#25 year old cloud hits different

[seikiro]

Final Fantasy VII Advent Children

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

caught in the middle | charles leclerc

🎸 synopsis: After a rainy concert in London, you end up sharing burgers backstage with Charles Leclerc, of all people. tags: rockstar life, talks about fame & pressure (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 2.4k words)

It’s one of those nights. You can feel the rain before you even hear it, the weight of it pressing down from the clouds, and you just know it’s going to pour. And it does. Hard. The London sky opens up as if it’s got something personal against you, and you’re huddled under a canopy behind the venue, watching as water cascades down. Everything’s soaked – the equipment, the crew, you – and the mood is tense, all nerves and curses muttered under breath because, of course, this is how the night’s going to go.

It’s not your first time here. You’ve played this venue before, two or three times over the years, and every time it feels a little different. A little bigger, like the walls have expanded to swallow more people, like the stage gets higher and the lights hotter. And tonight, it’s not just the rain; it’s a mess of last-minute technical problems. Something about the lighting rig not syncing up, and the sound checks running late because of a blown amp, and the stage crew rushing around to patch things together while you pace the green room, wondering if it’s all going to fall apart before it even begins.

Your tour manager’s in your ear, reassuring you that everything’s fine, but you’ve heard that line before, and it does nothing to stop the nervous twist in your gut. You’re too old for this kind of anxiety, you think. 25 isn’t even that old, but then why does it feel like you’re walking a tightrope every time you hit the stage? Like you’re one wrong move away from everything crashing down. You watch the rain from the window, and it reminds you of all the other times you’ve felt this way, every tour and every city bleeding together in your memory.

Something shifts. It’s hard to say when exactly it happens – maybe it’s when the crew finally gives you the thumbs-up, or when the rain lets up just enough for you to see the crowd gathering through the fogged-up glass. Maybe it’s the hum of the bass vibrating through the walls or the way the adrenaline suddenly kicks in, hot and electric. Either way, you hear them out there, the crowd – muffled cheers and a murmur that swells and dips, building anticipation, wrapping itself around your chest and squeezing until you can barely breathe. 

You don’t let yourself think about it too much. You go through the motions, pulling on your jacket, checking the setlist one more time even though you’ve memorized it, cracking jokes with the band like it’s any other night, and then it’s time. The stage manager is waving you over, and you take one last deep breath – just one – before you step out into the hallway that leads to the stage. Your footsteps echo, and the noise from the crowd grows louder. You can feel the heat of the lights before you even see them, hear the opening notes of the intro track rumbling through the speakers. You don’t look back. You can’t. 

Then the crowd sees you, and the roar that goes up is like nothing else. It’s everything, like you’re not standing on a stage but flying, unstoppable, and the rain outside doesn’t matter, the equipment issues don’t matter. Nothing matters except the music, the energy.

You start singing. You don’t even remember starting, but your fingers are on the strings of your guitar and the music’s pouring out of you, and the band’s right there with you. You can feel the floor vibrating beneath your feet, the beat pounding in your chest. It’s perfect, even in its imperfections – the missed cues, the notes you almost fumble but catch at the last second, the feedback that whines for half a beat before it’s smothered. The adrenaline burns through you until you can’t tell where you end and the music begins.

When you look out at the crowd, you wonder if they know what it costs, if they can see how hard you’re fighting to hold onto this, to keep the dream alive even when it feels like it’s slipping away.

You hit the chorus and they’re all singing with you, the sound so loud it’s almost deafening, and it’s like the world stops. You’re not thinking about the rain or the mistakes or the way your fingers ache from playing the same chords over and over. You’re just feeling it, the connection, the rush, the way it all comes together for just a few minutes.

You stumble off stage, still feeling the echo of the last note ringing in your ears, your chest heaving with each breath. The heat’s oppressive, and your shirt is damp with sweat, sticking to your back in a way that makes you want to peel it off. You’re half-drunk on adrenaline, on the sound of the crowd still buzzing through the walls, and you don’t even realize you’re smiling until someone hands you a water bottle and you chug it down in three desperate gulps, nearly doubling over from the effort.

The band’s all around you, slapping your back, bumping shoulders, shouting half-coherent things like “Killed it tonight!” and “Best show yet!” But you’re only half-listening, already thinking about the part that comes next. The part that’s always a little awkward, a little forced, where you shake the hands of strangers who got lucky or know the right people or just happened to win some contest. You try to give them a moment to remember, even when you’re exhausted, even when all you really want is a quiet corner to catch your breath. You take a second to steady yourself, push your damp hair out of your eyes, and head toward the meet-and-greet area, already pasting on that familiar, practiced smile.

They’re waiting for you when you get there, clustered in small groups, some with wide-eyed grins, some pretending they’re not as excited as they are. You go through the motions – handshakes, hugs, quick photos with flashing phones that make your vision blur. You ask them how they liked the show, where they came from, if they’ve seen you play before. You keep the rhythm going until your attention snags on someone standing a little apart from the crowd, someone you haven’t seen around before.

He’s got the kind of beauty that makes him stand out, even though he’s just standing there, hands in the pockets of a jacket. And you know him. Of course, you do – how could you not? It’s Charles Leclerc, the one and only. But you’re the rock star here, and you know how to play it cool.

You step forward, hand outstretched, because if you think too much about it, you’ll probably lose your nerve. “Hey,” you say, your voice a little rough from the show, from the yelling and the singing and the way the night’s adrenaline still hasn’t quite worn off. “Nice to meet you.”

His handshake is firm, warm, and he’s got this smile that’s just a little shy, like he’s not used to being on this side of the spotlight, which makes you feel weirdly better. Less alone. “Nice to meet you,” he echoes, his accent softer than you expected, “I’m a big fan.”

You almost choke. Me too, you want to say, because you’ve followed his career, but you don’t. You just nod, feeling your own grin stretching wider than it should, because it’s not every day you meet someone who’s famous in their world, too, and suddenly you’re a little self-conscious, wondering if you’re as cool as you think you are.

“Glad you liked the show,” you say, keeping it light, like he’s just another fan, even though he’s not. Not really. 

He laughs, easy and low, and you notice the way he shifts his weight, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but doesn’t want to come off too eager. “It was incredible,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I’ve been listening to your music for years. This… this was something else.”

“Thanks,” you say, feeling your cheeks warm, and you hope he can’t see it in the low backstage lighting. “Means a lot, coming from you.” It slips out before you can stop it, and you watch his eyebrows lift, surprise passing over his face like he wasn’t expecting you to know who he was. 

The rest of the band finally notices him and they’re quick to be all over him. They’re his fans and unlike you, they’re not afraid to show it. They start asking about the car and which race is the hardest, and you just hang back, watching the way Charles lights up, giving them all the attention they’re craving.

The chaos dies down. The gear’s mostly packed up, the roadies are winding down, and you can finally breathe. The routine kicks in – the same one you always follow after a show because you need the familiarity to settle the adrenaline that’s still coursing through you. 

There’s a table in the corner of the greenroom piled high with burgers, fries, and the kind of greasy comfort food that’s become your go-to post-show ritual. Always enough for everyone – staff, guests, even the hangers-on who just happened to have a backstage pass.

It’s your thing, the one you look forward to when the crowd’s roar has faded and the lights have gone down. You grab a burger – double patty, extra cheese, because you’ve earned it – and motion to Charles, who’s still lingering near the door. “Hey,” you say, nodding toward the food. “You hungry? There’s more than enough.”

He hesitates, just for a second, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

By the time you’ve both got food in your hands and the staff’s scattered around the room in little groups, you find yourselves at the same worn-out couch in the far corner, away from the noise and the half-empty beer bottles littering the floor. He sits beside you, and you try not to think too hard about the way the couch dips slightly under his weight, the way the space between you feels strangely intimate now that you’re not surrounded by people.

You don’t talk for a while, just eat. He’s halfway through his burger when he speaks first, voice low and casual like he’s picking up a conversation you weren’t sure you’d started. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

You pause mid-bite, looking at him, surprised by the question. He’s looking at you like he’s not sure if he’s crossed a line. And maybe he has, but in a good way.

“Sometimes,” you admit, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on the night. Some shows, it’s like I’m not even really there, just... going through the motions. Others, it’s everything I wanted since I was a kid, you know?”

He nods, his eyes dropping to the burger in his hands. “Yeah, I get that. Racing’s the same. Some days, it’s all instinct and adrenaline. Other times, it’s like you’re fighting just to stay in the car, like you’re not even sure why you’re doing it.”

You nod back. “Guess it’s hard to keep loving something when it feels more like a job than... whatever it was in the beginning.”

Charles looks up, and there’s something almost wistful in his eyes. “Yeah. But it’s harder to imagine doing anything else. Even when it’s rough.”

You get that. You’ve lived that – the way the music’s a part of you, the way you keep coming back even when you think you’re done. You take another bite, chewing slowly, letting the words sink in before you say, “Sometimes I wonder if I missed my chance to be something else. Like, what if I’d taken a different path, you know?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back against the couch. “Yeah,” he says eventually, voice quiet. “But then I think about the people I’ve met, the places I’ve been... and I don’t know if I’d trade any of it, even the bad parts.”

It hits you harder than you expect, because that’s exactly it – the good, the bad, the stuff in between that keeps you tethered even when you’re not sure why. You swallow, feeling a lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you say softly, staring at the half-eaten burger in your hand. “I think I get that.”

He shifts beside you, turning a little, and you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. “I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now,” he admits, and there’s a vulnerability there that makes your chest ache. “Like, when I was younger, I thought there’d be this moment where everything would make sense. But it never really does.”

You let out a breath, nodding slowly. “Me too,” you say. “I mean, when I was a kid, I thought I’d be this – ” you wave your hand vaguely, gesturing to the greenroom, the music, the life you’re living “ – and it’s great. Don’t get me wrong, but... I still don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

He laughs, a quiet, almost sad sound, and shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone knows if they’re doing it right. Maybe that’s the point. Just... keep going, even when you don’t know what’s next.”

There’s a silence that stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. You take another bite, and he does too, and for a moment, it’s enough just to sit there, side by side, caught between what you were and what you might be, both of you knowing you’re not alone in the uncertainty.

“Hey,” you say suddenly, breaking the quiet, “at least we get good burgers out of it, right?”

He laughs, and this time it’s real, bright, and warm, and you can’t help but join in. “Yeah,” he agrees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Guess that’s something.”

And it is.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Enshitternet

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

This week on my podcast, I read "Enshitternet: The old, good internet deserves a new, good internet," my recent Medium column about building a better internet:

https://doctorow.medium.com/enshitternet-c1d4252e5c6b

As John @hodgman is fond of reminding us, "nostalgia is a toxic impulse." It is easy for an old net.hand like me to fall into the trap of shaking his fist at the cloud. Having been on the other side of that dynamic, I can tell you it's no fun.

When I got on BBSes in the early 1980s, there was an omnipresent chorus of grumps insisting that the move from honest acoustic couplers to decadent modems was the end of the Golden Age of telecommunications:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acoustic_coupler

When I got on Usenet shortly thereafter, the Unix Greybeard set never passed up an opportunity to tell us newcomers that the Fidonet-Usenet bridge allowed the barbarian hordes to overwhelm their Athenian marketplace of ideas:

https://technicshistory.com/2020/06/25/the-era-of-fragmentation-part-4-the-anarchists/

When I joined The WELL in the late 1980s, I was repeatedly assured that the good times were over, and that we would never see their like again:

https://www.well.com/

Now that I'm 52, I've learned to recognize this dynamic, from the Eternal September:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eternal_September

to the moral panic over menuing systems replacing CLIs:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/02/gopher-when-adversarial-interoperability-burrowed-under-gatekeepers-fortresses

to the culture wars over what would happen when the net got a normie-friendly GUI:

https://www.dejavu.org/1993win.htm

And yeah, I've done it too, explaining "Why I won’t buy an iPad (and think you shouldn’t, either)":

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

But there's a key difference between my own warnings about the enshittification that new "user friendly" technologies would engender and all those other AARP members' complaints: they were wrong, and I was right.

As Tom Eastman reminded us, the internet really was better, back before it became "five giant websites filled with screenshots of text of the other four":

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

The underlying pathology of that enshittification wasn't the UI, or whether it involved an app store. As the Luddites knew, the important thing about a technology isn't what it does, but who it does it for and who it does it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

The problem wasn't which technology we used. There is nothing inherent about touchscreens that makes them into prisons that trap users, rather than walled gardens that protect them.

Likewise, the problem wasn't who made that technology. We didn't swap wise UUCP Monks for venal tech bros. The early tech world was full of public-spirited sysops, but it was also full of would-be monopolists who tried – and failed – to get us to "stop talking to each other and start buying things":

https://catvalente.substack.com/p/stop-talking-to-each-other-and-start

If it wasn't the technology that killed the old, good internet, and if it wasn't the people who killed the old, good internet, where did the enshitternet come from?

It wasn't the wrong tech, it wasn't the wrong people: it was the wrong rules. After all, the Apple ][+ went on sale the year Ronald Reagan hit the campaign trail. Consumer tech was the first industry born after antitrust was dismantled, and it created the modern monopoly playbook: buying and merging with competitors. The resulting unity of purpose and anticompetitive profit margins allowed tech to capture its regulators and secure favorable court and legislative outcomes.

The simultaneous drawdown of antitrust enforcement and growth of tech meant that tech's long-standing cycle of renewal was ended. Tech companies that owed their existence to their ability to reverse-engineer incumbent companies' products and make interoperable replacements and add-ons were able to ban anyone else from doing unto them as they did unto the giants that came before them:

https://doctorow.medium.com/let-the-platforms-burn-6fb3e6c0d980

The pirates became admirals, and set about creating a "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/03/painful-burning-dribble/#law-of-intended-consequences

They changed the rules to ensure that they could "disrupt" anyone they chose, but could themselves mobilize the full might of the US government to prevent anyone from disrupting them:

https://locusmag.com/2019/01/cory-doctorow-disruption-for-thee-but-not-for-me/

The old, good internet was the internet we we able to make while tech was still realizing the new anticompetitive powers it had at its disposal, and it disappeared because every administration, R and D, from Reagan to Trump, yanked more and more Jenga blocks out of the antitrust tower.

In other words: the old, good internet was always doomed, because it was being frantically built in an ever-contracting zone of freedom to tinker, where technologies could be operated by and for the people who used them.

Today, the Biden administration has ushered in a new era of antitrust renewal, planting the seeds of a disenshittification movement that will tame corporate power rather than nurturing it:

https://www.eff.org/de/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

In other words, we are living in the first days of a better nation.

In other words, rather than restoring the old, good internet, we should build a new, good internet.

What is a new, good internet? It's an internet where it's legal to:

reverse-engineer the products and services you use, to add interoperability to them so you can leave a social network without leaving your friends:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

jailbreak devices to remove antifeatures, like surveillance, ink-locking, or repair-blocking:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/17/have-you-tried-not-spying/#coppa

move your media files and apps from any platform to any device or service, even if the company that sold them to you objects:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

A new, good internet gives powers to users, and takes power away from corporations:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

On a new, good internet, companies can't practice algorithmic wage discrimination:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

They can't turn search into an auction between companies that match your query and companies that want to sell you fakes and knockoffs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

They can't charge rent to the people whose feeds you asked to read for the privilege of reaching you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

In fact, a new, good internet is one where we euthanize rentiers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

On the new good internet, your boss can't use bossware to turn "work from home" into "live at work":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

And on top of that, you have the right to hack that bossware to undetectably disable it (and hackers have the right to sell or give you that hack):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/tech-rights-are-workers-rights-doordash-edition

On the new, good internet, we stop pretending that tech is stealing content from news companies, and focus on how tech steals money from the news, with app taxes, rigged ad markets, surveillance ads, and payola:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The new, good internet is an internet where we seize the means of computation. It's an internet operated by and for the people who use it.

Hodgman is right. Nostalgia is a toxic impulse. The point of making a new, good internet isn't to revive the old, good internet. There were plenty of problems with the old, good internet. The point is to make a new, good internet that is the worthy successor to the old, good internet – and to consign the enshitternet to the scrapheap of history, an unfortunate transitional stage between one good internet and another.

Here's a link to the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2023/08/21/enshitternet-the-old-good-internet-deserves-a-new-good-internet/

and here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_448/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_448_-_Enshitternet.mp3

and here's a link to my podcast's RSS feed:

https://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/22/the-new-good-internet/#the-old-good-internet

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[news4usonline]

Disneyland gets the best in Bishop Marvin Sapp

The Disney experience has been an integral part of the lives of Bishop Marvin Sapp and his children. Sapp and his family have made annual trips to the Happiest Place on Earth for the greater part of more than two decades. The magic never gets old for the longtime minister and veteran gospel singer.  “I’m a Disney fanatic,” Sapp said during a video conference interview. “ For the last twenty-seven years, my children and I have gone to Disney World twice a year. We go every August, and we go every Christmas. And that has been our thing as a family… to the point that my daughter…she has Disney stock." 

Bishop Marvin Sapp performs during the funeral service for Aretha Franklin at Greater Grace Temple, Friday, Aug. 31, 2018, in Detroit. Franklin died Aug. 16, 2018 of pancreatic cancer at the age of 76. (AP Photo/Paul Sancya) “So the fact that they thought enough of me to invite me to be a part of such an amazing event, I’m just honored. I’m just ready to get there, hit the stage, and give my very best, and hopefully, you know, people will be blessed by that which they hear, we share, ” he added.      This year, Sapp, the recipient of 24 Stellar Awards and 13 Grammy nominations, was invited to participate in the Disneyland Celebrate Gospel mega event, which features local and well-known gospel choirs.  Sapp, along with Tasha Cobbs Leonard, are the headliners as Disneyland incorporates the sound of gospel music into the theme park as part of its Black History Month homage.  Known for his gospel-tuned megahits “The Best in Me” and “Never Would Have Made It,” Sapp’s adoration for the Magic Kingdom is not about the rides. What has made the Disney touch come alive for the “My Testimony” singer is the entire ambiance of what Disney is about, he said.  “Whenever I go to Disney, I look at things different than most people go,” Sapp said. “I can count the number of rides that I’ve ridden on the last twenty-something years. But whenever they’re doing a re-model or they’re building something, they always put plaques of you know, things that Walt Disney had said or different statements. When they have their parades or when they do their shows, they always have a message that’s in there that’s positive, that talks about what you can do and what you can accomplish.”  “And honestly, as a preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ, you know, that environment in itself, you know…I go there just to retreat and to be around that environment and literally forecast for my future and forecast for my church’s future. So we can say that it’s a magical place. I choose to think that it’s an empowering place that gives you…For me, it ignites the fire on the inside of me that allows me to go back home and do great exploits.”            Sapp is one of the greatest gospel singers in the world. Disneyland and its guests are blessed to have this phenomenal singer and minister in their presence. The month of February is celebrated worldwide in recognition of all the contributions Black Americans have given to the United States and worldwide.  From slavery to the Reconstruction era to Jim Crow to today, at the core of the existence of the Black American experience has been the gift to sing our hearts out. My grandmother and mother used to sing those old hymns around the house all week and on Sunday mornings when we attended church.  The sounds of gospel stalwarts like Mahalia Jackson, The Jackson Southernaires, Rev. James Cleveland, Gospel Keynotes, Mighty Clouds of Joy, Dorothy Love Coates and The Gospel Harmonettes, Shirley Caesar, and Sam Cooke resonated throughout my house as I grew up. It was always present. You could not escape it.  NEW MARVIN SAPP ALBUM SUBSTANCE AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER “All In Your Hands” and “You Kept Me”Available with Pre-Order Copy or Click the link in my bio https://t.co/7Xkch7vtZI pic.twitter.com/NVMQw9Kegc— Marvin L. Sapp (@marvinsapp) May 25, 2022 That generation of gospel music gave way to individuals like Sapp, Edwin and Walter Hawkins, Yolanda Adams, Kirk Franklin, Andre Crouch, The Winans, Donald Lawrence, Fred Hammond and Commissioned, and John P. Kee and The New Life Community Choir. Today’s gospel music has shifted to a more Hosanna sound that features more praise and worship.      Sapp and Cobbs Leonard are both throwbacks to an era of gospel music that this writer grew up with whereas the more contemporary sounds of William McDowell and Tye Tribbett are ushering this tradition into the future. The genre of gospel music may have shifted, but the tie-in to Black History Month is one of the same, said Sapp.  “Gospel music is Black history,” Sapp remarked. “That’s just fact. You know, even when you go back to the time, you know, of individuals in slavery. The songs that they sung, from Harriet Tubman until now, it was a call. There was a response. It was a message of hope and help. And I think that, you know, gospel music still is that. It’s the good news of Jesus Christ, but it’s also a message of help. It’s also a message of hope that says that no matter how difficult or challenging life may seem to be, that there is a way out. And that way out may not always be physical, but it’s definitely spiritual.”       Bishop Marvin Sapp is the pastor of The Chosen Vessel Church in Fort Worth, Texas. Top Image Photo Caption: Grammy Award-Winning Recording Artist and Pastor, Marvin Sapp speaks during the Global United Fellowship Press Conference at the Omni Hotel and Resort on July 7, 2015 in Jacksonville, Florida. Established in 2013 under the leadership of Bishop Neil C. Ellis, Global United Fellowship (GUF) is a cross-denominational fellowship of spiritual leaders and churches united to strategically plan, implement and execute transformative and generational impact, and expand the Kingdom of God to all the nations of the world. (AP Photo/Don Juan Moore) Read the full article

[favefandomimagines]

It Had to Be You (s.h)

Summary: once upon a time, you and Steve were endgame. But the past caught up to your happiness and you left town. Now you’re back and engaged. But a group of teenagers won’t accept that you’ll be married to someone other than Steve. So they decide to do what they do best and meddle.

AN: I watched Eloise at Christmas Time and got inspired lol could be a potential series, I know it’s gonna be split into a couple parts but we’ll see if I deem it an official series

When you were in high school, even a bit after that, you thought Steve Harrington was the one for you. He was perfect for you; at least that’s what you used to think.

Shortly after moving to Hawkins you met Steve. And instantly it was fireworks.

But there was always that lingering feeling that Steve wasn’t completely over his first love. Of course, you never forget your first love but that was different. Nancy loomed over your relationship like a dark cloud. And she wasn’t even aware of that.

The night before you suddenly left Hawkins, you confronted Steve. Asking him if there was any part of him that still had feelings for Nancy. He didn’t say yes but he didn’t deny it either.

The second you got home, you packed up your car and made your way to Chicago. You cried to your sister Max about why you needed to leave, you left notes for everyone but Steve. You said all you needed to say to him when you broke up.

For four years you had been in Chicago and made a new life for yourself. No more monsters, no Upside Down, no Vecna.

Life was moving like it was supposed to and you were now engaged. You met your fiancé Nick through mutual work friends and you quickly hit it off.

There was something different about Nick, a very good different. But just like Nancy loomed over you and Steve, Steve loomed over you and Nick.

Now you were headed back to Hawkins for your wedding. Your entire family was there, Nick wasn’t close with his family so he was very quickly on board with the idea.

Karen Wheeler offered to host a party in your honor once you arrived, with all of your friends and family.

“Why is Mrs. Wheeler having this party anyways?” Steve asked Robin and Dustin while they drove to the house.

The two exchanged looked, having forgotten that no one told him of your engagement. “Um, I think it’s someone’s birthday or anniversary.” Robin lied. “Well which one is it? Birthday or anniversary?” Steve questioned.

“Okay, look. I know no one wanted to be the one to tell you this but the party is for Y/N. She’s engaged.” Dustin explained.

It felt like Steve was having an out of body experience and dying at the same time. You were getting married. The love of his life, was getting married. And it was all his fault.

He let you walk away that night, he didn’t stop you. “She’s engaged?” He asked. “Yeah. The wedding is going to be here in about a week.” Robin answered. Steve was quiet for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the news.

“Good for her.” He simply answered.

The three pulled up to the house and joined the festivities. It was the last Summer before all of the kids went to college, though they definitely weren’t kids anymore.

Steve had just turned 25 in April and he remembered that your birthday followed shortly after his. Which would mean he hasn’t seen you since you were 19 years old.

However, Steve’s head was anywhere but at that party. He couldn’t find it in himself to be happy and to celebrate. Yes, that was selfish of him and awful because you deserved all the happiness in the world. But he always thought you’d feel that with him.

He was knocked out of his own self-pity by the volume in the backyard getting louder.

You had just arrived at the Wheeler’s with Nick and were practically bombarded by old friends.

Nancy, Robin and El all wanted to see the rather large ring that adorned your finger. The boys were questioning Nick about his intentions with you, feigning overprotective.

But soon you felt the very heavy gaze of Steve Harrington weighing on you.

You were afraid to even look in that direction. Knowing if you did, you’d have to acknowledge him. Why would seeing Steve again have any effect on you? You’ve moved on right? You were getting married after all.

You suddenly felt suffocated under his stare and needed to find an escape.

“Um, I’m going to grab some water real quick. I’ll be right back.” You told Nick. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” You lied, giving him a smile.

You went inside and leaned your hands against the kitchen counter and took a deep breath.

“Hey.” You heard from behind you. You closed your eyes and your body tensed. You turned around and really got a look at Steve. “Hi.” You replied. “You look good. Haven’t aged a day.” He joked. “Thanks.” You said. “Uh, congratulations by the way. Wish I would’ve heard it from you instead of Dustin.” Steve said.

“Well it’s not like I wanted to tell my ex boyfriend I was getting married. I didn’t even know you were going to be here.” You replied. “So now we’re just not friends anymore?” Steve questioned.

You were quiet. You wanted Steve in your life but it was going to be too hard to be around him.

“You never told me why.” He added. “Steve, you know why. You know why I couldn’t do it anymore.” You spoke. “Because you thought I still had feelings for Nancy?” Steve scoffed.

“Yes! You never gave me a reason to think otherwise. All of the signs were there. I heard you tell her about your dream. Our dream of the six kids, the Grand Canyon. I saw the way you looked at her and you never looked at me that way, Steve.” You said, voice strained towards the end.

You didn’t want to relive the pain you felt when you were sitting on the couch of that old RV, pretending to be asleep, while Steve was driving and told Nancy everything.

“Y/N,” Steve started. “Y/N! There you are! My mom wants to see the ring.” Nancy interrupted, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back outside.

Steve stood in the kitchen, kicking himself even harder than before. He should have never told Nancy about his dream. That was a dream he shared with you, not her. But he got caught up in the moment, it didn’t mean anything.

But he made you feel insecure without even meaning to. He broke your heart that night and didn’t even know he did it.

“Hey, did you talk to her?” Dustin asked, entering the kitchen. “It didn’t go well.” Steve answered. “Don’t give up, man. You and Y/N are meant to be together. She knows that, she’s just afraid to get hurt again.” Dustin said. “But she has her soon to be husband, she doesn’t need me.” Steve rebutted.

“Of course she needs you.” Dustin replied. “It’s over, man.” Steve told him, making his exit.

Dustin wasn’t going to accept that. You and Steve were at your best when you were together. Your smiles were brighter, your laughs were louder. He knew you and Steve were endgame. And he was determined to get you two back together.

[lesbianakaashi]

The Forgotten Shounen: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

This is not a “Why you should watch/read khr” or anything like that. This is just me going into the deep dive and throwing my findings at you. I’m making this because khr used to be my favourite series when I was 15 (I had plushees, posters, tradingcards, the art book etc) and now as an adult I constantly find myself baffled at how unknow it seems to be.

1. Okay first what is khr?

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! or just Reborn! is a series by Akira Amano which was published in Weekly Shounen Jump from 2004 to 2012 (with 42 volumes) and got an anime adaption which run from 2006 to 2010 on Tv Tokyo (with 202 episodes and one OVA).

2. What’s it about?

Khr is a parody of the italian mafia and plays in a world where the mafia is heavily influencial. The protagonist is the japanese middle schooler Sawada Tsunayoshi who is known as “No good Tsuna” because of his failing grades, general weak and cowardly personality and weak physics.

He becomes aware of the mafia world when a 2 year old baby called Reborn arrives at his house claiming to be the greatest hitman and declaring himself his home tutor. Reborn was send by the 9th head of the Vongola famiglia who is ready to retire and looking for a new heir. Which of course, is supposed to be Tsuna and now it's Reborns job to shape him into a worthy sucessor.

Tsuna rejects the violence of the mafia world and refuses the position as the 10th. Thanks to Reborn and his general craziness Tsuna meets different people and starts to make real friendships. Reborn wants 6 of those friends to be Tsuna's future guardians, basically a group of people which will be closest to him in the vongola famiglia. Tsuna might have no interest in those positions but the friendships he builds with them become really precious to him.

Reborns arrivial also brings in the enemies of the Vongola family which leads to Tsuna being forced to engage in battles. Generally Tsuna openly avoids fights and prefers to run away but will put himself in danger for his friends' sake or because of something Reborn did.

Through out the series Tsuna matures and gains strenght but he never becomes a power fantasy. He's just a guy with many flaws who grows through the human connections he makes.

Personally I think the relationship between Reborn and Tsuna is one of the best student teacher reltaionships in all of manga only topped by Mob and Reigen from Mob Psycho 100. Especially the last arc really underlines their unique relationship to me.

Furthermore, khr offers a new and unique battle system: The flames. I'm not gonna go into to too much detail but the general idea is that one fights with their dying will flame which basically turns off your the savety switch so you can fight with everything you have. The flames are seperated into different categories such as: sky, storm, mist, rain, sun, lightning and cloud and have different attributes asigned to each one. Tsuna's use of the sky flame and his transformation when using it is still one of my favourite shounen transformations to this day.

3. What happened?

The series did really well and then not so well over the course of its serialisation. After the manga got an anime adaption it increased in populairty and video games, light novels, and other products such as CDs were created based on the series. Reborn is one of the best selling series of Weekly Shōnen Jump and has sold around 30 Million volumes overall. It was and still is very popular in Japan but rather unknown in the west.

According to the article "The Rise and Fall of Weekly Shonen Jump: A Look at the Circulation of Weekly Jump" khr was the 10th bestselling series in Weekly Shōnen Jump, with a total of 7 million copies sold in 2007.

This number increasing to 15 milion in 2008. Which placed khr into the 4th best selling series of 2008 in Japan.

Between 2008 and 2010 those sales declined but still kept strong with khr as the 6th top selling manga in 2009, 8th best selling in 2010 and then 24th best selling in 2012.

In November 2014, readers of the Da Vinci magazine voted khr number 17 on a list of Weekly Shōnen Jump's greatest manga series of all time.

After the anime came to an apprupt stop in 2010 for unknown reasons the manga sells took a visible hit. (Apparently the studio wanted to put the anime on halt because they were busy with other projects and give Akira Amano time to develop her story but I couldn't find any source for this claim) Furthermore, the rushed last chapters of the manga in 2012 declined the popularity of the series even more. There's no offical statement as to why the manga was ended in such a way but it's reasonable to assume that Jump either cut it considering the decreasing sales or Akira Amano choose to end it for personal reasons.

Nontheless, Tsuna not being included in Jump Force (a fighting game where you can play as different characters from Jump) in 2019 even tho he made it in earlier Jump Stars games also underlines the decreased interest in the series.

Rumors on a reboot or anime adaption of the last two arcs surface from time to time but are genereally unlikely. Artland the studio which made khr has gone bankrupt around 2015-2016. It might be taken on by another studio but rather uncommen especially with such an old series.

4. Art style

The khr anime ended over 10 years ago and the old art style might not be appealing to newer audiences.

Especailly because the anime adaption follows Akira Amanos old art style which heavily developed within the years. Here a picture comparing characters in the new art style:

A modern anime adaption in the new art style would be aesthetically pleasing. It would probably look similiar to Psycho Pass since Akira Amano did the concept art for this series.

(My personal art student hot take is that both art styles are unique and fun. Up to this day Akira Amano still has my favourite art style and even if the amount folds in the characters clothing is a little extreme I love it dearly.)

5. Criticism

The show is not without flaws and even if I greatly enjoy it it wouldn't be right not to adress them.

Daily Life Arc:

A lot of people view the first 20 to 25 episodes as fillers and quickly lose intererst in the series. This is due to the fact that Akira Amano inteded the series to be a gag manga and focuses the first chapters on world building, character introduction and comical narratives. It's rumored that the decision to develop the story into a battle shounen was made because the sales weren't doing well enough at first. So the first chapters/episodes may seem titidious but are necessary for the story and the development of the characters. The tonal shift from a more gintama like gag manga to a darker battle focused story can also be offputting to some viewers.

Either way a lot of people blame this arc when discussing why khr never got an english dub or didn't end up on Toonami. I've also read that the manga never finished serializing in the north america. However, it finished in other western languages like german and spanish.

Censoring:

The anime censors A LOT. From Gokudera's smoking habit, Yamamoto's whole character arc which deals with heavy themes such as depression and suicidal thoughts. The general bloodiness of the manga was censored and sometimes whole chapters and characters were left out even if those were important to the devolopment of others.

Filler episodes:

Out of the 202 episodes the anime has around 29 filler episodes which makes roughly 14 %.

Sexism:

Even if Reborn was written by a woman most female characters are rather flat and their storylines often tied to a male character in one way or another.

Genereal things:

Khr, like many other long running series, is sometimes criticised for a lack of world building or unpopular narrative choices.

6. Hope?

Khr isn't exactly dead. As stated before the series is still very popular in Japan and still gets new merch pretty regulary. There are also petitions floating around for a reboot or a new anime season but those never get a lot of traction. Furthermore #Reborn2期アニメ化 (#Reborn2ndAnimation) used to get some traction on twitter not too long ago. Last year the Anime News Network did a poll on which anime the readers would like to see a rebooot of and khr placed second.

Either way here's a collection of recent khr things I could find.

- In 2018 a new bluray set was released in north america

- The khr stage play reached yet another new season

- A mobile game was released last year

- Currently ongoing anime cafe event called "Concerto di Vongola"

- Last month there was an event with the former VAs and stage play actors where they discussed their favourite khr episodes.

- There has been an increase in blind reacts to the openings on youtube which might bring in a new fan base. The biggest one I could find had around 90k views and was made in 2019. On this note check out the soundtrack. The first openeing Drawing Days by SPLAY still makes me go insane (but I'm biased of course)

There also renewed hope for a new season/reboot because Shaman King, Inuyasha and Bleach got anounced for new seasons after a long hiatus. It's important to keep in mind that the circumstances for those series are differnt tho. For example bleachs new anime is often tied to the immense success of the gatcha game.

7. Conclusion

Khr is a series which used to be a flagship for Weekly Shounen Jump and is deeply beloved by it's fans, especially in Japan. It influenced other shounen series like bnha. It would be nice to see it gaining a bigger fanbase in the west :)

[pndnj]

Cathartic- Yellow Metal Lyrics

Heres where I am with the lyrics, I referenced @25Goldenn on twitter for some of it that I couldn’t comprehend. 

*music*

0:23

Dark matter, like painted splatters, they fit better, the old saying, the way it goes, better the devil you do then you don’t know. I hit pedals and switch levers, my heart metal, I can't settle, im part trouble, they are not subtle. I fuck good so fuck cuddles, burst bubbles the thrist levels at new heights, i down doubles, and got baked til I felt high, my face puzzled, felt muddled, far strung and your floors woodent, the thought might but the fit wouldn’t. A fortnight

0:46 - 1:00

And I thought right, it’s all bark and no bite, I’m Tony Stark still embarking on a dream, took a bit of time to take darkness from the team. Seen what I saw. Heartless on the sleeve. Tried to burn my wings, so I put them in a piece on my chest , at peace no rest.

1:00-1:15

Flipped this on it’s head. Rip the script up now, flip it don’t pretend, slipping shit again, Fakers all around me, I’ve been living in pretense. Fake friends won’t make amends. There’s no need, these mean comments control the scenes. Attentionseekers, the spine is weakened

1:15-1:24

This family needs, what a family needs, and the planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving til we ascend so fuck the fence, and until they stop killing colour it’s fuck the feds.

1:22 - 1:44

You must be off it, I mean it, you know you ain’t never get with the judging and I used to dread growing my beard too long, never felt I belonged, but it's really long like a minute I ain’t looking to no mans for the limits, They’re feeling timid, I’m telling them who they mimic, why they don't look like a clinic …. Why they don't get no women, Still, we’re just fucking girls, Lost in the wrong world, Jurassic, now to this vermin

1:41-  1: 50

Kicking the game I’m serving, these losers are never learning, my fire is forever burning, adding it to my fuel, seems like I’m always focused on never becoming you, These locals that rob us feeling … was for a reason.

1:52-2:02

I’m seeing my new beginnings, watch out this loser’s winning, and no water is too deep to swim in Like I’m about to see a killing, I’m all the way that and living, flawless and feeling lawless, the prison now to the gimmicks, my vision is set to something,

2:03-:2:20

I’m watching you bitches plummet, no matches here for my cunning, you rappers are feeling done in, switching your genre, running and Running your jaw, stunting, pulling at straws, something  I think you’re a poor effort, deaf and tone deaf and I ain’t treat you separate. Living, I’m in my element, riding it like a … never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a benadryl. Keeping it green in general

2:20- 2:46

Think that you remain irrelevant. Look at yourself with reverence, hoping to always elevate. Celibate of these thoughts, killing themselves with sedatives. In comparison to eminem, you’re feeling feminine. Impolitically correct, still dropping on my dick. And I never gave a fuck about what they say abt my shit, I’ve been moving things in my mind like it’s this mountain dew Memories have made me wonder if one day I’m after you. What’s the purpose that you do, is what you're hoping that they learn, i’d like to say i’m done but it’s getting up on my nerves

2:46 -2:55

I’m looking at my life, saying what do I deserve. It’s hard to say I know when I’m walking through the dirt. Talking while you’re nothing I can see for what it’s worth. I’m tired of feeling hurt and I’ve tried enough but nothing works.

2:55-3:40

I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work. Chit chatting is the usual, talking to this clerk, i beg you don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt so everytime they see me, the oldest know to swerve. SWERVE Life is potent, bits of fucked shit… till they took notice weren’t  no hocus pocus, it was hard work that got me heard so i put in the graph like google maps but the whole earth

… around my door mat, taking over like the drones, rolling dirt up in miles like the water, and exploding like Annas hematoma. Don't need to see a slammer to know that I don't want to go man

I’m a showman. I’m just focused on the drama… like i’ve got my own insurance, show myself the pain, like i boxed it in the frame, if we’re about to talk greatness im great, the way you have to say my name like beyonce

“Say my name”

4:00-4:46

Just a bum with a cigarette, sun coming up, all my thoughts on the internet. Feeling deep, I’m just bored with the silhouette single sec,  get fucked up for the thrill of it . killer streak playing Pacman. Like I came from the Philippines vanilla bean still a thing for the thrill of scene,

Theres a beam, UFO, Leave it well alone  I aint moving, stood still on the peloton, telephone and its always on the dial tone,  it's been a while since i’ve smiled at a milestone, seen a big pile in my mind stone, me against the world on my Jack Jones, Like I’m John Jones, With pictures in the condo, far from John Doe, in the ___, like I'm Johnny Bravo, got pravado, with a small dick sitting in golados, feeling far gone, cuz that last hit was the good shit, was that stay lit

4:48-5:02

You can never take my shit come and get me. On the top floor,  cloud 9, fading, never bailing, felt amazing, inhaling, til my lungs two guns blazing. Overcome all the stunts that I pulled. A suit of just skin and then wool

5:02- 5:17

This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm ya. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here till they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80, and start moving like a ruler, ?damaged? Like a computer going fast, bars from the jeweler, bring the songs to the beach in hopes of finding tuna

5:18-5:36

…

5:36- 6:16

Grab a bat, lose my rag. Couple things got me mad, a couple people got me wrong and now I’m changing up the swag. Coming in and stealing it, I might take the whole bag. Feeling undefeated, I’m a beast with a reason, and imma lead the whole pack. Fearless like I’m Caesar, I’m just waiting for a chance to fill it up with diesel, and all I've been achieving is clocking miles in its region, moving like a legion.

Promise that I made to myself an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving, staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving.

I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy, it’s time I grew up,  a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on a mike.

6:16-6:32

I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane. The truth is on my medicine, can’t put that on your plate.

Speeding into everything, bout time I fixed the brakes. Don’t say I can’t communicate , you know I conversate with you in several different ways. And I know you know it’s references, looking at your face.

6:33- 6:53

Can’t justify mistakes, like every man that made them, seems I ain't  the one to blame. Lying to myself, only had so much to gain, so now I’m switching up the plate, see if that affects the place, im at on most days

I ain’t going with the usual so they looking at me strange. Confused, I can feel it all,  I’m here to make a change. It’s cold at 3am outside, I’m walking with the dog, thanking god that you don’t talk at all, my mind is switching off

6:54-7:12

Driving down to find myself, cuz I’ve been getting lost, lived this selfless life and found I can give a toss. Lessons that I’ve learned I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself.

So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt. Like burning toy soldiers that used to go up on the shelf. Recycle the ideas, conveying on the belt

7:14-7:29

.. circus, always hurting the way we felt? Embarrassed that we dreamt of bigger things and letting go of notions till we feel them in cement

Tired of only hoping, we feel broken men. Cuz the gravity is weight and has kept us to the ground, see the only people speaking with favors in their mouths

7:46-7:58

Got killer rhymes… no fillers, like godzilla, eating clouds cuz my smokes thicker, throat licker, my dope sicker, bringing people their hope like im the pope slicker,  i hope you’re getting the point cuz i walk quicker

I thought my city was shit bcs I want bigger like my zipper couldn’t zip up fed up with the…my love is fickle.. Residual age has a primitive face

I see demise for your limited ways, Left it to simmer, simmer away…a fake glimmer in the haze

8:09-8:11

Feeling trapped this industry is a cage

8:34-8:50

Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views, while they’ve been sat in their chairs, I’m feeling pressure to choose.

Standing here as one man, how can I do half when you’re half the person I am. If it wasn’t in your life, you didn’t choose it. It’s the funny thing about music. It’s the pain and beauty of it.

8:52-9:11

Don’t give a fuck what my suit is, it looks good so I wear it, better than the shoot that People’s wearing, changing the whole narrative for these basics and scarcity

Been facing the racists from back when i were a kiddie .born up in in 93’. been living in Bradford City..kicked me out of the schools, they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p*** still sitting in the classroom chilling, and i'm angry now that I’m older I see they treat us different

9:12-9:25

got me thinking I’m the problem cuz they never dealt with those issues.

20 years later I’m still in the same boat, tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for, man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil, when they got me by the throat

9:25-9:35

Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them

‘Boy your skin is so light’, ok motherfucker take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.

9:35-9:45

I don’t know how that’s acceptable, when life is more susceptible to perception, be the death of them. I’ve been looking at the sky saying where’s that day of reckoning, you had your prophets right when they say that you would speak to them.

9:45-9:55

I need justice in this life and I trust that it’s my fight, cuz when I’m writing it feels right to have them focused on the facts again. Focused on the rap again, hoping for the change, gunna put this on the map again

9:55-10:16

Writing in all caps again, the pain, it goes through me so I write the letter. All the shit that could have brought me but made me better.

I’m at home with a pain in my soul , yeh rap… cuz you know I was too real to contest it, my time was invested. Now I look at the industry, I see it infested, looking like kids who would write on nesquik.

10:17-10:29

My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.

I ain’t never gave a fuck about these jokers and jesters. Ain’t no answers for these things, so just save us the questions, man allowed of violence, cuz my silence is deafening, your opinion stinks, somebody get him a breath mint.

10:30- 10:42

Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening, I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine Now they all wanna hear me, got a table at letterman. Direction changed, like I changed up the lettering. Don’t believe the age ,bcs I move like a veteran.

10:42 - 10:47

Raised on the benefit for whose benefit, they’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.

…no words coming out when you open your mouth

And to be honest, it’s insulting, offensive to my wounds that have been salting. Tryna ask me questions that they know I never answer. I’d rather sit online and reply to the fan art

11:00-11:06

Fuck a sports car, coming through when i rapped

tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor

11:06- 11:17

Fake life, 'sup online, suck a fat one. You don’t wanna buy into that, none of that son. Sitting in the garden 98’ in the Datsun,  seen some hot summers but I still remember that sun.

*music*

11:51- 12:34

I make millions off of my pain, cause I know a few millions still living that way

Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause i hit the nerve. Only way that the sheep learn if the street firm, in my ways I don’t wanna change, everything just stay the same

Who you tryna convince you understand, cant maintain, let the lights dim some,  get the Chow Mein, flex, get the tape, right up at night

Why these men be nice to my face, be nice,  i ain’t tryna be a gangsta ruins my vibe

Rather be low-key and on my phone. Never need the trophy or the show piece

Never show peace in a North Face fleece. Show kids this like i wrote my flip

Cause the sign might fit till the start i’m sick

12:37-13:05

Now you see where I come from, the world don’t. Only achievement in this life is the Jordans. Committing petty crimes out of boredom, we can’t afford them. So I stole it, need a rolex

Go make sense, get yourself a job, It’s a poor man’s game tryna sit and pray to god, he ain’t sorting out your problems, gotta sort them out yourself

Used to tell us fables, now I’m writing them myself, Cause we raw like animals we all just need some help

Cathartic, I’m an artist, trying to put my heart in

Felt double crossed like Leo in Departed

13:05- 13:27

For the knowledge i’m not charging see I got it all free

But my hunger kept me starving like i’m feening for the feed

I just Need a reason to see me bleeding for my creed. Trick you with the words like I keep em up my sleeve. Picking where I fit, I see me sitting with the queen

I ain’t doing it unless you’re used to saying please

Let me flow a bit, before I sting 'em with the bees, They tryna kill us with disease

(Music)

13:34- 14:12

Why does it feel like they had the same notebook and the same four looks

Like the rain won't touch on their face, so sus when they lie don’t trust not a minor

Please no fuss, I just move through the game like must

Something in the way i adjust till i stick, Free falling like the ship, free fall till i bust

Remember 21 brother gave no fucks. Trying to project when they give them looks

In the projects, in the objects us

In my own way, never gave me love, shoulda never started this, broken hearted kid

Dried up the feeling till I stole the lid

Don’t wanna relish in the fame but I can’t resist

14:46-14:58

I like the way we feel, I like the way, I like the way

Ain’t no mistake, i am a being

I ain’t tryna be a leader, been selling out since Jesus

All my rhymes are for the readers, between the lines, like Father time, I fuck Mother Nature

14:58-15:40

That’s what they get, the connotations. Tell 'em I lived a life, and then I lived a life of adjacent? like its…. and played it patient.

Alone on my own spaceship, always tryna find greatness, still defying lines, but I’m fighting in my prime.

Shining light like Kylo while imma kill it all the time. Aging like I’m wine

Asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define. Focused on defiance, imma fight it while it’s life.

Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next, just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around til I’m the best

Speaking in full sentences, shoulda thought about a strategy before you went at the stratosphere about this… rings around Saturn, this ain’t a battle, I’m sat, I’m here

15:40-16:22

Catch me doing magic, hired and sounding tragic I think you could use practice and until that you get the blacklist and pull like a … actress? Fooling them like a catfish, schooling like a legend, happy to be the reference, fusing like iridescence, leaving them all guessing, leaking out of my brain like a pipe I aint fixing, shining like a star you can see it from a distance

Aint many of me around p*** I’m just different Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto, clean up like Im Dettol

I’m the man to put a bet on, sight smart like a weapon,  this is my kind of setting, i write the world I’m sat in, while these others live on hype, i see them fight in how they type, the fruit is ripe for the taking, i think i might

16:22-16:57

Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here

16:58- 17:47

Eccentric things are mentioned like a kid stuck in detention tryna escape im just spitting what is written on the next page, spitting image of my dad in his young days

Born sinner when i’m livid i say fucks sake

Don’t worry i’m too cunning with no plumbing, the waterworks, i sung something that resonates, i thought it first like giving birth to the parrot perch

They see me do it and they know it works

Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse

You’ll be nervous, you don’t deserve it we’ll scratch the surface ill leave a crater, lift the dirt up to find the hurting

Can’t know for certain nothing is guaranteed, tryna be a better person than the world deserves to see cuz i see a lot of sharks still swimming in the sea

Cease and arrest what’s the reason.. And these the kinda kids we bringing up next

Distorted reality, all they needed was family, too hard to face, to see what the damage is

17:47

*i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, *

18:04-18:38

Sometimes they ask the questions too deep to form a sentence, to disform, is this the norm, is this the sentence i feel defenseless i played the setlist, and all my sweat blood and tears, forgot to mention feeling lost, going off into different sections i feel like love wrecked it

If it’s not a drug why am i waiting for the next fix, affected, i cant believe that you left this

I guess I leave for the best wish, moving on like im fine for the lectures

We see it all from spectrums, cuz if we’re falling down we can fall down together

Staircase to heaven, mirror down the middle like 11, resentment on one side it won’t settle

18:38- 19:14

Mind fried but taking sense, they aint got a sense of themselves in the rich ends

Need to spell it out for them.. Made for them so witness

I know you feel afflicted but you always love it with me while im laughing at you, ya think you’re laughing with me

I try to (i love you) but im grown so they don’t fit me, my body thrown from the new to this old city so Im sick of sitting on my own, feeling so shitty, i’ve been on roads where its cold and the snow hitting

Its okay to be yourself, sit and talking to myself

I’ve been walking for the longest, just need a little rest, know i ain’t the strongest, I can feel it in my chest, talking about my feelings and of me, they get the best

19:14-19:59

They aint leaving, seeing breathing in my breath

Till death do us part is just seeded in my heart, like a work of art

Never winning,im just scared

Cant begin from the start, do i play a part in the rhythm of the night

I guess i’m onto something cuz the dark is feeling right

Every cloud got a lining, put my own miles  in, like moralis, figured that they’re jealous, that they could just never tell us to change because the weather never made me question whether or not i’m not that level

Got rid of all the bullshit sitting in my way, most of them are full of shit i see it every day

I do hearing the same things that i do, maybe that shits hitting like haiku

How much do you pay for them to hype you

Recycle your flaws but they aint like new, leaving and conceded and full of diesel like engines that need a cleaning, the ending will be revealing. Even though we ain’t raising the facts, now we been facing.

20:01-20:52

The cactus with spikes, needing spaces. Different faces, the same story. A full body like straight body direct to your system.

Could never tell 'em we missed’ em. Not even with the thoughts, we gift them. Cuz they just take advantage, guess we are caught in a system.

My soul pouring out details of borrowed time, had enough of a fill, this is for sorrow time. I’m seeing visions of Heaven, I seen the severed line, between the gospel they speak and when theyre telling lies.

Remember telling a friend of mine, you’d sent of mine, identified like a 3rd eye. Got a habit of knowing now where the dirt lies. So benign. I ain’t sober after 9, so I fuck their minds. Why you flipping out, see another

Try to rep it from the city, fuck a chiller crew, repping for the nittys, trying to keep us down, raised on the social, don’t want to let us out of the system. Me, I insist we assist them, me alone putting shifts til I lift them

20:53-21:12

I know it’s hard, that’s why I like it, I’m fit to fight it, I’m from the North, I’m backing Tyson, it’s been decided, don’t see no light. They needing guiding, just redefining, realizing, I’m realigning, in full finance, they stay silenced.

Can’t be louder, I’m juiced up with no powder. I fix shit like a slick spanner. Gone green like Bruce Banner. So free Gaza on my banner

21:12-21:51

The real McCoy, I ain’t nothing to toy with, signifying peace like a Japanese Koi Fish. How did this happen, we’re moving backwards in our timeline, killing us with cyanide, Right up for the freedom 'til we transform like Ironhide

This is bout my feelings, the way that I move affects the fate that I’m sealing. Can’t say nothing, with that something being on the page, kept inside the pen like the bars that have been kept caged. See I always had a plan, since I was young, we had nothing man

Now it’s been a few years since I ain’t seen the fam, on foreign lands. Bout to climb Everest in the avalanche. Right into the riddles as soon as you were born. Never asking the question cuz it’s the norm. See I’m in a questionin’ session

21:52-22:03

Like the manner got a method to teaching a lesson, listen to MF Doom, he taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten. Still we play cartoons so it’s never forgotten.

22:03-22:15

Chilling at the top but we came from the bottom. Writing and jottin for them life by, spotting the difference

*Dreams, was growing out of me, sun promising that tomorrow it will rise, time playing games with my mind, I swear it will pass us by

Train goes on the tracks, smoke, I’m tired to hide my thoughts, so blinded in flames, Don’t know where we’re going, I have no way of knowing, only see what’s in my head

Can’t we wait a minute, so we can savour this, It’s on my brain again, these days, It on my brain again these days”

23:10-23:46

They’re hating on Palestine ways, The oh no Palace playing Prince on the Steinway, Sending out mind waves, stop them like crimewaves, Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name

Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing

We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route, say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown

I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.. Done ain’t it, Shit just gets me vexed, and now I’m sitting that I think of it

23:45-23:59

Feeling on the brink of it, whatever it is, Figure out some shit at least it feels that way

talk about my feelings and I don’t feel so strange, finding solace, that’s a promise, in Metropolis but being honest, can’t write a sonnet, without some pain

24:00-24:40

Can’t fade away, away so we can savour this, been on my brain again these days

Can't find a way to be so you can savour this, been on my brain these days

Singing the song for another, singing a song for another

[fffinnagain]

10 Years of Sherlock (TV)  AO3 stats!

Sherlock fans, new and old, click below to read a long list of graphs and comments about our communities fanworks over the last 10 years. I scraped AO3 again and demonstrate that:

More creators are writing longer works in 2020

Readers engaged more as the fandom changed after S4

Top ten new tags per year for the last 10 years

And a lot more. 

PS the code to gather this data and analyse it can be found way over here. 

Activity over 10 years

The last 10 years in the BBC Sherlock fandom have been tumultuous, but this community persists, with engagement from new fans and continued creative output. To commemorate over a decade of squee, I’ve done another scrape of the fandom’s imprint on the Archive of Our Own and will share some insights from the numbers in these plots. A very late update on my post S4 snapshot from 2018.

Note: This analysis is of completed public fanworks only, about 101000 of the 122000 Sherlock (TV) works available at present. This is to remove the late WIP effect, which adds a bulge to the last few months, and out of respect to creators who wish to have their material reserved for other registered AO3 users.

The works are still coming

Counting the number of works posted per day, we can see the peaks associated with each series airing (in UK and US). After that, the number of works continues fairly evenly, 20-30 per day, plus seasonal peaks. This rate is continuing on without a hint of new canon in sight. So who is posting all this work?

Creator-waves, monthly output

Years ago I started plotting creator waves, basically I group fanwork producers by the year they first posted to the fandom and then count how many of this group are active in later time intervals. This lets us get a sense of how long people are contributing and whether new fans are getting the urge to create. 

This plot of the Sherlock (TV) fanworks on AO3 shows the standard shape of plump participation in the first year of any given set of creators, followed by a slowly thinning tail as they because less active over time. Turnover is natural in fandoms, with most only posting a work or two within a fairly limited amount of time, while a precious few persist for years.  The surprise for me here is that the ratio of new creators is higher in 2020 than it was in 2019. Maybe the excuse of lockdown encouraged more folks to take a turn at creating content. 

Another way to look at the output of fan creators on AO3 is to see the total amount of words being shared across all fanworks. The total has been pretty close to 300-400k words per month since 2018! To get a sense of what that means per work, I also plotted the median number of words per fanwork in these monthly sets. The median in higher in the last year than it had been staying for a while. 

Reader behaviour: Hits & Kudos & Comments

Fan creators are only part of the story. Stats on engagement are a bit trick to interpret, I’ve got some plots here that tell us something about how works have been engaged with over time. 

The obvious first to consider is Hits. Above is the total number of Hits given to works published each month. This is the current totals, not a historical snapshot, so we have a very strong bias  towards early works, what we might call the Classics Effect. Works that have been around longer have had the chance to be seen by more people, and in particular those works that become must-read classics in a fandom, extending their exposure through prominence in top ranked works and recommendations. 

To cut down on the advantage of the classics, we can also consider median hits per work for each month. As most works get a lot attention when they are first posted and then fade out of sight, the median number of hits reflects instead the ratio of readers to creators, basically how many eyeballs are around to look at the latest work, regardless of status. The median plot shows how the hyper-visibility of the few work available before 2012, and then a more steady curve once the fandom had gotten established on the platform after Series 2. Amazingly, the hit rate for the median work was steady through the big bumps in activity with later series, a 1000 hits for median works between 2013 and 2018, followed by a slow decline. I’d expect the 2020 works to continue gaining for a few months yet, but the median is probably 50-60% of what is was when the show was in production.

Kudos counts and medians show a similar story to hits, but there is a dip down around 2013 for kudos reflects the frenzy of productivity that saw the fandom grow during the Series 2 hiatus. Readers were getting spoiled! From the airing of Series 3 (2014) until a year following Series 4 (2018), the median work received an even 60ish kudos and 1000 hits, a niche audience that decreased to 50/750 through 2018-2019. The numbers of 2020 suggest a smaller community of readers again, though these numbers may still rise a bit in the next few months before the median works are forgotten. 

The statistic that tells a different story is Comments. Looking at the total comments counts, there isn’t a drop after Series 3 (2014). Instead, the fandom compensated for changing numbers with more feedback and discussion attached to works. This is reflected in the median comment rate as well, which shows seasonal variation but doesn’t really drop off until 2020.

It’s remarkable that without fresh canon we continue to have new creators contributing to the fandom, and while that may be outpacing the readership somewhat, the standard of engagement has been very high. One could say the fandom is chugging along quite nicely!

What about Tags

So, with all that turnover and shifting population, is there a change in the kinds of works being posted? We can look at tags, all tags and freeform tags, to see if there were any meaningful trends. 

First up, I did a creator-wave like analysis of works just for tags, to see how tags continue to be used after being introduced. Unlike the creators, tags clearly persist for years. After 2015, it looks like the core tag set has been established, with very few tags persisting in usage per  subsequent year.

This graph reports numbers over time that are not proportional to the number of works or creators active. Instead, works on AO3 have been getting more and more tags over the years, with the average steadily growing from 5 in 2011 to 15 in 2020, with freeform tags (not characters or ships) from 2 to 8.

To get a sense of fic and tagging culture changes over time, I counted the most popular NEW tags of each year (wave). Note: this analysis is using exact matches, not the networked associations of tag meanings wrangled into AO3 today, so some things that pop up aren’t new concepts but instead newly popular TAGs for whatever they represent. 

2011: 2752 (First year, so all solid stuff, tags that continue to be popular forever)

Angst                 323

Fluff                 232

Humor                 216

Hurt/Comfort          188

Romance               168

Friendship            168

Crossover             138

Crack                 121

Alternate Universe    119

First Time            106

2012: 11637 (still early, first references to Series 2)

Fluff and Angst                           145

Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall       97

Kid Sherlock                               54

Puppies                                    50

Sad                                        48

Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia     47

Mathematics                                42

Season 2 spoilers                          38

Omega Verse                                38

Feels                                      38

2013: 16176 (Omegaverse nomenclature is growing, Top/Bottom terminology, new challenges)

Alpha Sherlock                               65

Omega John                                   61

30 Day OTP Challenge                         59

Tumblr: letswritesherlock                    56

Top John                                     49

Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach    44

Bottom Sherlock                              40

Reichenbach Angst                            30

Don't copy work to another site              29

Age Regression/De-Aging                      27

2014: 19256 (Mostly Series 3 related

Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow         249

Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three    167

Post-His Last Vow                    149

His Last Vow Spoilers                142

Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers           128

2000 AU                              100

The Sign of Three Spoilers            74

Fatlock                               72

Post-The Sign of Three                66

Post-Season/Series 03                 57

2015: 14272 (New challenges, new prominent Sherlolly tags)

Chats                                      47

International Fanworks Day 2015            34

Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015    27

S3 referenced                              25

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing       22

English Accent                             22

Sound cloud                                19

Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper      19

Protective John Watson                     18

but not that kind of graphic               17

2016: 13517 (New stylistic tagging, TAB references, a lot of epilepsy?)

Slowwww burn                         92

John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes    37

Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson    33

post-tab                             30

JME                                  27

Post TAB                             25

Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy          23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016     19

epileptic                            19

fraternal love                       17

2017: 15067 (Series 4 tags and challenges)

Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective         133

Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers            93

Post TFP                                     73

Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers                   69

Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem            60

Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective     55

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017             50

Post S4                                      48

Sherstrade Month 2017                        44

31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017               41

2018: 10733 (Lost of new challenges, seasonal and weekly)

Towel Day 2018                       64

Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018    25

Kinktober 2018                       23

Pregnant Molly Hooper                23

Soft Smut Sunday                     23

Tom Robbins                          23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2018     21

Inktober 2018                        20

established universe                 16

Always1895                           16

2019: 7785 (More prompts, and character attitudes)

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019    25

221B Autumn Challenge               21

A-Z Christmas Prompt                19

KatsJohnlockXmas2019                16

Whumptober                          11

Poor Greg Lestrade                  11

Kinktober 2019                      10

Dissonance                          10

John Watson is a Good Friend         9

Sleepy Sherlock Holmes               8

2020: 8074 (Not all COVID related, thank heavens)

Mystrade Monday                           59

COVID-19                                  48

Coronavirus                               46

Mystrade Monday Prompts                   40

Whumptober 2020                           36

warning for a covid-19 setting            33

Flufftober prompts 2020                   24

Do Not Translate                          24

they're all right they're just at home    23

Granada Sherlolly                         21

A little note from looking across all freeform tags, not just the new ones, we see a curious pattern with regards to two actions: First Kiss and Anal Sex. They appear amongst the most common tags as of 2014, neck in neck for two years, than Anal Sex drops off the top ten in 2016. From there out, First Kiss stays in the top 5 from that point on, while anal sex appears at rank 9 from 2017-2019 and is gone again in 2020. This probably says something about the fandom, somehow. 

Bravo for making it to the end and thank you for reading! 

Questions/comments welcome.

[boxofbadaddiction]

Come For a Drive

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: George steals his Dad's car to take the girl he fancies on a surprise late night drive but things don't go quite to plan.

Warnings: Swearing. Our boy don't have a liscene.

It was risky, George knew that. Stealing his Fathers car in the dead of night. If his parents found out he was sure he'd never see freedom again. But it was worth it, in his opinion. Y/n was worth it.

He's been smitten with her since the beginning of the year, after they shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

He's always known of her, being mutual friends with Lee Jordan and all, but she's always been rather reserved. It wasn't until they shared that compartment he realised how great she was. There was just something different about her that hooked him.

He'd tried all year to get to know her better, but it wasn't easy. She had very thick walls built around herself, he could she that, but he also saw the goofy, confident, fun side of her too scratching just below the surface. If one wasn't paying attention it'd be easy to miss but George was always paying attention.

As the Summer holidays drew nearer he'd managed to get some fleeting moments alone with her: between classes and walking from meals. Which is how he learnt she lived only a cars ride away from the Burrow.

Hence his current escapade.

It was just past 11 o'clock in the night when he gingerly snuck from his bedroom as to not wake Fred (not that he would even if George tried to wake him) then down the stairs and out the back door.

Slowly he pulled the barn doors of their small shed open and crept into the car; a bronze, 1978 Volkswagen Scirocco.

His face scrunched as he turned the keys in the ignition as if willing the car to start as quietly as possible. With a rumble and hiss of the engine the car started. While he sat waiting for the engine to warm up he stared worriedly to the homes windows praying no lights flicker on.

A few minutes passed with no movement and he sighed in relief, shifting into reverse he backed the car out and set off with one destination in mind. Y/n's.

...After a breif detour as the low fuel light beckoned him to the nearest petrol station. Luckily the family kept a decent amount of muggle money in the console for such occasions. Arthur hadn't dared modify their new car with magic as he had the Ford Angila, given what unfolded 2 years prior.

Driving cautiously through the street he recognised as Y/n's his eyes scanned every house door and mailbox for the number he knew to be hers, from all the times they'd exchanged letters, smiling proudly to himself when he spotted it and the light which shone from her bedroom window which told him she was awake.

Y/n was a halfblood, like Lee Jordan, and after a discussion with George on some of her favourite classic movies the idea to surprise her in a similar fashion had sprung to mind.

Pulling the car to the side of the street he quickly shift into park, leaving the car running as he hopped from the vehicle, and crept to the garden which lined the base of the simple two story home.

He searched blindly on the ground for a handful of small stones, standing back a pace when he was satisfied with the 5 small rocks in his palm.

He could faintly hear the melody of whatever song she were playing through her speakers and hoped he'd be loud enough for her to hear.

Softly as possible he tossed them towards her window and listened for the light clink which followed telling him he'd hit his mark. The first 3 he threw were met with no response. It wasn't until his fourth attempt the approaching shadow of her figure told him he'd got her attention.

She peered curiously from the window of her bedroom, squinting into the darkness below.

George stepped into the light thrown from her bedroom, waving an arm above his head to get her attention onto him which seemed to do the trick as she opened the sliding glass window.

"George?" She questioned in a shouting whisper. "Hey" he answered simply with a smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Come for a drive"

Y/n was silent for a moment as her brows furrowed and mouth fell agape. "...what?" "Come for a drive." He repeated casually. "You don't have a liscene." "No, but I have a car...don't worry I'm an excellent driver" he winked.

The girl looked back over her shoulder into her bedroom then back to him, contemplating the idea and biting her lip at the thought. Her mind telling her one thing while her heart begged for another.

"Okay. I'll be down in 2 minutes" she allowed a smile to breakthrough onto her features. George's eyes lit up at that and he began nodding through a grin as he moved toward the car, "Dash of speed" he teased hoping back into the drivers seat.

Y/n rushed quietly through her room, throwing on a favourite pair of jeans and comfortable sweatshirt, overtop of the plain singlet she were already wearing, before switching off her stereo and bedroom light.

Cautiously she made her way down the stairs from the top floor of her home desperate not to wake her sleeping Father down the hall. Grabbing a set of house keys from the hook by the door she rushed from the house and made a run for the passenger side door. She chuckled slightly as she slid into her seat, looking excitedly to George as she fastened her belt. He was lent back in his place with one hand on the steering wheel and the other rested comfortably on the back of the passenger-side headrest. "Ready?" He questioned. "Ready."

It were a relatively short drive, mere 25 minutes from her home, before they found themselves admiring the large wheat fields and empty farm paddocks highlighted by the bright fullmoon shining over head.

Little to Y/n's knowledge this spontaneous late night drive was more than it appeared. George had spent a short amount of time that afternoon setting up a small picnic basket in the shed with a few small candles and a large blanket which he planned to spread out by the Burrows pond. He was hoping tonight would be the night he and y/n could become something more than just good friends.

They'd been making comfortable conversation all the while as George drove them down the familiar old dirt road which led directly to his home, his heart was swelling with pride at the smile on her face and the knowledge he were the one who put it there. The night was absolutely perfect...

Until the engine gave a sudden unexpected cough and shudder and dread flooded his body.

The pair looked worriedly to the bonet through the windshield. George swallowed harshly before speaking "old cars ya know...nothing to worry about." Y/n looked to him with a tight-lipped smile and an uncertain nod.

Georges hands came to grip tightly at the wheel as he silently prayed and begged for the car to just. make it. home.

Another engine sputter rocked the car and they began to lose speed.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." George muttered anxiously under his breath. "Not now." The car gave a final harsh lurch before stopping in it's tracks on the old dirt road.

"Sure it's nothing." George reassured.

A reassurance which did not hold well as the engine let out a hiss and steam began billowing from the bonets edges.

The Redhead had to admit defeat. With a deep sigh he spoke simply: "Fuck." And pushed himself back into his seat, furrowing his hand through his hair.

Y/n swiftly unbuckled her seatbelt and sat up straight, tying her hair back out of her face.

"Look, I'm really sorry " George turned in place to face her sensing he'd just completely ruined the night. Several more apologies were already lined up on the tip of his tongue, "I-"

"Pop the hood." "What?"

The girl reached over the boys lap, one hand bracing the wheel as her other felt for the bonets lever. George sucked in a surprised breath at their current rather compromising position and held his hands back by his shoulders. When two of her fingers locked under a latch she gave a tug listening for the light pop of the cars hood which followed. Sitting up quickly she swung herself from the car as she opened the door in one swift motion walking to the front.

George fumbled with his seat belt hurriedly as he stumbled from the car to join her watching as she hoisted the bonet and secured it in place.

He coughed as the cloud of steam hit his face but y/n seemed unphased. With two hands placed on the cars front she lent over inspecting the engine looking for anything that may be out of place.

George watched as she tore her shirt from over her shoulders and wrapped it over her hand to test the various knobs were secure in place. He felt a bit awkward as he had no idea what to be looking for, but given the way her eyes scanned the cars interior he trusted she knew what she was doing.

He hadn't meant to but his eyes soon left the the cars body and attached to hers as he admired the way she bent forward. The look of concentration on her face as well as the slight shimmer of her skin from the steam and heat radiating from the busted vehicle. "There's not a flaw to this woman." He thought to himself.

He'd gotten so lost admiring her curves he almost missed when she spoke to him.

"What fuel did you put in here? Diesel?"

"Hmm? I-Ah-" George stuttered and cleared his throat, "The one closest to the car."

Y/n takes a step back letting the hood loose from it's prop and closes it, dusting her hands together as she speaks, "This car takes unleaded, you've put in diesel. Your engines clogged."

"Can we fix it?" George asks hopefully with a nervous expression, he had no intention of his parents ever knowing about his late night drive...so this complicates things a bit. Y/n, meanwhile, has to fight back the urge to smile at how cute he looks when he's nervous.

"I'll need tools but yeah, I can."

"Ugh. This is crap! I can see the bloody house from here." The boy groans frustratedly staring down the road.

"Look on the brightside, the roads pretty flat from this point on."

The redheads face scrunches in confusion, "How is that a brightside?" "Makes the push that bit easier." Y/n claps him on the back as she walks to the drivers door.

"...the push!?" George exclaims in shock. He watches as she leans into the car throwing her shirt into the back seat and shifts the gears into neutral before cranking the windows handle to wind it all the way down. "Unfortunately so."

He looks from the oddly relaxed girl back to where he can faintly see his home in the distance. "That's gotta be over 2k's away..." he states the obvious. "Well, there's no point waiting around. If you push from the back I can lean through the drivers side window and use the wheel to steer while I push from here. Shouldn't be too bad." "You are weirdly calm right now." This comment causes the girl to let out a small laugh. "Yeah well, this wouldn't be my first time. Come on, best get to it."

To George's surprise it wasn't overly hard to push, it were no picnic of course and he were quickly becoming tired but he'd expected it to be much harder than it turned out to be.

The pair were working up quite a sweat as they pushed the car along the dirt track. They took a brief pause for George to take the time to remove his red flannel, leaving him in a sweat stained white t-shirt, and tied it's sleeves around his waist as he'd become far too hot from the work. Their hair was now sticking to their foreheads from the sweat, the sight of the Burrow so close now firing a new determination in them to make it back.

Y/n managed to easily guide the car back into it's place in the Weasleys garage as George collapsed comically behind the vehicle in a huff. "Ya know, when I came to get you tonight this wasn't at all in my plans."

"I'd certainly hope not." Y/n chuckled. George rest his head against the back of the car as he gazed over to where his prepared basket sat by the tools bench thinking if he may yet be able to recover from this rather embarrassing muck up.

"Right, do you have a tool box around here?"

"Ah, yeah" George shifts to grab their tools, laid just beside the basket he'd been staring at, thankful now of his Father's tinkering hobby as the shed was well supplied with a variety of tools he hadn't a clue what most were used for.

Y/n pulls the keys from the ignition before walking around to meet him as he hands the tools to her. "So, how do we do this?" "I'll need to drain your tank to start off, nothing I haven't done before." The girl speaks moving to place the tools by the boot, rummaging through the kit briefly in search of a flashlight: smiling as she locates a small black one in the bottom corner. She takes the keys and uses them to unlock the boot and retrieve the car jack, quickly pumping up the car so she can lay down underneath, switching on the small light as she does so.

"What are you doing down there?"

"Looking for the drain." "Ah! Right..." George is truly glad y/n can't see his face right now because the confusion he's visibly expressing gives away his feigned understanding of what she's talking about. He's quickly realising Muggle things are much more complicated than he may have thought.

"So uh...how do you know about all of this?" George questions awkwardly.

"My dad. He raised me, he's a mechanic and a real grease monkey. He taught me everything I know. Hey, do you have like a shallow bucket or grease pan out there?" "Uhh" he looks around the small room, filled with all of his fathers odd muggle artefacts and spare parts. "Yeah here you can use this." He answers reaching for a shallow tin dish.

Y/n slinks out from under the car after placing the bowl and unjacks the hoist letting the fuel drain.

"What's next after that's out?" "I'll clean everything out, put it all back together and no one need know a thing." She winks at the astonished boy infront of her.

"You truly are brilliant." He smiles.

George watches on as y/n works diligently to fix his Fathers car, completely in awe, as the night slowly approaces the day. She tells him about her childhood: growing up watching street races and helping her father fix cars. His eyes are trained to her every movement and attention fixed unwaveringly to every story she tells. She's so smart and beautiful and just everything he wants he can't help feeling himself falling further for her as he hangs from every word.

"Well. That should be it." Y/n smiles to George as she wipes her hands on an old rag, stepping away from the car.

She's covered in dust and grease and sweat but there's a glow to her. George can't stop the smile that breaks across his face as he takes her in.

Y/n's face drops slightly and she tilts her head in question at Georges endearing sort of stare held on her. "What?" This successfully snaps him out of his trance as he shakes his head answering quickly "oh nothing no I just- thank you. For everything you're...you're really amazing."

Y/n chews the inside of her bottom lip as she blushes from the compliment wringing the piece of cloth between her nervous palms. "You're getting soft on me, Georgie." The girl teases and throws the dirty rag at his chest which he catches easily, tossing it aside.

His eye's rake over her figure once more in admiration and he notices a dead blade of grass hanging from a stray lock of her hair. He moves towards her slowly so he's standing not inches from her, staring down to her questioning doe-like eyes and slightly pouted lips. With a tentative hand he pulls the piece from her hair flicking it to the ground before tucking the strand behind her ear.

"You're filthy." George speaks without thinking, to which Y/n raises an eyebrow. "Laying under a car will do that to a girl." She retorts. "Sorry, I just meant, you probably want to get cleaned up?" He elaborates taking a bashful step back.

"Oh, it's fine really. I wouldn't want to risk waking your family. I can just wait till later-" "if it makes you more comfortable, there's a small sink at the end of Dad's work bench, wager you'll feel loads better once all that dust and crap is off your that pretty face of yours." He swipes his thumb over the edge of her chin playfully as he speaks the last words to her, that signature mischievous glint replacing the nervous look in his eyes from earlier. Y/n blushes at his words and the light touch. "I'll go grab us some drinks, you must be thirsty after how hard you've worked. I'll be back in a tick, yeah?" With a quick wink he leaves for the house.

As George leaves Y/n takes a moment to express all the giddiness she's feeling over the night. A bright smile adorning her features as she bounces slightly on the balls of her feet releasing a content sigh. She is so happy she came out tonight, even with George's little mishap with refuelling the car, she wouldn't change a moment of it. She's fancied George for quite some time now but something in her always stops her from being fully open to the possibility he may like her too. After tonight though she's hopeful their relationship is growing into something more.

Snapping herself out of her little lovestruck daze with a shake of her head she makes her way over to the small basin and begins washing away the dust and grime clinging to her skin.

George moves quietly through the kitchen retrieving a few small snack items and cool drinks from the fridge, listening intently for any movement upstairs. He decides to freshen himself up at the sink as he's quite sweaty as well, covered in dirt from the long push home, splashing water over his face and lightly scrubbing his forearms clean. He chews his lip as he peers from the kitchen window to the shed thinking about the girl waiting for him inside. 'May just be able to save this night yet' he thinks.

He's about to leave out the back door when a thought crosses his mind which has him quickly dashing to the laundry for a clean set of shirts. Ripping his dirty shirt over his head and the flannel from around his waist to replace it with one that's clean. He grabs one of his jumpers while he's at it before dashing back out the door.

"Hey, Y/n?" He calls walking back into the garage and over to where she's drying herself by the sink with a hand towel. "I-uh, I grabbed this while I was inside. Thought you might like something to wear. It's not much, a bit scratchy and probably 4 sizes too big but it's clean at least." He smiles sheepishly handing over the light sweater and turning to leave to give her some privacy to change and hastily set up the small picnic he'd intended for them to be on.

Y/n is at a loss for words. Staring to the deep green sweater in her hands, she runs the soft material through her fingers as she notices the large blue 'G' on the front and can pretty much feel her breath being stolen from her. She's certain there'd be no wiping the giddy, schoolgirl smile from her lips no matter how hard she tried.

Changing into the jumper quickly she relishes in the familiar scent of the man who gave it to her as it fills her senses. Nuzzling her face into it's collar she draws in as much of him as she can in a single breath before moving out to find him.

Her brows furrow as she notices his absence from the garage, stepping anxiously from the small building "...George?" her voice calls for him tentatively. She's startled as his tall figure suddenly appears by her side, there's a wide smile on his face and he's slightly out of breath.

"Hey" he greets as he grabs her hand, "Come with me." Y/n stumbles behind as he pulls her along with him, feeling butterflies erupt in her stomach over how his hand grips her own.

"This..." George begins as he comes to a stop pulling her body close to his, "is what I actually had planned for us tonight." He guestures towards a plaid blanket laid out by a ponds edge. 3 tealight candles lighting a platter of various snack foods and drinks. Billions of stars glimmer over head as the moon casts a brilliant blue over the vast paddocks which line the horizon.

Y/n's in awe of the scene laid before her and can't seem to find the words to express how blown away she is. George pulls her towards the picnic slowly as he watches a smile form onto her lips as she looks up to him.

"George, you didn't have to-" "i know I didn't have to. But I wanted to. I wanted to do this for you."

The pair sit and George takes the lead serving her a cool drink and some of his favourite pastries and sweets. Conversation flows easily between them as the night goes on and sooner than expected the platter is empty and placed to their side as they admire the night sky in comfortable silence.

One by one the stars begin to fade as the dawns first rays peak above the skyline but neither of them have grown tired, too wrapped in this moment shared together to ever dare let fatigue in.

George has always adored sunrises at the Burrow, watching as the early morning rays bathe the vast fields in a golden glow, he's excited y/n will be able to experience her first with him.

This sunrise, however, is different. This sunrise feels like a warning for George, one which tells him he's quickly running out of time.

In a moment of confidence George shifts so he's closer to the girl he adores. Their hands over lapping and legs only just grazing the others as they stargaze. Feeling brave herself Y/n let's her head rest against his shoulder and she smiles as she feels his own rest atop of hers. Her eyes drift shut contently.

It's only a small moment of intimacy but it has their hearts racing.

"Y/n...can I tell you something?" George speaks, breaking the formed silence.

"Mmm, of course."

"I don't want to make this awkward so no matter what I say just know nothing has to change between us if you're not comfortable with this."

Y/n shifts slightly to look up at him as he draws a shakey breath. Their eyes meet and she notes the nervousness held in his expression, she offers a small nod of encouragement, urging him to continue.

George turns in place, shifting onto his knees, to speak with her. It's now or never.

"I just- this past year, getting to know you better, it's made me realise how alike we are. You've become one of my absolute best friends and I never for the the world want that to change. But I can't continue to deny the fact that I am completely taken by you. You're so strong and smart, funny and beautiful that I just- I've fallen for you. I'd really like to try and be something more...if you'll let me. If that's something you want too."

There it was. The confession Y/n has been dreaming of for months. The same one she'd been debating on sharing seconds before he spoke. Over the last year George has proved himself to be a most loyal friend and someone she can place all her trust in. Staring into his eyes now after such an amazing night the only thing stopping her from getting everything her heart desires...is knowing the right words to say.

"George, I-"

"Wait! You should know that even if you don't feel the same way that that's okay. I'll happily pretend this whole dopey speech didn't just happen so nothing has to change. I just want you to be...happy, with us. No matter what."

"I am happy, Georgie." She smiles reaching for one of his hands and intertwining it with her own. "But I'd be happier with you. You're my best mate...always will be. But everything you just said: I feel the exact same way. George, I want to be yours."

An astonished breath leaves his body at her declaration and he can feel his body relax as the nerves drain away. He could swear his smile has never been so bright as it is in this moment and all he wants to do is hold her.

His hands come quickly to cup the sides of her face, her hands resting atop of his forearms, as he leans in to kiss her, stopping himself moments before their lips connect.

He pulls back slightly peering into her eyes to ask, "Can-can I kiss you?" Y/n bites the inside of her lip as she smiles, nodding eagerly. Her hand comes to the back of his neck pulling their lips into one anothers in a soft kiss.

One of George's hands comes to her waist as the other rests below her ear and he smiles when he feels her pull him down so he's laying above her.

They kiss until their breathless and on still. Basking in the others presence and the feel of their body so close to their own. As the sun slowly breaks over the horizon painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson they fall beside each other, cuddled on the ragged blanket with their foreheads rested together. Perfectly happy.

"Stay for breakfast?" George whispers sweetly, "Reckon Mum won't mind an unexpected guest at the table. Not after I announce it's my new Girlfriend."

"Mm, and how do you plan to explain my sudden appearance?" George shrugs with a smile, pulling her back in for another tender kiss.

"I'll come up with something."

[vaultureculture]

Meet my Guardians :) [part 1?]

I have been playing Eldarya ever since I was 14. For the past few years, I had been reading the story religiously, mixing in headcanons to fill plot-holes, and  fleshing out Erika until she became something entirely different. 

Her character soon split into my three mains, all of whom I will introduce to you all in this post! In my Eldarya AU, they all exist in the same universe, and the three of them play crucial roles in the Oracle’s prophecy. I will develop them more as time goes by hmhm

1-Monnika

Name: Monnika Defreine (she/her)

Birth date: 14th November  [  ♏︎  ]

Age: 22

Species: Faelienne (Aengel+Human)

MBTI: INFP

Guard: Absynthe Guard

Familiar: Lillith (Bâkhrâhell)

LI: Leiftan (both in TO and in ANE)

Occupation in the Guard of Eel: She has taken on the role of a teacher for many children inside the H.Q’s walls. She specializes in lyrical poetry and composition. Whenever she is free from her teaching job, she adventures out into the forest to collect ingredients for ointments and potion spells. 

Sub-occupation: Trained alchemist, Oracle visualizer. Monnika has frequent premonitory dreams and visions featuring the Oracle, but she cannot understand them nor speak in their tongue. Her visual communication with the Oracle is important regardless, and she’s the most attached to it.  

Weapon of choice: Sword

Pros: Forgiving, educated, compassionate, patient, reliable. 

Cons: A push-over, easily biased, indecisive, self-victimizing, very edgy.

Monnika follows the more “canon Erika” path. She is the only one of the main three to have come from Earth through the portal we see at the beginning of the game. She is also the only one to retain an element of Aengel blood, albeit stronger than Erika’s. The option was ruled out for canon Erika, but Monnika is indeed adopted and a faelienne. She’s aware of her adoption but does not know anything else about her background, nor has she cared to know.

In her childhood, she was often reported to affect nearby light and energy sources. Her parents believed her to simply be sensitive to electromagnetic fields. This explanation is usually given to spiritual mediums: The energy they accumulate is said to be what causes paranormal phenomena around them. 

Once she crossed the portal into Eldarya, she began regulating her Maana, and her powers started manifesting more. The eventual blood transfusion and ‘soul-tethering’ with Leiftan jumpstarted a physical transformation, leaving her stuck out of her human disguise. Now, do not let her edgy appearance fool you: she is an Aengel. 

Monnika's form is inspired by traditional Seraphims— that is, ominous balls of eyes and feathers. Her blood is ancient, and her outside reflects it:  Upon transforming, all of her grows in size monstrously. She prostrates, back heavy with wings, as blazing white light fills her sockets. Her spindly fingers dig into the soil, like the feeble limbs of a black widow spider. She is one with the earth her mother bore her from; in her presence, one feels as though judgment is neigh.

There are no reasons to fear her, though, for she is kind and reserved. Monnika finds joy in tranquility and avoids company most of the time. After her initial transformation, she grew more distant, ashamed of her new condition. Her human blood keeps her from smoothly regulating her powers, so she is stuck in her angel form from the first time it occurs to the end of the War for Eldarya, before the 7-year coma. With training, she is finally able to change back to a more human disguise. 

Leiftan and Monnika are, indeed, soulmates. She always felt herself gravitate towards him and followed this attraction without remorse. Her alliance stands with Leiftan and with Leiftan only, which made her position in TO quite complicated. Her lover's crimes were heinous, but her eagerness to build bridges between them again kept her from understanding the seriousness of it all. After their coma, her spirit and trust are broken by Leiftan's distance. She's then left to pine from afar, desperately trying to comprehend how she's supposed to live with half a heart.  

2-Astraea

Name: Astraea Varma (she/her)

Birth date:  5th March [ ♓︎ ]

Age: 24

Species: Euryhalin nomadic mermaid

MBTI: ISFJ

Guard: Obsidian Guard

Familiar: Thetis (Blobbiathan)

LI: Valkyon (TO) & Mathieu (ANE) 

Occupation in the Guard of Eel: Unwilling to find herself (or her peers) wounded and helpless in the midst of battle, she started working as a nurse under the protection of Ewelein. Her eagerness to learn and help others soon turned her into a sponge for medical knowledge.

Sub-occupation: Obsidian infantry soldier, Crystal fragment detector. Astraea can easily sense the presence of crystal fragments, corrupted or not. She can easily follow them to where they are, as if they left a visible trail. 

Weapon of choice: Hammer or enchanted fists. 

Pros: law-abiding, empathetic, just, optimistic, fun to be around. 

Cons: Inflexible, holds grudges, bad loser, stubborn, quick to judge.  

Astraea washed up on a small stream that crosses the forest of Eel. She was found by Ykhar and Alajéa on the noon of the same day that Monnika appeared in the Crystal Room. Astraea had no recollection of her journey upon waking up beside the fact that she was looking for something significant. She made allusions to it being noted down in her journals, all of which she lost in the last half of her trip. 

She comes from a clan of Euryhalin nomadic mermaids, aquatic creatures who can travel both through rivers and oceans according to migratory seasons. These migration patterns are marked by the moon and the stars, so these mermaids are essentially nocturnal. This is similar (if not the same, even) to the structure and tradition of Alajéa and her sister Colaïa’s clan. The likeness between Alajéa and Astraea’s experiences will eventually strengthen the bond between them, and make them grow closer than ever— despite the initial moments of sourness. The only thing that could throw a spanner in the works is Astraea's distaste for Karenn, Alajéa's best friend. The breach between them is no different in ANE, as Karenn's overall demeanor is quick to make Astraea's blood boil.

Despite being an Obsidian, Astraea fears conflict and very much dislikes harming others. She is not one to await battle with a smile, nor is she an outstanding warrior by herself. Nevertheless, it is her wit, perseverance, and fairness that landed her on that guard. Moments of doubt, like passing mists, may have clouded her self-perception; She may have broken down many times but always stood up again to dedicate more effort to her cause. She fights when necessary, using her knowledge in enchantments to gather up fists of rocks as her weapons.

Incredibly passionate about justice and discipline, Astraea held the Obsidian chief Valkyon in high regard. He became one of her confidants in the tortuous search for her memories; then, a partner to stand by as the world caved in. After the War and the 7-year coma, Astraea withdrew into isolation, grieving over the loss of her lover and mentor. The cherry tree that once was Valkyon’s shelter is now Astraea’s place of reflection— a deep, melancholic pondering only Mathieu, a new friend, and Sonzaishinai, an old friend, can get her out of. 

3)Sonzaishinai

Name: Hélène “Sonzaishinai” Müller(she/her)

Birth date:  20th May [ ♊︎ ]

Age: 25

Species: Nocturnal fae (moth variant)

MBTI: ENTP

Guard: Shadow Guard

Familiar: Skade (Owlett)

LI: Nevra (TO) & Lance (ANE)

Occupation in the Guard of Eel:  Hélène had always shown a questionable interest in the archives of the H.Q. When Ykhar offered her to work as an adjoined archive librarian, she could not pass it up. She knows the catalogue by heart and has gathered a bunch of...information that may be of use to her. 

Sub-occupation: Master archer, Oracle interpreter. Sonzaishinai has auditory hallucinations featuring the Oracle. She is able to understand her tongue and speak in the Ancient tongue of Eel, thus being able to interpret many crucial pieces of information. 

Weapon of choice: Bow and arrow.

Pros: Diplomatic, humorous, witty, loyal, affectionate. 

Cons: Hides information, violent under stress, impulsive, patronizing. 

Sonzaishinai was brought to the H.Q disheveled and delirious by a group of local Purreko merchants. They had accused her of theft (bread? a dragon tear? so they said), and she was thrown into a cell pre-emptively. Nevertheless, her worn-down state and the lack of evidence ended the trial period rather quickly. For lack of planning and information about her, she was kept in jail for an extra day. Sonzaishinai was in prison at the same time as Monnika. The 'masked man' freed both, and the girls parted ways at the Hall of Doors. 

As a disoriented newcomer, Sonzaishinai was granted shelter. She was allowed three days to recover and decide on her fate. She would either hit the road and return to her homeland or commit to becoming a productive citizen of Eel— by settling and supporting local markets, or joining the staff. Her affairs were thoroughly searched, and nothing was found but a couple notebooks filled with inscriptions in an alphabet unknown. Under questioning, Sonzaishinai soon proved to be, somehow, proficient in languages galore, many of them forgotten and unused. 

She soon joined the same recruit program as Monnika and Astraea...not without the Guard's persuasion, of course. There, Sonzaishinai and Astraea grew close beyond belief. They learned to lean on each other, bound by laughter and blind trust. Sonzaishinai considers Astraea a sister and does not hesitate to call her so— while Astraea always goes to Sonzaishinai for guidance. In ANE's weapon giving ceremony, Hélène chooses to call her new bow (it is Monnika who gets the sword) "Astraea", for she believes the younger mermaid to be her protection and good luck charm.

The nickname "Sonzai Shinai" was given to her by a guard colleague from the Jade Coast. It is a verbal expression of Japanese origin, meaning "there is not", "it does not exist". The culprit behind Hélène's telling nickname is no other than her silence: One can barely hear her arrive, and she always seems to appear as suddenly as she fades away. With time, she fully adopted the nickname, and nobody really calls her Hélène anymore—with rare exceptions.

Nocturnal faes are beings as mysterious and charming as they are dangerous. Most of them present themselves as delicate young women, who seem far too attractive or even stuck in time, never aging.  Behind their lips, however, hide sharp teeth. They are carnivorous and oftentimes conniving, some even venomous, just like the habitats or plants they frequent. It depends on the individual, of course, but they do not have the best reputation around. Whatever they really are, it is not advisable to seal deals with them. They always have a trick up their sleeve.

Although Hélène can be 100% trusted if you are her ally, she does tend to keep many things a secret. It was her that contacted Lance in TO, never telling Miiko and even asking him to take her along. She built a sense of trust between them that allowed Lance to feel comfortable enough to kidnap her in particular, hoping she'd be the one to understand his goals the most. He'd never thought that she'd know as much as him and that she'd been using him to get new leads the entire time. Despite it all, they were always capable of dialogue, which threatens to come back in an incredibly mentally stimulating way upon their new meeting. 

Regarding Nevra, Sonzaishinai had always felt a strong, nurturing love towards him. He'd proven to be an ambitious brat with too big of an ego one too many times, but his light-heartedness and genuine attachment got to her rather quickly. Upon waking up after the 7-year coma, she did not recognize the moody and regretful man before her. He'd promised to love her forever, but now she stood alone spiteful, facing empty words. Despite their falling out, she will always have a soft spot for him and won't doubt to put herself in harm's way for him.

[ladyeliot]

Your legacy is my nightmare [½]  Re-written

Avengers: Age of Ultron / Post Civil War

Pairing: Avengers/Tony Stark x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Your past was marked by Tony Stark, ever since a Stark Industries bomb hit that restaurant when you were 10 years old, during an attack on Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia. From that moment on, the rage for revenge took hold of you, but things didn’t turn out the way you expected.

Warnings: Angst. Trauma. Deaths. Violence.

Word count: 5378

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader Powers: Psionic Force Projection. Psionic force fields that she can manipulate in various ways. 

When you were five years old you discovered that there was a completely different world inside that magic box. A world that seemed far away from the small town you lived in, a world that could capture your attention, that made you laugh, that grabbed you, and that you dreamed of living in in the future. It was then that American sitcoms became your world.

Your childhood in Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia, was like that of any other child, totally happy. You were an only child, you were born and raised in a hard-working and extremely loving family, your parents loved you and you loved them, because all they wanted was to make you happy. Your birth took place on a sunny morning in June, creating the tradition that every birthday you went out to do something special, something out of the ordinary routine of everyday life. On your sixth birthday your parents took you to the amusement park, discovering that you weren’t too fond of Ferris wheels. During your eighth birthday your parents opted to take you to a football match, which you enjoyed quite a lot. On your ninth birthday, the three of you took a little trip to the mountains, discovering that you were completely allergic to wasp stings, but on your tenth birthday, everything changed.

For several weeks you had been pestering your mother to go to the new restaurant that had opened in the city centre. Remember that you were madly in love with American sitcoms from the 1950s, which were constantly on reruns on Sokovia television, so you couldn’t have been luckier when you found out that they had opened an American-style restaurant in the city centre. Your mother used to make excuses for not going, but not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted to wait until your tenth birthday to go and have lunch with the three of you as a family, and that’s how it happened. The morning of your tenth birthday, Novi Grad dawned bright and shiny, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the sun was shining. It was Saturday, so there was neither school nor any job that would prevent you from spending the day apart. Your face changed to excitement when you discovered a note along with a special breakfast, informing you of a surprise lunch at Fred’s, the American-style restaurant. At the time you thought you were the luckiest girl in the universe, and that nothing and no one was going to change your mind, but things never work out the way you expect them to.

At around 13:15 you were seated at a table, and you yourself had decided which table you preferred, opting for the one right next to the large window, where you could watch the crowds passing by on the street. While your father informed the waitress about the menu you were going to have, you played with the bottle of ketchup while looking out of the window, on Saturdays the centre was usually crowded and that put you in a good mood. A Jukebox harmonised the atmosphere with typical songs of that decade, you had no idea what the song was, but you knew that you had heard it before in some sitcom. You were delighted, you seemed to be part of one of those comic scenes that made you laugh night after night, however something outside caught your attention, making you drop the bottle of ketchup from your hands. The scene was strange, people were no longer walking, running, no longer laughing, shouting, but you barely had time to utter “Mum…” before a bomb smashed through the large window.

Trauma. An inconsistent word that has so many negative connotations for the person who suffers from it. You never thought that a life filled with numerous catastrophic experiences could ever find the meaning of the word ‘Peace’ again, yet there you were, searching for it. The placid singing of the water crashing against the stones of the riverbed was the best melody you could wake up to every morning. After so many years you had found a place away from civilisation, far from the terror of humanity. A hut in the middle of the green and brown fields of Wakanda, a place where nothing and no one could disturb you. You could say, you could barely remember the time when you were at peace with yourself, maybe your childhood, but there was nothing left of that. However, the harmony around you, together with the humility of country life had given you back all the strength you needed to be able to go on with your life.

But now the question is how you came to Wakanda and why. It had been almost a year since a terrifying experience in the maximum security prison for humans with superpowers, also known as the Raft, prevented you from ever finding inner peace again. During the indeterminate period of time you were held in that underwater facility, the guards did terrible things to your brain. Fear for your powers caused them to take the initiative in using brain torture methods, the only way they discovered that was effective in overriding them. It left scars on you that would last a lifetime, if you made it out of there alive, which you came to believe would be impossible.

The next question is how you came to find yourself in that situation, but we’d better go back to the beginning, when that bomb hit that American-style restaurant in your hometown of Novi Grad. The darkness came moments after the projectile pierced the glass of that building and found its way into the ruins inside, creating a gaping hole underground. The loss of time and space came upon you, when you opened your eyes there was nothing, it was all darkness, yet a red, flickering light was just a few centimetres from your face. You could not move, your limbs were confined by the debris, you could only see the light that slightly illuminated the small air chamber in which you found yourself. You saw that metallic object in front of you, which had written on its side words that were engraved in your memory forever 'Stark Industries’.

It was a long period in which tears silently flowed from your eyes, it was indescribable the way fear clung to your body, with a small hope of being found that flickered on and off with that red light. You hardly knew what that light meant, that it really was a 'lucky break’ for you, at least that’s what all the news said when you were rescued two days later. Eventually you discovered that the bomb must have exploded, that like your parents and all the other members of the local, you must have died.

Your life after that did not improve, but you found them, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Your similar experiences during the bombing of Sokovia brought you together, they had also lost their parents and now you were three orphans who were confined from house to house waiting to come of age and flee the place.  The country of Sokovia became a war zone, with US troops frequently invading the streets, causing protests by the locals to intensify. During your youth you were a very active part of them, along with the twins, especially those against 'Stark Industries’. What those experiences generated was that the hatred you had hidden for Stark resurfaced again. The three of you wanted to purge your nation of foreign conflicts, so you met a division fighting for the same thing called HYDRA. You joined together, hoping to change the world, hoping to seek peace and freedom again, but that is not what happened. That group had very different ideas, ideas that you three were obviously not a part of, yet your innocence played a trick on you. Stucker, the leader of the division, offered you power, an outlet in the fight against violence, and you accepted, exposing yourselves to a series of physical experiments, called the 'Miracles’ programme. The programme consisted of exposing your bodies to radiation emitted through a sceptre that you had no idea what it was. Thirty-two people participated in the experiment, only you three remained alive. This caused a series of supernatural powers to develop in each of you. In your case, the psionic force took control of your body.

At this point HYDRA had got what it wanted, three superhumans to fight the Avengers, including Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. It was impossible to admit that this was too juicy an incentive for you to pass up. The Avengers travelled to Sokovia with the intention of stealing the sceptre that gave you your powers. It was then, at the age of 25, after fifteen years of waiting for that moment, that you came face to face with the creator of the bomb that killed your parents, in that HYDRA operations centre in Sokovia. For the first time you could look him in the eye.

“Hey, J, a quick infrared scanner to the room,” he said in the middle of that wide ship, he had shed the suit, which was now operating on its own.

“The column to your left, I detected a human presence, with radiation levels off the charts,” the suit spoke up, discovering your position.

There was no point in staying hidden, it was the opposite of what you wanted, you wanted him to see you, to have the courage to look you in the eye, to not know who you were and let him know. Tony turned quickly towards that column that the inner voice of his suit had informed him about and bumped into you. The moment came. The brown of his iris projected towards you, he looked terribly harmless, he raised his left hand and Iron Man’s limb covered his own, projecting the palm of his hand towards your body. A smirk of arrogance amplified on your mouth.

“I mean you no harm,” his voice came out fast.

“So late,” you whispered without wiping away the smile, as you slowly raised your palms, creating a psionic field in a circular shape.

Just as Iron Man’s limb had attached itself to yours, the entire suit suddenly encircled your body. At that very moment you projected the psionic field towards him, starting a fierce battle in the middle of that ship. A battle that lasted no more than ten minutes due to your lack of ability to control, manipulate and project your powers. But that would be the first of many times you were to encounter him, that first encounter left you with a thirst for vengeance that would eventually fade, but at that moment it was impossible for you to know.

Things evolved over time, from HYDRA you came to ULTRON, who immersed you in his power, told you he was coming to save the world, but also to wipe out the Avengers, trapping you again in his intentions, believing his were the same as yours. Baron Von Strucker was killed shortly after by Ultron, now it was just the four of you, Ultron, the Maximoff twins and you.

At Salvage Yard, on the African Coast, was the second encounter. Your little group had headed out to meet Ulysses Klaue, an international criminal and underground black market arms dealer, to obtain the world’s most durable material, vibranium, however the Avengers also showed up, making the encounter more interesting. Thor, Captain America and Iron Man stood before the four of you in the middle of a gorge of corridors inside that container ship. There was Iron Man again, covering the body of Tony Stark inside.

“Are you comfortable?” Pietro turned his gaze to a set of missiles that were located on the lower deck. “Like the old times?

"This was never my life,” Iron Man replied, his voice neutral.

“Of course not,” you interjected, stepping to Pietro’s side. “He’s just the enforcer, isn’t he?”

“You can still walk away from this,” Captain America interjected, offering a nostalgic gesture from under his helmet.

“Oh, we’ll do it,” you said with marked indifference. “When the time comes.”

“I know you have suffered,” Captain America commented, eliciting a broad smile from you.

“You know that…” you whispered with a grin, lowering your gaze to your hands where psionic force was slowly concentrating through your fingers. “I really don’t care if you know.”

“It’s about me,” Tony’s stiff voice hit the mark.

“Bingo,” you said wryly just as a wide psionic field formed between your hands offering the signal for the battle to begin.

Disproportionate beams of light slammed into your pupils, energy bursting from each of you, causing the others to stand on guard and find their opponent to carry out their actions. Ultron’s minions moved to counterattack, while you scattered without a specific destination. You had had weeks of training to be able to face the new encounter you all knew was coming, and you could feel your control over your powers becoming more extended, but to do so you had to have your full attention focused on your actions.

The clash between you and Iron Man sent you off course, into a maze of dark corridors and passageways that were only illuminated by the energy coming out of that armour. Your psionic strength kept at bay the radiation that poured from the palm of his gauntlets and the monorail on his chest, causing it to bounce hard off the iron blocks of the walls.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Tony Stark’s voice came through the armour.

“Very subtle when you hide behind a mask,” your words caused the mask that covered Tony’s face to be exposed.

You stared into his eyes, feeling the energy burning inside you, feeling it building up in your hands, so you raised the palm of your hands without holding back, letting all that power come out and collide with the stealth lightning that Tony Stark let out of the palm of his hands. As if the two segments of energy were fighting a battle of their own they connected. With each draw of energy, exhaustion began to wash over you, knowing that you couldn’t last much longer than a couple of minutes in that situation. The clash caused sparks to reach each of the four sides of that corridor, denting the iron, melting it, but neither of you noticed.

At the third minute you pulled your hands away and threw yourself to one side so that its beam would not hit your body. Almost out of breath you dropped to the ground holding your palms up, Tony stopped the repulsor bolts of his gauntlets and turned his gaze upon you, but just as he took a step to approach you, a sharp, screeching noise caused you to change the destination of your gaze. What your eyes saw caused a nightmare to cling to your memory, the ceiling began to collapse, your exhaustion prevented you from creating a psionic field, your body became unresponsive and your mind locked. Your only institute was to close your eyes as tightly as you could, not knowing what was going to happen, but at that very moment when you heard how everything started to collapse, arms caught your body clutching it against a rigid chest and pulled you out.

So it was that once again a new failure was added to the list of your interventions. When you opened your eyes your body was lying prostrate in a corner of the main ship’s nave, where it had all started, but where there was no one left. The consumption of energy you had expended had left you without a shred of power within you. You looked up, your eyes a representation of the terror that had just reminded you of that moment, barely able to keep your breathing calm, and barely able to keep the words in your mouth when you saw Tony Stark’s face in front of yours again, before he looked away and walked away.

That was a turning point, for the next time you met Tony Stark face to face, you were on the same side. After the battle at Salvage Yard, the four of you, Ultron, the twins and you travelled to Seoul where Ultron’s true intentions were revealed. Ultron intended to create a genocide of humanity as a whole, he intended to create an enhanced body to dispose of his own. This horrified the three of you, causing you to flee from his power, causing Ultron’s wrath to prevail, creating a conflict in Seoul, in which the Avengers appeared. But the important thing in that was that the three of you joined the Avengers to save what had been your city, the place where you were born, Novi Grad.

You knew of Ultron’s plans for humanity, his intention was to create a device that would lift the city of Novi Grad into the sky, then drop it to Earth in a meteoric impact. On the way back to Sokovia, the place where it all began, a host of inexplicable feelings came to you, anger, shame, humiliation, hypocrisy… all related to your actions. Silence was present over the three of you, no conversations except those present to plan actions upon your arrival.

“Ultron knows we’re coming. Odds are we’ll be riding into heavy fire, and that’s what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn’t. So our priority is getting them out, ” the words coming from Steve made you nod, keeping your eyes averted. “All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that’s not going to happen today.” You felt Tony’s eyes on you, you looked up to confirm it, but this meeting of glances made you uncomfortable, changing your position. “But we can do our best to protect them. And we can get the job done, and find out what Ultron’s been building. We find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us.” He paused. “Ultron thinks we’re monsters and we’re what’s wrong with the world. This isn’t just about beating him. It’s about whether he’s right.“

Those last words crashed into you, you had been asking yourself the same question for weeks, you also needed to have an answer to it. So that’s how the end of the beginning began. You could never imagine what it would be like to see hundreds of people running through those streets again, the streets where you had grown up, where you had fought for your ideals and where you were now saving all those people so that the events you had experienced would never happen again. Each of you had a specific area, your mission was to guide the population to the safe side, protecting them from Ultron’s minions. Everything seemed to be going as assured, however time ran out, the ground began to crack, creating cracks, splitting the earth, causing an area of the city to rise into the air.

The terror of the scene brought you back to your childhood, you leaned against a building keeping your breathing as calm as possible and looked around you, the horror was present again, the screams of the people made a dent inside you, you closed your eyelids as tight as possible and put your hands to your head trying to erase that sound from your mind. Your back was slowly sliding down the wall until you were sitting completely on the ruins of the building.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice sounded close to you. “Are you okay?” his question barely got an answer from you, you felt his hand resting on your shoulder. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” you opened your eyes again and with a terrified look on your face you nodded, looking for the strength to face it. “I need you, those people need you, I know this is crazy, I know you’re terrified, but so are they.” You looked around you contemplating the massacre. “You can help them, they are your people.”

Again, Steve’s words gave you the courage you needed to find the calm within yourself, stand up and do everything you could to stop those robots that Ultron had built and turned into his allies. You knew what your mission was, you had a mission now and you couldn’t let it paralyse you.

“Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed… walk it off.”

The population was congregated in a specific point of the city, there was no solution to evict them if that part of the city did not come down and land again, until a ship, the Helicarrier, appeared between the clouds to create a solution to one of your problems, the eviction of the population. Now all that was left to do was to get that piece of land back in place.

“Avengers, time to work for a living,” Tony announced over the intercom. While the population was getting to safety in the boats, you as a whole had gathered at the church in Novi Grad, where Ultron had located the core, or rather the button, with which he would bring the city down, destroying all of humanity.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, confused by the situation.

“This is the drill. If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose,” Tony replied pointing to the vibranium contraption in the centre of the shattered dome.

In front of you hundreds of robots captained by Ultron approached without stopping their pace. You sucked air into your lungs, awaiting the arrival of one of the most crucial moments of your existence, perhaps the most crucial, for in a few hours you could possibly be extinct along with humanity.

“This is exactly what I wanted. All of you, against all of me,” Ultron also had his plan and that was. “How could you possibly hope to stop me?”

“Well, like the old man said,” Tony looked at each of you. “Together.”

The battle for survival began. You thought the previous battles you had fought were the ones that could change the course of your destiny, the ones where you had faced Tony Stark, but you couldn’t have been more wrong, that was nothing compared to what you were going through right now. Each of you was part of that team, your energy was renewed every time you used it because you were fighting for a reason, the strength in you shone through. You were all a team and you were getting through this together. One by one Ultron’s robots fell, until there were none left standing, but it wasn’t over.

“We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats, I’ll sweep for stragglers, be right behind you,” Steve asked just after the last robot was down.

“The core-” began Tony after he had bared his face, but you barely let him finish his words.

“I’ll protect it,” you said firmly, giving a slight nod to yourself, “it’s my job.”

Tony connected his eyes with yours offering you a slight nod, just before he covered his face again and flew away. “I’ll stay with you,” added Wanda to whom you offered a faint smile before everyone disappeared from the scene and Pietro was ordered to return to you once everyone was in the boats. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, only a few straggling robots were presenting themselves to you with the intention of overthrowing your mission, but something happened. You felt your friend’s body collapse right behind you, you turned your head and saw Wanda’s face distorted, your eyes widened in confusion as she began to utter a scream that made your eardrums ring. She fell to her knees, causing her powers to spiral out of control in the crash, destroying every element in her path, so you had to create a force field around yourself in the hope that you would be unaffected. Your thoughts began to connect, trying to find an answer to his attitude, and you found it. Pietro.

You both walked through the streets, but she scattered within minutes Wanda disappeared in search of Ultron, leaving you there, but there was no one left to fight with, or fight for. It was at the very moment you questioned the functionality of your existence that Novi Grad plummeted thousands of feet into the air, offering you the answer to your question. Your eyes closed but you were no longer afraid, on the contrary, you had been able to find peace, everything came to an end in the same place where it all began. But as if someone had been watching over you, you felt arms holding your body and slowing down the frantic rhythm of the plummeting fall. You opened your eyes and found yourself being held by Iron Man’s armour.

“ I got you,” he said flying in the opposite direction, managing to dodge the ruins of that city. “Now Thor!”

A new turning point that changed the course of your actions and your destiny lay before you. Despite your best efforts, nearly 120 lives were lost during the Battle of Sokovia, including that of Pietro Maximoff. It was a before and after, symbolising the power of war and what could be its fatal consequences. For you it was a judgement, a learning experience, feeling guilty for much of what had happened, for helping HYDRA, for helping Ultron, to elaborate his actions. Your guilt led you to rethink your future, the course of new events led you and Wanda to a new country. You arrived in the United States, welcoming the New Avengers Facility as a new home. Offering you a roof to sleep under, training for your powers and a new family, though you didn’t feel that way at first.

You spent many hours in search of solitude, at the end of that green esplanade, when the tall oak trees were beginning to remind you of home. It was one afternoon in the first week, when you were still adjusting to it all, and you found yourself reading, leaning against a tree trunk.

“Hiding?” Tony’s voice pulled you out of your reading. “Oh, Sylvia Plath, great,” you looked at him, but offered no response, so he opted to sit awkwardly right in front of you on the grass. “Listen, we haven’t had much time… you know,” he took off his sunglasses and shrugged. “I’ve been looking through the files and … I know what happened to you… with your parents.”

“You know,” you said with a raised eyebrow, putting the book aside. “Do you also know what happened to the other thousands of people or do you only have a file on me and a file on Wanda and Pietro?”

The confidence in your voice was at odds with the insecurity Tony was showing, so when you saw him turn his head to the right side as he crumpled his face you opted to do what you had been thinking about for the last few days, call it a day.

“Listen. I’ve spent many years imagining what it would be like when I had you in front of me,” you began to say calmly, keeping your gaze fixed on your fingers as Tony watched you with his head cocked to one side, listening to you intently. “In what I was going to tell you, in the way I would let you know the pain I felt inside, because to me you were to blame for everything bad that had happened to me,” you paused, took a breath and thought about what you were going to say next. “But the moment I had you in front of me I didn’t say anything I had planned to say, I let my anger and pain guide me, and it didn’t do any good. The same thing happened the second time, and the third time it was pointless because there was something much more important to fight for.”

“I…” Tony interjected.

“Please, let me finish,” you cut him off, causing Tony to nod and turn his attention back to you. Sadness clouded his features. “So now I have you in front of me again I just want you to know that I have realised that…” you paused causing Tony to make a slight gesture of approaching you, but when you started to speak again he stopped. “I have no intention of you bearing my ghosts, but I need you to know that I spent two days under the rubble waiting for Stark to kill me,” your voice cracked, and Tony’s eyes reddened. “Watching your name light up on the side of that missile every time that flashing red light illuminated the darkness, hearing that beeping sound that I still can’t erase from my mind, terrified that my breathing would cause that bomb to detonate because my limbs could barely move.”

For the first time you raised your face to meet wide open brown eyes, reddened and unable to hold your gaze for long. Tony’s face was pale during those moments, his body was no longer upright and he was nervously running his hand over his lips.

“With that said, it only remains for me to let you know that I will not let the hatred and vengeance of a ten year old consume me,” you looked back down at your hands, allowing Tony’s eyes to fall on you again. “I’ve seen the power that resentment brings with it, I don’t want that for myself,” you connected your gazes. “Then I suppose I must forgive you in order to move forward.”

Silence. Silence flooded the room leaving heavy breaths in the air that symbolised the tension of the situation you were both experiencing for the first time right now. There was no right answer to everything you had said, it was clear to you that Tony didn’t know how to act at that moment. You sat cross-legged on the damp grass, watching him, seeing how he couldn’t hold your gaze since you had explained that you saw his name reflected in that missile. Yet he fought against it and focused his brown eyes on yours.

“I promise you…” he began stiffly, but again you cut him off.

“Tony, don’t promise me anything,” your voice was soft, as if you were talking to a small child.  "Please.“

After your denial of his action, he only nodded. He merely nodded as he intertwined his fingers and began to fidget restlessly with his left leg.

"Then I don’t know what you want,” his tone offered an enormous insecurity marked by nervousness.

“That’s the point. I don’t want anything, Tony,” you said without fidgeting.

“All right,” he nodded confusedly, rising quickly but awkwardly from the grass in an attempt to get away from the situation. “So… I hope it’s all to your liking.”

With that said, he turned his back on you and left the same way he had come. Leaving you under the shade of that oak tree with Sylvia Plath.

Now, too much had happened since then, much of it was why you found yourself in Wakanda trying to juxtapose all that had happened, but what you didn’t know was that on that placid morning when you went for a walk along the banks of that small riverbed, Shuri and T'Challa would come to inform you that he was there and that he had asked to speak with you.

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[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color. 

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain. 

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them. 

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself. 

Okay. 

Alright. 

No distractions. 

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal. 

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way. 

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. 

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them. 

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again. 

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two. 

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too. 

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat. 

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?” 

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times. 

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us. 

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second. 

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one. 

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?” 

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents. 

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing. 

Flash nodded. 

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started. 

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god. 

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp. 

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake. 

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition. 

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

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[nabesthetics]

Draconids: Saltwater Dwellers

Description and status in the modern era

Southern High Lindwurm

Danger level: 2.5-3 Elemental affinity: Lightning Intelligence: Sapient Status: Isolated

The only surviving subspecies of sapient water-dwelling lindwurms, Southern High lindwurms are natural inhabitants of cold seas south of the main continent. Formerly encountered in the Strait of Seals, they were pushed further south by human activity, now mainly residing in both deep and shallow waters of the Frozen sea. They build their dens in natural and dragon-made caverns, with underwater entrances in the cliffsides of islands and the continent.

Physiology: Cold-blooded, omnivorous lindwurms covered with thick non-scaled skin. Most are neutral colored in blue/green-ish range, with dark stripes and/or spots; “emerald” morphs haven’t been seen in a few centuries; “ice” morphs are exceptionally rare and appear to be sterile. An average adult reaches 13 ft. in length, with some individuals glowing up to 15 ft. Ice morphs tend to be smaller, up to 10 ft. in length. No observable sexual dimorphism. Theorized average lifespan of ~150 years.

Behavior: Southern lindwurms avoid contact with humans; it is unclear whether they cannot shapeshift at all or simply prefer to remain isolated. Not aggressive, and quite social among their own, they live in communities of 7-10 individuals; rivalries between communities are rare. During winters, entrances to the dens are sealed as lindwurms hibernate for 3-4 months.

Combat: Most possess natural affinity to lightning spells, releasing the charge when biting their prey or opponent, often wrapping their long bodies around the target in the process in attempt to immobilize and/or strangle them. Spellcasters use more powerful electric spells and telekinesis. Ice morphs appear to have stronger magical abilities, though true to their name, they tend to use water and ice magic instead. Generally, lindwurms prefer to flee rather than fight, unless the den or their kin are threatened.

Shoreline High Dragon

Danger level: 4 Elemental affinity: Water Intelligence: Sapient Status: Integrated

Originating from shallow areas of Sea of Persephia, most shoreline high dragons have abandoned their original lifestyle and spread throughout the continent, blending into human society. Now they are most commonly encountered among ship crews; there is a myth of a pirate crew consisting entirely of shoreline high dragons, but actual existence of such a ship is debated.

Physiology: Warm-blooded omnivores covered in short coarse sleek fur. Most often soft green or brown; unusual colorations like “golden” or “midnight” ones used to be rare due to being targeted by predators and humans, but are becoming more common. No distinct marks aside from a light stripe on the edge of their crests and wing membrane. Relatively small dragons, generally up to 9 ft in length, with males being slightly larger. Average lifespan: 230 years.

The distinct 10 antennae are used for detecting magical and life energy currents in both air and water. Their loss makes the dragon disoriented and susceptible to illnesses, though exceptional regeneration abilities of the species allows them fully recover the antennae in about two weeks.  

Behavior: In nature, shoreline dragons would travel along sea coasts and nest in river deltas in pairs or small groups. The nomadic habits made them feel at home aboard human ships. Highly energetic, empathic and most often extroverted, shoreline dragons are one of the few draconid species that fit into human communities without trouble. However, tight bonds with humans often end with a heartbreak due to the dragons’ longer lifespan, and older individuals tend to become more quiet and reclusive over time. For the same reason, these dragons tend to form close relationships with each other – it is uncommon for a shoreline shapeshifter to work alone among humans.

Combat: Shoreline dragons aren’t naturally aggressive, but they are quite easily provoked. If fighting side-to-side with humans, they stick to the same tactics; however, in a life-threatening situation their strategy switches to overwhelming magical force. The shoreline high dragons’ magical affinity is significantly strong and versatile: their instinctual magic revolves around water element, but most of them advance their skillset with other offensive elemental spells and magic schools.

Cloud Chaser

Danger level: 3 Elemental affinity: Air/Lightning Intelligence: Beast Status: Isolated/extinct

Formerly one of the more plentiful species of lesser dragons soaring over the seas in areas with semi-tropical and tropical climate, cloud chasers were exterminated and pushed from the continent during the Dragon Conflict. It is unknown whether they are completely extinct or still reside in territories that humans haven’t reached yet. 

Physiology: Cold-blooded obligatory carnivores covered with small matte scales, sporting a wide variety of color depending on the region, characterized by light areas on long, thin webbed wings. Males’ wings were significantly darker on the outer side. Albino specimens were surprisingly common and didn’t fare much worse than the rest of their kin. Size of an adult individual varied between 15 and 25 feet in length depending on the bloodline. Average natural lifespan is unknown due to high mortality rate, but there is a legend about a cloud chaser that breached 300 years old before being hunted down.

Behavior: Cloud chasers nested on cliffsides, residing in the same territory with a mate and offspring. During the breeding season dragons flew to islands to mate, after which the females returned to their territory with a different male every year. Cloud chasers flew far from the shores to hunt large sea birds, fish and humans, when the latter began contesting the dragons by fishing. Being highly territorial, Cloud chasers would attack boats and ships that moved towards their nesting site, and became a serious threat to vessels in the Emerald sea. Resilience to heights allowed these dragons to soar over most clouds, granting them their name.

Combat: Fast and agile flyers, cloud chasers attacked smaller opponents or prey by diving from the sky, grabbing their targets and lifting them up to drop them onto cliffs or into water from high altitude. They primarily used magic to fly rather than fight, aside from a single trait that made this species especially dangerous during and shortly after thunderstorms. Cloud chasers took to the sky, actively seeking out a lightning hit; absorbing most of the electric power, the dragons could use it over the next few days to unleash devastating elemental attacks onto larger prey — or ships.

Genus: Carved Sea Serpents

A.k.a. “Sea Harvesters”

Danger level: 4 Elemental affinity: None (?) Intelligence: Beast Status: Active, uncovered

Several species of similar physiology and behavior, carved sea serpents are rarely considered draconids outside of expert circles. It is the magical traits of their bodies that prove their belonging in the Dragon Class. Unlike with most draconids, existence of carved sea serpents is a known fact, although they are still surrounded by an array of sailor tales and legends.

Appearance of these beasts in the waters of Salty Sea is very recent; their presence beyond the Strait of Seals used to be anecdotal at best, but the sightings – and attacks – became more frequent over the past few decades, for reasons yet unknown.

Physiology: Cold-blooded obligatory carnivores covered with small scales with almost sandpaper-like surface, and mineral formations that grow and spread throughout the creature’s life, starting at the neck and tip of the tail. Shape and color of the mineral varies from species to species, ranging from rough gray to agate-like rock. Black, gray, brown and teal are the most common hide colors. Legends often mention albino Harvesters or individuals covered with precious crystals, but those claims haven’t met any proper proof so far. Species of carved sea serpents range from 30 to 50 feet as old adults; legendary 100 feet-long individuals haven’t been sighted since the Dragon Conflict. Average lifespan unknown but is theorized to be above 500 years.

Behavior: Despite their uncovered status, behavior of these beasts isn’t well-studied. Carved serpents were never seen in couples or groups, and judging by scars present on most individuals they are highly aggressive towards each other. With primal magic allowing them to breathe underwater and withstand tremendous pressure, they remain in deep waters most of the time, and it’s likely that their young never ascend to the surface until they reach specific age.

There are debates around reasons why the carved serpents come up to the surface, and attack ships when they do, considering that their usual prey consists of animals much larger than humans; some of the incidents suggest that the creatures are provoked by magic use and artifacts. Adjusting ship courses and equipping them with specifically crafted harpoons has reduced the number of attacks, but reports of serpent sightings closer to the shores are concerning.

Combat: Harvesters do not appear* to possess any elemental magic attacks, instead relying on their brute force. However, the said force is enough to grant them a high danger rating, as larger specimens are capable of sinking a large ship in minutes by ramming the hull or crushing both wood and metal with their jaws.

*The creatures are most often seen during severe storms, but it isn’t known if they are simply attracted by the unrest on the surface, or actually affect the weather in any way.

Great Sea Dragon

Danger level: 4-5 Elemental affinity: Water Intelligence: Unknown Status: Active

Common figures in myths, great sea dragons do not actually appear in the internal continent seas. Their sole existence is debated even within dragonhunting circles. Ancient records claim that they did reside in the local waters once, but left by themselves during the Dragon Conflict, and now remain in the Great ocean, acting as one of the reasons humanity hasn’t been able to cross it.

Physiology: Described as serpents visually similar to many land dragons, these creatures are claimed to never stop growing, with ancient, mythical variants reaching 150 ft. long and higher due to their unknown but immensely long lifespan. They are covered in orange, red or blue scales and sport signature fins on their heads and tails.

Behavior: Unknown; old records mention sea dragon attacks on ships and even seaside cities – a sea serpent is claimed to be responsible for one of the early disastrous cataclysms in Ancient Vesuvia – but every story is accompanied with nuances that make the attacks seem to be revenge or retaliation to endangering the serpent or its young. However, if the theory of them destroying ships in the Great ocean is true, then the dragons became much more aggressive since their leave of the continent.

Combat: Great sea dragons are described to have immense destructive magical abilities revolving around controlling the waters around them, raising massive waves and creating maelstroms. Younger individuals that haven’t reached that level of magical prowess would use scalding steam as their elemental breath. Physically, they could crush boats by wrapping their long bodies around the vessel and constricting it.

[daaedoodles]

Building walls (just to tear them down) | 2, Memories

A/N, TRIGGER WARNING for semi-graphic descriptions of self harm and anxiety.

Cloaked in the darkness of night, the urges come again.

She knows she shouldn’t do it.

She knows she shouldn’t hurt herself anymore than she already has.

She knows she shouldn’t throw away all of that progress, all of the good in her life.

But she does.

That feeling is intoxicating, the quietness and the sense of calm that passes over her - a promise for a release in the pain she causes herself, a way to escape, to feel better - Sarah Reese can’t find the strength in herself to refuse.

It tempts her with every birthday that comes and goes, with every time she's taken the backseat, watching a past version of herself wandering through the endless halls of her childhood home.

She’s suddenly 18 again, standing in the kitchen staring down at a stove she once remembers being so much taller that despite her 10 year old self’s best efforts at tippy-toeing could hardly see the top of. Dragging the pads of her fingers against every wall of the house and memorizing each and every bump and dent beneath her fingertips. Sitting at the foot of the tiny bubblegum pink bed that was hers once upon a time.

The image of a little girl, a shiny rainbow party hat sitting on top of her lion's mane of curls that frames her chubby cheeks, catches her eye from across her bedroom. She’s sitting before a massive cake that’s at least twice the size of her head with the biggest smile on her face, flashing a missing tooth. Carefully piped clouds of white cream surround the words ‘Happy Birthday Sarah!’ piped in a pink, messy scrawl she recognizes as her own mother’s, atop the cake. Tentatively reaching out, she picks up the photo frame. A lump rises in her throat as she studies the photo with intent, feeling the grime of the dust that’s collected on it over years of never being even looked at. Thumbs sweep across the glass thoughtfully, hot breath shuddering against her cupid’s bow.  Her father is grinning too, bending down to the left of the young girl as he reaches out with a flickering flame in his hands to light the number ‘5’ candle that’s stuck haphazardly by tiny hands into the chiffon. Her mother is at her other side, an arm slung around her shoulders as she draws her close to her chest. It’s the only memory Sarah can begin to place as the last time she or her family were genuinely happy.

Because come her sixth birthday, her father is gone. 

He’d simply packed his things and left without a word. 

She remembers her mother’s voice, screaming and shouting protests through broken sobs. They paint the walls of a home she once loved in the dark blues and purples of the pain in her every cry. She remembers her father, his silhouette through the cracks of her bedroom door, grabbing fistfuls of her mother’s shirt. She can’t tell whether it’s the floor beneath her feet or her that trembles with every thud that reverberates through her home. 

Then, silence.

The next morning, his study has been cleared of every book that lined his walls, his half of the closet is suddenly empty and the photos of her family that hung in the living room are on the ground- cherished memories, now shattered beneath the glass of broken picture frames. 

Even then, aged five and three-quarters, she knew things would never be the same again.

Sarah Reese isn’t a sentimental person. There isn’t much sentiment to spare for the things in her life. They’re empty and hollow, she tells herself, nothing but painful reminders of the memories she could have made if things were different.

Despite every rational thought in her head pleading with her not to, she’s removing the backing of the photo frame and removing the photo that was affectionately placed for display all those years ago. She holds onto the foolish hope that after being let down so many times, she’d be ready to let go. But she stuffs the image in her pocket and packs her memories hastily into cardboard boxes. They’re crammed and shoved desperately into the back of a U-Haul, a last minute addition to a boot packed to the brim crisp, white boxes, full of more brand new things that could ever use.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there Sarah.” Her mother’s voice crackles through the speaker, the cold screen of her phone pressed against her ear. This time, she doesn’t feel her heart sink into her stomach.

Although, she can’t help but hope - that her mother might still come home and scoop her up in her arms like she’s five again, tears tracing down her cheeks as she places lipstick-stained lips against Sarah’s forehead in a goodbye. She knows better now than ever that it’s nothing but wishful thinking.

“I want to make sure you have everything you need.”

She’d convinced herself months ago where she’d go.

Chicago, thousands of miles away from Amsterdam. Thousands of miles away from all of it, maybe she’d finally be free of all of the haunting memories, of all of the silly hopes and pain.

But it isn’t so different after she leaves home and the dread that she’ll never escape begins to close in on her.

Sarah was alone on her 19th birthday, like the year before and the one prior and pretty much every birthday she could remember; left only with her thoughts that easily filled every inch of her apartment. They hang thick, full of grief as she mourns the loss of hope in the way the whiskey seems to coat every inch of her mouth and burn as it makes its way down her throat. Grief, a bitter companion in her isolation that refuses so adamantly never to leave her side.

She can’t tell how much she’s had to drink, too out of her mind to even think straight because suddenly the air is too thick to breathe and she feels like she’s choking, her chest tightening as she feels her heart begin to race. Her skull feels like moments away from exploding, the thoughts in her head too loud and too quiet all at once. Sarah can’t stop herself as her hands scramble, clawing desperately at her skin and pressing her face into her knees as the scraping of her fingernails cuts through the noise, a scalding heat spreading across her entire scalp. It’s the only thing she can focus on at that moment. The sensation of her fingernails digging into her skin, the strange dampness that begins to stick to her fingers and the harsh smell of metal that hits her nose. It doesn’t even register in her brain what she’s done to herself until she’s scrubbing her hands and fingernails of her own gore.

When it happens again, she finds herself subconsciously beginning to scrape at her skin, sending shocks of pain throughout her body under her touch.

It became a crutch that she found herself relying on more and more over time as things grew hectic with the turn of 20.

As the competition between her classmates grew tighter at 21, it wasn’t enough anymore.

So completely blind and oblivious to it - the way her entire life tears away at what was left of Sarah Reese by 22.

At 23, she was nothing but a terrified girl who’d learned to pin every last hope on her own self-destruction.

She’s 24 now. Sarah grew to appreciate the brief moments when that crushing feeling she’s lived with all of her life releases it’s relentless grip on her, where she smiles and laughs and then the weight on her shoulders suddenly lifts, in the memories of quiet comfort she holds close to the heart that she’d collected over the years in Chicago. It’s an absolute relief while it lasts.

But just as quickly as they come, they leave. It becomes easier to hate the good because those fleeting moments of freedom only begin to hang over her head, pointing at her, taunting, mocking, laughing at her.

25 and she finally feels like for once in her life, things might turn out okay. It’s still hard, every single day is a struggle because that hurt never truly goes away, no matter how badly she wants it to. She falls into the cycle of throwing her feet over the edge of her single bed in the cold winter mornings, wandering through her apartment with her mind still cloudy with sleep, slipping her flannel pajamas off her feet and into her work clothes then catching the bus to Gaffney Chicago Medical. In the ED, that girl realizes a warmth, a genuine sense of comfort and belonging in her colleagues and the companionship. Sarah Reese is exhausted and she can’t help but feel like she’s found a home, even a family, in these people. There’s a part of her that wants so badly to push them away so she can never get hurt again but she’s too comforted by the way her heart swells in their company, with what she can only discern in joy, to listen to it. Now, there’s a reason to fight and she doesn’t know if she wants to give up anymore.

Near 26, her pale skin.once a blank canvas was left brutally scarred and damaged in hues of purples, reds and whites. Scars layered on top of one another as she’d run out of space in places easy to conceal, easy to hide from people. There’s a sickening feeling of guilt that fills her each time she sees the damage she’s done to herself.

In the moment, she's too far gone to care. She’s lost count of just how many there are, just how many times she's found herself frantically trying to patch herself up, just how many times she's woken up to blood on her sheets and scabs under her fingernails.

Her thoughts barely come back into focus only as she’s shakily pressing the adhesive of the bandages around her wounds. It’s absolutely silent, her mind foggy and clouded with pain - the panic, fear and anger have passed - and she’s focused on nothing but the heat of the blood pooling at her skin and the darkness seeping and spreading across the white gauze. Sarah’s vision flickers in and out of focus, eyes hazy and heavy, begging for rest. As the adrenaline too begins to fade, just how exhausted she is becomes apparent as she falls back onto her bed, greeted by a pitch black when her eyes fall closed despite her willing them to stay open.

Sarah's jolted awake when her phone buzzes on her bedside table. Through her foggy vision, it's lit up with a brand new notification.

She groans, reaching for her phone and pressing fingers blood encrusted onto the power button. It flashes on, the time displayed in bold in the foreground of an image of herself caught mid laugh as she's surrounded by the people in the ED who are donning cheap Christmas hats and silly expressions, the ward around them decorated with paper ornaments on the glass of each bay in some attempts to brighten the place against hospital policies. Beside her is Dr Charles who has a hand raised and stroking the fake Santa beard strapped onto his chin. Halstead is directly behind her with sparkling red tinsel wrapped around his neck that extends its way down the row of Dr Manning, Connor and Choi.

The memory of the banter and laughs shared that Christmas Eve rises in her head and she feels lighter already.

She's staring blankly at her superiors and the tinsel that hangs off their shoulders with enough left over on either end to fall to a heap on the ground, brows furrowed and lips pursed. "Found it at Party City," Maggie announces nonchalantly, motioning from her spot where she's kneeling with the rest of the nurses, April on her left turning to face the younger girl with a tinge of concern in her eyes.

Sarah blinks, shaking herself out of her thoughts, eyes wide as she looks at the Head Nurse. "They sell Christmas decorations?"

Maggie laughs, "Never been Reese?" She queries, earning a shaking head in response. "They sell just about damn near everything."

She's dismissing the memories from her mind as she taps the text notification that pops into her vision.

It's from Dr Charles.

As her eyes scan the words, Sarah feels her lips begin to tremble as they turn upwards in the tiniest of grins.

‘Happy Birthday Reese :).’

It's funny how just three words could mean so much to her - how just a simple text could make her heart shatter into a million pieces and so carefully piece it back together again.

It’s a bittersweet feeling.

For the first time in years, she's not alone anymore.

[arrestjellyfish]

Rainbow Blossoms

Chapter 1: Saturday

[Sanders Sides, romantic prinxiety / Virgil/Roman]

Summary:

Tattoo artist Roman Prince goes to the local florist to visit his elderly friend, Céleste Tempȇte, and pick some flowers to use as inspiration for a new design.

But instead of finding a soft old woman amongst the iridescent display of flora, he meets her anxious emo grandson. Virgil Tempȇte is everything you would not expect to find in a flower shop.

Cue intrigued simp noises.

Other chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter warnings: swearing, suggestive language, mention of mild illness, brief mention of artwork depicting mild blood

Chapter word count: 6,900

Read on AO3 or below!

[Also available as a podfic!]

oOo

It was unusually warm for a midsummer day in England. Crowds of people had flocked to the streets in excitement, hoping to soak up the best of the sunshine before the clouds were bound to return with a vengeance later that week.

Roman waltzed across the cobblestone road, inhaling rich scents of earthy vegetables and fresh, salty fish. Market vendors hailed from every direction, boasting low prices on sugar snap peas (freshly-picked that morning) and 2 kilos for the price of one on the juiciest peaches. Pedestrians of every age bustled around, energised by the atmosphere.

A burly man cut across Roman’s path, lugging a crate of dirt-caked carrots across the road. Roman had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him. He bumped into a metal pole on one of the many market stands in his haste, bruising his arm.

‘Are you quite all right, young man?’ the woman behind the stall asked in a kind voice.

A wide grin broke onto his face as he rubbed his aching arm. ‘I’m wonderful, thank you, madam!’

He adored market day.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he knew it would be Remy demanding he get his arse back to work. Really, Roman knew he should have been hurrying back to the studio, but how could he possibly be expected to forego a gentle stroll through the town centre on such a wondrous day as this? 

Besides, he had a perfectly valid excuse to be out of the stuffy tattoo parlour on this bright afternoon. The client he had had a consultation with earlier had requested quite an intricate design for their future tattoo, consisting of various flowers. Roman felt a duty to purchase a bouquet for reference, wanting even his initial sketches to live up to his reputation as an artist. He hadn’t been nominated tattooist of the month three months in a row for nothing, after all.

To aid in the completion of his quest, he knew the perfect, quaint little flower shop hidden away behind the sandstone buildings of the high street. There was an abundance of flower stalls dotted along the market, of course, though Roman was well-versed in selecting the finest of flora (having had plenty of opportunities to woo handsome young men in his 25 years) and knew a wider selection would be available at Beau Blossoms.

There was also a sense of loyalty that made him skip past the flower stalls and duck into the familiar crooked backstreet. He had become well acquainted with his favourite florist’s elderly owner, Céleste Tempȇte, who Roman had grown to see as one of his dearest friends, even if their 50-year age gap was unconventional.

He quickened his pace as he neared the modest shopfront, it’s pale blue paint chipping from years of wear. The windows were adorned with an iridescent display of the most gorgeous flower arrangements, as usual.

‘Good afternoon, mon fleur d’amour!’ Roman sang heartily as he pushed the glass door open, ducking his head with practised ease to avoid hitting it on the bell that jingled above him.

He breathed deeply at the onslaught of pungent floral scents. The intensity of the pollen had overwhelmed him at first all those months ago, though he had grown accustomed to it and now welcomed the attack on his senses as if greeting an old friend.

Crooked, aged floorboards creaked beneath him as he stepped around the corner of the entranceway. ‘How is the fairest woman in town fairing on this fair day?’

Roman looked up at the wooden desk where Céleste would always be slumped, doing a sudoku puzzle and smiling widely at Roman’s antics.

Then he froze.

Sitting in Céleste’s rickety stool was a complete stranger. They looked around Roman’s age, perhaps a tad younger, and were a decidedly different sight from what Roman had expected.

Céleste was a stout woman with silver hair who would often wear pastel floral dresses, with a mint-green shawl perpetually draped across her rounded shoulders. This new person looked similarly below-average in height, though otherwise was a polar opposite. They appeared scrawny and the pale skin on their hands and neck was practically swallowed by an oversized black and purple tartan jacket. Their ripped black skinny jeans (complete with chains and studded belt) were a far cry from Céleste’s nude pantyhose and where Céleste’s grey eyes would crinkle with delight at Roman’s entrance, this person’s dark eyes were wide with surprise and framed by the blackest eyeliner and smokey purple eyeshadow.

‘You’re not my Céleste,’ Roman said, feeling robbed.

The stranger’s eyes grew wider still and their eyebrows pulled down in anger. ‘Dude, what the fuck? You flirt with my grandma?’

Roman held his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the sudden hostile atmosphere. ‘Relax, Count Drag-ula. I’m gay.’

‘Oh…’ the stranger breathed, seeming humbled and embarrassed by their outburst.

They slumped in their seat, having been sitting ramrod straight since Roman had entered. Then their arms folded around their torso and their shoulders hunched up as if protecting their neck. Bright purple hair fell over their eyes as they looked to the floor. The intimidating air that had been so pronounced in them seconds previously faded and was replaced by what Roman recognised as debilitating shyness.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

‘You must be Virgil Tempȇte, right?’

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

[themattress]

My Top 30 Favorite Video Games

Inspired by @ultraericthered’s Top 30 Favorite Anime post. 

Although I’m doing mine in countdown form, ‘cause it’s more fun that way!

30. Super Mario Bros. - Arguably the first “blockbuster” game to be released, not only does Super Mario Bros. still hold up over 35 years later but it’s a gift that keeps on giving with how many different incarnations, remixes, fan games using its assets, etc. that we have now.

29. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - OBJECTION! While I cherish the entire original Phoenix Wright trilogy of the Ace Attorney franchise, I’ll always be the most partial to the original outing. The sheer audacity and hilarity of the concept, which is grounded by endearing characters and compelling mysteries, shines brilliantly in this little, easily accessible game. 

28. Trigger Happy Havoc: Danganronpa - While similar in many ways to Ace Attorney, Danganronpa boasts a variety of more actual gameplay than mere point-and-click text scrolling. But what really makes this stand out, beyond gameplay or even the strength of its concept, story and characters, is the atmosphere it creates. For good and for ill, traversing the pristine, neon-lit hallways of the abandoned Hopes Peak Academy looking for clues as I’m forced to play by Monokuma’s twisted rules is an experience that will stay with me forever.

27. Star Fox 64 - Beyond all the entertainment this game provides through memes, it’s really just a fun, reasonably simple but just moderately complicated enough game that’s accessible to any player even if they usually don’t go for aerial shooters. It’s also one of the earliest console games that I ever played, so of course it’s going to hold a special place in my heart.

26. Batman: Arkham City - It’s an impressive feat when an open world game can still feel so claustrophobic in all the right ways, and that’s what Arkham City accomplishes. This game is essentially The Dark Knight to Arkham Asylum’s Batman Begins, escalating the action, suspense and sheer Batman-ness, providing unlimited opportunities to enjoy yourself playing as Gotham’s defender and facing down the greatest Rogues Gallery in comic book history.

25. Red Dead Redemption - Look, I know that Red Dead Redemption 2 is technically the superior game. But its complicated story, sprawling cast of characters, and vast canvas of a world can be pretty daunting, whereas I feel like the original Red Dead Redemption struck a much better balance. Allowing open world freedom within the confines of the straight-forward story of John Marston’s redemption really makes you feel like you’re in an old Western film, and the way that choices you make as a player impact the way that film ultimately turns out is one of the strongest arguments for video games being worthy of consideration as true art.

24. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - So, ten years ago an open world adventure video game series releases its fifth entry...and to this day, we’ve had no sixth, in favor of expansions and updated re-releases of said fifth entry. But that’s not a sign of laziness; it’s a sign the developers know they hit such a peak in quality that they have no need to rush anything further out the gate, as Skyrim is a gift that keeps on giving. Addictive in how unlimited in possibilities it is, with each playthrough never being the same as the one before, Skyrim is a gaming masterpiece that I don’t think I’m going to get bored with playing anytime soon.

23. Super Paper Mario - This may be an unpopular opinion, but I vastly prefer this game’s action-platform-RPG hybrid gameplay style to the prior installments’ traditional turn-based RPG style, which feels more at home in stuff like Super Mario RPG and the Mario & Luigi series. But gameplay aside, I think this has the strongest story of any Mario game, trading in the usual “save the kingdom/princess” fare for saving all of reality, with legitimate emotion and drama and even character development. It’s one of the Wii’s shining gems, to be sure.

22. Epic Mickey - This game’s graphics are by and large unremarkable, its gameplay is fraught with issues (that camera is unforgivable), and it’s nowhere close to the best on its system or genre. But Epic Mickey is a case study in where the effort put into crafting the game’s world and story, not to mention the obvious love and respect for the material being worked with, pays off. Any Disney fan will love this game for its story, which puts Mickey front and center as an actual character rather than a mascot and dives deep into his history as he meets his “half-brother” Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, and its mystical, unique atmosphere - what the graphics can’t deliver, the fucking music more than makes up for. All of the game’s flaws mean nothing compared to the sheer heart on display, and I treasure it greatly as a result.

21. Batman: Arkham Asylum - I already mentioned that Arkham City is the superior game, but as was the case with Red Dead Redemption and its sequel, personal preference strikes again. The simpler story and narrower confines of Arkham Asylum just appeal to me slightly more, and I feel like the borderline horror atmosphere this game has could never fully be replicated by all of its sequels and spin-offs. Also, you can play as the Joker in this. WIN.

20. Metal Gear Solid - And on the subject of Arkham Asylum, it owes much to this game, which created the template of a lone badass hero having to use stealth and weaponry to liberate a government-owned island from the lunatic terrorists that have taken over. Hideo Kojima famously never wanted this game to have any sequels, and I can definitely see his point, as it’s a complete and wholly satisfying experience in of itself and I don’t feel like it’s ever been topped. At the very least, it’s certainly the most enjoyable of the series to me.

19. The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask - Also, speaking of “borderline horror atmosphere”, we have the freakiest game that the Legend of Zelda series ever put out. What was supposed to just be a gaiden to Ocarina of Time mutated into this beautiful monstrosity that’s become just as iconic. Nobody who plays this game is ever going to forget that fucking moon and all the constant jumping back and forth in time across three days as you try to prevent the apocalypse of Termina. It’s the kind of gaming trauma that’s well worth experiencing.

18. Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories - Like Majora’s Mask, this game is a case study where you can take a bunch of recycled assets and gameplay, and then make something unique from it if you have a well-crafted story with a dark and disturbing atmosphere. It’s hard to experience or appreciate the transition between Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II without playing this midquel, which takes the narrative and characters to deeper levels without being pretentious about it and sets the stage for the proper console sequel perfectly. And if you can’t get into it being on Gameboy Advance, then just play the PS2 remake (which is arguably the superior version anyway) and you’re good! Just...don’t mind the cards, OK?

17. Sonic CD - And now we have another game about jumping back and forth through time to prevent an apocalypse! See the common threads at play here by this point? Sonic the Hedgehog is at his best in 2D gameplay, and I personally enjoy this the best out of all the 2D games in the series. As obscure as the Sega CD was as a system, it was powerful enough to take the blue blur’s speed to its maximum level, set alongside beautiful graphics and a kick-ass soundtrack (well, two different kick-ass soundtracks; and I actually prefer the US one). 

16. Pokemon Black & White - While there were advancements made to story and graphics and gameplay features in the third and fourth generations of the Pokemon series, nothing felt as truly ground-breaking as the second generation games until the fifth gen with its Black & White games. This was arguably the game series’ peak in quality on all fronts, but its specifically the story that lands it on this list, as its well-written and paced, subverts many formulaic elements from the previous games, is set in one of the most unique regions in the Pokemon world, and has a timeless message that has only grown more relevant with age. 

15. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate - The whole series could really go here, but fortunately the most recent entry is the perfect embodiment of said series, with every playable character there’s ever been and then some. The sheer variety is unmatched by any other fighting game out there, and its story mode, “World of Light”, is quite possibly the greatest video game crossover in history given how many characters are featured as both fighters and spirits.

14. Super Mario 64 - I’m pretty sure this game used to be higher in my favor, but replaying it on the Nintendo Switch recently has made me aware of how, as the first game on the Nintendo 64 and the first 3D platformer, it’s poorly aged in several areas. However, I must stress that it is still a very good game. The fun of going to the various worlds within paintings in Peach’s Castle hasn’t changed, nor has how smoothly and seamlessly Mario managed to make the jump from 2D to 3D. Just like Super Mario Bros., the number of games that owe something to this one is too great to count, and that’s an achievement that remains timeless.

13. Dark Chronicle - Also known as Dark Cloud 2. I hadn’t heard a damn thing about this game before renting it on a whim many years ago, and I was caught off guard by just how good it was. It’s got a simple but effective story and likable characters, a timeless atmosphere, beautifully cel-shaded graphics, dungeon-crawling gameplay, action-RPG combat gameplay, literal world-building gameplay, and even a fishing minigame! This game can actually stand besides the Zelda series without shame; it’s truly an underrated gem.

12. The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - Oh, speaking of Zelda, this game goes full Lord of the Rings-style epic fantasy with it and it is glorious. Between the near perfect gameplay, beautiful 3D graphics, and one of the best stories in the series (with one of the best characters: Midna), Twilight Princess’ most prevalent complaint from critics all the way up to its own developers is that it wasn’t even MORE expansive and awesome given how long it was hyped, and if that’s the biggest issue with the game then I’d say it’s in pretty good shape.

11. Super Mario Galaxy - Super Mario 64 may be held back a little by how its aged, but no such thing is holding back Super Mario Galaxy. Super Mario Odyssey might be as good or possibly even better, but I just don’t hold the same feelings of amazement and respect toward it that I do for this game. From the blitzkrieg-style attack on the Mushroom Kingdom by Bowser to the discovery of Rosalina’s space station, this game had me hooked from the first few minutes, especially with it blaring that awesome orchestral score the whole way through. To this day, I maintain that this is Mario’s greatest 3D adventure. It’s simply magnificent.

10. Final Fantasy X - Ha! See what I did there? This game has caught flak for some of the awkwardness that comes from being the first fully 3D entry in the series, but I think that’s tantamount to nitpicking when compared to all it does right. To me, this was the last really good installment of the main Final Fantasy series, with a story and world so brilliantly developed that the game earned the immediate breakthrough success and acclaim that it found in its native Japan. 20 years later and, as the HD remaster has shown, it still holds up as one of the most engaging JRPG experiences I’ve ever had the pleasure of having.

9. Banjo-Kazooie - At the time, this was basically Rare’s copycat version of Super Mario 64, although considered about as good. Now, however, there’s a difference: the aging issues I mentioned for Super Mario 64 don’t apply for Banjo-Kazooie. Whether replaying it on the Nintendo 64 or on whichever Xbox you’ve got, this game is still just as fun, imaginative and hilarious now as it was back then. It’s quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made.

8. Pokemon Crystal - The definitive edition of the Gold & Silver games of Pokemon’s second generation, taking what was already a phenomenal advancement and improvement to the first generation and making it even better with additional features such as the ability to play as a girl for the first time and a more clearly defined storyline centered around the legendary Pokemon featured on the game’s box art. Pokemon had been written off as just a passing fad up until this point. This was when its staying power as a video game juggernaut was proven.

7. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild - Talk about a win right out of the gate for the Nintendo Switch! This game returns the Legend of Zelda series to its roots while also applying all that has been made possible in video games since the original game’s release, and the result is an enthralling, addictive, open world masterpiece that has set a new standard of quality for both the Zelda series and for many modern video games in general.

6. Kingdom Hearts II - The Final Mix edition to be precise, although in this day and age that’s basically the only edition people are playing anyway. This game is the apotheosis of Kingdom Hearts as both a video game series and as a concept; filled to the brim with Disney magic and Square Enix RPG expertise and paired with some of the most refined action-based gameplay there is. And when it comes to bringing the original Kingdom Hearts trilogy’s story to a close, does this game ever stick the landing. The series could have ended right here and I would have been completely satisfied (and its reputation would be a lot better off, too!)

5. Pokemon Yellow - While I maintain that this game, the definitive edition of the original first generation Pokemon games, still holds up as fun to play even now, I’ll admit that it’s pure bias that it ranks so high. It was the first proper video game I ever played, there was no way I was leaving it off the top 5! Its blissful nostalgic atmosphere is always such a delight to return to.

4. Banjo-Tooie - Remember when I said Banjo-Kazooie was “quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made”? The “quite possibly” is because its in stiff competition with its own sequel! And personally, I’m in Banjo-Tooie’s corner; something about how inter-connected its worlds are and the addition of so many things to do all while maintaining your full moveset from the original game is just beautiful to me. Both it and its predecessor are like obstacle courses that I never tire of running through, which is the hallmark of brilliant game design.

3. Kingdom Hearts - Another case where the sequel may be the superior game, but my own personal preference leans toward the original. And in this case, it’s a highly personal preference: this game and my memories of playing it for the first time are so very dear to me. The characters and worlds of Disney put into an epic crossover RPG was like a dream come true for me and no matter how far the series it spawned has deteriorated, nothing can detract from the magic of this game. It’s got a certain, indescribable feel and atmosphere that’s never truly been replicated, and that feel and atmosphere still holds up whenever I revisit it. The gameplay may not be the best, particularly when compared to Kingdom Hearts II’s, but the charm of the story and the characters and the world and the very concept more than makes up for that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of Disney and Square’s greatest masterpieces.

2. Final Fantasy VII - I was aware of the hype this game got and was totally ready to call it overrated, but damn it, it got me! I don’t know what it is about this game with its blocky early 3D graphics, poor sound quality to its excellent soundtrack, and frequently mistranslated script that proved to be so gripping and enjoyable to play through, but man did it ever Limit Break its way into my heart. This is considered a JRPG classic for a damn good reason.

1. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Do I really need to explain this one? It’s famous for being frequently cited as one of the greatest video games ever made, and like Final Fantasy VII, its hype is well-deserved and totally justified. Whether you’re playing it on the Nintendo 64, the Gamecube, the Wii, the 3DS, and hopefully the Nintendo Switch in the future, there is a magic quality to this game that permeates through every step you take in its fully 3D world. It’s a triumph that has stood the test of time, cementing the Zelda series as truly legendary.