#WHICH IS STILL SHITTY LIKE WANTING TO STRING SOMEONE ALONG JUST FOR THE SAKE OF UR OWN PRIDE?

[petz5]

can i just say the way ranma doesn’t trust shampoo even when he’s rescuing her is so telling of what he thinks about her lmaooo

but then the second he realizes akane could be in danger, he’s instantly on alert

meanwhile akane is rescuing them and looking cute and being hilarious while doing so 😂

and the fact ranma is okay with leaving shampoo behind is so telling lmaoooo

and just the way he’s actually worried about akane when she saves him and gets poisoned herself!!! this man really was all about a short-haired tomboy at all times

i love how even in arcs where ranma is rescuing the other rivals, akane comes in to rescue them and then it just becomes about ranma trying to get her out of there lmaooo … it’s like i always say, ranma may have been the main character is everyone else’s lives but akane tendo was the main character in his 💅🏽

happy new year 💕

Happy new year!! You’re so right lmao I was literally thinking about this arc earlier today. It’s the same in the last arc when he’s fighting shampoo for the eggs and he very quickly decides to throw hands (or feet I guess lol since his hands were crystalized) w her when she threatened akane. He doesn’t even show up to the nekohanten without akane also tagging along very often 😭 he doesn’t trust shampoo as far as he can throw her lol literally all they do is trick and use each other

[lovely-ateez]

Favorite Place~

ꕥPosted: 3/8/21

ꕥGenre: College!au, Angst, Fluff

ꕥPairing: FemReader! x Emo!Hongjoong

ꕥWord Count: ~4.8k

ꕥWarnings: General angst (happy ending), Unknown man being creepy to reader, Characters insulting reader behind her back, Alcohol intake, Driving with a few sips of alcohol (please don’t drink and drive), Implied violence, Language, Oral (f recieving), Unprotected sex, Corruption kink, Language

ꕥA/N: Reader is a girly-girl bc we need more rep that isn’t hella negative and to actually be portrayed as smart and hardworking for once 😤 You👏can👏be👏both👏 ANyWay—thank you for bearing with me while I wrote this

I ran my hands along the open science textbook laying upon my desk, eyes scanning rapidly over the information. The pages were thin and flimsy, clearly showing the book’s age. If I wasn’t careful, the pages would rip with ease. Not that I had time to actually think about that.

In less than five minutes I, along with the twenty five other poor souls who took this class of their own volition, would be handed our last final for the class. A hundred and ten questions in an hour and thirty minutes.

The class was basically academic suicide and had I been told that, I would have stayed far, far away from the class. But no. No one bothered to run that by me.

A whiff of familiar cologne filled my nose and against my better judgement I looked up to find the class genius, Hongjoong Kim. It was bad enough that he was smart as a whip and never needed to study, but on top of it all he was a dangerous, handsome, irresistible bad boy.

He gave me a wink, a sly smile resting on his lips. I gave him the same reaction I always did: a blank face. There had been multiple times he had tried to rile me up, whether that be say something flirty or wink, or “accidentally” touch my shoulder, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of any reaction. I would keep a blank face, hoping that he would leave me alone.

I wasn’t immune to his charms. I felt butterflies in my stomach every time he looked at me just like any other girl he tried it on, but I didn’t want him to know that. The biggest reaction I had given him was an eyebrow quirk at most.

I could tell it bothered him. I knew he was frustrated that he couldn’t get me to blush or stutter my words, and that may have been part of why he kept up his antics. Probably the entire reason, knowing him. Had he not been a fuckboy, I might have fallen for him. Might have.

I returned my eyes to my book and heard his footsteps walk past me, headed to the very back of class. His usual spot.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen,” A loud clap could be heard from the front of the room, our professor signalling the start of class, “It is time for your final. I hope you all are well prepared. I ask that you remove anything from your desk aside from a pencil and I will begin to hand out the tests. You may leave as you finish, just make sure to hand me your tests before you leave. Good luck.”

Book already off my desk, I gripped my pencil, hoping six hours of studying was enough.

“Thank you.” I muttered to my professor as he placed the stack of papers on my desk.

Here goes nothing, I suppose.

-

I handed in my test with a smile, hoping that I’d pass. Taking a deep breath I stepped out of the classroom, seeing a familiar face. At the noise of my footsteps Hongjoong looked up from his phone with a devilish smile, eyes staring me down. I must’ve not noticed he turned in his test before mine, not that I was surprised. He always finished his test the quickest out of all of us.

“How’s it going, pretty-in-pink?”

Pink was my favorite color and and I wore pink clothes often, unfortunately it had earned me several unwanted nicknames, all coming from Hongjoong.

I barely bothered him a glace, “I have a name.” 

“But your nicknames are so unique to you. Don’t you love them?”

“Can’t say I do.” I walked away, not interested in entertaining him any longer than I already had.

“Farewell, princess.” He fleeted me with a honey-like voice.

Suppressing an eye roll, I gripped the straps of my backpack, ecstatic to get away from him. The more time I spent away from him the better. The less time I was with him meant there was less of a chance for me to get attached to him. I refused to let that happen.

After I left the building I grabbed a coffee and walked to the library, bracing the cold weather. I only had one final left and I needed to make sure I studied enough. Just one last push before I was done for the semester. Taking the elevator up to the third floor, I saw a familiar face who smiled at me and I sat down at his table.

“Hey! How do you think you did on the final?” Lia asked me as I took my laptop out.

“Honestly I don’t know. I don’t want to say I passed because knowing my luck, if I do I’ll fail it. I knew the majority of the answers though, so there’s that.”

“That’s a positive.” She cocked her head, observing the way my eyes were glued to my laptop, “So what are you studying for now?”

“Criminal Psychology. I don’t take it until late tomorrow but I wanna get some studying in.”

“You’ve been studying for hours, you’ll be fine. Let’s just go shopping instead.”

My ears perked and I slowly raised my head, “Damn you. You know I’m not gonna turn you down.”

A wide smile formed on her face as she placed her hands behind her head, “What are friends for?”

“Oh don’t look so cocky.”

“Why not? I’m pretty sure I’ve won here. Now let’s get going.”

Lia stood up and slid on her backpack, a smile still plastered on her face. Just as I was placing my laptop in my own backpack I heard a string of male voices and a mention of my name.

I gave Lia a look and, curiosity taking over, I snuck closer to the direction of the voices to see a group of men at a table hid behind a large stack of bookshelves. There were four of them, not a one of them sitting properly in a chair. Two were sitting on top of the table, another with his legs propped on the table, the other sitting upon a backpack which itself was on a chair. I could only see two of their faces and didn’t recognize either.

“We’ve gotta invite the token good girl, right?” A tall man with dark hair smiled, leaning back on the table.

A man with distinct dimples, clad in all black scoffed, “Y/n? Like she’d go to a party anyway.”

“She might.” Hongjoong tiled his head, allowing me to see him, black earrings swaying as he looked at the man with dimples.

Oh. He’s there, too.

“She dresses like she still believes in the tooth fairy.” A man with a blonde ponytail scoffed, “You think she’s gonna come to a party with people like us?”

I grabbed Lia’s arm to prevent her from storming over. She was upset, I was too, but I wanted to keep listening. Still, I couldn’t deny the pang of hurt I felt as I looked down at my pink skirt and cropped top. Was it a crime to like the color pink?

And I thought I looked cute today...

“You should be the last person to judge someone over the way the dress, Yeosang. You never wear anything but black. If she likes it, then she likes it. Fuck you.” Hongjoong bit back.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I didn’t know why he defended me, maybe he was just defending fashion for fashion’s sake and it had nothing to do with me, but it was still nice of him.

Yeosang smiled, “Damn someone’s aggressive, huh? Someone might almost think you’ve got feelings for the girl.”

Hongjoong remained silent.

“Ooh is she still not reacting to your desperate attempts to woo her?”

Hongjoong quickly became defensive, “Listen, I’m not-”

“Okay we’re not getting into this. Just invite her, you never know what she’ll say.” The dark-haired man said to Hongjoong, “And invite her friend, too. She wouldn’t go alone.”

“Yeah that’s a fair point. I’ll talk to them next time I see them.”

I turned to face Lia, whispering in her ear, “Let’s go. Please.”

Her face told me that she would much rather confront them, but changed as my eyes began to water once more. She nodded and put an arm around me, leading me out of the library.

A tear fell down my cheek as we walked. I raised my hand to wipe my face when Lia did it for me. She pulled me into a tight hug, running her hands through my hair.

“Don’t you think for a second that you’re any less of amazing. Fuck them for not seeing it.”

As she spoke more tears began to fall and my breath hitched, “But-t they-”

“No. There’s no excuse for being shitty to you, especially when you haven’t done anything to wrong them.”

I nodded, trying my best to believe her and steady my breathing.

“What can I do for you? What can I do to help?”

Releasing Lia from my tight grip I stepped back and looked in her eyes, “Nothing. Let’s just go shopping.”

My friend nodded and slipped her hand into my own, something she would always do when I needed comfort. I squeezed her warm hand, following her footsteps as she led me to her car.

“So...you’re not gonna go to the party are you?”

“Yeah I don’t think so.”

She let out a hum in approval and nodded, opening the car door for me.

As much as I wanted to take my mind off of the boys’ words, I couldn’t. No amount of retail therapy seemed to help that. I knew Lia was doing her best to make me feel better and I felt a bit guilty for bringing down the mood. She scoffed when I told her, making eye contact and emphasizing that she simply wanted to make me feel better.

Sooner than I liked, we had to part. Lia had a class in thirty minutes and I had to help out in an on-campus activity. She gave me a tight hug and a small smile, bidding me adue.

I was the Vice President of our Activities Planning Board and as such was in charge of setting up an Academic Bowl for the competing students. Unfortunately, I was having trouble setting up the large tables and my small frame just made it harder. I was confident anyone around could see that I was struggling and I huffed, hoping no one would look my way. It didn’t help that I was outside in the middle of campus, where anyone just walking by could see me.

“Do you need any help?”

I turned to find Hongjoong with his dark backpack slung over his shoulder, a concerned look on his face. Had I not desperately needed help, I would have refused.

“Yeah I do. Hold this, will you?” I nodded at the opposite side of the table I was struggling to hold.

He appeared shocked that I accepted his offer, but I didn’t dwell on it and instead lifted the table. We worked in silence aside from a few words of instruction I gave him, and I was thankful for the lack of distraction. When we set up the last table I placed my hands on my hips, looking at the tables.

Hongjoong crossed his arms, “Why were you doing this alone?”

“No one else signed up to help for the Academic Bowl, so I did it myself.” He gave a confused look so I clarified my position.

“Of course you’re the Vice President.” Hongjoong muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I faced him, feeling slightly offended.

He shrugged, “I know you’re just involved in a lot. I’m not surprised.”

Ignoring his comment, I took the conversation another direction. “Why did you help me?”

“You needed help, princess.” He answered simply.

I nodded, ignoring the nickname. “Well...thanks.”

A moment of silence followed until Hongjoong broke it, “Hey listen, there’s a party this weekend I want you to go.”

“Why?” I cocked my head.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know anyone that will be there.”

“You know me.”

“That’s not exactly an incentive.”

He scoffed in mock offense, “Okay first of all, ouch. Second, what if I sweeten the deal?”

My eyebrows raised, lips forming a smile, “Oh yeah? What could that possibly be?”

He faltered for a moment, his voice lowering seemingly without intent, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. You’re beautiful.”

I turned from him, trying to will any semblance of a flustered expression off my face. “You were saying before?”

Hongjoong chuckled, “I’ll drive. You can even invite your friend if you want.”

“Lia?”

“Yeah. If it makes you more comfortable.”

At first, I wanted to say no. At first, I wanted to continue my streak of refusing any advance he made on me. But looking at his kind eyes, completely devoid of any malintent, I felt my heart flutter. When my mind thought back to how he had defended me in the library I felt a warmth bubbling in my chest. I pretended to ponder for a moment, even though I already knew my answer.

“Okay but I don’t...I don’t think I should tell Lia.”

“Why’s that?”

“She kinda hates you.”

He looked taken aback, “Might I ask why?”

I sighed, crossing my arms, “Don’t worry about it. So where is this party?”

He filled me in on the details and I did my best to keep up my neutral façade. I wouldn’t admit it, but I was ecstatic to see him outside of campus, my will of staying away from him faltering by the minute.

-

I stood in front of my closet for what seemed like hours, desperately trying to find something that would match the occasion. I laughed a bit to myself as I looked at the section of black clothes I had. I went through a bit of an emo phase in middle school and I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of them. I debated avoiding black clothes all together, but the words of Yeosang rang in my head and I bit the inside of my cheek.

Fine. I’ll change it up. But I’ll be damned if I give up on pink.

Taking a deep breath I slipped into a light pink leather skirt reaching mid-thigh with black fishnets. I put on a black leather jacket over my black see through shirt exposing my lacy bra underneath, my pink shoes on last.

I took several deep breaths and observed myself in the mirror. It was a change, definitely. I didn’t mind black, but I wouldn’t wear just black alone. I wanted it to be more feminine.

I heard a car horn outside my apartment much sooner than I expected. Bracing for Hongjoong’s reaction, I stepped outside. I was greeted with a smug smile, the man adorning it seeming as confident as a god until he observed my clothes, his eyebrows raising.

Hongjoong’s eyes scanned over me, taking in my abrupt fashion change, “I still wasn’t entirely certain you’d go. Much less looking like this.”

My lips quirked into half-smile, “Well I can’t show up looking like I normally do.”

“Why not?”

My heart swelled at the genuine confusion evident on his face. “Some people don’t care for the way I dress.” I took a breath and continued, “I heard you and your friends in the library.”

I forced myself to look him in the eyes. I could see the gears turning in his head as he put the pieces together, a scowl forming on his face. “You don’t have to change a goddamn thing. You look great, don’t get me wrong, but you look great in pink, too. And I’m sorry if he made you feel otherwise.”

I shook my head. “It’s alright, I actually kinda like it.”

“You definitely make it work.” He swallowed, voice lowering.

“Then maybe I should wear a bit of black more often.”

The man gave a thousand dollar smile, quirking a brow that left my panties feeling slightly damp. He motioned to the car door, “Hop in, cutie.”

A friendly string of conversation followed us as Hongjoong drove. I felt my nerves starting to dissipate, his smile I once despised now bringing me comfort. And really, he was much funnier than I had believed. I found myself laughing with him more than I had in a long time. I knew my walls were falling, but I wasn’t trying to fight it anymore.

Why the hell not? He’s kind enough, and he isn’t even close to being hard on the eyes.

The car drive was much quicker than I expected, although how quickly I was unfamiliar with my surroundings through me for a loop. The trees around us became more sporadic and the sun set quicker than what seemed normal. I fidgeted slightly, prompting Hongjoong to look over at me. He intertwined my fingers with his own and I smiled, secretly welcoming his touch.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m right here with you, okay?”

I nodded, grasping onto his hand tightly. Before I knew it, my eyes locked with the building in front of us. I took in the abandoned building in front of me, eyes widening slightly as I observed its poor condition. Large windows were shattered, vines were growing around pillars, grass peaking through what once was concrete.

“This is the most sketchy place I’ve ever seen in my life.” I spoke, feeling slightly alarmed by the building but comforted by Hongjoong’s presence.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“I literally just saw a rat run out a broken window.”

Hongjoong suppressed a smile and let go of my hand, opening his car door and telling me to stay in place as he walked around and opened the door on my side. I hesitated as I exited the car, a bit afraid of what could possibly be inside the building.

“We can leave at anytime. If you don’t want to go in we can leave right now. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

As sweet as he was being, I felt the need to prove to him that I was brave enough to enter, even if it did look like he was leading me to my death.

“Thank you, but I’m okay. We can go in.”

He smiled, leading me to an out-of-the-way entrance which seemed to lead to a different building entirely. I gave an involuntary “woah” as we entered the building. As horrific as it looked on the outside, it was gorgeous on the inside. Perfectly up kept brick walls hugged the sides of the building, lights were strung from the ceiling, arcade machines and dart boards were huddled in a corner, and of course, there was a bar with a seemingly unlimited amount of liquor. People were scattered all throughout, socializing and being generally loud. Everyone wore about the same color clothes as Hongjoong, dark as they could possibly get.

“How did you even find this place?”

“My friend Yeosang and I were just driving around and we found it one day. Decided to make it our hangout spot.”

I looked at him confused, still amazed at my surroundings. Hongjoong led me over to his familiar group of friends, assuring me that they wouldn’t bite, and introduced me to the seven men, four of which I hadn’t seen prior. I saw the color drain from a few of their faces as they saw me, likely from their words in the library, but I didn’t comment on it. Overall, they were much friendlier than I expected them to be.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Hongjoong nudged me, “You want anything?”

“No that’s okay. I think I’m gonna check out the pinball machines. They look kinda cool.”

“You sure you don’t wanna stay by my side? I won’t take long.”

I shook my head, “I’ll be okay.”

He chucked, “Alright. I’ll grab a drink and I’ll head right over, princess.”

I bit my lip at the nickname and wandered over to the machines, surprisingly feeling comfortable in the environment, despite everything being so unfamiliar. All of the games were being used, some people clearly playing better than others.

I got lost in the artwork on the side of a particular pinball machine when a gruff voice caught my attention. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

I turned to meet a tall man with grey hair. He was young, likely in his mid-twenties, and reeked of cigarettes and a foul smell I couldn’t place.

A flash of fear ran through me and I tried to make my voice as confident as possible, “I was invited.”

“Well...that’s certainly a shame now, isn’t it? I wasn’t invited, but I decided to show up for a bit of fun anyway.”

He came closer to me, our height difference incredibly prominent as he leaned over me, “How about you give me a kiss, little thing?” I ran away as soon as the words left his mouth, hoping that he wouldn’t follow me but assuming he would. I dashed around quickly and sporadically around people, hoping I would lose him.

I looked around desperately for Hongjoong, sighing when I found him surrounded by his friends, laughing at something one of them said. I ran up to him and grabbed his arm, gaining his attention.

I hope this fucking works.

“I need you to kiss me.”

A look of confusion flashed in his eyes, “What?”

“Please kiss me.” I begged, eyes wide, disregarding the stares of his friends around us, hoping that if the man saw I was taken he’d leave me alone.

Without hesitation he wrapped his free hand around my waist—a cup of alcohol still in the other—and pulled me close, pressing his lips to my own. He kissed me hard, biting my bottom lip slightly and letting out a growl only I could hear. He wasn’t my first kiss, far from it, but no one had ever kissed me like he did. Just a kiss had never left me feeling weak at the knees. Just a kiss had ever made me feel so submissive, making me want to beg him to take me right on the spot, regardless of the fear in my veins. Even with the taste of alcohol still on his lips, his scent overtook me.

He pulled back, eyes darker than before, and raised a brow, “Care to tell me what that was about?”

Just then I realized my hands had been gripping his leather coat, pulling him just as close as he was pulling me. I looked over in the direction of where the man was before, not seeing him.

“A man was following me and he was trying to get me to kiss him a-and I didn’t know him...I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

His eyes narrowed at my words, a rage I hadn’t seen before taking over them, “What did he look like?”

“I-I don’t know he was tall and had grey hair and-”

He cursed under his breath. Keeping me just as close he turned to the men around him, their eyes narrowed as well.

“You heard that?” He asked his friends.

“Loud and clear.” San said, cracking his knuckles, a scowl on his face that scared me, even though I knew I wasn’t the one it was directed at.

“I thought we told him to never come back here.” Jongho snarled.

“We did.” Hongjoong said.

Seonghwa looked at me, nodding to Hongjoong, “Keep her safe and take her out of here. If he’s here I’m sure he’s brought friends. Yeosang, lead everyone out. We’ll take care of him.”

Hongjoong looked conflicted, obviously wanting to stay and fight, but gave into the older man’s command. “Be fucking safe,” he barked, but I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked at me, “Come on, we’re going.”

Seonghwa mumbled something to Hongjoong and he nodded in response, tossing his alcohol to the ground. I didn’t have time to ask questions as he led me out a back door, the darkness of the night equally horrifying and comforting, and quickly pushed me into his car, apologizing the entire time. He entered the key into the ignition and the car sprung to life.

“Uhh...maybe it’s not a good idea for you to drive. You’ve been drinking, right?”

“I had maybe two sips. I’ll drive safe, promise.”He gave me a small comforting smile, “Put your seatbelt on. Hold on tight, sweetheart.” His voice was calm but firm as he spoke. I nodded and did as he said, bracing as his car sped off, my heart beating in overtime.

The ride was a blur, the only things I could remember being Hongjoong’s calming voice, periodically reassuring me that things would be okay. We arrived at a foreign building which Hongjoong called his house, and only then did I let myself fall apart. I felt tears streaming down my face as my hands quivered, my head beginning to pound.

“Hey, hey look at me. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.” My teary eyes met his and I felt my heart break at the way he was looking at me, as if he had made me cry himself.

“Here, come on. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

My tears slowed as he carefully led me inside his house, sitting me down on his bed. He crouched down in front of me, wiping the tears from my face.

“I’m so sorry, princess. I didn’t realize he was going to be there. I never should’ve made you come along I’m so-”

“Who was that?”

Hongjoong sighed, “He used to be a friend of mine. We had a falling out and he became violent. One time he showed up at one of our parties with some friends of his to start a fight. We won and told him to never come back. Looks like he did.” He looked off into nowhere, regret clear on his face.

“You didn’t know,” I sniffled, “You couldn’t have known.”

I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, his agitation still visible. I brought a hand out to reach his own, trying to comfort him. The loud ding of Hongjoong’s phone made me jump and he apologized profusely. As he took out his phone from his pants pocket I looked around his room for the first time. It looked exactly as I had expected, solid black furniture and so many band posters decorating the wall I could hardly tell what color his bedroom walls were.

Hongjoong spoke up, “I just got a text from Seonghwa. There were two other people there with him. My friends took care of them don’t worry, you’re safe.”

I nodded, pulling him into a hug and burying my face into his chest. “If you’re comfortable with it,” He started, “I’d like you to stay here. I want to know you’re safe.”

My eyes met his as he moved a hair out of my face, “I’m not pressuring you. If you don’t want to I understand.”

A hand of his ran up and down my back, tracing little patterns here and there, and I realized just how much I wanted to be with him.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay.”

He laughed, “What do you mean ‘if it’s alright with you’ I asked.”

I bit my bottom lip and looked down, a bit embarrassed.

Hongjoong laughed, “Hey, look at me.” He said in a commanding yet sweet tone that made my thighs press together. I glanced back up at him, his handsome features making me feel dizzy.

He chuckled, “What’s that look for? You got something to say to me?”

I hesitated, “Actually, I do have a question.”

“Which is?”

“Why did you chase after me?”

Hongjoong smiled, “You never gave a reaction to anything I tried. It confused me and piqued my curiosity. So I began to watch you and how you interacted with people. You’re gentle and sweet. You’re innocent and haven’t let the world tear you down. I admire that.”

He leaned closer to me, his lips brushing my ear, “And it turned me on beyond belief. I wondered how I could ruin you, thought about how I could turn you into a quivering mess as you beg for me.”

I shivered and pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. His beautiful, dark eyes. Hongjoong let out a dark chuckle as he sat on his bed, lifting me on his lap. He gave an eyebrow raise and a crooked smile as my breath hitched while looking at him, taking him in.

How did I never notice how his dark hair falls to one side when he cocks his head and how he looks so endearing when it happens? How did I never pay attention to his soft pink lips that give way to his gorgeous smile and how much I’ve been dying to kiss them all this time? How did I not see the way his eyes form crescents when he smiles, making my heart grow ten times over?

Why did I never think to take note of how his deep voice makes my stomach do somersaults? Why was I so unaware of his tongue piercing that was leaving me wonder how it would feel on my skin? Why didn’t I observe the black painted nails of his that were currently dancing along my thighs, giving me goosebumps?

How and why did I never notice him?

“You’re such a good girl.”

And for the first time around him, I flushed.

He chuckled, “Oh? You like that?”

I nodded quickly and he said it again, smiling as my face heated up once more.

“It’s so good to see you react to what I say. I wonder...” Hongjoong leaned closer to me, “How will you react when you’re underneath me? Squirming and begging for me to touch you?”

I gave him a look of desperation and balled his shirt into my fist, trying to move him closer, “Please.”

Hongjoong lifted me off of him, quickly discarding my clothes followed by his own shirt. My eyes were guided down by his abs and I ran a hand across them without thinking, whimpering quietly.

“Is my baby girl getting needy?” He cooed.

I closed my eyes, once again nodding in embarrassment.

“How about we take care of that?”

He laid me down on the soft sheets of his bed, leaving me in anticipation as he pinned my hands above my head with a hand of his own. My eyes widened and he chuckled, running a single finger along my folds.

“You’re so unbelievably fucking wet...do I turn you on that much?”

I let out a small “yes” and he hummed in response. Placing a few kisses upon my lips, Hongjoong slowly entered two fingers into me and my back arched. His fingers curled, hitting a spot inside of me that’d I’d never been able to reach. I spread my legs as far as they could go, pleading for more, feeling tears prick my eyes.

Hongjoong spoke, his voice already dropping several octaves, “Keep your hands here, understand? I don’t want you moving them.”

I nodded, willing my hands to stay in place as his own moved to my hips, leaving kisses along my inner thighs.

“Hongjoong please.”

“Please what, princess?”

“Please touch me.”

“Oh, I think I can do better than that, don’t you?”

His lips attached to my core, tongue running through my folds and nose hitting my clit as I moaned pathetically. His hands held my hips down as I tried to buck them up, barely able to keep my hands above my head. After what felt like years, his mouth finally reached my clit and I cried out as his lips attached to it, sucking hard and leaving kitten licks. My high built up quickly and I came hard, my hands leaving their spot and pulling slightly on his hair.

“Thought I told you to keep your hands above your head, no?”

I mumbled an apology and he leaned over to kiss me, “You’re forgiven, darling.”

He seemed just as impatient as I was and without much begging the rest of his clothes were off, his dick teasing my entrance.

“God Hongjoong please I need you so bad.”

“I need you too, y/n.”

He fully entered me, cursing as he did so. I was so caught up in the feeling of him inside of me that I didn’t even register him asking me a question until he laughed at me.

“Feeling good, baby? Can’t even speak?”

I whimpered, nodding seeming to be the only thing I could manage to do. I felt his member twitch inside of me and I pleaded for him to fuck me, to give me anything. Hongjoong growled and jerked his hips up into me over and over, leaving me a moaning mess.

“Taking me so well, aren’t you? Such a good girl for me.”

The amount of praise he gave me caused a few tears to fall from my eyes, not realizing how bad I needed it until that moment. My walls clenched around him every time, causing him to groan and snap his hips into me even harder. Hongjoong’s eyes grew hazy, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.

“I’m close, darling. Be my good girl and cum for me”

His hand trailed down to my clit, rubbing tiny circles. My back arched as I came in time with him, our breaths synchronizing as we gasped for air.

He slowly pulled out of me and ran to the bathroom to grab a towel, cleaning me up. Hongjoong giggled and I raised a brow at him.

“I never thought you’d give me a chance. It’s almost like I’ve corrupted you.”

“You have. Aren’t you aware of the party I went to because of you? I almost died.”

Hongjoong laughed as he crawled into bed and pulled blankets over the both of us. He ran a hand through my hair, looking at me fondly, “You did not almost die.”

“Okay yeah but I could have. That’s what we should be focusing on here.”

“I think there’s something else I’d like to focus on.”

Hongjoong pulled me into a deep kiss, hand slithering down to my waist. His kisses trailed to my ear, a slight chuckle leaving his lips, “My pretty princess.”

I looked at him with doe eyes, slightly in awe of him, and wondered how I could’ve pushed him away for so long. I knew for certain that I had no intention of doing so ever again.

When I told him he smiled, “Good. You’ve had a grip on my heart since day one. I’d be a fool to let you get away from me.”

I blushed slightly, much to his entertainment. We snuggled up to each other in silence, listening to the sound of our synchronized breathing as I lulled to sleep, our warm fingers intertwined. My dreams filled of him.

“Sleep well, my princess. I’ll be right here when you wake.”

[delimeful]

not always what they seem (2)

warnings: inappropriate jokes, remus being remus, mild panic attack, fear, miscommunication

long overdue commission for @legendsgates​! thank you for your patience and support 💚

Chapter 1

-

Janus watched the giant creatures around them devolve into more of that buzzing, clicking language as Remus waved his arm around enthusiastically in response to them.

“What are you-- Stop that,” the emo kid hissed, his whole body going tense, and Janus leaned back slightly just in time to avoid getting caught in the half-tackle that Remus was subjected to. “What if they just asked who wants to be first to be dissected, huh?”

“Oooh, kinky,” Remus cackled from where the kid had pinned his wrists to the floor. “Do you think they’ll probe me first?”

Janus rolled his eyes, and then stiffened as a shadow fell over them. “Kid—!”

He could see the moment the red alien’s hand made contact, the kid’s face immediately draining of all color as those strange talons wrapped around him and started to lift.

Almost instantly, Remus surged to his feet, grabbing the kid’s arm before he could be lifted out of range. The hold was so tight it almost looked painful, but the kid clung back desperately. He looked smaller than ever without the bulky hoodie around him, his frame barely concealed by a worn, slightly oversized band shirt.

Remus’s face twisted into a snarl. “Hey, hands to yourself, you shitty Mothra rip-off!”

Janus quickly rose to his feet as well, looking up past the kid’s terrified gaze to see the alien had paused, it’s strange antenna protrusions twitching. The facial features didn’t give him much to work with, so he attempted to see what the creature was seeing, contextless: the kid tackling Remus for big showy arm movements, Remus coming after him. Was it trying to seperate them like a pet owner with a pair of squabbling dogs?

He shifted forwards, setting a hand on Remus’ shoulder and expertly drawing all attention to himself. Remus glanced at him and then reluctantly cut off his litany of extremely descriptive curses, though his grip on the kid didn’t falter. Janus tilted his head back to carefully lock eyes with the alien.

“No. Stop,” he spoke with a stern emphasis. “Put him down.”

He reached up to grab the kid’s arm as well, tugging lightly, and then repeated himself slowly.

“Double D, buddy, I’d bet all three of my balls that they don’t understand English,” Remus said, “no matter how slow you say it.”

Janus didn’t break eye contact with the giant, moving to point at the kid and then the floor of their enclosure emphatically. “That doesn’t mean we can’t communicate with them.”

At the perfect moment to dramatically accentuate his point, the alien seemed to concede, lowering the kid down until his feet were touching the floor. The guy tore out of the oversized grip as soon as it loosened, nearly tumbling head over heels. Janus caught him by the arm, and Remus took the opportunity to jump forwards and click his teeth menacingly at the giant hand. The alien recoiled immediately, looking much like an elephant shying away from a mouse.

“I volunteer to get probed and this is how you fucks repay me? Just grabbing kids all willy-nilly? Have some respect!”

The kid muttered something, half-lost under his panicked breaths, and Remus turned to look at him. “What was that, short stack?”

“Virgil,” he repeated irritably. “It’s Virgil, not ‘kid’, definitely not ‘short stack’. I’m twenty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

Janus and Remus shared a glance over the newly-named Virgil’s head, and that was enough to set the man off into another fit of cackling laughter.

---

Roman watched, enthralled, as the little creature bedecked in green threw its head back and made a hair-raising clamor.

Intriguingly enough, the other two didn’t seem to react too strongly to such a loud outburst. The yellow one turned its face to the side as its tiny features pinched into an expression that Roman couldn’t quite decode, and the shaky purple one’s pale face seemed to shift color as it made an emphatic hand gesture of some sort. Patton would be taking plenty of notes later.

The motions, the expressions, they were all intentional and full of meaning, just like the pointing and sounds Yellow had made when Roman had tried to separate Purple from the group. He still didn’t quite grasp why the other specimens had responded so strongly; Purple had clearly been attacking, though thankfully no serious harm had occurred thanks to Roman swiftly jumping into action.

“This is incredible,” Logan murmured from beside him, and Roman couldn’t help but agree.

“There’s so much to analyze here,” he mumbled. “Any small animal would flee from a predator’s grasp, but they recognized that we’re sapient, and Yellow even approached instead to mediate!”

“Yellow?” Patton asked, a bit of teasing in his voice. “I thought your nicknames were always a bit wordier?”

“I can’t properly nickname someone unless I have their self-presentation and personality, Pat!” Roman defended. “It’s more of a… designation. After all, I can’t very well ask their names, can I?”

“I mean, we could certainly try!” Patton suggested with an optimistic lilt to his voice. “I’m not a linguist for nothing, y’know!”

“It might take some time to communicate intent, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Patton.” Logan’s ears flicked at the pleading look the Nihl sent him. “Still, I’ll admit there’s… no harm in a first attempt.”

Roman unsubtly chittered a laugh at his coworker’s expense, and Patton brightened immediately.

“Glad that you agree it’s… wordth a try!”

---

Janus was drawn away from the amusing argument going on between his fellow captives (the topic being how old one had to be to be an actual ‘for-realsies’ adult, federal law be damned) by two of the aliens simultaneously making odd, dragged out noises almost like stuttering groans.

“They sound like fucking zombies,” Virgil muttered from where he’d appeared at Janus’s shoulder. He’d snapped back to watching the three with blatant paranoia the moment they were loud enough to catch his notice.

The kid wasn’t subtle at all, but it wasn’t like he was wrong to be on guard. They were still abducted, regardless of how fantastical or impossible their captors seemed. Seeing how significant the size difference was, they’d have to work on escaping through… more cunning means.

Janus carefully held his position as the three giants crowded around the enclosure again, ignoring the way Virgil reached out to grip the back of his hoodie, either for comfort or in preparation to pull Janus from danger. This time, the three chattered amongst themselves for a long moment before going quiet and turning to the multiple-armed one.

Automatically, the humans mirrored the gesture, and the recipient of their attention met their gazes carefully one by one before placing a rigid, vertical hand under their chin and holding it there.

“Patton,” the alien said, slow and clear. It looked at them expectantly, and then repeated the phrase. “Patton.”

It was definitely some kind of word, that was clear enough. When not caught up in the rapid-fire chittering nature of the alien language, it was much easier to decipher.

“Patton?” Virgil muttered, and then squeaked when the alien stared at him with sudden intensity, hands flicking up and down erratically. Except for, Janus noted, the one still under its chin.

“Patton,” it said again, and then lowered the hand. Next to it, the insect-like one put a much bonier hand under its own angular chin.

“Roman,” it said, with a few subtle clicks that probably couldn’t be replicated by human mouths. Janus nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “Roman.”

Sure enough, next to make the hand gesture was the last alien, who introduced itself with a note of rippling bass overlapping with something like Logan. It was probably a bit mangled as he echoed it back, but different vocal chords made things difficult.

“You communing with them, Dee?” Remus asked from where he was crowding over his other shoulder. “That’s no sign language I’ve ever used. You speak alien and you’re not even going to share with the class?”

Janus elbowed him off, and then stepped forwards, and placed his own hand under his chin vertically, studying the ripple of reaction that got from the aliens.

“Dee,” he said, choosing to use his nickname as he had with the other humans.

The aliens immediately dissolved into excited chattering, which Janus patiently waited out. His fellow earthlings were similarly surprised.

“Wait, they’re doing introductions right now?” Virgil’s head whipped back and forth rapidly. Remus was gleefully attempting to mimic the weird, echoey quality of the voice of ‘Logan’ and getting concerningly close.

The one with all the arms-- Patton, it was Patton, he needed to remember if he wanted to make any progress at all here-- let out a string of syllables, slowed down but still nonsensical to them, and reached out.

Virgil jumped back and Remus started forwards, but Janus cut off all movement with a quickly snapped “Stop!”

Including the alien’s motion. He resisted the urge to smile at the success, instead looking up at Patton and tilting his head slightly. “What is it?”

Patton didn’t understand his words, but the questioning tone seemed to carry over, and after a beat, they moved their hand forward again just slightly before pausing, as though asking permission.

Janus weighed his options for a moment, before stepping forward. Virgil, who was still latched onto the back of him, came along with only a single sound of half-panicked protest. Patton correctly assumed that this was Janus giving his assent, and moved their hand closer, much slower this time.

With delicate, careful motions, they pushed Janus’s left hand out from under his chin, and then carefully curled a finger around his right arm, tugging that one up instead. Janus realized his mistake after a moment, and placed the right hand under his chin instead. Patton withdrew with a bright hum.

“What is happening,” Virgil hissed, and Janus glanced over his shoulder at him. The color had drained from his face, and his hand was white-knuckled where it was holding onto Janus’s borrowed outfit.

“I was mirroring their… introductory gesture, I suppose, and it seems that the meaning changes if I don’t use the correct hand. In this case, my right one,” he explained. “They’re going to want to know your name. Do you want me to assist?”    

Before he could answer, Remus was bouncing forwards, placing a hand under his own chin to gain the aliens’ attention.

“Call me I-Am-A-Buttface,” he half-shouted, grinning wildly.

---

“Did… did anyone else catch that one’s name?”

Roman watched as ‘D’ reached over and tugged the other tiny alien back by the collar roughly before they could speak again, astonished by how the other only let out what might be a cackle at the rough handling.

Not more astonished than he’d been by the alien catching on so quickly, though. Logan had been rendered completely speechless for a record amount of time, and Patton was still happily waving his hands back and forth at the success.

D visibly let out a long breath, and turned back to them, placing the correct hand under their chin this time. “D,” they repeated, and then switched things up.

They pulled the rambunctious one closer and placed their hand under that one’s chin, too. “Remus.”

“Are they-- introducing the other one as well?” Roman asked, and none of them could answer. ‘Remus’ didn’t seem to object, though they continued to speak in that rounded language. “That’s certainly a bit... unorthodox.”

D looked over at the only unnamed alien, the angry one that was standing at D’s shoulder, and after a moment, they jerked their head strangely. D seemed to understand, and held a hand palm-up in that one’s direction.

The unnamed alien put their hand in the proper introductory position, and had a few false starts before finally getting their name out. “Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Patton echoed excitedly. “That’s Virgil! Virgil, D, and Remus!”  

“Stars above,” Logan said faintly, “they really are just people but smaller.”

Roman couldn’t help but agree with the astounded sentiment. It hadn’t really sunk in before, but knowing the personal names of individual members of the unfamiliar species… “This could have been a disaster. Why were they labeled as primitive? Did the recorders even actually observe the planet they’re from? This seems a little hard to miss!”

“Easy, Roman,” Patton reached over to run a couple of gentle hands over his agitated wings. “You’re scaring the little guys.”

Sure enough, when he looked over, he could see all three of the tiny aliens were staring at him. He clicked an apology, and then echoed it in Common. “My apologies, small friends.”

“I agree with you, though… We can’t treat them as anything less, not like the tests would have us do. I’m not sure what our next step should be,” Patton admitted, and they turned as one to look at Logan. The Glanrim had a recognizably enthusiastic glint to his eyes.

“We’ll have to present our case to the Council. If we want them to believe us, we’ll need sufficient evidence that our specimens are sentient, sapient, and deserving of the standard rights,” he told them, tail swishing. “Our next step is to obtain that proof, through whatever means we can.”

Roman and Patton shared a glance before nodding in agreement. They turned towards the aliens with determination, and then stopped completely short.

“We’re… going to have to find some method of communicating our intentions,” Logan said, tapping his fingers on his shoulder in thought. “I believe the lack of such communication is what caused Virgil to behave so timidly in the first place.”

“Yeah, just reaching in and grabbing them probably isn’t a good idea,” Roman admitted. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Well, this can be a test in itself. Assuming that they can discuss amongst themselves what tests each of us did on the first run-through…”

---

Janus stared blankly at the three hands that had been set down along the floor of their enclosure, palms-up, each corresponding to one of the aliens. He turned to look at Virgil and Remus, just to ascertain that he was seeing the same thing they were.

Remus tilted his head to a painful-looking angle, and then nodded to himself. “It’s just like those choose-your-own-adventure books, except with huge aliens that we don’t know the intentions of! Fun!”  

“Oh, so they’re insane? They’re out of their skulls?” Virgil asked, his voice upping an octave in disbelief. “They really think we’re going to just literally put our lives in their hands, after they abducted and tormented us?”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to have to do,” Janus muttered, and held his hands up when Virgil turned to him with a glare. “Just listen for a moment. What are they doing right now?”

“Trying to trick us,” Virgil shot back immediately.

“Getting handsy!” Remus offered.

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No and definitely no. They’re offering us a choice,” he clarified, “because we’ve done something to shift their opinions of us.”

“Some choice,” Virgil muttered. Janus pointed at him, making him jerk back slightly.

“Exactly. What do you think they’re going to do if we refuse to engage with them at all?”

“... Grab us anyways?”

Janus nodded, casting another look over at the waiting aliens. “If that happens, we’ve relinquished any and all control over the situation, no matter how small. Instead, we need to take advantage of this while we can. We’ll be putting our lives in their hands regardless, so it’s best to act strategically here.”

“Well, I know what I want.” Remus sidled a step away from them and towards the aliens. “Dibs on the hot one.”

“The what one?” Virgil gaped, and Remus ignored him in favor of getting a running start and then throwing himself directly onto Logan’s hand. Unsurprisingly, Logan seemed unsure how to react to a human sprawling over him like Rose from Titanic. Janus was too professional to slap a hand onto his forehead, but the urge was there. He grabbed Virgil’s shoulder when the kid started towards them.

“Forget it. He’s made his choice, and he doesn’t seem like the type to be swayed by common sense,” Janus said, rolling eyes and choosing very emphatically to not question his fellow human’s apparent qualifiers for someone being considered ‘hot’. “You need to make a decision of your own.”

Virgil shook him off, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is crazy. All of it. Forever. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, voice dry. Virgil shot him another look, and then seemed to actually consider the options, though grumpily. With his shoulders still up around his ears, he looked vaguely like a very angry turtle. Janus kept this observation to himself.

“Remus called the one with all the arms-- uh, Patton? He called them boring and said all they did was talk at him,” he finally offered, glancing over at the alien.

Janus nodded, keeping his own feelings on the matter off his face. “You want that one, then?”

“What?” Virgil looked at him, confused. “No, I mean you should go with them. You’ll probably have an easier time figuring out what they want from Patton.”

Janus paused, thrown off. “Hold on, that-- that leaves you with Roman. I… don’t think you’ll have the best time, considering.”

“And you will?” Virgil took Janus’s silence as the admittance it was, and nodded to himself. “I can do it. I’m tougher than you think. And anyways, if I let you go with him, he’d probably try to swipe my hoodie. Not happening.”

Janus huffed with exasperation, and Virgil gave him the closest expression he’d gotten to a smile yet before shoving his shoulder slightly and stomping up to Roman’s hand. The alien looked just as unhappy as Virgil about the decision.

---

“Well, that was an… interesting selection process,” Logan said, lifting up his hand slightly and finding that Remus seemed content to be toted around.

It was more than he could say about his own matchup. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” he grumbled as ‘Virgil’ continued to stand there, tiny arms bundled around themself, tiny eyes staring up at Roman aggressively.

The little creature didn’t seem intent on even touching Roman, let alone actually being picked up and taken anywhere. Roman looked over to where D was seating themself on the edge of Patton’s hand like a king upon their throne, and then back to Virgil, who didn’t move.

Maybe they expected Roman to do all the heavy lifting? He carefully lifted his hand, curling it around Virgil’s tiny frame, and received a vicious hiss for his efforts. He recoiled, antennae flattening. He hadn’t even known these creatures could hiss!

“You alright, kiddo?” Patton appeared next to him, one hand hovering as a safety net for D. Roman pasted on a smile immediately.

“Of course! Just working out methods of transport with… Virgil. They seem a bit less charismatic than D when it comes to conveying intent, unfortunately.” The tiny creature continued to stare at him, gaze only dipping away to meet D’s briefly.

Patton studied Virgil for a moment, gaze moving between their hunched form and Roman’s fidgeting hands. “They might be a little touch shy. The transport containers are still usable, if you need them!”

“Ah, that’s right! Patton, you’re a genius.” Roman exchanged good luck hums with the Nihl and waited until he departed to grab the transport container and present it to Virgil. “Is this what you want to use, you picky creature?”  

As though to spite him, Virgil’s skin shifted to a paler shade, and they went so far as to step back slightly. Roman allowed himself a few frustrated clickswears, and then stopped as he noticed the creature stumble slightly.

“Virgil…?” he attempted the alien’s name, but there was no response beyond their rapid air intake increasing. They didn’t look so good.

Feeling oddly off-balance, he quickly stowed the transport container away, and kept his hands out of sight to give the poor guy some more space. “Easy, easy. Please for the love of all that is good, don’t die of shock on me.”

Virgil didn’t seem to improve at first, but after a moment, they started muttering to themself, and slowly but surely, began to return to baseline. Roman felt as though years had been taken off his lifespan.

“Alright, if you feel so strongly about it, there’s no reason I can’t improvise and simply work from here,” he rambled, moving a seat and a tray of tools to the side of the wide-low enclosure. “Logan wasn’t kidding when he called you easily startled, was he?”

Virgil eyed the tray with wide eyes, and when Roman picked up the thermometer, they skittered back out of easy reach, arms lifted in what must have been a defensive gesture. Like a frightened Arkbit, but less fluffy, and Roman had to actually try to coax them over rather than just holding them still for the process.

“It’s just a thermometer! It won’t prick you or anything, on my honor,” Roman swore, and when that didn’t do the trick, he used the device on himself instead. “See, I just place it against my skin for a few moments, and… there! A perfectly healthy me!”

He extended the sensor end of the thermometer in Virgil’s direction, but didn’t advance. “C’mon, just give it a shot. We’re going to need your baseline in case you get sick, and it’ll make it easier to get the others’ temps if you can tell them I’m not going to electrocute them or anything.”

Virgil dithered for a long moment, but Roman’s patience was rewarded when the alien finally stalked closer and smacked his hand against the sensor like a challenge. Luckily, it was precise enough to work accurately even with such a small specimen, and soon enough Roman has a temperature.

“Huh… you’re warmer than me and Patton, that’s for sure,” Roman mumbled. “Logan probably already has all sorts of classification theories about you guys, but I think it’s at least safe to say you’re mammalian.”

Virgil tilted their head slightly at him, and Roman shook his head. “We’ll have more to talk about once we actually manage to make a breakthrough on language. For now,” he held up a small scale, normally used for weighing precise chemical measurements, “back to the boring stuff!”

The tiny alien made a strange drawn out noise, and placed their hands over their face, but they didn’t get all tense and breathy again, and that was progress in Roman’s book.

So long as they kept making progress, things would probably turn out okay.

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Feral Fatality

(Part 1)

So this has been in my works for a week now. You see, it was a typical day for me scrolling through Tumblr and visiting some....tags, and then a short drabble inspired me to write about a feral reader totally not because I was craving violence and murder no, which reached more than 4k words on the first draft so here we are! Shitty title, I know. The proofread work went over 7k, and it's not even finished yet. Once I'm done posting this and my main orc fic, I will get into the requests so please be patient!

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Brief blood and violence at the end of the first part

Contains: Swearing, mentions of neglect and abuse (not graphic)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

-

Screams slit through the twilight as the frigid autumn wind blew harshly through the trees of Camp Crystal Lake. The rustling of bushes and cracking of twigs echoed as foolish teenagers attempted to escape, running for their lives when they were the ones who dared step foot in the place, tarnishing it with their sins.

Jason Voorhees, the innocent kid who died several years ago; pushed to the lake by his bullies and left to drown for being different and unsightly— all because the counselors were busy with their fucking business—, returned as an undead killing machine right after his mother murdered them and died. His sole purpose: to protect the land and purge the people who had no right to be here, sentencing them to a horrendous death.

One by one, they struck the ground, lifeless, either chopped into pieces, beheaded, or stabbed countless times by his trusty machete.

Limbs...ripped off with his bare hands.

-

The muffled snapping of branches reached your ears as the vehicle's wheels ran over them, stirring you from your nap. You rubbed your chilled skin under your clothes as you looked out of the window, thumping your forehead on the glass when you leaned forward the moment you saw the scenery. Trees, both ancient and young, their leaves varying in hues of green, orange and red, filled your line of sight. It was still early in autumn, your favorite time of the year, not hot but not too cold either. You watched in awe as the warm-colored leaves cascaded down from the branches and down to the ground, some carried by the wind farther from their origin.

The view did its best to distract you from a couple in session a seat before yours. They always seem to do that all the time, regardless of place or occasion.

This was a week-long getaway after graduation, they said.

Nothing but a white lie.

An excuse for the girls to hook up with their campus crushes, a week of fucking and smoking drugs.

You, however, just got invited —forced— by your "friend" Eloiza, the self-proclaimed hottest girl in the entire school, typical captain of the cheerleading squad; blonde and curvy. Her words were much too sugar-coated that even a deaf person could tell she had ulterior motives.

She only planned to use you as a tool to raise her fame. A stepping stone for her own gain.

That wasn't the only reason though.

Everyone knew who you were, but only by your name. News and rumors alike spread like wildfire through gossipy mouths. Your deeds were known throughout campus.

(Y/N)(L/N), top academic competitor and multiple-award winner, a straight-A student for five years in succession. Some believed you were a genius, the rest called you insane.

You wouldn't call yourself a genius though, you did not possess the obsessive need to acquire eternal knowledge and discover the secrets of the universe as most of them do, to effortlessly solve every problem that comes their way.

If that were the case, then you wouldn't be here in the first place.

You only love learning and indulging in the beauty of Mother Nature, plus a handful of hyper-fixations.

Fine, a buttload of hyper-fixations. And such came in handy in various situations.

You were unrivaled, not one of your peers could come close to your level of wit. Many people wished to have a brain like yours, and just as many hated you for even having one, praised you just as much as slandered your name and judged you.

Despite your reputation, the poor school didn't broadcast it, at least every time. The staff probably got tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again. Which caused more than half of the whole campus to never believe you to be the one behind all of that, laughing at your face when you said your name.

"You? The (Y/N) (L/N)? Ha! As if I'd fall for that! Everyone knows how she looks. You're the absolute opposite!"

"You got to be kidding me."

"You're a joker, aren't you? Is this a prank? If so please stop it, don't pretend like you're her."

Yep, and it goes on and on and on. They were right, you didn't look like someone who would win contests or excel in class.

You constantly wore clothes that hid your form, silent unless spoken to or asked to answer, distant and reserved, you preferred the company of books and nature to the rowdiness and prying hands of humans. A sociopath they deemed you. Quite an extreme word to use when you simply wanted to enjoy the only things that made you happy in this living hell.

You only know a handful of people who approached you first-hand and praised you genuinely, even asking for an autograph, which really surprised you.

Yet, they would never understand you even if you explained, because you can't, words evade you when it comes down to voice out what you feel. Even if you can, no one would care. And even if they did? You doubt it was real. Everyone wants to use you, and they seem to believe you'd let them. You didn't trust anyone. The last time you did only left you sobbing on the dirt.

You wanted to be left alone.

To connect with nature and get as far away as possible from your parents. Parents who kept shouting profanities at each other, the main cause for your depression and anxiety levels to skyrocket, the shaking turning into trembling, 7 hours of sleep to barely a blink.

That's why you agreed to go in the first place.

You hated your household—despised it— a mess of broken shards of bottles and ceramics littered your kitchen floor more often than not. You didn't bother cleaning it up anymore, your mother would just waste away her money on more things to break and throw them at your joke of a father when they fought anyway.

Not only that, you thought...No, you believed if you worked hard to be the best and win countless competitions, your parents would give you recognition and reconcile for your sake, but no, no, no. They didn't care one bit about you or your medals, it was as if you were never even included in their lives at all. Even birthday celebrations ceased to exist in everyone's books after your 13th.

So you gave up.

Down into the void, your wishful thinking went, that they'll become better people over time, that the attention and love you deserve will be given one day. Instead, you wallowed yourself in your studies, besting everyone in everything academic. Oh, but you weren't athletic. Far from it. Damn, you were getting thin and sleep-deprived from being neglected, dark circles under your eyes every time you looked at your reflection. People hating your existence wasn't helping, some teachers even suspected you of cheating.

There's no way in hell you'd let yourself get dragged down to end up like them! You were of legal age now, a fresh graduate from high school, you doubt your parents even knew that since they didn't fucking show up on your graduation day. You were moving out of that shithole of a town. Anywhere is better than where they breathed and spat their poison.

And so here you are. Standing in this breath-taking and mysterious place. Camp Crystal Lake, it is named, secluded, barely touched by modernization as it is hidden between mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Not to mention its namesake, the lake, you imagined it would mirror the sky, be it day or night. You loved it, you adored the fresh, breathable air that went through you the moment you stepped out of the van.

You also knew about him.

Resolved to never go back to that goddamned house, you took everything you had and needed; the special little trinkets you've collected through the years shoved into a box, the few clothes you had, art materials, and your precious books carefully packed inside a big travel bag, along with your stocked up canned goods, convenience food, snacks, and toiletries.

And other, important things.

You hauled your baggage out of the van and got off, immediately moving to the side and away from everyone.

You got used to people ignoring you that you didn't care anymore.

Why waste your time with them when you can have all of it to yourself?

Eloiza led the group into the larger cabins, the others went straight into the lake for a swim. You even notice some teens disappear into the trees, most likely for a quickie.

In return, you stayed out of their way, fully satisfied being invisible and with your own company as you trudged to a cabin, the one you caught a glimpse of earlier in the van. It was a long way's separated from the rest, closest to the forest and hidden behind a few trees.

You were panting when you finally stopped in front of it, clearly not used to walking long distances and carrying stuff near as heavy as your weight.

Upon closer inspection, you found yourself gaping at its appearance. The wooden walls lost their color as they aged, white and brown mushrooms grew on the ground along with green moss sticking to the beams, and a few vines crawling their way up and on the roof. Despite all of that, the cabin looked sturdy still.

There's this "one with nature" vibe that drew you to it, like a string pulling you closer and inviting you. Ominous most would say, but you almost cried when the rich scent of earth and oxygen filled your lungs as you took one big inhale, sighing in content for once. It was a lot smaller compared to the others, but you didn't care. As long as you were left alone with your stuff you were a-okay.

Perfect.

You turned the knob and peeked inside, letting out a small gasp and opening the door wider to see the whole thing.

Old as it is, it was proper and neat, regardless of the tiny cobwebs on the upper corners. A small, square dining table sat in the middle of the first part of the place, two wooden stools placed underneath. There were cupboards on the wall and a simple sink with an empty space to the side. You went to the next room, doorless and separated with but a wall of thick plywood. It had a single bed in the corner, off-white cotton sheets sitting atop, not a wrinkle in sight. No pillow though. There's a decent-sized closet along with a small table on one side of the bed. One of the windows had a hole in the middle, a ray of sunlight streaming in through the cracks. It was too big for the size of a gunshot, so maybe a rock.

A bit hesitant, your fingers traced the wood, feeling the inconsistent texture. When you went through the back door, your smile reached your ears when trunks of trees and bushes greeted you...

Wait, is that what you think it is?

Stepping closer to the treeline, your jaw dropped when you spotted a thicket of fruit-bearing plants past them, gathered in a tiny clearing.

Blueberries.

Purple little cuties poked out of the green shrubs, sporting a vibrant hue that caught your eye. The sun shone overhead and providing the energy they needed. Blueberries managed to grow in the area despite the trees fencing them.

Tempted and suspicious, you crouched down, inspecting the shrub if it really was a blueberry plant and not a deadly doppelganger. Once you were sure it was, (it would be hilarious if you simply died from nighshade poisoning), you plucked one and brought it to your mouth. It was sweeter than you expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You hummed in delight, wiping the juice with your thumb when it dribbled out, staining your finger and lips.

You didn't want to anger anybody. Hell, coming here was already trespassing, so you didn't push your luck and left it alone, hoping they'd forgive you for picking one. They surely didn't look wild with the way they lined up.

You scanned the rest of the area, eventually going back inside to unpack after your little evaluation.

-

The sun was a hand's away from setting when you finished. Pride swelled in your chest at the work you did, your things stocked and organized with care inside the cabinets and drawers. You won't have to worry about your food for now as cupboards were filled to the brim with them. You also had a decent amount of money left from your savings account that your parents weren't aware of. Prize money, allowance, and the salary you got from doing online jobs all went into it. The camp was a few miles off the road, and a couple more to the nearest gas station with a convenience store. Very far yes, but it's better than living with the people who made you do this in the first place.

You just hoped you wouldn't die walking.

Everything was worth it, anyways. You were free now, at least that's what you think.

You trudged to the bed, eyeing the cushions, wary and a little scared to touch the sheets that appeared to be cleaned just recently, you didn't even lay a finger on them ever since you got inside. Oh, but your tired muscles were screaming to just flump down and relax.

So you did.

You dumped yourself face first and inhaled. It wasn't smelly nor fragrant, just the simple freshness on the cotton fabric. You felt beat but ain't sleepy, yet, so you reached to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a book to pass the time as you waited for the sun to go down and give way for the moon. Its spine and pages had creases, worn out and yellow-stained from age and use. It was a horror-mystery novel told through a first-person narrative, a story of a middle-aged detective and her Maine coon in their attempts to solve a murder case of a young European lady named Cassandra Chase.

You dozed off in the middle of chapter 21, the part where Dinnie, the cat, discovers a valuable clue to the crime, a rotten limb in the dried basement well.

—

—

Jason settled down on the stairs of his porch; shoulders relaxed and hunched as he leisurely sharpened his machete with a small whetstone. Lines of sunlight kissed him through the leaves of trees, the birds in the area chirped on their perches, and the grass swayed, gentle, as a cool wind passed by.

His day be so fine. No troublemakers to deal wi—

The alarm rang, announcing unwelcomed arrival. As if a switch flipped inside, he's already on his feet, making his way swiftly to their location.

A new batch of wretched youngsters, another day ruined. Hunting them down makes his blood thrum in his veins, yes, but they soured his mood, just when he was at peace. He's dead set on slaughtering them in the most gruesome ways possible, only then he could go back and enjoy the serenity the nature around him brings.

He surveyed the area, camouflaging with the wilderness, silent as he watched and counted the soon-to-be corpses, his mother's voice at the back of his mind, guiding him.

They decided to go either to the main cabins, or the lake...even into the trees.

All but one.

Jason already planned to cut down the couple later as they lose themselves in the forest, doing nasty, dirty things to his camp. The killer shifted his attention to you, curious as to why you didn't join the lot. Instead, you walked back down the road. He followed and saw you approach the small cabin, separated from the rest, your eyes widened...

Adoration?

You were quiet— except for the little gasps of awe you let out in between pants—as you looked around and over the place. The ones you came with were rowdy and destructive, a complete opposite. He hid as he observed you from afar, moving around to adjust his vision on you. You smiled every time you looked to the trees, he noticed.

Why were you smiling like that? Why did you pick this cabin? Were you planning on defiling it?

The last question in his mind made his blood boil. He'll kill you first if that was the case. That cabin you chose was special, it was where he and his mother used to stay. He occasionally visits that one to keep it clean and free of dust. If you even think of—

Jason, sweetie...look closer. She does not have such intentions.

His mother's words rang in his head. Even from where he stood, he could see what you did inside. You looked a little hesitant, touching and drawing back your hand before letting your fingers feel the wood as if it was something delicate. Despite the initial...shyness? You proceeded to make it your home, somewhat, dropping the large duffel bags you carried on your front and back, and a similarly large roller case on your left. It was as if you planned to stay for a long time.

Jason hears you take a long breath and sigh as you went out the backdoor. You grinned wider when you saw the nature around you. You stepped forward, straight in his direction...

For a moment he thought you saw him, seeing your jaw drop. You moved closer, and he just froze there, until you crouched down.

Oh, his plants.

He watched you as you gently picked a fruit, your gaze...soft. You brought it to your mouth, some of the juice spilling on the side and you wiped it with your thumb.

Cute.

You went back inside and continued to unpack your things, carefully maneuvering around the cabin.

Maybe he'll spare you if you continue to be good. You didn't do anything dirty, yet. It's only a matter of time before the camp is shrouded in darkness and his hunt will begin.

Let's see what you'll do before that happens.

-

Jason tracked down the three that went into the forest. He knew the place like the back of his hand, and it was easier to pinpoint them as he heard moans.

What he saw was utmost disgusting, two girls pleasuring a male with their mouths in broad daylight.

Kill them, my boy! Such foul beings need to die! Kill them, kill!

He circled them, steps soundless. Jason gripped his machete and brought it down the guy's neck, embedding the weapon into the bark, the head rolled down, oozing with blood, and fell against the women, drenching them in red. Not a single cry left from their mouths as he sliced both with one swing, blood pouring out of their throats and staining the ground. Jason dragged their bodies and tossed them into a pit he dug beforehand, making quick work in burying them.

A swift end. Now he waits.

[amostimprobabledream]

Why I hate Grace.

I was giving my thoughts on Peaky Blinders a few weeks ago and I danced around the subject of my dislike for this character but didn’t have time/room to get it all out. So here it is! Grace fans, you probably want to look away now. So to me, Grace is kind of symbolic of the bad writing on Peaky Blinders, which is especially egregious because usually the writing of the show is good. But right off the bat, her arrival creates a number of plotholes that don't resonate with Tommy's character. Just for a start, nobody seems to find it suspicious that an apparently attractive woman (seriously, people go on and on about how pretty Grace is and while it's not as though she's ugly at all, you can't help but wonder if the Peaky boys merely think so because she's the only woman of significance not related to them) is so determined to be a barmaid in The Garrison, where Tommy, upon seeing her, immediately asks her if she's a whore. Grace is understandably offended by the question, which again makes you wonder why she'd want to work somewhere where such a question isn't just an assumption, but the first thing Tommy asks - we know she's a spy, but the other characters don't.

Then, Tommy corners Grace and starts asking why she keeps being so nosy about the Blinders and their business. They go for a walk and Tommy asks Grace if she's a Catholic. She says she is, but when Tommy points out that no good Catholic girl would walk into a church without making the cross, he immediately exposes her as a liar and points out he also knows that she lied to him about what town she was from, because he asked around and nobody had ever heard of her. So what does he do? He...promotes her to being his secretary? What?

Okay, so you might argue that Tommy puts her in said position to keep an eye on her, or thinks she might be useful if she has the balls to lie to him, but she tells such an easy-to-unravel lie and her excuse is because she wants to "fit in". Again, he lets her off the hook but she covers up a lie with an even more obvious one  - if Grace cared about fitting in, she'd make more of an effort to do so, but she keeps demanding Tommy let her sing in the pub and asks questions above her station to Arthur, which got reported back to Tommy. Sure, it's her job to spy on the Peaky boys, but she's so transparent about it that it's honestly ridiculous that Tommy would ever put her in a position that close to his personal affairs. Not to mention, Grace is so inexplicably haughty towards Tommy, telling him, "You disappoint me" when he kisses her. You'd think if she was good at her job, she'd learn to shut her mouth and keep her head down like a decent spy, but she always acts as if she's better than Tommy because, like Polly points out, she's a spoiled little rich girl at heart and she does think herself above the Shelby's.

Then Tommy completely inexplicably chooses to give Grace a fucking gun and tells her some men are going to come in and try to kill him and he's relying on her to bail him out. I know the cops were meant to come in at the stroke of six and they fuck up, but WHY would you ever place that level of trust in someone you already know is a liar? Sorry, but I just don't buy that Tommy was blinded by "love". I can buy that maybe he was curious about Grace, possibly even fancied her a bit, but definitely not so stupid that he thinks it's a good idea to put his fucking life in the hands of a woman he knows basically nothing about. She could have fallen out of the sky for all he knows. Tommy even continues to trust Grace after she kills an IRA guy right in front of him because she sobs, "I didn't know I had it in me like that", yet she disobeyed his instructions and whenever Arthur or John do that, Tommy gives them a bollocking. He lets Grace off, again, for seemingly no reason other than she played the damsel in distress role and he buys it. This doesn't make Tommy look like a smart man blinded by love, it just makes him look like an idiot around Grace.

Also, there seems to be an uncomfortable level in Tommy/Grace of Tommy getting a kick out of using Grace to piss Campbell off. It's pretty obvious Campbell has a creepy crush on her, and Tommy exploits that for all it's worth when he explicitly rings Campbell to inform him that he's going to bang Grace. (Incidentally, their sex scene made me go, "Oh, I guess they're gonna fuck now. Yup." It was like they did it because the screenwriter said so.) He's basically cucking Campbell and I think it's a big reason why even Grace fans admit that she's "not as good" in Season Two - Grace just doesn't work without Campbell around. At least in Season One you can argue that every shitty thing Grace does to Tommy/the Peaky Blinders is partly because of her job as a spy and Campbell is her boss. In Season Two, there are no excuses for the way Grace acts. She's a selfish, self-righteous hypocrite. She jumps at the chance to go to Birmingham on the offchance it was Tommy who called, then acts all offended when he assumes she came to sleep with him, to the point she actually smacks him in the face. What does Tommy do about this? Nothing. When Grace complains they could have run away to New York together, all Tommy says is, "I had things to do", instead of asking Grace why she thinks he'd abandon his family, business, friends and country all to chase after the woman who sold him out to his worst enemy. Grace honestly expected Tommy to put her first after everything she did to him. I won't act like Tommy is a saint in this - he did nearly pimp her out to Billy Kimber - but at least he acknowledges it was wrong of him to do and he never acts like he occupies any moral highground like Grace does. When Grace admits she sold Tommy out, she sobs she "did a terrible thing," yet never tries to actually help him out in a way that would put her at risk - she quit her position, sure, but Campbell's creepiness had gone so far as to propose marriage to her, Grace was still looking out for herself when she left, because it got her away from Campbell. She asked Campbell to spare him, knowing full well that Campbell has wanted Tommy dead since day one. She plays the damsel in distress again and she's pissed when Tommy doesn't fall for it a second time. Then when she talks about her husband, she tries to rub it in Tommy's face how he's “a good, kind man”, but then quickly backtracks on that to fuck Tommy anyway because her husband is impotent - and Grace just can't deal with not getting what she wants. Tommy's rich enough to afford to buy a house for Ada and Polly by this point, he's running Birmingham and seeking to expand into London, so Grace pulls the oldest trick in the book and gets pregnant - then Tommy has to do the responsible thing and marry her, because the baby is his and it's literally the only piece of leverage she has over May. (May even points out that she's been stringing Tommy along and all Grace can do is throw the fact that "Grace's Secret" is the horse's name at her. Again though, did Tommy call it that to piss off Campbell? This was before Grace returned to Small Heath but after Campbell had, so I think yes.)

Then in Season Three, again, Grace is pretty much a pointless character, because she has no purpose anymore outside of being "Tommy's wife". Campbell is dead and so the conflict of her character in Season One, as contrived as that was, is gone. People complain about Grace being stuffed into a fridge and whatnot, (and tbh, you could say that about Freddie, but Freddie also served his purpose in Season One after he buried the hatchet with Tommy), but honestly I think that it was all they could think to do with her because Charlotte Riley was unable to pick up her role as May for Season Three, so they had to work around it. It's the only explanation I can think of about why Grace is just such a blatantly awful person in the Second Season - I've heard people say before that Tommy leaving the field after his assassination was prevented would have been the perfect ending to the season, but that scene at the end where he returns to The Garrison and announces he's getting married seemed really hastily tacked-on - I feel like it was added because they were forced to rewrite the drafts for Season Three and put whatever plans for May they had on the shelf. Not to mention, Grace's actress Annabelle Wallis has apparently stated she hates May because she's "annoying" and "gets inbetween Tommy and Grace". No, Grace got in the way of Tommy and Grace - she's the one who chose to leave Birmingham after she got exposed as a Mole instead of taking the consequences! And also, how is May the annoying one? At least she doesn’t whisper all her lines. It's just so immature of the actress to bash on the character and encourage ship wars, especially considering Grace comes out the winner of the love triangle, so what's the bitterness about? (I've not heard what her opinion is on Lizzie, but I doubt it's as hostile, because it's made obvious in the show that Tommy doesn't love Lizzie the same and the poor girl is constantly competing with a dead woman for her husband's love.) Plus, in Season Three, the wedding is all about not upsetting Grace, Tommy's family have to play nice with Grace's family, and Polly is once again the only person who knocks Grace's smug ass down a peg by reminding her that the family haven't forgiven or forgotten Grace's crimes against them - the only reason they're putting up a pretence of tolerating her is for Tommy's sake. Not hers. Not everybody in the world wants to accommodate Grace. Killing Grace was honestly the highlight of the entire Season, because I couldn't stand watching her smirking over how she got everything she wanted when she didn't pay for any of it. (Polly is also the only one who comments on how Tommy has conveniently forgotten all the shit she pulled on him and Tommy acts like she was a totally innocent bystander when she got killed and it’s like, no, Tommy, baby. Grace knew what she was getting into when she married him and he knew that - it’s pretty much common knowledge that everybody who is even tangentially associated with the Peaky Blinders gets hurt eventually, just look at how Ada was nearly gangraped even though she hadn’t been involved with the family business for two years.)

Come Season Four and Five and there's already a problem here - there is still more to talk about with Grace, even though she’s dead and Tommy spends most of Season Three rampaging over her death. But he just inexplicably won't let go of her. And again, this doesn't come across as Tommy being so in love with Grace he can't fathom a world without her, it comes off like her actress has dirt on the director or something. He constantly hallucinates the bitch, we hear her singing all the time, it's kind of implied that Tommy prefers Charles over Ruby because Charles a boy and has a saintly dead mummy while Ruby is the daughter of a former whore (not that Tommy doesn't love Ruby, obviously, because he absolutely does), and what really annoys me about Tommy hallucinating Grace is that she's the only character he does this with. He doesn't dream about Greta, his first love, he doesn't dream of Danny or Freddie or his mother. He doesn't even fucking dream about John! Remember John, Tommy's little brother he knew his entire life? Apparently nobody else does! No, it's always all about Grace, who keeps helpfully telling Tommy to hurry up and kill himself so he can be with her again. This doesn’t seem like an out-of-character, guilt-induced vision - it mimicks her attitude in Season Two, that nothing else in his life can be as important as she is.

And that's why I hate Grace. (Please don’t send me rude or hateful messages over this post, it’s just my opinion and it’s pretty much irrelevant anyway since I doubt Stephen Knight is going to stop using Grace up as some kind of martyred dead saint anytime soon. I just wanted to get this rant out of my system.)

[kitmon]

Keys Are Under the Mat {1/?}

Llewyn Davis x OC

Summary: Struggling singer/songwriter, Llewyn Davis, has faced the rough and tumble world of the music industry as well as the callous hand of life. When an up-and-coming folk singer makes a trip back home and finds herself at the hands of the battered down couch-surfer, her first thought is to offer him a bit of compassion.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sexual activity

“Hold me, while I cry into your coat

Tie the rope round my throat, why don't ya?

Did you even read the note I wrote ya?

Boy, you're my antido-o-o-o-ote

Baby, it's only you I dote"

Her delicate fingers danced along the strings of her amaranth-colored acoustic. It was a fairly new guitar, given to her by a rather close colleague. She used to play at the Gaslight Café exclusively in the late fifties, not because she particularly liked that venue, more so because they were the only ones who gave a fraction of a fuck about her shitty guitar with a few broken strings and a makeshift capo that was made in the bathroom 10 minutes before a show using a sharpie and a rubber band. The crowd was always friendly; never hostile or awkward, just... supportive which was always appreciated on her part. Having people enjoy or at least pretend to enjoy her music was comforting at the time. As of right now, she was only visiting for old times sake, nostalgia purposes.

The new guitar was a testament to the amount of shit she'd been through. I mean signing a record deal is a pretty big deal, right? Having people know your name and buy your album. I mean, she was no Bob Dylan but she'd get stopped in the street from time to time which was unquestionably a step up from the loogies and cat-calls sent her way. Even now, her appearance at the usually humdrum populated café has drawn more attention than anticipated. The seats were all taken and the rather small building held far more people than the fire marshal recommended, but what a turn-out it was.

The audience hummed the chorus, cautious to not tune out her newfangled voice as it continued, nonchalant as ever as if there were only a few unamused patrons sitting in the crowd, but there wasn't. The populace of Greenwich Village loved her. She made a shit-hole like Greenwich something for people to keep their eyes on. And she didn't disappoint.

Her eyes remained lowered as she rather curled into herself and let the song end with a guttural reverberation. There was a silence as her eyelids lifted marginally, letting out a few pants of air to recover. Then an uproar, a surge in applause! She glanced up and flashed a charming smile, one that only showed the top row of teeth and caused her childish eyes to crinkle as she let out a giggle, concealing her laughter from the large array of eyes with her dainty hands. She adjusted herself and lifted a hand to reach the microphone.

"Thank you, you guys are a lovely audience, much nicer than Queens," the crowd let out a dispersed chuckle at her humor and she smiled again at their enthusiasm. She loved this, the feeling of having immense support. It made her feel... alive, to say the least.

"Okay, I'll be back in 20, take it easy while I'm gone." She waved off the crowd, unfurling herself from her guitar strap and handed the instrument to the stagehand, thanking the man afterward. She smoothed out any puckers or creases found in her dress as she stepped down from the stage, heading towards Pappi and another bystander, one who looked as if he'd been sleeping on the floor for days. Poor sucker looked as if he didn't even own a winter coat.

Pappi's arms extended out towards her, inviting her into his embrace. "You did great, kid," her eyes brightened at the compliment as she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her rosy cheek flush against his chest. The action should have been far more intimate than the two adults interpreted it, and most others would have perceived it that way as well. In fact, most familiars thought Pappi was fucking her most of the time.

Which he wasn't and neither one had ever considered it. Just business partners with an intimate brother-sister bond. Nothing more, Nothing less. The taller man, gripped her by her upper arms to gaze at her, with a gentleness, "Really, gave em a show."

"Aw thanks, Pappi, but I've got to admit that I'd still be singing songs on my back porch if it weren't for this dump." She jested, her hands hanging from her hips. Pappi let out a deep chuckle which was softened by her one-off laugh that wasn't exactly delicate or poised but was attractive in an unorthodox sense. The banter played out until somebody approached Pappi and tugged at the sleeve of his button-up to get his attention. She looked with furrowed brows and a curious expression as the man whispered in Pappi's ear with what appeared to be urgency. Pappi muttered a quick swear under his breath, and looked up at her with an apologetic frown and the same knitted brows she once wore.

"Sorry, kid. There's a few thugs out back making a mess," he patted her on the arm and told her he'd be right back after taking care of the 'mess'. Her head bobbed in understanding as her eyes watched as Pappi followed the man outback and into the fray. Her stare lingered on the door, but it was the serendipitous turn of her head that allowed her to acknowledge the ragged man sitting at the bar. His eyes fixated on the golden hue of the whiskey in his glass. She was almost certain he hadn't moved an inch since she came over, only stayed staring at the same glass of whiskey for at least five minutes. God, he looked like hell. His coat was hanging on by a thread, quite literally. Holes in miscellaneous places, unruly hair that looked like it hasn't been combed in days, shoes that looked soaked by the snow just outdoors and a runny nose that looked like the result of an oncoming cold. His wardrobe fitting flawlessly against the backdrop of the monochromatic greys and tans that made up the scene of New York in the Sixties. He looked familiar, she was sure of that. It was likely he'd played a few gigs at the Gaslight, same as her. Then again there were dozens of scruffy looking musicians who sidled into the Gaslight to perform, this one was hardly any different.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and ambled towards him, "So, you a friend of Pappi's?" Her elbows supported her weight against the hardwood bar, her fingers interlaced with each other as she peered down into the swirling rings of the once tall-standing oak. It took him a bit longer to register that she was speaking to him, "Oh, um, yeah, I guess..." His hand slipping up towards his face to rub at the skin, waking him up. His hooded eyes look over to her and away from that untouched glass of whiskey. Her laugh startled him, unexpected as it was. Her giggle was an unfamiliar sound. It shattered through the blaring car horns outside, the chatter of the audience, even threw the bullshit that spewed out of the radio sitting on the counter across from them. He just stared at her, unaware of just how ignorant someone would have to be to notice all the shit that's taking place everywhere around them and still have something to laugh about. It was selfish, but who wasn't these days. Everyone wanted others to be as devoid of joy as they were. Of course, there were a few stragglers who managed to keep a pep in their step and a smile on their faces. Those are the ones who get broken. They break down so quickly in a place that loses hope quicker than a bucket with gunshots loses water. But, she wasn't ignorant, and he knew this. She just decided to not take anybody's shit. And when nobody gives a fuck whether your dreams are accomplished or not, you learn to say fuck off right back. I guess that's what separates the losers from the winners. Her demeanor and the way she carried herself, with the balloon-sleeves and ruffled collar of her dress shirt, the way it was neatly tucked into her pinafore, it gave the impression that she was... incapable. But she was ten times more capable than almost everyone in that Café.

"If you don't mind me asking," she lifted her hand to wave down a bartender, not making eye contact with him until she knew someone was coming to attend to her request. "Got a name?" Her bright brown eyes locked with the gray and muddied irises of his own and it ignited a raft in his brain, making him adjust his position in self-consciousness.

"Um, yeah. Llewyn,"

Llewyn, Llewyn... she's heard that name before. She takes a sip from her glass of red wine the bartender had passed to her not to long ago. She takes a sip and contemplates why that name sounds so familiar.

"... Llewyn... Davis?"

It had slipped from her lips before she could even register it. And it surprised him, far more that she knew who he was. He couldn't remember meeting her or introducing himself to her before but then again, he was a performer. Not a very popular or reputable one mind you, but a performer none the less. She'd probably seen him at the Gaslight once before or something.

"Uh..., yeah... Hey, how'd you, um?"

"Oh, um I think I might own one of your albums. Inside Llewyn Davis, right?" The mention of his less than successful solo artist debut was a bit upsetting but he just dismissed it and looked away. "Yup... that's the one." His voice sounded disappointed and beaten but who could blame him. Chasing a dream so far that it only leads you to a dead-end can be frustrating.

"You know, I really enjoyed it," she mused, much to his disbelief but it must have only been out of politeness. "That makes one of us," he mutters, his frown dropping a millimeter or so. She couldn't decipher what he was referring to, but she could tell that whatever it was, it had sucked the rest of his joy and drive out of him. The business will do that to you, take a starry-eyed kid and promise them a dream only to drop them on their ass and tell them they'll never be more than a stand-in gig for a bunch of nobodies.

"I really loved the song— oh, how'd it go?" She pondered, the way her thick eyebrows scrunched up in concentration giving her the wonders of a child. The same way her determination to prove the potential the album had was childish. But it was the truth, she did enjoy the album and even recommended it to a few friends back when she bought it, now it just sits in a blue milk crate next to her record player, collecting dust. He gazed at her expectantly waiting to hear her utter at least a single lyric from his album.

"Oh!" She snaps her fingers in triumph, startling Llewyn once more. "It goes," and she readied her voice with a clearing of her throat and sang what she could remember. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," his eyes widened a bit at the surprise of her actually acknowledging his music, and the fact that she enjoyed it, no less. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," the lilt in her voice echoed through the Café and a few patrons stopped their chatter to cherish her sweet voice. The silence stuck around for a beat and her eyes fluttered open after her display.

"Yeah, that's it!" Her outburst wasn't expected and nearly knocked Llewyn out of his seat for about the fifth time.

"Yeah," he muttered, letting his eyes linger on her form a moment longer than he'd like to admit, brows furrowed in thinking. "Whad'ya say your name was again?" He questioned, curiosity getting the better of him. And there was that damn giggle again, opening his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities where you can giggle and laugh about things without having to feel sorry about the lack of a difference it makes. She answers and it's just nothing special but at the same time it feels like... a novelty. "Dorothy.”

[its-ashleyreads]

FInished: 05/05/2020

Love at First Like by Hannah Orenstein

Rating:  ★★★★★

Okay, so to preface this review I feel like I need to say that I don’t typically rate romance novels highly. Not because I believe that they aren’t deserving of high ratings but more often than not there is some problematic element that I just don’t jive with. That being said, this book definitely had a problematic element to it but it was dealt with in such a way that enhanced the characters and their development instead of being problematic for the sake of shock value.

Also, just a warning that I had a LOT of thoughts on this book so the review is quite lengthy. I’ll put little headers on each paragraph so if you’re only interested in thoughts on certain aspects you can scroll down and find them easily.

Summary

“Love at First Like” by Hannah Orenstein, is about Eliza, a 20-something jewellery store owner in New York who sells happily ever afters but can’t seem to find her own. One night after a train wreck of a first date she scrolls through Instagram and finds out that her ex-boyfriend, who said he wasn’t the type to settle down, has gotten engaged. Eliza does what everyone does after finding out their ex has moved on, she gets drunk. After drinking through the better part of a bottle of whiskey Eliza thinks it’s a good idea to go into the jewellery store, she co-owns with her sister and take pictures of engagement rings on her finger.

The next morning, she realises that in her drunkenness she accidentally posted one of the photos on Instagram and her 100K followers now believe that she’s engaged. Her first instinct is to take the photo down but after seeing the influx of sales, at a time when the business sorely needs them, she decides to milk it a little longer. With so many questions surrounding who she’s engaged to and no man in sight, Eliza and her best friend Carmen, decide to hold an audition of sorts for someone to play the groom-to-be. The audition turns out to be a complete bust but shortly after Eliza meets Blake. Blake is everything a girl like Eliza wants, he’s attractive, charming, and he owns a men’s luxury watch company; they’re a match made in heaven. They start dating because this is someone who Eliza can really see herself settling down with, but she hasn’t told him that she’s fake engaged, or that she’s planning to stage a fake wedding to drum up even more sales for her business. Throughout the book Eliza struggles with whether to tell Blake the truth, or risk losing him for good.

 Review *Contains Spoilers*

Eliza

When I first picked up this book it was in one of those 3 for £10 sales and I needed a third. The premise sounded ridiculous and unrealistic and I thought it would just be an easy read that I rolled my eyes at, like most chick-lit. I was so pleasantly surprised by this book. I thought this was going to be a 1/5 but somehow, I’m giving it a gold star and a 5 out of fucking 5.

The main character, Eliza, is not someone I totally relate to, in fact her impulsivity is one of the qualities I hate most in anyone. As a dedicated planner and organiser, it’s one of my biggest pet peeves, but despite that I actually really liked Eliza’s character. Her bad/irresponsible choices in the beginning mostly just seem like a way to get the plot moving but I can still see how her character got to the place to make those choices. We’re given just enough backstory to understand how much her jewellery store, Brooklyn Jewels, means to her and how she would do anything to keep it from going under. Which is why when sales go up after the accidental engagement photo, I totally understand why she didn’t delete it, even if I don’t agree with it.

Secondary Characters/Friendships

I also absolutely loved that side characters like Carmen, Sophie and Raj all got to be real, fleshed out characters. Often, I find that secondary characters, in romance especially, don’t really get to have arcs or personalities other than whatever stereotype or trope they’re based on. Carmen in particular I thought was really well done. When we’re first introduced to her I thought she was just going to be a fun BFF that serves up one-liners to get laughs. Yes, Carmen can be a funny character at times, but that’s not who she is. Despite us only having small glimpses into this character, as we only see her through Eliza, Orenstein uses Eliza’s history with Carmen to show us how she’s evolved over the years in her career goals particularly. The second encounter we have with Carmen is almost entirely centred on her and her idea of an app that she wants to launch, where Eliza intones that previously “[Carmen] said she’d rather do excellent work for a company and collect a steady paycheck. [Eliza] never thought she'd strike out on her own.” (60) The rest of this encounter is spent with Eliza offering to provide business advice and support to Carmen as she knows how hard starting a business can be.

I absolutely adore Eliza and Carmen’s friendship because it doesn’t revolve around Eliza and her boy trouble. Their friendship is a two-way street where they lift each other up when they doubt themselves, like when Carmen was nervous about making a presentation to investors and Eliza went through it with her until she’d perfected it. And they ground each other when they’re becoming too idealistic, like when Eliza keeps stringing Blake along and Carmen reminds Eliza that he’s a person with real feelings who doesn’t deserve to be played with. Their friendship is so authentic and true to real life experience that I honestly want another book about just the two of them living it up in NYC.

Eliza as a friend in general, I found was quite refreshing. In a lot of romance the heroine tends to be quite selfish and shitty towards their friends, if they have any at all, but Eliza hit the perfect balance of caring for her friends and caring for herself; not being a martyr, but also not being greedy. I loved how excited she got about her friends lives and achievements, and how when she saw that Raj, a web engineer, was bar-tending between gigs she hooked him up with Carmen who was in need of exactly what he had to offer. I also like how it was mentioned that Carmen paid Raj because I think sometimes things like that get reduced to a friend doing another friend a favour, instead of the fact that Raj is a trained professional and deserves to be paid for his time and expertise.

Sophie

However, someone who did not deserve to get paid, was fucking Sophie. Let me clarify, Sophie deserved to be paid for the work she did at Brooklyn Jewels, but she did NOT deserve a $15K bonus right as their business was going through a tough time financially. This made me unreasonably angry, I had a full freaking meltdown because it was so ridiculous to me that she would even ask and even more so that Eliza said YES. Sophie needed the money to go through IVF treatments because she and her wife wanted to have a baby, fair enough. I personally don’t believe in going through that kind of treatment when there are so many kids in the world without families but whatever, to each their own. But what really irked me was the fact that Sophie, who is in her early thirties, had already attempted this method of conception and it didn’t work. So, she was willing to take a gamble with money that was greatly needed to help keep their business afloat because she couldn’t just wait a fucking year or two. Not to mention the fact that if she did get pregnant and has this baby only for her business to fail, then she wouldn’t have a steady income, health insurance, maternity pay and she would have also screwed her sister out of her dream. Luckily everything works out for the best, Sophie gets pregnant and Eliza saves Brooklyn Jewels, but it so very easily could have destroyed multiple lives. The fact that Sophie is meant to be perceived as the ‘responsible’ sister astounds me. When Eliza was trying to save their business by offering solutions Sophie kept shooting every idea down and her only contribution to that conversation was that she wanted to fire their only employee who got paid shit-all anyway. Honestly, I could write a fucking essay on why I hated Sophie but I guess I’ll settle for a really long paragraph.

Love Interests

The problematic element in this book was definitely the ridiculously elaborate plot for Eliza to lure Blake into marriage to cover her fuck-up. As I was reading I marked three places where Eliza could have told Blake the truth in an organic way so that it wasn’t just like she was dropping a bomb on him. Despite my frustration with Eliza, her internal monologue again, made me understand why she wasn’t doing things how I wanted her to. Although, even though I understand her reasoning, it still doesn’t make what she did to Blake right, and I absolutely love how he couldn’t trust her again and that they didn’t get back together. I hate the ‘love concurs all’ trope and I’m glad that the author showed how Blake, who was clearly way more in love with Eliza than vice versa, couldn’t get past the fact that she used and lied to him. Part of me wishes that was how the romance in this book ended, with no happily ever after, maybe Raj pretending to be her fiancé to save Brooklyn Jewels, but no happy couple at the end.

The other part of me feels all warm and fuzzy because Raj and Eliza are unbelievably cute together. Orenstein could have fucked this romance up so hard, especially because it comes in so late in the story and Eliza was (kind of) on the rebound. But she takes the readers thoughts of, ‘Did Eliza really not notice her feelings for Raj until now?’ and ‘Is Raj just second place because Blake dumped her?’ and turns them into questions Raj uses to stand up for himself. Raj has clearly liked Eliza since they first met and I loved that he was willing to fight for what he believed he deserved. Raj and Eliza have such great chemistry as characters, but they were ultimately their own people who made their own choices, even after getting together. The way Orenstein wrote both Blake and Raj was a breath of fresh air. To see two male characters not being aggressive, but still standing up for themselves and not blindly bowing down to what the female love interest wanted, was something I don’t think I’ve ever read before. I think that comes from the fact that yes, Eliza is the heroine of this story but it’s not just about her. Like, I could tell while reading from Eliza’s point of view that there were other things going on in this world that just didn’t include her. So, while she was our main character, she wasn’t the main character of the world she was living in.

Representation

One of the things I loved most about this book was the casual representation. This was the truest to life representation I’ve seen in a romance novel thus far. Orenstein doesn’t make a big deal about her minority characters because they’re not minority characters, they’re characters who happen to be minorities. This book isn’t about race or LGBTQ+ rights so there’s no real need to dwell on those things, but she does acknowledge those parts of her characters in small ways throughout. This is how more fiction should be, because the more we normalize diversity in the media we consume, the less we’ll think of minority groups as ‘other’ (or so I hope).

Rating

Ultimately this book was not perfect. I definitely had problems with it (mostly named Sophie) but it was a fun read from beginning to end with some thought provoking themes which will stick with me for a while yet. Honestly, this book could have been complete garbage, but Orenstein’s writing and character development made me connect to almost every character (except for Sophie of course). I can’t wait to read her other works. 5/5. Brava!

[richiebrook]

this is another weird milex drabble without context (that got out of hand and is approx 2000 words). i’m still trying not to be here sorry i’m here lol

tw: depression 

Miles’ chest is heaving with anger and he can feel the vein in his neck that Alex is very obviously staring at pulse. “Well?” he asks, his voice bordering on shrill. He clears his throat. “Are you gonna say anythin’ at all tonight, or are you just here to stare at me? Because if that’s the plan, I’m going to bed and I’ll expect you to be out of my house come mornin’, Al.”

Alex’s face is pale and splotchy at the same time, his eyes dull as he tears his gaze away from Miles’ neck and meets his eye for the first time tonight. There’s an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Why the hell are you ‘ere?” Miles demands.

Alex shakes his head again, even though Miles’ question isn’t exactly a closed one this time. He runs a hand through greasy hair, and breathes out audibly. It only makes Miles angrier. His fingers tingle with the urge to punch him. He’s never punched Alex in his life but God knows he wants to right now. “You’ve ignored me for what, five months? Six? And you think it’s acceptable to turn up on my doorstep just like that? Where’d you even get me fuckin’ address, Alex? I can’t remember you askin’ for it. Can’t remember you askin’ me for anything at all. Who gave it to you, eh? Did you put up a show like this one for Jamie? Did he pity you enough to let you know where I live now?”

Alex just stares at him. Miles knows he’s willing him to understand, but Miles doesn’t exactly feel willing to do anything after six months of being ignored. If Alex expects him to wrap him in a hug and squeeze him to his chest, he’s very fucking wrong. It’s not going to happen this time, there’s no way in hell. When Miles doesn’t react, Alex’s gaze returns to the vein and then strays to the floor. He starts to button his coat and reaches for his shoulder bag on Miles’ sofa.

“Oh, sure, do that. What’s the plan then, eh? Where’re you going now? You’ve your girl waitin’ for yeh at home?”

Alex shakes his head an infuriating third time, and Miles balls his fist, stepping closer now. “Fucking talk to me, Alexander.”

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Alex’s voice comes sudden and is rough with disuse. It makes the hairs on the back of Miles’ neck stand up straight.

“I’m the only one who manages to get through that thick skull of yours every once in a while. Or used to, anyway. Six months. Without a word. And don’t tell me you weren’t well because I’ve heard stories.”

“I weren’t well.” Alex clears his throat. “Not for all of those six months, obviously, but I couldn’t text you. I couldn’t text anyone. You can check if you want. I’ll let you check.” He’s already searching his pockets for his phone, but Miles just rolls his eyes.

“I bet you’ve been texting your girlfriend plenty,” he says and it’s probably a low blow, but he doesn’t care. “Which makes you a liar, Alex.”

“Maybe I am.” Alex’s fingers wrap themselves tightly around the strap of his shoulder bag. “But I’m not lying when I say that I felt like I couldn’t physically write you back. You more than others. I turned my phone off multiple times, for weeks on end. Couldn’t deal with the…” he makes a vague gesture with the hand that isn’t clasped around the strap of his bag. “The noise.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Miles snorts.

“No. I’m not trying to make yeh feel better. I’m trying to explain.”

“Bit late for that, innit,” Miles mutters. “If you didn’t want noise you shouldn’t ‘ave come ‘ere. I’m not about to be quiet because his fucking majesty can’t stand the noise.” He knows perfectly well he’s being unreasonable, but what part about Alex ignoring Miles for half a year isn’t exactly that? If anything, Miles has some catching up to do.

Alex opens his mouth and closes it again. A frown worries his tired features, and the beige jacket he’s wearing makes him look even paler. The worst part are the greyish tint of his skin and those empty, dark, dull eyes that rile Miles up even more. Before he knows it, he’s stepped forward and is pulling Alex’s hand away from the strap. Those dull eyes widen and Miles struggles to bring his breathing back to normal from the weird out of breath pattern it’s doing right now. “Why now?” he demands. “Why are you here?”

“I need - “

“Yeah, no, Alex. I don’t care what you need. I needed you plenty over the past couple weeks. If you’d have read me texts…”

Alex starts shaking his head again, and Miles hand travels from his shirt to the back of his head, stopping him. “I get that you’ve been down,” he grits out. “But I’m your - fuckin’ hell, Al, I’m yours, aren’t I. You could ‘ave called me and just said nothing. I could ‘ave done the talking. You could ‘ave put me on the guest list wherever and I’d have come. I’d have gotten the fuckin’ hint. I’d have brought you shitty movies and funny books you’d hate, and the new Fred Perry stuff, and…”

“Wouldn’t ‘ave needed yer clothes if you would’ave been there wif me though, would I,” Alex remarks drily, and Miles bunches his hair up in his hand and tugs at it, pulling Alex’s head back slightly. “Shut up. Don’t give me that shit. You come cryin’ to me every single time you’re feeling down, and the second things are better you run back to yer girlfriend. Weren’t you wearing her fuckin’ blouse on stage the other week?”

Alex laughs at that, but Miles doesn’t think it’s particularly funny.

“You’re pathetic,” he whispers. “Jesus, Al, what happened to you? Since when do you lie to me, eh?”

And then Alex reaches back. He slowly pulls Miles’ hand away from his hair and squeezes. Miles should pull his hand back but he doesn’t have the heart to. “I can’t talk,” Alex mutters. “ ‘s why I ‘aven’t been texting you back. I can’t fuckin’ talk, Miles.” He sounds so desperate that Miles can’t do anything but nod once. He feels suddenly exhausted. He wishes he could kick Alex out and go to bed, but it’s a bit late for that. He feels responsible now. As always.

“So go to her,” he manages. His chest tightens as he says it. “Text her right now, I’ll help, and tell her you aren’t okay. Tell her you need a break. Go on holiday. Go to Italy, or Spain. Stay a while. Have fun. Sleep.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“No.” Miles doesn’t think he’s ever told Alex no, but there it is. He feels sick as he holds out his hand. “Give me yer phone. We’re texting your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, because that’s the fookin’ healthy thing to do,” Alex mutters, and Miles laughs coolly.

“It’s healthier than stringing me along again and making me think you came to me of all people for a reason. Hand it over. Yer going home to her, you two are going to talk, and you’re gonna ask her for help to take the next step. Not me. Not again. Give me your phone, Alex.”

Alex does. Miles unlocks his phone and goes through his messages, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach as he notices that Alex really hasn’t texted anyone back in a while. The chat with his girlfriend is nowhere to be found. When he looks up in question, Alex gives him a curt shake of his head.

“Pushed her away, did yeh,” Miles murmurs.

“She was starting to figure it out.” Alex smiles humourlessly.

“What, that you’re a selfish prick when you’re sad?”

“Spot on. So I ended it.”

Something in Miles’ chest crawls uncomfortably at that.

“Wanted to end whatever you and I ‘ave, too. It’s this constant fookin’ battle, Mi. I can’t text yeh or pick up the phone when you call because I’ll say stuff, and I don’t want to be saying stuff. I want you to forget about me. That’s what I want.”

Miles stares at him. “Why?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t - you said it yourself just now. You needed me. But I wasn’t in the position to be there for you. I didn’t want to be talking about me. Figured if I’d just keep quiet you’d forget about me; leave me be.”

“Leave you be, eh?” Miles spits. “To do what, exactly? Wither away?”

“Hmm.” Alex smiles tiredly. “I’d - yeah. Basically. I’d like that better.”

Miles sucks in a deep breath. “Do you still feel like that?”

A nod.

“Do you want a hug?” Miles hears himself say those words even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean to actually say them.

“No. Don’t touch me. If that’s alright. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

It’s Miles’ turn to nod. He takes another deep breath. He’s still angry. Angry for being ignored for half a year, angry for Alex hiding from him. “You can stay on the sofa tonight,” he sighs. “And don’t fuckin’ leave in the middle of the night or do anything else to freak me out, you hear me? Just get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Loud and clear.” Alex doesn’t look like he’s really listening. He’s staring at a point on the wall behind Miles’ shoulder. He doesn’t look like he’s about to move, either. Miles does. He goes into the kitchen to make some tea, taking his sweet time in the hopes of calming his temper a little, but to no avail. When he comes back and finds Alex standing in the exact same spot, it flares right up again, as if someone struck a match in his chest. 

“Put the bag down and take off your jacket,” he snaps. He sets two steaming mugs of tea onto the coffee table with a thud, the hot water spilling over his hands, and grabs a blanket from the armrest of the sofa, thrusting it into Alex’s hands. “I’m serious. Sit down, drink your tea and try to get some sleep. And there’s no need to look like that. You’re welcome here, believe it or not, so for fuck’s sake, take off the jacket and sit down.” He’s perfectly aware that tough love isn’t going to get them anywhere, but it’s late. He was about to go to bed and watch some telly before Alex showed up, and the last thing he expected was to be forced into thinking about the very person he’s been trying to block from his thoughts every day for the past weeks.

Wordlessly, Alex sets his bag down and shrugs off his jacket, revealing a crumpled light blue shirt with a faded print. It’s not overly hot in Miles’ apartment, but there are visible sweat stains under his arms, which makes him look even worse for wear. He moves slowly to the sofa and sits down, his shoulders squared and his back tense. He glances at Miles. “Will you stay a while?” He’s frowning as he says it, his eyes boring into the table, as if voicing his thoughts is enough to make him as angry with himself as Miles is right now. “I know you’re tired,” he says quickly. “So am I, so it shouldn’t be long. I’m so fucking sorry, Miles.”

Miles sighs. “I swear I will punch you if you tell me sorry one more time,” he mutters, dimming the lights before he flops down onto the armchair next to the sofa. He watches Alex sip his tea before toeing off his trainers and wrapping the thin blanket around his shoulders. Alex lies down with a sigh and presses his temple into one of the fluffy sofa pillows. His eyes glint in the darkness as he rests his gaze on Miles. Miles curls his legs under himself, getting more comfortable (because let’s be realistic, he’ll probably be here a while), and returns his gaze, watching Alex watch him in the quiet darkness of the living room right until Alex’s eyes slip closed. 

[sleepymarmot]

The Untamed liveblog, eps. 8-15

8

The rabbit scene was already in the previous episode! What is this editing? Are these episodes from different cuts of the show or something?

Why is it unmanly to hold rabbits? Also DON'T THROW SMALL ANIMALS LIKE INANIMATE OBJECTS FOR FUCK'S SAKE

Ok but I'm getting concerned for these rabbits. Did Yi feed them before? Has WWX been feeding them since then? Are they gonna be alright? This is very important!

Does the phrase that LWJ keeps really mean "How boring"? That doesn't make much sense.

Oh so that's the name of the guy who hangs out with WWX... I've been wondering for several episodes

wtf is happening in the falling petal scene

I'm getting the feeling that a full-sized adventure got condensed into two scenes. WTF does "The Yin Iron deprived the peony, the leading flower, and the true Lady Florist was held in captivity" mean???

Anyway why are you sharing this top-secret info, that even your siblings aren't allowed to know, with a buddy from your class?

Clever trick, Wen Qing!

9

Am I finally getting a back-to-back fight?..

So, if the statues steals people's "spiritual cognition" (=souls?), and the Wen guy making them into puppets was a separate thing, then why did their spiritual cognition return not when the statue was subdued, but when Wen's bird was killed?

Wait, since when does Jiang Cheng know about the Yin Iron?

10

WWX is SO offended someone wants to be more smug and insolent than him

So now they're talking openly about the Yin Iron right in front of those two strangers...

How did they start the conversation at night in one location and continue at daytime at a different location, and not the one where the characters were heading

Seriously who tf calls their castle "The Unclean Realm"

Does Xue Yang's face not get tired from non-stop smirking? Is it frozen like this? Is he this world's Joker?

omg did LWJ just smile at hearing WWX's voice

Alright, when 10 minutes ago I thought "Meng Yao, sweetie, kill that clown", this is not what I had in mind

SOMEBODY GIVE MENG YAO A HUG (after some emergency medical care) HE HAS DONE NOTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE. Can Xichen adopt him now?

11

Wow, the Jiangs seem to have an actually healthy family relationsh-- *the mother shows up* Uh, nevermind

Why is the Lan Grand Master suddenly dying?

LWJ gave up himself and the Iron shard just to save one traitor?!

I hope everyone enjoys their time in Morrowind! (They obviously won't)

12

*insert a quarantine joke here*

Wow, LWJ switched to the protective mode very unexpectedly (Is that because he just lost his entire clan and therefore the primary subject of his loyalty? and the next in line, to everyone’s surprise, was WWX?)

this beast is the least convincing special effect I've ever seen, including 60s Doctor Who

13

"stranded together and tending to each other's wounds while trying to repress your feelings" in a TV show instead of AO3 makes me feel like I'm in a parallel dimension

for a few wild moments I thought he was going to suck infected blood out of his leg

Just! Do! It! The long fucking stare where he's Considering killed me.

"Let's trigger your crush's PTSD to make him talk about it" and other useful therapy tricks

14

I really didn't get what LWJ was doing in the fight scene. He was describing a technique of killing with strings physically, right, not with the sound they produce? Which made me think he had a spare set of strings on his person, which would have been a refreshing change from all other fictional battle musicians who never carry backup, but from the montage sequence it was pretty clear he just collected bowstrings, and also iirc he summons his guqin anyway. But also it really doesn't look like he accomplished much behind injuring his own hand.

you can have hurt/comfort in both directions, as a treat

dude, just relax and don't try to make it less awkward

a whole-ass flashback to their Meet Cute, no less!

please do not flash back to That One Scene like it was something cute and ruin the whole montage

so he knew the main group escaped, then?

What's the cave timeline? Did it take the two of them several days to prepare the attack on the monster, and after WWX passed out, he hasn't awoken until the rescue, as the editing suggests? Or was there an unseen period of time where WWX and LWJ sat together in a cave, slowly dying from hunger and having no interesting conversations to show whatsoever? The former sounds a ton more convincing, but gathering arrows and bowstrings is a job for several hours, not several days...

I have already written a post about having mixed feelings in response to female characters written in a misogynistic way; here is just another example. Lady Jiang's shrill insults make me want to curl up, cover my ears and close my eyes to hide, or to shout back to chase her away. And at the same time I hate that someone deliberately presented a woman speaking her mind and reasserting her right as a co-lead of the household in an offputting way, to show how she's ruining the family by not being docile and submissive enough. And -- I still don't have anything to like in her to spite the misogynistic writing; should I invent something out of principle, or should I play along with the misogyny game?

As someone more familiar with Japan than China (fantasy or not), it breaks my brain every time I notice people wearing shoes inside lmao

For the first time in this show, after I thought "give him a hug already", a character actually did it on screen

15

After watching 7 episodes in one day, I am finally skipping the opening sequence for the first time

even when the mother fights the bad guys, she somehow does it in a shitty classist way. the purple whip and the combat handmaidens are cool tho

the trio screaming for their father departing to certain death was the first thing in the show to make me cry

kinda wild how the show fluctuates between: 20%: a compilation of time-tested relationship tropes :) 80%: well that was nice while it lasted but back to the plot. HELLO NAUGHTY CHILDREN IT'S PARENT DEATH AND CLAN DESTRUCTION TIME

--

Unrelated to anything above, I'm still hoping for a scene (maybe near the end of the flashback for maximum dramatic irony) where WWX says jokingly to LWJ "Whose funeral have you been dressing for?", with the answer hanging in the air but remaining unsaid: "Yours, Wei Wuxian" (wouldn’t work at the point I’m at rn, for example, because he’s currently mourning his entire clan)

[queenofcats17]

Unraveled by Timothy Lawrence

I’ve never written anything in the Borderlands fandom, but I saw this post by @0pixer and I guess I’m writing it

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

Timothy Lawrence’s life has significantly improved now that Jack is dead and he’s managed to get a job that doesn’t involve killing people. He’s very done with killing people. Rhys has given him a job at ATLAS doing...Well, his official job has something to do with media relations or something. Mostly he makes weird videos where he goes weirdly in-depth about various subjects. Usually books. Sometimes movies. Once he deconstructed a Bunkers and Badasses campaign with the help of Rhys and Vaughn. He’s gained quite a following.

Today, his video opens as it often does, with Tim standing in front of a black background which he may or may not pin pieces of paper to in some strange string board. He’s grown his hair out a bit since joining Atlas, and his ginger hair has started to come back along with his freckles. Today he’s wearing a sweater with a cartoon cat on it.

“As you all probably know, I have an English degree. Before I started working for Jack, I went to school for English. I was going to be a writer.” Tim’s expression is some mix of irritated and existential wondering who his life had ended up this way.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat and continues. “I have an English degree. And today I’m going to use it. To take apart this awful romance novel!” He holds up a book with a giant grin. It looks like something you’d pick up at the drug store and has a stylized illustration of Handsome Jack and a swooning damsel on the front.

“I’m going to tear this apart.” The glee is readily apparent on Tim’s face. He looks absolutely ecstatic to destroy this book, both figuratively and literally. Because he will be burning this once the segment is over. “Despite being told that this is a bad idea and it’s just a book, I’m going to do this anyway!” 

“As if we could stop you.” Sasha’s voice comes from off-screen. Tim disregards this, his smile widening. 

“Vaughn and Fiona found this while scavenging the charred remains of Helios for supplies.” Tim opens the book, flipping through a few pages. “They were just going to burn it for fuel, but then Fiona read a few pages and it was so bad she brought it back so we could all laugh at it.” He starts giggling in anticipation. 

“I kind of remember Jack having these things produced, but, well,” he pauses and lets out an undignified snort. “He had a lot of shitty propaganda produced. I’m pretty sure Rhys owned all of it.”

“I did not!” Rhys’ indignant voice comes from behind the camera.

“Bro, half the stuff in our apartment was Handsome Jack merch.” Vaughn’s voice comes from behind the camera as well. There’s a huff, presumably from Rhys. 

“Alright, fine, but I didn’t have that.”

“Well, as an expert on all things Handsome Jack, you wanna tell us how the Jack in this masterpiece measures up to the real thing?” Tim asks with an innocent smile. 

“Why would I know?” Rhys asks. “You were the one who worked with him!”

“But you were the one who had him in your head,” Vaughn says. “Oh, I never really asked, but did he see your dick? I always kind of wondered if he did and he made any comments or-” There’s a muffled screaming sound from off-screen, presumably Rhys yelling into a pillow.  

“Anyway, let’s move on~,” Tim says in a sing-song voice. “So. First off, what is the plot of this book?” His expression grows comically grim. “That’s very important to talk about if we’re going to tear this thing apart.” 

There are various stifled giggles and snorts as the others in the room try to keep themselves together. 

“The book follows Felicia, an accountant from Atlas who gets sent to Pandora by her,” he pauses and flips to a page. “‘Horrible heartless bastards of bosses’.” 

“Definitely not biased.” Fiona snorts derisively.

“Why would you even suggest that?” Sasha gasps, although it’s clear she’s trying to fight back laughter. 

“Felicia has been sent to Pandora to deliver an important document, but she’s a delicate flower who isn’t suited to Pandora’s harsh climate and inhabitants. She can’t survive in this awful awful world.” Tim continues to summarize the book as if it isn’t propaganda disguised as a trashy romance novel. “Almost as soon as she touches down on the planet, bandits kidnap her, sure that her employers will pay handsomely to have her back. But they abandon her to the locals! Felicia is lost in despair until...” He looks dramatically up at the camera. “She’s rescued by none other than Handsome Jack!”

There’s a dramatic gong crash, followed by a panicked yelp. 

“Warn me before you do that!” Rhys’ muffled voice hisses. 

“Sorry,” Vaughn whispers back.

“Both Jack and Felicia are wary of each other, they are from rival companies after all, but Jack cannot let a defenseless woman suffer in the company of bandits.” Tim bites back a condescending laugh as his showman act starts to break. “So he kills all the bandits, which might be the only thing in this book that actually seems plausible. Anyway, after he kills all the bandits he takes Felicia back to Helios. There’s a lot of that whole enemies to lovers trope, along with Atlas trying to convince Felicia to secretly spy on Jack, but in the end, they fall in love and have a lot of sex. Very very in-depth sex. More in-depth than I am comfortable reading.”

“Is the sex accurate?” Sasha asks. Almost immediately, Tim goes bright red. 

“Fuck! I don’t...I don’t know!” He stammers. “It’s not like I watched him have sex!”

“So he didn’t make you have sex for him or anything?” Fiona asks. “I thought he’d have at least one person he made you take his place for. He seems like the kind of asshole who’d do that.”

“He didn’t want me ruining his reputation,” Tim mumbles, still partially hiding behind the book. “He thought I’d get nervous and freeze up. Which, uh, I...I did do a few times.” He quickly shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, this is an awful book! Not only is the grammar awful, but the story structure doesn’t even make that much sense.”

He puts the book down, dragging in a box with a bunch of pieces of paper inside.

“I’ve written down my complaints,” he starts tacking up pieces of paper on the board with thumbtacks. “Firstly, how did Atlas manage to contact Felicia again after she gets onto Helios? They say in the book that all her Atlas tech is destroyed and go into great pains to describe how the bandits discarded her personal belongings and ripped off her clothes. There’s no way they’d even know she was alive, especially with how many precautions Jack takes to keep people from knowing she’s there. And they don’t even give any explanation for how Atlas figures out she’s on Helios! Second, why on Earth would Jack bring a woman he didn’t even know onto Helios? Sure, he thinks with his dick most of the time, but he didn’t get to be CEO of Hyperion by accident. Do you have any idea how paranoid he was? I couldn’t even take a piss in peace the whole time I worked for him...”

The next few minutes are filled up with Tim picking apart every inaccuracy and issue with the book, with a healthy dose of him complaining about what a dick Jack had been to work for. No one stops him A good portion of his rant is also taken up by him talking at length about how this was not how sex worked. 

“Has this person ever had sex? Because this is not how it works. I can count on one hand the number of sexual encounters I’ve had, but none of it was ever like this. I mean, for fuck’s sake! I don’t think this person has ever even seen a vagina, much less tried to bring the owner pleasure!” 

The more notes he tacks up on the board, the more disheveled he gets. His sweater is quickly discarded, his hair comes out of its ponytail, and his shirt becomes untucked. Sasha and Fiona can be heard laughing uproariously at various points throughout the video.

“Also! The creatures!” Tim jabs a finger into another note. “This author has obviously never spent any time on Pandora because neither varkids nor skags act anything like this!” He turns briefly away from the board, gesturing to someone offscreen. “Joining me to talk about these inaccuracies is Sir Alistair Hammerlock, whose sister I am both very attracted to and incredibly afraid of!”

“I would very much prefer not to speak of my sister.” Sir Hammerlock walks in, looking a tad uncomfortable. “Saying her name tends to summon her. Like some sort of witch.”

“Then let’s talk about skags and varkids and how they’ll kill you!” Tim says brightly, with an almost unhinged smile. 

“Well, that is something I’m more comfortable with.”

Sir Hammerlock launches into a speech about the finer points of skag and varkid biology and behavior. Not all of it is relevant to Tim’s critiques. Most of it is not relevant to Tim’s critiques. But it gives Tim some time to collect himself and look less like an insane professor. And Sir Hammerlock seems so delighted to be talking about the fauna of Pandora.

“In conclusion,” Tim says when Sir Hammerlock has finished. “Please don’t try any of what you read in this book. You will die. Painfully. Probably screaming.”

“Yes. Quite.” Sir Hammerlock nods, glancing at the notes Tim has tacked up and Tim’s still rather disheveled appearance. “I’ll be seeing myself out.”

“We’ll be sending your payment in the mail!” Vaughn calls after him. Tim turns his gaze back to the camera, gleeful and giddy once more.

“This book is so bad.” He giggles. “I hate it so much. Which is what makes this next part even better.”

“Should I get out the trashcan?” Sasha asks. 

“Yes. It is time.” Tim’s smile grows. Sasha appears with a large metal trash bin, which she deposits in front of Tim. Tim drops the book into the trash bin and Fiona appears to squirt some sort of liquid inside. It’s quickly clear that this liquid was lighter fluid, as when Tim strikes a match and drops it into the trashcan a pillar of flame shoots up. 

“The evil has been cleansed!” Tim cackles, sounding eerily like Jack. He’s illuminated eerily by the raging flames and actually looks a bit menacing. The camera cuts off after this, presumably so that they can put out the fire. 

[spiderfan22]

DAY THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN - 11/24/19

“CHARLIE, OR HOW MEN TALK ABOUT WOMEN” by DJS

So I put more work into this one. Hope it shows. Special thanks to the podcast Slow Burn for the inspiration.

_____________

(November 1995. Late night, White House cafeteria. The place is empty and mostly dark. Bill Clinton, 42nd President of the United States, sits eating a cold slice of cheese pizza, washing it down with a can of Pepsi, the rest of the pizza along with a file on the table next to him. He is alone. Enter Dick Morris, political advisor.)

Clinton: Well if it ain’t “Charlie”. Back from the wars.

Dick: Mister President.

Clinton: (taps file with greasy pizza finger) So camping, huh? They want me to go camping, ‘stead of play golf. Think golf is too what, snooty or something? “How I spent my summer vacation” —

Dick: Mister President, you asked me to put the poll in the field.

Clinton: But I like golfing, it relaxes me. Don’t got a handicap for shit, but—

Dick: Well then, you’ll just have to wait, won’t you sir? I mean, plenty of time after you leave office.

Clinton: Oh, in that case only next year—

Dick: Come on, now don't. You know you’re gonna win re-election—  

Clinton: Think so, do ya? After I just got my ass handed to me in the midterms?  

Dick: A setback.

Clinton: More’n a setback, Dick. That son of a bitch Gingrich is calling it a mandate on my policies, that I just got my BUTT SPANKED by the American people! You know a Republican hasn’t been Speaker of the House since the fifties? Now what is that?!

Dick: I’m a Republican.

Clinton: And you’d make a shitty speaker of the house, don’t get my started.

Dick: Go camping, Mister President. Show ‘em what a down to earth guy you are.

Clinton: Mosquitoes biting the hell out of your arms and ankles. And you can never get the damn tent put up right, takes half the damn day.

Dick: Think the Secret Service could help with that.

Clinton: (re pizza) You want a piece of this? It’s cold but—

Dick: No thank you sir, I already ate.

Clinton: (big bite) “Already ate...” What are you counting calories now? You on Weight Watchers? It’s called a midnight snack, it DOESN’T COUNT. Just go jogging like I do. (Wipes his mouth with a napkin. Pause)

Dick: So what’s going on, sir?

Clinton: What do you mean? Nothing.

Dick: Okay.

Clinton: Nothing. Just hungry.

Dick: Sure you’re not tired?

Clinton: ‘Course I’m tired, it’s one AM.

Dick: I know the hour, sir, but it’s the only time you seem to wanna meet with me. I tell ya, it makes a guy feel kind of special, sneaking him in, “under the cover of darkness” and whatnot. Though paradoxically one might come to the conclusion you’re embarrassed of me.  

Clinton: Don’t inflate yourself, Dick. You know it’s just ‘cause George and those guys don’t like me consulting with you. But can I help it if we’re old friends, that I VALUE your opinion? That a DISSENTING VOICE every now and then might actually be a GOOD thing?

Dick: Aww, sir. Well that warms my heart to hear you say that, bastard stepchild that I am. (Beat) So you really don’t wanna let me in on what’s going on?

Clinton: Jesus, I already said, nothing! Why do you gotta keep hounding me?

Dick: Well, a couple reasons sir. One you don’t like wasting people’s time, so if there was nothing else, you’d just tell me to go on home and call it a night—

Clinton: Christ, go home, who’s stopping ya?

Dick: (continuing over) --which I’d be more than obliged to do, only the second thing is, I know you of course.

Clinton: What do you mean you KNOW me? Like you can read my mind? Get out of here!  

Dick: My mistake then, Mister President. Goodnight, sir. (Turns to leave)

Clinton: WAIT, DICK.

Dick: (pause) Yes sir?

Clinton: No, just...hold on a minute.

Dick: Will do.  

(He waits. Silence. Clinton sips his Pepsi. Then)

Clinton: Something...something happened.  

Dick: When?

Clinton: Today. Tonight.

Dick: Oh yeah?

Clinton: Yeah, I—I met someone.

Dick: Girl? (Clinton nods) Who is she?

Clinton: She’s uh...well I guess you’d call her an intern.

Dick: In the White House?

Clinton: Of course in the White House! What do you think?

Dick: I don’t know, sir. You get around.

Clinton: (a small chuckle) Heh, yeah, spose I do. (Pause) Anyway.

Dick: So, an intern. Where’d you meet?

Clinton: Leon’s office, she’s working out of Leon’s office—for the moment. Ever since the damn shutdown, you know, with the regular staff being furloughed and all—you know?

Dick: I know.

Clinton: Well there’s been an influx of em. Unpaid.

Dick: Free labor.

Clinton: Lots, yeah. Most of them young...just graduated college. (Pause) But men and women, you know?  

Dick: What’s her name?

Clinton: (pause) I don’t know if I want to tell you that yet.

Dick: Then tell me what happened.

Clinton: Well, I went in there, to see Leon, you know, for something, and I don’t know if she noticed me first or I noticed her, but she’s just standing there, this young girl. So I introduced myself.  

Dick: As if such a thing was necessary.

Clinton: Well, yeah but, you know, for formality’s sake... (Dick nods) So I asked if this was her first day, and she said no, she had started earlier in the week, but it was all still pretty new, you know? Just real sweet. I asked where she was from.

Dick: Small talk.

Clinton: Chit-chat, yeah. Getting to know you stuff.

Dick: Then what?

Clinton: Then...that was it. I went back to the Oval. (Pause) Till later.

Dick: Later?

Clinton: Little bit later, yeah. I found an excuse to pop back in. Leon was I don’t know where, in a meeting or something.

Dick: Makes sense.  

Clinton: She was doing some filing, just standing by a file cabinet. Round the corner from the door, so you couldn’t see from the hallway...unless you stuck head all the way in.

Dick: Convenient.  

Clinton: So I go over to her, you know? Ask how she’s doing, how her first week is going, anyone giving her any trouble. She says no, in fact everyone’s been real nice, maybe a little stressed with the shutdown, she’s knows that’s, that we’ve all got that on our minds, and how we can end it, but overall still very welcoming despite that.  

Dick: A very personable young woman it sounds like.

Clinton: Complimentary, too. She said how it was just so exciting to be around such important people, with an important job to do. (Pause) Then she, she did this thing. I don’t even know how to describe it. She kind of gave me a look, this playful look like DID I WANT TO SEE SOMETHING, and I must have given her a look back like a smile or something that said SURE, I CAN PLAY ALONG. So with this same playful bordering-on-mischievous little kind of smile of hers, she pulled up her shirt, her blouse, you know...and wouldn’t you believe it but she HAD ON THIS THONG, Dick—I mean sticking right up out her skirt, so you could see it. Black, this black string thong, you know, like from Frederick’s of Hollywood, Victoria’s Secret, one of them catalogues. And you know I been around, seen my fair share of...what’s out there. I’m not an easy man to surprise...that way. But to be so direct about it, so confident—to come right TO THE POINT...hell, I think I mighta even blushed, Dick. (Pause)

Dick: Wow. If I may say, sir—

Clinton: But it wasn’t over yet.

Dick: It wasn’t?

Clinton: No, I—I excused myself, after thanking her, and maybe we would bump into each other again later. If she was working late. None of this was planned, you see.

Dick: Yes, sir.

Clinton: And well, you know, you never know what the rest of the day is gonna look like, but just as it happens later that night I’m coming down the hall and she’s coming the other way and as we get closer to each other I sort of motion her to this office no one’s in, it’s dark and we duck in and I, I close the door and the first thing I ask is, you know, if she likes me, which I already have a pretty good feeling about, but she confirms it, looking up at me she says she’s had a crush on me for a long time, she thinks I’m really handsome, from seeing me on TV and, and likes my suits, and I say how I know we just met but I have a feeling I could like her too, that I liked her right off, and I ask if I can kiss her, and she says yes. So we kiss. (Pause) We kissed. And it was very sweet, and very innocent, and I would even use the word chaste to describe it, like we were teenagers or something and this was our first date—which I guess, you know, it was.

Dick: Sounds like quite a night, sir.

Clinton: Haven’t gotten to the best part.

Dick: Oh? Well...

Clinton: We meet up again later. No pretense anymore. It’s late, everyone’s gone home by now—I mean, Betty’s still there but [what’s she gonna do?]—so I invite her to my private office. And it’s like it’s just us alone together in this whole big building. It seems so small and quiet. And she looks up at me—big eyes, glassy, maybe she was crying, I don’t know. But before I can think about it...  

(He trails off. Long pause)

Dick: Well, that’s some story, Mister President.

Clinton: I know. I know. What am I gonna do, Dick? I can’t keep seeing this girl! But I want to!

Dick: ‘Course you want to. You’re only a man.

Clinton: She gave me her number.

Dick: Stands to reason.

Clinton: I don’t know, maybe if things were going better with Hillary—

Dick: The question is how much do you trust your security detail. Because IF—and this is a big if—but IF you were going to continue to see this girl, it would really fall under their purview. They’d be your first line of defense.

Clinton: You’re talking about actually having an affair?

Dick: Why not? Your hero JFK did it.

Clinton: But that was a different time! And even then he barely got away with it; everybody knew! And besides haven’t we had enough problems, enough scandals already, what with Travel Gate and White Water, and Vince Foster going and killing himself over nothing!—and that bastard Ken Starr breathing down my neck!  

Dick: All good points, sir.

Clinton: I can’t, Dick, there’s no way. It would be putting too much in jeopardy. And with the election next year—  

Dick: Say no more.

(Silence)

Clinton: It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? Like a breath of fresh air.  

Dick: We can’t always get what we want.

Clinton: Rolling Stones.  

Dick: Yes sir.

Clinton: Mick Jagger. You know I met him once?  

Dick: No sir, I didn’t.

Clinton: Yeah, back during the campaign, at a stop in Chicago I think. They were on tour. Now there’s a guy who could get any woman he wants, and not have to worry a lick. (Shaking his head) Rock stars, boy.

Dick: You know, politicians have their groupies too, sir. I think we can agree this is a bullet best dodged.  

Clinton: No. No. That’s just it. This was the real thing.

(Beat)

Dick: Go camping, Mister President.

Clinton: Yeah. (Pause) Yeah. Thank you, Dick. For everything, the advice and— (Holds up file) These numbers. You’re a good friend.

Dick: My pleasure, sir, anytime. And it’s “Charlie” remember?  

Clinton: “Charlie” right. Heh.  

Dick: I mean, cool codename, might as well use it.

Clinton: Yeah.

Dick: Well, goodnight, sir.  

Clinton: G’night. (Dick starts to exit) Hey Dick, fore you go—the Secret Service. They get you in and out pretty easy, right? No questions?

Dick: Sir?  

(Pause)

Clinton: I’m just asking.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You continue to search through old SSR files for the information you lead, growing more attached to the people in the base than you’re sure is healthy. It’s only a matter of time until you find what you need, but will it be what you wanted? Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of torture, blood, death Word Count: ~6,327 A/N: I’m sorry

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

There was a long pause, then, “Understood, Misses Barnes. We’ll prioritize non-lethal weaponry and use normal guns only if everything else fails.”

You crossed your arms and glared down at the speaker. “I suggest you don’t fail, then.”

Fitz grinned tentatively you and Mack gave you an appraising stare. When Coulson spoke up again, his voice gentler than before. “We’ll try our best, Misses Barnes.”

After all the commotion had died down and the call with Coulson’s team ended, you went back down into Vault B. Sitting idly never worked for you, not when you were waiting on something important. You realized the antsy feeling in your gut was a familiar one. It reminded you of all the times you stayed back from a fight with Steve, Bucky, and the guys to run communications and logistics. Every second of it sucked, never knowing if they’d all come back in one piece or not.

Movement in the doorway caught your eye.

Fitz stood there, body half-covered by the wall. “They, uh... They’re back and-”

“Gill?” you asked tersely.

“Alive,” Fitz confirmed.

Tension you’d been accumulating since the call went out an hour or so ago finally left your body and you released a long, relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good.”

“We- We don’t know if- if he’ll be-”

“Brainwashed when he wakes up?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest. Fitz nodded slowly. “The best way to keep your people safe is to secure him until you’re sure of his mental state. Until you find away to get the brainwashing out of his head you’ll have to be careful, for your sakes as well as his own. Just... don’t treat him like an animal or some sort of subhuman. He deserves better than that. He’s the victim.”

“Like you?” Fitz asked quietly and earnestly, gaze calculating even if his brain wasn’t working at the same level it used to.

You let out a long sigh. “I’m not innocent, Fitz. I’m not talking about the things Hydra made me do, either. I created weapons. Designed them to be just a little more deadly than the opponents, just a bit more efficient to construct. I could have created a weapon from the designs in my head at Azzano that could have ended the war in a week, but I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Fitz asked quietly, picking at some of the peeling paint on the door jamb.

You scowled. “For the same reason I think Hiroshima and Nagasaki were mistakes. Catastrophic loss of human life? The murder of civilians? I hate that the world somehow managed to accept that. Weapons that destructive don’t discriminate. Even if they did, who should decide who lives and who dies? So, you only kill all the enemy soldiers. What about the ones who joined up just to protect their family? The ones that joined because they had nowhere else to go? Nothing else they could do? The ones that cried every night while they thought about the people they killed and the friends and loved ones they lost? Should we create an algorithm like Zola and Hydra? No thank you. No, I wouldn’t be party to something so heinous. Didn’t stop me from creating guns with Stark that would get thousands of people killed, though, and reaping the profits.”

You lost yourself in your thoughts for a minute and looked up. You were halfway to apologizing when you realized he probably understood better than anyone else in this base what it was like to lose yourself in your own head.

You sighed. “But that kid? The genius who has trouble making friends and looks up to you? He made a few shitty decisions, sure, but he didn’t deserve to have his brain scrambled. If he hasn’t already, he’s going to eventually remember that he killed a lot of SHIELD agents in The Fall. He’s going to be seriously messed up, so I hope you have a damn good therapist on your staff. Or twelve.”

Fitz mulled that all over a minute, his gaze slightly unfocused. “Have you... have you had any- any luck?” he asked finally, eyes sliding back to you.

You grimaced and motion to the sizeable pile to your right. Four boxes. All thoroughly searched, no likely leads. “No, not yet. There’s a lot here, though, that never made it to the digital era. Things Hydra never knew about because it all stayed buried down here.”

“Is- is it dangerous that... that you’re-”

“Looking at all of this?” you asked, single eyebrow raised. He nodded quickly and you blew out a small sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure. My memory is good but not perfect, especially not after all the deep fry treatments courtesy of the KGB and Hydra. I’d never give any of this information over willingly but...” your voice trailed off and you bit your lip, not wanting to say anymore.

“But they have- have the- the-” he made a frustrated noise, “-backups. In your brain,” he gritted out.

You gave him a long, sad stare in lieu of answering directly. You didn’t want to admit that there were backups to your brainwashing to SHIELD. Didn’t want that information to exist anywhere, not even in Fitz’s brilliant little head. “There’s a reason why I try not to fight Hydra in person. It’s too risky,” you said, as close as you’d get to admitting the truth.

You could tell from the look in Fitz’s eyes, though, that he understood.

You stayed away from Gill’s room when they brought him in. Apparently he’d come out of the brainwashing slowly without someone from Hydra there to command him. They even strapped him up to some crazy lie detector chair to make sure he was completely free of compulsion. He’d be monitored closely but they treated him like a person, which was all you could ask.

When Coulson had asked for your input on what they should do with him, you’d simply leveled him with a flat stare and asked, “Perhaps you should ask him what he wants instead? Last I checked you deemed him capable of free speech. I’d still veto any suicidal or homicidal trains of thought, though,” you said dryly.

The more time you spent on the base, the closer you got to Fitz. Even Mack warmed up to you a bit, though you caught him staring at you closely more than a few times. May ghosted you like a shadow whenever she wasn’t on mission. Morse, a very tall and imposing but personable blond, seemed to take watch whenever May wasn’t there (you hoped the woman was sleeping. You weren’t sure if May ever slept, but you felt like she needed it with the amount of shit Coulson’s team put her through). You got along with Simmons like a house on fire once she realized you weren’t going to kill her on sight. Her and Fitz were having issues at the moment so you spent time with them separately, quietly watching the way they looked at each other from across the room when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after your first day on sight that you finally found a lead.

After the fall of Schmidt and Zola, most of Hydra’s assets had gone to the next most senior man in the organization. When Peggy seized the facility with Morita and Dugan all those years ago they’d taken everything on the base, a veritable plethora of occult and science goodies that made your skin crawl to read about. The SSR had taken all the files on the base along with any other evidence such as video reels and pictures and anything that wasn’t downright dangerous. Those files, added to the SSR ones, painted a very gruesome, well-documented picture.

Werner Reinhardt stared up at you in sepia, his beady gaze cold and calculating even through 70 years worth of photo deterioration. His name rang with a sort of familiarity in the back of your mind and it took you a second to realize why. The snake of a man had been mentioned in reports back in the 40′s. Peggy’s team had been after him while you and the guys chased down Schmidt and Zola.

Among the list of data in the files were mentions of a biological sample. It was timestamped before the Winter Soldier mission in Japan but after the fall from the train. The timeline was right. The files made mentions of it every few pages.

BSAM003: Extracted from BSAM002 and stored for further study.

BSAM003: Cells tested against variety of conditions. Results inconclusive.

BSAM003: Samples show cell regeneration similar to BSAM001. Further careful study recommended: Dwindling quantities of BSAM003 remains.

BSAM003: Unrefined reproduction of the enhancements of BSAM002 achieved from tests run on BSAM003. BSAM001 enhancements unreplicable. Original sample consumed by final tests. Cloned samples of BSAM003 lack the original’s genetic modifiers. Cloned BSAM003 tissue disposed of. BSAM002 possibly necessary for successful genetic mutation. Unrefined serum sample to be coded as IS-003 in further reports. Obergruppenführer Reinhardt notified of progress.

You turned over the last page and stared at the small pocket in the back. It was tied up with string and, if the other files were anything to go by, there were going to be some horrendous photos stuffed in there. The Hydra scientists were almost gleeful in the task of thoroughly cataloguing their experiments.

You untied the stiff, time-eaten string that kept the pocket secure and slid the photos out. You nearly blacked out when you saw the first one.

It was you. It didn’t show your face, but it was you. A picture of you on a cold metal table. Your legs were missing below the knee and every gash and scar on the body in the picture were ones you knew intimately. You knew that if the photographers had flipped you over there would have been a single long gash from your right shoulder to your left hip. If they zoomed in on your right hand there’d be a small circular spot from when you got a nasty infected bug bite as a kid.

What horrified you the most was that your stomach had been sliced open in the picture. It was a clean medical cut, not like the other jagged ones from the fall. One of the scientists was holding up a little sign, “BSAM002.”

The next photos were of “BSAM003.”

You set the photos down.

You wanted to stop looking, but you couldn’t.

It was tiny. Maybe four inches (ten centimeters) long. The scale showed it weighed no more than an ounce (28 grams). It was misshapen but unmistakably-

Unmistakably human.

A racking sob ripped through your throat.

Biological Sample: American003. To be stored for further study, was the note scribbled in German on the sign in the picture.

Zola, for all his duplicity and evil, had been telling you the truth.

You cried. You cried until you eyes were red and puffy and your tear ducts ran dry. You cried until your throat was so raw it hurt to swallow. You cried until your cheeks and nose were red from how many times you’d wiped at them.

After what could have minutes, hours, the entire evening, you moved beyond the gentle shaking of your shoulders. You finally had your answer. An answer that would eat away at your soul for as long as you lived.

The only problem was that it raised another question. What did they do with the serum they created? You hadn’t seen any mention of IS-003 in any of the pictures or in any other files yet. You couldn’t rest until you knew what had become of it. It was quite possibly the only thing that remained of your baby. You wouldn’t tolerate the possibility of it being in Hydra’s possession.

You were so engrossed in searching through the files for any mention of BSAM003 or IS-003 that you didn’t realize, at first, that you had company.

Mack, Hunter, Simmons, and May stood in the doorway. Hunter, Mack, and Simmons were all frozen, but May was looking at you with... pity? Was she capable of feeling pity? You’d spent over two weeks around the woman and you still weren’t sure.

Mack was the first one to step forward, his bulky frame somehow squeezing between May and Hunter. “What’s up, Footloose?” he asked softly, stopping just a few feet away from you. You supposed you had to look like hell if he was talking to you like that. You didn’t miss the way May and Hunter’s hands slid to their guns, ready for you to blow up or have a mental break.

You couldn't speak yet. Your throat was worn raw. Instead, you slid a single photo across the desk towards him, your lips mashed into a straight line. If you started crying again you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop any time soon.

Mack picked it up, took one look at it, and swore under his breath. Wordlessly, you shoved the photo of you- cut open on the table- to him. He didn’t even pick that one up. He took one glance at it and looked away. 

He placed the first photo down and your eyes followed it. It was like you weren’t in the room, not really. Your mind was retreating in on itself in an attempt to preserve what little sanity you’d manage to scrounge up over the last few months.

You didn’t see Mack come around the desk. You didn’t even register his presence until his huge arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly to his huge chest. He didn’t say anything, but then, what could he? “I’m sorry Nazis cut your dead body open, stole your unborn child, then brought you back to life like some sort of Frakenstein’s monster”? “I’m sorry the US government let them”?

You could just barely see over his huge shoulder. May had walked forward with Simmons and they were staring at the photos splayed out over the desk. May’s face was tight, shock and fury showing only in the way her eyes wrinkled just so. Simmon’s face was much easier to read. You vaguely registered her muttered horror, talking about the inhumanity of it all from a scientist’s point of view. Hunter was glancing over both of their shoulders. He turned white as a sheet and pointed to you.

“I’m getting you a beer, mate,” he said, already turning on his heel to scuttle out of the room.

“Whiskey. Or vodka,” you croaked after him.

Mack loosened his grip enough so that he could look down at you. “You want to go back to your car? Or into one of our guest rooms? The non-prison kind, that is. I can have Fitz get one set up for you. Or you can hang out in the lab with him. We need to... Well, we need to search the files and you’re more than welcome to take this one with you but-”

You shook your head slowly. Your head was still swimming from the sudden roller coaster of emotions followed by crying out 80% of your body’s moisture. “No, I can’t stop looking yet. They- They made something out of- of the tissues and- and I need to find out what they did with it.”

Hunter returned promptly with a huge bottle of vodka. It was the cheap stuff, but you didn’t care. You took the shot glass from his outstretched hand and knocked back four shots in one go. You didn’t even flinch even though it burned like hot coals down your sore throat.

“Woah! Hey hey hey, I know this is shitty but-” Hunter began, but you cut him off.

“I don’t get drunk easily. I have a bastardized version of the super soldier serum. Doesn’t do much in the way of increasing strength, but it keeps me young and in peak normal human condition with little upkeep on my part. It’s nice until I want to drink away my problems and I have to down an entire aisle of a liquor store to do it,” you croaked, throat now burning from the vodka and the crying.

“You’re supposed to save important information like that then sweep us all under the rug in a drinking contest,” Hunter jabbed good-naturedly, not quite able to pull a smile on his face.

You gave him a weak half-smile that was more of a grimace. “Who or what are you looking for? If it’s around the mid or late 40′s there’s a chance I’ve read about it. Might get you out of my hair faster if I can point you in the right direction,” you said with just a hair too much fondness for them to take it as an insult.

They shared a quick look then shrugged. If they were letting you into their secret information vault they might as well get some use out of it, it seemed.

Simmons gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re after information on an artifact one of our enemies is attempting to utilize. The only issue is that we don’t know a lot about it. It was seized from a Hydra facility in Austria in 1945 by Agent Margaret Carter and a small, elite task force. Not a lot of mentions of the Red Skull, but quite a few of one of his lieutenants, Werner Reinhardt.”

You stared at her for a long moment, convinced your ears had just played tricks on you. “Did... you say Werner Reinhardt?” you breathed.

Simmons frowned. “Yes? Why, have you heard of him?”

You slumped back into your chair, a short laugh leaving your lips. “Today just keeps getting better and better...” you muttered, confusing the other four people in the room. You let out a huge sigh and grabbed the vodka bottle by its short neck and down about a fourth of it. Simmons was wincing, Mack’s eyebrows were up as high as they could go, and Hunter was caught between looking impressed and scared. May had a single brow raised, though you couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking.

“Yeah, I knew ‘im. Not personally, of course. He wouldn’t have lived through that encounter, even without all...” you motioned to your legs and hands, “this. Me and the guys stuck to Zola and Schmidt. They were the biggest targets. Once we got them, the rest would crumble. Or, at least, that was the idea. You can see how well that all worked,” you said bitterly. “Reinhardt was one of Schmidt’s commanders. High up, to be taken down if the opportunity presented itself, but not someone we went out of our way for, not with Zola and Schmidt still on the board. Peggy and her SSR team were in charge of keeping track of people at his level. I read about him in quite a few status reports. Like Schmidt, he was obsessed with the occult. Artifacts of power. Overcoming the limitations of mortality, of humanity. All that crap. Left quite a gruesome trail in his wake, but Peggy’s people managed to keep him more or less on the run.” You took a breath, a mockery of a smile tilting up the corner of your lips. “What made me laugh, though, is that I’m interested in him, too. Already went through his files and everything.” You pulled said file from the box and flipped it open, sharing its contents with the rest of the class. “Complete bio, psych eval, and even a picture of the slimy bastard.”

The four of them crowded around the table, but it was Simmons who spoke first. “Wait, no...” she murmured, gazing at the picture in confusion.

“Yeah, name’s right beneath it,” Hunter said, flicking the picture with the back of his middle finger.

“No,” Simmons insisted. “That’s Daniel Whitehall.”

“What, you mean it looks like him?” Mack asked.

“No, I mean it’s the same man! I’ve stared Whitehall in the face,” she argued.

“You’re joking,” Hunter said, staring at Simmons in confusion.

“Can’t be. He’d be old as hell now,” Mack argued.

You coughed not-so-subtly into your hand and Mack glanced at you, then tilted his head. “Alright, point taken. I just find the chances of another one of you century-old young people existing to be slim.”

“I would have agreed with you before ‘alien’ became a word we use daily,” Simmons countered. She turned her gaze on May, who was staring stoically at the folder. “May, I know I’m right.”

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s still as young and evil as I remember him, but somehow I am,” you mused.

She huffed and pulled out her tablet and began tapping away at its surface.

“Bobbi was dead on,” Simmons said, flicking through the files. “He did have a personal connection to Red Skull.”

You groaned and held up a hand. “Jesus, stop calling him that. His name was Johann Schmidt. He was an evil bastard with a fucked up face, but I’m sick and tired of this whole Voldemort vs. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bullshit.”

The four of them looked at you in surprise. “You’ve read Harry Potter?” Hunter asked, file forgotten in his hands for the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “Listened to the audio book. Don’t have time to read when I spend all day writing code or working with my hands.” 

“Huh,” Hunter huffed, returning his attention to the task at hand. “What is this guy, Asgardian?”

“It’s like he stopped the clock,” Simmons said quietly.

“Or turned it back,” May said, turning the tablet around so they could see the picture on the screen. It was a photo of Reinhardt, old and wrinkled, looking at them from underneath bushy overgrown eyebrows.

“Where’s that photo from?” Hunter asked, staring at the photo in surprise.

May gave them all a dubious look. “An old SHIELD prison called The Rat.”

“Lovely name,” you remarked dryly.

“How long was he kept there?” Mack asked, staring down at the tablet in May’s hands.

“For life,” she whispered, confusion clear on her face as she looked at the rest of them.

When you knocked on the door to Coulson’s office a few days later, he glanced up at you then back at the screen on the wall across from him, as though he’d been expecting you. “Come in, please, Misses Barnes.”

You stepped inside and were unsurprised when May followed you in. He was the director of SHIELD after all. The last time a Director was put in a Winter Soldier’s path he’d ended up bleeding out from three slugs to the chest (not that that had actually ended up killing him, the stubborn bastard).

You supposed it was better than having your limbs impaled and your entrails ripped out, though. Secretaries always got the short end of the stick, it seemed.

“I’m not going to ask to go with your team,” you stated. You couldn’t go and fight Whitehall. Not when there was even the remotest possibility that he knew the words.

“Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you join us,” he said not unkindly.

“I know you’re after Reinhardt-Whitehall for different reasons than me. Something about aliens?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

Coulson smiled that secret smile of his and nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Different aliens than the ones that invaded New York a few years back?” you wondered, frowning.

“Different aliens,” Coulson confirmed with a nod.

You sighed heavily. “I really miss the days when the weirdest things in the world were blue laser guns, Stark’s floating car, and Steve,” you griped.

“And when you were never a brainwashed assassin,” Coulson added.

“And when I was never a brainwashed assassin,” you agreed passionately.

“I assume you came here for a reason, though. Other than to reminisce about the 1940′s?” he prompted gently.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to reminisce about the 1940′s? I built about a third of the things in this office myself. Or, at the very least, I designed them,” you said with a smirk.

“Depends, can you fix an original walkie-talkie wristwatch?”

“I s’pose that depends on how bad you broke it,” you countered.

“I set it to explode so I and Agent Skye wouldn’t die trapped in my office on The Bus,” he said, completely straight-faced.

“I’m sure it’ll buff right out,” you said just as dryly. Coulson smiled at that and the two of you stood there for a moment while you gathered your thoughts. “I’m sure May or one of your other agents has informed you of what I found.” You pressed on before he could say something that would either do nothing or dredge up all the emotions you’d buried for the time being. “I want to know when you take him out or bring him in. I highly suggest you put a bullet in his head, along with the waste of space you have trapped in a cage in Vault D, but it’s ultimately your decision. I just need him out of the way so I can gain access to all of his information without risking running into him.”

Coulson eyed you as he leaned back in his chair. “Because you’re worried he can re-trigger your brainwashing.”

You paused for a moment, staring the man down. “I respect you, Coulson. I’m going to say this once, in the nicest voice I can: Do not try and bring me in.”

Coulson smiled at you. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I know that car of yours packs more firepower than the quinjet and the bus combined.”

“Did Mack ever get under its hood?” you asked curiously.

Coulson’s grin widened a bit at that. “No, he could never get it open. It zapped him every time he tried. Not enough to hurt him permanently, of course. Just enough to sting.”

“I set it to taze mode. Figured you wouldn’t be too happy with me if your employee shocked himself to death trying to get into the Batmobile.”

“You call it the Batmobile?” Coulson asked, eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “Who doesn’t love Batman?”

“You’re best friends with Captain America!” Coulson argued.

You shrugged lazily. “Was best friends. I’m not exactly returning his calls right now. Besides, the three of us rode motorcycles everywhere. Could you imagine trying to drive a car through a forest in Germany? Nightmare, that would have been. So I named it after the most well-known high-tech car I could think of. Batman reruns were on in the background, so... Batmobile.”

Coulson looked incredulously over your shoulder at May, who raised a single perfectly manicured eyebrow, refusing to take a side in this argument. He sobered after a second, though, and fixed his attention back on you. “If I refuse do we still get the information you promised us?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. The SSR files had shown you everything you’d asked for. Now it was a matter of finding out what happened to IS-003 and your crusade could finally end. You’d pick up another cross, though. Probably start wiping Hydra off the map, but closure was so close you could almost taste it. “Any information I have on Hydra is yours. If you agree, anything I learn after this will go straight to you, too. That includes information Reinhardt-Whitehall has squirreled away. If I find anything to... to reverse their brainwashing, you’ll be the second to know.”

“Second?” Coulson asked, confused.

You gave him a small smile. “Mister Barnes,” you said simply.

Coulson nodded at that. “Understood. We have a deal, Misses Barnes,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You raised an eyebrow at it, then pointed to your own golden-wired hand. “You sure that’s such a good idea, Coulson?” you asked sardonically. “Built in joy-buzzer... that can kill an elephant.”

Instead of answering he continued to hold his hand out for you to take, looking at you expectantly.

You groaned and took his hand in yours. “You’re stupid. That was monumentally stupid,” you complained, even as you shook his hand then dropped it.

“I agree,” May said behind you, though you were thankful her anger was directed at Coulson and not you.

“Some advice?” you said, regarding him from your spot in front of his desk.

“Shoot.” He winced. “Poor choice of words. Go ahead, please.”

“Delete any record of me being here. Burn my lanyard the moment I drive through that front door. Purge the video recordings. Make sure none of your agents mention me. We both know Hydra’s still out there. We know what I mean to them. For the sake of me and your people, pretend I was never here.”

Coulson nodded. “Already taking care of it.”

You nodded. “And...” you took a deep breath. “If you need me, you know where to find me. If I move, I’ll be sure to get a message to you somehow.” He gave you a single nod of acknowledgement. “Now, I... I have something important to do. Thank you for your time and cooperation, Coulson,” you said, pulling a nondescript USB from your back pocket. You placed it on top of the papers on his desk and headed to the door, stopping before you passed May. “Oh, by the way, I’m taking some of the pictures with me. I left copies for your files, but I’m commandeering the originals.”

“I understand. Stay safe, Misses Barnes,” he said quietly. If you weren’t mistaken, there was a note of concern in his voice. Whether it was for you or the people around you was unclear.

You gave May a nod which she returned and you nearly smiled. That was the May equivalent of another person’s exuberant, loud goodbye.

When you made it to the garage Fitz and Mack were waiting by your car. Word traveled fast on the base, it seemed.

“Hey, Mack. Fitz. You got that transceiver patch down under six minutes yet?” you asked the blond by way of greeting.

They both turned to look at you. The blond shifted nervously. “Seven minutes thirty-two seconds,” he said anxiously.

You sent him a bracing smile. “You’ll get it. If I can fix highly-advanced cybernetic limbs without having any conscious idea of what I’m doing, you can patch a transceiver from muscle memory.”

“You can really do that?” Mack asked, eyeing your nano-skin covered legs.

You nodded. “I helped design them originally. Hydra tricked me into it. I always was better at designing things than their engineers. I made them so it’s an intuitive design for me. Even when I couldn’t remember my own name or what year it was, I could repair them. I’ve fixed Bucky’s arm and my leg more times than I can count... mostly because I can’t remember everything,” you said, taking a stab at darker humor. It earned you weak smiles, but you’d take it. “Point is, you can handle it. Coulson wouldn’t put you on it unless he believed you could.”

Fitz nodded. “I- I think I can do it.”

“Oi! Where do you think you’re getting off to without saying goodbye?” said a familiar voice from somewhere around the door that led deeper into the base.

You turned to see Hunter walking with a purpose towards the three of you, brown paper bag clutched tightly in hand. A quick backscatter scan revealed it to be a bottle of booze. Vodka, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Vodka. The good kind this time?” you asked with a smirk.

“What’s the point of getting the good, expensive stuff if it takes three bottles for you to even get a buzz going? Might as well just buy it in bulk, cheap,” Hunter groused.

“I like the taste,” you said, taking the bag from him with a grateful smile.

Hunter made a disgusted face. “You really did live in Russia for most of your life, didn’t you?”

You pulled the bottle half out of the bag and gave it an appreciative once over, then shot Hunter a wink. “Da.” It was the good stuff.

“Before you go, can I get a peek under the hood?” Mack asked, his eyes sliding over the Batmobile longingly.

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Mack hardly believed his luck. The three of them followed you to the front of the car and you placed your hand on the hood, smiling as it easily popped open at your touch. It was designed to open only to your specific hand print scan coupled with a specific electrical current.

All three of them took two huge steps back when they spotted the huge turret-defense guns sitting idly just under the hood. They shot a variation of the Stark’s repulsor blasts.

Mack stared at them for a second, then, “The engine’s in the back, isn’t it?”

You gave him a mockingly apologetic smile. “The engine’s in the back,” you confirmed.

“That’s cold,” Mack said as you closed the hood. He looked a little bit like a kicked puppy. A huge, muscular puppy. It almost reminded you of Steve.

“That’s the brand,” you sing-songed as you walked over to the driver’s side.

You were taken by surprise when Fitz wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. It was slightly less of a surprise when Mack joined him. You had to nearly bite back a laugh when Mack reeled Hunter in with one of his big hands.

“No, I don’t do- Gah- Why are- Fine, aaaand we’re hugging now,” Hunter mumbled obstinately, his face close to yours, an amused smile dancing on his lips when he realized he wasn’t getting out of the group hug.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, earnest smile on your lips.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ abou’,” Fitz muttered.

But you were sure he did. They were treating you like a person. A human being with feelings. And emotions.

“Yeah, jus’ don’t tell your husband about this, alrigh’? I fancy myself a tough man but I don’t want to be on Mister Barnes’ shit list,” Hunter half-griped, half pleaded.

You smiled as the group hug broke apart. “I dunno. I think he’d like you. All of you.” You suddenly had the urge to hang around longer, but they had a mission soon and you... you had a mission of your own.

“Alfred, run a system check. Eliminate foreign devices.”

“At once, madam,” came a synthesized British voice from the car.

There was a quiet zapping sound and a piece of metal flew a few feet into the air then landed on the ground with a smack.

“One such device found. It has been removed with prejudice,” your AI, Alfred, informed you.

You turned to smile at Mack, who shrugged helplessly, sheepish smile on his face. “Director’s orders. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

You smiled at the three of them as the wing doors swung upwards. All three of them ducked in unison to get a peek inside as you slid in. Hunter let out a low whistle, Mack nodded his head in appreciation, and Fitz’s eyes were darting around, trying to take in as much as possible. His jaw was hanging ever so slightly slack.

The doors lowered back down slowly but you were already rolling down the window. You pointed to Mack and beckoned him forward. He gave you a confused stare but acquiesced and leaned down so his head was right next to yours.

You leaned forward until your mouth was right next to his ear and your voice was so quiet you knew no one else would be able to hear.

“You should tell them about the other SHIELD. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve dug pretty deep into any possible dirty laundry on both sides. I know how Hydra works. You’re both squeaky clean. If you’re not careful you’ll end up fighting each other and not the real enemy. And, no, I didn’t tell anyone else about this.”

When you leaned back Mack’s face was hard as stone, not that you’d been expecting anything different.

“Take care, Mack,” you said, flipping your car into gear. “You too Fitz, Hunter. Tell Simmons, Skye, Triplett and Bobbi goodbye for me, alright?” you said, throwing them a brilliant smile over Mack’s shoulder. Mack straightened after a second, eyeing you like he had the first week you’d been on the base.

The big door at the other end of the huge hangar area opened and you sped off towards it, hair flying in the breeze before you rolled up your window and sped out of the SHIELD facility, not glancing back.

Beside you on the passenger sat a folder full of pictures and intel. On the front were seven characters.

BSAM003.

You sighed and focused on the road, avoiding any and all cop cars that Alfred warned you about.

“Get me Bucky’s location, Alfred,” you said, heart heavy now that you’d left the base. The people there had been a small reprieve for the near-solitude you suffered.

“At once, Misses Barnes,” Alfred’s voice said through the speakers. A moment later his voice rang out, loud and clear. “Mister Barnes is currently residing in Puerto Rico.”

“Huh. I was expecting Bulgaria or something. How fast can I buy a boat that can accommodate the Batmobile?” you asked the AI, already getting on the closest freeway headed southeast towards the coast.

“It has been done, Misses Barnes,” Alfred informed you. I’ve changed your route so you’ll arrive in Miami at the marina where your new boat awaits. Estimated time of arrival: Four hours.”

“You’re a peach, Alfred,” you said, already gunning the engine to speed down the freeway.

“Always a pleasure to assist you, ma’am,” the AI said quietly.

You smiled and patted the dash affectionately. “Let’s go see the lord of the house, shall we?”

“I can hardly contain my excitement,” was Alfred’s dry, almost sarcastic response. Maybe you should have lightened up on the snark when you created him.

Next Chapter

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[dankar-camoran]

So last night I was thinking about how I’ve got a soft spot for Caius Cosades but also tintael’s theory about the Empire making sure that they milked the conflict with Dagoth Ur to gain more control and influence in Morrowind, and how Caius would have to inevitably have been involved in that. That makes it harder to like him, and I think part of this headcanon I developed is fueled by my Caius apologism.

The idea that Caius is nothing more than an operative looking to ensure that the Empire comes out on top, no matter what happens in Morrowind, is absolutely a fantastic take, but what if he wasn’t actually fully in on it?

According to Mehra Milo:

“ "Caius is a dear friend. Like me, he admires the best traditions of the Temple, charity for the poor, education for the ignorant, protection for the weak. He is a Westerner, bur he has come to love our land and our people. But like me, he distrusts the arbitrary power of the Ordinators, and like the Dissident priests, he suspects the Temple is hiding something. He serves the Emperor, but he also loves Morrowind, and he sees the failing virtues of the Temple as a threat to Morrowind's political stability." 

This woman seems pretty sure that Caius is supportive of Morrowind. She could just be naive, and Caius could just have a lot of practice in deceiving people, or maybe even he really does love Morrowind, he’s just more loyal to the Blades.

But Caius himself doesn’t seem like he’s knowingly in on any scheme to exploit Morrowind. He’s certainly fond enough of Mehra Milo to emphasize to the Nerevarine not to put her under any suspicion. “She's a friend, so be careful, and don't get her in trouble.The Temple is suspicious of outlanders, and wouldn't be happy to find Mehra talking with you about religious matters.“ And he’s even more emphatic in the note he gives you about the same quest:

“Do NOT ask anyone at the Hall of Wisdom and Justice about Mehra Milo. I don't want to draw attention to the fact that she is talking to an outlander. Mehra Milo is a particular friend, and I don't want her to get in trouble.“

But hey, Caius can care about one Dunmer enough to not want anything bad to happen to her, while still working towards further Imperial dominion over Morrowind. and hell, maybe his sympathies towards Morrowind never extended far enough for him to even consider going against the Empire. but his relationship with the Nerevarine on the other hand..

As tintael mentioned in the aforementioned theory, the first two assignments given by Caius could be interpreted as him making sure he’s got blackmail material against in case they go rogue. Pretty shitty thing to do there, Caius, why would anybody stan you after seeing that?

Well, keep in mind, as these are the first two quests he gives out, he’s still just getting to know the Nerevarine. In his mind, this is just some nobody recently released from prison who he has to not only babysit as a rookie Blade, but turn into some ancient prophesied Dunmer hero. He’s got absolutely no faith in them, but he knows it’s his ass that will be on the line if they try to dip out of the Emperor’s plan, so he makes sure he’s got something he can hold against them to keep that from happening. This is someone who just got out of prison, how can he be expected to trust their honor that they won’t bail on him?

But he never needs to blackmail the Nerevarine, because they deliver, time and again. And every time they successfully complete a mission and then come back awaiting more orders, he starts to respect them, and worry about their safety. He goes so far as to give them a dwemer artifact as a way to bribe the one person who has a hope in hell of curing them when they catch corprus. This is treason, which he fully admits to,  but he’s willing to pull whatever strings are necessary to allow it in order to make sure it happens:  “ Yes, I know it's treason to trade in Dwemer artifacts, but don't worry about it. I'm a big-shot Imperial Spymaster, remember? And, yes, it's worth a fortune. But you're worth it. “

 But I mean, it could also be interpreted as him covering all his bases and doing his damndest to ensure that the Nerevarine remains a viable piece on the table, and knowing that a little bit of treason in furthering this endeavor will be forgiven.

But it’s a little convenient that he got recalled right after this. It’s almost as if his superiors started to get concerned that Caius was too sentimental. They had long suspected as much considering his Morrowind sympathies (which they absolutely must have known about), but now here he was showing an awful lot of concern for the Nerevarine. a game piece who they really primarily needed to end the threat of the Sixth House, and disrupt the Tribunal along the way. As soon as they didn’t need the Incarnate anymore, they could just get rid of this asset, possibly even by way of the blackmail material Caius arranged for them. But what if Caius couldn’t be trusted to do something like that? What if, upon being given the order to burn the Nerevarine, he decided to betray the Empire for the sake of his  protégé?

So they recalled him, and they did it in the most clever way they could think of. In his mind, it was officially because of “Internal politics. Some concern about my sugar.“ but he immediately suspects that the real reason is the very pressing issue of the potential succession crisis looming as the Emperor nears death. And because this is such a grave issue, Caius focuses entirely on it being the key reason why he’s being pulled back to Cyrodiil, and never once considers it’s because his superiors think that he’s too friendly with the Nerevarine and Morrowind.

Like I said at the beginning, I have a soft spot for the old shirtless hunk, so maybe I just am incapable of conceiving him as being an intelligence operative with unshakable Imperial loyalty. But it’d be deliciously tragic if, after being kept busy for a few years, Caius started to realize just how much the Empire was playing him and the Nerevarine, and now he’s not in much of a position to do anything about it. And he can’t even count on the chance of ever seeing his young ward again.

[theotherbackgrounder]

Grim Tales: Ever After High OC: Beltran “The Doll”

I heard @bleedmanshitposting whispers and I am here to obliged with my Bleedman satire

Warning: For this one I got into the head of Bleedman, thinking in the same way someone like him would with this character. Surprisingly it is fairly roomy in here. But don’t worry. There is plenty of my touch of despair. As this is a Bleedman thing, I am legitimately trying to trigger you, the reader. So. Trigger warning.

  Name: Beltran “The Doll,” also called “Berrchan” by Chi.

Gender: Boy

Series of origin: Ever After High

Home/Zone: Wonderland/New Ever After

Mother: “The Mad Queen” Madeline Narrator

  History:

Madeline Narrator

As of course with all good (or in this case shitty) stories we must always start with the beginning.

It was the final days at Ever After High, the final days before graduation would come, until the students would separate as they would go and live their lives. At least that is what it should have been.

Raven Queen, daughter of the evil queen, was the student that tried to go against fate and change her own destiny. She didn’t want to be like her mother. Sadly that picture perfect setting she wanted was not the ending that was written out for her. Her own legacy overcame her, forced her, and used her to be a vessel that would be the Evil Queen that the story demanded. Forced against her will like a puppet suspended on strings, she was always doomed to play the role as the Devil.

There was none that could stand up to the Evil Queen.

Well, none except for one.

Madeline Hatter, daughter of the mad hatter, with the voice of the narrator on her side was the only one strong enough to stop Raven and put an end to this nightmare. It was up to her to end the legacy of the Evil Queen.

She had to end it.

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t kill Raven. No matter if she wanted it herself, Madeline could never kill her best friend. The person she loved. All Raven wanted to do was to change her destiny, to change the fate that was written before her. Maddie couldn’t end that story now. But she could change it.

Madeline Queen was the Narrator. She had the power to change the story. The story itself called for an “Evil Queen” not for Raven. So with that in mind, Madeline changed everything. Instead of Raven Queen being the “evil queen” she “narrated” that the Evil queen would be Maddie. She would become the necessary evil so that the one that she loved wouldn’t have to suffer.

But that was the worst decision.

It is unknown exactly why it happened. Perhaps it was because of the unstable mind that constitutes with that of the “Mad Hatter,” but something snapped. She truly did become the “Evil Queen.” And with the ability to warp reality with the voice of the “Narrator,” Madeline truly lost herself. Now “Mad” Madeline warped reality to see how she fitted for her new Ever After – her new Wonderland.

“The Mad Queen’s” power would probably be the closest thing to the power of the “author.” As the “Narrator” the existence of which one’s setting is is depended on her voice, from “first person” to “omniscient” her voice itself reaches all and controls all. With her cold demeanor + such powers she is able to wipe any type of resistance before it would even be brought into words. Essentially her cold lightless eyes can see everything, essentially making her a God in this Ever After High. She controlled everything before her first day had ended. It was a case of “great power” become corrupted.

Back when she was Madeline “Hatter” Maddie always heard the voices of the “narrators” in her head. Even now it is still there. Though this time since she is the narrator she is hearing her own voices in her head; or more specifically the voices of “The Evil Queen” “The Narrator” and “The Mad Hatter,” three different voices of herself in her head. Really drives a girl insane.

In regards to “Grimtales” every adult there is apparently a slut and Madeline Narrator (of course an adult in the current timeline of this story), she essentially wears a more “evil/darker” version of Mad Moxxi’s outfit from borderlands (because fuck you, I ain’t original).

In the story it is explained that “Grim tales” has the 4 “homes” essentially hell/Ghost zone/Akuland/castle grim…so then I hear you asking “how does Ever After High work into this without breaking the canon” and I answer you with this, with a “meta” reasoning. The “Mad Queen” uses her “narrator” power to bend the 4th wall (see “Wonderlandiful World”) to as she sees fit. Basically saying that when she “isn’t in the story” she makes it to where she simply doesn’t exists, when she does enter the “narration” of “Grim tales” she simply wills “Ever After High” into the story. She mainly does this to erase herself from the minds of others so that certain shedemons (Him) doesn’t make any thoughts about taking over her position.

It’s like a meta explanation of a shitty fanfiction inside of another shitty fanfiction. It glorious.

  Beltran

So we come to the meat, Madeline’s son “Beltran.” Beltran is a very pretty boy often described like a doll; In fact many refer to him as such, his own mother even goes as far as to control his very own thoughts and actions with her “narration” that he believes that he is truly a doll – that his destiny is only to be that of a soulless doll for other’s to do with as they want. He can’t control it. His attire is almost a gothic Lolita style

Oh yes. The patented Bleedman “obligatory sexual fetish” here is “Trap.” Remember, it isn’t gay if it is a trap. He also has a pedant on his chest that supposedly has a picture in it. Sadly the locket has been ruined to a point that it can’t be opened (or someone has forced it closed forever?).

His bedroom in the “Mad Queen’s castle” –which was original Ever After High- is strangely fairly pink, especially when in comparison to his gothic style of clothing. Because this is bleedman and references must be in it, two of his favorite stuffed animals he has to sleep with are giant Pink pone and purple pone.

When Madeline does “breath the 4th wall” and come to “Grim Tales” she does often bring Beltran along with her. But even among Chi and Mimi he is just treated like a doll. Chi hates him, but can’t deny that he is pretty – she dress him up like a doll in several outfits that either she plans to wear or plans for Mimi to wear.

Lifeless eyes and accepted that he is truly what his mother wants him to be, the mystery of who Beltran is is really mysterious. And that is what his story would unfold.

Now since under normal circumstances that under bleedman the mystery of Beltran wouldn’t be revealed in say about 13 years, I’ll go ahead and spoil it for you.

Beltran is Raven Queen.

As mentioned before there are several voices in the “Mad Queen’s” head. The “Mad Hatter” voice is the original voice “Madeline Hatter” and is for one reason or another is responsible for the fate of Raven. Since the beginning Madeline wanted Raven to have the happiness she deserved, she became a rebel not because of her sake but for Raven. She wanted Raven to change her own destiny and to control her own fate. When Madeline took on the “Evil Queen” from Raven, she wanted to give Raven a new chance at life. Perhaps it was Raven’s mother that was in the legacy of the “Evil queen” she absorbed but for some reason she decided to turn Raven herself into a child and raise her and her own. Who knows why.

With the many voices in Madeline’s head, the evil one wants to be rid of Raven/Beltran as she could still possibly be a threat to the new Wonderland domination but Madline’s voice doesn’t allow her to do that. So in this case the “evil” uses the “Narrator’s” powers to break Beltran into becoming her “doll” instead of physically abusing him.

Normal Madeline cannot reach Beltran in the state that she is in but can only influence parts of the story presented that she can without letting the other prominent voices finding out. Such as making sure a broken locket is dropped and Beltran can find it. Inside the pendant is a picture of Raven and Maddie. Perhaps even why Madeline brings Beltran when visiting other characters, a bit of influencing of “Madeline Hatter” hoping that Raven would be able to have a normal childhood with other kids.

Who knows what will happen with this family.

   Wow…that was fun. Been a long while since I wrote something intentionally triggering. Gives me warm fuzzy feelings inside.

[a-panda-reads-act-omega]

ACT OMEGA PART 9

THE 25/10/16 UPDATE

WOW, third update in one day? I must be extremely bored or something. Anyways, I think we’re just gonna start this up without the big fucking intro part. Lets just. do this.

Come on you gay fucks, make up and KISS.

G U Y S. Also Jake, look at Dirks face not his ass.

OH man Jake looks sad and awkward.

DIRK: (Son of a fuck.) DIRK: (That was you trying to get me to leave you alone, wasn’t it?) JAKE: (I... well.) DIRK: (It’s fine. I get it, finally.) DIRK: (You don’t want anything to do with me, or this awkward dance we’ve been doing around each other.)

No damMIT, don’t leave him alone. you need to MAKE UP. not avoid eachother.

DIRK: (And I was convinced I'd actually try giving you some space so you wouldn’t have to deal with my overbearing bullshit anymore. Yet here I am.) DIRK: (Honestly, I’m not even sure why.) DIRK: (I just had this impulse to try and smooth things over with you by offering some sort of half-assed congratulations.)

You’re on the right track DIRK! You’re almost there, but instead of giving him a shitty congratulations, you need to work out whatever the your problem is dammit.

DIRK: (Sorry for making you uncomfortable for a solid 10 minutes by stringing that conversation along.) DIRK: (I’ll go bother someone else.) JAKE: (Dirk, wait!) DIRK: (What?) DIRK: (You don’t need to humor me. Or worry about hurting my feelings, or whatever.) DIRK: (You’re not obligated to care about any of that anymore.) DIRK: (That ship has sailed.)

A A . AH GH DF  Dirk you BUTT, just listen to the fuckin hope child.

pft thanks jake.

JAKE: (Thats not... oh pussyfeathers!) JAKE: (This is exactly the problem!) DIRK: (Uh.) DIRK: (It is?) JAKE: (Im so lousy at saying what i mean and then you put all of these words in my mouth and i have no idea how to make you understand!)

YES JAKE THIS IS PrecISELY THE PROBLEM! 

JAKE: (Maybe because i hardly understand myself...) DIRK: (...) JAKE: (This is all so difficult to parse. I am utterly fucking bamboozled by everything thats happened today.) JAKE: (Ive tried to politely get everything to hold its damn horses for perhaps ten friggin minutes but no!) JAKE: (Those stallions shot right out of the gate with forceful gusto and ive been trying to keep from being trampled underneath their thundering hooves this entire time!) JAKE: (There are SO MANY PEOPLE here.) JAKE: (And while im sure theyre all perfectly upstanding folk i have no clue how im supposed to TALK to any of them.) JAKE: (Especially when i cant even bring myself to engage with those whom i actually KNOW.) JAKE: (Because im certain there are a plethora of things i need to apologize for but im still puzzling out what exactly they are.)

Damn, I know the feeling Jake. When you know you’ve done something wrong, and you have no fucking clue what it is, yet somehow that makes you feel even GUILTIER because you think you SHOULD know what you did wrong.

DIRK: (Jake...) JAKE: (Honestly ive been resigning myself to the possibility of never speaking to anyone ever again!) JAKE: (Considering im such a dunce theres no way ill ever be able to figure out how to make things right with you or jane.) JAKE: (And if i badger roxy ill no doubt botch things up with her too somehow.)

Dont be ridiculous Jake, I honestly doubt there’s any way for Roxy to ever hate you.

JAKE: (So whats the point?) JAKE: (Im never going to be a good friend let alone a good anything... more than that.) JAKE: (So ive already accepted that im really just a waste of space and i ought to spend the rest of my life keeping out of everyones way.) DIRK: (Holy shit, Jake. What?) JAKE: (Its just the simplest solution for everyone involved. Im fine with it!)

Jake you BUMFUzZLING BAFOON. COme on, get a goddamn grip on yourself.

JAKE: (I was perfectly willing to mind my own beeswax and allow the rest of you to mind yours and make myself scarce when the opportunity arose.) JAKE: (But then you ambled up to me and put that plan on ice.) DIRK: (Jake.) JAKE: (Which has had me reeling for the past little while let me tell you!) JAKE: (I dont know what to do because im getting the vibe that perhaps you still want to be friends? Though I cant even begin to guess why!) JAKE: (And im so conflicted because theres a part of me that does want to give the whole friendship thing another go even though i know its bound to end in disaster.) DIRK: (Jake-) JAKE: (But if im really going to commit to that mad gamble, it feels like this might be my only real chance to try and patch things up between us!) JAKE: (Except im so blasted TIRED! And even thinking about fumbling through that conversation with all of these people around makes me want to curl up into ball and...) JAKE: (And embarrass myself.) JAKE: (Though attempting to salvage my pride at this point seems a fools errand. Nobody can possibly take me seriously while im NOT WEARING ANY FUCKING PANTS.)

DAMMIT JAKE NOWS NOT THE TIME TO BRING UP YOUR BEAUTIFUL ASS

DIRK: (...) DIRK: (Ok.) JAKE: (Im sorry dirk i just cant right now. I cant. Its too much!) JAKE: (I know its so typical of me to chicken out and disappoint you.) DIRK: (Dude-) JAKE: (Sakes alive i cant believe i just went on and on like that what am i doing???)

You’re VENTING, Jake. It’s perfectly natural and everybody should be able to do it.

DIRK: (Ok!) DIRK: (Jake, I hear you!) DIRK: (You can stop, now.) DIRK: (The fact that you managed to whisper all that was pretty impressive.)

Yeah no shit. Like, how in the fuck was that a whisper?

DIRK: (But let’s take it down a notch. Like, to breathe.) JAKE: (...) DIRK: (Are you ok? Maybe we should sit down or something.) JAKE: (No i... everyone else is standing.) DIRK: (I don’t really care, and nobody else should either. Your legs look like they’re about to give out.) JAKE: (Im really fine and can we please not talk about my legs.)

... dammit jake

DIRK: (Shit, sorry. Sure thing.) JAKE: (But. Maybe sitting isnt such a terrible idea.)

It isnt. its the best idea. sit down and TALK.

There you go, much better. Now dont fall.

DIRK: (Feeling any better?) JAKE: (A smidgen...) JAKE: (Are people looking at us?) DIRK: (Not sure. Probably not. But even so, you aren’t the only one who could use a breather. I’m sure they understand.) JAKE: (Ok...) DIRK: (So.) DIRK: (Sorry for putting words in your mouth. Looks like you already had plenty of your own in there.) JAKE: (...) DIRK: (I mean, like. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m actually kind of glad you told me.) DIRK: (I’m going to be real with you here and say I’m more than a little concerned about some of what you just said.)

Yes, this is GOOD.  Dirk’s realizing that MAYBE Jake has problems of his own.

DIRK: (But I get you’re not in a position to talk about it right now. And, hell, there are probably better people to hash that shit out with than me.) DIRK: (You don’t have to say anything else. Especially not about... well, us, I guess.) DIRK: (I don’t know about a lot of the other stuff, but I’m perfectly willing to save opening up that particular can of worms for later.) DIRK: (I’m... probably not ready for that conversation either. So it’s most likely for the best.) DIRK: (Being perfectly frank, I’m also not exactly enthusiastic about this crowd. I’m not really used to having this volume of people around.) DIRK: (And I guess we’re both kind of at a loss when it comes to approaching them all. I demonstrated my lacking conversational chops earlier I think.) DIRK: (I knew it was a bad idea. But I came over here anyway.) DIRK: (Mostly because... I think I just really wanted to talk to you.) DIRK: (I guess old habits die hard.) DIRK: (Or in this case, ridiculously young ones.) JAKE: (Um...) DIRK: (Right. Getting to the point.) DIRK: (Whatever you may be thinking about yourself, I can pretty much guarantee you I don’t agree.) DIRK: (But I’m going to put that aside for now and just say that yeah, I really do still want to be friends.) DIRK: (If there’s some part of you that’s willing to give it a shot, I want you to promise me something.) JAKE: (Ok. What is it?) DIRK: (That you’ll put all that bullshit about cutting ties with everyone aside, at least for long enough to talk about this stuff properly later.)

Good, GOOD, they’re both not being idiots anymore. this is good. because holy shit that was awkward. they’re just gonna work out all their problems, and not be dumb shits over it.

DIRK: (It doesn’t even need to be with me. But just... somebody. I mean, don’t you want to talk to your grandma, dude? You’ve been pen pals for ages. And now she’s right there.) JAKE: (That, um... Yes actually. That does sound nice.) DIRK: (Good.) DIRK: (Maybe we ought to wrap this up, then.) DIRK: (Or am I wrong in thinking you still want some space?) JAKE: (So long as were all on this platform i doubt ill be getting very far with that either way.) DIRK: (True.) JAKE: (What i could really use is a NAP!) DIRK: (I feel that.) DIRK: (But it might have to wait a bit longer.) DIRK: (Think you can manage until then?) JAKE: (Probably?) DIRK: (And just to make things crystal clear...) DIRK: (Until we get our shit together enough to actually talk about, well...) DIRK: (You know what.) DIRK: (Are we cool?) JAKE: (I think so.) DIRK: (Thank fuck.)

Thank fuck indeed. I realize I didn’t say a whole lot during all this, mainly because I’m indifferent to this whole conversation. I’m not realizing anything new about them other than that they were really annoying when they tried avoiding the subjects. in a weird adorable awkward kinda way.

Yes, there we go, fucking SMILE. 

DIRK: (C’mon.) DIRK: (Let’s go claim our reward.)

GO get’em tiger.

Alright, that was the end of their interaction! It was a little boring to read over, so that kinda made it tedious. not because the act omega team wrote it bad! i just never really cared much for either of these characters. BUT that’s fine. just personal preference and shit. BUT NOW WE GET A CHARACTER INTERACTMENT IVE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO.

Here we are aN HOLY SHIT JADES EYES. I dont know what it is about them, they just look off.... HMMmm..

JADE: (hey rose?) ROSE: (Oh, hello Jade.)

8D THEY FINALLY MEET

ROSE: (I see you’ve finally woken from your nap.) JADE: (yeah!!! thank goodness!) JADE: (now i can finally give you a proper nice to see you hug!)

OH YES HUG HER NOW JADE

ROSE: (Is that so?) ROSE: (Well, It would be remiss of me to refu-)

8D....

thats the end of this update. I suppose I can ship them next time So yeah, expect a fourth update today.

[mikhalsarah]

But their hearts are far from me...

Wherefore the Lord said, Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men: Isaiah 29:13

So yesterday I’m at the local thrift shop and I’m looking at drapes. While moving them around I disturb a wolf spider that was hiding under some that touched the ground, which then runs out into the aisles where people are walking. I spot a loop of string on the ground and use it to guide the spider toward a shelf against the wall, where it can safely hide. I’m half-way there when a pious elderly “Muslim” woman shouts at me, “Step on on it!”

How did I know she was “pious”? Because she’s past the age of childbearing but she’s still wearing full hijab (overcoat and scarf combo) even though she no longer needs to do so, as is her daughter or daughter-in-law. I also know that hijab is probably just about the only rule of Islam she follows, along with a few other easy ways to score public piety points in her culture, like not eating pork  and probably walking around saying “Al hamdulillah!” frequently. 

How did I glean all this from a 5 second observation? 

Well, firstly I grew up with relatives like this who were Bible-thumping Plymouth Brethren who said, “Praise the Lord” after every damn sentence but then bump someone else’s car in a parking lot and scratch it and then move their car so they don’t have to pay for the damage, which they could well afford to do. And I watch Christians who natter on about imitatio Dei and how Jesus died for our sins who are pitching fits about wearing a mask to the mall, by which I mean they are not just bitching about themselves having to wear one, but actually shouting insults at those who are. A minor inconvenience for the sake of your neighbour, and suddenly “render unto Ceasar”, “turn the other cheek” and “do unto others”  are chucked out the window like the contents of a bedpan.

Secondly, I know my Qur’an and hadiths, which if I were a Muslimah would make me a creature as rare as a unicorn. The overwhelming majority of Muslims, like the overwhelming majority of Jews and Christians (and I assume every other religion) don’t actually know, much less practice their religion. Nor do I know all there is to know of mine (who can?), or practice it currently for that matter, but the difference is that I’m not labouring under the delusion that I’m practicing it when I’m not.

With women this is compacted by the fact that they were never even taught more than a handful of laws and verses....basically only the ones that say, or can be interpreted to say, that  men are better than women, that women barely have souls and hardly ever make it to heaven anyway but mysteriously don’t need a religious education because of their superior spiritual makeup (Huh?! WTF?), and how their only use and shot at heaven is getting married, obeying all the men in their family and popping out as many sons as possible. and why they should keep their gossipy twats out of the synagogue/church/mosque and pray at home except for Jumah prayers when men have to let them in because its commanded they attend...when they should be shunted into a basement, if possible. Those verses.

The verses on humans being Allah’s viceregents on earth, in charge of treating all living beings as Allah would...the Prophet being sent not just to humans but also to the Jinn and all living creatures as a mercy...the verses on all living creatures praying to and praising Allah each in their own mode...those verses that inconveniently get in the way of people doing exactly as they please in their greed and arrogance? Not really taught so much, and certainly not to the soulless and mysterious creatures called women, 9/10th of whom are desires needing to be curtailed, not potential virtues needing cultivation.

And the hadiths on the rewards of kindness to animals being equal to the rewards of kindness to humans, and the punishments for unnecessary cruelty to animals being as severe as for cruelty to humans? Rather glossed over as well.

Basically nothing much has changed in the 2700 years since Isaiah noted how many people were anxious to appear pious in public, and gave lip service to a God they didn’t really give a shit about...or in the 2020 years since Jesus remarked on the number of spiritually dead “whitened sepulchers” he was aware of. And here we are nearly 1400 years into the Islamic experiment and when confronted with a confused and terrified 35 millimeter non-venomous spider who is fleeing in terror in what is, to it, the middle of the night (they’re nocturnal) and, if the Quran is to be believed, quite possibly in the middle of praying for it’s life (I would be), a Muslim’s first impulse is to stomp on it. But her female body was covered, which as we all know is the most important rule ever to descent from on high. As long as a woman keeps her tits, ass and hair covered, what matter if she’s ignorant, cruel, and otherwise makes a general mockery of the faith? Her vagina is for one man only, and that’s all she needs to concern herself with other than cooking for and cleaning up after those whose minds and souls actually matter.

The only upside was that after I looked at her incredulously and said, “Why would I kill one of Allah’s creations?” and walked away, I glanced back and saw her granddaughter with the string I’d left behind by the shelf, gently using it to guide a dust-bunny under the shelf. At least someone’s heart has not yet been turned to stone. 

If you want your children to love God, the best possible thing you can do for them is not raise them in an organized religion or religious institution. At best they are a distraction from God and, at worst, in complete fucking opposition to everything important God asks people to be and do. They should be avoided like the plague they are, and there is nothing new about that under the sun. 

And that’s why I will be fasting in a northern forest this year for Yom Kippur and doing hungry hiking, instead of sitting in a half-empty shul listening to a hypocritically “woke” but cowardly little jackbooted Zionist “rabbi” drone on and on about (LGB)T issues and how shitty and racist Canada is to the few synagogue members he hasn’t alienated and driven away yet.