#I went through a period of just trying to block anyone whose takes

[echodrops]

I started the last post with "I'm so tired" too, but it just gets more true every day.

My last post was about how my real life sucks, but man, I can't even come to the internet as an escape from the intellectual collapse of academia anymore.

I'm just trying to browse in peace without being bombarded with people virtue signalling, advocating for media to be sanitized, and arguing over whether it's morally responsible to ship a character who is a literal murderer with someone that he said something mean to once.

Like, is this where we're at?

Is this really where we're at?

[renaerys]

22. for reds 🤡

This is 100% not what you asked for (yet...👀), but I give you part 1 of what we're calling the Weird King AU. I'm turning this into a proper multi-chapter High School fic because I love you and I'd jump on any bandwagon for you.

xxx

Like most young, conventionally attractive Supervillains, Brick had made a bit of a habit of failing upwards. It was pretty easy in a town full of simpering morons content to project their own narrative assumptions onto him, and who was he to crush their dreams when they made his life a little easier?

For example, dating.

“You can tell me, you know.” His cute date, Tracy, sipped her milkshake across from him.

“Tell you what?”

She softened and reached her hand across the table. “Your tragic backstory. I’ll listen without judgment, I promise.”

Brick tried to think of something tragic, but it all seemed pretty underwhelming as far as Supervillain origin stories went. “You mean like how I was born in a toilet?”

She made an oh shape with her lips. “We all have those days where we feel like we were born in a toilet, Brick.”

He’d dated Tracy for three months before she broke up with him out of the blue in tears: sorry she couldn’t fix his baggage, she just wasn’t strong enough to handle all that tortured darkness, but she wished him nothing but health and happiness. Brick deleted her number from his phone and spent twenty whole minutes staring at the toilet in his bathroom, wondering what the lesson here was.

But everything changed when Mojo got out of prison and moved Brick and his brothers back to Townsville, where he enrolled them in the local high school alongside their former arch nemeses, the Powerpuff Girls.

Suddenly, everything Brick did pre-supposed ill intent. These people remembered him as the pest who had graffitied their local monuments and blown up their cars and endangered their children. They held no love for him, and at best they feared him. This was not Citiesville, where he’d been a tall, cold glass of Voss water in a sea of recycled Dasani.

He found himself thinking about his birthing toilet again as he stepped into the cafeteria alone and the conversation quieted down as his new classmates watched him from the safety of their tables. His next moves here were critical. He was no longer at the top of the food chain, but fear and mystery surrounding his origins and character gave him a certain power over his peers.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of social suicide, I will fear no cringe,” he said to himself.

The jocks were out. Capable though he may be, Brick was not much of a team player unless there was a blood contract involved requiring his participation on pain of satanic torture. The drama kids were also a hard pass, not because he thought drama was lame, but because they had barely noticed him walk in, and Brick did not have the energy to deal with people more self-involved than himself. Some of the unaffiliated tables could be safe, but without a good understanding of the nuanced social dynamics in the high school, he could be heading toward irreversible doom, and that was a risk he was not willing to take.

He saw his salvation just ahead. It was the only option, all else being equal. In an environment where he couldn’t be certain of his baseline status and potential for upward mobility, there was greatness to be had only by association and certainty only in the devil he knew.

Brick helped himself to the empty seat directly across from Blossom Utonium to a chorus of gasps and staring.

Blossom did not startle like her table mates had. She watched him critically behind a head full of bangs as she balanced her soup spoon in her hand. “Really.”

Brick unwrapped the burrito he’d purchased in the lunch line and brandished it before him. “Really.”

He took a bite of the burrito. It was not hot enough. The two girls to Blossom’s left whispered to each other about that bad boy and he’s hot, though.

Blossom daintily spooned soup into her mouth without spilling a single drop as she continued to watch Brick for signs of his imminent dark side transformation.

The guy next to Brick was brave enough to ask him what his next class was. Brick had a mouth full of disappointing burrito, so he passed the guy the printout of his class schedule in lieu of answering.

“Wow, all APs, huh? Hey, we’re in U.S. History together next period, nice. I’m Mike Believe, by the way. Brick Jojo, right?”

Brick didn’t answer him immediately on account of the burrito currently occupying his mouth hole, and Mike took it the wrong way.

“Oh, yeah, we all know who you are. Blossom sort of filled us in.” He winced like he’d inadvertently revealed a terrible secret.

Brick swallowed his food and washed it down with a gulp of water. “Saves me some time.”

Mike looked super relieved. “For sure! Hey, I could lend you my notes if you want to catch up. Gershwin’s giving a quiz on the Progressive Era on Friday, and she’s a hard-ass who definitely won’t care that you just transferred…”

Brick chewed on his lunch as Mike continued to talk at him about classes and other vaguely helpful, albeit uninteresting, information. But Mike seemed normal enough, a little chatty but not in an overeager sort of way. Blossom was no longer clocking his every move and seemed to be absorbed in her friend’s latest swim team cheating scandal, until Brick reached for his water bottle and she suddenly laser-focused on his wandering hand.

Her keen attention to him was honestly flattering, if expected. It was in his nature to be noticed, and in this narrow respect she was no different from anyone else whose head he turned. If she chose to feed her interest with the flames of suspicion, then it was no difference to him.

But if she was anything like him—and on a chemical level she was probably the closest to him that a person could get—he suspected it took tremendous effort to hold her full and sustained attention. The world they inhabited was as vapid and mundane as the humans that surrounded them, and even the most gracious of gods grew bored of worship. Which explained all the smiting and fucking and generational curses upon entire households in everything from Greek mythology to the Old Testament.

Brick was pretty deep into a fantasy of Blossom going full Ixion and the Wheel on the swim team when Mike tapped his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung and he had a class to get to—AP U.S. History with Mike, apparently. Brick gathered his tray and his bag and followed Mike. When he looked back at the table, Blossom was already gone.

xxx

That whole first week was painfully boring. No one bullied him, or pranked him, or picked a fight with him, of course. But no one really approached him, either. His brothers were more determined to make an effort. Boomer announced he was trying out for the soccer team because there was no rule saying a Super with extremely well documented ties to active criminals and the forces of Hell couldn’t kick a ball around a field. Butch had gotten himself invited to a midnight screening of Snakes on a Plane in some rich kid’s home movie theater, but only after that same kid had accidentally spilled milk on Butch and burst into tears in front of a cafeteria full of Juniors and Seniors. Brick declined the invitation Butch extended to him. He had that AP U.S. History exam to study for on Friday, anyway.

He shared all of his classes with Blossom. Even in the classes where her assigned seat was behind his and he couldn’t see her, he could feel her lobotomizing stare at the back of his head whenever she glanced up from her notebook. And while Mike’s notes were perfectly adequate and the friendly gesture counted for more than the content (a gesture Brick would not soon forget), there was a far more efficient way to accomplish his goal of murdering the class averages while also taking the edge off his loner doldrums.

“Can I borrow your class notes?”

Blossom rose from her seat and pulled her hair tie out to re-do her extremely long ponytail. She held the elastic between her teeth as she worked. Her teeth were very straight, he noticed. Some pretty nice girl-teeth, generally speaking.

“Which class?”

“All of them.”

He watched her wind the elastic around her hair with quick, adroit fingers. “That’s a lot of notes.”

“You’re the top of every class. No point in asking anyone else.”

She moved toward the hall. He followed her out. “Why would I help you?”

A legitimate question delivered without venom. Unlike her sister Buttercup, who’d “run into” Brick after school on Monday and told him to watch his back, Blossom didn’t have to do anything but maintain a general proximity to make her superiority complex known. Which was the kind of flex he could fuck with.

“Isn’t helping people sort of your mandate?”

They had arrived at her locker, which she opened with enough force to rattle the hinges. “I help the helpless. Are you helpless, Brick?”

Brick smiled at her baiting. Had she ever actually said his name at a normal volume before? It sounded good even in her baseline bitch timbre. “Critically helpless. I’m the new student who transferred in the middle of the semester, and you’re the only person who knows me.”

A couple other students clearly trying to get to the lockers Brick was blocking hovered just out of reach. They whispered to each other, but neither of them actually worked up the courage to ask Brick to move. He ignored them.

Blossom rummaged in her locker for the binder she would need for the next class. “Make friends.”

“Working on it.”

The locker door slammed and she faced him. There was something confrontational in the way she held herself before him that kicked him in the nuts back in time thirteen years to their more uncouth days when all he wanted to do was destroy her so he’d be the only one. Now they were older and wiser and he actually did need her notes to study, so destroying her was not high on his list of priorities.

“You want to be my friend.”

“We have so much in common.”

“So do lions and hyenas.”

“Both are apex predators, so.”

She took a step closer and peered up at him. Brick did not move, although he wondered what was so interesting about his face. She probably just thought he was hot. She was probably as bored as he was. She probably—

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

Brick pulled back and covered his mouth on instinct. God fucking damnit.

Blossom was already walking away from him by the time he’d picked the food from his teeth. “I’ll expect my notes back in mint condition before first period tomorrow morning.”

Brick pressed a fist against the lockers and quietly fumed. “Dumbass…”

“Um, sorry, but do you mind…?”

The student who’d been waiting for her locker space to clear up had her palms up as if to assuage a feral stray. Brick pushed off the lockers, but his fist left a dent where he’d unleashed some of his impotent self-pity. He looked back at the girl, and she shook her head.

“It’s fine! It, uh, it happens sometimes.” She pointed a couple lockers down to Blossom’s, which was dinged up worse than the others.

Brick stared at Blossom’s locker, and then back at the girl. Her narrow, dark eyes were wide, but not out of fear. She was waiting for something, and like an idiot it took him a moment to catch up. “You’re trying to make me feel better about fucking up your locker.”

She laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s really fine! You just looked so miserable for a second there, and I just thought…”

Great, he was moping so hard he had an audience.

The five minute warning bell rang, and a flood of students rushed past them on their way to fourth period. Brick stepped aside so the girl could get to her locker.

“Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

The new guy, yeah. How quaint. Except, she was waiting for a response, which wasn’t the absolute worst thing that had happened to him all week.

“Brick,” he said. But of course, she already knew that, and she was just being nice.

“I’m Kim. Kim Chan.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have anything else to say to her, so he decided to get his shit and get to his next class.

“Welcome back to Townsville, Brick.”

Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off. It didn’t occur to him until later that Kim was the first and only person who had properly welcomed him back home.

[callsign-mischief]

The Gift of a Weasley Sweater is a Powerful Thing [F.W.]

Day 23 prompt of ‘A Very Harry Potter Christmas’ : ‘Weasley Sweater’

Thank you so much to @jamilelucato and @whack-ed for letting me participate in this writing challenge! I am so sorry it is extremely late, please forgive me. Hope you like it!

Fred Weasley x Female!Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: Mention of fighting, Umbridge, Umbridge’s using that quill, George being mean, a few cuss words, mention of  “bloodtraitor” *if I missed anything that should be put into the warning, please let me know!* 

Word Count: 6.5k (so sorry!)

As the Christmas holiday was quickly approaching and many students were preparing to leave the comfort of Hogwarts to spend time with their respected families, it was becoming increasingly normal to see different love-sick couples scattered about the castle basking in each other's presence to soak up every last ounce of time they could before being separated by the long vacation. What wasn’t normal, however, was seeing Fred Weasley spending any, and almost every, spare second he had with a girl doing the exact same thing. And to make it even more unusual, a Slytherin girl! 

It was a few days before Christmas break and George Weasley has had enough of seeing his brother act like a lovesick fool.

“I do not know what is going on in that head of his but I’m right ‘bout to take my beaters bat and knock some sense into him. Thank Merlin she’s not wedged her way into coming home with us!” he huffs sending silent daggered glares toward his twin brother sitting a few feet down the way at the Gryffindor breakfast table with his serpent of a girlfriend nestled into his side. He couldn’t stand the sight. How did Fred Weasley, a proud Gryffindor of all people, become entranced with none other than a snake? It just didn't make sense! 

From across the table, Lee Jordan casts a glance up towards the inter house couple before returning to face the boiling redhead sitting across from him. “Honestly George, I don’t know why you hate her so much, you've never even actually met her! She is actually quite nice y’know? She helped me escape Snape once, it was brilliant!” 

“She’s a Slytherin, Lee! The whole lot of them can't be trusted…” he grumbles, taking a quick bite of his slice of toast before sipping his pumpkin juice and clearing his throat. “I don’t know what game she's playing but I’m gonna find out what it is. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Lee could understand where the boy in front of him was coming from. Fred had never taken a liking to any Slytherin house member before, no matter who they were, up until the week before the end of the previous school year when you had transferred to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons. “Just give her a chance George. You never know, she could be genuine in her love or whatever she feels for him and not be as bad as you think!” 

On top of what George, and almost everyone else at Hogwarts, was already putting up with this school year (aka Professor Umbridge terrorizing the school and you know whos return creating chaos amongst the wizarding world) George didn’t want to add having to be civil with a snake to his list of things to deal with. 

“Yeah...guess not but still! She has not approached any of us, his siblings, to get to know us and they have been cozied up since she got here last semester! In my book, that's already a bad sign.” he frowns looking at the couple again. 

Meanwhile down the table, the two lovesick teenagers are conversing amongst themselves, oblivious to the pointed looks from her boyfriend's twin.

“So I have Ron, George, and Ginny’s gifts all wrapped up and ready to be handed out...and I was thinking, maybe I could come up to the common room later after lessons and give them out? What better time than to finally let me meet them and get to know them than Christmas!” she asks, voice dripping with excitement and hope. 

A grin graced his lips as he admired her excitement. “That sounds like an excellent idea, love, but with Umbridge, I don’t think it’s safe to be going into others common rooms.” 

“I really would love to officially meet them, Freddie. We’ve been dating for three months and you haven’t introduced me to any of them. They’re your siblings, part of what makes you,you! Especially George. I mean come on- he’s your twin! Your other half! And when has Umbridge terrorizing the school ever stopped you from breaking the rules? I can come up and watch them open presents, maybe stay the night so I don’t get caught sneaking back to the dungeons….we can spend some time in the common room after everyone’s gone to bed?” you giggle playfully.  

“You had me at ‘stay the night’!”

Another giggle slips past your lips as you peck his lips before rising from the bench. “I thought you would like that idea. I am off to see Professor Snape before my potions lesson starts, I will see you later in Transfig, yeah?”

Fred nods quickly, leaning up to peck your lips once more before you turn and strut out of the Great Hall. He watches you go with that same dopey smile on his face and his eyes swirling with pure adoration. He was in love. 

After a hefty handful of morning classes, a quick lunch with friends, Transfiguration with Fred (whom of which you got to spend no time with due McGonagall partnering you with other people) and one intense charms lesson, it was finally time for your favorite part of the day; your free period. You weren’t sure how you got so lucky to have a free period at the end of the day but you definitely weren’t going to complain. 

Normally you would spend the free period in the Slytherin common room, on the Quidditch pitch practicing, or in the Room of Requirement (which had quickly become yours and Fred’s spot when he decided to skip afternoon lessons), but today you decided to change things up and direct yourself to the library. You had spent your fair share of time amongst many stacks of the old, dusty books for studying purposes and to grab different for-fun reading material but hardly ever did you come in here to spend your free time. 

Upon entering, you quickly set your course for the small ‘Muggle Fiction’ section that had been added in recent years, in search of a new adventure to lose yourself in. Your study partner, Hermione was the one to actually introduce you to the section and recommend a few novels to try reading and you turned out loving them all. Despite being a pureblood and having the nasty ‘I hate everything Muggle’ stereotype follow you around everywhere like a shadow, your heart couldn’t help but get excited about Muggle literature, your favorite genre so far being Romance.

Once you have made your pick of entertainment, you gravitate your way to a back corner nook of the library to get comfy-that is until you see the back of a familiar mop of fiery red hair fluttering between shelves before plopping down at a table with his books. 

Having not been able to contain the excitement of seeing your man (even though he should be in potions), you quickly divert your course to him, staying quiet with a beaming grin on your face. Once close enough behind him, you reach out, playfully covering his eyes with your hands blocking his vision from the herbology book he had been scanning through. 

"Guess who, Freddie." You giggle. 

"What the bloody hell? Get off of me!"

Your eyes went wide in horror upon hearing the voice of the man who was definitely not your boyfriend!

"Oh, Salazar, I'm so sorry! I thought you were Fred from the back!" 

George stood up from his seat, turning to you with a piercing glare, "You should really make sure you know who you are approaching before you touch them!" 

He hadn't completely yelled at you but the angry tone and rise in his voice made you want to nearly cry. 

 You cast your eyes to the side, the amount of complete embarrassment you felt had your face feeling as though it was on fire. "I..I know, and again I'm really sorry about that. I- I'm uhm...I'm (Y/N), by the way...Fred's girlfriend." You look back to him, introducing yourself properly for the first time. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you George." 

"I can't say the same for you, snake." 

You recoil at the name, "What did you just-" 

"You heard me, a snake. That's what you are, clearly. Whatever love spell you have my twin under, you need to end it, and end it now." 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "What are you talking about? There is no spell. I wouldn't do that to Fred, or anyone for that matter! How can you stand there and accuse me of something like that when you don't even know me?" 

“Don’t think I know you, do you? You're a stuck up, entitled, conniving witch whose family only cares about things as ridiculous as blood purity and money. Everyone knows what kind of people you are. You and Fred have been dating for months and you haven't approached any of his siblings to get to know them. And what’s more is that over the summer you didn't even want to come to the Burrow to spend time with his family; it was always him leaving to meet you. What does that say about what kind of person you are?"

"You don't know a thing. That was not because of me! That was always Fred's choice, I wanted to-" 

"No, don't try to seem all innocent now. You don’t want anything to do with us and we certainly don't like you. Now, if you'd excuse me, I best be leaving."

Before you could get another word out, George turned and collected the books he had grabbed, walking away to the front of the library and out its doors. 

*

*

After your encounter with George in the library this afternoon, your day had only gotten worse.  

You had attempted to break up a fight between two of your younger Slytherin female students but you had ended up getting elbowed in the face, leaving you with a small black eye. Yet before you had the chance to visit the Hospital wing, you were summoned to Umbridge's office.

What had been intended as a “friendly chat” -the pink toads words, not yours-, upon seeing your forming black eye when you stepped into her office, you were dished up a detention for “unacceptable display of muggle dueling from a prefect”. You tried to explain the situation and what had happened but it only seemed to aggravate the woman more. She implemented your detention immediately- the punishment being having to write lines. Instead of writing lines for the said cause of your detention, you were made to write lines for "associating with a blood traitor below your class grade". The way she talked about Fred made your blood boil with rage but you didn’t want to make your situation any worse than it was so you kept the angry words and insults for the woman to yourself.  

And finally to top off  your terrible day, you had received a letter from your parents stating that they would be spending the Christmas holiday in a tropical paradise while you were to stay at Hogwarts, alone.  The day was turning out to be too much to handle and all you wanted was Fred. But with him nowhere to be found, you took to locking yourself in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons, crying out your frustrations. With your eye swelling, your hand stinging like crazy, and your chest aching knowing that Fred's family already hated you without meeting you, you felt completely miserable.

After what had seemed like hours, you finally managed to get your hysterical sobs under control to only getting small hiccups ever so often. Your eyes stung from the hours of repetitive rubbing away of tears and you could only imagine what you looked like. Breaking from your ball-like position in the corner of the room, you rise from the chilled ground, stretching your aching limbs as you take a glance at the small watch on your wrist. You see that dinner had started almost half an hour ago. With a sigh, you emerge from the dungeon’s classroom making your way up to the Great Hall. 

When you enter through the hall's double doors, you immediately scan the Gryffindor’s table for the man you have come to love. You spot him quickly as he's waving his arms around wildly with a wide grin on his lips, seeming to be telling a crazy story to the surrounding group of his friends made up of George, Ron, Harry Potter, your study partner Hermione, and Lee Jordan. You can't help the way your eyes fill with nothing but pure love seeing him in his element; entertaining people and making them laugh and smile. Your eyes cut to his twin sitting beside him and your face falls. 

In that moment, his harsh words from earlier this afternoon ran through your head on repeat like a broken record you couldn't stop. You never wished for anything more than to meet Fred's family and have them approve of you and your relationship but with the way things were going, that would never be anything but a wish. 

You b-line for the Slytherin house table, taking a seat next to your best friend. As you start to shovel food onto your empty plate, his eyes fill with concern. 

"Blimey, (Y/L/N)! What in Salazar’s name happened to you."

You pause and give him a quick pierced glance before resuming to fill up the plate of food. "Do not start with me Zabini. I've had a rough day." 

"I can tell by that black eye of yours. Did Weasley do something he shouldn't have to make you cry? Because you know I will-" 

You crack a sad grin at his over protectiveness but let out a sigh, "N-no, he didn't do anything...he's great. It's just...I don't know.." you trailed off. You didn't want to out George and have him face Blaise's wrath, but how could you keep the day's events away from your best friend?

Blaise noticed your hesitation and rested a comforting hand on your shoulder, "hey, if you don't want to talk about it right now, you don't have to but I'll be here for when you're ready and have the right words." 

You give him the best side hug you can manage as your eyes begin to prickle with a few tears. "I know and thank you Blaise. I don't know what I'd do without you." 

He returns the hug with a smile, "probably be miserable, I suppose. But I meant what I said. Just because I support you and Weasley's little love fest doesn't mean I won't hex him into next year if he hurts you." 

You shove his shoulder playfully before returning back to plate to enjoy your meal. 

As always, dinner was delicious and you stuffed your stomach full with too much dessert. You rise from the bench along with your fellow Slytherin's and begin to trickle out of the great hall. As you are walking between Theo and Blaise, a hand reaches out and grabs your arm from behind, spinning you around. You're met with a pair of familiar soft and warm lips being placed on your own. Before you can respond to the kiss, your boyfriend pulls away with a smirk leaving you with a small pout.  

“Don’t go pouting, love. You will get more kisses soon, are you ready to go? Hell- what happened to your eye?!” he cups his hands around your face, inspecting your eye closely.

 “It's nothing, don't worry. Where are we going?”

“You don’t remember? You were going to stay the night after you handed out gifts to Ginny, Ron, and George. Which by the way, I've got to tell you, I’m a little peeved off I’m not getting my gift yet and I’m your loving, devoted boyfriend who adores you and who worries about you.”

You rub your neck nervously, looking away from him. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day and I forgot..”

His eyes scan your face, his frown only growing deeper “I thought you were excited, love. I didn’t think you would forget something like this. What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t help it. Hearing Fred ask ‘what’s wrong’ after the day you’ve had, unleashed a new wave of fresh tears. 

“Woah, woah, love what happened? Why are you crying, did I say something wrong?” he quickly encases you in his warm embrace, pressing your head gently to his chest to muffle your sobs. Your body shakes horribly as you try to keep yourself from crumbling right then and there in the hall in the presence of other students. 

He looks ahead to see Theo and Blaise have stopped in their places, noticing your absence and are now looking at him holding your distraught figure. He sends a pleading look to Blaise, desperate for him to give a clue as to what was wrong but Blaise only shook his head and frowned in response.  He knew Zabini was your best friend and that you told each other everything so when even he didn’t know what was wrong, Fred began to worry even more. 

As Fred held you to his chest, he gently brushed back your hair with his fingers a couple of times hoping it would calm you. Bending down slightly so as to not scare you, he whispers into your ear, “C’mon, love. Let’s go up to my room and we can cuddle until you’re ready to talk. How does that sound?”

You nod your head slowly, breathing deeply as you can as you step away from him. His heart shattered seeing your eyes so puffy and bloodshot. Gently wrapping an arm around your waist, he guides you up the moving staircases to the portrait sealing the Gryffindor common room. Fred mutters the password and once there is enough space for you both to walk through, he softly pulls you along, hoping that the room will be empty or at least empty enough so you will be comfortable walking through. To his relief, the only people who have opted to stay out in the common room were George, Lee, Ginny, and the Golden Trio. George is the first to notice his twin's sudden presence.

“There you are Freddie, been wondering where you went off to. Hopefully not to see that-”

“Shut up, George. Do you and Lee mind staying down here for a while? We would like to be alone for a bit.”

Ron pipes up from his spot on the carpet by the roaring fireplace. “We?!” 

Just then, George and Ginny’s head snap to Fred, only now noticing you curled into his side, face pressed into his shoulder. 

“WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?! She-”

“Not now George! You’re my twin and best friend and I love you but please don’t start right now, mate. Just give us some time, please.” Fred begged. 

George backed away with a scowl before nodding. Fred glances at Lee who gives him an encouraging nod with a soft smile. With a sigh of gratitude, he thanks his roommates, guiding you to the stairs. With a flick of his wand, he says the counter charm to keep the stairs from changing and walks you up.

Once you're in the safe space of his room, he sits you on his bed as he couches down by the end of it rummaging through his trunk. Once he finds what he's looking for, he stands facing you handing you a small stack of clothes. 

"Here, sweetheart. These will be more comfortable for you than your uniform. And look, I even picked out your favorite sweater of mine." 

You let out a weak smile, leaning up to plant a loving kiss on his lips. He returns the kiss, cradling your face carefully between his hands. Fred is the one to break the kiss, placing his forehead softly against yours. 

"Let's get changed, love." 

With a final nod, you pull away and stand, moving to the opposite of the room to change giving Fred his own space. Once you're both changed, you walk back to his bed with your uniform gently folded in your hands. Fred takes the stack from you before gesturing you to get in bed. You happily oblige and wait for him to get I'm with you. Once he settles in, you get comfortable in your favorite cuddling position. You being the little spoon with Fred cradling your body to his front.

No words are spoken for the first half hour. Fred doesn't rush you to talk, only softly brushing his hands up and down your arms in slow comforting strokes. Once you feel comfortable and ready to talk, you turn over to face the loving man behind you. You wrap an arm around his waist pulling your body flush against his, burrowing your head into his chest. 

Fred let out a gentle chuckle, squeezing our waist a little tighter. “Are you ready to talk now, love?”

“I ha...frrible ay…” 

Fred let out a deafening howl of laughter. “I have no clue what you just said, do you mind repeating that more clearly for me, sweetheart?”

You pulled away from his chest, “I said that I had a terrible day.”

His joyful expression was quickly replaced by one of alarm. “Why what happened?”

‘Here goes nothing…’ You thought. 

With a deep breath you begin. “It wasn’t so bad at first. Double potions went okay, lunch with Blaise and Theo was good. Transfig sorta fell short because McGonagall split us up but that was okay too, nothing to ruin the day. It all started in my free period.” you stopped, beginning to feel nervous and nauseous . “W..we always say that honesty is the best policy...right?”

He confirms your question with a small dip of his head. “Of course”

You continue on, “I went to the library today to find a new Muggle romance book to read and well...before I could pick one that I liked, I thought I saw you weaving in and out between the bookshelves. I got excited seeing who I thought was you and so I ran up behind him and put my hands over his eyes like how I do with you and well…”

Fred knew where this was going and he instantly began to feel awful. 

“It was George, as you could have guessed and needless to say he did not appreciate that. Of course I apologized, but he was still so angry and not just about me touching him. He seemed to be mad at me, as a whole person. He accused me of having you under a love spell and said that he knew what kind of person I was because of my family. Told me I was entitled and stuck up because I haven’t approached him or Ron or Ginny to get to know them nor did I visit the Burrow to spend time with your family this summer. I tried to tell him that me not coming to your home or meeting your family wasn’t my choice but he didn’t want to hear it.” you sobbed, letting the building tears in your eyes fall freely. 

If Fred didn’t feel terrible before, he sure as hell did now! He knew that it was long overdue for you to meet his family but just when he got the nerve to introduce you, he couldn’t. While Fred was a very confident man in many aspects, your lifestyles were complete polar opposites and it oftentimes left him feeling inadequate. While you live a life of luxury, Fred and his family oftentimes struggle to make ends meet. While Fred’s family is thought of as a full lot of blood-traitors, your family name is highly admired and respected amongst the Wizarding community. Now, the Weasley boy knew such trivial things didn’t matter to his girl, but the worry he had of you leaving him once you dived in deeper to what made Fred, Fred was just too much to take the risk. 

Fred couldn’t even begin to be mad at George for what he said to you because he was too busy being angry at himself. He was the reason this happened. He was the one who kept you from meeting his family. He was the one who would reject your wishes to spend time at the place he’s called home all of his life and with the people he loved more than anything. He made you look like you didn’t want anything to do with his family when in reality, you wanted nothing more than for his family to adore you almost as much as Fred did.

“Baby I am so so sorry about all of this. George had no right to say that to you but he wouldn’t have if I had just gotten over my own insecurities. I promise I will make things right, love.” his solemn expression broke your heart and made you cry even harder. 

Wiping your eyes hurriedly, you shake your head. “That’s not even the worst of it! I got this stupid black eye from trying to break up a petty fight between two younger girls from my house, and then when I wanted to go see Madam Pomfrey, I was summoned to Umbridge’s office. One look at my eye and she gave me a detention of writing lines with that horrid quill of hers and my hand hurts so bad! And then on top of everything, my mum sent me a letter this morning saying that she and dad will be going somewhere for Christmas while I stay at Hogwarts instead! It was just one thing after another and when I couldn’t even find you, I broke down. Ended up locking myself in a classroom to cry, it was awful. That’s why I was late to dinner.”

“That bloody woman used that damned quill of hers on you?! I swear, I will make that vile woman regret ever using that on you! Let me go see if Hermione has anything to help with the scarring.” 

Before he could get out of bed, you wrapped your arms around him tighter, “No! Don't bother her about it, I just want to be with you right now. Don’t leave, just stay.” 

It was hard for Fred to contain the anger he had raging through his body but he gave in to your request.  He settled back into his position, pulling you in tighter by your waist. “I am so sorry all this happened to you today, sweetheart. I promise, the first thing tomorrow, I will make things right. I will owl mum and tell her you will be coming home with me for Christmas and then I will face my siblings and explain everything to them. Then once I’m done there, I will make that pink toad wish she never set foot into this school.”

By now the tears had stopped falling, leaving you to the occasional sniffle. “Can we just go to bed now? I’m tired.”

Fred snuggles down deeper into bed pulling his heavy crimson duvet up around you both, tucking you in. “Let’s sleep. Tomorrow will be better”

You wish Fred had been right. No sooner than you were both peacefully asleep, you had been rapidly alerted awake by Professor McGonagall busting into the dorm room. You and Fred had both sprung up to see her shaking George awake. When she made her way over to Fred’s bedside, she paused in shock seeing you there.

“Miss (Y/L/N), what in Godric’s name are you doing in Gryffindor tower? And in the boys dormitories no less!” 

“I-I.. well.. You see, what had happened was-” 

“Never mind that, we don’t have time. I need you and mister Weasley to come with me immediately.”

Once you were all out of bed and met with a disheveled Ginny, the four of you were guided back to the Headmaster’s office and upon entering, you all see Harry looking distraught. 

Ginny was the first to speak out, “What’s going on Harry? Professor McGonagall said you saw dad hurt-”

Dumbledore answered the girl before Harry had the chance. “Your father has been injured doing some work for the Order of the Phoenix. I am sending you all to Sirius’s house by portkey instead of the Burrow, where you will meet your mother. But we must hurry before Umbridge is made aware you all are out of bed. Hurry now, all of you.” 

Immediately you all gathered around the kettle you would be using to transport you and waited for the countdown from Dumbledore. On the count of three, you all placed your hands on the portkey and instantly you felt the pull behind your navel and a rush of wind before you were met with the ground of a...kitchen? 

Before you could comprehend anything, into the kitchen came Sirius Black. You weren’t entirely sure what to make of seeing the man in the flesh but looking at him as he spoke to Harry and the Weasley children, there was no way he was this “mass murderer” you had read to believe. After a small riff between the twins and Sirius about staying put instead of rushing to St. Mungo’s, he offered everyone up a butterbeer (which you graciously accepted) to calm the nerves. When you all had received the small letter from Mrs. Weasley, Sirius suggested that everyone try to obtain some rest so one by one, each of you filtered off to catch some sleep once you were finished with your respective butterbeers. You and Fred go off together to find a couch big enough for the both of you, quickly settling into deep sleep.

*

*

*

In the days that followed upon your arrival, you had finally met Mrs. Weasley and although you were seeing her at a tough time, she was thrilled to meet you and have you around for Christmas. Things were a bit tense with Fred’s siblings given the state of things, but you didn’t want to make what they were going through worse so you gave them their space. With your free time you had got to know Sirius and seemed to get along well given the many similarities between the two of you. You had also learned about the Order of the Phoenix and found that his home was made the Order’s headquarters. And then on the day the Weasley family was heading to St. Mungo’s to visit Mr. Weasley, you met a few more of the Order members, including Mad-Eye and Tonks. After a few discussions with them about the Order and their careers as dark wizard catchers you just knew you wanted to follow their paths and become an Auror and join the Order after you finished your schooling. 

It was finally the day Mr. Weasley would be getting released from St. Mungo’s and the whole lot of you Hogwarts students were busy tidying up around preparing for his arrival while Mrs. Weasley, Mad-Eye, and Tonks went out. 

You were currently cleaning down the tabletops in the kitchen with Hermione when you heard George in the next room over beginning to speak out of the blue. “I just don’t get it. My father has a near death experience and he has to come home to around another slimy snake...unbelievable.” he scoffs. 

You halt in your movement as you look up to the door separating the two rooms. The whole time you had been here, you hadn’t possibly done anything to set the boy off.

You hear your boyfriend speak up, anger laced within his tone. “George mate, stop. What the hell! She hasn’t done anything to make you be so cross with her. What the hell gives?”

You drop the towel in your hand onto the dark table, rushing over to the swinging door that separated the rooms. You push it open to see the two redheads glowering at one another in rage as Ginny,  Ron, and Harry stop in the midst of their own cleaning to watch the building argument.

“What gives?” he shouts. “What gives is that she shouldn't be here! She doesn’t belong here with the Order nor is she family! It’s not like she likes us anyways! Besides, she’s a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake! Who knows what she’ll go and tell Umbridge when we get back to school. Better yet, who knows what she will go say to those death eater parents of hers to get all of our asses all killed. ”

“That’s enough! Your bang out of line! You don’t know a thing about her but yet you decide to hate her?! That’s my girlfriend, George!”

 “None of us know her because she doesn’t want us to know her! We’re your family Fred and she’s kept herself from that. She-”

“ENOUGH!” Fred bursts in anger, making you flinch. You had never heard Fred so...so livid before. “That.  Is. Enough.” his tone rough and grave. He looked around the room, looking into the eyes of each of his siblings as he spoke, “You three loathe her because you believe she thinks of us as beneath her. She’s not like that! You all don’t know her because I didn’t want you to know her. I wanted to keep my family and my relationship separate and I see now that that was a horrible mistake and I’m sorry! She truly has always wanted to meet and spend time with you guys  but I have been the one to say no every time, even when she begged and pleaded!”

“Ginny.” His little sister's body straightened upon the hearing of her name, “you would actually really like her. The way you feel and talk about Quidditch, she’s the exact same way. You’re as much of a headstrong firecracker as she is too. You would get along so well..” 

“Ron…” he paused looking at his youngest brother, “I have never seen someone more strategic with Wizard’s Chess and obsessed with the Chudley Cannons than (Y/N). You both could talk for hours about that team and never get tired, you would think she’s great, too.”

Fred looks back to his twin, his eyes softening. “And Georgie...you’re my twin. You have no idea how hard she fought to meet you. After mum and dad, she’s wanted to get to know you the most because she knows just how much you mean to me. You aren’t just my twin, you’re my best mate. Not only does she support me, and you too, she supports our dream of opening the joke shop; something we’ve wanted since we were kids! You would love her maybe just as much as I do.  She’s actually brilliant, I’m telling you. She’s smart, funny, inventive, ambitious, and just as much of a kid-at-heart as we are..” he grinned a bit with a few tears pricking his eyes.

The tension encased in the quaint room was undeniably thick. With teary eyes, you take a glance at his siblings and see their faces are all beginning to mirror the same emotions. Embarrassment, guilt, and shame. You couldn’t lie, seeing them at least a bit remorseful for the way they treated you and made you feel, made you feel a tad bit better.

As he takes a few paces across the room to stand next to you, he looks around at his siblings one last time, “If you want someone to be mad at, be mad at me. Not (Y/N). As my family, I’m begging you, give her a real chance. I love her and I can guarantee you all would love her too.” 

You gently wrap your hand around Fred’s bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze with a watery smile. He looks down at you, tenderly kissing your forehead before grabbing your hand in his much larger one and leading you up the staircase to the room you were staying in. You peek back at his siblings as you ascend the steps, offering them a meek smile of their own. When Ginny had returned with the slightest smile in response, it gave you a new hope that things would be different from here on out. 

*

*

*

Christmas was finally being celebrated at 12 Grimmauld Place and everyone was in high, happy spirits. In the past few days, Ron and Ginny took the initiative to get to know you, and you with them; and as Fred predicted, they enjoyed you and the company you offered. You connected very well with the both of them, and you couldn’t be happier.  Mr. Weasley was ecstatic to finally meet you at last and welcomed you wholeheartedly. He ended up talking your ear off quite a bit about all things he knew about Muggles but you genuinely enjoyed his conversations and enthusiasm! 

Currently, you were helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, placing the last few finishing touches on the small feast the lot of you would be indulging in when Fred and George strolled into the room. Fred waltzed over to you wrapping a strong arm around your waist, spinning you around into his chest. You giggled happily as he placed a quick tender kiss on your lips before pulling away when his mom swatted his shoulder from behind him. Mrs. Weasley announced that the food was ready and for everyone to take their seats so you could get started. Before you all tucked in, she walked around the table handing out brightly colored paper wrapped packages to each of the children. You were beyond surprised when she gestured for you to grab the one she had been holding out in front of you. 

“I got something, too? Mrs. Weasley, you shouldn’t have! Thank you so much!” You spoke as you tore open the wrappings. You see a beautifully homemade scarf and matching gloves in your house colors of silver and green. Your eyes crinkle in excitement as you wrap the fluffy scarf around your neck. You peer up at her again, “I love it, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, dear. I hear those dungeons are quite chilling, those ‘ought to keep you extra warm, I guarantee it.” 

You thank her again and before you can begin to show Hermione your wonderful gift, another package is thrusted your way. You see only this time, it’s George holding it out to you. 

“What is this?” you gently grab it from his hands, your eyebrow arching in wonder. 

“This is technically something from the entire family but I had been the one to ask mum to make it. I owe you, and Fred too, a huge apology. I was a right foul git to you and should have never said those awful things to or about you, and for that I’m very sorry. I know it doesn’t completely change the fact that it happened but I hope you both can forgive me. I have never seen anyone a better match for my twin and I’m happy he has you in his life. Go ahead and open it.“

Your beam at him as you unwrap your second gift, your eyes immediately filling with happy tears when you look down to see what it is. You take the dark green plush sweater out of the paper and hold it up, your eyes roaming over your first initial  that had been stitched in white,  in elation. “My very own Weasley sweater?!” 

George cracked a sincere smile as you hurriedly pulled the sweater over your head to try it on. “Welcome to the family, (Y/N).” 

*

*

*

*

Taglist: @weasleytwinswheezes

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[bobohunn]

The 56th Street

Title : 56th Street

Pair : baekhyun x reader, baekhyun x you

Genre : angst, fluff, one shot

Warnings : language, and mentions of stalking, divorce and non consensual taking of pictures (not between pair)

Word count : 3k

Note : Italicized words are character/reader’s thoughts; indented (blockquote) and italicized paragraphs are flashbacks.

xx

“Are you busy right now?” a husky voice found its way to your ear from the other side of the line.

“No. Thank god,” you mumbled before letting a deep sigh leave your lips.

After ages, you finally heard your favorite sound on earth again.

It was the sound that went a little too high while singing along to Queen and Michael Jackson songs that played on the radio in your room while you did homework at 3 pm. The one that rang loud throughout the whole house while you danced to random and silly steps on the stage that is your bed at 3 am.

It was the same sound that went two octaves lower when you teased him too much about the little crush he seemed to harbor for the girl who sat beside him in 11th grade or when you asked him for one of his friend’s number. One that carried sweet nothings with it to your blushing ears the first time you got drunk on your birthday.

It was the very same sound that was once your refuge and salvation. The very same that calmed the erratic beating of your heart when you were nervous. One that chased your tears to crawl back up and hide in the corners of your round eyes when life enveloped you into darkness.

The voice you’ve been longing for more frequently these days.  

Your best friend’s voice.

He chuckled, his low register ringing through your eardrums. “Are you at home?” 

“No, but I’m walking home,” you say almost too softly, trying not to sound too excited.

There was a long period of silence. If you didn’t know Baekhyun enough, you would have already ended the call at the lack of response. However, you knew him way too well to see (hear) that he was still thinking about what he would say. So you just continued walking on your path slowly, occasionally looking over your shoulders in case you were blocking somebody’s way.

“You’re walking on that street again, aren’t you?” He hummed before asking in a very knowing tone. It took you a moment to process his question, so when you were about to defend yourself, Baekhyun had already started his nagging, “I told you not to take that street when I’m not with you!”

You smiled a bit at the realization that although you didn’t even answer yet, he already knew the truth. And your smile grew more prominent at the thought that he still knows you better than anyone.

The only person you wanted to remember you still knows you like you were the back of his hand. And you‘re not anywhere near remarkable for anyone— or even just for him at least, to remember you. Isn’t that an achievement for you?

Snorting out a laugh, you said, “Sorry, Baek. It’s the fastest way home.”

No. Actually, it’s the street that reminds me of you most.

It was the quietest street in your town, 56th street, both your favorite route to take. It was the street that held a huge part of your memories together with him and had all the little moments that piled up into ones you’ll treasure forever. The road that witnessed both of you grow from the innocent little boy and girl you once were to the lovely man and woman you both are today.

It’s the street that reminded you of when you first heard him laugh,

“Since we’re neighbors, and I’m new here, can’t you show me around the town?” the little boy said as he lifted his hands to his neck to scratch at the skin right below his jaw, making you stare at them in awe.

You snapped yourself out of your short trance and said blankly, “The only places I know are my house and the school.”

As cliché as it may sound, everything around you moved in slow motion as the side of the boy’s lips rose to his tinted cheeks. His eyes turned upside down, and his eyebrows raised. He laughed lightly before asking, “Then, should we see where this street ends?”

Of when you first saw him pout,

“Baekhyun, no. We have to go home,” you said as you continued on your track without looking back at him. He went silent, and a smirk crept up your face.

However, it grew too suspiciously silent. So you stopped walking and turned your head back, only to find a sulking Baekhyun. His hands were in his pockets, eyebrows knit together, cheeks puffed out, and his lower lip pouty. He slowly looked back up at you with his puppy eyes that always won you over.

“Oh my god, don’t give me that look. You’re making my head hurt.”

He moved closer to you and grabbed one of your hands, “I’ll stay over at yours for dinner so your mom won’t scold you for too long. Just please come with me to the supermarket. I’m really craving ice cream,” he said with his eyes quivering from left to right.

He’s onto something. “What do you have up in your sleeve, Mr. Byun? Tell me, or I’m not going with you,” you said as you narrowed your eyes at him.

He looked away from you and landed his gaze towards the ground again, “Y-you, I heard y-you crying in your room last night. I just want to buy you ice cream to cheer you up because I won’t be able to sleep knowing I hadn’t done anything for you before this day ended.”

When you first heard him curse and get mad,

“Excuse me, Dude. But what are those photos for?” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Recognizing it as Baekhyun, you quickly looked over your shoulder to greet your friend.

“A-ah i-it’s just for documentation purposes for our group study,” stuttered the other guy whose back was turned to you.

You called out Baekhyun’s name, confused about the current situation laid in front of you. Your friend only raised his head to you and motioned for you to come to him, “do you know this guy?”

You approach the two men, curious as to who the other person is. When you caught a glimpse of the unfamiliar face, you slowly shook your head no. “I don’t think so. Do I have to?”

Baekhyun clicked his tongue and clenched his jaw. He sneered a little and turned his head to the side, making you more confused.

“The next time you make a fucking excuse, make sure it’s not as stupid as you look. Stop being a fucking pervert, you fucking stalking asshole.”

And of when you first heard him cry.

“Oh my god, Baekhyun, what happened?” you said as you brought the taller man’s head to your shoulder. You tried to rub his back and smooth out the creases of his school uniform, but he just started wailing more.

He was leaning into you, and you couldn’t take his weight anymore, so you guided him to sit down on the sidewalk. You tried to pull away from him, but he planted his face deeper into your neck, so you just hugged him tighter and drew unnamed patterns on his arms.

When his sobbing finally toned down, you tugged at his chin and made him look up at you. The redness of his nose, along with the tears in and around his eyes, made your heart hurt. Who on earth would try to make this man cry?

“You’re not telling me what happened?” you whispered as you wiped the tears that continued to drop down his cheeks.

“My mom wants to divorce my dad.”

You heard a small huff from his end, making you chuckle loud enough for him to hear.

You tilted your head to your side and pictured how he would have looked if he were actually walking with you today. Would he have had his hair down or gelled back? Would he have worn the oversized hoodies you told him were your favorite on him? Would he have walked in all his glory on the sidewalk in his new Js? Would he have looked at you with loving eyes, like he did back then?

“Still! Didn’t I tell you that I’d be mad and not call you if you walked there alone? That street is so quiet and far from people. It’s too dangerous!” he whined again.

A bitter taste started to spread in your mouth. You took a deep breath of the crisp air, “Yeah. I know it’s dangerous.”

Dangerously silent and lonely without you.

“Do you remember? That time when I told you to go home without me because I had fun playing football with my classmates?” he paused for you to answer, but he knows that you remember it anyway.

Yeah, when I almost cried, thinking you didn’t want to hang out with me anymore?

He laughed, “I think I hit my head somewhere that time, and I realized that I wanted to walk home with you. So I ran to catch up with you, but then I saw a guy taking pictures of you from the back.” You chuckled a little at how fast his tone changed from happy to angered towards the end.

You added in, “And you cursed him with all your heart, and I had to drag your boiling ass home or else you would have had a swollen hand.”

And when I thought my heart would explode, seeing you all worked up and protective of me.

You stopped walking and recalled how it exactly happened, where you exactly were, and what you exactly felt. While reminiscing, you could almost see the image of your younger self pulling the younger Baekhyun, who couldn’t take his eyes off the stranger who stalked you, pass by in front of your eyes.

“Yup. I decided to walk home with you every day since then. But now that I can’t, I made you promise not to walk 56th street, didn’t I?” Baekhyun said in a sing-song tone.

“Sorry,”

“I’ll let it go this time. But next time I really won’t call you for three months! Or even six months!” He taunted.

Even if I kept my promise and never walked on the same street again, when the time comes, you’d probably stop calling me.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay here. Training is getting hard, though. But I bet you five tubs of ice cream that I’m gonna be on national TV in 3 months!”

I need not bet because I know you’ll make it. It’s your lifelong dream, after all.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” Baekhyun beamed from your porch as he took off his shoes. You watched him with confused eyes from the couch of your father’s living room.

“What?”

He quickly approached you and pulled you up from your seat, “it’s time for us to take a walk. Long since we’ve done it, no?”

You and Baekhyun took your precious time to walk. One whole step before the other, as if scared that the sidewalk would run out if you walk faster.

You didn’t really say anything to each other, but the sound of the spring birds singing and your soles rubbing against the bricks on the sidewalk made you both feel entertained.

With longer legs and bigger feet, Baekhyun was walking slightly ahead of you. Having to catch up with his steps, you walked faster, eager to walk side by side with him. But he noticed that you were trying so hard to keep up with him, so he tried to make his steps smaller. Then, he moved closer to you until your hips touched each other.

It was always like this with Baekhyun. You’d take a walk together on 56th street without saying anything, and you’d still enjoy it. He would always end up walking ahead of you, and you would ever walk behind him. Then, when he notices that he’s walking too fast for you, he would start taking smaller steps so you could keep up with him. And when he thinks he’s walking slow enough to match your pace, he would close the gap between your bodies by putting an arm around your shoulders or waist or just by feeling your sides against his.

“I li-“

“I’m leaving,” Baekhyun started, cutting off what you wanted to say.

“What?” Your voice came out shaky, unsure of what you heard.

Baekhyun stopped walking, “I said I’m leaving. I’m leaving for the city.”

You blinked your eyes twice. Stiff as you were, you tried to open your mouth to say something which you couldn’t seem to remember anymore. Baekhyun giggled at how you looked.

“I’m gonna be an idol, [y/n]. I’m going to be a singer.” he said as his eyes twinkled with joy.

How? Where? When? Why? You wanted to ask him, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to move even a muscle except for your eyes.

“A company scouted me at graduation. They said I had the potential to be a singer. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but now I am.” He said while looking up at the cloudless sky.

You didn’t know how it happened, but you only managed to speak out the words, “I’m happy for you, Baekhyun.”

You didn’t see Baekhyun the week after that walk because he was busy packing, and you were busy denying to yourself that he was leaving. So when you saw him from your window pushing boxes unto the trunk of his parents’ SUV with his hair white as snow, you couldn’t help but jump out from where you were standing.

You accidentally pushed your windowpane in an attempt to save your face from kissing the wooden floor, and it made a noise loud enough for Baekhyun to look up at your room. He waved up at you and motioned for you to meet him outside.

“Are you leaving today?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I wasn’t able to tell you,” Baekhyun said as he scratched the skin under his ear. He always did this when he was in an awkward situation.

You stared at him without speaking. You took in how he looked for the last time. But you realized that it was too much for you. He was too much for you. So you focused on his now white hair that rested against his scalp, seemingly tired from the process of bleaching.

Baekhyun only smiled at you like a child that was offered candies and delight. You moved closer to him, eyes exploring his face and stopping at his lips for a few seconds before losing confidence again.

His name softly left your lips, to which he only hummed in response.

“I,” you paused for a moment, maybe two? or three. You don’t know.

Baekhyun’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

“I like your hair.” you said with a smile.

“Don’t I look like a real celebrity now?” he said as he let his fingers run through his locks.

“You do,” he always did.

You let yet another chuckle escape your mouth, although the last thing you wanted to do was laugh. “I’m still your best friend, right?” you questioned, though you were scared he’d say no.

However, you heard a different voice from his end of the call shout, “Baekhyun! 10-minute break is over!” and your friend responded with something you couldn’t catch. All that you knew was that he was laughing with someone, their voices slowly fading as if they were walking away from the phone.

He’s happier now. Even happier than when he was with me.

You used to associate his laugh with flowers, candies, love, and everything sweet. But now you can’t help but feel bitterness crawl up your spine, like a vine climbing its way up the walls and lampposts.

The cold and long blow of the wind made you feel nostalgic (if you weren’t yet), and you wanted as much to let it take you to wherever your heart is, where Baekhyun is.

“I have to go [y/n]! I’ll call you again soon!” he quickly said before a long beep was heard, announcing the end of the call.

Months passed, and you are still waiting for when his name flashes as the caller ID on the screen of your phone. Maybe he’s busy? Or he lost my number? Perhaps he changed his phone?

You wanted to ask his parents for his new number or even just how their son was doing. But you were surprised to find out that they already moved out of the house next to yours, when you returned from your grandparents’ house for a 3-week vacation. You wanted to ask your parents if they had his parents’ number, but then you decided that seeing him on TV and your phone screen was enough for you.

He’s clearly doing well.

He has got to be doing well. How could he not when he has been flashing the cameras the widest and prettiest smiles? The kind of smiles you never witnessed when he was with you.

He’s clearly happier than ever.

Although you kept saying that you were happy for him too, you just can’t deny that you do feel jealous of how far he had come. It was just like the long and silent walks you took with him throughout 56th street before: he was always steps ahead of you, and you were burning in jealousy behind him because of the advances his relatively longer legs brought him. Except that he was miles and dreams ahead of you now, and he couldn’t slow down his pace to match yours and stay by your side anymore.

He’s way too far ahead to turn and run back to me.

He’s probably living a better life.

He probably has funnier (best) friends to laugh with.

He probably has prettier eyes to stare at, softer hands to hold, and more comfortable shoulders to lean on.

He probably has a new favorite street to walk with somebody new. Somebody who’s better, somebody who’s not you.

And you started to accept that little by little.

You had started to move on.

You started to forget.

You finally let go.

But you kept the promise you made him.

You never walked 56th street again,

because he’s not there with you anymore.

—

[namixart]

So. Sorry for vagueposting but rant under read more because I'm livid.

So. You may have seen my awesome new tattoo. It's great, I love it and it makes me super happy. If you haven't seen it, it's a tattoo of Cloud's Buster Sword covered in Aerith's flowers. The reasoning behind it, as I mentioned in my original post, is that 2020 wasn't really a fun year for anyone. Me? I got through it relatively unscathed, and a lot of it I credit to FFVIIR coming out and working on Wildflowers. I genuinely love it and I'm always excited to share more and more with you guys! I also spent most of the year gushing about the game and the characters to anyone who'd listen, and I don't feel like it's a stretch to say that if not for FFVIIR and Wildflowers I'd be in a much worse place right now, mental health wise. More specifically than just FFVII, it's been thanks to Cloud and Aerith. They're my favourite characters in the game (together AND separately) and honestly probably my favourite characters ever. Period. They're both absolutely comfort characters for me and I break out in a huge smile whenever they're so much as brought up. So, I decided to get a tattoo representing them. Because I wouldn't be doing as well as I am now if not for them. Again, both together and separately. As I mentioned in the caption of the photo I posted of my tattoo.

Now, tonight I got a notification: "[username] reblogged your post!" So, obviously, I went to check it out! Everyone has been absolutely lovely on that post--a lot of compliments and excitement RE: the tattoo--and I wanted to see if there was more of that. There was not. No, what I found in the reblog was [username] very smugly asking me what I would tell people "when C/T end up together again in remake" and I look like an idiot for getting a C/A tattoo. Would I tell them the remake retconned canon? Or would I lie and say it's a Z/A tattoo?

So, they obviously got blocked faster than the speed of light and they deserve none of my or anyone else's attention, but I just kinda need to rant, because hey, none of this is okay! First of all, there was nothing in that post or the tags talking about C/T or just T (don't want this showing up in their tags, I'm not an animal). The tattoo has nothing to do with C/T (or Z/A for that matter), and I did not feel the need to be snippy or talk about the LTD at all. For that matter, even if I did tag it as C/A, it's not really even just a shipping tattoo. First and foremost, it's about Cloud and Aerith in their capacity as my favourite FFVII characters, my comfort characters and the fact that they helped me get through 2020 and the first half of 2021. Do I ship C/A? Yes, obviously. But I'm not yet so deranged that that would be enough to get a tattoo. No, this was about the game and the characters. At any rate, the fact that I didn't tag it as C/T and that they still found the post means that they went snooping through the C/A tag to find it, presumably to get mad and be mean at strangers on the internet just trying to exist in peace. Which is bad enough. [username], if you're out there (and you're not, because blocked), please do all of us a favour and get a life.

Secondly, and most importantly, [username] missed something that's very obvious to somebody with basic reading comprehension skills (I know this is Tumblr but come on). The mental health thing. Now, I don't know where I would be if FFVIIR and Wildflowers hadn't happened at the time that they did, but I'd be in much worse shape. This story and these characters were consistently a huge comfort and escape for me for over a year and a half, and that's the reason I got a tattoo. So, [username] looked at a post of me being happy about my tattoo because it brings me joy and represents characters who bring me joy and got me through a goddamn global pandemic and went "That's nice," and proceeded to spit out whatever verbal garbage came to mind. This is the part that infuriates me. I'm not hurt, I'm not heartbroken, I don't care. But this sort of behaviour is disgusting. I'd be equally livid if I saw it happen to somebody else. Guess what you don't get to do? Shit on people's happiness and intrude like this. For all they know, I could've been in a much worse state than I was--did they ever think about that? That's the part that gets me. Like, who are you to come onto my post, take it way too seriously and be mean about something that represents my coping mechanism? Disgusting. I hope they know that every single character they mentioned, especially their beloved T, would be disgusted with them.

And even if none of this was the case, even if I did go off the deep end and get a tattoo because ooohh cute ship, even if I didn't have any mental health issues associated with it--even if all of that. They still thought it was appropriate to take a post of someone just trying to share a tattoo that they loved and be rude and mean-spirited and smug on it. While specifically looking through the C/A tags too, let's not forget that sad cherry on this pathetic sundae. What kind of person do you have to be, to act like this and think you're in the right? This is the most sincere "Get a life" I've ever said, Jesus Christ. Guess what? Shipping isn't that big of a deal! I know, radical. You know what is a big deal? Assholes like this trying to make everyone else's lives worse for... reasons? Kicks? I genuinely can't fathom the thought process you'd have to go through to end up at "I'll be mean to this person I've never met who's just having fun and being happy. Serves them right." I just... I'm upset. Not for myself (I truly do not care about one internet troll), but just in general that this kind of people exist. Vile. Get a life, and I'll go show my tattoo to people whose opinion I actually care about.

And, for the record, if FFVIIR does end with canon C/T (which, honestly, I really don't think it will resolve the LTD at all), I'd just still tell people that the tattoo was never meant to be, like, some deranged "I SUPPORT THIS SHIP AND I WANT IT CANON OR I'LL LIGHT MYSELF ON FIRE" thing. It is, and always was, meant to represent two of my favourite characters who helped me through a really rough spot. Simple as that.

Also they got an ask from someone congratulating them on "putting toxic C/As in their places" I'm gonna fucking piss myself. Go eat a bag of dicks, fuckhead, and leave me alone.

[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

[arahul-abyssia]

Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

[hldailyupdate]

This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes So, you asked me not long ago, how I’d feel about Haven as a mutant on Krakoa. As it happens, I’m on an RP Discord where I write her as such, since they allow characters there to be mutants who aren’t mutants in canon, in order to join the RP, since it’s set on Krakoa. I made her a healer, able to heal herself and others. Super on the nose, but it’s what she would want, and it also fulfills *my* desire for her not to be hurt anymore (I mean, she still can be, she’ll just recover) Anyway, in March I wrote this for her in that setting. Featuring Shaw as usual since he’s one of my other muses there and, well, you know I love writing my faves together and their conversations because self-indulgence. No obligation to read, just I remembered I had written it and was like “Oh that’s like what Sammy asked about”

Shaw’s latest job was to spread the Krakoan medicine throughout the country of India. A considerable task; India was made up of no less than 28 states and 8 union territories, with an immense and diverse population. There were the dilapidated slums and rural villages that Westerners most often imagined, but there were also bustling cosmopolitan cities, centers of business and technology and commerce to rival New York, and it was in the biggest of these that Shaw was starting---

Mumbai.

Accompanying him on the recommendation of Charles Xavier was Radha Dastoor---Haven of the healing gardens, whom he had previously met when she had helped with his back. At first Shaw had thought this was a bit racist of Charles, but it turned out not only was Haven from Mumbai specifically herself, she had wonderful connections for the tasks. Her philanthropy had connected her with doctors, hospitals, shelters, and its hidden communities of those suffering afflictions such as the oft-claimed-eradicated leprosy. But, Shaw could have done most of that himself, aside from the hidden colonies. No, where Haven came in most handy was, shockingly, her knowledge of Mumbai’s criminal underworld. Not because she had ever been involved with it, but because she had done so much work getting people out of it---the women and children she had worked to get out of human trafficking rings, the survival sex workers rescued from abusive pimps, the children enticed away from little “found families” of criminals who used them for their dirty work.  . .the list went on. And of course she hadn’t been able to do all that alone, she had been funding an entire network of people to get this done, to keep the rescued parties safe and help them in getting to a new life, to block off or arrest those who tried to take them back or attack the rescuers themselves (Haven had been a target MANY times, but those had been in the days when she’d been kept safe by The Adversary’s powers. . . ) and thus she had an abundance of detectives and double agents on the inside. And because they were on the inside, they could bring in the medicine. . . and bring out the mutants being sold, enslaved, and Heaven wept at what else. Mutants that, for the moment, were staying with them in The Rajmani. Haven’s wealth was originally inherited, but she’d kept it coming---so that she could keep giving it away---through The Rajmani, a luxury heritage hotel on par with the likes of New York’s Ritz or Plaza. In income, anyway. In beauty, it surpassed them both. Well, perhaps that was subjective, but it was built within a restored Mughal Palace, and Shaw had to admit he was impressed with the great domes and slender minarets, the  massive vaulted gateways and delicate ornamentation, the elegant water gardens and charbagh walkways through the carefully cultivated yet lush tropical greenery. Most of all, though, he liked learning the fact that the woman earned at least a little of her own money in some kind of sense, even if by her own admission she only owned it, not managed it. Shaw looked down on those who only inherited wealth, just as they had often looked down on him for earning his. Haven, though, did not seem to look down on him. She didn’t seem to have the proverbial stones to look down on anybody, and she certainly was around people who actually deserved it. She seemed to love being around that type, in fact, went out of her way to benefit them, centered her entire life around it. Some people, Shaw had found, were just mad like that. He suspected that it had something to do with growing up with money, taking it front granted and thus not comprehending its worse. But at least she didn’t dare think she was better than him, so she was that sensible at least. Although it was the last word he’d describe her with. No, if he were to describe Radha “Haven” Dastoor, he’d probably start with insipid, senseless, and downright delusional. But she was also. .  .not an unengaging conversationalist. The reverse, actually. “The Mughals were constantly trying to invade Mumbai,” Haven explained, while Shaw nodded along. He was interested in architecture, and in martial history. “But as much of India as they had conquered, the native Marathis were just as constantly pushing them back. It was touch and go for decades. It surprises me that a Mughal structure remained without being torn down, though it was taken over.” “The native Marathis, you say---are Mughals not native? Or merely from another part of India?” “Well, that’s a complicated question, and the answer is a controversial one, so I till try to explain it as neutrally as I can,” Haven replied, and she indeed sounded neutral. They were standing together on the jharoka, an elaborately carved balcony with a roof, each with a glass of nimbu pani, though Shaw would have preferred a good Scotch. “The Mughal Empire in South Asia was begun by Babur, who came from Central Asia, specifically what is today Uzbekistan. His tribe was of Mongol origin, and the word Mughal is itself derived from “Mongol”. He actually came to South Asia to escape his fellow Uzbeks---it’s a very long story--but instead of being a refugee, he became a conqueror, starting by burning Lahore for two days and killing the last Sultan of the Lodi dynasty in Delhi, and the Lodi dynasty itself was not Indian, but Afghan. India was colonized by the Middle East long before Europe decided to try its hand. But to answer your question. . .they did not begin as Indian, no, but they were a part of our country for two hundred years and left a deep mark in our culture---clothing, food, language, art, and, of course, the buildings. But, the same could also be said of the British, and you would be hard-pressed to find anyone, including myself, who considers the British Raj to have been “Indian” simply because they were there for a long time and forced their ways upon us. At the same time, my mother is a Parsi, a people who originate from Iran, thousands of years ago---Parsi comes from “Persian”. And how can one tell me my mother, who was born and raised here, whose mother’s mothers and father’s fathers were born and raised here, that she was not Indian? And though Babur came from elsewhere, his sons and successors were born and raised here, and often to Indian mothers, and their descendants dwell here still, with no other homeland, so are they not Indian? Because if they were not, then perhaps I am not either, at least by half. Ultimately. . . it depends which Mughals, at what time period, and whom you ask, I suppose.” “And I suppose there’s also a difference between ethnicity and nationality to be considered,” Shaw said, though Haven was now losing his interest with this topic. He’d been more interest in the invasions and warring. “Ethnically, one can be anything, and still nationally be American if you were born there or otherwise have citizenship. But, I suppose you need not contemplate such matters anymore--” He cracked a wry smile as she, with a questioning look, awaited the rest of his sentence. “---after all, we are all Krakoan now, are we not? We’re all mutants, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Haven smiled back, not wryly but sincerely, “Oh, I am now, yes. But I am also still everything I was before. I have been balancing multiple identities my entire life Mr. Shaw, I believe I shall be able to continue to do so. But I must confess--” A moment of hesitation. “--I do not truly think of myself as a mutant yet.” She was not sure what reaction that she had expected to this confession, but it was not what Shaw said next. “I don’t either, Ms. Dastoor.” She looked at him in surprise. “Or rather,” he elaborated, “I do not consider myself a mutant in any sense other than in the way I consider myself to have black hair. It’s a physical fact, but nothing else. It is not a “culture” or “identity” to me, and in truth I find such attitudes to be foolish and even dangerous, not to mention a sign that an individual lacks their own personality and convictions and thus must merely default to group identity politics. Being a mutant tells you nothing about me, Ms. Dastoor, and so if I were to talk about who I am, that’s not something I’d include any more than my eye color.” “That’s an especially interesting perspective from someone on Krakoa’s Council,” said Haven, sounding very curious, “Could I ask you---” But her voice was cut off by the unmistakable sound of gunshots---and from INSIDE the building. “The children!” Haven exclaimed. It was not just her and Shaw that were lodged at The Rajmani tonight; it was where the mutants they had rescued were staying before the journey to the nearest portal tomorrow. And most were, indeed, children. As quickly as she spoke, she was moving back inside from the jharoka, but Shaw grabbed her by the elbow, easily holding her back despite her not being a small or weak woman despite her gentle demeanor. Haven was large, and could carry a grown man. But Shaw didn’t even need to be rough to halt her. “You stay put,” he said sternly, “The guards will handle this.” “Mr. Shaw---” “They are better equipped than you, Ms. Dastoor, you will only interfere--” Shaw and Haven had, of course, not come alone. Shaw had brought several trained mutants on his own payroll---not everyone needed to be one of the X-Men to be capable of handling a few humans and their toys--and they had been tasked with keeping watch over, as Shaw had earlier referred to them as, the latest flock of Krakoa’s little sheep. A statement Haven had also wondered about, though it was far from her mind now. Haven might have been about to argue with him. She might have been about to admit he was right, and she should hang back. But as with her question, she was cut off by a gunshot as she turned her face back to him and started to speak. A gunshot, and bullet through the back of her head. It exited through her right eye, and bounced off Shaw’s face and fell to the floor. She would have as well, had he not caught her as she crumpled. When her healing factor had repaired her enough that she regained consciousness, she was on Krakoa again, as were all the refugees, safe and sound. And so was Shaw. “Well, Ms. Dastoor,” he said, “You’ve been murdered---or rather, nearly so--by perfect strangers for a quirk of your genetics. Nothing can make you more of a mutant than that, wouldn’t you agree?” Haven smiled slightly, “I feel as much a mutant as perhaps a Mughal might feel Indian, Mr. Shaw. Take that as you will.” He took it ambiguously. Which was indeed how she had meant it. == END==

[the-final-sif]

Per the anons in my inbox’s requests, I give you my sad ‘Katsuki is a dog person headcanon. Fair warning, this is a sad headcanon about Katsuki having a childhood dog. You know where this is going.

Now if you’ve been following me for any length of time, you probably know about my Katsuki getting kidnapped headcanon. Basically, the story goes that Katsuki was kidnapped and/or had multiple groups try to kidnap him for his quirk throughout his childhood, he just managed to escape and then never told anyone, because he's Katsuki and the day he willingly volunteers information about himself and/or the problems he’s struggling with is never.

At some point, someone in class 1-A asks Izuku whether Katsuki is a cat person or a dog person, because a group of them had been arguing about it. By this point most people have learned that it's much easier to ask Izuku for information about Katsuki than it is to ask Katsuki for information about Katsuki.

Lucky them, Izuku knows the answer! Kacchan's a dog person. Or at least, he was when they were growing up. He's not so sure that Kacchan's still a dog person. Kacchan doesn't like to talk about his dog or any dogs these days. Everyone is intrigued by that and asks for details, but turns out that surprisingly, Izuku doesn't know what happened. Not the whole story anyways. He does remember some stuff though.

Kacchan's dog was a big Tibetan Mastiff named Mamoru. Izuku can only  remember three things about him.

First and foremost, Mamoru was mean as hell to almost everyone. He barely put up with Izuku, he didn't like either of Kacchan's parents, he hated strangers. If they were alive odds are this dog hated them. Mamoru wasn't afraid to show that he hated someone either. He would get bitey/growly the moment someone got in his space and given his size and appearance, most people would back off quick.

Second, Mamoru loved Kacchan with all his heart. Even if he was a jerk to almost everyone else, this dog adored Kacchan. Every time he was around Kacchan's his tail was wagging like he was a puppy. While he basically never listened to anyone else's commands, he'd follow Kacchan's in an instant and picked up new tricks like it was nothing. When they were little he would even let Kacchan ride on his back. Kacchan was why that Mamoru put up with Izuku (or anyone for that matter), and also probably the only reason Mamoru wasn't put down.

The last thing Izuku knew about Mamoru was that passed away very suddenly when Izuku was 10 years old. He never found out how the dog died. Kacchan didn't want to talk about it at all, and his parents dodged the subject when it was brought up. Not even Izuku’s mom could get the story out of them. Mamoru was an older dog when he passed away, but he'd been fairly healthy, so it must’ve been something bad.

After telling them this, Izuku warns his classmates not to bring it up. Whatever happened is a sore subject for Katsuki. All of them can understand pet's death being hard, particularly such a sudden one, so they leave it alone.

They think that's that... only at some point, there's someone with a weird quirk that the class meets while out on a field trip. The person can let you speak to a loved one that passed away for a short period, although it only works once for each person. You can't pick who you speak to/see, it's whoever you miss most.

Most of the class is excited and gets some heartfelt words from their dead relatives, but Katsuki wants nothing to do with it. The person accidentally activates their quirk on him anyways, and everyone is expecting a relative or someone similar to show up.

Instead, in bounds in a giant, overjoyed dog; tail wagging, eyes shining and tongue out. Katsuki is totally frozen up. Everyone expects him to be happy, but he's not. He stares at the dog for a solid 4-5 seconds as the dog wanders over to him, whining for attention and trying to play. Then Katsuki turns on his heel and runs.

None of them are supposed to be out on their own, so his classmates try to follow him only to lose Katsuki, who doesn't seem to be able to hear them in his upset state.The whole class is super freaked out, and the ghost dog is getting really aggressive and upset at the class as they search.

Aizawa is called over, and now he's panicking because his kid whose been kidnapped before is off on his own and not answering his cell phone. Lucky him, when he starts trying to figure out how to find Katsuki, Ghost Mamoru barks at him, runs off a little ways, then runs back. He's been hostile towards everyone else, but he seems okay with Aizawa. He also seems increasingly agitated about something.

Taking the hint, Aizawa tells the rest of the class to head back to their meeting point and follows Mamoru, who leads him to Katsuki. Katsuki's curled himself into a small hiding spot, which was why he was so hard to find. Mamoru obviously wants to go comfort his kid, everything about him is drooping and he lets out a whine, but seems to think better of it. Instead, he takes a long look at Katsuki, and then shoots a pleading look towards Aizawa before he lets out a quiet huff and fades away.

That leaves Aizawa alone with Katsuki, a kid whose hard to understand on the best of days, and who is currently having a panic attack.

There's not much else he can do, so Aizawa waits it out. He sits beside Katsuki's hiding place and keeps things calm and quiet, waving off the rest of the class, and letting the other teachers know Katsuki's been found.

It takes quite awhile, but finally Katsuki recovers enough to speak. He still doesn't want to come out of his hiding spot though, and Aizawa doesn't ask him to. At this point it's obvious something serious happened, he just wants to know what.

Katsuki takes several tries to start,  this story is hard for him to tell, but eventually he manages to force out a "It was my fault." and after that, everything comes tumbling out.

He'd been heading back to his house all alone in the early evening one day. He was 10 years old, and he hadn't been paying attention to the people around him. He should've been paying more attention. He should've known better. But he didn't, and some goons got the jump on him. There hadn't been time for him to do anything. The men had been on him too quickly and gotten his hands locked behind him. Katsuki had tried to fight, but he hadn't been strong enough.

It was only a block or two from his house and if he'd just walked faster or not stopped to look at things, everything would've been fine. But he hadn't, so the men caught him. He was pretty sure he'd been attacked by those guys before too, so he should've recognized them. They'd already gotten his hands restrained, and they'd stuck him with a needle.

There was nobody else around, and Katsuki thought that was it. This was the time that they got him.

The men thought so too, he couldn't remember their exact words, but they were gloating. Going slower than they probably should've. They hadn't been expecting anyone to come help Katsuki. They hadn't expected anyone to care enough to help him. And they were sort of right, there weren't any people coming to help Katsuki, but there was a very loyal dog who heard Katsuki's muffled cries.

Mamoru didn't hesitate for even one goddamn second; he was on the man holding Katsuki like in flash, dagger like teeth digging deep into the man's shoulder. He went for the goddamn throat of the other one, the one who had some of Katsuki's blood on him.

Despite his best efforts, the dog didn't manage to kill either man, but he drove both of them off. He fought like a goddamn hell hound, as if he was made of nothing but of fury and muscle. Maybe in that moment he was.

Mamoru was so vicious and strong, that Katsuki didn't even realize the dog was hurt in the fight. Not until he'd managed to wiggle his way out of the cuffs and thrown his arms around his dog, only to jerk back at the wet feeling of blood soaking through his shirt.

The injury was bad. One of the men had had a knife and must've caught the edge of it on Mamoru's throat. Katsuki was drugged out, but he knew he needed to do something. Mamoru was somehow still on his feet, so he helped Katsuki get home, his condition getting worse and worse as they pressed on.

When Katsuki got home, there was nobody there, but he was able to call his father and through his sobs communicate the important parts of what happened. That some guys had bothered him and they'd hurt Mamoru. His dad said he'd be home as soon as he could, and to put pressure on the wound until then.

And here's the thing. That's good advice. Stopping the blood loss is really important when you have an injured animal.

But Katsuki was a 10 year old, he was on drugs, he was completely panicked and distraught.

And he forgot what was always coming out of his hands.

Nitroglycerin is toxic under the best of circumstances, but when an animal is already bleeding out, it's a death sentence.

The veterinarian tried to tell him afterwards that it probably wouldn't have changed anything. Mamoru was heavily injured and he would've bled out no matter what. He hadn't known, he'd been trying his best to help. It wasn't his fault. But Katsuki knew better, and his mother reminded him of that much.

On the drive back from the vet's office, his mother told him they weren't getting another goddamn dog to replace Mamoru because he'd probably kill that one too.

Katsuki didn't want another dog. He was too scared that someone would try to kidnap him again, and the dog would die again. Or he'd forget himself and end up killing the dog more directly. After that, he didn't even let himself go near animals. He wouldn't be near them, and he wouldn't touch them at all. Hell, he hardly even let himself touch other people after that.

When Katsuki finishes up his story, he looks ashamed and Aizawa is silent out of pure shock for several long seconds. First and foremost, he cannot believe that this was just something that happened that he had no idea about. Katsuki mentioned getting attacked by strangers at least once before he was 10 years old?? What the hell had happened in his student's childhood??? All of the implications of all of this are concerning him.

But in that same moment, he's suddenly rethinking Katsuki with this new information. Awhile ago Mic had made a joke about how Izuku follows Katsuki around like a puppy and all the teachers had laughed about it. Katsuki had gotten strangely angry about it, and suddenly it seems a whole lot less funny. Not only that, but how Katsuki reacted to All-Might's downfall after his kidnapping has a whole new light to it now. As do so many other little things.

It's hard for him to get any words out, but he manages a strangled "Kid..." and gently coaxes Katsuki out of his hiding place so Aizawa can just give him a goddamn hug for once in his life. And Katsuki is confused by this because he was expecting Aizawa to agree that he fucked up, but instead he's getting hugged and he really doesn't want to cry again but he's not sure he has a choice.

[renaerys]

37. For Blossutch 👀 can’t wait to binge read all of these lol -Star

37. “If you want to act like a slut, you can dress like one.”

T-posing for feminism.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Dane Blakely was 140 pounds of protein powder in a five and a half foot body, and still he seemed to tower over anyone in his way. He’d cornered So-eun Park on her way to second period because he could not take a hint, and now there was no getting around him.

“I saw you with that loser at the Shankaplex on Saturday, don’t even try to deny it,” Dane said.

So-eun had her back to the lockers, but she held her ground. “Elmer’s not a loser, and it’s none of your business who I go out with.”

Rookie mistake dating the first guy who asked her out when she transferred to Townsville High School at the beginning of the year. So-eun had corrected that poor decision quickly, but Dane was one of those unfortunate guys whose parents had forbidden the word no in their house when he was a child.

“I’m just saying your standards have gone way down.”

“Oh my god, I’m not having this conversation with you.” She went around him, and he didn’t stop her.

“Yeah, fine. If you want to act like a slut, you can dress like one.”

There were not many people around to hear, and Dane didn’t shout it, but she suddenly felt a hundred invisible eyes on her all the same. Unthinking, she gripped the collar of her sweater dress and flushed. Her first instinct was to check the length of her skirt, and she flushed even harder, ashamed of her own weakness.

Her second instinct was to jump out of the way of class superstar Blossom Utonium, who’d been making her way down the hall with fire in her eyes.

“What did you just say?” Blossom confronted Dane, who immediately backed up…

…right into a T-posing Butch Jojo.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dane whirled on Butch.

“The lady asked you a question, dude,” Butch said, still T-posing and taking up half the hallway.

So-eun was not the only person to wander over, curious about the confrontation unfolding at the Senior locker bank. From the moment So-eun stepped foot in these halls, she’d learned about the Powerpuff Girls, aka literal Superheroes walking among the mortals. Blossom and her Super sisters were known for interfering in fights and disagreements that got out of hand, since no one was going to go against a girl who could shatter your spine with a flick of her fingers. But Butch and his brothers tended to avoid getting involved in high school drama. So-eun had never even seen him more than twice since the school year started, and only then from afar. It was a big school, and he probably skipped more often than not. Not that she would know; she’d never exchanged more than a passing word with either of the Supers.

“All right, seriously. Get out of my way,” Dane said.

“Butch, don’t you dare. Not until he apologizes to So-eun.”

So-eun startled at all the attention on her. She didn’t think Blossom even knew her name. She was just the newest nobody on campus, one of a thousand students in the Senior class alone.

Dane seemed just as startled, and his gaze flickered to So-eun just staring openly over Blossom’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Blossom said. She had the audacity to snap her fingers in his face.

To Dane’s limited credit, it was easy to forget what Blossom was capable of when she came in such a pretty pink package and a mountain of red hair. “Take a number.”

He tried to get past Blossom this time, and she T-posed to match Butch behind him. The sight was so absurd that So-eun had to cover her mouth not to laugh at Dane whirling in between them like a confused dog confronted with stair guards on all sides.

“What is this?!”

“This is the part where you apologize for slut shaming So-eun,” Blossom said.

“Wow, that’s weak, bro,” Butch said.

“I didn’t!”

“Did that sound like an apology to you, Butch?”

“I think the fuck not.”

More students had gathered around to witness the bizarre turn of events, including Elmer. He casually slipped his hand into So-eun’s. “What’s going on?”

So-eun shook her head. “I think it might be justice.”

“I’m gonna be late for class, just—move!” Dane tried to duck under Butch’s arm, but he bent at the waist (still T-posing) and Dane only succeeded in smacking his head against Butch’s rock-hard tricep. He swore and ping-ponged back into Blossom, bounced off of her knee, and ended up on his ass on the floor.

“Butch, he’s fallen to the floor,” Blossom said.

“Should we help him up?”

“Unfortunately, we’re contractually unable to help unrepentant slut shamers.”

“So unfortunate!”

Dane, now red in the face and breathing hard from the stress, scrambled to his feet by himself. He frothed at the mouth. If Butch were anyone else, So-eun was one hundred percent sure he would have punched him. “Fuck you both.”

“Hey Blossom, is fuck you both Spanish for I’m sorry, you think?”

“I’m afraid it simply isn’t!”

“What a shame!”

The late bell rang, and Blossom didn’t so much as waver from her T-pose. She didn’t care that she’d be marked as tardy. She was not leaving until Dane apologized, and no one else was leaving until she did. Dane seemed to come to the same conclusion as So-eun.

“All right, Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, okay? Fuck.”

“I’m sorry for what?” Blossom swung open her T-pose and looked directly at So-eun, and so did everyone else.

Dane gnashed his teeth. He glanced around at all the other students watching him, recording everything on their phones, not a single person worried about the consequences of being late for class. Finally, he looked up at So-eun, and she squeezed Elmer’s hand harder. “I’m sorry…for slut shaming you.”

Butch whooped. “He did it!” He went in for a high-five with Blossom, and the smack sent a seismic ripple through the hall that rattled the lockers.

“He sure did! Give it up for Dane Blakely, everyone!” Blossom clapped, and others clapped with her. Soon the hall erupted into hoots and hollers of Congratulations! and You did it! as Dane stomped off even redder than before and people recorded his every humiliating moment on their phones.

Everyone dispersed soon after when some teachers came out into the hall to investigate the racket, and So-eun was one of them. When lunch rolled around and she looked around the cafeteria for Elmer, who’d promised to meet up, she found him waving from a table she’d never in her life have expected to sit at.

Bubbles scooted over to make room for So-eun in between Elmer and herself. “Hi, So-eun! We’re in the same block for History, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Of course So-eun knew that, but it was a big class and Bubbles was Bubbles and everyone knew her name like they didn’t know So-eun’s and this was just too weird.

On Bubbles’ other side was Boomer playing a game with Buttercup on someone’s cell phone, while Brick had his Beats on as he copied some of Blossom’s notes and ignored everybody. Blossom herself sat across from So-eun and smiled.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Blossom.” She actually held out her hand to shake as if she weren’t one of the few people every single person in school knew.

So-eun let out a squeak that must have passed for hi, because Blossom smiled wider and elbowed Butch next to her, who was busy shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Mmph,” Butch said, waving to So-eun.

“I’m sorry…what’s happening?” So-eun asked.

“Halo Infinite is happening!” Mike Believe, Wes Goingon, and Kim Chan slid in around Brick and Blossom. “Todd got the advance copy and he’s hosting this weekend!”

Brick looked up from the notes for that one. “I call dibs.”

Bubbles giggled. “You get used to it,” she whispered to So-eun like they were old pals.

What was happening was that her sort of maybe new boyfriend, Elmer Sgloo, had neglected to mention that he’d been close friends with the literal Powerpuff Girls since kindergarten, and now they wanted to welcome So-eun into their extended circle. As in, the definitely not a bunch of losers circle because it was the honest to god Powerpuff Girls and that was kind of a lot for one seventeen-year-old nobody to wrap her head around.

“Oh shit, you guys are going viral! Check it out!” Buttercup passed Butch her phone, which played a video of Butch and Blossom T-posing for feminism. “Who even is that loser?”

“Some chode,” Butch said. “Bane, or something?”

“No one important,” Blossom said as she leaned on Butch’s shoulder to watch the video. “Right, So-eun?”

So-eun put her shoulders back and popped a tater tot into her mouth, feeling like a champion. “Not at all.”

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[naruto-littlespace]

Akatsuki Littlespace Headcanons

I could and probably will write more, but I don’t feel like it right now, so here’s this.

Disclaimer 1: Littlespace, in the AU and in real life, is a coping mechanism for everything from everyday stressors to psychological disorders like PTSD. If you sexualize littlespace do not interact with this AU or me, I will block you.

Disclaimer 2: Littlespace in this post is slightly different from in real life, magic-ed up in a similar way to how ninjas are magic-ed up in the Naruto universe. Chakra-using littles actually revert to the size they were when they were their little ages, although they retain any bodily changes since then (little Kakuzu still has stitches, little Deidara would have hand mouths.) The exception of course is Sasori, whose body is manmade and doesn’t change. People also do not necessarily remember their big lives when they slip into littlespace, sometimes becoming confused about where they are and who they’re with. They will sometimes be confused about what time period they’re in as well, believing things to have happened that hadn’t happened yet in their little age but were far in the past in their adult age.

This isn’t how I’m going to treat littlespace w/ Naruto characters all the time on this account btw, it’s just an idea I’ve been playing around with, like the psychological defense of reverting to a childlike state inadvertently triggers a transformation jutsu to match.

Nagato:

Little age pre Yahiko’s death was 6-7, post is 2-4

Started regressing shortly after the formation of the original Akatsuki. She and Yahiko had to do research to figure out why their teenage friend had suddenly turned into a child, but after they learned they took care of him: treated him like a child, bought him kids books from the local thrift shop, tucked him into bed. He called them uncle and auntie.

He would stay in littlespace for a surprisingly long amount of time, for 4-6 hours on days between missions.

After Yahiko’s death he spent many days in a row regressed to age two. Konan scrambled to take care of him and handle her own grieving. After that was over he promised her she wouldn’t have to take care of him again.

Nowadays of course she still takes care of him when he regresses, but he tries to force himself out of it if he begins to.

He still has board books and stuffies, so if he does fully regress he’ll have one of his pein bodies bring them to him.

Being ~3 he doesn’t have the mental capacity to control all the Peins, so they just kind of idle for awhile.

Konan:

Little age is 3-5

Pre modern Akatsuki she didn’t like regressing at all and only did it involuntarily. She would handle it by either walking it off or reading Nagato’s board books by herself.

This continued pretty much until she started becoming friends with Kakuzu, who openly admitted he was a little (he thought she should know, in case it ended up delaying his missions--it was mostly so she would stick up for him to Pein. No, he wasn’t hunting bounties, there’s a perfectly logical explanation--)

So she had a bad day while she and Kakuzu were at the same base and went ‘can you please deal with me for a couple of minutes’ and he was like ‘ofc’ so she sat down in front of him and shrank down to a little girl and started crying. He picked her up and bounced her on his knee until she calmed down. She ended up staying little for a couple of hours because Kakuzu took her out of the office and telling her stories about his childhood while they prepared dinner.

Kisame becomes her caretaker too when the three of them start dating.

Sometimes she starts crying inconsolably about something she won’t talk about other than someone leaving her and something being unfair. Pein showed up during this one time and said he knew what she was talking about and it was none of her cgs’ concern which ofc made them concerned but they haven’t gotten the chance to talk to her about it.

Itachi:

Little age is 2-4 but since her chakra is often very low so she doesn’t always physically become that tiny.

She didn’t regress until after she joined the Akatsuki, but when she did Kisame wasn’t surprised. He reintroduced himself as her babysitter, slipped her a lollipop and took her to a library to pick out some kids books.

Loves to be pampered. Oh god it’s the only time she can relax at all

Wears reading glasses because they can’t get her in to an eye doctor appointment

She’s trans in this au because I say so

Likes playing with weasel and crow toys, esp when her caretaker (usually Kisame, Konan and Kakuzu as well when they’re around) plays the weasel and she’s the crow. She’ll tell stories where they go out to the woods to train or just hang out.

She loves to sit in laps <3

She eats a lot more in littlespace than out so whoever’s feeding her makes lots of food. For her to grow big and strong u know

Kisame:

Little age 0. He is just baby

Being reminded of the bloody mist triggers his littlespace, though he has to be in a bad headspace in the first place. It really does not happen often.

Post Akatsuki the first time he slipped was after he, Kakuzu and Konan started dating. Kakuzu woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of crying and woke Konan up immediately afterwards because holy sh*t there’s a baby in our bed!!

It was Kisame. Kakuzu picked him up and rocked him back to sleep. Konan asked how he was so good with kids and he was like ‘oh I had a baby once.’ She does not ask him to elaborate. Kisame wakes up as an adult the next morning.

They keep a container of powder formula for him if he regresses but won’t get him a pacifier because they’re afraid he’d bite off and choke on the teat. They have bottles but Kakuzu makes the nipples for them out of one of his threads on the spot bc he’d bite through literally everything else with his tiny demon teeth.

Sasori:

Little age is unclear (unlike some of the others, he’s never said it.)

Signs he’s in littlespace: stops talking, stops walking if he can afford it, walks unsteadily and a little bowlegged if he can’t. Stops using ninjutsu and if he’s near a kitchen he might try to eat despite not having a digestive system anymore. Has been known to ask where Granny Chiyo is. The answer is ‘back home.’

Deidara got him a pacifier and a coloring book. He does use them but not when anyone else is watching, not even Deidara.

He is a bit upset when he’s reminded that his body is wooden. He would like to feel things please. But he learns to just enjoy the sensation of squishing a stuffie and his jaw chewing on a paci.

Deidara:

Not actually a little. He just hasn’t gone through sh*t like the rest of the Akatsuki have, and has coping mechanisms for when he is having a bad time.

He caretakes for Konan when her boys aren’t around and for Sasori if he’ll let him.

Hidan told him about littles after Kakuzu regressed in front of him and thought Deidara might need to know because of how much baggage Sasori has (he doesn’t know what it is but he can smell drama)

So he looked out for Sasori becoming a kid and learned instead to look for him not acting like an adult. He walked out of Hiruko and tried to eat in front of him and Deidara had to tell him he couldn’t have a strawberry because it was bad for his health and not because it would probably make his insides mold. It’s weird but Deidara is also weird and he makes it work.

Kakuzu:

Little age is 9-10

Post Akatsuki the first time he regressed was in front of Hidan in the middle of the woods. He didn’t recognize him and immediately tried to run and then beat him up when he chased him. Hidan had to think fast and tell him he was his new neighbor and pretend to be taking him home. The next time he was babysitting.

Sometimes asks where his husband is. The first time Hidan heard this his response was ‘what the f*ck’ and Kakuzu told him that was a bad word.

Enjoyed activities include reading, sparring, and to the surprise of some, hunting. He’s not bad w/ a bow and arrow.

The best way to keep him in/make him feel comfy in littlespace is to make him a meal. U can let him help to the extent that he sets the table or pours the drinks or smth (because he will ask) but take care of the food for him, because he hasn’t had someone else handle that for him in a long time.

Regressing isn’t necessarily a common thing for him to do but he’s one of the only ones whose regression can be triggered by physical pain as well as emotional. He can usually harden his skin to block attacks but if he doesn’t in time he may turn into a ten year old. It actually can surprise an opponent enough for Hidan to be able to take them out.

Hidan:

Not a little either.

Knew about littles bc there was an old man in his village who had ptsd from some long forgotten war and sometimes turned into a six year old.

Caretakes for Kakuzu pretty exclusively, unless Kakuzu is big and taking care of someone else, in which case he’ll help out if he’s feeling nice at the time. Itachi is actually his favorite to take care of because Itachi is a very manageable child.

Obito:

Little age varies wildly from about 1-11. He blocks his physical regression because he regresses Often and doesn’t want to blow his Madara cover.

He has been regressing since p much immediately after he got crushed. Madara was really having none of it and went from patiently waiting for him to become ‘big’ again to pretending it wasn’t happening, forcing Obito back into a uh. ‘’Normal’’’’ headspace

The Tobi act is actually covering his littlespace though when he’s an adult he has no idea how to realistically act like a kid so when he’s actually a kid it’s kind of jarring for all involved

When he’s a baby he just screams. Not really crying in distress but screaming because he can

He’s so eager for attention. Please talk to him! Play toys with him!!! Read a book, eat dango, run around outside, catch bugs, train!!!

Never mentions Kakashi or Rin but sometimes will mention his grandma or Lord Fourth as if he is the current Hokage

[iknowthekoolaidflavor]

The Hoskins: The Family Reunion

You invite Collin to your family reunion.

Set before getting married and having Junie. 

Warning: annoying aunts and smut (fingering, dry humping)

A/N: Whenever I write for the Hoskins, I always say “It’s going to be a drabble”, then I proceed to do the complete opposite lol. Enjoy!

As nervous as you were about the family reunion, you were having a great time. You loved your family, but they were nosey beyond compare. Back home, the entire block knew that at if someone knew their business, it was because of your family’s love of gossip. Very embarrassing, to say the least. 

When Collin overheard you asking your mother about the reunion, you could see the excitement spreading across his face. He always stressed the importance of family. You saw it in the way he treated his mother, stepfather, and stepbrother. Collin wanted a family of his own and you knew that in due time, it was something you could have together. 

“Would you like to come with me?”, you asked after getting off the phone

“Yeah. It would be nice to get to know everyone”

Your relationship with Collin had been going strong for a year. In that time, you slowly introduced him to parts of your family. It started with your parents, then your siblings, aunts, and close cousins. The rest of the family you only saw at events like funerals and reunions would have to wait to meet him, and this seemed as great a time as any. It’s not that you didn’t want them to meet him. Collin is one of the most important men in your life, and you wanted them to see what you see in him, no matter how rude and judgemental they could be. Collin’s past was bound to come up, and the last thing you wanted was to throw hands at your great aunts for running their mouths. 

The cookout went off without a hitch. It seemed everyone was as in love with Collin as you were. Your younger cousins fought over who he would play with next, he argued with your older cousins over west coast and east coast hip hop, and your mother somehow pulled him on to the makeshift dancefloor for a litany line dances. Your camera roll was full of Collin indulging and enjoying himself. 

After telling your cousins he didn’t smoke, they challenged Collin to a game of basketball. You’ve never seen him play, but it was a joy to watch him run around sweaty and shirtless. 

“How long have you two been together”, Aunt Mae, your great aunt, asked

“A year and a half”, you responded after finally tearing your gaze away

The image was seared into your memory. 

“And were just now finding out about him?”

“Maybe she didn’t want us to know”, Aunt Vivian stepped in, appearing to take your side

Aunt Mae was blunt and a little cut throat. She always got straight to the point and didn’t care who she offended. Aunt Vivian was hit or miss. One minute, she’s singing your praises, the next she behaves like her older sister. The constant flip flopping exhausted you. As much as you love your family, this was the main reason you avoided spending extended periods of time with them. Someone had to take your mental health into consideration, and it was never them. 

“Here we go”, you mumbled

“She didn’t want us knowing she’s dating someone with a criminal background”, Aunt Viv finished

“That’s because Collin is more than his background. Yes, it happened, but he moved on. The minute y’all found out about it, that’s all you saw, then you’ll do what you always do: talk behind his back and treat him different, when everyone knows that’s not what he deserves”, you grimaced, trying to simmer your distaste for the conversation

Listening to your Aunts go on about your relationship with your boyfriend made your blood boil. It was clear they didn’t know Collin, nor did they want to get to know him. 

“What makes you think he’d make a good father or a husband?”, Aunt Mae countered

“You don’t know him like I do”, you snapped, “Despite how the world sees him, Collin still keeps his head up and continues to do what’s best for him. He’s intelligent, kind, honest, he always puts people before him. Sometimes to the point he has to be reminded he needs to take care of himself too. He wants to be a better person, and he’s proven that time and time again--”

“I’m not sure he deserves a second chance”, Aunt Mae stated

“Do you really want to go there with me?”, you took her silence as your queue, “Last year, you snatched Aunt Viv’s wig off her head because she said your potato salad was trash and yet you still got your second chance”

You continued to list all the heinous crimes your aunt committed against various family members and noted that everyone has given her second and even third chances against their better judgement. By the time you were done, Aunt Mae looked like she was ready to burst into flames. 

“Dessert is out”, you heard a soft voice from behind 

Collin wrapped his arms around you, kissing your cheek and making his presence known. 

“I got you a slice of sweet potato pie before anyone else could get to it. Lets eat it by the lake”, Collin suggested

“As much as I want to say seeing you two has been fun, we all know it would be a lie. Next time, keep your judgement to yourselves”

You gingerly got up from the table, glaring at your aunts. Collin held your hand as he led the way with your hand in his and the pie in the other. He found a secluded spot under a tree for you to relax. 

“How much did you hear?”, you asked as you sat down

“Mae really snatched her own sister’s wig? Over potato salad?”, Collin laughed

“Yes”, you sighed

“Mae had no reason to be upset. Her potato salad is trash. Someone needed to say it”

Collin smiled when he finally heard you laugh. 

“Were you really upset over what they said about me?”

“Of course I am. They have no right to be that--”

“I don’t give a damn what your aunts or the rest of your family think about me and neither should you”, Collin retorted, “They’ll come around and if they don’t, that’s on them”

It grew quiet between the two of you. 

“Besides, the only person whose opinion on me I care about is yours. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the only one that matters”

Collin pulled his arms around you as you finished your slice of pie. Hearing your aunts talk about him like that struck a nerve, but he knew he would be alright. 

As the evening ended, you and Collin went back to your cousin’s house with her husband and their three-year-old. Shelby spent most of the evening in Collin’s lap telling him about her friends at daycare until she finally fell asleep. 

Around ten, Collin was glad to finally fall into bed with you. The day was long, but you two still enjoyed yourselves. 

“I’m glad you came with me this year”

“I hope I’ll be here years from now”, he mused

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I would have knocked Aunt Mae out, then pushed her in the lake”

“No, you wouldn’t”

Collin stared at you, taking in your sheer determination. Deep down, there was a part of you that would do it with no hesitation. Collin leaned in to kiss you goodnight. After sharing multiple ‘I love yous’, he kissed you again, but he didn’t expect the kiss to become as intense as it did. 

His hand trailed down your body while your head rested in the crook of his other arm. Collin kissed you with fervor as his hand reached for the hem of your underwear. You softly sighed against him when his deft fingers found your clit, rubbing quick circles against you. Collin gently bit down on your bottom lip, making you moan. 

“Do you want them to hear you”, Collin smirked

“Not my fault”, you countered, “Feels good” 

He gently sucked your bottom lip as he pulled you in for another kiss. You loved nights like these when Collin found himself not being able to get enough of you. Moments later he found your soaked entrance with two fingers and they sank in effortlessly. You tried to keep your gasps quiet, but at this point they would just have to hear you. 

Collin pressed his cock against you, rubbing it against your thigh. He pulled away to catch his breath as he curled his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your heels dug into the mattress as you let out a breathless moan. Collin kissed up and down your neck as his thrusts became rougher. 

You could hear him cursing under his breath as the sounds of his fingers slipping into your wetness filled the room. Collin pulled you into another kiss as he pressed down harder on your g-spot. You shook as he brought you to an orgasm as he trembled beside you. Collin’s orgasm rippled through him as he tried to catch his breath. 

He took his fingers out of you and slipped them into your mouth, waiting for you to suck them clean. You grinned as you slipped your hands past his boxers, ready to return the favor. To your surprise, your fingers were already covered in cum. Collin sheepishly grinned. 

“I’m glad we didn’t fuck tonight”, he mused, “Might have ended up with a baby of our own”

The next morning, you sat with Collin at the table with Shelby. Your cousin and her husband had a few errands to run. As Collin fixed his plate, he kept dropping the tongs on the table. He was as gentle as he was clumsy. 

“If your sausage fingers weren’t so big--”, you started

“You weren’t complaining about my sausage fingers last night”

Collin leaned over and mimicked your moans in your ear, “Feels good”

Your cheeks felt like they were set ablaze as Collin’s salacious grin spread across his face. Collin bit his lip, taking in your shock as a minor victory. Maybe he should have put a baby in you. 

“Wait”, Shelby gasped, “There’s more sausage?”

“No, your cousin ate all”

Collin smirked at Shelby’s distaste for you eating her favorite food. 

“And I’ll be eating more of it tonight”, you whispered as he choked on his juice

[sapphicscholar]

2020 Fic Year-in-Review!

It has been ... a year (both for global/national and personal reasons). I did less writing than I had planned to. Didn’t finish those WIPs like I promised myself I would. But! I worked my butt off to be there 110% for my students, and I still managed to write words and new fics! (According to AO3, I came in just under 200,000 words written/posted this year, which is more than I expected and a nice little boost.) 

With the whole “5 fics you’re proudest of” end-of-year meme going around (thanks for the heads up about it @chainofclovers!) and having been tagged at some point in a fic-in-review thing whose questions I’ve lost, I want to focus on being happy with some of the things I did! So, without further ado, 5 fics in chronological order of posting that I’m proud of!

1. Swipe Right for Soulmates - Supercat, T

In general, I really dislike soulmate AUs, and that’s putting it lightly. I’ve read a handful I adore; I’ve tried to write through my issues with the trope a few times; and this is perhaps my favorite of my attempts at playing with it! I got to do a few fun things with genre in this rival-CEO fic and write Cat and Kara into a rivals-to-friends-to-lovers arc, which I don’t think we get too often with this pairing. Anyway, it was fun and felt different, and it still makes me smile!

2. Your fav is in fandom series - one Supercat, M; one Sanvers, T

These two one-shots are meant as a  kind of cracky love letter to fandom and the kinds of relational practices it can foster at its best. It came to be in the early weeks of the pandemic and lockdown in the US when, utterly unable to sleep one night (all the nights?!?), I turned to my wife at 1am and asked: “So...which one of the Supergirl characters would be the fandom asshole?” Originally there was meant to be a third fic feat. Lucy/Alura (Majorly Judging You) with my personal headcanon that Lucy organizes the big annual events like fic exchanges and ship weeks and that Alura takes the whole “thank your mods!” A/Ns very seriously, messaging Lucy each and every day of an event with personalized thank you notes that lead to a friendship, then more. 

3. If you give an alien a syllabus... - General Danvers, G

Another love letter--this time to community colleges and the wonderful people who staff and attend them. This fic felt vital when I was writing it (there was a lot of stuff going on at my own university and many across the country that I was putting my job on the line to fight), and it was meant as a gift for a close friend who teaches at a local community college at a time when we couldn’t see each other in person. Even though I’ve only ever written a couple General Danvers fics, I quite enjoy fics about them (they were some of the earliest ones I ever read in the Supergirl tag!), and it’s always a lovely fandom to visit!

4. you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else - Supercat, E

Despite being the only angsty thing I’ve written in quarantine when most of my fics have trended toward the cracky or the weird, I actually really enjoyed this smutty, feelings-heavy, years-later/post-breakup Supercat fic! I know that fic often shows some of the best of what life and love can be (which is awesome, even if I’m partial to messy characters who don’t do well with or think of themselves as deserving or wanting a neat happily ever after trajectory), but this felt a little gritty in ways that I personally like. It’s the aftermath of two complicated women coming together and shattering, showcasing all the messy emotions that remain when they start the process of picking those pieces back up and finding a new way to put them back together. Hilariously, I went into it envisioning something with a similar premise but lighter--essentially what would be a part 2 to this fic if I ever wrote it. It was meant to be about Cat and Kara after this initial moment of coming back together for the first time in years, seeing them sneak around almost like teenagers as they tried to keep this precious thing to themselves while they rekindled it and figured out what it could be away from the judgment of everyone who was there when they fell apart the first time. 

5. Writing Retreats Are For Lovers - Supercat, M

Another AU! Well, Cat’s pretty much canon Cat, but featuring ABD PhD candidate Kara who meets her at a writing retreat as she tries to get the dissertation written and Cat finally gets a writing coach to help her through the worst case of writers’ block she’s had in years. It hit close to the heart and was very, very fun to write! I always have fun getting to bring characters into new settings to see what about them is integral to who they are and what is context-dependent, much like I’m intrigued by the different (and very similar!) ways relationship dynamics play out, especially early on, when the characters are in new settings and/or roles.

Honorable Mention: Queen of All Mediums - Supecat, G

It’s weird and quirky and a first foray into writing a historical AU based on a period I know so much--like, too much--about to start figuring out how to strike that balance between “what do people need to know for your fic?” vs. “what do you want people to know but honestly it won’t hurt their experience of the story if they don’t?” I have a very long nineteenth-century authors period piece all outlined, which I’ve debated trying to make original fiction or a Supercat fic. I don’t know where it’ll go, if anywhere, but it was nice getting to dip my toes into the historical romance genre here, even if it’s just a tiny little one-shot about spiritualism with a sprinkling of nineteenth-century class and gender politics in the US. 

Theres a lot I could say about trends in my fic writing this year (so little angst! largely AU! no new WIPs!), but I won’t bore you all with my theories about why x or why not y. I wasn’t surprised by most of what I found looking through what I wrote, though I was shocked to find that I wrote only Supergirl pairings this year--a variety of pairings (only some of which appear on this list), but still. My writing and reading didn’t match up at all, and my random fic outlines and drafty drafts also include a much broader variety (some seeds of what was, at one point, to become a multi-chapter Grace/Frankie fic that I think I’ll need to ease into with a couple one-shots; several fully sketched out SwanQueen fics from binge-watching the whole series for the first time during the pandemic and having SO MANY thoughts about both the show’s promising notes and its many disappointments, as well as the fandom’s fabulous works; and a handful of notes about Dead to Me that are honestly closer to meta than fics proper anyway).

Honestly I’d love to see other people doing this! Consider yourself tagged, and feel free to tag me in your responses--I’d love to hear all about what writing you’re proud of!

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: While Marinette is helping Adrien and the boys clean up after the guys-only party, she accidentally crashes a kwamis-only party. (Party Crasher identity reveal fic)

Word Count: 3361

Notes: I haven’t written one of these in a while, but it was for an anon from the episode-divergent identity reveal fic requests.  I’ll probably still keep doing these periodically, but I still have a few mlbforblm commissions/prizes to finish up, so it might be a while.

XXX

“I can put those up!”  Marinette offered quickly as Adrien scooped up a pile of costumes.  It was hard to see so much evidence of the party she’d been locked out of, but she was determined to make the most of it now.

She’d gotten to spend time with Adrien in the end.  Hopefully next time she could do it without lying, but she couldn’t pretend she regretted it.

He shot her one of his award-winning smiles, the ones that made her knees weak.  “Thanks, Marinette.  You can just leave them in the closet. I’ll fold them later.”

“No problem!”  

She accepted the bundle of sequins and silk without a stutter.  It was hard to feel embarrassed when he’d seen her dressed as “Marino” and still wanted her around.

He’d seen her in her pajamas, bought her constipation medicine, let her sleep on his shoulder, and most recently, watched her dance to Station Nation as a mustachioed biker.  If all of that hadn’t convinced him she was completely insane, maybe he really could like her.

That thought had her walking on clouds as she rearranged the pile of clothes in her arms to open the closet.

When she turned the handle, the clothes promptly fell to the ground.

“Go, go, go, go!”  Kaalki was chanting as Plagg sprayed whipped cream into Xuppu’s mouth.  It would’ve been ridiculous enough even if they weren’t inside Adrien’s closet.

But they were.  Why?  How?  If anyone else had seen them here—!

Sass hissed at the others, trying to grab their attention.  Kaalki kept chanting until Marinette quietly shut the door behind her, leaving them in the dim lights rimming the top shelves.

“Marinette.”  Sass touched his arms together and bowed his head respectfully.  

“What’s going on?”  She finally demanded.  “I swear, Plagg, if you crashed Adrien’s party because you wanted cheese again—” 

“Y-yeah!”  Plagg tried to hide the whipped cream behind his back.  Considering the can was twice his height, it didn’t do much good.  “You know me.  Can’t resist a good wedge of Camembert.  I already ate it all though, so don’t expect me to share!”

Tikki flew out of Marinette’s purse.  Her antennae twitched with anger.

“You remember what happened last time you went across Paris to steal cheese!  You got us all captured by a supervillain!”

“Relax, sugarcube!  Hawkmoth already crashed this party once.  He won’t think to do it again.  Besides, Master Fu’s close enough to help if anything went wrong.”

“We rarely get out of the Miracle Box at the same time.”  Kaalki pressed her hooves together.  “Pleeease, Tikki, don’t be mad.”

“Aww, who cares if she’s mad?  Tikki’s always been a party pooper.”  Xuppu crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.

“You mean she’s always had good sense.”  Wayzz stuck his head out from inside… a Barbie Dream House?  

Yep, it was definitely a dollhouse peaking out from under the hangers of shirts.  Marinette hadn’t expected Adrien to play with dolls.  The thought was adorable enough to make her grin before she remembered she was supposed to be angry.

“I can’t believe you, Wayzz,” Tikki huffed.  “You’re Master Fu’s kwami!  You’re supposed to know better!  Did Carapace corrupt you already?”

Wayzz gave a sheepish smile.  “Well, Master Carapace does know how to ‘let loose’… but in this case, it was all Kaalki’s idea.”

“Me?”  Kaalki looked aghast.  “I only wanted to see the inside of a house as glorious as Monsieur Agreste’s!  It was Xuppu who decided to throw a party.”

“Yeah, it’s my first time out of the box in a century!  I deserve to celebrate!”

Marinette’s eyes flickered between the kwamis as all of them—including Tikki—dissolved into bickering.

“Quiet!”  She said as forcefully as she could without raising her voice.  Adrien’s door seemed thick enough to block sound—she hadn’t heard the kwamis from outside, anyway—but she didn’t want to push her luck.  “It doesn’t matter whose fault this is.  The point is, I can’t let you all throw a party in a civilian’s closet.  It’s too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than Master Fu coming to a party here himself?”  Wayzz asked.

Marinette sighed.  She’d been surprised to see Master Fu today, too.  She supposed she couldn’t expect the kwamis to be better behaved than their Master.

“Do you all have your miraculouses?” She asked.  “Or did you leave them with your temporary holders?”

“I have been guarding them,” Wayzz said in resignation.  He flew back into the Barbie house and returned with a stack of four hexagonal boxes.

“Alright, everyone,” Marinette looked over each of the kwamis, “now I’m the party crasher.  It’s time you all went back to Master Fu.  No arguing.”

“That isss likely for the besssst.” Sass’s head hung.  “Until next time, Plagg. Tikki.”

He accepted his miraculous box dolefully, then flew out through the back wall.

“So not cool.”  Xuppu stuck his tongue out at Marinette one last time for good measure.  It was hard to blame him.  If he hadn’t been out in over a hundred years, how could he really understand how dangerous it was?

Except he’d been there for the incident with Kwami Buster.  So either he was lying, or he didn’t count helping Multimouse fight the akuma.

“At least let me take this fabulous ‘whipp-ed cream’ back to our world?”  Kaalki asked with huge, pleading eyes.

“Alright.  That can’t hurt.”  Marinette nodded.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!”  She nuzzled Marinette’s cheek before balancing the miraculous and the spray can together.  Marinette wasn’t quite sure how the kwami managed to get them through the wall, but she did.

“My humblest apologies for their behavior,” Wayzz said before leaving as well.  Maybe he was afraid that if he hesitated, Tikki or Marinette would chew him out again.

That only left one kwami hovering in front of her.

“Hehe.  Guess I should get back to Chat Noir.  Smell ya later, sugarcube!”

“Oh, no you don’t.”  Tikki grabbed his tail.  “I know that no matter what they said, you’re the one behind this.  You’ve been nothing but irresponsible since you’ve been out!  I know your owner is lenient with you, but you can’t keep doing this.” 

“Easy for you to say.”  Plagg tugged his tail back.  “I’m the kwami of destruction.  Rules are made to be broken!”

“Could you two be quiet?”  Marinette rubbed her temples.  “If someone hears you, we’ll all be in trouble.  Now just—use your head next time, okay Plagg?”

“Fine.”  He huffed before finally flying out through the wall.

“That was a close one,” Tikki said.  “I can’t believe they’d throw a party like that!  And not even invite me!”

Marinette raised her eyebrows, and the kwami giggled sheepishly.

“I mean… oh, I wish we could have parties too, Marinette.”  She slumped.  “But I know it’s not safe.  Even when we gathered together for Nooroo’s cycle, we left you and Chat Noir alone and created an opening for Hawkmoth.”

“Oh, Tikki.”  Marinette opened her arms, and her kwami nuzzled the crook of her neck.  It had to be lonely, spending most of her day stuck in a purse, never seeing her friends… 

In fact, it sounded all too much like the life Adrien had thrown this party to escape from.  Worse, because Adrien at least got to see their friends at school.  Tikki never got to visit the other kwamis.

“Maybe a surprise party is too dangerous, but we could see how Master Fu feels about having a few kwamis stay with us sometimes,” Marinette suggested.  “If I’m supposed to be the next Guardian, it would be a good idea anyway, right?  I’ll get to know the kwamis, you’ll get to hang out with your friends…”

Tikki’s eyes glistened in the dim light.  “You’d really do that for me?” 

“Of course I would!  I know we’re friends, but you deserve to see your other friends, too.”  Marinette crouched down, fiddling with the door of the Barbie house.  “Maybe I can even get you a cute dollhouse like this for you guys to have sleepovers in.”

It was huge; she would’ve killed to have one like it as a kid.  ...Okay, maybe she still would.  Not only would it be the perfect size for Tikki, but it would go well with her Ladybug and Chat Noir dolls, and…

Apparently Adrien thought so, too. A Ladybug figurine sat at the kitchen table with a model Chat Noir.  They both looked like top-of-the-line action figures.  Of course, Adrien could afford the best.

Curious, Marinette poked around a bit more.  A hot pink car with sharpied-on black spots sat in the garage.  The bedroom, oddly, didn’t have a bed—not a toy one, anyway.  It looked more like a black sock wadded up into a little lump.

“It is a sock.”

“Don’t touch it, Marinette!  It might be important to him.  What if he finds out you went through his things?”

“Oh, it’s not like this is the first time.  Besides, aren’t you curious what his fancy dollhouse is doing with a sock for a bed?”  She picked it up.  “I wonder if it’s supposed to be some kind of sleeping bag…?”

That was when she noticed the green embroidery along the toe.  It was haphazard and awkward, as if done by a beginner.

“Oh no.”  Tikki shut her eyes as Marinette finally parsed out what the embroidery said.  It was only one word long.

Plagg.

“Oh.  That makes more sense.”  Marinette laughed.  “Plagg must have left it behind after their party.  Of course Adrien wouldn’t have a sock in his dollhouse.  Do you think Chat Noir made it?  That’s really cute of him, actually.”

“Y-yeah, I’m sure Chat Noir made it.  You should just put it back.  I’m sure Plagg will come back for it.”

“But then Adrien might see him!  I should bring it back during patrol.  Then I’ll have proof that his kwami was off partying, too.”

Satisfied, Marinette was about to stick it in her pocket.  But then the door opened.

“Marinette?”  Adrien stood silhouetted by the outside light.  “Oh, good.  I was worried you got lost in here—”

His eyes landed on the sock in her fist.  He scrambled to shut the door behind him.

“Marinette, it’s not what you think!”  He waved his hands, but Marinette could hardly process that.  She was in a cramped closet with Adrien!  Well, not exactly cramped—his closet could’ve fit, like, five of hers in it—but still, it was just the two of them alone, and—what if her breath stunk?  He could probably smell it since he was so close, but he was busy staring…

At Tikki.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Marinette, you’re…”  He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, pointing his other between Tikki and her.  “You’re Ladybug.  You’re Ladybug!”

Marinette panicked.  Acting on instinct, she went to slap her hand over his mouth—forgetting that she was still holding Plagg’s sock.

Her soul left her body.  She’d basically shoved a smelly sock in her crush’s mouth!  This was worse than being outed as Marino, the mustachioed biker.  Probably even worse than Adrien discovering she was Ladybug.

“Adrien—I’m so sorry—I—Tikki, is there a Lucky Charm that can make it so that didn’t happen?”

“I’m not Sass.  I can’t turn back time.”  Tikki sighed.  “Oh, Plagg is never going to let me live this down...”

Adrien spat the sock out into his palm.  “It’s okay, Marinette.  I should’ve known better than to startle you.  And—and I’m really sorry, too.  I know you didn’t want us to share our identities.”

“But I already know you’ve been a superhero before.  When I gave you the snake miraculous?”  Marinette’s brow furrowed.  Maybe that was why Sass had felt comfortable hiding in Adrien’s closet.  But they’d barely been together for a few minutes, unless Sass also remembered all 25,913 time loops…

Adrien deserved a hundred parties after having to go through that.

Tikki slapped her forehead for some reason.  Adrien’s head tilted.

“That’s not really the same thing as knowing I’m Chat Noir.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped.  Adrien was… Adrien was…

Oh.  That… actually explained some things.  And left her more confused about others.

But Plagg flew out of Adrien’s overshirt, shattering whatever was left of her denial.

“Hey, sugarcube.  Long time no see.”  He grinned.

Tikki smacked her head again.  “We were so close.”

“Yep.  Your holder’s pretty stupid.  I really thought she wasn’t gonna figure it out.”

“Marinette’s not stupid!”  Adrien scowled at Plagg.  “She’s the perfect Ladybug.  Besides, she found out who I am because of your stinky sock!”

Marinette could barely breathe.  Adrien called her perfect.  

Adrien was also her partner.  Adrien made bad puns and knew how to moonwalk.  Adrien had tried to kiss her.

“Plagg’s right.  I am stupid.”

“My Lady, no.”  Adrien stepped forward to wrap his arms around her.  Adrien’s arms.  Adrien’s scent.  As if her brain wasn’t already fizzling out as it was.  

“It’s my fault,” he continued.  “I should’ve known better than to have you come in here.  Plagg’s Barbie house is more conspicuous than I thought, I guess.”  He winced.

“Oh, heh, about that…”  Plagg trailed off before pointing at Tikki.  “It’s sugarcube’s fault!”

“Plagg!”

“What?  It is!  Pigtails was never gonna put two and two together.  If my kid didn’t see you—”

“He already assumed Marinette knew, since she’s holding your stinky sock!”

“Should we just let them duke it out?”  Adrien whispered with a small grin.

Marinette giggled.  Maybe she should’ve been more worried, all things considered—but Adrien was Chat Noir.  And he was still hugging her.  She might’ve been a bit more lenient about their secret identities had she known who her partner would turn out to be.

Maybe Plagg was right, and some rules were made to be broken.

“If you think this is bad, you should’ve seen all the kwamis in here earlier.”

“All the kwamis?”  Adrien’s eyes widened.  “You mean, not just Plagg?”

“You didn’t have a clue, did you?  You weren’t the only one who decided to throw a party today.”

“I didn’t actually decide to. Nino and the guys just showed up.  But if you crashed a kwami party… I’m just lucky it’s you who came in here.”

That was true.  It could’ve been much worse if any of the other boys had found the kwamis.  They might have told someone, who could’ve told someone else, who might have been smarter than her and assumed Adrien was a miraculous holder.

She could still hardly believe she’d missed it.  In the dim lighting, she could paint Chat Noir’s mask over his eyes.  When he’d been Mister Bug, his irises had even been the same.

“Marinette?”  Adrien bit his lip.  “Is this… I mean, are we okay?  I’m glad you’re not freaking out or anything, but… are we going to have to give up our kwamis?”

Not give up their miraculouses.  Their kwamis.  Marinette didn’t miss how Plagg curled protectively into the crook of Adrien’s neck.  Plagg’s bright green eyes squinted out at her, as if daring her to try.

“No.  No, I won’t let that happen,” she promised.  After the incident with Feast, Marinette doubted the Master would dare try to separate them from their kwamis again.

“Me either,” Plagg said.

“I couldn’t choose another Ladybug,” Tikki agreed, snuggling up under Marinette’s chin.  With the two kwamis in between her and Adrien, it was like one big group hug.

“The Cat and Bug Team sticks together.”  Adrien squeezed her tighter.

“The Bug and Cat Team, you mean.”  She smiled, resisting the impulse to flick a bell that wasn’t there.

Yes, he was still Chat Noir.  She could get used to this.

“You know what this means, Tikki?”  Her smile turned sly.  “I won’t have to get you a Barbie house after all.  You can come sleep over in Plagg’s.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d come sleep over too?”  Adrien wiggled his eyebrows, and she went bright red.  “I—I mean, that came out wrong.  Not that you can’t come over if you want to; I always leave my window open, but uh—”

She laughed.  He was definitely still her Chat Noir.  

“Maybe in your dreams, kitty,” she said automatically, and he smiled sheepishly.  “But… if you wanted to watch a movie, or play some video games, maybe…?”

He blinked.  “Are you… asking me on a date?”

She—she was!  Despite shoving a sock in his mouth, despite dressing up as a boy, despite—well, pretty much everything, honestly—she’d finally done it!

“Yes!”  She practically shouted.  “I mean—only if you want to.  No pressure.”  She grinned nervously.

“Are you kidding?”  He laughed and spun her by her waist; her feet knocked a few shirts off of their hangers.  “I’d love to go on a date with you, Marinette!”

She laughed too, a giddy sound that built from the deepest part of her lungs.  He said yes!

“We’re going to have to watch them be this disgusting for the rest of their lives, aren’t we?”  Plagg sighed.

“Hopefully.”  Tikki smiled.  Both of the kwamis had flown out of the way when Adrien had picked Marinette up.  “Aren’t you glad to see them so happy?”

“Meh.  Just don’t expect me to share my sock with you if you do sleep over.”  Plagg picked that sock off of the ground and bunched it up in the Barbie house bedroom.

Marinette giggled at them.  She would’ve giggled at anything, at this point; all the air in her lungs felt like helium.  She could’ve floated off the ground.

In an impulsive move, she stretched up on her tip-toes and kissed Adrien’s cheek.  The grin that stretched across his face could’ve lit his whole closet.

“This is the best day of my life,” he sighed.

Hers too.  Pleasant tingles ran all through her, and that was just from kissing him on the cheek.

“If it’s okay,” she hesitantly wrapped her arms around his neck, “I have an idea that could make it even better.”

His eyes softened, like liquid sunshine.  His head tilted down until their noses were brushing, until all she could see was him.

“You know I’m always ready to follow your lead, my Lady.”

With that permission, she surged up to meet his lips—

—Only to be blinded by light spilling through the doorway.

“Oh.  Uh, my bad.”

Marinette and Adrien sprung apart like magnets.

“Nino!”  She shouted.

“Fancy seeing you here!”  Adrien’s eyes were hysterically wide.  Thankfully, Tikki and Plagg had hidden as soon as Marinette and Adrien looked like they were about to kiss, so she didn’t have to worry about Nino discovering their identities.

“I was helping you clean your room.  You know, like everyone else?”  Nino said.  Adrien almost started to apologize, but Nino grinned.  “I was just looking for you because you disappeared all of a sudden.  But it looks like you’re busy.”

“I’m not—”

“We’re not—”

“I mean—”

“We’re just—cleaning the closet!”  Marinette lied.  Why was she lying?  Everyone already knew she wanted to kiss Adrien!

“Actually…”  Adrien bit his lip, then looked at hers pointedly.  “We were a little bit busy.”

Nino laughed.  “I told you she’d interrupt guy time.  But it’s all good, dude.  Just don’t forget Mylène and the girls are waiting on us!”

He winked, then closed the door on them.

“Oh my gosh.”  Marinette dropped her burning face in her hands.  “That was so awkward!”

“It could’ve been worse!”  Adrien hugged her again.  “It could’ve been Kim.  He would’ve told everyone.  Or Nino could’ve seen Tikki and Plagg.”

“Please, no one’s gonna see me.  I’m not coming out of my sock until you two are done sucking each other’s faces.”  Plagg’s voice came muffled from the Barbie house.

If Marinette’s face heated any more, she could fry eggs on it.  But she’d been more embarrassed than this before.  It wasn’t going to stop her from kissing Adrien.

“So about that face-sucking…” Adrien grinned.

She braced her hands and the edges of his jaw.  Her skin tingled at every place they touched.

“Kitty, just stop blabbing and let me kiss you.”

(He did.)