too eager, too impatient, unable to enjoy the build up. If he didn’t ruin everything before,for sure he would do it now. And you were helpless, there was nothing you could do from inside his truck at this point.

You couldn’t listen to what they were saying and it was nerve racking. His mouth moved, she just stared, and it all seemed uncomfortable and confusing, until it wasn’t. He smiled, he sat back across from her, and when she turned she was smiling too. That moron had figured it out on his own.

You were proud of him. But you were also a little sad. He was starting to walk by himself, soon enough he would not need you anymore. And yet you were enjoying this little game. You were enjoying these interactions with Gerri, even if she didn’t know it was really you she was talking to.

That was the deal when you signed up for this. You flirt, you put in the work, and David ends up with the girl. Why you ever thought it would happen differently is beyond you.

So, reluctantly, you left his truck. You left them alone. David could carry himself from here on out. There was no point in being there anymore.

And yet, you wanted to be there so bad.

[markedbyfireandash]

Astrological Healing Writing Prompts

from The Magical Writing Grimoire by Lisa Marie Basile

(Mostly posting here for my own reference.)

Aries: What, in your triumphant, hard blaze, are you hiding from? Is there a softness you can grant yourself? What would it look like if you could undress in the light of flexibility? Does it pay to hold tight and remain stoic, or are you limiting yourself? Taurus: What happens when ugliness seeps in? What will you do to honor it without losing yourself? Can you handle the lack? What happens when there’s nothing around to beautify the void? What can you bring out of yourself, organically? Gemini: When you silence or suppress one part of yourself, how does it feel? How can you worship at the feet of your multitudes? How can you become a chameleon without losing yourself? What does your foundation look like? Cancer: When you are unsafe, can you find an anchor? If the sea keeps rocking, how can you find your strength without capsizing? How can you learn to let nostalgia bloom without its vines suffocating you? What does safety feel like inside your body? Leo: Sometimes, you are so busy roaring you don’t hear the small sounds of morning and night. Meditate on this. What’s in front of you? What happens when the radiance machine stops working? Can there be power in the darkness? How can you be proud of yourself when your crown falls off? Virgo: In the chaos, there is a song. What does it sound like? Outside the lines, you find yourself. When you are shapeless, what are you free to become? Can you find worth in the wildness, or hold space for the imperfect self? What happens when you dismantle the cliché? Libra: What can you learn about yourself when you feel imbalanced? Is there authenticity to be found when you’re not busy balancing and performing, seeking and connecting? What is found beneath the robe—and then beneath even that? Who are you when everyone goes home? Scorpio: You feel the hum of power in the dark, but are you the architect of your own misery? Do you stay guarded in the shadows because it’s safer than letting the light in? Part the curtains. What can grow when you learn to differentiate the well from the water? What happens when you stop being jealous of the sky? Sagittarius: How can you learn what it feels like to stay—with others, with yourself—when you always want to keep moving? Are you running? What happens when the ideas and the wanderlust leave you empty? What happens when you stop wearing the mask? Who are you when you take the wings off and stand still? Capricorn: Imagine the wild, wide desert. You are lost. You are thirsty. You are rescued. What happens when you learn to drink from someone else’s palm? Can you find peace in needing someone or something other than yourself? Can you lean into the softness, the slowness? Who are you when you aren’t in control? Aquarius: Can you operate deep underground? Can you burrow into the murky waters of fear and love and want? What happens when you get naked and sit in the garden of your dark? When you don’t have a bird’s-eye view, when you comeinrealcloselikethis can you feel the granules? What do they feel like? Pisces: What does it look like when you step out of the dream world? Can you remain here, and now, when fantasy and reality fail to merge? Can you intuit yourself? Are you able to hold space for your hopes—without crumbling under their impossible beauty? When you look your self-destruction in the face, what do you say to it?

[sneezefiction]

embrace

Tsukishima x Reader - Scenario 

@belli-jelly’s event request: “#7 with Tsukki ❤️ thank youu!”

a/n: “embrace” with Tsukishima is such a soft idea. he just needs a hug and to feel loved n supported n stuff, ya know? i hope u enjoy!! <333

warnings: slight language, angst (but barely?)

wc: 1990

---

Tsukishima makes his ways through the apartment door, kicking off his shoes a little more forcefully than usual. The thunk of the soles on the tile embodies whatever vexation he’d been simmering in for the duration of the day. A weak, frustration-fueled sigh exits his body.

From the kitchen, you can already tell that something is off. He hasn’t called out to you with his usual, “Hey stupid, I’m home.” You hadn’t even received his typical text telling you he was leaving the gym. The tense silence seeps into the airspace as he makes his way toward you, Tsukki’s feet dragging with every step.

As he turns corner, you’re greeted by features taut with fatigue. It’s as though he’d been running on empty all day, barely making it home with only fumes of energy leftover.

Tsukki’s eyes were undoubtedly strained. The white, intense light of the gym combined with deep concentration kept him on high-alert with eyes wide open at all times.

His shoulders maintained a somewhat slumped position, losing an inch or two of height in the process. The mental weight of handling everything on his own had finally reached him physically.

This hadn’t been a good day, per se.

And if Tsukki had the energy to speak, he would probably tell you how much he would rather be in a month-long coma than experience that level of misery again.

But the hushed air remains and a bizarre staring contest takes place between you two instead of passing words. It’s hard to speak when you know that, deep down, words could never do his terrible days any justice. That even a thoughtful sentence or a well-intended comment would simply drown under Tsukki’s sea of thought, never resurfacing or coming up for air to be heard or understood.

He’s too exhausted to process even the shortest of loving dialogues. And you can tell.

So you sift through other possibilities.

Ways to calm him. To remind him that you care and want to look after him.

Should you make him dinner? He’s probably already eaten. Watch a movie together? No, the light would bother his tired eyes even more. Just go to bed? He would only continue to stir through his disappointments and be kept up by the throbbing of soreness in his legs.

As your eyes trickle down the length of his body, which is now leaning on the countertop as he takes a long sip out of his water bottle, you come to one final alternative…

But it’s always a bit of a gamble. A slight risk.

To touch or not to touch.

Would he lean into it like a self-satisfied, curious cat, tilting his lean body into your affectionate antics? Or would his brittle, biting character and miserable mood cause himself to crumble and fall away from the warmth and comfort of your smaller arms?

On one hand, you might experience your beloved Tsukishima’s gentler side. The one that held you as though he were a mama bird wrapping her wide-spanned wings around your precious form. Instinctively protective. A second-natured response to the way you circled your arms around his torso, tugging him into your field, requesting closeness and vulnerability. It could potentially get his mind off of the day and focus him on the here and now.

But on the other hand, Tsukki had a track record of off days. Jumping away from the soft glide of the pads of your fingertips. On those days, your embrace seemed to resemble that of a thorny, roseless bush to the wavy-haired blonde. The chance of him tugging away, leaving you drained and drooping, was higher than you had ever wanted to bet on. The possibility of him ending up at the opposite side of the bed seemed to increase after experiences like these.

And to be honest, you could never be sure if the touch-deterring wall he built up was to protect himself or you. Yet you always try to find ways to chip away at his salty, skeptical barrier without overstepping any fragile, unspoken boundaries.

It’s a simple concept. However, avoiding his sensitivities is an endless dance and is much harder than it may look. Especially at the end of a long day of pro-league practice, where sweat, sulking, and inferiority complexes don’t usually mix well.

But this was the only viable option left, so you get over your own worries and approach Tsukishima’s weary form. You stop just a few inches before him, his eyes dropping to meet yours. He was even more beaten down up close. The defeated expression he carried in tandem with his worn-out demeanor made you physically ache for him. 

“Tsukki… you’re not lookin’ too hot right now.” You let out a breathy laugh, slowly lifting yourself onto your tiptoes to brush a hand through his messy hair, testing the waters.

He doesn’t flinch away from your movements, so you sink back down onto the soles of your feet, letting your hand run down the side of his face.

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly feel great either.” He shoots back, but there’s a somber, troubled tinge.

Tsukki inches toward you, looking away as he tilts the side of his head into the palm of your hand. Your fingers cup his cheek.

Everyone knew how Tsukki acted when he was annoyed or angry. Snappy, sarcastic comments would be strewn in an almost poetic manner, kindly crushing those under his scrutiny. Many had seen Tsukishima after a merciless game, beaten and worn out. He would still have a muted fire behind his efforts and would carry himself with dignity, even if he didn’t feel confidence rise inside of him.

But gloominess? It doesn’t suit him. Not now, not ever.

And currently, he’s emanating a dreary, depressing sadness, like being caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella to shield you. It’s helpless and uncontrollable. Utterly humiliating.

You can practically feel the strain of the day radiating off of him. Tsukki had a tendency to wither slowly and cautiously. Not allowing anyone to watch as his snarky comments fizzled out and his sharp gaze gradually dull. By the look in his golden eyes, it was obvious that something in him had already snapped like an old tree branch. Battered and bruised by storm after brutal summer storm, finally shattering under the repetitive pressures of failure and imposter syndrome.

In the past, he had let apathy take over in order to not burden you. Withholding affection, thinking it would keep you safe from his sinking atmosphere when in reality he wished to drink in your tenderness. To fall under your grasp, sinking his head under your chin and lay across your chest.

But maybe it was all too much.

Too much to hold in. To carry alone.

“Kei…” At the use of his first name, he physically softens. Drawing his arms around your middle and clasping his hands behind your back, he gently rests his chin on your head.

“You can always lean on me.” You whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

Your words carry a deeper semblance. That you really are here for him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to lift him up.

You picked a good time for physical touch because he only pulls you in tighter.

He’s pretty warm and smells like sweat mixed with deodorant and his cedar-scented shampoo. You grasp the cloth and squeeze him into you, making sure to keep him steady and balanced. His breathing falls into a gentle rhythm, almost as though he were falling asleep standing up.

“If you weren’t so lanky I would pick you up, but you’re a damn tree.” You sigh, poking fun at him.

The touches were cathartic. Healing. Authentic. Your lighthearted comments kept things comfortable, hindering him from drawing away due to feelings of unworthiness or self-consciousness.

“Wow, okay, bold words for someone who can hardly seem to pick up a bag of flour. You couldn’t hold me even if you were my height.” He snickers, tension releasing and adrenaline wearing off from the high-energy day.

You shift to look up at Tsukki, your chin gently pressing into his chest. He’s already staring down at you. You can’t help that a blush works its way up your neck and onto your cheeks, the warmth from his unusual touch sending you unwarranted fuzzy feelings. As much as you wished this embrace could be all for Tsukki, you’d wanted to hug him with all your might for a while now.

“Y/n… Honest question, so don’t laugh at me. Why are you doing this?” Tsukishima breaks eye contact, arms shifting to lean your chest more on top of his as he sinks a little deeper onto the counter, his back supported by the ledge.

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You inquire, eyes still fixed on him, searching his expression.

“I mean... You know when things are going to shit. You know when I need something. A back massage, a slap to the face, hell, even a coffee sometimes.” He snorts, trying not to take his own question too seriously.

You’re the one to sigh now. Doesn’t he know how these things work by now? That being in a relationship with him meant more than insulting the daylights out of each other and going out to dinner? Apparently even Tsukishima lacks a lot perspective when it comes to loving another human being.

“You’re stubborn as hell.” You state plainly, your face going blank.

“What?”

“You refuse to see that you need help too sometimes, babe. Hate to break it to ya, but I actually like listening to and hugging you.” You break into a small smile.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He rolls his eyes at your confusing sentence.

“Are you that dense?” You express with mock disdain at his response.

“Tsukki, I’m saying that you don’t burden me! That I want to be there for you even after shitty days like these! You’re an absolute dumbass!” You snicker and your smile reaches your eyes, crinkling and squinting as his meet yours.

Instead of saying anything, Tsukishima rests in place, dumbfounded.

It’s true, you always were there for him.

Cheering at every game. Cooking dinner for him when you knew he would get home way too late and practically starving. Letting him rant relentlessly about losses and seemingly endless practices.

So why was it that only after breaking down in every way possible, he would finally let you see his most vulnerable thoughts and fears. That he would allow you to witness his exhaustion only once it had reached its peak. That it took Tsukki completely collapsing to let you wrap you arms around him.

And you both guess that it’s because old habits die hard.

Tsukki would always be Tsukki. A little too cold and relentlessly set on drenching others in his never-ending supply of sarcasm. Reluctant to accept help until it was already showing through the bleeding cracks of his figure and laced within his pained speech.

Because for someone so good at putting up and breaking through blocks, Tsukishima needed help with the walls that he had built up under his skin over the years. He needed to see that he couldn’t always protect you from his fears, but that you would be there to help him fight them. Or at least hug them away when it all got too much.

And as he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, you know it will be okay. Because embraces like these are what chip away at walls of fear. It’s the first step and you can already feel the tension crumble away, allowing warmth to surround the two of you. 

So you begin to remind him more and more that you like hugs. And he lets you hold him far more often, slowly but surely letting you deeper into his mind and into his arms. A much needed and highly welcomed addition to your everyday life.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list) 

[beyoncesdragon]

Sisyphean

→Pairing: Harry Styles x gender neutral reader (as far as I know? Like tell if otherwise...) 

→Summary: Sisyphean. Used to describe a task that can never be completed. a damn make up look for example. 

→Warnings: swearing, but else no, this is crack™️

→Wordcount: around 1.2k? 

a/n: Happy whatever you want to celebrate today. If its Halloween, go for it. Ariana’s new album? Ateez’ tbcn performance? Harry’s golden mv? 2020 being over in 2 Months from tomorrow? Me being able to write a fic in one go? Go for it. 

Masterlist 🦋

“How in the bleeding fuck do they do that?!” I called out, angrily staring at my laptop. The lady on screen continued to effortlessly apply dark eyeshadow on her cheekbones, unbothered by my sudden outburst.

I pressed pause and was about to get up for another mug of tea (and a treat, I deserved it) when someone came sprinted into the living room.

“Everything okay? I heard you swear like you just got a positive pregnancy test…” I looked up with a frown. “If I had a positive pregnancy test, I wouldn’t swear like that. However, does that mean, you expect me to swear like this in case I had one? And if we analyse that, does it mean you don’t want kids because you projected your own reaction onto me in that situation, and your reaction was this?” Harry stared at me for a moment without blinking.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should never date a psychology major.” Despite my bad mood, I had to grin.

“Sorry.” And then I pressed play again. “What are you watching?” Harry asked, sitting down next to me. His eyes trailed over the many opened make up palettes and brushes, sponges and make-up wipes. There was a little pile of them, stained black and red and dark green, because I had decided that I disliked the look when I was already half through. Consistency and patience were not one of my biggest strengths.

“I’m attempting to do this…” I pointed at the YouTube video and the woman doing her thing, before sighing deeply, “but to be honest, she lost me at applying primer because I don’t…I don’t even know if I ever even owned one.” Harry hummed and leaned closer to the screen. “I didn’t even know you were into Halloween like that.” I shrugged. “I am not. I just like doing make up. Besides, it’s not like we would go anywhere anyways. We’re in midst of a pandemic after all.” Harry nodded, carefully lifting one of my brushes in the air. “Alright. And why are you on the floor and not in the bathroom or at least at a table?” I shrugged, trying to darken the corners of my eyes like the woman. “I don’t know…we have a comfortable carpet. Ah, can you pass me that fluffy brush please…hey what the heck? Why is she done all of a sudden? She skipped the eyeliner part and the…why would she do that, I am not even done with my left eye!” Harry started to laugh loudly and that laughter only grew when the creator announced that she “did the eye liner off camera because if you followed me for some time now, you know how I do it anyways!”

“Oh she did not.” I breathed in anger, clicking away from the video consumed in self-pity and anger. I wasn’t following her and this was my first video of hers so I was appalled greatly. I scrolled through my feed, trying to find a similar look so I could at least modify the mess I had already made on my face a bit. So far, there was nothing and I felt like throwing my lap top away. “Why is this happening! I was doing so well, I don’t want to waste more make up.” I whined dramatically, flopping against Harry before placing my head in his lap, sulking in my make-up misery. Harry poked my cheek softly.

“You could improvise.” I snapped up. “I can’t even come up with an original look Harry, what do you mean.” He shrugged. “Okay, I could improvise for you.” now that was an offer.

“I could do your make up and then we cook something. And watch that Ateez performance you yelled to me about for the last two days. But you stop sulking. Deal?”

Moments like this was when I questioned if I really was living or if I was stuck in a schmaltzy  rom-com or just simply daydreaming.

“For real?” he nodded, a small dimply smile appearing on his handsome face. “Yes, for real. I’m feeling generous today, you know.” I hummed, feeling as if my heart grow impossibly big with all the love I felt for him.

“How comes?” he laughed softly. “Well, first of all, I am a generous human being,” I slapped his arm softly, “Generous maybe, humble rather not.” He grinned, sending me a wink. “I never said humble. However, secondly, because I am an amazing and supportive boyfriend…” I could only nod to that; no lie detected, “and thirdly because I had a good laugh at how you dragged this one twitter user to filth this morning.”

Ah well that.

“Yeah I had to. The comment was so impossibly stupid I had to reply. What fucking dumbo calls  wearing lace gloves the beginning of the end of real men? Like yeah, we get it, you’re reeking of toxic masculinity, no need to be so loud about it.” Harry grinned proudly. “I mean, I’m all in for kindness but “If “real men” describes people like you, please everyone wear lace gloves, quick. I wish you and your fragile ego a good time.” Is a pretty solid answer.” Harry hummed amused and I laughed. “I also tweeted a link to affordable gloves, did you see that? Also, he basically gave your video a free shout out because now all his dumb friends go watch it too and feel attacked. Bet he was one of those men who threw a massive mantrum when Wonder Woman came out. I bet.” I sat up from his lap and stretched my body.

“I think you would win this bet, babe. I did see your second tweet, by the way. And I retweeted it too, right before I heard your cursing.” He nodded towards the make-up products scattered across the carpet.

“Which would be a perfect transition back to the issue. Before I completely ruin all you’ve accomplished so far, any specific wishes?” I laughed shaking my head. “I just ask for you to not poke one of my eyes out or something. The look doesn’t have to become too graphic, neither does it have to be permanent.” He grinned smugly.

“If you would wholeheartedly love Halloween you would sacrifice one eye at least. It’s just an eye.” Surely an interesting take, yet I had not met anyone that was so invested in Halloween that they would go the extra mile and willingly remove an eye for authenticity. 

“I said before that I am not, so you don’t even have to worry about that.” Harry pouted in fake disappointment before leaning forward clicking on a video.

“Just for inspiration…” he mumbled when he caught my questioning eyes. “Alright. Close you eyes…alright so black in this corner…” a few minutes passed quietly, only filled with the instructions of the make-up artist in the video and Harry’s whisper, since he repeated everything under his breath. 

Suddenly it was quiet for a second, Harry’s muttering and brush stokes stopped. I opened my eyes, seeing him stare blankly at the screen before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, but how in the bleeding fuck does he do that?”

— ✩ thank u for reading ✩ —

[felicia-cat-hardy]

Olivia Rodrigo's Music Style: Pop-Punk Rockers Who Influenced Her

Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album Sour comes out on May 21, and by now, you certainly know that the 18-year-old singer-songwriter counts the queen of vulnerable love-lorn melodies, Taylor Swift, as one of her most prominent influences. But after topping the charts for eight weeks with “drivers license,” it looks like Rodrigo is rearing into the rock lane, giving us the teenage angst and pop-punk petulance we deserve with the fiery “good 4 u” and impressive live performances.

Trust us, we know we don’t have to compare and contrast every female singer that’s ever made music that isn’t strictly pop, but why not salute the plaid-wearing, Doc Martens-donning foremothers of pop-punk, because as the Saturday Night Live skit on that very topic clarifies, yes she’s wearing her influences on her sleeve, “but it’s also pure Olivia, man.”

Plus, as Rodrigo shared in an interview with The Face on the sound of her upcoming album, “I feel like music is becoming increasingly genreless. I suppose I’m considered a pop artist, but I’ve never felt like one. This album is full of stuff that I like, which is so diverse. There are elements of alternative rock in there, alt-pop, some country, and definitely a lot of folk. I think anyone can find something they like hidden in one of the songs.”

So if you, like us, need something to hold you over while you wait for Rodrigo’s debut, here are 7 pop-punk rock purveyors to press play on.

1. Hayley Williams

It’s hard to think of anyone more capable of creating pure unadulterated pop-punk ballads with unparalleled vocals than Hayley Williams of Paramore, or as she was referred to by NPR, “The 21st Century's Pop-Punk Prophet.” However, with her latest single “good 4 u” Rodrigo is giving her a run for her money. In the track, Rodrigo shows off her vocal versatility, oscillating from singing to talking over electric guitars and a staccato bass line, much like Williams in Paramore’s “Misery Business.” In fact, this mashup of both tracks makes the reference and reverence to Paramore clear, plus it’s an absolute banger.

Williams put emotional fragility, powerhouse vocals, and punk rock authenticity front and center at a time when female-fronted bands were few and far between, giving a generation of young women, like Rodrigo not only someone to emulate but something to look up to.

2. Avril Lavigne

The week Olivia Rodrigo was born in 2003, Avril Lavigne was in the Top 10 with “I’m With You,” according to Rolling Stone. Coincidence? We think not. If that doesn’t tie the influenced to the influencer, just look at Lavigne’s legacy as one of the first songwriters of complicated relationship-themed pop-punk hits, like in her chant-along track “Girlfriend,” the formidable “Sk8er Boi,” and of course, the direct embodiment of that sentiment, “Complicated.” Rodrigo has not only been embodying Avril’s angsty sing-along-worthy lyrics but also replicating her wardrobe, recently rocking combat boots and a plaid corset with matching wide-leg pants (pictured above) and a chain belt you’d find at the checkout counter of any Hot Topic in the early aughts during her Saturday Night Live debut.

So, would the lyrics “It’s like we never even happened Baby / what the f*ck is up with that” in Rodrigo’s “good 4 u” exist without Lavigne singing “And hell yeah, I’m the motherf*cking princess” in “Girlfriend” first? Lucky for us, we’ll never have to find out.

3. Fefe Dobson

Fefe Dobson, is rarely mentioned in the pop-punk canon, but the singer made her mark as one of the few Black pop-punk singers of the early aughts, creating space for artists like Rodrigo who don’t fit into the predominately white male makeup of the genre.

Dobson was just 17 when she entered the pop-punk scene with tracks like “Everything” and “Take Me Away” on her debut album, one that saw her leaning into the same teenage love sentiments of falling hard and questioning it all we see in tracks like “drivers license.” Speaking to Nylon, Dobson discussed how much the scene has changed and made space for diverse artists: “I definitely think there’s no such thing as genre these days. When I was coming out in 2003, I remember people saying to my manager, like “Do you really think this Black girl’s going to do this rock-pop stuff and this is going to work?” I don‘t think that would be even said today. I think that’s a big difference.”

4. Gwen Stefani

Is it dramatic to say that without the anthemic, feminist, pop-punk rock track “Just A Girl” released way back in 1995, none of the new school punk-pop girls would be making visceral “girls to the front” vulnerable hits right now? Maybe, but it’s hard to say. With her pension for performance, fashion, candid lyricism, and devil-may-care attitude, Gwen Stefani has not only made space for herself but artists who want to replicate that same energy.

Rodrigo has never shied away from her love of No Doubt’s leading lady. On multiple occasions she’s discussed finding Stefani’s fearless ability to share personal stories and details about her innermost thoughts and desires as inspiring (and if that’s not punk rock, what is?). In an interview with Elle, it was even revealed that Stefani’s portrait was tapped to Rodrigo’s bedroom wall in a sort of shrine, dedicated to songwriters she admires. In a full-circle moment, Stefani wrote about Rodrigo for Time magazine’s 2021 TIME100 Next list, sharing, that “by pouring her heart out with so much courage and total command of her talent, Olivia made magic.” We agree.

5. Lindsay Lohan

There can be a lot said about the ins and outs, ups and downs, of Lindsay Lohan’s career. However, the platinum-certified album Speak was unquestionably a success for the then-Disney-star-turned-pop-singer who was one of the first stars of the channel to make that career pivot. She never toured for the Billboard charting album, but she did make the path from Disney star to pop-punk artists seem viable.

Rodrigo, who currently stars in the meta High School Musical: The Musical: The Series, discussed embracing her Disney start with Interview Magazine, sharing, “It’s been something I’ve given a lot of thought to, that Disney-girl archetype. I feel like there’s such a clear trajectory for what that is, and there’s so many amazing artists who have done it before me. I did grow up on Disney Channel. I am sort of this goody two-shoes. And I think shying away from that would do my art an injustice too. I just try to be as real as I possibly can.”

6. Liz Phair

Liz Phair’s fourth studio album was a masterclass in how to write a pop-punk romantic ballad while adding expletives to the climax of the track, like in her hit single “Why Can’t I?” It’s easy to see that same strategy playing out as Rodrigo sings, “I still f*cking love you, baby” in “drivers license.” Phair’s eponymous album also features the self-love ballad “Extraordinary,” which embraces her light and dark sides, something we’ve seen in Rodrigo’s first few singles and are sure to see in her debut. At the time of the album’s release, Phair was critically panned for selling out with Pitchfork claiming she’d reduced herself to “teen-pop.” But, as well all know nearly two decades on, there’s no truth to teen-pop being reductive, and Phair’s self-titled album has stood the test of time.

7. Ashlee Simpson

Back in 2004, Ashlee Simpson released her debut album Autobiography, an intimate pop-punk telling of her life. She also documented the entire process of creating the album on her series The Ashlee Simpson Show, something that was unprecedented at the time, but something current stars like Rodrigo who are used to being on camera and giving fans behind-the-scene looks at their creative process are now used to doing.

Simpson also deserves credit for pushing the boundaries of what was “allowed” for pop stars at the time, going her own way by dying her blonde hair black, and pushing back on her label who wanted her to make bubblegum pop. She ushered in an era of sad girl teen pop ballads with tracks like “Pieces Of Me” that artists like Rodrigo are still emulating today.

Olivia Rodrigo

We’ve got to end this story with Rodrigo herself, setting a bedroom on fire in “good 4 u,” and subsequently igniting another phase of her ever-evolving career. She’s got a sound all her own, and we can’t wait to see where she takes it to next. We know she’s here to stay.

Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album SOUR is due out May 21 via Geffen Records.

Get Relationship Advice Here

[staticscreenwriting]

Right now could last forever - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Inspired by “A daydream a way” by All Time Low and the following request: Okay so I wrote this prompt and i’d love to see it with best friend!Billy. “Are you jealous or something?” “Have i not made that obvious? Of course i’m jealous!” 

Please help a girl out by reblogging. Thank you

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

For the longest time, I was convinced of two things.

One, I was convinced that in every friendship there comes a moment when the line between friendship and more becomes extremely visible. You can see it quite clearly. And in that moment you get to decide whether to cross it or not. Once the moment has passed, that’s it. That one little choice defines that relationship from that point on.

And two, I would never get myself tangled up in a relationship where that line was not clearly defined.

For the longest time in my life, I was a fucking dumbass.

Billy Hargrove came into my life in the fall of 1984. He swept over me like a thunderstorm in summer. Loud and unforgiving and filled with rage. Someone, and I can’t remember who that was, once said that misery loves company. I never believed in those words until I met Billy.

There was something about him that was so intoxicating. I wanted to know him, genuinely know him. He had a perpetual scowl on his face but that wasn’t what I cared about, I didn’t entirely buy that. His eyes, they were so sad, so deeply sad. I knew that sadness because it was the same feeling that looked back at me every time I looked into a mirror. 

For a while, we were orbiting around each other like two planets always close but never destined to meet. And then, somehow, somewhen, the universe shifted and we collided and life as I knew it was never the same again.

He asked me to tutor him in English, said he didn’t really understand the shit he had to read, said those big words didn’t make sense to him. I said yes because if someone like Billy asks you for a favour, you don’t say no. Billy who was always so effortlessly cool and unbothered. 

I looked at him then and I knew then, that we would never have that moment where lines had to be defined. Because a guy like Billy didn’t even know lines existed when it came to girls like me. I did though. I knew there wasn’t gonna be a moment because I took it away from us. I drew the line myself. Nothing was ever gonna come of this that was ay more than a friendship. I thought I knew it then and so I took it upon myself to define things that never needed to be defined. And I drew the line and I thought that was it.

Back then I was so sure that we could never be anything but friends. I was a rainy day in spring. I was muted colours and damp grass and hayfever. Billy was the middle of summer. He was warm august evenings, BBQs with friends, 4th of July fireworks.

I tutored him about 2 or 3 times and it felt like it was always supposed to be this way, Billy and me. Like two puzzle pieces fitting so well. We bonded over our love for the same bands and our hatred for the same stupid things. But what really brought us together was the realization, that the same sadness lived in both our hearts. 

From then on, Billy was a permanent fixture in my life. Like once he was there he wasn’t gonna leave again, ever. Like my life was a vinyl record and he was a scratch and no matter how much you polished or scrubbed it wasn’t gonna go away. No, that metaphor doesn’t hold up because Billy wasn’t a bad thing. He was maybe the one good thing in my life. He was permanent, like a tattoo. Something, someone, I chose to have around. Someone to make me remember what it felt like, being alive. 

Tuesdays were my favourite days because we had his whole house to ourselves. My parents didn’t give a shit where I was and his dad and Susan had to work all day. Max was hardly around either way and so it was just us. 

We sat on the ugly gray linoleum floor of his kitchen passing a joint back and forth, goofy smiles on our faces. That’s how we spent most Tuesdays, getting high and just — being. Just being around each other. What else was there to do for a teenager in Hawkins Indiana in 1984 though? What do you do in a town where kids and teens go missing on a regular basis and yet everyone goes about their day as if it was nothing special? I mean, yeah they built us a huge ass mall but what good did that do? All they did was add capitalism to this mess. 

So we sat there, giggling and dreaming dreams too big for us and using words we didn’t really understand. Or maybe we did but we surely weren’t aware of the gravity they held then. Words like forever.

“ What’s your favourite colour? “ Billy asked me one Tuesday afternoon. He didn’t give me time to finish though. “ And don’t say shit like seafoam green or something. I don’t got a fucking clue what seafoam green is. Just — just gimme a straight answer. “ 

I didn’t tell him that my favourite colour was the exact shade of blue of his eyes. Or maybe the red of his lifeguard shorts that made him almost glow in the summer sun. I thought it then but I didn’t say it. You don’t say stuff like that and expect the line not to be crossed.

The line. That fucking line I draw myself. I had to remind myself of it every once in a while when my thoughts went drifting and the line felt like it was going to smudge a little. I had to draw it again. In the sand. In the clouds. Anywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t let myself forget about it. Because forgetting would only end in heartbreak.

“ I like red. “

“ Yeah? I like red too. “ And that made perfect sense to me then because he was red. Anger and wrath and chaos. Warmth. Comfort. Love. 

“ What are you grinning about, huh? Looking like a fool over there. “ I wondered, nudging his thigh with my foot. He just kept grinning, tiny wrinkles forming around his smile, his eyes. He always smiled with his eyes, at least when the smiles were genuine. I adored that. 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Wish you could see your face right now. It’s not nothing, clearly” 

“ I don’t know, “ Billy replied and shrugged “ I’m just — I like our Tuesdays. I like not having to get back to anything. Right now, right now could last forever and I wouldn’t mind. Wouldn’t give a single fuck.” 

That made my heart beat so fast, I could feel it in my chest, drumming in my ears, tingling in my fingers. But that’s what friends do, right? Spend all their time together. Share a place that feels safe. Even if that place isn’t a specific place at all. Maybe that place could be a person. A heart.

It was clear to me then, that Billy Hargrove was my soulmate. Maybe not in a romantic way but in a way that meant much more. My heart was his, my soul was his, my mind was his. And in return, I had all of him. No longer were we orbiting around each other, we were the same then. One lone planet floating around in the universe. Terribly alone but never lonesome.

The thing about the line is that something I wished I hadn’t drawn it. Sometimes I wanted to smudge it like lead on paper. I knew I couldn’t do that, it would ruin what we had. I could’ve just as well have ripped my own heart out, the pain would’ve matched.

So when things got all quiet and I felt like life wasn’t gonna judge me too harshly, and when I felt really really down or really really brave, I let myself get lost in daydreams. Ones where I stepped over the line, into something else. Something more. I let myself relish in those daydreams, soak them up like a goddamn sponge. They overwhelmed me sometimes, leaving me with nothing to say, because I just didn’t know where to start and where to stop. But those daydreams felt safe. I could watch from this place of security and if I kept my mouth shut and keep my feelings in those daydreams, it meant I never had to lose what we had.

Weekends meant going out. They meant getting away from everything but each other. Never from each other.  Sometimes we would go to Carmel, sometimes Lafayette, sometimes Terre Haute. Most of the time though, we ended up in some dive bar at the side of the road in some tiny village. No one knew us there and maybe that was the charm of it all. We could be anyone. We could be anything. Even to each other. If only I would’ve let myself feel those things.

Billy drove the Camaro to wherever it was we were going and the we’d decide on who would drive us back. Usually, we took turns. One weekend I would stay sober, the next he would.  I didn’t realize then, but Billy letting me drive his car, his baby, that meant a whole lot. To the both of us. It’s just that neither of us was terribly aware of it then.

It was the summer of 1985, a warm June night. The fireflies were back, the cold of the winter and spring finally gone, making way for summer heat and longer nights. We drove aimlessly around, trying to find a place to waste away our youth, get drunk of things they shouldn’t have sold us, to feel alive. It was an escape for us. From our lives, our fears, everything that made life feel so wrong. Those nights driving along the roads, music blasting from the car radio, those were the little moments that my life felt right.

Like nothing mattered but us and the vastness of the world waiting before us. A world that didn’t know us yet. One the let us be whoever we decided to be. Sometimes I wondered if in that world I could be a girl that Billy liked. But then I remembered the line. And I shut those thoughts out.

O'Charley's was an Irish pub a few towns over from Hawkins. It was, I assume, founded by someone that had never been to Ireland in their life nor did they know anyone Irish. It was very little authentic Irish pub and quite a lot party city with all the paper shamrocks and tiny flags everywhere. It was charming though, in all it’s mess there was something about it that made us come back time and time again. 

That June night, I was wearing a red dress I had snagged from my mom’s closet. For all her faults, she really was a looker in the 70s and her clothes had no business hanging untouched and unloved in her closet because she had decided the 80s were her time to shine in boring velour pants and blouses that made her look 10 years older. 

So I wore that red wrap-around dress that flowed around my knees with every step I took and I thought that if I can veil myself in red, in Billy’s colour, maybe I can trap a little of him, of his energy, of his confidence, of his warmth, in me.

All the people here knew about us, was our faces and the fake names on our fake IDs. We could be anyone we wanted to be in here. And for a pair of 17-year-olds that is the biggest power one can only possess. To be whoever you want to be in a world that tries so hard to put you down over and over again and squish you in a mould of picket fences and loveless marriages. Time stood still for the nights I was with Billy in a bar where no one knew the real us. Or maybe they did. Maybe we were the real us when we were there.

I can not tell you what Billy wore that night, this boy had 4 different outfits that he kept rotating. In the end, it didn’t really matter though, he looked hot in all of them. I know that it was hot though and his shirt was unbuttoned more than usual, letting me see more of his chest. Sometimes I wondered if he knew what it was doing to me despite the fact that he was my best friend. My person. 

We sat at the bar, I ordered a beer, Billy ordered a cherry coke. That was tonight's driver decided. I gave him a grateful smile and he just smiled back with his casual coolness. So we sat there, Whitesnake playing from the stereo, smiles on our faces. And life was right how it should be all the time. For a short while, the demons we both carried on our shoulders were mute. We could breathe.

“ Look at that douchebag. “ Billy laughed and nodded his head towards the corner of the room. A guy that looked about our parents' age, hair slicked back, shirt stuffed into his jeans, tie hanging loosely from his neck, was leaning against the wall. His lips were almost glued to the ear of a beautiful woman. She must’ve been around the same age he was though beauty wasn’t lost on her in those years. It was hard to watch though, as her eyes were so desperately vacant. There was nothing there. No joy, no excitement. He was wearing a ring, she was wearing one too. We could only assume that those two had seen a few years together. Maybe this was their night out. Kids dropped off at the sitter those two felt like hitting the town, reliving their youth.

Only when you’re stuck in a gray, loveless, sad mess for too long, it takes over your entire being. It turns you into a gray mess yourself. I knew that because I could see it every day in my own parents. Billy knew because his mother had to break his heart in order to escape her own heartbreak and the mess. 

“ He’s trying too hard, the idiot. “ Billy chuckled. This was something we did a lot, sit and watch people and pretend our lives would never end like theirs. And god, did we hope and pray we wouldn’t end up like this.

“ She’s so desperate to just get back home,” I pointed out, taking another sip from my beer.

“ Their names, “ Billy started “ are Jeff and Hillary. They’ve been married for 20 years now. Jeff is an accountant at Hillary’s dad’s firm. Good ol’ Hilly dreamed of becoming a model for Sports Illustrated. Then she got knocked up and settled for a life in the suburbs with Jeff who’s as exciting as a piece of untoasted toast.” 

“ They have three kids, and she loves them, “ I continued, “ but god sometimes she really resents them for being the reasons she had to give up on all her dreams. Give up on the person she used to be. “ 

“ Two more drinks, then they’ll go home and have boring, unsatisfying sex. He’ll hump away and break a sweat and two minutes later he’ll fall asleep and she’s gonna stare up at the ceiling and consider finishing the job herself, cause Jeff clearly doesn’t care. And she’ll just stare and wish that this wasn’t her life. Because she hates it.” 

Where things had started out fun, they turned quite sad quite quickly. 

“ Promise me we will never end up like this, “ Billy said, now facing me. My favourite shade of blue, so vibrant, so soft. I nodded, because I was lost for all words. That’s the effect Billy had on me and everyone else.

The line! You drew it! Remember it!

I ordered a tequila then. “ We’d never stand a chance,” I thought “ at love, not Billy and I.” 

So I tried to forget about my thoughts, with a little salt and a little lime and a shot that burned all the way down. Tried to forget about those intrusive little words and images that I knew could never be. 

I don’t know how much later it was but at some point, Billy’s warm big handheld onto my arm to steady my swaying frame. I could tell you what it felt like when he looked at me then, if I had the vocabulary to properly put it into words. I knew then, that if no one else, Billy was there to take care of me. That with crossing the line I would give up on this. This love that was certainly there even if it was in a completely different way. Maybe this was all the love I would ever need in my life. 

“ Let me take you home. “ 

But did he not know? Home was wherever he was. Home was him.

We arrived back at my house which was deserted, as always. Weekends were when my own parents tried to rekindle a flame that had never been there in the first place. I was invisible. Maybe that’s what drew me to Billy, he saw me. All of me. And he understood in ways I had never been understood before.

“ Are you okay getting up by yourself ? “ he asked, his eyes looking towards the window of my room. Was I okay? Sure I could’ve managed by did I want to? Did I want to be all by myself in a house that felt so cold even in those warm summer nights? No, I really didn’t.

“ I thought you’d stay over again ?” 

“ You’re not sick of me yet ? “ the way he said it sounded so nonchalant, like he was completely joking. He wasn’t I knew him better than that. When everyone always makes you feel like a burden, it’s hard to accept that some people actually want your around. It’s hard to accept love when life’s always made you believe you didn’t deserve it.

“ I’ll never get sick of you, Billy” and I had never been more serious about anything else in my life.

Okay, maybe the line was getting a little smudged.

“ I’ll lend you one of my sleepshirts.” 

“ Lucky me.” 

And he held my hand as we got up like it was nothing. And maybe it wasn’t to him at that point, but it was everything to me. Maybe to him it was just holding a friend’s hand who has drank a little too much. But that’s all it had to be to send my heart beating faster.

There had been countless times before that Billy had spent the night but the more I let myself get lost in those comforting daydreams, the more my stomach started fluttering when he was near. We wouldn’t cuddle, not really, not when we got to sleep. We’d just lay next to each other, two pillows one blanket. We’d just exist around each other and try to not let the weight settle back in just yet. He was so close I could feel the warmth 

his body was exuding, could hear him breathing. He was so close and yet the most we’d touch was my legs accidentally brushing his or the other way around.

“ I never wanna live in a house like this ever again, “ I told him then, sheltered by the dark of the night. “ It’s so empty and sad and big and I just — I hate it here.” 

He was real quiet for a moment but I knew he would answer soon enough. When he was with me, Billy had a habit of really considering his words. Maybe because I knew I listened to what he had to say, I cared.

“ Yeah me neither. No offence to your parent’s decorating skills or anything. But god, this house sucks. It’s so — “ 

“ Sad. It’s a sad big house. “

“ Yeah. “ 

“ What kind of house would you want? “ I asked and I swear in that moment I felt his hand brush mine. Only for a second. But it was there. It was there.

“ One by the beach. Where I can just open the door and walk onto the sand and down to the shore. I’d like a fire pit on my property, those are cool. “ 

“ They really are. I can see us sitting by the fire pit, eating smores, watching the waves. That sounds nice. “ 

Shit, did I say that? I did. And I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Right there and then. Lines, (Y/N) !!! Remember the god damn lines you drew yours—

“ I’d like that. “

That moment, the moment he said those words, I wondered for the first time if maybe Billy didn’t see the line between friendship and relationship because to him there was none. Not because he didn’t see me as suitable but because he just didn’t think in those convoluted and ridiculous ways I did. There were no lines because Billy didn’t need them to define anything, he chose to define things himself. 

“ I want a house that’s a home. Something that’s more than 4 walls and a roof. “ he said and smiles at me. Billy Hargrove smiles were rare but when he would grant them to you, they were magnificent.

I fell asleep with lines smudged and everything I knew shaken up. I also fell asleep with my hand in his.

The next morning, I woke up cuddled into his chest. I closed my eyes again to hold onto the moment just a little longer.

Things didn't drastically change after that, my world didn’t suddenly shift. Billy and I were still best friends and if I am being completely honest, they seemed rather stagnant after that night. Like either of us was afraid of making a wrong move.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I was a fucking dumbass back then because instead of trying to have a grown-up conversation with him about it, I decided to look for romance elsewhere.

Kyle Davis was a nice guy. He was part of the school newspaper, drove a red BMW and worked part-time at Sam Goody inside Starcourt mall. Kyle Davis was also the son of one of Hawkins most respectable lawyers and was sure to follow in his father’s footsteps one of these days.

And Kyle Davis, for some reason I don’t understand to this day, was interested in me. Followed me around like a lovesick puppy. I had no real interest in him but as I said, he was nice and I wanted to see what it felt like, having someone who wants you too and who isn’t afraid to tell you that.

So when he asked me to the summer formal, I said yes. Something that Billy did not like. Not one bit.

“ Kyle Davis ? “ he all but yelled as he slumped down on the bleachers next to me. The sun was shining down on us with warm, golden rays. I was trying to focus on some stupid math problem, papers and books spread on the bench next to me.

“ What about him ? “ 

“ You’re going to the dance with him ? “ 

“ Yup. Is that a problem ? “ 

“ I mean — “ he said then huffed “ I mean yeah. It’s Kyle Davis. Kyle. “ 

“ He’s nice. “ 

“ Sure he is. A nice guy with a stable future. Someone’s already warming his chair at dad’s cosy office where he gets everything handed to him. Let’s see how this is gonna play out, huh ? “ 

“ Billy don’t.”

“ Nah, let me have this one. So Kyle takes you to the dance, you smooch a little, maybe he gets to cop a feel. Obviously he wants to keep you around because you’re pretty great. So you date and at some point you gotta talk about the future because graduation isn’t all that far off. And Kyle is the kind of guy that expects you to stay with him, follow him wherever he goes. Let’s pretend you would. Soon enough he’d get you knocked up with little Kyle Junior. He’d be out at work all day letting you turn bitter and resentful and hate the life you have, all alone in a big empty house with a kid you can’t love properly because you don’t love their dad or the life he made you live. And soon enough you’d end up in a shitty pub trying to chase something that wasn’t there in the first place. I don’t wanna watch you end up like Hillary at the pub. “ 

“ God, Billy. Don’t be so dramatic, I’m just going to the dance with him. What’s wrong with you, are you jealous or something ? “ 

I was expecting him to deny it, to blow me off with some stupid yet charming one-liner. He didn’t though, he stayed quiet. And that made my eyes shoot up to look at him.

There was a sincerity in his eyes that I wasn’t used to. An indescribable confidence and yet he looked more nervous that I had ever seen him before.

“ Have I not made that obvious? Of course I’m jealous! ”

“ I — what ? “ 

Everything I ever thought I knew, was pure and utter bullshit.

“ Jesus, (Y/N). I have been in love with you since the first time we hung out. I asked you to tutor me because I wanted to be around you, I was really fucking good at English class if I’m being honest here. I didn’t need your help but I needed to know you. I wanted to know you. You just don’t fucking realize how — incredible you are. In everything you do. Your grilled cheese sandwiches are so good, you manage to remember the lines to every song instantly, you don’t know how to pronounce melancholy and I think that’s so adorable. I feel incredibly lost and angry and disillusioned with life. I hate so much about myself but you, you understand it and you feel it with me and —  you're everything I love about the things I hate in me. So please, if there’s even a teeny tiny chance for me, don’t go out with him.” 

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know what to say at all. And then a second passed and I knew this was the moment.

This was that moment where I got to decide how my life was gonna go. Where I got to chose the person I wanted to walk alongside. And it was Billy. It always had been.

I’m not sure who kissed who first then but one moment he was pouring his heart out to me and the next our lips were touching. That’s when my summer truly began. His red-hot took over my dull gray and turned it into something bright and wonderful and exciting. 

“ Do you actually wanna go to the dance ? “ he asked as we pulled away, “ cause if you do I’ll take you. I just — don’t own a suit., so … “

“ How about we ditch that stupid dance and take and just get away from it all. I just wanna be with you, Billy. You are my home. “ 

It was the summer of 1985 when I learned what love really was. It doesn’t come with rules or regulations. There’s no rhyme or reason to it sometimes. That’s a scary fact to realize and even scarier to accept. You can’t trick it, manipulate it. It’s no game to be won or lost. It’s — I believe it’s bigger than any human can fully comprehend. 

So all that we can do, it let it move us, allow ourselves to feel it and accept the love when it comes our way. No lines needed. 

[psychopersonified]

Who’s the brunette?

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

This particular snippet happens Monday after the Friday party in “Keep Calm. Dance On.”

------

“Oh 007, did you hear? There is the most unusual rumour going around. Seems someone thought they saw the Quartermaster leave last week’s party in an Aston Martin DB5? You wouldn’t know anything about this would you?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 8:30am - SIS HQ.

The lift doors open at Parking Level 2 to admit a well rested and impeccably put together Eve Moneypenny.

“Moneypenny, morning. How are you?” Bond says in greeting.

“007. You’re early,” she skips the greeting, her tone a little frosty as she gets into the lift and turns around to face the doors.

“So it’s 007 today? May I know what I’ve done to deserve it this time?” Bond knows enough about women to know that it is always his fault.

“IF you’re interested… someone I call a friend left me all alone at a party last Friday.”

Bond freezes... ah that. He’d completely forgotten. He drops his head in embarrassment. After all, It was Eve who convinced him to attend. A decision he was incredibly grateful to her for. He recalls the night and how he spent it in the company of a leggy brunette.  

“Ah… I must apologise. That was terribly ungentlemanly of me,” pause, he needs to get himself out of the doghouse, “How can I make it up to you?”

“Well, for starters, you might tell me who it was that caught your attention. So much so that you left a good friend high and dry?” She’s laying it on a bit thick, but where would the fun be otherwise?

“What makes you think it was a someone? It was an office party after all.”

Eve leans over to him, a hand reaching up towards Bond’s shoulder. He’s still wearing his outer coat, having come straight up from the parking garage. Her hand comes back with a strand of hair between her fingers; she holds it up in front of his eyes - it clearly isn’t his.

“Who’s the brunette?” She teases him.

Bond schools his face into a neutral expression looking straight ahead. Bloody spies and their deductive skills.

-Ding!- The lift announces its next stop on Ground Level. The lift doors open, revealing a small group of people waiting for the lift - including Q, R and Mark at the front.

Everyone squeezes in. The lift is packed tight, yet no one wants to take the second lift; a result of the lifts being notoriously slow during rush hours.

There is a chorus of polite greetings:-

“Good Morning.”

“Excuse me.”

“Pardon. Which level?”

“How’s it going?”

“Level 7 please. Thanks.”

There is some awkward shifting as the occupants arrange themselves according to who is going to alight first.

Q ends up standing in front of Bond, back to him.

Eve has a mischievous glint in her eyes. She still has the strand of hair between her fingers. So she lifts it and holds it up to the back of Q’s head. The colour and length is an exact match.

Bond slides his eyes towards her. He wants to smack her hand away. They are in a packed lift for Christssake. Eve’s little action catches R’s attention and she tilts her head thoughtfully at them. Eve shots her a meaningful look.

The lift dings their arrival at Level 3. Five people alight except for Bond, Eve, Q, R and Mark - they are headed for the Executive floor on Level 12 to their respective meetings.

The remaining occupants sigh in relief. They start moving apart to give each other more personal space. But before they can do that, six more SIS employees enter - making it worse than before.

“Hold the lift please! Thanks!” A -seventh- person calls just as the doors start to close. A breathless Accounts Department employee squeezes her way in while struggling to carry two cardboard boxes of files. Everyone has to politely shuffle closer to the back to make room.

Bond is forced all the way to the back corner of the lift, the hand rails digging into his back. Eve has to move to the other corner. He can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance. Why couldn’t M see him later in the morning?

This leaves the Quartermaster on his side of the lift. Q also has to shift back but accidentally steps on Bond’s expensive Italian leather shoe and jolts away too quickly in apology - nearly losing his balance.

“Oh! My apologies—,” It comes out as a rushed whisper.

“—you’re alright.” Bond places his hands on Q’s waist to steady him. Q is wearing only a cardigan made from the softest cashmere over his dress shirt and tie. Bond can feel the warmth of the flesh underneath. He uses the slightest pressure to pull Q backwards into his personal space, so that the others can move in.

Q’s right shoulder blade makes contact with one of Bond’s pectorals. But the younger man makes no protest, on the contrary - unless Bond’s imagining it, he feels Q lean further into the touch. They are pressed close in the compact space, he can smell the fresh scent of Q’s soap and shampoo.

Maybe there is some good that comes from being in crowded lifts. The rest of the ride up feels like an eternity spent in awkward silence for everyone inside with the only distraction being the soft jazzy elevator music. It feels like the lift made a stop at every floor.

Bond does not remove his hands until the lift arrives at Level 12 where M’s office is located. They all alight. Bond and Moneypenny head directly to M’s office. The techies movie off to the conference room for the monthly joint Ops meeting.

Eve waits until she is alone with Bond just outside of her office to ask:

“Oh 007, did you hear? There is the most unusual rumour going around. Seems someone thought they saw the Quartermaster leave last week’s party in an Aston Martin DB5? You wouldn’t know anything about this would you?”

Busted. Yes, so he did spend the party stuck to the Quartermaster’s side. And yes, he did steal Q out for a post revelry kebab supper - which may have included a long stroll along the river after. Finally yes, he did make sure Q got to his doorstep at the end of the very late night/early morning, but only out of concern for his safety.

Bond considers his options.“Name your price.”

“What exactly are you implying? I’m offended that you’d think I’d stoop to blackmail—“ Eve places a hand over her heart in mock indignation, “—but I suppose since you do owe me an apology…” She bats her eyelashes at him.

She mulls over it, “There is this restaurant in Soho, it’s booked out for months. But I’m sure you have your ways around it. My family is in town next week.”

She unlocks the door to the office, letting them both in. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Consider it done.” Bond assures her courtly, he really was sorry about ditching her on Friday. Nevertheless, he is surprised at how easy he is being let off on this - when you consider how protective Eve can be over their Chief Boffin.

“Aren’t you going to warn me off?” Bond wonders aloud.

“Do I have to? It is still just a harmless game... isn’t it?” She searches his face for any indication otherwise, though she reckons she knows the answer even if Bond himself doesn’t know it yet.

He holds the door open for her. M arrives behind them cutting off any answer he might have.

———

Friday 4:30pm - SIS HQ

If Bond has to hear about North Korea again in the next 3 months, it would still be too soon. He had just finished an all day strategy conference with Mallory, 009 and their Korean Station Chief about how MI6 was going to extract their operatives embedded in the regime in the face of the recent crackdowns.

It is not that he’s being insensitive, the meeting is critical and he had played his part in contributing to the discussion and assessing the tactics available to them. It is just that both M and 009 have a tendency to prattle on (his opinion) and discuss ad nauseam every detail, while 007 prefers to… well, get on with it.

Unsurprisingly the meeting ran overtime and Bond is feeling peckish. And when his blood sugar runs low, his patience runs thin. At least this time, he had managed to behave long enough for the meeting to end.

It takes him 20 excruciating minutes to reach Q-Branch. It is Friday afternoon, and like any other civil service, MI6 lobbies and lifts are a hive of activity with most employees trying to wrap up for an early weekend.

Most of the time was spent waiting for the lifts, and then riding the lift, then letting people in and then out the lift - there has to be a better system to organise the lift service.

Bond is inordinately relived when he finally arrives at Q-Branch all the way in the basement floors of the building.

Once he’s through the doors, he makes a beeline for Q’s office nook and Q’s desk. The man is not around, but Bond helps himself with familiar ease. Bond pulls open the second drawer and retrieves a bar of protein snack from the stash in the drawer.

He is almost finished with the bar when he realises that Q has not returned to his desk and is nowhere to be seen on the work floor. Curious, he makes a circuit of the floor trying to be surreptitious.

Jamila catches him ‘not’ looking and puts him out of his misery. “He’s downstairs, in the Firearms Lab with 003,” she doesn’t bother asking if he is there on official business.

Bond tries not to look like he’s been caught, but manners win out and he attempts a casual, “...Thank you.” - his feet starting to carry him towards the main doors.

“Badge!” Jamila calls out to remind him.

Bond backtracks smoothly, heading to Q’s desk and that second drawer to grab his blasted employee ID badge that he keeps in there. He can get away without it on the upper floors, but the Lower Ground labs contain live ammunition and thus require extra authentication for security.

—-

The labs are a study of industrial utilitarian design - an amalgamation of concrete, steel and glass.

003 is easy to locate. Her stunning if scant evening gown incongruous in the surroundings. Bond can only see her from the back. She has one stiletto heel resting on something in front of her.

As he draws nearer, his viewing angle changes and he can see what or more accurately who her heel is propped up on.

Their Quartermaster is on one knee in front of her. The toes of her shoe resting on his thigh. The side slit of the dress is cut high and hides very little.

Q is adjusting her thigh holster, a specially designed and fabricated skin-coloured thing worn fairly high on the leg to make it less obvious. To improve stability, the holster is anchored with clips that connect directly to 003’s one piece undergarment.  

“Oh Q, the material is perfect - incredibly comfortable, but the fit needs to be tighter.” She provides him with feedback. When she looks up, she catches Bond in the reflection of a nearby glass wall - watching them with wide blue eyes.  

“Yes, right. There is an adjustment strap on the inside so all you have to do is… “ Q pulls at the tab - careful not to touch her skin in so much as he can, seeing that the tab is located near the inner thigh. 003 gathers her skirt up higher to allow him better access.

From Bond’s angle, their combined actions are grossly inappropriate.

“…pull this tab to adjust for the required fit. We’ve gone with the new hook-and-loop fasteners so they shouldn’t catch on most fabrics, even delicate ones. This should allow you to use it with any frock of your choice.“ Q explains still oblivious.

“How thoughtful of you Q. I don’t suppose you could make them in… lace trim?” She says to the top Q’s head, smirking into the refection, raising a perfect eyebrow at 007.

“We can make them in any colour or trim you’d like 003. Just let us know what you need. Please allow for a few weeks though, as the elastane base material is specially sent for.” Q looks up at her with a shy smile.

“Oh you spoil us Q. We never had such personalised service until you came along.” She coos down at him while she ran one hand lightly through his hair combing back his fringe while the other formed a hooked finger under his chin to tip his head up to her.

003 is wearing a self-satisfied grin. What a picture they made! Her deft manoeuvring had Q looking like the very picture of a besotted young man attending submissively to his object of infatuation.

She sees 007 in the refection clenching and unclenching his hands. Whoops…. she knows 007, having worked him with him over the years. They get along fine. But this new development is interesting. What is his problem anyway?

Perhaps it would be best to end this here for now.

“Well, thank you Quartermaster. I’d best not take up anymore of your time. Will it be alright if I stayed here to have a chat with 007?” She dismisses him politely, adjusting her skirt and removing her heel from his thigh.

“Oh, yes of course. Sure.” Q stands, brushing his trousers.

“Ah 007, I didn’t see you there—,” the sentence is cut off when Q catches Bond’s blazing blue eyes and dark expression and is confused, “D… did you need anything?”

Bond schools his expression back to neutral. “Not at the moment. Just need a quick word with 003. Meet you back upstairs?”

Q collects his tablet and nods his leave to both of the agents.

When Q is out the doors, 007 closes the distance between him and 003 - who to her credit is not cowed. Instead of stepping back, she steps sideways and the two double-0 agents circle each other for a few moments.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” she finally says, exasperated with his posturing, also she was getting dizzy with the circling. They were friends, well as much as trained assassins with trust issues can be.

“You—,” she points a finger at him, “—need to learn how to share. You monopolised all of his time last Friday night! After that delicious display of his, I’d like to take him out clubbing and see what else is hiding under that cardigan wearing persona.” She confesses, but still annoyed at 007.

She makes a squeezing motion with her hands, a gesture usually reserved for when talking about cute animals, “He’s so adorable I want to stuff him in my pocket--,” then she indicates to her skin tight dress, “—if I had any.”

Bond is not moved. He feels like they are siblings negotiating playtime allotment with a favourite pet or toy. Well, he was an only child and he had never learnt to share.

“The rest of us would like to play too you know. Alec says—,” 003 nearly throws a tantrum.

“He’s not a plaything!” Bond’s vehement whisper surprises even him. Where did that come from?

“Pot. Kettle…” Comes her practiced reply. But something in his tone catches up to her. She studies him closer. Bond appears to be grappling internally with his own words.

-Oh.My.God- Can it be? 003 abandons her petulant tantrum. The adult slipping back into place.

“You’re not… playing anymore are you?” the question comes from a place of genuine interest.

No answer. Just a sullen 007 staring at his feet, hands in his pockets.

“Huh! Of all the people you choose...” She shakes her head at him.

Well then, there is only one thing left to do. She comes right up close to him, cups his face in her perfectly manicured hands, forcing him to look at her - then says with as much sisterly fondness as she could muster:-

“Don’t. Cock. It. Up.”

-------------------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

[perfectirishgifts]

Best And Worst Brands Of 2020: From TikTok, The NBA, The Home Depot And Chick-fil-A...To Quibi, Facebook And The CDC

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/best-and-worst-brands-of-2020-from-tiktok-the-nba-the-home-depot-and-chick-fil-a-to-quibi-facebook-and-the-cdc/

Best And Worst Brands Of 2020: From TikTok, The NBA, The Home Depot And Chick-fil-A...To Quibi, Facebook And The CDC

This year was unprecedented for so many reasons. For most of us, our heads haven’t stopped spinning since March. For brands, this was a year when many discovered if they really had a purpose that anchored their place in the world and if their actions and experiences backed up their words and promises.

Deciding on brand winners and losers is always a challenge, but this year, I had some of the fiercest debates yet with my 450 Prophet colleagues, as brand performance took on so many more dimensions in 2020.

A number of brands were debated. We discussed the impact that Kobe and LeBron had on the world, while also talking about the Tiger King as the first COVID-19 bingeable show. The team gave a lot of love to the early COVID-19 responders, including Unilever, 3M, P&G, KFC, Chipotle and Ford, while giving equal props to those that took an authentic, purpose-based stand on social justice, such as Nike, The North Face, REI, Ben & Jerry’s, Glossier and J&J. The brands that helped us get through lockdown and changed the way we think of delivered meals and goods, including DoorDash, GrubHub, UberEats, Instacart and, “newcomers” Target and Walmart all received a lot of votes. Similarly, the streamers got a lot of mentions, from Netflix to Hulu to Peacock and Apple TV, as did the connectors in Zoom, WebEx, Teams and the slowly dying Skype. 

Our team engaged in some serious conversations about the differences in responses that Uncle Ben’s (now Ben’s Original) versus Aunt Jemima (we are still waiting) took or about how we will collectively sustain the incredible Black Lives Matter momentum. Finally, others wondered what shape Brand USA will take in 2021 and how we will be talking about Pfizer and Moderna a year from now.

So, while dozens stood out, these seven received our highest marks:

Chick-fil-A

Florida, Brooksville, Chick-fil-A, fast food chicken restaurant, drive thru line due to Pandemic.

While COVID-19 crushed the restaurant industry, Chick-fil-A’s immediate response and quick innovations explain why it’s become the world’s third largest and most beloved quick-service restaurant. It endeared itself to its growing number of fans by doubling down on drive-thru speed, including expanded lanes, “face-to-face ordering” and “order ahead pick up.” It is crushing it with their Chick-fil-A One app and enhanced delivery options, accelerating new innovations such as meal kits and their famous sauces in grocery stores…all while still bringing “my pleasure” southern hospitality to life every day to millions.

Clorox

Hand sanitizer and Clorox sanitizing wipes sit on a table at a polling station in Miami, Florida, … [] U.S., on Tuesday, March 17, 2020. Photographer: Jayme Gershen/Bloomberg

While this brand has long soared in our Prophet Brand Relevance Index® it took on an entirely new meaning in the virus-dominated universe of 2020. As consumers clamored for reliable ways to protect their families, the brand gracefully acknowledged supply-chain problems and shortages while becoming indispensable in our lives. With smart partnerships, like United Airlines and the Cleveland Clinic, it’s using its trustworthiness to increase sales and market share.

The Home Depot

TORONTO, April 3, 2020 — People line up with a social distance to enter a Home Depot store in … [] Toronto, Canada, April 3, 2020. (Photo by Zou Zheng/Xinhua via Getty) (Xinhua/Zou Zheng via Getty Images)

This year’s WFH trends helped propel the Home Depot’s business as “Doers Got More Done.” What helped drive and accelerate this is its investment, commitment and leadership. The Home Depot continues to lead the industry in inter-connected digital experiences and e-commerce, customer service, products and pricing. Its commitment to customer and employee safety (and giving back to the community) has been second to none in the retail industry, as has its commitment to professional customers.

TikTok 

Photo Illustration by Mateusz Slodkowski/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images

While TikTok was in the news for various reasons in 2020, its incredible timing met a moment when many needed ten seconds of relief from the real world. With over 100 million users in the U.S., TikTok has rapidly become part of our cultural lexicon. TikTok’s short-form viral videos, including its dance challenges and Ocean Spray “Dreams” video, took our minds off all things serious. From a niche player to mainstream media, this renegade has become so relevant that other platforms, like Instagram with its “Reels,” are racing to catch up.

The National Basketball Association

LAKE BUENA VISTA, FLORIDA – AUGUST 27: The Black Lives Matter logo is seen on an empty court as all … [] NBA playoff games. (Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images)

In a year of so many sports disappointments, the league, individual teams and countless players have demonstrated the best reactions to both COVID-19 and Black Lives Matter. With its bubble, the NBA showed a thoughtful, empathic balance between athletic safety and happy fans. With its unapologetic embrace of racial-justice efforts, as expressed on each player’s jersey, it’s using its stage to change the hearts and minds of its strong fanbase.

Zoom

President Barack Obama “crashes” Zoom board meeting for the Greater Chicago Food Depository.

Love it. Hate it. It doesn’t matter. Triple-digit gains prove Zoom found new relevance in wildly diverse audiences, from COVID-19 stranded senior citizens to energetic preschoolers. If you didn’t know what a virtual background was or used the words “you’re on mute, Scott,” you certainly do now. With a ridiculous stock price and valuation, continuous new features and updates through Zapps (a suite of apps integrated into Zoom), as well as fun innovations like video filters, Zoom will continue to be an integral part of our lives for years to come.

Peloton

This workout-from-home brand started the year by offending an entire gender with its tone-deaf holiday ad. (Note to husbands: It’s inadvisable to tell your wife to work out more.) But as gyms around the world shut down, it understood that it had a unique opportunity to make family-room workouts an integral part of people’s health and wellness. With bikes, treadmills and increasingly appealing subscription offers (90 days free for all), Peloton hit on all cylinders in 2020.

And the brands that disappointed us the most:

Uncle Ben’s, Aunt Jemima and Land O’Lakes

LONDON: A customer’s hand taking a packet of Uncle Ben’s rice. The brand is to change the image of a … [] black farmer and could also be forced to change its name, as a reaction to a backlash over racial injustice.

While all of these storied brands announced they were making changes, it took a full-on social uprising for Mars Foods, PepsiCo and Land O’Lakes to address their decades-old history of racist brand imagery. All have done the right things in starting to address the issue. Uncle Ben has given way to Ben’s Original Rice, for example, and Land O’ Lakes has removed the Native American woman from its logo. But none have explained why it took them so long.

Boeing

The Boeing 737 MAX will take another key step in its comeback to commercial travel on December 2, … [] 2020 by attempting to reassure the public with a test flight by American Airlines conducted for the news media.

Even as the nearly two-year grounding of Boeing 737 Max comes to an end and the company moves to again sells its planes, we saw plenty to disappoint us. Not only did the safety oversights and mismanagement result in tragedies in 2018 and 2019, but it also cost as much as $25 billion. And now, it has to sell the canceled planes to airlines at steep discounts, a blow to shareholders and what was once one of the most admired names in U.S. manufacturing. COVID-19 is continuing Boeing’s misery, with global air travel falling 66 percent.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control

CDC Logo

In what should have been the least controversial voice in American public health, CDC leadership allowed politics to drag it away from its central aim. It bumbled COVID-19 testing. Early on, it offered vague and contradictory guidance on masks. And while it certainly isn’t entirely to blame for the epidemic of misinformation sweeping the U.S., it didn’t do enough to stop it.

Facebook

(Photo illustration by Jakub Porzycki/NurPhoto via Getty Images)

Even in an industry rife with possible villains, Facebook still manages to wind up on the wrong side of history in just about everything. As a repeat offender from our 2018 list, Facebook’s role in misinformation regarding the pandemic, vaccinations and elections continued to make it harder and harder to trust the brand. Adding insult to injury, after dealing with a much deserved summer boycott, Facebook now faces a major lawsuit with the Federal Trade Commission (and 40 states) arguing it’s time to break this company up.

Quibi

People wearing masks walk past an advertisement for Quibi in a subway Station on October 22, 2020 in … [] New York City. On October 21st, Quibi’s founders announced it was shutting down its service after only six months of operation.

It could have sparked a content revolution. But Quibi, specializing in short-form content “chapters” of less than 10 minutes, failed spectacularly. In a world with fewer commuters, the idea just wasn’t compelling. Of the $1.75 billion it raised, it is returning just $350 million to investors. But we do think chief executive Meg Whitman deserves praise for pulling the plug at six months, instead of torturing both investors and the few viewers leveraging its platform.

What do you think of our list? Who would you add? Add your thoughts to the comments below.

Keep your eye out for Prophet‘s Brand Relevance Index – launching early 2021.

From CMO Network in Perfectirishgifts

[xoruffitup]

Adam Driver/Pale in Burn This

It’s now a week since I saw the play, and less than a month until I go back for Opening Night! Now that I’ve had some time to process past the initial fangirl feels and “He was so incredible, HOW?!”, I’ve finally got more substantive reflections on Adam’s performance and character. (Warning: Spoilers abound!)

This has got to be one of the most interesting and demanding roles Adam has ever played. (Except for maybe that weight loss for Silence) The character of Pale encompasses practically the entire spectrum of human emotion - Including the primal extremes of soul-wrenching grief and violent, blistering rage; along with the tender stillness of affection between the two. The amount of energy Adam expends traveling between these polar extremes so often and so quickly throughout the play is simply awe-inspiring. Somehow, there’s never a moment that feels forced or melodramatic. The most compelling and compulsively attractive quality of his character is his overwhelming vitality - His overzealous emotions, the honest brunt of his emotional expression that is abrasive and shocking and disquieting, because there’s never a single moment when it is filtered through niceties, excuses, or pretense. He is the embodiment of primal instinct and the depth of hard, gritty human emotion most of us would often rather not confront. 

(Also, he has a New York accent through the whole thing. Think the coffee shop skit from SNL.)

I already explained in another post how I saw the play, at its heart, being about the conflict between socially-mediated and disingenuous human emotions vs. the chaotic but purpose-giving deeper forms of human experience. Burton and Pale are representative of these two different modes of being, and Anna finds herself torn between them. Although Pale’s character is brash, crude, and insensitive, his unapologetic honesty and the sheer force and size of his personality make this a performance that is unforgettable in its authenticity and compulsion. He is truly perfectly cast. The director, Michael Mayer, stated very aptly: “Adam has this explosive, dangerous, unpredictable animal quality that really is this character Pale.”

Before I recount the particularly memorable moments of Adam’s performance, I do want to examine the character himself a little bit first. I have to admit, I think I would feel a lot less charitably towards the character had anyone else portrayed him. This is half because Adam has a way of making the character insistently charming, and of course half because I have an instinct to always love Adam on sight. :)) But because I can never quite turn off my feminist analysis lenses, there are still plenty of aspects to this character I have problems with. 

Yes, he’s technically separated from his wife, but he’s still cheating and the fact that he doesn’t tell Anna he’s married before they sleep together is highly suspect.

He lapses into violence when he and Burton meet, and never knows when to draw the line when it comes to being antagonistic. He never pulls his punches, neither in actions nor in words.

While it’s clear Anna reciprocates the attraction, he keeps assuming his welcome and access to her sexually, before giving her the space to work through the many complications their relationship causes. 

He makes unacceptable comments about Anna’s body before they’re intimate. (”You know you got no tits at all.” Yes, it’s a funny moment and Adam pulls it off for genuine laughs without it sounding lecherous, but still a red flag.)

He never confronts or admits the fact that he should have been more present for his brother. Anna says that Robbie talked about Pale and liked him, but Pale never seems to give full recognition or respect to Robbie’s sexuality or his artistic endeavors as a dancer. (It sat heavy with me when he used a slur to refer to Robbie and Larry.)

There were a couple moments when the character vacillated a little too close for comfort towards thoughtless, irreverent masculinity. Without Adam to endear the character to me, it’s likely I would have come away disliking him in full. 

But then - There were the touching, debilitatingly gentle moments that Adam portrayed with such feeling, it was impossible not to be taken in and share this character’s pain. 

He weeps. A lot. I mean full-body, hiccuping, sniffling, red-face weeping. Adam would sweep his hair back from his face, and that wasn’t the face of an actor working to manufacture tears - It was the face of an utterly broken man trying desperately to hold the tears back.

The sounds that are impossible to distinguish between screams and sobs. The first time he breaks down, he sinks to his hands and knees and with his head hanging, just starts screaming under the weight of everything he’s feeling. It’s jarring and unexpected, after his character spent the last 10 minutes in a rapid-fire, curse-laden monologue bitching about parking and how dirty and shitty the whole city is. But these screams aren’t angry anymore. They’re so full of every other emotion, they’ve become empty and helpless. Rather than extending the blistering, raging energy Pale charged in with - The primal sound is him breaking apart and all of the rage cracking open to abandon him, leaving him utterly hopeless. 

Although he makes comments about Anna’s body and her state of undress when she answers the door that hint yes, he notices her, he does seem to fall into their intimacy just as haphazardly as Anna does. This is a very, very fine balance Adam does a fantastic job portraying, because if this were lost then the character would lose any shred of likability or respect. He’s not preying on her because she’s grieving. If anything, it’s actually the opposite. He’s the grieving one in need. When they first sit down on the couch together and he puts his arm around her to hold her, he seems to be the one seeking comfort more than she. Their first physical contact is gentle and respectful, and Pale seems to seek it because he’s the more vulnerable in that moment. And its out of that vulnerability that they share a moment of profound connection. When they kiss, it doesn’t just feel like a distraction. It feels like the first genuine form of mutual understanding that’s happened on the stage so far. 

Although yes, he takes it a bit too far in assuming they’re a ~Thing now and of course they’ll continue sleeping together, this intimacy with Anna is just as bracingly genuine as everything else he does. And although the character can be insensitive, this is not selfish. The intimate moments with Anna are achingly quiet and fragile, showing that both of them are on equal terms to the extent that they’re exposing their true selves to the other. Pale becomes slow, quiet, and tender - The effect equally as impactful as his massive, violent moments; And devastating in its difference from his louder moments.

This line alone - One of the most memorable moments to me, the first time they kiss: “Let’s just start up the engines real slow here … maybe go halfway to the city and stop for somethin’ to eat … You talk to me, okay? … You’re gonna find out there’s times … I’m a real good listener.” He’s opening up and being honest with her about the extent of his own grief, but at the same time wants to give comfort just as much as he’s seeking to receive it himself.

The fact that he LISTENS when Anna breaks thing off, and finally gives her space to think everything through and make choices independently. The way he silently got dressed, tied his shoes, gathered his things, and gave her that last soft kiss before he left. 

“I’m gonna cry all over your hair.” - Delivered as a chagrined apology.

While looking up the script, I found this quote in a summary of the play and it really captures Pale’s essence perfectly: “Menacing, profane, dangerous and yet oddly sensitive, Pale is both terrifying and fascinating and, in the end, the one who brings to Anna the unsettling but compelling love that, despite her fears and doubts, she cannot turn away.”

NOW, let’s talk about Adam. It’s no exaggeration to say his first appearance on stage is as a literal hurricane. He doesn’t appear until about 15 minutes in, but then remains on stage for about 30/40 minutes in a blistering, restless bundle of raw energy. He is utterly absorbing, even entrancing. First he’s stalking around the stage yelling about the traffic, bitching that his pants and shoes have dirt on them, criticizing Anna and her apartment. Then he and Anna begin probing the topic of Robbie, and he starts coming apart - His rage unraveling into loud, dramatic misery. Once he sinks to a level of such wretchedness that Anna begins trying to comfort him, their exchanges turn gentle and sympathetic. She leans against him to comfort him, he puts an arm around her, and next thing you know they’re gently kissing. It’s nothing short of a stunning progression, considering that during Adam’s first five minutes yelling on the stage when he seemed clearly repugnant to Anna, I could not for the life of me see how these two were going to end up attracted to each other. And then within a half hour together, it happens. And it’s believable and incredibly touching - Thanks in large part to Adam’s insane range that enables him to embody such polar opposite emotional states and unite them within a single convincing character. 

LET’S TALK ABOUT THAT PURPLE ROBE SCENE. He comes out from Anna’s bedroom in her purple silk kimono-style robe and it’s THE MOST HILARIOUS SHOCK I’VE EVER SEEN. My brain needed a moment to process which was a DAMN SHAME because he first comes out with the robe untied and just underwear underneath before he ties it. So people - Be ready to check out that chest for those couple seconds it’s on display!! :’D

He then spends a few minutes struggling to get his massive arms through the billowy sleeves with holes in weird places, and it’s simply hilarious. As if him wearing this robe (and paired with knee-high socks!!!) wasn’t enough, this entire scene just becomes more and more golden. When Anna’s roommate Larry offers him tea, Pale admonishes him for making it wrong and goes to make a proper pot of tea himself. So picture this - Adam in a women’s purple silk robe, expertly fussing with a kettle on the stove, then very precisely pouring out tea with a dishtowel wrapped around the kettle handle (to keep from burning him of course.) I just.... cannot believe I was blessed to witness that. :’)

I honestly don’t know how Adam doesn’t lose his voice! He does an insane amount of yelling and screaming, and holds nothing back. But even as he’s yelling most of his lines, he’s sending the audience into hysterics every other minute. Pale’s monologues are absurd and bizarre and only half lucid. It would be so easy for both actor and audience to just get lost adrift in these long verbal onslaughts - But Adam manages to give meaning to everything, and also somehow convey a connection between his far-fetched rants and some emotion the audience can tap into. The way Pale sees the world and the descriptions he uses are thoroughly unconventional and strange - And yet Adam’s delivery elevates them to more than just the ravings of a man on amphetamines. He becomes insightful, perhaps even clever, with a total lack of self awareness and thus zero pretensions. 

All in all, the two most important elements of Adam’s performance:

He can deliver the kind of sweeping, consuming, all-encompassing emotion and desperation that this character demands

He can balance the spectrum of the character’s explosive emotional displays with just enough control to make Pale someone we can still root and feel for. He makes Pale just purposeful enough that he never quite hurdles past the point of losing self-control or becoming unhinged. Yes, his character is unsettling and threatening in some moments (we certainly believe Anna when she says she is scared of him), but he is not aggressive or violent by nature. The audience can recognize that the volatility within him is just as likely to turn him gentle and sincere as it is to cause the explosive moments. We can feel all too easily why Anna cares for him so quickly and deeply. 

Not only does Adam bring the character to life with unforgettable spirit and biting intensity, he also brings heart and sympathy to a character who - for me - could easily have had neither on the page. I’m so thankful I got to see this stellar performance, and it’s truly no exaggeration to say Adam is hands-down one of the most talented actors in the biz. I hope lots of fans will get the chance to see him in this insane, brilliant role. <3 If anyone has any further questions at all, I would be more than happy to answer!

[perdujungeco]

A Noble Fantasy

For the first time, that simple commoner felt something that did not seem to be quite normal. It was not that he had never felt such a sentiment before, but rather that not with her, who was a Lady. In this game of courtship was he most definitely quite proficient, so he thought. But this adversary in particular, who was a Duchess in her own noble birth, had her own plans, for what a powerful Lady she truly was. And this she knew all too well.

As he made his way to the front door, led by the head footman of the chateau, the commoner stopped in place. And began to simply ponder this entire situation, whilst turning around to face the Duchess. Standing on her majestic staircase, she was looking at him with a pleasant expression on her face. He smiled back at her, extremely pleased by her.  She had a charming personality and was quite alluring. She literally could not be human, but rather an authentic work of art with a demanding level attractiveness. 

The Duchess knew exactly how to awakeness the masculinity within a man, for men are weak when it comes to such things; she purposely attempted, at every meeting, to ignite the within the commoner an inextinguishable inferno which would drive any man mad, should he not douse that which ceaseth to blaze within. This commoner only desired to melt into a numbing pleasure inside of this belle femme.

Lost and clouded by his own fantasy he barely heard when she asked him what was wrong.

“--Ça va?”

“Oui, Your Grace. I was only…” he decided not to complete that statement, for he was speaking from emotion, not through etiquette, fueled by that inferno within. 

He desired to respect the Duchess, because as she merited it. But he also desired her and wished to drop all graces, sprint over to her, give in to her incessant seduction and, with the Duchess’ full volition and willingness, enter her right there. He wished for nothing more on this earth than to rest in her euphoric prison which gratifies fiercely, whom Her Grace allows, with an intense burning which never seems to be sufficiently extinguished. Any man who were to lay with the Duchess could not stop themselves going mad in longing for more of her.

He decided not to be beheaded today and pushed those thoughts out of his conscious.

“I enjoyed the pleasant time spent together today. Bonsoir, Your Grace,” he replied thus.

Seeing nothing but an expression of contentment on her face made him question this whole situation. He truly had no idea why this - or any - Duchess would be interested in him. Under normal circumstances, he would pay no mind the idea of a woman loving him, especially not a noblewoman. Why should he expect such a thing? No woman had ever loved him in the past. He never allowed anyone - to reiterate, no one - the opportunity to cause his emotions to gain the upper-hand of his overly-logical thinking. Only unworthy, weak men would submit to emotions, regardless of how enchanting the cause of those emotions may be.

As the untitled commoner bid to the Duchess his adieu, he commenced his original path to exit Her Grace’s chateau

That evening, the commoner was sat in his bedroom. He was so elated, for he knew that the Duchess desired him. He knew it with certainty! He could see Her Grace’s love in her eyes. Or was it lust? Regardless, it was more than clear that she desired him. The sweet, but sometimes risquée, subjects of conversation; the innocently, yet strategically placed caresses with which she touched him, quite often; the way she would subtly allude his attention to her most beautifully feminine of parts; this was proof of it! He was not going mad. It was very clear, so he told himself. It was with this fantasy racing through his mind that he finally fell peacefully into his nightly slumber.   

Several days later, the Duchess was thinking back to the time spent with the commoner with whom she became acquainted. Their conversations were composed of profound topics; something which she had so rarely with men who lusted after her. Though she also desired him greatly, and made it subtly, but undoubtedly, clear to him, she would never give in to her lustful craving. 

She knew it was time to terminate this game that they had been playing with this boy. Although the world did not know it, she was quite discontent with society at large, and, especially, with her own life. She was an established Duchess and should have been able to do as she pleased, so long as it did not displease le Roi. But as these days passed, she awoke to the realization that continuing this fantasy served no purpose, even if she was entitled to act upon what she felt. Thus she ended all communication with that commoner. 

As he essayed time and time again to communicate with the Duchess without success, he grew ever-increasingly discontent with his life. He eventually succumbed to melancholy and withdrew himself into his own home. He never left.. Even the thought of the magnificently beautiful Duchess drove him mad, for he was unrelentlessly being attacked by the memories of what he shared with Her Grace. He learned then his station in life was a curse donned upon him by his birth.

Longing for a change - or rather to escape - he later sailed to America. But even there he could not force the memory of her out of his mind. He was a tormented soul, being haunted slowly by amour fou. He longed for death, for at least it would end this misery. Two years later, he returned back to his homeland, France, and pursued a quiet life. He was still being tormented; the duchess was still peacefully living in her chateau without a thought of him, so he thought. He eventually commenced inquiring about her, just to hear something about her. This commoner was truly in the midst of a long battle against madness.

The news of his inquiries got back to Her Grace. She was elated, excited, and filled with the desire to feel him - to finally permit him to enter her, only after he had pleased her to satisfaction; the Duchess was an expert lay, but she demands that her partner first gratified her desire. But she decided against such a course of action, for nothing good could arise from indulging this fantasy. 

Late one morning, she arose from her bed and began to look out of the window, seeing a familiar man approaching her door.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor” her staff informed her a couple of minutes later.

She at once rushed downstairs, wearing nothing but her nightgown, for she was in too much of a hurry to care about appearances in her own home. She just had to tell the commoner of what she had been thinking; she felt compelled to tell him about it after which she had been lusting. She must finally decide to give in to that blazing sentiment she felt at the thought of him.

I desire nothing more than his touch she thought to herself as she became more and more aroused, as she was now standing right in front of him.

After gazing at one another for some time the commoner spoke.

“Bonjour, Your Grace”

She was at a loss of words, for she knew that this was nothing more than temptation. Though she wanted him - though she desired him with everything within herself, she could not seem to act upon her carnal desire. She looked at him once more directly in the eyes, walked over to him and began to kiss him. He clearly adored this and was obviously beginning to feel the sensations that she intended to invoke in him. Suddenly, she stopped what she was doing and turned her back to him. Returning to her chambre, without one word to him, she locked herself therein.

The commoner was confused, but the doorman made clear to the commoner the situation when said to him “Forget the Duchess.”

[kaylichun]

Inspiration/ King Arthur Legends, Moon Princess, legend of Zelda, Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms, Black Butler

The True Goddess- The Fallen Goddess.

Kay grants wishes and luck within the world, while Kai contains the darkest in wishes. Kept the hidden from the light of the world’s hope. But there’s always the middle grounds, Father of Gods themselves Quinn. He is the balance of the middle grounds of realm, wise in watching over with his godly children. He had fallen in love with a mortal women by the name of Meryl and died with her by heartbreak. His depression of his fawned love. He separated and passed onto the world his life near the grave of his only wife. The descendants of his 5 children became the beacons of what became gifts of many traits of men and magic. One over will and might, one over animals to be able to tame or become authentic animal/ shifter within, powers of nature the overgrowth of plants and trees through healing, knowledge by the books; elemental sorts of magic, and last the dark arts symbolism of death.

Kay and Kai, along their vital follower, Sōseki. The servant blessed by her to watch alongside her and keep her company. The day saw misery of the two couples, so she fell off and mortalized into another life a human birth with an infertile mother, who saw it as a blessing. Named the vessel Kay, after the said goddess. Her blessed form prefaced within the mortal, as it attracted the many eyes. She was the first blessing of the true Oracle. Foretold many fates tied and needed in the future. She settled off to seek them.

There was the calico cat who followed close to the Oracle. Small and speckled in brown and yellow eyes. He was insistent in following her, so she has taken care of the creature. She needed to find her reason being entrapped in this form. She had searched for the man she needed to complete the prophesied. Fukuzawa Yukichi will be king of the Full Moon. The Moon was a Lunar symbol to the Goddess. He denied any interaction with the Oracle, as spoke the future of the home of his. Corrupted by the calamity that will befall upon them, as their King is Dying and the Kingdom of the sun will take the chance to seize dictatorship over them. In which, he agreed after realizing the prophecy is an unwilling risk he’ll take.

On their journey to the kingdom of the sun, Mori Ogai a healer and talents of the dark arts. The dark arts were frowned upon, the man begged to be set along the journey to prove his worth. Their Party grew, Yosano Akiko a child gifted with life, but blinded by death, and Ranpo Edogawa blessed by Life. Illusioned his luck and intelligence to be a Seer himself. Their bonds grew, even if Yukichi wanted nothing do with it. He fell for their Oracle, as Mori matched his moves.

After the war had ended, so did the oracle’s journey. She died within the eyes of the king Wolf and his fellow allies. Mourning the lost of the voice, her body set to the lake within the forest, who then became the deity of Tranquility. Kouyou The Mother of Tranquility.

Mother had stayed within the forest, as she was seen by a child enraptured by the God of Calamity. The child however was bitter after his exile from his birth, he was a child bawling his eyes, the young youth had seen no purpose in his life. A whole village decimated by the monster within himself. An elven child had lost all rights to heaven. Only to feel warmth of Mother. Mother had a pacifying effect over the hatred. He stayed by mother and mother let him in her arms.

Mother had chose to protect the location of the Summoning temple, in which she must give her freedom to the cult. The Cult of the man who had been mourned with his daughter the closest thing to the women he loved. He had kept part of her before her body was set to sink into the lake. That created his obsession of “their” daughter Elise. The man would not let go. It was unfair to him, as he slain the mad king of the country of Portima, The Crescent Crest.

Chuuya Nakahara was the village’s small cult by few worshipper of the god of calamity, Arabahaki. They live for centuries while maintaining their youthful appearance, dark elves with their feature of long sharp ears. They are the storytellers of endless times, the archives of history. Segregated by their nature of rumors as dark elves; fictional creatures. During the reign of the sun dictator’s reign, asked for their offering of their alignance by marrying one of their women to cultivate the ultimate heir. A rebellious orphan, he was seen and only one to escape with the tragedy befallen him. Given at least one day to finalize their thoughts, they went to work to their God in hopes to save themselves. They had to give up a child to leave behind; Chuuya Nakahara. Invested him to take in as the host for their god to disappear once again. Leaving him alone again.

The outside country had fooled the young child and left him within the barrier of their mage setted up. A sacrifice of an sick and scrawny, they did it in return if retribution to the goddess. Atsushi was forced to be appointed the counter guardian by the Goddess, as his appointed role of the goddess temple protecting the resting place of hers. As it was made under her name and she blessed it. However pitted the young child and gave it a holy form. What the mortals irresponsible actions did not speak for the goddess. So she accompanied him within his slumber. Her warmth has protected him, till his forgotten centuries and one day he is needed.

Kyoka Izumi, was the Heir of the imperial princess of snow and the warlord sun. Her mother was intended to be arranged to keep the two allied. The man was a feared by many who crossed his path, instilling his power over her and her mother. She lived to fear her ancestors who follow binded by spirit to protect her. In fact the grandmother; the imperial mother. Each generation must bond with an ancestral spirit, her abilities alongside summoning.

Saint Oda Sakunosuke was gifted sight as a Seer. An Oracle is both equal to 2 seers. If he were a Seer someone else must have the same gift as he did. One thing he cannot see is how he truly ends, but only prevent minimum events. He saughted out children during the wreckage, housing them within his own church. In which he was promised protection if he did them favors. Predictions and small travel trading. He had befriended a spy Ango Sakaguchi and a man who called himself Merlin. Who trusted him with his true name Osamu Dazai. He knew to be weary around Ango, but his emotions got the best of him as he died by the other Seer. But within sacrificing of the seers was for the cause between the CULTure of Portima and the Government of the Rising Sun. Mori true purpose was to get an Oracle after two Seers dying in the same temple. Oda, his children were with him, his Goddess let him live happily with them, after

Dazai Osamu, did not trust many, after his mother left him alone after a night with a mortal mage. His Father died after that night, he was left to wear his father’s place.His mother was a beautiful succubus, who had charmed and left her son to pass on for eternity. He wouldn’t even die if anything tries, as her son taken suicidal tendencies after the father who purposely summoned his mother. Maybe it was because he aligns to light magic, purification or nullification . To die with a beautiful woman any day. Joined the cult, after being welcomed by Mori for the heck of it, felt more comfortable with Saint Odasaku. Only to be more driven to death after his human emotions affecting him deeper into depression and granting a wish/promise of the Seer. Leaving the cult to journey to the kingdom of Portima.

Ango Sakaguchi, was the double knot spy in the ranks of the government and the mafia during the dragonhead.

Tanizaki Junichirou was fated to be king of his own kingdom, that was when his Sister Naomi first prophesied his fate. They were born from the sun district, after the warlord of sun was overthrown by the villagers of the oppression.

The Central city of the rising Sun was not trusted, in which the King of Ardect; Fukuzawa Yukichi had once knew the first Oracle. He knew the Importance of the Oracle second coming, seeing that the past 2 seers set against each other. He had high suspicions of what Mori had done, in which he swiftly taken them hidden into arms of his court. He truly did become king, as Fate predicted. His shoulders weighed by the royal cloak of the past king’s spirit by his throne. He was truly lucky to have Kunikida as his scholar and his second in command. Yosano who lead battle and saved many before death. Their Wise tactician blessed by the god themselves, Ranpo Edogawa. Kenji was the representation of the friendship of the villagers of a small village, blessed highly for their youthism and strength. Junichirou was a King and Knight in training. Their purpose in hidden objective to protect both the blessing and eyes of the gods; Ranpo and Naomi.

Naomi Tanizaki was the Village Girl who danced for her passion. She was dedicated to her king; both Fukuzawa and Junichirou. Her own personification of a clingy sister to derail many to expect her to be holy Oracle. Her truth is how serious she becomes, she is wise as how she learns to change how she acts around people. She defined as a childish, bold and bright. But really, she guilty even if her brother shakes off her reasonable actions. It was the only way to not be suspected as one. After all Mori's cultivated obsession to the gods.

Kyūsaku Yumeno the prince who destroyed his own kingdom by the curse borned Q crippled his name. A prince hated by his small country. Why his mother died because of his birth prematurely. But he shared the face the king loved from his wife. He could not help decide how he felt about his only son and heir to the throne. Whether he hated him for what he was out of his control of the past or loved him for the current result of the love between his wife. He remained ignorant to the abuse and hatred of people even the staff. The boy however broken out of his broken shell to lose sense of mind. Tormented back every person with his curse, paying back what they did to him dying in pain. The last one to die was his father, he did not do anything to stop or tried to prevent the whole event to ever exist. Here all he had to do was hurt him to die for his penitence of his ignorance. He teared up, his curse did not kill his father. His father had died from a broken heart because he loved him. Leaving the prince to cry in the place of his own father “Why didn't you hit me, hurt me, yell at me and bruise me?! Why did you make me hurt in such a way!?!” Portima picked him up, grew the territory of their land.

The Akutugawa Siblings. Loving family and children blessed with a noble family. The oldest son Ryuusuke, loved his sister Gin. Gin was named after an adoptive peasant mother who was well loved for the father who was the orphan taken in by her. Ryuusuke was born sick, His lungs struggling with asthma, his respiratory failure thankfully for His father being able to get a doctor to help. Only to be prescribed doses of medication 2 times a day. Which made Gin the first to the name to the company, yet they're both able to share the title. Ryuunosuke will always be the spare to Gin. Yet happiness still born in their hearts. His father owns his success and struggle rising to his name. He saw where he stood and stranded with wealth, a childhood for his children. Jealousy ensued by other noble who saw nothing but filthy peasant with money. Waiting for their maid to give Ryuusuke his dose of medication before they both went to sleep. Their family dog Russell barking at the door, until a man in black swung at with force. You could insinuate the dog's skull was cracked from such brute force. Snatched Ryuusuke, they knew well that he couldn't go against him and struggle. His illness was his weakness, he tire easily from exercise. Which was why he relied on his magic orb tied at his hip when he needed things. Gin was the stronger and healthier one tries to take him away from the man. Only to be knocked out and over by the column of the bed. She was taken as well. So that night, the scent of ash and warm of the fire burning the manor. Ryuusuke watched as their parents burned down with the manor. He had seen dead eyes of children, their life sucked from their own leaving him with no one to even speak to him. He felt the cold prick of human contact of magic snapping him from consciousness. He found himself chained to an alter, fear bulging from eyes from the crowd of strange dark cloaks and masks. Their pupils dilating with insanity, you couldn't count how many sacrificial knives. Polished and the gleam from the candle lights from the dimming candelabra. They were speaking Latin, strange proverbs of words. The leader rose his knife over their heads with both hands and roughly jabbed into his heart. He SCREAMED! The first time he screamed, his lungs never gave out, as his air was fear and pain. Blood, Blood, BLOOD!

A demon did come to His table, he made his contract before the selfish did stole away his life. His monstrous power was called Rashōmon.

Gin was not there where Ryuusuke woken to become a corruption of a vessel to a demon dog. Who ate and swallowed him whole from his heart and soul. He made a deal to seek revenge, power and find his sister. Gin was shipped into slavery, she could have become a slave if a pirate hadn't raided the ship she was on and took away their merchandise.The Black Lizards; Ryūrō Hirotsu the captain of the ship. He had taken in the child, taught her how to live and become how she will become. A commander and assassin for the black lizard.

Higuchi Ichiyou. A spoiled brat, compared to her reliable younger sister who was closer to being chosen for her coronation instead of her. Selfish as she may be and a father who knew what was best. As their father chose to be peaceful and small nation. During the true mad king of Portima demanded the decimation and won. They had no choice but to join the Portima. Higuchi finally stood up to be responsible older sister. She cut her beloved hair and took up archery. She may have fallen for Ryunosuke Akutagawa.

[mizmahlia]

Anonymous said: Hey! You're an awesome writer! Can you write a fic with Roy and Dick hanging out? Just bonding? Thanks!

Here it is! YJ!Roy and YJ!Dick hanging out with Lian. I also incorporated a dialog prompt to help me get started. 

I apologize this took so long; time got away from me this week. I hope you like it. Thanks for the request! :)

7. “I think people hug at this point.” Roy sighed and began his eighth lap around his apartment, slowly running his hand up and down Lian's back. She woke up early from her nap half an hour prior just as he was settling in to catch up on his Netflix queue. His binge session would have to wait. When this 18-month old wasn't ready to sleep, nothing short of walking her around the apartment would relax her. As he passed the front door there was a soft knock. Roy peered through the peephole, surprised to see the man standing there. Carefully he shifted Lian to the other shoulder and leaned to open the door. "Dick?" Dick glanced up from the floor, seemingly surprised Roy answered. His face melted into a soft smile when he noticed Lian peering at him from her place tucked against the side of Roy's neck. "Should I come back?" Roy stepped aside and held the door open. "Nah, she'll be awake for a little while. C'mon in."

Dick toed off his shoes and went down the hallway to the living room. He took a seat on the couch that faced the large windows overlooking Star City and sank back into the plush upholstery. Roy joined him but continued walking back and forth in front of the window. He could feel Lian's head growing heavier against his neck. She was about five minutes from conking out again, if he was lucky. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in a while." Dick mulled the question over, studying his hands as they toyed with the cuff of his jacket. Roy waited patiently and glanced at Lian's reflection in the window. Her eyes were closed. He turned in time to see Dick smother the misery he was feeling behind a cheerful grin. "Oh, you know. Same old. Bludhaven keeps me busy." He watched Roy take a seat in the rocking chair near the window, carefully keeping Lian tucked against him. One of her tiny fists was tangled in the collar of his shirt. The other hung limply against his arm. "How are things going with Lian?" "Other than being unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time and changing some pretty disgusting diapers, it's been easier than I thought it would be." He brushed his lips against her dark hair, smiling faintly when she sighed. "The first time I gave her a bottle I was a goner." "I can see why." Dick watched the two of them as Roy rocked her, remembering how shocked he was when Roy told him about Lian. He'd been in the throes of his addiction when Jade returned and told him they had a daughter. Lian was exactly what Roy needed to get and stay clean and Dick couldn't be prouder. "I'm going to go lay her down. I'll be right back." Roy eased out of the recliner and disappeared to the nursery, leaving Dick to his thoughts. His vision blurred and he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. The last few weeks had taken their toll on him and he was barely holding it together. He'd isolated himself from everyone, including Bruce, and only recently returned from a self-imposed exile. He looked around the room at the art on Roy's walls. There were several abstract pieces and framed photographs on his walls next to some newer photos of Lian. There was one small frame, about five inches by seven inches, hung next to a postcard depicting the Hall of Justice in Washington, D.C. Dick stood and wandered over to the photo. His heart lurched painfully when he got close enough to see who was in the photo. He forgot it even existed, it was taken so long ago. The three of them stood in front of the Hall. They were wearing civilian clothes with their arms draped around each other. It was taken about a year before the team formed, back when they were Speedy, Robin and Kid Flash. Back when they were still sidekicks. He felt the tears return and didn't bother to hide them this time. He didn't have the energy to anymore. The smile that began to form at the memory of that day felt foreign to him, but he let it happen. It was time. A moment later a floorboard creaked and Roy appeared next to him, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "He was such a dork when it came to photos. I can't even remember who took that." Dick's smile grew wider at the memory. "It was a tour guide from the Justice League museum. She had a crush on Kid Flash." Roy nodded and grinned. "Oh, yeah. I'd never seen Wally so proud." "You should have seen him when Queen Perdita thanked him after her transplant surgery. His feet didn't touch the ground for days." They stared at the photo for a moment longer before Dick moved to stand in front of the window. Roy studied him. Dick was never any good at talking about what bothered him. And he was terrible at admitting when he needed anything from anyone. You had to carefully draw it out of him; if you weren't careful, he'd retreat and trick you into thinking he was fine. "I tried stopping by after he.." Roy trailed off. Even now it felt wrong to say it aloud. "But they said you left." Dick's back straightened ever so slightly. Roy watched Dick's reflection in the window as he closed his eyes. "I had to get away. I couldn't handle it." "And Bludhaven wasn't far enough?" Dick raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk." Roy shrugged and sat down. "Hey, no judgement here. But I couldn't reach you and I was worried. Sue me." Dick's shoulders slumped and he collapsed on the couch next to Roy. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Roy always thought Dick to be larger than life; he grew up next to Batman, for crying out loud. But sitting there on Roy's couch, he looked incredibly small. They sat there for a some time, how long it was Roy didn't know, but it was long enough that shadows began to stretch across the living room as the sun moved across the sky. While he couldn't call it a comfortable silence, it wasn't tense or awkward. Before it could stretch any longer, Roy turned to face his friend. Under normal circumstances, you had to be careful when trying to get Dick to open up- you had to be subtle. He had a feeling now was not one of those times. "What's on your mind?" Dick's eyes, usually a vibrant shade of blue, were tinted dark with emotion. His jaw quivered and he bit his lip until it stopped. "I'm so tired of losing people." Roy felt his stomach drop. He moved closer to Dick and reached for him, pulling him into his shoulder. He collapsed into Roy and finally broke down. Months of pent-up grief and pain were knocked loose and tumbled free, leaving him battered and bruised, but not broken. Roy left his arm there as long as Dick would allow him. They were both startled by Lian's sleepy cry through the baby monitor on the end table. Roy stood and turned to go get her, but Dick grabbed his arm. "Roy?" He turned and looked at Dick, clearly puzzled. "Yeah?" "Can I go get her?" Roy stepped out of the way, gesturing to the nursery. "Sure." Dick smiled and held out his arms, but this time it was the old-fashioned, authentic Dick Grayson smile. Roy frowned. "What?" "I think people hug at this point." Roy rolled his eyes, but opened his arms and pretended to be annoyed. "Fine." Dick wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. Roy returned the gesture. While he may not ever admit it? Dick gave the greatest hugs. He stepped away and went to find Lian. "Thanks, Roy." "Anytime. And Dick?" Roy grinned when he recognized Lian's impatient cry. "You might want to breathe through your mouth. Sounds like she needs a diaper change."