#Feels like it had its feet in both worlds. A conundrum. What am I even talking about? Oh yes! I suppose I hoped with this series that i

[writertitan]

Heat

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 2660

themes: modern au, smut, sexual content!! mature and 18+ readers only!!

For the past two days, your radiator had been making a god-awful noise whenever it turned on. Had being the keyword, until the early hours of today when it decided it couldn’t take it anymore and died on you completely. The winter morning air was frosty and you had woken up in the middle of the night to a loud and sad sputtering noise as the radiator said its goodbye, leaving you in a bit of a conundrum when you quietly got out of bed to try and see if there was any saving it. There wasn’t, and you were internally freaking out. 

Now here you were, glancing at a phone screen that read 3:23am with the chill of winter already seeping into your little apartment. The sleet outside didn’t help either; that awful mix of snow and rain was only bound to make your apartment even colder. 

You weren’t the only one who had been startled awake either, and you frowned in dismay when you saw Levi sitting up in bed with an annoyed, still sleepy look on his face. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a husky voice, making you feel even worse. Levi was an insomniac by nature - tonight he’d been getting an okay night’s rest, only to be interrupted by your damn radiator crapping out on you. 

“It’s my stupid radiator. It broke,” you whined, voice not even above a whisper as you gave it a pathetic kick with your feet. 

You heard Levi sigh in exasperation and looked to see him pulling back the covers for you as a silent beckon to come back to bed. You didn’t need to be told twice now that goosebumps had already started flourishing on your exposed skin, and immediately snuggled up next to him to preserve warmth. 

“I’m just cuddling for a minute,” you murmured, stroking his bare torso. “I’m gonna grab us some actual pajamas and some more blankets. I doubt my fucking landlord is going to respond to a text at three in the morning to come take a look at the damn thing.” 

Levi made a grunt of disapproval and held you to him tighter, shaking his head as he nuzzled it into your neck. The motion made butterflies swirl to life in your stomach and you giggled at the ticklish feeling of his bedhead, kissing it sweetly as your arms wrapped around him. 

“It’s gonna get real cold real fast,” you warned, “and we’re hardly dressed for that.” Levi only had his boxers on and you weren’t much better off, clad in only an old shirt of his and your panties. 

“Don’t you know any basic survival skills?” he said suddenly, his voice and his eyes taunting you, finally gazing up at you from his place at your neck. “We should be shedding clothes. Helps preserve warmth better.” 

“Bullshit,” you scoffed, but the idea was already planted, and you knew exactly what Levi was getting up to when his hand strayed from your hip to caress your thigh instead. He was so warm, his skin and his touch, and it made your head spin. 

“I’m being serious, you little brat,” he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck as he spoke. “I know exactly how to keep us warm in your shithole apartment.” 

His little jab at your apartment didn’t hurt. He’d been asking you when you were moving out for months now and had been asking you to stay over at his place more often, using his, “My apartment is better than yours” excuse each time. 

You instead answered him by pressing up against him even more, hands exploring his torso and then moving up to his hair to pull his face towards yours. In an instant your lips were captured in a heated kiss, tongues and teeth clashing as Levi maneuvered to get on top. He straddled you easily, a growing erection prodding at your stomach as his hands gathered the hem of his borrowed shirt on you to pull it up over your breasts and leave the fabric bunched up above them. His lips broke from yours and you whined, trying to follow him as he sat up fully, but his hands pinned you down by your shoulders. 

A blush rouged your cheeks as you watched him scan over your body, hands slowly moving from your shoulders to cup your breasts once he was sure you wouldn’t move, and you rolled your hips up slowly to tease him. You saw that primal glint in his eye appear as you did that, his gaze finally flickering back to yours, but he shook his head.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, hands moving over your nipples that had perked up from both arousal and the cold, his eyes examining the goosebumps appearing over your body. He gently tugged his shirt off of you completely, discarding it amongst your pillows before his hands returned on their journey along your skin.

“Keep me warm,” you whispered, voice saturated with desire as you watched him. You stayed still apart from your wandering hands that found his chest, his abdomen, and then finally, the tent in his boxers. He swallowed thickly but didn’t say a word, hands moving from your breasts to your hips in one languid motion, fingertips toying with the elastic of your panties. 

“Levi,” you breathed out, “...please...” That familiar smirk ghosted at his lips and, after what felt like an eternity ,a hand slipped under the fabric of your panties. You groaned in satisfaction and rewarded him with a gentle squeeze between his legs, his own groan mixing with yours. His free hand grabbed the blankets that were curled around your waists and tugged them up so the two of you were now completely covered and shielded from the increasingly cool air in your bedroom, the confined space somehow even more erotic. It was only the two of you, nobody else existed underneath those covers, the world was all but gone, and you were grateful for your little bubble as your breathing grew heavier and your mewls got louder. 

Two of his fingers danced around your clit, sliding between your slick folds as he played with you and you played with him. Your hand had worked its way beneath the cloth of his boxers to stroke his length slowly, matching his pace with you as you stared into each other’s eyes hungrily, lips parted and chests heaving for air. 

When Levi finally pressed into your clit with both fingers, your back arched and your eyes fluttered shut, pleasure piercing through you. His lips found yours again in another passionate kiss, lips fumbling together as the two of you stroked each other, Levi growing harder in your hand as your fingers trailed from his base to his tip, thumb gently pressing against the head of his cock occasionally. Moans were stifled into the kiss as you parted your lips and allowed his tongue to find yours, each of you needy and writhing in the other’s hand. Levi broke away for air and you gasped out to fill your lungs as well, but your lips found his neck only seconds later and your legs nimbly swathed around his hips to pull him closer. The hand that wasn’t around him trailed up so your fingers could get lost in his hair, a lock of it twirled around your finger as you nipped and suck at the most sensitive spot at Levi’s neck. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, hips bucking into you when your teeth grazed along his flushed skin, the whispered curse only fueling you. 

“Off, please,” you pleaded with him against his neck, referring to the thin fabric still separating your groins. You heard him whine when your hand slipped out of his boxers to tug them down around his knees, letting him kick them off the rest of the way. You also couldn’t help the little whimper that left you when his hand did the same to you, both of you exposed to the other now. 

Levi didn’t waste any time in taking hold of his length and guiding it to your folds, earning a loud moan of pleasure from you as he slid himself along you, tip of his cock pressing teasingly to your clit. There was no need or desire to bother to stifle the needy whine of his name as he rubbed his shaft against you, the pleasure almost overwhelming you when his head ducked down to take a breast into his warm mouth. A string of curses left your lips and you barely registered his free hand moving down as well, only noticing when a finger slipped inside you with no warning. 

Again your back arched and you writhed beneath him, and the peculiar sensation of a finger in you and a cock rubbing your clit, rather than the other way around, had you seeing stars. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Levi mumbled against your breast, a string of saliva trailing his lips as he came up for air again. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust, both of you on cloud nine. Your hands kept busy and stroked his skin, both of you showcasing a slight sheen of sweat from the intense heat you’d created in your little cocoon of blankets. There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your head as your lips crashed into his again, needy as ever as your hips squirmed and bucked. 

“Levi,” you whined against his mouth, letting him swallow his name. 

“Use your words,” he teased back, adding a second finger to pump into you while his length slipped into your folds. 

But you could barely sound out his name, let alone form a coherent sentence. He knew this was exactly the case and got off on it, leaving you to mewl and whine and writhe under him as you scrambled to get it together. 

“Want you inside of me,” you gasped out finally, bucking your hips up roughly as his fingers curled inside of you. 

Levi’s lips were at your ear in an instant, breath hot as it fanned the side of your face. “I am inside of you.”

“Your cock,” you nearly cried out, legs spread wide and heels dug into the mattress as you tried to find the balance to lift your hips into his. “Want your cock inside of me.” 

And Levi didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers left you in an instant and, before you could protest, he filled you up by slamming into you roughly, already almost to the hilt. Your legs enveloped his waist as a groan scratched out of your throat, nails digging into his upper arms as he waited and stretched you. Both of you swore loudly, hips bucking into each other, and you pressed your forehead to Levi’s and rolled your hips to let him know you wanted him to move. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew what every action meant, knew what you were telling him without having to actually tell him. Just like he knew all of that, he knew exactly what kind of rhythm to fall into, already relentlessly pounding into you once you were adjusted to him. It was slower at first, with Levi putting in the effort to almost completely pull out before pushing back in, over and over, skin slapping against skin as he did so. The erotic sounds from your throat were nonstop now, one moan melting into the next, and Levi’s own noises soon joined with yours as he picked up speed. Your hips met his effortlessly, bodies in sync with one another, the familiarity apparent in the way you just knew each other. 

Sweat slicked your forehead and matted your hair to it, Levi’s appearance mirroring yours, the heat almost unbearable if not for the knowledge of the cold and biting air that threatened to penetrate your bubble. His hips rolled into yours, entire body pressed to yours now with no room for even an inch of space between your skin; you didn’t know where you ended and he began, and you didn’t want to know. Being connected like this, you were a single being, striving for the same jaw-dropping, toe-curling goal. 

Levi gripped one of your thighs to push your knee almost to your chest, changing your position just enough for him to bury himself deeper and hit the spot that made the coil in your stomach tighten instantly. His name left your lips repeatedly, the only thing you remembered, the only thing that mattered in that moment. Levi, Levi, Levi…

He pecked your lips between the little whimpers you gave him, leaving you absolutely breathless, so close to finally reaching the edge. One of his hands forced itself between your colliding hips to give your clit attention, the touch of his fingertips catapulting you closer to your orgasm, unable to resist for much longer. 

“Fuck...Levi...close…” you panted into his mouth, hands alternating between gripping his hair, gripping his shoulders, gripping the sheets. 

“Me too,” he gasped out in a low murmur. His free hand cupped your face to pull you in for another deep kiss while his fingers worked your clit, dancing around it sometimes, and then rubbing it directly, always in those slow, tantalizing circles. He nipped at your lower lip, whispering the word you needed to hear so badly into your parted lips. 

“Come.” 

Between his needy kisses and his fingers and his throbbing cock inside of you, with Levi so unyielding and constant with everything he did, never faltering, it threw you over the edge into an intense orgasm, walls squeezing around him as you cried into his lips that were still smothered into yours. Your thighs pressed into his hips to keep him there inside you and you shuddered in delight when he came only moments later, both of his strong hands grabbing your hips and pinning them down so he could ride his high out, right into you. 

It took several more moments before the two of you could calm down, hips eventually lulling to stillness so he could rest on top of you, nearly putting his whole weight on you. But it felt good, it felt so good to feel him on you, in you, both of you catching your breath in the stuffy enclosure of your blankets. His mouth pressed a final kiss to yours before finding another favorite place to be - at the curve of your neck, to pepper short, endearing pecks to your skin. 

Levi didn’t make any moves to pull out of you so you stayed in that position, reveling in the afterglow of your orgasms, while you stroked his hair and breathed him in, head tilted so he could have full access to the expanse of your neck. 

“I guess you were right,” you whispered with a smile, eyes closed. Levi hummed in question and you giggled, a hand caressing his lower back. “We did need to shed clothes to stay warm.” 

That earned a chuckle out of Levi but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he continued leaving kisses along your neck, slowly pulling out of you and shifting so he could be at your side instead of on top of you. 

“I’m always right,” he finally said, pulling you into his chest to snuggle, “Just like I’m right about you getting the fuck out of this shitty apartment.” His arm kept itself wrapped around your shoulders even when you swatted his chest, his other arm resting happily at your hip. You traced his chest with your fingertips, legs intertwining as sleep began to overtake you, the exhaustion of sex heavily seeping into your bodies. 

“So you would rather have me on the streets with no home to go back to,” you mumbled jokingly, sleepily, and then snickered when Levi’s scoff fills the air. 

“You’d have a home, brat.” 

You shivered as Levi adjusted the blankets to let some fresh air in, the coldness cracking through at last, but your shivers were easily abated by Levi nuzzling into your hair and pulling you closer, fingertips dancing over your back to soothe you to sleep. 

“Love you,” you mumbled, moving your head so you could press your ear against his chest to hear his steady heartbeat. You were already drifting off, warm and content and blissful, but you didn’t miss the quiet, “Love you, too.” 

[mage-ellie]

His Wish

This is my first request from AO3! People seemed to like it so I thought I’d post it here too :) I’m open for small requests! Feel free to request headcanons/scenarios/prompts! I’ll write about any of the P5R cast. Akechi is just my favorite boy <3 All I ask is that you don’t request abusive/toxic relationships, yandere, smut of underaged characters (I will age them up though), or pieces that romanticize mental illnesses. I prefer to write fem!reader since i’m a girl and it’s easier for me, but if you say please, i’ll do my best to write GN and male!reader pieces! <3 

Warnings: P5R spoilers, lots of fluff

Word count: 2,497

Link to original post: Click me!

Summary:  All Goro Akechi had wished for was to be loved, to be needed, by someone, anyone. He never could've imagined that his wish would actually come true.

In less than 24 hours, Goro Akechi was going to be married.

He never could've imagined that he would live long enough to find love, let alone get married. He had also never imagined that he would be marrying one of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Although, he couldn't complain, she was quite the impressive thief, having managed to steal his heart right out from under his nose.

Goro was currently lying alone on the bed in the hotel room he was staying at. Their wedding reception was going to be held at the Yoshiki-en Garden in Nara, Japan. His fiancée had practically begged him to have their wedding there. The garden was at its most beautiful during the spring time. But truth be told, Goro would've married her any where, even in that little hole in the wall, Leblanc.

The soon to be husband couldn't stop replaying everything that lead up to this moment.

How she had practically forced him to live with her during the whole Maruki conundrum. How she confessed her feelings to him in March when he returned. How he told her he loved her for the first time during their date to the cherry blossom festival in Tokyo. How he proposed to her in front of all of their friends 3 years later at that same cherry blossom festival.

He was so nervous for tomorrow, and yet so excited. He actually found someone who wanted to be with him for who he was, not because of his celebrity status. She knew about all of his flaws and his horrific past, but not once did she let him doubt her love for him. She worked so hard to support him while he went to therapy, to help him make amends with Futaba and Haru, to help him come to terms with the fact that he deserved a second chance.

A few years ago, he would've been terrified at the thought of having someone in his life like this, but now, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

-

The next thing he knew, he was being awakened by the sound of someone slamming their fists against his hotel room door. Akira Kurusu, Ryuji Sakamoto, and Yusuke Kitagawa were currently standing outside of his room, each with a black tux in hand. As well as Morgana, who was sitting on the floor next to Akira's feet, already wearing a cute little handmade formal black vest. They wanted to get ready with Goro, seeing as it was his big day and all.

A little ways down the hall, the group of boys could hear a group of girls squealing about marriage, dresses and romance. It was 8 A.M. and they were already so energetic. The groom and his groomsmen all laughed to themselves, they were excited as well. This was the first marriage in their friend group after all.

Akira, Goro's best man, mentioned that he should try to take as many mental photos as he could, because this day would go by in a blur. Goro believed him, one moment the boys were standing at his door, ready to get the day started, and the next they were all dressed and making their way to the venue.

The normally oh so composed Goro Akechi was sweating bullets. His hands were clammy and his throat was dry. Never in his life had he felt so nervous, so unprepared.

Before he knew it, it was suddenly 3 P.M. and the ceremony was beginning. Only your closest friends and family made up the audience. No media or paparazzi in sight. Goro shifted his weight from one leg to the other, he hadn't seen you all day. His heart raced as music began and you appeared in your gorgeous white wedding gown, Sojiro by your side, walking you down the aisle. He felt a hard lump forming in his throat at the sight of you. You always looked gorgeous to him, but in that moment, he truly believed that you were an angel sent from above.

A soft, teary eyed smile spread across his face as you made your way closer to him. He knew he'd be teased by the others for the rest of his life for crying while you walked down the aisle, but he didn't care. All that mattered, was that you were now standing before him, in a gown he never imagined he'd see you in. A warm, comforting smile made its way to your cheeks from behind your veil as you looked up into his eyes. It was taking all of his self control to not kiss you right then and there.

He could hear the officiant speaking about love and happiness, but he wasn't really listening. Goro was too busy taking as many mental pictures as he could fit into his brain. He only tuned back in when you brought up a small index card filled with writing. It was your vow to him.

"My dearest Goro. Never in a million years had I imagined that I would be spending the rest of my life with you, and to be honest, I'm pretty sure you had thought the same thing." You began, a light giggle coming from your throat. The Phantom Thieves, Sae and Sojiro also laughed, knowing what you meant by that. He had quite the troublesome past with the thieves after all. "Despite our differences in the past, I can't imagine being with anyone else. I vow to you that I'll work tirelessly to show you my love, to always be there for you, and to give you the home and family that you deserve." If he hadn't been so entranced by the way you looked while reading your vows to him, your words would've had him sobbing. "I love you Goro," He froze when your voice cracked, "I'm so happy that you're home." He knew what you meant by that. He remembered how devastated you looked when he told you that he might not have survived during Shido's palace, but he wouldn't dwell on the memory, he was with you now, right?

It was his turn. Shakily, he pulled out a card with his vows on it from his tux pocket. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he began. "Y/N, my love. I truly didn't believe that I would live long enough to find love like this. And you're right, never had I imagined that I would be marrying you of all people." He watched as you lifted a hand to your mouth and laughed, your eyes lit up as you did so, the other thieves snickering along with you. He was glad that you could all laugh about the past like this. It lifted a guilty weight off of his shoulders. "And yet, here I am, unable to picture this day any other way. These past few years, you've shown me a love that I've never known. Today, I vow to you that I'll spend the rest of my days finding ways to bring happiness to you, like you've brought to me. I vow that I'll protect you and cherish you with my entire being." He looked up momentarily, amazed by the fact that a single tear was making its way down your cheek. "I love you Y/N. It's good to be home." He watched as you nearly broke down at his last sentence. You took a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath.

The officiant started talking about your rings, but once again, Goro was too busy staring at you to listen. The sound of you squealing is what brought him back to reality. He watched as Morgana trotted down the aisle, carefully balancing a pillow on his head and carrying the rings to you both. You had a look of pure delight on your face, apparently, Akira had told you that Morgana wouldn't be able to make it because cats weren't allowed or something, but of course, your kitty friend wouldn't miss this day for the world.

Everyone in the audience cooed at the cat as he sat in front of you both with a smug grin on his face. You both reached down for the rings, your hand lingered for a moment to scratch the black cat on the head.

Goro melted into your touch when you took his hand so you could put the ring on his finger, it was a simple silver band with both of your initials engraved on the inside. Next, Goro delicately took your hand in his and slid the crown shaped wedding ring onto your left ring finger. He was the ace detective prince after all, marrying him made you his queen, right?

The officiant spoke a bit more before saying the words Goro had been waiting to hear all day. "I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Goro gently lifted the veil from your face, but before he could lean in, you had pushed yourself onto the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his, your arms making their way around his neck. You had been waiting just as long for this moment as he had. He quickly slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to him, reveling in the feeling of your lips.

Cheers erupted from the small crowd as you two pulled away. "I love you Goro Akechi." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. "I love you too, Y/N Akechi." His response was just as quiet as yours. Saying your first name with his last name did funny things to his heart. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to it, not that he minded. It would be a reminder that someone out there truly did love him.

The rest of the night was a blur for Goro. His most prominent memories of the night were of Sojiro sobbing when he danced with you, Morgana and Futaba arguing over who got to dance with you next, Ann screaming when she caught the bouquet of flowers you had thrown, and the way you looked, swaying slowly in his arms to a song he didn't know the lyrics to, but you knew every word. He wasn't even sure if he got to eat a slice of the expensive wedding cake that he had paid for.

By the time you both made it to the bridal suite, you were exhausted. Goro was barely able to get your wedding dress off of you before you passed out on the bed. He did his best to carefully remove your makeup so you wouldn't have to worry about it in the morning. He couldn't help but stare at you for a bit as you laid beside him, the light from the moon making your skin glow. His mind was ready to burst from how many mental photos he had taken throughout the day.

Gently, as to not disturb you, he wrapped you in his arms and drifted to sleep while going over the memories he had of this day.

-

5 years.

You and Goro have been married for 5 years now. Goro couldn't deny that he was happy to wake up next to you every day.

However, today was different. He knew that you had planned to meet up with the girls for an early breakfast, but you didn't wake him up to say goodbye. Usually, on the rare occasions that you would have to leave your shared house before he woke up, you'd wake him up and give him a kiss goodbye.

He had noticed that you had been a bit distant lately, and he couldn't help but worry. Were you falling out of love with him? Were you cheating on him? Was it something worse? His mind filled with all sorts of negative questions and concerns in an attempt to figure out why you were acting the way you were.

Goro waited for you on the couch in your home, planning on confronting you about your strange behavior when you got back. In the 8 years that you've been together, you've never once done something like this, so he was incredibly scared.

The familiar jingle of keys and turning of the lock on the front door signaled your safe arrival home. He watched you freeze for a moment when you made eye contact with him, uncertainty and nervousness clouding your once bright eyes. Goro raised an eyebrow, despite the fear that coursed through his veins.

You took a deep breath before approaching him silently, once in front of him, you dug around in your purse for a moment, before handing him a small white box with a red ribbon tied around it. He stared at the box, shocked as you took a seat beside him. Goro could feel you staring at him, burning a hole into the side of his head. A... gift? This wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"Well?" Your voice sounded so small. Were you afraid of something? He took a moment to look at you before untying the ribbon and opening the box, inside sat three pregnancy tests. Each one testing positive. It took a moment for his brain to process this information. You were pregnant, with his child. That's why you had been so distant. The two of you almost never talked about kids. Due to his traumatic past, Goro believed that he would never be a good father, even with all of the therapy and support from you, he could never see himself being one.

"You're pregnant." He breathed, still staring at the pregnancy tests. "Yeah." You sounded so tired, sad even. Despite his original negative stance on becoming a father, he couldn't help but feel joy. He was going to be the father of your child. He was being given the chance to start a family of his own.

Slowly, he turned towards you, staring down at your stomach. You weren't really showing yet. "Well?" You repeated. Your voice shook, on the verge of tears. Goro didn't respond with words, he just leaned forwards and pushed you into the couch, his arms wrapped around your back and his face pressed into your stomach. He couldn't stop the sob that escaped his lips. He never could've imagined this. Despite his initial fears, he would do his best to be the greatest father that he could be.

Your body shook as you began sobbing as well, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other resting against his back, holding him as he cried.

"I'm going to be a dad?" He cried into your stomach, needing to confirm that this was real. "You're going to be a dad, and an amazing one at that." Your response was so genuine, it made it impossible for him to believe otherwise.

His wish of being loved, of being needed, had really come true.

[write-a-bad-romance]

Holy Woman (Ikevamp Angst Week 2020)

Ao3 link: Here

Prompt: “Character Death” and “Loss”

Words: 2761

Made for Ikevamp Angst Week Day 8 and 9. Tagging @ikevampangstweek​.

This work features mild spoilers for Jean’s route and a genderbent (female) version of Jean d’Arc.

dulce et decorum est pro patria mori 

In the dark of the night, she ran amidst the clamor of gunshots and shouts far behind her. The blizzard became her cover —she was deaf to the entire world save for the ominous howling of the wind right beside her ears.

Her long silken hair, free from its bindings, trailed like spun silk as she bounded across the snow. With nothing to guide her, not even the hand of God Himself, she escaped into the wasteland.

Like a specter she vanished, abandoning her crown and a condemned history behind her.

"Drat!" Charles cursed, shaking his head as the horse finally breathed its last.

And when I'm so close to the town too! This can't be happening! Last night's blizzard was horrendous; he had to take shelter at the dilapidated empty house, horse and cart, and all. Delivering every crate containing vials of serum in tip-top shape had been his objective.

But there was little he could hope for, not when he had a horse with a broken leg.

"No, no, no." Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes. Years carrying corpses and dying men back and forth on the battlefield made him immune to the sight of mortality. But the combination of fatigue after days on the road and lack of sleep was more than enough to break his already dwindling spirits.

"No," he repeated, slapping himself on both cheeks. "This won't do. Think of the townspeople. They're waiting."

With heavy steps and an even heavier heart, Charles sat by the side of the road. It would take at least five hours to reach his destination on foot. Gears turned inside his exhausted head as he devised a plan: hide the crates inside the house, walk along the road, and see if there are any houses nearby. Walk up to their door, knock, smile and ask them if you can borrow their cart —

And risk leaving the crates unsupervised. Right. No one would have the mind to somehow spirit away crates full of vials of dubious substance, but Charles dreaded losing his precious cargo if that meant another three days' ride to the Medical Center.

What a conundrum! Charles's idle hand grabbed fistfuls of snow, feeling the raw chill bite into his skin. The sensation helped alleviate his fidgety nerves.  

Besides, there's no guarantee I'm not going to get caught in another blizzard when running around seeking help. The rose-haired man sighed, scratching at the memento wound around his neck. What should I do now? Stay put and pray for a miracle to come my way?

Back at the battlefield, in the flapping tents where prayers die on the mouth of soldiers reaching to grasp at specters of their beloved, Charles lost his faith in the Almighty. H is more cynical colleagues joked that God had been replaced by the emperor, his enemy monarchs, and whatever whims they impose on us poor, downtrodden common folk.

It wasn't until his mother pestered him that Charles once again re-adopted a habit of praying. Ironic, considering his mother's pragmatism towards their soiled family business. War was capable of moving the smallest of things, it seemed.  

Charles realized he had been dozing when he felt something approach. The tremor he felt underneath his feet signaled that it was another cart, most likely heavy duty. The young doctor jumped to his feet, regretting it immediately as he felt himself swoon and nearly losing his balance.

"Excuse me!" He waved at the cart, a figure clad in a dark blue cloak from head to toe at the reins. "Are you in any way passing through the next town?" Charles yelled.

The stranger stopped his cart right in front of Charles, silent. Worried he didn't hear him the first time, Charles composed himself and cleared his throat.

"Will you, by any chance, be passing through the town? The one with a mountain abbey?" He pronounced his words carefully, his heart beating in trepidation as the veiled stranger didn't seem to respond. He could wait for another cart to pass by but damn if he let this chance slip.

The figure nodded, and a deep-toned, feminine voice reverberated through the crisp, winter air.

"I am heading to that town." The woman answered severely. "How may I be of service?"

Charles was perplexed by her manner of speech but approached her nonetheless. "My apologies. I was transporting some cargo on my own cart when the blizzard came, and I had to take shelter in that empty house over there."

The cloaked woman regarded him in silence as Charles struggled to resume his explanation. Did she find him suspicious? Was she to be suspected, herself? Countless scenarios rushed through Charles' restless mind as he motioned vaguely at the dilapidated building.

"And then my horse broke one of its ankles—"

“Your horse?”

Charles was ready to receive whatever tirade the woman was prepared to discharge, judging from her pressing tone. But to his surprise, the woman was already jumping off her cart, the wind knocking back her veil.

Revealing a burn scar mark in the shape of a spark over her right eye, concealed in part by her thick, lavender bangs. It extended across the side of her face and neck, disappearing underneath her collar. Her left eye was hidden under a black eyepatch, revealing a scarce expanse of alabaster skin.

Charles' face grew red as he realized that he was staring. Her dark, empty orb seemed to suggest that she too had noticed. Quickly, Charles apologized.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to stare—" but the woman had already turned towards the house.

"Show me the horse," she commanded.

Swallowing his guilt away, Charles brushed invisible snow off his pants and followed suit. "Right," he coughed. "This way, Madame."

"So, you've met Sister Joanna." Monsieur Faust concluded. He was the town's only doctor, a strapping young man in his late twenties. He had on him shapely, robust shoulders and intelligent eyes behind a pair of square, thin-framed glasses.

The only aspect Charles found disconcerting about his temporary senior was his penchant for sardonic, offhand remarks that seemed to serve as a barrier between him and the vernacular crowd.

"Sister?" Charles exclaimed, having signed the last of the transport papers. "Is she part of the convent?"

"No, not at all." Faust chuckled. "In fact, I believe it's been years since anybody's ever seen her inside the church or taking part in any religious gathering."

Charles recalled how the lean woman helped him move the dead horse out of the barn and buried the horse by a nearby tree. He was still amazed by the woman's astounding demonstration of strength as she loaded the bulky crates onto her own cart.

"It was the nuns who called her that during her stay at the abbey. The nickname carried long after she left," The older man continued. "I was the doctor who treated her when she first arrived a year ago."

Those burn scars, Charles gulped, amethyst eyes still boring into his own long after their parting. "What does she do now?"

"She's the town's handywoman, for lack of a better word." Faust's nimble hands arranged the vials into neat rows inside a cabinet. "She accepts odd jobs every now and then, though you're more likely to see her at the weapons shop by the square. She seemed to have lived quite close to the military at some point."

The man's curious pause before rolling the word military didn't escape Charles. Whether it was said out of genuine disdain for their country's warmongering exploits or twisted sympathy for his own history, he didn't know.

"Other times, especially outside winter, you can find her attending to flower beds just outside of town," Faust muttered. "She would bring back different-colored flowers in vases and deliver them to the flower shop. You'll see what I mean quite soon."

"Flowers? The military?" Charles was at a loss for words as the man slew exposition after exposition in rapid succession. And he had pegged him to be the quiet sort! "I take it she must have been living quite illustriously before she came to town."

"That she is," The other man nodded. "Quite the character, isn't she? Sister Joanna does what she likes, regardless of what others see."

Charles decided to take a stroll after lunch. Now that he's done resting and arranging his belongings at the inn, it was time to explore the rustic town.

The innkeeper was an amiable man with ivory hair and crimson eyes, not much older than Faust. The flower shop the doctor mentioned was adjacent to the inn's lobby, and the owner of both establishments introduced himself as Vlad. Not Vladimir, not Vladislav, just Vlad.

Charles detected something beyond mere eccentricity beneath the man's lighthearted disposition. There was a noble air to him that made Charles suspect Vlad was related to one of the hussar princes the Continental army overthrew seven years ago.

The man responded to Charles' prodding joke with a subtly accented, good-humored reply. "I hail from Targoviste! But now that you mention it, my family is descended from a long line of voivodes from the Middle Ages . "

Charles decided not to pry further lest he be turned to fertilizer for the pansies at the inn's backyard.

His feet took him to the town square, where Sister Joanna's weapons shop supposedly was if he remembered correctly.

In the center was a sizable statue of a peasant woman, her arm cradling a bundle of wheat to her bosom. The other arm was reaching towards the sky, a long strip of sash winding around the limb like a vine. Charles found it so lifelike it could've been fluttering along with the icy wind.

Sister Joanna was standing by the base. Her slacks visible below her dark robes and sinewy stature made it easy to confuse her with a man. Charles walked towards the lone woman, intending to thank her.

“Sister Joanna!” He called excitedly. “Sister Joann—”

Charles fell quiet as he observed the woman pressing her hands firmly pressed together in front of her breast, long fingers pointing towards the statue in silent prayer.

It took a moment before she finally turned to look at Charles. The young man noticed a bundle of freshly picked snowdrops and hellebore resting at the statue's foot.

Charles found himself speechless as he was once again met with Sister Joanna's hollow gaze.

"Yes?" Her dry voice penetrated the once-welcome stillness. "Do you need anything?"

It wasn't that Charles was unaccustomed to make small talk with women. It was Sister Joanna's mannerism that had put the younger man at unease. He collected himself and knelt down, paying heed to spare her some distance.

"I think I should pray, too." He smiled, hoping to reduce the tension. "But I don't have any flowers on me. Too bad."

"Do as you see fit." The woman replied impassively.

Charles' heart regained its composed pace after he offered hushed words of prayer for the souls of his fallen comrades. He rose and beamed at the indomitable woman, whom he caught staring.

Sister Joanna wasn't the least bit unfazed when Charles's youthful face broke into a grin. "Do you know who you're even praying for?"

His eyes returned to inspect the statue, the granite matron towering over the strange couple. "This statue was built in honor of the fallen soldiers and their widows, was it not?"

Sister Joanna didn't respond, seemingly absorbed in the statue's presence as well.

"The Emperor marched through these passes on the way to claim his first victory. Thousands of the men died in the expedition, and they were laid to rest by the abbey."

Charles stepped forward to run his palm over the statue's nameplate.

"The Weeping Widow," He read. "The woman's statue was meant to stand for the widows and lovers of the fallen men, waiting somewhere at the other side of the country. I can't imagine what it feels like to have someone come knocking on your door and tell you that the man you love is dead."

Ignoring Sister Joanna's lack of commentary, Charles continued. "This statue was built with the hopes that no more widows would have to share that fate. That's a beautiful thought."

"How did you come to know all this?" she finally interrupted.

"My uncle took part in the expedition. He lost an arm after the battle and was recuperating in this town when they built the statue." Charles recounted heartily. "It is sweet and proper to die for one's own country, he’d say to his nephews and grandchildren. He kept boasting about wanting to follow his friends to heaven. Or hell."

"It is sweet and fitting to die for the homeland is a more precise translation," The elder corrected. "They keep omitting the following lines:

sed dulcius pro patria vivere,

et dulcissimum pro patria bibere.

Ergo, bibamus pro salute patriae.

'A reasonable translation would be but sweeter still to live for the homeland, and sweetest yet to drink for the homeland. So, let us drink to the health of the homeland." She recited, her sonorous voice unwavering. "Why choose to die at the behest of unconcerned rulers when you can return to a loving home and family?"

Charles was taken aback by the mistress's sudden erudite lecture, almost sharp in its delivery.

"Forgive me," Charles blushed in embarrassment. He'd been correct —Sister Joanna was as enigmatic as her appearance, if not more.

 “To die for one's own country. The Emperor's beloved quote." Sister Joanna murmured. "A flowery epigram befitting an equally deranged man."

"I beg your pardon?"

Two years after the Emperor's death, all of the Continent remained in discord after his abdication and subsequent death. There were demands of his generals' execution after they failed to have the ruler beheaded himself.

In some parts of the country, statues in his image were toppled, and his estates were raided. Angry mobs and disillusioned former soldiers banded together to hunt down possible adherents to the old, 'warmongering' regime.

The recalcitrant woman stood tall against the backdrop of a secluded, provincial town hidden among mountains. Maybe there was a truth to Faust's words about her past dealings with the military.

Speak no ill of the dead doesn't apply to warlords and rulers, it seemed. Joanna sighed. "I can't imagine anyone deigning to pray for his poor soul."

His family, Charles dreaded to say. Whatever was left of the royal family were chased to the shores, some immediately captured as they attempted to land in the Isles.

Their encounter had taken quite the morbid turn. Yet it didn't deter Charles from wanting to know more about the woman standing by his side. The young doctor felt small, figuratively and literally, considering his shoulder didn't quite reach hers.

"I should return." Sister Joanna announced. "The sun is setting."

She was heading to the weapons shop, no doubt. Charles nearly forgot his reason for wanting to approach her in the first place.

"Wait!" He called, "I forgot to thank you for your help!"

"What?"

Charles panted as he struggled to match Sister Joanna's pace. Not only does she act like a soldier, she even walks like one!

"I haven't thanked you enough for this morning." He considered extending his hand but refrained, remembering that in proper circumstances, she would be the one extending her hand.

"I don't think I've introduced myself properly, have I? My name is Charles. Charles Henri-Sanson." He flashed her what he thought was his most bedazzling smile. "I might be staying here for the next four months or so,"

Sister Joanna regarded him with mild interest. "I see." She nodded. "Nice to have your acquaintance. I presume the doctor has told you plenty about me, considering you called me by name."

"He did!" Charles answered, not missing a beat. "He told me many things about you."

"Did he, now?"

The pair continued to make their way towards the edge of the square, Charles continuing to engage her with a barrage of questions, and Sister Joanna placating his curiosity with lukewarm zeal.

It didn't take long before they arrived at the entrance to the shop.

Sister Joanna uncovered her cowl and faced Charles. The entirety of her charred visage was now visible, unobscured by the midnight-colored fabric.

"You're a strange man," she observed. "Are you not revolted by the sight of my face?"

"Madame, I used to serve as a doctor until the last days of the war," He chuckled in earnest. "Before I was captured by the Coalition and became a prisoner.”

To be continued in Part 2.’

Special thanks to @batteryrose​ for her doodles of Jean with burn scars all over his body.

[schweeeppess]

Jason was the one who discovered Dick was missing, and damn him Dick just threw all of Jason’s careful planning out the fucking window.

He hadn’t figured it out because Dick had missed a meet up, or because Dick wasn’t answering any imaginary calls, or because he was in Blüdhaven and hadn’t seen Nightwing around.

Nah, he’d figured it out because—for whatever reason Jason couldn’t even begin to fathom—he’d gotten an e-mail from the Iceberg Lounge, inviting the Red Hood as a guest of honor.

An e-mail.

It was ridiculous the amount of time he’d sat there, staring at the screen and debating on showing up or not. He wasn’t one to make decisions lightly, and there was a lot to consider in the invite. If Jason showed up, he’d be intermingling with the heart of Gotham’s criminal dealings; he’d have quite the chance at assessing high-level threats and the ones there wasn’t much to worry about.

On the other hand, was going really worth it? The Iceberg Lounge was a high-class establishment. Jason hated dressing like he had people to impress, and he would definitely need to impress the crowd that hung around the Lounge.

He’d decided there were several ways to impress people, and as a result was sitting at the bar of the Lounge in his uniform, helmet resting in his lap and domino ever-present to conceal his identity. Jason was pointedly ignoring the stares he could feel on his back and the whispers of his name he kept hearing, very patiently waiting for Oswald to show up and explain just what the fuck he was doing that warranted an invitation to Red Hood.

Being drunk wasn’t ideal, so Jason didn’t touch the glass he’d been handed five minutes into his wait, instead cataloguing criminals he could identify as targets and possible competition, picking out the worst of the riff raff and the easy ones to crush.

Eighteen minutes into the wait, Jason stood up and picked his way around the Lounge, a few onlookers stepping aside when they noticed his approach, and others sneering or turning their noses up a little at him. Jason spoke to persons of interest and people he was already planning on erasing from the world, warning both parties subtly and being a little sterner with the weak ones. He wanted to avoid spending resources on such petty and unimportant matters, so fear was his solution.

By the time a built guy in a tuxedo Jason had labeled a guard-slash-escort approached him with a, “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Hood,” Jason had half the guys he’d spoken to pissing their pants, and was finished with that step in his plans.

For him not to laugh in the guy’s face took an incredible amount of willpower, so Jason was very proud of himself for not commenting as he threw a peace sign over his shoulder and walked with Mr. Shades Indoors to Look Cool.

Mr. Shady for short.

“I’m a busy man,” Jason said, once they were in a hidden elevator, arms crossed as he stared up at the lights in boredom. He wasn’t really lying, as in, at all. These days Jason had quite a bit on his plate. “Cobblepot better have something worth my time.”

Mr. Shady nodded once. “We understand M—”

“Call me ‘Mister Hood’ one more time and you’ll find your kneecaps missing.” The kids of the Alley called him Mister Hood, and only they could. He needed to remember to get them to call him Red or something the next time he saw them.

Mr. Shady swallowed nervously, and Jason cracked a smirk as he lifted the helmet over his head and put it on.

Mr. Shady continued. “We understand, sir, and rest assured; what Mr. Cobblepot has to offer will definitely interest you.”

Jason turned his head to face Mr. Shady and raised a brow, which Shady couldn’t see, and drawled, “An’, if I may ask, just how do you know what I would be interested in?”

He didn’t get a response as the elevator doors parted and Shady gestured him forward.

Rolling his eyes, Jason walked out of the elevator and again let himself be led by Shady, who was wiping his palms on his pants. He didn’t have to memorize the path they were taking since it was just a straight line to a door and therefore didn’t even consider bothering to.

Ah, simplicity.

Shady unlocked the door with a keycard—really, Oswald? Keycards?—and held it open for Jason, who growled in irritation. He could open a goddamn door for himself, thanks.

Regardless of his irritation, he stalked through the doorway and entered a large room. It reminded Jason of a prison courtyard, with seats all suspended above and around a cage in the center of the room, many of the seats already occupied by familiar faces that Jason did not like seeing.

Shady led him to his seat—front-row and with a very good view of the cage—and was quick to leave.

Jason scowled at he sat down, propping his feet up on the railing in front of him and crossing his arms. He firmly ignored the fact that Harvey Dent was in the seat to his right, and that Roman fucking Sionis was to Dent’s right.

Only one person was between Jason and the man he’d been harassing. The incredibly powerful, rich, and no-nonsense man that Jason had shoved nonsense and frustration upon.

Roman seemed busy talking on his phone—business call, if the audio receptors in Jason’s helmet were working correctly—so he hadn’t noticed Jason’s presence (he hoped), and Jason thus forced himself to catalogue the rest of Penguins “esteemed” guests.

Mario and Alberto Falcone, Carmine’s sons if Jason’s intel was on the money (which it was), were sitting with Tony Zucco and Sal Maroni, a seating arrangement Jason was sure was intentional. The Maroni family and the Falcones were notorious rivals.

Hopefully they’d make the evening a little more interesting than it was going to otherwise be.

Aside from them, Two-Face, Roman, and who would appear to be fucking Jonathan Crane, there were no other big names Jason could see, and honestly that Scarecrow had shown up meant that whatever Oswald had was actually worth showing up.

Then he’d seen Edward “Eddie” Skeevers, and things got even more interesting.

Oswald’s little auction was now much more serious, and much more intriguing, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be concerned or excited. The inner Robin in him said concerned, but it also said a general ‘what the fuck are you even doing here, you should be kicking their asses and carting them off to Blackgate’, so Jason wasn’t sure it had much credibility. The inner Lazarus in him said excited, but it also said to rip everyone’s throats out and display their corpses like trophies, so it also had no high ground.

Jason was met with a conundrum and warring emotions.

“How much longer is Oswald going to keep us waiting,” Dent growled, and Jason hoped he’d been talking to himself because he didn’t react at all.

I feel you, Harv, Jason thought to himself. He was a patient guy—had done stakeouts that lasted at least eight hours without moving a muscle in any and probably any weather one could imagine—but this was a senseless waste of time. Jason was extremely busy nowadays, and even if Cobblepot hadn’t cared about his agenda he would have taken Eddie Skeevers’, Black Mask’s, Two-Face’s, and Scarecrow’s into consideration.

So if he was trying to get himself killed, he was doing a spectacular job of it.

And Jason would know.

Harvey glowered at the fenced in cage and leaned forward, muttering, “I give ‘em three minutes, then I’m leaving.”

Then plotting murder, Jason’d bet.

Luckily enough, Penguin chose then to make his appearance on the stand beside the cage, waving his cane at some guards who disappeared behind double doors hidden in the walls around the circular area around the cage, then looking up at his invited guests and smiling hideously.

God, that guy was ugly.

“Cobblepot,” Eddie said, the first to speak up. “This had better be worth my time.”

“Yeah!” Harvey yelled, and Jason mentally spat curses at his volume. No need to fucking yell, jackass. “I’ve been sittin’ here for too long for this to be somethin’ dumb.” Thank you for lowering your voice.

Roman hung up on his call, and Jason felt his shoulders stiffen, but he didn’t dare move. He kept his gaze on Cobblepot.

Penguin raised his hands placatingly, and said in that disgusting voice of his, “Calm, friends. Believe me when I say that what I have to offer is more than worth your wait.”

“I dunno, Ozzy,” Jason drawled, deciding to risk Black Mask making this whole deal hell and lowering his legs so that he could lean his forearms on his knees. “I’m a picky guy. You’re lucky I even showed up to this freak show.”

Oswald clearly didn’t appreciate Jason’s mouth, but Jason didn’t care. He was who he was, supervillains and mobsters be damned, and he wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. They could kiss his zombie ass.

“I suppose I am,” Cobblepot flatly retorted. “At any rate, the bidding starts at fifty.”

“What the fuck could you possibly have gotten your paws on worth fifty thousand dollars.” Ah Roman, speaking the words on everyone’s mind before they could.

Bastard.

The two guards returned dragging someone between them, then tossed the person in the cage and on the solid concrete ground carelessly, closing and locking the door behind them as they took up their posts beside it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Jason breathed, immediately on his feet, hands on the railing as he leaned forward to make sure he was actually seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Fucking, Nightwing?”

And it was him. The dumbass, too fucking happy, always upright on his feet, irritating piece of shit older brother of Jason’s. He was just lying there, not obviously injured but not stirring at the same time.

Concern and fear reared its traitorous head and sucker-punched Jason in the gut. He felt like he was gonna hurl.

Oswald smiled that disgusting smile of his again.

“The bidding starts at fifty.”

“A hundred,” Jason barked, all his careful planning with his money out the fucking window. Fucking fuck, Dick, you just had to let yourself get caught.

The Falcones stood at the same time, and Alberto bid, “A hundred fifty!”

Fuck.

“Two hundred!” And oh-ho, Harvey seemed like he felt compensated.

Jason couldn’t afford to keep bidding, he really, really fucking couldn’t, but God damn Richard John fucking Grayson.

“Two seventy,” he called, forcing his tone lackadaisical and his body language indifferent as he eased back into his seat, crossed his arms, and kicked his feet back up. This situation was more than stressful, and Jason hated Dick Grayson with everything in him, tapping his finger on his bicep to try and relieve some of his anxiety.

“Three hundred,” Roman finally tossed out.

Jason swore a blue streak under his breath.

He tried, “Three eighty,” but was quickly overbid by the Maroni representatives with four hundred.

The price was far too high for Jason to be able to continue bidding. There was nothing he could do but watch as his brother was auctioned off like an animal, nothing he could do but sit and observe.

For the first time since his return from the grave, Jason felt completely and utterly helpless.

And he hated Dick for it.

Jason stayed throughout the duration of the auction, long enough for Eddie to out bid everyone with a price of seven hundred thousand dollars. Nobody was willing to pay that kind of cash but him. Jason couldn’t afford to pay that kind of cash. He just didn’t have enough money to spare—he didn’t have any fucking money to spare.

Oswald jutted his cane at Skeevers and said, “Sold, to the trafficker with deep pockets!”

Everyone gradually trickled out, but Jason was the first to leave, already in the elevator by the time Cobblepot had finished his sentence.

When the doors slid shut and Jason was safely out of view, he slammed his fist into the metal wall, denting it a little, stinging pain racing up his arm as a result of his idiocy. He ignored it and pressed his hands to his face and screamed in frustration.

Not only had Jason just lost Nightwing, he’d lost him to a professional trafficker, importer, and exporter. International, if Jason had his facts memorized correctly.

He couldn’t try to steal Dick away from Eddie, because the guy was a pro. He knew what he was doing. Jason couldn’t steal Dick away from Penguin, because Jason was not prepared at all for a fight of that magnitude, and it would take him at least a full day to get the intel he’d need to take Cobblepot on if he wanted to win.

Dick could be anywhere in the world in under ninety-six hours.

Jason had under four motherfucking days to figure out who Eddie was going to sell him to, what he was going to be transported on, when he would be leaving, and where he was going to go.

The estimated ninety-six hours would start in about three, so Jason had three hours to prepare for all the information gathering he was going to be running himself ragged for over the next forty-eight. That gave him a total of ninety-nine hours to work with.

As he walked out of the Lounge, his brain was flying to scrape together some sort of plan, and Jason mourned the loss of sleep for the foreseeable future.

“Fucking hell, Dick,” Jason muttered, swinging a leg over his motorcycle and starting it before tearing through traffic.

He had a plan he needed to formulate and a dumbass brother to get back.

---

@a-dreamed-dreamer won a fic, and hoo boy! this one’s gonna be multi-chap y’all, and PLOT TWIST It’s not Jason and Dick centric. *cackles*

hope you enjoyed :D

[thebiasrekkers]

No Words, pt 9

Pairing: Taehyung x Jeongguk x OC [ft.  Namjoon x OC]

Type: Series

Chapter Rating: M 

Genre: Idol, Poly, Interracial, Tall Female, Smut, Angst, Fluff [if you squint]

Warning: Vivian. That’s right, the warning is Vivian.

A/N - I fell into that pit of ‘what are you doing with this trash story’ style negative brain activity. Things took a turn. I’m sorry for making you wait. This story is still a mess. We’re back on the tracks, folks!

Words:  2.5k

---

Tasha watched her friend huddle over notebooks with her brow deeply furrowed. The holidays were rushing up to greet them, and they were bustling to finish their course-load. They had been pouring over notebooks, comparing notes, and debating practicums for the last few weeks. They were huddled with the newbies in the common room at the Hannam-dong dorm space. It was easy to help the new kids with their first-year work. It was a big boost of confidence, and perhaps ego that they could spout off the answers and explanations so easily.

But, as the older kids on the block? Things had changed technologically for them. The American vs. Korean applications of sound and camera work were on a whole different scale. Their whole purpose was a comparison of the two. Yet, they found themselves in a conundrum. It was simple, really it was, that with the consumption of Hallyu in the rest of the world - people were developing different expectations for music videos and shows. They were in the front seat of this grand show of change. Now, this isn’t to say that there weren’t pioneers.

There would always be respect for those that paved the way prior. Those bold visionaries that twisted their earlier experiences. But like all things, time brings change and new technology. They were barely scraping the surface of the musical experience. People weren’t satisfied with the entertainer simply being still surrounded by bodies. There was a want for more of a storytelling aspect. Or, they wanted snappy effects that added something. The thing is people were wanting more than what they were getting.

“Ahhh! My eyes are starting to cross. I swear to GOD.” Tasha rubbed her face flinging those rainbow-colored plaits out of her face. She turned to the others as they stared at blinking cursors paused in mid-sentence. She groaned, checking the time, “Ok, guys. Let’s…let’s stop, for now, yea?” A few agree to shut their laptops down - except for one person.

“Hey, we have a function to get ready for, missy.” The clickity-clack of keys had slowed from the beginning of their session but remained steady.

“I’m well aware of that, Tasha.” She quipped as she stared over the top of her glasses. Tasha grunted as the new kids laughed.

“Come on, we know she’s the nerd of the group. Are you surprised?” Tasha’s gaze narrowed to the owner of that voice. “I’m surprised she managed to have any fun while being here.” The bad attempt sarcasm rubbed Tasha the wrong fucking way.

There was always one in every group! That one person that thought they were so fucking cool - and pretty and popular. Even if that person was extremely beautiful and found themselves in the center of attention, all the g’damned time. Tasha was about to say something, but it was cut short when three familiar voices echoed out in the hallway.

Tasha blinked because those three voices belonged to none other than…

“Taehyung-ah, Gguk-ah, seriously.” Namjoon groaned into a laugh as they turned to enter the common room. “O-oh.” He stopped abruptly, and the maknae line bumped into him.

“Ah, Hyung! I almost stepped on - Oh.” Jeongguk blinked when Taehyung tapped him on the shoulder. The new kids still had to get used to just randomly running into BTS members throughout the day. The first group merely bowed or waved, muttering greetings. Tasha’s eyes whipped quickly to her bag when she locked gazes with Namjoon. She coughed lightly, clapping her hands. “Ah, well. We should probably start getting ready, guys.” A thumb jutted to the partly dressed trio shuffling into the room.

“Ah! It’s the oppa’s!” That voice piped up again, and Tasha did everything in her power not to hurl. But that girl jumped up, clapping her hands together. “You guys look good! We should be so lucky to be escorted by such dapper gentlemen.”

Everyone rolled their eyes. Namjoon was kinder - and refrained. “Ah, well. You know it’s a special occasion. You all make sure you talk to people and network.” She giggled lightly, placing the tips of her fingers along Namjoon’s forearm.

Namjoon coughed softly as he stepped around her - leaving Taehyung and Jeongguk to be prodded at instead. The soft taps of a keyboard still echoed as Namjoon continued. “The first group here really set a tone that we hope you can follow.” A brow arched as he spun on his heels.

The new kids smirked, staring at the one who continued to type. That girl - ah, she had a name. Vivian the Vivacious. That’s what she called herself - the life of every party. She slipped an arm through Tae and Gguk’s as if she was the prize between them. “I am sure we’ll meet and exceed every expectation required of us.” Haughty, as she tossed those long raven locks over her shoulder.

It was apparent she was the Queen Bee among the new kids. There was always one.

Tasha inhaled deeply as suddenly the sound of keys ticking stopped. A soft exhale broke a thick silence. “Vivian.” Everyone turned to her, even Tasha stiffened momentarily, as she removed her glasses. “There’s a saying that comes to mind.” She stashed her glasses in their case. “Overconfidence is the most dangerous form of carelessness.” A brow arched upward as she neatly collected her things.

There was a subtle warning in her tone that she didn’t bother to hide. “I don’t care what you think about me, but do not take my silence as putting up with your bullshit.” She turned to the rest of the new kids. “Do not embarrass us tonight. Because I’m the one standing between your continued presence here…” She hefted her bag on her shoulder. “…and long coach ride back to where the fuck you came from.”

Tasha had to turn in the opposite direction to hide the smile, threatening to split her face. Namjoon caught it and tilted his head upward, a hand over his mouth. Taehyung and Jeongguk were torn between something akin to awe and lust. Vivian glared at her as she smiled, her grasp tightening on Tae and Gguk’s forearms. They both turned their gaze to the top of the girl’s head.

Tasha was close to losing her shit. “Ok! Alright! Let’s go! We’re wasting time.” She bowed to the trio, refusing to reach for Vivian as she beat feet out of the common room. The other first-year folks left with satisfied looks on their faces.

She decided to follow-up the last of them, pausing by Vivian as she clung to the maknae members. “And I’ll have you know, I was plenty of fun while I was here. Maybe you’ll get a chance to sing karaoke with Jeongguk-ah.” Her gaze slid up between the two of them.

Her pupils went wide to match theirs as her lips parted on a smirk. That look lowered to Vivian as she tilted the corner of her lips. “Maybe if you’re as fun as me.” She waltzed out of the common room, leaving Vivian scowling.

“Jeongguk-oppa! You think I’m fun, don’t you?” Vivian tilted a lookup through thick lashes, fluttering them prettily at the maknae.

Who was paying her no mind?

She turned to Taehyung prepared to do the same, and she paused. The look that he gave her caused her to wither, just slightly. He looked like a haughty Prince, curious about the status of the person touching him. Her fingers slid away from his arm, and she turned to see Jeongguk with a brow arched at her fingers. “Oh come on, I’m much more fun than she is!” She pressed her cleavage against his side - and he moved as if he’d been burned.

“Vivian,” Namjoon spoke quietly. “I think you should go get ready. You don’t want to get left behind.” He grabbed the apple he wanted originally and breezed by her. Taehyung offered that boxy smile with a slight bow, as he followed. Jeongguk fell in step, looking exasperated as they went to visit the stylist.

Vivian continued to scowl but was broken from that facade of purity and fun. The sound of crisp fruit being pierced by that dimpled half-smile. Namjoon tilted his head as he shook the apple in her direction. “And I’d keep that in mind.” He finished chewing, leaning back on his heels. “…because, you will get left behind if you’re not careful.” He watched as Vivian crossed her arms, schooling a neutral expression. “Make us proud tonight.” Namjoon walked off with a partial smile, leaving her to scowl by herself. He rounded the corner, rubbing absently at where she touched him.

It’s fine. He’d just have to rub himself all over Tasha later on to cure himself.

—

“She’s infuriating! I hate her! Hate is a strong word, isn’t it?” Tasha paced in her thigh-highs, the snaps of a garter belt clicking. “Is that wrong? Should I feel bad?” She threw her hands up as if she was suffering some moral dilemma. “God, there’s one in every bunch!” Tasha continued to rumble and rant in her fury.

“Latasha.” She sighed as her friend finally paused. “You do realize you have yet to put your dress on?” A brow arched as Tasha finally saw the time.

“Shit!” She skittered to the other room to pull on the perfect black dress. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Tasha whined as she pulled the curl rods from her updo.

“I tried. You kept going back to how pretty, perfect, and detestable she is.” Tasha grunted as she hobbled up to the front, finally settling herself in two-inch heels.

“Well, shit. You kept oddly cool for where she wound up.” Tasha mused with a smirk as she watched her friend clip on a dangly earring set. A set of large hoops in the other hole as the dangling stars seemed to swing in its opening.

“Look, we earned our spots working with the members. I’m not going to let petty jealousy cloud my judgment.” She arched a brow while pressing a red stick across the swell of her lip. It was a bold color choice. Hell, her whole ensemble was bright.

It wasn’t that the dress was short - it was that she was tall. And this happened every time, where this would be a reasonable fit for average height? For her? Well, it was snug on her hips and just passed her knees - and that is only by a wing and a prayer. That paired with heels that catapulted her into the near six-foot-tall range of height? Completed the look.

Tasha had spent the whole day previously blowing out her hair. A silk press left her hair in a shiny fall of layered waves about her shoulders. She turned around as Tasha gave her a final appraisal.

“Damn, I am good. Maybe this tech stuff isn’t my calling. Maybe they’ll let me be a stylist?” They both stared at each other before falling into a peal of laughter. Tasha grabbed her jacket and purse, offering an arm to escort them from her apartment.

“You good, chick?” She stared down at her friend as they walked quietly toward their transportation.

“Yeah, you’re right. We earned our spots.” Tasha nodded with a substantial lift to her confidence. They smiled at each other as they approached the building foyer. Folks were already being loaded into SUVs. They were the last ones to arrive as the boys from BTS made their way down to wait for their perspective cars.

The two women turned with a whistle at the cleaned-up crew.

“Ohmygod. It’s BTS. Should we ask for an autograph?” Tasha leaned in, pretending to whisper while being excruciatingly obvious.

“I don’t know, do you think they’ll even notice us?” She responded just as obviously.

“Ahh, our adoring fans! How could we ever not notice you.” Jin threw a trademark kiss in their direction. Jimin rolled his eyes while moving between them.

“I think we would be doing the world a disservice if we didn’t notice our adoring fans. Someone take a picture quick!.” Jimin did his best James Bond look while the girls posed on the side. “Ok, as we practiced.”

“Ah! This is more embarrassing than Jin-hyung and his jokes.” Hobi laughed - but snapped the photo anyway. “Yes, yes! More! More!” They made devious faces at each other, smoldering looks as Jimin wrapped his arm around each girl’s waist.

“Ok, ok. That’s enough. That’s enough.” Namjoon chuckled as Jimin frowned. “We’re holding up the line.” Tasha was tugged gently away from Jimin, causing her brows to arch upward. “You look really nice.” She smiled widely.

“Why, thank you, Namjoon-ah. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Jin, Hobi, and Jimin rolled their eyes with playful groans.

Taehyung, on the other hand, got a chance to approach her for the first time in what seemed like - months. Oh, because it had been. They’d been increasingly busy since their karaoke escapade. It worked out to her favor, of course.

But now?

“You look beautiful.” The depth of his tone littered goosebumps across her skin. A response she just couldn’t help as he stood just behind her. Their body heat clashed as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Wow, Noona.” Jeongguk approached with his hands in his pockets. And although the maknae was wearing that wide bunny smile? His eyes wore something else entirely. They all looked impeccable, their styling team truly outdid themselves.

Yoongi clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shuffled toward the door. “You all need to pick your lips up off the floor so we can get in the car.” The girls chuckled, making swift getaways from their captors as he held the door for them.

“Thanks, Yoongi.” The girls spoke in sing-song unison as they exited. He shook his head as he watched them get packed into an SUV.

He scratched at the back of his neck, a slight tilt of his head. “I think we have the most beautiful women in all the networks with us tonight.” Everybody turned to Min Yoongi with their mouths agape. He gave a careless shrug as he toed the door back open. “I’m human too, you know? Let’s go, yea?”

The wind tousled his hair a bit as he adjusted his cufflinks.

“Should we be worried?” Taehyung turned to Namjoon, who was still shocked.

“Uh. I…don’t …know?” Namjoon’s brow furrowed as Jimin squeezed by them.

“You should be worried.” Jimin teased with a brow waggle as he jogged to catch up with Yoongi.

Hoseok and Jin grinned, moving by after clapping a hand on the trio’s shoulder. “I wonder if he’s going to get to dance with them first?” Jin mused, loudly, to Hoseok. The Dance Captain tilted his head in deep concentration.

“Not before I get to ask first.”

Jeongguk balked, pushing the door open to speed up to protest. “H-hey, Hobi-hyung! W-wait just a minute!”

Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep groan. Namjoon sighed, “I know, Taehyung-ah. I know. Just remember to mind your manners, alright?”

Taehyung smirked while tucking his thumb in his lapel. His tone was deep and thickened by the weight of his satoori. “Hey, Hyung, don’t worry.” He moved forward, opening the door for Namjoon. “…I’m a great actor, remember?” Taehyung popped his tongue with a wink as the Leader shook his head with a dimpled smile.

“Let’s not give them too much of a show, yeah?” Namjoon arched a brow. The two shared a look before stepping into the waiting SUV

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 3 --- previous chapter

Feysand masterlist

The Sherlock Conundrum

Florist and tattoo artist Au, Modern Day

“Can you please stop with this madness? Hugh Laurie is clearly the best Sherlock ever!”

They were both sitting on the couch of his living room. Really close to each other. She had her left knee under her body and was fully facing him. He had been throwing glances at her way the whole time she’s been there, and now was admiring her everything as they bantered lovingly.

After a particularly rough client, that had taken her nearly seven hours to finish, she came into his shop claiming: “We’re both closing earlier, I need to rest and so do you.”

At his attempt to tell her off, cause “I don’t need to rest I am in pristine fit every second of every minute”, she simply replied with an elongated ‘Please’ and a pair of puppy dog eyes that would’ve put a Labrador to shame.

Useless to say, they ended up on his couch half an hour later, a marathon of the fourth season of House M.D. on the television and chips and popcorn all around.

Feyre is harder than she looks, tougher. She likes to drink whiskey and burning liquor and beer.

Rhys, on the other hand, is a refined rosé man. He drinks fruity drinks and cocktails and vodka. He tried the same stuff that she drinks, once, when they went out with the rest of the inner circle after Az had received a promotion. It didn’t end well.

Feyre and Cassian will forever tease him about it.

Since their taste in alcohol was on such a wide spectrum, they decided to settle for some sparkly Coca-Cola for that fine night.

About halfway through episode six, the debate had begun. The show was soon forgotten and left as a white noise machine that lulled them into their silliness.

“Feyre Darling. You are being delusional. Dr House’s got nothing on RDJ’s Sherlock. Just cause the character was inspired by Conan Doyle’s work it doesn’t mean it can be considered a Sherlock.”

She laughed. A delicious sound that was filling his days more and more each morning. “Do you know that Conan Doyle based Shelly on a doctor, right? Also, yeah Jude Law’s better than Wilson, that is true.”

“Can we just agree that Cumberbatch and Freeman are equally amazing.”

“Yeah, duh! But, controversial opinion: I don’t actually ship Jonhlock romantically.”

“More like platonic soul-mates? Makes complete sense. They are not interested in each other at all. You are right, Fey-ruh Acheron.”

‘HOW DARE SHE...’, he thought severely displeased.

“Oh please don’t be pissed at me. I like them together and everything, but in my mind, Sherlock is pretty much ace-aro. I mean, Cumberbatch was also Smaug. Which in the books is described as a dragon while the movies decided to portray him like a vixen...” He solemnly nodded.

That is, indeed, a severe problem in mainstream media.

“That is, indeed, a severe problem in today mainstream media. We live in a world where people don’t know the difference between one another! Daenerys Mother of Dragons? More like Dany The Soccer Mom of three cool lizards. That would be more appropriate!”

“Don’t talk to me about Dany, I’m still pissed about Jonerys. I mean, fan-service much? Okay, I can deal with that. But don’t freaking kill Viserion and try to make us all believe that HIS MOTHER WOULD FUCK HER NEPHEW THIRTY MINUTES LATER!”

She laughed again.

‘Gods above and below,’ he thought, ‘how much can a person love another?’

“Agree 100% on Viserion, though Jon after Ygrit should’ve just zipped up his pants and close business. You experience that kind of love once in your screentime. And when you do, Martin kills the counterpart off immediately after the big scene. You know that sadist is gonna kill you off, so just spare him the dirty deeds to write.”

“The dirty deeds are the reasons he is taking so much to finish that freaking book. Also, salty much?"

"You dare calling me salty? It’s been years and you still weep over Robb’s body.”

“Excuse you, it is a very fine body. Have you seen Richard Madden lately? With that kilt at Kit and Rose’s wedding? Fine AF.”

She was now scooting over, moving closer to his face to find a reaction.

“Fine, you’re right. But Darling, you know damn well I am attracted to that man, you can’t just casually throw his name around! That would be like me, saying that Misha has aged like a fine whisky.”

“And where would a lie hide in that sentence?”

“ANYWAY. We were talking of something terrifically important.”

He decided to add a Meaningful Pause to give himself some dramatic effect...

“How can you say you don’t ship Jonhlock romantically?”

‘Honesly I love that woman. She is my other half, I would die for her and with her. My life without her has no meaning.

But if her answer doesn’t please me then so help me God I will suffer through a meaningless life with the strength of my ships.’ His mind said.

“I told you before the 'The Hobbit/Game of Thrones' parenthesis. When I read the books I thought of Sherlock as a madman who cared about Watson profoundly, but mostly cares about himself and his work. Someone who doesn’t dwell into feelings, doesn’t really enjoy sexual times and, truly, a modern-day asexual and aromantic asshole with a kink for unofficial police work. Yes, He and Watson are amazing together, and especially with RDJ and Jude Law I saw the sexual tension, which then I also saw in the BBC’s version. But for me, since I read the books first, Jonhlock will always be the exact relationship shown by House and Wilson. Sorry to disappoint.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her shampoo and count the freckles across her nose. She was staring directly into his soul. Rhys was fully clothed in an old tee and some pants and yet he’d never felt more naked.

“You never disappoint me. As a matter of fact, you never cess to amaze me, Feyre Acheron. You are perfect and beautiful both on the inside as well as on the outside. Here I was, looking for a polite way to kick you out of my apartment after you say you don’t ship one of my OTPs and now, here still I am trying not to be drowned into you and trying not to get lost into your eyes and I love you so fucking much that it physically hurts.”

His inner monologue at the time? ‘Fuck. FUCK. What the fuck did I just say???’

She had managed to fry his whole brain with her smart reasoning and perfect voice and now he had ruined a perfect moment by saying cheesy stuff to a girl that didn’t particularly care for cheese.

That was the end of Rhysand Sphera as we all know and love him.

Cause of death: killed by Feyre Acheron as result of saying something completely idiotic.

Only...

“Do you really mean that?”

She sounded hopeful and scared at the same time. The horrors she had to face in the past came running back to her and were written all over her face. Rhys took her hands in his. They were both trembling.

His mouth had probably never been that dry and yet aching to speak at the same time. He could only nod and pray she reciprocated.

That was the moment of truth.

“Of course I mean it. All of it. Each unsaid sentence and each shared glances. Every time I bring you coffee or a send you a picture of a dog that walks into my shop with its owner even though I’m terrified of them. The dog, not the owner. Even though some owners of dogs are terrifying. I have been in love with you for so long, I forgot how it feels not loving you. I look back at those times when you were not in my life and even back then I knew I was missing something. And when he-who-must-not-be-named showed up and swept you off your feet away from me, I was broken beyond repair. But you came back and made me hope that maybe, maybe all my dreams could become true. But you were hurt and also broken, and you needed time to heal. You still do. I shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re just so fucking amazing that I struggle to not scream ‘I Love You’ every time you breathe. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you. I understand if you still need time to heal or would rather be with someone else. But I said it, and I do not intend on taking it back.”

She was kneeling on the couch, her hands still clutching his, tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t take it back.”

Rhys thought he had heard what he wanted, so he had to ask, “What?”, a dumbstruck disbelieving-his-luck expression plastered on his face.

“I said don’t take it back. I feel the same way. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you too. I thought you hated me after, well, Tamlin. It is pleasant knowing we reciprocate each other’s feelings.”

Feyre laughed again, breaking the spell between them. Only, now the deed was done. Neither of them could hold their emotions in any longer. Feyre leaned in and so did Rhys, and their lips met halfway in a once in a lifetime, epic romance, Full on Princess Bride type of kiss.

After they both ran out of breath, they simply remained connected in every way possible given their awkward position. Foreheads never leaving each other, hands clasped together, lips barely touching. That spell, though, didn’t last for long. Soon they yearned to touch each other’s skin and feel each other’s bodies.

They were never going to have enough of each other.

[darknytemare]

No Words - pt 9

Pairing: Taehyung x Jeongguk x OC [ft.  Namjoon x OC]

Type: Series

Genre: Idol, Poly, Interracial, Tall Female, Smut, Angst, Fluff [if you squint]

Warning: Vivian. That’s right, the warning is Vivian. 

A/N - I fell into that pit of ‘what are you doing with this trash story’ style negative brain activity. Things took a turn. I’m sorry for making you wait. This story is still a mess. We’re back on the tracks, folks! Also, my friend made a banner for this story. SQUEE.

Words:  2.5k

Tasha watched her friend huddle over notebooks with her brow deeply furrowed. The holidays were rushing up to greet them, and they were bustling to finish their course-load. They had been pouring over notebooks, comparing notes, and debating practicums for the last few weeks. They were huddled with the newbies in the common room at the Hannam-dong dorm space. It was easy to help the new kids with their first-year work. It was a big boost of confidence, and perhaps ego, that they could spout off the answers and explanations so easily. 

But, as the older kids on the block? Things had changed technologically for them. The American vs. Korean applications of sound and camera work were on a whole different scale. Their whole purpose was a comparison of the two. Yet, they found themselves in a conundrum. It was simple, really it was, that with the consumption of Hallyu in the rest of the world - people were developing different expectations for music videos and shows. They were in the front seat of this grand show of change. Now, this isn't to say that there weren’t pioneers. 

There would always be respect for those that paved the way prior. Those bold visionaries that twisted their earlier experiences. But like all things, time brings change and new technology. They were barely scraping the surface of the musical experience. People weren’t satisfied with the entertainer simply being still surrounded by bodies. There was a want for more of a storytelling aspect. Or, they wanted snappy effects that added something. The thing is people were wanting more than what they were getting. 

“Ahhh! My eyes are starting to cross. I swear to GOD.” Tasha rubbed her face flinging those rainbow-colored plaits out of her face. She turned to the others as they stared at blinking cursors paused in mid-sentence. She groaned checking the time, “Ok, guys. Let’s...let’s stop, for now, yea?” A few agree to shut their laptops down - except for one person.

“Hey, we have a function to get ready for, missy.” The clickity-clack of keys had slowed from the beginning of their session but remained steady. 

“I’m well aware of that, Tasha.” She quipped as she stared over the top of her glasses. Tasha grunted as the new kids laughed. 

“Come on, we know she’s the nerd of the group. Are you surprised?” Tasha’s gaze narrowed to the owner of that voice. “I’m surprised she managed to have any fun while being here.” The bad attempt sarcasm rubbed Tasha the wrong fucking way. 

There was always one in every group! That one person that thought they were so fucking cool - and pretty, and popular. Even if that person was extremely beautiful and found themselves in the center of attention all the g’damned time. Tasha was about to say something but it was cut short when three familiar voices echoed out in the hallway. 

Tasha blinked because those three voices belonged to none other than...

“Taehyung-ah, Gguk-ah, seriously.” Namjoon groaned into a laugh as they turned to enter the common room. “O-oh.” He stopped abruptly and the maknae line bumped into him. 

“Ah, Hyung! I almost stepped on - Oh.” Jeongguk blinked when Taehyung tapped him on the shoulder. The new kids still had to get used to just randomly running into BTS members throughout the day. The first group merely bowed or waved, muttering greetings. Tasha’s eyes whipped quickly to her bag when she locked gazes with Namjoon. She coughed lightly clapping her hands. “Ah, well. We should probably start getting ready guys.” A thumb jutted to the partly dressed trio shuffling into the room. 

“Ah! It’s the oppa’s!” That voice piped up again and Tasha did everything in her power not to hurl. But, that girl jumped up clapping her hands together. “You guys look good! We should be so lucky to be escorted by such dapper gentlemen.” 

Everyone rolled their eyes. Namjoon was kinder - and refrained. “Ah, well. You know it’s a special occasion. You all make sure you talk to people and network.” She giggled lightly, placing the tips of her fingers along Namjoon’s forearm.

Namjoon coughed softly as he stepped around her - leaving Taehyung and Jeongguk to be prodded at instead. The soft taps of a keyboard still echoed as Namjoon continued. “The first group here really set a tone that we hope you can follow.” A brow arched as he spun on his heels. 

The new kids smirked, staring at the one who continued to type. That girl - ah, she had a name. Vivian the Vivacious. That’s what she called herself - the life of every party. She slipped an arm through Tae and Gguk’s as if she was the prize between them. “I am sure we’ll meet and exceed every expectation required of us.” Haughty, as she tossed those long raven locks over her shoulder. 

It was apparent she was the Queen Bee among the new kids. There was always one. 

Tasha inhaled deeply as suddenly the sound of keys ticking stopped. A soft exhale broke a thick silence. “Vivian.” Everyone turned to her, even Tasha stiffened momentarily, as she removed her glasses. “There’s a saying that comes to mind.” She stashed her glasses in their case. “Overconfidence is the most dangerous form of carelessness.” A brow arched upward as she neatly collected her things. 

There was a subtle warning in her tone that she didn’t bother to hide. “I don’t care what you think about me, but do not take my silence as putting up with your bullshit.” She turned to the rest of the new kids. “Do not embarrass us tonight. Because I’m the one standing between your continued presence here…” She hefted her bag on her shoulder. “...and long coach ride back to where the fuck you came from.” 

Tasha had to turn in the opposite direction to hide the smile threatening to split her face. Namjoon caught it and tilted his head upward, a hand over his mouth. Taehyung and Jeongguk were torn between something akin to awe and lust. Vivian glared at her as she smiled, her grasp tightening on Tae and Gguk’s forearms. They both turned their gaze to the top of the girl’s head. 

Tasha was close to losing her shit. “Ok! Alright! Let’s go! We’re wasting time.” She bowed to the trio, refusing to reach for Vivian as she beat feet out of the common room. The other first-year folks left with satisfied looks on their faces. 

She decided to follow-up the last of them, pausing by Vivian as she clung to the maknae members. “And I’ll have you know, I was plenty of fun while I was here. Maybe you’ll get a chance to sing karaoke with Jeongguk-ah.” Her gaze slid up between the two of them. 

Her pupils went wide to match theirs as her lips parted on a smirk. That look lowered to Vivian as she tilted the corner of her lips. “Maybe if you’re as fun as me.” She waltzed out of the common room leaving Vivian scowling. 

“Jeongguk-oppa! You think I’m fun don’t you?” Vivian tilted a lookup through thick lashes, fluttering them prettily at the maknae. 

Who was paying her no mind? 

She turned to Taehyung prepared to do the same, and she paused. The look that he gave her caused her to wither, just slightly. He looked like a haughty Prince, curious about the status of the person touching him. Her fingers slid away from his arm and she turned to see Jeongguk with a brow arched at her fingers. “Oh come on, I’m much more fun than she is!” She pressed her cleavage against his side - and he moved as if he’d been burned. 

“Vivian,” Namjoon spoke quietly. “I think you should go get ready. You don’t want to get left behind.” He grabbed the apple he wanted originally and breezed by her. Taehyung offered that boxy smile with a slight bow, as he followed. Jeongguk fell in step looking exasperated as they went to visit the stylist. 

Vivian continued to scowl but was broken from that facade of purity and fun. The sound of crisp fruit being pierced by that dimpled half-smile. Namjoon tilted his head as he shook the apple in her direction. “And I’d keep that in mind.” He finished chewing leaning back on his heels. “...because you will get left behind if you’re not careful.” He watched as Vivian crossed her arms schooling a neutral expression. “Make us proud tonight.” Namjoon walked off with a partial smile leaving her to scowl by herself. He rounded the corner rubbing absently at where she touched him. 

It’s fine. He’d just have to rub himself all over Tasha later on to cure himself.

---

“She’s infuriating! I hate her! Hate is a strong word isn’t it?” Tasha paced in her thigh-highs the snaps of a garter belt clicking. “Is that wrong? Should I feel bad?” She threw her hands up as if she was suffering some moral dilemma. “God, there’s one in every bunch!” Tasha continued to rumble and rant in her fury.

“Latasha.” She sighed as her friend finally paused. “You do realize you have yet to put your dress on?” A brow arched as Tasha finally saw the time. 

“Shit!” She skittered to the other room to pull on the perfect black dress. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Tasha whined as she pulled the curl rods from her updo. 

“I tried. You kept going back to how pretty, perfect, and detestable she is.” Tasha grunted as she hobbled up to the front, finally settling herself in two-inch heels. 

“Well, shit. You kept oddly cool for where she wound up.” Tasha mused with a smirk as she watched her friend clip on a dangly earring set. A set of large hoops in the other hole as the dangling stars seemed to swing in its opening. 

“Look, we earned our spots working with the members. I’m not going to let petty jealousy cloud my judgment.” She arched a brow while pressing a red stick across the swell of her lip. It was a bold color choice. Hell, her whole ensemble was bold. 

It wasn’t that the dress was short - it was that she was tall. And this happened every time, where this would be a normal fit for average height? For her? Well, it was snug on her hips and just passed her knees - and that is just by a wing and a prayer. That paired with heels that catapulted her into the near six-foot-tall range of height? Completed the look. 

Tasha had spent the whole day previously blowing out her hair. A silk press left her hair in a shiny fall of layered waves about her shoulders. She turned around as Tasha gave her a final appraisal.

“Damn, I am good. Maybe this tech stuff isn’t my calling. Maybe they’ll let me be a stylist?” They both stared at each other before falling into a peal of laughter. Tasha grabbed her jacket and purse, offering an arm to escort them from her apartment.

“You good, chick?” She stared down at her friend as they walked quietly toward their transportation. 

“Yeah, you’re right. We earned our spots.” Tasha nodded with a solid lift to her confidence. They smiled at each other as they approached the building foyer. Folks were already being loaded into SUVs. They were the last ones to arrive as the boys from BTS made their way down to wait for their perspective cars. 

The two women turned with a whistle at the cleaned-up crew. 

 “Ohmygod. It’s BTS. Should we ask for an autograph?” Tasha leaned in pretending to whisper while being excruciatingly obvious. 

“I don’t know do you think they’ll even notice us?” She responded just as obviously.

“Ahh, our adoring fans! How could we ever not notice you.” Jin threw a trademark kiss in their direction. Jimin rolled his eyes while moving between them. 

“I think we would be doing the world a disservice if we didn’t notice our adoring fans. Someone take a picture quick!.” Jimin did his best James Bond look while the girls posed on the side. “Ok, as we practiced.” 

“Ah! This is more embarrassing than Jin-hyung and his jokes.” Hobi laughed - but snapped the photo anyway. “Yes, yes! More! More!” They made devious faces at each other, smoldering looks as Jimin wrapped his arm around each girl’s waist. 

“Ok, ok. That’s enough. That’s enough.” Namjoon chuckled as Jimin frowned. “We’re holding up the line.” Tasha was tugged gently away from Jimin causing her brows to arch upward. “You look really nice.” She smiled widely. 

“Why thank you, Namjoon-ah. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Jin, Hobi and Jimin rolled their eyes with playful groans. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, got a chance to approach her for the first time in what seemed like - months. Oh, because it had been. They’d been increasingly busy since their karaoke escapade. It worked out to her favor, of course. 

But now?

“You look beautiful.” The depth of his tone littered goosebumps across her skin. A response she just couldn’t help as he stood just behind her. Their body heat clashed as she glanced over her shoulder. 

“Wow, Noona.” Jeongguk approached with his hands in his pockets. And although the maknae was wearing that wide bunny smile? His eyes wore something else entirely. They all looked impeccable, their styling team truly outdid themselves. 

Yoongi clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shuffled toward the door. “You all need to pick your lips up off the floor so we can get in the car.” The girls chuckled, making swift getaways from their captors as he held the door for them. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” The girls spoke in sing-song unison as they exited. He shook his head as he watched them get packed into an SUV. 

He scratched at the back of his neck, a slight tilt of his head. “I think we have the most beautiful women in all the networks with us tonight.” Everybody turned to Min Yoongi with their mouths agape. He gave a haphazard shrug as he toed the door back open. “I’m human too, you know? Let’s go, yea?” 

The wind tousled his hair a bit as he adjusted his cufflinks. 

“Should we be worried?” Taehyung turned to Namjoon who was still shocked. 

“Uh. I...don't ...know?” Namjoon’s brow furrowed as Jimin squeezed by them. 

“You should be worried.” Jimin teased with a brow waggle as he jogged to catch up with Yoongi. 

Hoseok and Jin grinned moving by after clapping a hand on the trio’s shoulder. “I wonder if he’s going to get to dance with them first?” Jin mused, loudly, to Hoseok. The Dance Captain tilted his head in deep concentration. 

“Not before I get to ask first.” 

Jeongguk balked pushing the door open to speed up to protest. “H-hey, Hobi-hyung! W-wait just a minute!” 

Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep groan. Namjoon sighed, “I know, Taehyung-ah. I know. Just remember to mind your manners, alright?” 

Taehyung smirked while tucking his thumb in his lapel. His tone was deep and thickened by the weight of his satoori. “Hey, Hyung, don’t worry.” He moved forward opening the door for Namjoon. “...I’m a great actor, remember?” Taehyung popped his tongue with a wink as the Leader shook his head with a dimpled smile.

“Let’s not give them too much of a show, yeah?” Namjoon arched a brow. The two shared a look before stepping into the waiting SUV.

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Fast Forward (part 1)

Back at it again with another time travel fic. This time it’s a Lewis fic, and he’s travelling forward in time. (LewVivArt)

Self-indulgent, sappy, angst and melodrama. Also, this is leaning towards LewVivArt. Don’t usually focus on ships in my fics so we’ll see how this goes.

Summary: Lewis wakes up in a future where he’s been dead for two years.

Part 2: here 

“You’re sure it’s fine.”

Lewis watches Vivi hover next to Arthur, on her knees, peering under the van to watch Arthur do whatever mechanical thing he did when he lay down on that roller thing to work on the van’s undercarriage.

“Yes, Vivi. Everything is good to go. I’m just giving her a once over for good luck,” Arthur responds, voice slightly muffled.

Vivi leans forward, cheek almost touching the concrete in an attempt to follow Arthur’s movements.

“It made that weird squeaking noise the other day.”

Arthur huffs, “That was the brake pads, which I’ve replaced. Pass me that wrench.”

The arm that Lewis can still see waves towards a slime silver tool which kind of looked like a wrench. Vivi is again distracted, trying to follow Arthur, so he pushes himself out of the doorway and weaves his way around the workshop to grab the tool. He kneels next to Vivi, putting it in Arthur’s still waving hand.

“I’m sure the van is fine Viv. Arthur knows what he’s doing.”

Vivi sits upright to give him a look, “I’m not doubting Arthur. Just making sure there are no more road trip delays. The Mystery Skulls Machine needs to be 100% ready to take on all manner of ghosts that we’re definitely going to find while we solve all those unsolved cases.”

“Lewis hand me the tool next to the one you just gave me,” Arthur interjects, and Lewis glances down, locating and handing Arthur the requested item, before turning back to Vivi.  

“Ghosts,” He starts slowly to be provocative, “Right. I’m sure the van can handle whatever the ghosts throw at it.”

“Is that a hint of scepticism I detect,” Vivi leans forward, taking his bait, giving him a light poke in the chest, “We don’t take too kindly to sceptics in these parts.”

Lewis grins, also leaning in, giving Vivi a raised eyebrow, “That’s unfortunate. What are you going to do about it.”

“Ah,” Arthur’s exasperated voice interrupts, “Can you two shuffle back, I can’t get out with you guys sitting there.”

Lewis, still grinning, heaves himself to his feet, holding a hand out for Vivi. Vivi sniggers, taking his offered hand so he can pull her upright.

“Sorry Arthur,” They both say in unison, watching Arthur shuffle around under the van, finishing up with whatever he’d been doing. A second later he slides out, smears or oil across his cheek, so it matches his off white work shirt.

“Everything good?” Lewis asks, offering a hand to Arthur as well. His friend heaves himself into a seated position, muscles along his shoulders shifting.

“Yeah. It’s all fine. Like I said, I was only doing a tune-up for good luck,” Arthur grips his hand, and Lewis almost forgets to pull, slightly distracted by Arthur’s smile. It’s warm almost reminding him of Vivi’s playful smirk but more relaxed and easy. The mental comparison throws him through a loop for a hot second.

“Well, that’s good, cause I can’t wait to get out of this place and see something that’s not cactus and dirt for once,” Vivi is talking, bouncing with pent up energy, “We should start packing now, so we’re ready to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Haha, sure,” Arthur laughs, wiping his hands clean on his shirt, “let me just park the van out front to make it easier.”

“Come on Lew,” Vivi tugs at his hand then frowns, face wrinkling, pulling back. Lewis realises a second too late that his hands are now also covered in grease.

“Yuck,” Vivi grouses, “Arthur, how is it that we get covered in this stuff when you’re the only one doing mechanic work.”

“Bad luck?” Arthur offers with a loose shrug, quickly retreating to his van.

“You know where the sink is,” He calls back at them.

Vivi huffs, watching Arthur reverse out of the garage. She then turns and gives him a contemplative glance.

“You know. I only get this oily stuff on my hands when I touch you.”

Lewis eyes snap away from where he’s tracking Arthur and onto Vivi who leans in towards him, wigging her eyebrows.

“Uh. I was being helpful?”

Consideration and maybe realisation flash across Vivi’s face and she grins.

“Helpful. Right. I’m sure that’s all. Nothing else?”

This is new. Lewis stares at Vivi, unsure of what she’s hinting at exactly. He’s still getting used to this flirting thing, and Vivi is better at it than him, so maybe he’s missing something.

“Let’s go wash our hands and pack the van,” He suggests in place of addressing her question. Vivi seems disappointed. He has no idea why, a few seconds ago she’d been all but pushing him out the door in her rush to start packing.  

>>>

Long into the evening, after the van is packed and everything is ready for the road trip, the exchange is still playing over in his mind. It repeats on a seemingly endless loop. Arthur…Vivi. He liked them both. Being officially with Vivi is still new, and he’s getting used to thinking of her as more than a friend. But, he’s never really considered Arthur the same way.

Or had he? Lewis frowns up at the ceiling of Arthur’s living room. He is stretched out on Arthur’s couch, and Vivi is snoring loudly on a mattress next to him.

Now, considering the whole thing, he doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Arthur about him and Vivi being in a relationship. What did Arthur think about it? It’s weird that he has never thought to ask.

He loves Vivi, her energy, enthusiasm, the get it done attitude, can’t image his world without her really. But he also feels the same way about Arthur and his more methodical approach to life and openness with all emotion from happiness to fear. Arthur who is his best friend. Lewis ponders the comparison. He’s not sure what to do with this information. Did Arthur feel the same way? What would Vivi think? Should he broach the topic with either of them?

He doesn’t come to a conclusion instead drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

>>>

Lewis awakens feeling oldy heavy headed like he has slept longer than he should. He is still on Arthur’s old couch, but Vivi’s mattress has been moved. He stares at the empty floor in slight confusion. Had Vivi and Arthur packed it up without waking him? Strange. He doesn’t consider himself a heavy sleeper and Vivi wasn’t a quiet person so it should have woken him.  

The sound of a oiled pan spitting and the distinct smell of eggs frying distract him from the conundrum. Lewis hoists himself upright to peer over into the kitchen. Arthur’s lounge and kitchen are joined into one open-plan room so he can just make out the back of Arthur’s head and shoulders by the stove.

There is the sound of salt shaker clattering over and Arthur swears under his breath. Lewis lets a small smile pull at his lips. The only time he hears Arthur swear is when he’s trying to cook. He’s not quite sure why Arthur’s decided to make breakfast when it’s usually Lewis who handles anything kitchen related but he’s not about to complain. Though, it is odd that neither Arthur or Vivi had decided to wake him. Weren’t they supposed to hit the road as early as possible?

Lewis yawns, trying to rid himself of that odd heavy headedness, swinging around so he can stand. The curve of his back cracks as stiff muscles loosen. Now he’s standing a few paces from Arthur, the couch and an island benchtop separating them.

Lewis opens his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘good morning’, but Arthur beats him to it, turning,  still holding the pan of eggs.

“Hey Viv, hope you like burnt eggs because…”

Several things happen in quick succession.

Their eyes meet. Arthur freezes, face draining of colour. The pan clatters, falling from Arthur’s hand and onto the floor, cracking against the floorboards. The eggs and hot oil spatter over the bench, ground and other's side.

Lewis makes a sound of alarm, “Whoa Arthur. Are you okay.”

He starts towards the kitchen intent on offering aid and forcing Arthur’s hand under some cold water.

“Stay back,” Arthur snaps, backing up, stumbling when he almost slips on the now cooling oil.

Lewis hesitates at the panic in Arthur’s voice, eyes darting around, trying to find its source.

“What? What’s wrong,”

The sound of clicking across the polished wooden floor draws his attention towards the door nearest to Arthur. Mystery trots in, ears pricked and alert, probably in response to the sound of Arthur dropping the pan.

Lewis doesn’t think too much of it, more focused on helping Arthur, until a loud growl and the flash of teeth has him backpedalling. Mystery’s snap misses by an inch and Lewis takes several steps back, eyeing the surprisingly aggressive dog wearily.

“Mystery? It’s me boy. You know. Lewis.”

Lewis has never seen Mystery attack anyone, so he’s understandably unprepared for the sudden hostility.

“Don’t move,” Arthur is biting, “I don’t know what’s happening, who you are, but your trick isn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about,” Lewis tries to edge around Mystery and almost gets bitten for his trouble, “What’s going on. Why is Mystery acting up?”

His brain then processes Arthur’s questions, “Wait. What do you mean you don’t know who I am?”

“Lewis has been missing for almost two years now. You’re expecting me to believe he would just waltz back in here like nothing.”

“What? No, I haven’t,” He objects feeling very thrown at the aggression in Arthur’s tone, “Is this some sort of prank because it’s not very funny.”

Arthur glares. Arthur’s never glared at him like that before.

“Whatever this is,” Arthur growls, “just… don’t. Lewis was officially pronounced dead yesterday. You can’t be here.”

“But…” He starts, hesitates, then continues in distressed exasperation, “I am Lewis….and I AM right here!”

Note: Another of my time travel fic which has been sitting around for a while, now out in the world. 

Part 2: here

[fadingwonderlandmilkshake]

FROM TYPEWRITER TO BIKE: A 26-YEAR-OLD’S CONUNDRUM

“How do you see yourself five years from now?” asked by one of our interviewers during our mock interview in college. 

 “Probably sipping coffee in front of my laptop placed in my Brobdingnagian desk, employed in a well-known company, and thinking what to write next,” I answered. 

It was a hot afternoon but I was quivering with nervousness. I remember standing in our school’s hallway across our registrar’s office, impatiently waiting in my corporate attire. It was a group interview that intended to prepare us for actual job interviews that we’ll have to go through when we start pursuing careers.  

“You did great in the interview because you were confident,” said one of the interviewers, referring to me as I flushed with joy and relief. I was so confident because I thought I had everything figured out. I always thought there’s a big life waiting for me outside this box and when the interviewer commended me, I felt ready. I thought I was ready for whatever life has in store for me, but I wasn’t. I was wrong. 

Fast forward to five years later, here I am, holding a bike for at least five minutes now. Scared. Hesitating. 

It’s a typical Sunday evening and I asked my sister if I could try her newly bought bike, to which she instantly replied with a “yes.”

 My sister’s about 6 feet tall while I’m 5”5, so you could just imagine the size of the bike she bought for herself. She bought this pink mountain bike, which my short legs barely able to hop on to. 

 It feels like I’m going to ride a bike for the first time again and I got really scared. I’m just literally standing whilst contemplating whether to ride the bike or not until I decided that I won’t do it anymore. 

 So, I parked the bike and walked the dog instead. 

 I used to be so fearless. I mean I used to ride bikes in downhill roads WITHOUT holding its grips. I even stand while on a bike. “Where did my badass self, go?” I asked myself. 

 Around 10 pm, as I laid down in my bed, a thought hit me. The fear I had while holding the bike is like the fear I have about writing. 

 I remember I had this typewriter I got from my mom when I was eleven. I used to write short stories about fairies, gremlins, and goblins with it. I like how writing somewhat brought my imagination to life. As I scanned through the pages of the stories I’ve written, it brought me nothing but delight. 

 Writing has been my safe space since then, especially when my parents’ relationship was on the verge of breaking. Writing helped me escape the quandary I’ve been dealing inside. I also decided to join our school’s publication club when I entered high school and compete in some essay contests. They helped boost my confidence in writing, which drove me to pursue journalism in college. 

 I became a feature writer in our school’s paper and earned my first salary for writing. That moment I had everything figured out. I was so full of dreams and so certain about my future, but I stand corrected. 

 As soon as I stepped in the corporate world, I realized that there are way better writers than I am. I’m just a speck who creates inconsequential impact in this competitive world. Sometimes, it feels like I don’t even exist. 

 So many times I have questioned myself if writing is something I should still pursue. There were nights where I just cry myself to sleep – asking God why He allowed writing to be the desire of my heart when I’m no good at it. I have been in my lowest lows where I also started questioning the purpose of my existence a.k.a. the infamous quarter-life crisis. 

 Until one time, I stumbled upon one of my feature articles when I was in college. The article was about renowned Filipino writer, Ricky Lee – where one of his quotes struck me: 

“Habang nagsusulat ka, feeling mo ang galing-galing mo, pero pag nabasa na ng iba parang ikaw na ang pinakawalang kwentang manunulat. Kasi sa totoo lang, a writer is both good and a bad writer. Mas maganda kung ituturing ng manunulat na hindi sya magaling para abante sya ng abante para mag-grow sya. You can be good, but you can never be the best, kasi kung best ka malamang bukas patay ka na.” 

(Read Full Article Here: https://www.pinoyexchange.com/discussion/283581/the-letran-news/p14)

(While you’re writing, you feel as if you’re so great at it, but once others read it, you’ll start feeling like you’re the worst writer, because the truth is, a writer is both good and a bad writer. It would be better if a writer would treat himself/herself that he/she is not excellent at writing so he/she can grow. You can be good, but you can never be the best, because if you’re the best (writer) then probably you’ll be dead tomorrow.) 

I felt okay after reading those words, knowing that it came from a very eminent writer, it was so comforting. I mean who would’ve thought that one of the sought-after writers feels one of the worsts too?

From a dreamer who used to own a typewriter to a wimpy 26-year-old who’s scared of riding a bike and struggles to figure her life out, this is going to be a long journey of getting my confident-self back again. However, at least I’m trying my best not to be stuck in my fear. I love writing and I’ll fight for it. I’ll keep writing and continue growing to be better at it. :)

[warriorrat]

My amazing friend @jokesonjess sent me this Chrobin angst at 2am, so guess why I'm not sleeping tonight? 😂

No Rest For The Possessed

This was the worst part about waking up again.

It was the same damn hall. The darkness, the blue flames, the purple hues that seem to seep into your blood like poison…

But it was him. It was always him. Lying in thousands across the cobblestone floor, in various, frozen positions of absolute terror, and atrocities that only I could accomplish.

Impaled by lightning, burnt on the battlefield, hundreds of swords being thrust through his heart; everything was here to remind me of what terrible things I had done. A stain on my soul that can never be removed until my mission is set in stone.

Others that have fallen at my hand don’t lie here, it’s just him. The only man that could ever hold my heart, to tame me, to make me believe I was more than just a monster, would always be my downfall, the reason I continued to fight in this ever looping purgatory.

I sat in the throng of bodies, unable to help the salty tears run down my cheeks as I held my latest attempt in my arms, some unreasonable part of me hoping, praying Naga would free me from this Hell. But the attempts are always fruitless, she can never hear me from the clutches of this realm’s devil.

“Why so sad? Shouldn’t you be used to this already?” That voice, so unmistakably familiar, always succeeds in running a terrified shiver down my spine, freezing my blood solid so that I cannot run, cannot flee from its tyranny.

“Please…” I beg, already aware that my weakness will get me nowhere, that it will fall upon deaf ears, but I must try. I must do anything not to go through it again. “Please, stop this…”

“Why? We’re having so much fun!”

“I’m tired,” I whimpered, drawing him close to my chest, the blood from his latest fatal injury beginning to stain my clothes. “I just want it to end. I don’t care what happens to me, just, please, let him live.”

“You’ve proved well enough that you don’t much care about yourself. How many times have you given your life for him, and it still ended in tragedy?”

“Please!” I screamed. “I don’t know what you want! You always win!”

“And that’s where the fun lies!” The voice laughed, as if my pain was nothing more than a mere joke to it.

There was no real reason why it was still doing this to me, why it continued to make me suffer. In all timelines, he exists. In all scenarios, he wins. Despite my best efforts, despite everything I work for to keep him alive, he always ends up here, in my arms.

“When will it end?” It’s a pointless question. It will never end, not while it has a hold over me. Not while everything works against me. Not while he still owns my heart.

“Oh, come now. Don’t you want to try again?” The voice, though always sinister, makes me realise that it has something else in play. I look to my mirror image standing before me, dark red eyes that can bury its way down deep into anyone’s soul. Those are the eyes that no one can forget, the eyes of eternal hatred; the eyes of a God of Destruction. “One last try, go on!”

I’m pushed to the centre of the room, my feet tumbling unsteadily. The darkness swirls and I have no chance in determining which way is up. All of him disappears, and I know in a moment my memory will be put into a blender for me to never recover again, until the next time I fail. I know that I will wake up in a sunlit field, the smell of flowers drowning out any sign of suffrage. That he will stand above me, help me up, and fill me with purpose once again.

And for a moment, my heart lifts at the possibility of ignorant bliss. Anything to hold him, alive, in my arms once again.

Of course, this is not the case.

“What? It’s you! How did you get in here?” My whole body stiffens at his voice, the previous tears frozen in place. I slowly look to my right, only to find that it is actually him. Same hall, same ambiance, same scenario. Validar. It hasn’t given me this scene in a long time.

The large, double doors at the other end of the hallway burst open with a bang, and my head whips to the left. He stands there, the sweat beginning to glisten on his forehead from the battle he would have fought through, and the length of the castle he had to run through just to get here. All this way, only to die.

“Robin! There you are, I thought I had lost you along the way,” he was smiling. How was he smiling? How can one smile at a time like this? I had tried everything to stop it, to avoid it, to dodge every single conundrum that appeared and still he was cursed to fall at my hand. I wanted to scream at him, tell him to leave, to run the other way, that I can take on Validar myself and win. But there was no chance he would listen to me, the oaf.

“Robin, look out!” His smile immediately fell as he sprinted forwards. I could hear the crackle of lightning behind me, but I have no motivation to dodge from Validar’s attacks. He is nowhere near me to aid me, so the lightning imbeds itself in my right side, shooting me across the room and into a stone pillar. I slump to the floor, in pain but mostly winded.

“Robin, snap out of it!” He’s right in front of me, strong arms lifting me to my feet. I see Falchion shining in his hand, but any requests for salvation will end in his inability to listen during a fight. “We have a battle to win!”

He races forwards, ready to attack. Sword and magic clash together in an endless rain of sparks as they battle, misfires and dodged swings making the hall rumble. Without his stability, my legs shake before buckling beneath me, making me collapse to the ground.

“Robin, what’s wrong with you? Why won’t you fight?”

“There’s no helping her!”

“What have you done?!” They exchange words like they’ve never fought this battle a hundred times before. It’s too soon, however, all of this is too soon. I remember too much, fought too early, lost too soon.

I look up, only to witness Validar gain the upper hand, throwing him back a few metres. I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the wounds afflicting his swordsmanship to strongly come into play. He’s losing this battle.

There is really, nothing more motivating than trying to protect one’s heart. Maybe there’s something I’ve missed, maybe there’s hope for him yet. I can’t give up, I can’t surrender to it yet. It cannot have the last laugh, not again. At the sight of Validar’s incoming attack, I rise from the ground, determination making the fire in my eyes burn.

Using the Elthunder tome, I summon a ball of golden, sparkling power before throwing it directly at Validar’s own attack, both shattering into a rain of gold and purple sparkles that drizzle onto the ground around us. I stand in his way, summoning spell after spell to push the Plegian leader back.

Chrom zooms past me, that same determination burning as he raises Falchion before him, swinging it into an arch across the sorcerer’s chest. With a final, brilliant call of lightning, I seep my power through his wounds to end the battle once and for all. The power I took and the adrenaline seem to drain me of my ability to stand, and I would have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t rushed to my side, arms wrapped around me to keep me steady.

“I never lost hope,” his voice is close to bringing tears to my eyes, but I embrace his warm hold, relishing in the few moments I will have with him. Over his shoulder, I bear witness to Validar’s smoking remains, and I know I only have a short while left.

“Chrom,” I whimper, unable to believe the next request ready to come out of my mouth. He pulls back, the relief on his face falling almost immediately. It’s as if he can spot everything I’m thinking, reading my mind like a book.

Even before I can get the words out, Validar’s ashen body rises from the floor for that one last, fatal attack. He screams some terrible omen I’m half aware of before my instincts kick in. I push Chrom as far out of the attack’s reach as I can, his grip on me slipping and his face transforming into one of absolute panic. I take the full blow, sending me halfway across the hallway, but, of course, it’s never enough to dispatch of me entirely.

“Ready?” It’s back in my head, immediately drawing my worst fear to the surface. Not again, it can’t happen again. I can’t let it.

Chrom is at my side, a slight smile on his face as he congratulates me for taking the day, for granting Ylisse the freedom it had been fighting for. But even before he’s helped me stand on my feet, I’m prepared to fall again. The blood is pumping through my veins, all I can see is a red hue darkening my surroundings. I can feel it crawling around my mind, desperate to let the building power take flight and remove the one good thing from this world forever.

“Chrom,” I cry, falling onto him, hands gripping his armour tightly. His face has returned to that look of fear, his voice desperate to figure out what’s wrong. “Chrom… kill me…”

His eyes almost immediately darken. He’s confused, I can see that. It’s a heavy request to fulfil, I know this, but it’s one he must take in order for him to stay alive. If only he would just listen to me. “Robin, what are you talking about?”

“I know what comes next and I can bear it no longer. Please, Chrom, I beg of you, kill me, before it’s too late. Before I become it,” surely he can see the fear in my eyes, the power ready to burst through my skin. Surely he can see, and understand, what I am asking of him. It takes everything I have not to run Falchion through me myself. It doesn’t work like that. I need to fall by his hand for a change.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Listen!” I scream, my legs regaining their strength only to take his clothes in my hands and push back against him, his loose grip on Falchion making the famed sword clatter to the ground. “It’s the only way you can stay alive. You need to kill me, please, that’s all I ask. Please, Chrom, I’m begging you, just kill me.”

“Robin,” Chrom moves through my waning grip, enough to wrap his arms around me. The amount of tears pooling in my eyes makes it difficult to see but his thumbs brush them away as he attempts to calm me down. My hands fall to their places as he speaks, the place it intends them to be. “You know I can never lift my sword against you, I would die along with you. Please, don’t say these things, you’re scaring me.”

“Chrom–”

“You’re tired, and you need rest. Let me help you.”

“Please,” my voice is drowned out by my sobs. Why won’t he listen to me? Why won’t he do as I ask? He can’t seem to understand the pure gravity of the loop we are both in, this circle of suffering that has entrapped us for all eternity. But now I can feel it, the sparkle of energy dancing on my fingertips and I know I’m too late.

My eyes close as his breath hitches in his throat, the lightning bolt imbedding itself through him, right between a set of ribs on his left side. I’m afraid to open my eyes, to watch the horror before me with the memory of countless others. But his expression appears in my minds’ eye and I am forced to open them once again. I can’t conjure a scream, or a cry for help. All I can do, is watch the pain in his face as his blood rolls down his Shephard uniform.

“This is not y-your fault,” he whispers and my head slowly shakes at him as he struggles to keep standing. “P-Promise me, you’ll escape from this place.”

I catch him before he collapses to the ground, cradling him close to my chest. There’s really nothing I can say or do in this moment, only watch as the life drains from his storm-grey eyes. A weak cough escapes his lips, but it doesn’t stop his adamant need to get me away from here. “G-go…”

“I can’t leave you,” I whisper, brushing a few loose strands of blue hair from his eyes. “I can never leave you, no matter what I do. I’ve tried everything, Chrom, everything to ensure you live. And every time, you fall by my hands.”

“This is not your fault.”

“But it is. It all is. Every time. There’s no stopping it. I will always fall in love you, and I will always be your undoing,” I explain, taking his cheek into my palm and holding him close. Amidst all his pain, all our suffering, he still managed a weak smile.

“I love you, too,” he manages out before the last of his strength leaves him, and he falls limp into my arms. I have only a few seconds remaining before the hall returns and I will see my failures again. I let loose a scream to hopefully deafen Grima before diving for Falchion.

Against everything I know to happen next, I still drive it through the broken space between my lungs.

I can smell flowers all around me and feel sunlight warming my skin. It’s a peaceful surrounding, one that seems to sap away the anxiety that had suddenly built into my chest. My memory swims in my head, images I cannot decipher appearing before me as they disappear entirely, like a dream one forgets immediately as one wakes. Two voices draw me from slumber, encouraging my energy to open my eyes.

“Chrom, we have to do something!” A girl speaks, voice chiming and ringing with naivety and a gentle heart.

“What do you propose we do?” A man speaks, voice warm and comfortable, commanding loyalty and leadership. A voice I’ve heard before…

“I-I don’t know!” My eyes open to two figures standing above me, and my sight grabs their attention, making them smile down at me. To my right is the owner of the female voice, her blonde hair set in pigtails and her outfit shining with good fortune. To my right stands the man, blue hair making his storm-grey eyes shine with unending kindness.

“There are better places to take a nap, than on the ground, you know? Give me your hand,” he extends his hand out towards me and although I’m cautious of these strangers that spark with familiarity, I take it and let him help me from the ground. He lifts me into the air with ease and I’m almost thrown off balance by his strength. I would have fallen into him if he hadn’t caught me with the same amount of ease.

My mind can barely remember the odd, six-eyed symbol on the back of my right hand as I stare at this blue-haired man. He smiles warmly at me, his hand gripping mine just that little harder, but I feel as though there’s something I cannot see, some emotion that makes my heart both sink and soar. I can’t help but hold his hand tighter, too, as if it’ll be one of the last few times I’ll be able to do it. A name is conjured deep within my memory as the last of it seems to crumble.

Chrom…

[ikonislife]

SpellBound

-Hanbin x Female reader

-Hanbin’s birthday project (: 

-Hogwarts au, friends to lovers, school life au.

-Spellbound masterlist

 -A/n: Please, please read this with an open mind. I’ve never done anything like this before so I know it’s lacking. I know there are thousands of better Hogwarts au out there but I haven’t found too many for iKON so I thought what better time than to create something fun for Hanbin’s birthday. I tried to include other members in the stories because why not, I love them all (:

Chapter 5: First?

Your giggle echoed still even when your feet reached the entrance to the castle, thrilled just thinking of the expression Lisa would’ve worn, hell, the entire Slytherin team would’ve worn if they had caught you smooching the Gryffindor captain just a week before their big game.  Hanbin too, wore a smile on his lips although it was nowhere near the infectious laughter caressing his heart with warmth. “Are you always this giggly?” Hanbin mused gently, guiding you into one of the hidden corners of the corridor. “Sort of. Back when we weren’t so close, Lisa used to think I’m on some weird herb all the time. That’s why my herbology mark is always so uhm, high.” You quipped, still so intoxicated with the delicate delight of hearts beating as one. You couldn’t, not that you even care to, stop smiling, not with the way Hanbin’s touch felt so warm against your skin, so familiar. “Is there any class you’re not acing?” Hanbin questioned and if he was really honest, half of it was out of admiration and half out of disbelief. How in the world had you managed to ace every goddamn class he was terrible at? “My girl is so freaking smart!” “Have we already forgotten about my little flying conundrum already?”  You raised an eyebrow at the boy that was staring at you as if you were Albert Einstein, completely uncertain of what had just stirred up the butterfly farm in your stomach. Maybe it was the residual of the question Hanbin had just asked as you both soared amongst the cloud, surely part of it was because of what nearly happened by the field, and now, perhaps it was too due to the fact that he had just so lovingly called you his girl. “My unlimited flying service captain is so forgetful!” “Wow, I’m speechless. Is that all I am to you? Just a flying service? Air Kim? Magical Uber?” Hanbin sighed a laugh, dispelling hurriedly the breath he had been holding nervously in his chest as he waited, perhaps hoping for you to return the favor. He feigned a sniffle, hand clutching dramatically at his heart and a big frown bloomed on those supple lips. “I’ll consider changing your name once we go on that fancy date you promised.” Not one to let go of a good opportunity, you grabbed his face with a teasing smirk on your lips, though that smirk soon turned smitten at the adorable pursed lips and squeezed cheeks. He looked very much like a baby chipmunk and your heart could barely contained a squeal from reaching your lips. “But if you keep being this cute, I might change my mind.” “Well I hope so because I just remember something…” A heavy sigh tumbled from his lips, an unexpected sadness reached his sharp finger and burst the bubble of happiness surrounding the both of you in a flash. The light in his eyes were still so warm yet there was disappointment in the way his index tracing along the edge of your nose and lines of your lips. “Oh… The games.” You finished the sentence Hanbin was much too entranced to do, sadness too now lingering in the way your chest softly dispelling the giant sigh it had been holding back. “We don’t have to go do anything big, I’m okay with just dinner in Great hall again, maybe just us this time?” You suggested and Hanbin felt a wave of relief washing over himself. “Let’s go to that tea shop you like, Madam Pudding? Puddingfoot?” Hanbin genuinely couldn’t for the life of him recall the name. So many times, he had passed by it, a bit of disgust would sour in his chest just looking at the frilly decoration and such silly incantation of cherubs shooting out confetti hearts. Who would seriously enjoy that kind of place because he certainly wouldn’t, much prefer his tea without confetti floating in it and being surround by so much pink. Yet deep down, as he watched couples laughing away, hushed conversations over the small tables adorned with pink tablecloth and hectic mishmash of flowers and small trinkets, a comforting warmth bloomed in his heart. The thought of having someone to laugh with, to share a tea with (even if it was in an annoyingly pink shop that smell too much like soap to be a tea shop), how delightful would that be. So perhaps there was always a little bit of himself that wouldn’t oppose to the idea of spending time there if his girlfriend really, like really really want him to spend the date there. “Madam Puddifoot! Yes, I love that place.” You corrected him, huffing out a bit of a laugh at the completely lost boy. “How many times have you been to Hogsmeade now, still can’t remember the name of the ridiculously pink building?” “Well, I’ve never been in it nor have a reason to. Why would I bother remembering what it’s called?” Hanbin retorted with a humph to his voice and a boop to your nose, one hand on his hip matter of fact-ly. “Never? Not even with your past girlfriends?” You bit out “past girlfriends” perhaps a bit too harshly considering you didn’t know him then and so there would be no reason why there’d be any kind of jealousy. Completely irrational too considering that his hands were quite literally tugging you closer in a tighter hug. “Never had one.” He replied so casually, eyes so trained on your features that honestly it confused you a bit. “Never had a tea?” “No, never had a girlfriend.” Hanbin felt your body went stiff in his hold as he breathed so effortlessly that tidbit of information, realizing now that perhaps you found that confession bit shocking? Though he couldn’t see how it would be shocking. “Oh…” You sighed gently, then suddenly exclaimed with a smirk on your lips. “OH!” “Is that strange? That I’ve never had a girlfriend?” He pinched your cheek, and pressed a quick kiss on your forehead, elated when your cheeks glowed toxic red and that bashful glint returned to your eyes. “No, well, a little bit. I always thought you’d be popular with, you know, girls.” You answered shyly, skin burned in embarrassment and delight. “So that means I’m…” “Oh, you know, nothing special, just my first ever girlfriend.” He teased, bravely placed the most delicately brief kiss in the history of all kisses on your lips before feeling his heart gave out in pure bliss, all the courage he had stored up for ages for this exact moment spent in a second… Very well spent if he had to say so himself. His brain in a scramble when that shy little giggle emanated from the spot on his chest that you had timidly planted your face onto, hiding the blushing cheeks. “Yaaaa, who said I was your girlfriend.” You whined and honestly, he couldn’t even care that you had just denied being his girlfriend, that you were beating his chest to oblivion. Everything was going just the way he hoped it would, perhaps even way more adorable than he had anticipated. “Oh, should I go ask someone else on that date then? Since you don’t want to be my girlfriend, I’ll just ask someone else. Apparently, I’m really popular with, you know, girls.” Hanbin swore he saw his short live flashing before his eyes the moment he finished that sentence. No sooner than the last syllable had left his lips, you had tear yourself away from his body with poison dripping from those menacingly beautiful dagger eyes. And even though it was for only a second, for the first time since he had met you, Hanbin saw the Slytherin in you. No sooner than your eyes had met his, however, it drooped into what he could only liken to sad puppy dog eyes with a pout on your lips. “I’m joking! I’m only joking. You know that right, baby?” He tested the water, hoping the pet name would sooth your heart but that seemed to have only fueled the fire in your heart because you tore away, stomping like a storm tearing up the quietness of the empty hallway. You got your arms crossed in front of your chest, silently vanishing from his sight and never before had hanbin panicked so. His body frozen, brain could barely comprehend what had just happened and how incredibly stupid he was to joke about something so sensitive. A relationship barely budding yet he himself had burned it to the ground, never stood a chance to bloom into the beautiful flower it deserved to be. “Y/n, I’m only joking. I’m sorry, please don’t walk away.” He chased after you, fearful, so fearful of pulling you back yet how else would he be able to stop his heart from obliterating. By the time your foot had reached the grand marble step leading to the library, Hanbin could bear no longer the sight of your slumped shoulders and sulking heart. He got both hands on your hips, whispering so desperately your name, praying that you’d turn around. “Got you!” You jested, staying still in the back hug Hanbin had just pulled you into as a last attempt at stopping you from leaving him forever. “What?” Stammering in confusion, Hanbin felt himself melting away in bliss as you turned around, winding your arms around his torso with a kiss placed on his stilled lips. “I said got you!” You peered up, with a cheerful smile plastered across your cherry red lips yet that smile was soon wiped away at the solemn steeling through his handsome features. You’ve gone too far, and as regret filled your chest with how crossed Hanbin had look, your arms slowly loosen the hold they got around the tone body of the captain. “I’m, I’m sorry.” You whispered dismally, it was your turn to feel panic creeping its fingers along your skin, sending shiver down your spine. You backed away one step, then two, and by the time you had taken your third without Hanbin pulling back into his arms, your heart gave out a silent sob. “I-I, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” You had nearly run off when his large hands tugged at your shoulders, engulfing your entire body inside his. “I got you back!” Index prodding at your side, Hanbin placed a sweet chaste kiss on your lips, mirroring what you had just done to him seconds ago with the brightest laugh you’ve ever heard in your life. “HANBIN!!! You scared me!” You cried out, a few tears pricking, threatening to spill any second now. “Me? Scared you?? You literally ran away from me!” He teased yet when your fingers went up to wiped away the tears nearly falling, he pouted gently. “Aw, baby, don’t cry. I’m joking. I’m just messing with you.” “That’s what you get for saying you’ll go date someone else.” You slapped his chest teasingly, pretending to walk away just to coax out a reaction from the laughing till near tear boy. “And for ambushing me with that kiss. I wasn’t ready.” “Okay, okay, no more. I’m sorry.” Contently sighing, a bashful grin bloomed his lips when you placed a kiss on his dimple, falling right back onto his chest, right where you belonged. For a second, it was just you and him in the silent of the universe. He felt as if you both were flying amongst stars, and all the stares, all the whispers of the passing by students fell on deaf ears as neither of you could care for what they had to say. You sighed peacefully, needy hand gripping at the back of his shirt, holding so tightly that Hanbin wished for every moment in the future when life will be rough, you’ll hold him just like this. Yet with any dream, reality reared its ugly head to remind you both that the world didn’t stop revolving just because your hearts had transcended time and space in each other’s company. “Ugh, that’s my cue to go.” You groaned sadly at the blaring alarm reminding you of the study session awaiting. “Young minds awaiting me.” “Can young minds wait till tomorrow?” Disappointment laced itself in each word he huffed out with fake annoyance, pouty and whiny just as Lisa described (Apparently he get particularly whiny when the practice schedule isn’t to his liking. After a while, they all just make up fake schedule to tease the poor boy into his pouty whiney fits) “Uhm, is that why you have negative points in calculus? Cause it can wait till tomorrow?” “Who told you that?!” He panicked, only fueling your laughter further. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” “Uh huh. We have to schedule a study session too unless you’re planning on stepping down as captain and spend the rest of your life following me around like a lost puppy.” “That actually doesn’t sound so bad…” “I actually regret meeting you.” You replied grimly, footsteps already hasten toward the library before the giddy boy caught your hand in his, swinging wildly, hopping up the staircase. As you both laughed your way toward the grand library where the first years patiently await their tutor, there was a strange feeling in your gut that you were being watch and by the way Hanbin so warily staring about, he felt the same. “Is everyone staring at me?” You finally spoke up after a few girls blatantly whispered loudly your name as you passed, eyes lingering on the firm hold Hanbin got over your hand. “Don’t mind them, probably feel weird I’m not surrounded by a group of idiots for once.” Embolden by the audience, Hanbin placed a kiss on your lips right before the grand doors of the library. Loud gasps echoing from every which direction, embarrassment setting your heart ablaze. “You sure they can’t wait?” “Yes, they have an exam soon. I need to go over the lesson and give them timeto absorb it.” You replied sadly with a pat to his cheek. “You know if I could…” “I know…” He let his words lingered, drawn out as he stared above you at some invisible being before a light bulb flashed off in his mind. “Can I sit in? While you teach them, and if we finish early enough… Tea time?!” He knew it was an offer you couldn’t refuse and before you could even nod yes, he had tugged you along, away from the crowd still stunned from the sudden PDA of the usually private Gryffindor captain. As your footfall grew louder, the group of first years ceased their chatter and began tugging books after books out of their bag, studious as always and ready to learn. Yet at the sight of the handsome Gryffindor captain tottering behind you like a lost baby chick, their eyes widen tenfold, the few Gryffindor kids got their jaws on the floor. They stared in awe at the boy then back at you, probably deciding that you were 10 times cooler for dragging the ever so busy captain to their private study session. Hanbin cheerily waved at them when you elbowed him slyly, tearing his attention away from, well from you. Hi-5 made its way around the table and each one excitedly return the favor, one of your little Slytherin first years even grabbed his hand and shook it with vigor (you’ll be sure to rub it in Lisa’s face later). “Hi guys, I’m sure you know who this is. He’ll be sitting in our lesson today, try not to be so distracted okay?”  You sighed softly, even you were distracted let alone the star struck kids. “Okay!” They cheered out happily. The lesson went on much smoother than you had anticipated with Hanbin mostly staying in his own corner, staring at you with that daze look in his eyes. The kids too, seemed to be handling the “celebrity” just a few feet beside them just fine, staying very focus perhaps to impress the older boy save for every now and then letting their eyes wandered over to the boy who was dreamily staring off into space. “Wow, you guys got through your homework super fast today! Any questions?” You asked routinely, mildly impressed with the speech at which they blasted through their homework. Perhaps you should bring Hanbin around more often. “Can I ask him question?” After a few seconds of prodding each other and mild shoving, one Hufflepuff boy shyly raised his hand, waving at a very confused Hanbin mouthing “me?” while pointing at himself. “Uh, if he doesn’t mind?” You questioned, befuddled at the sudden request, glancing over at Hanbin for confirmation. “I don’t mind, ask away.” Delighted to finally be the center of attention, he took over your seat, hosting his own little Q & A. You scooted aside and watched on in amusement. “Are you dating Ms. Y/L/N?” They giggled the question, to which Hanbin returned with his own very childlike grin. “Do you like like her a lot?” “Oh my days, kids keep you-“ Yet before you could protest, Hanbin already shushing your words away, returning his attention back to the young minds awaiting patiently. “Well, if you must know, she is in fact my girlfriend.” He whispered to the very focus kids, where was this intensity of readiness when you were teaching them useful things like how to identify which herb is poisonous? At the confirmation, they oohs and ahhs before raising their hands as if they were in class… Well, maybe not so much like they were in class because you know for a fact they don’t raise their hand in class. “Are you going to take her on a date?” A Gryffindor girl asked after he had pointed at her. “We are, right after this, to the tea shop!” His reply was met with a loud gasp of admiration and cooing over how amazing that sounded. “Are you going to kiss her?” Before Hanbin could answer, you had jumped over with your hand over his mouth, honestly shocked at the brazen question that got them all riled up and giddy. “Okay, let’s keep the question to quidditch related things.” You bit out with a stern smile as Hanbin pawed at your hand over his lips, the kids groaned loudly in disappointment. “That’s no fun, Y/n.” They cried loudly and Hanbin mirrored the sentiment having pried your hand off. “Yea, that’s no fun!” “Do you want to go on that date or not?” You whispered softly into his ear, watching as the curious kids practically crawled onto the table to listen in. “Okay, question time over. We gotta go. I’ll see you next time! Say hi if you see me walking around. Don’t forget to go support your own house team at the game!” Hanbin rapped out hastily, one hand tugging you toward the exit, the other waving furiously at the kids whom were doing the same. He dragged you through the empty aisles of the library, fire under his feet through the hallway of the castle too. It wasn’t until the cold fresh air of a late autumn afternoon had hit your skin that your heavy breath reached the ears of a very oblivious boy. “Hanbin… I can’t run as fast as you!” You hunched over, free hand resting on your knee while the other was still in his grip. You panted heavily, feeling your lunch teetering on the edge of your throat. “I’m so sorry. Shit, I forgot you’re not Jiwon.” He tugged you up to his chest, hugging away the exhaustion of running through 3 hallways and a set of stair, a very long set of stair, whispering still soft apology. “It’s okay… I just… Oh God… I’m not particularly fond of running.” You huffed out your sentence in fragment, feeling sharp prodding against your side. “I keep forgetting. Jiwon and I, we just chase each other down the hall, you know. I guess I’m not used to having… have…having a-a girlfriend with me.” Hanbin stammered dumbly, the glowing warmth of achieving that stupid dream he had for so long finally within grasp and he wasn’t sure his heart possessed the strength to go through it. A dreamy smile on his lips as he gazed upon your face, bit flushed from the cold air and bit tired from running. Hanbin was entirely sure that there would be nothing, nothing in this world that could make him feel better than having you in his arms, having you smile back whenever he calls for you, and the shy little giggle whenever he kisses you. “I have a girlfriend, and it’s you…” He sighed so delicately that you weren’t sure it was meant for your ears. Either way, you were over the moon to hear it, your heart’s desire finally coming true, after years of watching from afar wishing you could be his friend. “Well you better get used to it. I don’t think I’m gonna let you go for a long while.” “What do you mean a long while, try never ever.” He quipped cheekily, pinching your cheek once more before you both continued down the dreamy path toward the tea shop, hand in hand, laughing away at the stares of shocked passerby. Everything was the way it should be. 

-Spellbound masterlist

[neraawritesxx]

Garnet

Written for MultiSaku Month - Day 4

pairing: sasori x sakura prompt: soulmate au where you are colorblind to a specific color until you meet your soulmate genre: light angst // unrequited feelings // drama word count: 1,685

summary: “Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?” No. No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.

a/n: I have no idea where this came from, but I am all about the angst right now and this pairing seemed perfect for it. This story is unbeta’d so any mistakes are my own. I hope you all enjoy!

Since the day Sakura Haruno was born, she cannot see the color red.

And it’s a pity, really, because despite being able to wear her family crest in any variation of shade, Ino insists that she compliment the Haruno emblem with red because absolutely nothing else would match her bottle green eyes and bubblegum pink hair.

So, Sakura puts all of the trust that her little ten-year-old body could muster into her best friend and they go to the store together, sifting through the clothing racks, pulling out different tunics and blouses that are nothing but boring, dull shades of gray in Sakura’s eyes.

But, it will work out in the end because eventually, she will meet her soulmate and as soon as she looks them in the eye, all the varying shades of crimson, red, and garnet will bleed back into her life, and it’ll be just perfect.

Because that’s what soulmates are: perfect.

And everything will be right in the world, just like in those stories that her mother tells her about.

…Right?

-o-

They learn about the history of soulmates in the academy.

Iruka-sensei shares with them a vague history of it all; too many adages about humanity and hubris. About how mankind was always too selfish for their own good and the greed that had festered over the years could have been the potential cause of it all.

The absurd thing is, not a single one of those proverbs or sayings could accurately describe why it happened or where it began. Did the gods craft this for them? Was this a punishment? A gift?

No one had the correct answers. Whatever is written in scrolls and textbooks over the last century are assumptions and attempts at categorization. They can only learn from the past and what is going on in the present, what happens in the here and now, and write their own version of the events in journals in hopes that it might help others in the future.

There are a few things that they do know for sure:

It is possible for one to never to find their soulmate.

If one soulmate dies, the other is not necessarily subject to the same fate.

And, it is different for everyone; how soulmates are discovered, found, and chosen. More often than not, it depends on the region that one is born into.

In Konoha, they are color blind to a specific hue.

In Iwagakure, they feel their soulmate’s pain, sometimes sharing the same scars of past missions and battles.

In Suna, there is a black spot marring the skin where their soulmate is supposed to touch them for the first time. After the initial contact, it fades back into their bodies as if it were never there in the first place.

When their introductory lessons are over, Sakura can’t help but feel a little relieved.

She doesn’t think that she would particularly like a physical mark maiming her skin or some ambiguous words etched into her arm that may or may not lead her to the person she would spend the rest of her life with.

She may be biased more towards her village for obvious reasons, but overall, she doesn’t mind being blind to shades of red because there will be no doubt when the time comes.

When those new colors dance into her vision, Sakura will know precisely who her soulmate is, and they can be together without any misgivings or uncertainties.

-o-

Over the years, things change. People, places, and settings. They all change.

Long gone were the academy days and her dreaming of the infinitely perfect meet-cute with her soulmate.

It’s not to say that Sakura hates the idea of soulmates. That’s the exact opposite, actually. She cares a little too much, and there are far too many instances throughout her childhood in which she had been so bitterly envious of those around her who found their soulmates easily.

TenTen and Neji have been together for years, even before the academy, and for Naruto, all it took was one quick look at the stuttering Hinata before his screeching of, “I finally know what color the sky is! Dattebayo!” was heard around the village.

She knew that people felt sorry for her – mostly her parents and Ino – and that was because, with the more time that passed, Sakura became increasingly aware that her soulmate was most likely not a member of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

Though one’s soulmate didn’t necessarily have to be a member of the same village, it’s a commonality that occurs more often than not, and she can’t help but feel horribly cheated by the discovery.

Sakura puts a lot of time into becoming a strong shinobi after that. With Naruto’s departure for further training and Sasuke’s defection, it was time for her to put silly dreams aside and work on becoming stronger.

Though she tells herself she’s putting all of her time into drills, lessons, and hospital work to be able to hold her own – to show Naruto and Kakashi that she deserves to be a member of Team Seven, to bring Sasuke home –  there is always that traitorous little voice in the back of her mind which whispers to her late at night.

It tells her that the stronger she becomes, the more missions she can take, and the further she can go.

And, maybe, just maybe, she can find her soulmate along the way.

-o-

She doesn’t sleep much over the course of those two and a half years.

If anyone asked, Sakura blamed it on her rigorous tutelage under Lady Tsunade and not on the gnawing loneliness that ached in her chest.

-o-

When Naruto comes home, things get easier.

Sakura breathes easier.

And though the desire to find her soulmate still weighs heavily on her shoulders, Sakura still has her friends, family, and her team.

Things just feel so overwhelmingly right when they complete that bell test for the second time that, if only just for a moment, Sakura believes even if she were to never meet her soulmate, she’ll turn out just fine.

-o-

It isn’t long after, that Gaara goes missing.

What starts off as a day filled with her reprimanding Naruto because he couldn’t and wouldn’t pick a mission for their team due to his stubbornness and desire for a sense of danger, turns into them running through the dry, arid Suna desert with such desperation that it’s almost painful.

And this…

This. 

In a country that is not her own, amongst enemies that are trying to capture and kill a friend, is where she finds her soulmate.

Sakura doesn’t realize it at first, because when she and Lady Chiyo force themselves through walls made of rock and stone, he is hidden inside a puppet.

But after, when she smashes that same puppet down to splinters and slivers of wood, he emerges with nothing but a cold, cruel smirk on his face and contempt in those gray eyes.

Her world shifts on its axis.

Lady Chiyo is taken aback by the fact that he looks as if he hasn’t aged more than a day since she last saw him.

And Sakura…

Sakura is lost in the vivacity of his short, mousy red hair.

-o-

Sasori has no outward reaction to her and Sakura later finds out that is because he no longer has a human body.

“My heart is just like this body,” he tells them.

Emotionless. Cold. Hollow.

If Sakura felt embittered in her younger years, it’s nothing in comparison to the spitefulness she feels now. It is not fair. The chance of having a real relationship with her soulmate is stolen out from underneath her feet without her even realizing it.

Fleetingly, she wonders where his soulmark was on his original body. Just where had the black spot been that announced him as her own?

She doesn’t have time to ask, to divulge further into the madness that is Sasori of the Red Sand.

There is a fight to win and a Kazekage to save, and Sakura is nothing but a conundrum of animosity, resentment, and unhinged loathing.

She fights and defends and bleeds – has blood always been that dark? – and Sakura gives all that she has to give to keep herself and Lady Chiyo alive.

She can’t tell him; she won’t tell him because this was the path he chose. He is no longer human, and though she would like to believe that Sasori is capable of redemption, Sakura knows better than to let herself think that he wants to be redeemed.

“I’ve killed hundreds of people,” he sneers when they have him trapped, his core impaled. “She would be no different from the rest.”

And Sakura believes him, but she isn’t scared of him. Not like this.

“Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?”

No.

No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.

-o-

As Sakura watches the last remnants of life drain from his emotionless eyes, a part of her dies along with him.

And silently, she weeps for herself, for Sasori, and for the injustice of it all.

But mostly, she just cries because she was never given the chance to get to know him.

-o-

Over the next few years, there are a few select people that she tells.

Her parents hold her close, worried for what is to become of their daughter.

Naruto and Kakashi both give her pitying glances, but they do not change their attitudes with the knowledge. They will always be her surrogate family and they silently vow to never leave her side.

And Ino...

Sakura and Ino huddle together late one night and just cry. Earth shattering sobs and broken, pain filled wails that leave them feeling empty, but content when they are finished.

Sakura will be alright.

She will pull through.

-o-

In hindsight, Sakura really should thank Ino for forcing her to go shopping all those years ago.

The blonde had been right.

Red became Sakura’s absolute favorite color.

[ragingsquidjake]

Jake's 10 Favorite Films of 2017

Been a while. I decided it'd be nice to get my feet wet on updating again with my Top 10 Favorite Movies of 2017. I'll note right here at the top that I specifically say "favorite" and not "best," because (A) I am WAY underqualified to assess objective artistic merit in film, and (B) you can argue with me about what movies are the best, you can't argue with me about which are my favorites. So disagree all you like! But these are the movies that, to one degree or another really moved me this year.

10 - STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI

I'd pretty much given up on loving STAR WARS movies. When I did my 100 Favorite Films list a couple years ago, I was shocked to find how high STAR WARS was on my list. I always new I loved the movies, but in sitting down and assessing what movies and storytelling mean to me, it was surprising to see how high STAR WARS ranked. Particularly after the prequels were so off-putting. And then THE FORCE AWAKENS came out and I...just...couldn't care. I connected to none of the characters, I thought the set pieces were uninteresting, and I wasn't sure what it wanted to do other than be the original movies. The only thing I found interesting was Kylo Ren, a villain particularly compelling in his weakness.

So when this new movie came out I was still excited because it was still STAR WARS, and I'm a rather huge Rian Johnson fan, so I went in expecting to like it, but I didn't expect to love it. But I did. LOVED it. The characters I'd felt no connection with in THE FORCE AWAKENS suddenly clicked. The action was compelling. The choices characters made were surprising but also well-motivated and revealing. As opposed to when a major character died in TFA, the death in this film meant something, it hit me hard. I loved it.

I can carve out a couple pieces of logic that don't pan out, and I agree that the gambling planet diversion goes on too long/isn't as well orchestrated as it could be. But still. But still. It also helps that the movie is centered around a theme I find endlessly compelling: how to deal with the fallout of failure, and where and how to find the will and the direction to go on.

I loved a STAR WARS movie again. In a year of continuous tumultuous uncertainty and disappointment, that was a wonderful experience.

9 - THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI

I don't know how deep I want to get into the new "controversy" around this movie, but given that in some circles it's at the point now where liking the film is tantamount to saying you endorse racism, let me say this: I don't think the movie forgives any of its characters, and all of them have a lot to atone for. It's a movie in which anger has corrupted nearly everyone, and anyone who has escaped that overwhelming anger is left grappling with hopelessness and desperation. McDormand and Rockwell's characters are both dangerous and wrongheaded, and even though both characters do certainly receive grace at certain points--which is a far, FAR different thing than forgiveness or acceptance--neither of them actually do much to accept said grace. That leads to an ending that, in typical McDonagh fashion, is kinda funny, but also existentially horrifying. SPOILER, but anyone who watches Mildred and Dixon drive off to possibly kill someone innocent of the one crime they know to connect him with and thinks "boy, this movie sure does approve of these characters and their thoughts and actions" might want to reconsider.

McDonagh takes a hard look at difficult people and eschews easy answers. What is to be done with someone like Mildred or Dixon? Certainly Dixon should lose his job, which he does. He should also be in jail, which he is not, but certainly seems headed in that direction one way or another. But even in jail, what does one do with a man like Dixon? Do we just write him off? Is he too far gone? If he IS too far gone, how did he get there? Is there anything to be done there? And what does it mean to be too far gone? The same goes for Mildred, who at multiple points almost literally burns down what remains of her life because she cannot move past the tragedy in her past.  Should she, too, be written off entirely? Put out to some kind of angry person pasture?

The movie isn't without its flaws. For a movie that has racism as a major component of its story (and being set in rural Missouri), it's dreadfully short on black characters of any actual substance. And not every scene works (that scene with Mildred and the deer, which could have potentially worked as a quick, silent beat, becomes dreadfully ham-fisted with dialogue). But a movie about the difficulty of people overwhelmed with a blinding anger, particularly in 2017, shoudn't be quickly dismissed. I liked it a lot, and have kept thinking about it since I saw it.

8 - I, TONYA

Another difficult flick, another look at the anger and resentment run amok. Harding is a great anti-hero for our times, caught at the cultural crossroads of rising class resentment, the burgeoning 24-hour news cycle and celebrity/reality TV movement, and the focus on "Family Values." Harding and those in her orbit are all stuck in a gravity pull of lower class roots that they find it increasingly difficult to escape from, and it eventually leads them towards a path of doom and destruction.

Much like with certain political scandals, the question of Harding's guilt in the Kerrigan case is one of what did she know, and when did she know it. This movie is less concerned with Harding's guilt in the knee bashing than it is with her cultural guilt. Her guilt of being low class, crass, graceless, broken in home and in soul. Which certainly helps make Harding a compelling character, but does run the danger of letting the actual assault of another human being be a side story. Is the movie too kind to Harding? After years of mockery and humiliation, being barred from doing the one thing she'd spent her whole life working towards, if there is an overabundance of "kindness" here, what does that mean?

THREE BILLBOARDS makes us consider what could possibly be done about broken people like Mildred and Dixon. I, TONYA asks us not only what we could or should do about someone like Tonya Harding, but what role we ourselves have in creating someone like Tonya Harding. Having lived in a few places in my youth with some pretty extreme poverty, my class warrior instincts certainly got inflamed watching I, TONYA, but now living in fairly middle class comfort, if I'm going to say that Tonya Harding was a monster, she was a monster created trying to contort herself to fit the approval of someone like me. Both sides of that conundrum gave me pause while watching the movie, and I loved that it hit me from all those angles while still being a really engaging, exciting film to watch. I thought it was a real achievement, and I tip my hat to those involved. 

7 - THE FLORIDA PROJECT

In the midst of a movie year filled with anger and despair, we got this little miracle of a movie. All things considered, the characters in this film have it worse than pretty much any of the others on this list, socioeconomic-wise, and yet this movie was so full of life and joy and wonder. It helps that the movie is anchored on that amazing performance from Brooklynn Prince as Moonee, a character whose infectious energy continuously caught me off-guard throughout the whole film. We're so trained to find the hopelessness and sadness in a story like this (or perhaps even worse, thoughtless schmaltz), that Moonee's sense of adventure and openness felt like a small, silly, human revolution on screen.

Willem Dafoe is getting all the attention for this movie, and while he is undeniably amazing, Brooklynn Prince and Bria Vinaite are both so staggeringly good, so dynamic but also natural and believable, it's practically a crime people aren't throwing awards at them. And while movies this year had showier direction and editing, Sean Baker's ability to craft such an organic story that sneaks up on you quietly as the movie progresses is honestly stunning. He makes it look easy, as though these characters and this world and this story were just lying there waiting for someone to point a camera at them. The way he builds tension, keeping the many dangers of the world, the ever-present invitation to tragedy, consistently just on the outside of the story until it cannot help but break through, is masterful. There's such an elegant arc to Halley's ability to turn enemies and rivals into friends and accomplices until, suddenly and violently, she cannot, was one of the best pieces of dramatic construction I saw this year.

6 - LADYBIRD

It's difficult to talk about LADYBIRD because, as Rotten Tomatoes will apparently tell you, it's basically a perfect movie. What do you say about a movie that pretty consistently and pointedly just simply Gets It Right? Much like THE FLORIDA PROJECT it's an achingly humanistic look at a young woman whose perception of the world begins to grow faster than she's prepared for.

What's so beautiful about the movie is how perfectly it captures that horrible growing pain that bridges the gap from adolescence to adulthood: the realization that all of your pain and angst that feels so personal, that is so very much yours, is actually shared by everyone, always, everywhere. Those people you dismiss, or make fun of, or envy? They're all hurting and yearning and lonely and confused and frustrated, just like you are.

Pound for pound, I don't know that I've ever loved an entire cast of characters in a movie more than this one. I could go on and on about each individual performance of every supporting character. They were all glorious. I wanted to hug all of them. What a beautiful movie.

5 - MY COUSIN RACHEL

A common theme in a lot of movies this year was men's inability to see women wholly as people. No need to go into a lot of fairly self-evident mirroring of current events, I think. But one such movie that I feel was grossly underappreciated was MY COUSIN RACHEL. Adapted from a Daphne Du Maurier novel, the movie follows a young man's relationship with his late cousin's wife. At first suspicious of her, once she comes to live with him he finds himself enthralled. The cousin goes from feared and hated to the object of desire. For a brief moment all is bliss, until, slowly, the old suspicions begin to resurface. Who is this woman, really? What does she want? What sort of game is she playing?

There's so much to dig into with this movie, but to reveal too much would be to tip the movie's hand, and it's a pretty damn good hand, played extremely well. The performances are all spectacular, the movie's locations and design are brilliantly considered, and its tone and telling are perfectly balanced. After the movie my wife and I had a long conversation about how the movie reflects and comments upon the way men see women. We both had different takes on what certain aspects of the film meant, but it's the kind of movie that really courts that kind of discussion, and only grows all the more meaningful and interesting because of it.

4 - THE PHANTOM THREAD

I'm beginning to feel like Paul Thomas Anderson has gotten to that point where we just sort of expect him to make something brilliant, and so we're not all that impressed when he comes out with yet another masterpiece. This movie absolutely blew me away, and I'm shocked people aren't talking about it more. It's human, funny, compelling, and surprising. To me, Anderson has reached the point of artistry where he's almost a magician. I don't know how he makes this movie work. Most of the characters are unpleasant, it takes place in a world I have very little interest in, and its emotions are frequently reserved until they, on very rare occasions, burst forth in largely uncomfortable ways. And yet, I loved every minute. I smiled the whole time. I was swept up in it, and I don't even know how it happened.

This and the following movie make up a pretty intense double header of films about egomaniacal male artists and how the women in their lives deal with them. The strange sort of twist this movie comes to in the resolution of this relationship is something so strangely beautiful, something I found so oddly touching, I consider it a marvel.

Also, "The tea is leaving, but the interruption is staying right here with me" is a perfect moment that had me laughing out loud while also cringing inside at totally recognizing that horrible impulse. Which leads me to my next movie...

3 - ...mother!

On the way to seeing this movie my wife and I were having a slightly heated discussion about making plans. I'm very much an extrovert who loves having big parties with lots of friends coming over to the house and hanging out. My wife is an introvert, and while she loves seeing our friends, these kind of gatherings take a lot out of her. I am also a person with Artistic Aspirations, which, as anyone who has ever had to deal with another person with Artistic Aspirations knows, can be an extremely exhausting endeavor. I want to DO THINGS, I am hungry for ACCOMPLISHMENTS. My wife, if she had her druthers, would spend her days on the couch cuddling with cats, watching British mystery TV shows, and working on personal projects either artistic or design related.

So we put our discussion on pause and ducked into the theater to catch ...mother! When we left, it felt like we'd both gone through some sort of intense counseling session. We went back into our discussion about the party much more even-tempered and found some good, solid compromises. The movie was a vision of what could be, a nightmare vision of a worst possible outcome for two people of our temperaments. It tore into both of us and made us look at each other and ourselves, and reach out to each other. It was, honestly, a powerful experience.

I know the movie is outrageously over the top, I know its allegories are what some might call ham-fisted, but Heaven help me it was exactly how that silly little argument we were having before the movie felt, and that's what I really crave out of cinema. One of my favorite movies of all time is Andrzej Zulawski's POSSESSION. It's a movie about the crumbling of a relationship, but it has absolutely no claim to any sort of realism. Far from it, the movie looks to externalize how a serious breakup feels, with car crashes, murders, violent fits in subway tunnels, and a grotesque squid monster. I'd much rather watch that movie than a movie that just looks at a breakup in starkly realistic tones. ...mother! felt more like those arguments, to me, than, say, the much more realistic scene of Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone sitting around the dinner table in LA LA LAND. ...mother! was a straight up gut punch that really affected both Emily and I, and we talked about the movie for days afterwords.

It was also fairly fearless filmmaking. Once that movie lets itself off the leash and really goes for it, I was on the edge of my seat. It was audacious, surprising, difficult, and personal.

2 - RAW

In a year where people talked a lot about women in film and one of the most discussed movies of the year was a socially conscious horror movie, I felt like RAW got a bit of a...well, a raw deal, if you'll pardon the pun.

It's the story of a young vegeterian woman names Justine (in an incredible performance by Garance Marillier) who is going to veterinary school. On the first day of class she takes part in a hazing ritual that involves eating raw meat. That little taste of flesh sets off certain cravings in Justine that lead her down a path full of shocks and surprises that it would be an absolute sin to spoil.

The movie is one of the most gut-turning horror flicks I've seen in a long time, something the French seemed to have taken great pride in recently. But there's also a strange heart beating inside it, and there are a lot of things on its mind. It's a movie that hits on nearly every level, and its scenes of bravura horror and, sometimes at the same time, comedy, are pretty astounding. The audience I saw it with was gasping and cringing the whole time, it was a great communal horror movie experience, one that's stayed with me ever since.

There's maybe a longer blog post to write someday about how the future of horror lies with women and minorities, as they're the ones closest to actual horror in real life. I don't think it's mere happenstance that while most white guy horror movies have become rote scare machines, the horror of women and minorities out on the fringe are where people are finding deep, meaningful, lasting horror film experiences these days.

Julia Ducournau, the writer/director of RAW, is now at the top of my list to watch. I cannot wait to see what she does next.

1 - PERSONAL SHOPPER

One of the reasons I feel like this year was such a strong one for film is that so many of the movies I saw have stuck with me long after I saw them, but none moreso than PERSONAL SHOPPER. It's a movie that's incredibly self-assured, but oddly hard to define. Part thriller, part ghost story, part rumination on moving forward after the death of a loved one, part examination of contemporary distance and dehumanization through technology, there's a lot going on but still feels completely whole.

While the movie has a number of tricks up its sleeve, its greatest asset is Kristen Stewart, whose performance should have been showered with accolades and yet the movie seems to have quietly disappeared. There's an incredibly tense section in the middle of the film that's entirely focused around one side of a text conversation. It's a feat of editing and directing to make something that would seem incredibly static and dull on the page incredibly tense and emotional, but it couldn't have been done without Stewart's naturalistic performance that captures a quiet unraveling of safety and explosion of personal fear and doubt in the midst of a very public place. It's a hell of a performance, and one it's hard to imagine another actress being able to pull of nearly as well. Assayas seems to have found the perfect matching of subject and star, and Stewart absolutely kills in her role here.

The heart of the film, I think, is what we truly want out of our relationships with others. Stewart's character Maureen puts her entire life on hold to try and make contact, even for a moment, with her deceased twin brother, but what happens if she actually gets that chance? What does she want to say to him, what does she want him to say to her? The movie never makes it seem like Maureen is all that invested in the afterlife, she doesn't want to hear from her brother whether or not there's something on the other side. So what does she want? What actually goes missing when someone we love dies, and what does it mean to try and replace it? But even beyond death, how do we connect with those who are still with us? The central texting scene, Maureen's Skype sessions with her boyfriend, her boss who manages to be overbearing while also never actually being around all that much, there's a constant distance Maureen is grappling with throughout the film, sometimes trying to bridge it, sometimes trying to hold it steady. It's maybe the first movie I've seen to really address this modern problem in a way that didn't feel pat or reductive. It felt extremely personal.

Which all leads up to its absolutely pitch perfect ending, a quietly earth-shaking encounter that left me absolutely floored when I saw it and has played in my head over and over again ever since. In a movie that has this many moving parts and interweaving themes, sticking the landing can be incredibly difficult, and boy did they. One of my favorite film endings in a long time.

 For a year that felt as fascinating and dynamic as 2017, a mere favorite 10 movies seems paltry. There's so much more I want to talk about, so if there's something from 2017 that particularly stands out to you, toss it in the comments and let's keep the conversation going.

HUZZAH FOR MOVIES!

-Jake T.

[therussohousehold]

S3 Sucks Big Time And I’m Tired Of It.

Hi y’all. Next chapter’s well underway! In the meantime, there’s something I need to get off my chest, and this platform seems like the perfect place to do it.

SVTFOE season 3 has been the worst possible direction that the show could have taken. Out of all possible scenarios, the only way it could possibly get any worse is if all the problems that have been created in the past dozen episodes were, from here on out, totally ignored as the show tries to backpedal its way out of this conundrum.

The season’s complete trainwreck of petty drama, plot regression, character devolvement, and tonal problems is so complex and varied that it’s almost impressive, because of all the parts that seem like mistakes, the most glaring issues seem to be deliberate choices by the writers.

This starts at the beginning of S3 with the Battle for Mewni, and continues on through the season, to the point that there isn’t an episode in which it’s not present. Let me go ahead and dive in here, and just explain some of the myriad of things that are wrong with what’s been produced thus far.

Tone - mistakes and choices.

Right from the beginning of the Battle of Mewni, all of the show’s tonal problems are thrown up into your face, over and over again.

The purpose of story tone is to help the story retain focus, both in the direction you’re heading, and in helping your viewers know what to expect from the show. It informs the actions of the characters, and helps you to understand how to feel about certain things that happen. There are a lot of great examples of how this works in modern cartoons.

Most appropriately, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Teen Titans, and Gravity Falls are all very obvious examples of this. Each series’ tone is constant and lets you know what to expect from every episode, and more relevantly, features a mix of serious, character-driven narrative progression, while also allowing room for each series to tell jokes, show off the lighthearted interactions between characters, and have those personal moments of heart and meaning that mean everything when forging a bond between yourself and the characters you’re watching.

SVTFOE has always had problems with tone, from the introduction of Toffee onwards. Toffee himself is a perfect reflection of what the problem with the show always has been. He’s a character that wants to be serious, with real meaning and consequence, but the show itself is very goofy and lighthearted, and only in his presence is there any sort of continuity for the first two seasons.

This problem is thrown into overdrive with Battle For Mewni, which creates a world-shattering conflict that the show just isn’t prepared to handle in any capacity. The conflict itself is world-ending stakes, with Toffee’s plans finally coming to fruition - not only is the kingdom of Mewni in shambles, but he’s draining all the magic from the multiverse.

Despite this, though, the show’s goofy tone and ridiculous antics sabotage this more serious, tension-filled plot, over and over again. This continues until the parts that actually have tension, like Star drowning in the magic dimension, Toffee’s return and death, Ludo’s transformation into a horrible dictator, are not only undermined, but actually feel completely out of place in the context of the show.

One minute the show is telling you how funny and ridiculous it is, like with the parts that show River trying to run the kingdom, or anything involving the dungeons or Marco’s “vigilante pranks,” and the next minute, it’s demanding you sit up and watch, because world-ending consequence is crashing down in a manner completely unprecedented.

This problem continues into the season, long after Toffee’s death, with the conflict between the goofy elements of the show, and the more serious angle of princess that Star obviously wants to become.

First, it should be noted that the writers did at this point FINALLY make a conscious choice about the tone of the season/series - they did it when Marco arrived on Mewni in “Lint Catcher.” It happens in the most jarring way possible.

The series until this point has been all about lighthearted choices and fun adventures, so you’re led to believe that when he gets there, you’re going to see an emotional reunion, a return to the status quo, and a setup for next week’s fun antics. The setup feels as though the show is saying “okay, we’re going to do what we did before, but on Mewni now.”

Instead, it’s apparent immediately that Marco’s made a huge mistake. He burns the bridges he has left on Earth. Meanwhile on Mewni, Star’s not so much excited or even happy to see him, as she immediately seems as interested as possible in making sure he isn’t around for reasons that are never actually directly stated.

This is the tone that the series sticks to for nearly the rest of the season - Star being selfish and emotionally distant while Marco acts as a third wheel - and as far as a conscious choice for tone goes...

WHY???

This is the first issue because it’s really the underlying problem behind why I don’t enjoy S3 at all. It’s not written to be enjoyable. The tone of the show is “mistakes which have no resolution,” or perhaps “actions have consequences,” but unlike, say, Adventure Time, which shares this theme BUT is drowning in interesting side-plots and settings to draw focus (since “adventure” is also a primary theme of the series), that tone is taken and crammed down your throat at every opportunity.

That’s not to say it’s consistent, though. The show attempts to break through this tone on multiple occasions, with the immediately following episodes, Trial By Squire, Princess Turdina, and Starfari attempting to show that no, this is not the way things will go.

Despite this, though, the tone is so present in Star’s more serious attitude, in her dynamic with Marco, and in his own actions (and continuing, progressively worse series of mistakes) that I’m left wondering “what the heck am I supposed to be feeling right now?” Trial By Squire, like the other Quest Buy episodes, is excellent, but in no way am I prepared to invest myself back into Marco and Star’s relationship when they themselves have turned it on its head in ways we aren’t even seeing yet. The theme of the season is “consequence” but nothing actually seems to have consequence. You just feel bad after watching, because somehow you’re more aware of what the characters should be going through than the characters themselves.

Plot - how to story.

Like with tone, SVTFOE has always struggled with plot. One minute you’re getting a lore-packed episode like St. Olga’s, or a compelling character narrative like in the episodes preceding The Battle For Mewni, and the next you’re getting completely disconnected adventures like the Quest Buy episodes, Interdimensional Field Trip, etc. etc.

Up until now, though, the show has always done a pretty good job on both ends. Some of the filler episodes are annoying (Fetch/Star on Wheels will forever remain “the block that should never have been produced”) and some of the plot-driven episodes don’t always land (Baby is great, but also the most out-of-place episode in S2, IMO) but generally speaking, things have always tied together in the end. If not that, then it’s at least fun to watch.

So then S3 starts out by killing the antagonist and central conflict before we even see them emerge, and then continues onwards as if it still has a reason to do so. Then it introduces a theme that is like nails on a chalkboard for trying to build something to be around and watch. Talk about shooting yourself in the feet!

Throughout S3 so far, we’re given a bunch of characters that are changing radically, but no reason for their change, and no motivation to get them to show that development. Star is trying to change into a more down-to-earth, serious princess, but it’s not until Starfari, nearly a third of the way into the season, that we’re even given a glimpse of a conflict which suits this mindset.

Meanwhile, Marco’s trying to come to terms with who he wants to be in life, but whether he was on Earth or on Mewni, post Sophomore Slump, the series itself would not have been affected at all. It’s like he’s totally isolated from everything that’s going on around him, and any time he tries to have an impact or take control, things blow up in his face.

Eclipsa is introduced as a full character to show off a moral grey area and try to influence Star into her “do what you want” lifestyle, but there’s no catalyst to show this change at all, and as a result she, too, could be completely cut from the season to literally no effect.

This is not how you do plot. It’s not how you do a story, and it lends itself to the theme of the show, because now in addition to “mistakes without resolution,” and “actions have consequence,” (via Star’s attitude), the entire season thus far has had a running theme of “pointlessness.” The only conflicts which you’re driven to care about at all are those between characters, but even those are so poorly managed and difficult to understand that you just want the series to tell you what it’s trying to do, already.

Killing off Toffee was, in my opinion, the biggest waste of a character that I can think of in recent memory. It’d be like if Aang defeated the fire lord at the end of book 2, or Bill Cipher showing up and being beaten halfway through Gravity Falls.

I expected the show would at least provide a reason for the defeat so we could move on - like a “now that he’s gone, we can do this other thing that we really want to show” approach, but that just hasn’t happened. These characters still have so much growth to go through, the story still has so much to tell, but we’re just missing any driving force behind the plot, and as a result, the only really interesting bits of the series (the relationships like what are shown in Lava Lake Beach and the story development like in Deep Dive and Monster Bash) fall extremely flat while you wait for a reason for their existence.

Characters - unjustifiable and unlikable

Okay, so we’re seeing a running theme: inconsistency. The show likes to jump around with plot. It likes to have a few different themes. And up until now it’s liked to jump around with characters, too.

But this season actually introduced some consistent characterization for Star and Marco, with Star being the more selfish and serious version of herself, and Marco being a walking pile of bad life choices and personality shortcomings.

So, again, we’ve got a conscious choice by the writers that makes NO SENSE.

That is to say, we’ve now got consistent characters and they’re awful.

The biggest thing that you need from a character in any show is a WHY and a HOW.

The WHY is the reasoning behind their existence and character from an out-of-show perspective. It creates a relateable backdrop/canvas for the character to act on. Zuko’s struggles with honor, family, and his own duality are is WHY. We understand who he is and WHY he acts the way he does, and as a result, despite him making some terrible choices and being full of angsty late-teen drama (”nobody understands me mom! I mean, uncle!”) we still sympathize and know where he’s coming from.

Then there’s the HOW, which is the reasoning behind their actions WITHIN the show. Zuko’s driving force is to capture the Avatar, which is HOW that out-of-show WHY backdrop manifests. All of his problems come to a head and he’s created a simple narrative solution: if he can just capture the avatar, things will get better. Despite his antagonism, we understand him and appreciate who he is, even if we don’t want him to succeed. The problem with S3 is that it creates a problem that the series never really had before. The characters were never particularly consistent or driven, and when they are (like Star in Storm the Castle) the motivation was adequate. Star wants to get her best friend back. As soon as the stakes are raised from a character perspective - as soon as Star and Marco become consistent and show signs of a progression path - the show falls apart, because we’re not given any justification for it at all. The WHY and HOW behind Star’s actions in S3 is a total enigma, because the show never actually tells us her line of reasoning. The best I can come up with is that she feels the need to be more responsible following the problems her previous actions caused, but there’s been nothing in the season that requires that attitude at all. The actual stakes behind what’s going on in the series as a whole are actually lower than they’ve ever been, so why is she now choosing to be serious? She has no WHY because we don’t know WHY she’s acting that way, and she has no HOW because we don’t know HOW that new backdrop is guiding her actions. The result is this character that’s just designed to be unlikable. Star in S3 has treated her friends like crap, has been emotionally distant, difficult to understand, selfish, and irresponsible, all of which is now superimposed on a character we don’t understand. She was most of those things when she was bubbly and goofy, too, but we understood it! She just didn’t understand responsibility, and more importantly, she learned after her mistakes. Most importantly, the show did not ever demand us analyze her actions. S1 and 2 are stuffed full of apologies, emotional connections, trials and triumphs, and problems with solutions as she comes to terms with the idea. We don’t have any of that now, though, we’ve just got all the problems with none of the solutions. Likewise with Marco. You can understand his motivations a little bit better despite them never really being said at all (the WHY is that dude’s seriously misguided on what he wants out of life), but the HOW is still totally missing. He just stumbles about, not really learning anything or trying to understand why his life’s so messed up at all, and as a result, I just feel sorry for him. By the time his surprise party blows up in his face in the holiday special, I just want to reach into the show and tell him to stop trying. He doesn’t seem to be aware of what he’s doing, most of the time, and completely ignores the consequences of his actions. We understand WHY he’s so misguided, but we don’t understand HOW he’s continuing to act that way. So here we are. We’ve got a season with unlikable characters, no central conflict, and a depressing, scattered theme. This brings me to my final point.

Bullshit Drama - conflict vs. adolescence

In the absence of the villain, we’re left with the ultimate in adolescent, petty drama, as all these characters without understandable motivations or conquests scurry about, trying to find a way to make the show compelling while also maintaining the awful tone that this season’s chosen.

So we’ve got petty drama. Character dynamics without weight. Arguments with no meaning. A bunch of relationships which are built around a poorly-constructed love-triangle which is both completely unwarranted (this coming DESPITE me being a fan of Tom, this season) and unprecedented in the series as a whole.

The writers’ apparent obsessive need to use this BS “Dramabox” mechanic in place of any real plot or direction informs the entire season. Everything is building up to further defining the completely fucked-up relationship that Star and Marco now have, to creating conflicts between characters that could be solved with some half-decent communication, to backpedaling character growth (poor Tom, he’s tried so hard) in the interest of producing something that you can gossip about in a schoolyard.

The thing is, you can do drama without resulting to this. It’s one of the reasons you have an antagonist. As the plot drives the characters together into new situations, they won’t be comfortable with it, or with themselves as they’re tested. They’ll chafe as they adjust, and ultimately, come out as better people in the end. The subtle conflicts between Dipper and Robbie, or Grunkle Stan, the disagreements between Toph and Katara, Starfire’s bubbly surface or Beast Boy’s nonsensical nature compared to Raven’s dark, down-to-earth personality... these are all examples of well written character drama. Two informed characters trying to adjust to one another as they’re pushed forward by circumstance.

But instead we’re left with pointless adolescent bullshit. The kind that gets nowhere, it’s just something to talk about. “Did you see how annoyed Star was with Marco?” or “God, look at how bad a friend X is to friend Y, they’re just awful...” It’s schoolyard gossip and it completely disgusts me.

The most frustrating thing is, Eclipsa’s still a character in this show. She is the person to tell Star to get her shit together. Like, oh, maybe instead of running away and buying your feelings for your friend, you should confront them? Maybe there should be a balance between having fun and being serious? These are both things that a real person, particularly a mentor, would say in a real conversation, especially around the circumstances of S3. But that would be too easy, and kill the only motivation that the show has left to crawl forward!

So instead we’re gonna sit here and watch Marco fight with Tom over Star, for some contrived, bullshit reason. Because there’s nothing better for them to do.

Overall, this show has just about run its course for me. It reminds me of my short stint with the Walking Dead, where over time I gradually just... stopped caring. I’ve told myself I’ll see through another few episodes, and I’m going to continue writing my story regardless, but there’s a point where I just can’t be bothered anymore, and I think it’s approaching fast.

[kateemmerson]

CHAI CHATS: Insights from India Yoga Teachers Training

A new ritual has developed between my soul sister and me. Once family by paper, we are now family by heart … but with our busy lives and my location free living for the past few years, our connection was often relegated to shorthand Whatsapp messages, a gulped cup of coffee when our paths crossed in CT or JHB, or if lucky, a more extended lunch every now and then. Speaking on the phone never quite cuts it, you know? So in 2018, we decided, in our 50’s, to carve out a new annual ritual of dedicated time together.

Even when we attended our first Yoga Spirit Fest (um, to be honest, it was more of a dance fest just no booze or meat), we were already calling it annual!

Precious time for the two of us to connect – lingering conversations over cups of chai tea and coffee, no rush to cover big headlines only, time to slow down and be with each other. All relationships and friendships need this to feed each other. My recent lifestyle in the past few years have felt like a conundrum – loving the gallivanting and adventures but also skating on the surface of many things in my personal quest to live location free. Some of the insights from our conversations that unfolded in between yoga in 2018 have since transpired and come to fruition in my life. New steps were taken, new business decisions put into action and deeper emotions processed. That’s the unbelievable power when someone who cares, just sits and listens without judgment. Simply lets your words land on their heart. Most times, I can find the solution or feel the next step emerging, just in the speaking and the hearing of it land softly. Do you have that person in your life?

Travel takes an inordinate amount of time and energy for me now. I am never in one place long enough to settle into a routine and BE, to immerse or to rest. Some things have definitely suffered –like knowing that I am not always truly present and patient as a partner or friend when truly needed. Also my lack of deeper connection into a community other than fleetingly popping in before waving goodbye again; or never knowing where my next hair cut might turn out (come on gals, you know the stress of that one right?), The lonely downside of gallivanting globally and another plane to catch. Sounds glamorous when I say I live #locationfree, but it is honestly taking its toll where it really counts.

What if what I really want is the thing that is eluding me? How do I make sure I take the right steps to fulfillment and a way forward that is aligned, and not just skip on to the next place that beckons my gypsy soul?

For our annual connection time, “let’s go to India” we said. Soul Sister has been there many times, but this was a bit different for us, my virgin trip. Our ritual for 2019 was to be a Yoga Teachers Training in Rishikesh, even though neither of us is necessarily rushing out to become a full-on teacher, we wanted a deep IMMERSION and better yoga instruction, more than a pampering retreat experience. “Let’s be bold,” we said, “Let’s aim high,” we said. “Dive right in.” Deeply unprepared, just saying yes and showing up, not really knowing what was in store for us as most of the girls and guys were less than half our age. 8 hours of instruction every day in 33-degree humidity. I sweated half my body away. (darn ….I wish)

Here are some personal insights from 7 short nights in Rishikesh, India…

Get Up and Get Out On our very first morning, we both jolted naturally awake at 6 am, like little kids on Divali. Knowing we only started our training at ten am on the first day, we could not resist the pull of the mighty River Ganga a few u-bends below us. The most revered, sacred river in India was just at the bottom of our hill. Flowing like a river in flood, even though the monsoon season is over, this immense gushing river speeds past mountains and villages spreading hope, purification and faith to all. Albeit highly polluted to a western brain, it is the pure liquid that is celebrated in full by everyone. Everything centers around it – and the energy from it was honestly joyous and mesmerizing!

We just pulled on clothes, started walking down the hill, jumped in a tuk-tuk, instinctively negotiated the price to a local rate, and followed our nose down the hill. A few kilometers later we realized we were heading away from the bridge we wanted to walk across, so we just jumped out and started walking back, in the morning cacophony of the streets.

In a country where folk are so compassionate and treat each other with the utmost respect, I felt unbelievably safe. Walking with my bag and camera and not one iota of fear or threat. Just huge smiles were greeting us at every turn – and a few amused looks at my mop of silver hair. All Indian women (unless about 80) have thick black, coconut smelling hair. Even the older men dye their silver hair all sorts of colors. Oh well, best I own my silver dowry proudly as it was fun being asked to have my picture taken with locals.

Before most people on our course were even awake, we had already experienced the colorful context of the sacred Mama Ganga in Rishikesh and where we were spending the week. Do you just get up and out and are you brave and bold when you travel, or shrink away from the experience?

  Witness the Synchronicities While mindfulness is becoming the trendy buzz in the western world, the East just LIVES within this philosophy. It’s in the water, the rivers, the food, the air. Nothing to think about – it just seeps out every pore of the locals. It’s why I have always been drawn to it, I guess. But for Westerners, we often have to force ourselves to be wide-awake, mindful, and in gratitude mode to see what’s unfolding in the magic of each moment.

From screeching with laughter at magically appearing bananas in airports, to a profound 45-second sighting of the Dalai Lama floating past us in Delhi domestic airport, to a loved Ashram literally just down the road from our yoga school, to closed doors being unlocked and opened for us in sacred spaces, To caves of profound silence, to intense conversations from all the teachers we experienced that just kept saying the right thing at the right time for me (offering several objective teachings for me personally) ….we just kept noticing and laughing at all the love and life that showed up for us.

Do you witness all the little wonders of synchronicity in life that show up in each moment? Sometimes you just have to lift your eyes and look, deeply look, with soft eyes. Soft eyes will laugh! Soft bellies will laugh. We shouldn’t have a six-pack, just one pack that knows how to live, love, and laugh!

  Take it as it Comes You either love it, or you hate it – there is just NO grey in India

India is honestly hot, smelly, chaotic, dirty, and everything else in between. Loud, colorful, generous, poor and sacred. You can either embrace it all, inhale deeply and let it seep into your bones for the full experience, or you can be precious and tiptoe through your time there and hate every minute. And you can never know that until you go! Reading about a place, dreaming about a place, making plans to visit a place, watching movies about a place do not do anything to replace BEING in a place. No short cuts – not even with high definition movies or virtual reality. The power is in the experience of it. Always. We attempt to pre-empt too much with our western brains.

India will likely push your buttons – it pushed mine. But I chose to sink into the experience and surrender. The true art of letting go right? The very darn thing I teach with my de-cluttering and concept of #livelightlivelarge. We cannot control everything in life, but I can do my best to control how much I squirm or delight in response to life and just be ok with it all. That’s within my realm of control. Living in our little haven of Swiss Cottage above Rishikesh was humid, hard, loud and dirty – yet utterly delightful, sacred and filled with unbounded love and respect for life, each other and yoga. 33-degree rooms have no aircon – we’ll still breathe, and I love Bikram, right?

No shoe policy indoors means kinda dirty feet all the time. Who cares. I and my grubby clothes literally smelled all week, no matter what I tried. You know it’s bad when you catch a whiff of yourself! Banknotes than probably have ten diseases present – well bless the money and just pass it on. Weak instant coffee for my daily fix was like gold – until I see a gleaming coffee machine on day 5! The delight in my eyes lit up the whole village! Bikes, cars, tuk-tuks, buses, cows, monkeys, dogs and people all one trail – just keep your wits about you!

Can you honestly allow yourself to immerse fully? If not, then perhaps regroup and get the heck out!

  Impact of gratitude Gratitude in India appears a different concept – they see everything they do as an act of service, of love, of serving their faith. With no expectation other than to serve and help. No gratitude needed. I have so much to learn here – I am far more Westernised in my thinking of in and out, give and receive, thank you and showing appreciation. Maybe I need to surrender into service more, to do for the joy of doing, give for the joy of giving. The selflessness oozes out of their pores and shows me up to me!

Our yoga philosophy teacher says when a family makes chapattis, they offer up the first three: one to the gods, one to the cows and one to nature. If very poor, they will split one into three to give the first “three” away, and only then feed the family. Sacred ritual. So often when we as westerners show our thanks by “tipping,” we feel we have helped the other person. But actually, they have allowed us to serve and help them. We are the lucky ones in being able to give, not them for receiving!

This is such a personal test for me – when I saw the look on our teachers’ faces when gifting them something for the week– not even knowing what was in the envelope money wise- it was humbling to see the honest gratitude of being appreciated when no expectation is present. It’s filled with pure love.  No airs and graces, zero expectation. I witnessed such a transition of the ego into the spirit. What we all aim for, right?

These are powerful, dedicated teachers who devote their lives to healing and teaching – and within them runs a deep humbleness that was profound to witness. A small thank you brings so much joy mostly I feel because they see the joy in our giving too. The cycle of life?

So the question I ask is am I honestly being grateful for everything I have and can I do more in service, without expectation of return, or is the western way of always wanting ‘more’ detrimental to inner peace? Seeking more love, more fun, more attention, more sharing. More peace. What about acceptance of what is?  I need to understand the balance of giving with no need for anything in return and balance that with seeking and living with joy and passion. Going where energy flows and spirit is free. I’m finding this is my lesson at the moment.

What’s your current lesson in life?

The amount of money, number of houses, or jewels on our fingers does not a happier, more peaceful person make. That comes from within. I have really attempted to be more satisfied with less, to be living without a home, without too many possessions and needing less generally. Living mostly from a suitcase in the last 3.5 years, ever moving, ever restless, ever traveling, I have been trying my best to tread lightly as I go. Leaving somewhere a little better than when I arrived.

But I still seek lots of experiences in the world. Always wanting more, India taught me about being grateful for every little thing that IS, not what could be. Who can you give to today, who can you be thankful for, who can you acknowledge – whether by saying something or offering a token of your thanks? It’s all about the smile – make people smile and let yourself laugh from your belly!

  Different Teachers, Different Strengths Everyone I came across had something to teach, prod, nudge, or remind me about. There was no getting out of it when 8 hours of every day were immersed in some aspect of the training. The power of ego and how it shows up, the power of purification in the morning even when I was apprehensive of the neti pot, the anticipation of a hard class that landed up being delightful, the blessing of hearing that looking after your own passion and walking away when something doesn’t bring you deep joy, is ok. Truly ok. Everything is perfect just as it is, and you must follow your heart and try to do no harm in the process.

And often it was about how to find the JUICINESS in your hamstrings! Can you imagine – juicy hamstrings? My legs just light up at the thought of being juicy. Learning how going back the most basics of basic yoga positions is often harder than doing the complicated asanas. But all spoke the same thread – it’s all about preparation and purification for meditating, in order to reach enlightenment and compassion. Simple.

My overall take away is that everything and everyone counts – each and every perspective make up the matrix of the whole, and we have to choose what we need at each step along the way. I was left with the conundrum of understanding and knowing in my soul where I am, juxtaposed with how to remain patient, kind and trusting that we each have to walk our own journey. My eternal dilemma in life.

I also remember that we don’t have to be all things to all people – we each resonated and gelled with different teachers during the week. Just like we resonate with different people in our line of work – yet often we take it so personally if we feel like we aren’t reaching enough people, or getting enough business. I am in charge of MY life, and if I can help you change yours because we resonate, fantastic. If not, there is someone better to support your journey professionally.

Do you live your life with this knowing – that the right people will find their way to you and vice versa?

How can I have such tolerance in some areas and zero in others? I realized with a revolting jolt that I can feel 200% patience with strangers, and yet complete intolerance for my near and dear. No matter how many times people might tell me that I am impatient, and too fast, I still have to internalise the lesson. What’s that about, hey? I think that when any of us humans are feeling un-appreciated, un-seen, and un-loved, every part of our small-minded pettiness, aka the ego, comes up for grabs. Well, mine does! As impatience and intolerance. Mostly for myself, then for others. So my more in-depth attempt is to find a way to be more graceful and a little less ego-driven. Yikes, that’s a blooming tough one! My personal double-edged sword!

How often in life that my / your energy, action, and kickass-ness translates in the very next breath to impatience, intolerance, and judgment, for myself and those closest to me. Knowing how to walk that fine line takes wisdom. The whole week in India, all I felt from our teachers was grace, patience, and compassion. What a joy to behold, and I realize how much I have to learn from their presence in my life.

India was a transitional gift to my soul, and a time where CHAI CHATS with Nats are forever etched in my heart.

I simply have taken the next step on my journey, trusting I am truly where I need to be, no matter what. Because there is simultaneously also deep joy – the essence of both that life requires!

I trust in the bigger picture that …

…if something is meant to be, nothing can stop it, and if something is not meant to be, nothing can make it so.

Namaste

CHAI CHATS: Insights from India Yoga Teachers Training was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

[atamascolily]

Sinbad Review - Episode 1x10 - “Conundrum”

In which Maeve is mysteriously absent and everything (almost literally) goes to hell. Sinbad tries and fails to relax; Firouz and Doubar have some bonding time (which involves actual bondage, although not in the way you might expect); and Rongar has a really shitty day. Also, sex appeal gets you a long way with Sinbad and Dermott saves the day.

Also known as, "The Day Rongar Accidentally Got Sold into Slavery," which just makes me cringe, given that he's the only black character on the show.

Fun fact: the first time I watched this show in 1997, I misread the title as "Corundum" because I was super-into geology at the time. I was confused about how a crystalline form of aluminum oxide related to the plot. As it happens, the actual title of the episode is rather vague, so I think I get a pass on this one.

(Photos from Far Far Away.)

We open with Sinbad relaxing on the beach in a hammock! He looks like he's having a great time. Also, there is inexplicably a goat tied to a rock nearby, bleating. I don't know that much about goats, but I'm going to hazard this is a TERRIBLE place for a goat (nothing to forage) and we never see who, what or why. Maybe it's dinner? But given the theme of this episode and its subsequence appearance in later episodes, I am going to hazard that it is meant to be a symbol. You'll see what I mean as the episode progresses. 

Firouz not so subtly clears his throat, waking Sinbad up from his nap. "So where is everyone?"

Sinbad, however, is not going to bother waking up for this. "Maeve took Dermott to Whaler's Cove to practice her spell-casting," he says with what sounds like a touch of disdain, "and the rest of the crew is out fishing". Okay....

Okay, so the real reason Maeve is absent is because Jacqueline Collen wanted to leave South Africa to go visit her kid(s?) in California. Being so far away during the entire run of filming was a HUGE source of friction between Collen and the show's producers, and the main reason she left the show at the end of the first season.

Viewed in that light, I see this episode as a clever attempt at a truce, and a pretty good one as things go. But it also reveals a major flaw in the show's premise, in that you really need Maeve as part of the crew in order for this series to really work - a big reason for me why the second season stumbles so heavily.

Anyway, this episode always made me sad as a child because Maeve got almost zero screen time and I knew in my heart that despite whatever the title claimed, this show was really about Maeve and Dermott. But that said, it still manages to be one of this season's highlights in terms of concept, world-building and the introduction of a new breakout villain. Like I said, not too shabby considering how much it seems to have been driven by Real Life Writes the Plot.

"What about Doubar and Rongar?" Firouz wants to know, because apparently, they're not included in the "rest of the crew". Sinbad responds that they are "looking for a town to have a good time in" which I think is meant to imply a pub crawl, but could equally apply to a brawl or some quality time with the local women.

Firouz looks so uncomfortable. Sinbad sits up, and encourages him to go find them and hang out. Firouz thinks he'll only be in the way. DARN YOUR LOW SELF-ESTEEM, FIROUZ.

Sinbad basically cons Firouz to tagging along because he'll "sleep better" if Firouz is there to chaperone. Firouz is so excited at the prospect of Being Social for a Cause that my heart hurts.

Of course, as he's leaving, Firouz has to ask the million dollar question: "How much trouble can they get up to on such a small island?"

Cut to Doubar punching the camera, because you just had to ask.

(I mean, hell, isn't this the opening of almost every episode, anyway?)

Fun fact: the Gilligan cut is one of my favorite tropes, and I heartily approve.

Also, Rongar is equally kicking ass and taking names here while chickens run around underfoot. Classic.

The look on Firouz's face as he stumbles onto the scene is priceless.

"Hey, Firouz, I saved you one!"

The look on Firouz's face after he punches this random dude in the face is equally priceless. Normally Firouz is the member of the regular cast most likely to get beaten up.

Apparently, there was a tent revival, only they wouldn't let Doubar and Rongar enter. Rongar got shoved, Doubar took offense and... decided to educate everybody personally. Sounds like a typical day in town, honestly.

Doubar tries to make amends with the men, who talk amongst themselves in a language our heroes can't understand and offer them a purse. Doubar accepts it, and one of the men escorts Rongar away towards the tent...

As Rongar pauses to look at the decidedly ominous freize on a pole outside the tent, he's knocked out and spirited away into the tent.

It takes Doubar and Firouz a few moments to realize what just happened. 

"YOU JUST SOLD RONGAR!"

Okay: to be completely fair, neither Doubar nor Firouz had any clue what was happening, and they're horrified when they realize what happened and seek to rectify it immediately. But even so, it makes me uncomfortable, given the show's issues with race. And that's not even the most uncomfortable part of this episode....

Anyway, Dermott shows up to disturb Sinbad's nap and let him know that all is not well.

What is it, Dermott? Doubar hasn't fallen down the well, has he?

What follows is a conversation that would be passive-aggressive if Dermott could talk, but he can't... at least not in words, at least not to Sinbad. But he does send Sinbad a disturbing image.

(Okay, we've known since episode 3 that Dermott can do this, at least with Maeve, but this is the first time it happens with Sinbad. Can he always do this, with anyone, and just doesn't want to? Is it because he trusts Sinbad? Why don't they use this ability more often? Why is the writing so inconsistent about this? Anyway it's awesome, and in the fanfics, Dermott's always talking to people directly - mostly Maeve, but sometimes other folk as well. Not so much in the actual show, though.)

But Sinbad is a softie at heart, and this isn't the first time he's followed Dermott trying to rescue somebody (that was the whole plot of episode eight, mind you!)

It's not Doubar and Firouz's finest moment, to be honest.

Doubar is feeling really shitty about all that went down and spends a lot of time berating himself, and talking about how people think he's stupid on account of his size and appearance. "It just so happens that I’m not stupid. Just impulsive, that’s all," he concludes.

Firouz often gets misinterpreted as clueless, but he's actually really empathetic. He tells Doubar how much he envies him, because "I've never been big or powerful. Never been able to get totally lost in the moment. You have a way with people, I’ll never have."

Turns out Doubar is also jealous of Firouz: "The way you can just take things out of your head and use your hands to bring them into existence. It’s a talent I’m in awe of."

Aww. Aww. Aww. My heart is totally melting here, people. Two male characters confessing their insecurities and comforting each other and affirming it's okay to be themselves? Do you know how rare that is? TOO RARE, sadly.

Once Doubar is feeling better, it's easy enough for him to break his bonds and free himself and Firouz.

Because the men who took Rongar have horses, they're pretty easy to track and ambush. DOUBAR SMASH!

Firouz is not going to intervene with Doubar's wrath, which is a smart life decision in my opinion. Doubar gets the men to reveal that they sold Rongar to someone called "Scratch".

This is where Sinbad makes his entrance, and being Sinbad, has to have a snarky opening. Firouz gets to explain: "Doubar got Rongar kidnapped, and now we have to go rescue him." Pause. "Well, it wasn’t his fault. He was duped." Pause. "WE were duped."

True enough on all fronts. More true than they know at this point, actually.

They find a mysterious house with the same ominous freize on the door... and a lot of flies. This is a big hint.

Of course, they're going to go in and rescue Rongar, no matter how ominous! But Doubar is troubled: "I’ve seen that symbol in the west. If it means what I think it means, then this Scratch is no mere slaver. He’s a demon."

PLOT HOLE: Doubar, this freize was TOTALLY outside the tent you were trying to enter IN PLAIN SIGHT and you didn't notice or comment on it then (although it might explain why you kept repeatedly calling those men "heathens" for no obvious reason). But I digress.

“Just for once, I’d like to break through a door, and find a room on the other side,” Sinbad comments, genre-savvy. When Doubar remarks that the world is just full of magic, Sinbad responds he's getting tired of it - which is funny for a man who spent the first story arc bemoaning about how "civilized" the world was getting. You want magic, you have to take the bad with the good.

This is the most disturbing image in the episode and it makes me really uncomfortable. Fortunately, the crew is able to rescue him, although the ropes magically keep him bound even after they cut him down.

An ominous voice asks them, "Who dare invade the sanctity of the lord of the flies? Why do you steal my slave?"

The crew yells back about how it's all a mistake. Doubar yells, "He's our brother!"

"We have different mothers!" Firouz can't help but observe. Doubar just glares at him. You are not helping here, Firouz.

But still: one of the major themes of this episode is family and belonging - families of blood and choice. And how these four men will fight and care for each other.

Scratch shouts that he's going to kill them all, starting with Doubar, who he's met previously, only to be interrupted by a woman's voice, telling him to leave. He does, a little too quickly and abruptly. The crew follows the voice to find a beautiful woman, with both feet and one hand bound to empty stone altars.

The last altar has a flaming skull on it, which is not at all ominous, thank you very much.

nyway, the woman says her name is Sudra, that she is a disciple of Dim-Dim's, and she has been imprisoned here by Scratch. Her chains were forged in hellfire and she can only escape with Sinbad's help.

“I was on my way to warn him of Scratch’s arrival, when I was captured by Scratch himself. Oh, Sinbad. I am near death. I can’t last another day. You must carry on my task. Unless you stop the demon now, he will invade your country, and bring it to its knees.“

"In the west, his image is everywhere. He is feared by all. They say he is responsible for all the evil men do," Doubar agrees.

"That's convenient," says Firouz, ever the skeptic.

Of course Sinbad agrees to help her because he is, as I have previously said, a total softie. Especially when it comes to women.

A Stonehenge-style gate appears and carries Sinbad and Rongar off to a different world to find another skull to put on the altar and release one of Sudra's bands. Unsurprisingly, the world looks just like South Africa!

The skull is ontop of this contraption, which is covered in prayer flags and whirligigs. No trouble, right?

Well, except for these guys.

Sinbad gets punched. A lot.

Oh, yeah, and they're fast enough to catch Rongar's knives out of the air.

RETREAT!

Rongar's having a really shitty day, okay?

Meanwhile, Doubar and Firouz have landed in a different section of South Africa, to find another skull guarded by a snake. Doubar hates snakes. Firouz tries not to admit it - "I know logically, they’re just another species of life and not inherently evil" - and fails: "no, they give me the willies."

Unlike ninety percent of the animals on this show, for once, this snake is a species that could actually kill you.

Also: Firouz muses on why Sudra needs four skulls to free her from her chains, and what those skulls represent. Doubar is not interested in this particular issue, having disturbing flashbacks to his own previous encounter with Scratch.

"This Scratch is a pretty powerful demon in the west?" "The most powerful. He rules an entire underworld."

...implying that there are others. I guess that means the one we see in 2x04 is a different one? That would explain a lot about this show, actually.

"When Sinbad was just a toddler, our parents died. We were sailing toward the west. The storm of all storms came up. Had a ferocity I hadn’t seen before, or since.... Mother and Father disappeared in a huge wave. The entire crew was gone. I was thrown into the sea when the boat broke up. I made my way to a piece of wreckage. I was safe. Even as a child, I was pretty buoyant. Then I saw Sinbad, stuck to a piece of the deck. He was going down fast. I knew I was going to make it. But I couldn’t let my little brother drown.... Nearly died in the process. The whole time I was struggling to keep the two of us alive, I kept hearing this voice saying, ‘Save yourself. The devil take the baby!’"

So... this is one of the biggest pieces of backstory in the whole show - the reason why they were raised by Dim-Dim - the reason why Sinbad and Doubar are so close - and evidence that Scratch has had it in for Sinbad for literally his entire life. Although this does NOT answer the question of how Doubar knew it was Scratch, precisely.

"He takes men’s feelings, and twists them to his own cause," Doubar concludes. "Selfishness. Evil.... He takes many forms, Firouz."

Firouz doesn't think that the drawing of Scratch on the house door looked particularly frightening, but he's totally wrong about this. Sorry, Firouz!

Meanwhile, Sinbad and Rongar are working on a plan...

...when they start getting pummeled by something they can't see. Someone that wears sandals and leaves tracks.

Sinbad hides behind this gloriously blooming protea...

I will always love this image and I think it totally represents the eidos of this show: boldly charging in and kicking ass, no matter how ridiculous it might look.

It's a dude with a Greek-style helmet - when it's off, he's visible!

This guy is my favorite side character in the first season, hands down. I wish we'd gotten to spend more time with him. The credits say his name is Ackram, although I don't think it's ever mentioned explicitly in the script. 

He's the only villager left after the Wind Warriors (the white-clad folks who beat up Sinbad and Rongar earlier) moved in, and he's able to stick around only because he has a magic helmet that makes him invisible. He bemoans the decline of the neighborhood: "Old wind gods used to summer here. Zephyrus. Guatza. Heck, even Queztalcoatl used to come here every so often!"

Younger!Self did not get these references, but Older!Self finds them hysterically funny.

“Times have changed. So did people’s beliefs. The gods just stopped coming around. We wind worshipers stayed and prayed, but all we got were those wind warriors, who guard that skull. Attacking anyone near that tree. The whole village left. I stayed. I guess I’m old and stuck in my ways. Those wind demons are devils, they are. Real mean.“

Oh, yeah, and the wind gods left a bunch of sacks around , sacks that used to hold the wind. . Sinbad knows just what to do - if he can have the helmet. The old man agrees. "Do you boys have a plan up your sleeve?"

“Is the sky blue?“

“Is that a trick question? I mean, are we talking nighttime here?“

Sinbad takes the helmet and goes off to grab the skull while invisible. Rongar and Ackram lurk with the bag on the sidelines.

Sinbad throws the wind warriors towards Rongar, who catches them in the sack, trapping them. Essentially, it's a giant Bag of Holding with a one-way entrance. Also, it's tie-dye.

I love Rongar's smug look here. He's totally earned it.

Ackram is elated by their success. "I haven’t had so much fun since Talcor and Bomar took a battle action to cabbage!" "Huh?" "Oh, that's a long story."

Okay, I don't get what he's saying here, but given the talk of Zephyrus and Quezalcoatl, I'm pretty sure this is a mythological reference and not actually gibberish. Also, I love the idea of drunk wind gods wailing on a cabbage.

Despite what Ackram says about being an ordinary villager, I think this guy is basically a minor deity (why else would he have a magic helmet?) and I don't think Sinbad notices. But I find it hilariously funny.

Look, no legs!

Also, Sinbad does an awesome flip going off the rocks.

Ackram wants to repay Sinbad, but Sinbad is happy just to take the skull and leave. He tries to give the bag and the helmet back but Ackram doesn't want them for some reason.

The portal conveniently appears and it's off to another world to find another skull!

Meanwhile, Doubar and Firouz are being chased by these dudes....

...and the skull is surrounded by even more snakes.

Firouz is the diversion while Doubar grabs the skull and they race for the portal with their enemies at their heels.

The crew meets up again in another world, in search of the third and last skull. Firouz knows that they're looking for items that represent the four elements, as alchemists believe that uniting them and combining them with a fifth element - good or evil - can release powerful magic. Since the fire skull is already in place, and they have the wind and earth skull, they're looking for a water skull.

They find the skull - but this guy shows up. As his hair suggests, this guy is trouble.

"Why shouldn’t I, Alkon, one of the old gods, rule the air and the earth, as well as the sea. With that helmet of yours, I will be able to snatch fire from that throne you were talking about. I’ll get Daite to reckon with that."

(So, this is ANOTHER reason why I think that Ackram is a minor wind deity, because Alkon outright states that he is a forgotten god. Granted, Alkon seems to have control over the water skull in a way that Ackram doesn't, but given how Ackram speaks so familiarly about Zephyrus and Queztalcoatl - not to mention his magic invisible helmet - I feel comfortable concluding from context that he's a minor deity, too, although not as antagonistic as Alkon. Of course, if Ackram really knew what the skull did, would he have been so eager to give it up? Maybe he's just a nice guy.)

Firouz is so polite about rejecting Alkon. "I’m afraid we can’t allow that, sir. You see, it’s our world that is in danger. Not yours."

"Oh, you’re breaking my heart. See, I was looking for a nice world to rule. Yours will do."

So, are these skulls in alternate dimensions/versions of Earth, then? Is that where old gods go when nobody believes in them anymore? How does this even work? How many gods/goddesses/powerful beings exist in this show's universe, anyway?

But the show is not really interested in solving my existential world-building issues, instead deciding to recycle some CGI!

Hey, isn't that the same sea serpent from Episode One? Why yes, yes, it is. It even moves in exactly the same way. Thanks for noticing!

In the resulting struggle, Doubar grabs the skull, tosses it to Sinbad, gets attacked by Alkon, the gateway appears, and the sea serpent attacks Doubar. Doubar yells for Sinbad to get away and finish their mission, while Firouz and Rongar have to physically drag Sinbad away from the battle. Right before they go through the portal, they see the serpent grab something...

Yes, this is exactly the same shot as in Episode One, but with a different background, because budget. Don't believe me? Let's have a flashback!

Rongar and Firouz have to drag a screaming Sinbad back through the portal. Sudra is really happy to see them, though.

Just as Sinbad is about to take out the skulls, Dermott shows up! How he got in is never explained - presumably, they left the house door wide open when they busted it open. Or Dermott is magic. Or Maeve used hers. Take your pick.

"GET THAT FEATHERED FREAK OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Sudra shouts, and everyone stares at her. She instantly realizes she has fucked up.

"The hell....?"

Dermott shows Sinbad a mental image of Maeve talking to him. "Flee this place, Sinbad. You are surrounded by lies. By evil. By illusions."

As always, I'm excited to see Maeve, and this is the only time she appears in this episode. But what a way to make an entrance!

Also, definitive proof that if Maeve had been with the crew from the beginning, all this never would have happened. Because she would have sensed a trap from the beginning.  

When Sinbad turns around, Sudra has vanished, to be replaced by Scratch himself, holding Firouz as a hostage. Sinbad is so confused, but it turns out that Sudra never really existed - she was just a form that Scratch took to achieve his ends so that Sinbad could free him from the prison that Dim-Dim put him in. "I knew all about you from Dim-Dim. I wasn’t a student. I was a prisoner. He kept me here, to keep me from invading your land."

Okay, so you're telling me that Dim-Dim has the power to bind THE LITERAL DEVIL but gets blown away to another dimension in Episode 2 by another demon and trapped there? How does that even make sense? Okay, maybe Eblus/Admir is a fallen angel (something I headcanon, given his name and his form) but still... how does that even WORK?

Also, how does Maeve know what's going on, and how does she time it so she's the deus ex machina here? I'm not complaining, I love that Maeve saves the day, but I wish I knew more of the mechanics. Also, why does Maeve talking to other people via Dermott NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN in the course of the series? Do you know how useful that is, writers?

"I knew if I would capture all of you, in this case, Rongar, the rest of you would follow. Brave men. Heroes all. Buddies. Ha! You’d die for one another! Now, Captain, why don’t you give me the skulls? Or I remove your beloved friend’s head!"

Sinbad is furious - not only were they tricked, but his beloved brother is now dead as a result of Scratch's lies. And he's about to lose Firouz as well.

But suddenly something forces Scratch to release Firouz. It's Doubar! He was invisible and wearing the helmet! "Thanks for keeping that door open, little brother! As for you, demon. From hell you came, to hell you go!"

Scratch begs them to stop, promising them their heart's desires, but all three of the skulls get smashed so Scratch can't get at them. Screaming, he vanishes.

Of course the house explodes behind them.

Hey, look, everybody, we survived!

They all agree not to tell anybody else what happened... although once Sinbad re-phrases it as "saving the world from ultimate evil", Doubar has second thoughts. But Sinbad cuts him off. Back to the ship for wine and rations!

Well, this day sucked less than it could have, Rongar is thinking. Life could be much worse.

Poor Firouz still feels left out with all the laughter and camaraderie...

...until Sinbad draws him back in to the fold, because Sinbad is a good people person.

Oh, yeah, and you can't see it in that screen shot, but the goat is still tied to the rock, bleating. I wonder if they had goat meat for dinner that night, or what.

Anyway, for a not-Maeve episode, this is actually pretty good, and I love the dramatic plot twist at the end. Shenanigans happen, but I give Doubar a pass, given that he was totally set up by Scratch and Scratch would have probably kidnapped one of them one way or another to lure the rest into his house. Scratch is actually a pretty interesting villain, and I love the backstory revelation about the family past. And Ackram is such a gem. There are, of course, some plot holes, but overall this episode is full of win.

But seriously, what is up with that goat?