#I would say double life but last life was definitely the most chaotic so far (imo)

[azamonvoid]

I somehow managed to watch 6 full episodes of Limited life in one sit... how tf-

[blu-joons]

DATING TXT A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Huening Kai

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Kai definitely enjoys being able to tall frame to wrap his arms around you, he prefers to usually stand behind you so that he can lean past and look at your face and admire how wide your smile was or how red your cheeks were.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

The two of you met when shooting at TXT music video, you were busy filming, but that didn’t stop Kai spotting you and having his attention captured. He wasn’t sure what it was about watching you hard at work, but the dedication you put into creating the perfect video for the five of them was something he greatly appreciated.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

When it came to confessing to you, Kai was absolutely terrified. The two of you had gotten along well since the shoot, but he was terrified of risking all of that by telling you how he felt. He ended up telling you one evening, his behaviour had been strange all night long, eventually leaving you no choice but to beg him to start opening up to you. Only you didn’t exactly expect what the next thing he said to you was.

D ⇴ DATES

Kai isn’t someone with a lot of get up and go, and so usually the two of you will have lazy dates together. You’ll meet up at someone’s place, and spend your days watching movies or playing games, anything that didn’t require you being on your feet and having to spend time outside. Instead, you’d spend your dates laying side by side with one another, usually a bowl of snacks in between you both, typically of Kai’s choosing because he’s a lot pickier than you are when it comes to food.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

Being the youngest definitely meant he got a bit of stick for dating you, but that didn’t stop him turning to the older members and asking for their advice a lot. Kai wanted to do things right, whilst you were professional on set at all times during future shoots, he wanted to make sure that you could enjoy yourselves with one another when you weren’t working. The last thing he wanted to do was mess things up, so he’d ask the others for their feedback a lot and see what they suggested he was doing, either right or wrong.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Arguing was far from something that Kai enjoyed, in fact he usually tended to just stand around and take the hit when you were angry or frustrated with him or something else. He was a lot calmer of the two of you when it came to disagreements, he’d learnt to bite his tongue at the best of times anyway, but especially so around you. The last thing he wanted to do was raise his voice at you, and so usually wait until you reached a point when you were a little calmer to tell you his point of view and try and clear up any disagreements between the two of you like adults rather than turn it into a shouting match.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

His family is far from perfect, and so it definitely takes a while for Kai to open up fully to you about his relations. If there is one relation, he does tell you a lot about though, it’s his sisters. They’re his crutch, and he knows that if there’s anyone who will make you feel comfortable around his family, then it’s them.

H ⇴ HOME

Kai usually tended to spend a lot of time at your place so that the two of you could have some peace and quiet. On the days when he didn’t have work early the following morning, he’d stay over at yours, or at least try and stop by if he had a couple of hours before needing to head back to the dorm and the boys.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

He was convinced you were asleep, in fact he still refused to accept that you were awake when Kai was the first to say, ‘I love you.’ The words were uttered in barely a whisper, admiring your sleeping state, or so he thought. When your eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t quite believe it, instantly feeling his cheeks turn red.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

A lot of time Kai was teased as the youngest, and for having a partner too. He would definitely find himself getting a little jealous if you spent too much time around any of the other members but wouldn’t dare say anything to them as he knew he’d only get mocked. When he got you alone, then he’d open up a little more about how he was feeling and how agitated he was at how the others acted around you. He only ever wanted to protect you, even if he did trust the others to never push the boundaries too far.

K ⇴ KIDS

Before having kids, Kai wanted the security blanket of knowing he wouldn’t end up bringing his children up in an environment that he had to endure. It took a long time for him to even open up about his dream of having children, he didn’t want his feelings to scare you off from the idea, but he was also honest. The last thing he wanted to do was give his children the same experiences that he had to live through.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

Time with Kai could usually be guaranteed to be one thing, absolutely chaotic. He was forever making you laugh with his weird antics or how clumsy he was. Similarly, he was a noisy guy, and so would usually have you laughing at the different noises that he made or the rubbish jokes that he tried to tell you. Kai loved to make you laugh and enjoyed that you felt comfortable enough around him to really be yourself. He loved to laugh around you too, half the time you didn’t even realise what exactly you were doing, but you’d still hear Kai by your side, chuckling away at whatever it was that you did.

M ⇴ MISSING

He’ll always try and be strong for you when he’s on the road, he won’t want to upset you further by letting you see how much he misses you or how hard he finds it being separated from you. Kai tends to close off from you, but for his members, things are the complete opposite. He’ll find himself opening up to them more when he’s on the road and away from you, relying on them to at least try and fill the gap that you left in his life. Whilst it never is quite the same, the other boys know what Kai wants from them, and so will try their best to fill that void as best as they can, even if it is never truly enough.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

Kai is quite traditional with his nicknames for you, ‘jagi,’ will usually be the one that he prefers before any other. The meaning and the sentiment behind it are always expressed with a lot of love from him.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He’s obsessed with your hair, being taller, Kai loves to guide you with it and run his hands through it whenever he’s stood in front of you.

P ⇴ PDA

The priority whenever the two of you are in public is that you’re safe and secure, and Kai will definitely use his frame to reflect that. He’s not someone for grand gestures that might draw too much attention to yourselves, but he will always do enough to make sure that you’re happy and feel protected at his side.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

You usually have to ask Kai a lot of questions when you’re trying to convince him to listen to what you want to do. He’s hard to convince, but with enough questions and compromise, you eventually manage to wear him down.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

When he’s on stage, Kai will always have a little signal that he sends into the camera to let you know that he’s thinking of you. He can pick up on the camera most of the time, and when he does, he always makes sure to send a double wink into it. One for the fans, who he knows love it when he does this, but the second for you, to make sure that you know that wink is solely dedicated to you and no one else.

S ⇴ SEX

Kai is always incredibly affectionate with you when it comes to intimacy, whilst he’s not a strong dom, he certainly uses his height to control the situation a little more and attempt to take care of you. It usually makes him incredibly shy too, the feeling of being so close to you was never something that he got used to, even as months and years passed, he still used the time to remind himself how lucky he was.

T ⇴ TEXTS

You’ll receive texts quite often from Kai, reminding you that he cares and wants to know how your day is going. Whenever he gets a break, it becomes a habit to pick up his phone before anything else and check in with you.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

The two of you were partners in crime, you weren’t always the loudest couple in the room, but you were the couple that always captured everyone’s attention from how good you looked together and how sweet you were to one another.

V ⇴ VACATION

Kai had told you plenty of stories about his time in China, that there was nowhere else in the world you wanted to go when the chance to go on a trip came around. He couldn’t wait to show you so many of the places from his childhood and make even more memories in those places with you this time around.

W ⇴ WHINING

He definitely enjoys having your attention on him, and so if he wants you, and you’re not beside him, he’ll let you know just what he wants from you.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Kai’s favourite place to kiss on you is definitely the top of your head, he loves to emphasise the height difference between you both, however big or small it may be. He’ll love too when you have to go up on your tiptoes to reach a certain part on his body, there’s something about watching you stretch up and hold onto him for support, just for a kiss, that makes his heart happy and brings a smile to his face.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the love of his life, even at the very first time at searching for it.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Whenever the two of you fell asleep, Kai always made a point of trying to be the big spoon and wrapping his arms around you. He loved to be close to you and make sure you were the one that felt safe in his strong hold.

---

Masterlist

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 11

Masterlist

Hello, my darlings! Don’t forget to let me know in the comments what member you would like featured in my next fic after A Dangerous Game is over! Love you all! --- your chaotic puff

Namjoon had promised good behavior would bring free reign of the house, what he hadn’t told her was that it wasn’t going to be put into immediate effect.

Everything had gone downhill during their first dinner in the dining room since the night of their second meeting.

“What do you mean go back to that room?” She asked putting her utensils down as she stared him down from across the table. “You promised.”  

His eyes narrowed at her not liking the tone she’d taken with him. “You’ve been so good today, jagi. I would hate for you to ruin all that good work.” He warned continuing his meal though his grip on his own utensils had tightened.

They stared each other down. One was simmering with rage, and the other was waiting for any sort of slip up. The threat was clear as it hung in the air between them. Any wrong move on her part at this point would result in a full return to house arrest. She didn’t want to risk it, but by the same token she wanted nothing more than to fling a plate at his head. But she squashed that urge taking in a steady breath as she stood from her seat and smoothed out her skirt.

“And where are you going?” He asked curious as so what she was going to do.

“Back to my room!” She announced gracing him with a sharp smile one to rival even the most calculating of his grins.

He sighed setting down his utensils and standing from his seat as well. “I would appreciate if you would sit down, jagiya.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little tired. I think I’ll retire for the evening.” Every word was coated in a syrupy sweetness that was almost sickening. “Unless of course you have any objections?”

She knew full well that he couldn’t argue with that, not when he had so recently been the cause of her car crash. He was far too concerned with her health. Even if they both knew that she was lying, he would error on the side of caution and allow her to return to her room. He wouldn’t risk her fainting again. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the last time had shaken him. Seeing her crumple to the ground had caused his heart to stop for just a moment, and it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat.

“Should I call for, Seokjin?” He asked moving over to her.

“No. I’ll be just fine with some rest. If you’ll excuse me?” She continued to smile that horribly sweet smile. It was an expression she had mastered under Marcus’ regime. It was bright and saccharine, but it never met her eyes. Those remained lifeless.

“I’ll walk you to your room.” He sighed again eyeing her carefully for any signs of real fatigue.

“There’s no need…”

“I’ll walk you to your room.” His voice held a note of finality that didn’t leave room for any more arguments so she acquiesced if only for the sake of their unsteady peace.

Once they reached her room she turned on her heal to face him with that smile again. He hated that smile. He would rather face her ire than that lifeless mask. It didn’t suit her.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And before he could say anything, she had closed the door in his face.

The next morning dawned with a blanket of tension settling itself over the estate. Every member of staff knew something was wrong though no one dared to express that to the master of the house. But it was clear as they watched the frigid reception of their new madame during breakfast. Everyone had been excited for the madame’s recovery. So little had been seen of her over the course of her isolation, and they were all eager to see what kind of woman the madame was. But the tension between the two did not bode well to the other occupants of the house. A happy wife made for a happy household, and it was clear to everyone that the lady of the house was less than happy.

“Y/N….” Namjoon began sighing in frustration as he did. “This is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Namjoon had to clench his jaw and take a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. She had maintained the most infuriatingly blasé attitude all morning. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t ignoring him. She was just politely detached remaining breezily above everything around her. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if only there hadn’t been that spark of something mischievous in her eye that told him she knew exactly what she was doing.  

“Y/N.”

And there it was, that saccharine smile he detested so much on her. “Yes, Namjoon?”

“Don’t.” He snapped slamming his chopsticks down. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide behind that mask.” She quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t suit you, jagi.”

“There are a lot of things that don’t suit me. Being here just happens to be one of them.”

“Jagi,”

“You could rectify everything by just sending me home. That would suit me very well.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” He growled.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” She sighed setting aside her won utensils and taking a sip of her tea. “Do I actually get free reign today, or should I assume free reign really just means meals in the dining room and walks around the garden with you?”

He leaned back in his chair debating whether or not he should release her onto the estate. The stubborn set of her shoulders told him that she would only keep up her passive aggressiveness would only continue if he made that his definition of free reign, but he had his ways of keeping her just as firmly under watch around the estate as she was in her rooms.

“Of course you’ll be given free reign of the estate, jagi, but you will have to have a guard with you at all times. For you own safety, of course.” A small smirk pulled up the corners of his mouth as he watched the frown overtake her features.

“A guard? You never mentioned anything about a guard.”

“I have my fair share of enemies. It’s for your own safety. Jungkook will accompany you while I’m not with you.”

And just like that her mask of detachment melted away replaced with a look of utter disbelief. “A babysitter. You’re giving me a babysitter?”

“For your own good, jagi.”

“It’s either a guard returning to your room. What’s it going to be, jagi?” He asked allowing himself a smile. It wasn’t a deal she would refuse, and he knew that.

“Fine, a babysitter then.”

“Excellent! This is Jungkook.” He said motioning to a young man who had only just entered the room, and Y/N had to stop and do a double take.

He was young, so very young. While he was tall and broad, clearly very strong, he was still so young. She wanted to sweep him up and take him out of here, far from Namjoon and his whole sordid business. She had been young when she’d gotten involved in this mess of a world, and it pained her to see someone so young here. It didn’t help that he had wide doe eyes that screamed of a kind soul.

“Jungkook, this is, Mrs. Kim.” Namjoon introduced motioning to the woman who was still staring at the young man in shock.

“I’m not your wife.” She snapped at him before turning a far kinder eye on the young man. “You can call me, Y/N. It seems will be spending a lot of time together.” The last part was said with an annoyed glance in Namjoon’s direction.

“Mrs. Kim, will be fine.” Namjoon groused.  

The poor boy was looking between the two of them with wide eyes unsure which of the two he should be listening to. Namjoon was his boss, but technically so was she. She was the lady of the house and would have far more contact with him on a day to day basis given his new job.

“You can call me whatever would make you the most comfortable.” She said gently, seeing the conflict on the poor boy’s face.  “Okay?”

He nodded gracing her with a smile that was too infectious not to return. They’d get along fine, but he would be a hindrance to her scoping out the gardens for a path of escape. But she should have expected this. Namjoon was always a step ahead it seemed. She’d have to find a way around him.  She’d have to play along for now.

“Well, as lovely as sitting her with you is, I think I’ll go explore. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had the time to see the house yet.” She smiled sarcasm layering each word as she stood from her chair. “Shall we, Jungkook?” She asked moving towards the door.

“Just a moment, jagi. There’s something I’d like to show you before you avoid me for the rest of the day.”

She paused turning to face him again. “I really don’t think that I can handle any more of your surprises. The overwhelming majority of them have been…” She stopped, searching for the right word. “Unpleasant for me. Besides you’re a very busy man. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’ll be working from home today, jagi.” He smirked watching her smile fall.

“How lovely.”

And at that, she had to admit defeat. There would be no avoiding him, not this time at least. She knew this was a probationary period. Namjoon didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, and she couldn’t really blame him for that, though it did make her life more difficult. She had a known history of betraying men in his position. She wouldn’t trust herself either if she was him, so she’d have to behave and avoid any suspicion of her plans of escape until Namjoon no longer suspected her of trying to do just that.

He stood up coming around the table to stand beside her, placing a firm hand on the small of her back. “Shall we, jagi.”

“If we have to.”  She sighed reluctantly allowing him to guide her through the hallways with Jungkook trailing behind like an oversized shadow.

They stopped outside of a set of doors made from a dark wood, almost black, and glass, and she had to turn to him in confusion.

“You wanted to show me a room?”

“It’s a room for you, jagi.” Namjoon explained. “You can think of it as a private parlor.”

She stared up at him trying to decide if he was serious or not. But she couldn’t find anything in his face to signal that he was anything but serious. “The last time you gifted me a room wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.”

He chuckled. “I think you’ll like this one much better.”

“You’re not planning on locking me in this one right?” It was unfortunately a rather real concern for her at this moment. She wasn’t sure what would set Namjoon off and have him send her back to her rooms for another stint of house arrest. “Because glass doors aren’t the most secure if that’s what you’re planning.”

“No. No one will be locking you in this room. It doesn’t have a lock, jagi.”

He opened the door revealing a small room the main focus of which was the shiny black baby grand situated within it bathed in the natural light that flooded the room from the windows that had a lovely view of the gardens. There were some comfortable looking chairs and an ottoman by the windows, and one wall was a set of shelves housing books and knick knacks. She hated to admit it, but she loved it.

“No one will bother you in this room without your permission.”

“Except you.” She pointed out dryly.

“Except me.” He agreed snaking an arm around her waist. “There is a library in the house of course, but these books are for you, for this room.”

She broke away from him her eyes fixed on the piano as she trailed her fingers across the keys.  “How did you know I played piano? That couldn’t have been in the file.”

“I have my ways.” He grinned watching her take a seat at the bench. “When you get bored, you fidget, jagi.”

“You knew I played piano because I fidget sometimes?” She asked looking up at him in disbelief.

He picked up one of her hands delicately playing with her fingers. “You’ll move your fingers in a pattern, like you’re playing a song only you can hear.” He explained allowing her to pull her hand away. “Do you like it?”

She wanted to say no if only to wipe the stupid grin off his face, but the truth was she loved it. She missed the feel of the keys beneath her fingers, and it would give her something to do. Namjoon hadn’t allowed her a phone or a computer to keep her occupied, for good reason. He wasn’t stupid, but it left her with fewer distractions than she would have liked in the house. She was living like some sort of Victorian house wife only with nicer amenities.

“It’s a beautiful instrument.” It wasn’t exactly agreeing, but it wasn’t disagreeing either.She refused to give him the satisfaction. But she did love the piano.

 “Is this a Bosendorfer?” She asked running a tentative finger over the name embossed above the keys in awe. “These cost a fortune.” She breathed out in disbelief, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It had to be $500,000, and that’s at the low end!”

She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that the man had paid a small fortune for a piano. While it was a top of the line instrument, she never would have paid that much for an instrument. She had never even been this close to piano this expensive. It was utterly insane to spend that much on a piano.

“Only the best for you.” He smiled only to receive a swift smack across the arm from her.

“Are you insane? How could you spend a small fortune on a piano?” The look of absolute incredulity on her face clearly conveyed just how stupid she found him, found this. “You could have gotten a Yamaha for a tenth of the price, and it still would have been a perfectly good instrument.” Standing on by the door Jungkook had to choke back his shock. Never had he seen anyone scold his hyung in such a way, let alone dare to lay a hand on him, and Namjoon let her. “I’m not a concert pianist. I don’t need a piano that costs more than my life is worth.”

She raised a hand to smack him again, but Namjoon snatched her by the wrist, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Never,” He hissed anger pouring out of him in waves. “Never say that again. Do you understand me?”

part 12

[utterlyinevitable]

Hurricane (Part 2)

Part 1

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.7k Warning: Nothing outright. The story is rated T+.  Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston. Edenbrook has been evacuated and some very different doctor’s end up seeking shelter together. 

Author’s Note: This was inspired by an anon prompt request for “protection”. I hope I did it justice! This is a multi part story.

________________________________________ 

It took the group of friends thirty minutes to gather all their things and pack it all into Ethan’s borrowed sedan. They’d all be lying if they said they weren’t terrified of crashing the luxury vehicle or leaving a scuff on the pristine black leather seats. Elijah’s mind raced with all the expletives and face contortions Dr. Ramsey could throw their way if something befell his property. 

With four hours and twenty six minutes until high tide Becca programmed the navigation for Naveen’s river-house and the friends carefully made their way through the torrential start of the storm and out of the city. 

The ride was relatively silent as they drove with caution. It wasn’t until they made it onto the near-empty highway that someone spoke the looming question in the air. 

“Are you and Ramsey back together?” Sienna asked from the backseat.  

Becca’s eyes widened. 

In the commotion she didn’t even think of what this excursion would look like to those outside of her and Ethan’s secluded little bubble. Becca herself didn’t even know what they were. They spent time together outside of work, sure. But does that mean they’ve been unknowingly dating for the last few months? 

What she did know was that Ethan Ramsey and Rebecca Lao were not officially dating, not now and never were.  

Becca looked straight ahead at the disappearing road before them, mulling over her next words carefully. 

“We were never together,” she dismissed so eloquently and added for good measure, “And we’re friends.” She habitually bit her lip in hopes they’d stop the inquisition. 

“Bec, he gave you his car.” Elijah piped in, his grip on the door handle loosening a bit as his thoughts were moved from the impending doom. 

Elijah and Sienna were the only two friends who had an inkling of what had perspired between Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Lao - they did in fact catch the former sneaking out of the apartment one morning last year. Ever since the two kept Becca’s secret and gleefully watched the two doctor’s interactions with a new and keen interest.  

Becca was quick to retort, “How else were we supposed to get to Naveen’s?”  

Sienna tried to stifle a giggle at how uncomfortable her best friend had become, “He also asked you to stay with him at Naveen’s.”

“He also said you guys could come. He’s concerned, is all.” Becca explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. To her this situation wasn’t as weird as they were making it out to be. If Ethan and Naveen were in a pinch of course she would lend a helping hand. The two older diagnosticians had become staples in her life over the last year and a half, and although she knew hospital politics meant most colleagues couldn’t comprehend their bond she was hoping her friends would. With a definitive nod she added, “Friends helping friends in their time of need.” 

Elijah egged once more, “So there’s nothing between you?” 

“We’re not dating, no.” 

What was between us? Becca thought to herself. 

Mutual respect? Definitely. An unconditional affinity for the other? Surely. Was it time to finally define their intentions? The jury’s still out. 

With a mischievous gleam in her eye Sienna knew this was going to be a very informative and eye-opening experience for everyone. 

***

After an hours drive and missing the hidden driveway nearly twice the group of friends finally made it to Naveen’s cabin. The rain was still consistently falling in large punishing splatters and the sky above loomed darker than before. The river was higher than she’d ever seen it, yet still so calm and accepting of the bullets colliding at its surface. 

Sienna wheeled Elijah into the foyer with nearly all of their bags while Becca disarmed the alarm with the code Ethan texted her. They removed all their wet clothes, leaving them on the designated hooks and shoe rack before dividing up the goods. 

“How many bedrooms are there?” the spritely doctor asked as she made sure all the food she packed was accounted for.  

“Three,” Becca explained, “Two down here. This one’s Naveen’s new room if I remember correctly.” She pointed to a door on the back far right wall just before the double doors leading to the den. “Then one more upstairs.”

She recalled how the old doctor had asked her and Landry to move his belongings from the upstairs master bedroom down to that one so it would be easier for him to move around. Back when he thought the phage therapy was futile and that he was dying.   

“Perfect,” Sienna squeaked. “Room for Naveen. One for me and Elijah. And one for you and Ramsey.” 

Becca scoffed at the thought of her and Ethan sharing the same bed with so many other eyes around. It took a while for Ethan to finally let her share his bed once again after giving her space in his life in the form of his second bedroom whenever she stayed over to work on cases or just enjoy his company. Events from the past year rolled through her mind at rapid speed, recalling all the times they’d lean on one another mentally, hold one another physically, and then Ethan would push her away emotionally. They were teetering on a fine line and Becca didn’t know if it was in her best interest to fall or continue trekking at a stagnant pace.  

“He’ll probably sleep on the couch in the den,” she told her friends in earnest.  

Sienna smirked knowingly, completely bemused by the whole conversation. There was simply no reason her best friend should know so much about the chief of medicine’s home or her boss’s habits if there wasn’t anything between them. Naveen is Ramsey’s most trusted friend and not even months of doctoring together could bring these intimately behavioral facts to light. 

The girls unpacked the food in Naveen’s narrow kitchen glad they brought more than necessary, odds are they would be held up here for a while. Meanwhile Elijah sat in the living room near the big bay window reading one of the comics he brought with him, the staging a bit too close together for him to move freely throughout the cabin. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Elijah called out, “wouldn’t the river flood too?”  

“Huh. I didn’t think about that,” Becca uttered, the wheels in her head now turning. Rivers do flood, lakes don’t. The river is probably connected to the bay… So why had they sought shelter here? She quickly stopped her thoughts and shrugged, “Seems like a question for Dr. Banerji though.” 

Sienna noticed the permanent furrow of worry between Elijah's eyes. Trying to console her friend she added, “It’s got to be safe if they’re taking refuge here.” 

Becca folded up the empty reusable bags that carted their food and moved to put them with their luggage still idling waiting by the front door. “Ethan definitely doesn’t want Naveen anywhere near a natural disaster after last year’s events.”  

“Doesn’t want you deep in one either.” Sienna tried desperately to hide the smile from her face. 

Elijah chuckled, “Becca is a natural disaster.” 

“A her-icane,” Sienna added with wit.  

Elijah continued, “Completely disobedient. Follows whims.”  

Sienna was so giddy in her addition of, “Breaking Ramsey down, wearing him thin.” 

“Hey!” Becca scolded them playfully. She knew they didn’t mean any harm and were only quoting one of her favorite songs back to her. However the irony wasn’t lost on her. 

“We know you don’t mean to be chaotic sometimes.” Sienna bounded over to her closest friend and wrapped her tiny arms around Becca. “We love you anyway.”

***  

An hour later they saw bright lights breaking through the fog and heard car doors slamming in the distance. Becca opened the front door to a soaking wet Naveen walking in first with a rambunctious Jenner on the lead. Ethan wasn’t far behind carrying his overnight bag and two coolers of food. 

“How was the drive?” she asked. 

“Uneventful, luckily,” Naveen responded with his signature fatherly smile. 

Sienna stood up and greeted, “Hi, Dr. Banerji. Lovely home you have here.” 

Ethan slipped off his coat and shoes and bounded into the kitchen to drop the things off without saying a word. 

“Please, Sienna, call me Naveen. You’re in my home, no need for formalities outside the hospital. That goes for you as well Elijah.”  

The smile that spread across the young doctor’s face was that of a kid who had just met his childhood hero. “I’m honored.” 

Naveen turned back to Becc, “Rebecca can you grab a towel from my bathroom please. Don’t want a wet dog running around.”  

“Oh, of course!” She scurried off to the other side of the house and grabbed the first towel she found in the downstairs en-suite. When she came back Jenner tried to jump at Becca but Naveen held the lead tightly, his glasses still clouded with raindrops. 

Becca grabbed the lead and motioned, “Go ahead, I’ll dry him off.” 

He removed the spectacles and smiled brightly at the woman he considered a daughter, “I’ll go help Ethan.”  

Beca threw the towel over Jenner’s wiggly body and knelt down to begin to dry him off. It was a feat. The pup was so excited to see her he kept jumping up and licking whatever part of her he could get at. The antics sent Becca into a fit of sing-song laughter. 

“I missed you too buddy,” she cooed. She looked straight into his elated amber eyes and asked, “What’ve you been up to?” He popped up and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” She brought the towel up to dry the underside of his neck and he lunged with another kiss. “Thank you.” Becca couldn’t help but return the favor, planting a nice big smooch to his soft cheek.  

“He’s so cute!” Sienna cried, kneeling down to share in the action.  

“Isn’t he?” Jenner wasn’t Becca’s dog but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a sense of motherly pride for the good boy.  

Sienna whispered in her ear, “Just like his owner.” 

“He’s cuter,” Becca said flatly as she rubbed behind his ears. “Better personality too.” 

Just then they heard that deep velvety baritone voice admonish, “Rookie, are you insulting my dog?” 

“Nope,” Becca chimed and leaned in to give Jenner another kiss on the nose.  

Sienna couldn’t help the giggle. 

After the food was settled away in the kitchen, Ethan and Naveen spread out the furniture in the main living space to make it more accessible for Elijah. Sienna sat on the rug by the coffee table completely enamored with Jenner, while Becca and Elijah finished the game of checkers they started moments before the older doctors’ arrival. 

“I’m making a meat lasagna for dinner, is that alright with everyone?” Ethan asked the eclectic group of medical professionals.  

They all agreed with a mix of nods, “yes” and “sounds good”. 

Sienna looked up to see the attending standing behind the rotated sofa with a look of apprehension drawn all over his features. He seemed like he was in a daze and she wondered what could possibly be plaguing his mind. “Do you need any help, Dr. Ramsey? Becca and I would be more than happy to lend a hand.” 

Ethan shook his head slowly, “Thank you for the offer, but please keep the old man company.” He took one quick sweep of the room as if he was taking in the physical symptoms of a patient, trying to diagnose how these next few days will play out.   

In his absence, Naveen and the young residents spoke about the weather and how they seem to be getting on in their second year, and what hobbies they had besides working. Death's door gave Naveen an appreciation for all the small things in life and now he made sure he gave ample time to his other passions, such as painting, fishing and reading. Noting how Naveen only owned a small television and not many movies, Elijah took it upon himself to quiz the man on his imperative film knowledge. 

Already knowing which way this conversation was going Becca opted to cater, “I’ll see if Ramsey needs help.” She stood up and left Sienna to mediate the depth of the conversation. 

There in the middle of the tiny kitchen was Ethan staring blankly into a pot of tomato sauce as if he was looking for a deeper meaning to his worries, and a dish towel draped over his shoulder. Becca leaned on the wooden door frame and took in the sight of the man she’s seen cook on many occasions. This time was different. The motions and methodology to his recipe didn’t seem to soothe him like usual. He was standing as straight as possible, his shoulders tense under his white button-down, and from the side she could see the three lines of perplexity etched into his forehead.  

“You okay?” she asked quietly from her position.  

He didn’t need to look at her to know her light brown eyes had darkened over with concern. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied as he intently stirred his sauce.  

“Seem a little on edge.” Becca pushed herself off the wall and closed the distance between them. She could now fully see what Ethan had been preparing - a large pot of tomato sauce, minced beef already seasoned and cooked through sitting on a back burner, a tray and cheeses laid out on the counter to his left. She was so close to him, her chest a nudge away from pressing itself against his side.  

Out of the corner of his right eye he let himself admire the short brunette and the way she was this close and still smelled like sweet freesia after a long day and the rain. “I assure you I am fine.” 

Her eyes darted up and caught him staring, a small smile begging to shine just for him. She moved ever so much closer, letting her left hand fall to the small of Ethan’s back and her head rest lightly on his upper arm. “This is weird, isn’t it?” she paused before clarifying “Them being here?” 

Without hesitation Ethan sighed, “God, yes.” His free hand moved briskly to rub down his face. “I didn’t think - I- I’m glad we could help. It feels…” he stumbled over his words and Becca finished for him, no doubt in her mind they were feeling the same way about the situation;

“Foreign?” 

He nodded once, “Like I’ve stepped into someone else's life.”  

“What?” Becca pulled her body away from his, obviously taken aback by his admission. To her the situation just felt unfamiliar and scary that what they tried so hard to protect could now be out in the open. But his choice of words made her feel less than, like Ethan didn’t want to be there with her or her friends, or even make any effort at curating a semblance of a normal relationship.  

Ethan moved away from her and to the counter. “Stir the sauce,” he commanded. 

Becca picked up the wooden spoon from where he left it in the pot, watching him intently. 

Ethan grabbed a knife and began slicing a ball of mozzarella. Becca opened her mouth to say something but he was quicker, “I can handle you, me and Naveen. That’s a bubble I don’t mind,” he began to explain. “I don’t know how I feel about letting your friends into my business.” 

She wanted to reach out for him but knew leaving the sauce to burn would create a whole other world of problems in an already delicate situation. “You can trust them. I do, with my life,” she said sweetly, trying to convey years of gratitude in just a few words. When he didn’t respond she added, “At any rate they know there’s something between us and just want us to be happy.” 

He suddenly stopped his movements and gave her a side eye, silently asking if she told them of their situation. He knew she would never break his trust but he needed the confirmation - he needed to be sure nothing was hanging out there and on the line. 

Becca shook her head in reassurance. 

His shoulders slouched briefly as he brought his attention back to the cheese at hand. 

She let a few moments pass before saying, “Be yourself, Ethan. That’s all any of us ask of you.”  

________________________________________

A/N: Really disappointed in myself for not adding Bryce into the mix. I’d live for some Ethan/MC/Bryce jealousy angst. Some other story I guess.. 😞

Taglist: @ohchoices​​​ @dulceghernandez​​​​ @aylamreads​​​ @binny1985​​​​ @ramseysno1rookie​​​​ @interobanginyourmom​​​​ @queencarb​​​​ @perriewinklenerdie​​ @rookiefromedenbrook​​​ @eramsey28​​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​​ @heauxplesslydevoted​​​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​​​ @purpledragonturtles​​​ @ramseyandrys​​​​ @ermidc​​​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​​​ @doilooklikeiknow​​ @overwhelminglyaquarius​​ @drethanramslay​

[aion-rsa]

Invincible Episode 7 Improves Upon Its Already Great Source Material

https://ift.tt/3dGH4U1

This article contains spoilers for Invincible episode 7.

Amazon’s animated adaptation of Robert Kirkman and Cory Walker’s comic Invincible was always a great idea. The property has just about everything that streaming services and their audiences are looking for currently: superheroes, ultraviolence, and jaw-dropping twists. 

One big question facing the series, however, was how could one show possibly fit in all the story of the comic’s lengthy 144-issue run? Invincible episode 7, “We Need to Talk,” is the first season’s penultimate installment and it reveals how the show is set to approach this logistical challenge. With so many comic book issues of plot to get through, Invincible seems perfectly happy to accelerate through that plot as efficiently as possible. To that end, “We Need to Talk” features a truly staggering number of climactic moments.

This might actually be the most charmingly chaotic and jam-packed episode of TV this year (at least before next week’s finale). So much happens in “We Need to Talk” that it runs the risk of overwhelming the viewer. With that in mind, let’s break down the important plot points of this hour and examine the major ways in which they differ from (and even improve upon) the comic.

Robot’s True Identity

The reveal that the entity known as “Robot” isn’t who he claims to be might be the most shocking Invincible twist thus far. And that’s saying a lot for a show whose first episode concludes with the story’s Superman equivalent straight up murdering the rest of his Justice League.

That Robot (Zachary Quinto) is really a malformed genius named Rudolph Conners isn’t a surprise to comic book readers, but its positioning this early in Invincible’s story is a surprise. Robot’s work with the Mauler Twins to create a new body for himself doesn’t happen until after the events of Omni-Man’s confrontation with Mark in the comics (more on that later). The show, however, shrewdly decides to present this moment in the same episode as Omni-Man’s fall – just so there’s never really a moment for viewers to catch their breath. 

But now the truth has finally arrived. Robot, the orange hunk of metal with a fixedly bemused expression, is actually a machine being operated remotely by Rudolph Conners. Rudolph, or Rudy, is a small, damaged man whose body isn’t capable of surviving Earth’s environment. For many years Rudy was content to exist in his own life-giving tank of fluids while operating his superheroic “Robot” remotely. Everything changed, however, when he met the hero known as Monster Girl.

Rudy couldn’t help but identify with Monster Girl (Grey Griffin), a fellow soul who has made the best of a flawed body. Everytime Monster Girl transforms into a monster, her human form de-ages several more weeks. Theoretically at some point Monster Girl will become an infant and then waste away into nothingness. Before any of that happens, Rudy wants to fix her…and he wants to fix his own broken body so that the pair can be together.

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To that end, Rudy sprung the mad genius villain team The Mauler Twins from prison to create a cloned body for him to transfer his consciousness into. What makes this whole thing even stranger is that the genetic material Rudy chose for his new body belongs to his Teen Team and Guardians of the Globe colleague Rex Splode. The new Rudy appears to be played by Rex Splode actor Jason Mantzoukas with his voice altered to sound younger. 

Does that mean Zachary Quinto is no longer a part of the series? Let’s certainly hope not as he may have been the best performer of the entire cast. And why did Rudy choose Rex’s DNA (and without Rex’s consent, it must be said)? Because Rex is hot, basically. Rudy chose a human form that Monster Girl was already comfortable flirting with. 

This is…a lot. And the fact that Rudy has to introduce himself to his teammates while they’ve all gathered for an “apocalyptic event” just adds to the madness. But what of The Mauler Twins? The disappointment of Rudy’s double-crossing doesn’t last long. For, after Rudy is forced to abandon his efforts to reincarcerate the Mauler Twins to return to the Guardians home base, the twins get back to their important task at hand. And that leads to the return of another important Invincible character…

The Immortal is Immortal After All

Back in Invincible episode 1, Mark Grayson’s dad Nolan a.k.a. Omni-Man (J.K. Simmons) made short work of the Guardians of the Globe. Darkwing? Dead. War Woman? Dead. The Immortal? De….wait a minute. How can someone called “The Immortal” die? 

Well, it turns out that death for The Immortal (still voiced by Ross Marquand) is only temporary. Omni-Man removed The Immortal’s head, which is pretty much universally lethal across all genre stories. But The Mauler Twins theorized that if The Immortal’s head were returned to his body, he would spring back to life. 

Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened once The Immortal’s noggin was reattached. Unfortunately for The Mauler Twins, their dreams of forming any sort of alliance with the resurrected hero are quickly dashed as he immediately flies off to confront the man who killed him. 

Omni-Man v. Cecil Stedman

And that takes us to Omni-Man. In the comic, Omni-Man’s confrontation with The Immortal is what leads Mark Grayson (Steven Yeun) to discover that he’s got a Darth Vader situation on his hands. The show borrows that moment from the comic because any time you have the opportunity to make a character watch his father tear a Wolverine-looking dude in half, you’ve got to take it. That comic book moment is surprisingly abrupt though. In one panel Omni-Man is doing his usual Omni-Man thing and saving a group of citizens from a faulty roller coaster and in the next panel, The Immortal is all over his ass.

The Amazon Prime series dramatically improves on what is already a pretty great moment simply by drawing it out and building serious tension. Nolan’s wife Debbie (Sandra Oh) and the entire Global Defense Agency led by Cecil Stedman (Walton Goggins) are already well aware of Nolan’s treachery and have decided to finally take action. In speaking to Den of Geek and other outlets prior to Invincible’s premiere, Kirkman (who’s onboard as a writer and producer for this adaptation) revealed that Cecil Stedman would be getting an expanded role earlier on in Invincible’s story. 

“Cecil Stedman is a character that we get to know a little earlier in the show and definitely we get to do more with him,” he said. “I think that’s a lot of fun. There’s definitely some differences to his character and working with Walton Goggins on him has been great.”

Cecil really is a fascinating tool for Invincible. Many superhero stories have a Jim Gordon-style government liaison for its heroes to interact with. This person usually represents the interests of the planet’s “normal” citizen and is particularly impressive for being able to cut it in the world of the super-powered. By having Debbie and the GDA uncover Nolan’s guilt first, Invincible creates a wonderful opportunity to display both Cecil’s competence and depict the absolute horror of we puny humans trying to keep a super-powered god in check. 

Many times throughout Invincible episode 7, Cecil admits that there is nothing they can do to stop Nolan. The best they can do is slow him down for a bit until Mark is able to intervene. The first roadblock that Cecil presents is the explosion of an entire suburban city block with Nolan at its epicenter (R.I.P. Donald). 

“Best it will do is maybe knock him on his ass for an hour or two,” Cecil says. Then when the smoke clears to reveal an unharmed Omni-Man, Cecil grimly adds “Or maybe not hurt him at all.”

Cecil then throws the “hammer” at Nolan, which is a powerful blast from a weaponized satellite.

“$400 billion for the world’s most expensive nosebleed,” Cecil quips when Nolan takes the weapon out with ease. 

Then we get a sense of how many moral shortcuts Cecil is willing to take to keep the Earth safe. Mad scientist D.A. Sinclair’s (Ezra Miller) wounds from his confrontation with Invincible haven’t even healed yet but Cecil already has him using his evil technology for noble purposes. Sinclair’s “Reanimen” technology is now being used to reanimate recently dead U.S. soldiers, who are sent in to slow down Omni-Man. Unfortunately, that is also unsuccessful.

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Finally, Cecil is forced to head out into the field armed with nothing but a teleporter to confront Omni-Man himself. When that inevitably fails to slow Nolan down, the GDA sends a monster that Nolan already conquered, only this time it’s been robbed of its weaknesses and fear. And that’s where Mark finds his father, just in time for The Immortal to arrive and deliver one hell of a surprise. 

There’s something to be said for the suddenness of the comic’s Omni-Man moment with Mark. Mark witnessing his dad’s evil act truly comes out of nowhere even though we know it’s inevitable as Nolan has been practicing this conversation all issue. 

What the show does with the moment is a masterstroke, however. By centering the focus on the human characters of Invincible’s world, we get a chilling sense of just how terrifying this all is. Omni-Man’s heel turn doesn’t just have personal implications for Mark, it means that Earth’s unbeatable protector now seems to hate Earth. More terrifying than that is that the only person we think can defeat him is Mark Grayson…who, it must be said, has done nothing but had his ass absolutely handed to him by lesser enemies over and over again for the past three episodes.

Amber and Mark

It probably feels anticlimactic to address Mark and Amber’s lover’s spat after breaking down Omni-Man’s reign of terror. But it’s necessary to see how far-reaching the changes (and in this case improvements) are in episode 7 in comparison to its original text. 

Mark and Amber’s relationship thus far has been all about frustration. Mark is facing an annoying problem with a seemingly easy solution. Amber (Zazie Beetz) is upset with him because he is absent in their burgeoning relationship. He’s absent in their burgeoning relationship because he’s a superhero. Therefore, the quickest, easiest solution to this dilemma is to tell her that he’s a superhero. 

So in this episode, that’s exactly what Mark does. He gets suited up and flies right through Amber’s window to deliver the exciting news. The problem is – she’s not that excited.

“Ugh, I know you’re a superhero,” Amber says. “I’m not an idiot, I figured it out weeks ago.”

This is not how things go down in the comic. That version of Amber is a bit more…let’s say “bubbly” and when confronted with the fact that Mark has lied to her for weeks she responds with an excited “My boyfriend is a superhero?!?!?”

The show, however, is smart to not let Mark off the hook so easily. Of course Amber knew that Mark is Invincible. Because, like she says, she’s not an idiot. Anyone who spends an inordinate amount of time with him is bound to figure it out sooner than later. So what Mark thought was a problem with an easy solution becomes yet another difficult lesson on his path to maturation. 

“I think that Amber is important in terms of holding Mark accountable,” Beetz told reporters prior to the show’s premiere. “Mark is still struggling with what his identity as a super person is. And she shows him that (powers) are not what make you good or special ultimately, it’s what’s in your character.”

It turns out that the people close to you don’t appreciate being lied to. Though human beings all look like particularly vulnerable ants from Mark’s perspective high up in the sky, we certainly don’t appreciate being treated like insects to be protected and manipulated by the powerful among us. 

Mark and Amber’s relationship is an excellent indication that nothing will come easy for Mark Grayson on this show. Every decision has an equal and opposite reaction. It’s important that he learns that lesson before he enters into what is sure to be the most stressful and morally confusing moment of his life next week.

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Invincible’s season finale will be available to stream Friday, April 30 on Amazon Prime.

The post Invincible Episode 7 Improves Upon Its Already Great Source Material appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3aBaalL

[whats-the-story-tc]

9th of October, 2020

"The One with the Cards Laid Bare"

[INCREDIBLY LONG, SORRY FOR CLOGGING THE TAG]

There were very tense energies in our classroom before V's double class. We already knew she'd cried today, we knew where she'd be working from other classes, so we all knew what would come, and it still was bad. One of the boys said he heard that she hopes we're not all angry at her and that we won't hate her for her decision. There was not an inch of anger or hatred in any of us, just heartbreak. We knew how much we'd cry seeing her leave. We were afraid of this goodbye. But it had to come eventually. The last class she'll ever teach. The last two lessons she'll ever have.

She was late. Only a couple minutes, but seeing she's always on time, or even a bit early, it was worrying. I walked outside to find her, and when I did, I saw her, coming up the stairs with two boys from the class, fresh back from lunch. Immediately as she saw me, she raised her index finger and said: "No." I didn't really understand it, until she continued: "I'm not gonna cry. I'm trying to go at least two minutes without crying." My heart was in shambles, and nothing even happened yet.

She started by telling us an e-mail is not how she wanted us to find out. She wanted to tell us herself, but not until today, probably not until the end of class, even though she's known for quite a long time she wanted to leave. She didn't tell us, because she wanted these last days not to be chaotic, so we could still focus and do our best in class. There were signs, though. And I should have known. There's one in basically every post I wrote this year. Funny thing is, when I told you about how she was with the girl from the other class and I thought something was up, it was only my gut feeling. She hadn't told them yet. Only in the last 20 minutes of that double class.

She also told us who will be replacing her, just to get the professional part quickly over with. V said she expects us to treat them fairly, even if she won't be here to check on us. We keep this promise. Most of the time, it works.

Being a teacher doesn't pay well, and here, in our country, the profession itself is not respected the way it should be. 10 years of experience in the field means nothing, she said. The new education system is horrible, unbearable, and she's had enough of feeling like she's in a toxic relationship. Not with us, with teaching. She said she used to feel very anxious when she got here, and by now I know what she hadn't told us in that moment, that she still doesn't feel good thinking about school. She has to leave for her own sake, even though she feels incredibly guilty about it. Even though she'll miss us.

She said, through tears, constantly stopping to take a deep breath and gather her thoughts, that teaching is something she was planning to do her whole life long, but she has to step back now. Even though she has "the seniors, standing before their graduation exams, [us], whom [she's] bonded with", she can't do it anymore. And when one of the girls asked her if she really did love us, she said: "Would I have stayed so long if I didn't?"

We spent long minutes in class discussing the education system, and when I said I didn't know about something that supposedly came from the weaker one of the theatre universities here at home, V was surprised that I hadn't read it. She called me a nickname again, a new one. I've been babygirl and I've been fairy bug before, but not once have I been the name that translates to "my life". Spanish speakers, it's like when you guys say mi vida to someone you love. That's what V called me. I don't remember her ever having called someone that in class.

Between classes, Bandana Friend, who was sick, joined us via video call to speak to V, as she really wanted to say goodbye, at least like this. I stood right beside V as they spoke, out of the camera's sight, unlike my classmates, constantly goofing off in the background, making both V and my friend laugh a little. As I stood there, I couldn't help but marvel at V's eyes from up close, in the light. I don't think I've ever seen a more enchanting eye colour before, and I find nearly every pair of eyes I see pretty. Seriously, I wasn't overexaggerating in any of my posts. If you once catch her eye, you won't know when to stop looking.

After a while, though, my classmates got a bit much, still during the call, and there I was, gathering bravery and doing something I've never done before. I stroked V's arm for a second or two, like I've wanted to so many times before, to show sympathy. She didn't even look at me, didn't even flinch, she probably knew who was touching her. And, seeing how unresponsive, how calm she was about it, I couldn't help but think: "Is this something I could've done this whole time?"

Before the second class with her started, Debate Friend called her a derivative of her first name (though she made sure to say Miss with it), and V just told her not to be rude. Hours pass, and V lets her (and us all, indirectly) call her by her first name, which is something we're still adapting to, but I'm rushing too far ahead, let's slow down a little.

The second class went well, she wasn't crying anymore, on the contrary. We laughed a lot, she told us her honest opinion on a lot of us, who asked her what she thinks of them, and gave advice if needed. I didn't ask. I figured that if she wants to tell me something, she will. Then a very crazy chain of events happened.

She looked like she was gonna tear up again, and I couldn't sit and watch anymore. I stood up and walked right in front of her, not daring to ask for a hug, but hoping she'll get the message with arm gestures. It took her a bit, but when she did, she couldn't help but yell something that I would translate to: "[Specs] is jumping me!". The word she used here is something usually used in a romantic or flirty context. (Translation was never my forte.) You can probably imagine the laughter, and also my face as I realise that not even on her last day could she go without sassing me at least once.

But then. Oh, then. The next thing I hear as I turn towards her is as she says: "C'mere, Little Me." and before I know it, I find myself sobbing in her arms again, and thinking about how this happened. She seemed taken aback by or uncomfortable with the comparison the last time we spoke about it in March, before the quarantine. When did she accept it, or how? Now as I re-read that post, as I'm writing this one... could the turning point have been me calling her my sister? I had so many questions, but all I could do was cry.

Class was nearing the end when I finally managed to stop sobbing and ask her one thing I've been meaning to for ages: what her tattoos mean. "How much should I go into detail?" she asked with sparkling eyes. She wasn't even surprised I knew about the two on her shoulder blades — but I was, when she motioned with her fingers she actually had three. Before telling me about them, she jokingly said something along the lines of "I'm not gonna strip for you" (as all 3 are covered by clothes), and me being me, I immediately threw my hands up, face probably red, and said: "Nononononono, obviously [not]!"

Funny thing is, the two on her shoulder blades are actually quotes from the last book she had us read, the last thing we discussed with her in class on Wednesday. So this is what she meant when she said she had personal connections to it! After she told me which parts they're from, she jokingly added "Very English teacher [of me]...", to which I just laughed and responded "Yeah, very."

By the time I'm writing this, I already had to listen to the headmaster, one of V's replacements, as he bragged about knowing of these two tattoos. Heh. That's cute. It's still 2-1 to me, sir. Not only have I seen them partially before, which you said you haven't, but I also know about the one she most definitely never told you about. And the one I'm most definitely not gonna tell you guys about. Sorry. Some things just have to stay between V and I.

"Also, no one noticed that this is the first time since I came here that I've worn a band T-shirt!" she complains to me jokingly. "Well, I was used to your graphic shirts, so I didn't think much of it," I reply. She's very enthusiastic in telling me what exactly is on it, without me even asking. This woman put on a shirt that essentially disses Christianity — in a religious school. Unbelievable. I love her.

Somewhere around that time, I asked her to let me walk with her to the teacher's lounge, Bookworm Friend convinced her to take a photo with our squad (which had basically everyone I know, my own father included, telling me we look identical), I stroked her arm again (I no longer remember what the reason was, but she still must've felt it pretty natural, seeing she didn't react), and like 3/4 of the class came to hug V goodbye. Meanwhile, another girl I've been classmates with for ages, but never particularly liked, hugged me to try and comfort me. It caught me off-guard, but I've never felt more like our class is a community.

People from other classes came to talk as she walked outside, but I waited until she was alone, and most probably so was she. She promised, likely knowing that I wanted to talk privately, so we didn't leave until it was just the two of us left.

"Come, Little Me," she said again, as we got going. She liked this phrase so much that she repeated it in English. "Mini Me." Then I found out why the English. Turns out, her native English speaker boyfriend, who she name-dropped like it's second nature, as if she's telling a story to a friend (she's so whipped for him, it's adorable), knows all about this comparison, and had a good laugh at it. He knows who I am. I was important enough to mention at home to her boyfriend, something I always wondered about but never dared to ask her. Tears.

No, really, actual tears. I've told you before, I don't support confessing love to your teachers while you're still their student (I'd wait a year after graduation if I were you), and especially if you're underage, and I myself wouldn't do it either. And I didn't. My confession was a little different. My voice breaking from tears, I told her the one thing I wanted her to know most. "This is not how I wanted to tell you, but I've never got more (in life) from anyone..." The answer? The old classic. "Come on."

"[Specs], you really need to get more self-confidence" she tells me, as that's about the only thing I still need to get me where I want to be. "I have to," I reply. And I do. I'm trying. Funny thing, self-confidence. It comes up in both the first and the last conversation we have as student and teacher.

We get up, stand at the top of the stairs. Soon it's time to go. The memories get a bit hazy here, but I'll try my best.

She tells me she expected me to react this way, and was afraid of it, seeing what happened in January. I immediately corrected her. In January, I cried because seeing my classmates hurting and my teachers clueless and lost hurt me, whereas this time, it's personal. She doesn't say anything. I think she understands. I ask her if she'll be happy in this new situation, and she says she hopes so. Only time will tell.

"I probably won't be available at a moment's notice all the time, but if you ever need me, you'll find me," she reassures me.

My English (language) teacher walks outside in that moment, and starts talking to V like I'm not even there. V and I are both a bit uncomfortable with the interruption, but the teacher seems pretty fine with it. Fucking hell, woman, insensitivity much?

Anyway. When she's gone is probably the moment we realise this is it. That this is where it's over.

She reaches out, both verbally and physically, and there we are, hugging again, both of us stroking the other's back in an effort to try and comfort the other. "You always have your friends," she tells me. "Get a good rest," she adds somewhere during that moment. Then we pull away.

I don't reach out, I don't dare to. As soon as I step out of her arms, it's her, who takes a hold of my hand. Not clinging, just a gentle, meaningful hold. I have no idea what she was saying, as I focused on the fact that we were only bloody holding hands in plain sight — and another thing.

V's eyes were red, and full of tears.

She hadn't shed a single tear for the past 20 minutes or so. Yet there she stands before me, physically still holding on to me, and crying. That was all me. And all of a sudden, I understand everything. I no longer have the guts to deny that she loved me all this time.

That's where it ends. No grandiose confessions, nothing loud, nothing overly passionate. Just a scene of two women standing hand-in-hand, showing their true colours and not holding anything back for the first time since they've met, before Miss V, the teacher, forever disappears behind a glass door.

These two women, mentioned above, are the ones who laid the foundation for two friends, two equals to meet anew. They are just getting to know each other all over again as we speak, setting the tone for something to start that could possibly last a long time. And I don't think there's anything that could feel better than that.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[polyamorous-mysme]

Really fucked up that i got 3 asks ten days ago and literally didn’t get notified about them until 1am this morning. fucking bullshit. 

anyway did y’all know in korea christmas is more akin to valentines day than western xmas. i didn’t but.

Jumin x V x Zen

“Have the documents for the bistro deal been dealt with yet?” the Chairman’s voice crackled through the speakerphone, the sound of papers rustling in the background.

“Yes, sir. They’ll be posted first thing in the morning. Jaehee will be taking care of it on her way home tonight.

“Tonight? Don’t she and that lady friend of hers have dinner plans tonight? I know Christmas Eve is less chaotic than Christmas, after all, I figured Jaehee to be the type to prefer that.”

“Yes, they have a reservation at eight. My gift to the two of them this year.” Jumin knew, in fact, that both had devised separate proposal plans for the evening, to the pure delight and entertainment of the other RFA members who’d agreed in secret not to let either of them know about the other’s respective plan despite numerous chat rooms helping them plan speeches and dinner and other details. Though, Jumin didn’t think his father needed to be privy to that piece of information. 

“At somewhere nice, I hope. That woman deserves a nice night out, after the last few months.”

The interest Jumin’s father had in Jaehee wasn’t new. He still held hope that Jumin would follow in his footsteps, even down to sleeping with his secretary, though he���d never say so out loud.

“And you, I hope. You have Christmas plans?”

“Yes, dinner with friends tonight, as well. And a small gathering afterwards with the RFA. I should probably get going myself. My car is waiting.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Merry Christmas, Jumin.”

“And to you as well. Merry Christmas.”

He hung up the phone with one hand, the other holding his half-tied tie’s position around his collar. It was a simple royal blue, small silver polka-dots. Zen liked it best for the season. He said it looked like snow. He conceded to a small, corner-mouthed smile at the memory, where Zen’s slender fingers grazed the front of the tie before loosening it to remove it from Jumin’s neck, leaning in for a kiss as he did so. His other hand had reached around Jumin’s waist, soft hand gripping it lightly to tug himself closer. 

That was last Christmas. The three of them -- Jumin, V, and Zen -- hadn’t made real plans due to the storm that had taken the power in the penthouse for the night. They’d stayed in, eating the cake Jumin’s chef had prepared the night before and sipping mulled wine in the candlelight. Despite the lack of grand planning, it had been quite romantic -- perhaps not as romantic as a double proposal, but it remained one of Jumin’s favorite evenings in living memory. 

He slipped the three envelopes with Saeyoung, Saeran, and Yoosung’s gifts in the pocket of his suit jacket. The three of them were expected at the cafe after dinner for the Christmas party to exchange gifts and listen to carolers in the plaza. Obviously, congratulations were in order for the future engagement, but V and Zen were in charge of that. 

Even now, only half an hour from their dinner reservations, Jumin’s heart ached at the thought of them. He longed for them every moment they were out of his sight, craved their conversation and laughter every second he wasn’t listening to it. Christmas held a special place in their relationship, after all, as it was three years ago tomorrow that the three had made their relationship official and come clean to the other members of the RFA. Two years since the first real disastrous fight of the relationship. A year since the favorite night of Jumin’s life.

Three years of the most love and worship Jumin had ever given anybody, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

V, of course, was early. He was seated on a bench outside the restaurant, listening to the bustling sounds of the city, feeling the soft, cold flakes of snow fall on his upturned cheeks, completely at peace. While not particularly religious himself anymore, Christmas remained his favorite. He loved the spring and summer, of course, but he took the winter months as a chance to reset, to reevaluate what he wanted from the next year to come. And, of course, the holiday itself served as a reminder of how much his life had changed over the last few years. 

Though he’d be terrified to say it in as many words, that Christmas three years ago, and the two men he’d shared it with, genuinely saved his life. He’d been quietly setting all of his affairs in order for months, ready to simply disappear with the end of the year, no plans to return. No escape plan. He’d listed Yoosung and Jumin as the trustees to most of his assets, with instructions to the RFA on what to do with the rest. He’d written a letter to Saeyoung to be delivered posthumously, as well, with explanations and plans and last known whereabouts. 

He really hadn’t expected to make it to the new year, until that Christmas. Until the explosion of vulnerability that had been building for months finally forced him to face his issues head-on, to ask for help. Even now, he could be quite the locked box, but it was Zen and Jumin that made him feel safe enough to entrust the key to someone else rather than hide it away in yet another box. 

“Well, hey there, stranger. You out here all by yourself?” a musical voice asked, interrupting V’s dramatic reflection. 

It took quite a few moments for V’s vision to focus onto the character, as focused as it could get, anyway. He knew who it was before that, of course, Zen’s sarcasm was uniquely recognizable, even in a crowded stadium.

“Actually,” V started, stretching his neck, “I’m waiting for a very handsome man to sweep me off my feet. Maybe you’ve seen him around. He’s the most beautiful man on the planet, about six feet tall. A bit self-absorbed, but his musical talent is unparalleled.” V could sense the smirk on Zen’s face, feel the air stir as he stood a little taller with the praise. “His name is Jumin Han. Have you seen him?”

He heard Zen’s melodramatic gasp at the insult, and stood to embrace him, wrapping his arms around Zen’s neck and giving him a small kiss to the cheek. “Really, though, have you seen Jumin? I expected him here first. You, after all, are chronically late to anything remotely important.”

“He’s right here, you two. Sorry, there was an accident on the road.”

At the sound of Jumin’s voice, V broke away from Zen to turn and smile. Jumin, quite frankly, sounded exhausted. It always worried V, when he had big projects and deals to navigate at work that took up months of free time and proper sleep, but Jumin wasted no time in moving closer to the other two men and giving them an entirely appropriate embrace. Fair enough, of course, one could never be sure of what opportunist was around to gather the gossip on three fairly well-known men.

“An accident? I’d blame it on my astounding beauty and rockin’ good looks, but according to V here, that’s your area of expertise now,” Zen huffed. V might not be able to make out the finer details in sight anymore, but it didn’t take eyes to tell Zen was gearing up for the eyeroll of a century.

“Well, Astounding Beauties, I have been sitting out in the cold and wet for far too long waiting on your fashionably late selves. Shall we go inside?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zen truly did admire Jumin’s taste. In most things, at least, it was impeccable. Fine dining was definitely no exception. When Jumin made reservations, they rarely ate at the same place twice, at least not together, yet somehow the experience never failed to exceed expectations. 

Their real plans didn’t fall through, so much as got transferred. When Jumin heard Jaehee and MC had planned their proposals on Christmas, he immediately called the other restaurant to alter the reservation as a gift to them. Zen never would have expected it from the Jumin of three or four years ago, or perhaps even the Jumin before this year, but lately Jumin seemed to have melted into quite the romantic. He insisted that a proposal was much more worthy of the experience, and he had no shortage of strings to pull to find another. It gave Zen an odd mix of pride, awe, and sentimental mush to see how much effort Jumin had personally put into the night, for both V and Zen, and Jaehee and MC. 

Zen never put much stock into Christmas before. His family would always attend a Christmas service together growing up, and he’d done it the years he lived alone, but he’d never done the big romance aspect of it before.

Well, not until V and Jumin, at least. That Christmas three years ago, it was like someone had given him glasses, corrected his vision. The whole ordeal sharpened into focus, and Zen finally understood why it was considered such a romantic holiday, why his parents would go out to dinner and come home flushed and laughing and more in love than he’d ever seen them. They’d give him and his brother a to-go box with two perfect pieces of Christmas cake, even though they’d never get home until hours after their usual bedtime, and they’d all sit in the kitchen laughing and making jokes long into the night. Now, those nights no longer seemed like a slightly better than average night, they were full of love and care Zen hadn’t seen or experienced anywhere else, until three years ago.

Last year, they hadn’t gone out or exchanged gifts or anything, but it was still the best night of Zen’s life. He hadn’t said it at the time, but the simple pleasure of sipping a warm drink, sitting in the candlelight talking and laughing and telling stories had meant more to him than any fancy dinner or gift. They spent the night completely present with each other, no distractions, no work, as though they’d found themselves on their own little planet, completely untethered to Earth and its day-to-day, and had fallen asleep in a tangled mess on the floor as the fire slowly died. 

He’d have settled to have done it again this year, but Jumin felt as though he needed to make up for the sorry excuse for dinner he’d made last year. That, of course, and the party afterwards. Zen was looking forward to hearing the story of Jaehee and MC’s accidentally joint proposals, drinking champagne, and seeing Yoosung and the twins for the first time in a while. 

Mostly, though, it was the look V had given him while cracking his joke earlier. It was the way Jumin’s entire body seemed to have been relieved of ten tons of weight as soon as he laid his eyes on the two of them together. V’s small peck still burned on his cheek, just like it was the first and not the thousandth. At the end of the day, Zen didn’t care if it was in a crowded restaurant, a room full of friends, or on the thick carpet on Jumin’s hardwood floors in front of the fire while the world around them was buried in snow, Zen was most at peace, most loved and loving, most humbled and worshiped in the presence of the two men he’d bore his soul to three years ago, nearly to the date. 

“Zen, are you coming or not?” V’s voice called from the door of the restaurant. His lips were red, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes wild with anticipation and the remnants of laughter. Zen could see Jumin waiting inside through the door, his dark eyes peering around V’s head to look at him, one smug rich boy eyebrow cocked and the corner of his mouth turned upwards. 

“No, the two of you don’t even need me for my looks anymore. What use could I possibly have for you inside?” he mocked, though his feet had already begun walking, one arm outstretched to grab the door from V. catching their collective reflection in the door window as he did so.

Well, if nothing else, he could agree that Jumin had impeccable taste.

[helgabatwrittings]

You and Me Against the World, M’lady

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014643/chapters/60632809

Hi, I’m back!! And with a prompt for day 2: Stargazing, for @ladynoirjuly2020 .

As always, I want to tag @sassykittynoir , @miraculouslyinloveagain and @smileytrinity, you guys inspire me so much to write, I hope you like this! In fact, I hope everyone likes this xD! Let me know what you think!

                                                            ***

Patrol was by far the highest moment in Adrien’s week. Both he and Ladybug were getting overwhelmed by the crazy amount of schoolwork, on top of Akuma attacks and their extracurricular activities, and so, and for Adrien’s misery, their nightly meetings had to be cut short to once a week. Nevertheless, Adrien would take the most out of it, every minute that he spent with his lady was precious, he couldn’t give himself the luxury of wasting them.

Today, however, he was exhausted! His tiredness could be explained by an accumulation of the last week’s increasing hours of modelling, photoshoots upon photoshoots constantly sneaking their way into his schedule, followed by an intense fencing training every morning before classes started in preparation for an upcoming tournament, the piano lessons that lasted for at least two hours, by his father insistence, the Akuma attacks that also didn’t give any of the heroes a break, and the lonesome meals were all taking a toll on him. Besides, today he couldn’t go to Marinette’s, she said she wouldn’t be home that night, she had a family event or something like that. He couldn’t exactly tell what plans she had for the night since she stumbled upon her words too much for a congruent phrase to be comprehended. It shouldn’t matter what she had planned anyway, she didn’t owe him an explanation, and yet, he was still bummed that he wouldn’t be seeing her.

Beep beep! He looked at the lit screen of his baton, noticing the text Ladybug had just sent him, “Good Evening, Chaton! I have a surprise for you! Come meet me at our spot! Bug out!” He smiled goofily. What had his lady prepared for him? She never failed to impress him.

Adrien vaulted through the rooftops, as fast as his exhausted body could go. He got to the Notre Dame tower where they usually started patrol, and there she was. In all her majestic glory, sitting on a towel, next to a large basket, which he suspected contained some delicious treats inside. She was gazing at the shining Parisian view, transfixed by its beauty, so she didn’t seem to notice his arrival. Adrien smirked.

Silently tiptoeing until he was right behind her, he crouched to her height stealthily, “Evening, M’lady!”, Adrien greeted her in a louder than normal tone, exactly the volume he knew would startle her.

As expected, Ladybug jumped, almost knocking her head on his chin, “CHAAAT! You scared me!!” Despite her annoyed voice tone, Adrien could see a slight smirk gracing her lips.

“Awww, buguinette, you looked so peaceful staring at the view, I didn’t want to disturb you!” He teased her, flicking one of her ponytails.

Ladybug lightly slapped his hand away from her hair, “Well, since you’ve decided to be such a brat tonight, I guess I have no other option but to take this picnic basket home!” She booped his nose and chuckled, “Guess I’ll have to feed these croissants to the stray cat that visits me every night!”

Adrien gasped dramatically at this new revelation, not only was she taking the croissants he loved away, but another cat was keeping her company?? “Noooo, Buguinette! I promise I’ll behave!” To prove his point, he sat on the chequered towel, his hands resting on his legs to keep them from bouncing in excitement.

“Well, since you promised!” She sat right next to him, stretching right over his lap to reach the basket that was just next to Adrien. His cheeks went immediately scarlet, and his heart must have doubled its rate. God, this girl had such an effect on him! She had him right on the palm of her hand, Ladybug would be the death of him. Let it be known, Adrien Agreste would die because Ladybug, Paris darling, would kill him with her beauty and angelical grace!

And the worst, the absolute worst, is that she knew exactly what she was doing! She could have asked him to grab the basket, but nooo… She really wanted to end him, uh? Hawkmoth was an amateur next to his lady. She was the real criminal mastermind in Paris for what she was doing to him.

“-at…”

God, could his face get any warmer? He swore his blood had been entirely deployed to it so that LB could see exactly what she had done to him.

“-hat…”

If his heart continued to pump at this rate, Adrien would have a heart attack, he was certain of it.

“CHAT!!” His attention immediately drifted to her. Ladybug was holding a pain au chocolat, her eyes had this sparkle Adrien was used to seeing when she was amused with something, although her face was trying to pull a blank expression. “Do you want this pain au chocolat or not?”

“What?” He asked in a daze.

“Hello! Earth to Chat Noir!!” Ladybug mocked him, lightly knocking on his head.

“I’m here!” He jumped, finally realising what Ladybug was offering to him. He could never say no to those heavenly sweets she brought from time to time. They were on par with the pastries Marinette offered him every time he visited, and those had no competition in Paris. He grabbed the pastry, while Ladybug took a croissant from the basket for herself.

She wasn’t exactly talkative, but neither was he. They ate the pastries in pleasant silence, although Adrien was still a bit confused about why they were skipping patrol to have a picnic.

“Uh… LB?” Her eyes were closed, a pleased smile was gracing her lips while she slowly chewed on her croissant.

“Yes, kitty?” His heart jumped a beat at hearing the affective nickname Ladybug sometimes used for him.

“Why are we doing this? I, I mean, not that I’m not loving to spend some quality time alone with you in this romantic setting.” He wiggled his eyebrows, flirting with Ladybug to mask his nervousness.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but my life is kind of chaotic right now, and Hawkmoth has not been going easy on us. I just thought we deserved a night off, that’s all.” Her bluebell eyes established contact with his own, and his brain immediately turned into a jumbled mess. Seriously… How could he have any rational thought when his lady looked at him with that gentle expression of hers. Was she even aware of the power she had on him? How, with only a simple look, could she freeze his entire being and capture his heart to be forever hers? Some of Hawkmoth’s Akumas must have taken refuge in his belly, he could feel them inside as Adrien kept watching Ladybug in all her grace munching on her croissant. He knew that if he stood in front of a mirror at that moment, his face would be the same colour as his lady’s suit.

He needed to distract himself with something else, otherwise, his brain would start to make up these crazy scenarios and he wouldn’t be able to deal with them, especially not in front of Ladybug. Damn those teenage hormones!

Adrien looked up to the clear night sky, gazing at the stars above them. Physics was always a passion of his, especially Astronomy. He remembered spending countless nights alone in his room, back when he only had Chloé in his life, gazing through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He owned several stars charts, and his mum had also gifted him a next-gen telescope so he could further feed his passion. He had learned all the constellations, and it was those that had kept him company and helped him stay grounded when he was going through the painful grief his mum’s disappearance had brought upon his life.

“What are you looking at?” Ladybug looked down at him. When had he lied down on that rooftop? Adrien was so distracted gazing up at the sky, that he hadn’t noticed the change of position he had adopted. The fact was that he was currently lying on his back. And his Lady had asked him a question. “I’m only looking at the stars… They look so pretty, tonight. Almost as pretty as you, m’lady!” He chuckled.

“Silly kitty! And here I thought you were finally thinking of something smart for a change.” She teased him, and Adrien put a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically while a pleasant warmth spread through his chest.

“Seriously Chat! You are awfully distracted today. Something wrong?”

Adrien shrugged, “Nothing’s wrong, Buguinette. Don’t worry. I guess I’m just more tired than usual tonight.” His eyes drifted to her face, and his heart missed another beat. Maybe Adrien should ask his father if he could see a doctor, these many palpitations were definitely not normal.

Ladybug lied on her back, her body turned in the opposite direction to his, with her head right next to his shoulder, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her, and that was enough for his brain to lose any kind of logical thoughts once again.

He avoided turning his head towards her, Adrien knew he wouldn’t be able to resist kissing her lips if he did so.

He heard her huff, “I swear, no matter how many times I read about constellations, I can never identify them. Like, for example, I know that “W” is one, but I don’t know which one!” She pointed, and Adrien followed her gloved finger.

“That’s Cassiopeia, M’lady.” He chuckled.

“Cassiopeia? What even is that?” Ladybug asked dramatically indignant. Adrien loved how full of life she always was.

“Cassiopeia was Andromeda’s mother, and incredibly arrogant and vain. This led to her downfall when she made Poseidon become irate, and the only solution for it was to sacrifice her own daughter, which was later saved by Perseus. Poseidon still thought that Cassiopeia deserved to be punished so he turned her into a constellation.” He explained.

“Wow, Chat! How do you even know that?” Ladybug looked at him and Adrien could feel her breath on his chin.

“I love astronomy. Feels like it was ages ago since the last time I looked at the stars though.” He stated simply as an image of a green-eyed blonde woman appeared in his head.

“It’s so sad that her daughter almost paid for her arrogance…” He heard her voice quivering with emotion. Adrien turned his head toward his lady. Their lips were so incredibly close to each other, it would be so easy to capture them with his own. But he would never do that. He would never take that step, not without her permission.

Ladybug looked stunning lying on that rooftop. The moonlight gave her this ethereal shine and accentuated the blue highlights of her hair. Her cerulean eyes were piercing his soul, they were so close to each other that he could discern all the different blue tones in them. He could count all the freckles adorning her face, and he swore he saw a subtle red hue spreading on her cheeks. He had stopped breathing. Adrien could no longer feel the chill of the night, only the heat radiating from her skin and breath which ironically made his hair stand on end.

Adrien needed to break their eye contact, or else he didn’t think he would survive, he needed to start breathing again anytime soon, right? Her eyes, however, had trapped him in a hypnotic spell which Adrien was certain he couldn’t escape from, and also, he didn’t want to end this moment so soon.

His heart constricted as he was the first one to look away. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Ladybug liked another boy, and he should respect that.  But the way she was looking at him, could it be? Could she possibly care for him as more than a friend? She was a puzzle in his life, one he couldn’t solve no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head trying to get rid of these thoughts. His Lady wasn’t really his, she liked another boy. Besides, he was already dating Kagami. And Marinette? Marinette was a whole other mystery for him. Wait, why did he suddenly start to think of Marinette? Plagg was right, love was way too complicated.

[finch-writes]

sunkissed

✧ nishinoya yuu x gn!reader / fluff ✧ contains haikyuu timeskip spoilers !!

✧ you meet a familiar face from your childhood in a place far from home.

it was the hair that had tipped you off.

you’re sitting in your usual spot in your usual bar, sunlight peeking under your table’s umbrella as your pen hovers over a blank page. you’ve come out here for a study break towards the end of the morning rush. to clear your head before you go back to your pile of textbooks later, you reason with yourself and try to ignore the guilty feeling of procrastination creeping up behind you

you do a double take when you see spiked hair with a distinctive golden wisp at the front. it reminds you, viscerally, of someone you attended high school with - you had never been particularly close with nishinoya, but his presence had always been a comfortable one in your class. he walks inside to place an order with the barista, and you find that your eyes follow his retreating form.

that can’t be him.

thankfully, your coffee arrives mere moments later. it’s a nice distraction for the most part and a sip of the drink tells you that it’s exactly what you needed to clear your mind from your studies, yet you cannot shake the feeling that you know the bar’s latest patron. it wakes something uncomfortable deep in your chest that you don’t know what name.

you’re stirring your drink when he reemerges. there’s a proverb written on his shirt that brings a bittersweet smile to your lips as you take another sip - in familiar kanji, no less. the odds are stacking in favour of your past. you don’t even realise you’ve been staring until he looks in your direction.

you avert your eyes from the man as soon as he meets your gaze, redirecting your attention back to your notebook. you cringe a little, hoping that you won’t be forced to confront the fact that you were staring at someone who may very well be a total stranger. you were in italy, for fuck’s sake - the chances of meeting someone from japan were relatively low, let alone one of your old classmates. but that hair and that shirt ...

fortunately (unfortunately?), he makes that decision for you. his face lights up with recognition, settling on a grin that you haven’t seen in years.

“hey! (y/n)-san, is that you?”

you let out a breath that you didn’t quite realise you were holding, and place your mug back on its saucer as he approaches your table. you’d almost forgotten how nice it was to hear japanese spoken to you in person.

“noya-san, it’s been a while. do you want to sit with me?”

“if you don’t mind the company, sure!”

were it coming from anyone else, you suspect that the bubbly enthusiasm that he spouts might be exhausting. he’s clearly not short on energy from the way he takes a seat across from you and relaxes in his chair as if it were his own at home. now that he’s closer, you take a moment to actually look at him.

his hair is longer, for starters. it feels silly that it’s the first thing you notice about him, but he’d always stood out because of it whenever he wasn’t accidentally causing a scene. even now, years later, his fringe is still blond - you’re pretty sure you remember a time when that wasn’t the case, but the memory is faded with age and you aren’t sure how accurate it is in the face of passing time.

you are also pretty certain that the last time the two of you had spoken, nishinoya had been a little shorter - though since you’ve been sitting down through the entire encounter you can’t say for sure just yet. he’s definitely gotten broader, and there’s a warm glow to his skin that tells of a life recently lived under the sun that you definitely hadn’t seen back in japan.

his energy is less scattered than you remember. nishinoya had always been a confident person, but he was always so chaotic - now, it's almost like he's grown into that self-assuredness. despite the small differences, he seems more like himself than ever. it suits him.

it’s only when you meet his eyes that you realise that you were staring (again), however this time you realise that he’s been staring right back. the wind changes, ruffling his spiky hair just a little. he smells like the sea. it makes sense, you suppose; the city where you’re staying is oceanside.

“here you are, sir. we would have gotten this to you at the same time, but we didn’t realise you were both at the same table.” one of the bar’s few table staff interrupts. she seems genuinely apologetic, and a little lost - you figure she might be new to the job.

“no problem at all miss, that’s on me - i didn’t know my friend was here until a few moments ago.” he’s cheerful as ever as he apologises to the waitress, but you feel your brow furrow just a little with confusion.

friend. why are you surprised by that? you’ve never hated the guy, and nishinoya is certainly blunt enough that he wouldn’t have come over to your table if he disliked you. you frown into your coffee and take a sip, silence settling between the two of you as you find yourself lost in thought.

while it only lasts for a few moments, it doesn’t surprise you that nishinoya is the first to break the quiet at your table.

“you said you were coming to europe after we graduated, but i didn’t think i’d see you here.” he laughs, maybe a little awkwardly. “you’re at university?”

“sure am. i’m in my final year.” 

“no way! congratulations.”

“thank you!” you hum. his enthusiasm is infectious as ever, and you feel your earlier awkwardness dissipating. “but ... what are you doing here?”

“fishing.”

he’s never lied to you as far as you know, but there’s something extra earnest about the admission that catches you off guard. you cover your mouth with a hand and cough instead of spitting out your drink (which was your first instinct), but your startled reaction earns a chuckle from him anyway.

“seriously!”

“okay - i know you said you were going to follow your heart once you graduated, but i didn’t think it would lead you to the ocean.” your shoulders are shaking a little with laughter. “looking for anything specific?”

“aside from adventure? i want to catch a marlin or two while i’m here. the locals say they’re a good challenge for tourists.”

“huh. i thought you’d be playing professionally by now, everyone always said you were good.” at the end of your second year their team had gone to nationals. you know very little about the sport even now, not even enough to know the positions outside of the one that hits the ball and the one that stops the ball (or was there two of those roles?) - but you’d heard stories about the fact that nishinoya was one of the core members of the team. you take another sip of your cooling coffee, noting with a bitter pang that the cup is almost empty.

“i wanted to try something new.” he responds, and you realise only when he puts his cup down that he’d been thinking about his answer. “i love volleyball, but there’s other things to life, you know? maybe i’ll play again someday, maybe i won’t. speaking of which -” he brandishes his spoon at you - “what are you studying at university here? are you enjoying it?”

noya changes the subject with more grace than you would have expected - but then again, he just keeps on surprising you. you don’t want to push him when you’ve only just reunited, so you let it slide and allow yourself to get tangled up in the ebb and flow of catching up.

the idle chatter remains when you finish up your drinks, but your mind is wandering back to the past in between your words. 

you and nishinoya were never close during school, only ever friendly acquaintances despite being in the same class. the two of you didn’t really have many common friends, either. he’d been more of a troublemaker than you, even if by accident - the memory of him being suspended still surprised you a little, and you’d never known which rumours about the incident were true. 

different hobbies, too; while you’d always been more interested in the creative side of life, he’d always been fired up about volleyball. even though he’d explained his reasoning, it was still a little weird to you that he’d just dropped it so readily. in contrast you’d stuck with your arts, going to it in times of stress when you needed the comfort of a story in either words or art.

and yet here you both were, standing outside of a bar in italy, where he’d called you his friend to a waitress neither of you knew.

you linger for a moment. now that you’ve reunited, you’re hesitant to let him go without any chance at at least trying to kindle a friendship first. you’re halfway across the world, but you’ve found a piece of home.

“same time tomorrow?”

his grin widens.

“see you then.”

[robinskey]

Robin’s Confession (Steve x Reader)

Request: hey!! could you make steve x fem!reader where robin has a crush on steve’s girlfriend(reader) and robin gets drunk and tells steve this ! tyyy

A/N: Thanks for requesting, anon! I LOVE Robin, so this was a blast to write. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking (legal drinking age in the US is 21)

Taking Robin with you to a house party was a truly terrible idea.

You’d told Steve this multiple times. Robin was only a year younger than you and your boyfriend, sure. But in terms of experience with alcohol, she was lightyears behind you. Until recently, Steve had been known as the “Keg King” of Hawkins High, and though you weren’t as interested in drinking, you’d been to your fair share of parties with Steve.

Robin, on the other hand, had never attended a party in her life. (Unless you count the annual Band Bash hosted by the mother of Gregory Allen, the star tuba player.) Sure, Robin had sampled some watered-down wine on special occasions, and she’d even managed to sneak a few sips of her father’s beer once at a particularly chaotic family reunion. Other than that, though, she’d never built up a tolerance to alcohol, unlike most Hawkins teenagers. Since there wasn’t much else for kids to do in the small town, drinking was more of a hobby than anything else; if you walked around without a red Solo cup, it wouldn’t be long before someone shoved one into your hand.

You didn’t want to expose Robin to that sort of environment. In many ways, Robin was more mature than you and Steve would ever be. However, you two had graduated, and she still had a year left of high school. You saw her like the little sister you’d never had-someone you needed to protect.

To Steve, though, Robin was his best friend. He wanted to hang out with her-outside of work, that is. He saw her nearly every day, but with her still in school and Steve working full-time, they rarely had a chance to see each other. Besides, Robin was always asking about you. Steve figured a party would be a great chance for all three of you to catch up.

One night, the two of you were cuddled up on his sofa, watching a movie together. Suddenly, Steve looked at you with his big, sad puppy dog eyes.

Before he even opened his mouth, you knew what this was about. One of your friends, Jennie, had just gotten engaged. She wanted to celebrate in the way any rambunctious, slightly-redneck nineteen-year-old would: by throwing a raging house party while her new fiancee’s parents were out of town.

“Fine,” you had huffed. “But please, please watch her, okay? Make sure she doesn’t drink too much before she even realizes what’s about to hit her.”

“You’re the best, baby,” Steve had said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he hopped off the couch.

“Where are you going?” you called as he wandered into the kitchen.

“To call Robin,” he answered, “and tell her the good news.”

That’s how, a few days later, you find yourself in Jennie Hayfield’s boyfriend’s basement. You’re sitting between a somewhat-sober Steve and a definitely-inebriated Robin, whose head was laying in your lap. Steve sits a few inches away from you, just far enough so that his thigh doesn't accidentally brush yours. Usually, Steve would be the one you were holding. However, you’re not exactly pleased with your boyfriend right now; somehow, in the ten minutes you’d left him alone with Robin, she’d managed to down three shots of vodka.

So much for Steve being a “damn good babysitter.”

“You guys are my best friends in the whole wide world. I love you both so very much,” Robin is saying, her words slurring together. She gazes at you with glazed-over blue eyes and reaches up to boop your nose. “Especially you, Y/N.” Robin’s voice drops to a stage whisper as she adds, “Don’t tell Steve, but you’re my favorite,” then bursts into a fit of giggles.

“What are we going to do, Steve? Robin’s curfew is in an hour, and if we drop her off at her house like this, her parents will never let us hang out with her again.”

“Don’t worry.” The stage whisper is back. “I can be very discreet. They won’t even know anything’s up.”

“This is your fault, you know,” you say pointedly to Steve. “I knew this was a bad idea, but you insisted you could take care of her.” You finally break the unspoken no-contact rule to jab him in the chest.

“Hey, don’t blame this all on me,” he spit back. “You’re the one who left-”

“Mom, Dad, don’t fight,” Robin interrupts. She reaches up to touch your face again, this time patting your cheek in what she must believe is a soothing manner. “Don’t worry about me, Y/N. I’m a grown-ass woman who can take care of herself.”

“I know, babe, but I don’t think your real parents will see it that way,” you say, gently pushing her back up into a seated position.

You’re too busy being annoyed by your man-child of a boyfriend to notice how her cheeks turn pink as you call her “babe”. She huffs in protest as you slip off the sofa and onto your feet. Robin crosses her arms over her chest like a toddler preparing to throw a tantrum, which doesn’t help her “grown-ass woman” case.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks. Robin lays her head on his shoulder.

“To get her some water,” you say. “That is, of course, if I can trust you to actually keep an eye on her this time.”

“I kept an eye on-”

“Shh.” Robin muffles the rest of Steve’s statement by smashing her hand against his mouth.

“Thanks, Robin,” you say, then point your finger at Steve. “No more alcohol. For her or for you.”

“None for me?” Steve cries indignantly. “What did I do to deserve that?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before he regrets them. He’s never seen such fire in your eyes.

“Yeah, okay, sorry. No more alcohol.”

Robin and Steve both watch you walk up the steps. Even when you’re angry like this, Steve can’t help noticing how gorgeous you are-how those jeans fit every curve of your body just right.

Little does he know that he’s not the only one noticing that.

“Stevie, I have a question,” Robin hums, sitting up straight again.

“Okay…” Steve draws out the word. In the last half hour, Robin’s asked about everything from the plural of the word “octopus” to what he thinks happens when we die. Thus, Steve has no idea what is about to come out of her mouth.

“If Y/N dumps you, can I ask her out?”

Yeah, he certainly wasn’t expecting that.

Steve sits there in stunned silence for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he musters: “You’re joking, right?”

“Does this look like face of someone who’s joking?” she asks, scrunching her features together. “Besides, it’s just a hyp-o-thet-i-cal, Harrington.”

“I don’t really like this hypothetical, Robin.”

“Okay, fine. Different hypothetical: Let’s just say you...die in a tragic car accident. Would you, like, haunt me if I started dating your girlfriend?” Steve’s jaw drops as he stares at her blankly, so Robin adds, “After a respectful grieving period, of course.” When he still shows no response, Robin waves her pale hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to dingus?”

“Do you like my girlfriend, Robin?”

Robin rolls her eyes as if she’s talking to the biggest idiot in the world.

“Well, duh. Everybody likes Y/N. She’s the best.”

“That’s not...not quite what I meant.” Steve runs a hand through that glorious hair of his, trying to think of a way to phrase his question. Finally, he just blurts out: “Do you have a crush on Y/N?”

Robin’s eyes once again travel toward the heavens.

“Double duh,” she says with a laugh. “Your girlfriend’s hot, dude.”

Steve’s attempting to craft a response when he hears thudding footsteps on the stairs. You’ve returned with three water bottles and an ear-to-ear grin. You toss one to Steve; he fumbles, and it tumbles to the floor. He picks it up, twists the cap, and tilts it to his dry lips.

“Crisis averted,” you announce. “Danny let me use the house phone, and I got ahold of Mr. and Mrs. Buckley. I told them Robin and I are having a sleepover tonight. They probably think we’re laying in bed together right now.”

Steve makes a gurgling sound, nearly spitting out his water. You gently whack him upside the head.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington,” you say. That’s when you notice Robin slumped against the back of the couch. With her fair skin and small features, she resembles a porcelain doll in slumber.

“She’s so beautiful,” you murmur, reaching out to comb your fingers through her cute bobbed hair.

When Steve stays quiet, you nudge his knee with yours.

“I won’t get jealous if you agree with me, you know. I know she’s not interested in you,” you say, shaking your head in amusement.

Steve swallows the lump in his throat.

Maybe not in me, he thinks. But she’s definitely interested in someone.

***

The next morning, Robin wakes up in a bed that definitely isn’t hers with a pounding headache and ringing in her ears. Sunlight filters through the curtains over the window. It lands on a framed piece of art on the wall that looks too expensive to even exist in Hawkins. There’s only a handful of families in the area who could afford something like that, so she automatically knows where she is.

Robin wanders into the hallway. From a distance, she can make out two figures sitting at the kitchen table, their heads bent together. Incomprehensible whispers echo across the kitchen. Robin starts to sneak up on them, planning to grab their shoulders and scream to scare the living shit out of them. But her plan is foiled when a sneeze she simply cannot contain tickles her nostrils.

The two silhouettes pull away from each other so quickly that they nearly bang heads. You and Steve awkwardly smile at Robin, who bares her teeth in a hungover attempt to smile back.

“What happened last night?” Robin asks as she takes a seat across from the two of you, rubbing her head.

“Vodka happened,” Steve says simply, and Robin nods. She raises a hand to her mouth and nearly gags at the repugnant odor of her own breath.

“I didn’t say anything stupid, did I?”

The silence causes Robin to look up. You and Steve are exchanging looks. Under the table, his hand rests on your knee. He squeezes it. You kick him.

“Oh, hell no. You’re the one who let her get drunk. You’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“Come on, baby,” Steve whines. “It’s really between you and her.”

“No, it’s not. She told you, not me. And then you told me. So, really, you’re the one who got me wrapped all up in this.”

“It’s not my fault I’m terrible at keeping secrets!”

“Secret? What secret?” Robin asks.

Then, it hits her. She groans, burying her face in her hands.

“You know, don’t you?” she mumbles into her arms.

“Yeah,” you and Steve answer.

“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so dumb,” Robin stammers. “I understand if this is weird now, and you don’t want to be my friend anymore-”

Gentle fingers brush Robin’s wrists as you gingerly pry her hands away from her face.

“You’re not dumb, it’s not weird, and there’s no way in hell it’s going to stop me from being your friend,” you say. Steve gives your knee another reassuring squeeze. “And, if you’re interested, I have a single friend I could set you up with. She’s funny, smart-and way hotter than me.”

“There’s no way,” Steve and Robin say in unison.

You laugh and shrug your shoulders.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

[litrally]

Suicide Mission

Bruce & Dick, gen, angst

It was undoubtedly, the most suicidal, idiotic mission Bruce had ever come up with.

Infiltrating and trying to take down the court of owls has always been borderline suicidal to begin with, but that combined with the dozens of talons they had definitive intel on being made over the last six months really was the icing on the cake to the shit-show his life had become.

But they had threatened everyone in Gotham. Alfred. Tim. Damian. Jason... the list went on and on. Bruce had refused to give in and let them take Dick, despite the repeated messages that his family would be left alone if he did so, and the court had taken to pushing him just a bit more every single time. It was driving him insane, and the fact that their ‘motivations’ had become just a little more deadly was a brutal reminder that the court would not be generous with their time. Dick, of course, had fought back adamantly, screaming about how “my life isn’t worth all of this, Bruce, and you know it!” 

Their yelling matches had always been pretty memorable, but Bruce had never felt a pain in his chest quite like the one he had every time he had to listen to Dick tell him that his life wasn’t important. It felt like there was a balloon trapped in his lungs that swelled with each word that came out of Dick’s mouth, and no matter how hard he tried to calm Dick down, he was never quite able to pop it.

First it had been Barbara’s wheelchair collapsing in the middle of her chemistry lab and had ended with her nearly lighting the school and herself on fire. Then it was Tim’s comms going out in the middle of a bust that had him fighting for his life. When Damian had changed his mind last minute on a private charter to Metropolis, only to find the plane engulfed in obviously man-made flames, Dick had drawn the line.

“We can’t keep living like this, B,” he’d breathed, the words coming out as hoarse rasps, and Bruce realized with a jolt that he’d never actually heard Dick so quiet before. So...defeated. “I’m not going to let them keep hurting people, and if we don’t come up with anything soon, I’m going to knock myself out on a rooftop and wait for them to pick me up themselves.”

And that had been that.

The plan had been fairly simple, really, considering that all kids were all benched. A fact that had sparked many, many arguments and a couple of physical fights both in the cave and publically, but both Bruce and Dick had held firm. No one else needed to be put at risk.

Dick was in charge of holding the owls’ attention as long as possible. He was supposed to walk right up to their front door, punch everyone in sight and yell enough to piss off as many of them as he could. Bruce needed every talon possible to converge on Dick’s location (This being the aspect of the plan that made him want to vomit every time he thought about it, but Dick wouldn’t listen to his concerns. When did he ever?). Dick would keep the talons occupied while Bruce, who infiltrated the owls’ meeting with a stolen mask from one of their previous missions, gathered intel on the few individuals who weren’t in attendance, then knocked out everyone in the room with the specialized gas he had in his belt.

There were so, so many things that could go wrong. So many unaccounted variables, so much potential for miscommunication, hell, their intel could even be off. So yes. The plan was undoubtedly and completely suicidal. 

But honesty, Bruce was ready to go in regardless. Dick had been losing his mind with guilt over the last few months, and Bruce wasn’t particularly keen on seeing anyone else in the family in danger again. The first few instances had already made his heart stop dead in his chest. He didn’t need to see any of the results of the court’s more intense motivation.

They’d given themselves three days of planning. Three days, over the course of which Dick’s panic had obviously been building, despite his efforts to try and calm down. He reviewed their plan over and over again, double and triple checked equipment, and constantly looked for improvements. Anything to try and make the chaotic tendencies of their plan slightly less so. By the day of the court’s meeting though, he was oddly...calm. Calm enough to make Bruce notice, but he had assumed that Dick had simply set his worries aside and was mentally preparing himself for everything they had to do. Bruce was honestly just relieved that he wasn’t tearing himself apart anymore. Dick had talked to all of his siblings and Alfred the night before, likely trying to ease any of the worries they had and had probably ended up calming himself down at the same time.

Bruce knew for a fact that there was a huge chance that they wouldn’t both make it out of this alive, but he’d kept that particular statistic to himself. Dick didn’t need it on his mind. But he had already decided: if anyone went down tonight, it wouldn’t be Dick. Bruce would make sure of it if it was the last thing he did.

Dick came up to him in full gear as they prepared to set out, his body tensed but alert. Bruce’s mouth was in a tight line, the endless array of back-ups and contingency plans running through his head in an effort to ensure he was prepared for every possible situation.

Dick’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. If Bruce had looked a little closer, he might have noticed something... off about it. Something that reminded him of the way Dick would look as a kid when he stole one of Alfred’s cookies before dinner and was trying to hide it until it was too late for any of them to do anything about it. “You look worried, old man.”

Bruce gave him a look, the lie springing easily far too easily from his lips. “I’m not worried. Just focused on the mission.”

Dick didn’t break his gaze from him. “Right.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, I just wanna say that I appreciate you doing all of this for me. Not just this mission with the owls, but,” he paused again, blinking at the floor for a moment before lifting his gaze back to Bruce. “for taking me in all those years ago, too. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Bruce stared at him a moment, something in his chest twisting at the unexpected amount of emotion in Dick’s eyes. He grabbed hold of Dick’s arm and squeezed gently. “Of course,” he said. “I did what had to be done.”

Something flickered on Dick’s face at that. He took a deep breath and moved faster than Bruce had ever seen him move before, something metallic Bruce hadn’t noticed him holding flicking out and striking him in the side of the neck. “And that’s what I’m doing now,” Dick whispered.

There was a slight pinch on the inner lining of his cowl, and a syringe was clattering to the floor before Dick even let loose of the breath he was holding. Bruce’s eyes widened, a hand reaching up to cup the slight sore spot above his collarbone as his vision started to blur and his knees gave out. Dick’s arms wrapped around his middle and guided him over to one of the gurneys in the medbay. Bruce’s head spun relentlessly as he tried to form the words, a violent sense of wrong permeating his gut. “What.. Dick... What did you...”

Dick looked at him with the slightest bit of guilt in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by the utter exhaustion and defeat that had taken over his frame. “I’m sorry, B, but I’ve got to be selfish this time,” he murmured, the words coming out in a weary sigh. “I can’t live in a world where you lose your life because you don’t want me to give up mine. You saved me all those years ago. Now let me do the same.”

Bruce was barely processing the words, the true meaning of them sinking in as he tries to lurch himself to his feet to call Alfred, Tim, Jason, Damian, anyone.

Dick stepped onto his bike with a kind of sad smile. “Good bye, Bruce.” he said, his voice breaking on his name.

The roar of Dick’s bike as he shot out of the cave was the last thing Bruce heard before blacking out.

*****

based on this prompt! (at the end bc otherwise it kinda spoils the whole thing lol)

please feel free to drop a prompt in my ask box if you enjoyed this!

[uozlulu]

Who are your favorite top ten black clover characters and ships? Talk about them.

This is both easy and hard. Like I have so many faves and ships, can I really make a top ten? Let’s find out

Ten top faves in order they came to my brain:

Asta - It was favorite character at first bellow really. I like that he’s got his own political philosophy which is more than some other Jump heroes in similar positions have sometimes. He reads very nephew I never had to me. I just really love loud, kind characters really. 

Noelle - I like that her powers improve and grow with her desire to protect others. She’s also set up for such a great character arc when all is said and done. It’ll be fun to see her continue to loosen up more and more as we go now that she’s with a family who loves her openly and unconditionally.

Yuno - He reminds me of my little brother so a lot of his interactions with Asta bring on a lot of nostalgia. I also like how there are layers to him even if they’re subtle. He’s clearly got some depression issues to work through. I’m looking forward to how he handles a manga spoiler as he deals with more and more with such things. 

Charmy - I like that she can be both funny but also srsbsns when needed. She’s always entertaining and there’s so much more we can learn about her as we go along. 

Mereoleona - She’s very loud and very interesting. Like does sense use her grimoire when she makes those fire paws? I think we’ve only seen evidence of her grimoire open once but maybe that was actually Fuego’s. I also like how she’s in a position in which she can reject the nonsense of nobility without us having to sit through some family estrangement drama.

Magna - I want to see more of him. He’s an interesting dad friend to Klaus’ mom friend and he’s also constantly struggling to make things work. He’s very, very relatable. Reminds me of my struggle with learning to spell and learning math post-pre-algebra. 

Charlotte - I love her. A constant contradiction. Confined by the etiquette of nobility and her own nerves while deep down having her teen crush phase ten years later than most. Really hoping the filler arc allows her to sort some stuff out not only for shipping reasons but I think that she’s kind of not quite done with her identity crisis so if she could get more of a harness on some of her contradictions or find a way to blend them together more smoothly that would be good for her overall. Would also love to see her and Luck figure out they’re actually (half?) siblings

Vangeance - Very relatable back story, and I am looking forward to seeing how he grows as a character now separated from Patri. Looking forward to what the filler arc is going to do with him. 

Yami - He reminds me of my older sister in how he and Asta interact with each other, though my sister and I don’t you know how so much bathroom conversation >____>;;; (but that’s Jump for you). I’m hoping we get to learn more about him as we go along here. Also curious how many people in Clover Kingdom realize Yami is actually his surname considering Julius calls him Yami and calls Vangeance William.

Father Orsi - I’ve always rather liked him. In many ways he’s Asta and Yuno’s dad. I’m kind of hoping the current backstory subplot ends with that being acknowledged in some way kind of like how during the elf arc we had a lot of familial talk like Licht and Tetia getting married, Yuno being the reincarnation of their child, Tetia and Lumiere being siblings, etc...and had a plot point of Asta saving Orsi’s life while Yuno kept the threat at bay. Yuno especially is at a critical point that his part of the subplot could go in that kind of direction, which would be nice since Asta had the bigger father son moment with Orsi last time, but it won’t surprise me if by the time we get there it will be both Asta and Yuno who affirm that Hage is their home and the church and their squads are their families. 

Ten ships I enjoy in no particular order: 

Asta/Noelle - Asta’s still hopelessly devoted to Sister Lily and Noelle has only just discovered her heart can doki doki but I think they have the potential to grow and change together and become a really strong couple as that progresses. 

Yami/Charlotte - These two are very relatable. Does Yami know? I think he does, but I also think he can’t be 100% certain, which is very relatable especially since I too grow up as an “other” around my peers. Charlotte is also relatable because a lot of what she says out loud is some of my own internal monologue from back when I used to get crushes on people. It’s such a stupid mutual crush that could really become something fun if they would both just communicate and be themselves. 

Luck/Magna - They have a deep friendship and understanding of each other which could totally translate into something more if they wanted, which is always my jam. They also seem to know how far is too far when you factor out that they’re a hyper violent comedy routine at times, and that’s also nice. 

Yami/Vangeance - Makes me sad how little content there is for this ship especially after I filter out what I don’t want to see on AO3. Again you’ve got that friendship that could evolve aspect and they’re also two people Clover Kingdom sees as an “other” and had to prove themselves to get where they are. They both seem to have a love style that isn’t controlling given the love they show for their squads, which I think is what both of them need. 

Finral/Klaus - I know. I know. Everyone’s going “Where did that even come from?” and the answer is there is so little Black Clover fic when I saw a fic for this ship a while back I was like “Okay. Tell me more,” and it sold me on the ship. Both of them are kind of in a support position for their squads, they were both raised as nobles, and they both are kind of learning to let go of that nobility, though Finral has already let go of a lot of it now and Klaus is only starting to loosen up. It’s an interesting dynamic I’d like to see more of. 

Noelle/Kahono - Might have been me projecting a bit but when Kahono set up a double date designed to get Noelle and Asta together it reminded me of when I was in the closet back in middle and high school and fixed this girl I had a crush on up with the boys she liked alsfjldskfjaldkj. Also Kahono seems to have a lot of warmth and affinity for Noelle, and I think if they were able to interact more something could develop. They’d be very cute together, though I think Noelle likes her crushes weirder than Kahono but maybe Kahono has a secret weirdo side we just haven’t seen yet. 

Grey/Gauche - Do you ever like look at Gauche and feel that one gifset of Nick Furry burst forth? Yeah, so in a world in which he finally calms down a bit about Marie, he can be part of a ship as a treat. I like that they both can bring out sides of each other others can’t and I think they both have a lot of room to grow together as people. It would also be nice to see Gauche unwind a bit (though I think he’ll always be stuffy) and Grey open up more (though she’ll always be shy). They also seem like characters that wouldn’t overwhelm each other either, which is good because I think both of them wouldn’t respond well to more aggressive personality types. 

Charmy/Rill - We need to talk about how everyone Rill loves has handed him his ass. We really do. His butler did, Asta did, and now wolf!Charmy has. Just wait until sheep!Charmy hands him his ass, he’ll never look back. That said, that’s not why I like them. I like them because I think Charmy needs someone who will appreciate her and I think Rill definitely will as he gets used to her. I also think Rill needs someone who won’t put up with nonsense unless it’s the fun kind of nonsense and Charmy definitely would fit the right kind of chaotic energy. I also like ships in which the girl is just as capable of saving the boy (a la Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask) so again, like Asta/Noelle and Yami/Charlotte, I’m here for this ship. 

Leopold/Yuno - This stemmed from me thinking about how they would interact since strangely enough we’ve not seen them in the same place as the same time yet since Leopold didn’t participate in the Royal Knight Selection Exam. I would love to read some fics with this pairing but there aren’t a lot out there. In some ways it’s that anxiety/depression ship dynamic that I gravitate towards so it’s no surprise I’m curious how it would go. Maybe they’ll get to work together in the next major battle arc. 

Noelle/Nero - But like when Nero is in human form, you know? Again, it’s that anxiety/depression dynamic. I also think that while Noelle can draw on strength from Nero in battle, Nero can draw on strength from Noelle outside of battle because Noelle has that side of her that likes to care for people and has a lot of compassion for others even though she tries to cover it up by being tsundere. It’ll be fun to watch them fight alongside each other since they’re both going to be training in Heart Kingdom during the filler arc at some point. 

[presidentrhodes]

Title: Executive Privilege Rating: Explicit / Smut / PWP, as in do not read this if you’re under 18.  Pairing: James Rhodes/Tony Stark Summary: Tony needs to see President Rhodes. It’s a matter of national security.  @van-dyne wanted President Rhodes and Tony having sex at the Oval Office. @robertdowneyjjr promised me a good URL in return if I wrote some and she very helpfully beta-ed this so that it isn’t complete garbage. 

There is no plot and I refuse to apologise for that lol. 

Tony’s been on the American intelligence community’s radar since he hacked the Pentagon’s internal systems on a dare at 15, forcing them to finally implement a Stark Industries software upgrade. Pleased with his efforts, his father, Howard, bought him a nice vacation in Lyon. 

When Stark Industries won the contract to become Uncle Sam’s official weapons’ supplier, under Tony’s leadership, the CIA installed a backdoor on his computer—the incompetent underhandedness reeked of a young, fresh-out-of-college analyst who thought they struck gold by bugging Tony Stark. He let J.A.R.V.I.S humour them for almost a year before the intelligence community’s best and brightest figured out all of the information they had been gleaning from his systems were false. 

“You know, Honeybear,” Tony said, a little breathless from the constant, unforgiving assault on his senses. “This isn’t how I imagined reacquainting myself with your buddies at the CIA.” His voice cracked and whatever else he planned to say dissolve into a lewd moan. 

Bent double over a polished mahogany desk, its hard edges digging into his pliant hips, Tony’s hands searched for purchase, something to grab hold of and anchor himself against the wanton, breathtaking pleasure lighting up his nerve endings, his face pressed flat on the empty tabletop. His 900-dollar designer shirt was bunched up over his chest, his sweat-drenched skin flushed red, and the branded dress pants pooled in a heap around his ankles; Tony’s usually immaculate hair fell into total disarray as taut muscles spasmed with every hard grind—he looked wrecked, a sharp contrast to the sense of order permeating the empty, oval room. 

***

Like most things in life, Tony didn’t mean to fly out to D.C. on a whim and intrude upon the White House and insist to the administration staff that he needed to see President Rhodes, even if the latter was in the middle of an important diplomatic briefing ahead of a state visit to Australia. “It’s a matter of national security,” Tony explained to the Harvard-educated, stuffy Chief of Staff, whose irritable expression told him everything he needed to know about how Rhodey’s entourage felt about him. No doubt, his best friend must’ve sat through a dozen security briefings with the CIA and the Secret Service, each one of them urging him to reconsider his friendship with an eccentric billionaire and part-time superhero. 

To state his case more emphatically, Tony flashed a salacious smile that forced Mr Chief of Staff to exit the waiting room. Within ten minutes, he was ushered into the Oval Office, where Rhodey waited for him with a closed-off, annoyed look. “We’ll resume the meeting at 4, sir,” Mr Chief said, shutting the door behind Tony. 

Before Tony opened his mouth, Rhodey held up a hand; the predatory hunger in his eyes did most of the talking. “Strip,” came the curt, firm order. 

A small, logical part of Tony tried to object because even he knew the dangers of them both getting caught with their pants down by the beefy, expressionless secret service guys standing outside. But the rest of him, teeming with untamed, unfulfilled chaotic energy, had a mind of its own. He untucked his shirt and undid his buckle when Rhodey beckoned him closer until Tony stood directly in front of his best friend, who leaned back in a large leather chair. 

“Kneel,” Rhodey said, unusually reticent, but his eyes and the tent in his pants betrayed his arousal. “Well, don’t just wait for an invitation. Go on, do what you came here to do.” 

Tony tried to protest, but Rhodey cut him off. 

“Don’t even try to deny it. I’m lucky Mr Millman’s professors at Tufts drilled into him the art of discretion, otherwise, we’d have quite the scandal on hand.” 

Huh. So, Mr Chief of Staff wasn’t an uptight Ivy, but, still, the dirty looks were obnoxious, Tony reflected. 

He smacked his lips and reached for Rhodey’s zippers. It’s been months since he went down on his best friend, his boyfriend, because the commute between the Avengers headquarters and the White House turned out to be too much of an inconvenience for a quick fuck. He relished running his tongue over Rhodey’s erection, tasting the saltiness around the slit before a pair of hands pushed his head down with gentle firmness. Tony felt the bulbous tip graze the back of his throat, salivating at the idea of tasting his lover after months of quick tugs in the shower or before bed. Taking Rhodey’s erection deeper, he swallowed around the length, earning a well-deserved sharp intake of breath and a keening sob. 

“Fuck, Tones…” 

That’s the plan, Mr President, Tony thought, giving in to the ravenous desire to taste every inch of Rhodey’s cock, from shaft to the tip. 

***

As far as rough fucks went, this had to be the hottest one, Tony thought. Mostly, because the idea of a bunch of burly men bursting in through the closed door, guns drawn, thinking the most powerful man in the country was in trouble, only to find him buried balls deep in Tony’s ass, made him tremble. 

"Not that I have any complaints here because, damn, honeybear, this dick is just as good as I remember from..." Tony's words dissolved into a long, drawn-out moan as the thick, large cock drilled into his ass, hard, relentless, and with an express purpose of reducing him into a sobbing, incoherent mess. He was halfway there, the forceful pounding and the constant assault on his prostate leaving his skin, feverish, and his paper-thin resolve, crumbling. His own erection rubbed and glided against the smooth, polished wood, the constant friction keeping him in a state of perpetual ecstasy. "Please, Rhodey. I need...need—"

Above him, Rhodey growled and leaned over Tony’s back, biting down on his shoulder, pulling a loud, agonized wail from him. “What? Use your words, Tones. If you can’t, then I’m going to stop fucking you right now and leave you like this and ask Secret Service to escort you out, you. Insufferable. Infuriating. Cocktease.” Rhodey punctuated each word with a thrust that pushed Tony further up the desk, making his toes curl, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

Tony let out a string of expletive-filled screams because, really, fuck the Secret Service outside, fuck the stuffy advisers Rhodey sent away to lunch early, and definitely fuck Mr Non-Harvard for daring to try and deny him face time with his Platypus. “Mr President, please. Please, sir, I need you. I need your cock, sir, been craving it for so long. Just, please, please give it to me, I’ll do anything you want, sir, anything, but please don’t stop. Fuck me harder, Mr President—oh god, yes, yes, like that, oh fuck…” Tony’s voice broke, so did his brain, leaving him a drooling, panting mess on the desk. 

One of Rhodey’s hands snaked around Tony’s hips, the other held his neck down in place; he set an almost inhuman pace, in the way he plunged into Tony’s tight, warm channel, withdrawing till only the tip remained buried before ramming in again and again and again—in his desperation to be fucked, Tony had insisted they make do with spit because the idea of waiting any longer in their search for lube sounded ludicrous to the inventor. 

The pain and discomfort had eventually given way to a bone-deep satisfaction of feeling Rhodey’s cock inside him, after months of longing for it; and, Tony wasn’t about to admit out loud that he had spent a good part of the journey from New York in his jet with three lubed fingers up his ass as he prepared to be ravished by his Platypus. 

Tony trembled. He felt Rhodey press his forehead into his back as the consuming, heart-pounding smack of skin-on-skin left him gasping for air. Drops of sweat fell on the wooden surface and Tony couldn’t tell if they were his, or Rhodey’s, but he noticed the tell-tale signs of his boyfriend’s fading composure—Rhodey’s moves turned frantic, delirious, as his dry, calloused fingers squeezed Tony’s cheeks.

“You’re getting more daring, baby,” Rhodey said, nipping at Tony’s earlobe. “Dropping in unexpectedly like that, being so damn mouthy with my staff, flirting with me at work. Is this what you’ve been hoping for? You wanted to get fucked in the Oval Office, darling?” His hand slipped down from Tony’s hips and gripped his leaking cock, drawing a debauched moan from Tony. “Well, answer me.” 

Tony whimpered and nodded. 

“Unbelievable,” Rhodey said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “What would people say? What would the team say when they find out how needy you become when I put my cock inside you?” Rhodey tightened his hold over Tony’s throbbing erection, the pre-come leaking onto his hand making the glide easier. “Go on, you know what to do. Get yourself off.” 

In his eagerness, Tony didn’t need to be told twice as his hips moved on their own, pushing into the tight hold of Rhodey’s hand and then pulling back to impale himself on the stiff cock buried in his ass. He set a quick, punishing rhythm, rocking back and forth until his muscles tensed up and pushed him over the edge. Tony came with a shout, coating the polished wood with his semen while some of it spilt on Rhodey’s hand. 

“Good boy,” Rhodey said, kissing his temple and held up his soiled hand up. Without being told, Tony licked his fingers clean and said in a gruff but satiated voice, “Thank you, Mr President. Thank you, sir.” 

“My turn.” Rhodey held Tony down and plunged into him, repeatedly, assailing his boyfriend’s oversensitive body, drawing soft whimpers. He lasted only a few moments longer, muttering into Tony’s ears just how good he felt under him, around him, until Rhodey stilled his hips, spilling inside Tony with a needy, drawn-out moan. “Fuck, baby. I love you,” he groaned, nuzzling into Tony’s neck. 

They stayed idle, boneless, leaning over the desk and not trusting their legs to keep them upright. With some reluctance, Rhodey pulled out and they cleaned up in silence—the small, self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s face morphed into a frown as he felt the dampness spread inside his pants. “Well, all of that’s gonna come out and make a mess. You owe me a new pair of boxers, Platypus.” 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, crashing his lips against Tony’s; he wrapped the other man into a firm embrace and said, “I missed you.” 

Tony’s grinned. “I missed you, too, Mr President. I love it when you give me good dick and show me my place, sir. I’ll let you get back to your presidential stuff.” He moved to leave when Rhodey caught his wrist. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Mr Stark? I didn’t dismiss you. No, you will not leave the premises, I have plans for you this evening.” 

Tony’s eyes darkened—well, fuck, it must be his birthday. 

“Ask for Brad outside. He’s hard to miss; think Rogers, but somehow beefier. He’ll escort you to my residence, where you’re going to wait until I’m done with my day. You will not touch yourself, you won’t relieve yourself, and you are going to prepare yourself for me. Do you understand?” 

Tony nodded and straightened up. With his chest puffed out, he said in a semi-serious tone, “Sir, it’s my patriotic duty to be of service to you.”

“Oh fuck off, Tones,” Rhodey said, biting back the peal of laughter that threatened to erupt as he watched Tony give a full salute and limp out of the room. The Secret Service was about to have a field day with the White House’s nuisance #1. 

[yeswritingsandwritings]

COVID Diaries; Pennies

It is March 2020 and I’ve channeled the spirit of Paul Revere. As Los Angeles erupts into rioting and mass fentanyl suicide, I dive headfirst into the cabin of the Mazda, and gun the packed ship upwards along the vacant I5 corridor. Every smouldering city under Gavin Newsom looks further gone than the last. The navigation takes me on some perverse fantasy detour thru post-apocalyptic San Francisco. It’s been a long time coming but now it’s solidified. The mayor and her delegates have chomped their cyanide pills and now the streets and bridges offer rotting cars beside silent, beautiful Victorian manors. Still in full color, the sky is blue and the sun is yellow, gleaming indifferently. I am nervous about San Franscisco County. The shelter in place order says no one shall be out on the street without proper reason. And, proper reason or not, I have a pharmacy of drugs in the trunk of my car. Will it be enough to wait out the pandemic in my mother’s house? Enough to keep me sane tucked in the basement of the compound on Cougar Mountain, Issaquah, Washington, for GodKnowsHowLong? My very own Bavarian Alps.

For years in LA I have lived for high speed and hard sex in a blackout frenzy which no young American could denigrate without looking like a nerd. In our culture of excess I sought the most insane, unexplored corridors. Chavionistic romps through the bitter forests of lust, contamination, too-young suicide, too-good blowjobs that leave explosions on this cast of characters flown from every corner of the globe, all with the same indelible fever. I come to now, in this chaotic month handed down by God, March 2020, and I’m withdrawing from all of it in the penthouse on the side of the mountain.

In this moment the fantasy is fading fast, like being jolted from a wet dream by a home invasion. For a lot of people the American dream was already a flickering ember in the distance, a relic of some stupid pilgrimgrage for egoic glory, a blind propaganda puzzle piece with no jigsaw to belong to. But I had formed my own relationship with the concept, and, until now, had believed wholeheartedly in the myth in America; or at least that myth’s capacity to spur significant action, which could abolish hunger and pain, mistreatment and misunderstanding, which could deliver us from evil and unto the kingdom of heaven.

I am not, to many of her 300 million pairs of eyes, a portrait of traditional American success. I am the starving artist archetype. I’ve lived in abandoned buildings and shot cocaine into my veins in the speeding bathroom of many an Amtrak carriage. These may be my most definitive traits, save for the music I somehow manage to draw out of all of this. Albums worth of potential answers to the impossible questions. Sometimes I think I’ve reached the peak, with the LSD and the naked festival girls. I am 26 years old and feel incompetent. I go to pay a traffic ticket or am electric bill and find myself paralyzed at the entrance to the website. In a moment of otherworldly strength I call the bank and my debit card has been cancelled. I stare at the parking ticket in my pod, which has been rented from a company called Up(Start), and is arranged in a row with twenty others. At least I’ve made it to Los Angeles.

Up(Start) is a strange place. I find most people don’t last very long in this community. They leave back to their hometowns or find apartments. The ones who stay haunt this place like ghosts, with no discernible goals and mysterious incomes. I’ve learned not to ask how these life-longers pay the rent. The answer is not translatable.

Willow is one of these life-longers. She always talks about moving out; sometimes to an apartment in LA, most recently about some nebulous palace in France. She says her grandmother died and left her everything. She shows me a suitcase full of watches and rings that still can’t fully convince me of her story. She drinks vodka when she wakes up and convinces me to fuck her when Jesse leaves us in his room alone.

Jesse found his way out to a beautiful house in Silver Lake. He had been at Up(Start) for a year before that. He is the nicest guy I know, offering the coat off his back for nothing but a swig of your vodka in return.

I left these characters behind, keeping a steady 65 on the interstate and stopping only to black out in a hotel room in Redding, CA. Summer, inspirational barista and blowjob queen, dared me to stop and see her in Portland, but my body was crawling from scabies from Lucy, (who was also in Portland and, I would later learn, infected with the virus) and I sped right through.

My younger brother Jon was at the house and had been awaiting my arrival. I instantly understood why. My mother had become a figurehead for the national panic, and shoulder-hugged me with her mask on. She is, as we speak, sterilizing the place.

I’ve gotten to spend a good amount of time with Jon, and am somewhat surprised to find that he faces the same existential torment as I do. This is not something we talk about, but I can feel it on him. He is super into Xanax, and orders pressed bars off the darknet. I share the drugs I’ve brought with him. Kratom, weed, and, —most enticing— Flubromazolam. I learn that he has been kicked out of UW on academic probation. I ask him about it in front of my mother and stepdad. With a casualness that shocks me he says he just didn’t care about any of his classes. But he’s got reaccepted to the school and he says he’s going to make it this time.

I show him how I order my drugs online. I show him the designer benzodiazepines on the clearnet, pennies per dose. We place an order for O-DSMT. It’s an insane solution to our problems, but I guarantee you it works.

I tell Jon about my life in LA with the stuff. Taking it and driving weed deliveries all day. I don’t tell him about the long nights with Lucy, telling her the love I feel from the opiate is sourced from her, then failing to get hard.

Jon, for his part, tells me about the peak of his Oxycontin habit, poppin 7 OC30’s a day with his buddies at Rolling Loud. I was just a few blocks away. I didn’t know he was in town.

We order the O-DSMT to his apartment in the U District, stopping to and snag it on our sole vacation to Dad’s for dinner. Two packages have been delivered. We have the save pavlov response. We carry the packages to his apartment on the top floor and split the bubble wrap with a butterfly knife. Out of a manilla envelope comes 100 green Xanax bars. From a bent UPS envelope comes a gram of O-DSMT and 250mg of 4-ACO-DMT, a bonus for me (Jon says he hates psychedelics).

We set to the scale and split the gram, dosing 50mg then and there to get through dinner. The next day he visits me in the basement, saying “Yo, this O-DSMT shit… it’s dope.”

I say “I’m with you.”

My days are spent deep in the dream flow, recording songs for a hopeful fourth album. The third one is still far from complete, but I can’t go back and meddle with those songs now. Wouldn’t dare touch their Los Angeles essence with the hand of the evergreen state. They will go to Rob and Twon and Andy as they are.

I’m back to guitars for the new album. Cardinal sin AC/DC type songs. I think it may be a double album, quarantine permitting. I want an exploratory, unstructured, throw paint at the wall and see what sticks, White album/Life of Pablo situation. I want solo piano pieces and Aphex Twin-esque 808 excursions. I want the label to release it on white vinyl with extensive liner notes. Indulgence. I want this album to be the one where I say “indulge me.”

If Rob is vehimently opposed to the idea I had the fantasy of making an easy album. Taking songs like Parade Owl, See You Tomorrow, Miss Can’t Sleep and putting out a whole album of them. Good rock music. Take a step back from the frontlines; the cutting edge. We’ll see what sticks to the wall after this quarantine is over.

Weeks drift by. There’s a trade route for all the beer that gets brought into the house. It goes from the garage fridge to the basement fridge to my eager hand, to my mouth, to my blood. Night by night the ritual recurs, til my mom takes out the downstairs trash and finds all the empties. She makes some subtle comment. I tell her to buy more White Claw.

Despite the drug flow my inspiration seems to be drying up. Rob took a listen to the twenty five songs I’d completed since arriving in Issaquah and said they sounded like Dogs. The old band. The old rock and roll band we’ve been trying to move away from. I was disappointed to hear him say it. I was disappointed he wasn’t excited about the songs. “Fuck it, should I scrap them all?” I asked myself. Then I started to look around the house and understand that if nothing came of these songs… I must be insane. I must be losing it. The stupid research chemical stimulants don’t help. I thought they would. Productivity and all… but I’m just jittery, texting strangers on Instagram for hours, all the while feeling like I should be doing something else. And the television is on in the background, and I told myself I was going to do so much to day. And I did it. And people on Instagram say “you seem busy.” They’ve always said I seem this and I seem that. I never agreed with any of it, but they probably know me better than I do. How could I see myself? I look for myself through a fog and it’s only a ripple of a shadow. A microcosm a million miles away through a hellscape with no up or down, no east or west. They say I’m social. They say I’m a socialite. Really I just get drunk and unleash all my nervous energy on the party or, nowadays, the Zoom meeting.

Today I drink Modello. Ma and Chuck went to the Seattle waterfront for a picnic or something. I didn’t get the details. But the sun should be going down now, and she’s texting me asking if I want to play a board game when they get back. I say yeah sure I do. My temper when I’m off these amphetamines analogues, though… I worry I’ll flip the Pictionary board. Slam dunk the wine glass onto the wood floor. Now the cliffhanger; will this Modello calm my nerves?

This morning I went with mom to buy plants for the garden. I thought we were going to get seeds but she wanted the already grown ones. She was ready to be angry. Nothing made her happy. We went to three different garden store. I think she got some tomatos. How the hell am I going to get out of this one? Feels like the walls are closing in. I feel like I’m in the freezer in the back of McDonalds. I feel so sad for her, but I also feel so sad for myself. I feel cut off. I feel short of breath. I feel terror. It is Friday, April 17, 2020. Dread, terror, paranoia… I’m sure it’s been felt a million times by a million people, but here’s my version of it. In this McMansion on the side of the mountain, feeling less like I have a mission than ever. Calling nobody. Freezing. Yeah I’m freezing.

My brother and I both have drugs to get through this crisis but I’m planning to get off them. I sold him half of my etizolam and half of another shipment of O-DSMT the other day. He wasn’t at all interested in the 2-FDCK, an analogue of the dissociative Ketamine. I am still not really sure what dissociatives do to consciousness. They can move you into states profound darkness. You feel like your life is a black and white film and it is raining outside. And it drips off the palm trees and you sit in traffic on the way back from the Boy’s and Girl’s Club, where the boys and girls wouldn’t listen, they’d just go off into their own worlds. I wonder how they’re all doing now, tucked into their parents houses in Calabasas.

Anyway, I said to Jon “I’m getting off the stuff.” And I intended to. This journal finds me at a crossroads between fantasy and reality. What is my life going to be for? Where do I cast this fishing pole? Well the pole’s been cast. It’s out there in the middle of the ocean. But at the same time it’s in my hand, in this very moment, and I can chose where to dip it. I’m not trying to catch a fish in this scenario, I just like the serenity of the bay.

The question on everyone’s mind is: “If not drugs, then what!?” That’s a great question and I’d be bullshitting if I said I could answer it. I don’t know what lies on the other side of this life. I want to find out. Do I truly? I have to truly. Love, sex, work, victory… I’ve seen all these things before. And I keep turning to these substances. They fill up my days and my hours and all the music is informed by them. They move my hands to play the guitar and my voice is scratchy when it comes out. I’ve formed an identity around these drugs to a certain extent. That idea of me has to die. It does. I’ll have to mourn it. I’ll have to mourn a lot. I guess I don’t know what to be afraid of. I know a lot of stuff is going to come up through this process. The drugs numb it all out. People say that but it’s really really true. Bad news doesn’t don’t hit you as hard. Most things don’t hit you at all. You’re in your world. You’re off in a cloud. You’re unaware of the world around you. You’re afraid to engage. Why?

It’s easier not to ask why. It’s easier to get the immediate relief of a squirt of etizolam tincture. Or a gross tossing of O-DSMT powder into your mouth and a quick washdown with water. In this way you don’t have to answer any questions. In this way nothing hits you. And guess what else? All your heroes did the same thing.

But a lot of them died doing it. And you don’t want to die. You really really don’t want to die. You want to live a long life, with kids and grandkids, and see what happens to America and what music turns into. You don’t want to die, but what do you have to live for? You know you can make things up. Everyone’s always making shit up. All of this is made up. The culture, the value of a dollar, the value of a Benz. We just decide on it. And that takes a lot. But you know what takes a lot less? Deciding how you want to react to each moment. This one and this one and this one. Do you know what I mean? They say a lot of stuff about the world. The world’s fucked. They say the world’s burning to the ground. They say we can’t leave our houses. They say America won’t be a super power by the end of all of this. But they’re making shit up. And I’m making shit up too. I’m whipping up like a chef. Throwing dishes out from the kitchen, but the dishes are words and actions and the kitchen is my mind. What kind of food am I throwing out? What kind of food am I serving the world? Let me serve love and hope. But for that to happen, let me cultivate it in myself first. Let me nurture it like a child. Let me see it sober. Let me take the steps in the right direction. It’s simple. It’s simpler than you think it is. What are you going to do right now, after reading this? Or while reading this? How are you going to face the world?

Jon told me he got into Xanax from the Famous Dex song “Japan.”

“Baby girl, what you doing, where your man? I just popped a xan, fifty thousand in Japan”

He told me his friends heard the song and picked up some Xanax because of it. They liked it and reached out to him “You’ve got to try this,” they said. My little brother, in the throes of this batshit demon force that will bury him. It might bury me too. The jury’s still out. Mom, just let me withdraw in peace. She brings down a space heater. I grow to love it. I lay down on the wood floor that the spiders sometimes dash across. The space heater comes close to burning me, but I’m ok. I stand up, dizzy from all I’ve done to try to combat the withdrawls. Way too much etizolam, way to much kratom, getting to the point of way too much weed and alcohol. But hopefully it’ll all be over soon, and I can call my friends in peace and not want to slam down the phone whenever there is the tiny threat of silence, or whenever I speak, or whenever they speak. I can’t any of it sober, that’s what I think. Life is hard sober; it’s a breeze when you’re floating thru it. A good dream. So why get sober? They say it’ll kill me. Well, I said that. In this very same paragraph. And maybe it will. But when you’re withdrawing like this… all you want is a moment of peace.

Oh God, at dinner tonight I started to go off about my own mental state to the family. I should have known it was a big mistaken, but on my way home from Doordashing a rainy Issaquah I stopped at QFC and got a bottle of True Eagle American Spirits, Kentucky manufactured vodka. And, helping myself to serving of kimchi,  I said to them “I think I’m losing it.” And the conversation spiraled until my mother asked me “Are you suicidal?” And “Are you struggling with drugs?” Jon, between us, must have felt betrayed, but I just wanted to feel understood. I feel Chuck does not want to understand. I understand what he’s sacrificed for the life he has, but what value does that life has to him? He has a tumor in his jawbone, and it’s eating away at him, and no one can do anything. And they can’t get out to the specialists on the East Coast, and they won’t do the invasive surgery. He’s too busy. I know, in some capacity, he understands. Because he blows these things off like they don’t matter at all, when anyday he could have a stroke like Grandma had, fall to the floor of the kitchen while dishing up his kimchi, or pulling a slice of pizza out of the carton. I feel the same way. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I know that I am mentally unwell. And I avoid the questions about my drug use and about my suicidality. I miss girls, ma. I miss pussy and parties and not giving a fuck. The way I don’t give a fuck now is in these terrifying sound collages drafted on the latest of nights, in the deep dark depths of quaratine. What was I saying in the last one? Something about how I didn’t wanna kill the crabs on the beach on Whidbey Island as a kid. Holy shit I’m losing my mind. But it’s all fine, isn’t it? As long as the music comes out fine.

What could I possibly do to get healthy? I feel so far off the deep end. You have no idea; I feel like crying. My best friend, living with the girl I thought I could always go back to. We don’t talk. I mix these ketamine analogues in with that cheap cheap vodka (plus etizolam) and cry tears onto this plastic table. It’s pointless to keep up the tinder courtships. I feel like this will never end. And it started with such a bang. I was such a part of history. Now I’m a nobody; I’m a junkie, holding on by the thinnest thread. No energy to pray. I feel like Cobain, and I know so many people do… but I really do. I can only imagine. But I’m only listening to Mingus, Lana Del Rey and Radiohead (Kid A thru Hail to The Thief).

Should I throw weed in the mix? Lord knows I have enough of it. It’s my number one priority. I’ve made enough songs now that we could workshop what I’ve come up with years. What else is there to do? Mingus ripped the piano strings out of some pianist’s instrument in front of a live audience, then stormed off the stage. Where the fuck is that in my life? I’m in front of the computer, weeping because America has come to a close. You know they sent jazz to the Soviet Union as a WEAPON? A weapon of freedom and democracy and individualism. What the fuck happened? It all makes me want to cry. It’s all too much; this world. These people I’ve known and loved and lost. This music I’ve made that they promise me will be something, but I don’t know if I believe them. I don’t know if I want anything to do with this life. I can’t engage with my culture anymore… my history. I feel like I’m not a part of it. I feel so disconnected. Who’s rippin the strings out of MY piano? Or who’s piano am I ripping the strings out of? We’ve lost so much… I mean… I’ll do my best to work with what we still have, but we’ve been so fractured. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was the end. Of America. Of our culture. Of our music and our hustle and bustle and industry and lover’s lanes and rites of passage. I feel like I’m mourning it now. Mourning my culture. Maybe mourning the illusion that was sold to us. Believe me, I was first in line to buy. That’s why it destroys me so deeply to see it collapse.

I guess we’re all one people. I’m crying writing this. Weeping, weeping, weeping. Grieving. You know what grieving is. I remember what’s-her-name in the pool. We went to every hot tub, each a different temperature, in the Desert Hot Springs Resort. Then Lucy’s friend’s new boyfriend told us Bernie Sanders had stayed there when he had visited DHS. I laughed so hard. Lucy ordered me another drink. She didn’t mind the cost. She liked me to be on her level. And I didn’t mind. I was proud to sip. We went back to the hotel and did god knows what. Feels a million lifetimes away.

This was back when anything could happen. When America was a blank slate and no one could predict anything. When you could go outside and say “What the fuck is up?” and get in adventures. I mourn the loss of that. Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe that’s still there. But I’ve emotionally severed my ties to it. And I wish I didn’t. Because I love it. I love it so much. It’s not a myth. I swear to god it’s not a myrh. It was a reality… until all this happened. You have no idea. I mean, if you’re reading this and weren’t around before. You have no idea. I mean… I don’t know what things are going to be like after this. But not the same. There’s no way they could be the same.

You know I hope I get this shit. I hope I contract COVID-19. Lay in this guest bedroom bed with the scabies I may or may not have gotten from Upstart Creative Living… and which wouldn’t die off. I hope I can’t breathe. I hope I’m immune. I want to walk the world. Maybe I should go out, get it, isolate, heal, be immune… if that’s even possible. At this point we don’t even know if immunity is a thing that happens with COVID. But even if I could walk the earth without fear of it… everyone else is cowering, and they pull away from, seeing I’m not wearing a mask or gloves, or even if I am… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would all end this way. I would have done so much more. Focused so much more on each kiss. Even every note. I did my best, I guess. It feels like it’s all coming to an end. It’s Thursday, April 23, but that doesn’t mean anything. You have to understand how little dates mean in this time. It’s like we’re living in one of those time capsules buried beneath the walkway at WWU. Stagnant… yeah we write songs and poems and do our work and keep the economy from faltering completely… but there’s a different angle to look at it all now. The world is over. I mean, aha, to use the words of Rem… “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” Key words: “As we know it.” I had no idea this would happen in my lifetime… I couldn’t even conceive it. If you would have told me this would have happened six months ago I wouldn’t have believed it. America seemed so stable. And now it feels like it’s in shambles. It really did feel stable. You may think I’m insane for saying America in September, 2019 seemed stable… but shit, we were free. And we were headed where we were headed. This throws a wrench in all of this. And it could be the end. And I thought this was the greatest country on earth. Happiness is a buttery, try to catch it like every night.

I’ve been fascinated in American history since I could understand it. Most specifically, I’ve been fascinated about how history is still happening. The closer you get you the current day, the harder it is to get a straight story. FDR did what he did and we won. That’s fact. That’s cement. Nixon? Everyone agrees he was a crook. But what about Reagan? What about Bush Sr? What about Clinton? The closer you get to the modern day, the more difficult it becomes to discern what is real and what is fake.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, V!

You have been accepted for the role of LILY EVANS! We really enjoyed reading your application. We were floored by the sheer beauty at some of the imagery and truly felt something when reading about your Lily. She was unique enough to feel like yours, while also sticking to what we know from canon. We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: V

AGE: Twenty five

TIMEZONE: GMT+11

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I work full-time but as I’m on the other side of the world this shouldn’t impact you all too much! I’ll be able to meet the activity requirements for the group.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Lily Jane Evans

AGE: Twenty one

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cisgender female with she/her pronouns. In terms of sexuality, Lily tends to assume she’s straight. It’s never been something she’s really interrogated, despite how varied her friendship circle can be, although that’s not to say she’s right. Lily prides herself on having insight into every aspect of her life - why not her sexuality? She supposes it’s because since she and James got together, there’s not been much point wondering about anything else. For the most part Lily is straight, but I can see her questioning this a little as the group develops. It would, necessarily, be in counterpoint to her relationship with James, as that’s her frame of reference. But, weirdly, I could see her sharing a kiss with another woman and going, “Oh, that’s nice,” and then never really thinking about it again! So, in short, while Lily’s never actively thought about it, but she’s probably straight.

BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: Nope, everything looks great!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Lily is, by definition, an optimist. Naturally warm and compassionate, she is a firm believer in treating people with respect and on their own merit. She’s sensitive to the whims of others, and focuses on listening closely when they speak. If there’s anything she knows, it’s that people rarely say what they mean. Too often they hide behind flippant remarks or boisterous behaviour. Or, in the case of Severus, quicksilver smiles and double-meanings. Lily holds each word in the palm of her hand before giving it back, gently, as if it were a robin’s egg. That is not to say Lily is endlessly patient and giving, although for the most part she is. She has a streak of righteousness that is hard to tamp down. It coincides with her ego, which draws breath from the near-constant nice things people have to say about her. Lily is often reassured by the knowledge that she’s likely considered every aspect of a situation more than anyone else, so they really ought to listen to her. When she was younger, this manifested as assertiveness to the point of bossiness, though she’s calmed down a lot in recent years. Lily can still have a tight hold on the reins, but she’s far more likely to hand them over to someone else if she can see they’re capable of doing a better job than her.

Lily doesn’t often lose her temper. She went from pleading with Petunia to trading acerbic remarks with the Marauders, to merely laughing whenever someone tries to insult her. The only way to really get under her skin is to undermine who she is. Lily has a very strong sense of self. She prides herself on being independent, level-headed, and quietly confident and collected in most matters. If she’s close to the end of her tether, logic flies out the window. In lieu of her characteristic diplomacy she’ll trade on emotions, managing to spear the heart of the issue with uncanny accuracy. One harsh side to being insightful is knowing just where to press and for how long. Lily hates that part of her, and dreads confrontation as a result. She would much, much rather keep the peace than let that side see the light of day. Deep down, Lily cares about how she comes across to people and how she’s earned her reputation. To be reckless and throw it all away in the heat of the moment is unnatural to her and quite distasteful.

Lily is remarkably creative. Her mind is ordered, logical, but she has a willfully romantic streak that makes her heart beat fast. Lily cares about the gentle, beautiful things in the world. She takes comfort from small moments: a daisy in a vase, the morning sunlight on warm wood, the smell of chamomile and wool. She often takes the time to center herself and focus on the world around her to act as a reminder. This is what you’re fighting for. This is what matters. For Lily, nothing matters more than personal freedom. To be shackled in any way - emotionally or, as is the threat these days, literally - is beyond words. Lily abhors feeling trapped. That is, perhaps, why she works so hard to make people comfortable with her. She wants them to know that she’ll be there for them, that there is no judgement. She is, in this sense, a good person to come with when you have a problem, as there’s nothing she likes more than trying to fix someone up. It’s a way of giving the illusion of control, even when, sometimes, she feels like she’s in free fall.

As it happens with many people, Lily can come to resent in others what she perceives as simple measures of human decency. For example, she works hard to be understanding and helpful. When others don’t return the favor, she can be wry in return, and will remember it for the future. She holds others to relatively high standards as a result. Lily takes so much time thinking about her own thoughts, actions, and motives, that it’s endlessly frustrating to be around people - like Sirius and, sometimes, James - who just jump in without caring about what comes next. Lily can be as impulsive as anyone else, but if it has the potential to backfire or hurt someone else, she’ll draw the line. In this sense, Lily has a very strong sense of justice. She cares about the dignity of every living thing, and would defend anyone’s rights until her last breath. The only time that wouldn’t be the case is if that person has completely disregarded everyone else in their pursuit. Case in point: Lord Voldemort.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Cokeworth, a city wedged in between Coventry and beneath Northampton and the poorer for it, because people zipped past on the M45-M1 for one or the other, and otherwise completely overlooked that squat, ugly, brown-bricked place that perched on the River Nene like a river rat. It was an industrial place, straight out of Dickens, with a weary, perfunctory air so practiced by housewives with soap-reddened hands and children who cycled to school and spat in the street. The Evans’ lived in a terraced house of identical terraced houses, with a box of flowers beneath the front room window, and a narrow chimney that smoked, without fail, every day of the year, even in summer. The hallway was carpeted with lurid yellow-green flowers - her mother’s concession to 70s style - and the walls hung heavy with photographs of their childhood. Lily and Petunia squinting in the sun on a Yarmouth beach, them in school uniforms, a portrait of their nan. The living room was small but neat; the kitchen, up the back, equally cramped. The door was often propped open to keep the breeze going through, and it opened onto a small paved yard which was big enough for a few flower pots, a washing line, and the outside loo. Upstairs consisted of a bathroom and two bedrooms.

Lily and Petunia had always shared a room. Even when Lily was at school she’d come home every summer and lay awake in that sweltering bedroom, with posters fading on the walls and the windows thrown open to coax any whisper of cool river air. Petunia’s side of the bedroom was immaculate: a painstaking recreation of any teenage magazine, with a dressing table, a vase of dried flowers, a small bookshelf with Enid Blyton and Paddington Bear serials. Lily’s was more chaotic: trinkets cluttering every available surface, clothes strewn on the floor or the foot of her bed, where a game of solitaire lay abandoned. But in the middle of the room, on a small table beneath the double windows, was a record player. And it was there, on the carpet before it, that she and Petunia was lay for hours, sucking sweets and knocking knees, making their sedate way through the hits recommended by Petunia’s group of school chums, all of them giggling and pink-cheeked and mean and members of various clubs or sports teams. Petunia, needless to say, was not sporty, but she was doggedly loyal, and followed those girls around with a martyred, slightly desperate air, that Lily, even at nine, found repugnant. Of course, she didn’t have much to go on. Severus was deeply unpopular, especially among the boys on their estate. Those boys wheeled around chasing dogs or trying to filch cigarettes from uncles or older brothers, and would sail past Severus as he stalked along, calling him names and jeering.

It was boredom that drew Lily to the river bank. Boredom and irritation. Her parents were well-meaning but ordinary people. Her father worked in a factory, and her mother worked in the employment office. They were frugal, clean, conventional. Lily’s father had neat fair hair and a moustache that bristled when he read the news or smoked his pipe. Their mother was a tall, well turned out woman, who cooked tea quickly and efficiently with her hair in rollers. These days, Lily can see the truth: that they had once been young people with no other option but to get married, and so they decided to make the best of it. But when she was a girl they were too nice, too oppressively stupid and boring, that it was all she could do sometimes to stop herself from screaming. Lily wasn’t necessarily a badly behaved kid. She did her homework in front of the television, laying on her stomach with her legs in the air, glancing between her arithmetic and Granada. She ate her greens and helped her mother with the washing. Early on she felt a restless stir. For a long time she was content to lose herself in books or music or television shows, but then, when she was around ten, the itch grew unbearable. She tried wandering the estate but that became impossible - mainly because of the boys, who whistled whenever she walked past - so she went to the places everyone had forgotten or grew tired about: the backs of shops with weeds springing the concrete, a scrubby park with a broken swing-set, and, eventually, the river.

When she received her Hogwarts letter things changed quite dramatically. Lily had to leave her school, which wasn’t too terrible. What was terrible was the falling out with Petunia, who wouldn’t speak to her until the following Christmas, and that was to ask her whether she’d pass the sugar, thank you. In the years that followed Lily stopped thinking of her childhood home as a trap and more of a warren, which, while feeling like a maze, at least ended somewhere, at some point, and so it was only ever a matter of time before she would have escaped. Likely that would have been through marriage, or getting a job, or attending secretarial school, like Petunia. Like all people who have grown up with little, Lily became fiercely protective over her childhood. The other muggleborns had divisions of their own - divisions based on comparatively newer, but no less insidious ideas around class and place. Lily’s Midlands accent, with the lazy vowels and clipped endings, made some of the toffs wrinkle their nose; and one boy who’d boasted about attending Harrow before “all this”, once called her a yampy (that moment was alleviated by another equally horrid boy making a snide remark about Harrow being the homestead of Eton rejects, which drew fire from Lily for at least five minutes). Strangely, it only bolstered Lily’s sense of sense. Yeah, she was poor. And yes, she was a no-hoper from nowhere. But at least she had some bloody integrity about it. Perhaps that was the most important thing her parents ever taught her: pride. Pride in work, school, family. Above all, to have pride in herself. There was nothing those toffs could say that Lily hadn’t thought about herself a hundred times before, anyway.

OCCUPATION:

Trainee, Committee on Experimental Charms, Ministry for Magic.

When Lily left school, she didn’t have a plan. For the first time it felt like she didn’t need to plan three steps ahead. The whole country was gripped with a kind of fever, a remnant of the early part of the decade, where love was free and happiness was contagious. Since then, of course, a war had broken out, Margaret Thatcher became the PM, and Lily wasn’t a girl anymore. Despite that little voice telling her to buckle down, do something useful, she couldn’t resist life in the city, where the men wore platforms and the women glittered in the night. Where music eclipsed her, and she could disappear down muggle warrens without a care in the world. Eventually, however, her parents had a word. It went along the lines of, “Lily, darling,” and, “Come now, poppet, don’t you want to do something useful? Make something of yourself?” And, naturally, Petunia had a few snide remarks to make, about magic and nonsense and the stuff of fairy tales, and, well… Lily might pride herself on standing firm, but it’s a little different when your family’s staring at you over the mashed potatoes, looking all po-faced and Concerned. So, a little under a year of her graduation, Lily applied for an training program at the Ministry. It’s quite possibly the most middle-class job she could imagine, but it’s surprisingly enjoyable. Lily’s natural gift with charms has served her well. She likes it primarily because charms make people’s lives better. A ditty to keep the tea warm? A waggle of your wand to keep the flowers alive? Lily treasures the small moments in life; from her perspective, there’s not enough beauty in the world - it’s fading fast, faster every day - and if she can do even something small to keep spirits up, she’ll do it.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Once, when she was much younger, Lily might have found the Order a terrible thing. In a voice that sounded a little like her sister’s, she reasoned that anything that disrupted society was by nature dangerous. When she was twelve years old, things changed abruptly. Her parents had never been particularly well-to-do. They were, in fact, from proud working-class stock, the sort to have fifty cups of builder’s tea a day and talk knowledgeably about roof tiles. When the labor strikes started across the country, the tone of their conversations went from cheery to strained. When her father was laid off after twenty five years at the same job, Lily was filled with indignant rage - a rage that simmered for most of the 70s. She studied other labor movements and found within her a kindred tie to all of the men and women who fought for their rights. That soon expanded into any movement for the gain of freedom: miners, women, the queer liberation movement. Lily shouldered their hopes and took it upon herself to lift alongside them.

It should come as no surprise that when Lily found out about the Order, she agreed with it immediately. That decision was made in the heat of the moment - graduation was looming, the world outside was growing darker, and seemed more and more every day that she and her friends were at the mercy of ancient forces well beyond her understanding. Now that she’s been a member for a few years, her attitude has mellowed, matured. Lily’s flash of righteousness has been tempered by cool logic. For her, it’s a melting point of conflicting interests. What about morality, ethics? If the Order act without guidance, doesn’t that make them as bad as the Death Eaters? Lily has a measured, open mind. Capable of holding many viewpoints at once, she is as considerate with these arguments as she is firmly loyal. Though some of her friends - Sirius, mainly - would consider any dissenting viewpoint to indicate disloyalty, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Lily is aware of how damaging zealotry can be; how puritanical ideologies can crush as well as triumph. She believes in discussing each decision, in weighing options and considering each seriously, on its own merit. When she decided to form the Dissendium Task Force, it was with no small amount of thought.

For her, the Task Force represents something larger. It’s a direct address to every strain of bigotry in their society. When she was a girl on the riverbank, Severus by her side, she thought the Wizarding World to be infinitely tolerant and marvelous, a peaceful and enlightened society. Now that she knows differently, Lily doesn’t necessarily think that idyll is impossible. Difficult, certainly, but not beyond the realm of possibility. With Dissendium, the Order, everything, Lily wants to strike at the heart of the problem, to shed light on the complex and overlapping issues that have led them to this moment, to pull away the curtain and speak with the voice of an outsider. Lily has been called many things. But being a muggleborn and a woman has given her insight beyond what her peers are capable of.

Unexpectedly, Dissendium has given life to a different kind of problem. Lily never intended to be the caretaker of anything, but accidentally creating what more or less could be termed a commune was not on her list of things to do. Her immediate issue revolves around Dissendium’s duty of care. How much can she, Marlene, Remus, and Emma do? How much longer can the McKinnons care for all those they’ve rescued? These issues are pressing to Lily - and she can feel the tide within her start to shift. Sometimes it’s all she thinks about. What to do with everyone, how to care for them, to ensure they stay happy enough to make their lives again once all this is over… It’s so much, even with everyone helping her, and though, logically, Lily knows she should fear what this obsession might do to her, she’s blinkered herself. Dissendium, what it represents, means so much. Can’t people see?

SURVIVAL:

Lily is fortunate to have James. She’s not going to deny it. Of course, she would survive without him. Had things been different and they had resisted that insistent tug between them, Lily would have found a way through. Living in London proper is a fool’s game, these days, what with the Death Eater elite swanning around the magical zones. She might have burrowed into a fringe muggle society in a smaller city or town, maybe even with Marlene - or Remus. Lily’s theorised what it might be like to live with Remus, to make a tidy home together, and it’s a remarkably comforting thought. Life with James is a good deal more different than the life she imagined when she graduated. Their townhouse is… big. James likes to go all modest and bluster things like, “Oh, it’s really not bigger than average, really,” and, “Have you seen Alphard’s place? Merlin knows how Sirius doesn’t get lost every bloody day,” but Lily just gives him a deadpan look and he takes the hint. Truth is, it’s a little too large for her. Lily grew up in a two bedroom terraced house in Cokeworth. The type that, until recently, had an outside loo. Living in a townhouse like James’ is, at times, strange. Lily doesn’t know what to do with all the space. The few things she’s left scattered around always seem slightly out of place: a forgotten scarf, a pile of books with the spines broken, a yellow glass cigarette dish she found at Oxfam. In the flat she lived in before - a cramped loft in Coventry, with old factory windows and worn down floorboards - these trinkets were kitsch, intriguing, unusual magpie symbols of a woman with eclectic, slightly old-fashioned tastes. But in the harsh light of James’ house, they’re ugly. Cheap. Once, in a flash of shame, Lily almost threw them all away. She resisted on the basis that though they were cheap and, yes, ugly, they were hers, her own. They had been gathered from the recesses of muggle shops and given to her by her gran, and she loved every single battered lamp, 50s crockery, and disfigured cat statue she owned. They had been warmed by her hands, carefully arranged on windowsills or bookshelves. In a way she hasn’t managed to yet articulate, her things in James’ space is symbolic. Lily feels out of place. She’s just not sure whether it’s bad enough to do anything about it.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Lily needs people. While she likes a measure of solitude to recharge, she needs to be with people, to share thoughts and dreams, to balance one another, to keep each other company. For her, relationships with other people, and especially the Order, are among her priorities. Lily works hard to keep her relationships with other people. If ever she feels something is amiss, she’ll be the first person to address it head on, arms folded, head cocked. Lily is direct. However, she’s not omnipotent. Lily does, occasionally, favor her vision of people over the reality. She’s not totally blind to people’s faults, but she will, almost unconsciously, reinvent and gently manipulate them into something more desirable. A habit of cockiness, for instance, can be turned into confidence; selfishness for independence. Lily has an unwavering ability to see the good and bright in other people, even when they don’t see it themselves. For this reason she can, sometimes, think that everything is going quite well until it really isn’t. In those moments she’s always taken aback: surprised at her own willful ignorance, her tendency to the beautiful over muddy reality. At the moment her relationships are… well, they’ve been better, but they certainly could be much worse. She’s in a happy medium with almost everyone, and it’s not reached a point of crisis enough for her to intervene.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

It goes without saying that I see James and Lily together! Having said that, I am more interested in developing a realistic relationship than simply getting them together for superficial purposes. In fact, I would like to explore the more mundane elements of their relationship against the backdrop of war. I have, personally, recently hit a major milestone in my real life relationship, and it prompted me to think back on what those early days were like. The splendor! The excitement! The anxiety! The hitherto hidden insecurity! While Lily knows herself, it’s something else to know yourself in relation to someone else, especially in a romantic sense. Not only that, but she and James are living together. I’d like to see them come to terms with their relationship while balancing the war and Order commitments. Do we really have to argue about the washing up before an Order meeting, etc. That sort of thing! I’ve read Karli’s application and I completely agree when she talks about the darker or more complicated parts of their relationship. I can absolutely see Lily and James clashing over ideology. And if he’s concerned she’s slipping away… I think there could be some truth to that, but it’s not necessarily because of James. If anything, I think there’s a pressure to drop everything to focus on the war effort, and what we know from canon is that James and Lily defied and rejected that on the basis of their love for each other and, eventually, Harry. In those terms I would like to see how they fare in this new world. I am definitely up for breaking them up and getting them back together, or doing basically anything!

In terms of other ships, I also have a real soft spot for Lily/Remus. I think their mutual respect, compatible personalities, and gentle warmth could blossom into something deeper. I’m not sure how it could - if at all - manifest in this group, but I’d be interested to see how Lily would handle it. I think she is intensely devoted and largely monogamous - she is, after all, a pretty traditionally-raised young woman. But I could see her having a moment of stupid desire and not letting herself overthink for just one moment. Of course, she’d overthink the hell out of later, but until then it’d be wild and exhilarating and frightening and I think she might need that, even if it’s only once.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

While Lily grew up working class and a woman, she was white and reasonably well-educated. I think, actually, that a defining part of her is the notion of class, especially when she went to Hogwarts. In her world, people like Sirius wouldn’t have crossed her path, except in the form of a character on the television or in a book, or maybe someone she’d pass on the high street (a dash of black silk and tailored trousers; an air of arrogance and ownership). Even, to an extent, James. Aside from their compatible personalities, that’s probably why Lily resonates so much with Remus, and I definitely think Peter, as well. She senses the underdog in people and is drawn to them because of it. Her interest in working class or other labor movements positions her strongly in the context of the Order and especially Dissendium. She is so finely attuned to bigotry, regardless of its shape and creed.

I actually see Lily, especially when she was younger, as being very sharp to people like Sirius and James. She would have clocked them immediately for who they are: rich boys with nothing to lose. I think that helps explain a lot of her early (canon) animosity towards them both; though this would be directed at James, possibly because she was attracted to him. Over time that has mellowed and she’s not at sharp-tongued as she once was, but Lily’s still sensitive to any passing comments that could construed a certain way, and she’d be the first to dryly point out someone’s privilege.

That being said, Lily’s certainly not without fault. That old sense of self-righteousness and martyrdom can creep in whenever she’s not careful, and I think it’s at those moments that she’s the most unbearable, like someone who’s willfully blind to their own issues because it suits their argument. I think just as Lily has a notion about other people that she prefers to uphold, she also views herself in a similarly flattering light, and would prefer to live in that space than be fallible and human. I think, actually, that Lily might sometimes struggle with authenticity. It is possible, after all, to be so giving and genuine that you give the impression of insincerity, and while I don’t see it happening often, I would not be surprised if another character perceived her interest to be slightly self-serving. Lily identifies strongly with her position as an underdog, and I think that comes out in strange ways.

In terms of blood status, it’s self evident that Lily is a target in this game and, of course, in canon. She would not, under any circumstances, take any shite for being muggleborn. Largely, I think she’d prefer to be direct but polite about the whole thing, or to make an off-hand joke to alleviate the situation. But she definitely would not let anyone have a go at her. That’s possibly where she clashes the most with other people. Sometimes when you’re so sensitive to something, you take any opportunity to teach someone the error of their ways. Lily would certainly see herself as an educating figure, someone who by default has the moral high ground. I can see why Sirius, potentially, might find that irritating, or would call her out on it.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I was drawn to this roleplay largely because it ticked all my boxes. Emphasis on development and writing? Genuine desire to explore characters and throw them into all sorts of nonsense? A solid admin team and interesting writers? I haven’t roleplayed on for a while, so this is a little new to me. That being said, I feel excited and confident to write Lily in the context of this group, so long as you forgive any stupid mistakes I might make!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

This application is already so long! So I’ll cut it short and say yes, I absolutely have ideas. I’d like particularly to explore Lily and Dissendium further, and I’d like to see questions of ethics arise within the Order. Lily’s at a place to really push everyone to think about their motivations for being in the Order beyond “fighting evil”, and I think that could prove valuable to several characters. Oh! And I would love to think/write more about Lily’s past and where she’s come from. I’ve done a lot of research into the Midlands and the sort of vibe she would be grown up with, and let me say, I have an absolute arsenal of period/region appropriate slang for you all.

ANYTHING ELSE?: I have thrown together some things on a mockblog for Lily, but it’s all over the place/untagged/generally a shambles. I wanted to collate images that reminded me of Lily and Cokeworth and the 70s in general. You can find it here.

[captainshadowgirllostfan]

Crazy Daughter

It made Lois sad to think that out of all her children, the one whom she was the least closest to was Frances.

Not only was Frances her firstborn, but she was her only daughter out of four, now five, children.

For Lois, Frances was her second chance from the terrible decisions she made for herself.

Though she can’t regret marrying Hal. Or even having kids. She just wished she got to do all the things she dreamt she would do as a girl.  

When she was pregnant with Jamie, despite the fact that her only daughter was the most problematic of her children, she had still hoped for another daughter, if anything to start over with.

She blamed herself partly for their bad relationship, but for the life she wasn’t sure how she could’ve gone any different with Francis.

When she was in high school she had always dreamed she would have all daughters when she married, if she decided to go the suburban mother route. Her teenage self was right about one thing, the suburban mom life was truly a nightmare.

But her teenage self was wrong about one thing.

Raising a girl was not easier than raising a boy.

Francis proved that.

As Frances grew older, she soon showed how much her angelic features belie the true devil that lay beneath. The girl was a wildling. Their once beautiful polished white apartment soon became a canvas for Frances’ chaotic nature unraveling. Food and drink stains from trying to get Frances to eat and wean her out of nursing, crayon coloring all over the walls, their couch looked like it was made from patchworks of army fatigues, etc.

Their apartment was the image of despair, especially for Lois who prided in being clean. It made her look bad that she hardly brought company in anymore. Not that they would come even if she asked. Her friends could already see the pathetic mess she was becoming, and hardly respected her enough to be associated with her.

Still she at least tried to get close to her daughter. Because even if sons push their mothers away, daughters will always have to come to their mothers in the end of the day. For advice about being a woman and boys and such.

One thing she’d happily admit was the great thing about having Francis was the shopping. It was the one thing she enjoyed when Francis was a babe, though she always did ruin everything she bought.

And it was something she enjoyed as Francis grew older. Out of all her children, Francis was the only one excited about shopping.

But she was also the most pickiest. It didn’t bother Lois much at first. She was rather proud of how independent thinking her daughter was. That was until she grew into her teens and started picking more darker and risque items, so opposite of her angelic appearance but matching of her personality.

But Frances had always been independent. It was something Lois was actually proud of, but it was a double edge sword, because Frances much like Malcolm always tried to push Lois away. Seeing anything Lois says as nothing more than a criticism or jab at how they choose to live their lives, and because their mother disapproves, all the more determined to continue.

Like how Lois tried to convince Frances she shouldn’t try to pick such short skirts, or shorts.

How she should try wearing brighter colors.

How she was too young to have a car and wair.

How she was too young to have sex and should wait.

How she should not ever get her nose or lip pierced.

That last one had got Frances into boarding school.

At that point, Lois was just tired of dealing with her wayward daughter. She couldn’t understand her, she didn’t want to honestly.

Frances was nothing like her when she was young.

“She is just like you!” Hal once said to her, when she and Frances were having another fight, this time over Frances fixing the roof.

“What!?” Lois screamed, “She is not! If anything she got that rebellious attitude from you!”

Hal scoffed.

“Remember how you were back in high school! Wearing leathers and acting like you’re the king of the school. You and Larry would always get into all kinds of messes! I remembered one time you streaked bare naked across the gym during a pep rally and only got caught because you didn’t see the volleyball net and got yourself caught wrapped in it!” Lois exclaimed.

This got Hal chuckling a bit from the memory, “One wonders how I even got you to date me?”

“One wonders..” Lois says dryly, not willing to go further on old times. They were discussing Frances, like they tend to whenever Frances was at home.

“Still that wasn’t rebellion honey. That was honestly stupid teenage drunkeness. I was seriously drunk during that time! God that Larry!” Hal joked. “Frances doesn’t have that stupidness.”

“I beg to differ.” Lois muttered folding her daughter’s pink blanket, which made her feel warm a bit that Frances still took to some bright colors Lois preffered of her rather then black.

All that girl wore was black.

But maybe boarding school and interacting with more appropriate girls had started changing her.

Everytime she thought that, she was always proven wrong.

“No Lois, Frances is just like you.” Hal said drinking his afternoon coffee, and munching on a sandwich, “You are both stubborn and hotheaded. You never know when to quit when you’re ahead of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Lois exclaimed.

“What I mean, is that this back and forth between you both expecting the other to give in is going far to long, and something has to change! I know deep down you want to have a good relationship with her! You’ve always wanted a girl! She’s our only girl Lois! The least you can do is try to understand her and accept her for who she is!”  exclaimed Hal passionately.

“I understand and accept her!” protested Lois putting down the clothes she was folding indignantly.

“Do you Lois? Have you ever tried?” Hal implored.

Lois paused and thought. She didn’t understand Frances. She honestly didn’t understand all her kids. The closest she could say of understanding any of her children might be Malcolm though even he exhibited behavior that made her question whether or not he was purposely becoming dumb. Like that time he dated Sarah Coleman without her permission.

“Okay I don’t understand her. But I want too! If only she let me! But every time I try to get close to her, she pushes me away and blame me for every terrible thing that happens to her!” Lois tearfully sobbed, while Hal moved to hold her.

“I mean all I want is to have a daughter I could shop with, could confide to, to guide her, show her, help her become the best she could be and to not make the mistakes I’ve made. I want her to follow her dreams! To be happy!”

“And she is!” Hal consoled.

“Is she? Is having her go to that boarding school a big mistake?” asked Lois.

“No. No it isn’t. Honestly the girl needed a better environment then what we were providing. To be fair, I think we honestly spoiled her.” Hal somberly admitted.

“Tch! You mean you spoiled her!” Lois muttered, wiping a tear with her right hand.

“What!? I am not the only one guilty of it! Don’t act like you don’t give her leeway as well especially when it comes to girl stuff. Frances knows out of all the boys, your biggest weakness is shopping. And you also let her get away with dating all those boys!”

“For goodness sakes Hal-”

“What if she got pregnant!” Hal screamed, his voice now becoming high-pitched, “Huh, then what? What will we do if she continues to sleep with all the wrong boys or god forbid get into drugs!”

“Hal, I’m sure-”

“Oh my god, and you kicked her out!”

“Hal-”

“YOU KICKED HER OUT AND SHE COULD PROBABLY BE WITH RICHIE THAT GOD FORBID NO GOOD-”

And then the door slammed leaving Lois with laundry and leftover breakfast.

“Dad really gets crazy when it comes to Frances doesn’t he…” Malcolm remarked behind her.

Lois sighed, maybe she wasn’t the entire problem when it comes to Frances.

No raising a girl was definitely not easier then a boy, especially when that child happened to be Frances.