#A thousand fucking court cases won’t keep me from you.

[spoonmoment69420]

i need 50 more booperdoops to get 1000 and im given them all to you :)

Woah, 1000?! That’s about how many days I’ve spent grieving over the death of my daughter! I miss her so much!

[goopiguess]

PLEASE VOTE JUANAFLIPPA OR I WILL CRY!! SHE HAS DIED THREE TIMES, I CAN’T TAKE HER LOSING.

SHE SHOT PHILZA MINECRAFT. SHE WAS ADOPTED AND IMMEDIATELY WAS TAUGHT HOW TO JUMP OFF HEIGHTS AND CATCH HERSELF WITH A WATER BUCKET. I WILL CRY. SHE WAS NEGLECTED, MISCLICKED, REVIVED AFTER A COURT CASE, WATCHED HER COUSIN DIE IN FRONT OF HER AND THEN DIED DUE TO A BUG. PLEASE VOTE FOR HER OR I WILL CRY. I WILL BREAK DOWN AND CRY I AM SO SAD I MISS HER SO MUCH IT’S BEEN SO LONG… I JUST CHECKED, IT’S BEEN 97 DAYS…

THAT’S ALMOST HOW MANY EPISODES THERE ARE OF JUST ROLL WITH IT: RIPTIDE… (just roll with it is an absurdly powerful dnd podcast that Juanaflippa’s father is in)

I WILL CRY. I like Metal Sonic too but I can’t handle Juanaflippa losing… she needs to win, this is all I have left of her… besides Slimecicle’s stuff… and old VODs. PLEASE FLIPPA NEEDS A W

*This poll is for how much trans swag a character has, canonical transness isn’t relevant to this particular poll

[qqueenofhades]

I'm watching the results come in for the French legislatives first round, and I have been following American presidential race and supreme court from afar. I am depressed. Please say something wise that will give me hope. I never thought to live through times like this.

Anonymous asked: Hey I know you said you’re avoiding posting about politics so absolutely feel free not to reply, but any tips about not getting hopeless? Especially when the fellow young people in your life are all clamoring to talk about how both parties are the same, they won’t vote, etc, etc (😑)?

Welp. It seems that what the people want to hear at this point is some Wise Words From Internet Grandmother Hilary, so... I will do my best to see what I can come up with. It bears repeating, as I have said many times before and will do so again, that I still have heard no better advice for living through The Horrors than the Gandalf: "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Because, yeah. That, in its simplest essence, is it. We cannot control The Horrors. Individual people have never been able to control The Horrors, and five thousand-odd years after the invention of documented human history, here we still are, making the same stupid fucking mistakes. That is pretty maddening to deal with, and if you try to think of it like that, it is impossible to wrap your head around and it will only drive you crazy. So, then. What?

I will freely admit that I am scared too. Despite my best efforts, the post-debate furor wigged me out, I had to log off all social media and news sites for most of the weekend, not look at anything aside from one site I trust for two minutes, and try to get myself back in an okay headspace. So yes, rule number one: STOP DOOMSCROLLING. Please get a muzzle on that little voice in your head that says you HAVE to look, you HAVE to read everything, you have to KNOW JUST IN CASE HOW BAD IT COULD POSSIBLY BE. Then you look at stuff that makes you upset, and that leads to other stuff that makes you more upset, and then there you are in a stew of anxiety and anger and everything else that doesn't help. Do not look at the Bird Site Formerly Known as Twitter or news sites or anything else that is liable to have stuff that upsets you, especially in Panic!!! moments like this. It is designed to make you feel worse and it obscures the fact that nobody actually knows. Like, I devoutly hope that the anonymous "adviser to a prominent Democrat" and the NYT editorial board and everyone else screaming about how Biden should drop out right now step on ten Legos a day for the rest of their lives, but they also DO NOT KNOW (and given the NYT nakedly admitting to a personal vendetta against Biden for not giving them an interview, everyone can see exactly what this crass and unbelievably stupid sabotage attempt is, but yeah). Even if they get quoted in prominent publications, they do not know what is going to happen. They are not prophets. The NYT has, as noted, showed its ass 800 times before and keeps coming up with polls that are so ludicrously pro-Trump that it's becoming a cottage industry to debunk them. They are crass and cynical and trash and all that, they have vested interests, they have a platform, but repeat after me: WE DO NOT KNOW "FOR A FACT" THAT EVERYTHING IS DOOMED AND WILL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN IF WE DO NOT LISTEN TO THE ALMIGHTY NEW YORK TIMES. In fact, the NYT has been so fucking wrong so fucking many times that at this point, I would bet on it being the other way around.

As part of my Bad Headspace Night on Friday night, I did picture the worst-case scenario of Trump winning, American democracy being overthrown, fascists around the world being emboldened, etc. It was a nasty mental picture and I didn't like anything that would come about if it did, but I had to remind myself that even if it did happen, well, the world would still be here, and good people who care about its future would have to do something to make that future happen. It would be ten times harder and it would be the result of another unimaginably evil and cynical fascist sabotage campaign, but... those are not exactly unprecedented in human history. (See: making all those mistakes over and over again.) People in the past were faced with those same exact moments where everything seemed monumentally hopeless and doomed for a generation, and they fought back, and they won. That's the thing. Fascists are evil and awful and terribly unnecessarily destructive, but they are not unbeatable, and they never have been. If we make the choice to resist them, then, well, they can be resisted. It will not happen by posting vaporous screeds on social media, or sitting on your ass and waiting for some miraculous savior/revolution/whatever to swoop in and save you, but it can happen, and it can work. That's what is very hard to remember in the current Horrors, but it's the way it's been for as long as there has been evil. It is not the be-all and end-all of the human experience and never will be.

Likewise: if a la the second anon you're being surrounded with people who are saying stupid things and making you feel worse: just don't be around them any more. It's that simple and you should do it. You can unfollow people who are posting defeatist rubbish, or you can avoid spending time with people railing about how everything is already doomed and voting is useless, etc. You may feel guilty because these people are your friends or you don't want to cut off contact, but you need to do what is best for your mental health, and if all you hear is BS, then, yeah. Pull the plug, cut the cord, do whatever you want. You do not owe anyone else your headspace, your attention, your mental health, or anything else, especially if it is demonstrably idiotic and incorrect. Find ways to do something. Go out and volunteer. Put down the phone (again, this cannot be overemphasized) and stop looking at doomerists on Twitter who get their engagement fix from making you upset and angry. Read a book, watch a TV show, visit a friend in real life, take a walk outside (if you don't live in a furnace, which unfortunately a lot of us do right now). Just sit and close your eyes and meditate. Stretch or move your body. Drink water. Super basic ordinary things that get you away from the increasingly frantic death spiral mindset and put you back in the reminder that things are never over and there is still a lot of time for everything.

As I said: I am doing this myself right now. It is not easy. I know it is not. I wish that we lived in a kinder timeline where this was not necessary, but as Gandalf says, nobody ever wishes for this and yet it happens nonetheless. But we can still control how we react to it and identify the things that are doing their best to make us feel terrible and doomed and hopeless, and make a choice to move away from them. We do not know what's going to happen, no. But we also do not know that everything is doomed, and you know what, it usually ends up not being that way. So that's what I can offer for now. Courage.

[bestmcytquoteshowdown]

Quote 82:

Slimecicle - A thousand fucking court cases won’t keep me from you

Quote 111:

Technoblade - Welcome home theseus!

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[phantaloon-books]

Alright I got a couple comments asking for a continuation so here's part 2 of neil finding out the feds were onto smth when they recommended witness protection program

part 1

(Also thank you so much, I genuinely didn't expect such a good reception, everything I write is purely self indulgent)

Andrew is gonna fucking lose it. It's been over three weeks and not a single word from Neil fucking Josten. He's never hated him more, and this time he means it when he says hate. Actually he's not sure he hates himself or Neil more, but he feels hatred and rage and that's what matters. But of course the rabbit just left. Once a rabbit, always a rabbit.

He wanted so desperately to believe that, that Neil chose to run, that he chose to leave him them and keep running because that's what he knows best. Even if believing Neil chose to leave hurts him more than he'll ever admit, it's the best thing to believe. It's best to believe that Neil left than to believe something happened. It's best to believe Neil grew tired and bored of him them than to listen to the worry and dread Andrew's been feeling for months. It's best to believe Neil didn't want him than to let himself think of worst case scenarios.

But he can't make himself think that Neil left willingly and because he wanted to (and not it's not because he wants to believe that Neil wouldn't leave him). Neil would never run without his things, not without his stupid binder and money and contacts, not without clothes or any resources. If he ran away he would do it properly. He wouldn't leave with running clothes and his stupid flip phone. And most importantly Andrew knows that Neil has been restless lately. He's seen the way Neil checks every corner or every place, observes the people, looks for threats. He'd left those habits behind, so something has to have happened. Neil didn't just leave him.

The best thing is the other foxes aren't convinced Neil would run either. He had no one to run from, and he had a family now. And even if he was feeling overwhelmed or anxious, he would have come back. He wouldn't have taken three weeks. So they know, they know, Neil didn't leave because he wanted or needed to. And they're all anxious as hell about that bc if he didn't leave where is he?

They narrow it down eventually, and conclude that he got in a fight and is dead in a ditch somewhere, he had an accident in a coma in a hospital somewhere, he somehow got lost and/or lost his memory, someone killed him accidentally or not and his body is buried somewhere far away, or he's been taken. And Andrew cannot take the stress that he doesn't know where the fuck Neil is any longer.

He almost killed Kevin and several federal agents when Neil went missing for a few hours. This time, he hasn't tried to kill anyone yet but that hasn't stopped him from tearing every dorm apart and the stadium and the police station and the hospital and getting in fights with the FBI. He's desperate enough that he called Browning, hell, he's desperate enough that he contacted the Moriyamas, which wasn't a pleasant experience, but Ichirou had promised Neil protection and this definitely called for mafia intervention. So far neither the FBI or the Moriyamas had helped - yes they had, they informed him regularly that they were looking for Neil, but they had nothing, no clues no trails, and Andrew couldn't believe their incompetence, like for fucks sake the Moriyamas were yakuza, they ought to know what could have happened to one of their most valuable assets. And anyway if he ran, and wasn't taken, they for sure would be behind him, looking to kill him of course, but they still couldn't find him.

Andrew hasn't tried to kill anyone yet but he will soon if he doesn't find Neil, and he's sure he will start with himself. He can't remember the last time he slept or ate well, or went to exy practice, but he doesn't care. He can't care until he knows something. The lack of knowledge is driving him crazy. At this point knowing that Neil is dead and has been rotting in the countryside of Poland would be better than not knowing anything.

He hates this so much. He hates Neil for disappearing. He hates whoever went and got him. He hates the Moriyamas for not being able to find him and not keeping him safe in the first place. He hates himself for becoming so attached. He should have known better. He knew better. He knew it was a bad idea to feel all the things he feels for Neil, especially because it's Neil, the unpredictable rabbit. But he fell for the fake hope that they would make it, that he wouldn't be hurt again, that Neil would stay. He knew letting someone in again could kill him. He knows that if they don't find him, it will. He can't keep going like this. He was stupid enough to feel hopeful, but he won't be able to live once the hope dies.

He's laying in Neil's bed. He knows it's pathetic, but frankly he doesn't care. Everyday is worse than the last one. He's slipping and when he falls it's game over, he's going to make sure of that. If Neil genuinely cared, he'd be pissed at Andrew for even thinking about this. No he'd be upset, but not pissed, about the fact that he's considering taking his life over this. But he opened the door to feelings, and he won't be able to cope with them and he won't be able to close that door again. He's giving up.

Faint buzzing interrumps his thoughts. Someone's calling him. He couldn't stomach the runaway song that matched with Neil's but he couldn't stomach changing it either, so he leaves in on vibrate now. He looks at his screen. It's an unknown number. Most likely the FBI or the Moriyamas or a random police station ready to take him out of his misery and just tell him they found Neil's body. The code says it's from Minnesota. He considers not answering, but he might as well get over it.

He flips the phone open, "I only care about this if you are from the FBI or the literal mafia, so if you aren't from either, feel free to hang up." The other line stays silent for a few seconds, but when he looks at his phone, it's still going. The person didn't hang up. He doesn't have the patience for this. "I'm just gonna hang up then-"

"Andrew, wait." It's barely a hesitant whisper. The voice is absolutely shattered, rough and hoarse and very painful-sounding. There's wheezing too and labored breaths. But god. No matter how wrecked he sounds, he'd recognize that voice anywhere. In half a second he's up and falling from the bed in his haste, alert at last. He can't believe it. He wants to but he doesn't want to believe the call is real.

"Neil? Neil is that you?" He hates how vulnerable he sounds, but the thought dies quickly. There's no way, no way this is real. A sob breaks through the line, and oh it sounds so full of pain and fear.

"Andrew, I-I need you to stay safe. I don't know if they're coming for you, for the foxes. I need you to find a place where you're safe. Call Browning or Ich- the little Lord and make sure they can protect you guys for a while."

Okay that's definitely Neil even if he didn't answer the question. And Andrew's heart is going a thousand miles an hour, he doesn't feel his body anymore.

"Neil where are you? I'm coming to get you, I'll call Browning but where are you?"

"'Drew," another sob, and this one manages to break Andrew's walls more than than the whispered 'Drew', "promise me you'll stay safe, don't come looking for me, you can't take them down, please don't come looking for me."

The exhaustion and terror in his voice doesn't sit well with Andrew. The Neil he knows is not this. "For fucks sake Neil just tell me where in Minnesota you are, I'm coming to get you."

"No- no you're not, I'm not calling you because I want you to come. I just need you to promise you'll be safe."

"Neil who took you? Where are you? I can send the FBI or the japanese shits over, I swear to god I can send them to come get you if you just tell me where you are and who took you. I'll - I'll try my best to keep the others safe, but who took you?"

"I'm sorry, Andrew, I- I didn't mean to, please believe I didn't mean to leave, they- some of the Butcher's pals found me, I'm so sorry- I put all of you in danger again."

"Okay, that's something we can work with, now where are you Neil?"

"Andrew-" his breath hitches, he gasps and whimpers, "I'm so sorry, I have to go, I need to leave Andrew. Please stay safe. Look I- I love you okay? I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier."

"Neil wait don't hang up-"

And the line goes dead.

The world is falling apart, collapsing all around Andrew. He's numb but he feels encompassing terror. He can't feel a thing, he can't think. He was so close. It feels like Neil just slipped past his fingers, like he just let go of Neil and let him fall to the darkness. He thinks he may be falling too. He needs to call Browning. He does it instinctively, he doesn't register he has his phone to his ear until the FBI agents voice is calling to him. He also goes with what he's gonna say with the same instinct he pulled in Baltimore, knowing he can't mention certain mafia.

"Neil just called me, I have no idea from where, I have no idea how he got a hold of me, he didn't say a thing, he refused to say a thing other than we're in danger, the foxes, and that whoever took him will come for us- oh and apparently it's someone involved with the Butcher."

How he managed to be as apathetic and unattached to everything he said is beyond him. But whatever he says and whatever Browning says, FBI agents are now guarding them in the locker room of the Foxhole Court, with mattresses and mats laid down on the floor. and he doesn't know how they got here and he's cuffed all over again, but this time to Renee even if he doesn't remember being violent. Even the stupid rookies are here, looking extremely panicked and terrified despite most of them not giving a fuck that Neil was gone just hours ago. The other foxes - Neil's family - are pressing Andrew for answers, but he can't deal with anything at the moment.

He needs to call Ichirou too. That's the call that matters, because that's the call that can bring Neil home because he can't do that himself while cuffed to Renee and being guarded by the fucking FBI. He somehow convinces the agent to let him make a call, to his therapist he says, to grant him privacy even if that's utter bullshit. He's dragging Renee into the eye of the storm but oh well, why did they cuff him to her in the first place, it's not his fault. He calls the Moriyama representative he's been dealing with and thank Renee's god the woman answers.

"I need to talk to- to Lord Ichirou, it's about Neil Josten's whereabouts, I got important information about him." He can feel both the condescension from the other end of the line and poorly veiled shock from Renee. "I know where he is, I know about who's got him, I need to talk to Lord Moriyama."

He isn't sure how he managed it. He doesn't know how he convinced them to let them talk to their mafia boss, or how he's able to keep his cool for long enough to actually talk to the man himself. He thinks having Renee there, who asks no questions and keeps her hand on top of Andrew's with no hesitation, is part of the solution but he's not admitting that. Either or, he talks to Ichirou (he can't deny he's not terrified of messing up with the man who keeps Neil alive, but he's not admitting that either), reminds him of how Neil is important to the Moriyamas, both as an exy player and as a Wesninski, and how Neil, Kevin and Jean are loyal to the Moriyamas, hints at how Ichirou promised protection. He has perfect memory, but he will never remember how he convinced Ichirou Moriyama to send people to Minnesota and look for him all over the state and surrounding states, all he knows is that Ichirou stuck to his promise, all is good, he didn't fuck up.

Weeks pass again, nothing happens. There's no news from the Moriyamas, the FBI keeps telling him they're doing what they can. Andrew is done. No one came looking for them at least, which is nice bc they didn't die but it doesn't feel worth it when Neil wasn't back. He feels stupid for hoping he would come back safe and alive. The Moriyamas might as well have killed him for being such an inconvenience. Things are going to hell. Andrew was an idiot for falling so hard for Neil Josten. It was a mistake. He should have known better.

His anger is gone, and numbness has settled. It was becoming a habit for him to remain lying down most of the day. It was also becoming a habit for the foxes to take care of him when he did this. He can't even bother to shower if someone doesn't remind him every day, or eat, or drink water for that matter. He's a mess and he would be incredibly embarrassed if he cared a little, but he's slipping and he doesn't mind falling. Nothing is fine. Until it is.

It comes in the form of a text one morning, while he's lying on the couch in the living room. An unknown number again, New York code, and it only reads, "Threat has been dealt with - I". And what the fuck does that mean. It tells him absolutely nothing. If Ichirou bothered to text him he could at least be clear as to what the fuck that meant. Was Neil even alive? There is a soft knock at the door. Of course, someone bothers him when no other fox is at the dorm. They couldn't ditch every class to make sure Andrew didn't combust spontaneously.

He truly doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to go answer the door. It's too much a bother. If it's someone important they'll either knock again aor shout for him to open up. He curls up in bed. He honestly wants to disappear. There's another knock, a little harder than the first. But there's no voice, no demand, no nothing. Maybe it's a Moriyama. Maybe he'll feel so disrespected or whatever he's gonna barge in and end his misery. Whatever. "Fuck off", he shouts from the couch, hoping for the best. There's another knock, for fuck's sake, can they just walk in already? Another, and he's up. Pissed and going for the door.

"Fucking hell, what do you want?" His anger is back with a passion, and he's practically stomping to the door, throwing it wide open, "Just barge through the fucking door, and get it over with-"

He has to stop exploding when people don't answer to him right away. Maybe he should work on his patience. Because frankly it has been working against him at the worst times. No it's not his fault. It's the idiot's fault for appearing at out nowhere and stealing his breath away. Everything is Neil Josten's fault.

"Hey Drew," said idiot's voice is impossibly more hoarse than when he called him before. Andrew can't tell if his heart is beating too fast or not at all. He thought he was a mess, but Neil looks like he's been through hell and back. Well, he's been through hell and back too many times before, but he's never looked this bad, and he was a mess after Evermore. His face is beaten so badly, so swollen, if he didn't know him and those stupidly blue eyes so well. Even his eyes are different, there's no spark, they're dull and hazy. He's wearing a large hoodie and sweatpants, so Andrew can't see the damage beyon his face, but at least his hands remain okay, there's no new damage. "Looks like I still have it in me to leave you speechless, huh."

Andrew takes a deep breath and he sighs. And his heart breaks. Neil. Neil. Neil is here. Andrew wants to craddle him and hold him and never let him go again. He doesn't care if it's soft, Neil is here. He raises his hands, frames Neil's face like he has before. He presses a hand to Neil's neck, looking for a pulse, and he finds it. He's alive.

"Neil," he breathes, and he feels. He feels. "You're alive, I thought, you-"

They're both silent. Andrew doesn't notice when Neil raises his hands, framing his own face. They've been here before.

"I'm not leaving you, I promised right? You're not getting rid of me that easily. "

He hates feeling this much, "You've got some explaining to do, but- it can wait."

"That's good yeah, because I'm not sure how much longer I can remain conscious and the Moriyamas weren't the best at patching everything up, so I'd really appreciate it if you call Abby."

He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth, so he guides Neil inside, holding on to his hand like a tether. Neil deflates, he grimaces as Andrew helps him to the couch. He's obviously hiding something below the clothes. Andrew stands to call Abby, but Neil grips his hand tightly. When Andrew looks up, he sees the fear and exhaustion he heard on the call weeks ago. Neil isn't able to keep up the act of being okay for long.

"Stay, pl- just," he looks away, and Andrew doesn't know how to feel about the pause, he didn't say the word, "can you stay?"

And he does. Things aren't fine. Neil is a mess. So is Andrew. They have to work through stuff. Andrew clearly has to work on the apparent dependancy issues. But they'll have time now. Neil is safe. He's alive and safe. He lost consciousness not long after he sat down, but Abby, Wymack and the foxes are on their way. They're not fine. But Neil is lying next to him, and he isn't gonna let him go again. They'll be fine.

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 9: Misdemeanour

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: A slow Sunday is ruined by a certain someone. The next morning reader returns to the embassy, receiving some rather good news.

Warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, nudity, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of unrighteous law

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The envelope felt like lead in your hands. You’d opened the door, barely dressed as you rolled out of bed, wrapped in a robe as you freed yourself from your lover’s embrace. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you were handed the big envelope. A lawyer’s name. You just got fucking asked to drop charges. Not really able to move much you gently pushed against the door, listening to the dull noise as it shut on its own.

Opening this envelope would tell you exactly how bad it was. But you were too scared to find out, anxiously picking at your lip as you just stood there, seemingly paralyzed. You knew this was a bad idea, you knew you should’ve just let it be, you fucking knew there was no winning, ever. A heartbroken sob racked through your chest and you clutched a hand over your mouth, not wanting Javier to hear.

Quiet or not, it didn’t matter, he walked out of the bedroom, still nude, stretching his toned arms over his head as he let out a yawn. “Come back to bed, hermosa, it’s still early”, he rasped, voice hoarse with sleep.

You looked at him with tear-stained cheeks, palm practically glued to your mouth. He blinked, not sure of what he was seeing, but as he noticed to brown envelope dangling from your other hand he woke up instantly. You met each other halfway, weeping as he engulfed you in his warmth. His fingers weaved themselves through you hair, chin resting atop of your head as he rocked you back and forth.

It was shock more than anything that had triggered a response like this, a pure panic. He’d seen it before, the night you came back and he wasn’t prepared to have to ever see it again. “I’m here, baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere”, he whispered over and over, repeating it like a mantra so that maybe you might just pick up on it.

“I just want it to stop”, you cried out, balling your fists against his chest as you let go of the cursed papers.

The envelope fell to the floor with a soft rustling and in that moment you just wished you could disappear, fall through the wooden floorboards yourself. “I know baby, I know”, he soothed, pulling you in closer.

Your head started hurting from the extensive crying, corners of your eyes stinging as the skin felt raw due to all the rubbing and wiping away of tears. But when the tears stilled, the anger settled in. He could feel it in the way you tensed up, muscles seemingly rejecting his caring touches as he held onto you.

“Let’s sit down, okay? Have something to drink and then we’ll read over it, together”, he promised, kissing your temple.

You sat down at the kitchen counter, splaying your palms against the cold surface, trying to breathe through the sheer blood-boiling rage you felt coursing through your entire body. He picked the envelope off of the floor, throwing it down in front of you as he grabbed a set of glasses from the cupboard. “The case will take place in the states”, you muttered, not daring to look up.

“I know, we can rent an apartment”, he replied, pouring you some water.

“Javi.. this is my mess, you are not-“

He laid his hands over yours, clearing his throat. “I’m your partner now, whatever you’re going through, I’m right there with you.”

His words made you feel the slightest bit better, lip starting to tremble again as you looked up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

He dragged your chair closer to his, cupping your face in both his hands. “None of this is on you, preciosa. Whatever that says, it does not define you.”

“You’re so good to me”, you choked out, burying your face in his neck.

Javier struggled with that, his heartstrings tugging on his restraint and self-control. He was just as pissed off as you were, if not more. That scumbag had the guts to threaten a case himself, thinking he could fucking win despite the hard evidence against him. He’d wanted it to happen at a different time – any other time but now, you were finally back on your feet. The entire week at his apartment had been amazing, you’d been on top of the world, as if nothing ever happened. And you’d genuinely deserved that, both of you did.

This wasn’t at all how you’d envisioned your weekend together. The thought of having to go back to work after all of that tomorrow stressful enough on its own. You and Javier had spent a week in pure bliss, tangled up in each other’s limbs and depths, getting closer, both physically and emotionally. The two of you had a dynamic now, a routine together and the domesticity of it was all the stability you’d ever want and need.

“We’ll get a good lawyer, you don’t need to worry about that”, he said before pressing another short kiss to your lips.

You nodded, sliding your fingernail under the hem of the paper, ripping the glue apart. With another shaky breath you pulled the papers out, hands damp with sweat. You looked over at Javier, who gave you an encouraging nod. Your eyes skimmed over the paper, pausing when you read the words “misdemeanour” and “battery”.

“What the fuck”, you gasped, rereading the sentences over and over again.

Javier sat upright, trying to read along with you. “Misde- are they fucking blind? Insufficient evidence? Oh you have got to be kidding me. That is low, even for him”, he spat, kicking his chair back as he went to stand.

“Javi, please sit down”, you sighed, closing your eyes as you felt the room start to spin.

He kicked against the chair, the wood clattering onto the tiles due to the impact. “Man, fuck this!”, he screamed, giving it another punt.

You flinched, keeping your head low as he took some of his frustrations out. “Please stop”, you pleaded, fingers gripping the counter.

He looked at the way you sat and took a step back. “I-I’m going for a drive.”

Before you could so much as look at him he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You’d gone from a serious case to a negotiation regarding “first-degree battery”, with a thousand dollar fine as a suggestion. You knew how sexist the courts could be at times, often ruling in the favour of perpetrators solemnly because of their sex. It was disgusting, several supplied pictures of your bruised and mishandled body deemed as “insufficient evidence”. The added detail of “assault of a pregnant woman” overruled as well. There was a written out response and report, they’d handled it behind your back, putting an end to it before it even started. Insufficient evidence, no witnesses. The response even alluded to self-defence, explaining that in a crazed, hysteric episode you attacked him first, statement backed up by eye-witnesses.

Were you supposed to be happy? Happy that he didn’t charge you? Happy he’d give you a thousand bucks? A thousand bucks could not even begin to make up for the damages, let alone the loss of an entire family.

It was still a proposal though, so you could either accept or fight back. But if even now your sisters and mother were unwilling to side with you, you surely wouldn’t win them on your side under any other circumstances, it was a lost cause and you knew it. This is where it ended, this is where they stopped being family to you, for good. Javier and Steve would egg you on to take it to court, let it drag on, risk losing it all, but if you were completely honest with yourself you knew that all you wanted was for it all to stop. You just wanted to be left alone and forget, supress what had happened, supress years and years of what had been happening. Your father was too far gone, there was no redeeming himself, you’d known this since you were in your teens and yet there was always that small bit of hope that you held onto. But looking at these papers, his name signed neatly at the bottom, you felt it perish. You grabbed the nearest pen, hands trembling with sheer hatred and resent. Fuck him, fuck all of them, is this is what they wanted, they could have it their way. You signed your name on the same line, consenting to the settlement and leaving it at just that.

He’d exerted his control over you way too long and had always won, no matter what you did. The amount of holidays you’d spent on your own, amount of birthdays you celebrated with a bottle of gin or vodka, they’d always won. You were allowed a family of your own and you’d have exactly that, you’d win this time and they would never take it away from you again.

Let them have the case, you had other things here, important things; a real family.

 When Javier came back, somewhat cooled off, he found you in the bathroom, on your hands and knees scrubbing along the edges of the tub. You had the radio playing, some man announcing the weather forecast in Spanish. He leaned against the doorframe, the shadow of his towering figure making you look over. You both smiled at each other, though it wasn’t sincere.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper.. I just.. it ticks me off – a lot”, he confessed, crossing his arms in front of him.

You nodded, averting your gaze to focus on the porcelain once again. “I signed.”

“You did what?”, he asked in a monotone voice, standing up straight now.

“I signed”, you repeated, getting up off the ground and walking up to him. “I’m done with the games. He can have it his way if that means I’ll never have to see any of them again.���

He didn’t like that, but a part of him actually understood. “Are you sure this is what you want?”, he asked, no sly or ironic undertone, he was genuine.

“I want to be happy and a lengthy and expensive court case that I probably won’t even win just isn’t that”, you explained, pushing past him with the bucket of cleaning supplies.

He trailed after you, eyes glued to your form as you moved around the kitchen. “I know it won’t be easy, but you’ve got a good case, you could make a difference.”

“Listen, I made my decision and I’m not really in the mood to go back and forth about it. So you can either shut up about or go bitch to someone else”, you snarled, finger pointing towards the door.

His face faltered a bit at your words, taken aback by your brashness. “I just think it would be better for you to think about it some more.”

“Javier. Quit”, you sighed, turning your back towards him. “I don’t expect you to understand but I really don’t want this to drag on. Whether I win or lose against him in front of a judge, it’ll never actually fix anything. So instead of wasting my time away being miserable and anxious all the time, I’d rather spend it here, with you and Connie and Steve, Olivia.”

He came up behind you, spinning you around to face him. “You know I’ll support you no matter what. And if this is what you really want, then I’ll let it go, but I need you to look me in the eyes when you tell me.”

You put a hand on his cheek, looking into his brown eyes as you said exactly what you’d told him before: you were putting an end to it. “I want to start anew. I want a clean sheet with you, with this”, you whispered, bringing his hand to your swollen stomach.

He hadn’t ever touched you there since finding out you were pregnant and something about it felt surprisingly soothing, grounding, unreal. He could tell there was somewhat of a curve going on, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he kept his fingers there, lips colliding with yours.

“A new start”, he repeated, leaning back in.

 The next morning was pure chaos, the two of you struggling to get ready in time. Today was important, your first day back and your first day with the new ambassador, who knew nothing about you, your condition or your relation to Javier. You took your breakfast into the car, your heated time in the shower having you run late. You handed Javier a sandwich as you quickly buttoned up your blouse.

“That is really distracting”, Javier tutted, stopping at the red light, a hand comfortable resting on your thigh.

You threw him a glare, stealing his sandwich to sneak a bite. “Your fault! You wanted to have sex, now we’re running late.”

“From what I remember”, he started, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth “you were the one begging me not to stop.”

“Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I won’t dropkick you”, you jested, fully buttoned-up.

He turned his head, flashing you an irresistibly handsome smirk. “Oh honey, keep it up and I might just have to bend you over your own desk.”

“Javier! Keep it in your fucking pants, will you”, you scolded, chuckling slightly.

He parked the car, taking his hand of your thigh in the process. “I like driving you to work, hermosa”, he mumbled, jerking the handbrake.

“Hmm, why’s that?”, you asked, fixing your hair and make-up in the rear view mirror.

“Beeecaauuse I get to do”, he leaned over the console, resting a hand on the back of your neck, “this.”

His lips moved against yours in a slow, passionate pace, tongue slightly pressing up against you, asking for permission. You allowed him the entrance, grabbing a hold of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, stroking your tongue with his. He squeezed the inside of your thigh as he leaned back, biting his lip as you let out a whimper.

“You’re the worst”, you sighed, the heat between your legs incredibly prominent as he dragged his fingertips over your throat.

Another embrace, lips grazing your neck. “C’mon let’s head inside.”

 There was bouquet of flowers, courtesy of the office lads, displayed on your desk. You felt a blush creep up as you walked over, reaching out for the card. It read <We missed you! Glad to have you back!>. You grinned from ear to ear, bending down to smell the freshly cut blooms.

“Oh wow”, you gasped, closing your eyes as the sweet smell filled your lungs. “I-I don’t know what to say..”, you stuttered, looking down at the array of coloured petals.

“Thank you, for a start”, somebody spoke.

You whipped your head around. “Lopez! Of course!”, you giggled, returning his hug.

Javier watched from the side, rolling his eyes and scoffing as Steve just laughed away. He knew the office was up to something, but a fucking bundle of flowers? That crossed a line for him. Flowers were a boyfriend thing in his mind, for Valentine’s and birthdays or when there was something to make up.

But it was when he watched the other man’s hand slide down you lower back that he really got annoyed. “We have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

The man let go of you, giving a polite nod before walking off once again. “Hoo-hoo, I’d pay to see that face of yours again”, Steve pestered him.

You engulfed the blonde in a bone-crushing hug. “How’re the girls?”

“Loud and proud. How’s the little troublemaker?”, he asked, watching as Javier sat down at his desk, lighting a cigarette.

“Still kicking my ass. Getting real tired of the nausea and vertigo”, you sighed, absentmindedly trailing a finger over the button of your jeans.

Steve nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder to convey his sympathy. “Any triggers? Connie told me some women react very strongly to certain foods.”

“Oh, just try to keep your coffee and cigarettes out of my face for now. Thank you for asking though”, you said, bumping your shoulder with his.

 The morning was slow, despite Javier filling you in at night the past week, you were still expected to attend a briefing. It became rather clear that there was a lot of pressure going around, Pablo closing in on his deal, his surrender. On paper it was nice, the biggest threat locked away behind bars, but that didn’t take care of anything. It was a stunt more than anything, something to appease to the public and feign peace.

It was just like what you’d gone through that weekend, there was no winning in this. “Imprisoned” or not, Escobar’s empire would still stand, whether he directed his men behind bars or not. At this point the decision was out of the DEA’s hands, to everyone’s greatest annoyance and it wasn’t looking good. It was within the government’s best interest to agree to the ridiculous terms, trying to rebuild their image. So a different decision was made, if the DEA couldn’t get Pablo, they’d get all the other sicarios and intel they could get their hands on.

Throughout the day you found out that ambassador Noonan was still there. She called you into her office, wanting to have a chat with you. The conversation came down to your current position and limitations and she informed you that so long as you were comfortable doing so, you were perfectly fine to go into the field. You both agreed that your sudden disappearance from stake outs might come off as suspicious, and that any possible corrupted fellow agents might catch word of what was truly happening. You agreed to work alongside Peña and Murphy until you were visibly showing or too exhausted, sick, restricted – whatever to keep doing so. You wouldn’t be chasing anyone, just show up and tag along to keep up appearances.

Javier was not on board with this and had to resits the urge to storm into that office and knock some sense into his superior. It wasn’t until you’d sat him down after dinner and explained the entire philosophy behind it that he actually listened.

“You’re telling me the best way to keep you safe if to put you directly in harm’s way?”, he asks, reaching for a cigarette.

You grasp the packet before he can reach it, tossing it aside. “Yes. Not attending raids will raise questions, questions too dangerous to answer. We do this for a couple of months and go from there.”

“I don’t know hermosa”, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Specify attending raids.”

“Sit back, stay close to the armoured car and look pretty in a bulletproof vest”, you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, bumping his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You captured his pouty lips in a kiss, smiling as he wrapped his arms around you. “I have laundry to do”, you breathed, closing your eyes as he held you against his chest.

“Did you really have to bring those fucking flowers into our apartment?”

You let out a laugh in the crook of his neck. “Last time I checked I’m the one paying rent, you freeloader.”

“Two places is gonna be costly in a couple of months and we practically already live together”, he explained, pushing some of your hair behind your left ear.

“You asking me to move in with you?”, you questioned, trying to keep yourself from grinning.

“Well, I’m more asking if I can move in with you”, he replied, leaning down to peck your nose.

You hummed in response, freeing yourself from his embrace to lean on the counter. “Won’t you miss your apartment? It’s quite a bit closer to the embassy.”

“Which is exactly why yours is better. And I won’t have to listen to Steve and Connie going at it every once a month”, he admitted, slowly shaking his head.

“Once a month? Ooh, that’s rough”, you joked.

He tilted his head in amusement, smirking as he looked back up at you. “Didn’t you have some laundry to get to?”

“Keep that up and you’ll get once a month too Peña”, you quipped, throwing the wet kitchen towel at his face. “Buuuut if you help me, I can give it to you tonight.”

“Oh baby, please. I’ll have you begging for me by the end of it.”

And beg you did. Legs wrapped around his waist, the vibrations of the washing machine sending waves of pleasure through you. You’d started by emptying the dryer while Javi filled the washing machine. And as soon as it turned on, he grabbed a hold of your waist and put your right on top of it. You were writing underneath him, moaning with every roll of his hips. His mouth was on your neck, rightfully marking what was his as he sped up his movements.

“J-Javi please”, you pleaded “more.”

He jerked you forward, having you balance on the edge, angling his thrusts even more upward. You surged forward as he hit deeper, reaching something inside that had you clinging onto him. His hands gripped onto your ass, keeping you in place as the machine rumbled beneath you.

“Gonna need you to cum, hermosa”, he ordered, out of breath as he dipped a hand between the front of your legs, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit.

You were a whimpering mess now, choking out his name as his hips started to stammer, desperately chasing his oncoming orgasm. He let out a series of low, husky, guttural groans as he bit down on your shoulder, coating your heat with his release. You followed soon after, the sharp pain in your shoulder sending you over the edge. Your toes curled behind his back, legs squeezing his sides as you let out a loud and melodical moan.

He stumbled forward a bit, caging you in as he regained his balance. “Shit – that was intense”, he exhaled, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah.. that one’s gonna hurt tomorrow”, you panted, running your hands through his damp hair. “Hand me that towel, please?”

He leaned over, grabbing the towel off the drying rack, making some other stuff fall in the process. “No chasing, just showing up?”, he checked again.

“Just showing up, bulletproof vest on at all times”, you reassured him, throwing the dirty towel into the hamper.

He helped you off of the washer, giving your butt a smack as you stood in front of him again. “You ride with me, always. I need to be able to see you, understood?”

“I’m your girlfriend, not your liability”, you joked, playfully hitting him in the chest. “What’s that?”, you questioned, bending down to pick something up off the floor.

Javier hesitated, putting his hands over yours as he gave you a sheepish grin. “It’s just something I got at the market last time we went. I-it’s stupid really.”

You opened your hands, looking down to get a closer look. They’re little socks, striped-socks. “Javi.. when did you get this?”, you asked, voice rising in pitch as you started feeling a little emotional.

“You were talking to some vendor and I just – I thought they looked cute and-“

He was shut up as you smashed your lips into his. “I love them.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ 

[sonnetthebard]

👉👈 could you maybe. Do a one-shot of the Linda and Jane switched at birth thing? 0w0

Oh boy, here we go! Thanks for the first request!

Genre: Angst/ Fluff? There's gotta be a subgenre for this but I have no clue what it is.

Words: 999 (no, I'm not joking and no, I'm not adding another word and ruining it

TL;DR: Linda Monroe finds out she was switched at birth with Jane Perkins.

TW: Mentions of Death, Parent Issues

This is also going to feature my "Linda's maiden name is Hidgens" headcanon because we don't have a canon one.

___________________________________________________________

Linda sighed, looking through her parents' financials. What a mess this was. When her parents had died she was sure there would be enough money left for the funeral they planned. But... their funeral fund seemed to be drained. It's not like she didn't know that her parents loved an extravagant lifestyle, but this? This came as a bit of a shock. She was looking to see if she could find something, anything, that she could get reimbursed. Her parents had wanted to go out with a bang, and so help her they would. She had a reputation as a good daughter to maintain. She furrowed her brows, coming across one particularly large transaction.

"One hundred thousand dollars?" Linda muttered. She looked across to see where it had gone to. "Who the fuck is Trent Barker?"

Linda hurriedly took out her parents' financial journal. They always kept one, to make sure they knew exactly where their money was going. It was locked with a code lock as well as a key lock, just in case. There were some shady things in there, for their eyes only. Luckily, Linda had the key and the code. She opened the journal, leafing through it to the right date. She read through the details, her jaw falling slack.

"What the actual fuck..." Linda breathed.

___________________________________________________________

It was a bright and sunny day at St. Damiens. Many families would be out laughing and playing at the park, Trent supposed. But he was not one of those people. Instead... se was surrounding by screaming, and crying. Not the terrible kind. The childbirth kind. He sighed, walking into a room with a blonde woman and her blonde husband, holding a brunette child.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hidgens?" Trent asked, taking a look at the fragile baby in the woman's arms. She was sobbing. "Congratulations."

"Th-thank you..." Mrs. Hidgens sniffed.

"I'm going to take little... Linda, is it?" Trent hummed, taking the child. "She's going to need to spend a little bit of time in an incubator before we can give her back to you."

"Hm?" The mother asked, clearly distracted.

"I said I'm taking your daughter to the incubator for a little bit." Trent repeated. She still seemed dazed, looking past him. "Is everything okay?"

"I want that baby..." The mother breathed.

"I'm sorry. I know separation from your child can be hard, but-" Trent started.

"Not that disgusting little thing!" The mother rolled her eyes. She nodded her head towards the door. "That one. The blonde."

"That disgusting little- Ma'am, baby envy can be a very real thing, but... this little girl came from you! She's full of life. Your life." Trent stumbled, taken aback. He'd heard of mothers not being satisfied, but calling a perfectly beautiful child 'disgusting' was a new level. "You'll learn to love her."

"How much would it take for there to be an... 'accidental switch'?" Mrs. Hidgens asked.

"Um... ma'am, I can't do that." Trent blinked, looking to the father for help. "I'm not allowed, and... it's not right."

"Oh come on, boy!" The father rolled his eyes. Trent's jaw fell slack. "There's a price to everything."

"I'm sorry... that's not your child, and I can't give it to you." Trent stammered.

"A thousand dollars?" The mother tried.

"I can't..." Trent shook his head.

"He's not going to do it for a thousand dollars, Laurel." The father rolled his eyes. "How about one hundred thousand, and we cover any and all legal fees for if you go to court for malpractice? Top lawyers, nothing spared."

"I..." Trent blinked. One hundred thousand... he wouldn't have to worry about his rent for years. And it wasn't like the other mother would know the difference. Blondes could change to brunettes. He didn't mean to say it, but it slipped out. And there was no going back. "Okay."

___________________________________________________________

"And apparently, he took it." Linda sighed, sitting across the table from Gerald. "He took the money. I'm not Linda at all. I'm Jane."

"Linda, honey, you've been Linda for nearly your entire life." Gerald shrugged. "You were Jane for less than a day. And... Jane is dead now. It's not like there's anything you can do."

"I always wondered why I didn't look like them!" Linda thought aloud. "And... I think Jane may have even mentioned to me once how eery it was that I looked like her little sister. This explains so much... except for how perfectly I fit into this lifestyle."

"Doll, stop thinking about it." Gerald soothed her. "You did nothing wrong. If anything... it was your parents who were shady. And we already knew they were shady before."

"Yes, but this is a whole new level, Gerald." Linda huffed. "They bought their perfect baby and gave away their own! I know I'm no saint, but... imagine we had done that with River instead of just bleaching his hair!"

"I know it's upsetting, Linda, but... there;s nothing you can do to fix it." Gerald pointed out. "It's not like you can go and meet your real family now."

"Why not?" Linda asked.

"If this is upsetting for you... think of how overwhelming it would be for them to find out that their dead daughter wasn't even their daughter to begin with." Gerald reasoned. "You just have to keep on living."

"I suppose..." Linda sighed in defeat. "I think I want to at least help the Perkins, though. Get to know them, see what I can do to make their lives easier."

"I suppose you could do that." Gerald relented. "Just don't splurge on them, dear."

"Oh, I won't." Linda scoffed. "They're only my family. I'm not trying to get anything from them."

"Exactly." Gerald chuckled softly. Linda took out her phone.

"Now... let's see what I can find on my little sister, Emma." Linda hummed, opening her Instagram. This was the start of a very, very long- and hopefully fulfilling- journey for Linda. Perhaps through finding her family she would finally find herself.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (38)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Soon. Soon, death will strike with its vengeful and saving scythe. Soon the blood will flow, in a golden setting. soon... Danny will kill Hoggins. After tomorrow, in the evening, to be more precise. But before that, the festival. Tomorrow, Danny will have to do everything possible to stay focused for article on the Roseville Festival. Mattew and Melina will be there to support him, but he is the one who will take the pictures. And he will have to take a lot of them. He will not really have time to enjoy it unfortunately. Especially since they will not be the only journalists on the spot, newspapers from other cities will be there too. It will be an opportunity to see new faces... and if possible, to have an exit door. Because if he can impress these journalists, maybe they'll offer Danny to come and work with them? Maybe.

The police will also be present to monitor the central square. Wilhelm too, unless he was too busy with Hoggins. But there will be at least one inspector, that's for sure. It remains to be seen who it will be. And you will be there, holding your stand, selling your pastries with your two employees. Just like Danny, you won't be able to enjoy the festival fully but it doesn't matter, you can always have a little party... in private.

Besides, Danny thinks back to last night. He appreciated that you were more playful, more enterprising with him. It amused him a lot. A sneaky smile stretched on his face; he already imagined all the little "games" that you could both play. But he will start slowly, he would not want to destroy everything. Mattew comes to rest next to him, sighing completely exhausted.

“Did you get up on the wrong foot?” asks Danny.  

“No, the boss wanted to see me for tomorrow... he told me to focus on the festival and not on the stands to eat. But if there is the pastry stand of (Y/N) I will not be able to resist! He knows it! I would like to see him in my place, I am sure he would do the same!” responds Mattew sulking.  

“Haha it's clear, but he's not wrong especially that other journalists will be there as well, we have to look good in front of them. But don't worry, I'm sure (Y/N) will still have a lot of cakes for us. And then you can taste his famous cake. I can't wait to see what it will look like in the end.”

“Besides, how does it work in your new apartment? doesn't that make you weird all this space?” replied Mattew.

“Very well, very well... it’s true that at the beginning it was strange to live together when we used to live each on our own. But we get used to it. And then... we have several opportunities to... test the resistance of the bed, if you know what I mean.” responds Danny, smiling jokingly.

Mattew looked at Danny with big eyes while Melina who was passing by at the same time started laughing. Danny also laughed as he patted the shoulder on his colleague who was still shocked. All three took a coffee break to chat a little, while enjoying the fresh air... of the air conditioner. It was a little hot today and, in the offices, even more. So, the air conditioner was welcome. They meet Nancy, the newcomer of the team. The poor woman was lost, until now she had only done odd cleaning jobs despite her diploma as a journalist. She wore small round glasses, her black hair tied in a ponytail gave her a little schoolgirl side or the cliché of shy and clumsy women. Afterwards, the poor woman was really clumsy. How many times has she dropped her coffee? too many times to remember. And it had only been a week since she was there.

“Have you heard the latest news about Hoggins? Apparently other former collaborators are ready to testify against him if there is ever a trial. From what some have said, Hoggins has been manipulating people for years and years to get them to invest in his business and mysteriously they have all sunk. He even did it with foreign collaborators. What a son of a bitch.” Said Melina.  

“He really fucked the whole world this guy it's not possible. Let him be fucked up in prison once and for all! The prisoners will take care of him! If you see what I mean...” responds Mattew.  

“The famous trick of the soap?”

“I would rather say the famous Swiss army knife trick. It's very easy to get one in without being noticed in prison... I've seen that before.” Replied Danny, sipping his coffee.  

“What? have you ever been to prison?” asks Melina shocked

“Yes. When I started my job as a journalist, me and my superior at the time went to a prison to interview a prisoner who was wrongly accused. And we took the opportunity to write about what was happening in prison. At one point I turned my head towards one of the cells, and I saw one of the prisoners pull out a knife that he had had hidden in a banana bread.”

“A great classic that. I am still amazed to see that the prison guards are not more on their guard than that...”

Danny shrugged his shoulders; he was not surprised. As it did not surprise him if these same prisoners managed to escape. But because they are idiots, they end up in prison again for the same crime. Dumbass. Danny never got caught at least. At the same time, he did everything to never get noticed or arrested. And yet he left from afar! He learned on his own... and he was lucky. And he intends to keep his chance with him... Oh, yes.  

Observing through the window, Danny noticed that the city was adorned with a thousand colours. The last banners were hung, the leaflets distributed, the posters glued. Tomorrow, Roseville would have been in existence for exactly 32 years. And Mayor Tallis is the one who runs this city... This man is truly an impressive person. And respectable. It’s perhaps the only one that is respectable in this city.  After you.

Our trio went back to work, each on their article, Danny on Hoggins' article. So, he's hated all over the world... In a sense it wouldn't be so bad if Hoggins stayed alive. it could be the scoop of the century! the case that could boost his career! Imagine how sensational a trial article could be. Especially if it's Danny who writes it. Even if he is a murderer, this is not a reason to abandon those why he spent his youth and his studies. He has to work hard, very hard even to get to this point! While Danny was working, his phone rang. A hidden number? That's not a good sign... unless it’s still these sellers who are trying to bait you with their stupid products.

“Roseville’s Gazette, Jed Olsen on the phone, what can I do for you?” said Danny.

“Hi..."Olsen".” responds a man voice.

“Hoggins. How did you get my number?”

“I have my sources as well. But you suspect that I am not calling you out of pure courtesy.”

“Gets straight to the point. What do you want?” replied Danny.  

“Leave this girl. Otherwise, you'll regret it bitterly little asshole. You don't realize who you're dealing with...” responds Hoggins.

“No, I think it's YOU who don't know who you're dealing with. And believe me I intend to make you pay for it. The prisoners will take good care of you, when the court will sentence you to jail for fraud, plus a voluntary homicide... You are cooked Hoggins. You can hide, you can lie as much as you want, you will not be able to escape your destiny. If Ghostface does not decide to kill you for copying its modus operandi. Because he attacked poor people for a few days... because of you. He can't stand being robbed of the show. Now if you excuse me... I have a job to do. Oh, and one last thing...” said Danny Before taking on a more menacing tone: “If you dare to threaten MY girlfriend again... it’s not her who will have an accident. But you.”

Danny hung up dryly, leaving Hoggins no time to say anything. This guy doesn't lack grit decidedly... he will have been a strong opponent, Danny must admit. But not enough to survive any longer. He sent an email to Wilhelm where he explained everything that was said in the conversation between him and Hoggins. Like that, it will make one more ball at the foot of this son of a bitch.  

The rest of the day went smoothly. Mr. Hembrook had summoned Danny to set up tomorrow's day. There will be a total of 4 newspapers, including them, at the festival. It will therefore be necessary to look good! It will also be necessary to take good photos, and to transcribe the speech of Mayor Tallis. Unfortunately, not everyone will be able to come tomorrow. The Gazette must therefore allow these poor people to know what the mayor said for this year's festival.

He worked another hour or two before returning to the apartment. It was quite late, and he had sent you a message to warn you to not wait for him to eat if you were too hungry and he apologized. To which you replied that it didn’t matter, and that you would put a plate aside for him. He parked, entered the building, and went up to the apartment. When he opened the front door, it was dark. no sign of life from you... Until he sees something moving on the couch. When he turned on the light, he sighed as he saw you asleep and, in your pyjama, his coat on you.

“Honey? Honey... Wake up... I'm home.” said Danny.  

“Hm... Jed? Sorry I fell asleep... I'm going to make you warm up your plate... I hope you like Udons...” you respond rubbing your eyes.

“You should go to bed instead... you barely stand. You must have had a big day. I'll take care of everything don't worry about it... I join you after eating and after a good shower.”  

You nod by yawning, which made Danny laugh. He placed a kiss on your forehead before letting you go to your room. Poor of you.... you are exhausted. He warmed up his dish of Udons and moved to his office to work. He worked for an hour, then he left his office by locked it, made the dish, took clean clothes and went to shower. He changed, and walked into the room, to find you asleep in bed, Danny's cushion in your arm like a stuffed animal. You're so cute... He gently regained his cushion, putting himself in the place of the latter in your arms. He laughed lightly when he saw your arms tighten around his waist, and he placed a kiss on your cheek before turning and stalling in bed.

He looked at his phone for about ten minutes, just to find sleep, which eventually happened. He thought back to the conversation with Hoggins. If only he knew what awaited him... if only he knew... But that would spoil the surprise. 2 Days... it's going to be a long time. But the most amusing thing will not be hoggins' death. The most fun will be your reaction. And whatever your reaction, he's ready to react. For good and for worse. A little conversation between Danny and Jed is in order.

“Everything is ready for your little massacre?” said Jed calmly.

“You don't seem to object to it this time... Jed.” Responds Danny.

“Don't claim victory too quickly, I'm not for that kind of thing... But here Hoggins touches on something precious. Or rather someone. As much for me as for you. And I'm not going to let him do it.”

“No, it's ME who's not going to let him do it. Believe me... you'll enjoy the show too.”

“What's next? What will happen?” replied Jed.  

“I don’t know. We shall see how things develop. In the meantime, we must prepare... as much for tomorrow. That for the day after tomorrow.” responds Jed.  

Yes... we have to be prepared. Because these next two days are going to be intense.

But really delicious.

***

(Phew! this week has been just as busy as the previous one! But I managed to finish this chapter! As for the RE8 fanfic I'm progressing pretty well! I may do a little teaser post to give you an overview! As for the title... I'm stuck. I have three ideas in mind and I can't make up my mind... Help me XD I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya!)

[soundwavefucker69]

It’s actually really painful to have your teeth whitened. It hurts a lot, and they look like chalk until they heal. Sometimes, whitening doesn’t even lift all of the stains, and fake enamel has to be put over teeth, and it doesn’t always match.

My two front teeth are a different color from the rest of them. My family never really had soda in the house as a kid. My mother used to leave out mint tea, which she’d steep in the sun, lightly sweetened, served chilled. It was my favorite drink. She’d leave it on the back patio, and I have never been able to make that same tea or recreate the taste of my childhood. We had a next door neighbor at that house who had wild mint growing in her garden she let us harvest, because she viewed it as a weed, but we sure loved that mint tea. She had a miniature pony, I think his name was Philip, that ran around in the backyard, and I loved that horse. He was so unique as opposed to the big dogs and little chihuahuas all over our town. Another neighbor down the way, Miss Rosie, that lived in a house hidden from the road just after the asphalt turned to dirt, let me and my brother and our foreign exchange sister, Fah, pick pomegranates from her overgrown tree.

Miss Rosie died of cancer just a little after we moved out of that house.

Nowadays, my dad tells my younger siblings to stop leaving water bottles half finished all over the house, and threatens them with teeth like mine if they keep wasting water, because he’ll stop buying water bottles if they won’t use them.

Of course, the memory of thousand dollar dental bills right before senior pictures stays his hand, and he’ll never get rid of the water bottles.

I grew up in a small Arizona town called Globe. It’s a few miles away from the San Carlos Apache Reservation, and if I bring up my fucked up teeth to anyone from town, they’ll laugh and say one of two things.

“That’s mining water for ya.”

“Man, that Agent Orange knows how to stick around.”

In 1969, the US Forest Service sprayed multiple Arizona families with Silvex, also known as Agent Orange, on repeated occasions, as part of a test of the new chemical agent. Civilians were specifically targeted by the toxic fumes. Within days, they started experiencing symptoms. Loss of mobility, up to 36 seizures a day, lifelong problems that soon developed into cancer. They sued, and settled out of court for an undisclosed sum. It was only years later that stories started surfacing again of Hodgkin’s Disease and cancer, with reports detailing in the hundreds.

About a decade before, a less harsh concoction similar to that same chemical was sprayed over San Carlos Reservation, one of the poorest Native American reservations in the country, in an effort to wipe out the vegetation along the Gila River to provide more water to the Phoenix metropolitan area. Effects did not start within days, as was the case when it was sprayed on the residents of Globe, Arizona and bombed the water for years to come. For over a decade, the area along Gila River was doused in this herbicide, killing the ecosystem and poisoning the residents of the reservation in an effort to sustain the growth of the Phoenix metropolitan area. In 1969, once again, following the disaster of the bombing of Globe, the flights came to an end.

Growing up in Globe in the late 90′s and early 2000′s was strange. I knew about the Agent Orange. We joked about, laughed about, even as our elders continued to die from cancer, and the reservation struggled under a destroyed ecological system and the resulting food system. My fucked up teeth were commonly blamed on the mining and the Agent Orange in equal measure, because we didn’t truly know how long it could possibly be until the water was safe, but you couldn’t tell a kid in the early 2000′s to not drink from the hose.

The US government did not discontinue the use of Agent Orange until the late 70′s, and it was only decided to discontinue the use after birth defects continued to emerge in lab animals.

I need to stress this.

Animals.

A decade after they had melted real human being’s hair off.

It’s still not fully known why the tribal government agreed to the use of herbicides on the soil, and I still have not found evidence of them uncovering what was in the chemical concoction that was sprayed, and only a small fraction of the residents of Globe have received reparations. The San Carlos residents have received none.

I used to get called a conspiracy theorist for bringing this up. People didn’t believe this happened. The US government engaging chemical warfare on its own citizens, not for civil disobedience, or unionizing, or telling corporations no, but just because we were poor, and we were there, and they could, is not something people want to address. But it happened, and you should know about it.

[oohnoniall]

Queen of Serpents || Galan Ashryver x OC [Chapter Six]

{WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four 

Chapter Five 

        Arya took Lord Middleditch's hand, noting the lack of callouses and the way his cuticles looked almost as nice as her own. He was a man who not worked for anything. A man who had never held a sword in his hand. He'd be so easy to play with. It had been far too long since Arya had been able to play her favorite game. Playing with the heart of men had been a pastime since she had first realized that she was something more than beautiful.

        She was sensual.

        She would seduce the man, sleep with his wife or betrothed, and then she would watch as he struggled to pick up the pieces. She had a habit of creating insatiable lust. She had a habit of becoming someone that no one could ever have. She was an untouchable woman. 

        She just had to keep reminding herself that it was safer to play the game than to be played. Dorian Havilliard had been the only man who had ever come close to breaking her heart. A heart that she wasn't sure she even had.

        Thomas' hand was stronger than she expected, his hold on her waist was tight enough to entice her. She fought the urge to smirk up at him. She wanted to make this last longer than it probably should. Seducing him within moments would only make the game end before she had her fun.

        As the two danced, she could feel a gaze on her. It caused an unfamiliar heat to rise in her stomach and spread across her chest. She knew without looking that Galan was watching them. She wondered if he realized that he had no claim over her. Just because he had been nothing but a gentleman since they had met meant nothing. Princelings often thought the world belonged to them. Any beautiful woman was theirs. Any possible thing they could wish for was theirs for the taking.

        Arya would never let that happen to her. She didn't care if she had to stab him to make her point widely known. Although, stabbing him would bring attention that she did not want. It seemed as though the princess was bound to make a terrible decision when it came to Galan Ashryver. It didn't matter what she wished.

        "I must say," Lord Middleditch's voice drew her out of her thoughts. His voice was a seductive drawl, deep and dark like the ocean's abyss. "I didn't expect you to show tonight."

        "And why is that?" One of her brows rose just slightly as she watched the smirk grow on his face. He was handsome enough. The worst part was that he knew that he was. That was bound to cause trouble.

        "Our prince is many things," he started, thinking over his words for a moment before continuing. "An idiot just happens to be one of them."

        "Is that so?" Arya tried to mask the amusement in her tone. "I thought he was quite revered. He fights for his country and is quite dashing. Surely that garners some respect."

        "Only an idiot would fight on the frontlines. Galan thinks he can take on Adarlan by himself."

        "Careful," Arya said before Thomas dipped her gently. "He happens to be my closest friend here."

        "Is that why you've been avoiding him all night?" So he was perceptive. That would have to be taken care of. Arya didn't need anyone seeing through her nor her plans. If he managed to find out that she was just trying to find a husband and steal them away to Kalthanen, who knew what would happen.

        He might decide he was the best man for the position. He might assume he'd be the best king for Kalthanen. She would never let that happen.

        "I have no idea what you're talking about," Arya gave him a demure smile. This man was sure to be someone who she watched for. He wasn't playing the same games that she was. "All I've done was dance with a few men. I'm allowed to do as I please. Free will is man's one true strength, wouldn't you agree?"

        The smirk on his lips chilled her to the core. He looked like a member of Kalthanen's court. The snake-like eyes, the handsome features that masked a horrid heart. She wanted to be sick just looking at him. She took a breath through her nose, knowing that she was being oversensitive. He didn't know anything about her. He would never know anything about her.

        No one could see behind any of the masks she wore. No one ever would. Hell, Arya did not know who she was. How was anyone else supposed to figure it out?

        "I would," Thomas spoke, twirling her just before the song ended. "You seem to have a choice to make." He stared over her head, watching someone nearing the two of them. "You can either spend the rest of your night with me or you could continue to give our prince hope."

        Arya did not glance behind her. She did not listen to the pull in her gut telling her that this was a bad idea. Her instincts normally protected her. She had made a habit of listening to them rather than anything else. She would get into trouble otherwise. But this was a decision that needed to be rationalized. She couldn't just listen to a stupid little pull in her gut. She had to think about what was best for her. What was best for Kalthanen.

        "Lead the way," Arya didn't know if she was going to regret her decision. She didn't think she cared. 

        Thomas took her by the arm, leading her out of the ballroom. As they slipped through the door, she turned her head to see Galan. A look of hurt on his face.

        Her stomach seemed to knot itself but she said nothing, did nothing, as Thomas walked her to the gardens.

        "I find it easier to think out here," he explained as they exited the castle through large, glass doors. The gardens were beautiful in the daylight but in the moonlight they were exquisite. She wondered how hard Galan had worked to make it that way. Had he even noticed it? 

        She didn't know why she was thinking of him. 

        "Yes, it's quite lovely," she said as they passed whispering couples and one who seemed more inclined to fighting than intimacy.

        Arya took it upon herself to note who was nearest them. In case anything happened, she wished to know who she might be able to rely on for protection. 

        It seemed as though the Fae had preferred the gardens to the crowded ballroom. Two Fae couples stood in the gardens, one just along the eastern wall. The woman was small, petite against the man's large frame. Her hair was the deepest ebony and she looked up at the man with the light of a thousand stars in her eyes. The man did not appear to be swayed by her otherworldly beauty. His tanned skin seemed to glow golden in the moonlight, shadows playing around him. He looked as though he was ready to destroy everything and everyone. But his large hand held the woman's smaller one and he appeared almost content. The other couple stood beside the hydrangea bushes just to the south of Arya and Lord Middleditch. The man's face held a tattoo that she could not make out, his white hair flowing down his back and a dark glare on his face. The woman's golden hair was braided in a crown on her head, an impish smile on her face as she said something that Arya couldn't hear. The tattooed man's face grew darker.

        "Don't let them frighten you," Thomas told her with a slight sigh. "They think just because the Ashryver's have Fae blood that they're allowed here. It's quite disgusting if you ask me."

        "I didn't," Arya stated as they sat down on a bench just outside of a maze that was filled with roses and jasmine. Arya briefly wondered how they managed to keep the jasmine alive in Wendlyn. She allowed herself to think of the land back home, where the jasmine grew wild and where she had spent hours in her youth laying on the ground and watching as the flowers bloomed around her. Arya truly loved Kalthanen, even if she knew it could be a horrible place full of equally horrifying people.

        "No, I suppose you didn't," he said with an amused chuckle. No warmth was in his laugh nor in his eyes. "Now, Arya, tell me what you're doing here."

        "Kalthanen needs new trading partners," the lie slid off her tongue easily.

        "Don't lie to me, Princess," the lordling said. "I know better than that. You and your dearest cousin are here for a reason. Now, I can be of service to you, or we can keep lying to each other about our intentions."

        "And what exactly are your intentions?" Arya looked at him, her eyes filled with boredom. She would not let any man get under her skin. She wouldn't allow anyone to tell her who she was or what her plans were. No one had any right to try and control her. No one would ever be that important to her. She had known that from a very young age.

        "What else would they be?" Thomas questioned, looking down at her with a raised brow. "I intend to sweep you off your feet and leave Wendlyn as far behind me as I possibly can."

        "You have faith in yourself," she almost snorted before remembering herself. "I don't intend to give anyone my heart, my Lord," she said the title with more venom than anyone could have mustered.

        "I didn't say anything about stealing your heart," he shrugged his shoulders once as he looked down at her. "Make no mistake, you're beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. But we both know that you don't want Galan. I assume that you didn't manage to snag Dorian Havilliard. There are few princes left in this world."

        "There are several island nations left." Arya pointed out.

        "Yes, but what would they do for you?" Thomas questioned, taking her hand in his. She didn't quite hate how soft they were. "They wouldn't strength Kalthanen. If anything, it would just weaken your country. No, you need something better than islands. You need someone from Wendlyn or Adarlan. Since a prince won't do, a Lord would be the next best thing."

        Arya didn't correct him. How could she? He had read her mind.

        "Besides, we can take over from your brother and your cousin in due time. For now, we would be playing the happy newlyweds."

        "What's in it for you?" He was offering too much. There had to be something he wanted. No one was this eager to marry someone they did not know. Briefly, thoughts of Galan went through her mind. What would she do if he found out? What if he learned that she was marrying someone she didn't know despite the way he looked at her? Despite how he made her stomach knot and her heart hammer.

        It was for that reason that she was considering this whole, stupid mess. She didn't want to think about Galan anymore. Didn't want to think about the task at hand. He was offering her a chance to get away from here before she lost some integral part of herself.

        "I'd get off this miserable rock," he stated as he turned his face to look at the stars. The moonlight bathed his skin in silvery light, causing his golden skin to glow. "I'd be able to lay about in a palace by the sea, have a beautiful woman in my bed, and never hear my father's voice again. The potential to become a king consort is also quite tempting."

        "Power and escape," Arya's voice was soft as she stared at the maze in front of them. The twists and turns of the hedges matched by her train of thought. This couldn't be this easy. It made no sense for anything to be as painless as this whole thing. "Do not expect me to love you."

        "As long as you expect the same from me," Thomas said, his gaze turning to her. His eyes were black in the moonlight. She could not tell what was iris and what was the pupil. Did it even matter? She wouldn't be falling for his eyes. Wouldn't be blinded by the fire that blazed within them.

        "Allow me to think on this." She didn't need to think on anything. It was the best she could ever do. He would be the one she would be able to take back to Kalthanen. They would marry and she would kill him after they were crowned.

        "Of course," Thomas stood then, taking her hand as he did. The fluidity of his movements made her wonder if perhaps he had some Fae in his bloodline. He brushed a kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hand and disappearing into the night. She didn't know if she was grateful to be alone or not. 

        She could hear the couple fighting from earlier. The man telling the woman off for hiding a weapon in the lining of her gown. Arya was almost impressed that she had managed it. The woman seemed to think it was nothing. Their voices drowned out the sound of footsteps coming from behind her.

        "You disappeared," his voice caused an unwelcome chill to go through her spine. Her hands gripped the bench, her white knuckles hidden by her voluminous skirts.

        "I needed air," lying came so naturally to the manipulator. The would-be-queen knew that she didn't need to lie to him. But it was easier than admitting to what had just transpired. "The gardens are quite beautiful at night. I don't know why you hadn't thought to bring me before."

        "I saw Lord Middleditch with you," he ignored her words. Arya bristled at that, but he continued before she could say anything. "You can't trust a word that man says. He's the closest thing to evil I know."

        "Careful, Galan," she refused to look at him. "You almost sound jealous."

        A sharp intake of breath came from him. Arya wanted to look back and see his expression but she did not allow herself to. It was none of her concern what Galan Ashryver thought of who wanted to know her.

        "I doubt I have anything to be jealous over," he said as he moved to sit beside her. "You have better taste than him."

        "You don't know me well enough to know that," Arya spoke softly, still refusing to catch his eye. She didn't want to see the grin on his face. Didn't want to see what the moonlight did to him. If it made Thomas look beautiful, she was certain that Galan would look ethereal. Those Ashryver eyes would surely be brighter than stars, his smile would look as though the gods themselves had blessed it. It was too much for her to take. "I nearly married Dorian Havilliard. That should tell you everything about my taste."

        She felt him stiffen beside her, his arm tense where it brushed against hers. She knew that it was not due to the muscle that had been built up by years upon years of training.

        "Then I know that you deserve better," his voice was soft. Barely a whisper. Goosebumps rose along her skin at the very tone of his voice. She hated it. Hated how she reacted to him.

        "You don't know what I deserve, Galan. You barely know me," she stood then, clenching her fists to avoid him seeing how her hands were shaking. She didn't want him to ever see her as weak. She didn't need that from him. "Don't pretend to know me. It will only lead to you being dreadfully disappointed."

        "Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Arya," he stood with her, taking her hand in his. She hated how it felt. His calloused hands were bigger than her own, rough and ready to fight at a moment's notice. Without his crown and the way he carried himself, one would never realize that he was a prince. She wished he was more like a prince. Like some pompous ass who she would sooner put a blade through than bed.

        "He asked me to marry him," Arya nearly winced when Galan's hold tightened. It did not hurt. It had just been unexpected. The look on his face, however, was not.

        Galan's easy smile had been replaced by a wounded look. Though his square jaw was set, his lips thinned, and the tendons in his neck were showing he did not appear to be angry. His eyes burned with a fire that told her the truth. He hated to think that anyone else would ask her for the time of day. But what right did he have? What right did any of them have to expect anything from her? 

        "Did you say yes?" She hated how his voice didn't break, hated how he could sound so solid despite his eyes betraying him. It made everything far too easy and yet also made it the hardest thing she'd ever done.

        "Yes," another lie. All she had ever done was lie to him. Their entire relationship was built on the fact that he couldn't trust her. That no one could trust her. "We'll leave for Kalthanen soon enough."

        Galan dropped her hand, staring straight ahead at the maze of roses. "Stay, Arya. You ... You should stay. At least until the season changes and it's safer to sail."

        Arya stared at him for a moment, shaking her head slightly. "I should go. It's growing late," her voice was strong despite the fact that she wanted it to break. She wanted to be able to show that she felt something. But she couldn't. She didn't. She'd been trained for years to avoid anyone ever seeing her. From anyone being able to touch her in a way she didn't like.

        She slipped away from him, avoiding her chambers and Calanon. She walked down corridors that were filled with laughing couples and sconces blazed with warm, friendly light. She passed them as though she were a ghost amongst them. She didn't want to be one of them. She had always wanted to be the one who rose above everyone. She wanted the power, the responsibility. She wanted to change the world. To protect Kalthanen from every bad thing that would ever happen to the island nation.

        Even if it meant selling her soul.

        Arya caught sight of Lord Middleditch as she passed by the ballroom. Her feet ached, her chest felt as though it was breaking, and she could barely keep standing. He, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a daisy. His smile was radiant, his laughter hollow as he drank from a golden goblet.

        She walked back into the ballroom, her chin held high and her back as straight as she could make it. She didn't care anymore. This whole mess with Galan needed to end. The looks they sent each other, the way she felt when he was around her. She couldn't handle him. Couldn't handle what she felt around him. That was why she needed to do the one thing she was sent for.

        "Lord Middleditch," the name fell from her lips as easily as a lie. They would, after all, be spending the rest of their lives lying to everyone. "Might I have a word with you?"

        "Of course, Your Highness," he gave her a small bow before he excused himself from his friends. Arya led him towards a small alcove that overlooked the high windows at the back of the room. Moonlight poured through them, giving the appearance of a sanctuary.

        "I've thought over your proposal," she knew it had been too fast. She knew she should have waited until the next day to speak with him. But Galan had left her flustered. She never wanted a man to leave her flustered again. She was supposed to be the one in control. She didn't care if Calanon was angered by not knowing of the plan. She didn't care what he did to her. Luna would take care of him if he became too much of a problem.

        "And?" Thomas looked at her curiously. His dark eyes were not just a dark color. They were black. She wondered if it was a warning sign of sorts. But she was beyond thinking clearly.

        "I accept," she didn't bother to smile at him. Didn't bother to pretend to be happy about their betrothal. It was business not pleasure. They both knew it. They could pretend for the rest of the world, but she would not pretend with him. It would be stupid to let him think she would ever care for him.

        As soon as he was no longer useful, he would cease to breathe.

        He lifted his goblet then, a grin on his lips. His teeth were straight, blindingly white. A sinking feeling filled her gut as he stared down at her. Had this been a good idea? Would she grow to regret it? Arya didn't allow herself to think of this. She wouldn't question her own choices. Not when there had been nothing else for her to do.

        "Long live the queen."

[bestmcytquoteshowdown]

Quote 82:

Slimecicle - A thousand fucking court cases won’t keep me from you

Quote 89:

Grian - Pluck my nose hairs and send me to Alaska!

[gayllamafromspace]

Embrace Your Chaos

(Tissaia De Vries/Reader)

Chapter 1: Doubt Can Be Dangerous

"You are all conduits of chaos, the magical force controlled by mages..." the Rectoress begins. It is the first day of our lives in Aretuza, all of us were taken from our homes, because we are, as Rectoress said, "conduits of chaos," whatever the fuck that means. I was perfectly fine with my ordinary life. Daughter of a Lord, not a very well known one, but a lord nonetheless. I'm (Y/N) and the only thing important about me were my relations to my father and the money to my name. That is apparently until I performed some sort of magic, which I personally don't believe.

From what my younger brother told me, I allegedly "made the ouchie on his knee go bye-bye." All I did was kiss it and hold him until he fell asleep (ma had him brought to his room because he "could not walk", but I know that was horse shit), I mean really. Kissing boo-boos doesn't make them better, I'm sure it just wasn't as bad as he thought and it healed up quickly on it's own. Of course, somehow this "Rectoress of Aretuza" found out about my brother's story, and came to my father's estate. My father, being the backboneless lout he is sent me off without the blink of an eye. Didn't even make her pay for me, like most men would. I can't help but think that, if my mother had been home that day, maybe I would still be at home…

"(Y/N), are you not grateful for your opportunity here? Because you seem to care nothing for the opportunity you've been given." The Rectoress says, pulling me from my thoughts. I look at her blankly, opting to show no emotion. From my peripheral vision I can see that the eyes of seven other girls are on me. The Rectoress impatiently raps her fingers on the podium in front of her.

"Are you a mute? Or are you too daft to know when you're being spoken too?" She remarked, irritation evident in her voice. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"I am not mute, and I know that you are talking to me." I say, she raises a brow clearly expecting more. I comply, assuming that if I don't I'll probably be turned into a toad or something.

"I was simply wondering why I am here, I clearly don't belong here. If magic, of any kind, really does exist, it's very unlikely that I would be able to do it" I continued, a bit of sass working its way into my tone, completely involuntarily. The Rectoress only laughs, bitterly and cold. She walks from behind her podium and comes to stand before mine, getting too close for comfort.

"If you doubt your power, then you doubt the judgement of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Such an offense is ignorant for anyone to partake in…. If you're so sure that we are wrong, why don't you prove it." She says, almost too happy to put me on display. No doubt she is hoping I will embarrass myself with refusal. Most of these girls would. Me being me, I give her a cocky smile step away from her. I can see what I think is a flash of shock in her eyes.

"Alright, Rectoress, what will you have me do?" I say slyly, using a trick I learned from observing my father's court. When you want to get your point across, be confident in your actions - if not cocky. People love confidence. False or not.

"Well… your brother seems to think that you used magic to heal his scraped knee." the rectoress grabs a random girl from the circle, a girl at about my height and age, maybe older.

"You will heal this one." In a quick movement, the Rectoress grabs a sharp stone from off of one of the seven podiums and drags it across the young girl's flesh, creating a relatively deep and nasty gash on her forearm. When the rectoress let go of the girl she pushed her towards me and turned away as if the screaming and crying of the girl meant nothing.

"You have one week (Y/N), if she dies because of your inability to use chaos, consider your argument won. Leave us." the Rectoress announces, with a dismissive tone. I bare my teeth and try my damnedest to stifle my anger. 'How can someone be so cruel? This girl did nothing to deserve this…' I think to myself as I escort the young mage to my room, applying pressure to gash on her arm. Her wailing and screams of pain chills me to the bone. She thrashes about a bit, which only makes it harder for me.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper to her. "We're almost there."

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

When we arrive to my room, I can already tell that she's lost too much blood. 'How am I supposed to save her within a week if she's doomed to bleed out on the first day!' I think frantically, ripping some fabric from my dress and tying it tightly around her wound, she screams even louder, causing everything in my room to shake. I bite my lip, ignoring the pain in my ears from the shrill sound. Upon finishing the last knot and take a step back, breathing heavily. Feeling like I've been struck in the chest, I watch as the girl cries and coughs painfully.

"I… I'm sorry…" I say, not knowing what to do. All I really can do right now is hope that her bleeding slows and that she calms down enough to let me try and heal her. She looks at me, in a dazed and tired way, her eyes are still pricked with tears ready to fall. But behind them, I can see a burning hatred, it's almost as if I can feel the fire from her gaze. Those icy eyes… how much hate have they held before looking at me…. I blink a few times, trying to clear my head, and kneel down beside her.

"I know you hate me for this, and I truly am sorry, but if you're going to live, you have to work with me." I say, she continues to glare at me, but gives the slightest of nods. I hold back a breath of relief and avert my gaze to the wall. I don't know how much more I can stand looking into those eyes. She makes me want to slit my own throat for doing this to her. It's all my fault. If I had just listened when I was supposed to, if only I hadn't challenged the Rectoress. This girl would be fine, she would be in the lesson, devoid of all pain… no threat of death looming over her head.

I begin to cry, I plead and apologize for what I've done to her.

"I-i… I am so sorry… I never wanted- hic- this to happen… I didn't know… I'm glad you hate me… I d-deserve to be hated. I don't know if I can save you, I-" I ramble and sob, until she places her other hand over my mouth, and says to me in a pained and venomous tone,

"Stop your whining you idiot. I'd rather bleed out right now then deal with your sad little self-deprecating monologue…" she takes a deep breath, baring her teeth. "... if you are going to help me, you better do it fast. I will help you… at least I was actually paying attention to what our Rectoress was saying."

I look at her, at a loss for words, So close to death, and she's still pushing on. With such bold determination, I nod in agreement.

"What do I need to do?" I ask her pleadingly. She blinks slowly, clearly trying her hardest not to fall asleep.

"For starters, you could help me to lay down, this position isn't the most comfortable." She says heavily. As quickly, and gently as I can, I lie her down, placing her head gently on my pillow and elevating her slightly. I look at her to see if she this is sufficient and she nods.

"Now what? How do I stop the bleeding?" I ask after looking down at her arm and seeing that she has bled through the fabric and it's starting to soak into the sheets of my bed.

"Tie another piece of fabric above the wound, it will slow it down…" her eyes lull slightly and she appears to be close to going unconscious.

"NO no nonono! You are NOT falling asleep, stay awake damn it!" I yell at her while fiddling with my dress and trying to get another strip of fabric. The girl widens her eyes and looks over to me deliriously, clearly out if it. She won't be anymore help… it's up to me.

"Okay okay… stay awake please!" I exclaim, frantically tying the new strip of fabric on her upper arm as tightly as possible, trying to slow the circulation of blood to her arm. The girl hisses in pain and turns her head to the side. Quickly, I step away from her and and pace frantically.

These people believe that I healed my brother, and the Rectores thinks I could do it again, but his injury was just a small scrape, if I even did heal him, healing a deep gash would be a thousand times harder to do. All I need to do right now is think of how I can help her without wasting my time on magic… I need to replace her bandage, it'll do no good to keep the current one on. I go over to the bedside table and search for a soft cloth, or even something cotton on the off chance. All that I found were a few wash rags.

It'll have to do. I take her former bandage off and set it to the side, moving quickly, I soak one of the wash rags with water and squeeze some of it out. I return to the young mage's side and dab at the wound, which elicits a whimper from her. Thankfully it's stopped bleeding so horribly and is much easier to clean now. Once I've cleared away as much dry blood and germs as I could, I fold another cloth and press it into place, being sure to apply enough pressure so that in case she does start bleeding out again, it won't be as bad. After soaking and cleaning the old fabric to the best of my abilities, I bind the wash rag to her wound with it.

With a deep breath, I take a seat in the chair residing in the corner of the room. She should be fine for the time being, I'll have time to think. 'How did I heal my brother, if I did so in the first place.' I think to myself. 'It's not like it was a conscious thing, all I did was kiss his knee and hold him. I didn't like him being hurt, I wanted him to get better, even if it was a tiny scrape' I pause for a moment in my thinking. I had wanted my brother get feel better, desired it. What if it was my desire to heal him, just me trying to to actually do magic. My eyes widen. I was wrong, I may actually have this "chaos" that the Rectoress was talking about, she seems to know quite a bit about what she's talking about, and seeing as how she was so confident in hurting the girl, I think she may know that I'll be able to heal her.

But how? I didn't pay attention to her lesson, how could I possibly heal her without knowing how. Well, when I healed my brother, it was all desire. I want to heal this girl, very badly, but what if it's not just desire, what if it's my bind with them? My brothers loves me, and I love him, but this girl hates me, I am the reason she's in this mess. And if I can't heal her, then wait happens? Do I suffer just like her, do I go back home? If she dies, her life is in my hands, everything she could never do, never he, would be my fault. I will ruin her life, simply because I didn't want to believe I belonged here. It's truly a shame, she's such a lovely girl, she has a dominant spark in her too. So rare in today's world, where women are seen and not heard, sometimes not even seen.

I look over to her once more, she's fallen asleep, but she should be fine. None of her blood has leaked through her new bandages, and she's starting to get her coloring back. Minus of course her arm, it's so pale, I'll need to loosen the bind stopping her blood, or she loose it. I get up and take off the turkit. I should probably sleep... making my way back over to the chair, I sit down and get comfortable. I just hope she lasts until morning.

Slowly, I fall asleep. Eyes heavy and body weak, it's not long before I'm drug into a slumber.

[sparklydreamies]

Best Shot ~Ch 5

Group: Stray Kids

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 4200+

Summary: Han Jisung, certified quiet boy, has never really understood the hype about love and romance. That is until he has to step out of his comfort zone and onto the basketball court to impress that one person he can’t stop thinking about.

Main themes: highschool!AU, basketball!AU, internalized homophobia, friends-to-lovers

A/n: Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to update this, I had a really bad case of writers block :(( I’m not 100% happy with this chapter, but I hope that you guys can all enjoy it!! 

Chapter 5

A glimpse of jet-black hair was all Jisung needed to recognize the girl making her way down the hall. She was slightly lip-syncing to whatever song was playing from her earbuds, seemingly drifting her mind away from reality. Jisung had always known that she was pretty; she could even be classified as beautiful. Yet, as he discretely watched the way that her head slightly moved in time with beats that he couldn’t hear, he didn’t feel anything. 

Even though he knew that he was gay, he still tried to steer himself towards women. He admired how soft their skin was, and how good they smelled, and he wanted nothing more than to have feelings for a girl. He wanted to feel the same flutter towards seeing Nayeon walking down the halls as he did with seeing Minho. 

“You’re going to freak her out if you keep staring at her like that,” Felix warned, shoving a slew of loose papers into his backpack.

Jisung was taken aback. 

“I wasn’t staring at her,” Jisung leaned against the locker beside Felix’s, hoping Felix would drop it. Nayeon was still walking away from them, oblivious to the fact that she was the subject of a very awkward conversation. 

Seungmin scoffed. “I’m so tired of hearing about your girls,” he said.

“You have to admit that she’s hot.” Felix said, completely ignoring Seungmin as he closed his locker, “I still don’t understand why you won’t ask her out.” 

Seungmin also locked his locker and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Jisung’s not interested in girls, you know that Felix.” Seungmin chuckled. 

Jisung felt the air leave his lungs. Seungmin’s tone was joking, but the statement made him nervous. He didn’t trust his voice to respond, so he settled on giving a half-hearted smile as he fiddled his phone out of his pocket, desperate for a way out of the conversation. 

As if an angel on cue, Jisung heard his name being shouted from down the hall. All three boys shot their heads up towards the source of the interruption. Jisung barely registered the bright varsity jacket colour before an arm was thrown across his shoulder. 

“Hey, man!” Minho ruffled Jisung’s hair, giving a beaming smile to the other boys. “I’ve been looking for you. Can we talk? For like, a second?” he asked.

“I see that you guys are sharing secrets now,” Felix mocked annoyance, crossing his arms around his chest.

“See you later, nerd.” Seungmin pulled Felix with him towards the avalanche of people flowing into the main hallway. 

Jisung chuckled before turning towards Minho. No matter how many times Jisung saw the other boy’s bright smile, it never failed to make his heart flutter. 

“So what’s this about?” Jisung asked, warding off the unwanted tremor in his voice.

Minho didn’t seem to notice as he pulled the nervous boy behind him. “Well I wanted to talk to you about that party you’re going to throw.” 

“Party?” 

Jisung remembered the previous phone conversation with Minho. The way that Minho was slurring his words and whining to see Jisung. The event hadn’t left Jisung’s mind since it happened, and he wished to god that he could prevent the blush that rose to his cheeks and ears at the memory. 

He hadn’t forgotten about the part where Minho had asked him to throw a party, but Minho had been drunk when he called. Jisung just assumed that the alcohol in Minho’s system was what persuaded him to call Jisung, and that he would forget it even happened by morning. Obviously, he had been wrong. 

“Yeah, the party,” Minho continued, “everyone has to throw one when they join the team. It’s like... your initiation ceremony, or something like that.”

“Since when was this a thing?” Jisung had never heard of these parties before. 

Minho just laughed at him. “It’s been like this forever. Are you surprised by this? You literally never go to parties.” 

Jisung couldn’t rebuttal that. The only party he’d ever gone to was Bang Chan’s, and it didn’t exactly end well for him. 

“I can’t throw a party,” 

Jisung expected Minho to disagree and try to convince him that being in charge of dozens of drunk teenagers isn’t as difficult for someone like Jisung than he thinks. He wasn’t expecting Minho to agree with him. 

“I know, stupid,” Minho said, “you’re not gonna have to do it alone, we’ll all help,”

"That’s not so reassuring,” Jisung sighed. The idea of throwing a party that equals one of Bang Chan’s or Minho’s in his own house, where his mother and sister live, didn’t sit right with him. 

Minho just chuckled at him. “We’ll get the alcohol and everything, you don’t have to worry about that. We just need a location,” Minho said. 

It was possible that Jisung could find a time that his parents wouldn’t be home when he could have a party. His mother often had conferences and events that would require her to spend weekends out of town, usually just trusting Jisung to be responsible for himself and Chaeryeong, and Jisung’s father was usually out of the picture anyways. 

It’s not that Jisung wouldn’t be able to find an opportunity, however the idea of getting caught was what scared him the most. 

“I don’t know, there’s so much that can go wrong,” Jisung sighed as they reached the school exit, “Isn’t this peer pressure?” 

“It’s not peer pressure if your peers have good intentions,” Minho rebuttled. 

“It absolutely fucking is, and besides, what ‘good intentions’ could you possibly have for wanting to throw a party?” Jisung heard a car horn, and saw Hyunjin’s car across the street. Minho raised his hand as if to say he was coming, but still turned towards Jisung.

“Look, if you tell me right now that you don’t want to do this and that you think it’s a bad idea, I’ll respect it, but you have to seriously think. Okay?” Minho asked. 

Jisung thought about it for a moment. “Well... Yeah, I still think it’s a bad idea,” he said, smiling at the way that Hyunjin let out a frustrated sound. 

“Okay I was bluffing, you have to throw this party! Please?” Minho whined. “For your best friend?”

Jisung’s heart stopped. Minho was looking directly into his eyes with what Jisung could only describe as irresistible puppy-dog eyes. He was holding onto Jisung’s sleeve in a way that probably was not meant to be as cute as it was, and for the umpteenth time, Jisung had to try and calm the feelings that were threatening to paint his face with an exposing blush. 

“I...” he started, “Fuck, I’ll do it,” he agreed. Jisung couldn’t help but split his face into a smile at the way Minho jumped in victory.

“Yes, I knew you’d pull through!” Minho began to walk backwards towards Hyunjin’s car, yelling behind him “You won’t regret it!” 

As grateful as Jisung was then that he could make Minho happy, he wished that the boy’s last statement was true. As much as he wanted to believe that everything would be okay, he had no way of knowing what that future night would have in store for him. 

----

Private practices with Hyunjin usually went the same way every time. Jisung shows up, they talk for a little bit, go through a few warm up drills that feel like hell’s bootcamp, and then Hyunjin shows Jisung ways to practice basic basketball skills.

It wasn’t too difficult for Jisung. After a few weeks of this basketball business, Jisung had actually felt himself begin to enjoy the sport. It still wasn’t his favourite thing, and he hated playing in front of people, but he felt comfortable around Hyunjin.

The more that Jisung felt himself improve, the more that he began to like playing. His movements became quicker and more accurate, he fumbled the ball less, and he felt his own physical condition improving. He was getting used to running up and down the court, and it kept him from getting winded easily. 

Jisung shouldered the fence door open. It wasn’t unusual for him to let himself into Hyunjin’s backyard; usually the other boy was already waiting for him. 

Jisung came in just in time to see Hyunjin perfectly shoot a three-pointer shot as he dropped all of his stuff on the side of the makeshift half-court that Hyunjin’s dad had built a few years prior.

Once Hyunjin had began to show an aptitude towards the particular sport, Hyunjin’s father had pulled out all of the stops to allow Hyunjin to achieve the highest amount of success he could. Unlike Jisung’s parents who didn’t give a damn about what Jisung was to do with his life so long as it was a respectable career with a decently sized salary, Hyunjin’s parents had supported his interests, and helped him improve. 

Jisung often worried about the pressure that Hyunjin put on himself when it came to his basketball career. He knew that Hyunjin’s parents were hoping for a scholarship to come out of the endless hours and thousands of dollars that they had invested in their son’s biggest interest, even though the Hwangs were never the type of family that had to worry about how they were to pay for things like school. They weren’t like Jisung’s family, who needed to pray for a scholarship opportunity. 

As Hyunjin retrieved the ball, he shouted a quick greeting towards his student. 

Jisung noticed that something was wrong fairly quickly. The way that Hyunjin was holding himself was concerning to Jisung. It was hard for him to place what exactly was the matter, but it became quite clear as soon as Jisung saw his face clearly. 

Hyunjin’s left cheekbone was grossly discoloured. Underneath his eye, there was a large, dark purple blotch of bruised flesh. It looked like a very fresh wound. Someone had hurt him most likely within the past two days. 

Hyunjin was cowering away from his friend’s gaze, to no avail. He just continued dribbling the ball on the concrete as nonchalantly as he could with Jisung’s eyes staring daggers into his face. 

“What the fuck?” Jisung jogged up to where Hyunjin was winding himself up to shoot the ball again. Instinctively, Jisung raised a hand to hover around the injured area of flesh, but forced himself to back away when he saw Hyunjin visibly flinch. “Who did this to you?” 

“That doesn’t matter.” Hyunjin said, quite matter-of-factly. His tone was calm, and he was obviously faking the brightness that his eyes usually held. 

Jisung was thrown off guard by the answer. Of course it mattered. Someone had obviously struck his friend. “What are you talking about?” 

Hyunjin tried to feign a smile, but it did nothing to calm Jisung down. “It was a stupid fight. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Jisung felt like he knew Hyunjin better than he had known any of his other friends. They grew up together. One thing that Jisung knew for certain about his friend is that he isn’t a fighter. He didn’t get into “stupid fights”. 

Jisung settled for resting his hands on top of Hyunjin’s biceps, despite the awkward way Hyunjin tried to shove him off. 

“I know that’s not true.” Jisung saw an emotion flicker through Hyunjin’s eyes that he could barely make out. It flashed for barely a moment before Hyunjin blinked it away. It looked like fear. Fear, desperation, hopelessness. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Just drop it,” Hyunjin shook himself away from Jisung’s grip, “it doesn’t matter, and I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Jisung swallowed the feeling of pity for the boy. It had been a while since he saw any emotion come from him that wasn’t positive. 

“Hyunjin...” Jisung spoke softly, “what happened?”

“Nothing!” Jisung saw the first signs of tears threaten to slip down Hyunjin’s bruised cheek. “Go home, Sungie.”

Jisung let his hands fall from Hyunjin’s arms, who resumed his mindless dribbling of the ball. 

When Jisung and Hyunjin were young, they used to tell each other everything. Good things, bad things, ugly things. Every exciting, happy, sad or scary thing that happened to them could be shared in confidence. 

Hyunjin had never acted like this before. Jisung felt his heart crack. Someone had hurt Hyunjin to the point where he couldn’t talk about it. Hyunjin was in pain, but the scars went deeper than a bruise on his cheekbone. 

“Just tell me who did this,” he spoke softly. 

Hyunjin was silent as he shot the ball towards the net again, but he didn’t even hit the backboard. Jisung watched the pained expression on his face. The way that Hyunjin was blinking away the wetness in his eyes and softly chewing on his bottom lip. 

It almost looked like Hyunjin wanted to say something, but was stopping himself. 

“Hyunjin, I want to help you.” Jisung tried to coax out of him. It wasn’t like Hyunjin to keep things a secret from Jisung. But the more Jisung watched Hyunjin’s face, the more he realized that this wasn’t just some secret. There was something that ran deeper. Something that wasn’t easy to talk about. 

Right as Jisung noticed the first tear slide down the discoloured skin, Hyunjin shoved right past him, slamming the back door behind him as he took solitude in his house. 

----

Jisung watched Hyunjin for the next couple days. He watched as the bruise slowly started to fade from a deep, purplish colour, to a faded, yellow-green shade. 

He had heard rumors around the school about the nature of the assault on the school’s sweetheart, none of which Jisung had believed. He overheard some girls by his locker say that they heard it was because he tried to steal another man’s girlfriend. He heard some boys in his history class say it was because he ran into some trouble with a collage drug dealer. He had even overheard a group of kids speculate that Hyunjin’s father was the unknown attacker. 

All of those seemed too radical for Hyunjin. The boy was a lover, not a fighter. 

No matter how much Jisung stressed his brain, he couldn’t think of any reason that Hyunjin would have for fighting someone. And that was the toughest thing to accept. 

Jisung didn’t care about how Hyunjin didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened. Sure, it hurt Jisung at first, but he knew that Hyunjin was obviously dealing with something. Some things were easier to deal with by oneself. 

So he waited. He remained there for Hyunjin in case the boy needed to rant. However as time progressed, it became harder to do that. Ever since that day in his backyard, Hyunjin had been avoiding and ignoring Jisung.  

Did he do something wrong? Did he hurt Hyunjin? Did he somehow do something to convince the other boy that he wasn’t a friend? No, it couldn’t be that. Hyunjin had tough skin; there was no way that Jisung could unknowingly hurt him to the point where Hyunjin would push him aside like this. 

Jisung needed a friend right now. He needed a friend that he could confide in without judgement. 

Jisung: Long week. Coffee?

The response he got was almost instantaneous. 

Mina<3: I’ll pick you up!

----

Very few people knew about how close Jisung and Mina had gotten. Even Jisung had failed to see how strong their growing friendship had gotten for a while. 

Mina had been dating someone for a few weeks now. She had been asked out by Choi Youngjae soon after Jisung had joined the basketball team and even though Jisung wasn’t close with Youngjae yet, he had to admit that they made a very cute couple. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t slightly jealous of the way that Youngjae looked at her. 

Of course, being an openly bisexual high school girl hadn’t done anything to make her relationship easier. Mina had often confided in Jisung about her biggest struggles and insecurities around her sexuality, because not a lot of other people were as understanding. Jisung had tried his best to understand her problems, but until he was out of the closet, he couldn’t relate to the constant shit that Mina deals with on a daily basis. 

She had told Jisung everything from how cruel the kids at school were when she had gotten her first girlfriend in sophomore year, to how her father hadn’t spoken to her for two whole months after she came out. 

In the short span of time that Jisung had known Mina, she had quickly became an immense emotional support to him. He was able to be honest to her about things that he couldn’t even tell his best friends. And the fact that Mina felt comfortable enough to confide in him as well was an added bonus. 

Mina had picked him up from his house shortly after he received the text. 

Jisung threw himself into a booth at the corner of the small diner that occupied a lonely street corner just outside of their town. The coffee was shit there, but he appreciated the atmosphere. Without thinking, Jisung had gave the waitress their usual order.

“So,” Mina sat down across from Jisung, “long week?”

“Fucking horrible.” Jisung sighed. 

Mina gave him a dry sort of chuckle. “Don’t be such a baby, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Everything was wrong. Mina didn’t understand how everything was wrong, because she isn’t in Jisung’s shoes. She doesn’t know about the weight of the unidentified guilt that was sinking Jisung’s stomach through the floor. 

Hyunjin was avoiding him, and it was obvious. Every time Hyunjin makes eye contact and looks away quickly, it feels like another stone thrown at Jisung’s gut. Every time Jisung wants to talk to Hyunjin after class, the latter boy always manages to be out the door before Jisung can shove his binder in his backpack. One of Jisung’s best and only friends is avoiding him and it hurt. 

“You’re wrong,” Jisung rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, “I swear to god, nothing is going right.” 

“Nothing ever goes right.” Mina smiled as she fiddled with the napkin container in front of her, blunt nails tapping on the metal. 

Somehow, Mina managed to find a way to be the least helpful person ever, and yet also make Jisung feel a thousand times better when he’s upset. That isn’t exactly an easy line to walk. 

Jisung groaned in frustration as he hit his head on the table. The soft thud of his head hitting the wood mixed with the clattering sound of the silverware cut through what was a fairly quiet diner. 

“Jesus, stop that.” Mina shoved Jisung’s shoulder so he would sit upright. “You’re drawing attention.” She said. 

“I don’t care.” he mumbled. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, “who spit in your coffee this morning?” 

Jisung wanted to say that life was spitting in his goddamn coffee, but he figured that would come across as too melodramatic. The truth is, Jisung’s spitting in his own coffee. There had to be a reason as to why Hyunjin was avoiding him like a fatal disease, and whatever that reason is, it is most likely Jisung’s own fault.

“Have you seen Hyunjin lately?” Jisung blew past her question, which was most likely sort of rhetorical anyways. 

Mina’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I mean yeah, I have chemistry with him, but why?”

Jisung thanked the sweet waitress again as she set the two hot drinks down in front of them, but he made no move to grab his cup. “His face... you saw it, right?” 

“Oh, you’re talking about the shiner?” She asked as she grabbed the mug closest to her, blowing on the bitter liquid inside. “yeah, what about it? Do you know what happened?”

“No,” Jisung dismissed. He absentmindedly stirred his own drink with a spoon, despite the fact that he didn’t add anything to it. “I was kind of wondering if you knew what happened?”

That was the thing about Mina. She didn’t have very many friends, yet somehow, Jisung found that she always seemed to know everyone’s business. Jisung never really questioned how she found out half of the things she knows, or how much of it was true. All he knew was that perhaps she might know something he doesn’t. 

“No, I haven’t heard anything I really believe. I mean I’ve heard some rumors, but I don’t really know the truth,” she answered, “doesn’t it seem like just a stupid boy fight?” 

Jisung knew it wasn’t that.

“No. I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Jisung took the first sip of his coffee, somehow forgetting about how gross it tasted in favor of the comforting heat, “it just doesn’t seem like him. Also, he’s avoiding me, so that’s great.” 

“Why’s he avoiding you?” Mina asked.

“I’ll tell you once I figure it out.”

“I don’t like this,” she stated, “you two are really close, what did you do?” 

“Nothing!” Jisung’s hands flew to comb through his hair. He was positive that he didn’t do anything that could have sparked Hyunjin to cut him off like this, yet Mina’s skeptical gaze wasn’t doing much to help him. 

“I don’t really believe you,” she said slowly, “why don’t you just talk to him?”

“He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk to me.” The steam that was radiating off of Jisung’s coffee had faded entirely.

“Just text him,” Mina said nonchalantly. The setting sun was just starting to hide behind one of the distant buildings. 

Jisung suppressed a huff. “I’ve tried, but he hasn’t been answering.” The bright, orange glow of the setting sun cast a shining light across Mina’s face so strongly, that she had to squint to see Jisung, who’s back was turned to the window. 

“I can see if I can figure anything out about it, but I think you should talk to him. I thought you guys were so close.” 

“Yeah, I thought we were too.” Jisung sighed as he drank his coffee again.

“Don’t do that,” Mina said. She was talking in a calm tone, but her expression was scolding. “I’m sure that whatever it is, it’ll be solved quickly. You just have to start a conversation.”

“I’ll try and talk to him soon.” 

“That’s my boy. Now, I’m going to order some muffins, because I think that’s what you need right now.” Mina gave him a smile that Jisung couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Chocolate, please.”

----

“I know you’re throwing a party.”

“Jesus Christ, Chaeryeong!” Jisung grabbed at his chest while his heart rate spiked. He took a couple breaths and saw Chaeryeong give an amused smirk. “What are you talking about?” 

Wordlessly, Chaeryeong sat down in Jisung’s desk chair and faced him. Jisung could recognize the glimmer of mischief in her eyes, which could only mean that she has some type of leverage over him. 

“You know, the basketball party thing that Lee Minho wanted you to throw?” She explained, “I know that you’re doing it, and I want to help you. What’s your plan?” 

“I’m sorry, my plan?” Jisung sat on the edge of his bed. He couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous about Chaeryeong knowing about the party, because it could go one of two ways. Either she will expose his plans to their mother and get him grounded until he’s forty, or she’ll force him to let her go to it. Jisung didn’t know which one he disliked more. 

“When are you throwing it?” she asked casually. 

“That’s none of your business,” Jisung tried to shut her down, but she was smarter. 

“So you admit you’re throwing a party!” She exclaimed. 

Jisung was backed against a wall with this one. 

He let out a frustrated sound. “Fine, I’m throwing a party, but you have to keep it hushed, okay?” he pleaded. 

The slimy grin on Chaeryeong’s face was practically chilling to Jisung. He was still in the dog house for what happened the night of Bang Chan’s party, there is no way that Jisung’s mom would take this news lightly. 

“Why? What’s in it for me?” she said innocently. 

Jisung’s mattress made a squeaking noise as he flopped back onto it, groaning in frustration. “What do you want?” he asked. 

“I want to be there.” she admitted, and Jisung scoffed. 

“No,” he said simply, “you’re not going, you’re still a freshman. There will be seniors, and drinking, and other things that I don’t want you near.” 

“I’ve upset Mother Hen,” Chaeryeong giggled.

Jisung knew that Chaeryeong wasn’t a child, but he still didn’t want her to be exposed to half of the things that he saw at Bang Chan’s party. She was young and naive. 

“I promise you I’ll be fine. I’m smart, you know.” She moved from her seat at Jisung’s desk to the bed where he was still lying. 

“I know you’re smart, but other people are dumb.” Jisung sat upright. 

“You’ll be there, so I’m sure everything will be fine.” 

Jisung couldn’t help the fond smile that he tried to fight back. He knew that Chaeryeong was probably manipulating him, but he couldn’t help wanting to protect her. 

“You can come on one condition.” Chaeryeong beside him gave a victorious little jump on the bed at Jisung’s statement. “you be safe and come to me if you have any problems, okay? And you’re not allowed to drink.” 

Chaeryeong gave a little whine of annoyance. “Two drinks.” she argued. 

“One drink.” Jisung settled, and Chaeryeong contemplated before agreeing.

“You’re the best!” She giggled as she hugged him from the side. Jisung hugged her back. 

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

hello this isnt abt batfam or batman but i saw your age and was wondering how do i survive till 23? i am 18 now and 5 more years is very hard to survive please help

Interesting question. I turn 24 in ten days, and sometimes even I’m not sure. I guess I’ll talk about how I personally stayed alive this long before I try to give advice.

The very first thing I would say is that I am religious, and that worldview makes a difference. I don’t mean that in a “everything happens for a reason” kind of way, and as a matter of fact, I very much dislike that line of thinking. It does a lot of damage, and I’m aware that it rightly puts a lot of people off from religion in general. 

I hold two beliefs that I think are helpful in terms of survival. First, I believe that humans are by nature bad. Counterintuitive in this conversation? Stick with me. Every day, but especially at my lowest moments, I hate the things that I am. In a metaphorical sense, my mind whispers to me that I am selfish, that I am cowardly, that I think bad things and I am capable of worse. I’m hateful, I’m terrifying, and I am absolutely broken. At my core, there is something fundamentally wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it. 

I am disgusting. I’m several thousand evil things in a trench-coat pretending to be anything but myself, and I’m not fooling anyone. 

Well, yeah. Yeah, I’m all those things and more: manipulative, lying, self-obsessed, angry, unforgiving, and judgmental. I could, of course, go on.

Here’s the thing-- everybody is. I am no better and no worse than any other person in the universe, and though I am ever abhorrent thing, I am. I have the same dignity, the same worth, and the same life as any human anywhere. The dark things are part and parcel of my humanity, but although I am not good, I do good. 

I will never be perfect because that just isn’t possible, but I can be kind. I can be loving, I can be strong, and I can be wise. 

Shit, doesn’t that set me free?

There’s a lot more to this conversation, and the rest goes, in brief, like this: at the bottom of the darkness that is every soul, we have one great fear-- if I am truly evil, no one will ever love me. Good news on that front, there is a God who does. If that’s something you want to talk about, hey hit me up. I’ll evangelize on my own time. 

Back to it. My second belief is a kind of understanding about the passage of time, and it’s sort of hard to boil down into a few sentences, but I’ll try my best. I believe in a grand struggle between good and evil. I know the beginning of that struggle. I know the end of that struggle: that good will win. I am a part of the middle. 

I see my role in the universe as extraordinary small but absolutely necessary. I have a two-fold purpose-- love God, love humans. I interpret both as a call to help others in any way I can, and I think in the way my life has worked out so far, that’s really the most important thing keeping me alive. 

I see all of this through the frame of my religion, but I would argue that everything I’ve said so far is applicable outside of that frame, because a lot of folks get to the same place from a fully secular point of view. I cannot be perfect. I should care about and fight for other people. That’s really all we’re working from here. 

A few years back, when people asked me this question-- how do you stay alive?-- I used to answer “spite,” and that’s not untrue. I am a very angry person, and the grand majority of that anger is directed at what I perceive as unjust acts. I have a deep-seated hatred of establishments (including the established church), and you’d be shocked at how much of a motivator that can be. 

I grew up in an environment that was very intentional in teaching me to identify injustice. Though I have radically departed from many of the teachings of my childhood, the part about fighting for others was something I learned at day one, and that bit has stuck around. For the most part, I grew up in an environment where everyone was on the same page about it. 

And theeeeeeen I went to undergrad. Hello, Texas A&M. I hit campus as an 18 year old fully incapacitated by anxiety. I was the kind of person who didn’t-- in fact couldn’t-- speak in front of others. I had always lived my life in a way that minimized myself, because if I never spoke, if I never disagreed, if I never drew attention, I would never make anyone angry. I knew from experience that angry people hurt me, and I was afraid of pain. 

Then I experienced the absolute shenaniganry of conservative Texans. The culture shock sent me to space and back, and on the return trip I decided that I couldn’t be quiet anymore. 

I learned to speak my freshman year so that I could scream FUCK YOU. It was incredibly painful, and I can’t tell you exactly how I managed it other than I was angry, and I didn’t want to lose. 

I fought a similar battle on my homefront against parents that didn’t know how to deal with a daughter that disagreed, or even worse, a daughter that wasn’t okay. I wasn’t a perfect child anymore. I knew I had anxiety, I knew I was depressed, and we all knew who I blamed for that. They hadn’t been the perfect parents they thought they were. 

I found myself growing, little by little, into a person that could write and argue and hold her ground. That’s personal growth for sure, but it didn’t necessarily help my mental health. As a matter of fact, my health declined all through undergrad, and in my third and final year, I cracked.

I was desperate. I was isolated. I was flooded by fear and despair, and I was falling apart. I don’t remember huge chunks of undergrad because I was so depressed that the memories didn’t stick, but I do remember my tipping point.

It was something small. The ceiling fan in my bedroom was broken. The lighting chain worked fine, but if anyone pulled the fan chain, the whole thing would stop working. I mixed up which chain was which, pulled the wrong cord, and broke it for the fourth time. 

For some reason, that was it. I lay down on my floor and cried for an hour, and while I did, my mind went to, as the kids say, a dark place. Finally, I called my mom and begged for psychiatric medication, something I had always been afraid to ask for. At the time, my parents believed that antidepressants were overprescribed, and they mocked parents that let their children take them. 

At around the same time, I was deciding what to do with my life. I was about to graduate, and I had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. Instead, everyone in my life pushed me towards law school. I didn’t know what to do, but I began fantasizing, not about going to law school exactly, but about being the kind of person that could go to law school. 

I knew that law school would be entail public speaking and constant conflict and the kind of work that would be hard for a person who sometimes couldn’t leave her bed. I wanted to be someone who could do all of that, but I didn’t believe I was.

Enter Donald Trump. Post-November 2016, I struggled to understand how something like that could happen, and I watched everyone else deal with it too. I began confused, moved to distraught, then returned to what I always am: angry.

January 2017 was the inauguration and shortly afterwards, the “Muslim ban.” I read the news on my bedroom floor, and there was one specific part that stuck out to me. There were pictures of lawyers flooding the airports. There was a court case headed for SCOTUS.

I suddenly realized that one group-- one very select group-- was doing what I was powerless to accomplish. I hated establishments, and there was one group that could challenge and change them. Some people could fight in the way I wanted to, and those people were lawyers.

I have a very distinct memory of looking into the bathroom mirror of my third-year apartment and thinking, “I will be miserable for the rest of my life, no matter what I do or what career I pick. I might as well be a miserable lawyer.”

So I took my antidepressants and I went to law school. I’m not going to rehash everything that happened there in this particular post, because in this topic, I don’t think it matters. The relevant part is that I went, and I had my reason why.

Sure as hell can tell you that law school wasn’t good for my health. The last three years have been, in terms of sheer stress and despair, the worst of my life. I picked up a self-harm habit, endured consistent humiliation, cycled through six different antidepressants, had horrible relationships, and developed a psychotic disorder. Don’t get me wrong, there were good things too. I met people that are important me, and beyond that, I grew. 

I know that 18 year old me would be absolutely flabbergasted by the woman I am now, cracks and flaws included. I wouldn’t say I’m healthy or okay, but I am more healthy and more okay. I’m coming out of this mess with the institutional power I wanted, and now I get to decide what to do with it. 

I was wrong three years ago when I looked in that bathroom mirror. I know now that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m going to be happy someday, and to the parts of me that say otherwise: fuck you. I’ve learned to say it now. 

I graduated law school this week, and this month, I’ve felt better than I ever have before. I’m singing again, I dropped two medications, and suddenly, everything is so, so funny. I’ve been laughing so hard my face hurts the day after. 

This is a huge turning point in my life, so I’ve been meditating on my past. I’ve come to the conclusion that in most of the ways that matter, I won. My family has been forced to accept what I am. I became the person I wanted to be, even though I thought I wasn’t capable of that. 

I know for sure that there will be times in my life where I hit rock bottom again, and that’s not gonna be fun. It’s likely that with my mental health issues, I will always have to work harder than my peers to get the same results. That’s unfair. 

I also know that high points exist, and I will have them. I am having them, and I will again. 

I guess in recap, I know that I have deep flaws and ugly parts, but I am at peace with that. I know that I must help others, and in pursuit of that goal, I became a person I like more than the girl I used to be. 

You have exactly the same potential. I want you to know that whatever you are now, that’s not your forever. Circumstances change, and you will change too. We’re human, you and I, and that’s an exciting thing to be. 

Your worth comes from your humanity itself, both evil and good, not the things you do or the fights you win. You never have to compare yourself to others because you are exactly the same as everybody else-- no better, but certainly no worse. You’re a person. That’s enough. 

I’m telling you all those things, and as advice, I’ll say this: get angry and fight. Fight for others. You can help them, and you should. Fight for yourself. You are worthy of respect, and everyone else should give it to you. Fight yourself. Any part of you that preaches despair is wrong. 

Find the thing that makes you angry and use it. Things are fucked up! There’s a lot to be angry about. I put it this way to my classmates, now my attorney peers: you get one hill to die on. What’s your hill? Go and defend it. 

Here’s an interesting thing, anon. Your hill can be yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re right. Five years is a lot, and all the years beyond that are more. Take your antidepressants and go.

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e2: of mouse and man

episode summary: brain needs money to build a perpetual answering machine to occupy everyone in the world for long enough for him to take over. to do that, he needs an absurd amount of money, so he decides to get a job in an office!

and then fake a nondairy creamer accident that turned him into a mouse, because as we all know, brain has to take the most dramatic path he possibly can in life, or he dies.

the rundown:

we open with pinky showing off his ass.

PRODUCED BY PETER HASTINGS. i assume that means the episode, and not the ass. the ass was initially produced by pinky’s parents and then helped along by the warner brothers’ dietary experts for their. mouse actors.

brain isn’t feeling it right now.

instead, as he plucks a rib from the lab’s anatomical model of a human being, and uses it to unpick his cage, he angsts - WRITTEN BY PETER HASTINGS - he angsts over the Dark Side Of Man, that has built war machines and pollution spilling factories and

VOICEMAIL.

😱

as pinky continues to stick his ass out (though onlyfans wouldn’t be launched for another twenty one years) brain runs through his latest plan, which, of course, involves voicemail.

look at those wiggles. this is a rough draft episode.

anyway brain intends to reroute all telephone conversations into his confusing, recursive, voicemail service that, he claims, will keep the human race occupied for “at least seventy two hours.”

“more than enough time for a well prepared mouse to seize control of the planet.”

“i see! so all we need now is a well prepared mouse.”

I???????

HOLY FUCK

brain is unhappy. i am not surprised.

“i am a well prepared mouse, pinky.”

“oh. well. there you are, then.”

unfortunately this plan comes with the pitfall that it will cost.... one million, six hundred and fourteen thousand dollars. which is a lot of money, or, as pinky puts it, “a lot of money!”

as brain wonders about how to raise these funds (”without running for congress”) pinky pinkys off to watch some tv.

HAVE YOU BEEN INJURED IN AN ON THE JOB ACCIDENT

YOU MAY BE ENTITLED TO HUNDREDS, THOUSANDS, EVEN ONE MILLION SIX HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS IN COMPENSATION

LENNY PARVIK GOT ME TWO HUNDRED AND ELEVEN DOLLARS

EVEN THOUGH I’M NOW NINETY PERCENT FUDGE, IT’S OKAY BECAUSE LENNY PARVIK GOT ME ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTY TWO DOLLARS SIXTEEN CENTS AND SOME CHANGE

<LOUD, INCREDIBLY DISTRESSED CRYING>

hm.

“pinky, are you pondering what i’m pondering?“

“i think so, brain, but i get all clammy inside a tent.”

anyway so brain’s new plan is to get a job, stage a

HIDEOUS ACCIDENT

and then sue them for one million, six hundred and fourteen thousand dollars in workers compensation.

this episode also has a lot of faces. god, but these mice are so bloody cute. youtube has not yet been invented, but one day it will be, and all brain has to do is sit in front of a camera and nom some corn and go O:O with his face, and everyone will be crying over him within minutes.

it’s so sad that he doesn’t know that.

but for now, he has a job interview to go to. good luck, brain! can’t be any worse than that time allsaints forgot about me and the manager acted like it was my fault.

“impressive credentials. you’re certainly qualified. are you married?”

“oh, yes, i have a lovely wife and two beautiful young children.”

“oh that’s too bad. we’re looking for someone who has no life. thank you.”

as family man walks off, dejected, in comes a completely unsuspicious fellow looking for an honest living honest living, just like in rent the musical.

his arm is acting up, a bit, but it’s fine.

“very impressive resume. princeton, harvard, six years in the industry-- tell me, mr brain, what are your long term career goals?”

“i plan on taking over the world.”

“you have drive! i like that! but confidentially, taking over the world is my job, hahahaha.”

”yes. haha. ha.”

”now. brass tax - are you married?”

“i do have a roommate. but he’s very busy with his own activities.”

HA HA HOO HOO HOO

<muah>

HAHA

“but. one more thing. about your head. isn’t it rather small?”

“no. not for my race.”

“no! no, of course not-- and your people are such... good... cooks... with their tiny heads, uh. please. excuse me for one second.”

“carol! send everyone else home! i got myself a minority person!”

BRUH I?!??!?!?!?!

anyway. brain gets the job.

“mr brain! welcome to the world of re-reinsurance!”

he’s delighted.

back at the labs, he plots his untimely demise at the hands of re-reinsurance,

stating the accident “could be bluffed by altering the mollecular matrix through a substrate platform of microwaves.”

pinky’s response to this is “look brain, i made a choo-choo.”

“oh, and me without my video camera!”

in simpler terms, he explains to pinky that he will stage an accident, “utilising the microwave oven and the non-dairy powdered creamer.”

“because”, to pinky’s apparent horror, “nobody really knows how a microwave works.”

“but why the powdered creamer, brain?”

“nobody knows how that works either.”

(and then, i guess, there’s a scene where some guys jump him on the train for some reason,

i’m only putting it here because this guy is like “oh, you’re funny, you’re a regular gallagher”

and brain’s like “you think gallagher is funny?”

):

anyway then he ties the dude into a pretzel and throws him off the train.

bonk. it adds nothing, but it’s very funny.)

“this is your cubicle right here. if you need any office supplies, ask the office manager and she should have them over in two or three months.”

it’s brain’s first day at work! his boss reads him the company policy on

vacations, personal phone calls,

and sexual harassment.

“don’t worry about it. you’re safe if you avoid all contact with other humans.”

“my goal in life.”

as brain unpacks the things that pinky has packed for his “home away from home,

awwwww.

his nosy cubicle neighbour inquires about brain’s “pet mouse,”

elaborating that he keeps mice! haha! to feed to his pet snake!

to be fair this is also me around snake people. more understandable in brain’s case, being that he is, actually, a mouse, and i am a human person who may be slightly obsessed with tiney small flofys.

;u;

(they play tennis on their lunch break and brain sets him on fire, so it’s not too bad.)

upon his return from the office, pinky, who has dolled himself up to the nines, presents brain with a Yummy Dinner of Food Pellets With Food Pellets.

i will say i think it’s really cute how this show keeps pushing the narrative that pinky just really, really wants to be an old timey housewife. he just spends his time watching i love lucy (when Fish TV isn’t on) and stuff like that and he’s just obsessed with the idea of dusting something alluringly but ineffectively and making brain little dinners.

and it’s so fucking cute!!! what??? it’s adorable. as soon as they get the world pinky better get a little dollhouse kitchen room with lime green everything and a functioning oven.

“please, pinky. i’ve had a very tough day.”

“oh, you have? you’ve had a tough day?”

“what about my day, brain? we always hear about your day, but what about mine?!”

“DO YOU EVER ASK WHAT I DID TODAY???!”

“very well pinky. what did you do today?”

“i don’t remember.”

“anything?”

“not a thing.”

“well, now i know how american gladiator stays on the air.”

the next day, at work, brain is vexed by the fact that nobody has refilled the coffee machine.

“sorry. that’s my fault. hey, you’re cute.”

“you know what they say. big ears. big earmuffs.”

.....okay.

unfortunately brain’s mechanical arm chooses now to malfunction.

she’s into it?

brain maintains that it was a mistake, and he doesn’t find her attractive at all, because brain knows how to talk to women.

she is no longer into it.

horrified by his semi-accidental fuckboy behaviour, brain heads out as quickly as he can, only to be immediately called into his boss’ office.

despite brain’s claims that “the young lady appears to have misunderstood me,” which i’m sure will hold up well on twitter,

mr boss man reveals that he has done some fact checking, and there is no record of brain attending harvard or princeton.

“oh.”

he is given the ultimatum that he either produce his diplomas, or HIS CAREER IN RE-REINSURANCE IS OH OH OVER!!!

very sad!

looks like it’s time to stage a workplace related accident.

he pours the creamer everywhere, discards his suit, and runs up to plonk himself merrily into the pile.

ahem.

HELP, HELP. A TERRIBLE  OCCUPATIONAL DISASTER. I’VE BEEN MAIMED BY AN ON THE JOB ACCIDENT REQUIRING MASSIVE WORKERS’ COMPENSATION.

as others in the office crowd around to look, brain makes his dramatic reveal.

“i’ve been turned into a mouse!”

COLLECTIVE GASP.

obviously mr boss man won’t pay that kind of money.

so, as brain emphatically tells him, I’LL SEE YOU IN COURT.

conclusion:

as the goodfeathers sit on justice’s head, and bitch about jury duty,

The Man From Washinton asserts that brain’s claim that he is a mouse is preposterous.

good thing brain has xrays to prove it! they “clearly” define his “mouse skeleton!” wait a sec and he’ll grab them.

oh shit! where they go?

(”there really is only one conclusion here.” says a local doctor.

“this man is a mouse.”

“then i’m afraid the only conclusion here, doctor,”

“is that you have never seen these.”

“i trust this might keep you quiet.”

“it might.”)

(BRUH/???????????????) (if boss man is out here bribing people with lingerie, he could have tried that way before this got to court.)

egged on by the lack of evidence in Mouse Corner, christopher walken produces the artefacts from brain’s office cubicle.

“i ask you, when was the last time you heard of a mouse winning a bowling trophy?”

“ugh. pinky.”

“yes?”

turns out pinky is here because “they’re not covering this on court tv,” but does advise brain that “it’s a good thing they didn’t find the mechanical suit, eh, brain?”

oh shit.

“pinky, you must go to the office and get that suit from the kitchen closet. do you understand? if they find that we’re sunk.”

“oh! brain! you want me to help!”

off he goes!

fall mouse. bonk.

(he sneaks into the snack delivery.)

(poit.)

(unfortunately, he gets delivered straight to the vending machine.)

(”narf? ):”)

“well. yes. i had noticed his... small, furry head, but i assumed that was normal for his people.”

“and what people would that be.”

“i’m not sure? i think they’re from europe?? maybe france.”

“the size of my head and whether i was a man before the accident is not the question, here. the fact is i am now a mouse.”

(meanwhile, at fiero:

“try the fruit rollups. they’re yummy.”

“oh, i am doing well. poit.”)

“so how exactly did the accident happen, mr brain?”

“some bizarre thing involving a microwave oven? i don’t know exactly-- no one really knows how they work.”

“incorrect! in the oven, a magnetron produces microwaves which cause water molecules to align, and reverse alignment, producing heat, and not mice.”

“the accident also involved a.... nondairy powdered creamer.”

“ah. um. oh.”

(meanwhile,

pinky attempts to drive.)

“mr brain, in your experience with other mice, are they intelligent?”

“no.”

“exactly. your honour, i contend that mr brain is simply too intelligent to be a mouse.”

oh dear.

(meanwhile,

pinky tries not to get hit by a car.)

“but-- no, noo, i’m not intelligent.”

“i am a simpleton! yes. like any average mouse!”

“um. narf.”

that’s mean, brain, considering the aforementioned narf is on his way to save your gay little ass right now, but whatever.

“so you would have no problem with me saying that albert einstien was a champion surfer.”

“what-- i mean, no.”

“or that the temperature of the sun is a comfortable seventy degrees fahrenheight.”

“i wouldn’t know--”

“or that the fermi-dirac’s distribution function is a soup kitchen?”

“that’s preposterous! your honour, the fermi-dirac's function is, for any system of identical fermions in equilibrium,”

“the probability that a quantum state of energy -- E -- is occupied!”

“my word, man! don’t you know your quantum statistics!”

heck.

bonk.

“oh, blunder.”

and what a blunder indeed! the judge decides to rule that brain’s intelligence proves that he is “not a mouse, and that being the basis for your claim, i now dismiss charges against fiero and company.”

“.....very well. i’ll go now.”

“i’m afraid not. i find you guilty of fraud, perjury, and appearing naked in a public place. take him away.”

good thing they have human man sized handcuffs for this human man! brain looks incredibly perturbed, despite the fact he could probably swim in them. and also that he... kind of lives in a prison anyway, if you think about it. oh, cool, can’t wait to evade that cage so i can go live in my other cage.

hm.

luckily, pinky arrives to save us all from that particular moral quandry.

“i got the suit, brain! i got it!”

“pinky--”

the police attempt to intercept pinky,

so he knocks them over. hoo hoo.

brain falls over,

attempts to enter the suit through the shoe,

and is squoshed for his crimes.

faced with a veritable army of police, at this point,

pinky activates the emergency protocol,

says blue lives scatter,

and fucks off out of the courthouse.

we stan a legend.

unfortunately brain got a fair few ouchies during his prison break, so pinky bandages him up. it’s very cute.

anyway, i’m giving this one to brain, on account there were, yknow, a fair few ways that could have been mitigated. fiero fucked him over, though, so i’ll give him that.

brain: 5 ½ pinky: 6 ½ outside influence: 10

 “egad, brain! brilliant!”

“but isn’t that horribly illegal?”

“............yes.”