#(I have a better photo of the last flake but the lighting's different and the small snowflake on top is invisible besides its very center.)

[asjjohnson]

Today I decided to test how my new camera does with snow.

honorable mention background snowflakes:

...I don't see much point in adding image descriptions to all of these. They're just close-up photos of snowflakes.

The snowflakes are on the metal railings on either side of my front steps, but it's impossible to tell that from the photos.

Most of these are dendrite snowflakes (the large type with a lot of branches), but there's a few other types of snowflakes in some of the photos. One photo has a small hexagonal snowflake. I don't know it's classification, but it might be a short cylinder (it's two hexagons on top of each other, but the angle and my camera aren't good enough to get the exact details).

The last photo is smaller and blurry. It shows a small, simple six-armed snowflake on top of a large dendrite snowflake.

[nothing0fnothing]

When I was fourteen I told my mum I wanted to go on a weight loss diet where I replaced my regular meals with jars of baby food. I had already been dieting pretty rigorously for months at this point so I felt I was experienced enough to do something this extreme. My mum thought it was a fantastic idea.

She would pack my regular lunch for school so that in front of my peers and teachers, it looked like I was eating normally, and home I ate 3-6 jars of baby or toddler food that she bought from the supermarket. I have no idea how long I did this for but I lost so much body weight I was unrecognisable.

It was the most miserable diet I've ever been on. Even cabbage soup was better. I would heat up a jar of toddler spag-bol or baby puree peas and carrots in the microwave, season it with salt and chili flakes and eat it with a tiny spoon to make it last longer. At least on the Special K diet I could chew, these low calorie tiny portions were designed for people with no teeth.

My mother would buy me gifts like clothes and perfume and CDs to for every kilo I shed to distract me from the fact that I wasn't seeing my friends. When they met up they ate pizza and popcorn and chocolate and she didn't want me near the temptation where one slip up could ruin weeks of hard work. I was on the scale every day to meticulously monitor my weight loss. My mother would record the difference and file it away next to my passports and vaccination records.

As I was approaching my "ultimate goal weight" I began to feel detached from my body. After all that weight loss, I didn't even look good. I was a teenager eating a diet perfectly formulated for a 10 month old, my skin was dull, my eyes looked sad with dark circles, I was the slimmest I'd been since I hit puberty, but I felt the furthest from swimsuit ready I had in my whole life. I began swamping myself in my old "fat clothes", because people had started to congratulate me on my weight loss and I hated the attention. My mum wanted me in low rise ultra skinny jeans and itty bitty tops. She could not understand why I just wanted to hide in my cocoon of baggy clothing and emerge at my chosen weight so nobody had to see, or worse comment on the changes I was putting my body through.

There is a photo of me at my lowest weight. It's grainy and low quality because it was taken on my mother's years old battered android, under florescent lights at a toy store in a shopping center. My mother cherishes it to this day. Even more than my year book photos. Even more than my prom photos. Even more than my graduation photos. She says those events were for me, my fun, my friends, my achievements. This photo, the one of me, her teenage daughter the skinniest I'd ever been, awkwardly posed by the pokemon, looking off to the side sad and distracted, this photo was for her.

[kallinite]

Since iI want people to see what they are getting from the DispelxWyrmwood Kickstarter, I am posting pics of the things I bought. This is my second purchase from Dispel and my first from Wyrmwood, although I have received Wyrmwood as a gift once so I have limited experience with both of their products. I took these pictures with my phone a few minutes ago. No staging, no special lighting (just my phone’s flash because my room is lit like a cave)... I’m not an experienced or fancy photographer, so what you see is what you get.

Up front, I’ll say that I really liked the packaging the dice came in this time around. The packaging for my other Dispel dice was nice but a little tricky to use. These boxes are a much smoother experience and I feel like the dice fit into them better.

The purple set is the Noble Ambition. Compared to the campaign photos, I guess they were fairly accurate. In the campaign photos, they were more of a blue-purple and in reality they are closer to a pink-purple. That is probably the most noticeable difference. I’m not mad at them though and I still think they’re pretty.

The blue-purple-peach set is Pastel Dreamscape. I found it hard to take an accurate picture of what I got, but mine are really similar to the campaign photos. They’re not as dark looking as my photos make them appear, but the peach colouration was hard to capture. I’m quite happy with these. For a better picture of how these came out, check out @battlecrazed-axe-mage. Their pictures for this colour way are much better than mine.

The teal coloured dice are the Sunken Treasure set. I am the most happy with these. They are completely identical to the campaign photos and they are stunning in person. They were a last minute decision for me but I’m so glad I went with them.

The final purchase I made was for the Lunar Vault. Honestly, I am the least happy with this one. The resin on top is not as sparkly as the photo makes it look. In person, it is mostly matte. It is also less like inlaid resin and more like a fine coating of resin. In fact, the layer of resin on top is so thin that you can see the wood underneath through it. The peek-a-boo wood underneath combined with the flakes of glitter in the resin makes it look like silver particleboard. :/ The vault itself is well made and it securely holds my dice, but the resin inlay on the top looks cheaply done IMHO. I would have liked to see a much thicker coat of resin on the top so that the wood colour wasn’t coming through the resin.

Anyways, I guess that’s my review/personal experience. It was mostly a positive experience. If I could do it over, I wouldn’t get the vault for that price.

[shesawriter39049]

|FEVER| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon just has a kink for letting you do whatever the hell you want with him...Whether that be putting him in a hot pink suit shirtless! Or, telling him he’s a good boy as he fucks you into oblivion!

OR- Namjoon and yourself hooked up 5 months ago when the boys were in London on Tour, and you were the creative director for there British GQ & Harper’s Bazzar Cover! Now, months later he’s prepping to release his second mixtape “RM vs Rap Monster”. Opting to go a complete 360 from his first release Mono in all realms. So, with that being said BigHit thinks he needs someone with a little more... “umph” Take a wild guess as to who they call...

WC:1.2k (Sneak peek)

WARNINGS: Switch OC (Top & Bottom...but there's no real dom/sub tones here) Service top/power bottom Namjoon, praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex(Back shot), come play, dirty talk, light choking, light overstimulation, (This is lowkey a little softer than it sounds) The OC kinda leads this, but Joon isin’t the cliché “sub” he just likes letting her take control.

NOTE- Just my take on the OG cliché Artist X Stylist AU (Though she’s more of a full package, Art Director/Stylist/Photographer ETC) I have tried to add some minor elements to make it a little more realistic. I will say I typically stray from “Idol-verse” just because if we’re being real, the cultural difference alone sometimes stunts my creativity...BUT I just had a little fun with this one...so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, I don’t go into much physical details but in my mind regardless of race, aesthetic wise the OC is a huge contrast to what he’s use to which is part of her appeal. I picture a tatted Barbie of some sorts...

SIDE NOTE: No shade, but shade, I was lowkey inspired to write this bc I have very strong opinions about the creative team at BH....

*** Let me know if you guys want the full thing or not...I kidna flaked on posting because it is such a cliché lol

SONG- FEVER DUA LIPA  FT ANGELE

~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s a yes for me” Eyeing him in this Hot pink-fitted Burliti suit, which you paired with a very sheer black Arnar Mar turtle neck. The minute you saw the piece on the runway you’d been dying to get it on someone with melanated skin, and it just so happens, the boys are fresh off the US leg of their stadium tour! So, lucky for you, baby boy’s been in the sun a lot, and Namjoon’s currently a sinful shade of brown and you're totally here for it…

Then to top it off, the mesh material of the turtle neck creates the perfect silhouette around his offensively toned chest, outlining the muscles sinfully. Eternally snorting at the way the fans are gonna thank and curse you out all at the same damn time once they see the looks you’ve pulled for this man!

And yes, you had your crew bring extended shades of foundation and concealer, because his face and neck will match if your name is going to be attached to these damn photos! 

Head tilted to the side as you silently observe the way he rakes over his reflection in the mirror, it’s a sixth sense you’ve acquired as a stylist at this point. Half of your job is essentially being a hype man/self love coach, real shit, a lot of these artist aren't always as...confident as one may think!

And just like clockwork Namjoon runs his palm down his thighs, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his pants for the umpteenth time in the span of oh I don’t know 30 seconds? Which in turn prompts you to say….

“You look good Joonie...” Musing over your second glass of Don, the compliment was genuine, tone warm, soothing even, not a hint flirtation insight because that wasn’t your motive. You weren’t trying to get him flustered you’re just trying to gas him up a little, you wanted to see Namjoon get alittle cocky and feel himself!

Ears perking up like an overgrown puppy, head whipping in your direction “Yeah?” The way this man’s eyes just lit up like the soul skyline. I just-goddamn, an almost bashful smile toys on those plush lips of his, and you can’t help the way your chest flutters with nothing but fondness.

“So fuckin cute” Flutters off your lips, as you hide a smile of your own behind a half empty whine glass. The delivery was so faint it almost go lost in the background music floating through the air. However the slight flush hitting his cheeks let you know Namjoon heard you whether he wanted to admit it or not!

”Mmmhmm, the color looks fuckin insane against your skin, not to mention, the way everything's going to pop once we tone your hair a little! “ Eyes drinking him in from head to toe, though there was nothing suggestive playing within your iris. Very much aware of time and place and right now your genuinely looking respectfully! Seeing if any alterations are needed, making sure you like where everything sits along his frame. Making notes in your phone of places you want to pin and adjust later...snapping a couple shots here and there. 

Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the lapels on the blazer “But like-I mean-I- dont’-It doesn’t look like I’m... trying too hard or anything?” Brows furrowed in the center of his face, jaw tight, wincing slightly at his own words, almost as if he was afraid of your response. The vulnerability within his delivery was more than evident, and no matter how common this is with artist, it’s still just as devastating! Regardless of how much he tried to play it off as if he was just making casual conversation, you can see how blatantly uncomfortable he is . Gazing back at you wide eyed, and uncannily exposed, pointing at the outfit in question. Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the the blazer, switching posses subtlety trying to get a better feel for the suit.  

You stayed silent for a minute, taking the time to actually process before speaking which is rare, not gonna lie. Gaze piercing as you hop off the bed, wine, and accessories in hand, swaying closer. “It’s fashion”. The baited pause almost implied that’s all you had to say, as if one-word was self-sufficient, and in your mind it was...but you knew better than to just leave it at that.

“Art at its finest Mr. Kim” You smile something a little devious, and he flushes even deeper as you slowly start to invade his space eyes locked with him meaningfully. You can physically see the shift, the closer you get, Namjoon starts fidgeting slightly under your gaze but he doesn't back down.

“It gives you room to play, create...it’s something that let’s us connect to people without saying a damn thing.” Suddenly the hand that wasn’t holding your alcohol has become a prop, flailing around haphazardly as you spoke, pointing at the various pieces hanging on clothes racks in your suite! The penthouse has essentially been transformed into your own personal walk in closet for the next 5 or so days! “It’s a statement. A opportunity to tap into a side of yourself that maybe you can’t always verbally articulate to the world around you! More importantly, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s literally something that can be removed within seconds! I mean we all have to wear clothes so why not just enjoy it?”  Head cocked to the side as you appraise him, brow quirked, eyes warm, yet there's a clear challenge playing within your gaze.

Namjoon’s watching you intently, almost as if he’s taking mental notes as you speak...the heaviness within those dangerously honed eyes of his could almost be unsettling to some, but you quite like it. Made you feel as though he actually gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying.

“In my opinion the only time it looks like someone’s “Trying too hard” Making little air bunnies with your spare hand “Is if they look uncomfortable in what they’re wearing, confidence is key, and I know you know that better than anyone RM!” You muse batting your lashes in Namjoon’s direction, and he dimples back at you, eyes sinking into tiny crescents, face rivaling the color of his suit, trying to hide said smile behind his own glass of champagne.  

“I could put you in a damn clown suit...” Words trailing off your tongue lackadaisically as you grow distracted searching the bar for a specific chain from John Hardy. “Which” Focus snapping back in his direction making the later splutter a little “Would be fire as fuck if I did by the way, but-”  Namjoon ended up cackling midsentence, almost choking on his drink in the process, fist pounding against his sternum.

Yeah..killing the leader of Bangtan wasn’t really high on your list tonight....

“Ayee, none of that shit...” Smacking him in the back a little more so just to be an ass because he wasn’t even choking anymore “Don’t die on me until we at least get this damn photoshoot done, I had to cancel my trip to Jamaica for this shit!”

Now he’s damn near choking and his laugh was contagious, it’s just.. loud, carefree so yes, your cackling, and there's nothing cute about it. But you honestly don’t care, you let yourself get lost in it! Finally able to feel the atmosphere in the room start to shift to something a little less scripted and a little more organic...

Throwing his hands in the air as If he’s waving a nonexistent white flag “I’m sorry, noona” There’s a pout playing in his lips, not exactly aegyo per say, but it’s fuckin adorable “Blame PD-nim, it’s his fault we had to do this so last minute” Wheezes from his throat, in the form of a slight whine, almost rivaling Jimin if I’m honest.

You already know he was laughing more so due to your delivery, specifically, your casual use of profanity over anything else. This is actually something you use to be self-conscious about, especially at your first shoot with the boys, at the shoot for GQ . Well aware it wasn’t as common in Asia for people especially women to use “fuck” like a comma. So you were hoping they wouldn’t be offended, or uncomfortable by your dialect, and, thankfully they didn’t seem to mind. Much like Joonie over here, they found it entertaining over anything.

“Yeah, a huh, sureee...” Eyes rolling to the back of your head playfully as you start lightly altering the suit in question with clips and pens. “Stay still babe” The pet name slipped off your tongue effortlessly, honestly, that's what you call most people in your life. However you were far too focused to notice how wide eyed and flustered the man before you became upon hearing it directed at him so casually.

A faint little “Sorry” muses off his lips as he gnaws on his inner cheek, trying to stay still as you ghetto-rig hems into place until you can get this under your sewing needle.

“ No, but real shit…” You sigh, taking on a slightly more serious tone “If you step in front of that camera like you own the bitch, regardless of what your wearing..., then they can’t tell you shit! If your comfortable there’s no such thing as trying too hard” You shrug nonchalantly like that was the simplest concept known to man, downing the rest of your drink “Alright, that’s all, thanks for coming to my Ted talk” Waving him off as if you’re about to leave the room and he pouted playfully, jokingly begging you not to leave him yet...it felt good to be able to banter like this. The shift continuous shift within the atmosphere was more than welcomed…

Hesitantly you watch his eyes find their way back to the full length mirror, which promptly smacks you back to reality!

Unfortunately you didn't fly all the way to Seoul just to drink,  and shoot shit with Namjoon for hours on end,  your actually here to work…

Sooo...

“Alright” Placing your arms on his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you peer over his shoulder. Meeting his gaze through the glass, chin resting gently against the blade. “Back to the reason you came Mr. “I’m sooo anxiously” Shooting him a teasing little smirk in the process “The suit, yay or nay”

So, here’s the thing technically the official fitting is tomorrow, and as far as his team knows he’s in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok finishing up a song!

Which of course raises the question as to why he’s here..alone..mind you..no staff or security in site.

Just Kim Namjoon and yourself.....

~~~~

Heyyyy, Lemme know if you guys want this or not, it will leave kinda open ended because it was supposed to kinda be a 3 part mini series initially. Part 1 ends the morning of the shoot, the full thing is set to be around 6/7k! Spoiler, the company is going to want to keep her around for more than just Namjoon’s solo project....

Also, YES...I did see that they actually put Tae in that Burliti suit (I wrote this long before that shoot was released)...I actually hated the way it was styled it though...I never thought I’d say this but MGK’s team did a better job than BH....

[cheshiremadd]

Uprooting Bindweed

Ao3

I'd had the idea of Rena and Chat talking about Marinette and Adrien in my WIP folder, and then @galahadwilder posted the perfect prompt on discord to go with it: what if Chat Noir fired Rena Rouge.

Thank you SO much to @alexseanchai and @sweetmeatdale for your feedback! 💜

Speaking of Alex, they came up with the title, because they're amazing like that. Bindweeds are used as "food plants by the larvae of some Lepidoptera species, including the convolvulus hawk moth". With that information and the Bindweed tarot card, I knew a more perfect title would not be found.

-

The Akuma of the Week was searching for Marinette. The fourth time this month, and he was really hoping there was nothing to that. So many targeting the same person not Chloé or Lila seemed strange to him. But that was a worry for another time.

Chat Noir and Rena Rouge had been sent ahead to the bakery (he was very glad that he’d stashed Marinette somewhere else). Rena was to Mirage herself into the designer and play bait, but they had to wait until Ladybug could lure the akuma closer. Five minute timer, and all.

Rena reached her balcony first, and went to the trapdoor without hesitation. Chat figured he’d have to be the one to open it, and had been planning how to go about it without giving away how familiar he was, but Rena had no qualms. His stomach soured at the thought that he wasn’t the only superhero to visit Marinette.

She’d redecorated some since he last was in her room. He wasn’t able to come as often as he wanted, and they typically preferred the open air and view of her balcony when the weather was warm.

Adrien’s modeling photos were still present, but they’d been updated to more recent shoots. On another wall were more candid pictures. Their friends and classmates. People he assumed were Marinette’s family (only some of whom he’d met). Several of Kitty Section. Her and Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling (it still blew his mind that she’s on a first name basis with them). Lots of her and Alya and Nino. Fewer of Adrien.

He knew she had more of Chat than of Adrien. But she kept those on her phone, locked away in a secret folder. Too much chance that someone would see her walls.

One caught his eye, placed directly in the center, the spot of honor. A high res of Chat-him and Ladybug. They’d thrown their arms over each other’s shoulders and snapped half a dozen selfies. It’d been Ladybug’s idea to submit the best of them to the Ladyblog, giving civilian them plausible deniability.

The last wall, above her sewing supplies, held her inspiration boards. One for general inspiration, holding her favorite pieces from her favorite lines (only one of which was a Gabriel piece, he noted with some interest), some fabric squares of different colors and patterns, and scenic pictures from around Paris. The other, he knew, was more specific to whatever she was currently working on. Pinned to it was a handful of dried flowers, a fabric swatch to match each flower, and several sketches.

Chat glanced at Rena, realizing she’d been quiet this whole time. She was staring at Adrien’s modeling photos, the look on her face unreadable. He looked with her. He wondered if there was a specific shoot Marinette favored.

“This must look so strange to you.”

Chat looked back at her, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure what he could say that wouldn’t give away exactly how close he was to Marinette.

“I promise she’s not some weird stalker in love with a celebrity. Well. He is a celebrity and she does have the biggest crush on him.” Um. What? “But they’re actually friends. She didn’t even like him when she first met him. The—the Wall actually started because he wasn’t allowed to hang out very often, and no one could get any candids of him.”

What?!

His shock must have shown on his face. He turned back to ‘the Wall’ in an effort to hide at least some of it.

“You seriously didn’t know?” Rena said. “You’ve got to be, like, one of two people in Paris that doesn’t. I keep flopping on whether Adrien knows or not. One minute it’s like he’s encouraging her feelings, the next he’s going on about how glad he is to have such a good friend.”

Chat tried not to sputter. “How—how does ‘no candids’ turn into—” He gestured at the collage of Adriens.

“None of them were perfect.” Rena said it like she’d heard it a million times. “This photo shows his sincere eyes, but the rest of the face is photoshopped too much to be his real smile. ‘That advertisement had most of his real smile!’ ” She pitched her voice higher in mimicry. “ ‘But they shaved several centimeters off of his waist! Several! He’s skinny but he’s not that skinny can you believe they felt like they needed to change that, Rena?’ Well, she didn’t say Rena, she said my civilian name. I mean—you get it. And, oh, that outfit looks really good on him, it looks like something he’d choose to wear himself, but he looks so tired in that one. I bet that was at the end of that all-day shoot.”

(They didn’t actually shave inches off his waist. They did shave a little, but that wasn’t the point because—) He never realized that Marinette paid so much attention to him. He wanted to deny it. She’d specifically told him that she didn’t have a crush on him. And Marinette hates liars.

But. But she’d been embarrassed, that day. And she was embarrassed around him a lot. Especially when Alya was involved. It’d taken him a long time to notice that, but once he had, he saw it everywhere. And with this new piece of information…it shone a whole different light on many of their interactions.

Chat swallowed. He wasn’t sure what to do with this knowledge. He’d been in love with Ladybug for…for a long time. And Marinette. Marinette was special. Rejecting her was hard enough the first time, but at least he’d known that it’d never work between a superhero and a civilian.

Oh, Kwamis. She had a crush on Chat, too! Adding that event with this new understanding, he realized she never meant to confess to him. She’d probably been about to backtrack, but then her parents interrupted, and it was out of control from there.

What better evidence that someone truly liked you for who you were than falling for you twice and not realizing it?

Rena shuffled a bit, finding other things to poke her nose in, and Chat realized that he’d never responded.

“So, you don’t think it’s creepy that this girl has like twenty pictures of her crush on her walls?” He didn’t think it was creepy. He thought it was endearing. But he was curious what she would say. She’d been interestingly defensive of Marinette.

She snorted. “Hey, if it’s crazy, Adrien’s her same kind of crazy. He’s got more photos of Ladybug on his phone than I do, and that’s saying something.”

His brain came to a complete stop. And then worked overdrive. How the fuck did Rena Rouge know that.

She sighed, picked at her flute, and continued. “I’ve been wondering if she shouldn’t give him up, though. It’s starting to get unhealthy. Ruining her friendships in class.”

His chest tightened and it became hard to breath. Loving him was bad for her. The thought rattled around, but what she said next wiped it all away.

“There’s this girl in class, Lila. She’s an amazing person, done all these things, and has a real chance with Adrien. Marinette can’t let it go. She swore that Lila was lying, then dropped it and now just gives her the cold shoulder. Won’t go to group outings if Lila’s involved. Keeps flaking out. Avoids her completely. Lila’s trying, so hard, to keep the peace, mend bridges, and Marinette just refuses to listen.”

Rena dropped her hands, hitting her thighs, and paced. Agitated.

“It’s jealousy, pure and simple. And if she’s going to be like that, then I just don’t know if I can approve her being in a relationship. Especially with him.”

Chat felt something inside him harden. Gritted his teeth. Considered biting his tongue. He knew who this was. It’s plain as day now, and he’s mildly surprised he didn’t see it before. She’s supposed to be Marinette’s best. friend. And this was how she thought of her?

To be fair, Rena looked torn over this. Chat could see the hurt in her eyes, the worry in her bitten lower lip. The frustration in the creases of her brow. And she was telling all this to Chat, whom she only passingly knew.

But he couldn’t keep the distaste from his face. “Marinette’s right. Lila Rossi is a fucking liar. You think she’s got a real chance with Adrien Agreste? He wouldn’t touch her with my extendable baton. He only does photoshoots with her because clearly no one at Françoise Dupont knows what proper procedures for expulsion are, and that stunt Rossi pulled almost turned into Heroes Day 2.0.” He tugged down one of Adrien’s glamour shots. Marinette’s handwritten and detailed critiques ran along the edges. “From what it sounds like, Agreste would be lucky to date a girl like Marinette.”

Rena stared at Chat, stunned. “What do you know about Lila?”

He let out a short and hard laugh. “Enough. That little interview on the Ladyblog? I doubt there’s a true word in it. I mean, Ladybug’s best friend? I’m Ladybug’s best friend!”

Some of the tension released from her shoulders and she rolled her eyes. “Right. I forgot how jealous you can be, too.”

Chat growled at her. His ears flicked back, low on his head, and his tail whipped through the air agitatedly. “If you’re going to sit here and defend that manipulative bitch then you might as well take that miraculous off right now.”

Rena stepped back into a defensive stance. She was a decent fighter, but he was better. If she refused to give it over peaceably—

Something thumped on the roof. Ladybug. There was still an akuma, and that took priority. They needed to be where Ladybug expected them.

“Mirage, now.” His words were short and clipped. He pounced past her and opened up the window opposite of where the akuma would be coming from. “Follow the plan. We can talk about this later.”

The plan worked out like most of Ladybug’s plans do: perfectly. Chat’d tied the villain up in Marinette’s tarp-roof, presented with a string-of-lights bow and a flourished bow to his Lady to his Lady. She did her thing, tossed the spotted paperclip into the air, and Marinette’s balcony and room put themselves back together. The glamour shot even taped itself back on the wall.

Chat sent Ladybug a look. She gestured in a direction and he nodded. He was pretty sure he knew the roof she meant.

Rena passed by him with wariness, but he paid her no visible attention. She took off with Ladybug in the agreed direction while he turned to the akuma victim. He had a princess to protect.

“Here, let me get you down to street level,” he said. The deakumatized girl seemed hesitant to step into his arms, but relented after seeing no other way down. “Do you remember anything?”

Tears shone in her eyes for a moment, but she swiped at them and tried a smile. It didn’t work. “I—I think I’ll be okay. It’s stupid, I just…let my stress get the better of me.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a gasp. “Oh, no, Marinette! I didn’t do anything to hurt her, did I?”

“Mlle Dupain-Cheng is fine,” he hurried to reassure her, “but…do you remember why you were after her? Did she do something wrong?”

“No! No. Marinette is lovely; she’s always helping us out in the Garden Club!” The girl paused, ashamed. “I was just feeling overwhelmed and she always seems so put together, she juggles all these responsibilities…I was jealous. Like I said. Stupid.”

“Hey, hey, your feelings are not stupid. Everyone gets stressed and feels like they’re drowning at times. I bet if you asked Marinette about it, she’d say that she always feels like that.”

He remembered himself and what he had to do, and glanced upwards.

“I’m very sorry. I’d usually stay longer and make sure you’re really okay, but I have an urgent something.” He handed her one of the business cards he’d made up. It had information on a number of Akuma support groups. “I can be back in about 30 minutes if you want to wait?”

Her smile turned a little more real. She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “I think I’ll be okay,” she said again. “I’ll—that’s good advice. Talking to Marinette. Thank you, Chat Noir. For caring.”

He smiled and saluted her, then bounded off. His baton confirmed that Ladybug and Rena were still active a few rooftops over. But then he watched Rena’s signal go out and put on a burst of speed to get there in time. They weren’t on the roof, it turned out, but in the alleyway adjacent to the building.

Ladybug’s eyebrows raised in silent question when she saw him. “Sorry, Bug. This is something that needs to be done.”

Alya looked between the two. Suspicion bloomed and, with it, fear.

Pernicious cat gods, this was going to be awful.

“Alya Césaire.” Chat held his hand out. “The Miraculous. Please.”

She grasped it so hard her knuckles turned white. She took a big gulp of air and said shakily, “This feels final.”

He stared at one of his closest friends, and didn’t let himself waver.

“Your recklessness has put many in danger, including Ladybug and myself. You gave Lila Rossi a platform to speak, to spread her lies. You, who had held a miraculous before, and likely would again. Whom Ladybug had shown a partiality to in interviews and questions. You had every opportunity to check Rossi’s story.”

And, oh, he sounded exactly like his father. That grated.

“In giving her credibility, you opened several of your classmates up to her manipulations. Your best friend warned you about her lies, and you wrote it off as petty jealousy. You tried to write off what I told you as petty jealousy.”

He could kind of see how she’d come to that conclusion, assuming Marinette never told her about that cringe-worthy ice skating date and knowing that she was in love with him. (Alya said ‘crush’. Having this new option to attribute to Mari’s behavior, he knew it was more than that.)

“Furthermore, I can guarantee that at least one terrorist watches your blog. A civilian claimed to be a superhero’s best friend and you broadcast that to the world. What happens when said terrorist decides to use that?”

It was harsh, and damning. But it had to be said. She needed to understand.

Alya looked from him to Ladybug and back, then repeated the motion. “You—you can’t…” Alya’s voice broke. Her eyes settled on Ladybug, who appeared to have turned to stone, she held herself so rigidly. “He can’t do this. Right? You hand out the Miraculous; it’s your decision. Not his!”

Ladybug’s stormy eyes turned to ice. The Ladyblogger realized her mistake and opened her mouth to salvage something, anything, but Ladybug cut her off. “You, of all people, should know that Chat is my equal. He’s right. I should've…but I didn’t…” She shook her head, once. “I stand by his decisions.”

Chat released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Alya’s eyes grew bright with tears and she clutched the Fox Miraculous harder. She stared at them, and they stared at her, and she finally dropped it into Chat’s claws.

Ladybug’s hands fluttered in Alya’s direction. She pulled up short, though, unsure if her touch would be welcome.

“This doesn’t make you a bad person, Alya,” she said gently. “You’ve been lied to and manipulated. That’s not your fault. But, as a reporter, it’s important to consider the consequences of distributing information. Just as it is to produce evidence to back your stories.”

Alya’s hand pressed against her mouth, muffled a sob.

Ladybug hesitated, considering, and then spoke again. “You can still be a hero, Alya. Magic, the miraculous, it doesn’t make you into what you aren’t. You make you a hero. And, like I told Chloé, being a hero starts with your everyday life.”

Silence. The only sounds were the girl’s sniffling and the pounding of Chat’s heart. Even the sounds of the city muted. He had to force himself to stay still. Fidgeting felt disrespectful somehow. It was broken by Alya.

“So—so Lila was never your friend?” she asked thickly.

Ladybug’s voice was so gentle, yet cut through what the Ladyblogger had known like a knife. “No.”

Alya nodded. Wiped her eyes and tried to pull herself together. Her short gasps of breath betrayed how upset she was. “I. I think I’ve—” She swallowed. “Got some thinking to do.”

She turned to face the street, straightened her spine, and walked out. Her walk looked a little robotic to Chat, a little too forced to be her normal. She barely made it ten meters before Chat heard Nino call out to her.

Good, he thought, deflating a little. Nino will protect her.

His priority was his Lady.

“Well, it looks like you finally joined me in getting past the time limitation.” His attempt at lightening the mood fell flat even to him.

Ladybug didn’t respond at all. She took a big, shuddering breath.

“Oh, Bug…” Chat was quick to wrap his arms around her, and gently pull her head to rest on his shoulder. He coaxed her into a shuffle-walk until his back met the dirty alley wall, the heel of the hand that still held the Fox necklace rubbing up and down and across her back. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head back and forth; his claws tangled further in her hair. He tried not to listen to her quiet tears. He drowned out the sound of Nino and Alya moving on. The cars on the street. Instead he looked for the delicate and distinct sound of an akuma’s wings. She deserved a moment to mourn without worry.

Ladybug took a deep breath.

“You were right.” Her voice sounded wet. “Her blog affects many, and we were probably the only ones she was going to listen to.

“Actions…actions have to have consequences. Alya wasn’t seeing them, and—and maybe we shouldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner, but—the longer this goes on the worse they’ll become.”

Neither of them moved. He continued to find no evil bugs. Or feathers, but they usually went weeks in between Mayura sightings.

A gentle wind blew. They were having a round of good weather. Sunny days that were just warm enough to make the breeze feel perfect. He was hoping it’d hold through the weekend.

Ladybug pulled away to wipe her eyes. He fumbled a folded black handkerchief with green embroidery into her hands and she shot him a grateful, if watery, smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oh, that just warmed him down to his toes. And emboldened him to push a little more. “Hey, I was wondering, would you mind saying that bit about me being right again? Because I could listen to that all day—”

He internally cheered as his partner huffed out a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Careful, kitty. I can see your head getting bigger by the second.”

She returned fire!

Mission accomplished.

.

That meant it was time to go, he guessed.

.

Chat stood there a moment longer. Contemplative.

“What are you thinking about, minou?”

He turned to her with a small smile, trying to hold it back and mostly failing. She crinkled a smile in return and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to get me a girlfriend.”

He said it so resolutely, so surely, so smugly, that she couldn’t help but laugh. “You are, are you?”

He nodded. His smile spread to full blown glee. “If she’ll have me. Rena said something while we waited, and it just made me think. There’s this girl, LB, and fuck is she amazing. She’s been waiting for me for the better part of two years, and I just realized that I’m crushing on her. Hard. I don’t even know when it started.”

He sighed, happy. “I’m going to ask her out. Tomorrow. And pray to the kwamis that she gives me one last chance.”

(Adrien didn’t ask Marinette out the next day, because Alya looked awful and he figured she needed the support. He’d count himself lucky if she didn’t get akumatized over this, and would attribute the entirety of that luck to his princess. He did invite her to lunch the day after that—he’d thought it’d be more difficult than it was, but Alya was already leading Rose off to a quiet corner—where he managed a stuttered and stilted confession. He honestly had no idea how Marinette managed to understand it, but she must have because she gave an enthusiastic “Yes!” and the next thing he knew they were making plans to explore the city together on Saturday.)

-

It's the job of the Black Cat to recognize when something’s not working, and to get rid of it. Destruction is necessary for Creation to truly thrive. And, sometimes, that means destroying what Creation loves. But, sometimes, the thing Creation loves is the vine that's choking her.

(Or enables the vine that’s choking her.)

[achliegh]

Sunflower

Epilogue Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

This is the epilogue to Olive and Otto

It will mostly be exploring the relationship the cubs have with O&O

There will also be a little storm chasing

TW/CW: Kids, Food, Storms, Smut, Sickness

@domesticatedbeetlenamedjorge

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

The two tallest of the bunch were getting ready while Olive was sitting on the couch next to her brother who was looking much better after sleeping for twenty hours. Olive was wearing the exact same thing as her dad, light jeans with white shirts, flannels under their company track jackets. Her hair was in two braids down her back that her dad did, she was also wearing Logan's snapback that was much too large for her but she was gonna miss him even if it was only for the night. Well, more like one evening.

Leo walks out of the master bedroom still wearing his thin wire framed glasses.

“Harzy, did you move my contracts again?”

“Nope, if I remember correctly you’re out until Monday.”

“What day even is today?”

“Thursday, mon solie” Logan shook his head, smiling a little as he watched them get ready, saying he was nervous about today felt right. Leo said the edge of the storm would be hitting Gryffindor but it shouldn’t be anything too crazy, plus he had Otto to keep him company. A sick child that loves storms, fuck he was screwed. He felt something rub against the back of his leg and smiled a little. When Olive ran off the other day she walked back out of those bushes holding a giant cat, it was the same size as her. She named it Ilya and since she named it they had to keep it. When they walked in the door with a giant mass of grey and white fur Leo just stared at them dumbfounded. ‘You let her pick up a stray cat! What if it's sick! What if it scratched her and gave her something!’ ‘Daddy her name is Ilya!’ He just blinked at them a couple of times and sighed before giving his boyfriends a pointed look. ‘You guys take care of all the things Ilya needs, including vet appointments.’ He shook his head, having the scowl melt off his face when Ilya trotted over to Otto and rubbed up against his hand purring, making a sleepy smile cross the young boy's face. “Hello Smelly” He smiles and picks up the fat cat walking towards the couch to sit next to the kids.

“Logan, are you gonna be okay?” Olive looks over to him from where her and Otto were playing fruit ninja on the table their mom got for them. “I don’t want you to be all scared”

“Of course I will be okay, I have Otto, non?” Otto leans into his side and sniffles a little nodding, God these two are so cute. He lets go of Ilya and settles herself on top of Otto's lap covering the whole thing. She purrs so loud they’re surprised she hasn’t knocked the apartment off its foundation. “So cute” He gives Otto a kiss on the top of his head and pet their ball of fur.

There was a buzz from the doorman downstairs letting them know someone was on their way up, Leo’s parents were there and Finn was getting jittery. He had never been inside of a storm like this but the visuals were supposedly amazing this time of year in Hufflepuff, sunflower fields were in full bloom and there shouldn’t be too much rain, but a tornado was almost guaranteed to drop. Finn was already feeling the adrenaline of seeing a tornado for the first time. Was it going to be beautiful or terrifying? What if it killed th-

“Finn!” He was engulfed into a tight hug as Eloise surprised him. The breath was forced out of him while Wyatt, who was holding Olive now, and Leo chatted away about how this evening would go. “Ready to get into a storm! I’m so happy you decided to come, but it’s okay if you want to stay here and keep Olive here. She will most likely stay in the motel room we use as homebase because it’s too easy to lose her out in the field. But she loves it anyway.” She ruffles his hair and he turns a little red.

“I’m nervous, not gonna lie, maybe I’ll stay with Olive in homebase then.” He smiles shyly and she laughs a little nodding. They walk over to join the other two who are discussing the large cat that has hidden Otto in its fluffy.

“Sure you don’t want to come, Tremz?” Wyatt smiles a calm one at him as Olive rests her head on her Pawpaw’s shoulder. “Maybe we could help break your fear of storms, we are family now.” Logan smiles at the feeling of being accepted into the Knut’s so easily.

“No thanks I’ll keep Otto and Ilya company.”

“Alright, we are gonna head out then.” Eloise leans down to kiss Otto’s head and Logan's cheek, then she remembers something. “I almost forgot.” She opens up her ridiculously large purse and pulls out three large books. “Photo Albums you asked for” Leo smiles and takes them giving his mom a kiss on each kiss and sets them on the coffee table. “Alright let’s go. By sweeties!” They all gave goodbye kisses and hugs as they walked out the door. Heading to Hufflepuff.

Otto yawns and looks up at Logan. “Tremz can we take a nap in your room?” He is barely able to keep his eyes open and his head is lightly nodding to one side. The smile it brings to Logan's face is one of being totally wrapped around this child's finger.

“Want me to carry you?” He sees the smallest little nod and stands up, scooping up the young boy and the cat, walking to the bedroom while feeling Otto’s forehead. He’s still a bit warm but not as bad as the last few days. Laying down the small boy he tucks him in and crawls under the cover on the other side. Ilya is between them on her back already snoring.

“Goodnight Logan, I love you” it was so quiet Logan almost missed it, that was the first time Otto had ever said that to either him or Finn, Olive had said it the first week of being there and all three older men got a little teary eyed in secret about it later. Logan's heart was vibrating in his chest and he felt himself smiling into the dark room.

“I love you too buddy”

Olive was bouncing in her carseat and like she does, talking a mile a minute.

“How long is the drive? Are we there? Will there be lightning? What about thunder? Daddy, can I have some water? Where's my snack? I don’t like frosted flakes!” She started throwing a fit over how she hasn't had Reese's puffs in weeks and Leo was trying to explain why they couldn’t have them in the house because of Otto's allergy. She started crying because ‘I don’t want him to die!’ and then Finn had to explain how he wasn’t gonna die right then and there. All the why the grandparents were giggling in the front seats.

After a two hour drive they pulled into the parking lot where many large dented up vans with camera equipment and radars are, there was a door to a motel room open on the ground floor that people were constantly going in and out of. Finn was getting nervous all over again, there were so many people and they would make so many assumptions.

“Don’t worry, they think Olive and Otto are my siblings and you’re my best friend.” Leo smiles at him as Olive just keeps on talking. “Olive, remember who I am around large groups of people.”

“Frère!” She smiles at him and kicks her legs a little. “Can we go now!” Leo unbuckles her and they get out of the truck. Everyone smiles and greets Leo like old friends. Finn is introduced to so many people he doesn’t have any chance of remembering. Walking into the motel room a large hairy man was sitting in front of four different computer screen his hair was up in a bun and his large beard was braided, his glasses were small and on the tip of his nose. “Hagrid!” Olive runs over to him and jumps in his lap startling him but then he smiles and hugs her.

“Hello little one, ‘owve you been.” He smiles and looks up. “Leo, haven’t seen you in a while mate, and I see you’ve brought a friend. NHL roommate I’m guessing.” Everything fell into place after that.

This was going to be okay, and maybe they won’t get ate by a tornado after all.

[ladyxxdaydream]

tagged by @stillnotovermylordsixth -- thanks for the tag! I've been feeling really inactive with my writing lately so this was a good way to start paying attention to it again (◠‿◠)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines.

Then tag ten authors!

Fic titles are underlined and linked to the fic on my ao3, just in case any of them grab ya and you want to read it! ;D

1) Akihiko Kaji had sworn off love.

Love was nothing more than a shiny lure; bait on the end of a hook. Swallow it, and you were reeled in, gutted, and devoured.

He should have known better. (metanoia || akigetsu & akiharu fanfic)

2) Light snow fluttered down around them as they entered the winter festival, the first flakes since the season began. Konoha didn’t see much snow, and even if it did, it usually didn’t stick.

“What’s this line for?” Kakashi asked curiously, peering around the throng of people filing in front of a wooden kiosk. The words Kissing Booth were stenciled in red paint across the top. “Or rather who is this line f—” He cut himself off when he saw the prominent scar.

(kissing booth || kakayamairu)

3) Kakashi never showed much interest in anything aside from Icha Icha, but even that was exaggerated and calculated. It served several purposes: one, it provided an escape, building a wall between himself and the rest of the world; two, he simply loved it; and three, it allowed people something to fixate on and gossip about that wasn’t his actual life. (thought you'd never ask || kakairu)

4) A new child was being added to the shelter today. Dalma was standing in the door of the hut, introducing him as Kakashi. Iruka had heard stories about people as pale as the moon, who’d been sent by some god Iruka did not know. (déjà vu || kakairu)

5) “I’ve had one hell of a day,” Gekko said, falling into an open chair. “Can I join you guys?”

“You’re already seated,” Asuma said gruffly, puffing on a cigarette. He blew the smoke towards the ceiling, before snaking an arm around the back of Kurenai’s chair. She poked him in the knee beneath the table, a silent way to say be nice. (love me as you are || kakairu)

6) Kakashi was trying to keep his distance, and Iruka… well, Iruka was not. (full-stop || kakairu)

7) Kakashi slid his hands over Iruka’s shoulders and down his chest, placing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Iruka’s skin smelled strongly like the sun, despite his hair being damp from a shower. (busy || kakairu)

8) Kakashi paced their apartment nervously, his bare feet soundless and swift against the floor.

“I should go there,” he announced.

“Bad idea,” Pakkun replied lazily from the floor, his head resting on top of his front paws. “Iruka specifically told you not to.”

(perks of promotion || kakairu)

9) Iruka drank nearly half the beer Kakashi had sent him in one long swig. He didn’t mind the obvious attention Kakashi was giving him—the man was attractive and powerful to boot—but he did wonder why; he wondered if it was the same reason everyone else in this damn bar decided to notice him tonight. (perks of promotion || kakairu)

10) Iruka was putting on his wetsuit, reaching around to pull the long zipper up to the base of his neck. No matter how many times he’d done this over the past three years, he still felt nervous excitement every time. He threw his hair up into a tight bun, slipped the thin sliver whistle over his head, and closed his locker door.

(night at the aquarium || kakairu)

putting the rest under a cut!

11) Iruka clacked his stack of note cards against the desk’s surface, straightening them into a neat pile. He knew he wouldn’t use them but he made them anyway—it was a comfort thing. (brand new sound || kakairu)

12) Kakashi dropped his head into the pillow, dragging his fingers down Iruka’s back beneath his shirt as his boyfriend sucked his neck in a way that he knew would leave a mark.

“Wha—why,” Kakashi panted, “why are you stopping?” he asked when Iruka’s lips left his neck, clunking his forehead against Kakashi’s collarbone with a huff. (tonight you'll let me be your hands || kakairu)

13) Itachi got into his car, the leather seat cool against his legs through his linen pants. He turned on the radio with no need to change the channel. It’d been set to the same one for years — a mellow station that played classical composers and smooth jazz.  When he pulled out of the driveway, he pushed on his bluetooth and spoke out loud:

“Hatake Kakashi.”

(tilt || itadei & kakairu)

14) Iruka buried his nose further into his scarf, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he walked briskly towards the bus stop. His car needed to be taken to the shop — something was wrong with the ignition. The engine whined hoarsely when he turned the key, but it never caught. He couldn’t bring himself to spend the money yet; money he definitely did not have. He knew he’d have to shell it out soon regardless, because winter was swiftly approaching.

(language gap || kakairu)

15) Iruka readjusted his messenger bag, positioning it so it no longer whacked against the back of his legs. Campus on a Saturday felt like a different universe. It was deserted, except for the few students who actually went to the library to study. He was usually one of them but that’s not where he was headed today. (i'll fall if you do || kakairu)

16) Iruka heard Kakashi come in, his footfalls uncharacteristically loud—the first indication that he was moping. Coming from Kakashi, that was the equivalent to dragging his feet. (pout || kakairu)

17) “I knew I recognized him,” Deidara squealed, tilting his phone towards Iruka to show him a photo. “It would totally make sense. The eye wrap must be concealing the scar. I’ve read they cover it with make-up for most of his movies.” (use your imagination || kakairu)

18) “Later!” Tomo screeched, making a beeline for the door.

“Tomo,”  Iruka called, his stern voice echoing around the bathroom. Although he’d been appointed Headmaster at the Academy almost three years ago, his teacher's voice had refused to die. It usually worked, but his daughter was at the age where sometimes she would purposely misbehave, just to see what he would do in response. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those times.

(cake substitution no jutsu || kakairu)

19) “Satisfied?” Kakashi chuckled, gently patting Tomo on the back again, despite her letting out a burp a second ago. He rocked from foot to foot in front of the window, bouncing her slightly.

Iruka watched his husband from the kitchen, his heart brimming with affection as he sipped at his tea. It had taken Kakashi the better part of a month to become completely comfortable with holding Tomo. The stiffness was gone from his body now, and his expression had shifted from panicked to serene. He also stopped taking Tomo’s crying as a personal insult, much to Iruka’s relief. Kakashi used to hand her off every time, convinced it was his fault, and that their now five month old daughter simply didn’t like him. (teething || kakairu)

20) Jokes came easily to Kakashi, whether or not people laughed at them was another thing entirely. With Iruka it was usually hit or miss. Sometimes he looked as if he was going to bust a lung, and it left Kakashi feeling victorious. Other times Iruka gave him the side-eye, and continued on with whatever he was doing. His team never really found him funny to begin with, and Yamato, well, he usually only laughed to be polite. (a new chapter || kakairu)

[vickers-n-lickers]

You May Have Survived But...

"He knew all along…" Jill uttered quietly. Defeat was mud and tar in her mouth.

Silence was the only reply she would get from the man bathed in black sitting in a chair across the room. Fire licked irises glowed eerily in the low light.

Outside, the sound of an ambulance, racing down the street interrupted the rainy night.

Tears staining her cheeks, the paper in her hand crumpled between digits marred by fleeing a city that was now up in smoke. "He knew. He knew what we were up to. All of us. None of us were safe. We all played into his hand." Her voice waivered and she sniffed sharply.

An inhale of air and Wesker nodded behind his folded hands.

"He makes people desperate and depend on him. He makes people crazy. My best friend killed my dad because she thought it was the only way to save her daughter. How the fuck does someone so evil become so…" It was all too much, burning her up from inside. Without warning the whole stack of papers on the desk were flung on the floor. All they had sacrificed for: down the drain. She screamed. She threw more things. She wanted to shout something. Something heroic. Swearing she would find him and put a bullet in his head for everything that had happened. Something, anything. She said nothing. No threat, no screaming, just Jill Valentine standing in the middle of the room shaking with fury as papers fluttered to the floor. A glossy photo of the first victim they had investigated stared up from near her foot.

Albert was locked in a thousand yard stare and his mind in another place as he blinked slowly. His stare flicked as she marched off toward the door.

The disaster left in her wake in the hallway glittered in shattered jewels. Anything stowed on a shelf or on a stand in her way was shoved, toppled, and left in shards on the floor. Wiping at her face repeatedly, there was no way to hold it all in. This little hideaway wouldn't survive her for a night like this.

Quiet filled the air for a time, then the sound of sobbing reverberated through the place. Sighing inwardly, Wesker left the mess behind as well. Glass crunched under Italian leather. Striding through the house, he ducked his head into the study. Empty. Another noise further down the hallway. More broken glass. He'd deal with it later. Hands at his sides, he found himself standing in the middle of the kitchen with Jill sitting against the refrigerator.

Wine bottle in her hands, her thumbs ran up and down the Umbrella symbol stenciled in gold on the front. She looked up at him. "Bastard had his stamp of stupid on everything from vaccines to wine, didn't he? I don't even want to drink. I'm afraid of…" Her words trailed. She wasn't ready to admit just what she was afraid of. Cornflower eyes surveyed him for a moment as the man sank to his knees in front of her.

The bottle was set on the granite countertop, far from her fingers with a tendency to fling. Albert's fingers curled around hers, easing off as soon as she flinched from the pressure. He was still learning his own strength.

He looked well, healthy, everything in its place aside from those bizarre irises.

It made her think of a hunter.

The idea of him hunting anything now was absolutely terrifying.

It had already been terrifying before.

Graying skin, dried blood flaking away clear up to his elbows, and shattered shades hung from their rims on his face. He had turned faster than some, mindlessly lashing out when they had found him with his kill that foggy morning. Pearly teeth stained in red and dirt. A gaping hole from the tyrant executing him. She and William had been lucky. They had been so lucky he'd gotten his fill before they tried to catch him. The empty eye socket of the dead cougar was a black pit she fell into often in her dreams.

William brought him back though, just like he had promised.

She jerked out of her thoughts and inhaled sharply when warm hands rested along the sides of her face.

"Jill?"

"You tried to eat me," she choked out.

Wesker's brow furrowed at that. Shame wasn't something he was comfortable dealing with. He knew it wasn't all his fault but hearing her say it made that little black heart sink. Bare thumbs pushed away more tears.

"Everyone is dead. You were dead," Fingers curling tightly with his, her knuckles went white. "You were gone and that thing was walking around in your body." No matter how she thrashed to free herself of the memories, they pulled her from the shore and under. "No, just leave me here." Her protesting was pointless, arms wrapping around his neck as he scooped her up off the tiled floor.

"Come on, there's no sense in sitting here sobbing by the fridge." Even he couldn't deny losing so many and losing to Spencer was burning right in his stomach. 'I am going to rip his eyes from their sockets and make him eat them…'

She went into the shower with a little coaxing. The water had ran cold, and the woman jumped, when a had reached behind the curtain to cut off the water. A towel tossed over the curtain rod, she tugged it down and began to dry off. Wet hair still hung like vines around her face as Jill padded back into the bedroom. A black jacket on the chair and Wesker was on the edge of the bed focused on the TV.

"What are they saying?"

"The propaganda machine is gassed and chugging along."

"…In the weeks leading up, radioactive waste had contaminated most of Raccoon City. Sources close to the President say…"

Seated next to Wesker, her head snapped to look up at him. "Who do they think is going to buy this story?"

The blonde shrugged lightly. "Didn't you pay attention in science class? Nuclear weapons are a great idea. It's why we blow up all of our radioactive waste dumps." He found himself sitting in the dark with a click of the remote.

"Smartass," Jill replied lowly. "Thousands dead and that's the story." The lamp near the bed was clicked on.

He winced away from the sudden glow.

She didn't seem to notice. Towel tossed off, Jill was rummaging through a few plastic bags on the floor. Tags popped off of a few things, the woman dressed in silence in front of the mirror. A pair of joggers went easily up to her hips.

Wesker openly watched her reflection, fingers laced over a knee. "Umbrella is finished. That's what matters. Soon, Spencer will have nowhere to run."

Jill stared at her own reflection for a moment. "When are you going to accept he beat you?"

Glowing eyes smoldered. "Never. Why?"

"Just curious…" She replied during her digging. Stopping short, she pulled a folded t-shirt out and let the bag drop. Unfurling it, Jill turned it over. "Why are you giving me this?"

The word 'Captain' was plain as day stenciled on the fabric, the S.T.A.R.S. emblem on the sleeve. He hadn't even known if she would want such a thing. After everything they both had been through, the memory of it might have been too much. Yet, all the same it was the last trace of...them. A click of his tongue and he began to undo his watch. "You wore it more than I ever did. Congratulations Jill, You're the captain now." Watch dropped on the night stand, he began working off boots.

Rolling her eyes, she slipped one arm into a sleeve. "That's not funny. The last time you made a joke about that you almost got blown up a second time."

"What can I say? I'm like a cat. Unfortunately I'm running out of lives."

Crawling onto the bed, Jill smiled to herself. "…Captain Whiskers," she whispered.

His head lifted with that whisper. "Absolutely not."

"Oh that would have been funny."

Last boot tossed off, he rose to strip off his shirt. "No. I was called that my entire childhood."

"You were a captain as a kid?" Her smile disappeared under the shirt thrown at her.

Undoing his belt, the black cargo pants were shucked. "You know, you're starting to sound like…" The easy smile on his face lost its pull.

Shirt pulled away, her smile was gone too.

The ghost of their old life couldn't hold shape for long.

Everything was different now. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Surgeon's fingers snaked for hers, lacing. "I won't let this end as a dream."

She wanted to believe him. So she chose to.

Against her better judgement, she chose to.

[xxlittle0birdxx]

The Nightmares Find You: The Loneliness of a Lie

Sam's eyes snapped open, half expecting to see the metal hand from his nightmare hovering just above his nose. He blinked at the dim lamp next to his bed. When was the last time he'd had to sleep with a light on? That first year out of the Air Force, maybe, when all his nightmares featured Riley getting blown to pieces. Sam glanced out the windows at the snow falling in fat, fluffy flakes, and burrowed further into the warmth of his duvet. Five things that are real, Sam. One, you're named after your grandfathers, Samuel Rochon and Thomas Wilson… Two, you have a sister named Sarah, and her husband's name is Alan. They just had a baby. Alan Junior, but call him AJ. Sam felt his heart rate begin to slow. Three, your hometown is Delacroix, Louisiana. Four, your favorite album is Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye. Five, you make étouffée almost as good as Granny's… He repeated the litany until his pulse stopped pounding in his ears.

His head swiveled on the pillow toward the framed photo on the nightstand. He lifted a shaking hand and swiped it over his face, then reached for the frame that held a photo of him and Riley on a beach far from any military installation where they could be themselves for a few days. Riley would lose his shit if he could see me now, Sam thought. Working with Tony fucking Stark. Living in this compound with Captain America. Not too shabby for a kid from a place nobody could find on a map. One forefinger traced over Riley's face, as though he could smooth back the lock of hair that fell across his forehead. He lowered the frame facedown on his chest and looked to his right. They didn't share a bed very often, but Riley always slept on the right. And Sam couldn't bring himself to sleep on that side of the bed yet.

He wasn't going back to sleep, though. Not now.

Sam sighed and replaced the photograph, then swung his feet to the floor, pulling on an old and faded LSU t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He automatically turned and made his bed, tugging the crumpled sheet back into place before straightening the duvet. Old habits died hard, although he was less precise about it these days. He stepped into a pair of worn slides, and went into the kitchen, too keyed up to do nothing. If anyone asked why he was up at this godforsaken hour of the morning, he could blame jet lag. He'd spent the last several weeks hopscotching across Europe following a few leads about Bucky's location. He'd come back to New York yesterday and managed to evade Steve's attempts to pull him aside, pleading exhaustion.

Sam's hands moved of their own accord, pulling milk and eggs from the refrigerator, rummaging through the pantry until he found a couple of loaves of the crusty bread Natasha liked to use for toast. He selected a knife from the block on the counter and proceeded to slice the bread into cubes that he spread on a baking tray, and then slid it into the oven. He whisked the eggs and milk together with vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon. With nothing to do for the next half hour until the bread dried, Sam rummaged through one of the drawers that held the odds and ends one often found in a house full of people with different tastes and schedules. Random rubber bands. A ball of string. A jumble of pens, half of which were dried out, never thrown out. Ketchup packets from Wanda's late night forays into town for fries. A collection of loose coins from multiple countries. And, a well-used pack of standard playing cards.

Perfect.

Sam shuffled the cards with a careless ease come by years of playing anything from Go Fish to pinochle. Riley often laughed at him for keeping a pack of playing cards with his gear, but a childhood spent working on his parents' boat meant Sam didn't handle idleness well. So he played solitaire, or patience as his grandmother called it, during periods of forced inactivity. She was right. It took patience.

He only paused long enough to remove the bread cubes from the oven and transfer them into a baking dish, then pour the milk mixture over it. He slid the dish into the refrigerator and resumed his game, starting a one-sided conversation with Riley in his head.

I haven't dreamed about the Winter Soldier in almost a year. Dreamed about him all the damn time after Hydra took down S.H.I.E.L.D. Didn't matter what I was dreaming about, it would always shift into that damn metal hand smashing through my windshield and ripping the steering wheel out. I was sure that was it, and my number was up. I've never felt more helpless. Not even when I watched the RPG come straight at you.

So what do I have to feel helpless about? I've got a job I enjoy. Using the EXO-7 Falcon again. Although this time, it's better. I've got Redwing as my wingman again. Or will soon. He should be ready in a week or two. Sarah and Alan are in a good place.

A flicker of movement through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows caught his attention Steve walked past, slipping in his earbuds, dressed for a run through the snowy upstate New York countryside.

Sam looked down at the cards, straightening and aligning them just so. I don't like lying to Steve, but right now it's the best thing for Bucky. I get it. Steve wants his friend back. But I'm not sure he understands that the guy who pulled him out of the river isn't the same guy he knew back in 1944. I understand why… Nobody here knows who he was before he Captain America. I can't imagine how lonely he feels sometimes, but I can't shake the feeling that… No, he did not want to go there. Was it selfish of Steve to want his friend back? Sam supposed that depended on whether or not Steve expected Bucky to just pick up where they left off in 1944. He swept the cards into a pile, then tapped the edges sharply against the counter. He didn't feel very patient at the moment.

Sam twisted his wrist so he could study his watch. It was late enough that nobody would question why he was awake. The pool would be deserted this early. No one else used it regularly, except Sam. He headed into a changing room, stripping off his shirt as he walked. Once he'd pulled on his swimsuit, he dove into the water and began swimming laps. One-two-thee-breathe… One-two-three-breathe… Tuck, roll, push off the wall… As he settled into the rhythm, he let his mind wander once more.

He'd found Bucky.

In Bucharest. Sam didn't know how long he'd been there. He'd last tracked him down in New York City about a year ago, then the trail went cold. But there he was. Tramping through the snow, the collar of his coat turned up, a black watch cap pulled down low over his ears, eyes darting everywhere, jumping at the distant wail of police sirens. He'd cut his hair in New York, but now wisps of it fluttered from under the edge of the cap. He ducked into a stationery shop, and emerged a few minutes later, clutching a carrier bag with black notebook and pack of common ball point pens.

I ought to say something, Sam continued, speaking to the Riley of his memories. I ought to tell Steve where Bucky is. But I'll be honest with you, Riley… He scares me. If a bird shits on his head, is he gonna go off on a murder spree? Where does the Winter Soldier end, and James Buchanan Barnes begin? I don't even know if we can repair whatever it is that Hydra did to him. I don't know what to do, or if there's anything I can do, and it's eating me up inside.

Sam's fingertips touched the wall, and he surfaced with a gasp. He threw his arms over the lane rope, using it to anchor himself in place, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air. That was it. Following Bucky around was like watching an RPG approach in slow motion, and knowing there wasn't a goddamn thing they could do.

'You all right?'

Sam's head reared back, and he lifted the goggles from his eyes, letting them rest on his forehead. Steve sat on a bench on the pool deck, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Even though he wasn't frowning, a line deepened between his brows. 'Fine.'

'You were up pretty early,' Steve remarked, as Sam swam to the ladder and hauled himself out of the water. 'Saw you in the kitchen playing solitaire.' He let a grin soften his features. 'That yellow shirt of yours is hard to miss.'

Sam chuckled. That shirt did make hims easy to pick out. ‘Jet lag.’ Sam grabbed a snorkel and mask from a shelf and tossed them into the deep end of the pool, intending to run through some pararescue exercises.

‘Did you find him?’ Steve asked. Sam could hear the hidden desperation under the studied casualness.

Sam peered at his rippling reflection on the surface of the water, and let the lie come to his lips. ‘No.’

[katsukikitten]

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet  red cuts through the dark of the night.

[pollylynn]

Anagnorisis—A Season 7 Caskett One-Shot

Title: Anagnorisis WC: 1100

He’s not exactly a stranger to issues with his body. The less said about his tween and teen years, the better, not that that’s unique to him, of course. But even now, in his ruggedly handsome Richard Castle incarnation, for all his vanity, his bluster, his swagger, he has the things he’s self-conscious about. He suspects he’s fortunate enough, obtuse enough, or both to exist on the mild end of the spectrum in that regard, but he has his share of things he’s meant to work on, things—in his more melodramatic moments—he’s meant to have someone else work on. 

He usually only goes down the latter road when it’s publicity time and he’s been manhandled and strategically lit and awkwardly posed to play up this, play down that, deal with the other thing. It’s Gina, then Paula, then Gina and Paula as the Traumatizing Tag Team who send him down that path when they achieve the impossible: They manage to make him absolutely sick of looking at himself. 

The fact that his relationship with his body is occasionally fraught is nothing new. The problem is, now—since he woke up in a hospital with two months of his life missing—the occasional has become the constant. 

He’s coping at first. He thinks he’s coping. He sees his barber. That’s the first order of business, and thank God, the place is just pretentious enough that no one remarks on how long it’s been. Vitaly shames thee one patron who dares to gawp with a baleful stare and pointed snip of the scissors. 

Next up, he needs to deal with the unpleasant issue of the sea-weathered, sunburnt skin peeling and flaking of his face, his ears, the back of his neck, his forearms. But he copes with that, too. His array of expensive skincare products are exactly where he left them. Each jar and bottle and tube and pot has exactly the same amount of liquid, gel, paste, goop as they did back in May, and once he spends some quality time staring into the middle distance over that, he deals with his skin. 

She teases him about all of it—a little stiltedly, a little too forcefully, because they’re still awkward with each other. But she runs her fingers over the softly shaved nape of his neck and jokes that she was looking forward to pulling his pigtails for once. She pokes fun at the exfoliants, the deep hydration masks, the toner, and the four-times-daily moisturizer that he sets a timer for. 

She teases, but there’s no hiding that she’s relieved that he’s starting to look like himself again. There’s no use pretending they aren’t both relieved about that. So they’re coping. He’s coping. 

Except there’s the scar. 

The scar is fine. It’s been thoroughly checked out, and it’s healing. It’s been thoroughly documented, too, because they might need records, in the unlikely event that anyone is ever prosecuted for his abduction, or whatever it is they should call it, given his apparent complicity in the whole damned thing. 

It’s fine, except it’s a phantom itch. It’s something that startles him every time he catches sight of it, every time his finger encounter it in the shower. It’s his equivalent of drunken tattoo he supposes—a part of his body that he feels no part of. 

The scar is an issue in those first few weeks when they’re timid with each other—when there are closed doors and carefully clutched clothing, when they slip into bed, covered head to toe and gingerly hold one another in the darkness. It’s an issue that she’s seen it only in photos, and an issue that he’s not ready for her to see it not in photos. 

It’s better when they’re past that. She strides proudly from the bathroom in her invisible something special, and she comes to know the scar through ferocious, determined exploration and naked, cathartic sorrow. It’s better when she’s seen it, touched it, sunk her teeth into it—but it’s still an issue. 

He’s angry with himself about it. He’s furious, because it’s nothing. No one cut his chest open after he’d flatlined. No one literally took a piece of his heart with a not-quite-perfectly-aimed shot. Whatever someone did do to him is not something he has to live with. There’s no terror and its unending echo lodged in his mind like there is in hers, and still it startles him to catch sight of it in the mirror, to forget its three until his fingers or hers brush over it. 

It’s an issue. 

It is, if not actually the climax of his Inca Artifact Coma Fantasy, at the very least, the final bit of rising action. He leaps in front of her and takes a bullet to the heart. He dies with her at his side and the truth in this and every other plane of the multiverse on his lips: Because I love you, Kate. 

He wakes with her slapping his face, none-too-gently and he knows she is his Kate. He scrambles for her left hand,. The diamond sparkles even in the grim and gritty light of the  coal plant, and he is at sudden and absolute rest in his body. Every cell, every tissue, every hair and scar and freckle and blemish is exactly as it should be, and he knows he has to marry her—his Kate—immediately or sooner. 

So he does marry her as close to immediately as they can manage and still have the wedding mean what they want it to mean. He marries her on a mild night in November and he wades into the freezing cold with her, when she insists they have to—they have to. He rushes, shivering, through the house with her tugging him by the hand. 

He strips her bare. He lets her strip him bare. They step together into the scalding cascade of the waterfall shower head. He runs his hands hungrily over the slick curves of her body—his wife’s body. She returns the favor, her touch lingering over the diagonal slash of the scar. 

“It’s healing,” she says so quietly that he almost can’t hear her over the roar of the water. “Can hardly feel it any more.” 

It’s not true. It’s not factually true, but he knows what she means. He knows it’s different. It’s part of him now—fully part of him, and it seems smaller. 

“Shame,” he murmurs with his lips against the curve of her throat. “It was pretty butch.” 

A/N: I needed to do an outside 10K, and today was the day, because it was only in the forties, so possibly the last day before June 1 when it won’t be miserable to run outside. (Until we have our traditional Memorial Day blizzard, that is.) So, no Object Lessons tonight.  I was going to do housekeeping and just put things up on AO3, but then this popped into my head.  

[mab1905]

84 Questions

original: 

https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

1. Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs

Someone New (Hozier)

Cactus Tree (Joni Mitchell)

Budapest (George Ezra)

And Dream Of Sheep (Kate Bush)

Nancy Mulligan (Ed Sheeran)

And Then She Kissed Me (St. Vincent)

Level of Concern (Twenty One Pilots)

Lovefool (The Cardigans)

Best For Last (Adele)

Video Killed The Radio Star (The Buggles)

2. If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you?

Japan. I travel a lot and it’s been on my list for a while, I would really want to go to the Hayao Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli theme park, if it ever opens that is. I would bring my best friend, Layla. I also would love to go to Amsterdam again.

3. What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen) 

My ink nib cartooning pen (similar to a quill, but without the feather)

4. Favourite month and why? 

October, not too hot, not too cold, and of course, Halloween!

5. Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them.

Nope, met several, got to true connections though. 

6. Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are.

My iPad, my Leatherman Multitool, my collection of David Bowie postcards.

7. What brand logo is closest to you currently?

The Apple logo

8. Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites?

Chess. Card games like Solitaire, Black-Jack, and Castle. A game that I can’t remember the name of but it’s essentially a board-game version of Capture The Flag. Mostly Chess.

9. A musical artist you love that isn’t well known

St. Vincent? I’m not sure if she’s well known or not.

10. A musical artist you love that is well known

David Bowie. 

11. What is your desktop background currently?

A picture of Apollo 11 accompanied by the words “It won’t fail because of me”

12. Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them

My best friend Layla, through the iMessage app.

13. First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow

Salmon

14. What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in?

My iPad, my computer, my collection of vintage stopwatches

15. What kind of headphones do you use?

Sony, wireless, noise canceling, over-the ear 

16. What musical artists have you seen perform live?

Twenty One Pilots, Sylvan Esso

17. Does virginity matter to you?

I guess? I think it’s important, it’s certainly some kind of ‘milestone,’ but I don’t think it should be treated like the scale of a persons ‘purity.’ It’s important because it’s sex, and (hopefully) that means that you’re sharing a consensual, intimate experience that feels fucking great for both (or all, if it’s more then two) participants.

18. What gaming consoles do you or your family own?

Z e r o, although I’m hoping to buy a PS4 at some point so I can play Detroit Become Human.

19. What pets do you have? What are their names?

Juno is my cat, she is an adorable grey tiger-striped shorthair. She’s got little white mitten-paws and it’s absolutely ridiculous.

20. What’s the best job you’ve ever had?

Doing tech at a local theater

21. What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?

Teaching art to little kids (I like kids but it was just exhausting)

22. What magazines do you read, if any?

The New Yorker, and the National Geo if I’m like, waiting in my doctor’s office or something.

23. Inspiration behind your URL?

It’s just my initials and a year from the Edwardian era

24. Inspiration behind your blog title?

It’s just my initials 

25. Favourite item of clothing?

My reddish-brown knit sweater vest and my floral bow-tie (often paired together)

26. Are you friends with any exes?

I made a very conscious effort to cut my exe out of my life… we were not happy for a very long time to say the least

27. Name at least one book you loved as a child.

Strega Nona, it’s about an Italian witch that makes great pasta in a magic pasta pot. My dad would read it to me and my sibling in Italian.

28. What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English)

US English

29. What email service do you use?

Gmail

30. Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in?

So many things. Here's the list:

A giant David Bowie poster, a plaque that says “David Bowie IS,” five David Bowie postcards, a giant Abbey Road poster, all of my patches from summer camp, polaroids of me, my friends, and my family (including my cat), ticket stubs from concerts and plays, two trail markers that I took off of fallen trees on two important cross-country backpacking trips I went on, playbills from a bunch of broadway shows I’ve seen, a poster that says “Stonewall was a riot,” a DC Comics poster, a Pink Floyd poster, a few paintings of mine, and a painting that I got for free from a street artist I befriended in Rome when I was twelve

31. What’s your favourite number, and why?

16, 24, 21, and 8, some numbers make me uncomfortable, but these are just very soft and light and nice 

32. Earliest moment in your life you can remember? 

A rocking chair with fruits painted on it sitting in a dark room and my great grandfathers brown leather loafers (I remember early early stuff in just images or stills, not full moments)

33. What did you have for dinner yesterday?

Pasta with shrimp

34. How often do you brush your teeth?

Usually twice a day, but I’ve been waking up later and later and sometimes forget in the mornings

35. What’s your favourite candy/chocolate?

I don’t know the name of it but it’s this chocolate bar that is stuffed with caramel, hot chili flakes, and crunchy bits of baked tortilla. It's one of the greatest things I’ve ever tasted.

36. Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently?

I used to have one but I deleted it because I never used it

37. If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat?

I would probably walk into the kitchen, realize that too eat something I would have to muster the effort to cook something instead, and then decide to just have a glass of milk instead.

38. What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of?

Downton Abbey (primarily Thommy)

Chernobyl HBO (as well as the Leonid Toptunov/Sasha Akimov subfandom)

Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit (books and movies)

CrankGamePlays

Buzzfeed Unsolved

Star Trek TOS

Philosophy Tube

The Dark Crystal and The Dark Crystal: Age Of Resistance

39. If you could study anything, what would it be?

If I had the energy to fully wrench my life in a completely different direction I would like to become a professional scuba diver and study the ocean. I already am a scuba diver, but it’s a hobby and not something I’m able to do very often at all.

40. Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick)

I’ll wear chapstick if I have a cold

41. How would you describe your sense of humour?

Intellectual and dry

42. What things annoy you more than anything else?

People who think they’re better than everyone else and people who recognize a fault in themselves and then refuse to work to change it

43. What kind of position are you in at the moment?

I’m laying on my bed, hunched over my laptop

44. Do you wear much jewellery?

Occasionally I’ll wear a necklace or a few rings. I have a lot of non-traditional bracelets (I literally just have pieces of canvas and industrial tie-line wrapped around my wrist). I’m a gay guy and I like to sort-a walk the line between feminine and masculine (often leaning more towards the masc side), so it really depends on my mood.

45. Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc)

A cheese-pizza flavored pringle is currently POTUS and every day the thought of that tears away at a piece of my soul. 

46. Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own

@shochmonster @velvet-of-the-night @panicsheerbloodypanic

47. What do you carry your money in?

My pocket, I have a wallet and I don’t use it

48. Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not?

It’s fine, don’t love it don’t hate it

49. Longest drive you have ever been on?

Three days

50. Furthest away from home you have ever been?

Went on a trip to Switzerland to visit family, I think that’s the farthest but I’m not entirely sure.

51. How many times have you moved house?

Twice

52. What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture?

Five paintings, stacks and stacks of books, boxes filled with stuff (mostly more books), plates, glasses, cutlery, clothes

53. How many devices do you own which can access the internet?

2, and iPad and a computer

54. Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy?

Listening to music

55. Is there anything that always makes you sad?

Thinking about my past for too long

56. What programs do you currently have open?

Google drive, I’m writing

57. What do you associate the colour red with?

Blood and fire

58. Last strong smell you can remember smelling?

Shrimp and butter

59. Last healthy thing you ate?

Three green olives and a handful of bean sprouts

60. Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day?

Used to drink coffee like it was life support (which it essentially was), now I’ll have the occasional cup of tea.

61. What do you associate the colour blue with?

Birds and rain

62. How long is the closest ruler you can find?

I don’t think I own one

63. What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing?

I am wearing olive green corduroy slacks

64. When was the last time you drank water?

30 minutes ago?

65. How often do you clear your browser history?

Never

66. Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic?

Nude anything can be artistic, it can also just be normal, eroticism is in the eye of the beholder.

67. Ever written fanfiction for anything?

Yes dear god so much fanfiction.

68. Last formal event you attended

I genuinely can’t remember, I am have extreme social anxiety and don’t go to events like that unless I absolutely have too

69. If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why?

I don’t care about birthdays

70. Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside?

Beach, I love to swim, I’m also a surfer

71. Roughly how many people live in your town?

Uhm… eight times the number of people who live in the state of Montana and that doesn’t count daily commuters and tourists (New York City is essentially just a tin of sardines, except inside are 8.399 million sardines)

72. Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you?

No, but three of my friends were born on the day just after my birthday.

73. Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores

The Strand Bookstore, L Train Vintage, any antique shops in the town of Hudson, New York 

74. Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one?

I used to have an iPhone 5SE but then it stopped working after a few weeks of quarantine and I haven’t gotten a new one (I’ve had it for about 5-6 years so it makes sense)

75. What is your least favourite colour, and why?

I don’t have a least favorite color, but my favorite color is prussian blue

76. How do you spell grey/gray?

Grey

77. Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link)

It’s anime fanart for a show I’ve never heard of

78. What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow?

3

79. How many posts do you have?

219

80. How many posts have you liked?

619

81. Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content?

Mostly reblogs but I do my own content as well

82. Do you track any tags?

No, just blogs

83. What time is it currently?

10:39

84. Is there anything you should be doing right now?

writing

I’m not quite sure who to tag so it’s just open to anyone I guess?

[shmuzzieheart]

Tired Deceit isn’t as cute as you’d think

Summary: Deceit is staying up later than usual and someone has come to investigate

Characters: Deceit and Sleep

Pairings: Sleepceit (can be platonic or romantic)

Warnings: Angst, two swears, Deceit (sympathetic)

This kind of goes along with this list of headcanons I have for Sleep if you want context for some things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deceit stood in front of a cork board taking up a good portion of his bedroom wall. 

The snake took pride in his appearance; the same feeling went toward most of his room. The walls were painted black with swirling yellow lines stretching all the way up to the ceiling, which culminated in the head of a snake wrapping around the light fixture. His bed matched the yellow-black color scheme as well, along with drapes to block the view of the bed from visitors. The actual bed held at least five pillows and a large yellow boa constrictor plushie wrapped around the headboard. 

Needless to say, the snake had his aesthetic.

Which stopped at the cork board.

It was absolutely covered in paper and different colored yarn. Different pages were connected, others just slapped onto it at random. There were photos and drawings, with big labels here and there. To the untrained eye it was utter chaos, but it made sense to Deceit.

Well, it usually did. But now the lying Side was rubbing his eyes, trying to stay awake. His usual attire was gone in favor of a Phantom of the Opera shirt and black sweatpants. His hands were without gloves, showing the flaking black and yellow nail polish on his fingernails, as well as the scales running down the top of his left hand. He grumbled, stifling the yawn that threatened to leave his mouth.

“Somebody sleepy?”

Deceit knew that Sleep was there before he even spoke. Few Sides were granted access into his room, Sleep being one of the few. Of course, that led Sleep to gloat about it quite a few times, especially whenever Remus was blocked access after doing something to particularly cross Deceit.

Now the man stood beside him, giving the cork board a once over before turning to face the tired Side.

“Working hard hun?” Sleep asked. Deceit huffed.

“That seems to be the only thing I do at all as of late,” he muttered. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Nah. Thomas is asleep and Remus is giving him a wonderful dream about him spilling boiling hot coffee all over Oscar Isaac.”

“Wonderful.” Deceit rolled his eyes and stretched his arms out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to continue.”

“Babe, the only thing you have to do right now is hop in bed and count some snakes.”

Sleep stepped between him and the cork board, planting his hands on his hips. Deceit gave him a look and tried to walk around him, but Sleep followed him and cocked his head. 

“C’mon, you know you’re not going to get anything done. I can sense how tired you are and I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

If Deceit was in a better mood he might’ve chuckled at Sleep’s parental tone. But he wasn’t.

“I’ll take a break later. I just need to finish a few things.”

“Like what? Wondering how better to impersonate one of the other Sides? Thinking up more schemes? Maybe trying out different villainous laughs?” Sleep put a hand on Deceit’s shoulder. “You know that pushing yourself like this isn’t going to do you any good. I’ve been holding back on putting you to bed because I know that you usually know better. Now get your butt under the covers before I drag you.”

The forceful tone wasn’t expected. If he wasn’t so tired he would’ve come up with a better retort. But for now all Deceit said was, “The way things are going I need to have to have a plan B, C, D, E, and all the way to Z. If one thing goes wrong and I don’t have a way to get through it all my plans are going to fail. I don’t care if I’m a little tired. Now get out of my way.”

“Your plans? Ugh, honey, no matter how hard you try there’s always the chance for something to go wrong. It doesn’t matter what you do or how many backup plans you have. You don’t know those Sides enough to know exactly what they’re thinking. I mean, just look at that court case you came up with! You weren’t expecting Roman to tell Thomas to go to the wedding.”

“Which is exactly why I need to keep check of all the ways the situations I set up could go sideways. I can and I will plan for every contingency.”

“Are you going to be able to plan for every possible thing that could come out of Remus’s mouth?”

Deceit opened his mouth, but furrowed his brow and shut it again.

“Or perhaps for every possible thing that could come out of Roman’s?”

Deceit grumbled.

“Maybe you’ll be able to find all the possible sources Logan could come up with to argue a point. Or what Patton will do to change up the conversation. Maybe you’ll be able to know every reaction Thomas will have to any given thing anyone says or does!”

Sleep’s other hand came down on Deceit’s other shoulder.

“Face it. You could fill this whole room with every possible contingency, every possible word any of us could say. But there’s going to be just one thing that happens that you haven’t planned for. And what are you going to do? Are you going to flounder through all these papers to look for a comeback? Are you going to tell them to wait while you come up with a thorough response that will get things back on track the way you wanted them to be? Face it, Deceit, sometimes plans fall through.”

“THEY WOULDN’T HAVE FALLEN THROUGH IF VIRIGL JUST LISTENED TO ME!”

Sleep’s mouth shut with a click as his teeth knocked together. He looked down at the shaking Side in front of him. He could feel the shiver going through Deceit, could feel all the tenseness in his shoulders. Deceit looked up at him, his mismatched eyes both holding the same pent up feelings. They were full of tears.

“I had everything figured out.” His voice came out raspy, quaking. “I had it all under control. Until he decided to go and ruin it. And you let him. You helped him.”

Sleep huffed. “He-”

“He was supposed to talk to me! He knew what I wanted to do, what I had planned to do! And he ignored it! He ignored me! He went to you! And you approved of his idea! And now look what he’s done! He abandoned us! And he hates us!”

Deceit slapped Sleep’s hands away.

“The way he looks at me now, Sleep, I know it! And the way he looked at Remus! He hates us! He has his new happy little family, with his stupid Roman and his stupid Logan and his stupid, FUCKING PATTON!”

Tears moved freely from Deceit’s face. His hands balled into fists, he looked like a King Cobra ready to pounce. Sleep didn’t know how, through all the cracking and choking, Deceit was still able to speak clearly. 

Deceit jabbed a finger at him.

“He hates us, but he still talks to you! He still treats you like a friend! He doesn’t glare at you! He doesn’t insult you! He doesn’t see you and immediately want you gone! And Thomas, Thomas loves him! Thomas accepts him! Thomas looks at him and welcomes him!”

Deceit pounded a fist into his chest.

“And what do Remus and I get? We get insulted! We get feared! And I know how I showed myself to him didn’t help but I didn’t get a choice! I hadn’t planned for that! But I had to think of something and that’s what I had to do! And now I have to think of something to get Thomas to accept us. I have to do something! I’m grasping at straws and I don’t know which straw is the right one!”

Sleep was rigid. He looked at Deceit, thankful the Side couldn’t see the slight tears welling up behind his sunglasses.

“I need to have these plans to feel in control again. I need to know what to do so I don’t get a repeat of happened with Virgil. I don’t want to feel that way ever again. I don’t want to feel like this ever again.”

Deceit threw his arms out to gesture at himself.

“So yes, I’m going to keep making plans and writing papers until I’m drowning in them. I’m not backing down. I’m not going away. I’m not going to just duck out. I could. I know I could. Part of me doesn’t want to because I don’t want to be a coward and choose the easy road. But another part of me doesn’t want to because I’m afraid Thomas won’t notice a difference. I’m afraid no one will notice a difference. That no one will come looking for me.”

Deceit held his mouth together, lips trembling. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, let out a frustrated shout, and stomped his foot.

“I just want to be fucking loved! I want Virgil back! I want Thomas to accept me! I want to be wanted!”

His fell to his knees and pushed his knuckles into his closed eyes, nothing more coming out of him than loud sobs and gasps.

Sleep finally felt in control of his body again. He moved to Deceit, wrapping his arms around him and holding him as close and as hard as he could without causing any pain.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Remus loves you. He loves you so much. I love you so much. We love you so much Dee.”

He pressed a kiss to Deceit’s temple.

“I love your intelligence.” Another kiss. “I love the way you talk.” Another kiss. “I love your humor.” Another kiss. “I love your personality.” Another kiss. “I love your style.” Another kiss. “I love your laughs. All of your laughs.” Another kiss. “I love how you look out for the Others.” Another kiss. “I love your spirit.” Another kiss. “I love your scales.” Another kiss. “I love absolutely everything about you and if anyone says anything bad to you I will take anything Remus could do to them and make it 10 times worse.”  

A chuckle loaded with tears came from the sobbing Side in his arms.

“I love you Dee.”

Deceit sucked in a breath.

“I...I want to go to bed now.”

“Alright, babe. You’ve got it.”

Deceit summoned a box of tissues and composed himself before slipping under the covers. Sleep laid the plush snake on him like a guard, gaining another chuckle from Deceit. Sleep smiled, and paused. 

“You know this isn’t the last time we talk about this,” he said. “Right?”

Deceit’s smile fell. “Yes. I know.” He smile came back, more of a smirk. “You’re not very good at letting things go.”

Sleep grinned and flipped imaginary locks of hair. “I always get what I want, hun.” He took off his sunglasses and looked down at Deceit.

Deceit looked back into two spheres full of swirling galaxies.

“Goodnight, Dee.”

“Goodnight, Sleep.”

Deceit’s eyelids felt heavy. He sank into the bed, out cold, his chest starting to rise and fall evenly. Sleep put his sunglasses back on and left the room with one glance behind him. Deceit started to snore, ever so slightly.

The door clicked shut.

[purplesurveys]

979

survey by xalikattx

FOOD

What is your favorite salad dressing? I’m not really familiar with most of them as I only consume one type of salad and the recipe for that usually calls for mayo and some kind of spicy sauce. I guess that’s my favorite dressing by default.

Favorite sit-down restaurant? Yabu for days. I personally don’t think that will change for me. Mama Lou’s is also nice but its crowd can be so boujee it kills the dine-in experience for me.

Favorite pizza topping? I’m easy to please; I just like my pizzas cheesy.

What food could you eat for two weeks straight and not get sick of it? Fried chicken sandwiches.

What do you put on your toast? Butter is fine with me. I don’t really eat toast.

What food do you eat the most? I have rice in every meal.

Do you like food? Yes.

Do you LOVE food? Yesssssssssir. I have my preferences and things that I don’t like but I’m not picky for the most part, and I love being adventurous with the foods I try.

Do you even eat at all? ...What kind of question is this

What do you put on your ice cream? I never customize my ice cream. I usually consume ice cream however way it’s already served. 

Do you like steak? For sure.

Or are you a vegetarian? No.

How about a vegan? No.

What food do you hate the most? I’ve never learned how to appreciate kakanin, which is a group of a variety of sweet rice cakes that we have in Philippine cuisine. This has definitely caused my Filipino card to be revoked in the past lol, but ugh the texture is just so slimy and I hate how, even though we have so many types of kakanin, they all just taste and feel like sticky, chewed-up rice doused in sugar and coconut flakes. Korean rice cakes taste so much better.

TECHNOLOGY

How many TVs are in your house? We have four. Two downstairs, two upstairs.

Do they all work? I think the one in my brother’s room has stopped working but we just never get around to throwing it out because of the possibility of it getting fixed someday.

Do you have Comcast digital cable? I don’t know what that is. Probably a US thing? In that case we don’t. We used to have cable TV but my dad ceased our subscription a few months ago because no one in the family has been watching the TV for cable anymore and he got sick of paying for something that we don’t even avail of; we all stream our shows and movies on Netflix now.

AT&T Uverse? Definitely no AT&T on this side of the world, so no.

Dish Network? No.

Something else? Obviously.

Nothing? Again, it was a local cable provider but we’ve since cut off our subscription.

What's your favorite show? Of all time, Breaking Bad. Currently, it’s The Crown but I’ve been such a bad viewer at the moment; I stopped watching at some point a few months ago and haven’t gone back to Netflix since, welp.

What's the worst show? I don’t objectively know what’s the worst one out there but when it comes to my personal preferences, I’ve just never seen the appeal of shows targeted to teenagers or a younger demographic in general, like Teen Wolf, 13 Reasons Why, Riverdale, the TV adaptation of Scream, etc. Of course, this is just my own taste and I certainly don’t judge people who enjoy these shows. 

What color cell phone do you have? The official name is Space Gray but that’s too fancy so let’s just call it black.

What kind? iPhone 8.

What does the first text message in your inbox say and who sent it? So I scrolled all the way down to the bottom of my text threads and the last person on the list is Ate Frances, and she was just telling me to check my Messenger because she had sent me a question regarding an event our org was holding at the time.

What was the last text you sent and who did you send it to? Gabie. I simply said “hi.”

Who was the last person to call you? My mom.

Who was the last person you called? Gab.

CURRENTLY

Are you missing someone? Yeah but let’s not get into it.

What are you listening to? I can hear rain pouring from outside my window.

Watching? It’s mostly background noise because I’m focusing on this survey, but I have on a YouTube video playing.

Worrying about? Work. I was tasked to think of PR executions for a client over the weekend and I just really really dislike it when I’m assigned to something that forces me to brainstorm, so ugh. Wish me luck because my brain juices have been feeling weak all weekend.

Where are you? I’m in my bedroom, my favorite place to be these days.

What's it like there? Lonely, but it’s quiet and comfortable. I used to avoid my bedroom all the time everyday because it makes me depressed, but now I am depressed and prefer to stay here all the time too.

How are you feeling? A little sad but I think tonight’s one of the nights I can fake it a little more easily, which is decent enough for me.

Is anyone with you? Who? Just Kimi.

Are you hungry? I haven’t had an appetite in a while. No.

What do you want to eat? I’m not craving anything.

Thirsty? I’m good, thank you.

What do you want to drink? I might end up drinking some of the plum soju that’s been in the fridge for months tonight, even though I told myself I wasn’t interested in touching it lol.

What time is it? 6:58 PM.

LASTS

Thing you ate? A tuna empanada.

Thing you drank? Pretty sure it was just water.

Thing you said? “Go, pee” It was to Kimi as I set him down on the balcony.

Movie you watched? I’m Thinking of Ending Things. Ugh, I really should watch a more light-hearted movie soon because this answer is such a depressing one and I’m tired of mentioning it.

Store you went to? What did you buy? Grocery store; dog food.

Person you talked to? My sister.

Person you hugged? I think it was Gabie.

Kissed? Also her.

Yelled at? I haven’t raised my voice in a while. I don’t remember anymore.

Book you read? Midnight Sun.

Thing you touched? Other than the keyboard, I pushed up my eyeglasses.

Person you became friends with on Facebook/Myspace/whatever other site? [continued the next day] A co-intern, Justine, added me on Facebook. I honestly don’t see the point of being Facebook friends because we’re bound to part ways and never encounter each other again after our internship...but I guess it’s nice to have friendly co-workers.

RANDOM

Are a righty or a lefty? Righty.

Have you ever had anything removed from your body? Just a decaying tooth, but otherwise no organs or anything larger.

What is the last heavy object you lifted? Does Cooper count? Little man has been getting so big over the last few weeks. He’s finally getting the growth spurt that we’ve been waiting for :’D But I don’t really do heavy lifting around the house, so.

Have any scars? Sure.

How did you get them? Any interesting stories? Most of them are scars from childhood falls, because I was the clumsiest kid in the neighborhood and tripped and scraped my legs at least once every time I played outside. There’s a scar on my left eyebrow from an idiot cousin who had been out to make me blind, and then there’s the self-harm scars as well.

if it were possible, would you want to know the day you're going to die? Yes. It’s one of the things I’ve always wanted to know.

If you could change your name, what would you change it to? I’m happy with mine. I’m not five anymore.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000? If it was like sriracha then yeah. Not willing to do anything overly hot, though.

How about 10 bottles of ketchup? I’d be more enticed if you offered mayonnaise, but even then I think such a feat deserves a higher prize than $1000.

10 bottles of maple syrup? Thinking of how thick that is already hurts my throat. Pass.

A bottle of vinegar? HELL no.

10 jars of peanutbutter? HELL yes but again, I’m gonna be asking for more money lol

How many pairs of flip flops do you own? A couple. They’re not my favorite things to wear so I don’t feel the need to collect a lot of them.

Favorite month? April because birthday month; December because even though that’s when my depression strikes the hardest, everyone else is caught up in the holidays and that allows me to guiltlessly cut off contact with people for a few weeks.

Do you always answer your phone? If you mean calls, then no. I do not pick up if it’s an unknown number, but after rejecting I immediately text them asking who they are and what they’re calling for. I just feel like it’s proper etiquette to text before you call, especially if you’re reaching out to me for the first time.

It's four AM and you get a text message, who is it? Gabie for sure. She’s on the graveyard shift, so it wouldn’t be a surprise.

If you could change your eye color what would it be? I’m okay with mine, but if I got reincarnated as a foreigner I’d love to have hazel eyes. They look very pretty.

Do you own a digital camera? Not anymore. My phone camera can take good enough photos.

Do you take lots of pictures of yourself? Hell no.

Do you take them in front of the mirror in the bathroom? Nope.

Have you ever had a pet fish? I had several goldfish as a kid, yes.

Pet hamster? Nope. That’s mostly a Western thing too I think; I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever had a hamster.

Bird? We had lovebirds before; they were so low-maintenance and made for such sweet pets.

Rabbit? Yep. Tobi was a bit of a handful, but I loved him all the same.

Iguana? No.

Favorite Christmas movie? Love Actually and It’s A Wonderful Life.

Favorite Christmas song? Probably It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas. It’s so soothing and yet makes me feel festive and excited for Christmas.

Can you do push ups? I can, doesn’t mean I’m good at holding myself up ha.

Can you do a chin up? I can but I hate those.

Does the future make you nervous or excited? Both.

Ever been in a car accident? Just minor ones.

Do you have an accent? I think everyone does. I’ve honestly never understood this question lol, if I go to a different country or continent, people are always going to have an accent in my ears. Even in my own country, I can think of a number of accents I’ve heard people speak in.

What song always makes you cry? 26 by Paramore.

Have any plans for tonight? Rest my tired head.

What were you doing at 12 AM last night? Talking to Gabie.

What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? Ugh, Monday.

[matildainmotion]

Mean Truths and Generous Lies: A Response to Sibling (and every other kind of) Rivalry

My children fight. They have their moments - small photo opportunities of love and harmony- a hug, a lego collaboration jointly presented – but on the whole, they fight.

I buy two flake chocolate bars as a treat.

“I’ll have that one,” my son says.

“No, I want that one,” my daughter jumps in, panicked.

My son examines them both closely. “Oh, actually you can have that one. I’m having this one,” he says, giving her the one he has been holding and taking hers.

“No, that one was mine!” my daughter wails.

I point out that they are identical, but it seems there is some microscopic difference that I cannot see.

“Oh all right, I’ll have this one,” my son says. They swap back, and, for now, peace and chocolate follow.

This has happened often enough that my daughter talks about matching things – socks, lego bricks, biscuits – as being “identital,” the four syllables said with the clumsy care of her age.

When I am brave I go to the supermarket with both children. Often the children see the shop aisles as corridors of space for racing down, or the floors as smooth surfaces to lie on, to loll beside me as I try and shop. I do not like supermarkets. Last time we went my son spotted a trolley with not one, but two, identical baby seats attached to it.

“Hey, we could both go in there!” he says, running up to it. I consider. They are both big. It will look absurd, but it is better than the aisle-racing and the floor-lolling.

“Okay,” I say, and lift my hulking eight year old and smaller-but-definitely-not-a-baby-three-year old up beside him.

My son is delighted (self-propulsion has never been his thing – he likes to be carried, wheeled, pushed, pulled along). As he giants in the baby seat he starts to play a gleeful game of lifting items that we need over his head so that they drop down into the trolley behind him. I permit this with the smaller items. My daughter wants to join in.

“Okay, let’s take it in turns.”

But then certain items are more desirable than others.

“I wanted to drop the Yoyo bars in!” my daughter complains.

“But it was my turn,” my son counters.

“Look, we get through these fast. I’ll get two packets,” I say reaching for another.

“NO, I wanted to drop the first packet!” my daughter cries. I pick the packet in the trolley back up and give it to her. “Here, then.”

“No, I wanted to drop the first packet, FIRST!” she explains, in misery.

“But it was MY turn,” my son explains in his angry voice.

My daughter is crying hard now. “How about you choose something now you really want to put in first?” My daughter is crying too hard to speak but shakes her head.

“That’s not fair!” my son protests, riled by her crying – he could be about to get violent.

I look at them both – crying and fuming. I start to fume too and I want to cry. We are standing in a supermarket, a palace of plenty, filled with food, tinned, wrapped in plastic, priced, shelved- and they are arguing over who gets to put what packets, over their heads, into the trolley, as they sit, oversized, in baby seats.

Their privilege is not their fault. The gross global inequalities in the distribution of wealth are not their fault, but then again that is exactly what is at stake here: the distribution of wealth, of goods, of every kind – tangible and emotional. The decision about who gets what, how much, and when. So whilst their rows seems ridiculous, and their apparent pettiness exasperates me, I realise, once I am home from the supermarket, that the questions driving them are serious and fundamental. I recognise them. I am, in truth, no better.

I hear about another woman with young children who is writing a novel and who lives nearby. I read a brilliant book and check on the sleeve to work out the age of the author – she is younger than me and has already written three successful books. In both instances I feel threatened – I hide it, but it is there. This may seem different to my children’s angst over who has the privilege of putting the Yoyos into the shopping trolley. It is not. Yes, there are other issues in the mix to do with insecurities about my ability, my age, what I have and have not achieved to date, but in essence the level of ridiculousness in my sense of rivalry with the others around me is the same. The idea that someone else’s success is not good news for me, whether that someone is as close as a sibling, or as distant as a stranger.

I have done everything I can to help my children know they are both loved, that I do not favour one or the other, but still they fight. Competition. It is in the air we breathe. It is the foundation of our economy. It is in our science. The Darwinian ‘survival of the fittest’ narrative tells us that competition is inside us, in our bodies - it is part of the story of how we were formed.

I am not trying to deny the theory of evolution, but as a mother, in a supermarket, with two squabbling children, our inherent competitiveness is not a helpful story. I cannot leave them to it and see who wins, who survives. My son because he can hit harder? Or my daughter because she can scream louder and is, at this point, cuter? Who is fitter? More fitting? These are not the questions I want to be asking or sharing with them. It is also not a helpful story to me as a maker, a writer. It does not make me generous and good writing, for me, requires generosity. I have got to be able to give it away. It is also not a helpful story for the world right now. We have followed a capitalist, ‘survival of the fittest’ narrative to its ruthless end and it is proving to be, potentially, the end of all of us, fit or otherwise. But let me bring this back from the apocalypse (also not a helpful story) to the level where I can do something constructive in response: a sibling row over Yoyos in the supermarket and my worry over rival writers. What would be a better narrative?

I go to the bookshelf, to the parenting books, to one in particular: Siblings without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. I first read it almost before it applied, when I was still a zealous new mother of two and my daughter was too small to be an articulate rival. One of the chapters is headed “Equal is less:” I read:

“To be loved equally….is somehow to be loved less. To be loved uniquely—for one’s own special self—is to be loved as much as we need to be loved.”

Yes, that makes sense. Equal is still in the paradigm of quantity. Equal implies that you could have more than me, even if right now we have the same. It explains my children bickering over identical chocolate bars – they both have exactly the same, and that, in the end, is not enough, not what they want. They want their differences, not their same-ness. Similarly with taking turns – one for you and one for me, fair’s fair. But it isn’t fair, or it might not be – as long as we remain in the world of quantities, of equal signs, then there is always an implied risk that one of them could lose out  - minus, subtraction, less, loss. One of them might not be equal to the other, not as fit. One might not survive.

I get it. I get the theory. At least within the small society of our family, neither capitalism (letting everyone compete and seeing who comes out on top with the most), nor communism (getting everyone to share so they all have the same) results in harmony.  I need to focus on diversity, on the uniqueness of each child. I need to cultivate an economy of gifting, (see another book – Lewis Hyde’s The Gift), of the gifts in each person being honoured. The ‘givens’ in us, the things we did nothing to earn, that are there for us in turn to give away, but like the magic porridge pot, the more we give, the more we feel filled, fulfilled. Like breastfeeding, when it works: the more the child nurses, the more there is. I was lucky enough to be able to breastfeed both children till they were old enough to explain this to me.

However, despite their experience of extended breastfeeding, my children remain committed to a story of scarcity and competition. I try to talk them out of it, but I know I am unconvincing and unconvinced.

“Yeah, yeah” my son says, “I know – It’s not about winning. It’s about the playing. Yeah yeah I’m unique - Blah blah. You’ve told us that a thousand times. But I wanna win!!”

Whatever I am currently telling myself and my children is not enough. Not enough. How to get away from not-enough-ness into a more abundant place?

I think I have to tell the gifting story better. If I don’t quite believe the story – because the other story, the one of lack and loss is everywhere - then I have to practice lying, really well. To do this I go to a different part of the bookshelf – not the parenting one. Actually it’s my husband bookshelf, to a book he told me he used to carry around everywhere with him: “The Shaman’s Body” by Arnold Mindell. There is a passage in this book I want to read again. It describes an exercise I did before I became a mother, but that I think I should revisit now. Here it is:

“Experiment with telling a lie. Tell a lie to yourself in your imagination. Try lying even if you are shy or embarrassed about doing so. Tell the lie as if you were a great story-teller. This may be difficult because myth-making is a deep process, but try until a real lie turns into a story with a beginning and an end….consider your lie to be true…Act like the person in your lie….How are you already living this myth? How have your dreams already discussed this change.”

It occurs to me as I reread this that children are very good at this kind of lying. It’s the answer, for example, to the famous question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Last time they were asked my son was going to be an inventor and my daughter was going to be a cat.

The quality of the grand myth is even present in how my children talk about their favourite colours. In this context they are proud and happy of their differences. My son loves blue, light blue. It is his colour. My daughter likes red, bright red – that is hers. They are mythic enough about these to behave as if everything in the world that is blue and red respectively belongs to them. My son owns the sky. My daughter owns the sunset. These are generous stories. They do not squabble over blue or red. Suddenly ‘their differences’ become a key to peace, not a synonym for conflict. The squabbles start when the stories the world offers them are small and mean, when the lies aren’t magnificent, when we are in super-markets, buildings built not for myths but measurables.

What magnificent lies can I tell that might help us? What myths? Well, one myth I realise I am already working on is called Mothers Who Make. You may know of this, but let me tell a version of it to you now.

It begins when I became a mother. I had a baby boy. I did what I thought you were supposed to do - I attended several mother and baby groups. They were meant to be supportive. All too often they were not. They were informal, social gatherings and within them I witnessed a fair amount of ‘maternal rivalry,’ sometimes subtle, sometimes more overt: whose baby was sleeping well? How was the breastfeeding going? Or was it not going? And the weaning? I would come away feeling more, rather than less, isolated. As an artist I experienced similar things too – networking events, workshops, in which the rivalry simmered under the surface of each exchange: Have you got funding? What work do you have lined up? So I started a group, welcoming to mothers of every ilk, and makers of every kind too. I called it Mothers Who Make. It was explicitly a peer support group – we gathered in order to support one another. That was the point, the purpose.

The group went well. It grew into more groups, meetings began happening monthly in theatres, art galleries and arts-related venues across the UK. Then slowly groups emerged in other countries too. Online communities formed. It was becoming a worldwide movement.

At first it consisted of simply peer support groups and Facebook pages, but then other events began to spring up as well, under the Mothers Who Make banner: exhibitions, performances, workshops, skill shares, talks, commissions, retreats, festivals. To sustain all of this activity we needed to invent a new kind of support, one that would reflect the ethic of the movement. I called it ‘Matronage.’ Not the Patron, looking down from on high and patronising us with his wealth, deciding who is fit to support and who is not, but mothers and others, giving sideways, on a level with one another, £3 per month to sustain themselves and each other in their mothering and their making. I called these people ‘Matron Saints.’ I signed myself up as one of them.

First there were only fifty of us. Then there were one hundred, then two hundred, three, five. A year on and there were one thousand MWM Matrons. Word kept spreading - it kept growing. Eventually there were over a million of us across the world. Together we were creating an abundant culture, a gift economy, women*-led. Slowly we were changing the atmosphere, between artists, between mothers, between children. I knew we had had an impact when one day I looked up the word ‘Matron’ in the updated edition of the OED. It said there were three definitions for the word: 1) a woman in charge of domestic and medical arrangements at a boarding school or other institution. 2) an older married woman, especially one who is staid or dignified. 3) Someone actively engaged in mothering, be that a child or a project, and in supporting others engaged in related maternal and/or creative endeavours.

There, that’s my great myth. Remember the end of the exercise? : “Consider your lie to be true…Act like the person in your lie….How are you already living this myth?” I think, if I can remember this myth next time my children fight, it might help. I am not sure right now what I would do, but I might be better at continuing to believe in their differences as gifts rather than as a sign of my maternal failure. I will be better able to trust that my children each have their own place in this stunning, stunningly complex, difficult and generous life.

So, here are my questions for you for the month: Where do you see rivalry? In your children? In yourself? And, underneath the fighting, what are the differences present, as in the givens, the unique gifts that are longing to be given away? What generous lies can you tell about these? What myths? And if you want to help me to live closer to my lie, to support me and all the other mothers and makers out there, you can go here to become a MWM Matron Saint: https://motherswhomake.org/support-us

There are 67 of us right now, but one day there will be a million….

[darling-blurbs]

beast P.1

(This is not related to the characters in New Beginnings Faster Ends. This is a self indulgence piece of girl who is very similar to me and Stanley being a dork. Also set in a time where Dina broke up with Brad, Sydney is dating Dina cause they are my lesbian babies and it’s set in 2019 since the IMDb says it happens in the 2000s and this is a fanfic don’t come for me. Also gets a bit steamy at the end because hormonal teenagers.)

Stanley had good memory. Well, he liked to think he did. He noticed Sydney kept glancing at the entrance of the Chemistry room then back at the clock then back at the door. Back and Forth and Back and Forth. He was getting dizzy at this point. 

Stanley was certain he didn’t forget anything. Dina usually would tell him if something was happening that Syd didn’t tell him. He would have known what made her anxious. He was sure of it. 

Now he was starting to stare at the door. Waiting for a big shadowy man to appear out of no where. But what happened instead was a girl that showed up at the door with a boy behind her. 

Stanley prided himself in knowing everyone. Whether they had talked or not. So who the hell just showed up in his Chemistry classroom.

“Ah. Mr. and Ms. Emerson. Late. Unlike you Ms. Emerson. Wouldn’t think you would take after your brother,” The teacher seemed to know them so what was Stanley missing.

“I’m sorry! I legit forgot we had school today! I’m serious! You wouldn’t believe the screaming that Erik gave me,” The boy had attractive blue eyes. He wore a football jacket with ‘Emerson’ stitched on the side of the sleeve. His hair was a messy blonde that would be attractive... if you were a cheerleader or a girl.

The small girl next to him rolled her eyes and sat down next to Sydney. The teacher looked at her expecting an apology. She rolled her eyes again before speaking the first sentence that Stanley had ever heard from her. “I’m sorry Mr. Flanagan. I’ll have you know that I did a chemical reaction last night testing the effects that oxygen has with the compound that is CH2O, which is a gas. That then helps make-” 

“You are off the hook Ms. Emerson-” 

“Oh. But I am not done sir. After I make the chemical reaction, which is combustion and also known as fire, I written an entire essay and then tried to make different colors of fire. I successfully created green and violet colors. My brother,” She pointed to her brother and got off her set to speak in the middle of the lab tables. “Helped me with making red fire. Now I have also made a presentation board as well as a 50 page essay with sources. Now! Before you call me and my brother the Emersons again let me correct you. Me and my brother’s last names are Death. If you are uncomfortable with saying Mistress Death then I also take my mother’s last name, bless her soul, and you may call me your Queen Blood.” She is in the teacher’s face by now. “And before you tell me to go to detention, remember I have seven older brothers and a very Italian father who has much power and influence on whether or not you have a job after this interaction.” She took a deep breathe before smiling innocently. “Now, I’m going back to my seat next to Syd and Mr. Death is going to his other class because you know for a fact he doesn’t have this class Mr. Flanagan.”

Stanley took this moment to actually look at the girl. She was shorter than Sydney by maybe a few inches. Her hair was half red and half purple with a flower crown on her head. She wore a black leather jacket and plaid red pants with a chain on it. Under her jacket was a shirt that was pastel that said ‘Crybaby + Blue Boy’. She had bracelets, three which were friendship bracelets than ten of them having names of people... Well he hoped they were but he couldn’t seemed to be able to read them.

After Chemistry was over, Stanley went to his next class, which Sydney was not in but the girl seemed to have also been in. Math. Stanley would not say he was amazing in the subject but apparently the girl was. She was finished with the notes first and even did the packet first. Stanley took this as a way to interact with her. He thanked whatever god there was that seemed to have placed them next to each other. He turned to her and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes Stanley Barber?” 

“You know my name?” He was shocked. He also realized he never looked at her eyes. One was red, guessing eye contacts, and the other was purple. They were on opposite sides of the red and purple hair she had. 

“Of course I do you dork. We live near each other?” She tilted her head like he said the stupidest thing ever. “I have been friends with you since you were a kid? Does none of this ring a bell?”

Stanley blinked. Once. Then Twice. The girl seemed to facepalm before grabbing her phone. And iPhone 9 it looked like. She went to her photos and scrolled until she found what she looked for. She turned her phone around to show Stanley a photo of two kids. One looked like him when he was little and the other was a little girl with long blonde hair and a cheery smile on her face. The boy was kissing her cheek and the girl was smiling. She swiped to the next photo to show the same two kids, but they had different clothing on. They were on the grass making flower crowns. 

“Your mom made the best blueberry pancakes and my mom would always take photos of us. You must have a very small memory if you seriously don’t remember me, mio amante,” She huffed and then the bell rung. She grabbed her satchel and ran away. 

He totally offended her. He didn’t even know if she drove or walked. He guessed he was going to wait for Dina and Sydney at the front so he could drive them home and maybe ask about her on the way. 

That was until a sleek 2012 black Dodge Charger limo rolled up in front of the school entrance. A man who seemed very important and had absolutely no reason to be in this school appeared out of the car. His hair was black as night and he wore a black suit with black undershirt and tie. His sunglasses were placed on his nose and he waited. For something.

Of course this attracted the entire student body. Who was this attractive young man? Too young to be a dad. Maybe a boyfriend? Caretaker? The first person to approach this man was of course Bradley Lewis. 

“Who the actually fu-”

“Bradley Lewis. Down Boy.” Brad turned to start yelling but was quickly shut up by the glare that he got. 

It was the same girl as from his Chem and Math class he could feel it. But her hair and clothing, even her eyes were different. She wore a black crop top, her leather jacket, a black choker, ripped black jeans, and black boots. She looked way too attractive for someone who goes to the same lame school that Stanley went to. Her eyes were purple with a hint of blue. It seemed more royal blue. Her hair was purple and her lips were something that Stanley seemed to be staring at more. She had a popsicle in her hand that she seemed to have been sucking on before speaking to Brad. 

She went up to Bradley Lewis and smiled before giving him a peck on the cheek. “Good boy. Now before you yell at my older brother, realize that his full name is Hades Lucifer Death.” She gave an innocent smile to Brad before turning to her brother and give him a kiss on the cheek and then sucked on her orange popsicle, fully aware of the drip of orange at the side of her lip that she licked away. 

“Now, I’m sure none of you know who I am. So let me tell you. I have come back to this town after I heard that my childhood friend needed me. I am Esther Lussuria Death. I also go by Bunny and Rabbit. I am good at Math and even better at changing my hair styles,” She gave a smirk and then walked straight up to Stanley Barber. She held onto his hand and placed her other free hand on top of his. She looked at him in the eye and said with a smile like she knew something he didn’t. “Once you remember our promises to each other, Come to me. I would love to continue where we left off mio gattino.” She kissed his hand and gave a deep bow before turning around and swayed her hips back to her limo and slide into the back. Her brother, or Hades, moved in behind her. 

“Wait what?” Instead of bringing Dina and Sydney to their houses, they instead went to the water tower where he told them the entire story. “She did not. Wait she would totally do. Oh my gosh why do I leave her alone with you I don’t even know anymore-”

“Can someone just explain to me what’s going on,” Stanley said with frustration. His hand still tingled with butterflies. He would totally vow to never wash his hand because of how hot the entire thing was. 

“I guess we can just bring you to her tomorrow since we have the day off. She just lives a while away. Her house isn’t even that far from Brad and Ricky’s.” Dina replied this time. 

“Wait. Dina, you know her?”

“Of course I do. Bradley and Ricky and the entire Football team would not shut up about her. She was a rumor. The girl that was untouchable. She left school after 4th grade but vowed she would come back for-” Sydney slapped her hand over Dina’s mouth.

“Okay D. Don’t ruin it or Esther will find you or something. She has that kind of effect on people.” 

-

Stanley went home- no he didn’t. Instead he went driving for a bit. He drove until he got to the rich people’s district. He liked looked at people’s houses. Guessing their lives. He drove until he got to the end of the road. There was a house and in front of it was a cliff. The cliff that Stan would dangly his feet on and looked at the lights that covered the land. 

As he was lost in his thoughts of the girl that seemed to now be in his daydreams, he didn’t notice someone sat next to him until they placed a kiss on his cheek. He whipped his head around to be met with beautiful blue eyes that seemed way too close but he couldn’t pull away. He memorized her eyes. They seemed like an ocean. The rim was deep blue and got more and more light blue until it got into the center. There were flakes of gold and green and even some grey that made it seem like glass. Her skin was very pale but to a point where it was beautiful. Her hair framed her head perfectly and made her so much more attractive then ever before. Her lips were a glossy pink and so very kissable that made Stan already want to close the distance. But he quickly looked up at the girl’s eyes. 

“Hola mi amor~” She whispered into his ear and gave it a peck. Stanley shivered and gasped. He felt speechless. He could already feel like he wanted to just fuck her right there and then or maybe even have her dominate him or-

“STANLEY WAKE UP”

Stan fell out of his bed... wait it wasn’t his bed. It was his car. He just fell asleep in his car outside of- 

-

Cliffhanger yeet