#My spoken French is not especially good and it is part of why I would like to leave the province!

[hollowtones]

really stupid question but i’m from ontario and i have very limited knowledge on french, and watching you be able to understand what pol martin was saying in scorpy’s vhs viewingz made me realise that i need to step up my game. are there any tips you have for learning quebecois french?

I am bad at learning languages and worse at teaching them so I don't have much practical advice I can offer. My only advice is if someone gets smarmy at you about your accent or your dialect or whatever then you kick them in the dick. You need to kick them in the dick and balls & you need to put your whole body weight into that kick.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Some kind of a (diving) summer (part I)

"Let me put it this way, Augie, ever-doting Son of Sons," explained Doggie Daddy on the long drive up towards the Ten Thousand Lakes of Minnesota where such a doting father and son duet were headed for their vacation, "nothing is too good for us ... especially when it comes to taking up serious relaxation in as conducive a setting as it can get."

"You mean up north, Father?" was how Augie asked it.

"Correct, Acme of Sons! Especially in a more traditionalistic sort of resort setting up on the lake ... so why should it be all that fancy, knowing things could get expensive indirectly?"

Even with the scent of pine becoming evident by way of the car's air conditioning systems, you could just imagine something unlikely, something especially wonderful, bound to ensue over the summer's much-deserved rest. Which would be evident in the evening bonfire the resort set up as a show of hospitality, what with some Rather Interesting Company ensuing--as in:

"Loopy De Loop--none other than ze good wolf, seeking to defy all the stereotypes and prejudices unjustly levelled at the lupine race" (said in an unmistabaly French-Canadian accent).

"And I am Bon-Bon, Loopy's ever-cheeky nephew, essentially playing along with the uncle's desires."

"No less than Hokey Wolf, the ever-suave, ever-sophisticated one!" (spoken a la Sgt. Ernie K. Bilko).

"And this is Ding-a-Ling, boon companion of Hokey--HE'S MY HERO!!" (And you could sense the come-hither look in his lupine eyes.) "Not to mention partner with Bon-Bon in some interesting diving adventures from time to time!"

"What Ding and Bon-Bon like to call 'The Divin' Wolf Pups'!" exclaimed Hokey.

"And me--Mildew Wolf, more or less seeking to shake off that 'black sheep' image besmirching my name and repute. Especially after a certain Bow-Wow Buttinski, as shall remain nameless, kept getting after me to such extent that I had to swear off going after lamb!" (Spoken in a rather snarky and idiotic tone, after Paul Lynde more or less.)

"And we like to call ourselves The Three Divin' Wolves!" was how Hokey exclaimed things. "And who could ask for anything more fascinating among wolves, especially the anthro sort?"

"Heh heh heh," Doggie Daddy chuckled. "At least my son Augie will have some interesting company over the vacation!" To which Bon-Bon remarked "No doubt he's bound to find the dive experience in the lupine manner rather fascinating!"

Augie was quick to add that he had some experience, mostly with snorkelling, in the diving arena ("Backyard swimming pool, but then, the odd excursion to the lake," as Augie explained it, which had Ding-a-Ling responding that the lake-based experience will be all the more fascinating); Doggie Daddy, for his part, couldn't help but welcome an impromptu offer from Loopy, Hokey and Mildew to have a few diving experiences with them, prompting Mildew Wolf to rejoinder "after all, dogs and wolves happen to be rather unlikely cousins!"

The next morning being somewhat damp and foggy, breakfast was pretty much devoted to sharing diving-related stories among such a fascinating and unlikely partnership bound to be vacation friends, and with the skies clearing some by lunchtime--

"Geez, Augie," was how Ding-a-Ling put it on seeking Augie Doggie in diver's mask and fins of a cheap discount-store sort on the resort's beachfront. (You could also see Ding and Bon-Bon wearing mask-and-fins kit.)

"And how was I to know," Augie swooned appreciatively, "I'd be diving with the Divin' Wolf Pups themselves!"

"Though I have to admit that things could get better wearing just yourselves while diving!" was how Bon-Bon put it. "We'll get to it at that certain point." Which, at any rate, found dog and wolf pups wading their way through the shallows to where things were bound to only go deeper from there, with Ding-a-Ling leading some deep-breathing exercises before the dive in ... and what a dive such couldn't help but becoming, the cool and yet brilliant lake waters making things feel rather fascinating even with that bane of swimmers known as curly-leaf pondweed bound to get in the way to a depth of about 15 feet below the surface. And even then, Augie couldn't help but sense the fascination inherent with Bon-Bon and Ding-a-Ling spinning their tails around during the dive, which, as explained that evening over a sausage roast by the fireside, "basically speeds our descent."

During same, Doggie Daddy exclaimed "You'll never guess, Son of Sons, who your Acme of Fatherhood dived with!"

Mildew Wolf was quick to affirm as much, adding that "such a sensation for a wolf to dive with a dog couldn't have been as unconventional as it got!"

Asked about Augie's dive with Bon-Bon and Ding-a-Ling, Loopy de Loop's nephew remarked that "such was never a more interesting sort of dive, to begin with, even if it was just the first dive with Augie!"

"No doubt," Loopy chimed in, "we hope for more like it throughout the summer!"

"Heh heh heh," chuckled Doggie Daddy with a sense of wonderment. "That's my Augie who was diving there!"

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

@warnerbrosentertainment @funtasticworld @joey-gatorman @theweekenddigest @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @xdiver71 @archive-archives @thebigdingle @thylordshipofbutts @stuffaboutminnesota @screamingtoosoftly @themineralyoucrave @warnerbros-blog1 @iheartgod175 @indigo-corvus @jellystone-enjoyer @railguner34 @groovybribri @warnerbrosent-blog

[causewhywouldnti]

My thoughts as I’m watching 24 seasons of law & order svu:

Season 8

Starting the season off strong with Dana Star. Poor Elliot at the end of the episode, when Olivia is just gone. And I love how much he is insisting that he will only get a temporary new partner.

Becks french in 8x03 is actually really good. Most times when French is spoken in an American TV show, the accent is really strong, not the case here. After looking up the actress, it makes sense that her French would be good.

On 8x05, I miss Benson and Benson/Stabler. That dynamic is a huge part of my interest in this series. So it will be interesting to see how it’ll go from season 13-22…

8x06 Benson is back, finally!

8x07, well, that mother is a lot of things, but mother is not a word i‘d use. Her no reaction to one of her kids almost being run over and picking the boyfriend over her daughter is just wow. I do like Stablers more informal clothes. Benson, seeing Beck and Stabler together and deciding to not come back yet, is just sad. And that kiss came way out of left field. Not a fan.

8x08 Dang. Stabler is ruthless. Starts something with Beck, and then introduces Kathy to her as his wife. Like, I have no idea if Beck even knows he’s getting a divorce or not. I would have liked him to answer why he has to keep doing this job though. And the relationship ended as fast as it began…

8x09, yeah, that coffee shop scene with Benson and Stabler was not awkward at alllll… showing their reflection whilst the couple was talking about love vs controlling someone was … a choice? The two of them passive aggressively pointing out each other's flaws during the whole episode, but when Casey attacks them, they immediately have each other's back, seems to describe their friendship quite well. And then of course there is the kidney scene.

8x10 was just sad, really well done, but still sad.

8x11, well, I’m glad that Kathy didn’t go the “sexual assault” route that one divorce lawyer suggested. Interesting how they show Fin and Stabler supporting the husband and Benson supporting the wife. Not sure how I feel about the talk between Kathy and Olivia, but I do like that Stabler signed the divorce papers on his own. Loved the talk between Benson and Stabler on the steps. Him actually voicing what he is afraid of especially. The whole episode showed that 8x10 was shot earlier, because they had tension in 8x09, none whatsoever in 8x10, and then it’s there again in 8x11.

8x13 made me realize just how often Stabler gets injured. Also, Cragen giving the EMT’s the order to restrain Benson if she doesn’t go to the hospital. Why do we get so many Benson at Stabler’s bedside, yet none of him at hers? And is she wearing his hoodie after her hospital stay? Stabler encouraging Benson to do something illegal is just great. As well as Benson being annoyed that the hacking has to be done in the men’s bathroom.

Am a bit annoyed that Warner decided the perp died cause of a lacerated spleen in 8x14 and therefore bled out. That would have meant the dude bled out in a matter of a minute or less (which I do not believe is possible, but I could be wrong). Add to that, she would have found a significant amount of blood in his abdominal cavity, blood that would not be there (at least not in the quantities) if, as said, he died of an arrhythmia and the spleen ruptured postmortem. The like 10 chest compressions Stabler did would not account for a blood loss of 30% that would be required to kill someone. Also, let’s not talk about the fact that Stabler got like 5 chest compressions in, before Benson declared him dead. I’m not even sure if cops can call a death, or if they are required to keep doing CPR until an EMT arrives at the scene. But definitely try longer, especially if the victim was up and running/fighting not 2 minutes before (maybe I’m more than just a bit annoyed…). I did like Benson standing up for Stabler in the IAB investigation though. And though I am aware that what Tucker does is right and called for, it does not make me like him, not even a little bit.

Well, I have been wondering when this episode would come up. 8x16, already starting great with Stabler going along with Benson, getting arrested and all. Seriously, Stabler was great this whole episode, had her back the whole time. And poor Cragen having to deal with them. I would have liked to see more of the evaluation, cause it tends to give you an in-depth look into the characters, but I’ll gladly take what we got.

8x17, I’m surprised they went with the episode that way. I mean, I figured out that the reverend was covering for someone pretty early on. But what surprised me, was that they showed an evangelist, changing his mind about Gay people and also forgiving his wife that fast. Really appreciate it though.

8x19 Olivia absolutely losing it in interrogation was something. Not sure why it took Cragen and Stabler so long to intervene. Stabler has been very supportive the last few episodes.

The kid in 8x20 is the best. Aaaand that took a dark turn real fast! Kathleen is probably my favorite Stabler kid. Might be because she got the most airtime at this point… we have Benson beating and kicking a perp last episode and now Stabler nearly killing one in this…

The Stabler divorce saga makes no sense to me. Did Kathy file the divorce papers that she desperately wanted Elliot to sign? He gave them to her. An episode later, he wants to try again. In a later episode, they talk about him moving back in. We hear nothing of it, until he has a one-night stand with her and Kathleen calls him out on it. Then we see him playing poker with all the kids in his apartment. Next episode, Kathy tells him she is pregnant and that he wanted to try, and she believed him, but he didn’t? I get that they only showed some aspects, but a little more context would have been nice. No wonder fans read whatever they want into it…

Well, the finale was depressing, it was fair (no matter how much I dislike it), they were held accountable. It is a little funny that Munch is the only one who did not face any repercussions out of all of them. All in all, a solid season. Personally, I think I prefer the first half of season 6, but this is a close second.

Familiar faces: Stephen McKinley Henderson (The Newsroom), Connie Nielsen (Gladiator), Charles Shaughnessy (The Nanny), Lily Rabe (Shrinking), Debra Jo Rupp (That ‚70s Show), Elle Fanning (House), Margo Martindale (Hannah Montana: The Movie), Bob Saget (Full House), Catherine Bell (Good Witch), Bernadette Peters (Grey‘s), Michael Michele (House), Kelli Giddish AKA Rollins (SVU), Kal Penn (House), Pablo Schreiber AKA Lewis (SVU), Ashley Williams (HIMYM), Kali Rocha (Sydney from Grey‘s), Michael Weston (Lucas from House), Tim Daly (with the worst haircut), Sarah Drew (Grey‘s), Leven Rambin (The Hunger Games), Chance Kelly (Fringe), Dylan Walsh (Whiskey Cavalier), Kelly Deadmon (Manifest), Clark Middleton (Fringe), Michael Welch (Twilight) and Jack McGee (NCIS).

Favorite episodes: 8x01, 8x09, 8x11, 8x13 and 8x16

Favorite lines:

“Elliot told me to tell you, you’re nuts.” “That’s just the concussion talking.” - Benson and Star 8x01

(On where Benson is) “Word in the conspiracy mill is she’s having my love child.” - Munch 8x06

“The van tried to take a shortcut to Brooklyn. The river got in the way.” - Munch 8x08

“I’d give you a kidney.” “Not if I gave you mine first.” - Stabler and Benson 8x09

“It’s just nice to see someone else with an anger issue.” - Stabler 8x11

“When love warps into hate, there’s nothing you won’t do.” - Stabler 8x11

(On who called the press) “It could have been anyone. This place had more leaks than a 100-year-old water main.” - Munch 8x13

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 233

For all the jokes about Asian parents, especially among first gen kids like myself, it’s easy to forget that our parents’ education was very different than ours. Specifically, education in our parents’ generation was much more difficult than what we had growing up.

Now, I sort of knew this growing up, my parents were not shy about talking about how hard their school work was. However, it was always in reference to how easy I had it as a child. To the point where I (like any child) tuned them out eventually. Them talking about how hard they had it, and how many tests they did was like that joke about the grandparent who told you they walked through five feet of snow and 10 miles to get to school when they were your age. After all, as a child, wouldn’t your parents telling you that they had to do exams every single month from the time they’re in kindergarten sound like an exaggeration? 

So I was never properly horrified by what my parents went through. 

Which is why this particular story is hilarious to me, because they didn’t even make a big deal of it. It didn’t even come up as part of a lecture. Primarily because I’m nearly 30 and I have two post-secondary education degrees, so my parents no longer have to lecture me about educational standards.

Instead, it came up by accident when Queen’s We Will Rock You came on the radio and my mother bemoaned the fact she could no longer remember all the lyrics to these old songs. She went on to explain she knew those lyrics, because she used the radio to practice blind dictation.

What is blind dictation you may ask?

Good question! I also was wondering and so asked this to my mother, who explained that blind dictation was when the teacher would read out a passage that the students had never read, and the student would have to write what the teacher said. She mildly complained that the teachers would do this while speaking quickly.

What is for English?

As my parents were both from Hong Kong, and it made sense to me that it may be for English. It sounded like a great way to teach writing skills in another language, and the fact that mom said that they spoke quickly, was often how I felt when I heard French being spoken. Dad pipped up cheerily that they did this in Chinese too.

My confusion was growing.

Was this to teach note taking skills?

Because at this point I was growing mildly horrified at this idea, because I’m awful at note taking. Specifically, I have a lot of trouble hearing something someone has said, and then transcribing it onto paper. There has always been a sort of mental gap between what I hear and what I would write. This is why traditional Dungeons and Dragons for me is very hard.

My parents were confused and my mom said, no, it was to practice your spelling. My dad then goes on to explain that the way this blind dictation was graded was that you would have 5 points deducted for every spelling error you made. This means that one, you could very well get 0% on this dictation, if you get 20 mistakes, and two, assuming 60% passing grade the most mistakes you would be allowed to make is 8.

The idea that this was a thing, properly horrified me, because I recognized I would really fail this type of test. And the image of a teacher, walking between rows of desks as they recited a passage from a book aloud while students furiously scribbled everything down will now forever live in my head.

Along with the cuter image of a much younger mom bopping along to the radio as she writes out the lyrics to the songs she hears.

[minimalist-language-learning]

My language learning journey

Hi! I'm Anja, a language learner and manga artist from Germany. This is my first post here, so I think I should start with some information about myself:

I speak: German (native), English

I'm currently learning: Japanese

Paused languages: French, Russian

Other hobbies and interests:

creating manga (you can find my artist accounts here)

reading manga (mainly shonen)

nature

video games (e.g. Assassin‘s Creed Origins / Valhalla, Ghost of Tsushima, Cyberpunk 2077, Control)

reading different kinds of books

history & archaeology (especially ancient egypt)

For those who are interested, here is a summary of my ups and downs as a language learner:

How I improved my English unintentionally

English is not my native language (I'm sure I make mistakes ^^;). I learned the basics at school which means: vocab lists, grammar rules and exercises, listen to English spoken by non-native speakers (teacher and classmates) and only sometimes by native speakers (audio CD). I had no access to novels, websites or other interesting things in English. And I was fine with that. At that time, English was only a subject in school.

After graduating, I became interested in Japanese. I found some german online forums where other learners of Japanese shared their experiences. Unfortunately, most of the users were very narrow-minded. They persisted, that their way of learning is the only "right" way. I never liked black-or-white-thinking and so I left these forums.

I've found a more open-minded forum and some blogs. These were in English, but I came across many different ideas and methods. It was a bit difficult at first because I never read "real" English before. But I concentrated so much on the content, that everything else became secondary. 

At this time, the new episodes of my favorite TV show weren't available in German. So I watched them in English even though I had nearly no experience with listening to native speakers. There were things I couldn't understand, but I didn't care. I was able to watch this show quite comfortably which was all I wanted — reaching a high level in English was not my goal, after all.

Watching my favourite show, reading articles about interesting topics or reading novels in English were never learning activities to me. The purpose was to learn something other than English or to simply enjoy the content. The language was only a tool, not a study object. 

While doing this, I never thought "So many unknown words… I should use Anki to learn them". After learning the basics at school, I just started reading and listening and ignored most of the unknown and unimportant parts. Only when I felt that I really need to know a certain word I looked it up. These texts or videos weren’t study objects. After reading/watching them I moved on. Without realizing it, English became part of my life. 

Today, reading and listening to content in English feels natural to me. There are words I don’t know and I make mistakes, of course, but I'm fine with that.

The learning mindset is actually a learning barrier

In the case of Japanese, I always tried to understand as much as possible, looked up many words, put sentences into Anki and things like that, because many methods recommended that. I thought that otherwise my Japanese won't improve.

Ironically, even after so much hard work and after trying out so many methods and techniques my Japanese was by no means as good as my English.

I was stuck in a "learning mindset" which made it difficult to just enjoy the content as I did with English. I wasn't able to focus on the content. All I saw were unknown words and phrases. It was like a curse.

Don't get me wrong: Good advice is useful, of course! When I come across an interesting approach or tip I try it out to see if it works for me. But my mistake was to believe that I only had to follow someone else's way of learning from A to Z and I would get the same results in the end. It never worked this way.

That's why I encourage everyone not to follow blindly other methods and their creators. There is no right or wrong. Combine whatever works best for you and trust your own intuition. The most important thing is that you enjoy what you are doing.

Combining minimalism with language learning

After worrying so much about language learning, methods and my Japanese, I discovered minimalism and was completely fascinated. 

Generally, minimalists don't keep things that make them feel unhappy, that are no longer useful or causing distraction. It depends on the person, how their minimalist lifestyle looks like. And this is also true for language learning.

This mindset was a great inspiration for my current way of language learning. I only use Anki to review kanji, for example, because this works best for me. But whenever I use it for vocabulary/sentences, it feels so meaningless to me compared to reading a good book. I can't use Anki for vocabulary longer than a few weeks, but I feel always relaxed when I read a book in Japanese.

That's why I decided to just look up certain words, write them down and move on. Maybe other methods are more efficient, but I prefer learning words in their natural context. This is what I enjoy the most.

How my Japanese improved (finally)

For a long time, I felt like I hit a wall. My Japanese didn’t seem to improve. Then I focused on extensive reading and read several books in Japanese that were not too difficult at my current level (e.g. volume 1 - 4 of 『ハリー・ポッター』 and 『天気の子』 and other manga and light novels).

This helped me a lot to improve not only my reading speed but also my vocabulary. I had so much fun reading these books that I read between 20 and 40 pages a day (sometimes even a bit more on the weekend).  My listening comprehension stagnated for a long time but thanks to reading it now improves slowly but steady.

The more I understand the more I enjoy listening. Lots of reading helped me to increase my vocabulary and to get to the point at where I can process spoken Japanese much faster than before. 

It feels strange sometimes. For a long time, it was normal to me that I understand not more than single words or very common phrases. Listening felt like a waste of time. Now I can roughly follow the story of some audio books, for example. Even small improvements like this give me a big motivation boost!

Switching to extensive reading had also a positive effect on my self-confidence as a language learner. I’m more aware about what kind of content I need at my current level and choose my reading and listening material accordingly. I will read more and more difficult books to increase my vocabulary and to get used to more complex writing styles. It should be a bit challenging but not overwhelming.

Up to this point, I've read 78 books in Japanese so far. 27 of these were novels, light novels or non-fiction books; the rest were manga. According to 読書メーター, I've read around 18.242 pages in total. 

Now

It took me a long time but today I don't care so much about efficiency and speed anymore. I just want to enjoy what I'm doing. I have still a long way to go, of course. But even though I don't understand everything I enjoy reading in Japanese so much! And I hope to further improve my listening comprehension so that I can comfortably understand audio books and podcasts.

My main activity is still reading books and other content but I also do light grammar study now. In my experience, you don't need to memorize grammar rules but a good foundation is important to understand more complex content and to build correct sentences yourself. That's why I think that grammar is not your enemy but a useful tool.

Lots of text, sorry. ^^; I hope it was interesting to some of you.

Please note that I write about what works for me and share advice based on my own experiences. If you have a different opinion or if you use other methods, that's absolutely fine. Do whatever works for you.

From time to time, I'll write posts about my recent language learning activities and thoughts.

[theshelbyclan]

Welcome to the chaos, little one

Summary: Giving birth is never easy, especially when it’s a Shelby x Solomons baby…

A/N I’m so slow with requests but a while back the lovely @fandom-puff​requested: Omg sorry to be a pain but I’m a sucker for Shelby chaos 😭😭😭 can I request something linked to A Very Shelby Christmas where the labour of baby Solomons is just as chaotic? But it could also be sweet like the bros finally accepting Alfie bc they all care about YN so much and can’t stand to hear her in pain, all while YN is screaming that she’ll cut off more of Alfie’s dick than his rabbi would even dare to if he ever tried to bed her again 😭😭😭 omg the chaos 👉👈 ily 💓💓 Here we go! This is part 2 to the story A Very Shelby Christmas

Words: 1638

***

“Not now, Y/N,” Arthur groaned. Ada rolled her eyes, remembering keenly when her brother had spoken those iconic words before. “It’s not like I can help it, Arthur,” you spit. 

Polly grabbed you by your arm as you doubled over again, “Alright, sweetheart, it’s time. Come with me…” “Not yet, Aunt Pol,” you panted, “It’s too early.” “The baby doesn’t have it’s own pocket watch yet,” Ada commented matter-of-factly, as she took your other arm. “Fuck!” you called out again as another contraction set in, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck!” “Nice.” “Oh, piss off John, you want to try this?” “Not really…” “Tommy!” you turned to the one family member who hadn’t said a word yet, “Get him.” “And who would that be, eh?” he replied in a low voice. “Thomas…” Aunt Polly warned softly. He raised his eyebrows, “Finn? You want Finn at the birth?” “WHY WOULD I WANT MY FUCKING BABY BROTHER HERE?!” Tommy waved a vague hand, “General comfort?” Now Aunt Polly’s eyes flashed with anger, “Thomas! Go get her husband, right now!” Tommy sighed deeply, still trying to ignore the fact that his little sister was now Mrs. Solomons, and said, “Come on boys, let’s get them all together and wet this baby’s head! Leave the women to it.” And you groaned, “Thank you…” Once Alfie would be here, everything would be easier.

*** “Solomons!” “No need to shout, mate, I’m right here, ain’t I?”

Slowly Tommy lit a cigarette and started smoking it, “It concerns my sister.” “You mean the glorious creature that made me the luckiest man on earth by marrying me? My wife? Mrs. Alfie Solomons?” A small twinkle appeared in Alfie’s eyes as he saw Tommy’s jaw tense up just a little at his words. “Yes.” “How is the old lady doing?” Alfie asked conversationally. “In pain,” Tommy replied, “She’s in labour, more to the point.” “You fucking what?” “She’s with her aunt Alfie, she’ll be fine.” Alfie blinked a few times, “Tommy I swear to God if you’re playing some fucking game with me I will shoot you between the eyes right here and now. You’re telling me my wife is in labour and you’re standing there casually smoking a cigarette, waiting for some fucking woman to tell you it’s done?” “Yes,” he nodded, “Well, I was about to go the Garrison. Thought we might bury the hatchet and you could join us.” “Have you lost your fucking mind…” Alfie said slowly, while rubbing his chin. Tommy cleared is throat and with a slight hint of uncertainty in his voice said, “It’s tradition.” “Well, if you’ll pardon my French, fuck your fucking heathen traditions, I’m going to my fucking wife and you are fucking coming with me. And bring your fucking family while you’re at it!”

*** “Why are we here?” John leaned in to Arthur slightly while asking the question in a hushed voice. “Alfie insisted.” “Why?” Arthur raised his voice, “Ask Tommy, alright? I don’t bloody know! I’m guessing it’s another Jewish thing…” On the other side of the door, you were most definitely in labour now. The pain was worse than anything you’d experienced before and you were seriously questioning your sanity at this point. “Aunt Pol?” Ada asked carefully after about an hour. Polly moved over from your side down to your legs and said, “What is it?” “Something’s wrong.” “THOMAS!” Polly bellowed as soon as she had taken a look, “Get me some more towels.”

“What’s happening?” A panicked Alfie asked from the hallway. But Polly pushed him aside and started ordering Finn to boil more water. “Woman!” he demanded, “You fucking tell me.” “She’s bleeding,” she answered quickly, “and I can’t see why.” “What can we do, Pol,” Arthur asked, wild-eyed. “Get a doctor. One we can trust.” Arthur dragged John with him, even before Polly had finished her sentence. “What about Sabini’s men?” John asked, “We were supposed to deal with them tonight. What if they come here?” “Shoot them,” Tommy said simply, as he lit another cigarette in a nervous manner. Inside the room, you were now screaming your head off. Of course you had realised giving birth would be painful, but not like this. The sight of Ada going slightly pale didn’t help either and panic had started mixing in with the general anxiety of the process, so your screams got louder and louder. “Pol…” Ada called out again, “What do I do?” In that moment, Alfie pushed passed her and fell down by your side, “I’m here,” he said softly. “I can see that,” you panted between shouts, “but why? You’re not supposed to be here.” “Out,” Aunt Polly said strictly, “This is no place for men.” And then Tommy walked in as well, averting his eyes and grabbing your hand at the same time. “What?” he said when Polly send him a death-glare, “If Alfie gets to stay, so can I!” “Fucking children…” “Alright, sweetheart,” Polly focused on you again, “This baby needs to come now.” Your eyes grew wide, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Alfie replied for her, “You’ll be fine. You’re doing brilliant, babes.” “How the fuck would you know!” you shouted out. He shrugged, “Educated guess?” “Had a lot of experience with this, eh?” Tommy grumbled sarcastically. “This,” Ada pointed at the both of them, “This is why men shouldn’t be in here.” “I’m not fucking going anywhere, especially if my wife is in danger.” Tommy just shook his head in reply. “Danger?” you asked suddenly, “What does he mean in danger?” “No danger, love,” Ada soothed you, “if you just push.” And so you pushed, with every bit of strength you had in you. But then a gunshot sounded outside, followed rapidly by another two. Everyone looked up. “John,” Tommy clarified with a single word. “You’re being awfully cavalier about baby brother John getting shot there, Tommy…” Alfie commented. Tommy looked at Alfie with a frown that spoke volumes, “John just shot Sabini’s men. I told him to.” “Oh, good. Saves me the bloody trip.” “I can see some hair!” Ada called out suddenly. “What colour?” Alfie replied at once. And John stuck his head around the corner of the door, “Took care of them.” “We heard,” Aunt Polly grumbled. He hopped from one foot onto the other uncertainly, “Anything else I can do?” “Yeah, you can fuck off mate!” “Alright, I’ll stay, since you asked so nicely.” “John, just get the fuck out!” your sister shouted. The birth was chaos enough as it was and now all these boys were only adding to it instead of helping. And on top of it all, Finn stumbled in practically falling over his own feet with a bucket of water, splashing Aunt Polly in the process. This was more like a madhouse than a family occasion. But John pointed at Alfie indignantly, “He gets to stay!” “Push, Y/N,” Polly urged again, and so you did. “Nice one,” John laughed at Finn, “you literally had one job, mate.” “Mrs. Gray?” Alfie asked carefully, “Sorry to interrupt you there, alright, but I just wanted to quickly check, because you mentioned the hair, yeah? What colour? Because I’m sure I’ll love my son all the same if he’s blond, but I might just need to mentally prepare myself…” And then you finally burst out in anger, “Can you all just shut the fuck up for a second! I’m actually trying to have a fucking baby here!!” “Right, sorry about that love,” Alfie moved closer to you and grabbed your hand again, “Please continue. You’re doing brilliantly, even if he is blond…” Tommy chuckled lightly in the background, which made you even more angry somehow, “Alfie, I swear to God or Adonai or whatever you want to call him, do nottouch me again because remember how you said you couldn’t remember your circumcision?”

“Yes,” Alfie mumbled in mortal fear.

“You will remember when I do it. Remember how you told me of your rabbi doing it when boys are eight days old, because then it heals faster?”

“Yes...” he gulped.

“I’ll make it slow sweetheart. Really fucking slow.”  

“Right,” he said with big eyes, “What exactly would you have me do then except for just standing here like some great big bloody useless piece of shit?”  

“Shut up!”  

“Noted.” *** You weren’t sure what had happened exactly in that last hour. Apparently you’d lost a lot of blood and things had gotten hazy very quickly. Ada and Aunt Polly had stopped talking altogether and they had managed to save you, despite the bickering men in the background. You did remember that Alfie and Arthur had gotten into a fight at one point, but apparently they managed to resolve it quickly when the doctor arrived and they took turns in beating him up because he was no longer needed. Anger really does bring people together.

Of course, none of that really mattered now, because you were now holding a perfect baby right there, in your arms. Finn just stared at the baby, completely in awe. “Not blond…” John sounded a little disappointed. Arthur grinned, “But bloody perfect.” “Gorgeous, just like the mother,” Polly hugged you carefully. “Shelby good looks.” Tommy nodded slowly, with a sense of pride in his voice. “Any names yet?” Ada asked, “I bet you’ve picked them out ages ago, haven’t you?” “I have,” you smiled, “but couldn’t say them out loud yet, so we didn’t really discuss it. It’s bad luck.”

Uncharacteristically, Alfie hadn’t said a word yet.

“Mr. Solomons?” you said, gazing up from your one love to the other, “I believe you have a daughter.” And finally he smiled, deeply and incredibly in love as he held her tight with both hands. And in the most tender way possible he looked at you, grinned and said, “Fucking hell!”

***

Masterlist

[sturchling]

I loved the Avengers story you wrote!! I hope it's not too much to ask for another so soon, but I had this idea. What if Peter goes on a trip with Tony to France while he does some work, but on the condition that he has to go to school. So he goes to Dupont. He ends up in Bustier's class as a temporary student, not mentioning he's there with Tony Stark, but mentions he's from NYC. Lila takes that as a cue to start lying about knowing Tony Stark. Peter is not amused. Nor is Tony. Who sues her.

Sorry this took so long! Got so busy out of no where and then the rainy season started! But here you go! Hope you like it!

Peter was very excited today. Mr. Stark was going to Paris for some business for the next several weeks and Peter had convinced Mr. Stark to let him come too. Peter had never been to France and had always really wanted to go. He spent days convincing Mr. Stark, telling him that it would be a good educational opportunity to learn about France and to practice his French. Of course, Tony had always intended on Peter coming with him, not that he ever would tell the kid that. Tony had found Peter's attempts at convincing him pretty funny actually. Tony 'relented' and said Peter could come, on the condition that he attend a school while they are there, since they would be there for several weeks. Peter eagerly agreed and the pair started looking into potential schools for Peter.

---------------------

The two wanted to make sure that they choose a school with an excellent curriculum and was a fantastic school for peter. After a while, they found one school that looked particularly promising. Francois Dupont. All the students seemed to excel in their studies and the school had classes for several diverse interests. Peter was especially interested in Mrs. Mendeleiev, seeing as she is the science teacher. Once they had decided on this school, Tony started filing paperwork to temporarily transfer Peter to this school. Peter was soon accepted to Francois Dupont and got his class assignment. He had been placed in Mrs. Bustier's class. Soon, Tony and Peter were ready to leave for Paris and were on the way to the airport.

-------------------

Peter had arrived early at Francois Dupont for his first day at the school. He was now sitting in the principal's, Mr. Damocles' office, and the principal was going over some of the rules for the school. After a while, the door opened behind Peter and a smaller girl with dark hair walked in. "Ah, Peter, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class rep for Mrs. Bustier's class. Miss Dupain-Cheng, thank you for coming. This is Peter Parker. He has temporarily transferred into your class and as class rep, I would like you to show him around the school." The girl, Marinette, smiled at Peter. "Of course Mr. Damocles. It is nice to meet you Peter! Lets go, I'll show you around." Peter got his bag and followed after Marinette, glad to be free of the rambling principal.

-------------------

Marinette did a fantastic job of showing Peter the school and telling him about the members of the class. Peter had been given a class roster when he arrived, with the names of his new classmates. While Marinette had spoken highly of almost the entire class, she had clearly avoided talking about one student in particular. All Marinette had said about Lila Rossi was that she was a transfer student from Italy. That is it. She had gone on and on about all the other students and their interests and achievements. But she was obviously avoiding discussing Lila, and that didn't escape Peter's notice. He did wonder why Marinette didn't talk about her, and was a bit hesitant about this Lila. If a nice girl like Marinette won't talk about her, maybe this Lila wasn't too nice herself. Peter didn't want to judge her without meeting her, but he would be careful when he did.

-----------------

Peter was sitting in the classroom now. Marinette and he were sitting on a bench towards the back of the room. He really liked Marinette and the two quickly became friends, talking about random things and Peter told her all about New York. The classroom was still mostly empty with only a few other students there. The students that were there had already come to talk to him and welcome him to the class. Then he felt Marinette stiffen next to him. Peter looked over and saw her staring at the door. When he glanced over, he saw a girl had just walked in. This girl had long brown hair in three different ponytails, one at the back and two at the front. She seemed very confident and as soon as she walked in, practically the whole class gathered around her. This girl must be Lila, based on Marinette's reaction. Lila focused in on Peter almost instantly. As she approached his desk with a fake smile on her face, Peter started to understand why Marinette may not like this girl.

-------------------

Lila noticed the new boy immediately when she walked in the room. He was reasonably handsome, and he was a new person to trick. So he had Lila's undivided attention. She was sure she could have him under her spell by lunch. She walked over to the desk he was sitting at, next to little miss goody two shoes Marinette, with her most dazzling smile. "Hi, my name is Lila. Who are you?" Peter smiled tightly at Lila, trying not to judge her based on that very fake smile of hers. "My name is Peter Parker. I have transferred here temporarily from New York." Lila didn't let her smile fail her. But him only being here temporarily is hardly worth the effort on her part. After all, he would leave eventually, and then she couldn't use him in any way. But he could be good practice for her lies anyway. Besides, she has plenty of lies that should work for a New Yorker. Lila prepared for her next performance, not realizing it was the first step in her downfall.

------------------

"You are from New York? I love New York! I visit there from time to time when my mother's work brings her there. I have a lot of friends there. I even know Tony Stark." That made Peter pause. She knew Mr. Stark? He had never mentioned a Lila or knowing anyone in Paris. It was clear to Peter that this girl was nothing but a liar. He wanted to see how far she would go with this story, and he was sure Mr. Stark would want to know as well. "You know Tony Stark? Really?" Lila saw that Peter was interested so she grabbed on to this story and continued. "Yeah! He is so sweet. He thinks of me like a daughter and sometimes I even get to stay at Stark Tower with him. I've helped him work out some of the problems with a few of his inventions. I've even given some input into his latest Iron Man suit design. There was even this one time that I helped him catch some criminals when he was acting as Iron Man. It was super cool! I could probably introduce you to him sometime if you like?" Peter was genuinely shocked by all the lies this girl just told. There was no way she actually knew Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark would never need her help with his inventions or the Iron Man suit. And he certainly wouldn't involve a random civilian girl in his fights as Iron Man. Peter just nodded and mumbled a thank you, before the class mercifully started and he was left alone. Marinette leaned over and apologized about Lila, but Peter was too busy thinking about what to do to say anything.

---------------------

At the end of the day, Peter went back to the hotel he and Mr. Stark are staying and went straight to Mr. Stark's room. Peter had spoken with Marinette about the liar and asked about everything that she had lied about. He told Mr. Stark everything that happened with the liar, and everything she had said about him. Mr. Stark was angry that this random girl was trying to use him for gain. Tony didn't tolerate this kind of thing at all. If this girl wanted to lie about him, she would find out why that is a bad idea. Tony got on the phone and started speaking to his lawyer. This Lila would regret the day she lied about him.

---------------------

The next day, Peter was sitting in class waiting for the chaos to start. He knew that Mr. Stark was coming, and that he was going to take down the liar. The liar in question was holding court down at the front of the room. She was slightly disappointed that her lies didn't seem to work too well on Peter, but it hardly mattered since he would leave eventually. He just better not try to reveal her or she would make his life difficult for the whole time he is here. About half way through the class, the door to the room slammed open, and in walked Tony Stark. He walked straight to the center of the class, and his lawyers followed, surrounding him. Peter suppressed a smile, Mr. Stark was fond of his grand entrances.

---------------

Tony looked around at the class, before zeroing in on the girl that Peter had described to him. He took off his glasses, while the class just stared at him stunned. "Lila Rossi, I have heard you have been telling lies about me. What is this nonsense I heard about you helping me with my inventions and suit? I have never met you in my life, and I certainly wouldn't need your help with my work. And you said that I put you in harms way and had you help me with my work as Iron Man. I do not tolerate slander." Tony snaps his fingers, and one of his lawyers drops a thick stack of papers on the desk in front of the liar. The liar stares at the papers in front of her, not even able to understand what is happening. "What is this?" Tony smirked at the young liar. "That is a lawsuit for slander. And before you try to hide this from your mother, because I know you have a habit of keeping things from her, you should know I have already spoken to her and sent a copy of the paperwork to your home. Maybe you will think twice before you try to lie about me again."

-------------------

At this point, Lila gave up trying to hide that she was a liar. That was clearly a lost cause. She had just been revealed in front of the whole class. And she was angry. "How did you find out about me?! I only just said that stuff yesterday! It was Marinette wasn't it?! She has been trying to reveal me for ages, it has to be her! But how did she get in touch with you?!" Tony's smirk only grew. "Actually, I don't know a Marinette. You really should be more careful who you lie too. Isn't that right Peter?" In less than a second, every head snapped around to stare at Peter. Peter took his turn to smile. "That's right Mr. Stark. You never know who someone might know." The whole class looked back and forth between the two, before Lila yelled, "YOU TWO KNOW EACH OTHER?! How could you know Mr. Stark!? You don't seem very important." Tony walked past Lila, and up the stairs towards Peter as he speaks. "Actually, Peter is part of the Stark Industries intern program. He actually does help me in my lab, he is very smart." The whole class was shocked by this revelation. Tony turned to face Peter and Marinette again. "You know Peter, I think we should go get some lunch somewhere. And are you Marinette? Peter told me about you. Why don't you join us." Marinette quickly agreed, still a little shocked that Tony Stark was standing in front of her and had invited her to lunch. The small group left, and the class erupted into chaos. They all turned on Lila demanding answers, asking if she had been lying the entire time. Meanwhile Lila just sat in horrified silence. Everything was over. She had been revealed. She was in so much trouble. She was being sued. And all because she lied about Tony Stark to Peter Parker, the exact worst person to lie to.

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal (5)

This is going to be the last part I am going to post in a while. My school is finally starting up again and I am sure to be swamped with homework. Without further ado. Enjoy ❤

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 4)

-----------

Damian laid in bed, thinking about the recent turn of events. Lady, who told them that they can call her Marinette since they might as well get acquainted while the Waynes were in Paris. She had found out Jason’s identity after a few google searches and by extension, the rest of the Bats while they both were taking a shower. It had taken a few arguments and one sentimonster attack that cut one of the arguments short to trust the Dupain-Chengs with their secret identities. His bride was apparently a superhero too. Has been for a few years. In a different world, he might have actually dated her out of his own free will and fought crime with her together.

Damian shook his head at that thought.

That was the curse talking. Get a hold of yourself, Wayne. Resist. Don’t think about Marinette and her blue eyes.

Back to the akumas, Paris had been under the control of a magical terrorist for years. Lady Noire, formerly known as Ladybug, formed a team to battle against him. He also found out about the Guardian who chose Marinette and someone else, who wasn’t spoken about much except that his name was Chat Noir and she now wields his ring temporarily, to fight against Hawkmoth as partners. The same Guardian that promised her hand-in-marriage in exchange for protection from the League of Assassins. Sabine, the Blue Reaper, had to be restrained from killing the old amnesiatic man by her bear of a husband who was reluctant to do so and also wanted to help her.

Hawkmoth also had a partner who went by the name, Mayura, with a power similar to his and could create sentimonster out of negative emotions. Their top suspect was Gabriel Agreste, with much evidence pointing his way but they had difficulty trying to confirm it and had the time to gather evidence to do it. The local authorities were helpful but getting a search warrant for a famous, rich designer who was a known recluse with circumstantial evidence is not possible.

After informing their father of their kidnapping and the situation in Paris (and racking up the Dupain-Cheng's phone bill), they were told to stay there and help as much as they can. Tim, who was coming to Paris for a vacation (suspicious), got his plans hijacked and was now going to help uncover Hawkmoth’s identity.

When the Justice League had reached out a few years ago, they were rebuffed by the Mayor. Nightrunner got into contact with the one of the heroes, Ladybug who asked for a meeting outside of Paris with Wonder Woman and Batman came along, to assess her. They didn’t expect a young girl to be Paris’s heroine.

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3 years ago…

“Bonjour, Princess Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolayta, it is an honour to meet you. And you too, Batman.” The spotted heroine greeted both of them with Nightrunner besides her. Their meeting point was in the gardens in the Palace of Versailles.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ladybug. But I am confused as to why you have refused the Justice League’s help.” Wonder Woman was worried that the Ladybug Miraculous was active again and for many good reasons.

“I would be glad for some help but Paris is run by an incompetent fool. He wants no one outside of Paris to think that the city is unsafe due to Hawkmoth and keep the tourism numbers high. The other reason is that my Miraculous Cure can restore any physical damages done during a fight and involving you might result in more damages than I could cure. But I also think it would be better if there were less powerful heroes in Paris, akumas amplifies one’s power and I don’t want to fight you after you had a bad day.” Ladybug explained. Nightrunner murmured in agreement.

“Do you know how Hawkmoth operates?” asked Batman. He had read reports of the situation but wondered the true extent of it.

“Have Wonder Woman explained to you about the Miraculous?”

He nodded.

“Hawkmoth has the butterfly miraculous, and it has the power of transmission. In the right hands, they would be used to grant ordinary people powers as the user’s champions. But in the hands of Hawkmoth, he targets people with high negative emotions, a girl after a bad break-up or a student with a failed grade. He grants them powers to use for revenge or some obscure version of justice. In return, he asks for mine and Chat Noir’s miraculous. With our two miraculous, he can make a wish but wishes always come with a price so it is best if we keep it out of his reach.”

“How have you not captured him yet?”

“Hawkmoth is a coward who rarely comes out to face us. I have never met him face-to-face. He uses people to get what he wants. Not very honourable. The Mayor has refused to help my attempts to stop him or prevent more akumas because his bratty daughter isn’t given a Miraculous to be a hero. I don’t have the time or resources because I am still in school and have other obligations outside the suit. I can’t tell my family and ask for help because the Guardian’s ,the one who gave me the Miraculous in the first place, secret identities rule and some magic thing that makes me unable to tell them.”

The adults were all horrified at what the girl was going through.

“We could help in other ways. Not fight the akumas but provide you the resources to track down and capture him. Do you have any training? From the footage we have seen, you know martial arts and how to use some weapons.”

“I was raised in a forgotten temple somewhere in Asia with brutal training everyday before I ran away. I met someone on my way out who took me in and adopted me.” She said it seriously enough that they have no room for doubt.

“Batman, she just said she was adopted. She may have the features but the answer is no.” Wonder Woman said with a knowing look in her eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking about it. She has a duty to Paris right now and I am not going to take away from her life here. I don’t adopt every black-haired and blue-eyed child I see.” Batman denied.

“I am confused.” Ladybug said, tilting her head.

“Batman here has a bad habit of adopting kids with a tragic past, especially kids with black hair and blue eyes.” Nightrunner explained to his fellow Parisian hero.

“Well, Mousier, you will have to fight my parents for custody. While I have training, Chat Noir doesn’t and he hinders the battles with his ‘help’. I would give him some but he sees them as dates even though I have told him it’s not.”

“His incompetence is a liability. Why is he your partner?”

“The Guardian chose him too like he chose me through some stupid trial I somehow passed the requirements for. I am just hoping that there is a really good reason for choosing Chat Noir. I have some questions on how you are-”

“Ladybug, what are you doing?” A sharp voice cut in. An old man who appeared to be dressed as a tortoise landed in front of them.

“Master Fu, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira and the world’s greatest detective, Batman. I am asking for their help in finding Hawkmoth.” Ladybug explained, confused why Master Fu looked upset.

“Ladybug, that was extremely foolish of you. This is a matter of the Order. You shouldn’t have involved other heroes in it. We can resolve this on our own. I apologize on behalf of her for wasting your time.”

“But, Master-” “We will talk about this later, Ladybug. You are young and don’t understand things yet.”

“Guardian, with all due respect, my mother was a Ladybug wielder herself and the Amazons will lend a hand to any miraculous holders in need.”

“It is appreciated but Ladybug, Chat Noir and I can do it on our own. Come along, Ladybug.”

“Let me at least apologize for my mistake, Guardian.”

“Very well. Meet me later.”

“I am sorry but it looks like I have to fight Hawkmoth without your help. That being said please don’t try to look further into Hawkmoth’s identity and leave any notes of your leads in the mouth of the gargoyle on the northside of Notre Dame where I usually rest after I finish patrol. Salut, Princess Diana, Batman, Nightrunner.” She left using her yo-yo to swing away after giving them a wink.

Batman smirked. He had to give it to Ladybug, she was clever and resourceful and Diana was right, he wanted to adopt her.

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Present time…

(Words in bold are French)

Now that the previous Guardian was out of the picture, the Miraculous team would gladly accept any help they can get.

Damian and Jason had picked up Tim from the airport and they had already set things up in one of the Wayne penthouses in Paris. Less chance of nosy maids than in a hotel.

Bilal had already handed over all the evidence he could find. He was also one of the Miraculous team’s trainers when Sabine couldn’t make it. Jason and Damian were going to help in training and be back-up heroes when needed. (Bilal wore a miraculous once to help out. And that one time was weird enough to last him a lifetime and he was never doing it again.)

Sadly, all the magic users who were allies or part of the JL were busy with other missions or MIA so they couldn’t break Damian’s curse yet. Bruce didn’t see the problem with the curse so unless it causes major problems or someone is free to break it. They couldn’t go back to Gotham until they got the necessary things in order so it looks like they were going to be in Paris for a while.

The next morning, Tim was nowhere to be found. Because they were paranoid Batboys, they tracked his phone to see him at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery with Marinette and a group of other people, having breakfast.

“There you are, Replacement.” Jason shouted as he entered the bakery, “So, this is where you were? I see you have already figured out who Ladybug is and met her.”

Marinette looked at Damian and Jason, then at Tim and back at them again.

Oh.

Oh.

She face-palmed as she connected the dots and realized what the nagging feeling she had around Tim was about.

“Oh my Kwamis, you are Tim Drake, adopted by Bruce Wayne aka Batman. Jason and Damian are your brothers. And judging by your build, you are Red Robin. I feel so stupid.”

Thankfully, there were no customers around yet to hear some of the world’s most important secrets being out.

“I am- We are not- Bruce isn’t- How?! How the hell did you find out? And you are Ladybug?!” Tim was floundering at Marinette’s words and the caffeine from his first coffee of the day hadn’t kicked in yet. He looked at her friends, who were looking at the Wayne boys with shocked expressions….and looked similar to the rest of the Miraculous Team.

The caffeine finally kicked in.

“Oh my God. I was talking to the entire Miraculous Team and I didn’t know it. That means Chloe Bourgeois is a hero. That bratty blonde I met as a child is a hero.”

“Speak for yourself, Timothy, my childhood friend is a hero too. I can’t believe we are all heroes.” Chloe said in total disbelief.

Introductions and alter egos were exchanged.

Nearly everything went swimmingly if it weren’t for Chloe jokingly elbowed Marinette and said, “You get to date a hero too. No need to worry about flaking out on dates.”

“What do you mean dates? Dupain-Cheng and I aren’t dating.” Damian said, “My mother wanted us to marry each other, not date.”

“Mari, looks like you need some explaining to do.”

Marinette gave the short story on how she met Damian and Jason.

“So you guys are absolutely not dating? Cool. Tim, are you still open to being Mari-bug's fake boyfriend?” Chloe asked. Tim looked at her incredulously.

“You called me all the way here to fake-date your friend. Why? Not that I am complaining about her or anything.” “There is this boy in our class, Adrien Agreste and he has a little obsession with Marinette.” Chloe explained. “Romantic Soulmates.” Nathaniel chimed in, doing air-quotes.

“So I volunteered on your behalf to be my best friend’s long-distance boyfriend in America who has video-call dates with her once a week. You are going to have little romantic dates coincidently where our classmates are going to be, especially Adrien. It might put him off from pursuing Marinette for a while. After you leave, we are just to mention you every now and then to prevent him from getting any ideas.”

Damian felt a hot, burning sensation in his chest and clenched his jaw at the thought of Marin- Dupain-Cheng holding hands, cuddling and doing all those romantic actions with Drake of all people. (No, he wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Don’t be stupid. )

“Tch, Drake is going to be busy trying to find Hawkmoth. He can’t go around Paris, being Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. Besides, he can’t be a proper boyfriend even in his most lucid moments. I will be her boyfriend instead.”

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl, @henie04, @blueblossombliss, @khneltea, @mochegato, @itsmeevie01, @roguishredaxion, @alyssadeliv, @steph-hearthlight, @adrestar, @eliza-bich, @abrx2002, @hikari55ttva, @doglover82, @daminette5074

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(PART 6)

[spanishskulduggery]

Hi! I'm very curious about something regarding the Spanish language. I'm currently studying A2 Spanish but I had this question and my teacher did not seem too willing to discuss it. Here it goes:

I know that Spanish has, something my Spanish teacher says, linguistic gender. I was wondering how do the people who don't align themselves with the gender binary (masculine and feminine) speak/write in it? I have read this article about Spanish speaking people from US adding "x" Or "@" and people from Argentina using "e" to make the words gender neutral.

Thank you so much for responding, whenever you get to it. Also love your blog. ❤

Short answer, in general speaking terms people are tending towards the -e now because the other two are very hard to actually speak, and because Spanish-speakers feel the -e is more authentic

What you're most likely to see in Spanish is masculine plural as the default, or in written things you might see todos y todas or like un/una alumno/a "a student", or like se busca empleado/a "employees wanted" / "looking for an employee"

If it's something official or academic you typically include both [todas y todas] or you go masculine plural [todos] unless it's specifically feminine plural

-

Related, linguistic gender applies to all things, not just people. Why is la mesa "table" feminine, but el libro "book" masculine? Just linguistic gender. I can tell you that most loanwords (that aren't people) in Spanish are masculine, and that there are certain words that come from Greek are masculine, and that -ista words are unisex most of the time... And I can tell you there are some words like testigo or modelo that are unisex and don't change for gender. Aside from that, speaking about nouns and grammatical gender... those particular things are harder to parse for regular people, but if you go into the field of linguistics you can explore that more deeply. Some of it is source language (i.e. "it came from Latin this way") or things like that. And in general when talking about nouns it's unimportant and not considered sexist, that's just how it is.

There is such a thing where it gets a little too far the other way and people will say "history? what about herstory" which is a nice thought but the etymology has nothing to do with gender there

When it comes to people - and when it comes to gendered attitudes - that's where it gets more confusing and more complicated.

I believe there was an experiment where people had French and Spanish speakers [I believe it was Spanish] try to identify how a "fork" would sound. French people gave it a more feminine voice because "fork" is feminine in French, while Spanish speakers gave it a more masculine voice because it's masculine in Spanish.

Whether we like it or not, certain gendered things do influence our thoughts and feelings and reactions. A similar thing in English exists where the old joke was something like "There was a car accident; a boy is rushed to the ER and the surgeon but the father was killed. When they got to the ER the doctor said 'I can't operate on him, he's my son!'" and it's like "well who could the doctor be?" ...and the doctor is his mother. We associate "doctor" as masculine and "nurse" as feminine.

There's a gender bias in our language thought patterns, even though the language changes. And that does exist in Spanish too, to different extents.

There are certain cultural and gendered stereotypes or connotations attached to certain words, many tend to be more despective or pejorative when it's women.

For example - and I know this has changed in many places or it isn't as prevalent - el jinete "horseman/rider", while the female form is la amazona "horsewoman/rider". Because la jinete or la jineta was sometimes "promiscuous woman".

There were also debates about things like la presidente vs. la presidenta or what the female version of juez should be, whether it should be la juez or la jueza

Most languages with gendered language have varying degrees of this, and all languages I'm aware of have gendered stereotypes related to professions or cultural attitudes in some way, and not just for women, and not all in the same way with some of them being very culturally based

-

The longer answer involves a bit of history, and I'll be honest, some of it is contested or considered a little controversial in Spanish-speaking countries particularly in the conservative parts (which honestly should come as no surprise)

The first symbol that I know of that came about was the X

First piece of contested history: As far as I know, it was the trans/queer and drag communities in Latin America who started the trend of X. When there were signs or bulletins that had the gendered endings - specifically masculine plural as the default plural - people would write a big X through the O. This was a way of being inclusive and also a very smash the patriarchy move.

Some people attribute this to women's rights activists which may also be true, but a good portion of the things I read from people say it was the trans/queer/drag communities in Latin America doing this.

I've also read it originated in Brazil with Portuguese; still Latin America, but not a Spanish-speaking country.

Where it's most contested is that some people will say that this trend started in the Hispanic communities of the United States. And - not without reason - people are upset that this is perceived as a very gringo movement.

That's why Latinx is considered a very American-Hispanic experience

-

The arroba (@) is relatively new. I remember seeing it in the 2000s. I don't know if it existed earlier for gender inclusivity.

People used it because it looks like a combination of O and A, so it was meant to be cut down on saying things like todos y todas or niños y niñas in informal written speech

I remember quite a few (informal) emails starting like hola tod@s or muy buenas a tod@s or things like that

I think of it more as convenience especially in the information age where you never knew who you were talking to and it's easier than including both words, especially when masculine plural might be clumsy or insensitive

Still, it's practically impossible to use the @ in spoken Spanish, so it's better for writing casually. You also likely won't be allowed to use the @ in anything academic, but in chatrooms, blogs, or forums it's an option

-

I love the E ending. And the gender neutral form in singular is elle... so it's él "he", ella "she", and elle "they (singular)"

The -e ending is I think became more common within the past 10 years though it might have existed longer than that. These sorts of changes tend to come from the queer or trans communities and tend to be more insular before becoming more of an outside thing that then the general population finds out about

It came about because there are some adjectives in Spanish that end in -e that are unisex. It's not an A, it's not an O, but it's something grammatically neutral for Spanish

It's not as awkward as X, and E exists very firmly in Spanish so it's not perceived as some outside (typically gringo) influence

The good news is, it's pretty widespread on the internet. Not so much in person (yet), but especially in Spain and Argentina at least from what I've seen, particularly in the queer communities and online culture.

The only issues with it are that for non-native speakers, you have to get used to any spelling changes. Like amigo and amiga, but to use the E ending you have to add a U... so it's amigue.

That's because there are certain words where you have to do spelling changes to preserve the sound; gue has a hard G sound like -go does [like guerra]... but ge has the equivalent of an English H sound [gelatina for example]. Another one is cómico/a "funny" which would go to cómique. Again, because co has a hard C/K sound, while ce is a soft sound more like an S or in some contexts TH/Z sound; like centro is a soft sound, while cola is a hard sound

Unless you make it to the preterite forms where you come across like pagué, alcancé, practiqué with those types of endings... or subjunctive forms, pague, alcance, practique ... Basically you'd have to be exposed to those spelling rules or you'd be really confused if you were a total beginner.

It all makes sense when you speak it, but spelling might be harder before you learn those rules

The other drawback is that the E endings are sometimes not applicable. Like in damas y caballeros "ladies and gentlemen" there's not really a gender neutral variation on that, it's all binary there. And while la caballero "female knight" does exist, you'd never see a male variation on dama; the closest I've ever seen is calling a guy a damisela en apuros "damsel in distress" in some contexts where the man needs rescuing, and it's feminine una/la damisela, and it's very tongue-in-cheek

There are also some contexts like jefe vs jefa where I guess you would say jefe for "boss" if you were going the neutral route, but it's a bit weird because it's also the masculine option.

I can't speak for how people might feel about those if they're non-binary or agender because every so often you kind of get forced into the binary whether you like it or not

I totally support the E, I just recognize there are some limitations there and it's quirks of the Spanish language itself

Important Note: Just to reiterate, E endings are the ones most Spanish-speakers prefer because it's easiest to speak and doesn't have the American connotation that X does in some circles

-

Where it gets very "Facebook comment section" is that you'll see many Latin Americans traditionalists and conservatives claim that "this is just the gringos colonizing our language" and "grammatical gender doesn't matter in Spanish". They'll say that the "gender movement" is an American feminist movement and that it's a gringo thing and doesn't reflect actual Latin Americans or Spanish-speakers

Which on the one hand, yes, English does have a lot of undue influence on other languages because of colonization, and American influence and meddling in Latin American politics is a big important issue

But as far as I'm aware of the X (and especially the E) were created by Latin Americans

The other issue I personally have is that any time this conversation comes up, someone will say something like somos latinOs and claim that masculine plural is gender neutral

To that I say, first of all, "masculine plural" is inherently gendered. Additionally, there is a gender neutral in Spanish but it's lo or ello and it's only used with "it" so it sounds very unfriendly to use on an actual person... and in plural it looks like masculine plural and everything applies like masculine plural

Second, the reason masculine plural is default is because of machismo. It's more important that we don't possibly misgender a man, so it has to be masculine plural. It's changed in some places, but growing up when I was learning Spanish, if it was 99 women and 1 man you still had to put masculine plural

I'm not opposed to there being a default, and I understand why it's easier to use masculine plural, but some people get very upset at the idea of inclusive language

...

In general, my biggest issues with these comments come when people act like non-binary/queer/trans people don't exist in Spanish-speaking countries, like English invented them somehow. So it's nice to see linguistic self-determination and seeing native speakers using the E endings.

[beauty-and-passion]

Silly fun challenge prompt: what languages do you associate with the Sides/what would be the 2nd language each Side learn?

For example I am a big fan of Hispanic (Spanish speaking) Creativitwins fanon. And c! Thomas too could've learnt Spanish in high school and the fact his love interest is hispanic too just makes perfect sense-

And in contrast to Hispanic twins I headcanon Janus as a francophone (French speaking) for two reasons: 1) it was still lingua franca around Victorian era, his aesthetic inspiration and 2) dividing American high school by Spanish class vs. French class is like causing Civil War (I was and still am a language nerd, so I learnt both languages, which was a mistake but the kind of mistake that was worth it when you think about it later)

German suites Logan since lots of famous philosophers are German. I associate Japanese or Korean with Virgil since those two are really dominant in the current subculture world (and maybe our emo could've been inspired and turn into E-boy - wow that sounds terrifying)

I don't have strong preference on Patton's but Italian sounds nice, since all those music and dessert and anything sweet are often from Italy. And maybe 'Orange' can be some language that sounds harsh like Russian, so he can murmur in that in sleep and scares everyone else

I know you're in Europe: 1) you use GMT and 2) Americans wouldn't care about Eurovision. So I wonder how you would think based on your European experience!

Oooh, I like this! As European Who Studied Languages, I definitely approve this and I'll gladly add my two cents about which languages the sides should learn.

_________

Roman: He canonically knows Spanish and that's perfect like that. Spanish is a romantic language, someone speaks Spanish and you can't help but swoon. It’s a great choice for the Side responsible for romance and passion.

_________

Remus: Remus isn't just intrusive thoughts, but there’s a very high chance he’s also responsible for Thomas' sexual urges. So, what is the language made for sex? You’re right, it’s French. French is sexy. You can say anything in French and bam, ✨sexy ✨.

"Je sors la poubelle." Sexy, isn't it? Well, I just said "I'm taking out the trash". See? Very sexy.

(French people, please confirm my words. We all know it’s true)

_________

Janus: Your points are incredibly valid and I love them. But if we should choose among all languages, I would love Janus to be one of the very few (extremely few) people in the world who can speak Latin.

I know Latin is a dead language, but it would be great - and not just because of the connection with his name.

Let’s consider that the other Romance languages, despite evolving from Latin, cannot entirely understand it, because they all changed a lot through the centuries after mixing with the Germanic ones. On the other hand, the Germanic languages (English, German, Swedish and so on) are part of a completely different group, only slightly influenced by Latin, so they cannot understand it.

In other words, Janus would speak a language that only sounds familiar - and maybe you can grasp a couple words here and there if you know a romance language, but the true meaning is hidden. What is he actually saying? Who knows. Is he actually cursing someone? Who knows. After all, do you understand Latin? Yeah, me neither.

If I have to pick a language that is still spoken today instead, I think I'll join you with French. Your points are valid and French is a very elegant language, fitting for Janus’ whole aesthetic. So yes, French could work.

_________

Logan: German is a great choice and you are absolutely right with your point about the philosophers. Also German is a language of harsh sounds and strict grammar rules - for example:

declensions that should be used accordingly for articles, adjectives and nouns

specific verbs for specific meanings

words made by putting together shorter words (like Haustürschlüssel.  Haustür means “front door”, Schlüssel means “key” -> this word means “front door’s key”)

sentences that should follow a specific construction, with parts of the compound verb after the noun and part at the end of the sentence. And secondary phrases also have a specific syntax and should always be introduced by a comma

In other words, it's a very organized language and I think it would fit Logan.

But also, considering that almost all words related to science and philosophy come from Greek, I think Logan should at least understand some Greek. As a treat.

(Also because Greek is another incredibly complicated language, so if someone has the patience to learn it, it’s definitely Logan.)

_________

Virgil: oh my gosh, I never thought about an eastern language for Virgil. In a way, it would be a very peculiar choice and I kinda like it. Japanese and Korean are extremely complicated languages, they have a very specific alphabet (I'm especially thinking about the Japanese one, that even asks for a specific direction to write words) and require a lot of work (and memory) to learn them.

But Virgil is also a poet and when I think of poets and sonnets my first connection is with the french ennui, le mal du vivre and especially Baudelaire and his works. Virgil would appreciate Baudelaire a lot. So French, again.

But hey, there’s too much French now. So I’ll pick the other european literature full of sadness: the russian one.

Russian is supposed to be a big scary language and its alphabet is weird and omg what if they're cursing us? But if you learn it a little bit, you’ll find out that Russian has a lot of soft/open sounds (due to a good use of vowels) and it's very poetic.

So the language itself is a bit like Virgil: he seems scary and evil at a first glance, but if you learn about him, he's actually kinder than he looks.

But never underestimate Russian, because just like Anxiety, fear is just behind the corner: you start learning it and wow, there is just one present tense, one past tense and one future tense? This is great, what a wonderful language!

And then, before you’ll realize it, you will find out that each verb has a “doppelganger” used for entirely different purposes AND there a gazillion verbs of motion and you will end up crying on the floor, because there are just too many verbs - and look, there are also one trillion particles you can put before these verbs and they give them EVEN MORE MEANINGS.

No, this isn't entirely based on my personal experience, what makes you think that.

_________

Patton: I have never thought about Patton learning another language, because English just fits him too well.

But when you proposed Italian... well, my heart just wiped out everything else. There is nothing here, only Patton speaking Italian.

So yes, Patton's second language should be Italian. No, it must be Italian. Because French is the language of sex, Spanish is the language of love, but if you want to declare your eternal love to someone, you use Italian. Do you want to marry someone? Italian. Do you want to tell your significant other how much you adore them? Italian. Italian has one million ways to express love and Patton should use them all with his kiddos.

And yes, Italian is also associated with warm people, warm places and good food, all things Patton deserves and should enjoy. So Italian is a big yes.

_________

Orange: since Orange is a mystery, I am a bit torn between these two languages:

1) Esperanto: This language is amazing, because it isn’t a natural language, born like all others, but it has been built by a man, who wanted to create an universal language in order to foster world peace and international understanding.

So this language has been created to be as simple as possible, with a very regular grammar (unlike all other natural languages) and its words all have references to other language groups (romance, germanic, slavic, indo-europeans, finno-ugric languages and so on).

And if you actually listen to it (especially if you know some latin languages) you will find it weirdly understandable. I found this video in particular and I was impressed by how strangely familiar esperanto sounds.

And... that’s it, I just think it would be kinda poetic that the last side knows a language that all others can use and understand.

2) A Greenlandic language. Why? Because they are insanely polysynthetic.

What does that mean? If in German you can make words by putting together other two/three words (like in the example I used before), in the Greenlandic languages you can build an entire sentence by putting together nouns, verbs, articles and everything else. All together in one single word, whose meaning can be translated with an entire sentence in another language.

Do you want an example? Here is an example from Wikipedia: tuntussuqatarniksaitengqiggtuq.

Yes, this is a word.

This word is from the Yupik language and means "He had not yet said again that he was going to hunt reindeer.". And this word is made of:

tuntu- (= reindeer)

ssur-  (= hunt)

qatar- (future tense)

ni- (= say)

ksaite- (negative)

ngqiggte- (= again)

uq  (3rd.sing.IND)

Is this insane? This is fucking insane. Do you want to be scared? This is real fear. What the heck. How. Why.

You know what? This is perfect for Orange, I’ll leave Esperanto to Thomas. Orange deserves to be this scary. I can already see the other sides quiver before him.

_________

And so, here are my guesses! If someone has other ideas, feel free to add yours and tell us why, so we can all have a nice discussion :D

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Baby Just Say Yes

Relationship: 12th Doctor x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of drowning - but not graphically described, and some spoilers for War and Peace (the book, although I suppose it would apply to the TV show as well, since they're the same story)

Word Count: 2,704

Summary: When you, Bill, and the Doctor debate the merits of how many doughnuts are too many, it accidentally leads to a revelation on an event you hadn't actually known had happened. 

Request: Bill finds out that the reader is "married" to Doc and at some point Bill jokes calling the two her grandparents

A/N: I took the route of reader knowing the Doctor for years and years, just so it was easier to justify the nature of the Doctor and readers relationship. As a result, it's got some implied past 11 x Reader. Hope that’s okay!

Your finger trailed along the spines of the collection of books on one the shelves in the second level of the console room. You paused when your eyes landed on a familiar novel, one you had yet to crack open, but really wanted to. If so you could boast to the Doctor that you'd read it.

War and Peace.

1,225 pages. The Doctor had never had the patience for it. You took the novel out from the shelf, only for a plume of dust to pool into the air. It tickled your nose, making it itch.

Then you sneezed.

You rubbed your finger along the base of your nose in a vain attempt to scratch it, and narrowed your eyes at the dusty bookshelf. The Doctor had said he was going to dust it.

A muffled voice spoke from below, it took you a moment to place what was said, but you were pretty sure it was ‘bless you’.

You were on a planet the Doctor and you had discovered in his last face, back when he had been younger, had a longer chin, and was far more obsessed with sweets. It was famous for its doughnuts, the best in the galaxy, the Doctor had decided.

And that decision had stuck, since, when the Doctor had told Bill about the planet, she had decided that they absolutely must go.

You poked your head over the bannister and locked eyes with Bill. She was holding a doughnut in her mouth, and her hands were full balancing two trays. You realised it must have been Bill who spoke, because the Doctor was only now coming in, holding a near empty tray of doughnuts in one hand.

“Hey,” you said, and you placed your book on one of the chairs before hopping down the stairs. “You two get enough?”

Bill snorted, dropping her boxes onto the console and taking a bite out of her doughnut. “Not even. He,” she nodded towards the Doctor. “Has already eaten nearly every single one out of that box.”

Your eyebrows flew into your hairline, and you snatched the box out of the Doctor’s hands. You waved the Doctor away when he protested, and instead eyed the boxes contents. There was a single doughnut left. Out of nine doughnuts, and only one was left. It was round, with no hole in the middle, and a good layer of icing sugar sprinkled on top.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Feeling sick yet?”

The Doctor raised his own eyebrow at you, and you knew, instinctually, that it was more effective than yours. “You do not get to lecture me on health.”

It was a weak rebuttal.

“You’ve had eight of them Doctor,” you took the final doughnut out of the box. “Eight.”

He snatched it out of your hand, and your face fell. “Timelord,” he replied, and then took a large bite out of the final doughnut. The Doctor immediately winced, then hissed. He pulled the doughnut away with a frown, and you saw the remnants of hot jam on his lips.

A swell of vindication ran through you, and, under the guise of wiping some of the jam off, you took the doughnut off of him. You let the air cool the jam slightly, not wanting to burn yourself too. “Eight,” you said again. “Is more than enough.”

“The very basics of my physiology are different,” he gestured to both his hearts for good measure, then tried to reach for the doughnut, you were ready though, and you held it out of reach. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just because you've got two hearts,” you said. “Doesn't mean you've got two stomachs. At the very least you'll get indigestion.”

And with that you took a hungry bite out of the very doughnut he had just stolen from you. It was good, they’d made it with raspberry jam, and the stark taste of the sharp raspberry against the sweet sugar warmed you. You gave him a satisfied smirk, and turned to Bill. “What about you, what’s yours?”

Bill had been watching you both, her head swinging between you like she was watching a tennis match. She had just bitten into her doughnut, and she looked slightly stunned that you had spoken to her.

“It’s really good,” she said, but her mouth was full so it sounded more like ‘ts r’lly gud. She swallowed, then continued talking. “Can’t remember what they said this one was,” and she turned to the Doctor, holding the doughnut up so both you and the Doctor could see its contents. It was filled with a rich purple paste. “What’s supposed to be in it?”

“Ube,” the Doctor said coolly, and he shuffled over to your side. You sidestepped him, taking another bite of the doughnut. He wasn’t getting it that easily. “It’s from the Philippines, traditionally.”

“We should’ve gotten more,” Bill said. “I think these are my favourite so far.”

This was the beauty of this planet, they were obsessed with Earth doughnuts, so they’d preserved every culturally significant recipe that Earth had, 1,893 – the Doctor had counted. They even had cronut’s, of all things, though you’d yet to try them.

The Doctor scowled at the other two boxes, and you stepped carefully in front of them.

“I chose a new book,” you said, which was a blatant redirection of conversation, but you powered through. “One I’m sure you haven’t finished.”

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed Bill was watching the pair of you again, as if a spectator of a sport.

The Doctor studied you carefully, and you knew he was humouring this new conversation. “That’s an unlikely assumption.

“War and Peace,” you said, with only a small hint of pride.

The Doctor cocked his head to the side, considering it. “You’re right, actually. I got bored once the Anatole and Natasha affair got going. Couldn’t visit the opera for a couple decades either.”

Your face fell.

Bill spluttered. “Did you just spoil it?”

The Doctor waved a hand. “The book's over 150 years old. If Y/N doesn't know about the ending by now then that's not really my fault.”

You vaguely heard Bill breathe out an Oh my God.

“That's one of the most arrogant things you've ever said,” you said, still processing the shock of how he had so simply said what he had. “And I once listened to you drone on for an hour on how you choreographed the macarena.”

“I did that in a different face though, younger, more nimble. I’ll have to tell you about how I taught Claude Debussy how to shred.”

“Like, on the guitar, or in the ocean?” Bill asked.

“Yes,” the Doctor said, and then he went to grab for the rest of the doughnut in your hand.

“Oh no,” you said, side-stepping him. “No more, especially not after you spoiled the book for me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “It’s not like I told you how Andrei dies in a gruesome battle against the French, and Natasha coincidently finds herself by his side as he dies on his deathbed, even though they’d long parted. Honestly.”

Your eyes bugged out of your skull, you could feel it, as though they were ready to up and roll away.

“Is Andrei an important character?” Bill asked slowly, and then, she meekly added. “I haven’t seen the show.”

You spoke very slowly, your voice low. You narrowed your eyes to the Doctor. The death of a major character was a pretty big spoiler. “I cannot believe you.”

The Doctor winced slightly. “I just rambled like I was 900 years old again, didn’t I?”

“At least,” you breathed. You swallowed your exasperation, and then, suddenly, you sneezed. It was loud, like it had to announce itself to the world, and you rocked backwards slightly. You sniffled.

“Bless you,” Bill said again, but her mouth was full, so it sounded like ‘bleshooo’.

You gave her your thanks, then turned to the Doctor, your mind going to the reason why you were sneezing in the first place. “Dusting,” you said. “You haven’t dusted yet. You said you would.”

The Doctor waved a hand. “I will, I’ll get round to it.”

“You offered, Doctor,” you continued, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if it sounded like you were nagging him . “No one asked you to do it, Nardole didn’t even ask. You offered.”

“You’re in a mood,” The Doctor said suddenly, and he leaned forward, so his big nose was almost against yours.. “Are you sick?

“I – what, no, I’m not sick,” you said, and you stumbled back suddenly. His eyes were so large, so close, and it was momentarily disarming. “You can be so infuriating sometimes, you know that?”

“You tell me constantly.”

Bill’s face grew into a large, delighted grin. “Oh my God,” she said. “You're like an old married couple.”

You turned to her, stunned. Or course, you were with the Doctor, but the idea of being married to him… well, he had done it, you knew he had, you’d been there, several years ago now when he’d had a different face with a long chin and an affinity for custard.

It certainly hadn’t been to you, though.

Of course, time had been broken and you’d been wearing an itchy eyepatch, but schematics.

You’d also seen the Doctor, a much younger face, one you had never travelled with, marry Queen Elizabeth the first. You’d been a ring bearer. It had been too fun teasing all three of faces of the Doctor that day for it.

But no. You had certainly never married him.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to, quite honestly, the thought had never crossed your mind. You had been so content in your relationship with him, how sure it felt, how right it was, that you’d never thought about anything more.

The Doctor, too, gawked, but for an entirely different reason. "You called me old.”

Bill glanced up and down the doctor's frame, which was enough to make her point.

“Fine,” the Doctor grumbled. “I'm old.”

“How are we like an old married couple?” You pressed, because the Doctor was not getting the key part of Bill’s statement.

“The bickering,” she said. “It's totally what couples do.”

You gaped and turned to the Doctor for some sort of guidance. You waited for him to shut it down. To laugh and just say it was because you were comfortable around one another. Instead, the Doctor only shrugged. "I mean,” he said. “Technically we are married'

You did a double take. Married. You were, apparently, already married to the Doctor.

What?

Bill gasped. “What - no, since when? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Yeah,” you said, finding your voice. “I'd quite like to know too.”

Bill turned to you. “Wait what do you mean?”

“This is news to me,” you continued. “We're married? Where was my something old and something blue?”

The Doctor gestured to himself, then around the console room - the TARDIS. So those were, apparently, the something old and something blue. A bit on the nose.

He raised an eyebrow, and you wondered if your expression was as confused as you felt. “On the foreshore of Tralite,” he prompted. “With the Arhkor embassy.”

That... that hadn't been a wedding. Had it?

You mind went back to that evening, so many years ago now, back when you had been travelling with Clara, back when the doctor knew who Clara was. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn't think about those times often. You felt alone in those memories, like you were the only one who held them, could cherish them.

But you remembered, quite clearly.

Here's what had happened:

Every decade, the Arhkor would sacrifice a person with renowned intelligence to the foreshore of Tralite, a beach that was more pebble than sand. The sacrifice would sit in the water until they drowned, and their memories would be recorded into the water. Living memory, the Doctor had said.

But the sacrifice that year, a young girl named Ardiel, whose bright purple hair had matched her purple scales, had been so young, and she hadn’t wanted to die.

So the Doctor, in all his foolish martyring glory, had marched out into the sea himself.

And of course, you couldn’t let him do that, so you followed.

“That wasn’t a wedding,” you said. “You were trying to sacrifice yourself to an ocean.”

You remembered it, your hand clasped in his, and the water settling over you both. You hadn’t been scared, which, in hindsight, terrified you. You should have been scared, but you weren’t. You had felt calm, at ease, safe even.

You couldn’t remember exactly why you had both been spared, but the water washed away, leaving you both wet and cold – but alive. And the water had never asked for another sacrifice since.

“It was a marrying of the minds,” The Doctor said, enunciating the words like he was trying to drill the meaning into your brain. “The water had been the officiant.”

“This is so weird,” Bill said, and she took another bite out of her doughnut.

You found yourself agreeing with Bill. “Doctor, that makes exactly zero sense.”

“The water had found something worth more than intelligence,” the Doctor continued. “It had found love. So when it copied and pasted our minds, that’s all it found. It unified us. It was a wedding.”

You rubbed your forehead with your fingers, trying to process this.

“I gotta say,” Bill commented, and she’d finished the doughnut she had been eating and was now fishing another out of a box. She pulled out a brown doughnut that was an oval shape with a silt down the middle. “I dunno how many people can say their grandparents got married by an ocean.”

“Ox-tongue,” the Doctor said, and he nodded to the pastry in Bill’s hand. Then, he considered her statement. “And that’s true, you should use that. It’s a good pick up line, should impress a girl or two.”

Bill scrunched up her face. “Okay, one; Ox tongue? Seriously? That can’t be right.”

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s Cantonese. A friend once told me about it. Apparently it references the shape of the dough. That being said, it might also be horse ears.”

“Okay,” Bill raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I’ll maybe half trust it, because it doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough to prove you wrong,” she paused before speaking again. “Also, two; I don’t think those two can get mixed up. Three, I’m never, ever using that as a pick up line. Not ever. It’s terrible.”

Thankfully, the Doctor was so focused on Bill’s last point, that he disregarded what she had said earlier. “It’s an excellent line! You’ll get to teach the girls something new!”

“Sorry, circle back,” you said, because your brain wasn’t computing. You weren’t even sure what you needed to address first. The marriage comments? The grandparents comment? The ox tongue?

Both Bill and the Doctor looked to you expectantly.

You pointed to the Doctor. “First of all, still wasn’t a wedding,” you then pointed to Bill. “Second of all, grandparents? I know he’s old but I’m certainly not.”

“Yeah but you’re with him,” she said, after swallowing part of her doughnut. She took another eager bite.

“He is sitting right here,” the Doctor grumbled. “But alright, if it wasn’t a wedding up to your standards, we can always do something different,” he stood up. “We can arrange it.”

Your brain short circuited, and you had to reprocess what the Doctor had said.

We can always do something different. We can arrange it.

Had the Doctor just proposed to you?

You were so stunned you didn’t even protest as he plucked the remaining doughnut from out of your fingers, wandering out of the console room. “Let me know,” he called out. “And we’ll get to reading that Tolstoy.”

You sat there, bug eyed, and turned to Bill. She was wearing a similar expression, she’d dropped her own doughnut, which sat dejected on top of one of the doughnut boxes.

“Did what I think just happened, happen?” You asked, your voice only slightly shrill.

Bill nodded. “I – uh, yeah. I think so.”

You stood up, and sprinted after him.

A/N^2: I gotta give huge thanks to the ever-sweet @phxntxmx​, who pointed out there was a bit of confusion in how I described one of the doughnuts here. I’ve tried to clear it up and make it a bit more consistent, since it’s not something I know about for sure.

[evanescentjasmine]

Writing Egypt and Egyptian Characters: Rusty Quill Gaming Edition

I’ve finally caught up with the Cairo arc of Rusty Quill Gaming, which I was anticipating and dreading both. Fiction set in my country usually reduces it to a caricature of itself, especially when it takes place in the Victorian era, but considering everything they’ve said in their metacasts I was hoping Rusty Quill Gaming was the exception.

It wasn’t. 

I’m aware the game world plays fast and loose with history and setting, but the problems in this case are more than just inaccuracies. However, because I want to help fic writers and artists be able to portray Hamid and his family well, this resource will be split into two parts. The first part will tackle details I’ve been asked about with regard to the setting; it may touch on things RQG went wrong, but I’m writing it primarily as a resource for artists and writers. The second part will be my criticism of RQG, and why I found the Cairo arc actively harmful. This includes discussions of Orientalism and some racist text.

I should also preface this by saying I’m not a historian. Everything I say in this resource is a combination of what I grew up with and what I remember from school, supplemented by Google and guesswork. I’ll be explaining my thought process throughout, which can help you see what’s actual history and what’s my extrapolation.

Part One: On Egypt

Historical Context:

Figuring out the history of Egypt in RQG terms is a bit complicated, so bear with me because this will take a while. 

In real-world history, Egypt was a Roman then Byzantine province from 30 BC to around the mid 600s AD, at which point the Arab conquest swept through and Egypt became Muslim. 

What this means is that when the Meritocrats took down Rome and took over the world, Egypt was still a Roman province. That gives us a several hundred year gap before the Arabs that may have maintained the same culture? Or morphed a little back to some pre-Ptolemaic Ancient Egyptian, given their Meritocrat, Apophis, is named after a great Pharaonic serpent?

Either way, given Hamid’s name and the fact they live in Cairo, the city built by the Arabs, we can assume the Arab conquest still happened somehow, despite having a Meritocrat in Egypt. Maybe a Meritocrat out there is Arab and settled in Egypt for a bit with or before Apophis? Maybe it took a couple-hundred years for the Meritocrats to get all the previous Roman areas under control? Maybe there was a whole war and the Arabs won and settled and eventually they got to a truce or got absorbed into Meritocratic lands?

Many Muslim dynasties ruled throughout the period from the mid 600s to the 1500s. Given the lack of Islam in this world, probably the Arabs were unified by some Pre-Islamic deity/deities and brought them over as well, because I refuse to just sweep everything under the broad Greek God rug. 

In the 1500s, another Muslim dynasty took over--this time, from outside of the country, which is why it’s considered separate from all the rest. At this point, Egypt became part of the Ottoman Empire until the 1800s, which is when the Mohammed Ali dynasty started to try and secede and rule independently. And there was a brief blip of the French occupation for two years around then as well.

And, of course, we can’t forget about British colonisation, which started in the late 1800s with a veiled protectorate.

Presumably, since France and Britain are also Meritocratic and it seems like Apophis is currently ruling, we can disregard everything from the Ottomans onward. This changes, or should change, a ton, because Ottoman rule informed a lot of things from fashion to slang to nobility and so on. 

What we’re left with is most likely a Cairo that is still Arab but with much more Pharaonic influence, as Apophis is in charge, as well as continuing Greek influence due to the Gods. I am not a Coptic Christian, so I cannot speak to how these changes in history and religions would affect the Coptic language and culture, but no doubt it would still be around.

There would also be a bigger, more long-standing connection to other Meritocratic countries. This explains why Hamid was British-educated and so many people speak such good English without a British occupation to create the power disparity that would make that necessary to rise in Egypt and such a mark of status. 

However, this presents several confusing and contradictory aspects of the world building:

Why doesn’t this go both ways? Why aren’t there people in England and France who know Arabic or are influenced by Egypt? All we get is that the Tahan family are big. That’s it. If these countries are equals, it sure doesn’t look like it.

If Apophis is pharaonic and Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous...why would they hollow out a pyramid to put a bank inside? It’s a tomb. It’s made to bury dead kings in a way that follows possibly still-existing cultural and religious beliefs. It’s the equivalent of someone building a bank inside a mausoleum. It’s bizarre.

Relatedly, if Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous, why is Carter mentioning the Rosetta Stone? Why would the knowledge necessary to translate hieroglyphics have been lost? 

I mention these questions so fic writers can keep them in mind while writing and, of course, it’s entirely possible to create a workaround. For example, maybe the Rosetta Stone is supposed to be translating something else, like an ancient hidden magic?

Describing Cairo:

I want to make one thing very clear: Cairo is not, despite Alex’s description, like Vegas. While we do certainly have hotels and casinos, to reduce the city to only that is very harmful for reasons I’ll go into at the end of this resource.

Cairo is a very old city with a mix of architectural styles and is very heavily Muslim in real life. In Arabic, its tagline is often “city of a thousand minarets,” so clearly RQG Cairo will be fairly different. Given Apophis’ influence, Ancient Egyptian styles might be more prevalent in Cairo, but very likely not in the form of pyramids unless those pyramids were for the dead. In real life, some buildings do incorporate Ancient Egyptian flavour, usually just in the form of lotus columns or hieroglyphs. These would only be found in public institutions, however,  or, frankly, tourist-bait. 

Residential buildings tend to be clustered very close together and, since it’s an old city, streets are crowded and winding as the city keeps building on itself and spilling out of its previous bounds. Estates do, of course, exist, but I’d suggest against using Bryn’s example of Alhambra as a setting for the Tahan home. Alhambra is a palace fortress in Spain and, although it’s Andalusian and therefore influenced by Muslim architecture, it’s very different than anything in Egypt. It’s as absurd as saying a posh British character lives in a house that’s basically Versailles and leaving it there. I’ve included images of some Egyptian residential estates below, all from the 1800s to early 1900s.

And here are some photos of Cairo in the 1800s:

As you can see, not quite Vegas.

A fic set in Cairo can certainly still have the Cairo strip with all the casinos, since that’s an aspect of canon, but a place like that would probably be geared more to tourists and foreigners than locals. So long you’re aware of this while writing, and that Cairo would exist beyond it, you should be fine. It might also be worth having characters explore the actual city.

Weather:

The stereotype is that Egypt is just hot and sand year-round. It isn’t. The further south you go, the hotter it will get, so that Upper Egypt (which is in the south, yeah), is hotter than Lower Egypt, which is where Cairo and Alexandria are. Alexandria, by virtue of being on the Mediterranean, has fairly cold (for us) and rainy winters and mild, humid summers. Cairo gets very occasional rain and has harsher summers but is also dryer.

And, of course, a thing to remember is that even in the depths of the desert, the morning might be quite warm but the night will be quite cold as well.

Sandstorm season (called khamaseen) takes place from April - May but in the middle of Cairo it’s more of an annoyance than anything else.

Language:

Since they speak Arabic, it’s important to note that spoken Egyptian Arabic is very different from written Classical Arabic. Egyptian is a mishmash of Arabic, Coptic, a bit of Greek, and a bit of French (and, in the real world, some Turkish too) all smashed together. Accents differ from city to city, and Cairene Arabic is best known for the fact we pronounce the letter jeem as geem (so all soft Gs are turned into hard Gs) and tend to replace the letter qaf with a glottal stop.

This means that a Cairene wouldn’t be called Jamal, they’d be Gamal. A Cairene would pronounce burqa as bur’a.

Since religion plays a big part in language, RQG Egyptian Arabic may be a bit different. For instance, the greeting most people associate with Arabic is “Assalam alaykum” but that’s very specifically Muslim or at least associated with Islam, and might not have been as wide-spread given...y’know, that Islam doesn’t exist. I’m not saying it’s incorrect to use, just explaining the context.

Alternatives could include “Sabah/masa’ el-kheir” which means “Good morning/evening,” and “Naharak/Naharik saeed” which is, “May you have a good day.”

Fashion:

Although this didn’t really feature in RQG, I’ve received a lot of questions about the period’s fashion and honestly it’s my favourite thing ever so I probably would have touched on it anyway. I’ll only go into broad strokes, as there are plenty of regional variations and, again, I’m no expert 

Women

Egyptian women covered their heads and sometimes their faces not out of religiosity but out of a cultural expectation of modesty. This may well have come about as a result of the Arab/Muslim cultural majority, as to my knowledge this wasn’t the case in the Greek and Roman periods, but women of all religions covered their heads so that would likely still be the case in RQG’s Arab Egypt.

This isn’t with the hijab we know today. It may have been a cloth or kerchief tied over their heads and then the melaya laf (which is larger cloth, almost a sheet) that they wrap around themselves and over their head, as follows: 

The black face-covering was called a burqa or bur’a (not the same as a Muslim burqa, which serves similar modesty functions but is a separate thing) or a yashmak and may have been opaque black, white, or netted, such as in this picture:

Underneath the melaya they would be wearing a long, loose, patterned dress:

Upper class Egyptian women tended to wear Western dresses with a white yashmak that covered their faces and heads. A yashmak is Turkish, however, and without Ottoman influence this style and name might not have caught on in Egypt.

Men

While the melaya laf and yashmak have disappeared from Egypt, the traditional men’s gallabeya and ammama, or turban, are still seen widely today. The gallabeya (or jellabiya, outside of Cairene Arabic) is a long, loose garment with wide sleeves and no collar. It’s in muted, neutral colours, usually lighter ones like white or beige in the summer and navy blue or grey in the winter. You’ll have seen examples of it in the pictures of Cairo above, and here’s another one: 

Middle to upper class men and civil servants, however, tended to wear English suits with a tarboosh, or fez. Since fezzes were also a result of Ottoman rule, RQG Egyptians might not wear them.

And yes, impressive moustaches were also very much the fashion.

Names:

The running joke is that Hamid’s name is unnecessarily long, but my name is longer, and I don’t think that’s particularly unusual. We don’t usually go around introducing ourselves with all of them, admittedly, and I’m not sure whether Hamid does this as a way to indicate he’s overly fancy or because Bryn doesn’t realise it, but four names is not long. My ID boasts five, and I know of at least one more.

Arabic naming conventions use patronymics for all children, regardless of gender. What this means is that my name and my brother’s name is identical except for our first. 

Mine is Jasmine + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name

And my brother is also First name + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name.

Egyptians do not typically have last names, but an important family may all choose to identify under a name and use that as their last, such as the Tahans. In my case, I use my fifth name as my last name and introduce myself in everyday life as Jasmine Fifth Name. Notably, my brother does not, and goes by First name + Dad’s name instead. This isn’t unusual. On paperwork, however, we still have the same name.

Additionally, Egyptian women do not take their husbands’ last names in marriage, nor do children take any of her names. 

I’m not sure why, according to the wiki, Hamid’s sisters seem to have taken their mother’s name. Following Arabic naming conventions, they would all be First Name Saleh Haroun al Tahan, and their father would be Saleh Haroun al Tahan. A possible workaround might be that halflings have their own naming conventions that mean daughters have matronymics and sons patronymics. 

A note to podficcers: please google name pronunciations beforehand because Alex and Bryn’s are actually often wrong. Ishak, for instance, is not pronounced Ee-shak. It’s Iss-haaq or Iss-haa’, because of quirks of the Egyptian accent I mentioned earlier.

Part Two: Criticism

I understand it can be difficult to portray a country different from yours with accuracy. I understand the RQG crew will not have had the perspective on Egypt and Cairo that I do by virtue of living here. I do also acknowledge that I’m sure none of this was actively malicious or on purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be on purpose to hurt, frankly, and given how often the RQG crew have talked about their responsibility with a game that’s intended for an audience, I expected better. Bryn has spoken about not wanting to fall into stereotypes for Hamid and, to be fair, by being a non-religious fancyboy Hamid does neatly avoid the religious zealot and the noble (or ignoble) savage routes. Unfortunately, he falls into another, which was hammered home by the portrayal of Cairo and the Tahans as a whole.

Our first glimpse of Cairo, after the sandstorm clears, describes it as “basically Vegas,” with hotels and garish casinos catering to the rich all along the “Cairo strip.” From then on, our only other images of Cairo are vast estates and a pyramid in the desert. 

The only named Egyptians we meet are the Tahan family, who are introduced through an absurdly lavish estate compared to the palace fortress of Alhambra, a gambling problem that apparently runs in the family, murder, and corruption, as the head of the family who has already covered up a crime for one son then turns himself in to protect the other.

Then, to top it all off, Hamid is apparently utterly incapable of understanding why letting his brother get away with murder is an issue until the paladins point it out.

Do you see the pattern, here?

I understand this was aiming to be a criticism of the rich and powerful, but the fact remains that the Tahans are the only representation of Egyptians we get. While this may not be harems and hand-chopping levels of Orientalism, the image presented is of Cairo as a den of excessive wealth and vice, and Egyptians as corrupt and immoral.

This isn’t new.

The Middle East and North Africa (as well as India and China and everywhere else considered “the Orient”) has often been tied to images of wealth and overt splendour, usually hand-in-hand with the Oriental despot and corruption. This view went beyond just fiction and influenced the policies with which we were ruled. 

Cromer, Consul-General of Egypt, wrote books called Modern Egypt. He had this to say about us:

“The mind of the Oriental, on the other hand, like his picturesque streets, is eminently wanting in symmetry. His reasoning is of the most slipshod description. . . . They are often incapable of drawing the most obvious conclusions from any simple premises of which they may admit the truth.”

In his opinion, our inability to follow logical reason led to us being inherently untruthful and, therefore, immoral. Similarly, British statesman Balfour was of the belief that:

 “Lord Cromer’s services during the past quarter of a century have raised Egypt from the lowest pitch of social and economic degradation until it now stands among Oriental nations, I believe, absolutely alone in its prosperity, financial and moral.”

Egypt was under British colonial rule from 1882 - 1952.

You can see, I hope, why a storyline focused on an Egyptian family’s corruption in an Egypt characterised almost entirely by its casinos and one lavish mansion was very uncomfortable. The fact Azu was one of the people trying to explain morality to Hamid keeps it from sliding into a clear East vs West dichotomy, but the fact remains this is a British show featuring British players and this is the story they chose to tell. 

The rest was just salt in the wound, really. 

I expect mispronounced names and pyramids and jokes about camels in most media, but rarely do the makers of said media then go on to pat themselves on the back for doing their “due diligence” on a metacast about sensitivity.

I see weird naming conventions and mispronounced names and “basically Vegas” and “crocodile steak” and “camel’s milk froyo” and I do not see due diligence.  

I see a setting that barely looked past Cleopatra and I do not see due diligence.

I see a storyline that shows only excess and immorality and corruption and I do not see due diligence.

I see a disregard for me and mine, and I do not appreciate it. 

Literature I’ve referred to in writing this criticism:

Orientalism (1978), by Edward W. Said

Orientalism in the Victorian Era (2017), a paper by Valerie Kennedy

Orientalism in American Cinema: Providing an Historical and Geographical Context for PostColonial Theory (2010), a thesis by Samuel Scurry 

Popular Culture, Orientalism, and Edward Said (2012), an article by Robert Irwin

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Theatre Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 剧场之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

[ Released on 20 January 2021 ]

Winter sunlight streams in through the French windows, illuminating the entire rehearsal room.

After a short week of filming, I seem to have returned to my life in university, being surrounded by an atmosphere of youthful enthusiasm daily.

Raising the camera in my hands, I record the beautiful and authentic scenes before me, little by little.

All of a sudden, a voice drifts from the front.

Female Student: Everyone, please gather in the middle~

Out of habit, I follow the voice, turning the camera towards the middle of the rehearsal room. But after a few seconds, the female student in the viewfinder walks straight towards me.

Female Student: Miss MC, could I trouble you and Professor Lucien to join us?

Surprised, I set down the camera. After exchanging a short glance with Lucien, we walk to the middle of the rehearsal room together and sit down.

Female Student: Firstly, there’s a piece of good news! Our performance timing has finally been set, and we’ll be having our first official rehearsal tomorrow!

Once the words are spoken, deafening cheers resound in the rehearsal room. I can’t help but lean towards Lucien’s ear.

MC: They can finally perform officially. That’s great!

Lucien: Only through perseverance can there be a future. This result isn’t unexpected.

MC: Who knows - they might become outstanding stage actors in the future!

The corners of my lips lift upwards uncontrollably, and images of them standing on stage surface in my mind.

Lucien seems to sense how I’m feeling, and he pinches the palm of my hand in response.

Female Student: Next, I represent everyone here to thank Producer MC and Professor Lucien! Without their help and advice, we probably wouldn’t know how much longer we’d have to prepare!

Warm applause resounds once again, and I chuckle in slight embarrassment.

MC: Actually, you should be thanking yourselves. We’re just recording the moments we see. Professor Lucien and I are very happy that we’re able to help everyone, and it feels very fulfilling.

Female Student: Miss MC, we actually have a tiny request… We wish to invite you and Professor Lucien to be our hosts. All our performers want to hear their own names being announced. I wonder if the both of you would be willing to participate in the official rehearsal with us tomorrow?

-

Right now, Lucien and I are brisk walking on the street.

Faced with the sincere and enthusiastic gazes from the students a few hours later, we agreed to this invitation. 

In order not to hold up their rehearsal time, Lucien and I suggested that we’d settle our attire.

Following the directions of the navigation system, we’ve arrived at the entrance of a shop. The numerous formal attire exhibited in the display window adds a touch of uniqueness to this small, ordinary street.

MC: Looks like we didn’t end up at the wrong place!

Lucien chuckles, tidying my slightly messy hair which has been blown by the wind.

Lucien: Mm, let’s go in.

Pushing the doors, a long corridor appears in our line of sight. Colourful stage costumes hang at the sides.

Staff: Could I help you? 

MC: Hello, we need two sets of formal evening wear.

The staff nods in understanding, lifting her hand and beckoning us to the deepest part of the corridor. 

Very quickly, we make our way to the section as directed. Before us are grandiose formal wear, giving me the mistaken impression that we’ve come to the wedding section...

MC: Lucien, I don't think these clothes suit us.

Lucien lowers his eyes. As though he thought of something, the corners of his lips lift gently. 

Lucien: The designs here aren’t as good-looking as the set we wore during the shoot at the wisteria garden the other time.

Lucien’s soft sentence makes my face heat up in an instant.

MC: [blushing] Why did you suddenly bring that up...

The mischievous glint in Lucien’s eyes grows deeper. Before he can speak, I hurriedly pull him to the men’s section.

MC: Well... there are too many choices for women’s wear. Let’s pick a set for you first!

The large sea of black, white, and grey greatly lower my troubles of selecting a colour.

After sieving through the differences in styles for various shirts, I quickly pick a standard collar, and a white shirt with a concealed placket.

Holding up a vest without lapels and a matching tie with a solid colour, I walk to Lucien.

MC: You’ll definitely look good in these two pieces. Even though the style doesn’t differ much from what you usually wear, but...

Lucien: But you picked these two for me. 

Lucien completes my sentence, his eyes crinkled into a smile. Taking the clothes, he walks towards the dressing room.

Only after a while do I realise that there’s something odd. I respond, raising my voice without realising it.

MC: ...that’s not what I meant. I was going to say that even though it doesn’t differ much, it still suits you, so you could give it a try!

Lucien pauses in his steps and turns around, giving me a gentle look.

Lucien: But that’s what I meant. 

Saying this softly, he turns and walks into the dressing room.

The faint rustling of clothes drifts from the dressing room. Not long after, Lucien steps out from within it.

The tailoring of the shirt displays his silhouette completely. Just as I’m about to nod in satisfaction, my gaze suddenly stops on his collar. 

MC: It seems like... it could use a collar pin!

I hastily walk to the section displaying collar pins, then select an exquisite yet not too gaudy pin, placing it against him.

MC: Lucien, how’s this collar pin? Do you like it?

Lucien: I like it.

Seeing how Lucien said that he liked it without hesitance, I suddenly decide to be playful.

MC: You like it unconditionally because I picked it, right?

Placing my hands behind me, I lift my chin slightly, pretending to be difficult on purpose.

Lucien pinches my nose gently, his eyes filled with tenderness and flittering light.

Lucien: Of course it isn’t unconditional liking. It’s because MC understands me very well, and knows what suits me. That’s why I can unhesitatingly say that I like it.

In the next second, Lucien brings the hands that were behind me to the front, and lowers his head slightly. 

Lucien: Now, could I ask Miss MC to put it on for me? 

Seeing the pair of gentle eyes in front of me, my heart skips a beat.

Steadying my breathing, I take one step forward, lifting the collar pin in my hand.

MC: [blushing] Stand properly... don’t move.

A soft chuckle drifts from before me, the breath following along with it dispersing at the tip of my nose.

Lucien: In that case, before I can’t move at all, could I lift my chin? Otherwise, I’m afraid it won’t be convenient...

His warm breath travels to me, and the tips of my ears heat up.

Lifting my head slightly, a clear Adam’s apple and lower jawline enter my line of sight, and I soon meet his eyes.

I hurriedly lower my eyes, doing my best to focus my attention on my hands, carefully adjusting the position of the collar pin.

MC: Mm, that’s more like it!

Lucien turns his head and faces the mirror for a while. Then, he reaches out and laces our fingers together.

Lucien: Thank you. Everything before me - I like them very much.

MC: Next, it’s Professor Lucien’s turn to help me pick an outfit. 

Lucien: If I’m able to pick an outfit that MC is satisfied with, I’ll naturally be very willing to help.

MC: Let’s go then!

Taking his arm naturally, we had towards the women’s wear section. Faced with hundreds and thousands of dresses, Lucien and I exchange a glance of tacit understanding, deciding to split ways to operate.

Innumerable extravagant dresses brush past my fingers, and my heart grows increasingly heavy.

MC: Lucien, should we go to another shop?

While speaking, I turn around, but can’t find a trace of Lucien.

Just when I'm prepared to continue walking, a familiar profile overtakes my vision.

Lucien is holding a refreshing white dress as he walks towards me. 

The dress is as light as silk, and isn’t embellished with overly gaudy designs. The extremely simple tailoring style makes it just right.

Seeing the dress in front of me, my gaze is soon deeply drawn to it.

MC: Did you... find this?

Lucien: The staff here is very professional. According to the style I described, she found a similar outfit. Want to give it a try? 

Nodding, I take the white dress from him, walking into the dressing room to change into it. The buttons at the back enable me to adjust the tightness of the dress, enabling the size to be just right.

After changing into the outfit, I take a deep breath and push the door open. 

MC: Lucien, what... do you think?

The unconcealed anticipation in my heart seems to make even my gait feel lively.

Tugging the skirt upwards, I stop in front of him, lifting my eyes to meet his, which are as tender as water. 

Lucien: It looks very nice. I like it too. 

Lucien: It’s as though the countless images I envisioned in my mind are far from rivalling the you in front of me.

-

The next day, Lucien and I bring the rented outfits to the theatre. 

Perhaps due to this being the first time everyone is participating in a rehearsal and have absolutely no experience on stage, there are many unpredictable occurrences on the scene--

A disjunct between where the light falls and where the actors are standing, the sound effects becoming louder and softer abruptly, not having sufficient time to change outfits before needing to appear on stage...

All sorts of incidences causes the scene on stage to be especially messy, and everyone suggests rewatching the rehearsal process recorded on the camera.

As the students sit around the camera, their expressions gradually turn solemn...

Female Student A: Some people’s volumes are too soft. The stage here is much larger than the rehearsal room. Our voices need to be louder!

Male Student B: While raising your volumes, don’t just focus on your own lines. I’ve watched the rhythm of many people become a mess...

Male Student C: People who know what we’re doing will think we’re performing a stage play. Those who don’t know what we’re doing will think we’re performing acrobatics...

Seeing this scene before my eyes, my lips move as I prepare to say something.

As though noticing my hesitance, Lucien leans to my ear.

Lucien: Go on. I think what they really need right now is advice from a “bystander”.

Nodding my head, I walk towards the students. After taking a deep breath, I speak gently.

MC: Let’s not lose heart. These problems aren’t that difficult to resolve. They didn’t arise just because you lack experience. These issues also crop up for a mature stage acting groups.

I try to employ a more relaxed tone, and the heavy atmosphere seems to disperse bit by bit. 

Female Student A: In that case, how do those professional groups resolve them?

MC: Actually, there aren’t special methods. It’s just that the accumulation of experience over time and channeling their emotions into it enables them their convictions to become especially strong. Toss aside all the distracting throughs, believe in your own role, believe in this stage, and then enjoy it. 

Female Student B: I once watched an online lesson where the acting teacher mentioned that actors need strong convictions. But knowing it and applying it are two different things...

I nod thoughtfully. Just as I prepare to speak, a familiar voice pipes up.

Lucien: Why don’t we toss aside the “troublesome” things in front of us, and play a small game. 

I turn my head in astonishment, watching as Lucien smiles and blinks at me.

Even though I don’t know what he intends to do, the familiar gaze always enables me to feel at ease during such moments. 

Lucien: Students who are interested can first close their eyes, and feel their bodies. 

Although the students have puzzled expressions on their faces, they still close their eyes in succession. 

Lucien: Now, lift up your arms, and bring them to the same level as your shoulders. Right now, you’re feeling that your left arm is very heavy. It’s as though a large stone is hanging from it, and it keeps sinking downwards. 

The surroundings are very quiet, and it seems everyone is tranquil in Lucien's voice.

Lucien: All right, please open your eyes slowly. Right now, you’ll see that your left arm is much lower than your right arm.

Right after his words are spoken, surprised gasps can be heard all around.

Just as Lucien said, the left arms of everyone are indeed lower than their right arms. 

Lucien: The small game is over. Everyone can put their hands down.

Female Student A: What is this...?

Male Student B: I didn’t even control my left hand but it went down on its own!

In an instant, lively chatter commences on stage. The students are curious and pleasantly surprised as they turn to Lucien.

Lucien: This is just a small game with psychological suggestion involved. It’s similar to the “conviction” MC mentioned earlier. Perhaps using such a method, everyone can have a more direct experience of the meaning within it. After our brain accepts certain hints, our body will involuntarily perform a corresponding action. This small game can also be used in performances. Why not try believing everything in front of you? This way, your body will also respond with more authenticity.

Male Student A: But how can one perpetually believe in everything that happens on stage? It feels too difficult. 

Lucien chuckles, nodding thoughtfully. 

Lucien: I don’t think conviction can be reached in one step, nor is it achieved permanently. Instead, it’s been hidden in your hearts since a long time ago, but you just haven’t noticed it. Actually, MC and I already felt your conviction in the rehearsal room since early on.

Lucien looks at the boy who asked the question, giving him a response.

Lucien: If I didn’t recall wrongly, you’d mull over your lines softly even before it’s your time to appear on stage.

Soon after, Lucien looks at another female student.

Lucien: When you’re making the props, you’d follow the plot of the script and include appropriate details. I think the courage of chasing your dreams can defeat self-doubt and regret. That’s when conviction exists.

Lucien quietly mentions the actions everyone does typically. Those wordless and plain day-to-day actions seem to be given a certain strength at this moment. 

Everyone lowers their heads, and the air becomes still.

All of a sudden, a female student pats herself roughly on the cheeks. Everyone else lifts their heads, walking to their positions. 

Female Student A: Let’s do it again!

Male Student B: Professor Lucien is right. Our conviction is our dream, and it’s something we can’t lack!

Watching as everyone gets ready, I shoot Lucien a thumbs up.

MC: “Professor Lucien, you’re amazing!”

Lucien seems to understand the words I’m mouthing, and his eyes curve into crescent moons.

Very soon, under everyone’s self-initiated organisation, we go through rehearsal after rehearsal.

Apart from the host’s announcement before the program, I’m not left idle during the remaining time. 

I adjust the angle of the camera, trying my best to record everyone so it’d be more convenient for them to rewatch their states.  

By the time the rehearsal is completely over, the sky has already gotten dark. The students have packed their costumes and props, waving and bidding us farewell. 

MC: Huff... after a few more rehearsals, it’d be the actual performance. 

Lucien: Are you feeling nervous?

Looking at the script in my hands, I involuntarily tighten my grip on it. 

MC: Instead of being nervous, it’s more of looking forward to their performance. I wish for everyone’s names to be clearly conveyed to the audience on that day.

The corners of Lucien’s lips tug upwards gently, and he supports his chin, as though thinking of something. 

Lucien: In that case, why don’t we practise again on our own a few more times? After all, the rehearsal time was used completely on the program, and the time for the “hosts” was largely reduced. 

Before I can react, Lucien takes my hand and walks towards the stage.

Lucien: Now, this is a rehearsal time belonging only to the both of us. 

Hearing this, my gait subconsciously becomes lighter. We stop one-third on the stage.

Holding the script in my hand, I recite the lines eloquently. However, the occasional trip-ups makes the nervousness hidden in the depths of my heart slip out furtively.

Just as I plan to start over from the beginning, I notice at the corner of my eye that Lucien seems to be looking at me. 

MC: Lucien, what is it?

A flittering light flashes across Lucien’s eyes. I can vaguely guess what he’s secretly “plotting”.

Lucien: I suddenly remembered that even hosts need some “conviction”. Would MC be willing to mutually assist each other?

MC: Sure. What must I do? 

Lucien: Before reciting from the script, you could say some things from the heart at that moment, which could strengthen our sense of conviction. It could enable us to believe that the us of right now exists for this moment. 

Watching Lucien saying this “dead seriously”, I can’t help but chuckle. 

MC: For instance?

Lucien: For instance, when I see you busying yourself in the rehearsal room, I feel very happy. When I’m standing on stage with you, I also feel very happy. Right now, as I face MC and express the words from my heart, I’m very happy.

His gentle voice is at my ear, sending ripples across my heart. 

Just as what Lucien said, his eyes and lips generously express his happiness.

It’s as though my emotions have been influenced by his, and the anxiousness buried in the depths of my heart are swept away, replaced with brimming warmth.

MC: Me too! Lucien, I'm very happy that I can make you feel happy. 

The happiness in Lucien’s eyes grows even deeper. He lifts his head, tousling my hair gently.

Lucien: [chuckles] MC. 

Lucien: Believe in them, believe in yourself, and believe in us.

-

Student A: There’s one hour left till the actual performance. Everyone, do one more check! If there aren’t any problems, get ready backstage. 

Right after the words are spoken, the makeup room once again boils with excitement. 

Female Student A: Deep breaths... deep breaths...

Male Student B: We’ll succeed. Today, we’ll be the brightest ones on stage!

Just as everyone leaves the makeup room, I tug on Lucien’s sleeve lightly.

MC: Lucien, hold on. I want to prepare a little something for them. 

Under Lucien’s puzzled gaze, I retrieve post-it notes and a pen from my bag, walking towards the table which has hot beverages on it. 

MC: I don’t think they need any advice at this point. So... I just wish to give them a most ordinary encouragement and my well-wishes. 

Lucien: I believe they’ll sense your regards. 

Lucien takes the post-its that I’ve written, carefully pasting them on every bottle. 

Very soon, there’s a pale yellow outer coat pasted on every hot beverage on the table. 

MC: Done. Let’s hurry and gather backstage!

Carrying our bags, we head towards the backstage. When making a turn, something seems to get caught on my clothes, causing me to halt in my footsteps.

Turning around carefully, I hear the sound of something falling onto the floor.

What follows closely after is my dress being tugged downwards...

MC: Oh...

Before I can exclaim in alarm, Lucien pulls me behind a curtain at a corner, hiding us from view in an instant. 

Scorching warmth is at my waist, causing the tips of my ears to become scaldingly hot.

MC: [blushing] D-don’t let go, the dress is about to slide off...

A soft chuckle drifts from behind me, and the breathing that comes along with it brushes my shoulders gently.

Lucien: Don’t worry, I won’t loosen my grip.

Just as I lower my head in search of the button, a voice sounds from behind the curtain.

??: Professor Lucien, Miss MC, are the two of you there? The performance is about to begin.

My heart immediately tightens. The curtain trembles lightly, as though someone is almost about to pull it...

In the next second, Lucien doesn’t let go, turning his body to the side, covering more than half of myself.

Before I can say anything, Lucien presses lightly on my waist with his finger pads, as though hinting that I shouldn’t make a sound. 

The soft touch travels from the small of my back to my entire body, and waves of heat continuously stream to the back of my ears.

Lucien: Student, I’m discussing some private matters with her. Thank you for your reminder. We’ll head to the backstage very soon. Please head over there first. 

While Lucien speaks, he gently tightens the cloth at my back, and I can’t help but take a breath, staring fixedly at the tips of my shoes. 

The sound of footsteps behind the curtain gradually grows softer, but the beating of my heart quickens uncontrollably.

MC: [blushing] Lucien, let’s hurry and find the button to seam the dress...

Lucien: Don’t worry, I happen to have an idea which could resolve this issue.

While speaking, Lucien retrieves a black coloured felt box from his pocket, opening it to reveal an exquisite butterfly brooch.

Lucien: During the rehearsal, I kept feeling as though something was lacking on the chest area of this dress... Which is why I picked a brooch I thought was appropriate. But from the looks of it now, using it at the waist isn’t a bad choice.

As he speaks, he removes the brooch from the box. 

Lucien: Don’t move. I’ll put it on for you.

I nod, both hands tugging on the curtain. The beating of my heart, akin to drums, grows faster and faster...

Perhaps due to the narrowness of the space, Lucien’s hands indistinctly brush against my lower back, and my face grows scorchingly hot.

Lucien: Hold on for a while longer. It’d be done soon.

I seem to have lost my ability to speak, and can only nod wordlessly.

Lucien: All right, see if the tightness is suitable? 

I lower my head and move my lower body. The tightness of the clothes is just right.

MC: [blushing] Mm... it’s just right. Let’s hurry over. It’s almost time for the audience to enter the venue. 

With a red face and a leaping heart, I tug my skirt upwards and quickly step out of the curtain at the corner. Hearing a soft chuckle from behind, my pace quickens, as though I’m fleeing.

With a turn, I reach the backstage. Just when I’m about to distribute the beverages, I find that everyone’s gazes are filled with disappointment. 

I have no idea what happened, and can only look around in confusion.

It’s only when I notice the audience seats that my heart suddenly tightens--

Even though it’s already time for the audience to enter the venue, the audience seats aren’t filled to the brim as expected. Only a few dozens of audience members are scattered around.

Furrowing my brows, I’m slightly frantic as I lean towards Lucien, lowering my voice.

MC: What should we do? At this rate, I’m afraid there won’t be many people even when the performance begins...

Even before Lucien responds, voices from the surroundings gradually drift to my ears. 

Male Student A: Looks like we’ve still got a long way to go before we can fulfil our dream. 

Female Student B: But I’m already very happy that people came!

Even though the students before me are smiling, I can still capture tinges of disappointment in their eyes. 

The scene before me gives me a sense of familiarity... 

I seem to have felt this way when I first took over “Miracle Finder”.

Viewership which was too appalling to look at, the constant losing of old viewers, and the program almost being called off...

I subconsciously turn my head towards Lucien, and my train of thought pulls me back to the day we first met--

I had invited Lucien to be an advisor for the final episode of the program, and that day was also our beginning. 

Dreams don’t just rely on perseverance. It also requires seizing every opportunity.

Thinking about this, I inhale deeply, taking the hot beverages in Lucien’s hand and distributing them to every “actor” backstage.

MC: No matter how many people are in the audience seats, today is simply your beginning. All the best, and let’s shine on stage together. 

When the final bottle of hot beverage is sent into the hands of the students, I finally let out a slow breath. 

The lights below the stage gradually dim, and the performance is about to begin.

Lucien: MC, were you thinking about how you used to be earlier?

In the dimness, a question floats to my ears softly.

I turn my head, meeting Lucien’s eyes. It seems my thoughts can never evade his eyes.

MC: Mm, I even thought about you...

A ray of radiance inadvertently flashes across Lucien’s eyes, before they are filled with a brimming smile. 

Lucien: Looks like... when we didn’t even notice it, we thought about how we were at the very beginning. But the us of right now seems to differ in quite a number of ways from how we were before.

MC: For example? 

Lucien: Being with MC enables me to see that many beautiful things exist. Just like the conviction we talked about earlier. From the first time we met, I already felt it from you. But with the gradual movement of time, I seem to understand you more and more. And I believe you’re just like me.

MC: Lucien... I also believe that the way we feel about each other won’t remain in place. 

Right after I finish speaking, the stage is illuminated, as though hinting that we’re about to make an appearance.

He bends down slightly, offering me his hand.

Lucien: MC, let’s go.

Breathing in deeply, I take his hand, making my way onto the stage slowly. The glaring light falls on us, and I’m unable to see the audience clearly.

But right now, I feel even more emotional than every rehearsal we had before.

I take a deep breath, lifting the microphone as I smile brilliantly. 

MC: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight’s performance has been prepared by a group of university students who are enthusiasts of traditional performing arts. Right now, let’s welcome the first play, “King Lear”, the performers...

Through the microphone, every word and sentence clearly spreads to every corner of the theatre. 

I know that I’m not speaking for myself, but also for the dreams carried in the hearts of every student backstage. 

And I’m not alone, because...

I met Lucien. 

-

🎭 MOMENTS 🎭

Lucien’s Post: On an unseen stage, everyone plays different roles.

MC: What role are you playing then?

Lucien: I may have played many roles, but it’s only when I’m in MC’s world can I feel especially relaxed.

-

Lucien’s Post: On an unseen stage, everyone plays different roles.

MC: What role am I playing then?

Lucien: No matter what it is, it’d probably... be a role that I like.

-

Lucien’s Post: On an unseen stage, everyone plays different roles.

MC: No matter what role I play, I won’t forget my original heart. 

Lucien: No matter what role the Little Stray Cat plays, I can find the most genuine you from within.

-

🎭 Phone calls: First ll Second

🎭 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[vannyvancan]

"mr assassin" Roommate!Shinsou Hitoshi X F!Reader Part 2

Part 2 of your Roommate/Assassin!Shinsou is here! First of all I wanna thank y'all for liking the first part so much! In this part we go deeper in darker theme of it, so just a fair warning.

my masterlist. Hope you have a great day and happy reading!

Tw for : Assassin!Shinsou theme, female reader,  gun usage, slight insecurity, NSFW for the most part on the later chapters, drug usage, corrupt government talk, harrasment

Day five of living with your new roommate. He hadn't shown much of an interest in harming you...

That was swell.

You huffed out a breath of relaxation when the realization hit, but not also that, things weren't as bad as you expected! The thought you'd get a nasty roommate who would leave much more bigger mess than you was on the mind... but he seems to be the one who cleans as well? A welcome surprise indeed.

Shinsou was an enigma, waking up early at five am, neatly sorting his clothing and coming back late at 11 pm, he didn't seem restless, which could only mean he probably has a second accommodation where he rests and eats as well. It also explains why he only had one bag with him which you had decency and never saw what was inside. Besides...

He had given you a glare yesterday when you stared at it for long with those white pupils of his.

Even though he was soft spoken, he always managed to find a way to poke fun at you before he left. Granted, you were quiet surprised when he made you a french toast every morning! He barely knows you, but you were grateful to have found a roommate that in one way or another showed his gratitude. Afterwards, you felt obligation to one up him and return the favour. Now dragging your dear friend out, you giggled at the phone text from Uraraka as she immediately started spewing jokes about your potential 'future' with him.

„What an idiot.“ You grinned to yourself, walking down the street to the meeting place, you were about to go shopping with her, you still had to supply yourself with comfortable winter clothing.

„Y/N!“ Uraraka's voice reached your ears.

„Hey! Long time no see!“

„Very long time indeed!“

Uraraka rushed her step to give you the biggest hug there was. She was the sweetest friend and was always there for you no matter the circumstances. Now both of you dragging yourselves in the clothing store

„You just got off from work right? How was it?“ She asked, looking at time, it was now 5 pm.

„Tiring, its even worse because they fired colleagues before summer so now all of us have extra hour of work.“

„Oh no. But at least you will be rewarded more no? More hours equal more pay.“

„Nope, it's the same job in the end, they just extended work time.“ Frowning at the work contract on the mind, it was a very high chance it will drastically change soon as well.

„It's very... bad.“ You nervously laughed as you walked together.

„One time they fired someone from storage, only to replace them with boss's relative. By law its forbidden, but they made up a name for the new position that does the same job in storage. So it seems valid, but its not.“

„Ah... it happened here as well, but uhm.“ Uraraka started

„Hmm?“

„There's been some disappearances from our parent company, we are having a bit of a rescheduling on our own as well.“ Uraraka nervously chuckled and scratched the back of her head, it was quiet obvious there's been some action going on on her end as well.

„But enough about that, how's Shinsou~?“ She teasingly leaned in and poked her pink cheek.

Your mind shifted to the now roommate, the intimidating figure had you stuttering for a second. Obviously, Uraraka shouldn't of hung out with Mina so often back in college days, because it was so obvious she wanted to pull out some flustering on your end as well. Her curiosity especially hit the peak since she heard your voice hit higher notes when talking about him.

„I-I.. U-um. Okay, fuck! I can't!“ Both of the palms now covered your face to hide the embarrassment.

„Ahah! Is he that hot? You didn't react like that for so long!“

„Shut up!“ You huff out „It's enough that he made a toast for me yesterday, now I don't know how to return the favor. I want to get close to him, but he's unapproachable.“

The brunette put a finger on her lower lip in deep thought.

„Maybe if he's so busy, you can make him little lunches in a box, since he's so busy.“

„Uraraka, that's so childish.“

„It's not! You have to show him your soft side! Poke around, maybe he likes it.“

„My soft side?“

Grimacing as she advised, you were afraid of getting your feelings hurt. Now hesitantly picking up shirts and pants from the shopping stand, you managed to pick decent clothing for the upcoming winter before the prices skyrocket, it was expensive already but you managed to find something cheap. Your eyes trailed to find a plain white scarf, it was really nice quality, and rather cheap, but the sudden thoughts redirected to Shinsou as fingers tried out the material.

Maybe its not a bad idea to try and open up, you'll try but there should be equal effort on his end as well. Now snatching the scarf from the stand, you both bought your things and left the store, suddenly being nudged on the shoulder by the pink cheeked individual, you let out a relieved laughter while walking home for today.

...

„No, no! Please, Spare me!“

„I'm afraid job's a job.“

„No, please! My wife-!“

-SNAP-

„... Operation successful, returning to the main area. Prepare for body disposal.“

„Roger that Mindjack.“

On the broad daylight, Shinsou had eliminated yet another target for today, this time it was a business man whose life spiraled down in gambling addiction, the man who had hired him said he owned too much and knew too much to be kept alive.

Drugs and gambling went hand in hand, it was no different that the client probably had some shady stuff going on on their end as well. Shinsou had to keep his eye open on this one as well.

„Dispatched him quickly?“ Shoto came by side to Shinsou while adjusting dark gloves on.

„Yeah.“

„Good. Let me help you up.“

Several moments later, a truck came by to pick the dead body up, Kirishima's disguise as a trash driver made both of them cringe for a moment, but quickly brushed it off as Shoto and Shinsou threw it away. The cleanup crew should get rid of their traces now, all he has to do is get away as fast as possible from here. Shoto and Shinsou entered in the truck and drove in silence.

„You blocked the spot quiet nicely Shoto! Made a nice clearing for Shinsou to execute.“ Kirishima praised

„I merely blocked the parking lot. I don't see it being worth a mention.“

„Man, but missions like these always for newbies rely on stalking and timing. And this was perfect.“

„Nothing is perfect in this line of business.“ Shinsou ripped off his gloves and cracked his own neck to relieve tension. „Karma will hit you back hard if you don't know what you are doing.“

„Yeah yeah, it isn't very manly if you're in it just for cash, I mean... I'm rooting for justice and y'all, don't go thinking I am blind to what you guys are doing.“

Shoto and Shinsou fell silent. It was hard to swallow the truth, the car ride to the safe house wasn't long, soon Kirishima hit the brakes and came to a stop to the small abandoned storage house on the outskirts of the city. Shoto jumped out to take care of the body while Shinsou assisted with it, after they were done, Kirishima checked the contract for the job well done and handed the payment. A block of dollar bills now in their hands, the digital transfer of money would raise eyebrows in eyes of banks, so the money transfer was best if it was physical.

„Here you go boys! Boss says that the next contract is gonna be handed out tomorrow, you are free for the rest of the evening.“

„Tomorrow already?“ Shinsou asks.

„Yeah, what did you mean with that question?“

„I was thinking of looking into the client of the previous contract. Do some research and possibly eliminating him.“

Kirishima clicked with his tongue while Shoto huffed out and fiddled with the block of money in his hands.

„Sorry man. Solo contracts wont get you money, and gateways like us wont help you since we put too much at stake. You are on your own if you are gonna kill someone who is off the list.“ Kirishima explained

„Why would you even do it?“ Shoto asked, „Its not like the guy did you anything bad.“

Before Shinsou could answer Kirishima pat his back two times before turning on his heel to store his equipment away and head home himself for today.

„Mindjack has always been like that, even before you started working with. He sorta goes off on his own at times, seeking who needs killin' and who doesn't. That's why we hired you Shoto.“

„Can't blame me for doing what I think its right.“ Shinsou lowered his head, „All I need is time, That's why I was taken aback when a new contract was announced for tomorrow.“

„Alright alright, Mr. Assassin. You'll get your time. Someday. For now, this handsome manly man is going to go home for tonight! I'm going to get myself some hot bath.“

„See you Red. I'll be going too, Goodnight Mindjack.“

The departure was short, Shinsou took his bag and changed clothes before heading back, the bad smell could of easily rub off on him and he didn't want you to start speculating things. Even though he mostly ends his victim's lives in a way where no blood can be shed, it was a close call when she started eyeing the bag yesterday. He hated it, but he had already planned out way's to kill the roommate he was living with for any situation if she found out his true work.

'I don't need any of you to help me in my solo hunt.' He thought to himself, putting his black leather jacket on and helmet, he checked out his surroundings before revving up his bike and driving away.

The evening was busy as people were going back from work, it was 6 pm after all and he was stressing out on the fact that he will have to see his roommate. Maybe he could take a spin? Or start investigating on his own, but he didn't have time, he needed it. Rumbling of the bike eased tension he had from the committed crime, but only barely. As he came to a red light he slowed down and realized he was shaking badly, he knew it was not only from the setting sun and chilling air slowly creeping in, but also of stress. The realization that he might get caught always hit him harder after it settled in his mind. He inhaled deeply and eyed the nearby passengers. His eyes land on a woman in distance he never thought he would run into.

It was you, and you have been on your way to the flat with things you've gotten. The fact you saved up on the flat made you relax and indulge in the little shopping spree with Uraraka and groceries. You smiled from ear to ear nevertheless the tiredness creeping on you from the day.

„Mm...“ You sighed and rolled your shoulders.

„Maybe I'll make the thing she told me.“

You honestly looked like a happy child after realizing now that you have a roommate who pays for half of the expenses, you have extra cash to buy for things and make food at home. It wasn't a big deal to go out and buy something since it was cheap to buy a box of instant meal, but you wanted to cook your own food for a long time now. As you looked in the grocery bag and already beginning to think of the recipe you'd think for it, you suddenly bumped onto a stranger who didn't quiet follow his surroundings either. The harsh impact almost made you fall behind flat on your backside, but you managed to find balance. 'How rude-!' you thought.

„Ah-! S-sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you sir-„

„Watch where you are stepping wench-! I swear, women like you need to fucking know their place and stay at home.“

Excuse me?

Since when did this idiot have any right to find you to get his frustrations out?

You frowned at his sentence, knowing better not to engage with a random incel on the streets at evening hours, whose breath reeked of beer and bad hygiene, you decided to clutch your bags and pass by him hurriedly.

„Don't fucking ignore me!“

„Hey! Let me go!“

The man captures your wrist harshly and doesn't let go, now pulling you towards himself, he makes your belongings and your body stumble forward. His other hand wrap around your waist and starts dragging you along with him. Trying to shake yourself away only resulted in him recapturing you. He started laughing and you only now realize he quiet probably meant to bump into you.

He was trying to kidnap you-

„I said you are a bitch! Now you'll know your place-!“

„Let me go!“

Closing your eyes, the strong grip bruised your wrist and you yelped in pain, Your eyes veiled with tears as his disgusting sweaty hands found their way on your thighs to try and attempt to carry you, but the hold that was on you was suddenly broken free and a strong impact of a punch made the man fall flat on the ground. You were quiet sure you heard something broke as well.

„Agh! Son of a-!“

The adrenaline spiked in your veins and you immediately snapped out of it to see what was going on. Another hand rested on you almost protectively, you raised head to see a dark dressed figure that was very familiar. You were quiet shocked to find Shinsou held you close to his chest, wasn't he supposed to work until very late? You hear his quickened heartbeat and deep breathing as he gazed into the eyes of an attacker. Clutching onto him, you immediately felt more sorry for the drunken individual that had attacked you. Hooded eyes with dark eye bags were visible with blood rush, he stared down at his victim like a prey.

„I honestly can't believe how uncool you are, attacking a woman.“ He tilted his head on the side „Piss off before I do anything worse.“

The drunkard scrambled to his feet, he held onto his nose, groaning in pain inflicted by just his one punch.

„You fucker-! You broke my fucking nose!“

He charged again at Shinsou and you. This time, Shinsou quickly dispatched him by a high kick in his stomach, stealing all the air from his lungs. He hunched over and fell flat face forward, deeming him now unconscious. Your mouth went agape at his form, even though there were no visible passerby's, the drivers could certainly call police and at any moment and both of you would get caught.

„Shinsou!“ You panicked, finally reacting at the scene.

„Come on, lets get the hell out from here. He's bad news.“ He pat your shoulders and helped you scramble the bags that were on the ground.

He led you to climb on his bike that you were quiet hesitant to get on at first, he didn't let you get acquainted as the time was limited and you let out a noise of protest at first.

„We have no time, grab onto me.“ He revved up his bike and it rumbled.

„You just gonna escape like that!?“ You asked „What gives he's not gonna blame it on us? The police-“

„Police is not going to do shit.“ He glared at you „Unless you want to call them right now and deal with this sort of mess on Thursday evening, be my guest.“

You whined again, thinking thoroughly on his words you knew he was right so you followed his orders. If anything Shinsou was a witness if both of you ever end up getting caught. Holding onto the bags in your hand, you decided it was a better option to leave. Now climbing on you adjusted yourself in back of seat, the view in front of you were of his back, now starting to get illuminated by the street lights. He smelled nice, despite it being closed off by the leather jacket, his vibrant purple hair was flattened by the helmet, and you couldn't shake off the thought that you were about to hold him. You let your left hand slip around his stomach while your right one grips his shoulder.

Fuck, he was solid.

The gas made you back up a bit and grip on him tighter as he violently sped forwards to escape the scene. You hid your face in his back and held onto dear life. You weren't acquainted with bike's, most of your life was spent driving in cars and public transport, but you were quiet thankful to have him tell you when to lean on sides as you took turns.

„Just like riding a bicycle“ He claimed.

You relaxed after he talked more about it, there was something about him being calm in this situation made you very thankful. If he hadn't shown up...

Well, you wouldn't like to think about it.

He slowed down and stopped as the lights turned orange, then red, he took this opportunity to check on you. Shinsou leaned back and turned to you.

„You okay?“

„Y-yeah, still a bit shaken up about it. I... think I'll be fine. What about you?“

„I'm good.“ He replied shortly, his curt expression not giving anything else away.

In his mind, there wasn't anything he could do to help, the thought of comforting a victim was very alien to him. He could manage dispatching the person quickly, but he would rather much leave a therapy session to others. There was something about how he emotionally closed off himself that helped him do what he was working for, but it was never in favor when someone needed emotional support, like you right now.

His thought process was interrupted by a white scarf now gently falling around his neck.

„Your facial expression doesn't quiet match your body language Mr. Shinsou. Here, have this, your body is shaking.“

„What is this?“ He asked, tenderly reaching for the soft white fabric and letting the warmth of it settle around his neck.

„Its a scarf... I was planning on giving it to you. You are a good roommate to me.“

His eyes lit up at the realization, his knee was thumping up and down in nervousness from what he had been overthinking about, whats wrong with this woman? Is she going to be the one giving him the therapy session? He better not go soft now. The light turned green and you took a last turn to your place and he parked nearby. Both of you got off and he helped you by giving you a hand and with the bags.

„You didn't have to.“

„That's not true, I had to! I know work's probably putting a lot of strain on you just like mine is, and I know you mean only well, hell, you've been cooking an extra toast just for me.. and now you saved me.“

Both of you came to a stop as you entered the building. You sighed a little bit as words of gratitude escaped you

„And I just want to say.. Thank you."

Wide eyed like a kitten, he seemed so innocent if he didn't act so suspicions all the time. But this time you were so happy on seeing your roommate warming up to you. He was speechless for a solid second, he raised the scarf just a little bit to hide his mouth and nose.

Was he blushing?

"You really think that huh?" He asks, it was a simple question, but it got you stuttering madly and you looked onward, taking big steps as suddenly your flat was the lifeline of a place to be in right now. Shinsou himself didn't want to admit it but looking at you being cheerful after the events set his mind at ease.

"O-of course! A-and don't think that that you are ever a bad person, whoever is telling you bad things at work... They are wrong, because you are actually a really nice person... I think." You said without looking back.

„Now you are just sprouting nonsense.“ He chuckled and followed closely behind.

„Come on! I'm gonna cook us dinner. We are gonna feast.“

[cherry-interlude]

Lana Del Rey Unreleased Ranking (5)

This is a re-ranking of Lana's unreleased songs, after making a first a few years ago. This is all my opinion, which I don't mind anyone disagreeing with but don't come for me for it - honestly, I like every song, despite any criticism, and this ranking is very vague. It's based on objective and subjective opinion.

This is the fifth of five posts, with my favourites.

Wild One

Lana is nostalgic without the sadness, remembering how she’d shake it for Mike but is embracing her freedom. She lets country influence seep through her voice and her uncomplicated instrumentals – it would be an unsurprising addition to Chemtrails

True Love On The Side

Though simple in structure and lyrics, it’s more Lana’s grittier rock sound and her incredible vocals that make this one of my favourite unreleased tracks. Lana lets herself go and goes full pop rock chick for this track, whilst keeping in with her ‘other woman’ trope that makes the song still familiar despite its departure from her usual music.

Driving In Cars With Boys

Dripping in nostalgia, Driving In Cars With Boys makes you yearn for the kind of 1950s/1960s era Lana often laments over. Lana is a bad girl just having fun, doing what she pleases and giving in to her vices, and it’s this kind of song that is relatable in its escapism and desire to just do what you please. There are two versions, one with a more monotone chorus that matches the rest of the verses and another where Lana sings in a higher register, letting her cheerful, breezy love for driving with the boys shine through in her vocals.

Angels Forever Forever Angels

Perfect for Paradise, Angels Forever Forever Angels has that slow, rhythmic summer drive feel, a relaxed version of Ride which also has associations with the bikers that feature in both the music video for Ride and the lyrics to this unreleased song. It’s dreamy but grounded by Lana’s patriotic love for the grungier side of Americana.

Hollywood

It has a breathy chorus you could sing to, the feeling of a summer evening and blue skies. The ever building and dropping beat that keeps the song ticking as restlessly as Lana’s hopes and dreams gets me feeling pumped as much as her emphasised, dragged out “Hollywood” in the chorus makes me soothed. Lana is wishing for fame and fortune but it has the feel of an eighties American teen movie, iconic and deserving of a cult following.

Yes To Heaven

Hazy like a daydream, Yes To Heaven is made of sunlight and soft grass, closer to nature than the spotlights of Lana’s often alcohol-soaked, money drenched stages. Lana’s voice is tentative until it shimmers in the chorus, and though it was made for Ultraviolence, it wouldn’t be out of place on the shining beacon of hope that is Lana’s positive turn, Lust For Life.

Life Is Beautiful

This gorgeous song was intended for Age of Adaline’s trailer, and it’s been years of waiting for the full song to be released. Now we have it, it’s certainly worth the wait. Dreamy and soft, this track is a timeless classic that could underwhelm from it’s gentle feel but works perfectly well as a pure little love song.

On Our Way

Stripped back and with a country twang, Lana doesn’t add fuss and frills to this song, instead just crooning precisely how she feels in the kind of song that keeps you daydreaming for hours. Not even the smattering of her favourite imagery (Chevrolets and K-Mart lip gloss) overshadows the love that’s at the forefront of this track.

Never Let Me Go

Like On Our Way, Never Let Me Go has the country twang and stripped back feel that makes this a more subdued song, her lyrics shining even more. Lana’s additional strings layer this song well and her comparisons to the dangerous couple that is Sid and Nancy gives this track an edge, keeping it from being too frothy.

French Restaurant

A piano ballad, Lana strips back the hurt of Without You and dual dedication of Video Games to sing about how fame matters so little to her while she’s torn between two men. Her voice is beautiful and it does well to be so minimal in its production, her emotion driving the song clearly enough. Especially pretty are the backing vocals of the choruses, echoes of her thoughts that hammer home her broken feelings.

Trash Magic

Lana’s delicate and soft vocals help tie into the Lolita-esque character Lana often plays in her music. It has a similar feel to 1949, dripping with her delicious imagery, and wouldn’t be out of place on AKA Lizzy Grant. Lana is the fragile ‘daddy’s girl’ again in this song, and the sharp yet soothing music in the background sets the tone for a quiet trailer park night.

Us Against The World

Though fairly chilled out, Lana still hooks listeners with her characterisation of waitress by day/stripper by night, a dangerous girl tempting an equally dangerous guy. Lana drips sexiness in this song and though it’s not as exciting as some of her other unreleased pop hits, it is perfect for the Del Rey character.

Your Girl

Much like Caught You Boy, Lana is desperate for a man she can’t have but is instead a complete wreck. Lana just repeats over and over how she wishes she was this man’s girl, practically pleading after describing how she needs to be led off the stage from falling apart. Yet it’s still sultry, still passionate, and is topped off by her honey-like vocal demonstration in the bridge and the chorus.

Roses

Lana is the other woman with a twist – instead of moping about her man (Other Woman, Sad Girl) she is taking action. Fighting against him, not letting him go without making some noise and getting rid of his girlfriend, Lana storms into the song with a vengeful wrath and calls him out for his poor attempts at apologies. When this song first came out, I adored it, since it was the exact kind of strong-girl track I wanted from her with a great hook and all the right Lana-isms. Now, I still get that thrill listening to this song and its kick-ass fuck-you to the man she loves.

Playing Dangerous

The churning drums, the spoken verses and the coy vocals set this song apart from her others. It falls shorter during the choruses, the verses being the best parts of the track, but the way Lana interacts with the listener ultimately and is a more direct character of ‘innocent’ seductress who might actually be downright bad (arson is hinted).

Serene Queen

Lana is unbothered and unruffled, as collected as she is in Put Your Lips Together but this time with a definite Ultraviolence/Honeymoon feel. Lana is unshaken by the blazing guns, instead completely calm with her dangerous lover, questioning why he even has a problem in the first place. As it picks up in the chorus, almost smirking, it becomes one of her finer unreleased songs yet.

Ave Maria

This is just an instrumental but there’s something so beautifully haunting about it. It wouldn’t be out of place in a Hollywood movie, with shades of the Lolita soundtrack instantly coming to mind when it first starts. It even works well without singing, and I hope we get a full version soon.

Puppy Love

From the perspective of a Marilyn Monroe figure, Lana plays the teenage girl wishing for a traditional romance with her lover. It’s ever-so-adorable, harking back to the sweeter parts of the fifties, but there’s a sense of sadness throughout it. Under the surface of the puppy love is the reality that the references to Monroe do not forget her sadness, loneliness and ultimately her overdose. The tone shifts to such an unhappiness in the bridge, directly calling back to Monroe’s phone call shortly before she overdosed, twisting the song to something more melancholic.

Cherry Blossom

The lullaby that grew into the marvellous, completed Cherry Blossom is a lovely tribute to someone small and beloved. Though Lana doesn’t have children yet, the care in her voice and each of her heart-warming compliments and promises is still thoroughly enjoyable – and comforting.

Colour Blue

In a song that reminds me of the love/hate relationship of Norman Fucking Rockwell, Lana takes her time to question why she loves the men that she does and, ultimately, grow from it, beginning to want something different. It’s raw and personal, with a gushing chorus that is complimented fully by the guitar. This song is blue all over, from Lana's opening harmonisation to her abrupt, unhappy ending.

Paradise

This song is, of course, pure paradise. A summery beat, a flippant Lana simply enjoying her lover no matter how long she’ll have him for and her coos of “sick!” and “that’s dope!” make this into a tasty distraction fit for the sunny months. Her casualness in this track is fresh as well as the dance-happy music that she doesn’t often create in her albums.

Meet Me In The Pale Moonlight

Lana is the waitress with a crush in this bop of a track, trying to convince a guy to get with her instead of that “bitch”. Convincing she is, as she uses all of her charm, wit and insistence that there’s no promises behind her intentions to have a good time with him. It’s just a breath of fresh air compared to a lot of her music, not too heavy and perfectly polished. It’s self-assured as much as it is breezy, and calm as it is it’s still a riot to listen to.

Caught You Boy

A dream-esque confession of desire, obsession and pure, crazy love, Lana isn’t outright insane in this track (Kinda Outta Luck, Jealous Girl, Serial Killer) but she hints towards being slightly too attached to her beau and describing herself as an army of one. The song is sweet and flowery but there’s a sadness and danger to it that keeps it from being too sugary.

Fine China

Some of Lana’s best lyrics are in Fine China as she sings of her fractured relationship, unhappy wedding and many beautiful yet easily broken things. It’s a slow, unfussy ballad but her strong voice and stunning lyrics make it so much more than a throwaway unreleased song.

Thunder

What feels like a coming-of-age slow dance song but is ultimately a choir-backed break-up track. Lana’s lyrics are clever and her voice is the perfect complement to The Last Shadow Puppets, this combined work a sure hit that deserves some kind of release and recognition. Lana is frustrated but tender as she leads the song with plenty of presence.

Prom Song Gone Wrong

The fifties feel, the teenage romance, the warm and gorgeous vocals that switch from dreamily longing to a cheeky talk-rap suggest this is a song tied tightly to Puppy Love, except with a more hopeful feel to it. Lana is ready to leave and she wants her lover to come with her, and even if it’s a youthful mistake there’s no mistaking that the love she – and her man – feels is real. It’s a pretty dedication to the kind of head-spinning romance of younger years, though it has an edge to it. Lana’s choruses are desperate, her pleading genuine and the strange way the music builds and collapses right at the end give the illusion all isn’t the sunshine and rainbows Lana sings of – and hopes for.