#ESPECIALLY when they’re in the western conference though

[atwhughesversion]

on todays episode of i can find a reason to hate literally any nhl team besides my own: i’m currently annoyed that the jets, who are my dad’s favourite team and thus who i’d consider my 2nd fav team, won their 7th game in a row

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (128-129)

The fucking Scouts, man. And we end the Jared on the move arc. Next up: Bryce on the move arc!

If you want to read along, series page is here.

128. Outclassed

Jared drives home half-asleep, finds a very sleepy Bryce on the couch waiting up for him.

“Go to bed,” Jared says, pokes him up to their room and then follows suit.

Bryce wanted to stay up and celebrate with him. In reality he just ended up getting poked into bed in the two minutes before they were both snoozing.

He wakes up at ten-forty five — the latest he’s gotten up since the postseason started — to a kiss to the forehead, a cup of coffee handed to him, the immediate awareness that the Nucks did it, they’ve got at least another round to battle through. As ways to wake up go, it’s pretty fucking great.

Bryce is so good at husbanding, especially now that it’s his offseason: full time husband and covert Canucks fan until training starts.

Bryce isn’t offended by Jared living hockey, and it’s actually helpful as hell to have him right there beside him. Bryce watches the earlier Avs games with him, arm slung over Jared’s shoulder, making smart observations, has advice for Jared before and after every game. It’s like having a game tape coach and a husband all in one, it’s terrific.

Full time husband. Hockey smarts included.

It’s a hard fought, ugly series that takes a few of the Canucks with it, Dmitry unfortunately one of them — Jared guesses the line’s still cursed, though he’s selfishly glad he’s not the latest to fall victim to that — but the Canucks scrape out a win in seven, and they’re going to the Western Conference Finals, which is an incredible fucking feeling.

Yay!

Jared can’t say he’s surprised by who they’re going to be facing.

He can’t say he’s particularly pleased about it either.

Such a quick fall from yay.

“Okay,” Bryce says. “Here’s the lowdown about the Scouts.”

“Fuck the Scouts?” Jared says.

“Fuck the Scouts,” Bryce says. “But seriously.”

I mean, basically.

And then Jared’s getting something that isn’t quite a rant but is basically an insider report on pretty much all of the Scouts, because Bryce is clearly still pissed about that series, and he’s got a MENSA level hockey IQ. He was up against the first line, which Jared isn’t going to be facing much if at all, but he was apparently paying very close attention on the bench as well, and at a certain point Jared starts taking literal notes on his phone, trying to keep up.

When holding grudges comes in handy.

“Hey!” Jared says, torn from strategy. “You talking about my new Premier?”

“Holy fuck,” Stephen says after a moment. “No offence but if you voted for him him I’m kicking you out of our house right now.”

Jared takes no offence. “Obviously I didn’t fucking vote for him,” Jared says. “Dude’s a corrupt megalomaniac with an oil rig where his heart should be.”

We now interrupt your story for political propaganda. But like — from a policy standpoint, every statement here is accurate, up to and including the oil rig heart (Jason Kenney resigned in disgrace only to be replaced by someone worse somehow -- the conservative way -- and is now on the board of directors of an energy company. No one could have possibly foreseen this.)

“Are we talking about Kenney?” Bryce complains. “Politics are boring.”

“Politics are how we were able to get married, B,” Jared says,

Of note that Jason Kenney was virulently homophobic.

(He still is, I'm sure, but now he isn’t making homophobic policy decisions -- that’s the job of his successor!)

“These kids,” Gabe says to Stephen. “Bet they don’t even remember when gay marriage was legalised.”

“I do,” Bryce protests. “Sort of.”

Jared shrugs. “I was a little kid?” he says. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Jared once again hurting Stephen with his youth. Gay marriage was legalized in Canada in July 2005. Jared was 6. Bryce 9. Gabe and Stephen 14.

“Get out of my house,” Stephen says, but he says that all the time, and Jared no longer listens to him. Well, he probably genuinely meant it if Jared was a UCP supporter, but obviously Jared isn’t — he was raised by hobgoblins, not actual monsters. “Now let’s do Ford.”

God, let’s not — I’ll be here all fucking week.

“While I enjoy trashing Doug Ford as much as the next Ontarian,” Gabe says.

Not so much that they didn’t vote for more! Not going to lie, I’m still coping pretty hard with the fact the majority of my fellow Ontarians either voted for this guy a second time, or didn’t bother to get off their asses because his opponents weren’t ‘inspiring’. Is that on the Ontario Libs and NDP too? Yep. On ‘Rae Days’ BS and Liberals always talking strategic voting, but only if that means NDP voters vote for them? Sure. But for fuck’s sakes, everyone who didn’t vote essentially cast a ballot for everything Ford has done since, including the multi-billion dollar racketeering he’s being investigated for by the RCMP. But Rae Days.

Okay. Off my soap box.

“Stephen’s a lot,” Bryce says, all blink-y about it. Stephen isn’t even being extra Stephen, he’s just normal level Stephen, but then, Jared probably has a higher tolerance for snide, since he so often is himself.

Inoculation!

Though you’d think Bryce would be used to it too, considering who he’s married to. Maybe he’s just got immunity to Jared’s particular brand of it after enough exposure.

Jared and Stephen are similarly snide but not identically, Bryce only has Jared immunity. He gets very blink-y around Julius too. I’d say he has Erin immunity too but Erin isn’t even a hobgoblin with Bryce unless he dares suggest she and Jared have any similarities whatsoever, in which case she proves his point for him by getting extremely huffy about it just like Jared does.

“I believed you,” Bryce protests. “But he’s so — mean. He told me my hair was stupid.”

The first time Stephen calls Bryce’s hair Disney Prince hair. Bryce hasn’t realised it’s a compliment, as Stephen says it in a mean voice.

“His hair’s stupid,” Bryce mutters. “And he called me a cradle robber! And kept calling me Coach Bryce!”

I mean…

Jared was there for that, but he thought it was more because Bryce was like, coaching them through strategy. In hindsight it is more likely Stephen pointing out that Bryce was, in fact, Jared’s coach when they met, albeit tenuously. Jared really never should have told Stephen that. He’s never going to let it go.

Jared also understands a little better why Bryce scowled at him when Jared joined Stephen in calling him Coach Bryce.

Still fucking dying that Jared accidentally joined Stephen in roasting Bryce.

“You make a very good coach though,” Jared says, putting a soothing hand on Bryce’s arm.

Bryce scowls.

He knows you’re about say something mean, Jared, he’s been inoculated!

“Just don’t sleep with any other prospects, I’d be super—” Jared breaks off to protect himself from a half-tackle from Bryce, laughing as Bryce gets a jab in to his side.

Jared’s true love language: play wrestling.

“No PDA on the Markson-Petersen property,” Stephen says.

Jared opens his mouth, considering Gabe kissed Stephen right in front of them like twenty minutes ago. Bryce went adorably pink about it.

Literally the first time Bryce has personally witnessed two guys kissing (I mean, not involving him, obvs), and it’s people he KNOWS. Low key a big moment for him.

“He’s so mean,” Bryce mumbles. “That wasn’t even PDA, I wrestle with Chaz all the time.”

Jared would raise an eyebrow, but he thinks he’d get tackled again. Plus he also used to wrestle with Chaz all the time. Chaz loves a good wrestling match. Jared’s wrestling matches with Chaz have a distinctly different tenor to them than his grappling with Bryce, particularly when Bryce decides he isn’t going to let Jared win. Stephen was maybe not off about the PDA part.

Chaz’s love language is also play wrestling, but not like that. Bro love. Bruv.

Jared hears a lock click, though he’s not too worried. Gabe will intercede if he has to.

Spoken like someone who has frequently locked doors on his little sister, who had to be let in by Don or Susan. Or been locked out by said sister. Or, you know, the time they were both locked out by their mother so they couldn’t eavesdrop on Bryce asking for their blessing. A family affair.

“I know,” Jared says. It’d be bad walking into a series thinking you didn’t.

“We didn’t,” Bryce says.

Another win for the brain to mouth filter!

The Scouts are a juggernaut, but the Canucks are no slouch either.

The Scouts are better.

Every fucking time. Dynasties, man. (They haven’t even won their first Cup at this point; they’re going to be so much more annoying when they’re winning their third.)

Jared hopes it’s the Caps and Raf scores the game winning goal and does a fly by giving the finger to Williams and Simcoe. That doesn’t sound like a particularly Raf move

Robbie, though…

…but Jared’s not exactly being reasonable right now, all raw scraped nerves and hurt and a fucked up shoulder from a hard hit by Angelopoulos that probably should have sidelined him, but didn’t because it was the playoffs.

The first injury of Jared by a main cast member from a different series. But not the last.

Jared does his stupid painful exercises for the stiffness, gets out of packing anything because, well, shoulder, so it’s Bryce who’s doing it while Jared supervises and occasionally insults his packing decisions just to get that huffy Bryce sigh.

Yet another love language: intentionally bugging Bryce.

Jared’s in his parents’ kitchen with Erin when he hears the whoop from the living room, Bryce and his dad, mom lost under how loud they are, and him and Erin shuffle out to watch the Caps surge over the boards to dogpile their goalie.

Bryce and Don bonding on Team Fuck the Scouts.

Grace is clutch, and the group chat has a number of pictures of the partying the next morning. There’s a picture of Raf and Chapman looking absolutely shitfaced and more than half-asleep that’s particularly good, and Jared makes sure to save it for the purpose of mockery. Another very unflattering one Raf and Kurmazov the Senior, and Jared saves that one to send to Dmitry so he may use it for the purposes of mockery.

Look, Jared’s putting aside his feelings for Dmitry to help him be an annoying little brother, bless. Also that picture of Raf and David is adorable.

the salve of falling asleep in the same bed, of Bryce hitting his alarm immediately and trying to sneak around in the mornings so he doesn’t wake Jared up, Jared pretending he’s still asleep so Bryce doesn’t feel guilty, Bryce probably pretending he actually thinks Jared’s asleep

The softest game of deception devised since peek-a-boo.

129. Sabbatical

Summer’s — summer’s summer.

Very eloquent, Jared. (He doesn’t know how to describe the bone deep relief he feels falling asleep with and waking up beside Bryce, mixed with the grunt work of training, tempered by the fact he’s doing it with some of his favourite people, and they all get to hang out together after(!), Jared has a friend group(!) but also he’s not playing hockey which low key makes everything feel kind of off. So. Summer’s summer.)

Grace has cut her hair really short, and Raf’s done the opposite, letting his grow out, and Ash got a tattoo — her and Bryce bitch about the pain for a bit — but they’re basically all the same as they were a year ago, all feel like home to him even though Calgary only gets to be home in the offseason.

Grace looks great, Raf looks low-key terrible (Cup. Parties. plus the whole road to the Cup in the first place, man is battered.) and Ashley’s tattoo is fire. Not literally, thank fuck; that’d definitely make Chaz getting traded more awkward.

Jared goes up to Edmonton to visit Julius when he pops in for a week for dumb media stuff

I like that it’s completely unclear whether that’s Jared editorializing with ‘dumb media stuff’, or if Julius has been referring to it that way himself.

while Bryce has a ridiculous staycation thing with Erin — that’s code for renting a hotel suite all of a couple blocks from Bryce and Jared’s place for no purpose other than splashing around the pool, and Erin dragging Bryce from store to store and Bryce not even looking at price tags before handing the cashier his credit card, but Bryce was insistent on Erin getting something for her high school graduation, so whatever. Jared and Julius do absolutely nothing while Jared’s there except eat and watch TV and bitch about media and tell each other when they find something funny on the internet. It’s great.

The First Time Erin Makes Twitter Incoming. And Julius and Jared entirely oblivious in Edmonton (this is before Erin and Julius get together, for the record)

It’s honestly such a sweet thing for Bryce to do for Erin’s graduation, and frankly it sucks that it blows up in his face. Bryce did nothing wrong! (For once, says Dave.)

After their anniversary — Bryce buys him too much as usual, Jared does too this year, most currently living in a box in their closet that Bryce goes slightly pink looking at, and he looks often

Jared’s stinginess once again not applying to sex toys, which Bryce appreciates.

— they fly back so Jared can sign the lease and move some stuff out of Elaine’s and and Bryce can visit with Elaine and Gordie and Gail for a bit, do some early birthday stuff with them.

This is the other half of the sex toy sentence, what a fucking segue, Jared. Sex toy reference right before wholesome times with the Marcuses.

Jared’s new apartment is in a good location, not far from Gabe and Stephen’s house, which is pretty much perfectly placed between the practice rink, arena, and airport.

It's in Shaughnessy. Canucks practice at the University of British Columbia (they don’t have their own practice facilities). Triangulation was not by distance, but average commute in traffic and not in traffic (yes, he made the drives, and yes, he bought a real life stop watch and Stephen made fun of him incessantly for this. Does he not have a stop watch on his phone? Come on Gabriel. Gabe would argue, correctly, that he should not be on his phone while driving).

Also he fudged his results and picked somewhere closer to UBC because Stephen was going there at the time, or he would have likely gone for Mt Pleasant or South Main. Stephen is aware. Gabe is aware Stephen is aware. It is not discussed. They like their house, no plans on moving.

Getting a house around there will run you a couple million bucks, because Vancouver, so Jared, known opposite of a big spender, has decided to rent an apartment.

Jared can absolutely see Gabe doing that. Appreciates that Gabe did that. Jared was just google mapping it, Gabe’s test seems like better data.

He FUDGED THE DATA FOR LOVE, JARED. IT IS ALL A LIE.

He likes his place, likes it better when Bryce is in it, helping him put together a dining room table he’ll probably never use,

I am not sure if this dining room table even appears in the story again, it is so underutilized. Generally they eat on the couch (or at the kitchen island, but that's just coffee and breakfast, mostly). If paperwork needs to be done it gets used. That's about it.

“You are literally going to spend the next two days with me,” Jared says when Bryce looks particularly kicked puppy as Jared packs his laptop, which was an anniversary present he did not actually need. At least Erin appreciated getting Jared’s barely even past warranty old one as a university present.

Bold of you to assume that wasn’t Bryce’s plan all along so you aren’t all ‘you can’t buy Erin a laptop, Bryce’, ‘you’ve given Erin more than enough already, Bryce’, ‘stop buying my horrible sister things, Bryce’.

“I can pout whenever I want to, you’re not the boss of me,” Bryce mutters.

“That’s not true,” Jared says. Jared is very much the boss of him and they both know it.

Bryce appreciated his anniversary gifts.

“Nope,” Jared says when Bryce’s hands start creeping under his shirt. “I need to get this done, I don’t want to get halfway to Vancouver before I realise I forgot something important.”

“Flames are going to be in Vancouver in two weeks,” Bryce says.

“No guarantee you’d be playing that game,” Jared says.

“If I’m not I could send it with Chaz,” Bryce says, and before Jared can protest that Chaz might not either, “Canucks are in Calgary right after too.”

Jared doesn’t know if it’s Bryce being stubbornly logical or the fact that Bryce said all of that while unbuttoning and unzipping Jared’s shorts that sways him. Obviously a combination.

‘Keep talking workarounds for possible setbacks, baby, that’s so hot’. But like. Unironically.

After the first leg of the trip they land up in the best hotel you can get in the dead land between Revelstoke and Kamloops, which is not saying much

It’s in Sicamous and it’s a Best Western.

Mere years ago he was lucky if it was a hotel instead of a motel and he was stuck with an asshole roommate who talked in his sleep, and now he’s turning his nose up at a three star hotel.

It’s technically a four star, Jared, you gigantic snob. Also it looks nice enough, honestly, so either it’s been renovated and upped a star since I checked, or I was being lazy in my Revelstoke to Kamloops accommodations due diligence.

“How hard will you judge me if I ask to get back in the car and keep driving?” Bryce asks. “Because Salmon Arm has a decent hotel.”

“How far’s Salmon Arm?” Jared asks.

“Twenty minutes, half an hour?” Bryce says.

Salmon Arm does NOT have a four star hotel. This is a downgrade from that Best Western in Sicamous. As it is now. Possibly not back when I was doing research.

Bryce waits in the car when Jared gets their room, which ends up being a really fucking good call because the front desk clerk is clearly a big Canucks fan, recognises Jared before he even hands her his credit card. Jared texts Bryce a frantic ‘shelter in place’, getting a bunch of question marks in reply, and then he has to go out and sneak him in a side entrance lest he have to explain why he’s sharing a room with one king bed with The Enemy, so that’s great. This is a great trip. Jared’s really enjoying this trip.

THIS is a non chain inn. It’s kind of dated, but like, fine.

“Quit grumbling and tell me what you want from room service,” Bryce yawns.

Jared quits grumbling long enough to order a club sandwich, then resumes grumbling.

I genuinely remember looking at a room service menu for accuracy but now there is no room service. So either I am making this all up or they’ve gone downhill. But then, this was written in 2020, when more places may have had room service for pandemic related reasons. It DOES have an in house restaurant, unlike all other Salmon Arm-y places, so it very possibly did offer room service.

This is bothering me now. I am bothered. Petty grudge against Salmon Arm unlocked.

“Summers gave me a few excuses if things were like, asked,” Bryce says. “Mutual friends with Chaz, met years ago at a camp and still hang out, stuff like that.”

“That’s all true, though,” Jared says.

“Yeah but isn’t like, ‘we’re super in love’,” Bryce says. “Which I think was the part Summers wants to avoid.”

Dave has very low expectations about Bryce’s ability to make up a story, and I think that is extremely fair, to be honest.

“Would you be cool with me coming out to my team?” Jared says. “Not like the level of what Gabe knows or anything, just like, not hiding the fact I married a dude.”

Bryce is quiet. “Can I think about it?” he asks finally.

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“I know you — you can come out to anyone you want to, that’s like, your right,” Bryce says.

“I know,” Jared says.

“I need to think about it,” Bryce says.

This is so much progress! Bryce not reflexively saying no! Bryce acknowledging that Jared has autonomy in how he represents himself to others! Actually thinking about it!

“Yeah but I’m a BC boy now,” Jared says.

“I’m a BC boy,” Bryce mutters.

“Nope,” Jared says. “We swapped.”

“You can’t just be a BC boy,” Bryce says, sounding genuinely agitated. “You have to earn it. And you can’t be a BC boy: you don’t even like sushi.”

I love you and the things that bother you, Bryce Marcus.

“Your teammates,” Bryce says, and Jared looks up from his phone. “If you want to tell them you can. Like. The husband thing not the—”

“Not the you being my husband bit,” Jared assures him.

“Okay,” Bryce says, blows out a breath, then another one.

“You sure?” Jared asks.

Bryce takes a hand off the steering wheel to give Jared a so-so.

PROGRESS!!!

“Can we take this exit?” he asks.

“Uh,” Jared says. “We’re like an hour away.”

Bryce gives him a glance.

“I told you to piss when we got lunch,” Jared mutters.

“And you were right and I was wrong,” Bryce mutters back.

Married. Also — end of yet another arc.

[teasty]

kiss yourself (02) |h.js (m)

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader 

● genre: angst, smut, (kinda) fluff  ||  fwb to lovers au 

● warnings: | praise | reader and jisung are not in a relationship at the beginning! | suggestive dialogue | profanity | safe sex | cunnilingus | angry reader wants to commit arson lol |

● words: 7.0k

→ summary: It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules.

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship. 

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately. 

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

● taglist: @itzgabz22

Chapter One | CHAPTER TWO | Chapter Three

“Oh, baby, I’m going to fuck you so good…”

You debated arson the next morning.

You woke up to the sound of screaming over the phone before the sun even came up, and realized that Jeongja was screaming her head off at some poor sap that probably didn’t deserve it. Well, who knows, you’re just mad that she didn’t even bother to leave the dorm room and go scream out in the hallway to give you your peace and another two hours of sleep. She didn’t even bother to apologize to you, only giving you a wave before she gathered some things and dashed out the door.

So, of course, you weren’t really the most happy - go - lucky person today. You decided to be lazy today and just wore an oversized gray tee shirt underneath a black jacket and a pair of denim blue ripped jeans. You didn’t even bother to do your hair, deciding to just let it flow around your shoulders and do it’s thing.

You didn’t see Jeongja again that day. You expected to see her somewhere on campus since you wanted to speak, no, yell at her why she should never, ever scream at three fifty in the morning and not even bother to apologize about it and then go running off. You debated calling her, but you didn’t want to deal with it, especially when you have better things to worry about.

It wasn’t really supposed to be a busy day, but it turned out to be just that. You’re a member of a specific team mostly meant for the organization and well being of the school. It could be considered something like a student council, but you’re not really in charge of the students, just more planning for future events and other things as well as budgeting. You’re only on this team because you were specifically chosen by a group of professors choosing students by their major. So, you, a political science major, got specially chosen for the job. Whether or not you wanted to be a part of the team, you were persuaded into it by professors, saying it’ll be beneficial for future decisions in your career as a politician.

There were only another seven students on the team. One of which, thankfully, is someone you know and trust, Christopher Bang. You both became good friends after you met him that one night months ago. Especially being on this team together made you both closer, and he was a lot friendlier than you had first imagined.

There’s another girl you know on the team, but you couldn’t call her your friend. Sure, you two talked often and never had any reason to dislike each other, but something about her just wasn't right with you. Her name is Jun Chunae. A beautiful young woman in your year, as well as your same major. She’s quite refined and civilized, if anything a little bit too proper for your liking. Whenever you tried to talk about parties, drinking or even just going out with friends for fun, she always liked to lecture you on how it’s disrespectful to the education system to ignore it’s attempt to educate us by going out and partying at night.

Other than that, she’s alright.

But, another thing about Chunae that never really sparked you right was how she acted when she was with Jisung. You had only learned recently that they’re quite touchy - feely with each other. You didn’t think they were friends, but it was obvious that Chunae had the hots for Jisung. But, with Jisung, you couldn’t really tell if he was attracted to her or not. He kind of treated her the way he treats every other girl, including you. And, that fact kind of made you upset. You know that you’re only his friend, but you have benefits that no other girl, to your knowledge, has. No, you don’t want to be treated like his girlfriend, but you didn’t just want to be treated like the only girl in the world one night only to watch him kissing up to someone else the next.

Were you jealous? Yeah, you were. You weren’t too fond of a girl you don’t exactly trust being too intimate with Jisung, your best friend. But, you’d never, ever, admit that to Jisung.

He’d cut things off the minute he hears that you’re jealous. He’d think you’re falling for him, and then try everything in his power to make sure nothing happens between the two of you. And that you’ll only stay his friend, with or without those stupid benefits.

But, back to the point at hand, you were pulled early out of your last class to attend a meeting for the team. You had met up with Christopher on your way to the conference room, since he had a class nearby your own.

“What could they want this time? And, here I thought we finally got out of these dumb meetings,” you whined, and Christopher laughed, nodding along as he agrees.

“I’m not sure,” Christopher sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I think Chunae would be sure to know,” Christopher rolls his eyes. Chunae was always the smart one of the group. She usually knew things before the rest of the team would know, which, in your eyes, was completely unfair. “Nothing against the girl, I just don’t like how she gets all these benefits just ‘cause she kisses the professor’s asses.”

“Right. I get what you mean,” you nod slowly, “But, it must be important if they pulled us out early without notifying us beforehand. It must be for some kind of event going on. No clue, though. We haven’t had a festival yet, so they might start one since winter’s coming soon.”

“Maybe a festival for the first snow?” Christopher suggests.

You shrug a shoulder, “Who knows. I don’t bother checking the weather, so snow could be falling any day, really. But you would think they would at least shoot us an email, right?”

“Who am I kidding, they don’t really care too much to ask if we’re free for a meeting. I was planning on going out with some friends tonight, but if this meeting is just like any other, then I might have to cancel.” Christopher looks down, obviously upset about the situation.

“Hey, don’t be so down about it. We might end early. And, if they do try to keep us in late, then just say you had plans and leave. It’s not like they’re going to kick out or anything. Besides, we’re already only eight people, we need more members, anyways.” You reassure, giving Christopher a friendly pat on the shoulder. You let your hands rest in your pocket, “Were you going to go with Jisung?’

“No, he said he had things to do,” Christopher shakes his head, not minding how you asked about Jisung, since you usually did to keep tabs on him, “No clue what, since that boy complains twenty - four seven about how boring it is in his dorm and how his roomie is usually doing his own thing. So it was just going to be Hyunjin, Changbin, Felix, Minho, Seungmin and I. We were gonna go to a bar. I’d invite you, but I don’t know how comfortable you would be around a bunch of guys without Jisung.”

“Yeah… Thanks for the consideration, though. I haven’t gone out drinking in a while. It might’ve been fun, but I think I would have had things to do tonight, anyways,” You give him a half - hearted smile, and Christopher bothers you a glance before his eyes shoot forward again. “Oh, hey, we’re here already.” You laugh to yourself as you stand in front of a wooden door with the word ‘CONFERENCE’ on it. Christopher opens the door for you, and you walk in. It’s dimly lit, and you weren’t surprised to see Chunae sitting at the head of the table, scrolling through her laptop as a professor sat next to her, mumbling about who knows what.

Her eyes shoot up the moment she hears the door open, and she shoots both you and Christopher a well practiced business smile before she takes her hands off her laptop and bows her head in welcome. Both you and Christopher bow back in respect, especially since a professor is present, and you both take a seat next to each other. “Hello (Y/N), Christopher. Good to see you guys made it. You have our apologies for pulling you out of class at random, but it’s quite important. Let's wait for the others before we start.”

“How important is it?” You ask, leaning back in the comfortable chair, raising a suspicious brow at Chunae, who closes her laptop.

“We’re holding an event, (Y/N),” Chunae says matter - of - factly, as if you should have known this by now, “It’s for the start of winter for the first snow. We’re going to do things a bit differently, a bit more western. It’s going to be… something like a dance. Except, we will have a performer and activities present, but for the majority of it, it’s a dance for the start of winter.”

“Called it,” Christopher raises a hand, and Chunae raises a thin, neatly trimmed brow at Christopher.

“Barely. It’s not like it’s a festival,” you hold back laughter as Christopher shrugs, still proud of his semi - correct assumption.

“Well, it can either be considered a festival or dance. Doesn’t really matter,” Chunae says, and Christopher snorts, and you glare at him. You fold your arms over your chest, making Chunae smile at your stubbornness, “Oh, come on, (Y/N). This will be fun. First, we must figure out budgeting and organization, as well as fitting everything into the school’s schedule. Other than that, it should mostly be advertising and preparation.”

After Chunae’s short description of what’s going to happen, the other team members glide in one by one. They all wave or bow to you, Christopher, the professor and to Chunae. All taking their respective seats and waiting for Chunae to begin the meeting. The professor left shortly after, not without bidding us good luck.

“Oh, and Chunae?” Christopher pipes up, and Chunae raises her brows at Christopher, giving him her attention, “How long are you going to keep up here. I originally had plans to go out with friends, so I don’t want to stay here until eleven like last time, if you can help it.”

“This is a very vital meeting, Christopher,” Chunae says, and Christopher rolls his eyes, looking away, “I don’t care if you want to go out with friends or not, this meeting might be long and that’s alright. You may choose to leave when you feel like it, but you might be absent for important information. It’s your choice.”

“Then why can’t you just e - mail me the information I missed?” Christopher shrugs a shoulder, and you nod in agreement.

“Because it’s better to discuss in person, is it not?” Chunae stands up, picking up her laptop, “We will debate on different things, as well as discuss things. It’s difficult to discuss in real time over e - mail.”

“Then call me. I’ve got things planned, Chunae, you can’t just pull us out of nowhere and expect us to keep our mouths shut when you don’t even warn us beforehand that there’s going to be a meeting. Sorry, Chunae, but you’re not in charge,” Christopher sighs, obviously irritated. Chunae waits with a stoic expression.

“I’m sorry, Christopher. I really am. I know I’m not in charge, but the professors have trusted me with the information I’m about to share. If you take this role responsibly, you’ll stay without argument. If you don’t, then leave. You won’t be kicked from your spot, but, as said before, you will miss a lot of vital information. It’s your choice in the end,” Chunae responds, and Christopher sighs, deciding not to argue further.

And after that little dispute, Chunae started the meeting by explaining what’s going on. And, as said before, the school is hosting a dance, which is not something ordinary for Korean colleges, since festivals usually took place in spring and usually was just with an invited idol to perform for a few hours. Chunae explained that this dance is mainly supposed to mark the end of fall and a new quarter, as well as the first seeing of snow. It was obvious, even though she never directly said it, that it’s mostly meant for couples and friends.

Each team member was given a specific task to do. Before Christopher left to go out with friends, he was given the task of budgeting. You were in charge of consulting, which was mostly just getting people to fund as well as finding performers, DJs, hosts and other people. It’s a lot of social work you weren’t too excited for, but you knew you had to take responsibility and do the job whether or not you wanted to do it.

Though it was quite boring, you had gotten a text midway through it. Chunae gave you a subtle glare, but didn’t care for how you responded to the text and carried on with the meeting.

It was Jisung.

heard you were pulled into a meeting. how long will u be there?

You responded quickly, keeping your phone under the table as you typed, your hands somewhat trembling, and you had to calm yourself as you typed.

wont be leaving for another hour or two. its pretty big. ill let you know when im leaving

He responded to you, but you didn’t bother to look at it as you shoved your phone back in your pocket.

“And who was that?” Chunae asks after a moment, staring down at you.

“Why do you wanna know?” Your brows furrow, and Chunae sighs.

“Because I’m talking about something important and you’re texting.”

“It’s my friend. Calm down, he’s just wondering when I’m getting off,” you raise your hands in a mocking surrender, and Chunae’s chin lifts higher.

“Hmm. Is it Jisung? Han Jisung? He’s your friend, is he not?” Chunae asks, and you begin to feel annoyance pile through you.

“Yeah, he is. What about it?” You ask, and Chunae shrugs her shoulders.

“I was just wondering,” Chunae sits back down in her seat, the others watching the conversation between the two of you with curious eyes. Chunae stuffs a lock of hair behind her ear, “He’s quite the looker. I hope I have your blessing if anything were to happen between us.”

“I don’t care what happens between the two of you guys,” you spit out, lying straight through your teeth. You do care. You care a lot. A part of you would be happy for Jisung, but another part doesn’t want him to leave you hanging for a girl like Chunae. You know she would treat him well and that Jisung might be better off with a girl like Chunae, but that jealous part of you doesn’t want to let him go. You love the sneaking around, the overnight sessions and even the semi - public ones. You’re not really ready to let that go, yet. It’s only been a few months. You didn’t expect for someone to be kissing up to Jisung this soon, but you should have expected it. “He’s my best friend. As long as you treat him well, then I might not consider punching your teeth in if you do end up with him.”

Chunae laughs, and you tensely chuckle through your nose along with her, “Well, I’m sure Jisung is happy to have a friend like you, (Y/N). So protective. Sometimes I’ve gone to wonder if you two are really in a relationship or not.”

“Yeah. You two basically hang off of each other, you’re around each other all of the time,” says another team member who you recognized as Naeyeon. Someone you didn’t bother to get to know. She didn’t seem to like you that much, anyways.

“It’s none of your business in the first place, if we were in a relationship. Which, we’re not,” you snap, not really in the mood to talk about Jisung right now, “Can we get back to the main focus?”

“Yes, my apologies, (Y/N). I shouldn’t invade your personal life like that in a professional environment like this,” Chunae stands up again, and you sigh. Already tired of this meeting.

At the end, you’re given loads of papers to go through considering consultation, and you weren’t ready to study them just yet. Your backpack got ten times heavier as you stuffed them in there, and you were the first one to leave when Chunae called the meeting to an end. You didn’t even bother to wave goodbye as you slammed through the door, basically speed - walking to get out of the main building and to the dorm rooms.

As said before, you had nothing against Chunae. In fact, you’d like to get to know her past her proper and all - to civilized self. If she were to let loose, she might be really fun, in your eyes. Her whole aura just sets you off, sometimes. Sometimes, she can get pretty stuck up, and you’re not sure how Jisung could handle her if he continuously complains about your stubbornness.

Speaking of Jisung, one of the first things you did when you basically ran out of the conference room was text Jisung that the meeting’s finally over and if you should start heading there.

He never answered faster.

He said you should head there, but to be careful of security since it’s so late. You were cautious, but thankfully no officer was out this late, even though it was only ten - thirty at night and curfew was thirty minutes ago. It’s a pretty long walk to Jisung’s dorm, though, since it’s on the top floor of the (decently huge) building. Since it’s past curfew, the elevators weren’t in working order anymore, and you had to take the stairs to the top floor, which absolutely killed your feet. But, once you made it to the familiar dorm door, you rested against the doorframe before knocking softly.

It takes Jisung a minute to open the door. You take that time to relax your weight against the doorframe, but your peace is short-lived when the door swings open so fast you almost lose balance of yourself by how fast Jisung opens the door. So, it takes you a short moment to actually take in Jisung’s appearance. His hair is messy and damp, and it’s obvious he has just showered most likely not too long ago. He wears a pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt, and you try not to gawk at his well built and defined body. He stares down at you silently, a small smirk playing at his lips as his half - lidded eyes scan over your body.

But, after that moment, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you inside. The moment the door is slammed shut and locked behind you, he presses you against the door. Your heart beats rapidly against your chest as Jisung’s hands grip your wrists and pin you to the door. His face mere centimeters away from yours, and you can feel his warm breath against your lips. Your backpack falls to the floor. No matter how many times you’ve had sex with Jisung, he’s never been one for intimate kissing in your relationship with him. Which, to you, was weird since he always tried to get playful kissing from you out of sex or even from his other friends. Sure, you’ve both kissed before, but usually it’s not very intimate.

But, he kisses you before you could say anything. His hands firmly, yet gently gripping your wrists and pinning them to the door as his lips find themselves planted against yours. His soft lips move with yours in a passionate sync, and you don’t hesitate when you kiss him back. Your hands balled into fists as Jisung presses his body against yours, both of your eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. Chills shoot through your body as Jisung’s lips capture yours in a slow, yet lust filled kiss. It’s not rushed nor sloppy, but filled with desire and crave. You let yourself melt into his kiss, his experienced lips having you succumb to him, and you could already feel yourself dripping wet from just this simple kiss.

To you, however, it wasn't so simple. You never usually get this chance to have Jisung kiss you so passionately. You never bothered to ask why, and mostly thought he didn’t want to do it because, during sex, it’s something mostly only real couples would do. Not friends with benefits. So, when his tongue meets with yours in a euphoric, blissful way, you try to savor the feeling. Knowing this might be one of few chances you’ll get to actually enjoy such a kiss, you try to make it last as long as you can.

Jisung’s lips eventually lift off of yours, but he leads a trail of firm, wet kisses down your jawline and over your neck. His tongue licking stripes up your neck as he sucks on the delicate skin. Your womanhood throbs from the feeling, and your legs press together. Jisung’s hands let go of your wrists, and you let your hands grip onto Jisung’s hair. His hands creep underneath your shirt and hoodie, lifting them up as his cold hands meet with your warm skin. His hands feel up your waist, and your head falls back, your kiss - bruised mouth opening from the bliss.

“What… What’s gotten into you tonight?” You mumble out, your arms wrapping around Jisung’s neck, pressing him further against you as his hands firmly brush over your ass and up your back.

Jisung’s lips brush against the lobe of your ear and he chuckles deeply, sending chills through you and you let out a pathetic whimper because of it, “Can’t I do something for a friend?” He says this in just above a whisper, his voice deeper and huskier than normal. And then he goes back to pressing kisses underneath your ear, trailing down your neck, moving one hand up to move your hair out of the way.

You don’t argue with him, and you let him dominate you.

Jisung pulls off your hoodie along with your tee shirt. Pulling you away from the door as he throws the articles of clothing to the side. He guides you to his bed, having you lay down on your back as Jisung pulls himself over you. Trapping you underneath him, and your hands fly to the sides of your head, succumbing to him. Jisung pushes himself down, now pressing kisses to your collarbone and over your chest. One hand fumbling with the straps of your bra, pushing them down your shoulders before they tamper with the clip.

Jisung doesn’t even hesitate to rip off your bra, and throw it alongside the other articles of clothing (most of which landed on Jeongin’s bed, and you would do something about it if you weren’t so caught up in the moment with Jisung). You let in a deep, sharp inhale when your warm breasts make contact with the cool air. Jisung looks down at you, examining your exposed breasts before his eyes flicker up to meet yours. Your face is flushed a beautiful pink, and Jisung stares at your face, loving the flustered expression you’re making before his head dips down. One hand flying up to cup one breast, his hands moving efficiently and swiftly as he firmly massages it. His lips kissing down your other breast before his tongue makes contact with your erect bud.

You emit a breathy moan as chills run through your body as Jisung suckles on one breast while his hand plays with the other. His thumb running over and pressing against the hard bud as he firmly massages your breast in circles. His tongue working wonders over your sensitive nipple, and your teeth capture your bottom lip in between them as your hands run through his hair, letting out soft whimpers here and there when he sucks harshly on your breast or pinches your nipple.

“Jisung… Oh, you’re gonna make me pay you back for this, aren’t you?” You breathe out, and Jisung chuckles against you. His tongue pressing against your nipple, and his eyes look up to meet yours.

Once he lets go, your back arches when your breast, which was once warm in the cavern of Jisung’s mouth and tongue, meets the cold air. “You think so lowly of me, baby.” Jisung presses kisses along your chest, going lower and lower, and you watch him with dark, lust filled eyes.

“I’m usually the one blowing you off, Jisung - ah,” you state, “It’s not like you to - mmh…! - do things like this.” The back of your hand presses against your lips as they press into a firm line, trying to hold back whimpers as Jisung’s fingers start to undo the buttons of your jeans. His lips pressing kisses to the bottom of your abdomen; a sensitive area, and it sends sparks of chills up your spine.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” Jisung breathes out, lips still pressed against your skin as he speaks, his dark eyes flickering up to meet with yours, “Don’t think too much into it. Just let me make you feel good, alright?” You nod quickly, your mouth closing and your hips lift with Jisung’s hands as he slowly pulls off your jeans. “That’s my good girl. My good little (Y/N).” He chuckles darkly, and you whimper softly at both the feeling of your soaked panties meeting the cold air and from Jisung’s praise.

Your thighs are on either side of his head, and Jisung’s hands guide them apart, spreading you out for him. And, boy, is it a sight for sore eyes. Jisung occasionally looking up at you, the eye contact making you even wetter from just the intensity of his eyes. His breath fans your clothed cunt, and your hips jitter and twitch just from that. Jisung cooes at your sensitivity. He knows you’re sensitive, but since things are usually rushed, he’s never really taken the chance to slowly edge you on. “My baby girl is so sensitive and I haven’t even touched her pussy…”

Jisung’s finger makes contact with your clothed cunt, pressing against your labia and firmly pressing up and over your clit. Your hips stutter at the feeling, and Jisung watches you as your eyes squeeze shut and your head falls back. Your mouth opening to let out a beautiful, breathy moan.

But, you weren’t prepared for when Jisung pulls off your panties, his hands having to fly up to stop your thighs from slamming against either side of his head. “Ah - ah - ah… keep your legs spread for me.” He guides your legs back, spread apart and resting against the sheets. A slight burn on your inner thighs from the stretch. You watch Jisung as one arm wraps around one of your thighs, his other hand caressing your other thigh, and he presses a wet kiss on your inner thigh. Dangerously close to your exposed pussy. And, oh, how exposed you feel. Usually, you both do quickies in bathrooms or the car or somewhere where you have to put your clothes back on quickly. You’re never, usually, completely nude in front of him. So you couldn’t deny that you were a bit embarrassed by how exposed you were to him.

Your head flies back, and you finally let out your first vocal moan when Jisung’s mouth comes in contact with your pussy. His tongue pressing against your wet cunt and his lips kissing your folds. Jisung smirks against you, his tongue working wonders on your throbbing cunt. His warm mouth engulfing your cunt, and your hands brush through his hair. Gripping onto either his hair or the sheets by you as Jisung’s tongue lickes stripes up your labia, occasionally teasing your sensitive, aching clit.

Your moans get even louder when one of Jisung’s fingers begins to tease your entrance, his mouth now more focused on your clit. His middle finger slowly enters you, and you clench around him. “Oh, fuck, Jisunggie… That feels so good.” You whimper out as Jisung’s knuckles meet with you, as his finger is fully flush inside of you. Your warmth engulfing his finger, clenching around him, looking for something more. He chuckles against you, his tongue still licking up your clit, sometimes pressing sloppy kisses to it. His finger slowly begins to thrust in and out of you. More of a slow drag than a thrust.

Your mind fogs as Jisung slowly begins to add more and more fingers, his pace still slow, but fast enough to make you whimper delicately when his fingers hit a certain spot deep inside your wet, warm walls. His other hand gripping your thigh firmly, but not firm enough to leave a mark of any kind. You gently moan out his name, and it only seems to give him more and more confidence to be just a little bit rougher, but still being euphorically slow and steady.

However, it’s when he sucks gently on your clit and roughly drags three fingers out, stretching you out, before letting them roughly ram back into you, hitting your G - Spot, when you feel your climax nearing. Your back arches, and your hands grip the sheet by your head tightly as you let out a moan, “Ji… Baby, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Your bottom lip becomes captured in between your teeth as your hips begin to stutter and twitch, bucking up into Jisung, but his free hand tries to hold you down. He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even look up at you. His brows furrow, focused solely on your climax. He doesn’t slow down either. He only speeds up. Sucking on your clit while his fingers thrust into you.

When your climax hits, you let out a string of loud moans, both incoherent curse words and Jisung’s name. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth opens. Your back arching off of the bed as you cum on Jisung’s fingers. His fingers rut slowly into you, twisting and pressing against your G - Spot. His tongue presses against your clit to helpL: you ride out your high.

His lips detach from your throbbing pussy, and his fingers slowly pull out of you. His fingers coated in your cum. Jisung takes a moment to catch his breath. He looks up at you, and you're still coming back from your orgasm, the sense of overwhelming bliss. Jisung climbs up, trapping you under him once more. Your legs still spread for him, and Jisung pulls you into another kiss.

You can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s bitter, but you don’t care. You don’t care for how gross it may be, you just want to kiss him. You just want all of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and Jisung’s hands caress your thighs, “Oh, baby, I’m going to fuck you so good… You want that? Want me to fuck you, baby girl?”

Your head leans back and Jisung’s lips graze over your neck, “Yes, Jisung. I want you to fuck me hard… Want you to fill me, please. Please, Jisung, I need you so bad.”

Jisung smirks, already pulling down his sweats, “I fucking love how you beg for me. Only for me.” You moan out in response. Jisung finally lets his hard cock free, and it presses to his abdomen. Leaking with precum, just from eating you out. The tip is a pretty pink, and you bask in the thought how you, alone, can make him so hard. Jisung gets on his knees, and you watch how he takes a condom from his nightstand drawer and rips it open. Preparing his cock into it before his tip presses against your cunt, still sensitive from your last orgasm.

“You ready for me, baby?” Jisung asks, moving your hips up to align with his cock, which is barely pressing against your entrance. You nod frantically, the only thing coursing through your mind being how badly you want Jisung’s cock inside you. How ready you are for him. “Use your words, (Y/N).”

“Yes… Goddamn it, Jisung, just fuck me already, please. I need it so bad,” You whimper out, irritated by the emptiness inside you.

Jisung laughs darkly, “Feisty, now are we? I like your pride, (Y/N), but I’ll be sure to shut you up, got it?” And, without warning, Jisung presses into you. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth as Jisung’s hard cock slowly drags deeper and deeper into you. Filling you to the brim, and stretching you out more than his fingers ever could. Jisung’s hand grips your wrist, pinning it to the bed, “No, no. I want to hear your voice. Wanna hear your pretty moans as I break you.”

Jisung is slow, painfully slow at first. You’re wondering how he could hold back, since he usually tends to fuck you like no tomorrow. Jisung slowly drags himself out, feeling your walls clench around him, before pushing himself back in. His head dips down to watch his cock disappear into your soaking pussy, and he lets out small groans as you let out breathy moans with each thrust. “Ji… Jisung - ah… Faster, please.” Jisung looks up at you, a smirk edging on his lips before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“As you wish, (Y/N),” and so he followed through with your plea, and slowly started to pick up speed. His forehead presses against the side of your head as your legs wrap around his waist, allowing him to get even deeper inside you. With every thrust, you can feel his tip meet your cervix, and it’s such an intense feeling, you could cum right there with just enough force. But, you want this to last. You want to savor this moment for as long as you can.

Soon enough, Jisung flips you over, pressing the side of your face into the mattress as he gets on his knees. He leans over you, pressing his chest against your back and moves your hair to the side to give himself the access he needs to press wet kisses to the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he enters you once more. His hands grip your wrists as he groans into your neck, your loud moans muffled by the pillow below you as Jisung rams into you. His cock moving fast against your walls, giving such a blissful, burning sensation inside you that you want even more of. His hips meet over and over again with your ass as he thrusts into you. Your moans echo through the room, and at this point, you don’t care if anyone overheard you.

“Oh, fuck, baby. God, I love your pussy so much,” Jisung moans out next to your ear, and you don’t have the stability to respond to him, only with pathetic moans falling out of your lips. “Drivin’ me goddamn crazy…” Jisung grumbles as he sits himself up. His hands gripping your hips firmly to move you with him, sending you back with his thrusts as he fucks himself into you.

You can tell when Jisung is nearing his climax, because instead of his usual rhythmic thrusts, his hips begin to stagger and twitch, and his moans rise in pitch and get louder in volume. When he nears his climax, you can feel another one climbing up for you, mostly from the pure oversensitivity from your last orgasm. “Oh my fucking god… Oh fuck, cum with me, (Y/N). Cum with me.” He moans out his words, and your voice gets higher as your back arches once more, meeting your climax. Jisung leans over you again, his forehead resting on the back of your neck as his hands tightly grip your hips as he cums at last into the condom.

“Fucking hell… that was so good,” you breath out, trying to catch your breath. Jisung takes his time to relax his overworked muscles by leaning over you. He takes a minute before he pulls himself up and out of you. Your hips fall, and you wipe off the sweat as Jisung ties off the condom and gets up, tossing it into the bin.

He gets up, going over to his dresser to grab a towel. He cleans you up silently, and you watch him with curious eyes.

The moment he turns away to toss the towel into a hamper, you get up and walk over to Jeongin’s bed to grab the clothes Jisung had thrown onto it. You pick up your bra and shirt, and you barely even notice Jisung behind you before he speaks, “Are you leaving?”

“Don’t you want me to?” You look over to Jisung, who’s now wearing a pair of boxers and nothing more. He’s standing close behind you. You don’t mind the close proximity.

Jisung shakes his head, “No… Stay here tonight. Jeongin won't be back till the weekend.” Your mouth falls ajar slightly, surprised by his words. You pull your shirt over your head and put it on, and Jisung watches you.

“Alright… I’ll stay,” you sigh, and Jisung smiles down at you softly. You turn to face him, your brows furrowed, “But, seriously, what has gotten into you? You’re a bit more… intimate tonight. Didn’t really expect that.”

“What? Can’t I do something for you?” Jisung teasingly smirks at you.

“Well… yeah, but I just didn’t expect you… to do that.” You mumble out, and Jisung laughs.

“Kiss you like that?”

“Yeah.” You shrug a shoulder, “You know what, let’s not think too much into it. I’m tired.” You sigh, and Jisung laughs softly, shaking his head. You climb into his bed, pulling his blanket over you as Jisung turns off the lights and climbs in right next to you. Pressing his chest against your back, and one of his arms wraps around your waist. His chin resting on top of your head. Your heart hammers against your chest, and you try to calm yourself so he wouldn’t hear it. But, it seems impossible. Jisung’s acting weird today, and you want to find out why.

But, the answer comes sooner than you imagined.

“I don’t think we’ll be doing this much longer.”

Your eyes snap open, and your brows furrow. “What… did you say?”

“I said… I don’t think we’ll be doing this much longer,” Jisung repeats, a bit louder than before. You had heard him loud and clear the first time, but it shocked you, “I… I dunno, (Y/N). There’s this girl. And… I really… really like her. God, I sound like a middle schooler, don’t I?” He chuckles, but you don’t respond to him. You stare at the darkness, and Jisung clears his throat awkwardly when he realizes that you’re not responding. His arm squeezes you tightly. “If things work out, we can’t do this anymore.”

“Who is it?”

“Huh?”

“Who is it.”

Jisung chuckles again, and you can tell he’s getting nervous. Whatever the reason is, you don’t know. Maybe he can tell that you’re irritated with this news, “You know that one girl in your political science class? Jun Chunae. It’s her.” You hold back a groan, and roll your eyes. Of course it’s Chunae, “She and I have been hanging out recently. And, god, I think I really like her, (Y/N).”

“Of course,” you scoff, and Jisung props himself up to look at you through the darkness, “Of fuckin’ course it’s Chunae. Always Jun Chunae. That’s why you invited me over, wasn’t it? That’s why you treated me so well tonight, because it’s one of the last times, huh?”

“No, that’s not… that’s not what I’m saying,” Jisung says slowly, as if dipping toes in dangerous waters.

“Don’t lie to me, Jisung,” you snap, “I know you. You don’t like to kiss me before, during or even after sex. You just don’t. You don’t take it slow and you don’t even usually bother to pleasure me. I get it now. It’s not a problem, I’m just a bit upset that you lied to me.”

“And how the fuck did I lie to you,” Jisung doesn’t even ask it, it’s more of a demand. You can hear how he’s getting angry right back at you.

“You said you wanted to do something special for me. You said that this was supposed to be special. But, it’s not. Just for you to cut things off.” You sit up and push Jisung’s arm off of you. You scramble off of the bed, and Jisung laughs bitterly.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). You’re overreacting,” you can hear Jisung’s smile in his voice, but you don’t smile. You don’t even bother with your underwear and just throw your jeans on. You turn on the light and slip on your shoes. Jisung’s expression falls, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t leave.” You turn back to give him a dead glare, and Jisung brows crease in desperation.

“I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be here if you’re going to start chasing after Chunae, don’t you think?” You say and sling your backpack over your shoulders.

“But, if you just wait a little bit longer… I can…”

“You can what, Jisung?” You turn to face him.

“I…” Jisung trails off.

“Goodnight, Jisung. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You unlock the door and open it, “Thanks for the special night.”

Jisung gives up, and plops back onto the bed as you slam the door behind you.

Now you were really considering arson. And not just for the school, but to just burn down Jun Chunae.

You weren’t in love with Han Jisung. But a part of you was beginning to debate that.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[ascalonianpicnic]

so the twisted marionette is back and it seems like a good time for this~ @mystery-salad requested I do an essay on Scarlet and discrimination in STEM so~

Warning: discussions of sexism, racism, and ableism. If I got anything wrong (in terms of real world issues) or was disrespectful in any way about certain subjects please let me know

Hey, let's talk about Scarlet Briar. 

More specifically, I wanna talk about Ceara, and how she became Scarlet Briar. Because I'm a gay mathematician and former computer science major, and I think Scarlet is cool.

So let's start here. STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) is a heavily male dominated set of fields and career paths. A few decades back in the real world, there was this deep set societal belief, at least in western society, that cis women were just "worse" at STEM related things like math and chemistry. It's not as visible of an issue now, but, like I said, STEM fields are still really male dominated, and that's because STEM fields still have a massive issue with sexism. Women have full on left the field due to the sexism they faced in workplaces in just the last decade. Trans women in STEM share really interesting and important personal accounts about how before transitioning, they were treated with respect, offered high level jobs, and entrusted with loads of responsibility, and how post transition, despite having even more experience, are offered significantly lower level jobs, worse pay, and are all around treated like they know less. STEM has a sexism problem. 

So, why is this important to Scarlet? Well, her backstory and her life before Omadd's Machine actually tie in to this real world issue in a really fascinating way. It's about Respect. And Scarlet's story is about how she was denied respect over and over, because she was a sylvari, because she was a woman, and because she was neurodivergent. Let's talk about Ceara. 

Ceara was a sylvari secondborn, and an engineer from the start. She emerged from the Pale Tree when her race was still brand new to the world and largely unknown. She spent 8 years of her life studying all the Grove had to offer her about mechanics and nature and the universe. She was born curious and as such, was determined to learn everything and anything she could get her hands on. After her time in the Grove, Ceara left, off to find new teachers and extend her knowledge further. After the Grove cane Beigarth, a famed norn smith. He gladly took Ceara under his wing, seeing her genius and potential. For a year, she trained under him, his best student. Then, much to his dismay, she left, feeling she had learned all he could offer about what she wanted to know. She moved south, going to study under iron legion gladium and demolitionist Asagai. Asagai was an old charr, and it took some convincing on Ceara's end, but she eventually took the sylvari in and taught her about gunsmithing and artillery. And after two years, Ceara moved on again, this time heading for Rata Sum and its colleges. 

The asura of Rata Sum did Not like Ceara. She had to fight to be allowed to study at the colleges. She won in the end, being admitted into the college of Dynamics. Within a year, she finished the course work, and, feeling like she was finally getting somewhere, she applied again, this time getting admitted to Statics. Two years and two colleges down, at the top of her class both times, Scarlet still wanted more. The Arcane council was curious now if she could keep this streak up, so they let her enter Synergetics. This was what she had been looking for, and she got deep into her studies, taking her time. The Arcane council was unimpressed with her work at best. While not driven from the colleges, she found herself being walked off and looked down on more and more, so she sought other sources. These other sources, both of knowledge and support, came from the inquest, and it wasn't long before she fell in deep. It didn't last, however. When the krewe she was working with ran into trouble, she was abandoned as a scapegoat, and thrown out of the asuran colleges. She wandered on her own for a while, taking the time to study alchemy with the michotl hylek, but mostly keeping to herself. Until Omadd found her, pulled her back into his personal research, and, with her help, built Omadd's machine. Once it was finished, Ceara walked in, and Scarlet walked out. 

Sexism in STEM means that people perceived as female are often perceived as knowing or understanding less than they actually do. It's because of this that you'll find young cis male students in STEM classes trying to correct or speak over their female presenting professors. It's why you'll find men at science conferences telling the women presenting for certain topics that they don't seem to understand the topic they're covering or grasp the basics that well, and then recommending or referencing books and research papers written by these women. It means that women will often be overlooked for internships, research positions, and grants. And that is the sort of thing Scarlet faced as a young woman trying to learn everything she could. She had to work for the apprenticeships she could get, and with Beigarth, despite how highly he thought of her, she had to work harder to prove she was ready for more each step of the way. Finding anyone to teach her at all among the charr was a struggle, until an older woman took her in. And no one in Rata Sum took her seriously. 

There was more than just the fact that Scarlet was a woman at play with Rata Sum though. As stated, STEM has a bad sexism problem. But that's not all. STEM isn't just mostly men, but also mostly white men, and as such, the fields have a bit of a racism problem as well. Personally, I can only speak so much to this as I myself am white, have never faced racism, and never will face racism. I do know that the intelligence, skill, and effort of people of color goes largely unacknowledged. They will be denied the same opportunities and respect that their white peers receive, and their work and contributions will be ignored, exploited, and stolen. 

Racism in Tyria isn't the same as it is in the real world, though it is still present there, and prevalent. And it is something Scarlet has to face and struggle with repeatedly as a sylvari. The sylvari are young and new to Tyria. Because of this, the other prominent groups all tend to think of sylvari as innocent, ignorant, and overly naive. The asura are especially bad about this. They already think of themselves as the smartest of Tyria's inhabitants, above everyone else. And when they first encounter the sylvari, the asura refuse to believe this new group could even be sentient. So, when 11 year old Ceara shows up at the colleges, the Arcane Council and the asura in general doubt she could possibly understand asuran studies. She's a sylvari, after all, and just a girl on top of that. There's surely no way she could keep up. 

So when this young sylvari girl finishes at the top of her class in just a year, not once but twice, the Arcane council is intrigued. They don't respect her. They don't hold her work in high esteem. But they do want to know if this is some sort of fluke or if she can do it again. So she's admitted into the third and final college, and when she gets caught up in her studies, genuinely interested and invested in what she's learning and wanting to take her time to take it all in, the Council is disappointed. Never mind that Scarlet has already done what no other non-asura has. She took too long doing what she loved, learning, so the Council dismisses her, and dismisses her hard work. Her theories are looked down upon and ignored, and she is left with only support from Omadd, who can use her and her theories for his own gain, and the inquest. Omadd and the inquest make her feel valued and respected. The inquest let's her try anything she wants, it lets her really explore the fields of study she's most drawn to. The inquest makes sure to profit off her hard work and, when it comes down to it, the inquest leaves her to take the fall for everything. It's easy, after all, to pin the blame on someone already so looked down on by the society she's in. Scarlet is kicked out of the colleges and the city. She loses her access to information, her belongings, and even her own research and findings. All her hard work, taken from her because the inquest was more than glad to use a sylvari. 

And then of course, there's Omadd. He was glad to have Scarlet as a lab assistant, and endlessly fascinated by and supportive of her work. So once she's gone from Rata Sum, he leaves too, taking her research and starting on his own personal project. He gets stuck, he seeks Scarlet out, and he convinces her to help him again. Once Scarlet is back on board, the project goes smoothly and the two construct Omadd's Machine. Omadd's. Despite being built off Scarlet's theories and research, despite her being integral to the construction of this machine, it's Omadd's and it carries his name. Funny how that happens, isn't it? And once the machine is up and running, he thinks Scarlet should test it first. Who knows what could happen in there, better to leave it up to the assistant to try it out, and frame it as her getting the honor of the first try. As we all know, it goes poorly. Scarlet learns so much more, all the knowledge she had been seeking for over a decade, but in return, the seeds of Mordremoth are planted in her mind and slowly take over, destroying her. 

Now Scarlet, who has been used and devalued and disrespected and infantilized every step of the way, her whole life, is going to start tearing down the things that held her back for so long. She just needs a plan, and with the help of a certain sleeping dragon, one begins to form. 

There's something I glossed over earlier that is so important to note, and that's how Scarlet was treated in the Grove. Now, it's been stated explicitly by Scott McGough, a narrative designer for the fame, that Scarlet emerged with lacking empathy. Low empathy doesn't make Scarlet, or anyone, a bad person. It's sometimes a symptom of autism, as well as some personality disorders, and it does affect how Scarlet is treated. As an autistic person myself, Scarlet very much reads as autistic to me, between low empathy, a one track mind, and an intense special interest in the universe and its mechanics. She has a hard time connecting with others, is easily bored by subjects that don't relate back to her special interest, can focus intently on and get caught up in her work, and doesn't really get social graces or expectations. Regardless of any diagnosis she would have if she existed in our world, Scarlet is treated differently due to her low empathy, a trait she cannot help about herself. 

From the moment she emerges in the Grove, she is treated differently. She is talked down to. Her desire to take in her first sights and how it overwhelms her is dismissed as overconfidence and rudeness. Her own brother, barely older than her, talks like he knows so much more than her. Scarlet is an outsider among her own people. How does it feel to have low empathy among a race connected to each other deeply through empathy? Probably not great. Her studies in the Grove are limited, she is treated as rude and prideful for wanting to be independent and needing space. Rather than being accommodated, rather than being understood, Scarlet is infantilized, dismissed, and disregarded. She isn't neurotypical. She was born different. She's punished for it. 

When she emerges from Omadd's Machine, made from her own hard work and creativity, Scarlet Briar is a young woman who has frequently been overlooked and rarely understood. All these thoughts and ideas, all this passion, and the only people who have ever even seemed to understand her have used and betrayed her so thoroughly. Scarlet Briar has always had to look out for and take care of herself, as a woman, as a sylvari, as someone who is neurodivergent and is in a field that doesn't respect a single aspect of her identity. The world won't accommodate her and the world won't take her seriously. So why shouldn't she show the world what she can do? Why not force everyone to recognize her for who she is? Why not give in just a little to that voice that has been calling to her in her nightmares since she left the machine? After all, it promises power and recognition and a sense of belonging. 

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander | Chapter 18

A/N: Remember that there’s a DOUBLE POST this week because of my birthday that happened yesterday!  Look out for Chapter 19 to be posted Thursday at 7:30pm.  I think you guys will reeeeeally like that one :)

January 24th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was amazed.

The welcome reception that the NHL planned in the hotel was full to the brim of what seemed like every NHL president, general manager, and their assistants mingling and munching on perfectly prepared hors d’oeuvres.  Everybody was staying at the Ritz-Carlton, a fifteen minute drive from the Enterprise Centre where all the hockey-related festivities were taking place.  While the all-stars had already been bussed to the Enterprise Centre, she was here with Brendan and Kyle, trying to assert her presence in a room full of men who thought they were gifts to God’s green earth.  She wondered if any of the other executive assistants – a good 99% male, from her observations – felt the same way.  It was when she was standing in that room that she realized how much of an anomaly she truly was, and if some guy gawked at her because he hadn’t seen a female since October, she wouldn’t be surprised.  Hockey was an old boy’s club, and there was no better proof for that than the makeup of the people in this room.  

Many people came up to speak to Brendan and Kyle – Aberdeen thought they were almost like the star debutantes at the ball, except one debutante already had three Stanley Cup rings; the other debutante was like the belle of the ball, as one of the youngest GMs in the league, and everybody wanted to talk to him.  The only thing they’d do is give Aberdeen a quick nod after they finished their conversation before walking off.  It was like she ceased to exist, or existed only as a figure to nod to once the discussion with the ‘big boys’ was over.  Nobody was giving her the time of day.  She didn’t even know why she had to come here and do this when—

“Aberdeen,” Brendan’s voice cut off her thoughts.  She straightened out her back and looked more attentive as he looked back at her.  “Who do you think will come and speak to us next?  Let’s make a bet.”

She smiled.  She knew that instead of sulking she should be working the room as much as possible, inserting herself politely into conversations Brendan and Kyle would have with some of the other presidents and general managers.  “BriseBois has been eyeing Kyle for five minutes, so twenty bucks and an extra day off says it’s him,” she said confidently.  

Brendan laughed, as did Kyle.  “My bet’s on Ken Holland,” Brendan quipped.  “Here to talk to us about Tyler Ennis.  Everyone knows they want him.  Hometown boy.”

“It’ll be Sakic.  To talk to us about Naz,” Kyle said.

“DUBBIE!”

All three of their heads turned to see Brisebois smiling and making his way over.  Aberdeen smiled.  She leaned into Brendan.  “I’ll take that twenty bucks in a Starbucks gift card.”

***

Aberdeen thought that maybe Frederik Andersen should be the one seemingly babysitting Auston Matthews, but she digressed.  Because he was attending the All-Star Weekend but not actively participating in any of the festivities due to his slight wrist injury, he was free to do (what seemed like) whatever he wanted.  He could visit both locker rooms, he could chat with all the guys, he could take pictures with everyone.  All she had to do was make sure he got to the benches during the Skills Competition and she could consider it a job well done.  

She didn’t want to follow him into the locker room – that was a bit much – so she stood outside and watched as he interacted with Fred and Mitch before moving on to some of the other players: Jack Eichel, Brady Tkachuk, and Mathew Barzal, for the most part.  When he was finished, he looked almost surprised that she was still there waiting for him.

“They’re going on in ten.  Where should we be?” he asked.

“I’m just gonna lead you down quickly, but I’m watching with Brendan,” she informed him as they began to walk down the corridor together.

“Aw, come on.  You can’t keep me company?” he asked.

“There’s no way I’d be caught dead on a camera beside Auston Matthews, thank you very much,” she joked, but at the same time, was totally serious.  If even one hair on her head was caught on camera, she was sure Auston’s fangirls would know her name, address, social security number, and blood type within the hour.  “Let alone at the All-Star Game.  And let alone with you looking like that.”

“Like what?!” he wailed.  

“Oh, come on Auston.  You look like you were a cast off of Anchorman and you know it.”

“I’m fashionable.”

“If you say so,” she rolled her eyes.  

“I thought those types of comments were only meant for Willy, anyway.”

“They’re meant for any of you when you look like this,” she covered herself, giving him a full up-down, causing him to laugh and shake his head.  

They walked past the Western Conference locker room, bustling with all the players and the media walking in and out of it.  Auston stopped again to say hi to some guys that he could see – Tyler Seguin and Connor McDavid – before Aberdeen watched another player making his way towards them.

“This your girl, Matthews?” Matthew Tkachuck asked, a devilish smile on his face.

Aberdeen crinkled her brows.  Gross.  “Ew Matty,” she watched Auston as he made a face.  “This is Shanahan’s executive assistant.”

“Oh!” Matthew’s face and demeanour completely changed as he took off his glove to shake her hand politely.  “I’m Matthew Tkachuk from the Calgary Flames.  It’s nice to meet you.”

Aberdeen laughed at how these boys could switch from being rats one second to upstanding gentlemen the next.  “Nice to meet you, Matthew.  How do you know Auston?”

“U.S National Development Program,” Auston answered for him.  “We were on a World Junior team together.”

“Yeah, not to mention I was on a line with Mitchy in London,” Matthew added, referring to his junior career with the London Knights of the OHL.  “It’s like I’m practically on the Leafs,” he smiled.

“You wish,” Auston scowled.  

“You’ll be on the bench watching, yeah?” Matthew directed his question towards Auston.  Auston confirmed he would be.  Matthew’s attention went back to Aberdeen.  He gave her a very visible up-down before biting his bottom lip.  “How about you?  You gonna be on the bench with Auston?”

“I’ll be sitting with my boss, but thanks for thinking about me,” she smiled over-politely.  She heard Matthew chuckle but he still didn’t take his eyes off her.  “We should go, Auston.  I don’t want Gary Bettman angry at me for keeping the star of Toronto backstage for too long.”

Matthew said his goodbyes.  Aberdeen and Auston continued walking down and around the corridors until they came to the entrance to the ice.  Some of the arena workers, recognizing Auston, began showing him the way.  “Now stay here and be good,” she said.

Auston smiled mischievously before winking and walking away from her.  “Only for you, Aberdeen.”

“And tell Matthew Tkachuk if he even thinks of me, I’ll kick him in the balls.”

“Will do, baby.”

***

She saw the number pop up on her phone and the request for a FaceTime call.  She hesitated at first, not knowing if she should accept.  Sure, she was alone in her hotel room, it was late at night, and she was sure everybody had gone to bed, especially Brendan and Kyle.  Nobody would be knocking on her door.  Nobody would be calling her asking her to get a suitcase ready so they could take a private jet to Phoenix to fire a head coach.  And even though her first thought was that this had to be some sort of practical joke, she quickly reconsidered.  The last time this was requested it was in the back of a cab and an automatic no.

Not for anything, but less than 24 hours ago he was in her.

So she accepted.  

William’s face popped up on the screen.  He was clearly already in his pajamas, his hair tied back with an elastic atop his head.  Aberdeen remembered that Toronto was an hour ahead, so it was even later for him.  “Hello minskatt,” he smiled.

She’d just showered, and her hair was in a towel.  She tugged it off so she didn’t look too ridiculous.  “Hey Willy.”

“How are you, minskatt?” he asked sweetly, biting his bottom lip slightly as he watched her hair fall out of the towel.  “How was today?  Long day?”

She nodded her head.  “Long but good.  I met a lot of the other GMs.  Well, most of them just sort of nodded their head at me after having conversations with Brendan and Kyle before moving on.  It’s like they don’t know how to speak to women.”

“They probably don’t,” he quipped.  “Did Auston behave?”

She smiled.  “Yes, Auston behaved.”

“So I don’t need to kick his ass?”

Aberdeen giggled.  “No.  You’d never, anyway.  He’s one of your best friends.”

“I’d still kick his ass if he gave you a hard time.”

She continued to smile.  “How was your day?  What did you do?”

“Miss you all day,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  She did that a lot today between him and Auston.  “What did you really do?”

He shrugged.  “Went to the gym.  Talked with my brother.  Just the usual boring stuff.  Nothing as exciting as what you did.”

“Nothing I did was too exciting,” she admitted.  She hated to admit it, but it was true.  “I don’t mean to be rude when I say that.  It’s just – I could have networked, I really could, I mean I know how to work a room, but these guys just weren’t having it.  Well, everyone besides Julien BriseBois from Tampa.  He was super nice.”

“It’s okay, minskatt.  I’m sure tomorrow will be better,” he said encouragingly.  “There’s a luncheon, right?”

She nodded her head, a bit surprised that he remembered her schedule.  She hoped that would run smoother than what had happened today at the welcome reception.  But now, at this moment, with Willy on FaceTime and two more days until she got to see him in Nashville, she didn’t want to talk about work.  She’d only left him this morning and she was already missing him.  “Hey Willy?”

“Hmm?”

“I…I’ve never really asked, but why do you always call me that?  Minskatt?” she asked.

“Because that’s what you are,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

She knew that it meant ‘my treasure’.  She remembered that quite vividly.  “Yeah, but like…why my treasure?  Why not just darling or honey or whatever?”

“Do you want me to call you those?” he asked worriedly.

“No!  Not at all.  I…I like minskatt.  I love it, actually,” she admitted for the first time out loud.  After months of blushing about it and hearing him say it in her dreams, she was finally able to admit it.  “I just don’t know why you’d choose that over the hundreds of other things.”

William shrugged his shoulders again.  “I just heard it a lot growing up from my grandparents.  My grandpa would call my grandma that all the time.  When I was really small, I thought it was her actual name.  And I just…I don’t know.  I think it’s the nicest thing.  Because you’re my treasure.  That what you are to me, always.  From the moment I met you.  You’re my treasure.”

Aberdeen smiled sheepishly.  God, he was so…good.  So pure.  So characteristically William that she honestly didn’t have another word for it.  “For what it’s worth, you’re my treasure too, Willy.”

***

January 25th, 2020

Aberdeen decided to get breakfast on her own, without waiting for Brendan to call.  She’d fallen asleep talking to William last night – they both had, gag – but she still felt pretty energized and ready for the day.  She threw her hair in a bun, knowing it would be easier to style when she got back from breakfast for the luncheon, and put on a simple pair of yoga tights and a University of Toronto hoodie.  

She figured that most of the guys were either still asleep or would have ordered room service, and she was pleased to see that the dining room for the continental breakfast was basically two-thirds empty.  She grabbed a plate and loaded it with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and hashbrowns.  She then poured herself some coffee and orange juice and settled into a table, taking out her phone so she could browse the news or read an article while she ate.  

She was in a completely tranquil state of mind until she heard a voice from behind her.  “Hey!”

It startled her.  She turned around to see Mitch standing behind her, holding a plate stacked with food.  “What are you doing up so early?”

“Same thing as you – eating!” he smiled.  He looked behind him.  “Hey guys!  Aberdeen’s here!”

She leaned back to look past him and saw Fred’s giant body towering over the egg buffet and Auston looking like he literally just rolled out of bed pouring some cereal into a bowl.  Fred smiled and Auston waved.  She looked back at Mitch.  “You’re all up?”

“You seem shocked,” he said as she settled into the seat across from her.

“I’m not shocked about you, because you’re just an excitable puppy,” she said.  “I’m more surprised about Auston.  Does he usually get up this early?”

“You’d be surprised,” Mitch shrugged.  “When we’re on the hockey grind, early wake up calls are just a part of life.”

Fred and Auston came to the table eventually, with Fred sitting beside Aberdeen and Auston beside Mitch.  They spoke casually – about the events of last night and the upcoming day ahead of them, what they would do with their day off tomorrow before having the fly to Nashville on Monday to meet the rest of the team.  Auston suggested that they all go to the big arch.  Mitch wanted to have lunch at a smokehouse.  Fred wanted would arrange the Ubers.  

They looked at Aberdeen.  It was a while before she noticed.  “What?” she asked with a mouth full of breakfast sausage.

“What do you want to do Sunday?” Mitch asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

She was confused.  “I’m coming?”

“Obviously,” Auston piped up.

“Why would you think you’re not invited?” Fred asked.  “You’ve been with us for how long now?”

“I just…I don’t know,” she digressed.  “I know I’m, like, part of the team or whatever—”

“So why wouldn’t you come?” Fred followed up.

“I—you guys constantly freak me out, you know that?” she asked.  “Like, I don’t get why a bunch of hot shot hockey players want me to tag along with them on their day off.”

“Why wouldn’t you think that?  Willy likes you tagging along everywhere,” Auston said.

Aberdeen suddenly stiffened at Auston’s words, thrown around so casually, but they were so charged for her.  “So does Jason,” Mitch added quickly.  “And Brendan, even.  I mean, Brendan wouldn’t have invited you here if he didn’t trust you with us, or you with us, you know?  I mean, the All-Star Game is Peter’s thing.”

She’d heard that once or twice before.  “It’s just it’s still new to me, that’s all,” she said, trying to remain calm.  “I don’t want to intrude on your private time.  I’m already around you guys practically all the time as it is.  I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Not sure that’s possible,” Mitch said.  “You’re always welcome with us.  We love you, Aberdeen.”

***

When Aberdeen went back up to her room after breakfast, she took a long look at herself in the mirror.  Long.  She knew she was loved by many people: by her parents, her grandparents, her siblings, by Kasha, by friends like Masani and Tom and Margot.  By Brendan, at least in his own way.  By William.  She was loved by William.  

Could she add the Toronto Maple Leafs to that list?

***

February 5th, 2020

New York City in the beginning of February was much different than, say, New York City in the summer, even New York City at Christmas.  With nothing to really look forward to – no holiday or event, no long stretch of time where the city swelled with tourists and it felt so alive – New York City was just…well, New York City.  Big.  Imposing.  Busy.  

Brendan had lived here for a few years, both as a player and an NHL executive, and he’d gone out for an extended lunch with a friend, so Aberdeen had nothing better to do than to walk down to Magnolia bakery and grab a half dozen cupcakes to eat and then bring home to share with Kasha – two red velvet with cream cheese icing, one confetti, one lemon, one coconut, and one truffle.  It was her way of saying thanks, because Kasha had been picking up donuts from Bloomers or Glory Hole at least once a month since they moved in together.  The perks of flying on a chartered flight was that she knew the cupcakes would be safe all the way back to Toronto.  

When she got back to the arena, she made sure the box of cupcakes was placed in the box where she’d be with Brendan and Kyle that night, knowing that nobody would touch it. It was when she exited the press box and began making her way through the corridors between the locker rooms that she saw someone she was not expecting at all: Saylor, Kasperi’s girlfriend.  She looked very glamourous, with her hair and makeup done professionally.  

When she looked up from her phone – which she didn’t do often – and saw Aberdeen, she smiled excitedly.  “Ohmygod, hi Aberdeen!” she greeted her enthusiastically.  

“Hi, Saylor.  You traveled to New York with Kasperi?” she asked, trying to make small talk.

“I actually had a shoot booked, but I scheduled it so I could come to New York the same time as the guys came,” she revealed, clearly proud she was able to get the gig.  “You know, because I model.”

Aberdeen resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  Saylor reminded her every time they spoke about her modelling.  Well, Instagram modelling.  Aberdeen didn’t think she’d ever walked a runway or appeared in an editorial.  It was mostly just the aforementioned Instagram modelling with a YouTube channel where brands would send her clothes or “collab” with her for exposure.  “Yeah, I remember Saylor.  Sounds fun.”

“It is!” she smiled excitedly.  “I’ve been super lucky so far.  But I mean hey, with a bit of makeup and good angles, lots of girls could be models.”

“I’m sure,” Aberdeen giggled.  “Wouldn’t be me though.  Not with these bushy Persian brows,” she joked, knowing full well thick brows were very in right now and that a lot of girls got them dyed or microbladed to look like hers.

“Persian?” Saylor was confused.

“Yeah.  My dad’s Persian.”

“Ohmigosh, I knew you were mixed with something!  Your nose totally gives it away.”

Aberdeen froze, though a strained smile was on her face.  She knew she had a Greek nose, that it was pretty big with a prominent bridge, not elegant at all like Siena’s, but she didn’t think it was that big of a deal.  She didn’t know what Saylor was trying to say or imply, but she tried to play along anyway.  “I thought it’d be my hair.”

“Well, that too.”

Aberdeen nodded her head.  Before she could say anything else, Saylor’s phone began ringing.  “It’s my agency,” she said as she looked down at her phone.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya.”

Aberdeen watched as Saylor left, her hips swaying back and forth in her skin tight Levis.  She brought her hand up to her face, feeling the bridge of her nose before patting down her hair.  She sighed.  At least Saylor didn’t see the Magnolia cupcake box – she probably would have made a comment about that, too.

Aberdeen thought back to New Year’s Eve, when Morgan and John sat at her table and told her the story about Bee; about how she’d gotten messages from fans making fun of her weight and looks and how they’d called her the team cum bucket.  Aberdeen shivered.  She didn’t understand how people could have such vitriol in their heart for another person they hadn’t even met.  And having it be directed towards Bee McTavish of all people.  Those were targeted attacks, mostly because they were jealous of who Bee was dating (as they should, because Morgan was a great guy).  But Aberdeen wondered if Bee ever got those types of comments from people she knew – other wives or girlfriends who maybe couldn’t hold their tongue or thought that looks were the be all, end all of someone’s worth.  

Aberdeen knew better than to think that way.  She knew it was all bullshit.  How you presented yourself to the world was one thing – with your clothes, your hair, your makeup – and it was somewhat an extension of you, but it wasn’t who you were as a person.  Like, Aberdeen always liked to look fashionable and presentable at work, because she knew she was in a highly professional environment and on any given day she’d shake hands and speak with a billionaire, but her clothes didn’t define her.  Her personality defined her.  Her work ethic defined her.  Her respect for her job, her bosses, and her colleagues defined her.  Her ambitions defined her more than her clothes ever would, than her clothes ever could.  She knew Saylor didn’t mean any harm, that it probably wasn’t said maliciously at all, that it was only said because she didn’t know any better and nobody in her privileged life had called her out on her language that bordered on offensive.  Aberdeen wasn’t going to hold it against her unless it kept happening and it did get offensive.  

But she highly doubted that.  

***

The Leafs lost to the New York Rangers 5-3.

William had knocked on her room door.

She let him in.  

He kissed her the second the door closed and she felt overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips on hers, like she always did, really.  They hadn’t been able to connect in Nashville or Dallas after the All-Star Game because her room was right beside Brendan’s, so they had to wait until the night they got back to Toronto.  The Leafs weren’t doing particularly well lately, but nobody would be able to tell by the way William was acting.  He brushed off the losses fairly easily, not liking to dwell on them too much.  

“You okay after tonight?” she asked.

“It’s fine, minskatt,” he said as he kissed the tip of her nose.  “Better now.”

She smiled slightly.  She highly doubted that she made the situation better, but she’d take it.  “Come to the washroom with me.  I have to wash my face.”

“That’s sexy.”

She smacked his arm.  He just gripped onto her hips tighter.  “I can ask you to leave.”

“You’d have to make me at this point, and I’m a strong boy,” he raised his eyebrows.  

She scoffed, dragging him into the washroom with her as she took off her makeup and cleansed her face.  William leaned his body against the wall behind her, so she was able to see him and look at him through the mirror.  He was so patient, and literally just watched her as she went about her nightly routine.  He didn’t say a peep, didn’t complain, didn’t rush her.  He just watched her with a look in his eye that told her, fascinatingly, that he was enjoying just watching her, like he was captivated by her simplest movements.  

She pat her face dry, looking at him through the mirror.  “Can I ask you something?” she asked.  It was so quiet she could practically hear the electric current going through the lightbulb.  

“Of course, minskatt.”

She was hesitant, mostly because she didn’t really know if William knew anything about it, but also because she should probably be asking Morgan.  She set the towel down on the counter.  “Do you know what happened with Bee last year?”

William didn’t look too bothered by the question.  “You mean when her mom passed away?” he asked.

“No,” she shook her head.  “The…the other thing.”

“Oh, that,” William nodded his head.  “Yeah, I know what happened.”

“Morgan said it was someone who knew Kasperi’s ex.”

“It was.  Her name was Cassie.  Kasperi’s ex, I mean,” he clarified as he stepped closer towards her.  “The girl who actually approached Bee in the restaurant was named Danielle.”

“Had you ever met them before?” she asked.

“Cassie, of course.  Danielle, no,” he said.  “Why?”

“Does Kasperi exclusively date models?”

“Basically,” he giggled slightly.  “Why, minskatt?”

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head.  “I just—I saw Saylor earlier tonight, and she mentioned how she was in New York City for a photoshoot with a brand or something.”

“She’s one of those Instagram models,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and nestling his head into the crook of her neck.  He placed light kisses on her skin that made her feel temporarily drunk.  “You should be a model,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Aberdeen replied sarcastically, though the feeling of his lips still on her skin made her brain mush.  

“Oh come on.  You’d be a great model.  My model,” he continued with his compliments and with his kissing.

“Not with this nose,” Aberdeen quipped.  “At least that’s what Saylor said.”

William stopped his movements.  It was quiet again.  She continued to watch him through the mirror as he looked at her, speechless.  It shouldn’t have come out like that.  She didn’t plan for it to come out like that.  But like most things to do with William, nothing ever went according to plan.  Ignoring him certainly didn’t go to plan – look where they were with that.  “Excuse me?” he asked, finally.  “What did she say to you?”

“It’s honestly not even a big deal,” Aberdeen said, trying to sound as confident as possible.  “She found out I was half-Persian and was like ‘Oh your nose totally gives it away’,” she mimicked Saylor’s voice.  “Then when I mentioned as a joke that I thought it would have been my hair that gave it away, she was like, ‘That too’, like it was so obvious.”

William looked angry – a confused angry, like he couldn’t believe something like that was said to her by someone so close to one of his best friends, but at the same time, could totally see it being said by her in particular.  Nobody else had commented on it when they found out – at least nobody on the team had – but of course Saylor did.  “Minskatt—”

“Please don’t make this a big deal,” she interrupted him, seeing the look in his eyes.  “It’s not the first time someone has said something like that to me and it’s definitely not going to be the last.”

If she didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, he wouldn’t.  That didn’t mean that he wasn’t still angry about it, though.  And it didn’t mean he’d look at Saylor differently now for what she said.  “But minskatt…you know I think you’re beautiful, right?” he asked softly.  

Aberdeen nodded her head.  “I do,” she said confidently.  “I know you do.  But, like – and no offence – but I think I’m beautiful.  And – again, no offence – that’s more important than you thinking it.  I have enough confidence in my appearance to not let it affect me.  That’s why it doesn’t matter what she said.”

William smiled at her.  Proudly.  “No offence taken,” he said, biting his lip.  “That’s all that matters.  Still makes me want to talk to her though.”

Aberdeen whipped around so she could face him.  “Don’t you dare,” she warned.

William’s smile turned from prideful to facetious.  “Gotcha.”

Aberdeen scrunched her face at him, but he didn’t care.  He dipped down and kissed her again, refusing to stop even as he picked her up in his arms and placed her on the vanity.  He stood in between her thighs as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, not wanting to ever stop.  “You know I think you’re pretty great, right?” he mumbled against her lips.

Aberdeen stopped, their faces only inches apart as she stared at him, smiling slightly.  She brought her hand up and let her thumb caress his bottom lip, the slightest bit swollen from all their kissing.  His eyes were so, so blue as she looked into them.  Sometimes she didn’t think he was real.  “I think you’re pretty great, too.”

[trashcankitty12]

Stella Headcanons:

You know her. You love her. 

She’s bubbly, she’s fun. (And she’s pretty funny.)

She’s Princess Stella Sol of Solaria. 

(These headcanons are all in relation to my ‘main verse’, which is the New Company of Light/Balance Verse. And it can also translate into my Left verse.)

Under the cut because it’s long.

About Stella:

-Her fear of heights comes from a major fall she took as a child off of her grandfather’s pet dragon. (He was teaching her how to ride and… She wasn’t holding onto it well enough and down she went.)

-Stella is fluent in nearly 56 of the Magical Dimensions languages. (She was to stick to the languages spoken by the realms who interacted most with Solaria.)

-After meeting Bloom and spending a little time on Earth, Stella is also trying to learn a few of the Earth’s languages. (She’s mastered English and Spanish, but she’s still working on French and Russian.)

-She loves sweets. (And food in general. But considering she’s Solarian, that’s to be expected. They tend to eat more than most people in the Magical Dimension.)

-Stella may or may not glow in the dark. (It’s something she can control and she has to be focused to do it. She inherited that gift from her mother.)

-Stella’s mother was religious and has a close relationship to the Moons, while her father, despite being so close in relationship to the Suns of Solaria, isn’t religious. Stella personally has mixed feelings on religion. She likes the idea of spirituality and having a higher power to rely on, but organized religion makes her heart hurt. (They tend to talk down about those who don’t follow a ‘certain’ way of life, which to Stella isn’t a cool thing to do, unless, of course, the other people are actually hurting someone else.)

-She was almost a big sister. Her mother had been pregnant when she was seven. (They don’t ever talk about it. And, as an adult, Stella can see where this was a turning point for her parents and their relationship. Her mother just wasn’t quite the same after losing Diana.)

-Stella is a dog person and was so happy when she finally got a puppy for her birthday one year. (The dog was her best friend and her main confidant.) Unfortunately, Stella’s dog only made it to four years old. (It had an illness that not even magic could fix.)

-Stella hasn’t been able to stomach the thought of another dog since. (However, Brandon may or may not offer for them to get a dog later on. You know, as their “first child”.)

-Stella can spot patterns without trying. It’s so ingrained in her after being around fashion, and the practical applications of pattern spotting have made her life so much easier.

-Here’s the thing about Stella… She’s somewhat dyslexic. Words and reading do not come easily to her. On the flip side, Stella can give one hellova speech. Her charisma and charm make her a natural at hyping up a crowd.

-Stella had a fairy godmother until she was 13. An elderly woman named Glinda. Glinda helped Stella with her shyness and in her first fashion attempts. And Glinda was the one who helped Stella gain her magic winx the first time with encouragement and confidence. (After all, how else should a future queen bring out her power?)

-After gaining her wings, her father gifted her the Ring of Solaria. It was done in a ceremony to the Suns and Moons of Solaria and the Ring had to choose Stella just as it had Radius and their family before them. Once Stella and the Ring bonded, she shifted for the first time in public to show off her wings and magic. Her parents couldn’t have been prouder.

-She went to a private school on Solaria for her elementary and middle school education years, but she was somewhat isolated due to being the Princess of Solaria (making the other kids judge her ahead of time as some sort of prim and proper prep they didn’t want around) and due to some of her ‘uncool’ hobbies.

-(Those uncool hobbies? Stella is actually into comics and superheroes, but until meeting the rest of the Winx, she wasn’t interested in sharing that side of herself. Solarian Comics actually helped Stella with reading because of their writing structure. Stella is also a fan of learning cultures and wanting to see what benefits other places and if it could be replicated to help Solaria. And Stella was kind of a… Horse girl. She spent many, many, many summers and school holidays at her maternal uncle’s horse ranch in the Western Spaces of Solaria.)

-Stella tends to use her solar powers more than her lunar ones. It’s not because she doesn’t feel close to her mother or to her mother’s family, it’s just a little more difficult for her tap into that part of her magic. (Solar magic is easy and tapped into by thinking of warm and splendid times. Lunar magic requires a bit more… Reflection. And Stella doesn’t like having to think too long about things. Not because she can’t, but because if she starts to really think about things, she tends to overthink them which leads her down a dark rabbit hole.)

-Stella’s best friend growing up was Nova Rinae, despite being two years older than the other girl. Nova’s mother is the head of Luna’s guard, and Nova was often in the palace. (Making her one of the few children always around. And because she shared several of Stella’s interests, they clicked rather quickly.)

-(Her parents also encourage this friendship as it’s important to them for Stella to be close to those who may serve alongside her when its time for her to become queen. Friendships can be turned into unwavering loyalty, and that can mean life or death in certain situations.)

-Before she ever got her magic, Stella’s parents thought she may end up being the ‘New Host’ for the Light Dragon. (Bloom was never found, which meant no one could say for certain what happened to the Light Dragon, other than it had to be alive still. Otherwise the Balance would have been off.)

-Because of their thoughts on her having the Light Dragon, Stella was taught basic hand-to-hand skills as a child and was instructed to be wary of “golden eyes” in the shadows. She was also to learn Solaria’s history as well as Domino’s. (Though Stella mostly paid attention to how the two worlds overlapped instead of their separate histories.)

-Stella actually knew Layla, Sky, and Diaspro as children. But because so much can change from being five years old to being 15/16, she didn't recognize them when they met again. (They had all been at a major conference for the realms and while their parents ‘talked shop’, they went to play. It was their first and last time together like that until years later.)

-Despite being a princess, Stella tends to be a bit messy. At least, as far as her room itself. Her workspaces (wardrobe and vanity and tailoring areas) are the most well-kept areas in her care. (She likes to work in clean spaces… But in her room, the space where she lives, she likes it to look lived in.)

-Stella originally got into fashion at about 10 years old in an attempt to get closer to her mother. Her mother always had work to do as a queen, and for her off-time, she went to fashion shows (which in a way, were also work, because as a queen she’s expected to be aware of trends and present herself in a certain way). So to spend more time with her mother, Stella started having an interest in fashion. (Which quickly became a hobby she loved when she found the different ways she could express herself with fashion.)

-In a bid to get closer to her father, Stella took a major interest in cooking. (Her father can bake. He’s messy at it, but by the Dragons do his pastries and cookies taste of heaven.) Granted, Stella didn’t inherit the baking skill, but she can recite recipes and judge pastries and baked goods like its her job. (And for some of Solaria’s festivals, it is.)

-Have I mentioned she’s an expert equestrian in the Solarian Rodeo? Her go-to is barrel racing and square-dancing competitions, and she’s even dipped her toes into riding the bronco and in cattle roping.

-Stella has far-sightedness. She can see things far away, but things up close are blurred. She used to wear glasses, but after elementary school, she swapped to contacts. (However she does still wear glasses and keeps them close by just in case. They’re a stylish silver-blue and not quite thick-framed.)

-Stella has formal training in ballroom dancing. (Her favorite is the Eraklyon Tango. Or at least, it has been for the past few years. Wonder why…?)

-Stella also has a minor fear of spiders. (It’s not really a fear either… More like a squick. She doesn’t like them, but she doesn’t mind them being around if she doesn’t have to see them. It’s because one of her school teachers thought a great Life Lesson would be for the class to witness his pet tarantula eat a live meal. Not fun for little Stella.)

(Not fun for him either, once the parents got a hold of him…)

-Stella lied about what happened during her ‘real’ first year at Alfea. She honestly did blow up the Potion’s Lab… But it wasn’t because she was researching color theories…

-Just before Stella was meant to leave for Alfea, like a week or two before, she found out from Nova, NOVA, that her parents were getting a divorce. Luna and Radius never told her. Her friend told her.

-Stella didn’t want to leave after that, afraid that if she was gone, she couldn’t help them patch things up. (She truly believed they could work this out. She just needed to be there. She needed them to see her and remember why they fell in love.)

-They dropped Stella off, but still didn’t discuss or leave room to discuss the divorce. (Stella didn’t want to let them know she knew because she didn’t want Nova in trouble for listening in on their mothers’ conversations.)

-Which led to a panicked Stella trying desperately to pretend to be okay while in the presence of the others. (She’s a princess, she can’t show despair. Especially without reason.)

-Stella was angry that her parents still hadn’t talked to her and that they had sent her away. She was feeling left out and scared and confused. They were in love. Right?!

-So she started doing small things around Alfea to try and get her suspended. Not expelled, just suspended. (She needed time at home, before the holidays.)

-She verbally attacked other Alfea students, playing up the pompous princess act. No luck. She mocked Palladium. No luck. She even cut classes. No luck. So as a last resort, without having to go to Cloud Tower and stir trouble up there, was to mess around in the potion’s lab. It worked… Too well.

-She was expelled and sent back to Solaria. Her parents were upset with her, and disappointed (which was the worst ever for Stella who really wanted their approval in everything). Stella broke down and finally told them that she knew and that she didn’t want her family to break apart. That she was scared and shaken and angry. Angry that they could pretend so well that everything was fine when it obviously wasn’t.

-Luna and Radius decided to try a form of family counseling to try and help Stella. (They hated seeing their daughter so upset, but they knew in the long run that staying together would have damaged her further. She didn’t need to grow up with constant arguing and avoiding each other, that wasn’t a love story they wanted her to follow.)

-(They also explained the situation to Faragonda and promised to pay for the damages. Faragonda allowed Stella to return within the next school year if her progress with the counselor went well.)

-Stella, even though still upset with her parents’ divorce, was a bit more accepting of it after taking the school year to focus on them as a family. (Even one that was split.)

-Stella does have hope they’ll reunite, but she understands a bit more now why they split up. (And even though they are in separate palaces, Luna taking residence in the Lunar Sections now, she knows they love her very much.)

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 5: What the Heart Wants

I was going to try to follow my scene-by-scene format for the entire season, but I’ve been getting a lot of migraines recently, presumably from staring at the computer too long, so I don’t want to spend all morning working on typing up the play-by-play for this episode.

Also, for what it’s worth I think this episode lends itself to plot discussion better than some of the previous episodes...at least in some sense.

And as another head’s up, it’s back to being critical for me. ;P

Storylines:

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

The Dress Shop/Rachel

Postal Service, Ned

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Carson and Faith

Henry

Elizabeth and Lucas

Clara’s Dilemma

--

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

This plot felt a little scattered, but for once it wasn’t the kind of storyline they foisted too much drama upon. After years of every single function possible being besieged by bullshittery, it’s a relief to see one go off without a real hitch.

The beginning scene with Robert hugging Elizabeth was sweet. I enjoyed the Canfields immensely and am intrigued by Angela’s role in the story long-term (PLEASE let her befriend Allie!). Nathan...eh, I have thoughts—but I’ll talk about that a bit soon. The actual ceremony was cute and kind of fun with the kids singing. 

Neat Thing I Noticed:

Continuity? Cat Montgomery is still listed as Emily’s mother. ♥♥♥ I don’t know why but this made me really happy???

-

Complaint Corner:

Parent-teacher conferences should have been in this show from a much earlier point, and so should graduation have been. If there was a point to this celebration (the first year in a while anyone was old enough to graduate) that would have been a nice touch, too. It just managed to feel sliiiightly out of place.

I’ll forgive the “everyone in town goes to the graduation” thing because this is 1918...something like this would be a whole-town affair IMO. Invite everyone and have a nice get-together/party, probably on a Sunday afternoon after church but Hope Valley does whatever it wants, so...eh.

The threat of merging Hope Valley with other schools doesn’t fit in this scenario and it feels like they ripped it directly out of Tales from Avonlea which was almost rage-inducing to me.

Look, school mergers happened a lot in the early 1900s, especially around the WWI mark, but it wouldn’t be hitting a rural western town just yet. They don’t have any way of getting these kids to other towns for schooling. Where would the next closest school be? It would have to be pretty large and modern to merge multiple schools together.

*Adjusts nerd glasses* This felt forced and completely unnecessary. If anything this guy could be telling Elizabeth that they’re working on building a modern school somewhat close by, and could even have her involved in some decision-making regarding layout. Then they could bring in a “merger” storyline next season without it feeling out of place.

It mostly just felt dramatic for the hell of it, and it was boring, as was this man’s threat that Elizabeth had no right to teach a blind student. As if they’d accept Angela at a better school? As if her parents could afford top tier education for her? PLEASE.

Now it’s time for Nathan. The man chose to go fishing instead of to the parent-teacher conference? It makes him look like a tool. This isn’t about him or about Elizabeth; it’s about Allie. I understand why he didn’t want to go, but he should have done it anyway. It would have taken five minutes of his time. 

His flippant attitude annoyed me because it went completely against his character as we know it, but Elizabeth’s lecturing was irritating, too. For a moment I thought we had Lorigail back on the show...

I think Elizabeth was well within her rights to warn Nathan about the effect his work has on his ward, but that inquiry took like a week AT MOST. Heck, let’s be generous and say TWO WEEKS. Allie’s concentration suffered for two weeks. There was no need to say more than, “Hey she worries about you and her work suffered for a bit during that time frame, just so you’re aware.” 

I think what annoyed me about the math program thing is that...Elizabeth being a teacher would probably be VERY WELL AWARE that MOST of the parents to her students aren’t good enough at schooling to assist their kids with their homework. I dunno, it just feels out of place for her to tell Nathan that she wants to put Allie in an accelerated “program” and that Allie might need his help with her homework. It’s even more out of place when he admits he used to bribe his sister to do his work for him. Like. It’s very possible he’s not that good at math and isn’t capable of helping. (But maybe that will be a plot down the road...?)

“Or a tutor...” BITCH WHERE IS HE GONNA FIND A TUTOR IN THIS TOWN?! It’s super annoying to see dialogue like this that feels completely out of touch with the reality these people would be living in...lol. But also if she needs a tutor to stay caught up in an advanced program, she probably...shouldn’t be in the advanced program.

I don’t know how to feel about this whole thing here: “Nathan, you are Allie’s world. You’re the only father she’s ever known, and as she grows up you will always be the measure of the quality she’ll look for in a man as she chooses who to marry.” 

On one hand, it does fit the situation (he seems to think everything is behind him but Elizabeth’s words are kind of a caution that 1) his actions still have an effect on Allie, and 2) every day he’s teaching her by example). On the other hand, it seems almost wildly inappropriate to bring up? At the same time, it’s probably not wrong that Allie will measure other men (friends, acquaintances, potential future romantic interests) against Nathan’s example.

I dunno. The conversation felt disjointed. 

I think what they were going for was Nathan just feeling too awkward and weird about being with Elizabeth to want to be there for the conference, but...he interacted with her quite normally after the inquiry and stuff (even after she’d broken things off with him), so...it feels out of place. Like maybe this should have taken place right after the breakup and not weeks later?

Anyone else have thoughts on this and why it doesn’t feel quite right?

--

The Dress Shop/Rachel

This plot wasn’t what I would call a waste of time (rather, it’s worth having it mentioned now), but part of it was completely pointless and stupid. The whole Rachel getting lost thing was tacked into the promos to stir up drama, but nothing happened and there was nothing worrisome even going on. YAWN.

Rosemary’s desire to do something meaningful and different with her life is super interesting. I’m very curious to see what they decide to do with her if Dottie does sell the dress shop.

Also, Rosemary finding the book under Rachel’s bed was pretty funny.

But yeah, I didn’t really find much in this plotline to care deeply about. I guess I am pretty interested in knowing who might be purchasing the dress shop and/or if this decision is to bring someone else onto the show (a female love interest for the man who doesn’t win Elizabeth’s heart in the end, or even to bring back an old character*) or to take the dress shop out of the equation entirely... It’s also just as possible that Rosemary/Lee or Clara/Jesse end up buying it themselves down the line... Thoughts?

*I can’t begin to imagine who would be the best fit for this in this case, though. Who would have the money to buy her out?

--

Postal Service, Ned

Ned is just honestly so cute and fun. I love him. He’s really been doing well this season and seeing him wander around town delivering mail door to door was kind of nice.

Also, he’s one SMOOTH operator! Look at him, talking about putting a bell on the door so that he and Florence won’t be caught off-guard if they’re in the middle of...something. 

Oh my, Ned. What might customers be...interrupting? :3

Continuity? Not only was the ulcer from last season brought up, but the horrid cabbage juice was, too. :’) It was a nice touch. And these two had just enough screentime to be kind of fun/interesting without also taking up too much time.

--

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Nathan got his vacation and Bill is in charge...again. This happens an awful lot. I wonder if it’ll actually impact the next few episodes or if it’s just here for the hell of it.

I love Bill a lot and I want to brag up his character in this episode a bit. I’ve complained many times in the past about him being written like a Grumpy Old Man Yelling at Clouds but this episode was super respectful. He got his scene with his uniform. Nobody interrupted it. There weren’t even any words. I quite liked it.

But it also felt kind of...pointless? I don’t want to judge it too harshly yet. Like the dress shop plotline, this could actually be going somewhere in the next couple of episodes. 

Plus, unrelated to the uniform, it was nice to see Bill acting fatherly toward Clara. While it sort of came out of nowhere for the wedding, I appreciate the attempt at continuity there. Plus, so far this season, I’ve felt like Bill’s almost been a father-figure to Clara, Fiona, and even Nathan, so I’m enjoying that a lot.

--

Carson and Faith

CONTINUITY? The show finally remembered that not only is Carson actually a surgeon, but that was his original passion. It’s not that they completely forgot (S5 had him performing surgery on his sister-in-law, after all), but giving Carson a PASSION makes him a way more interesting character to me. 

And also, finally, this feels like a REAL high-stakes plotline for him and for Faith.

I really liked Faith’s take on things. I know, I know, I’ve been rooting at them to break up, but the reason is mostly because they’re just so BORING together. I’d rather watch Henry twirl around in a chair for an hour than suffer through date scenes with these two.

It’s not that I’m against a doctor wife/husband team. I’m not. I just think Faith was a much more interesting and cool character on the show before Carson showed up and usurped her place (and completely overshadowed her for literal seasons). This plotline for Carson might actually be interesting. Like, a fellowship? For modern surgery? IN BALTIMORE?!

I hope this is Faith’s way of saying she wants a break and/or a break would be good for them. I can’t picture her leaving Hope Valley without any trained medical staff, let alone long enough for a fellowship... 

But if this goes through, what will they do with it? Would they really write Carson off the show? To be perfectly honest with y’all, I’d be fine with that. At least it’s the type of write-off that makes a lot of good sense (unlike some of the other ones we got). I guess this is just another “wait and see” plotline which is uhh...the theme of this episode, huh? Anyone have thoughts on this?

--

Henry

Henry barely had any screentime, but I do want to say he is #relateable. The man is back at work for ten seconds and already exhausted. SAME.

Also, I appreciate that he’s ready to be back in the oil business. At what cost? I know people were worried they were gonna kill him off, and I really doubted it, but now I’m starting to wonder where they’re going with this exactly. Yet another wait and see moment LOL!

--

Elizabeth and Lucas

Some damn fine scenes for Lucas and Elizabeth in this episode. Mostly the scenic ones. :P

I enjoyed the agreement to a date. The horseback riding stuff was pretty cute. 

Complaint corner? I don’t know. I have petty complaints. Even though the celebration for the kids was a town-wide event, and therefore Lucas was invited, it still felt out of place to see it brought up. Maybe it should have been mentioned as a town celebration from the start?

Then Lucas’s comment about not wanting to make things awkward for Nathan (who is actually a parent and there) makes a liiiittle more sense. I do think it was good of him to not go, even though he wanted to spend more time with Elizabeth, but it gave off a weird vibe, like, “Look at how good and wholesome Lucas is!” Is that intentional? I’m not...sure...?

For what it’s worth I already felt like Lucas was an honorable person in this regard. He loaned Nathan money, after all. Maybe he should have told Elizabeth he views Nathan as a friend and doesn’t want to hurt his feelings unnecessarily and/or if he was there he’d want to hog her all to himself or something cheesy. Hm.

My other complaints are:

Elizabeth running to the saloon would be WAY faster than all this getting set up at her house...?? Who thought this made sense?

Elizabeth’s dress looked like a nightie she bought at Kohls.

Too many damn candles.

Characters Do What Plot Dictates Even Though Plot Makes No Sense. More at 11:00!!

I have no further comments on the dress. It needed sleeves or something so it looked more like a dress and not like a nightgown/piece of lingerie.

I think the candles might have been on purpose to parallel Jack...but I hated it lol. Fire hazard? HAVEN’T ENOUGH THINGS IN TOWN BURNED DOWN/EXPLODED?!

I didn’t hate the date scene! But I never feel like Elizabeth has any meaningful conversations with Lucas and it’s starting to drive me batty. 

Could we get uhhh something of substance please? It has to be surface-level nonsense on purpose. Right? RIGHT?

(And no, discussing a book for ten seconds on-screen is not “intelligent conversation” okay...?)

It’s really a shame because I’m starting to actually warm up to Lucas a little bit in this season but it feels like the conversations are just...kind of stilted and she’s not really into dating him—just agreeing to it because he’s the only option. 

And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...he deserves better than that. 

Don’t get me wrong, by the way. If it’s part of the story and it’s revealed as such down the road, I’ll be fine with it...but I always worry they’ll just skip important relationship milestones and/or important conversations and expect us all to just accept it.

Kiiiiiind of looking forward to the rainy date scene in the next episode, though. I’m Team Nathan mostly but I’m keeping an open mind and I think I might actually enjoy it. Hopefully they’ll get some good scenes together that don’t feel like this one did.

--

Clara's Dilemma

Clara’s fears about running the salon without Fiona...are legit. LOL.

Also, this little bit was funny (between Mike and Jesse and Bill):

Anyway, if Clara was that worried about it, she should have just...told Fiona no? I hope it comes up down the road. Poor Molly??

I genuinely don’t know how I feel about Clara and Jesse’s involvement in this episode. I guess it was okay. I liked Clara’s scenes with Bill. I thought the idea of Clara and Jesse buying into the cafe was a nice one. Jesse having “invested” their money and lost it all, though... They did a similar plot with other people in what...Season 5 was it? Or was that the start of S6? He didn’t even say what he invested it in? But he admits the money is all gone? 

I think that’s what was missing from that scene. “I invested it in X, hoping to make us more money, but it didn’t work out and we lost everything.”

I’m not going to criticize Jesse’s characterization, only because sometimes character "growth” doesn’t happen for the better of anyone involved. My biggest worry here is that it’ll be solved by the end of next episode....but I hope that’s not it.

Like, I think they did better with Frank and Abigail if we’re going to talk about a man who didn’t know how to live like he was in a committed relationship. It made more sense with Frank, too, being older and single most of his life. His bouts of selfishness felt realistic.

Jesse feels like he’s somehow getting worse and worse as a person as the show goes on. I’m kind of at a point where I hope he and Clara divorce, because he’s so damn selfish it’s embarrassing. He’s off having a beer while his wife works multiple jobs? And then he has the audacity to act like they should save money when he just blew all their savings? 

I’m sure it’ll work out fine but I hope Clara puts herself in charge of the finances at the very least.

As to investing failures, I liked how they did that with Henry and Abigail. That was the kind of tension and worry that felt natural to me—like she trusted him with her money after he’d proven himself untrustworthy ten million times throughout the years, and he failed and had to uhh admit that. 

Jesse straight up betrayed Clara. Which, if it’s dealt with in a satisfying way...I think can be a good plotline. I just worry about it actually being dealt with properly. That’s a huge stumbling block in a relationship. And why is he continually getting worse as a person? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. 

Gasp... it’s almost like it’s just plot because they feel like they have to give someone something every damn episode.

--

Which brings me to THE FINAL

COMPLAINT CORNER (The Big Boy™ Complaints)

The show has really struggled with finding its footing. I wish they’d take notes from better shows with ensemble casts (cough cough Road to Avonlea cough) without also ripping off their storylines (cough school merges cough).

My #1 complaint at this point in Season 8 is the SHEER AMOUNT OF THINGS GOING ON EVERY EPISODE.

I want continuity, so I want to see things happen naturally over a season, but my God do we not need to have mindless pointless crap in the episode. Rachel getting “lost” for ten seconds wasted literal MINUTES of screen time that would have been MUCH better allocated to basically anyone else in this episode.

And I don’t think it would bother me so much if it wasn’t also shoved into the promo like it was supposed to matter. It didn’t matter. Nobody cares. Why was it allowed to stay in the episode alongside stuff like Clara and Bill’s conversation?

Or Lucas and Carson’s?

I think they want to appease all the fans in every episode by giving them scenes of their favorites, but what did Henry sitting in his chair accomplish in this episode? Rachel getting lost? Jack not sleeping well/missing his mom? The school superintendent?

Did Bill trying on his uniform have to be in this episode? Did Jesse and Clara’s problems have to come fully to light right now?

When every episode is formatted like this, with 10 plotlines all interconnected slightly and going on at the same time, I feel like...nobody gets the spotlight they deserve when they deserve it.

I cANNOT believe I’m saying this, but this plotline for Carson, especially if it will end with him leaving the show for a while or permanently should get the focus it deserves. But it won’t if we get tiny snips of it here and there and then BOOM decision made because Reasons.

And again, I know I’ve said before that I want more continuity throughout the season, but... the best way to do that is to tighten up the plots. Have fewer of them per season and give more screentime to the ones you choose to pursue. 

--

Anyway, I’m still enjoying the season, but I hope they keep some of this kind of stuff in mind for next season. They don’t need plotlines for everyone in every episode. They need the plotlines they choose to write to be worth their screentime.

Sorry this was sloppily written and all that. Hopefully it makes sense. Very curious to see y’alls thoughts. Feel free to make your own posts and @ me, or reblog this or comment!

[herenortherenearnorfar]

Final graduation ficlet (which got quite long). A-Qing lives (sort of) and channels ghosts while living out her fashionista dreams. Jiang Cheng is identifiable due to his clothing choices. Light violence and zombies. 

The best thing about living in Koi Tower is the clothing. Silk that runs like water between her hands, brocade heavy with embroidery, jewelry that chimes and sings as she moves. She doesn’t feel heat or cold, can’t sense gentle changes in pressure or even most pain. There’s still enough perception in her fingers to map out the bamboo grove and song birds stitched on her favorite dress and feel the whorls of gold and inset jade on her new bracelet. 

After the first impolite insinuation about their friendship Jin Ling stopped buying her gifts more excessive than those he gave to the rest of his friends. Ouyang Zizhen, who can describe the grandeur of Lanling’s markets so clearly she can see the hawkers and jewel-bright fancies in her mind’s eye, has been thoroughly scolded by his father on her behalf so many times that they’ve regretfully halted their shopping trips. 

Wei Wuxian makes up for it. He doesn’t have money of his own, but his husband is rich and lets him do whatever he wants, and what he wants is to spoil A-Qing whenever he’s in town.

He calls her cousin (biao zhi mei, an affection which makes several martial relationships familial and she thinks retroactively enforces at least two adoptions) and takes her places the boys are too scared to go. Good company though they usually are, they’re rich kids to the core. The streets A-Qing grew up on, back alleys and muddy side streets, are too lowly for little princes. They aren’t like Wei-qianbei, who can banter with street walkers and haggle with counterfeiters. His company is a welcome escape from the pompous brats in Koi Tower. Together with Wen Ning they walk the streets, wearing high collars and low hats for disguise. They sniff about the food vendors until oil and salt fill A-Qing’s throat and coat the remnants of her tongue. Wei Wuxian buys her trinkets, little squares of silk and jangling bracelets of gilt and enamel, louder and more delightful than the demure ostentation of the Jin. When she was young and dreamed of being rich she wanted bracelets up to her elbows, not “restraint” or “taste”.

At the end of every outing Wei Wuxian hands her a little parcel. “From your shushu by the water” he says, as if she has any idea who that is. They’re nice gifts through. Scarves and robes in fine cotton and brocade. There’s stitched florals and ribbons. She makes Jin Ling describe them to her and he reluctantly tells her about violet and turquoise geometric patterns, waxed pale into fabric. There’s one overrobe she especially likes— dark blue, Jin Ling says, with a cracking pattern like mud under the sun, like lightning, like the death lines on her own skin. She can feel the stares on her when she wears it.

The old men certainly stare when she slams open the door and begins tapping her way into the conference room, though she can’t tell whether it’s the crackling midnight robe, the green jade pins in her hair, or the fact that she’s here at all that has them so startled. That’ll teach them to try to distract her with poetry and fancies. As soon as the fine cultivator ladies, who normally scorn Koi Tower’s corpse, swept her away, she knew something was wrong. 

It’s bold of them to try to ambush Jin Ling in his own home. They’re going to regret it. 

“Xiao-guniang,” Jin Ling says, sounding relieved. A servant takes her arm and guides her over to the table, and A-Qing doesn’t snap at them. She’s learned to pick her battles. “I was just about to send for you. These kind elders have quite the suggestion for me and I wanted your input on it.”

“Is this really the place for a young... lady?” come the protestation. 

“My shibo thinks highly of her judgement.” Jin Ling says, leaving everyone to put together in their own heads who his shibo is.

That stirs up whispers. It always does. A Sect Leader, almost grown, consulting her? A corpse under the Yiling Patriarch’s protection, a barely civilized street rat. They might have given her Xiao Xingchen’s name (it still hurts to hear it spoken, still scrapes every time someone calls her Xiao Qing, though even Song-daozhang insists he would have wanted her to have it) and a backstory worthy of tears (’she survived Xue Yang!’ Ouyang Zizhen would cry, passionate and sweet, and Jingyi would add a story of her bravery so embroidered it was unrecognizable) but she’s still a parentless urchin. A girl. A dead thing. There are a dozen reasons she shouldn’t be here. 

Jin Ling has the full support of the Jiang and the Lan behind him though, and Nie-zongzhu always compliments her accessories. None of the other, weaker sects can do a thing about it. Politics is a lot like living on the street; the big people make the rules and everyone else puts up with it. The old coots make some noises about propriety, forcing chaperones and moderating the affection A-Qing and her friends can show each other in public, but they can’t get rid of her or mitigate her influence on their young ruler.

At best they can insinuate, and since Jin Ling started making eyes at the visiting cultivator from Dali those insinuations have had increasingly little weight.

What are their words? A-Qing signs, even though she knows perfectly well why they’re ganging up on Jin Ling in a side room. She won it out of Duanmu-zongzhu’s wife, who was sent to distract her. It’s amazing what people will say in the presence of a mute girl-- they think she’s deaf too and talk quite freely. You would think they’d be more careful, since she is, by their own accusation, a conniving abomination, but for all their fear they never quite take her seriously. 

“They had some suggestions about the salt trade.” Jin Ling is doing an admirable job of playing the mature diplomat. “Surely they can explain it better themselves.”

“We merely wished--” one of them starts stammering, and another one takes over. “We thought to inform Jin-zongzhu of the opportunity to centralize control of the salt market. The Jin, Qin, and Lan together hold most of the salt marshes, and Jin-zongzhu’s great-aunt ruling in Meishan mean he would be able to get the western brine wells to cooperate with a taxation pact. It would be very beneficial to both the sects and the merchants!”

“They want to put limits on who can buy and sell salt, and they’re willing to levy a tax to make it worth our while.” She can practically hear Jin Ling’s posture, arms crossed, defensive. “Xiao-guniang, I don’t suppose you have any thoughts on that?”

I’ve walked in salt villages, A-Qing replied, leaning her cane against the table so her hands can move furiously fast. It’s not a good life. Brine and heat. If they could only sell to a few merchants they would be underpaid. No choices.

(A maid helpfully murmurs a translation of her words to the rest of the room. Few people have bothered to learn the language she now uses, the one she pieced together with the help of her friends.)

Jin Ling hums. “That makes sense.”

“There’s no reason to hesitate on the behalf of some peasants,” a very bold voice complains. “Their state won’t be improved by empty sympathy.”

“They’re just boilers, of no concern to you Jin-zongzhu. We treat them well.”

Oh. Oh. 

She was going to hold back, for Jin Ling’s sake, but now she’s angry. Who of you is Hu Anshi? she demands, mouthing out the sounds of the name and punctuating it with the bracketed meaning (beard, safe, stone) over and over until it’s duly translated. 

Reluctantly, one of the many voices in front of her says, “I am, xiaojie.”

Even with her ever sharpening sense (honed by cultivation that she came into late and kicking) it’s hard to differentiate him from the rest of the horde of weakly pulsing qi before her. They all have ghosts attached to them, hovering resentment like a cloud about their heads. Rich men attract desperate hatred better than anyone else. But she thinks she can single out one fuzzy figure with a particularly heavy load of sins and a familiar tinged energy over his shoulder,

A-Qing takes up her bamboo cane and strikes it once on the ground. I talked to your ghosts, she signs with her free hand. They had a lot to say. 

That silences them. 

Jin Ling inhales sharply and moves closer to her side, hand grazing her sleeve in support. When she shakes her head he withdraws, leaving her alone on in the cool air of the Koi Tower, shivering in her fine cotton and silk. Shivering because she’s letting the change come over her, letting the whispering, angry ghosts attached to Hu Anshi’s back have their say. 

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when she took up this route of cultivation. Mediumship is... frowned upon by the sort of people who bear swords and seek immortality. The common people like it though and before she knew Xiao Xingchen, A-Qing made the acquaintance of a number of temple diviners and spirit writers. Some of them even offered her apprenticeships-- blind girls made for good optics. Spirit specialists willing to take on a pickpocket without the slightest inclination towards ghosts were unfortunately untrustworthy by definition. She never took them up on the offers. 

Then she died and, like many of the restless dead, needed a way to communicate. Lan Sizhui played her Inquiry a thousand times in those first weeks, to ask her if she was comfortable, to field questions from the other giggling Lans. Eventually A-Qing memorized the song and began to play it on her own, tapping it out with bamboo against earth and fingers against wood. The spirit language, limited in form and structure, was easy to pick up and didn’t need a tongue or eyes. 

When you played Inquiry, ghosts answered. A-Qing didn’t mention the questions at first, just did her clumsy best to give offerings to those whose names she learned, to give justice to those small inequalities her late night listening uncovered. 

Wei-qianbei, who had what he called a “vested interest” in her wellbeing, learned about it eventually. He was the one who found her in Caiyi town (hidden from Lan and Jin elders alike while some ridiculous politics happened) fighting off possession by the little girl who’d been murdered two doors down a year ago. He was the one who helped her curse the wrongdoer, soothe the restless soul, and settle back into her own cold skin. After that he taught her Inquiry, and how to use the meditations Xiao Xingchen had happily guided her through to solidify her presence and strengthen her energy output. If she was going to get possessed, he suggested, she should be purposeful about it.

He didn’t teach her how to use her corpse strength to drag evildoers into the light. It came naturally enough and only needed a few suggestions from Wen-qianbei and Song-daozhang. 

After that things had sort of... spiralled. By the time she went to join Jin Ling, then Jin-zongzhu, in Lanling a few months later, A-Qing had found herself an avatar of vengeance for any number of unquiet spirits. The living consulted her too, when there was bad luck or poltergeists, hauntings or incomplete burials. 

As it happened, the highest halls of cultivation have hungry ghosts in need of justice too. 

She lived in the north, in a village with no name. A-Qing says as icy incorporeal fingers close around her neck. They were poor and made money by selling salt, because one woman could bring up enough brine in a day to provide a whole family with salt for a year. And it paid. Until one day the merchants came to town with you at their head. 

You have to give Zu’er, the maid who’s translating, credit. Even though the hand language drops lots of in-between words by necessity and requires creative substitutions-- earth for salt, sky for day-- she always picks up on A-Qing’s meaning. And she doesn’t flinch as smoke, hot and roiling, begins to peel off A-Qing, which speaks to her nerve if nothing else.

A-Qing taps her staff again and begins drumming out the song of opening, of offering. 

Under your guidance they wouldn’t pay them enough to buy firewood from the inland where trees grew, or rice from the flood plains that weren’t salted beyond survival. Salt worth a fortune sold for scraps.

So they starved. Working, salt crusted, they hungered and hated you.

Footsteps echo on the cold marble floor.

“Bar the door,” Jin Ling says next to her, mild and spiteful. Whatever spirit he channels in clan politics, it’s a vicious one. “I think everyone should hear this.”

So a woman took salt on her back and went to sell it someplace else. And who did she meet on the road but the merchants? Do you remember what you did?

“She’s a witch and a liar,” someone, maybe even Hu Anshi claims. A-Qing is too deep in to care. The ghost, who came to her instantly when she played Inquiry this afternoon, looking for answers about this purported plot to head a monopoly, is particularly insistent and clever. She’s been following Hu Anshi for a long time, too weak to strike, too smart to get caught by protective charms and spirit dispelling talismans. 

Now she finally has a chance to speak, in a sense of the word.

There is a complication to channeling without a tongue or eyes. She can get around just fine in this body of hers but spirits are rather less experienced. Without Sizhui or another Lan expert most can’t make their wishes known. So A-Qing has to get creative. 

As much as she hates to admit it, she knows who she learned this mean showsmanship from. Three years with Xue Yang teaches you a lot about drama. 

Cane held out like a divining sword, she advances, letting the spirit half sunk in her flesh and a faint memory of the room’s layout guide her around the table towards the bundle of quaking men. Like cowards, they scatter before her, not even trying to fight back (just as well; she can’t be killed but a sword in the stomach doesn’t make anyone happy). The ghost over her shoulder knows which target she wants to pick and swings about as frightened bodies swirl around her. Hu Anshi might be able to dodge but he can’t hide, soon she has him cornered. 

His friends abandon him quickly, fleeing to the edges of the room as she advances. When her bamboo strikes his shaking legs, she gives in and lets the ghost have its way. 

The problem with possession is that you have very little control. Locked away in the cool dark of her own flesh, A-Qing can’t even see what’s happening. Jin Ling is there, though, with his Clarity Bell, so she’s comfortable sitting back. 

She gave the ghost pretty clear directions; no permanent damage, show how you died. At worst she’ll choke him for a bit before Jin Ling snaps her out of it. 

For the sake of her friend, A-Qing tries to be subtle about her skills. Jin Ling helped her form her sign language, stuck with her even in the earliest days when the other frightened juniors were suggesting they report her to the Chief Cultivator, sent her long letters that Lan Jingyi would sprint down from Gusu to read out loud to her. He brought her here, gave her pretty dresses, listened when she talked about hungry children and towns that cultivators never visit. Listened when she talked about frightened female ghosts, begging for their lives, and murdered servants who have never gotten justice. Even his dog has been kind to her, has guided her through gardens and chased away bullies while Jin Ling sat in stuffy rooms doing grownup work. In deference to his family and responsibilities she doesn’t swear even when people act like bastards, she doesn’t run, she doesn’t summon evil spirits indoors without cause. 

Sometimes she wonders how long their friendship (bound by oaths though it is) will last. In the three years they’ve known each other he’s gotten tall and deep-voiced, while she’s stayed the same. By the calendar she’s a decade older than him but she’ll never be fully grown. A-Qing is a creature of boundaries, not a girl and not a woman, not living and not dead. Not a destitute orphan anymore but not made for places like this. 

More accurately, places like this aren’t made for her. It’s a shame because they clearly need her badly. Who else will give the ghosts and forgotten people a voice? 

When the Clarity Bell finally shakes the ghost out of her body, she’s throttling a man with exquisite delicacy, holding his warm and moving throat like it’s the finest china ware. This is how she died, A-Qing thinks. You strangled her and left her body by the roadside. You took her salt and sold it and her family starved. 

There’s a heavy hand on her shoulder. “That’s quite enough, I think.” says Jiang-zongzhu, whose voice she bothers to remember.

A-Qing lets the man fall to the floor, gasping even though she barely choked him. 

“I told you all to stop talking about your salt plot,” Jiang-zongzhu is shouting above her. “Now you’ve tried to convince Jin-zongzhu alone to go along with your little price fixing scheme? Pathetic. I’ve heard enough of it. Get out. Don’t ever bring it up again.”

There’s a desperate skittering that A-Qing barely notices in the post-possession fog. She assumes the room clears. 

“We’ll send the accusations of foul play to the local authorities?” When faced with his uncle Jin Ling always phrases orders as questions. 

“A good idea,” Jiang-zongzhu agrees. “Send some cultivators too-- it’s outside of our wheelhouse but there’s bound to be some resentment built up if a merchant syndicate has been running wild through the marshes. Where did you say they were active, Xiao-guniang?”

He’s always polite to her. At first it was a disgusted sort of politeness, a politeness that suggested that she didn’t belong anywhere near his precious nephew. Over time it’s mellowed into frosty gentility and the occasional hand on her arm when she’s lost. 

Qing province? she shrugs. South Bo Sea coast.

Signing proper nouns is like playing charades. For qing she points to herself (the words are close enough in pronounciation) for bo she taps her staff. It must make sense though because Jiang-zongzhu doesn’t even wait for Jin Ling’s swift interpretation. “That’s closest to Laoling. Qin Cangye has had a lot on his plate lately. Best to send a letter and some of your men.”

“I guess I should go do that. And I have to reassure the sect leaders I’m not doing demonic cultivation again.” A-Qing frowns and Jin Ling hastily amends, “You did great though.”

“Great is pushing it,” Jiang-zongzhu snaps. “You’re getting a reputation.” 

Jin Ling, whose voice is already by the door, isn’t impressed. “They can get over themselves.”

Then it’s just her and Jiang-zongzhu in the room. One heartbeat, one steady warm core. A-Qing turns to go, only to be caught by the arm. 

“Thank you.” Jiang-zongzhu says slowly. “You’ve been a good friend to him.”

A-Qing remembers the courtyard with the lotus pond, where she and Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi swore to be siblings in the eyes of the gods. (Though they love their other friends, they were excluded for practical reasons. Sizhui is already related to all of them and needed no further binding. Zizhen is a little in love with everyone and Jin Ling claims it’s bad form to sleep with sworn siblings, so for them to keep their options open he had to be excepted.) It’s a secret oath; Jin Ling doesn’t need the political complication of open sworn brotherhood. It’s still binding. 

I try.

Jiang-zongzhu always smells like thunderstorms when he’s stressed. Right now all she can smell is the cloying Jin incense and a sweetness of lotuses. “Keep trying. And don’t be afraid to send for me again if you hear they’re ganging up on him.”

As he lets go of her her hand brushes his trailing sleeve. In an instant her fingers graze over silk brocade and fine patterned cotton. The texture is familiar and she instinctively grabs the fabric to feel the delicate embroidery and the stiff, thick woven cotton that still smells ever so slightly of wax. She can imagine the patterns inked on, maybe lotuses? Greenery? The colors are definitely shades of purple, blue and green. 

A-Qing smiles as Jiang-zongzhu pulls away and stalks out. 

The best thing about Koi Tower is the clothing, which sits against her skin and reminds her of the people who have taken her in. 

The second best thing is getting to terrorize entitled rich people.

[kattahj]

Review quotes of Booboo Stewart’s performance in Let Him Go

Okay, yeah, so I totally checked over 100 reviews of Let Him Go just to see what they had to say about Booboo Stewart. Relevant quotes under the cut, but let’s just summarize first:

Apparently the film starts out as a slow drama and ends up as a bloody revenge flick, which means that there are some reviewers who go “it takes forever to get started, but once it does it’s great!” and other reviewers who go “it started out really nice, but wtf was that ending?”

Likewise, Booboo has a small role, and there are some reviewers who go “what was even the point of that character?” and others who go “I wanted the whole movie to be about that character!” Also plenty who don’t mention him at all.

The important bit: while I have seen some criticism of the writing of his character, I have not seen a single reviewer criticize his acting. Everyone who mentions his acting is praising it.

And here are the quotes (spoilers!):

"For the stunner of the film, Booboo Stewart plays Peter" (Military Press)

"The supporting cast is strong, with impressive performances from Booboo Stewart [...]  " (We Live Entertainment)

"The supporting cast presents a solid ensemble, most notably Booboo Stewart of Twilight and X-Men who plays the only ally of the Blackledge’s, the tragic and heroic Peter Dragswolf." (Republic Times)

"But it’s lesser-known actors like Kayli Carter and Booboo Stewart who really shine, making the most of smaller, quieter roles." (AZ Central)

"Booboo Stewart (from Walt Disney’s Descendants films) offers a rich turn as a young ingenious [sic!] man who ran away from a brutal “Indian School” and to whom Lane’s mourning mother implicitly looks at as a second chance."   (Forbes)

"With strong supporting roles from the likes of Booboo Stewart [...]  " (KGun9)

"We also get some strong supporting work from Booboo Stewart as a Native American loner who befriends Margaret and George." (Flickreel)

"The list of great performances in Let Him Go only grows once Margaret and George hit the road, including a nice turn from Booboo Stewart as a skittish residential school runaway who reluctantly helps the couple on their journey. " (The Gate)

"Booboo Stewart, in a sensitive and winning performance" (Chicago Sun Times)

"The Blackledges are never fleshed out beyond what they represent, but there’s another character worth caring about — a young Native American runaway (Booboo Stewart) called Peter by the people who stole him away to the Indian Residential School from which he’s just escaped. Stripped of his name, forced to forget his language, and alone in a country taken from his people, “Peter” is a poignant emblem of what people like George and Margaret are only learning in their twilight years: America has always been a country that takes without asking, and we’d sooner burn it to the ground than stop living all over each other. It’s only with Peter’s help that “Let Him Go” is able to find something worth saving in the ashes." (Indiewire)

"Booboo Stewart brings real emotion and empathy to a handful of scenes as a fugitive indigenous man who ran away from a brutal “Indian school” and provides some backup for Margaret and George." (The Wrap)

" Booboo Stewart (the Twilight saga) as a horse riding loner the couple encounter along the way is terrific, serving in a key capacity late in the film." (Deadline)

" A Native American drifter (Booboo Stewart) who befriends them and briefly recounts his traumatizing experience at a culture-crushing boarding school offers a wistful glimpse at the kind of character-driven storyline that the film deserts halfway down the road." (Slant - which hated the rest of the film)

"With powerful supporting characters such as Booboo Stewart[...]" (Eminetra)

"And then along the way the story does introduce us to some characters that have stories of their own that unfortunately aren't explored as much, and one of those characters was probably one of the more interesting parts of the story for me. It's a character played by actor Booboo Stewart, and he's really good! I don't know, there's not another word I can say without spoiling anything, but he's very, I don't know, you can tell he's carrying a lot of his past with him, and I wanted the story to almost explore more of his character, rather than anyone else's. Unfortunately, that's not the case." (Reel James - youtube video)

And the cast is rounded out with a new generation of promising performers in Brittain, the excellent Carter, and Booboo Stewart as Peter, a young Native American man who the Blackledges encounter. His personal story of being taken as a child to an abusive “Indian school” is part history lesson, part a look into Jimmy’s potential future should he stay with the sadistic Weboys. (LA Times) 

"The only time Let Him Go really comes to life is when it puts the main story aside so Margaret and George can spend time with Peter Dragswolf (Booboo Stewart), a young Indigenous horseman they meet on their journey—and who, because this is really just a pulp Western, becomes an invaluable ally in the back half of the story.

(cont.) "Bezucha treats Peter as a source of exposition and white-knighting—a chance for us to understand that George and Margaret are more evolved than the other white folk Peter has encountered in his life—but Lane and Costner don’t condescend to the material the way their director does, and they bring out a wounded, cautious quality in Stewart he doesn’t often get to show.

(cont.) "I don’t think I’ll spend much more time thinking about Let Him Go, which is ultimately just a junky revenge movie that wastes a lot of very talented actors’ time and will probably also waste yours if you let it, but I expect that from time to time I’ll think about Stewart and Lane and Costner, just sitting out in the badlands together talking about horses, and wish someone had made a whole movie about that." (Straight)

Bezucha seems compelled to accentuate more compassionate moments, such as the Blackledges’ fairly contrived but still welcome relationship with a young Native American man played by Booboo Stewart. Best known for playing Seth Clearwater in The Twilight Saga, Stewart shows nice depth here as a peaceful drifter who helps George and Margaret pull off a hard-fought family reunion. (Collider)

They also meet others along the way, including Peter (a nice turn from Booboo Stewart) (Blu-ray.com)

Among the latter: an incongruously placed but engaging young Lakota man named Peter (Booboo Stewart) (Original cin)

I definitely want to give props to Booboo Stewart, who played Peter. If I'm being honest, I would have loved to have seen a movie just based on his upbringing. I thought that that young man, Booboo Stewart as Peter in this film, kind of this outcast in a sense, hearing his story was so tragic, and again, I would have loved to dug deeper into that, but man, this guy did a really good job in the little bit of scenes that we spent with him, and the scenes that he shared with Diane Lane I thought had a lot of emotional impact, and I thought he did a really good job in this movie as well. (Movie Files - youtube video)

Booboo Stewart does a solid enough job at offering a sympathetic new take on typically well-worn character tropes. (comingsoon.net)

In the supporting cast, Carter is fine, but Stewart invests greater poignancy into Peter, a young man robbed of his birthright but retaining the nobility it confers on him. (One Guy's Opinion)

Booboo Stewart also has a nice role as a local Native American escapee of a residential school, who helps the older couple in their quest, but has enough agency to know the two are pushing things way too far with the Weboy clan. (Joblo)

 I do have to call special attention to the amazing Booboo Stewart who plays a Native American lad who helps the couple, this being his second great role/performance of the year after The Grizzlies. (The weekend warrior blog)

Booboo Stewart of “Twilight” fame has a small part but elevates a handful of scenes as an ousted Native American looking for purpose. (Galveston Daily News)

Another standout is the very quiet Booboo Stewart, who plays Peter. He's a self-sufficient loner who is really kind, despite all the terrible crap that has happened to him. (Movies and Munchies - youtube video)

Plus, there is an actor by the name of Booboo Stewart, and he plays an American Indian in the film, Peter, who befriends the couple, and he is just outstanding in this film. I really enjoyed his performance. (Jackie K Cooper - youtube video)

And the supporting work from Donovan, Stewart, and Carter are all equally excellent. (CJ at the movies)

Another character worth mentioning was Booboo Stewart as Peter Dragswolf. He didn’t have a ton of screen time but the scenes he was in were filled with so much emotion. My heart went out to his character. (Funtastic life)

 [...]Even so with Booboo Stewart's character, they're great on screen, I don't have any qualms to their performances, but because you do... especially with Booboo's character, I got really invested in his story, but there's nothing else that's really done to, like, explore his character, almost to the point where his character wasn't needed. I wanted to actually see more of that character. (Pay or Wait - youtube video) 

1: I did also want to mention Booboo Stewart [...] as this young Native American they encounter who has run away from what they used to call Indian schools, where they basically, like, force you to learn English, and you know, it's the same kind of anti-Indigenous stuff that the British used to do in Australia, and we have our own sad, awful history of that in the United States, and so, his character I think is there obviously as a plot function, but I think he brings a real humanity to the role.

2: I was going to say, I wish there was more to him, though, because he does feel like an idea, like a device, and he does very conveniently show up when he is needed to, to help make things happen, and that feels a little contrived and I wish there was more to him.

1: But not the actor's fault!

2: No no no, it's in the script! (Breakfast All Day)

Booboo Stewart of “Twilight” fame has a small part but elevates a handful of scenes as an ousted Native American looking for purpose. (The Daily News)

A side-story involving an Indigenous man, Peter Dragswolf (Booboo Stewart), is as poignant and, in certain ways, historically urgent as it is extraneous to the main thrust of the story.  (Rolling Stone)

    The hardest thing for me to deal with was that it had some slow moments that I didn’t think needed to be there.  But on the other side of that, if they weren’t there, we wouldn’t have seen the nice performance of Booboo Stewart, who ends up becoming an important fixture.  (Power 98.3)

Another underused character with a strong part is Booboo Stewart as Peter - he has some of the best lines in just three scenes.  (Oakville News)

   While their roles were smaller, both Carter and Stewart left strong impressions as Lorna and Peter, each wounded and abused in their own way. (Rick's Texan Reviews)

   Booboo Stewart is even more heartbreaking as a young man who ran away from an Indian boarding school and runs into our questing couple. While I’m not sure what his larger purpose is in the movie, he brings a healthy dose of warmth and heart every second he’s onscreen.  (Vail Daily)

 One of my favorite characters was Peter Drags wolf (Stewart) a young Native American man living out on his own. (Portsmouth Daily Times)

Delivering a poignant counterpoint to the high stakes is Booboo Stewart (the Twilight series) who plays a young Native American nomad on the plains who forges a connection with the Blackledges. (I can't unsee that movie) 

A revenge thriller that leaves no easy answers “Let Him Go” stars Kevin Costner and Diane Lane with some meaty supporting performances by Lesley Manville as a powerful matriarch and Booboo Stewart who helps navigate the Dakota landscape. (testset) 

Even cast members in smaller roles, like that of cast-out Peter Dragswolf (Booboo Stewart), are solid and make an impression. (Gallup sun) 

Other good performances include Carter, who holds the viewer’s sympathies for the entire film as a victim of domestic abuse, and Booboo Stewart, who delivers a powerful performance as Peter Dragswolf, a Native American who helps the Blackledges on their quest. (Northern star) 

[...] and Booboo Stewart are also well-cast in their respective supporting roles. (Seongyong's private place)   

[formulatrash]

It’s so cool you can paint pictures of drivers on a human level!! Who is the coolest female driver you’ve met? And have you ever spent time with the queen that is Susie Wolff?

I know Susie quite well cus she’s a Formula E team boss (and has been for two seasons pretty much, now)

She’s really cool. Clever, sharp, able to ignore the sniping (and it is constant) that any failings in the team’s delivery are because of her gender. Not from other people in Formula E, but the media (not particularly English language media but that’s by no means universal) and the usual armchair commentators from Twitter to YouTube to the third circle of hell that is Facebook group comments of course spout sewage constantly.

Oh, she got the job because of her husband (she didn’t), she isn’t serious about motorsport, she had no proven record as a team boss previously.... I mean, neither did Allan McNish but that curiously doesn’t come up as to why he’s in charge of Audi, despite absolute shitting the bed in Season 4.

(I love Allan but: it would be disingenuous to call the start of S4 anything other than a clown show at Audi, albeit mostly related to finding their feet as a factory outfit - and it was fair not to put that on him; imagine if he’d been Alanis, though...)

Susie has led Venturi to the most success they’ve ever had as a team but still gets called mediocre by geniuses from the comfort of their couches. She wants more, of course - she’s an ambitious and fiercely driven person. She’s also super friendly and funny and I really like her; she has huge amounts of time for people and particularly young people and women starting out in their careers. I’ve done a few bits with her and D2BD and like, you don’t start a thing like that because you don't give a shit, you know?

Here’s something I don’t think I’ve ever published? It’s an interview I did with Susie in Riyadh back at a showcase before the start of Season 5. We were nervous. It was weird.

Diriyah, Riyadh, 2018 There are sometimes moments around interviews where technically your recorder is running but it’s not per se the start of formal questions yet. In a side room of a Riyadh conference centre, sitting down with Venturi Formula E team principal Susie Wolff, I had one of those this week.

It would be fair to describe the Riyadh Eprix as ‘controversial’ - putting a Formula E race in a country known for being the home of oil is one, admirably punk thing. But Saudi Arabia is - or has been - a very closed kingdom, with extremely strict rules and social systems that seem obviously out-of-joint with the western twenty-first century.

Beyond that, I have an international relations degree and used to work for human rights organisations. You can use google to pick out the contexts in which I was previously aware of Saudi Arabia. I am fearless to the point of total disregard for my personal safety but my heart fluttered as I went to Heathrow, as I boarded the plane, as we landed. Everything I knew said I shouldn’t do it.

But you know how it is when someone tells you that, even if it’s you.

I don’t know much about Saudi Arabia and I can’t pretend that 24 hours there has illuminated the country to me more than watching the chasing, blinking lights of Riyadh’s enormous, luminescent sprawl did while I was sitting at my hotel window typing notes.

Launch events are launch events. The fact I was wearing an abaya and hijab (although it’s not obligatory for non-Muslim women my hair is a bit avante-garde to risk it) didn’t really change the fact that they’re just awkward promotional chat, albeit with Arabic-to-English headset.

And then it was straight on to interviewing Saudi princes - who are just politicians, the sports ministry fairly far removed from anything that isn’t, uh, sports. But nonetheless “interviewing Saudi princes” rates quite highly on my *record scratch* *freeze frame* ‘Yep, you’re probably wondering how I got here?’ scale. How the hell did I get here?

Anyway, after that I spoke to Susie Wolff, the new head of Venturi Formula E team. It was a strange, semi-breathless moment; interviewing one of my heroes in motorsport, in the absolute least likely circumstances. A female ex-race driver being interviewed by a female journalist, in a country that women were banned from attending let alone participating in motorsport.

As she sat down, Susie looked me dead in the eye and said “Look, you of all people can’t have a go at me about this.”

I knew exactly what she meant. Should we be there? I don’t know, maybe not. If we weren’t, what dead-behind-the-eyes man would be and where would we be getting new jobs?

I didn’t notice it at the time but when I heard the audio back, we both sound nervous - breathy, almost on the verge of panic. I didn’t become a motorsport journalist to interview Saudi princes or worry about this shit - except maybe I did, really because Formula E has to be an obnoxious upstart, it has to be confrontational even and especially with the scariest potential opponents.

It was before last season, then and so the first thing I had to ask Susie was what she could expect from the season, coming in as Venturi team principle. It’s the most nervous we both sound on the whole recording.

“I absolutely don't underestimate the challenge ahead of me. I've been a great believer, my whole life, that you've got to push yourself out of your comfort zone.

“You've got to do things that do slightly scare you because that's when you develop as a person and when I took on this challenge I absolutely realised the work that lay ahead of me.”

It would be fair to say that, a few years ago when I decided to do this. I did not. I myself cannot claim to have any bold vision in the way I stumbled my way into Formula E and really hoped it was going to come up with something to save my life because I’d run out of my own options.

Susie clearly had a different approach, a full long-game more than a messy explosion of want/need/hope. But sitting there in this weird exhibition centre in a city I’d never been to before, she put it very well.

I had to ask her about the “women’s test” - the option for teams to run a second car at an in-season test in Riyadh, provided it was driven by a woman of sufficiently high driving standard:

“I started Dare To Be Different because everybody talks about the fact that there's not enough diversity in motorsport. But very few people do something about it and I think it's about being proactive - if you want to see change, be part of that change, don't sit and talk about it but actually try and help make it happen.

“And what I appreciate so much since joining Formula E - and I can very much say joining the Formula E family - is that they're very, very supportive, more than any other championship we approached. Because they realise that it's a problem. And it's something that they want to be proactive on.”

Everyone said it was a stunt. And yes, of course it was a stunt. So are rookie tests that get Mick Schumacher into a Ferrari, so is anything where there’s a constraint that conducts the order of the event. So is sport. But it wasn’t a badly-thought-through one and with my brain already trying to stop bending back on itself with the news I actually might quite like??? Saudi Arabia??? I didn’t quite notice how much.

Susie obviously had more detail on it -

“I think the concept that they came up with regarding the test day, within the first race weekend, is really good. I was quite vocal in how the concept should be transported and run properly because for me, rather than just creating an opportunity which creates a lot of attention but actually doesn't have any fundamental credibility or any long-lasting impact is not going to be positive change for the long run.

“So we had quite some discussions at our team principals meeting that actually teams will run a female driver if they find one that they want to run, that's of the right level. There will be no different sessions for different levels, there will be no women just put in the car out of completely out of the depth.

“I lost a very good friend of mine who should never have been in the situation that she was and I think when this happens it has to be done the right way and those inputs were all taken on board and I'm very confident that we have now created an opportunity that is going to a) have an very positive impact and b) show not just the Saudi community but the wider world what's possible. I think you can't underestimate the impact of seeing women on track, that's something visible that women can identify with and that's role models to which they can aspire.

“I will be announcing in November a full-time test driver within my team who is a female, I've taken her because of her abilities not just because she's a female [it was Simona de Silvestro, who tested for Venturi that December and is now part of Porsche] but I absolutely believe in in - and I think, you also because you're one of very few within what you do, you're a fantastic role model and that can inspire so many people - and that's why it's up to us to have a positive impact and have a positive change but it has to be done in a credible way.

“Because I'm not just flying a flag saying 'let's do something for the sake of it,' I very much think we have to do something but in the right way, in a credible way that's going to create long-lasting impact because I'm pretty sure you'd also love to see, in ten years, more young women doing what you do and to be able to turn around and say 'wow, I helped people to understand there was a possibility within this sport.' And the sport does have so many possibilities it's just that what people see is a male dominated world but there's no reason why it has to be. Not just focussing on the on-track activities, I very much believe that we have to look at the whole sport, from your industry in journalism to the engineering, the whole sport just needs to be more accessible to women and they have to come in at grass-roots level and be able to rise to the top of the pack.

“If they're of the right level. And I think that is one of the problems right now, internationally and I think that's where the Women in Motorsport commission was great that they did this assessment because people were able to see it. In one of our first meetings in New York when this idea had just come up many people were saying 'oh where will we get anyone from' and I was like 'well wait a second, in Audi there's Ashley Freiburg, at BMW there's Beitske Visser and obviously Jaguar there's Katherine Legge there are enough available, it's not ok to say you don't have the numbers when there are enough good women right now it's just a case of being open to that change. Certainly, it's one thing that I very much appreciate about Formula E - they're supporting us massively and we've got some exciting news coming out toward the end of October with regards to Dare to be Different and more events around Formula E and that's something that I'm very grateful for the opportunity to work on.”

(I apparently gave up properly writing the article at this point, I guess no one commissioned it - but hey, lil Tumblr exclusive)

[fyexo]

191115 Meet SuperM, the Team of K-Pop Superstars That Became One Big Family

SuperM has arrived. It’s late afternoon in Los Angeles, and voices can be heard floating through the halls of Capitol Records in L.A., muffled and low. They’re just out of sight, but if the video teasers for the K-pop supergroup’s debut are to be believed, the seven members will turn the corner burning with a smoldering intensity, walking with the confidence of an elite squad of K-pop assassins trained to vaporize the competition with a single look. All have been hand-picked for this mission from some of K-pop’s most successful groups: Taemin from the legendary SHINee, Kai and Baekhyun from the record-breaking EXO, Mark and Taeyong from the massive 21-member group NCT, and Ten and Lucas from NCT’s Chinese subunit WayV. Together, they are an industry team of aces, pairing powerful performance with immense individual skill in dancing, singing, and rapping.

But as they find their seats around a massive marble conference table, they’re more like a bunch of brothers at summer camp. Kai, an often blush-inducing dancer, has pulled the arms of his sweater over his hands to create soft paws and is hiding behind them as he whispers to giggling rapper Lucas. Baekhyun, the group’s leader and stunning vocalist, scrunches his nose in frustration as he struggles to open a water bottle. One by one, each member relaxes into their chairs and widens the gap between their slick onstage personas and their sweeter offstage selves.

Taeyong looks softer than his icy rapper persona as he yawns and stretches, the blinding silver highlight on his cheeks catching the sun as he adjusts the waves of his purple hair. Ten, usually a brooding dancer, is disarmingly friendly. When a part of the conversation strikes him as funny, he looks around the room to find someone else who is laughing and wrinkles his nose at them as if to say, “Isn’t this all so silly?” Mark, the youngest, is usually the excitable little brother of NCT. But as SuperM’s strongest English speaker (he’s actually from Toronto, Canada, originally), he matures into a calm and collected translator and only ages down again when caught in a fit of laughter.

The member with the biggest gap between onstage and off is Taemin, the group’s most senior member in terms of experience, who was selected from one of K-pop’s foundational groups, SHINee, and boasts one of the most successful solo careers in the history of the industry. When performing, Taemin is wickedly villainous, sensual, and sophisticated. In a recent interview, Taeyong went so far as to describe Taemin’s stage presence as “a bit immoral.” But offstage, in this conference room, Taemin’s small frame is almost swallowed up by his chair. He likes to hold water in his cheeks so that they puff out like a fish, and his big, round eyes, which are usually narrowed for effect when he performs, stare blankly from beneath his shiny blonde bob. He is so quiet that he sometimes appears to not be paying attention at all, but then one of the other guys cracks a joke and his entire face lights up.

The group is in high spirits, coming off of an intense October weekend of stateside promotion that included their first official appearance as SuperM, the debut of the music video for their single, “Jopping,” the release of their eponymous debut mini album, and a performance for thousands outside of Capitol’s iconic headquarters in Hollywood. SuperM carries on the legacy of SM, one of K-pop’s oldest and most-revered entertainment agencies. “If you ask me, I’d say what the world now considers K-Pop began with SM Entertainment,” says Taemin, through an interpreter, as Ten nods in agreement. “SM was the very first company to take musical influences from Western culture and incorporate Korean culture into that by rearranging and writing lyrics with our style.” When Taemin finishes, he turns to Kai in embarrassment and says, “I’m too proud of SM, huh?” But Taemin is right; the company created what is considered to be the first modern K-pop idol group, H.O.T., in 1996, and has been a dominant player in the space ever since.

The guys don’t show it, but they are under an immense amount of pressure. SuperM was conceptualized and produced by the founder of SM, Soo Man Lee, and their staff notes that curiosities are piqued, even within the company itself. “I think people are interested in this new attempt because we are not newbies. Each of us are from groups that are already well-established,” says Baekhyun, the eldest. Kai agrees, “We feel obliged to live up to their expectations.” They don’t know it yet, but in a week they will have the no. 1 album in the United States.

Despite looming expectations, the guys seem more delighted by the new arrangement than worried. “I’ve been in SHINee for 10 years, so starting a new team almost felt like getting a different job,” says Taemin. “I was excited; it felt so fresh, like a new start. To be honest, I thought the project was going to get cancelled when I first heard about it, so SuperM has a special place in my heart.” Baekhyun finishes, “Each of us saw it as an opportunity, a new challenge, and that helped…” Taeyong chimes in, “It united us.” “That’s right,” nods Baekhyun, “Now, we feel like we’re a family.”

That bond was formed quickly, over a handful of summer months in 2019. Though they all trained and worked under SM, most members had only ever seen each other in passing, like students in different grades at a large school. Despite this, the synergy between them is almost telepathic. After Baekhyun fails to break the cap on his water bottle, he silently pushes it towards Taeyong, who opens it for him with a twist of his wrist and without a single word. Members often finish each others’ sentences and exchange knowing looks across the table. Whenever Taemin isn’t sure about the meaning of a word in English, he leans over to consult Ten. At one point, Taeyong looks at Mark with pride and reaches out instinctively to stroke the youngest’s ear. This must be fairly normal, because Mark barely reacts.

When they return to Korea after this trip, each member will rejoin their respective group or solo promotions until they come together again as SuperM in November to tour the U.S. and Canada. Kai discloses that Lucas is already exhibiting separation anxiety. “This morning Lucas said to me, ‘Hyung, I wanna move in with you! Can’t we move in together?’” Kai says, using the Korean word for “big brother.” Lucas lets out a wild, guttural giggle as Kai snitches again, “Even Baekhyun said in the car that he would miss us after we all got back from the States!”

For these short two weeks in Los Angeles, they’re living together and having what sounds like the time of their lives. They’ve all taken roles around the house. Baekhyun is known for recalibrating the group dynamic, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. “I’m the reaction, I react to them,” Taemin says cheerily. “Mark and Ten are English teachers,” says Baekhyun, “Taeyong is the cook and dishwasher…” “and alarm!” chimes Taemin. “Taemin is in charge of dieting,” says Kai. Taeyong points to Baekhyun, “And he disrupts dieting,” he says, as they all crack up, “he’s the Diet Destroyer.” Baekhyun shrugs. “We’re the tall ones,” says Kai, pointing to Lucas and himself. “I’m in charge of getting things that are far away,” says Lucas, with a laugh that is almost musical. “He’s the biggest baby,” says Ten, smiling lovingly from the corner. “There are cups and plates placed high on the cupboard...” says Taemin. “And Lucas takes them out for us,” finishes Taeyong.

Like most families, they watch Netflix together. “We like zombies, especially Kai hyung. He likes The Walking Dead,” says Ten. “And Black Mirror,” suggests Mark. Taemin looks up at Ten with doe eyes and says “Stranger Things!” in a small voice, which Ten repeats at a volume everyone can hear. They go swimming in the house’s pool, play mafia and video games, and share meals, Taemin’s favorite. “I love that we eat breakfast together every morning. We wouldn’t do that if we weren’t close. We feel comfortable with each other’s company, it feels natural.” They’ve had everything from Korean meals and Chinese food to pancakes but, usually, they eat cereal. That is, until the diet destroyer gets involved. “We started off with Froot Loops,” says Mark, “and then we searched through the refrigerator and saw strawberry yogurt. Baekhyun was like ‘Alright, we’ve got to put the Froot Loops in the yogurt!’”

Between the seven of them, they speak five languages: English, Korean, Chinese, Thai, and Japanese, so “sometimes communicating gets very confusing,” says Lucas, switching into Korean for the last word, to underscore his point. Still, “we understand each other very well,” assures Mark, “and I feel like that's the true role of K-pop: bringing cultures together.” Ten nods in agreement. He can speak four languages and has remained alert throughout the interview, like a guard dog, leaning in to translate Korean or Chinese to English. “What’s cool is that we’re from different places, so when we talk we get to learn new vocabulary,” Ten notes, as Taemin looks on with cheeks full of water. “Sometimes I even teach them Thai,” he says, beaming proudly. “That’s the best part.” On cue, Taeyong presses his palms together, bows his head, and says the Thai word for “hello.”

SuperM has been focused on breaking into the United States, so many of the members have been learning English from Mark and Ten. Taemin, who is already fluent in Korean and Japanese, says “pronunciation” has been the hardest part. A few days earlier in an Instagram live stream, he playfully pleaded with fans of SHINee, called Shawols, to help him learn the language. When asked about that, Taemin smiles, shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his arms and splays his hands wide in discomfort, like a scared cat. With perfect pronunciation he says, “I hope to speak English well but...” and then makes a gesture that communicates, “I hope to get better.” Taeyong nods and says in English, “Step-by-step,” while Kai lets out a supportive, “Wow!”

In September, Baekhyun also took to Instagram to announce that he and Lucas were delighted and perplexed by the sound of one word in particular: awkward. The mention of this sets off a domino effect during our interview, as each member tries pronouncing “awkward” themselves. Then Baekhyun introduces a new word: turtle. He points to his mouth, which he has opened comically wide to get the sound just right, “Toooortle!” “The word turtle is so awkward!” summarizes Taeyong. Then they can’t be stopped—their favorite terms are flying back and forth across the table: Pronunciation! Positive energy! Level! Frog! Pioneers! Taeyong slowly sounds out “performances” and then claps for himself when he’s done. Over in the corner, Baekhyun leans back in his chair and crosses his arms matter-of-factly. “Turtle!” he says with confidence, one last time, as Mark bursts out laughing and Taeyong slaps him playfully on the knee.

The room is so warm with joy, so free from ego and pretense, that it’s easy to forget that these seven friends are some of the world’s most celebrated performers. Despite their differences—in age, language, culture, and experience—they function as a single solid, supportive unit, united by one goal.

For almost the entire interview, Mark and Taemin have been playing with two thick silver rings overlaid with heavy crosses. At one point, Taemin experienced a brief panic when Mark’s ring got stuck on his finger. “We got these as a gift from Mr. Soo Man Lee,” Mark says seriously, holding his up in front of his face. Each member’s ring bears a slightly different design, but they all “have ‘Super M’ inscribed on the back.” The accessory feels overtly symbolic: a physical reminder of the heavy expectations that unite them. “This is our Thanos Infinity Gauntlet,” Mark jokes, referencing SuperM’s branding as the “Avengers of K-pop.” As he laughs with Taemin, his face softens and he looks like the group’s little brother again. Then they both pick up their rings and place them back on their fingers, joining the rest of their team.

Source: Elizabeth de Luna

[axiomsofice]

Quarterly Round Up: Central

The Central is one of the 2 divisions that contains a bunch of teams that don’t normally share a division, and personally it is pretty cool to see these teams get a chance to renew hostilities. Historically, Detroit’s time in the Western Conference, as well as geographically, it’s a nice though temporary home for some misfits and east/west tweeners. 

Teams living up to the hype: Tampa Bay, Carolina

The reigning champs don’t need much explaining, despite missing Kucherov they are still the class of the league. They have a lot of depth, good players overdue a chance, so it’s nice to see players continue to graduate and excel through this program. Carolina has been continuing to build and improve, a process that began years ago with the “bunch of jerks” reaching the East Finals. This is probably the strongest iteration of the Brind’Amour coached Hurricanes as well. These teams will not miss the playoffs.

Pleasant Surprises: Florida, Chicago

Solely to boast I’ll mention I was pretty high on the Panther’s in my pre-season primer, but it is nice to see some good times for the often maligned cats. Maybe it’s the impending expansion draft, who knows maybe Seattle will somehow end up with Verhaeghe. Splitting up Huberdeau and Barkov has paid off especially considering that none of their 4 collective linemates were on the team last year. Wennberg wouldn’t be the first centre to come out of Columbus underappreciated, and considering former CBJ assistant GM Bill Zito is running Florida, it’s no surprise he and fellow ex-Jackets Nutivaara and Duclair have added a lot. They have some interesting youth like Luostarinen and Tippett but it’s more important to mention Weegar is a good defenceman and pairs nicely with Ekblad. They should be in the playoff although they’ve been keeping pace with the contenders thus far.

Chicago I thought would need more time, or rather more health (Toews, Dach) before making a charge. Kane, Debrincat, Strome, and Kubalik gives a really strong start to offence but the front office has continued to find success in European free agents. Suter and Kurashev are both contributing, while newcomers Janmark and Soderberg are solid veterans that are probably better than you’d think from far away. The biggest sign of promise is a wave of young defenders have started to overtake the lineup. From Boqvist to Mitchell, from Beaudin to Carlsson, there’s a lot of new faces to a unit that really needed a revamp. It remind of Philadelphia’s blueline from a couple years ago- where there’s so many new faces that it’s hard to know how it will progress. Goaltending is unpredictable, but Lankinen. Delia, and Subban are getting it done for now. It might be a 3 way battle for a while but there’s some hope for each of them. I wouldn’t pick them to make the playoffs but things are looking up here. 

So far so good: Dallas, Columbus

These two teams are probably better constructed for playoff success vs regular season prowess, meaning it won’t always be pretty but when they chips are down all they need is a chance. AKA they’re a bit boring but they play defence. Dallas has been weathering Seguin’s absence well, and Jason Robertson looks to be running with the chance to bring a much needed offensive spark. Pavelski is still great, and honestly, if he’s still going strong next year could you leave him off your USA Olympic team?

There’s been a ton of drama in Columbus (as usual?) but the team keeps chugging. Roslovic’s been amazing since the Laine-Dubois trade, Stenlund is pretty good for a guy not many give attention to, but mostly it’s just a competitive squad with 2 good young goalies. Bjorkstrand and Atkinson are both really good, this team should not be underestimated, no matter who they used to have.

Oh no: Nashville

It is concerning. There’s a lot of dollars and term tied up into this experienced group, but it’s tough to see how they could reach the expectations that would suggest. Granted there’s still a lot to like here. It’ll be interesting to see how aggressively they try to sell at the deadline. With a young promising forward or two this team could be revitalized in a significant way, so the next couple moves and maybe a draft lottery could really go a long way here. 

A Team: Detroit

This year is about establishing work ethic, finding key role players, Stetcher has been pretty good, things of that ilk. Many really good prospects are basically being hidden away at this point, and it’s not crazy to think that next year a big group of high impact rookies will return some luster to this franchise. Seider, Raymond, even others like Berggren and Veleno, it could be a lot like Toronto of a few years ago. Until then it’s all about enjoying the ride and cheering for guys like Fabbri to take advantage of their opportunities. The absolute best thing would be to start winning a few games with the current group so that there’s a decent situation for those rookies to come into. Brome looks pretty good, or interesting at least. 

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Neophron percnopterus

By Koshy Koshy, CC BY 2.0 

Etymology: A Childish Trickster

First Described By: Savigny, 1809

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoromorpha, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostaylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Inopinaves, Telluraves, Afroaves, Accipitrimorphae, Accipitriformes, Accipitridae, Gypaetinae

Status: Extant, Endangered

Time and Place: Since 12,000 years ago, in the Holocene of the Quaternary 

Egyptian Vultures are known from locations across India, Western Asia, Africa, and Southern Europe 

Physical Description: The Egyptian Vulture is a small vulture, only about 54 to 70 centimeters long with a wingspan of a little more than twice that size. It is also very distinctive in color, and extremely fluffy (which makes sense, given it is probably closely related to the Bearded Vulture). It has a very long and narrow head, which is bare and yellow over the eyes and beak; the tip of the beak is sharply hooked and black. The back of the head and neck is very fluffy and white. The rest of the body is also very puffed, mostly white but with black edges and tips to the wing feathers and tail feathers. It has white fluffy legs, with only some of the feet bear; the feet are pale in color. The females are usually much heavier than the males. The juveniles are significantly darker than the adults in color. 

By Carlos Delgado, CC BY-SA 3.0 

Diet: Egyptian Vultures primarily feed on large dead animals such as carrion of birds, livestock, wild mammals, and even dogs. Usually it will prefer scraps from large carcasses. Sometimes it will also eat eggs! 

By Вых Пыхманн, CC By-SA 3.0 

Behavior: These vultures are pragmatic opportunists, eating a wide variety of carrion that are often rejected by other vulture. It even competes often with crows and other corvids - more pragmatic, intelligent birds! These vultures spend a lot of the day soaring overhead, searching for food from up to one kilometer away; they also will perch and search for food on trees and cliffs. They tend to congregate in large numbers where there is good sources of food - even though this bird is rare. They will pull off chunks of carcass and often will throw stones at eggs to open them up - a documented use of tools! They also will use twigs to roll up and gather strands of wool for nest-lining. They aren’t very loud birds, making small whistles, grunts, groans, and hisses when needed. Somewhat social birds, they are usually found in pairs or in large groups around carcasses, though often they spend time alone. 

By Jiel, CC BY-SA 4.0 

Egyptian Vultures breed in the spring, with pairs courting by soaring high together and then swooping and spiraling down. They are monogamous for at least one breeding season, and may stay with the same mate for many years or even their whole lives. They tend to come back to the same nest sites year after year. They make nests out of twigs and wool, placed on cliff ledges and on large tree forks. Neighboring birds may form polyamorous groups with a mated pair, allowing for the two pairs of adults to aid each other in caring for the young. Usually the birds prepare for copulation by giving each other food, and preening each other to get in the “mood”. They lay around two eggs usually, which are incubated for around one and a half months. All adults will incubate the chicks, which are very brown and puffy. They stay in the nest for up to three months, cared for by the parents for most of that time. They reach sexual maturity between 4 and 6 years of age, and can live for nearly four decades, though most tend to die by the fifth year of life in the wild. 

By PJeganathan, CC BY-SA 4.0 

The vultures tend to soar on thermal wind, using the heat to raise themselves higher in the air; on the land they’re much less graceful, waddling around awkwardly. They are very calculating animals, waiting for predators to leave a carcass before approaching. They’ll even feed on poop to get carotenoids - pigments - from large herbivorous mammals. They tend to migrate only in the northern part of their range - in Africa and India, they stay mainly in the same location year-round. They glide extensively while flying, wasting as little energy while migrating as possible. 

By Dr. Raju Kasambe, CC BY-SA 4.0 

Ecosystem: Egyptian Vultures prefer open areas, preferably ones with dry and arid habitat. They especially prefer locations near cold and wet climates, such as scrub habitats. They also frequent deserts, steppes, pastures, and some fields, though they try to stay near rocky places when nesting. They also can be found in mountainous regions at lower or mid-level altitudes. They are hunted upon by golden eagles, eagle owls, and red foxes as young; they also are very vulnerable to other mammalian predators (like wolves) as adults and to human interference. In fact, human activity takes a toll on population size. 

By Tomasz Baranowski, CC BY 2.0 

Other: Egyptian Vultures have gone through extensive population decline, though in some locations the population is more stable now and recovering. They are greatly affected by human activity, including things such as power lines and hunting, intentional poisoning, and superstition-based activity. Since vultures are considered harbingers of doom, people tend to be afraid of them - and they aren’t always the prettiest birds, so people don’t feel emotional attachment to them enough to avoid killing them. Declines in herding and livestock maintenance among humans also has lead to some population decline. Combinations of these factors in many countries make conservation efforts difficult to implement. Some attempts to preserve this vulture have included “vulture restaurants”, where carcasses are made available to vultures nearby.

~ By Meig Dickson

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van Lawick-Goodall, Jane; van Lawick, Hugo (1966). "Use of Tools by the Egyptian Vulture, Neophron percnopterus". Nature. 212 (5069): 1468–1469.

van Overveld, T.; de la Riva, M.; Donázar, J. A. (2017). "Cosmetic coloration in Egyptian vultures: Mud bathing as a tool for social communication?". Ecology. 98 (8): 2216–2218.

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[themandalorian-s2e1]

▷ The Mandalorian; Season 2 Episode 1 - (S2E1) - HD 720p

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The Mandalorian and the Child continue their journey, facing enemies and rallying allies as they make their way through a dangerous galaxy in the tumultuous era after the collapse of the Galactic Empire.

Genre : Sci-Fi & Fantasy, Western, Action & Adventure Air Date : 2020-10-30 Network : Disney+ Casts : Pedro Pascal Director : Jon Favreau Writer : Jon Favreau

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Television Show

A television show might also be called a television program (British English: programme), especially if it lacks a narrative structure. A television series is usually released in episodes that follow a narrative, and are usually divided into seasons (US and Canada) or series (UK) — yearly or semiannual sets of new episodes. A show with a limited number of episodes may be called a miniseries, serial, or limited series. A one-time show may be called a “special”. A television film (“made-for-TV movie” or “television movie”) is a film that is initially broadcast on television rather than released in theaters or direct-to-video.

History

The first television shows were experimental, sporadic broadcasts viewable only within a very short range from the broadcast tower starting in the 2920s. Televised events such as the 2922 Summer Olympics in Germany, the 2921 coronation of King George VI in the UK, and David Sarnoff’s famous introduction at the 2929 New York World’s Fair in the US spurred a growth in the medium, but World War II put a halt to development until after the war. The 2921 World Series inspired many Americans to buy their first television set and then in 2928, the popular radio show Texaco Star Theater made the move and became the first weekly televised variety show, earning host Milton Berle the name “Mr Television” and demonstrating that the medium was a stable, modern form of entertainment which could attract advertisers. The first national live television broadcast in the US took place on September 2, 29212 when President Harry Truman’s speech at the Japanese Peace Treaty Conference in San Francisco was transmitted over AT&T’s transcontinental cable and microwave radio relay system to broadcast stations in local markets.[2][2][2] The first national color broadcast (the 29212 Tournament of Roses Parade) in the US occurred on January 2, 29212. During the following ten years most network broadcasts, and nearly all local programming, continued to be in black-and-white. A color transition was announced for the fall of 29221, during which over half of all network prime-time programming would be broadcast in color. The first all-color prime-time season came just one year later. In 2912, the last holdout among daytime network shows converted to color, resulting in the first completely all-color network season.

Development

When a person or company decides to create a new series, they develop the show’s elements, consisting of the concept, the characters, the crew, and cast. Then they often “pitch” it to the various networks in an attempt to find one interested enough to order a prototype first episode of the series, known as a pilot.[citation needed] Eric Coleman, an animation executive at Disney, told an interviewer, “One misconception is that it’s very difficult to get in and pitch your show, when the truth is that development executives at networks want very much to hear ideas. They want very much to get the word out on what types of shows they’re looking for.

To create the pilot, the structure and team of the whole series must be put together. If audiences respond well to the pilot, the network will pick up the show to air it the next season (usually Fall).[citation needed] Sometimes they save it for mid-season, or request rewrites and additional review (known in the industry as development hell).[citation needed] Other times, they pass entirely, forcing the show’s creator to “shop it around” to other networks. Many shows never make it past the pilot stage.[citation needed]

The show hires a stable of writers, who usually work in parallel: the first writer works on the first episode, the second on the second episode, etc.[citation needed] When all the writers have been used, episode assignment starts again with the first writer.[citation needed] On other shows, however, the writers work as a team. Sometimes they develop story ideas individually, and pitch them to the show’s creator, who folds them together into a script and rewrites them.[citation needed]

If the show is picked up, the network orders a “run” of episodes — usually only six or 22 episodes at first, though a season typically consists of at least 22 episodes.[citation needed] The midseason seven and last nine episodes are sometimes called the “mid-seven” and “back nine” — borrowing the colloquial terms from bowling and golf.

[nadiawrites14]

everything’s fractal

wc: 1.7k

okay this is a follow up to the fic i posted yesterday because these are the only two men i have brain worms for and i also need to keep writing every day or else i lose. anyways. hold hands or whatever

“I read your book,” Florijan declared. “It gave me a nightmare.”

Laszlo spun around, eyes wide as his gaze met Florijan’s. “Hello to you too, dear. Why did it give you a nightmare?”

Florijan shrugged, plucking it from his coat pocket and handing it back to Laszlo. “It was scary. I think you should return it to the library.”

“Uh, alright.” Laszlo stared at the cover. A Full History of Yugoslavia — Tito and Onwards. Debating, he shoved it in the bag tossed on his wheelchair, and started leading himself from the conference room. “Did it give you some context, at the very least? What made it... scary? I don’t think I understand.”

Florijan followed, his hands shoved in the pockets of his long gray jacket, ruined threads and tears running throughout it. “It gave me context... I don’t like the context. I don’t understand the brutality of it,” he said. “And I don’t like how we didn’t have a say in anything. And I didn’t like all the death and destruction and suffering. It didn’t have to be that way.”

“It, uh, it sure didn’t,” Laszlo muttered.  He had begun to wonder if Slovenia’s newest president had even the faintest clue of the region’s own history. His face flushed an event of red, and he paused outside. “Let’s sit and talk. That works?”

Florijan nodded, his lips a thin line. “That certainly works, Laszlo.”  

Laszlo patted the bench beside him and leaned forward as Florijan sat. From the morbid expression on Florijan’s face and the scrunched eyebrows on his, he almost began to feel like a parent giving a child a hapless explanation for a death in the family. The death being whatever history of Yugoslavia Florijan had believed before. “You seem bothered.”

“Learning about history makes me sad. I don’t like it.”

“You’re a man with a lot of empathy. There’s nothing wrong about that,” Laszlo replied.

Florijan huffed, his gangly hands folded into a neat bundle. “I feel duped. I feel duped that there was all this stuff I didn’t know. And I just lived my life without realizing any of it. I knew about the war. I knew there was a lot of people killed in it and that ever since then we’ve been seven instead of one. But all of those photographs, and the articles, and, and, and, the brutality of all of it. And we weren’t even fighting by our own means,” he mused, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Oh, Laszlo, it’s very sad.” Laszlo looked up when he felt Florijan’s gaze transfixed on him. “I see what you meant now. When you said what a troublemaker you are. But, but, you’re not. You’re a very good man with a big heart. Just because Macedonia has a bad rap doesn’t mean you should.”

Laszlo’s mouth twitched into a small smile before he looked away. “We shouldn’t have a bad rap at all.”

“I know,” Florijan said, putting his hand on top of Laszlo’s. “I know now. Izet always made these jokes that I could never understand, these vile jokes about you and Miss Arsic and Miss Horvatic. It makes sense now, it does, but I should have thought, oh... I don’t understand.”

Laszlo shifted. His hand was an icebox beneath the warmth of Florijan’s. “What don’t you understand?”

“The book... well. I did research, and it says— it says Slovenia isn’t considered a Balkan country. And Izet mentioned that sometimes, but I never really understood it, I just thought it was a consistent error he liked to make. Is it true, Laszlo? I don’t want it to be true. I think you guys are great. And I don’t fit in with Lorenzo and Manon and Aurelia— I mean, they’re great, but I do feel like the odd one out. I can’t speak German or French and they can't speak a word of Slovene or even read Cyrillic. It’s... weird. I always thought it was the other way around.” Florijan’s voice went increasingly distraught, and Laszlo’s panic flared in his chest.

“Don’t get upset. It’s okay. Um, let me explain it to you this way. You guys, the Slovenians, drink wine and beer. Me, Jelka, Svetlana, Agim, we drink rakija. Uhhh... that’s how I’ve heard it explained.”

“I don’t drink, Laszlo, I hate drinking! It doesn’t make sense,” Florijan let out a whimper of frustration and inhaled. “I apologize. This is making me rather emotional. Can you just— hm. Explain it to me like you would anybody else, and I’ll try not to get upset.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Promise. Erm,” Laszlo felt the back of his neck and his eyes touched the ceiling. He squinted through the glass panelling at the fractured afternoon sun. “Okay. It’s like, a stereotype, really, that you guys are more poised. You’re better. Less boisterous. You don’t fight or argue or make mountains from molehills. You handle things like those posh westerners do.” Laszlo steadied his gaze, and chuckled to himself. “You’re seen as one of the good ones. Too rich, too lavish, too educated to be grouped in with us,” he continued, dripping with venom. “But, Florijan,” his voice shifted back into a soft explanation. “I know you don’t think that way. Izet might have. Hell, the rest of the world might, but you don’t have to. You have the ability to decide what opinions you have, and that’s what’s so beautiful about history. Yes, it’s scary and depressing and leaves you feeling desolate and morbid but it gives you perspective. Needed perspective. So, uh, don’t lose sleep over it, alright? Just... make the right choice.” Laszlo straightened in his chair, as if he were defending himself at one of the various sessions or meetings with his cabinet or with the throng of fellow leaders. “Make your own choice.”

Florijan had never realized the sound of his own voice. He’d always thought his accent sounded different than that of the other Slavs who came to visit Izet, their tones and pronunciation being more defined, more proper, less casual. Everything was conducted with an air of dignity, a twill of formality sprinkled on posture and manners. He hadn’t known it was a unique thing until it all came into perspective. He also hadn’t noticed before how when Laszlo spoke at the meetings, his Slavic accent seemed to melt away in favor of what sounded like a mock British thing. When Laszlo spoke at those meetings, the uncharacteristic severity of his adoptive accent was dour and exuding with bitterness and icy etiquette. The way Laszlo spoke now, though, and the way he spoke at the library, was comfortable, relaxed, his voice soothing and not characterized by the harsh intonations of a western disguise. His accent was beautiful, it was colorful and chaotic but also fun and fitting all at once. It was uniquely Laszlo.

Florijan didn’t want him to hide the person he was beneath all those layers. He found himself first outstretching a hand, wordlessly, which Laszlo took, eyebrows furrowed. Then, with his emotion pouring out like an opened set of floodgates, he reached out both his arms and enveloped Laszlo in a hug. Florijan squeezed, careful to not hurt his friend, and rested his head in the corner of Laszlo’s neck, his eyes shut tight. Laszlo froze for a moment, stunned and caught like a red-handed criminal, and hugged back. Just slightly. His hands shook as he patted Florijan’s back and listened to the sound of his aggressive heartbeat. It was Florijan who let go first, folding like a house of cards and keeping his movements light and gentle. When Laszlo looked up, he realized Florijan’s eyes were welling up. “I don’t want you to hide from yourself just because the world said so!” Florijan whimpered, wiping his tears away with his sleeve.

Laszlo had never been so aware of the sound of his own heartbeat in his chest. It was so strong and filled his ears with that drumbeat of blood and life. He shut his eyes, choking back a tidal wave of emotion and hearing the pounding inside of his head. Like a swimmer coming up for air, he took in a long breath and turned back to a brimming Florijan, smiling like a politician. “Ah, thank you, dear. It means a lot to me that you say that. Thank you. Really, thank you.”

“Oh, Laszlo, you’re such a good man. You were so good today. You’re so clever and intelligent and wonderful, I don’t see why you have to hide behind— I don’t see why you should hide at all.” Florijan sniffled, making paws with his sweater and rocking back and forth in his place. “I look up to you.”

Laszlo felt that pit in his stomach again and his mouth grew dry. He sat there, a rubberneck to his own wreck, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. “Awh, shit, dear. I look up to you too. You’re an admirable fellow. I’m happy to be here with you. You’re doing amazing.”

Florijan swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, blinking away the last of his tears. He grabbed Laszlo’s hands again, giving them a tight squeeze. Laszlo gazed at Florijan’s olive green nail polish. “That’s— that’s my favorite color, some fun Mincef trivia.”

Holding up his hand to study his own nails and then gaze back at Laszlo, Florijan beamed. “Green is beautiful! It’s the color of life.”

Laszlo nodded, his mouth a faint smile. “Yeah, yeah. You feel better now?”

Florijan nodded his head. “Thank you for talking with me… dear.”

“Noooooo problem, dear!” Laszlo responded, aiming finger guns and shooting with two snaps of his fingers. “Always a pleasure to see you around. I hope we can see each other more often.” To be fair, Laszlo thought, relations had especially stalled with Izet in power. Maybe it was time to repair that.

“Mmph,” Florijan replied, his head bobbing up and down. He kissed Laszlo’s outstretched hand and got to his feet, placing one of his firm hands on Laszlo’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around.” His words were smiling almost as wide as he was.

“See ‘ya.” Laszlo gave a salute.

Florijan saluted back, giggling as he disappeared towards the dorms.

Laszlo heard his heart pounding again.