#(obviously no hate to those who like or even prefer his bob cut)

[knight-lizard]

Out there is a universe where show King Lizard has thick, luxurious, wavy hair like his comic counterpart. We just unfortunately live in the one where they gave him a thin and straight fuckass bob cut.

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. 

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.  

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.  

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.  

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.  

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”  

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.  

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”  

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”  

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”  

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”  

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”  

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.  

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”  

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”  

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”  

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”  

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”  

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”  

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”  

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.  

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”  

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”  

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”  

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”  

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”  

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”  

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”  

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”  

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.  

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”  

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”  

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.  

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”  

“I was not, I was just—”  

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.  

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.” 

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”  

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.  

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”  

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”  

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.” 

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”  

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”  

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.” 

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”  

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”  

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”  

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”  

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”  

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”  

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”  

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”  

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.  

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.  

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.  

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.  

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.  

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.  

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”  

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”  

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”  

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.  

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.  

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.  

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.  

“Sure thing, any in particular?”  

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”  

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience­—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever. 

[muzaktomyears]

thank you for the tag in the Beatles fic questions, @dusted-0negin & @cinnamontoastandtears!! <3 Sorry, I've had this in drafts for a while but it took ages to write because it got so long....

Which is why it's all going under a cut:

Have you written rpf before, or are the Beatles the first you’ve ever done it for?

My main fandom is ancient history rpf of my academic area of expertise, which is rpf, technically, though that's so divorced from the modern day that even trying to write actual analytical history of it is so close to fanfic tbh. But I am a historian and I do try hard to make it as historically-accurate as I possibly can; I don't write the main pairing based on a book or film as most people do, but on the history as I perceive it. And I try to do the same here though obviously I don't take it anywhere near as seriously lmao (or I try not to but it happens anyway because that's just my nature). (Do message me if you want to read my other fandom fic, I'm happy to give out the name!)

What’s your favorite ship to write and why?

John/Paul (sorry, I don't like smushnames, I am Old), because it's so fucking ridiculous and drama-y and you can write any version tbh, angst or fluff or smut or whatever, it has everything at different times. I am also getting in to Paul/George though largely in an unrequited way (on George's side) and of course George/Ringo which is a lovely antidote to the ott-ness of John/Paul, though I've not yet written it as an actual pairing let alone published what I have written. (I've fallen in love with George/Bob too which I did not ever expect so maybe I will return to that...?)

Easiest beatle to write?

PAULPAULPAULPAULPAUL, a thousand times Paul. It does scare me a bit because I don't even try, or at least I don't think I do, I just think of a scenario and think 'What would I Paul do??' and it just comes out endlessly until I have to physically stop myself writing more (I don't always succeed). Not sure why but yeah, I think we are fundamentally very similar people and I hate that tbh. I was and still am scared to write John but he's actually not that bad when you get down to it... at least when riffing off Paul, from Paul's POV. I still haven't finished my first John POV fic though so we'll see, his internal life terrifies me tbh, who even knows what's going on there?? Certainly not him.

Hardest Beatle to write?

Oh, George. I was a bit worried that I'd written so much Paul, and planned/mostly written John and Ringo POVs, but I still hadn't managed to come up with a George POV no matter how hard I tried. Then the other week I had a perfect idea and wrote down notes for it and it ended up over 10 pages long lmao. Again, not fully written yet so we'll see, but I did find it easy once I got going, though I did have some issues with J&P trying to take over again... but that's sort of the point of the story. I hope I can finish it soon anyway because I really enjoyed even just writing up notes for it :) I'm not sure why I find George so hard (though it seems other people do too) - I think I am quite similar to him (though nowhere near as much as I am to Paul) and strangely it works the other way round, I therefore find him harder to write. And I feel very sorry for him. I feel sorry for them all of course, but George and Ringo especially, and George most of all because he was stuck within those stupid dynamics for years before Ringo, and Ringo both because of that and by dint of his personality found it easier to disengage, where George suffered a lot in (not quite) silence, I feel, and writing his internal monologue of that wounds me to my core. I think writing break-up George would be acutely impossible for me. But yeah <3

Do you prefer to write in the original era or modern au?

Original. I will read Modern AUs and I've enjoyed them but I'm really here for at least an attempt at historical accuracy both in my own work and in other people's, so yeah. That's just my opinion though - Modern AUs are fine! Great, even! And I do like to see how people change stuff/adjust it. Just not my cup of tea.

What’s your least favorite pair to write and why? Elaborate if the reason isn’t incredibly negative!

I dunno because I haven't written many yet or at least not fully/published... I think it would be something like Paul/Dot which was just absolutely awful for both of them but especially Dot, who I am so so glad got out tbh. But we'll see.

Do you read or write more?

I read more. Though it does depend - I go through writing phases where I spent a few days/a week doing almost nothing but in my spare time, but even then I tend to read as well. I look at the main tag every day and I will give most things a try. Still haven't commented or even kudosed yet...... sorry! I will get round to it and there's a huge backlog of fics I have bookmarked (not an AO3, literally bookmarked on Chrome) to get through and comment on! <3 This summer when I have some time!!

Aus or canon compliant? If you prefer aus, what is your favorite to write about?

I do prefer canon-compliant because of the historian thing but... AUs are good too, especially if they're based on some slight divergence like 'what if x never happened/did happen?' and then it all just spins off from there. But then ridiculous AUs like what if they were in Star Trek also excite me lmao and I have at least three Star Trek prompts in my prompt list at the moment...

Is there a ship you like to see more of?

Tbh anything that's not any combination of the main 4. Like, a ship of one of them with a 'side character' can be way more interesting to me in terms of characterisation and dynamics. And even of two of the 'side characters' tbh even if it's a 'traditional' ship... idk. But in general terms: I am Obsessed with the John&Ringo relationship at the moment, not necessarily shippy but just their relationship as friends, plus the same (but less so) for Paul&Ringo, John&George, and (of course) Paul&George.

Is there an au/a trope you’d like to see more of?

omfg. Let me open my prompt document. Okay, here's a few I have either on the go or I intend to look at eventually:

- Mafia AU (obviously - the (less awful) inversion of the Kray fic, essentially!)

- Bodyswap where it's all four (and even other people too??)

- Philippines fic!!!!! Either where it all goes wrong(er) or just canon tbh

- Group therapy fic (lmfao)

- Social media AU (modern or an alt universe where they had Twitter in the 1960s idk) - mainly for Brian trying to monitor it all tbh

- Jelly bean incident fic (serious and/or crack)

- More random outsider POVs, either of famous people (I have Little Richard mostly written, and I want to do Elvis but that would take time to research) or just rando OCs (like their neighbours and stuff like that? idek)

- Just more Bob Dylan tbh, as POV character, as a side character, just being referenced, I don't even care, I love him <3

- We have quite a few 'back in time' ones (and I've written one too) but........... what about 'forward in time'???? IMAGINE THAT. >:)

Okay I'm going to stop there before I give away all my ideas lmfao (not really, I have at least 50 others oh god) <33

What’s a fanfic trope pet peeve?

Hmmm. Not sure because like I said, I will give almost anything a try, and I tend to be convinced to some degree by most things even if it's not my idea of the characters (esp re: Paul). But yeah the stereotypes thing gets old very fast, unless you do something very clever with it, and the wife-bashing or even just wife-ignoring tbh (or other character-bashing, even of guys). And the ones where you can tell that the author has an absolute fave that they put most of their effort into (though not always to great effect). I admit that I do this too (well, not much effort lmao) but I do try to write the others as well as I can and not stereotype them, especially in serious fic. This isn't only a problem in this fandom tbf - it occurs in every fandom, especially in the main pairing, and you wonder wtf people are doing writing it if they love one character so much that they see none of their faults and hate the other so that they see only faults. It's weird. But yeah.

Other little things: I feel that people tend to write people being too (immediately) forgiving of John&Paul, and not even of their weird relationship but just stuff like wanting to have careers in music when it looked like throwing their lives away. Especially thinking of Mimi and Jim here but applies to a lot of people tbh.

Also, not a trope as such but: the Americanisms do get to me because I am super petty, sorry! I don't immediately backclick or anything but it does pull me out of even the best fic. Some are very easy to fix (like 'closet' or 'couch') but others are harder to pin down if you don't have close knowledge of vocab. tbh I even dislike some Britishisms that I don't think are accurate to their place or time or class (especially). But this is just one of my many Issues that I have even irl with friends who call it a sofa and a lounge etc., so please ignore me!

Do you prefer to write one shots or multi-chaptered fics?

One shots. I have never written a multi-chaptered fic in my life in any fandom. I don't like not knowing where it's going, so I do have to plan at least an ending before I start writing. I've tried to get more into it here but it still terrifies me. I don't want to become the WiP-abandoner! :(

On a scale from 1 to 10 how much have fanfiction taken over your life?

Right now?? Like, 8. I have other stuff to be doing but it is always at the back of my mind lmao.

Do you have an author you look up to?

Oh god. I haven't been here long so I'm not fully versed in what's been written, especially a while ago, but yeah, I have so many. Sorry, I cannot list them or we'd be here all day but see my answer to the next question for some of them (though by no means all!).

What is a fic you can’t get tired of, no matter how many times you’ve read it?

I haven't re-read many as I don't have the time yet, but here's some that I have or am fully intending to read again properly (a lot of these authors I'm not aware of as having tumblrs, so please let me know if they do so I can link them here too!):

- 'metered' by @fingersfallingupwards - as I've said before this is the first thing I read in this fandom that made me think 'wow', and want to read more stuff like it

- 'What Happens in Cheshire' by cloudy_blue - because I love outsider POV more than anything and this is my favourite so far I think? (Also adore 'Tessellate' by the same author for similar reasons)

- 'Ignorance is Bliss' by bunnoculars - another great (and unexpected to me at least) outsider POV

- 'burning' by Keiser Franz/@dusted-0negin - for (the absolutely accurate) John's praise kink

- 'Mendips' by mrswinstonmccartney - because it's so well-written and I particularly love any Mimi-Paul interaction lmao (as you shall see.......)

- anything and everything by LouisWain1939 (dunno if you want me to link to your tumblr!), but especially 'Turn Me On Dead Man' which is terrifying and perfect

- 'swallow back that fear' by softsmilesandbrokenhearts - because Jim, I love Jim :( <3 This I feel is the peak level of Jim concern

- 'See Us In The Real Life' by RedheadAmongWolves - another excellent outsider POV that I ADORE <3

...that's just from a brief look at my bookmarks. So yeah. MANY <3333

Do you have a current fic obsession?

I mean, there's a lot, but right now the one I click on fastest whenever there's an update (and that is some competition!!) is 'You Like Me Too Much, And I Like You' - whoever is writing this, idk if you're even here, but I love you! Again it's not particularly how I see the characters but I just love how you're writing it and obvs I am here in the front row for any and all Paul whump haha <3

How seriously do you take fanfic writing?

On the surface not but then actually deep down I take it super fucking seriously, like, if I make one typo or mistake I WILL DIE. That is just my personality tbh. I am Paul and criticism hurts me :D

tagging: I shan't tag directly but please, other people, do this!! I did find it fascinating to analyse and I've loved reading other people's

nsfw bit below

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Do sex positions (top/bottom) effect your enjoyment when reading or writing a fic?

Yeah, to an extent. I have clear preferences for both reading and writing and I tend to in most fandoms but here it's not so bad... especially because I feel the John/Paul dynamic in particular changes over time and is inherently very switchy. I've only written top John/bottom Paul so far, which is my preference, at least at the beginning, which is what I've addressed so far, but it does and will change and I'm fine with both writing and reading that. (As opposed to my other fandom where it is VERY VERY set and I find it hard to even contemplate them switching........ I have tried but my brain just slides off it lmao - very different context though and power differential especially, though in ways also very similar)

Do you have a preference over who’s who at all? If yes, then what are they?

Like I said above, I prefer bottom Paul in almost any pairing (apart from perhaps Paul/George?? and like idk Paul/Jane but even then...), but that's just personal preference, not based on much (though I could argue it...), and for John/Paul esp it changes both within a current dynamic and over time. One of the whole attractions of that pairing to me is that aspect, that they're relatively 'equal' in that and in most other respects, or at least they are in an ideal world and sort of aspire to be but that doesn't always work out...

Is there a kink you have to fight back including in every fic?

Hahaha oh god. This fandom has (re)awakened a hell of a lot of kinks that I kind of knew I had but had never written myself because I'd never found an appropriate outlet for them. So that's why I've just been sort of HEY GUYS HERE'S THE WORST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN, AGAIN :D - so idk about any one kink, but... yeah, I do think that I cannot ever just write smut, it has to have some stupid emotional aspect to it, especially at the end. idk. That's what I like to read tbh so I try to write it too, and most of the time I cannot help myself, it just ends up with a devastating last line that ruins the rest of it, thank you, brain!! It's like an anti-kink tbh.

Otherwise: dirty talk. I am OBSESSED.

When do you feel comfortable adding a smut scene in your fic, if it matters to you at all?

idk. Some (most) of them are literally pwp and the smut is the point, and I haven't tended to do longer fics anyway so I haven't had this problem of feeling 'comfortable' to add a scene yet... But generally I do not plan at all, I just let the Muse flow, so if one happens then that's that :)

[granddaddycaldwell]

Answering Old Ask

Under the cut - starting from newest to oldest. I believe these range three weeks of unanswered ask so if you have sent me a message within the last three weeks, it is here :) If you don’t see it, feel free to send it again! 

It does always surprise me when one of these couples do start their marriage only living in an RV or trailer, mainly cause I think like - where are you parking that? In my area, you can only park RVs in a driveway or a campsite, and from what I know, the campsite parking are limited to summer seasons only. I’m sure it’s very different down in Florida where they are, but it is still a wild concept to me. 

I also get surprised cause like, I know these people are going to be popping out babies as fast as they can so like, wouldn’t they want to have a place to pop those babies into that will fit all the babies? I guess Nurie did live in an RV with 11 siblings at one point though so maybe she is not so concerned with having a house. 

I don’t see anything wrong with RV living if the RV is roomy enough and whatnot, but considering Nurie’s mom Jill had the famous “baby jail” in their RV, I just don’t know what to expect with Nurie and Nathan.

Katie can’t be bothered to do ANY research, she just wants to steal what other people have found and call it a day. I’m sure if someone posted that Hannah was in that photo, she would be posting all about it, saying how they must be engaged, and shouting out Jim-Bob to “fess up the information” 🙄🙄🙄 She calls herself an “investigator nerd” and yet only just “reported” Erin’s ovary removal three days ago....

This just makes me so, so sad for her child. Breastfeeding is nice in that it saves money and is convenient, but it is not the by-all-end-all. The by-all-end-all, the absolutely most important part, is your child getting their nutrients. If that cannot be done by breastfeeding alone (or at all), please subsidize with formula for your child’s sake. The fact that Karissa put her own ego over her child’s health infuriates me. There is nothing wrong with feeding a child formula, but there are a lot of things right about it when you literally cannot fully supply for them through breastfeeding only. 

That is hilarious, I love the similarity and officially declare us internet twins!! Congratulations on your completed family!! 

Haha, I feel like I knew that info but didn’t really relate it to my own son’s name until now😂😂 So here we are having babies around the same time and apparently naming somewhat similarly. I also hate when a name is ruined - one of my fav boy names is Thomas but that name is ruined for my husband so it is forever veto’d for us. 

Since we have now seen Ester in a bikini, I am starting to think Nathan may not police her wardrobe as much. Maybe he enjoys her “nike” dressing. I do think he will try to control her in other aspects though, and I honestly can’t see him being a very emotionally supportive husband. I could be bias honestly, I just really hate Nathan. 

I agree that Lawson doesn’t care as much about how his partner dresses. I feel like as long as she is conservative and modest, he is ok with her wearing jeans and shorter dresses and skirts. Lawson seems pretty close with Alyssa and Alyssa is not a dress/skirt only person at all, so I think he would be more chill about his girlfriend also not being one. As long as she is just as judgey as he is, and worships his ground as Tiffany does, I think he is ok. 

RIGHT!!! Like, no one cares if someone is not masked up in their own home?? Personally, I don’t even care if someone is not masked up when out in public in their photos cause I just assume they removed it for the photo and were otherwise wearing it (I probably am assuming too kindly for these people though, but it’s just how I act so I assume it is how other’s do too y’know?), but like.... the problem is her baby was JUST BORN!!! JUST BORN!! And date nights are SUCH a priority that she is taking this JUST BORN baby into the pandemic world instead of trying to keep her home and safe for at least a month? (I would prefer longer but given a week was too hard for her, I can’t expect too much I guess.) 

The fact that they have to continue their weekly date nights outings in a pandemic when they just had a baby bugs me too. Couldn’t you just have a date-night-at-home thing to protect your child’s brand new immune system? It just seems so reckless to me. I don’t even blame you for sending in so many ask about the dumb birthday tradition thing though because that shit bothers me so much too. 

Yeah, fundie world annoys me cause the playing field is all the same once they turn 18, but I know they are using age as a power dynamic. ESPECIALLY, when the girl is younger - it just creates more of an unequalness in the relationship where there is already so much unequalness. 

That said, in real life, the big age gaps don’t bug me as much. I personally couldn’t date anyone younger than me but that’s just a preference thing. My husband did start dating me when he was 27 and I was 20 (well, technically I was 19 years and 10 months LOL) but we were in the same life stage and have always worked hard to have a relationship of equalness. We literally forget there is an age gap all the same (until I say things like “remember when your teacher would play youtube videos and not move the cursor?” and he would reply with, “no, youtube wasn’t invented until after I graduated high school” hahahahaha). Also, I was the one who chased him and I thought he was only 22 when I was doing so cause he looks so young. He was super apprehensive about even talking to me but eventually came around, obviously. 

Anyways, TLDR cause I ramble a lot: Big age gaps in real life = not always bad but still be careful cause people can still suck and some people pry on younger people to take advantage, but big age gaps in fundie world = nerve wracking af cause there is already too much unequalness to add in more.

I’ve noticed this as well, and I am super glad to see it! I hope she isn’t getting any flake from her family for it. I would die if I saw her in jeans honestly, I hope one day she buys herself a good pair!!

And yet, these type of people see no irony in the way they act!! Ethan’s wife is literally apart of his life so yeah, the way he was raised and how that way still impacts him today and impacts their marriage is VERY MUCH her business. The only person whose business it is not is a random commenter trying to defend some people she doesn’t even know🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 8: More Bite than Previously Anticipated

Keith wants his blade back, and he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer!

First  Previous  Next

Keith’s asleep. Looking at him, he really does look small. Tiny, even. He’s not just short for a Galra, he’s slender, too. Not bulky like the rest of his kind.

It’s kind of adorable.

He just looks so little and soft, dark hair all over the place, all curled up beneath the blankets. A bumblemoth bobs into the room from their open garden, hovering by the Galra’s fluffy ear, and it twitches and flaps at the irritation.

Lance bites back a smile.

He’s only just returned the bumblemoth to the garden, it’s little claws pinching at the cage of his fingers, when Keith sits up. The Galra looks around himself with alarm, not at all familiar with the room yet. It’s only been a movement.

He looks wild. Frightened.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Lance gently sits down on the edge of the bed by Keith’s feet. “It’s alright. It’s just our room. You’re safe-” Lance cuts himself off. That wasn’t true at all.

Keith relaxes, but the tired look in his eyes says that he doesn’t believe Lance’s words either. Their gazes part. Silence drags.

“Lance?”

“Yes?”

“They took my blade. The seamsmaster took my blade and gave it to a guard.”

“We’ll go and retrieve it today,” Lance says immediately.

“We will?” Keith seems surprised, though Lance can’t fathom why.

“Yes. You are a prince now. You order the guards, not the other way around. It’s time they learned that.” Lance heads to the wardrobe and retrieves a set of clothes for Keith, who doesn’t bother to hide his distaste. “I know you don’t like them. We can speak to the seamsmaster today about something special for you.”

“I don’t want to order anyone around... Or be a bother.” Keith pulls his knees up to his chest. Lance walks over and sits back on the bed, still in his nightclothes. He forgot that Keith’s only been a noble for a phoeb.

“Hey, all I meant was that they’re not allowed to treat you like that. All of this is hard enough for you without the guards making it even harder. And you’re not a bother, Keith. Not in the slightest. Actually, Father says your eerily low-maintenance.” Relief floods Keith’s face. “Why are you worried about being a bother?”

“Oh.” Keith’s ears pin back, slightly at an angle. Not angry. Anxious. “It’s nothing. I just had a few health problems as a small kit... It can be burdensome.”

Lance takes a deep breath. “Alright, so if you’re not well, I expect you to tell me so I can make sure you’re taken care of. You mustn’t just grit your teeth and bear it, understand? Your well-being is not burdensome, Keith.”

“How do you-”

“Please. You’re obviously the type to ignore your well-being.” Lance pushes the clothes toward Keith, grinning. “Now come on, we need to get dressed and eat breakfast before I go yelling at the guards. It’s hard work.”

The moment Keith’s back turns, Lance’s smile slips. He can’t help it. What other secrets is Keith hiding? He's so reserved and mysterious. He's been here for almost a movement now, and Lance still knows practically nothing about him.

Breakfast is its usual, lifeless affair, with Alfor and Coran discussing important, peace-keeping diplomacy that Lance isn't welcome to weigh in on and a silent spouse who eats his food and sits still to wait until Lance is finished. The only interaction he gets is a scolding from his father when he brings out his datapad to thank Hunk for the food and tell him that Keith seems to have liked his.

Lance can't wait to do it all again in a few vargas. He almost wishes he could hold court again this quintant as an excuse to skip lunch.

Almost.

Later, he stands before Commander Iverson, arms folded. “I’d like my blade back, please,” Keith murmurs, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of civility and respect. Just like Adam showed him. The commander frowns.

“A luxite blade is not something that should be in the hands of one such as yourself-”

“How about in the hands of a prince, Commander Iverson?” Lance makes no attempt to hide his irritation. His left ear twitches.

The captain scoffs. “This kit is hardly a-”

“ Prince Yorak is my spouse . Do I need to give you a lesson on how royal marriages work, or are you willing to hand it over?”

“I am most certainly not willing.” The commander is seething. His first instinct, Lance knows, is to shield him from his own spouse. It's a difficult situation to navigate. He understands Iverson's position, but the commander's behavior is entirely unacceptable.

Lance’s left ear ticks again. He hates it. “I’ll have you stripped of your post. One word to the king and you’ll spend the rest of your life destitute, I promise you. You and your men are to respect Prince Yorak, and defend him with your life. Such is the pledge you took when my family gave you this station.”

“He is the enemy,” the commander hisses.

Keith snaps, lunges forward, grabs the commander by his cuirass, pulls him down to eye level. The guards flanking their leader don’t move. They know better. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I am not your enemy. I am your charge. The Crown’s most precious treasure. I will provide us with the next king, your heir to the throne. Your duty is to ensure that I live long enough to do so. Now hand over my blade and relearn your place, before I teach you myself.”

The commander wordlessly pulls out a small dagger, offering it to the prince handle first. Keith takes it, slips it into one of the folds of his clothes, regains his composure. “Thank you.”

Keith releases Commander Iverson, who stumbles back with a nasty glare. Keith passively holds out his hand. Lance takes it, letting Keith lead him away.

Keith sighs. It’s not even lunch time and already he’s tired. His head is spinning.

Lance’s head is spinning too, staring wide-eyed at his spouse. Where the quiznak had that come from? Keith must be getting more comfortable here if he feels safe enough to pick fights with the Crown Guard. He never thought he’d see the gruff old commander soil himself, but apparently being lifted from the floor by a Galra that's a dash shorter than himself will do the trick.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to lose my patience. His behavior does not seem appropriate.” Formal, in the presence of the servants and guards.

“It is not.” Lance has no defense for the commander. “It will be dealt with. Well done, though. He should respect you from now on.”

Keith smiles, a little proud of himself. Apparently being a prince means occasionally terrorizing people. He can do that much. “Why doesn’t he respect you?”

“Because I have ensured it.”

Keith notices the hard edge to Lance jaw, chooses not to make any more comments. It must be part of his performance. Instead, he elects to distract the Altean with the first thing that comes to mind. It seems like the spousal thing to do. “So... the bugs in the garden. They’re called buzzlemoths?”

Lance chuckles. “ Bumblemoths. Why?”

“I like them. They’re nice. They don’t bite. At least, not a lot.”

“Things on Daibazaal bite?”

“Most things on Daibazaal bite. Especially the children.” Keith grins, revealing those sharp teeth. Lance laughs. It occurs to Keith that he prefers Lance this way, without the kohl and the paints and all the gold. He still has a few piercings, and a single cuff with chains, but he appears less like an object and more like a person.

A relatively friendly person at that.

“I’m not surprised. Biting seems to be something all small creatures do. Altean infants go through a strictly carnivorous phase, and lose three sets of teeth.”

“Only three?”

Lance stops, turns to his spouse in bafflement. “What do you mean only ?!”

“Try six.”

“SIX?!”

[keeroo92]

Prompts hmmmmm. You know how you wrote that Vampire V thing a while back? Well. That hit all my kinks (no surprises there). If you’re looking for ideas then maybe you could do a sequel. Where he gets to be with reader this time instead of a random in an alley and it’s even better than he dreamed it’d be.......

Ah, thank you so much! This was just what I needed to get back into the rhythm, please enjoy the shameless smutfest.

Word count - 3,810 (!)

Warnings for dubious consent and blood play/vampirism.

Link to 1st post here

_______________

V hated what he was. Not being what he was – he just hated the word vampire. There were too many modern stereotypes and fantasies, too much folklore that was so blatantly wrong. Some of it was correct, of course. If you tell enough tales on the same subject, one or two are bound to stumble onto truth.

Still, the vast majority were absurd. He didn’t fucking sparkle, thank you very much. He would bleed if cut and loved garlic with a passion. Yes, he was prone to sunburn, but no worse than a redhead in Hawaii without sunblock. Silver tickled.

Obviously, decapitation and a stake to the heart would kill him; it would kill most creatures. A major wound or illness could just as easily claim his life, and he most definitely couldn’t turn into a bat.

Unfortunately. It would make for some wonderful hunts.

He smirked at the thought, digging his cane into the putrid flesh of a Caina. You were nearby, polishing off another foe with vigor. His last meal was only two days ago, so the allure of your blood was tolerable for now. It licked at his stomach faintly, a low fire that would only grow as he left it unsatiated. To dwell on it was the opposite of helpful, so he forced his mind elsewhere.

“What a mess,” you said.

He hummed his agreement. The client had sent you to clear out an industrial facility after a horde of demons attacked, slaying several employees. It was a quick job, nothing close to a challenge. He’d joined you out of sheer boredom.

The location was as unremarkable as the task. Dust motes swirled in the air after the disturbance of battle, the low afternoon glow spilling through several massive windows. Complicated machinery he couldn’t begin to describe surrounded you. The air tasted recycled and soiled by demons. A splash of blood marked the walls here and there, remnants from the initial appearance of the foul creatures. While he could appreciate the aesthetic, it had an oppressive effect.

You stowed your weapon and grinned, coming over to stand inches away from him beside a steel contraption featuring pipes and glass vials. It was a habit of yours after a battle, with adrenaline saturating your blood and the high of victory quickening your breath. He felt it too, the heightened blood lust and energy dancing across his skin. Already, he was hardening in response. It was difficult to resist his urges when you seemed so willing.

“We should celebrate!”

“Celebrate what? Victory over such meager foes means nothing,” he scoffed.

You tossed your hair and leaned into his shoulder. He clenched his hands as the pulsating vein in your neck pulled his greedy eyes. Perhaps in the future he would be wise to feed before an outing with you?

“Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse,” you replied. He tightened his jaw to match his fists as you ran a hand down his spine to rest on his hip. Temptress. He desired nothing more than to teach you the consequences of provoking him, sink his teeth into that delectable neck and drink his fill. Run his tongue over every inch of your skin, decorate the canvas of your flesh with weeping bites… his blood rushed in his ears, sparks of electricity igniting his nerves.

But no. You were a useful ally, and if you turned up dead there would be an inquiry. He couldn’t afford the risk. Even if he didn’t feed on you, sexual impulses heightened the hunger tenfold and his control was shaky at best. He’d have to feed every day or two, and too many bloodless corpses would spawn interest. A lesson learned the hard way, many years ago.

He greatly preferred his solitude. It would be a simple matter to dispose of any irritating parties asking questions, but there was no thrill in dispatching fools.

You pouted as he took a step back, even the few inches of distance helping to reinforce his will. At the rate you were going, he’d need to feed again by sunrise. Ridiculous.

“You’re no fun…”

He allowed himself a single syllable of amusement. His eyes flicked to your playfully distended lower lip, begging to be claimed. The pink tip of your tongue extended, and you licked the offending feature with a knowing smirk. He turned away and started walking to the exit, his restraint held together by mere threads.

You laughed and followed a step behind. “You’re so fun to mess with, but someday I swear I’ll break you.”

He froze. Did you really just say that? The sparkle in your eyes told him yes.

How dare you. He was the predator; you were nothing more than prey. It was you who would lie broken, drenched in red and white when he was done. How you would plead for mercy, beg for him to stop with tears flooding your eyes… it would be delicious when he finally allowed himself to destroy you. The flames in his gut reached higher, his hunger increasing with every thought.

“Why are you so hesitant, anyway? It’s just sex. Are you gay or something?”

First you question his dominance, then his sexuality?!

The vestiges of his self-control evaporated. A snarl built in his throat and his fangs clicked into view. He closed the gap between you and seized your wrists in a brutal grip.

“You will regret taunting me,” he growled.

Instead of fear, your eyes filled with anticipation. Unacceptable.

He stepped forward, forcing you to back up until you hit the nearest piece of heavy machinery with a sharp clang. Your wrists twisted as you played at an escape attempt, still not recognizing the danger you faced. He tightened his grip and lifted his upper lip, reveling in the way your eyes widened as you spotted his fangs.

“Whoa… Have you had those in the whole time? Kinky,” you said.

You thought they were fake. Heated irritation flooded him – he would show you your place.

He pulled your wrists to either side, spreading your arms wide. The pose displayed the rise and fall of your chest with every breath and his pupils blew wide as you squirmed. The stiff peaks of your nipples were a beacon to his hunger and he dipped down to taste you at last, biting right through the thin fabric covering the delicacy.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck…”

Your spine arched, already wanting more contact. There was a subtle hint of salty sweat on your skin, disguising a flavor so wonderful it sent him reeling. He laved his tongue over the swollen bud and suckled, pulling as much of the sensitive area into his mouth as he could without drawing blood. There was time enough for that.

Not to mention how erotic the idea of you submitting to his will without his venom was.

He pulled away with a soft plop, licking his lips and humming. Again, you tested his grip, but this time he allowed you the use of one arm. He needed his own to tear away the remnants of your top, anyway. You gasped as the chilly air hit your flushed skin, your own hand fumbling with the ties crossing his stomach. The idea of his prey clawing at his clothing, desperate to touch his skin was enticing and he released your other arm to hasten the process.

While you worked the last few ties free, he examined your body. He’d pictured it a multitude of times, but to see it in reality, flushed and wanting…

But he still had to show you your place. On your knees, subservient and broken.

Just as the last tie fell away, he pushed down on your shoulders until you were on all fours. He shed his leather duster quickly and slapped away your inelegant hands from his pants. It would be faster if he did it himself.

You licked your lips as he stepped out of the pooled fabric. Not a scrap of stitching would interfere with his needs, not today. He tangled his fingers in your hair and brought your mouth to his aching cock, humming his pleasure as you eagerly engulfed his length.

Well, most of it anyway.

He smirked as you started bobbing, your tongue caressing his head and sweeping over his leaking slit. You took him deeper and hollowed your cheeks and he allowed a groan of enjoyment to slip through his lips. A reward for your enthusiasm thus far.

“Mmm, that’s it, my pet. Use that troublesome mouth for me,” he huffed. You moaned around him, the vibrations rattling up to his hips.

The pressure within mounted and he took control, rolling his hips to meet your slurping wetness and guiding your skull to hit all the right places. You didn’t protest and he increased the depth and pace of his strokes until he felt the harsh motion of your gagging. Even then, he stole his pleasure a moment longer, thrilled to watch your expression change. The image was too perfect to ignore; your eyes were wide and showing the first hint of fear as you choked on his cock, tears gathering in the corners as your cheeks did their best to massage his girth.

He pulled away slowly, pausing with his head on your swollen lips to memorize the glazed look in your eyes as you took deep gulps of air. Glorious, but he was just getting started. He took your hands and lifted you up, not giving you a moment to breathe before he tugged at the waist of your pants.

“Fuck, V, I need a second.”

His eyes narrowed. It was high time to assert his power.

“What makes you think you can stop me?” he growled, bringing his lips to your neck.

You mewled piteously as his fangs grazed the same vein he’d craved before, arching your neck to grant him better access despite your protestations. He inhaled, taking a deep sample of your heady scent. His heart pounded like a war drum; his fingertips tingled in anticipation of the first swallow of your crimson nectar. The sensations built and mixed with his arousal and his knowledge that no matter what you did, you could not escape.

Fangs pierced flesh. A rush of fluid, a sinful moan but he couldn’t tell who voiced it. The flavor was unparalleled, rich and decadent beyond his wildest dreams. In all his decades of indulgence, never had he tasted something so sweet. You stopped moving as he feasted, too shocked to respond for several seconds.

“Oh my god, oh my god… what the fuck?!”

He smirked against the tide, letting a stream flow from where his lips wrapped around you. Finally, you understood. At last, you knew you only still breathed due to his mercy.

You scrabbled at his torso, trying to shove him away on instinct alone. Shameful; you’d enjoy yourself so much more if you simply surrendered. He lifted his head to stare ferally into your confused face, letting you press a hand against the wound to stem the flow. Your blood was smeared across his chin and lips, and he licked away what he could reach as you watched, glimmers of true comprehension growing.

“You gotta be shitting me… you’re actually a vampire?!”

He frowned. “I prefer the term sanguisuge, actually.”

You stared at him. Red leaked through your fingers, taunting him with how easy it would be to claim his due. Yet he paused, curious how you would react.

“A- are you going to kill me?”

You started trembling. A white-hot bolt of depraved lust raced up his spine. He tilted his head to watch the slow river pooling in your collarbone with a malicious grin.

“That depends entirely on how much you please me.”

You froze like a deer in headlights. A maelstrom of emotions flitted across your face. Horror, confusion, and just a hint of curiosity. The perfect mixture. He allowed you the time to gather your wits, absently stroking himself. At long last, you reached a conclusion and swallowed in resignation.

The change in blood pressure sent a few extra droplets from your neck, leaving a dazzling pattern on your once pristine skin. Terror still tinted your expression as your shaking hands fell to your sides and peeled away your trousers. He watched greedily, already planning where to mark you. You shuddered as you saw his hand pumping, keeping his cock perfectly hard for you and coating it with just a hint of your blood.

“What do you want me to do?”

He smirked. No, that would be far too easy. What did you want to do? He’d leave it in your hands, for now.

“Whatever you like. I’ll take what I need regardless.”

You took a deep breath and stepped forward on hesitant legs to press shy kisses across his tattoos. It wasn’t unpleasant, but far too tender for his tastes. The wound on your neck had coagulated and the leftover morsels were drying quickly. Going to waste. V dipped his head and lapped away the heavenly treat, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He was aching with need, pulses of desire taunting his senses. It was too much.

Just an instant of relief, then he would decorate your form.

His hands shot to your hips and you squeaked as he pulled you flush against him. He rolled his hips until his cock rested between your legs and almost laughed at the wetness. Something about the situation was turning you on, despite the fear. The fluid guided him home as he buried himself to the hilt with a drawn-out groan. Gods, you were so tight!

But you were rigid against him, eyes closed and lips stretched in a grimace. This wouldn’t do. Fear was only entertaining for so long.

He withdrew and rubbed his head over your clit, his voice a sultry whisper by your ear. “Just let go, my pet. I’ll show you pleasure you never dared to imagine; you’ll beg for more before I’m done.”

It didn’t particularly matter if you enjoyed yourself. He’d have his way regardless, but willing submission was so much more appealing. Enthusiasm went a long way in prey.

He retracted his fangs and smiled at you. The venom waited in his glands but he hesitated to use it. You were sublime, and the lingering taste of your blood left him craving more. He knew he’d want another taste the next time he grew hungry, and the time after that. How could he ensure your continued obedience? Not that it mattered; there was nowhere you could hide that he wouldn’t find you. He was the hunter, and you were his prey.

And he did love to hunt.

He shifted his hips and slid inside you again, indulging in a few harsh thrusts with a muttered curse. He wrapped long fingers over your thigh in a bruising grip, lifting your leg to clasp around his slim waist. At first you braced against the machinery, but when it creaked its complaints you had to wrap your arms around his neck to keep your balance.

A new kind of hunt, then. One that ended not in death, but mutual ecstasy. He was accustomed to leaving his best work on carcasses, what might it look like to utilize a still-living canvas? He was admittedly curious. And he could always change his mind later.

He slipped out again and reached between your legs to rub at the bundle of nerves hidden within. Your eyes fluttered shut, the grimace of pain easing as he traced circles around your clit. Curses spilled from your lips and he smirked; you liked this.

“Don’t deny yourself… let go.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You bit your lip so hard it bled, and he couldn’t resist. He pressed his lips to yours, stealing the precious snack for himself. His hand quickened and you opened your lips in a breathy moan. He didn’t waste the chance and his tongue met yours in a tantalizing dance. It felt divine and his fangs popped down, piercing into both entangled muscles.

He’d never tasted his own blood before. It seemed likely you’d never done so either. As the crimson flowed he experienced a new level of arousal, barely recognizing the keen of his own voice. Without a thought, he plunged back inside you and pounded furiously, his fingers still stimulating your most sensitive spot.

You shuddered, whimpering softly into his mouth as your inner walls contracted in release. It was perfection – your arms tightened around his neck and you arched your spine, slamming your hips into his as fluid spilled from within you. He hissed and denied his own peak as your body milked him.

“Exuberance is beauty, and you shall be a masterpiece.”

You went limp in his arms and he murmured praise as he lowered you to the filthy floor. Once you lied flat, he paused to enjoy the way your hair framed your face. Faint traces of red stained your parted lips and he licked his own, but nothing remained of your earlier offering and he growled in frustration. He needed more.

He descended on you like a wolf, planting a veritable garden of bite marks across your thighs and stomach as you writhed, half in fear and half in enjoyment. A solid grip on your thighs prevented you from escaping his attentions.  Your resistance was growing weaker by the moment and he smirked. What a perfect piece of prey you were.

He kept his fangs sheathed for as long as he could, but it wasn’t long before he lost control and his bites grew more voracious. Despite the sampling of moments ago, his hunger raged inside him like a furnace. Shallow nips became harsh and fresh blood drenched his tongue. It coated his lips, his cheeks and nose and he lost himself in the pleasure.

“Shit, why does that feel so good?” you mumbled.

You were being so perfect. To reward you, he bit down inches from your core, dipping his fingers to curl in your wetness. He slurped in time with his hand, using his other to knead your chest. The moment he felt you clench, his lips moved to lap at the crux of your pleasure, leaving a trail of red behind.  

Beautiful.

The sound of his name cried out in the height of your peak like a mantra made his head swim. Before you fully relaxed, he flipped you over and pressed your cheek into the rough floor, making your ass rise in compensation. He spared a heartbeat to leave a tasteful set of wounds on your ass cheeks, fresh rivulets dripping down your thighs and across your lower back as he slammed himself home.

“You look so lovely like this,” he crooned. You responded by mirroring his hips, intensifying the impact of every blissful contact.

His thrusts were thunder and rage, hunger and need. The harsh motions splattered crimson on the ground, swathes of magnificence that made the disgusting room into a tableau of enjoyment. With each impact, he caressed your cervix with his head and grunted, your own sighs a wanton addition. He braced his knees and reached out, wrapping a forearm around your neck and forcing you to rise or choke.

“See how good it feels to surrender?” he growled, his hot breath inches from your ear. He loosened his grip on your neck so you could respond.

“Yessss…”

The hiss of your answer brought a curse from his lips. His peak was close, coming at him like a freight train. He froze, stilling his hips to whisper his demands.

“Beg for it, beg for your life!”

You whimpered and ground your ass into his hips, hands clenching against the blood-stained floor. Pathetic. Beautiful. Broken and yet whole for the first time.

“Please, please don’t kill me, V! I’ll do anything, please!”

Such a sweet sound. He couldn’t hold out much longer, and by the erratic pace of your heartbeat neither could you. He released your throat and gripped your hips, pulling you against him in a wet slapping of flesh. Blood mixed with your fluids and he reveled in the sight of his cock buried inside you, streaked red.

“You’ll do this for me? Regularly?”

He rolled his hips, just once to emphasize his point. You moaned and tried to force another thrust, but he held your hips too tightly for you to move freely.

“Yes, please! Whatever you want, just don’t stop!”

There it was. It was clear in your voice how much you meant it. Despite the threat to your life, you were loving every second. All without using his venom.

“You’re mine, mine to fuck and mine to feed upon!” he grunted. You clenched around his cock and nodded so vigorously it sent your hair aflutter.

He didn’t hold back as you pulsed and trembled for a third time. The instant before he exploded, he sank his fangs deep into your shoulder, stealing just enough to savor and push him over the edge with a gasp of ecstasy. His vision went white, sparks shooting through his limbs and fire raging in his belly as he spewed his load deep within you. White and red combined into a swirl of pink that leaked from your folds, coating his thighs like a fresh layer of paint.

Bliss.

Nirvana.

Cloud nine.

He pulled away at last with a squelch, lying beside you as you collapsed. A burst of chuckles slid through his lips as he failed to find words to describe the experience. A whole new kind of hunt, indeed.

He glanced at you, wondering if he needed to do anything. The last time he’d bothered to keep a meal alive had been decades ago. How much blood was too much? By the looks of things, you’d lost a respectable amount, not to mention that which he’d ingested. He could see the rise and fall of your breathing, but still…

“Are you alright, pet?”

You turned your head to face him and hummed happily. An angelic smile graced your lips, even amidst the tear tracks and granules of dirt mixed with various fluids smeared on your cheeks. You still had enough blood to tint your cheeks, remnants of the trio of orgasms.

“I didn’t know I liked that kind of thing,” you mumbled.  

Such a perfect morsel. So sweet and agreeable to his needs. Next time, he’d push you even further. He would break you every time and you would thank him for it. Perhaps if you proved your devotion, he may even make you his equal. It could be fun to feast on prey together. To hunt together.

“I have the feeling you’re going to be saying that quite often in the days to come.”

You hummed again and grinned. “Told you I’d break you eventually.”

Link to Part 3

[sorneth]

Interview: Sorneth Caduceus

► Name ➔ He grinned. “Ser Sorneth Caduceus, Bard of renown, and teller of stories. ...Also a knight of Ishgard now apparently” he offered with a side ward slant of his eyes “bit of a funny tale that one.” ► Are you single ➔ He chuckled warmly, as a smile formed that not only curved along his lips but brought a fond narrowing of his eyes. “Not in the slightest. I’m the husband of Maxia Caduceus, and happily so. While we do have our problems sometimes, that’s simply the way of it. A relationship is like a garden, you tend it together, and you enjoy both the good times, and weather the bad side by side.” ► Are you happy ➔ He offered a nod. “Most of the time. I have many, many things around me that bring a smile to my face, and a warmth to my heart. While occasionally my mind does get the better of me, I’m fortunate that I can often find pleasant company to help ease me back into my usual, jovial self.” ► Are you angry? ➔ The bard falls silent for a moment, a frown pulling across his lips as the fingers of a gloved hand curl inwards towards his palm briefly. “Overall?” his tone flows gently upon smooth silver “No, I’m content and at peace. It’s merely specific subjects that are likely to light a fire in my blood. But they rarely if ever surface in normal conversation.” ► Are your parents still married ➔ This brought the man’s head to tilt, before giving a brief huff of a chuckle. “I don’t even know my parents, but I imagine they still are. Divorce is not an option where I come from, I’m... pretty sure the marriages are pre-arranged as well. Aids in the selective breeding.”

(Cut for Length)

EIGHT FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ The bard’s eyes closed gently... “A place far more ancient then you can fathom. My people have been around since the star was torn into fourteen pieces. Isolated and kept safe in a homeland so deep beneath the surface of our world, that not even the veins of corrupted aether from the fragments of Dalamund’s fall could reach or affect it. I -am- from the Shroud, just way more vertically down then most forest-born.” ► Hair Color ➔ He grinned, as a hand lifted to pinch one of his bangs within his fingertips. “Naturally this silver, even the white highlights mixed in.” ► Eye Color ➔ His head tilted, offering a better view of his eyes as the moon-white iris’ seemed to glow against the dark grey backdrop. “Moon white, I was told this is the result of those born beneath a Full Moon, on the Winter Solstice. The night influenced me, and thus my eyes reflect my connection to the sunless sea. It’s a rare trait among my people, near to the point of prophecy.” He shrugged “If there is one about me, I don’t know it. I simply am who I am.” ► Birthday ➔ He frowned gently.. “Aside from having been born on the Winter Solstice? Well, that’s if the stories of my eyes are true. Honestly I... actually have no idea. I use the solstice to track my years, when it passes, I consider myself a year older.” ► Mood ➔ He grinned again, this time with one that even narrowed his eyes with mirth. “Playful, flirtatious, good humored, affectionate, creative, modest, honest, loyal, kind, generous. Depends on the day, depends on the time, depends on the company. But generally I’m told that I can be quite a darling, and that I’m pleasant to be around, and easy to get along with.” His smile softened to one of nearly being bashful as he lowered his head and scratched at his cheek. “I just try and give people a reason to smile, there’s enough in the world to feel horrible about. Bard’s are meant to lift people up, after all.” ►Gender ➔ He offered a rich, deep laugh as his arms flowed out from his sides with upturned palms. “Male, obviously. Though... if you want to open up my pants just to make sure, your welcome to...” he offered a wink. “I’m like a museum, can look as much as you want - just don’t touch anything.” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Winter” he stated without a breath of hesitation “I hate the heat, and enjoy the snow, cold, and peacefulness that comes with the season. While game can be a bit more difficult to hunt, I still prefer it over the thick of summer any day.”  ► Morning or afternoon ➔ His smile sweetened. “Morning, very early morning just after midnight. That’s usually when my day usually begins, and I can still drink in the starlit skies as I go about my training routines. It’s quiet, tranquil, few people bother me, and I can lose myself to the routines as if they were meditation.” He sighed out blissfully... “It also lets me finish, come back to the house, and start on breakfast right as my beloved starts rolling themselves out of bed.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ His smile grew fond, eyes closing to a gentle, reflective half lid as a soft sigh of contentment parted his lips. “I am fully, and without a doubt in my heart.” The words flowed with a steeled resolve, and an embers warmth as his hand lifted to run the pad of his thumb along the wedding band on his finger. “He is my guiding stars, my strength, my resolve, my present and future. My beloved has claimed me utterly, mind, heart, and soul. Even when were apart, my thoughts drift to him effortlessly, my muse behind everything that I do.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ The bard’s head tilted, only to tilt again in the other direction before his shoulder’s bobbed in a gentle shrug. “Yes and No. I believe that for some, those who have lived before, there is the chance for a re-kindled connection upon first crossing paths with the one who loved you before. A recognition of their soul, just as they recognize yours in kind. But that.. is merely remembrance.” He lifted a hand to tap two fingers over his heart. “Love, is something you fall into all over again - even with such a destined lover. You grow to know them as they are in this life, finding a fondness for them all over from the beginning. A connection is at first sight, love... grows after.” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ The frown that flowed over the man’s lips was near a sneered grimace. “...The Ishgardians, their ‘inquisitors’ in fact. They arrested my last lover for writing ‘unhalonic’ texts and distributing his fiction to the general public.” He sighed out softly... “They held him for a long time, over a year, and by the time he was released... I had already left Ishgard and had resumed my way of life long before. If they had not, I likely would have stayed, likely continued to grow what we had between us. ...We were close.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ The bard’s head was swift to shake. “No. Never. It’s why I’m always as clear in my communication as I am, honest, genuine, sincere. Unlike most bards, I don’t desire to eat hearts where I go and leave them shattered within my wake. I... have far too much respect for people to do that.”  ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ The bard grinned, and merely lifted up his hand to show the Ishgardian Steel wedding band shaped like a dragon that circled his ring finger like an Oroboros. “...Does this answer your question?” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ He chuckled warmly as a wolfish grin settled over his features. “Of course! My hand’s can’t keep themselves off of my beloved, for one. For two, my friends are used to that being simply how I greet them.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ He offered a sharp, loud, huff of a laugh. “I wish, if only for the experience...” he smirked “If I have one, their so secret even I don’t know about them.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ The bard winced, before offering a soft frown as his eyes closed with a side ward flick of his gaze. “...Many times. To spare others pain, hardship, complications, or torment I have had to walk away when I’d rather I not have to on many occasions. It’s how I’ve managed to avoid breaking the hearts of others, my own takes the blow on their behalf, many I imagine aren't even aware of it.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ The bard huffed out his breath with a shake of his head... “Come now, you can’t possibly make me choose between those?” he arched a brow, only to frown when the question was indeed serious. “Stars, for me you can’t have one without the other. I don’t have sex with people, just to have sex with people. I have to be fond of them to some degree, otherwise it’s just using another person for your own pleasure, which is something I can’t stomach.” His shoulder’s shrugged “When I’m in love? My love is both emotional and physical. If I can’t explore my beloveds likes, dislikes, passions, and build a dynamic with them. If I can’t set my blood on fire and show them how I feel in the most intimate manner known to mortal kind. What then, separates our bond from just having a very deep, platonic friendship?” His head shook, and a palm lifted with a shake as well. “Not for me, my beloved better accept that I’ll be an outright horn dog for them, and realize that it’s because of the fact I love them so much.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ He grinned. “Tea, without contest. Specially when sweetened with honey, or fruit juice mixed in with it.’ ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Dogs” the wight didn’t even hesitate, though after a moment of thought he did quirk a brow. “..Unless you mean cat men and women, in that case I’ll heavily consider changing my opinion.”  ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ The bard smirked a smile, fond and sweet. “Few best friends. As a bard acquaintances and regular connections are helpful, and do well to ease the quiet and loneliness at times. But they are infrequent, and prone to falling out of contact on that individuals whim. Such is why I prefer a few close, stable, consistent people in which to invest myself and a bond with.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Romantic Night In” the words came with a sharp, swift fondness as a smile curled into place along his lips. Even his hands lifted, flowing as he continued... “A candlelit bath, incense scenting the air, two glasses of blush wine laced with just a small hint of clove oil to spark the desire. Worshiping your beloveds skin with the fond caress of fingertips, and the reverent kiss of lips. Exploring them, making their breath catch within their throat, and their heart quicken. A romantic sensuality...” ► Day or night ➔ “Night” he said plainly and with a swiftness. “The Sunless sea is the home of the celestials, my deities. To be beneath it is to be as if within a church, and thus I do most if not all of my activities of import beneath a starlit sky. Cloaked in their blessed shadows, and illuminated by moonlight. To have something of importance happen in the suns light is to welcome ruin to it. Or so my people have long believed.”

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Not yet, though I think my beloved’s senses are slowly becoming keener to my methods. For now however, they seem to only notice my absence after a few hours have passed, and I’ve yet to be caught in the act.” The bard then reached up a hand, and promptly knocked on the wooden part of the wall behind him.  ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Unfortunately...” the sigh that left his lips was a heavy one as his eyes rolled. “Take it as advice, or wisdom. But do not get drunk within the forgotten knight and then attempt to navigate the pillars of Ishgard while intoxicated. It does not end well for you, or the unfortunate parties having to tend to you afterwards.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “To want for something unobtainable, is simply an excuse to use it as motivation towards a means to obtain it. But when that want is for a person?” he sighed softly... “That is a pain not so easily twisted into optimism. Nor does acceptance come easy, or quickly.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ The bard offered a chuckle. “I have, and succeeded. That is all I will offer on the matter, as I would very much desire to keep it that way.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ The bard’s hand lifted, before pointing two fingers to his moon-white orbs. “Eyes” he stated firmly “For some, a smile has become impossible to form as they’ve long forgotten how over the duration of their suffering. But if you look into their eyes, you can see even in the depths of their pain, their fighting against the inner demons, the shimmer of warmth that tells of the difference you’ve just made. No matter how brief.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ He grinned. “Shorter, there is a lot I can do romantically with someone smaller then me. From sweeping them off their feet, to curling up around them in bed. Besides, it’s hard to find people taller then me, and of those that do - generally were more for sparring outside of the bedroom then in one.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Intelligence” he offered swiftness and a smile. “A pretty face is pleasant, but a sharp mind is what I thrive on most. The trading of sass, wit, sarcasm, humor, and being able to collaborate with another over my creative ideas are things I cherish.” He then offered a rich, deep laugh. “I often say, the fastest way to get me to fall in love with you, is to roast me so well that I’m left with the only option of laying in the grave you made me dig for myself without even realizing it.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ The bard offers a firm nod. “Relationship. While hook-ups are fun, for a while, they loose their luster easily enough and leave the heart wanting more. Thus, is why I invest my time into my relationships with others, be they romantic or platonic. It’s these meaningful connections, nurturing them, growing them, developing them, that bring me the most fulfillment.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ The bard offered a thick, sarcastic laugh. “I was separated from my parents as soon as I was old enough to pick up a wooden sword, as is custom. The only brothers I’ve ever known, are my fellow hunters and we... Well, we get along like brothers. If were not drinking together, were fighting one another either to settle an argument, or out of sheer pleasure and enjoyment. So I shall leave that up to your interpretation.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ His head shook gently. “No. While some who hear my story, and are privy to the more guarded details, may surely think so. I never once considered myself of having been subjected to a ‘tragic backstory’. My life is what it is, and had to be what it was, for me to become what I have.” He shrugged. “My life is what it needed to be, to be what it is, and will become.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ His head shook again. “No, never. I’ve been loyal to the end, and left home only when there was no one else there to linger around for.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ His shoulder’s bobbed with a deep, rich chuckle. “I was... voluntarily exiled” he stated slowly, and with keen purpose. “When we become hunters, we are condemned to live out the rest of our lives on the surface, fulfilling our duties until the day the Monsters we hunt succeed in killing us.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Stars no!” the answer came swiftly, and with a turn of the bard’s head in worry. “I have so few of them, and new ones don’t just grow on bushes in the middle of the forest. I’m an honest person, if I have a problem with someone, I tell them so. Now... if that results in me being punched in the face for it or not, is another matter.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ The bard’s head shook lightly. “I have two good friends, the rest are... barely more then acquaintances. While I would desire more, that is not up to me but rather others to decide if they wish to get to know me or not. But I can see how a white eyes, silver haired, silver tongued Wight can be intimidating.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ “Honestly?” he sighed softly, and his head sank into his hand with a rubbing of his fingertips against his temples. “...My horse. I tell them everything I do when not with them, and they witness everything I do when within their company.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “My horse, for reasons previously stated..” 

Tagged by: @umbralich​

Tagging: All of my followers who have not done this yet, and desire to. It was quite fun, even though it took over four hours to do.

[televinita]

Little Women (2019): Thoughts

REQUIRED READING: the prequel post about my background going in to this film.

SNAPSHOT VERSION: Though I have some casting qualms, and may adjust my opinions after I reread the book, mostly I think this is everything my heart has needed since the magic of the ‘94 movie was broken for me. My heart is very full.

FULL VERSION: Twice as long as the prequel post (a.k.a. 1800 words), starts below.

I did not expect LW to be the first Unexpected Comeback Fandom of 2020 (or a comeback fandom ever, really), but here I am, having spent every day since I saw this film mooning about this story and looking up different editions and supplemental books in the library catalog, so I'd better process how I feel about it while the memories are relatively fresh.

Most of my thoughts are on casting rather than specific scenes because like I said, I can’t remember the book super well, so I’d like to get my movie memories to fade so that the book can surprise me. Also because I think I will have a more in-depth post about them when I watch the film a 2nd time, whether that’s in theaters or on DVD. But here’s what I’ve got for now.

ON CASTING

In no particular order --

* Emma Watson is very pretty but it is so hard to take her seriously as an actress. She's just Emma Watson, Famous For Being In Harry Potter and Getting Hired For Other Big Name Projects. I feel like she's so consciously acting all the time. She made a not-terrible Meg, I guess? No worse than she made a Belle. But it was roughly as hilarious watching her try to be a mother now as it was watching her try to be a mother in the last Harry Potter movie. To the point that I just kept hearing the "Damn! I'm SO maternal!" song playing as her theme in the background at all times. * I realized 6 days prior to seeing the movie that Florence Pugh is recognizable because she's in Midsommar and honestly, that just ruined everything for me. I didn't even see that film, I just know it's gross and I would hate it and while she is not tainted forever like the 50 Shades actors, she is definitely too tainted for Little Women. Also I could not stop thinking about how I associate Amy with being very dainty and prim and Florence, while perfectly lovely, is not. * Laura Dern was kind of strangely modern and kooky for Marmee, but I love her as an actress and I loved that she was just like "HELLO STRANGE NEIGHBOR BOY, COME BE MY FIFTH CHILD." So I was OK with that. * ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH BOB ODENKIRK. What kind of anachronistic garbage. What crack were you on, because it was obviously not the good stuff. "Did I stumble into an SNL parody??" I wondered more than once. * Meryl Streep as Aunt March was AMAZING. Ten Oscars. * Beth consistently looked younger than Amy, so that was weird. She was okay but kind of childlike, and failed to make Beth my favorite like she is in the book. * JO! Saoirse Ronan is by far my favorite actress in this set, but I didn't think she was right for Jo going in. "Jo's not a redhead!" I said, indignantly stamping my foot, because my childhood-era love for this novel reigns defensively supreme like for no other classic besides Black Beauty. (another 1994 classic they should remake soon, even though I love that version. Just saying.)

But damned if she did not COMPLETELY embody every essence of Jo there is and make Jo my favorite character this time. Truly, nobody except Meryl Streep so thoroughly matched my expectations for their character. Ten Oscars, part II. Or at least the one she is actually nominated for. If Jo loses to ScarJo I will riot. * John was nice. I feel like he was exactly what he was supposed to be, which is to say kind of plain and milquetoast but perfect for Meg. I don't actually remember him existing in the novel, so that was an interesting game of "how important is this guy?" until suddenly Meg was getting married and I realized I did, in fact, have a very dim memory of a wedding from the book. I think I will like their romance more the second time around, though. * Mr. Laurence was VERY EXCELLENT. IDK why I know the actor, even after looking him up, but I liked him in this role a lot. His grandfatherly quasi-adoption of Beth was so sweet. * As for Professor Bhaer...UGH. I hated him on sight and my brain wouldn't even let me recognize who he was for like 3 scenes, I was just like, "who is this random boarding lodger and why are we focusing on that weirdo." I mean, he's objectively handsome? But he did not do it for me. He lacked the gravitas I expect from this character and his thick accent scraped my ears and drove me insane (update from the future: his accent is also driving me insane in the book, where I have peeked in at a few chapters as incentive to reread. whyyyyyyy). * LAURIE: maybe it's been too long since I read the book, but never could I ever have imagined I'd want to use the term "fuckboy" to describe Laurie. It wasn't even Ski Chalet's face so much as it was that in all present-day scenes (post-rejection), he is such an insufferable, melodramatic, pouting trash heap that I didn't want him to marry any of them at that point. (Also YOU STILL DIDN'T MAKE ME UNDERSTAND WHY HE GOES FOR AMY, so good job.**) However, I took especial delight in paying attention to all the cuddly platonic friend cuddling he heaped on Jo growing up, in focus or in the background, and I loved it...kind of a lot? The ship radar made noise. That noise is getting louder by the day, smoothing away his faults. He may have permanently taken up residence in my mind's eye as the new Laurie. ...this is the worst. Make it cease. (**update from the future, I am peeking at the book and it looks like it's a lot easier to understand both in text and when you're inside Laurie's head. He is still clearly sulking his way through Europe, but in a way it's easier to recover from. Also, I don’t have time to unpack this but as I finish the edits on this post I started 5 days ago, I’m starting to think I could not only ship Laurie/Amy, but believe in it from the start.) ACTUAL PLOT AND FILM QUALITY

+ The shifting between past and present was very jarring right off the bat, but after that I think it worked.

+ I loved the attic play rehearsals so much

+ I am so glad Jo’s shorn hair is both fleeting and as hideous as it should look, and not Pixie Cut Chic (Childhood Me wailed at that part reading the book)

+ I remember hardly anything about the book's Part II / Good Wives, so basically everything in their adult lives was news to me. Amy and Aunt March go to Europe? Jo goes to live by herself in New York? Meg marries a relative pauper? Any of this could be true to the book or just made up as an alternate idea to explore, and I would be none the wiser. That made it more fun. (NOBODY SPOIL ME ON WHAT'S TRUE)

+ It did not occur to me until just now that the part where Jo publishes her version of Little Women is not in the book (right?), but that was beautifully done.

+ The house interiors were breathtaking. It's not like I don't regularly watch period pieces, but this time there was just something about seeing an old house, like the ones I am often in for estate sales, decorated the way I always imagine seeing when I enter those homes, that kind of made me tear up. + The outside shots were pretty too + Jo made me cry with her I'm so LONELY! speech, rude. (I went into this movie thinking I was 100% on board to finally read Alcott’s sequels for their Jo/Professor content, and now I'm like 'ah damn it is gonna be the season for the Jo/Laurie AU novel, isn't it.')

+ A strike against Beth and/or the actress playing her: I did not cry about her death (in my defense I was busy crying about Jo's pain).

+ I did NOT remember precisely how Laurie & Amy got married, so even though I knew it happened eventually, I felt that sucker punch to the gut reveal just about as hard as Jo did. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOUR WIFE.

+ My mom said she’d heard this movie was lauded as being super feminist, which rarely goes well for me, but I thought it felt like really authentic "married women literally were not allowed to control their own income and it sucked" 19th century feminism, and not someone using their 21st century voice to claim this is how people would have REALLY talked if The Patriarchy Of Historical Record hadn't silenced/suppressed it. Nothing rankled me. I’m very confused by the people who think it says Jo is queer and/or didn’t end up with the Professor, but if that’s what you see then I guess it’s a win/win situation for all of us. + LOVED the closing montage. + Basically, at all times that I wasn't annoyed by the casting, I was feeling the same magic I did while reading the book and/or while watching the 1994 movie as a child. I can’t think of any parts I really hated.

IN CONCLUSION

Part of me is honestly kind of sad I didn't reread the book before watching this movie, because even though I usually prefer to go movie first and then get the Expanded Edition that is the book, in this case I wish I'd taken my last chance to properly visualize everything in my head on my own -- since I’ve mostly forgotten the ‘94 film -- before the new movie washed it away forever. This is one of the rare times I would have liked to hope and guess what would be shown vs. cut, and be able to anticipate the thrill of seeing the page come to life.

However, seeing it was the impetus I needed to finally take my childhood copy off the shelf (and thank heavens I have it, because the library request is backed up 3 or 4 deep for every copy), and it took all of 5 minutes to get instantly sucked into chapter 1 and feel such rapturous joy and familiarity that I consciously cut myself off and decided I am going to journal out my feelings after each chapter on this reread. So that’s something!

[jayykesley]

8-10, 16-22 for ALL OF YOUR OCS FROM "THE APPRENTICES" (really the main ones: Carson, Lorelei, Derick, Rosalyn, Roswell, and a bonus OC of your choice)

8. What clothing style?

Lorelei: Very girly, so she wearsprimarily dresses and skirts and high heels. Kind of a sparkly-girly-librariantype of look? Pockets added to everything obviously, as well as tulle or lacetrim, just to make any outfit have that little extra SomethingTM.

Carson: His style is likecombination lumberjack-slash-fifties(?) look, like he’s got the rugged jeansand the white t-shirt with the short sleeves rolled up just below the shouldersand the red plaid overshirt. He prefers casual, loose-fitting clothes. Allabout comfort and mobility and wearing things until they fall apart.

Derick: Because of his childhood andthe culture he grew up in, Derick’s style consists mainly of dress pants andfitted button-ups w/ vests/suspenders/ties/etc. Not always particularlycomfortable, but he feels sorely underdressed and out-of-place in anythingless.

Rosalyn: If a piece of clothing fitsher larger frame, and can hide stains for at least a little while, Rosalyn willwear it. Mostly wears sleeveless shirts, or cuts the sleeves off, because shehas broad shoulders and large arms that don’t always fit comfortably in theshirts she finds. Has like one (1) pair of loose cargo pants that she’s beenwearing for literal years and refuses to get rid of. Neutral colors mostly soshe doesn’t have to think about matching stuff.

Roswell: I imagine him wearingregular old jeans, but with either comfy sweaters or fun graphic tees that hegets his hands on. He’s not picky about clothing, but he does like to have funso his shirts are always brightly colored with reds or yellows or purples.

Valentina/Violet (I can’t land on aname for her for some reason): Similar to Lorelei, in that she’s very girly,but definitely not “librarian chic”. Vibrant pinks, glitter, maybe some furoccasionally if she’s going out? Crop tops are a definite staple in her closet.

9. What is their favourite foodafter a break-up?

Lorelei: Her favorite comfort food,especially after getting her heart broken, would probably be frozen yogurt or agiant cinnamon bun glazed in icing. Something sweet and filling that you mightnot have on a daily basis.

Carson: Soft pretzels nachos, pasta,just something that is absolutely soggy in melted cheese.

Derick: Not so much food, but wineor some other alcoholic drink that would make him forget how bad he feels abouthimself

Rosalyn: Red meat, which is what sheeats a lot of to begin with, but just way way more stuff those badfeelings away

Roswell: Candy. He’d just shoveldown handfuls of jolly ranchers and licorice, ignoring how gross he feels veryquickly after doing this

V: Chocolate covered strawberriesand caramel apples and every sweet thing she shared with the boy because shedoesn’t need him to enjoy things she doesn’t miss him she never evencared that much about him to begin with--

10. Their favourite thing to doafter a break-up?

 Lorelei/V: Watch bad movies togetherand have a girls night: popcorn, ice cream, probably watch Legally Blonde. Oneis always right there ready to comfort the other when it seems like thingsmight go sorrow.

 Carson: He throws himself into a newproject, whether that’s working on Bonnie, his car, or crafting something outof wood. Carson gets attached and wears his heart on his sleeve, so no matterhow short the relationship was, he’s probably hurting quite a lot. When hefeels like he’s got a handle on the situation, then he can talk to Lorelei andwork on moving on.

 Derick: Just gets real depressed andsleeps/watches TV a lot. Leaves the house/showers/cleans even less than usual.Eventually he’ll get out of his funk, but it might take him a while.

Rosalyn: Probably trains to workthrough her emotions; first she’s angry because she feels like that personwasted her time, then she feels embarrassed for letting herself be hopeful likethat, then angry again... it’s a vicious cycle, and one she’s working on.

Roswell: Cry and talk to literallyanyone who will listen. Obviously everybody is more than happy to be hisshoulder to cry on, but Roswell bounces back about as quickly as he fell forthe girl in the first place.

 16. Their favourite comfort food?

Same as the break-up food, comfort food is really what I was thinking ofwhen I answered that question

17. What’s a food they hate?

Lorelei: Probably something likemeat loaf? It’s cheap, somewhat filling, and easy to make so it’s often whather mother used to make when she was a child. It wasn’t bad necessarily, buthaving multiple times a week for years has made her nauseous at the thought ofit

Carson: There really isn’t a lotCarson won’t eat. Originally Victor wasn’t a very good chef, so Carson wasresigned to eating either burnt/undercooked meals or microwave dinners for hischildhood. Maybe something like liver he might refuse.

Derick: He’ll eat meat, but he won’teat meat that still resembles the animal when it was alive -- fish that isn’tfried or in some way no longer resembles fish, he won’t eat. Doesn’t eatchicken legs or anything like that either.

Rosalyn: Bread. Specifically, whitebread. No one can figure out why, but Rosalyn absolutely positively will notconsume plain white bread. Everyone thinks its some big thing, but she swearsup and down it’s just that it grosses her out.

Roswell: Again, eats nearlyeverything. Maybe won’t eat oatmeal, because that’s just sloppy slime andRoswell can’t do that

V: Microwave meals that taste likemicrowave meals (which obvi is 99% of them). She swears she can taste theplastic film in the food.

18. Their music taste?

Lorelei/V: Love radio-pop. Ifeel like they’d both be huge fans of people like Ariana Grande and Ed Sheeranand people like that

Carson: He’s a sucker for 80′s and90′s rock and pop; Survivor, Billy Joel, Britney Spears, all that good stuff

Derick: Not really picky aboutmusic? Usually just listens to whatevers on. Probably a secret Emo Kid

Rosalyn: Really prefers classicalinstrumental music. She doesn’t zone out often, but instrumental music helpsher relax the few times she feels she’s allowed to.

Roswell: Would probably be reallyinto disco and/or Disney soundtracks?? Also a huge musical nerd, so Broadwaysoundtracks are his JAM

19.Is there a story behind their name/meaning?

Lorelei: I thought that “Lorelei”was a very pretty name and that it was a shame more characters weren’t calledthat. “Bullock” was a placeholder until I settled on her “real” last name, butBullock stuck so

Carson: Intended to remind me thathe would resemble Carswell Thorne in personality/serve as a place holder aswell (he’s changed a bit from his original design). “Davies” is the last nameof one of the original inspirations for the character Peter Pan, and was toserve as a reminder that Carson is a more relaxed, care-free person

Derick: No special meaning, justcame to me moments after I decided he was birthed from my mind-hole and thename has stuck ever since.

Rosalyn: Saw that picture that Ialways use as my face-claim for her, instantly decided she was either a“Rosalyn” or a “Rosalind”. I went with Rosalyn because, i dunno i just thoughtit fit her better.

Roswell: Originally he was going tobe called “Brandon” or something similar, but I came across the name “Roswell”and thought “oh yeah thatd be funny, Rosalyn and Roswell” and, well, as withevery character, the name just stuck

Violet/Valentina: Originally“Violet”, but I’ve since done some work on her character and feel that“Valentina” fits her better, but my mind is still latched onto “Violet”, soI’ve been calling her V for the time being.

20.Something they do that seems childish to others?

Lorelei/V: Not childish per se, butpeople might think them immature since they really like fashion and makeup andpretty things

Carson: Sings to himself constantly.

Derick: It might seem childish tosomeone who’s never owned a pet, but oh my gosh the flip-flopping betweenbaby-talking to Ragsy, and having a full-on real conversation with her

Rosalyn: Pinky promises. Not onlydoes she hold promises as Law, but pinky promises are the Highest Law

Roswell: His long run-on sentencesand tendency to speak rapidly in giant chunks. He can come off like an excitedlittle kid, but really he just hasn’t lost his sense of wonder for the world.

21.What is their all-time favourite TV show?

Lorelei: Great British Bake Off.I’ve never personally seen it, but it sounds like something she’d love XD

Carson: How It’s Made

Derick: Painting with Bob Ross

Rosalyn: Ancient Aliens

Roswell: I sat here for ten minutesand i genuinely cannot think of what his favorite show would be, so thanksHobbs XD

V: Catfish

22. What is their all-time favoritemovie?

Lorelei: 2005 Pride and Prejudice

Carson: HSM 2

Derick: All Dogs Go To Heaven/Aristocats

Rosalyn: National Treasure

Roswell: Jungle Book

V: Black Panther (because she’s real into Michael B. Jordan)

Sorry this is late, but I wanted to give real good answers. Thanks!

[bagoftophats]

    Beside my bed is a chest of draws and on it is a neat little box. In it I keep all the bits and bobs I might carry in a day, keys, pens, loose change etc. Everyone has something similar but mine also contains a small leather pouch, it's black, work worn and creased with age. It contains my lock picks, They're probably 40 years old now and showing their age much like their owner. They get little use now, my dexterity has diminished with age and my limited ability compromised with time. I haven't yet the heart to retire them to the toolbox though, it would be like burying a small part of me.     I don't recall my primary reason for buying them, my motivation for it but they do appeal to that tinkering side of me as well as my 'back door' nature. Of the need to see what I am not supposed too, to see what others would prefer I didn't, the sneaky side of me.     I read somewhere once that after you pick your first lock you are hooked for life as there's no other feeling like it, and it's true. When that hasp popped up on that Abus it was like opening a door on a whole different world and having that door lock itself behind you. I am not exaggerating when I say that it changes a persons perspective, our worlds are governed and bounded by locks through which only the selected are allowed where all the keys are in the hands of others. It is such a normal state of being that seldom do we even think about it let alone notice it. Then suddenly that tension wrench, that thin slither of spring steel that has been under your thumb for an age and stubbornly refusing to budge, gives, and the barrel rotates slowly and smoothly to a stop, the lock jumps and the hasp springs out and in that split second the ground shifts, the perspective shifts and those walls suddenly gain a fragility, a permeability that can never be reversed. It is an amazing feeling that is lost on those that have not experienced it and its difficult to explain by anybody who has.     And then the hunt was on, old locks, padlocks, cabinets and cash tins. Anything and everything I felt my picks could handle. And all of it on the sly, all done quietly and surreptitiously. No one was allowed to know. I don't recall a specific reason for this secrecy other than it was the same for most of my interests. Although I probably had considered some nefarious use for this developing skill that the world in general would not have approved of. And in hindsight the latter was probably the more accurate.     I once picked all the locks on my Fathers Land Rover. I would like to claim that it was down to my exceptional skill but it was more a testament to how shockingly insecure the locks were. A debility that was not just restricted to our own as I was able to prove on numerous occasions afterwards. I also cracked my Fathers filing cabinet. A big green metal thing that stood in the corner of his office and to a young and highly imaginative young mind obviously promised to contain all the richest treasures of the universe. It didn't as it turned out, It was all rather boring really.     Padlocks I got pretty good at but the dial combination ones I was a little hit and miss on. The cable type I could crack in seconds then I would take great delight in locking them back up in different locations or resetting the combinations entirely, depending on how mischievous I was feeling. I started making my own bump keys, and skeleton keys for warded locks which sounds more arcane than it actually is. And stuffing my pick pouch with slithers of coke can for use as shims. I hoarded old keys and locks and eventually repurposed an old toolbox to keep it all in. I still have it in my shed now. It is stuffed to the gills and weighs a tonne but I don't have the heart to get rid of it. I even bought a pair of Canadian Police handcuffs once, just to test my skills on but I think they deserve a page of their own.     I never graduated to the more complex locks, the Yale's and their like, though it wasn't for the want of trying. It was the spool and mushroom pins that ultimately defeated me. I think I just lacked the manual dexterity. I knew how to do them but I just couldn't. I never lost interest though and now understand way more than I could ever do in practice.     One time in secondary school, I'm uncertain of precisely what year, I was passing one of the offices. A little pokey place of no discernible purpose beside one of the quieter entrances. The door had been left open and on the desk had sat a set of keys. Now being the mischievous little magpie that I was, I nicked them. I hadn't known what they were for but it had been an opportunity that couldn't be squandered. Later examination had revealed a half dozen warded keys, all of which had been modified in some manner. Skeletonised, after a fashion. I think that instead of teachers having huge bunches of keys to carry they had developed the habit of cutting down one or two to fit many and in doing so, unwittingly they had given me access to most of the school. But how was I to utilize this sudden and unexpected gift? What nefarious deeds could a teenage boy possibly get up to with such power at his fingertips?     Well, in hindsight, not a great deal. I would lock the the doors of empty classrooms, or unlock them, never often enough to draw attention but enough to be bloody annoying. I explored cupboards and store rooms, cleaning rooms. And found with a little wiggling that I could also undo the narrow doors in the corridor's and toilets that concealed the buildings pipe work. This discovery led to what was probably the crowning glory of the whole escapade, the 'South Pacific' incident. Which I think is too great a diversion for this reminiscence so I will have to go into greater depth elsewhere. In retrospect I don't think I took a great deal, certainly far less than the opportunities presented to me. I think it was just the fact that I could do it, that I could go where I was not allowed to, to be where I shouldn't have been. I hated school and pretty much everything that walked or crawled in it. It was Hell to me. But this seemed to wrest back some of that power and self worth it had stripped from me. I think I gained more satisfaction from this than from anything I stole. Though admittedly I didn't have to buy any stationary for years after.     At the same time I knew what I was doing was 'wrong', that the locked doors were locked for a reason. That certain places had to be off limits. That boundaries had to be set. I understood their purpose but they were 'their' boundaries, not mine, I was not acceptable in their world as they were not welcome in mine. On the face of it I would adhere to them to maintain that acceptable front, like a gay man posing as straight and without the least qualms about crossing that boundary when the opportunity arose.     I suppose also, subconsciously the the lock picking and the keys became another physical way of exploring their world, another tool to try and understand them, like taking a screwdriver to an old clock or a spanner to a knackered engine. A way of peeling off the outer shell and rummaging through the gubbings to see how it all worked. If I could understand them, if I knew more about them I could form myself into a more acceptable shape to fit into that world. And I did want to fit in, I desperately wanted to be like them. But it was years before I realized that it was sheer folly, just fantasy thinking. I could no more be like 'them' than I could be a chair, a table or a garden wall so aberrant was my make up to theirs's. I went through an enormous degree of torment before I came to terms with that. Before I accepted what I was.     My interest in locks and picks never went away, even after I finished school and it became a segment of my life just as reading or writing had done, it became a tool in my life with more tales than I have time to tell here.

[wonpillows]

The Cello Player | Final

Young K x Reader/You Third Person P.O.V fluff/angst(???) Summary: (Y/N) is a flute player who attends the same music university as Brian, a talented cello player. Their horribly strict conductor pairs them up to play many duet pieces for the upcoming concert as well as playing with the full orchestra. (Y/N) struggles with the heavy workload as Brian helps her through the stress. 1.3k Words Updated: 20th June 2017

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The concert was something else entirely. The advice Brian gave (Y/N) before going on stage helped her perform that way she did five years ago. She had let her feelings out to the audience through her playing, Linda was physically held back from going on stage to stop them. During most of the concert, Brian tried to keep his eyes off her, tried to focus on the sheets in front of him even though he knew them by heart.

She was breath-taking as she played. The first few pieces were hesitant; playing in the style from which she was bullied to stop playing was difficult at first, but once she managed to get the rhythm and feel of the sensation, it was as though it was magic. Jaws were dropped, time was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was her playing, all the bottled-up emotions over the past five years released in one final concert. This was her way of saying ‘Fuck you’ to Linda. And oh, was it so much better than saying it to her face.

In their final song, Brian hadn’t realised he stopped playing to appreciate her playing at its strongest form. She panicked, stumbled on a couple of notes before picking up where she left off. Her music filled the hall, the notes filled people’s ears like a spell catching them in a trance. Brian relaxed and listened to her play. It was what he wanted to finally hear this whole time. He was quick to wipe his tears away before anyone noticed.

Once she had finished playing the hall was silent. She panicked, looked around the open room at all the seats, people’s facial expressions were shocked. She wondered if she had played badly. Wondered if Linda’s playing was truly the best way to play. However, a loud clap was heard to her left. She jumped, not expecting to hear the noise but soon enough, it was all that filled the concert hall. A few people rose from their seats (Brian too) and the noise got louder. The feeling for (Y/N) was overwhelming. Emotional. She wanted to keep this performance as professional as possible but the feeling was all too much. She ran into Brian’s arms and silently sobbed into his chest. The tears of joy were softly wiped away by his rough thumbs, and through her new clear vision she could see his genuine smiling face.

It was at the moment when Linda decided to storm on stage yelling profanities at them and their playing, completely ignoring the reaction they gained from the audience. The reaction (Y/N) received from the audience. Upon hearing the voice (Y/N) hated the most, she broke free from Brian’s grip and over dramatically pointed her flute at her old conductor saying the two words she wanted to say most to her.

“Fuck you.”

Even though the performance was good enough revenge, it was satisfying to say it to her face in front of a whole audience. She would have preferred if her face didn’t have smudged mascara or puffy eyes but not every situation could have been as perfect as she would have liked it. She was satisfied with herself, her performance was all she could ask for to finish off her time at the university. To finish off her dreadful time with Linda.

The audience only calmed down once they had left the stage. They were still in each other’s arms as they walked to the resting area near the back. (Y/N) was speechless, she hadn’t felt this alive in a while. The fleeting moment of peace was soon disturbed by a knock on the door. She was ready to stand up and yell at Linda, expecting her to be the one on the other side of the door. When it opened, it turned out that she was wrong.

“(Y/N)?” A stranger stood at the door. They wore professional clothing. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking about what was to happen next. “I’m a scout for International Schools and I would like to make you an offer, if you are willing to listen?”

(Y/N) and Brian shared a glance with each other before she jumped up from her seat and nearly ran over to the scout. It was hard to contain herself. For Brian, it was hard to contain his smile.

Epilogue

“What do you mean she’d rather play flute than cello?” Younghyun waved his arms in the air as his wife stood in the living room doorway with a huge smile on her face and her instrument in her hands. “(Y/N) you can’t just decide our daughter’s future like that. She’s obviously more like me so she’ll want to play cello.”

“Please,” she replied and rolled her eyes. “She’s going to figure out that her mother is a flute prodigy and then she will want to be more like me. Plus, you’re past your cello days and I’m a qualified flute teacher and continue to play in a world-famous orchestra. You’re in a band with some of the weirdest people I have ever met.”

“Hey, we’re right here!” Sungjin protested. A similar reaction came from the other members sitting with them. “A very successful band I’ll have you know.”

“Mmm, yes but my precious daughter doesn’t want to be like you weirdos,” she studied her flute as she knelt next to her child. Younghyun joined her.

“Why don’t you let her decide?” Jae suggested with a hint of amusement in his voice. (Y/N) and Younghyun glanced at each other before obliging.

They asked her the question, what instrument would she like to play. She had grown up surrounded by music. She had watched her father and his band on TV shouting with her mother in the very place they were sitting. Their daughter was no doubt going to be involved with music when she’s older.

She said nothing. But rather lifted a tiny arm and pointed to her right. Not at Younghyun, not at (Y/N) and not at Jae as he was expecting, all that persuasion for nothing. They followed her arm, where now all six pairs of eyes had landed on Dowoon.

“Drums?” Three voices said at once, all, of course, shocked.

“Do you know what they are?” (Y/N) asked with concern lacing her tone. She didn’t relax until her daughter started to do her cute imitation of him playing the drums. All those times (Y/N) would encourage her daughter to cheer for Younghyun, her daughter was always late in cheering. Or rather, cheering when Dowoon appeared on screen.

“You’ve got yourself a little admirer,” Younghyun slapped the drummer’s shoulders, laughing. “Well now that she has a favourite, we’ll know who to call for babysitting.”

Dowoon began to protest but (Y/N) cut him off.

“Actually, I’m feeling like going out for lunch right now,” she stood up and grabbed her jacket from behind the door. “You three joining us?” She gestured to Sungjin, Jae and Wonpil which they very quickly agreed to.

They only left for 45 minutes. (Y/N), Wonpil and Sungjin were starting to feel bad for Dowoon. Younghyun was too focused on his food to care and Jae.... well he was just Jae. In fact when they returned he had his phone ready to video what influence Dowoon was under when left with his best friend’s daughter.

They opened the front door quietly and stepped into the house. A muffled voice was coming from the living room. The muffled voice was constantly changing tone.

Younghyun opened the door to the living room to reveal Dowoon sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and bobbing his head lightly as he sang a nursery rhyme to (Y/N)’s daughter. Not only that but his hair consisted of 5 pink ribbons tied terribly into bows.

Sungjin coughed and Dowoon suddenly stopped and turned around with the most shocked look a human could muster. It was priceless.

And Jae caught it all on video.

[thoughtfulpaperback]

Television and White People problems I cant relate to

I might make people mad, but I am just gonna say it. A good half the time I cannot relate to the problems and motivations of white people on TV. But I am going to list some scenarios that I cannot relate to

1. Unaffectionate Parents/parents that arent around much/parents who are strict = bad parents who ruin thier children

Listen purposefully withholding affection from your child as a manipulation tactic does equal bad parent. Never allowing your child to make meaningful connections outside of the home as a way to control them = abusive parent. But like shows like Gilmore Girls have the main character and side characters acting as if she has been horribly scarred by thier parents not letting them listen to rock or run around and dirtying an expensive dress. Or they excuse or justify a characters bad behavior because thier parents aren't around (usually these are rich characters).

I am a working class Latina and I always felt this was total BS. My grandparents were not affectionate people. There were no hugs or I love yous after the age of 5. Both worked long days and I was constantly left in charge of my siblings. I wasnt allowed to wear makeup until after I was 15 (I didnt start wearing it until I was 18) and when I did my grandpa constantly made comments like "what do you have on you face?" "Only ugly women have to wear makeup!" "If God wanted your nails to change color every month he would have made it so they could without that junk (nail polish)!". I wasnt allowed to listen to rap music. If my grandma bought me an outfit I wasnt allowed to do anything to get it dirty

I wasnt allowed to stay the night at a friends house until I was in high school and even then my grandparents preferred people stayed the night at our house versus me going to someone elses.

Guess what...I am fine. I never was rebellious. I knew they loved me. I knew they cared. I wasnt a teen parent. I can tell people I love them. I am affectionate with people I am close to. I graduated college. I was a good, friendly, well adjusted kid. All of my Latina friends were too. But like every other white "bad kid" or "jerk" is that way because of thier parents supposed lack of interest.

Listen I get the validity of loneliness or even anger at feeling as if your parents are not interested in you. I am just saying it is something that is not in my experience, so I have a hard time relating to it even though it is a very common troupe.

2. Cutting out family members/estranged family.

Ok so my Latina self has never, ever understood this movie plotline. Like I have extended family who may not even be related to me that are big idiots, which everyone recognizes, but I still see them at all the family events because it is rude not to invite them when they are family. Like we do not stand physically abusive people in my family. But that is what you have to be in order to be cut off from us. Stupid? A Mooch? Toxic? Prejudiced? A very annoying drunk? All those things are okay warrant toleration because you are family. And again this is extended family. In movies or shows where the child has cut off the parents from thier life or that make snide remarks or talk back to them...OMG not only can I not relate but I cannot even process.

Again I am not saying that people should have to tolerate any behavior which causes them anxiety or makes them uncomfortable. But like the idea of ever cutting out my grandparents or even my mother completely out of my life is unimaginable. Right not agree with the things they do or say, and I may not make an effort to reach out to my mom, but I will never purposefully avoid or talk bad about them to any one. And believe me my mom is pretty toxic but I would never hinder her ability to reach me if she needs me. I will no longer go out of my way to please her, but moving away having children and not letting her be part of thier lives. Nope not doing it.

Most of my latino friends live in multi-generational homes (grandparent, great-parents, parents, self and thier children). So just the idea that your grandparents or parents live in a different home than you was hard enough to wrap my mind around while watching TV. The idea that you moved across the country to get away from your family unimaginable.

Again not condemning any one who does that just explaining why minded just cant relate.

3. 18=Adult and going crazy

I am 25 (I think, I forget) years old. I am a virgin, I didnt have a sip of alcohol until I was 23 or right when I turned 24 (again I forget). I've never had a boyfriend. I have only been on like 3 dates with 1 person. I still ask my grandparents permission to go places, I tell them my plans and who I am with. I do this unprompted. My grandparents dont demand that I do it. I just do.

Dont get the wrong idea, I have had lots of fun. I lived on the dorms as a college freshman, I made lots of friends and was in multiple clubs, played intramural sports, worked as an activities coordinator at the college and hung out with friends. I've gone to concerts, I've traveled to multiple countries and studied abroad. I vacation with friends.

Like I could never relate to teenagers or college kids on television as a teen and I still can't as an adult. Dont get me wrong freshman year of college I met the Wild kids all testing thier boundaries and exploring thier sexuality now that they were out of the house.

But that just wasnt me. I didnt feel the need to. I didnt want to drink (my house wasnt anti alcohol or anything like that). I didnt want to experience getting drunk or trying drugs. I didnt have the need or urge to do anything sexual with anyone. It wasnt because I was ashamed of my body, saving myself for marriage, or emotionally scarred by my grandparents about the subject. I just didnt want to. My grandma always tells people when they ask her how she raised me to be such a good kid (although thinking on it I should resent being called a kid at age 25) that my brother and just came out perfect or the closest thing to perfect. Like I am not saying that to claim that I am, but just to give y'all the idea of how non wild I am.

18 was a wierd age for me. I was exploring mostly myself as an individual seperate from my family. Figuring out what I liked because when you live with so many people you kind of blend interests. Sometimes I dont know if I actually like an activities that I frequently do or if I frequently do it because one of my siblings likes it.

Making friends outside of family. I always had friends growing up but my closest friends were my siblings and cousins. College was the beginning of meeting people from different backgrounds and becoming friends based on common interests rather than out of convenience. A great transition to my next unrelateable troupe.

3. Peer Pressure and letting bullies get away with it.

So like for the longest time, TV made it seem like it was hard to stand up to bullies, like it was Big deal and hard decision to stand up for someone else. Like to an extent some more recent shows still do it (Glee for one). And I just cant relate.

I never cared what other kids thought of me. I was always secure in who I was and happy with myself. While I wanted to please my family, i never felt pressured to please anyone else to to follow the mass consensus on what is cool or not. I also could never stand a bully.

In elementary school I flipped over my shared desk when my desk mate called the new girl (who was on medications that made her fall asleep during class a re***d) and told him that if him and the entire class that if they have a problem with her then they can fight me and I am obviously not kidding. (My very first outburst and threat of violence). In the 7th grade a couple of girls were harassing a girl in the bathroom for telling thier secrets. Even though it wasnt any of my business and these girls were known for actually fighting other girls, I still told them that they were being stupid and to leave her alone. Which earned me a shove against the wall and a "you want to fight me?". To which I stupidly responded "I am not afraid of you" which was a huge lie.

My childhood friends who werent related to me were usually the people who nobody wanted to be friends with. Mostly kids werent considered "able" or were too "annoying". I hated the idea of people being shunned because they werent "able" or because they didnt have a concept of volume control, personal space, or the ability to read a room) or because we were related. I straight up yelled at a guy in the middle school lunch room because he was saying that I was so nice for hanging out with the special kids especialky Bob (not his real name) because everyone hated him for not being able to shut up or go away. Bob has asperger's syndrome or was adhd I honestly dont remember. He had an assigned aid and would get too close to people and once he started talking he wouldnt stop so classes were hard for him and making friends was hard to.

In 9th grade band class I stood up and called out the drum section for laughing and calling the drum majors (a Male and a female) a f*g, ugly crack baby, and other slurs while they were conducting and then told the substitute that I refused to continue playing until they were sent to the principles and dealt with accordingly. I then walked out and put my instrument away very loudly in front of the band and pulled a chair up behind the drum majors so I could glare the entire class down while they played.

In 10th grade a made a huge scene when a guy thought he'd be cute by saying that the only reason my friends and i were doing well in Spanish class was because we were "sucking mr.------ balls". I stood up and shredded into him about how that accusation was basically calling mr.----- a pedophile and that it showed how much of a sexist pig he was that he has to basically accuse successful ladies of having to used sex to be successful because that is easier for his ego than admitting his laziness inattentiveness, and bad attitude are the reason he is failing a class about his first Language.

I also yelled at a girl in the middle of the school grounds for saying there should be a holocaust for gay people.

Apparently I am the queen of making a scene. I list these things not a bragging thing, but because they werent hard for me. Most of were just reactive. I never understood why TV made doing the right thing seem like it was so hard and that you were being a freaking martyr.

I was never bullied. I knew that kids didnt like me but no one every messed with me or harrassed me the way they did other people. Doing the right thing did not make my life harder. Standing up for people wasnt some herculean task that took like two days of thinking and emotional preparation. The "majority" of people allowing mean spirited people to harrassed others never swayed me to let it go. Indifference was never an option in my mind.

So I was always really frustrated by characters who didnt automatically help a person who was being harrased. It is my least favorite TV or movie plotline. And again I can't relate.

Again this isnt to bash on anyone or to suggest that making a scene or putting yourself at risk are the only ways of helping others and standing up for others.

[kpopcollectionandstuff]

I moved to Korea because of my mother's job and my father stayed at America because he didn't think that it was worth to change his job because of us.

My name is Lee Joe and I have a mixed blood, I don't mind that but it was a reason why I always was different. Ether popular or ended up as a loner. I know. I experienced different positions yet I always wished to be average. 

Why? I don't like the attention focused on me, people clinging on me ether for fame or to feel more superior.

But what I learned was that I can not run away from my fate. Even at the day when I transferred I dyed my hair dark to fit in the crowd but I assume that didn't help since few of my mother's friends mentioned the aura I have.

I stood in front of the class as a new student who joined them in the middle of the year. Mostly new students came at the beginning of the year or after first semester and here I was in the middle of it and had more than a half yet less than a year left to get to know and fit in with students.

Everyone were chattering and probably trying to decide how to accept me and to what should they turn me into but I didn't care of them.

My eyes landed on the blonde head. It was obviously dyed and definitely eye-catching so I had no excuse why I stared at the guy first. My eyes landed down to see the face and I got a bit surprised as I saw his eyes pierced straight into mine. I didn't look away and stared as well while the teacher introduced me in front of the class.

"Do you have anything you want to add, Lee Joe?" The female teacher spoke with a friendly smile but I barely heard her as I felt weird connection with the other guy. That guy who had surprisingly fierce orbs focused on me, but was it weird that I found them madly familiar?

"Yes" My brain managed to load the information of what happened around me while the other part of my head was occupied with meaningless thoughts "I would prefer everyone to call me Joe for short, it is nice to meet you" I bowed and stepped towards the seat the teacher pointed to. It was besides the window and behind the challenging student.

Somehow I didn't mind. This year seemed to be interesting. I'm Lee Joe soon to be seventeen meanwhile my all classmates were eighteen or about to turn. I know. The principal was concerned about it and told me but it just seemed that I started school year earlier that is it. As long no one asks. No one will get to know.

The bell of school appeared to be similar to the one in America. I just fixed my fake glasses. Damn it I almost forgot I wore them.

Few girls with school uniforms approached me and chatted me up with silly questions that I found unnecessary to answer so I just smiled slightly and looked out of the window. That was too much of attention. I hate to attract the attention so soon it makes the other guys glare at me and that is troublesome.

Even now the light haired guy had those eyes focused on me, the kind that I can already imagine showing up in my nightmares.

That boy caught my attention the most and made my eyes follow him out. The way his hands were hidden in his pockets of black student uniform pants and the uniform jacket looked like some damn cape behind him.

"Who is he?" I turned my head slightly at the girls meanwhile my eyes followed the classmate out until he turned in the hall and disappeared.

"He? You shouldn't talk with him if he looks in bad mood, he is violent guy" short and quite chubby girl spoke, my eyes then landed at her since her words sounded sincere and worth my time. "once a girl approached him when he seemed to be gloomy. He knocked her down on the floor immediately and left like it was nothing... it was scary to see"

"They say he is involved in a gang. They call him Colorful Tiger because he changes his hair according to his mood" the more model like girl spoke and I just laughed.

"Isn't he afraid to get bald?" I laughed carelessly too damn carelessly because it was the same time the colorful tiger came back to the classroom. He had very dark atmosphere around him which made me curious.

Just in case anyone is wondering.

I am not gay. Not straight ether. I have no interests at all, what I do in life is observe other people and simply survive. Quite nice thinking for sixteen year old guy huh. But I don't give much thought. I'm young, free and single, I am free to be as carefree as much as I am young and anyway next month I'm seventeen.

Classes passed in weird pace. New classmates, new surroundings it all seemed weird to me but that was okay it was better to discover new place than stay at the same one for years.

The next day came and I already managed to get involved into something weird. The nice chubby female I started to get along was surrounded by weird guys so I just stood in front in protective position. "What the fuck guys" I cursed in English but that was understandable phrase for everyone.

Some guy glared at me while the other laughed at my hero like behaviour but little did they know that I'm a guy who isn't just a pushover like my looks say. Dark hair, glasses and everyone thinks I can be pushed around but that was just one of the ideas I wanted them to get. I still managed to find people to talk with me and if days go by like yesterday I might just become like any normal student. Or so I thought.

"Why do big guys like you pick on a girl?" I laughed at them by accident which obviously angered them more..

"I just bumped on them a-and accidentally dropped my sandwich with jam on his shoe..." the girl explained, she was ridiculously scared of the three guys in front and it only made me laugh inside. Well then again... I was new one. I knew nothing.

"lick it off" the guy in front pointed at his shoe which had some jam on it. He was a total jerk and you know he even looked like one. He was overly confident and always walked with his chin up as if looking down at others made him the most important person in school.

The messy haired guy didn't expect as he laughed at that moment but with all my strength I punched straight in his cheek to shut that mouth off and it knocked him down so fast.

Everyone were taken aback even the girl named Yeol Wol. "let's go" I took her hand and dragged her along to the classroom. That was logical reaction at such situation. Better run if you see that you can't survive so I didn't understand why she still stood there.

"Thank you" the short female bowed slightly and I could tell that I made at least one friend in my classroom that wouldn't turn her back at the worst moment. Even the scarey cat like her, at least once and shortly she would be there for me. That was the price of my powerful punch.

That day barely anyone could believe the small talks that already roamed around the school. The new guy Lee Joe knocked out Seunghyun. That jerk as well walked with the bruised cheek as the proof of what I did.

People began to gather around more with questions if that was truth. I told nothing but Yeol Wol answered the questions instead of me. I neither denied nor approve. It became nothing but rumours and talks.

Seunghyun as well didn't tell anyone the truth because we both knew. His pride was too strong to tell everyone what happened actually.

The Colorful tiger kept glaring at me as ever, it felt like he was plotting something against me and I was probably right. 

On third day when I spent my lunch break time on rooftop with a girl named Yeol Wol who had a cute bob cut that fit her round cheeks and a tall girl who was her best friend named Ji Yeon her hair was quite different in the whole classroom it was caramel brow, strong and shining long locks of hair.

I only had an apple in my pocked to have for lunch while the girls took out their lunchboxes. I would lie if I didn't drool all over them just by looking but I wasn't the type to ask from others.

I'm not the best cook to make ones myself and my mother is barely home at all. The talks about divorcing are increasing and we become short on money so I can't afford going to shop everyday just to buy meaningless food.

"That guy in front is glaring at me everytime our eyes meet" I whined and took a bite of a green and sour apple just my taste how I like it.

"Oh..." the short girl sighed and ate her omelet with rice "it is probably because of that incident yesterday" even though she brought up the time I punched someone I didn't understand what she meant yet.

"Seunghyun and others seem to be his underlings at school even though we do not see them together often" Ji Yeon added more useful information.

"Ouch" I bit my lower lip by accident and it bled slightly. At that moment I had awfully bad feeling. Because the eyes I could recognise while looking at my bad vibe giving classmate were murderous. Shivers ran trough my spine. I knew I had to be on my guard.

We just laughed it off with girls but the uncomfortable feeling haven't left my side at that time. Even when I passed Seunghyun and his pals I could hear them smearing as if they knew something I didn't.

The classes finished and I was on my way home. And all I can say about that day is that I was awfully right about the feelings I received.

I was pulled in the dark alley corner by some guy and smashed against the wall. I didn't see what happened behind me but I recognised the feeling of someone keeping his eyes on me. "the tiger huh" I chuckled while ignoring the situation, good for me because few guys sounded surprised that I knew of the other's appearance without even seeing his face.

To be continued.

[erstwhile25]

On The Subject of Truly Awful Jokes.

((The following is a lead up to why Aedos is in trouble with the Holy See. Pro tip: Never let Kail do the talking))

It had been a good night, one of those rare refuges from the world outside and any sorrow it could muster to chill the spirit. Kail wasn’t fond of the cold, anyone who had spent more than a day in his company could have guessed as much. He preferred the sun beating down, the sand between the toes of bare feet, and just a hint of salt in the air. However he had to admit, that when the freezing winds blew outside with a force to turn marrow to ice, the warmth of the fire inside was simply that much more enjoyable.

Enjoy it they did. Brave, Hyrtwyda, Aedos, and himself had a days worth of chill to chase from their shivering bones. They laughed at the events of the tourney, when Brave and Hyrtwyda had finally faced each other with their summoned carbuncles. They guffawed when Aedos related to them the events of the previous week’s expedition. Through it all they attempted to play cards, but each game seemed to break down when it was realized that Kail was finding new ways to cheat. Every time he was caught cheating, he was made to pay for more drinks, and the more drunk he became, the more he cheated. It was a vicious cycle.

With the coin Kail had won at the day’s festivities (or rather that Brave had won, and he had capitalized on) there was little pause in the drink that flowed to the table. There was no desperation to their foray into libation, as you saw with many fighters and explorers. That almost frantic need to be drunk that caused more trouble than it was worth wasn’t for them. Rather they eased into it, as if drunk was a wife waiting for them at the end of the day. Noses and cheeks turned slightly more red, despite their seats being right next to the fireplace, and their voices slowly and steadily grew louder and louder.

For the most past the crowd at the Forgotten Knight accepted this with good grace, some were even swept up by it, adding to the growing din. It was after all a fantastic night to be drunk. There was however one table at which frosty silence reigned. Kail didn’t know any of the Elezen seated there, but he knew the type. There had been no end of changes in Ishgard of late, recent events had shifted the very foundations of the city. Where once had been a nation ruled by the iron law of the Church of Halone, now stood a republic governed by houses of the people. As with any power struggle, those who were given power were content, and those from who it was wrested were not. While the multitude of the church had been more or less docile in stepping down from the seat of power, not all did it with a smile.

The Inquisition had been the branch hit hardest by the change, before now their purpose had been clear cut, their power absolute, and when there was very little argument as to what constituted a heretic in the faith of Halone. Kail could only wonder what it was like to chisel such lines in the stone, only to see them shift like so much sand. By the symbols of Halone stitched into their cuffs, and the frosty silence between them that matched the outside chill, he suspected the table of Elezen knew from first hand experience.

It wasn’t long before one, a tall drink of water even by their standards with coal black hair and features sharp enough to cut yourself on, rose to his feet and sauntered over to their table. He offered a stiff bob of a bow to Aedos and then spoke in a rum rich voice that cut through the din with the ease of one used to public speaking. “Madam Valleritignon?”

Aedos looked up mid-sip, swallowing in a fit of giggles that was passing around the table, she shushed the others before straightening out her tunic and comporting herself. “May I help you ser…?” “Costos…I am a friend of your sister, and I simply wished to introduce myself and meet the woman she speaks highly of.” Kail didn’t know much about Aedo’s home life, but there was something about that statement that unbalanced the woman. She was struggling to reach for words, her composure showing cracks. Costos spoke on “She spoke at length on the impeccable nature of your character..” his eyes swept with barely hidden disapproval at the other faces at the table “and of the sterling character of those you surround yourself with.”

Brave started to rise, the look on her face spoke clear as to what purpose. Hyrtwyda’s hand found her shoulder halfway out her seat though, and a slight shake of the Roe’s head dissuaded her from anything rash. Before anyone could look his way or suggest any sort of sense, Kail was out of his seat, and alighted upon their table with a slight drunken sway. Costos immediately took a few frantic steps back, his hand going to a cross-hilted sword on his belt. No attack came however, instead the grey haired pirate grinned at the collection of eyes now upon them. The entire inn was silent, waiting for violence to ensue.

“Ye ser…are obviously a fella in need oh a lark.” Kail grunted and swayed dangerously towards the edge of his perch, strangely enough his feet wove deftly in between the cups, cards, and piles of coin there, spilling neither. Recovering he gave a low bow and swept an arm out that seemed to draw in the onlookers even closer. “Fortunately for ye…I’ve jokes aplenty!”

Both Hyrtwyda and Brave attempted to signal Kail as to the poor footing of his current path, with warnings that ranged from the covert cough and glance, to the overt hand signals of impending doom. He barreled on however, clearing his throat, if these lads were going to hate him, he was going to give them a damn good reason.

“There once were three dragon siblins that lived in a mountain above a valley. Eldest Brother Kyrwyn, Middle Sister Saffyrn, and Least Brother Boswyk, shared their cavernous home in relative peace, with the occasional bout of boredom only every century or so. They amused themselves during these centuries, by watching the folk that lived below in the valley, much as children watch ants building a mound. They enjoyed watching the people scurry too and fro, workin in their fields, bakin their bread, and buildin their houses, their town shifting back and forth like a river in the immortal eyes of the dragon brood. Sometimes the three dragons would even disguise themselves and walk amongst the people of the village, Least Brother Boswyk in particular was fond of stealing pies from window sills while lookin fer all the world like a fair haired little cherub. It was in fact, during one of these outings that he saw something both strange and unsettling. He heard a great bell tollin in the middle of the town from a great stone building, suddenly every townsperson young, old, small, and tall, dropped what they were doing and headed fer the immense stone vault.

They lined up in the wooden seats and packed in full. When the last of the available spaces were finally filled, they waited in silence till a tall man with a long beard and a great staff went to the front, and began to talk. He spoke of virtue and he spoke of guilt, of the great tall mountains, and the wee fishes. He told them how men could stand tall if but to trust in the skies, and he spoke of men’s cruelty to those he loved. Most concernedly t'Least Brother Boswyk, he told of how stealing pies was wrong, and only the most cruel punishments awaited thieves.

Now Least Brother Boswyk had never heard of stealin afore. He’d thought those pies were fer anyone who came along, but it scared him something frightful t'think what those folks would do t'him iffin they found out. So’s he ran as fast his little legs could carry him back t'the cavern oh his siblings, wailing all the way there.

Well Eldest Brother Kyrwyn heard his brother snuffling and asked him what was wrong, so’s he told him. Only it didn’t come out quite right cause of all of Least Brother Boswyk’s blubberin. Well cause he loved his little brother, Eldest Brother Kyrwyn decided to go down and see what all the fuss was about, disguisin himself as a strappin young man taller than most. He waited till the folk gathered in the great stone house, and went on in to have a talk with the old man therein.

He returned later that day, with a strange look on his face, and his siblins asked him what was wrong. ‘I asked the old man how one might atone for crimes committed. He said that crimes were forgiven unto those who picked up a sword and fought in their family’s name. I have no wish to fight though, for surely pies are not worth spilling blood.’

To this Middle Sister Saffryn heartily agreed, and suggested that perhaps Eldest Brother Kyrwyn hadn’t asked in the right manner. She said she would go back t'town the next time they gathered and ask in his stead. So eventually the day came, and the bells rung, and Middle Sister Saffryn went t'town disguised as a beautiful young willowy lass, dressed in sunshine and wreathed in flowers.

Well it wasn’t too long before she too came back looking crestfallen, and a little shame faced. Her brothers asked her what was wrong, to which Middle Sister Saffryn replied 'I asked the old man how one might avoid violence, and he told me I should wear more clothes, and not put wicked thoughts in the minds of young men. Am I so horrible?’

Her brothers assured her that she was not. Twas at this time that Least Brother Boswyk had decided his family had gone through enough on his behalf, and iffin they could not reason peace with the old man in the stone vault, then they would buy it. He loaded a satchel with some of the gold they hoarded in the back, enough to buy hundreds of pies, and six bakeries on top of that. Dragging the satchel behind him, he went to go reason with the old man in the vault.

Twas later that day that he returned, with no satchel, but more or less in one piece. His siblings ran out to greet him, happy their brother was whole. They asked him if all was well, if all was forgiven. 'Well I don’t know about that..’ said Least Brother Boswyk 'but my pockets are empty and my ass sure is sore’”

Kail finished with his arms spread wide, as if he’d just unraveled the mysteries of life and the universe. Aedos snapped her mouth shut, for it had been wide open, and started to look like she wanted to crawl into her tankard to escape the moment of silence that followed the joke finishing. Brave and Hyrtwyda both shook in their chairs, and kept their hands clamped on their mouths. If looks could kill, Costa’s would have been loading the trebuchet. It started small and in the back, the snickering. It caught though, like a small fire that realized it wasn’t destined to be smothered. Soon it was full throated laughter, to which Hyrtwyda, Kail, Brave, and finally Aedos joined in. The other tables of the inn began howling and clapping their tankards on the table, asking for another round. Well…all except the table with Halone’s devout, they simply stared on, clutching their glasses, while the room laughed as one.

[mtwy]

Philadelphia Daily News

USA February 28th 1985

Women in Rock Madonna: ‘BOY TOY’ IMAGE

by JONATHAN TAKIFF

Many people are as entranced by Madonna’s tawdry look and brazen ‘come hither’ body movements as they are by her pinched, girlish vocals and percolating disco pop music. Maybe even more intrgued by the physical distractions.

This should not really come as a surprise. Fashion now rules a large hunk of pop culture - in music, art, film, clothing - and artful substance has become a secondary consideration. And whenever cheap thrills are what really matters to the average teenage record buyer, then a girl with ratty hair, naughty clothes, loud jewelry and an enticing exposed belly button is certainly going to create more of a stir than a subtle songstress who dresses conservatively, like everyone else.

But will they love Madonna tomorrow? Can she outlive her “Boy Toy” image, her penchant for posing in lacey undergarments (preferably on a messed up bed), and her musical catalog stressing close encounters of the sexual kind?

Or will she eventually be rejected as a cheap hussy - the kind of girl that boys love to grapple with after the high school dance, but never take home to meet mom?

It’s certainly significant that the nominations committee for this year’s Grammy Awards ignored Madonna completely, even though her debut album, “Madonna,” and follow-up LP, “Like a Virgin,” have clung tenaciously to the top of the charts for an entire year (Making her second only to Prince in importance at Warner Brothers Records). Ordinarily, the Grammys are a celebration and endorsement of just such success.

Could it be something this damsel wore in her R-rated videos - all those crucifixes dangling from her ears and between her legs, perhaps - that put off the Grammy crowd? Blasphemous stuff!

Or maybe they’ve misread the message of, ah, pure romance inherent in her lyrics: “They can beg and they can plead/But they can’t see the light, that’s right/’Cause the boy with the cold hard cash/Is always Mister Right.” 

And let’s not overlook her recent No.1 celebration of, um, reborn innocence: “I was beat/Incomplete/I’d been had, I was sad and blue/But you made me feel/Yeah, you made me feel/Shiny and new/Like a virgin/Touched for the very first time/Like a Virgin/When your heart beats next to mine.”

What kind of temperament breeds such a talent?

“From the start I was a very bad girl,” brags 24-year-old Madonna Louise Ciccone, the eldest daughter in a family of six. “I was always in touch with my sexual side.”

Born on Detroit’s tough West Side, Madonna was all of 6 when her mother (also named Madonna) died of cancer, forcing the little girl to grow up fast. “I really felt like I was the main female of the house. There was no woman between my father and me, no mother,” she recalls.

Life turned even weirder when Madonna was 8 and her father, a Chrysler engineer, announced that he was going to marry the family’s housekeeper. “It was hard to accept her as an authority figure and also accept her as being the new No.1 female in my father’s life. My father wanted us to call her mom, not her first name. I remember it being really hard for me to get the word ‘mother’ out of my mouth. It was really painful. I hated the fact that my mother was taken away and I’m sure I took a lot of that out on my stepmother.”

Madonna says she gew loud and aggressive to get attention among all her brothers and sisters, and always had “this thing” about nuns and crucifixes. “I went to three Catholic schools as a child with uniforms and nuns hitting you over the back with staplers. I lived in a real intergrated neighborhood. We were one of the only white families there.” Later, Madonna’s large family moved to Pontiac, Mich., where she lived next to Bob Seger and attended Pontiac Catholic High School.

Her father didn’t believe in leisure time: he always wanted her to be doing homework or reading the Bible. Madonna rebelled by throwing herself into the world of the fantastic. In eighth grade, she appeared in her first movie, a Super 8 project directed by a classmate, in which an egg was fried on her stomach. (That belly was obviously hot stuff, even then!) She acted in plays, studied piano, loved movies, danced to Motown hits in backyards, and finally let dance become the central focus of her adolescent life. She’d take all her school classes early so she could take dance classes in the afternoon. Then at night her ballet teacher served as her “introduction” to glamour and sophistication. “He used to take me to all the gay discotheques in downtown Detroit. Men were doing poppers and going crazy. They were all dressed really well and were more free about themselves than all the blockhead football players I met in high school.”

Madonna won a dance scholarship to the University of Michigan, then quit after a year to take on the real world. “I moved to New York in ‘78. I was only 17, I had $35 in my pocket and knew no one. I told the taxi driver to take me to the middle of everything. I was let off in Times Square.”

Madonna won a work-study scholarship with the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s third troupe - the farm team. “Still, I thought I was in a production of ‘Fame’,” she recalls with a laugh. “Everyone was Hispanic or black, and everyone wanted to be a star.”

But they couldn’t keep this ambitious girl down on the farm for long. Through Ailey, Madonna met Pearl Lange, long the lead soloist for the famed Martha Graham troupe, who taught her the modern Graham technique. Madonna later worked as a Lange’s assistant. “It was interesting work. The style is very archiac, angular and dramatic. Painful, dark and guilt-ridden; very Catholic.....I was always an outcast in my ballet classes, the freak. I didn’t have long hair pulled back in a bun. Mine was short, and I used to dye it different colors.

“I would rip my leotards all the way up to my chest and then safety-pin them all the way down. I couldn’t stand all those horrible little ballerinas who hadn’t seen anything of the world except for their dance classes. They came from really rich families and bored me.”

Not willing to wait for her big break in serious dance, Madonna started going to musical theatre auditions. Catching the attention of French disco singer Patrick Hernandez’s management, she was asked to join his show, and was promised she could be a star, too, with a little guidance. “They took me to Paris and gave me everything: a vocal coach, a dance teacher, an apartment and a chauffuer. They were like the French mafia, very wealthy and had come into even more money through Patrick. They knew I was talented but had no idea what to do with me.”

Eventually tiring of this scene, too, Madonna returned to New York and decided to devote herself to music. Befriended by a rock group called The Breakfast Club, she shared a loft with them in an old Queens Synagogue and, when they went off to work, she taught herself to play instruments using their small home studio. When they needed a drummer, she was ready.

Later came her own band called Emmy (from her nickname). That one broke up over a dispute with her manager, who saw Madonna as a Pat Benatar-like rock belter. She had other ideas.

“I’m proud of the fact that I started out as a rhythm-and-blues-oriented disco singer. It gave me more of an identity. I feel that the pop charts are finally opening up to urban contemporary sounds like Herbie Hancock and all those other people who are making great street records. Detroit has always been hip to it but finally mid-America is hearing it for the first time.”

On her first album, songs like “Borderline,” “Lucky Star” and “Holiday” moved Madonna from disco play to R&B radio and then to Top 40 and MTV. Her second album, produced by Nile Rodgers of Chic, and featuring the same musicians who’ve lately been backing up David Bowie, also has broken her through to rock radio. “It’s more pop-oriented than my first record, more accessible and it shows my growth as an artist and a vocalist,” she assesses.

But can Madonna’s paper-thin vocal sound cut it live, a situation in which voice-thickening echo chamber devices stand out much more obviously, and even the sexiest body moves don’t look like much from 100 yards away? We’ll see this Spring, as Madonna embarks on her first concert tour, featuring equally trendy British gay/political rock group Bronski Beat as special support act.

An acting career is her next burning ambition to fulfill. In 1979, Madonna played the part of a punk in a cheap, psuedo-French art flick. “A Certain Sacrifice.” The film is belatedly going to be released, to cash in on her name recognition, and the latest issue of Rolling Stone magazine describes Madonna’s part in the film as “a quasi-dominatrix who has three sex slaves.” But Video Insider editor Steve Apple, who recently screened it, says that “any suggestion this is a porno movie is a lie. There’s a violent scene in which she’s raped, and there’s a half second of frontal, upper torso nudity, but that’s it. The producer of the movie was hoping Madonna’s management would come up with some money to bury the movie, but they won’t even give him a kill fee.”

With her clothes on (sort of), Madonna is currently on view as a nightclub singer in “Visionquest” and soon will be seen in a featured part in the much hyped “Desperately Seeking Susan.”

[jack-redacted]

“Welcome to ________ University, home of the Flying Horses! My name is Katie! Here’s your welcome brochure, and the freshman orientation is just that way, past the flagpole.”

 Katie Yoon smiled and handed out another glossy paper pamphlet. The photos were staged and classy, the font professional and academic. She had helped the yearbook team to set up the design, and was pleased with the result. To her right, her friend and yearmate “Smike” Burne-Jones was also greeting new students and handing out pamphlets, albeit a bit less enthusiastically. Not surprising, perhaps. Smike prefered to be a bit selective about how he used his time. Katie found service projects fun and almost crucial to her energy-Smike wasn’t into volunteering, even if just for a campus welcoming team. Oh well. He was here now, and doing a great job.

“Heya, I’m Smike. Welcome to _____ University, home of the Flying Horses- Yeah, bit of a weird mascot but there you go. The orientation? Just past the flagpole, look for the crowd of Ray-Bans. Alright, see you later, darling.” 

Katie grimaced at him. 

“Darling?” He shrugged apologetically.

“There’s a fine line between friendly, flirty and patronizing. Sue me.” He responded apathetically. 

Katie smiled and repositioned her glasses. Smike handed out another brochure, then turned to get another stack from the table behind them. She looked around campus, admiring the beautiful gardens, trees and landscaping, thankful for such a cool, bright day after the intense summer heat. There was something about _____ that felt so much like home. 

“Hello? Hi, is this the orientation site, for the freshmen?” 

Katie turned quickly as the voice caught her out of her reverie. A thin girl with long black hair, pale skin and triple piercings in one ear stood hesitantly. She was simply dressed with natural makeup -and she was gorgeous. Katie was all about embracing all types of beauty, and body positivity. Everyone was beautiful. But this girl- was flawless.

“Uh-Yeah, no yeah, it’s that way, past the flagpole and the goat statue.” She handed a brochure and the girl took it without looking down. She had grey intense eyes, a little wistful maybe.

“Thank you.” Her voice was cultured, not British or anything, just precise and sounded like she had money. Was that a thing? Katie wondered. Could you sound rich? 

“No problem. I’m Katie Yoon.” The girl shook her hand, like they were settling a business deal instead of making acquaintances. 

“Taylor Lautner. Freshman.”

“ Alright, Taylor. Well, I’m a Sophomore and on the welcome team so if you need anything, just let me or Smike know and we’d be glad to help.”

The girl thanked her again and left, blending in with the crowds of students. Katie nudged Smike. He noticed and leaned in. His Nikola Tesla t-shirt smelled like some sawdusty, boozy cologne. He pointed directions to a confused Senior as he mumbled under his breath.

“Getting tired already, Yoon?” Smike smirked sardonically.

“It was the freshman- you didn’t see her?” Smike shook his head. 

“Was she that annoying? I swear, they get worse every year.”

“What? How would you know, you were a freshman last year too! And no, the opposite. She wasn’t your type, but stunning. And polite. And probably rich.”

Smike leaned back, rolled his eyes. “Rich, nice and pretty. Katie, you just described half the girls in this school.” He flicked a ladybug off his arm. 

“Half? That’s an optimistic view, Smike.” Katie laughed, and then stopped to point out the dorms for a new student. Smike waited until she was done, then continued.

“Not really. You’re nice, Morgan’s nice, Mallory is nice…. On the inside. Gael’s nice. And most of you are rich and prettyish.”

Katie punched his arm. “Prettyish? Not stunningly gorgeous, or brilliantly lovely?” 

Smike pulled away. “Shhhh! Princess Leia might hear you.”

Katie laughed. “Oh, right, can’t have the space princess getting jealous!”

“Exactly!” said Smike, grinning. “I’m so glad you understand.” 

They continued their play bickering, helping direct students and handing out shiny paper bulletins in the glorious August sunshine. Both of them were simple and childish souls, and by the time they went to dinner, they’d fully enjoyed both the day and each other’s company. Very few people had the gift of enjoying life as Katie Yoon did.

_________________________________________________________

“Come break some hearts now, tell em how…”

 Mallory Williams turned up the music on her scratched and battered iPod as she stalked her way down campus. She stalked because Mallory never did anything, even walking, without an air of boredom, suppressed rage and flair. She wore her burgundy tee like armor, her red hair cut into a Uma Thurman style bob, and her dark jeans and eyes like warning signs. The barely turning fall foliage wasn’t lost on her, neither was the aesthetic perfection of _______University. For her manner, it might as well have been.

“But be advised, No restitution comes tonight…”

The iPod continued to play the same song on repeat. She turned past the fountain and climbed the stairs to the Waverly Scott Building. Her new dorm. The suitcase she dragged after her was just big enough to hold her clothes and the few things she hadn’t already dragged up earlier that day. This was the last trip up those stupid stairs with stupid luggage. A teacher in the lobby nodded to her, but she pretended she hadn’t seen him through her sunglasses. On the second floor she changed the song.

Mallory continued her journey up to the dorm room-the same dorm room that, despite her therapist's advice and her own explicit request, she would be sharing. Whatever. The roommate wouldn't be here 'til Thursday. 

She let out a short hiss of frustration as she saw that some idiot had shut the door. Slamming down the suitcase, she wiggled the doorknob with her knee and kicked the door open. She stepped inside, throwing the bags on the floor in the corner and straightening her back with an relieved sigh as a kink in her spine cracked-which is when she realized why the door was closed. The Roommate, inexplicably, was there. Three days early.

It took Mallory a second to understand the fact of the Roommate's presence. Another second passed as Mallory reconfigured her entire mental state-"sudden changes required sudden changes in attitude" as someone once said. She changed her internal posture, her internal attitude. Then she sighed and nodded.

"And you're here early." She made sure to keep the accusatory tone light and crisp, with just an edge of amusement. The Roommate looked a bit put off, but she stepped forward and held out a thin white hand. 

"Yes. I was informed you might not be expecting me so early. I trust this won't be too much of a problem for you?" 

Wow. Rich princess. Or cultured chic, with an emphasis on cultured. Not only her words, but her inflection were impeccable, like someone who took elocution classes long before ninth grade. Not a British accent, but it wasn't a stretch to imagine it. Her manner was calm. She was holding her ground against Mallory's abrasive attitude. And so polite. It was sad. In another world, they could've been friends. 

"Well, you're here now," Mallory reponded, "So I guess I have no choice about whether or not it's a problem."

The roommate's jaw tightened, and she nodded curtly, then glanced down at her hand. She had a cup of greek yogurt in her left hand, and looked down at it with some distaste before carefully throwing it into the wastebasket. She turned to her bag, sitting on the desk by the window. Her black hair swished over her shoulder. Mallory went back to unpacking the various bags and suitcases, and setting up her area. Roommate Rich Girl had taken the left top bunkbed, and the desk by the window. She'd also put down a nice white rug on the cold floor, and a few potted cactii on the window sill, but that was all for decoration. Mallory had already set up a tall floor lamp and the nice white curtains. (Just because she had a b**chy self-portayal didn't mean she couldn't have nice things.) Mallory began pulling her huge comforters and pillows out of one suitcase, piling them onto the futon couch. Roommate turned, and frowned slightly. 

"The bottom bunk is available. I left it for you." Again, the cultured tones, but somewhat lacking in affect. For someone with such an expressive body, she had a rather toneless voice.

Mallory turned and flashed a patronizing grin.

"Oh yeah. I did see that. Thank you, but I prefer the futon, if that's not too much of a problem for you, Roommate?"

The Roommate's blue eyes turned to icy steel or whatever. She flipped her hair back and retorted.

"Taylor Lautner. I rather prefer the concept of a couch-for sitting on and studying, and friends, you understand?"

Mallory was relieved. That's what she called the odd awareness that someone was falling for her b**chy outerskin and learning to hate her on sight. Oddly enough, it felt a bit like loneliness or disappointment. At least what she read about those emotions. She ignored this internal self analysis, turning the sheet down and then standing again to face the roommate.

"Well, Sharkboy, I prefer the idea of sleeping where I like in my own dorm. But if it's such a pain for you, I'll turn it back into a couch in the morning and you can do whatever the hell you want with it. Deal?"

Taylor gave her a hand gesture- a hand curtsy? That's what it looked like-and went back to organizing her stuff. Mallory sank back into herself, turned attack mode off, and finished her own unpacking, which was much easier as she planned to leave all her outfits from her suitcase shoved under her bunk.

Once finished, Mallory unpacked a plastic bag full of her infamous pina colada kale chips.(Homemade, of course, at Katie Yoon's house last week.) She sat back on her futon/bed, and pretended to scroll her phone feed. In reality, she observed Taylor. 

Her charm wasn't in her clothes, obviously. Black pants and a white peasant top. She was pretty, sure. In an icy, dark haired sort of way. In a quiet, understated way. In a rich, flawless way. She was like baby's breath flowers. Thin, lacy, delicate. But somehow, she had a core of strength, again like a dancer who's worked their body and knows every inch of how it moves, works, walks... Her body was hers and she lived in every inch of it. She stopped finally, observed the room with a vacuous expression while fingering a silver butterfly on a tiny chain. She turned to Mallory, who jumped as she realized she was caught in her scrutiny of the other girl.

"I'm going out now. To see the orientation and talk with friends. Would you care to come along." 

She asked with no question. More of a quiet statement that no, of course, Mallory wasn't coming. Her voice was so flat.

"Nah, I'm heading out to meet friends too. I won't be back til around 11, so don't bother waiting up for me," she said with a flippant and sarcastic grin. 

Taylor nodded, picked up her sleek black phone and a leather bag and left the room, leaving behind a faint scent of fresh cotton and Chanel No 5 behind her. Mallory exhaled, then picked up her own phone and made a call. If anyone would be willing to listen to her rant about an annoying roommate, it would be her best friend, Katie Yoon.

-------------------------------------Chapter 2-------------------------------------------

"I don't want to go." 

Jaejin Kyung blew an exasperated sigh through his lightly clenched, flawlessly white, and perfectly aligned teeth.  He glanced down at his watch, his nice Rolex or Holodex or whatever that he'd got after that L.A. shoot. It was such an imperceptible gesture, and so cautious, but a succinct reminder that he still had places to go and needed to be at the airport to get to Milwaukee in three hours. A reminder that he had driven all the way to Nebraska just for her, and she was being ungrateful. It was annoying. 

"Kim, we talked about this. It will be a good experience." 

Kim doubted it. She seriously doubted it. She looked out of the car window at the huge campus of St. John's Academy. It looked like a modern-day castle, all concrete, steel and brushed with the veneer of erudite learning. It was nice, she admitted to herself, just as she had when she first saw the brochure, and when she first saw the website. 

"It's not the experience that's lame... it's just... " 

Kim trailed off, looking now in the side mirror at her reflection. Her round face looked like a wheel of cheese, and she had a feeling her pits were leaking sweat already. And it was not warm outside. Nobody else was wearing a kawaii design t-shirt, and everyone who walked past the car looked older and more sophisticated. 

She was lame.

Jaejin bit his lip. Kim knew how hard it was for him to deal with her self-pity, and how unreasonable and childish she was being. She just didn't know how to be anything else. 

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. She waited until he composed himself, looking out at the crowd of non-losers milling by. Jaejin turned, his seatbelt cutting into his muscular shoulder. 

"Look. Kim. Give it a month, okay? All this work, the applications Mom and I put in- not to mention driving all the way out here. Give. It. One. Month. If you really hate it, and can't cope, then you can... come back home, or try another college, or sit in your room for the rest of your life or whatever. Just. Try. It."

Ouch. That hurt. He was upset. Kim folded her arms, staring out the window, feeling the pressure of her older brother's disappointment. The tug of the college life pulled at her. She wanted more independence. A chance to prove herself as someone with more skills than just marathon snacking and endless Doctor Who trivia. 

She was also terrified, and the two emotions were confusing her. 

"Well?" Jaejin prompted.

"Okay," Kim said. "But I'm telling people my last name is Walker."

Jaejin was already opening the door. The tension drained, at least from his body. He pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes as he began pulling luggage from the car seats. Several girls and a few guys turned to stare at his lithe, L.A. model body, but Jaejin was oblivious. 

"Let them call you kicake. So long as they call you something." He swung a backpack on his shoulder, and she lumbered after him pulling her suitcase. She imagined herself as a chubby Asian Robin behind a cool, suave Batman. The image was not a nice one. They walked along, Jaejin passing grins and greetings to a few people he remembered, mostly teachers and Seniors. It hadn't been too long since he went to St. John's Academy, but he was already a fossil here. Albeit a very cool fossil. 

On the first flight of steps up to her dorm, her phone buzzed. She stopped, fishing her phone in its large case out of her sweatpant pockets. Jaejin huffed, dropping the bags on the sixth stair. 

"Kim!"

She grimaced. 

"Sorry. It's rainMaker." 

Jaejin said nothing, but waited for her to check her text. She knew he was annoyed, but they had an unspoken agreement. rainMaker was priority--and off limits for argument ammo. Kim was disappointed, though. Just a smiley face to her "We're here!" text.

"Okay, we can go," she said, stuffing the phone back in into her pocket. They picked up the bags, and dragged them to her dorm. She'd already met her roommate, Melissa, who was Mormon and boring but nice. Kim needed nice, and was glad to know that Melissa was very chill and very much not there at the moment. Good. Kim didn't need an audience for this goodbye.

"Well." Jaejin broke the long silence. "I guess this is, uh... See you later, for now."

Kim didn't quite meet his eyes. He was trying to make up for their arguement earlier, and really, goodbyes were as hard on him as they were on her. He just handled them better. She didn't trust herself to say anything, so she just barreled into him with the most huggy hug she'd ever given. It took him a second, but he hugged her back. They stood there for just a second, then broke apart. He stood awkwardly.

"So... I'm just gonna.."

Kim nodded. 

"Yeah, just go before I change my mind." 

They laughed weakly. He reminded her to text soon, and that he'd always be there if she needed him, and walked out with the last words of "One Month." She nodded, and waited until she felt his car drive away, down the road, and to the airport to Milwaukee.  Kim sat on the bed, just breathing in the atmosphere. She focused on everything around her. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. There were noises coming from the hall-people moving in,  and noises from outside-marching bands and cars. There were smells of cleaning supplies and microwave calzones and other people's perfume. There was a faint taste of burnt plastic in the air, and the blanket on her bed felt like a hospital sheet. And her t-shirt felt like home.

Kim started to cry. 

 She cried like a child, curled up in a caterpillar around her shirt. Silently, her mouth open and her chest heaving.  Her throat felt tight and itchy, and her eyes hurt with the effort of squinting them closed. Just a long, wet, snotty, hiccuppy sob session. Kim knew she could stop it, hold back the childish torrent of tears streaming down her stupid fat face, but from experience, she knew she'd feel much better after a good, long cry.  So she let it all overwhelm her. New school, no brother, new room, no childhood, and fifty miles away from home. It was a lot. 

It took about ten minutes for her to compose herself. She wiped off her tears, blew her nose on a tissue she'd hidden in her pocket for just this occasion, and sat up. The suitcases stood around the room like tiny sentinels. The pinkish beige carpet looked like canned cat food,  and Kim held on to that detail to keep herself steady. She got up, began unpacking her things--Then she noticed that her phone had lit up during her sob session, and she hadn't noticed. She tossed the armful of socks (rolled, of course) on the corner of the cat-food carpet, and pounced on her phone.

Three New Messages from rainMaker

rainMaker---how do you like campus kicake

rainMaker---i keep looking around at everybody wondering if i see you but i dont know its you

rainMaker---are you that bald freshman carrying a lifesize yugioh cutout to his dorm

Kim laughed shakily. She considered a moment, then typed a response.

kicake---no and i cant believe you would say that

kicake---i hate yugioh more than you hate mlp

Her phone chimed with a reponse almost instantly. She grinned. 

rainMaker---so how do you like st johns? as a sophomore, im required to make sure every freshman adores it as much as i do. 

rainMaker---its in the job description

kicake---sure it is. what's the freshman job description?

rainMaker---to be the school mascot of fresheyed innocence what do you think of the school be serious kicake

Kim stopped to consider a moment. On the one hand, she hated it here. On the other hand, she'd had a good cry and had the chance to look at the opportunity with fresh eyed innocence.  It was time to grow up, she decided. Time for new Kim Walker Kyung to explode from her heart like the parasite thing in Alien. So she paused and then sent rainMaker a text.

kicake---once i get over the cat vomit colored carpet, i think i'll like it here.

rainMaker---send me pics. 

kicake---of the carpet? 

rainMaker---of the carpet. its not that bad. 

Kim sent a picture of her hand pointing at the carpet. It wasn't the clearest photo, but the carpet, in all its feline excrement glory was visible plainly. She sent it off with the caption "its that bad." rainMaker sent back a vomiting emoji. Kim responded with a dead face emoji.

rainMaker---nice socks

kicake---how did you even notice them? 

rainMaker---xD now i know im looking for a girl who wears lilo and stitch socks

kicake--->:| 

rainMaker---hey im kidding. you said you dont wanna meet up yet, and i respect that

rainMaker---and i respect your lilo and stitch socks

kicake---thanks 

kicake---so how are you settling in

It took rainMaker a few minutes to text back, so Kim finished unpacking her suitcase and made her bed. Then she sat back on the pillows and scrolled through fanblrg until her phone chimed with his latest message. 

rainMaker---yeah its nice i semi know my roomate and im a cool sophomore

rainMaker---im just glad to be back here its probably the best 

rainMaker---im moving furniture around so i cant text back right away

Kim started to reply when the door swung open and Melissa pranced in, blond ponytail swinging. She was the kind of person who pranced, and she was a smiling sunshine person. Kim didn't mind that, though. Melissa would probably be out with friends or studying at the library most of the time, and she wasn't pushy. Right now, Melissa rumaged through her purse, grabbing keys, lip balm, sunglasses, then the whole purse and turned to Kim. 

"Hey, Kim, me and my group are heading out to grab a quick bite, wanna come? Joshua is paying, so you don't have to worry. He's that lawyer's son, so he's got money."

 Melissa laughed to show she was teasing. She and Joshua weren't dating, but they would be. They'd get married and have happy temple children with big teeth. Kim actually considered the option, which was a testament to how much she liked Melissa. Not from any personal merits, but just because she was safe. Kim Kyung of a few hours ago would have said no. Kim Walker surprised herself.

"Sure. I'm gonna get changed first-"

Melissa cut her off. 

"Oh you look fine. Marley is going in her pyjamas. It's settle in day, nobody cares." 

Kim shrugged and smiled. Her psychedelic Alice in Wonderland shirt and grey-green sweatpants with the scruffed pink hightops... sure. Kim Walker had just enough Kim Kyung not to care about how schleppy she looked. Or rather, to care, but know that a different outfit probably wouldn't do much. Plus, nobody dresses up for a pity date, right?

"Alrighty... we taking your car?"

Melissa beamed. She loved her new car, a big blue SUV with plenty of room for friends, shopping bags, coolers, and on vacations, her two golder retrievers, Norman and Frisco. She led the way out, her pink stilletos cutting tiny eye holes in the ugly carpet. Kim trekked along behind her, typing a text to rainMaker on the way out.

kicake---don't worry about it. im heading out so same.

rainMaker---okay. ttyl then?

kicake---yeah, whenever.

Kim Kyung, professional loser and sad blob had entered the dorm room of Pelosi Hall, and Kim Walker, still pathetic but willing to go hang out with her roommate's friends, was leaving. Kim felt that there had been a good exchange. The process of peeling back layers of pathetic and blobiness would be a long one, but who knew? It could be worth it in the end. She smiled as she stepped into the sunshine, and grinned as she turned up the radio in Melissa's car. Kanye West was right. It was a new dawn, and a new day. It was a new Kim.

------------------------------------------------------Chapter 3---------------------------------------------

"It sounds like you're being a bit harsh on her, Mal."

Katie balanced her lunch tray on one knee as she used her foot to open the little fridge, then bent down to grab a milk. She loved everything she came across, except criminals, and she really loved milk. Behind her, her friend Mallory Williams was grabbing a huge lemonade and a large thing of fries. She scowled at Katie's comment.

"I mean, come on. Poor little rich girl, amirite?" Mallory argued. The line moved forward and Katie handed the money to the register. She could've used her student ID, but she prefered to keep track of the money she spent. Katie juggled the food as Mallory handed her tray to her with no ceremony. Mallory liked to do things with both hands, and expected Katie to carry things for her whenever she needed. It was an aristocratic type of entitlement, with just enough absentmindedness of manner to keep it from being rude. It was bordeline rude, but Katie knew Mallory. She didn't mind carrying things once in a while. It was somewhat a requisite of being Mallory's friend- accepting Mallory. 

"Look, she's a freshman. She's probably not used to al lthis, and to being away from home, so  give her some slack. She's just trying to mark herself a little territory."

Mallory took the tray back as they headed back to their table where Smike was already digging into a pita bread wrap with his roommate Jonah. A match made in heaven, those two. Equally pleasant, optimistic people who had no trouble getting along on their first day, and sitting together for lunch every day. 

Mallory scoffed "Yeah, sure, whatever. I just hope she transfers. God. I don't like her."

Katie had heard enough to guess that Mallory was mistaken about that, but didn't want to say it out loud. It just wasn't that often that Mallory met someone who wasn't cowed by her... unpleasant demeanor or pathological unkindness. Her and Smike had known Mallory since senior year of high school, and had only penetrated her defences due to their relentless ability to see the best in people and treat everyone with the penultimate of generosity. This roommate was special. Perhaps she would serve as a good foil for Mallory...

There she was. The freshman girl that she'd seen earlier, with Smike. She was paying at the end of the line with a kind, quiet smile. Her tall, thin frame was almost lost in the crowd of insipid and loud children pretending to be adults while relying on trust funds and allowances and crisp dollar bills from the rich relatives. The freshman stood out. She was timid, maybe, but soft. She was meek because she wanted to be, not because anyone made her meek.