#a little less heinous than buying used i guess

[toomuchsky]

update i think.........i'm just gonna buy a new car?????? ok so like

my parents are pushing real hard to new cars bc safety, etc

truly the used car market is absolutely fucking heinous rn

the prices for a used 2012 rav4 with like 100k miles are literally only like 5k less than a new 2022 forester so like. what is the point.

anyway it's btwn the toyota rav4, honda crv, and subaru forester rn bc after 4 years with an suv that could fit whatever the fuck i wanted in it i can't go back! i can't go back. i am a soccer mom. the transformation is complete.

anyway. it looks like i could get preapproved for a decent loan with like a loooooong lease term for still within my budget so it wouldn't be impossible and honestly potentially even better than the monthly payment thru like carvana

i could build my own baby! pleading eye emoji. all white appa, bright red zuko, bright blue azula #2, or that fun sage green gray color i've been seeing everywhere.

i just. driving a new car seems so scary lmao. what if i ding it. what if i hit the curb a little. what if someone opens their door into it. spooky.

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

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[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

There were seven of them gathered in the tent that was serving as the temporary council chamber while the leaf village was being rebuilt. Kakashi sat at the head of the circular table, looking uncomfortable in the position of authority that had been thrust upon him in Tsunade’s absence. Next to Kakashi on his left was Shikaku Nara, with Shikamaru seated next to his father. On Kakashi’s right side sat Gai, Yamato, Naruto and then finally there was Sakura, sitting opposite Kakashi, wondering when in the hell she had become important enough to warrant an explicit invitation to a council meeting.

The elders, Sakura noted, were not in attendance. Kakashi had placed both of them under guard since Danzo’s treachery at the five Kage summit came to light. It didn’t really come as much of a surprise to Sakura that the Jonin of the village were hesitant to trust them with matters of importance.

Kakashi fiddled with his pen, as he seemed to search for the best way to approach whatever it was that was important enough for him to call a council meeting in the first place. He kept shooting Yamato glances, which Yamato always answered with a quirked eyebrow or a shake of the head, like there was a silent discussion going on between them. Sakura watched the exchange with fascination as she doodled on the note pad in front of her.

“Fine.” Kakashi growled, ending whatever argument he and Yamato were apparently having, “I guess we ought to just get on with it.” He took a breath, put the pen down very carefully, so that it was sitting perfectly straight in front of him. He swept his gaze around the room, locking eyes with each person who sat at the table in turn.

“You know I’m not the type to do things as officially as they should be done. Were it not for the delicate nature of this matter, I’d have left it for Tsunade to deal with when she recovers. Unfortunately, this is a matter that won’t wait until our Hokage is back on her feet.”

The air in the room seemed to grow still and heavy with tension. Everyone seemed to pick up on the carefully chosen words Kakashi used. Our Hokage. Not him. He had no desire to lead them. When Tsunade wakes up. Because none of them wanted to consider the other outcome.

“As you know, Yamato and I were present for the majority of the 5 Kage summit. I believe everyone here has read our reports regarding the proceedings of the summit and Danzo’s attempt at treason. That is not what we are here to discuss. This meeting is in regards to what happened before our arrival at the summit location. About information intentionally withheld from the official reports.”

Sakura observed the room. A large part of her medical training had focused on sharpening her observational skills. Teaching her to pick up on subtle changes around her, so that she can make decisions with the most information possible. So her keen gaze immediately picks up on the way that Shikaku straightened up in his chair as Kakashi admits to withholding information from the official documentation of their mission. She notes how Shikamaru’s gaze snaps to Naruto’s face, then to hers, trying to read the situation the same way that she was. She can almost visualize tangible waves of tension rolling off of Yamato and the worried look that Gai is giving her Sensei. It seemed that he had at least some inkling of what was going on.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure that this information should be shared with anyone. The source is questionable, but Yamato and I agree that given the potential ramifications for the village if the information we’ve been given is accurate, that at least the people in this room need to be aware of it.”

More glances shot around the table. Naruto at Sakura. Sakura at Yamato. Yamato and Gai at Kakashi. Shikaku and Shikamaru at all of them. The silence in the room swelled until Shikaku quietly prompted Kakashi, “please continue.”

“Itachi Uchiha.”

The name sent a shockwave through the room. White hot anger flared in Sakura. Itachi. Sasuke’s older brother. The shinobi who had murdered his entire clan in cold blood, who had tried to kidnap Naruto, who was directly involved with the organization that had killed Gaara, that had destroyed Konoha and caused so much pain to the person that she loved. Even if he didn’t love her back, Sakura could never forgive Itachi for the pain he inflicted on Sasuke.

Naruto was shrinking in his seat, like the name was a heavy weight descending on his shoulders. Shikaku and Shikamaru were both now sitting straight backed in their seats, giving Kakashi their undivided attention. Only Yamato and Gai remained impassive.

“What about the Uchiha?” Shikaku asked as the impact of the name started to settle.

“It seems that there is much more to Itachi’s actions than the village was initially lead to believe. Our information indicates that Itachi held no grudge against his clan. That his crimes, while heinous, were carried out under direct order from village leaders.”

Shikamaru laughed, the sound breaking through the tension like a paper bomb exploding in Sakura’s ears, “You must be joking. You can’t honestly believe that Lord Third would have allowed-“

Shikaku grabbed Shikamaru’s arm, and shooting him a sharp look to silence him.

Kakashi sighed, “I understand your skepticism. Like I said, Yamato and I don’t trust the source of our information, but given Danzo’s treachery and how long that was allowed to go on unnoticed, I don’t think we can dismiss anything outright. By the same token, none of this is to leave this tent. Until we are able to verify or disprove the claim, I want to keep this thing quiet.”

Shikamaru huffed, but Shikaku nodded thoughtfully, “Kakashi, you were his Anbu captain at one point. You probably know the most about Itachi of anyone present. Do you believe it’s possible that he was manipulated into massacring his clansmen?”

Sakura expected Kakashi to answer immediately. The entire thought of the village ordering a man to kill his entire clan was ludicrous.

Wasn’t it?

But Kakashi didn’t answer. One minute passed in silence and still Kakashi was sitting there, glaring down at his pen, unable to answer Shikaku’s question. It was Yamato who eventually spoke up.

“I served alongside Itachi on team Ro. Speaking frankly, I could never wrap my head around it. The Itachi I knew wasn’t capable of harboring that much hatred. Even with the proof right in front of our eyes, I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Sakura breathed in a sharp breath of surprise. Neither Kakashi or Yamato ever really spoke about their Anbu days, so she had been completely ignorant of the fact that they’d both been on a team with Itachi, much less been friends with him.

Did Sasuke know?

Kakashi nodded his head, “I agree with Yamato, Itachi Uchiha’s actions never made sense to me. I accepted that I must have missed the signs back then and once everything was said and done, I tried my best not to think about it. About him. He was my teammate, and I had failed him. But if this is true, then I failed him even worse than I ever could have believed.” Kakashi hung his head and Sakura could see how much this pained him. She could only imagine what he felt, having this ghost of his past being dragged back up to the surface, especially after so much recent pain and loss.

“Regardless of my and Yamato’s personal feelings about the man, there are other factors which lead us to believe that at least parts of the information we were given are true. Danzo did possess a number of Sharingan, including an eye that we can confirm belonged to Shisui Uchiha, who supposedly committed suicide by the Naka. Itachi was, at the time, suspected of murdering his cousin.”

Another pause, as Kakashi allowed the information to sink in. Shikaku was nodding his head in recognition of the name. Shikamaru was studying his father closely. Sakura could hear Naruto grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Alright,” Shikaku tapped his finger on the table, “Lets have it then. The whole story.”

Kakashi obliged, and slowly the story came out, with Yamato jumping in when it seemed that Kakashi was struggling to find the right words. About the plan for a coup d'etat that had been brewing within the Uchiha clan. The orders to spy on the Uchiha, to monitor them for signs of rebellion. Itachi’s assignment to team Ro, and his early promotion to captain under Danzo. About the death of a man named Shisui, who according to this had thrown himself off a cliff only after Danzo had stolen one of his eyes. The coup coming to a head, and Hiruzen asking Itachi to buy time to find a better solution than annihilation, and Itachi being approached later by Danzo, with a promise- that Itachi could ensure his little brother’s survival if he singlehandedly stopped the coup. The implication that if Itachi refused, Danzo would ensure the clan’s destruction, Sasuke and Itachi included.

The clan’s lives for Sasuke’s life. That was the deal that was put forth. And Itachi had accepted.

But it was the final bit of the story that chilled Sakura to her core.

“Hiruzen was aware of Itachi’s orders. While he may not have issued them himself, if our source is to be believed, he also made no effort to intervene. Its true that the Uchiha massacre solved the problem of the coup d'etat once and for all. But the only way it ended without anyone losing faith in Hiruzen was for Itachi to shoulder the blame. If he’d remained in the leaf village, Hiruzen would have been forced to punish him for the massacre. So instead, Hiruzen let Itachi leave the village, left the barrier jutsu formula intact so that Itachi could come and go as long as he remained hidden, and Itachi decided to join the Akatsuki. Not as a missing-nin, but as Konoha’s spy.”

Shikaku hummed, nodding his head, “I never was able to come up with a good reason why Hiruzen left the barrier jutsu formula alone. I assumed he believed that Itachi must not have any more reason to target the leaf, but even then when word came that Itachi had joined the Akatsuki, he ought to have changed it.”

“Right,” Kakashi was rubbing at his temple, probably fighting off a headache. He’d had a number of those since his brush with death at the hands of Pein.

“There are piece that add up. The barrier formula. The fact that the leaf village always had more intelligence on the Akatsuki and their movements than the other villages did. Danzo’s possession of the Uchiha eyes, Shisui’s eye especially. But there are also pieces I cant explain. Like why that bastard locked me in a seventy two hour genjutsu that almost killed me. And the only person who could confirm any of this, as far as I know, has been dead for three years.”

Gai said something in response to that, but Sakura had stopped listening, their voices fading to the background as something started to click in her head.

Konoha’s spy.

Had to stay hidden.

Could come and go as he pleased.

Her mind was spinning. Recalling strange orders issued by Tsunade. Treating a shinobi outside the hospital. Not allowed to use her healing chakra at all, only basic medical skills. The threat of being stripped of her rank as a shinobi if she disobeyed. A strange Anbu who never spoke. Who suppressed his chakra at all times. Who had eerily familiar eyes that always seemed to be filled with something she could never hope to understand.

“Sakura? Sakura are you alright?” Naruto’s hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently. Tenzo and Kakashi were both watching her with concern, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The name. Recognition like a bolt of lightning struck her and Sakura stood up so quickly that she sent her chair flying back with a crash.

She felt like she was going to explode. Every eye in the tent was on her, waiting for some kind of explanation for her sudden reaction. How on earth could she not have put it together earlier? Then again, she’d never been given any reason to suspect that Ghost, the strange anbu operative in the blank mask was Sasuke’s older brother.

Tsunade. Tsunade must have known. Her orders were to protect Ghost’s identity, because if Sakura had felt his chakra, even for an instant, she would have recognized the similarities to Sasuke’s, and there was only one other Uchiha left in the world. So many thoughts were crashing around inside Sakura’s mind. Anger. Anger at Ghost…Itachi…for lying to her, even if he had no other choice. It wasn’t like she would have ever helped him before if she knew who he was. She’d have been the first person to turn him in, no matter how much kindness he’d shown her. Anger at Tsunade, for allowing the farce to continue, despite knowing that Itachi had made the only choice he could have. Anger that Hiruzen, for failing to intervene and stop all the pain that the massacre caused. For Sasuke, and for Itachi.

Her eyes met Kakashi’s steady gaze. Her sensei, always so adept at reading what troubled her, waited patiently for her mouth to catch up to her mind.

“You knew?”

“No.” Not a lie. She hadn’t known, “But I’m pretty sure this is the truth. I…” gods above how did she even begin to explain it all? To explain about Ghost, his strange behavior, the bizarre connection they shared.

Tenzo was her saving grace. He seemed to have put some of the pieces together himself.

“The Anbu? The one you told me about?”

Sakura nodded and sank back down into her chair, hugging her arms into herself. The eyes of the group moved off of Sakura, looking to Tenzo for more information.

“Earlier this year, Sakura confided in me about a patient of hers. She wanted to know if I was aware of an Anbu agent whose mask was blank, no markings at all. She told me that Tsunade had asked her to treat him and that the arrangement came with some unusual orders which had her uncomfortable.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, “Are you referring to-“ Kakashi cut off, but Tenzo nodded, clearly understanding the question. Shikamaru grumbled.

“Care to explain for those of us who can’t read your mind?”

“Ghost,” Tenzo shot back, “It’s a…well for lack of better terms, it’s a ghost story that exists among the Anbu. A few years back a few genin claimed they were saved by an Anbu agent in a blank white mask, who slaughtered the enemy shinobi who were attacking them and then disappeared without a trace. No one believed them, but since then all kinds of stories about the faceless mask have popped up. Most of them are incredibly far fetched, but there are elements that remain consistent throughout. Black hair. Always alone. Never leaves any survivors except for leaf shinobi. Only fights with Kunai and a tanto, never jutsu. At least, none that anyone ever sees. I didn’t think anything of it, but when Sakura mentioned her patient to me, I did some digging. There is a file for an Anbu agent, codename Ghost, but there’s no serial number on the file, and everything in it was encoded.”

Kakashi sighed, “It’s not proof, but that seems pretty damning.” Apparently Kakashi didn’t have any better explanation that Sakura did.

“In that case, there are a few things to address. First and foremost, it is very likely that Sasuke has also been made aware of the fact that his brother acted under orders. I don’t think he knows about Itachi’s identity as an Anbu operative, but we need to be prepared because I’m not sure what kind of effect this information will have on him. The last I knew, Sasuke’s sole focus was on killing his brother for revenge. It’s quite possible that his desire for revenge will shift to target the village, or at least those he feels most responsible for Itachi’s actions.”

Everyone in the tent nodded their agreement.

“The second question is one of what to do about Itachi himself.”

This time no one nodded. It was a momentous question.

“Are you sure we need to do anything at all?” Shikaku asked, trying to be as gentle with the question as possible. Tenzo slammed his hand down on the table and looked like he wanted to throw himself at Shikaku.

“Of course we have to do something! He’s a leaf shinobi! He’s put his life in danger for the past nine years, alone, hated by everyone in order to protect the village. He deserves to know that he isn’t being held responsible for being forced to make an impossible choice when he was thirteen fucking years old!”

“Easy, Tenzo,” Kakashi seemed to be doing his best to keep his tone level, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him while they sorted things out, “You know that I want to see him again as much as you do, as a friend. But we need to consider what’s best for the village. At the least, I don’t think we need to come to a decision right now. Our first priority is to rebuild the village itself. When Tsunade wakes up, I’m sure she’ll have something to say on the matter.”

Sakura clenched her fist and felt her chakra start flowing into them out of instinct. You better believe that she’ll have something to say. I’ll make sure of it.

She pushed herself up from the table. She needed to hit something. Needed to break something. And if she didn’t leave now, she couldn’t be sure what exactly it was she was going to break. Better safe than sorry.

“Sakura? Going somewhere?”

“For a walk,” She hissed, daring anyone to try and stop her as she stormed out of the tent.

[fireemblems24]

Flame Emperor Reveal Analysis

This game is all over the place with this. This level delivered some of the most intense and emotional moments so far, but doesn’t always capitalize on character development and conflict. 

I’m playing all four routes in Fire Emblem Three Houses mostly blind. Below is spoilers for all four routes (which I’m learning the names of now). And for the first it’s actually 4! 

Crimson Flower & Silver Snow

I lied. Originally I planned on writing a different analysis for Crimson Flower and Silver Snow, but the build up is the same. Only the fallout is different, and yeah there’s a lot to say about how things played out. 

The Black Eagles routes have the biggest advantage for this scene because your main character is the Flame Emperor. It does not hold back. All of your students, sans Edelgard and Hubert, are terrified, confused, and hurt. None of them grasp fully what’s going on when Edelgard takes her mask off and orders her army to kill anyone who stands against her. The voice actors do a fantastic job here: Dorothea, Caspar, Bernadetta, and others sell the mess of emotions the Black Eagles experience, and Edelgard sounds stone-cold and in-command. Her betrayal is the gut-punch it should be. 

The level presents a no-win scenario. One of your students is willing to kill you and everyone else you’re supposed to protect, and Rhea is out for blood. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you lose. It’s a heartbreaking, emotional mess of a situation the writing sets up. 

Even prior to all this, the dance between revealing to much or to little about Edelgard’s true intentions is fantastic. Where the Blue Lions basically dumps the answer in your lap and the Golden Deer gives little to no hints at the Flame Emperor’s identity, the Black Eagles is the only route where I do not know if I would’ve guessed correctly or had so few clues that I didn’t bother trying to guess. 

Edelgard drops enough hints to guess correctly if you’re looking for them. She always questions Byleth about his thoughts on the Flame Emperor, trying to drive a wedge between the Emperor and the heinous actions the masked knight is involved in.  Likewise, Edelgard constantly asks Byleth if he’d pick her over the whole world. She also makes alarming declarations that tow the line between reformer and despot. All of these actions make sense in retrospect - she was fishing to see who would and would not side with her regardless of her actions. 

The scene in the Holy Tomb builds up to a crescendo, Edelgard is defeated, and Rhea makes her demand to kill Edelgard. It’s a bit telling Rhea needed to go so extreme in order to make siding with Edelgard believable, but it’s counteracted  by the game going as far as making Edelgard an enemy unit who can and will kill her classmates. Both women resort to extremes. Rhea is emotional, hateful, and screaming for blood. Edelgard is cold, calculated, and resorting to using victims of human experimentation to kill her own friends. These are two driven, passionate women exposing their ugliest sides in an emotional scene ripe for fantastic character development and conflict. 

And then . . . the wrap-up. 

Silver Snow

Should you choose to kill Edelgard, you land in Silver Snow. Rhea’s angry rant against Edelgard is fantastically delivered and makes me anticipate further development from her character. Back in Garreg Mach Monastery, Rhea  juxtaposes her earlier scene for a softer one. She implies a willingness to sacrifice her life to protect her home, and asks Byleth to take her role should something happen to her. Rhea’s plan all along was to put Byleth (who is connected to Sothis, who is connected to Rhea, though the details are still unknown to me) in charge. After hearing Rhea call for blood, it’s a sweet scene between Byleth and the archbishop. The problem with it is that every route gets these scenes sans Crimson Flower. It’s two great scenes for Rhea, but not unique to Silver Snow. 

And here’s the weird part - there is no unique content for Rhea outside of a few initial lines when choosing to kill Edelgard. Instead, we get the Black Eagles upset and unsure about Edelgard’s actions, a few wondering how much she planned all along and how involved she was in every horrible thing that happened during their school year. It’s necessary, but there’s nothing stand-out in anyone’s dialogue to bring home a real gut-punch. 

Seteth gets the best unique content in Silver Snow when he offers the Black Eagles a chance to defect to the Empire should they desire. It’s delivered softly with no threat behind it, showing an earnest desire for the students to feel comfortable even if it means they’re going to turn around and try to slaughter him in thanks. Thankfully, none of the students leave. Cyril and Catherine automatically join your team, and Hilda is now recruitable as well to make up for losing Hubert and Edelgard.   

The fall out for choosing to stand against Edelgard is . . . fine. For such a unique event in Fire Emblem (siding against your lord, possibly losing two units you’ve heavily invested in should you not know what’s coming), I expected a bit more drama and flare and a lot more Rhea. However, this is only the start, and it gave what it needed to give. 

The stage has been well set. Everyone’s in a no-win situation. Should they lose, they and everyone else in Fodlan will suffer an all-out, dragged-out war. They’ll lose their school and have to fight against their home country (sans Petra) where most of their family and friends live. Killing Edelgard ends the conflict, but she is their former friend, classmate, and rightful leader. She gives them no choice - fight for me or die standing against me. Neither option will leave Byleth and the remaining students wholly satisfied, so I foresee more bittersweet confrontations coming, and I look forward to it.

Crimson Flower 

Deciding to protect Edelgard lands you on the Crimson Flower path. I have to say, I’ve read and watched thousands of stories and this one scene stands out among all others. 

Never in my life have I ever seen characters react to a situation in a way that makes less sense. Even more baffling is how much potential gets tossed out the window. Stories thrive on conflict and character development and this scene is ripe with potential, but instead of even letting the fruit grow rancid they just . . . act like it never existed. 

After Byleth picks to guard Edelgard, Rhea loses it and is ready to tear Byleth to pieces before turning into a dragon. The Black Eagles and Edelgard all run away and, not long after, make it back to Enbarr safely. How they escaped a rampaging dragon or successfully fled Garreg Mach is hand-waved away. This is the kind of hand-waving I can forgive. It’s lazy writing, but it doesn’t really impede the story. What I cannot forgive is the hand-waving that comes next. 

Edelgard has a brief scene where she tells her classmates her intentions - she wants to rid Fodlan of the Church of Serios’s control, claims that Rhea and her fellow beasts have secretly ruled humanity and held them back, and is going to declare war. She asks who will join her. Predictably, all of them do - except Flayn. Edelgard mentions that Flayn has opted not to stay with the group. 

Hmmm. I wonder why. Could it be Edelgard’s lackey kidnapped and tortured her for a whole month, preparing her for blood experiments at the hands of an evil group of mages who just happen to be Edelgard’s allies? Maybe that had something to do with it. The fact the game presents this is as some magnanimous act is hilarious. I believe Edelgard would let someone like, say Petra, turn away too, but she deserves no “brownie points” for allowing someone who she allowed to get tortured and set-up for a slow death as a human sacrifice to leave and not decide to attack her the home where her father still lives. I think this aspect of Edelgard’s character would’ve hit home significantly harder if someone who wasn’t so throughly victimized by Edelgard’s actions had fled, or you actually saw Flayn leave. 

No one asks about the Death Knight. No one asks about Flayn’s kidnapping. No one asks about Kostas attempting to kill students. No one asks about the students kidnapped and experimented on or Remire Village or Jeralt. No one asks where the Crest Beasts Edelgard is using came from. No one asks about the fact she just tried to kill all of them, or what she’s going to do with the Crest Stones. No one even mentions the Flame Emperor. No one questions the history she spilled on them, claiming the church was behind the splitting of Fodlan despite not even having enough knights to guard their own monastery and needed students to help out at events. 

I could buy the Black Eagles running away with Edelgard. The scene where Byleth chooses Rhea or Edelgard is highly emotional. Things happen quickly and no one is given much of a chance to process anything. Rhea doesn’t give anyone much of a choice by shifting into a dragon. I wish they didn’t rely so much on “Rhea bad” to make any sense of siding with Edelgard, but it is believable. What I cannot buy is how no one questions anything afterwards. 

It’s like the whole cast just forgot the first eleven chapters. No one even mentions the Flame Emperor’s existence. The moment the mask came off, it ceased to exist. Everyone mindlessly believes everything Edelgard says, and no one even asks any questions - not about Rhea, not about the history of Fodlan, not about the Flame Emperor’s actions. Barely anyone bats an eyelash at the idea of attacking their own school and killing former classmates, teachers, and friends. Everyone comes across borderline brainwashed. Did the writers have so little faith in Edelgard’s position they were afraid to even attempt exploring it? Even worse is the strategy meeting is just Edelgard, Hubert, and Byleth - the Black Eagles are no where to be seen. It makes them come across like mindless puppets rather than anyone remotely rational - like pawns arranged on a board required for gameplay reasons than actual characters.        

Never in my life have I seen a story throw away so much potential character development and conflict. The situation here is intriguing. Edelgard’s stance is fascinating, but everything falls short when all that’s interesting about it is getting tossed out the window because Rhea is secretly evil and nothing Edelgard did beforehand seems to matter anymore. I am seriously concerned about where this route is heading, because despite the massive potential, it seems like it cares less about that and more about making sure Edelgard looks good rather than complex and interesting, even at the cost of logic, character development, and by turning other interesting characters black so Edelgard has someone she can look better than in comparison rather than standing on her own ideals.     

Verdant Wind

Am I correct in assuming the fandom consensus is that Verdant Wind had the least impactful Flame Emperor reveal? Because it did. 

Edelgard had little to no presence in Verdant Wind. Outside of pre and post class vs class battle banter, her only scene consisted of interrogating Claude and getting and giving no answers. Claude has no connection to Edelgard and neither does Byleth or any of the Golden Deer. When the mask comes off and it’s her face behind it, there’s no emotional response. 

The fallout is equally lackluster. Claude demands answers from Edelgard, which she refuses to answer, and she warps away. Afterwards, things play out the same way they do on every route. And that’s the core issue here. Claude and the Golden Deer bring nothing unique to this scene. Elements of surprise that Edelgard is the Flame Emperor, her willingness to kill all your units to get crest stones, and her declaration of war is there on every route. Claude’s character and goals have had no impact on the plot. 

Analyzing this scene has brought to light my main issue with the Verdant Wind route thus far. It’s that Claude and friends have done nothing to move the plot forward. Things just happen; no character is making anything happen. You could argue it’s the same for the Azure Moon route, but Dimitri’s clearly defined goals and emotional connection makes it a streamlined story with a sense of forward progression instead of plot points getting dumped in the player’s lap. 

It’s too bad, because Verdant Wind could’ve approached this differently. Instead of Claude getting nothing done and shouting about every relic that showed up, he and Byleth could’ve solved mysteries together a la Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boy. For all of Claude’s questioning everything, very little attention was paid to unmasking the Flame Emperor. Verdant Wind guided its players to look at the wrong mysteries - mysteries that ultimately got no answers while ignoring the one part one was actually about figuring out, and if this was flipped, Verdant Wind would’ve had a much more impactful Flame Emperor reveal. 

I will give Verdant Wind major bonus points though. It is nice to see a character question Edelgard about her involvement in things. Dimitri’s too caught up in his Duscur trauma (which I don’t believe Edelgard participated in) and neither Silver Snow and especially Crimson Flower question Edelgard’s actions as the Flame Emperor, but Claude throws at her all the questions I wanted to hear: what about Flayn? What about Jeralt? What about Remire? So congrats Claude, you’re the only character and the only route that’s holding Edelgard actually responsible for her actual actions. If only she was the mystery you were investigating instead of one that went exactly no where for eleven straight chapters. 

Azure Moon

What’s interesting here is that the Flame Emperor’s reveal is less about who the mystery person is and more about our protagonist’s, Dimitri’s, reaction to it. And that is core reason behind this scene’s success. 

Multiple users on here told me to play chapter eleven of Blue Lions first, and I’m both glad and upset I listened to them. Glad, because they were all right, this route had by far the best Flame Emperor reveal, but sad because it all went downhill from there. 

The Crimson Flower/Silver Snow routes should’ve had the best Flame Emperor reveal. After all, those are the routes where Edelgard plays the biggest role, but the follow up to the scene is fairly lackluster, especially in Crimson Flower. Azure Moon, on the other hand, did everything Crimson Flower was afraid to - address the elephant in the room.   

Characters in Crimson Flower respond to the situation as if Edelgard didn’t just try to kill all of them, nor do they ask any questions about her actions as the Flame Emperor. Everyone acts as if none of that ever happened, and by not bothering to even mention it, those actions stick out even worse than they would’ve otherwise. 

The opposite is true in Azure Moon. Everyone is unnerved by Dimitri’s violent outburst. Felix jumps at the chance to tell everyone, “I told you so.” No one knows what to do about Dimitri, nor do they really have time to process anything with Edelgard’s war machine knocking on their front door. However, this is the base expectation of a story - that characters respond realistically to what happened prior instead of teleporting to some surreal dimension where Edelgard isn’t working with people who perform human experimentation. 

So what exactly did Azure Moon do to make this reveal so successful? It utilized the route’s unique aspects: Dimitri’s mental instability and desire for revenge, terrible family history, and emotional connection to Edelgard. 

Unlike Verdant Wind, Edelgard has an actual presence and relevance in Azure Moon thanks to her connection to Dimitri. He cares about her like family, which makes her betrayal more personal and automatically more impactful than in Verdant Wind. Even more brilliant here is milking the emotional aspect of what happened. Instead of focusing on “shocking” the reader with Edelgard’s betrayal, it drops hints about her secret identity with all the subtly of a lead brick. 

You know what inevitable, dramatic, and tragic outcome is coming. Edelgard, Dimitri’s only remaining family (outside of an uncle he’s on bad terms with), is working hand-in-hand with the people who caused the deaths of his family which led to the genocide of a race of people and the source all of his trauma.  Dimitri makes it quite clear he’s out for revenge, and that anything related to Duscur triggers his PTSD so bad it seems like a dissociative or psychotic episode. Azure Moon does not build up a mystery, it builds up an emotional conflict - like watching a train wreck that you know is coming and can’t stop. 

And that’s the brilliance of it - this scene isn’t about Edelgard being the Flame Emperor, we already know that, it’s about Dimitri, who this route is about and who the player is emotionally invested in during this version of the story. 

Nor does this game disappoint here. There’s no softening anything to try and make Dimitri look “better.” He has a full-on violent breakdown. It’s devastating. He is succumbing fully to his demons after fighting against it over and over while getting tossed into triggering situations ad nauseam and getting no help in return (after all, therapy, medication, hell even the concept of mental illness simply doesn’t exist). All the signs that the route has built up explode in an emotional scene, and probably thee best cut scene so far with some of the best voice acting in Fire Emblem to carry it out. Every plot thread comes to a head: Dimitri’s lust for revenge, his unstable mental health, the mystery of the Flame Emperor’s identity, etc . . . 

The upcoming battle has more meaning now. It has what is at steak in the other routes - win or lose and the fear of having to kill former classmates - and more. Because it isn’t just about the battle of Edelgard vs the world, but also the battle for Dimitri’s mental health and for his soul. There’s a bit of a catch-22 here, is Edelgard dying really the best ending? Killing her saves many lives, but at the cost of Dimitri’s mental health? What if she dies and he doesn’t kill her, but what if he does? Would he kill himself now that the dead are avenged? Or what if she lives and this drags on longer? No option is good. There isn’t an easy win button by offing Edelgard or taking over the school. Every possible ending is a bad ending. Your lead character is in the middle of a mental breakdown, and giving into his demons and lust for revenge (which is a separate issue exasperated by ill mental health) and the situation only makes it worse and is to dire to properly let anyone deal with said breakdown. The tension, the drama, the sense of foreboding dread, is all so much more here than in all the other routes. 

What makes Azure Moon’s handling of the Flame Emperor so good is that it widely succeeded where the other two routes failed. Verdant Wind didn’t make the reveal relevant to anything Claude was interested in or working towards. Crimson Flower completely and utterly failed to address Edelgard’s actions let alone use that to create compelling tension. Azure Moon did both. It made the Flame Emperor reveal relevant to the route, even made it actually about the main character of the route. Nor is it shying away from conflict and tension, even if it means letting it’s main character fall out of grace and risking the player’s infatuation/admiration/whatever with/of Dimitri by having him succumb to his dark side. Because it’s not protecting him, he’s going to turn out a way better character for it. 

I will admit though, that I think playing all four routes impacted this a bit. It didn’t benefit Azure Moon, but I think this route spoiling who the Flame Emperor is hurt the other routes. Verdant Wind might’ve had at least some tiny smudge of an impact because it’s the only route where there’s very little way to correctly guess who the Flame Emperor is - the only one where it may be truly a surprise. Crimson Flower/Silver Snow does make it a bit more obvious, but doesn’t quite spell it out for you the way Azure Moon does. Here, the player kind of has to be looking for it. Obviously though, you can only learn this once, and good writing could’ve made all the routes impactful with very small tweaks - have Verdant Wind actually focus on the mystery that’s solved at the end of Part 1 (who is the Flame Emperor) and actually have characters react to and get answers about Edelgard’s actions. I also think the choice between Silver Snow and Crimson Flower looses its tension when you go into it knowing you’ll pick both. Azure Moon easily had the best reveal, so I want to ultimately thank everyone who told me to do this one first - you were all very, very right. 

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

The conclusion to the VA/BL reread with Silver Shadows and Ruby Circle (here’s the post on FH, here’s the post on the VA closers SB and LS)

I think I forgot to emphasize this in the last post: it is bullshit that Adrian still had the Alchemist-paid-for apartment after the events of “TFH” and only becomes more unbelievable that Trey has it still in “SS”... I do not get it

Like with SB and LS, I would make a lot of plot changes in the adaptation.

Silver Shadows

Fun fact: her golden lily on this book cover actually flashes a little gold in the right lighting, and I love that

This one, especially the majority of Sydney’s stuff in the first half or so of the book, was much better than I remembered.

Adrian’s stuff had me far less forgiving. I realize he’s struggling with a fictionalized elevated form of bipolar disorder and he developed addictions in trying to self-medicate over most of his adolescence/early adulthood so far, but as far as his actions go... the part where he blackouts for something like three weeks while in Sydney’s chapters she’s so certain he’s going to rescue her... it really frustrates me. Especially because Richelle writes him as self-flagellating over it, but Sydney immediately reassures him “oh, no, I just got the gas turned off, you couldn’t have really done anything...” as if those three or so days weren’t a big deal with the way the time crunch worked out later... it’s one of those heavy-handed things where I don’t feel like Richelle ever actually makes Adrian own up to his errors in the same way the rest of the main characters have to. Including: Wesley Drozdov and his motley crew show up again, and Adrian plays big hero and outs their dabbling attempt on Sydney, and then with Keith later on thinks to himself “at least I’d taken no for an answer from girls” as if he hadn’t insistently pursued both Rose and Sydney (including the scene at Alicia’s Victorian inn in IS) and been revealed to have dabbled at least once. Like, good that he’s trying to make up for past behavior, but again and again it comes off to me as glib or insincere (in the way it’s written- that he’s some model that is exempt from causing harm). This especially pisses me off in the way he treats his mom for sticking in a loveless marriage to his dad (did Adrian forget about his mom’s affair with Ambrose btw?) for financial security, and even with the hypocrisy being pointed out to him and him begrudgingly admitting it in his mind, or he drags Nina to Sonya’s to try and get her compensated for her work and she’s all googly eyes at him, but his acts of chivalry feel empty. And this extends to Marcus, too, to a lesser extent. Look, I love Carly (all the Sage sisters mean the world to me) and I’m glad that she became an advocate for fellow survivors and I get what Richelle was trying to do in empowering survivors with Carly’s character, but Marcus’ star-struck admiration of her (being made speechless by her strength) felt weird and make me uncomfortable.

On to Sydney’s stuff, holy hell her side of the story is dark. And this conversion therapy nonsense in it is part of why I desperately want canon queer leads in the adaptation (preferably Sydney herself, which would yes mean Adrian and probably Rose... that’s my prerogative). Is that potentially triggering? YES. But Richelle took that step when she laid it on so thick with the allegory. In the meantime, I love the supporting characters that Richelle drew up to be in the center with Sydney. Emma, Duncan, and the rest (the fellow detainees- not Sheridan... she can burn) and I want more of them (seriously, Richelle made some great underexplored groups with the Unpromised, the Keepers, the Merry Men, and then these additional Rebelchemists). There is a weird mention of Sydney having arranged some supply closets on one of the floors, despite whatever scene she did that in seemingly having been cut (there was also a line Rose ascribed to Victor at the end of Last Sacrifice about sending Jill away, so it’s not unheard of). When I first read the book (with a long break before), the degree to which Sydney was using magic in there felt illogical, but rereading directly from the other books, it is more justifiable. I think the Detainment, and Sydney’s struggles there, is some of the best writing Richelle managed in the books, and I don’t have any changes to that part.

But the escape... is actively worse than I remember it. There are glimmers of some great stuff in there- I mentioned in the last post how much I love when Sydney wakes up Hopper and sobs over him, and that still is powerful. But omfg Sydney (and Adrian) hold up the stupid stick so many times in these chapters. To be clear, first-off: Adrian should have gotten blood before they ever went into the desert. In the worst case, he and Eddie (the night before the infiltration) should have gone off to the side and done a feeding (doesn’t have to be Eddie, since I imagine he actually has a bad reaction to them since FB, but it does have to be someone willing). Eddie would have enough time to recover, especially with adequate food. Setting that aside, the actual events of the escape work for me. So I guess it’s more the after. Sydney and Adrian should have driven straight to Las Vegas (if they wanted to stop in the other town and change clothes and switch cars that’s fine with me- I even like the senior citizen tour they were on; p.s. we never learn if the Ivashkinator was shipped back to Palm Springs or anything, which is very surprising to me). Their decision to stay in a hotel overnight, even as much as Sydney did deserve that kind of relaxation, was stupid beyond belief. I would have preferred they got to Vegas, were spotted by Alchemists but made it to the Witching Hour without issue, and then Adrian got them a room, and that was the point where Sydney relaxed and slept. Consolidate some of that. Let Sydney have her luxury bath, and a haircut from Adrian, and other stuff there. Let her mention to him that the first photo she saw of him was taken near there, and hey, did he know Rose had bought a car in Russia that Sydney loved. And when Adrian goes down to make some money to further their escape, that’s when he realizes they’re being watched- there are too many yellow and orange auras. Let them have a less exorbitant wedding than in the book- no ridiculous mermaid dress that Sydney can’t expect to move in and that is ridiculously expensive (she can still have a beautiful stunning white dress). Let her start with the blue sneakers. Let Adrian find a place to get the ring made, if that’s necessary (or just use the dang cufflinks as are for the time being and pin them to the fancy attire). And Jill sends the chopper directly to the Firenze for an “Italian” wedding. They can still have the showdown with Sheridan on the roof- just simplify everything.

And then when they get to Court- let Sydney do more of the talking. Let her (righteously) call out the conditions in the reconditioning- the torture because she showed empathy to Renee who couldn’t even eat on her own, the torture they inflicted on Emma to break her- she didn’t betray her own kind, the Alchemists are repeatedly betraying their own kind, pushing them into the darkness of an empty hole. Oh, and this necklace around her neck, that Sheridan took for her own before Sydney reclaimed it, the morning glories were painted by the man she loves. And she rejects the Alcehmists having any authority on her. She’s a witch of the Stelle coven; she’s Sydney Sage Ivaskhov damnit. And when her dad tells her that if she doesn’t come with them, these will be the last words she ever gets to say to him? She gets to ask him if he knew what happened to Carly, if he let it happen under his own roof because he wanted a son like Keith more than the daughters he was blessed with. I want Sydney arguing her case, having her real communion. I said the same for Rose and Spirit Bound, and Sydney deserves the same here.

p.s. there are a lot of structural parallels between this book and BP/early SB- Sydney’s reeducation being like Rose’s time in Novosibirsk, the Tasarov escape from SB (which Eddie directly mentions) immediately followed up with a Vegas trip

Ruby Circle

Dang it. Look, I no longer hate the idea of Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. Their ending in RC was a lot better built-up (and a lot less bitter for Sydney) than I thought the first time. But the road to get there...

I hate the Jill being kidnapped by Alicia part (and I don’t buy the Warriors working with her). Honestly, just let them deal with Alicia during the events of Fiery Heart (when next to nothing else is going on). Like, Adrian and Sydney come off really badly in my head for “causing” her kidnapping because of a personal vendetta against them, when they came there to protect her in the first place (I realize the actual fault was with Alicia, but the feeling stands). Also the pointless scavenger hunt leading them from Pennsylvania (so conveniently, even though Alicia would have had to go there to set her traps after abducting Jill in the first place?) a month after the fact to whatever castle (then to Michigan) then to Palm Springs and the infiltrating the Warriors mission... it’s all too much (also I refuse to believe Sydney cast those stinging demons... that’s so dangerous I can’t even). Given the introduction of the Stelle in FH, and the unnecessary Malachi stuff, it works better to do that all then anyways. (I still want Jackie involved somehow of course) Instead of sidelining Angeline at Amberwood, she should get to be involved in the hunt for Jill (same as Eddie was for Sydney).

In other parts... Wesley Drozdov was never a good character. I really didn’t need even a mention of him in this book. I also... don’t buy how stigmatized Adrian was for marrying Sydney. I can see it being a scandal, or a laughingstock, the source of snarky asides and derision, but Richelle never built it in VA or the earlier BL books to being as heinous as she then tried to make it (so that Adrian could feel suffocated by Court, just like Sydney). I would have been much more interested in trying to see Sydney blend in, and take a stand in the Moroi world (and seeing her try to ally with nonroyal Moroi, but that also still not going super smoothly because they don’t like being on the same level as a human), and maybe her trying out her magic with the Moroi fighters that Mia and Christian had formed (that beautiful, blessed little moment), and then if it integrating there didn’t work admitting that it just... wasn’t going to. Rather than not even trying.

I understand that Richelle was building up with Adrian’s fears of completely losing it with Nina, but she just got screwed over in both of these books. (We’re acknowledging that it was wrong of her to kiss him in SS when he wasn’t even conscious, and moving on). And then Olive got screwed. And Neil got screwed. I said before that I don’t mind Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. But I mind a whole heck of a lot that Richelle killed (essentially) Nina and Olive both (in bullshit, tragic ways) and then wrote Neil off so that Sydney and Adrian would have to raise a baby. Let Sydney be pregnant. Let her be recovering from the most traumatic event of her life, she and Adrian forewent protection on their hectic honeymoon/escape, she’s going to be a mom to a Dhamphir and wow that’s going to be weird for her... and meanwhile this allows her to get through to Olive. To promise Olive and Neil that Sonya and everyone else will not use their baby as a test tube. Nina can still go up to the brink (maybe she passes it and the spirit trio of Lissa, Sonya, and Adrian have to heal her), there can still be a Strigoi attack at the Refuge in northern Michigan, but ffs cut the crap treatment of those three to pass on a readymade kid to Sydrian. It is a trope that I loathe. I also dislike the “ohmigod” fangirl characterization of Mallory, and while the Rand stuff was better than I remembered (that is to say, he is terrible and everyone acknowledges that and no one makes light of it the way I misremembered), I could do without it (especially since I’d prefer that if they keep Dimitri and Adrian cousins, they addres it much earlier).

Honestly, I would do the following:

the start of the season for RC (which doesn’t match its name??) has Sydney and Adrian locked down at Court and they can’t help like they want to, so they try to adapt and do what they can there, including Adrian trying to get Nina to calm down; their friends from Palm Springs and Marcus team up altogether and get an infiltration squad with the Warriors of Light; Eddie gets to participate; they rescue Jill, and get some of the data on the Alchemist/ Warrior collaboration

the Moroi Court finally gets into action on the age and family laws in earnest; meanwhile, Sydney is helping carve out a niche for the rebel Alchemists to work with the Moroi, especially for Strigoi hunting groups like what Mia and Christian wanted to organize; Jill and Sydney are helping each other emotionally recover from their respective hostage ordeals; Sydney realizes she’s pregnant, which helps Adrian realize in a dream with Olive that she’s pregnant, and finally sees her location marker

it’s “rescuing” Olive time; Neil gets to go too- with his presence, things don’t all go to shit; there is a Strigoi attack in retaliation for the new hunting groups, but heroes persevere and protect the commune; the data on the Alchemist/Warrior collaboration, and the Rebelchemists work with the Moroi, gives the perfect leverage now to get the Rebelchemists their freedom and establish Sydrian’s future together

SO, after rereading Bloodlines

I dislike Sydrian less than I did, though I still think Adrian could be vastly improved if adapted as a woman

the second half gave Eddie more to do, but still not enough emotional focus on him

man Amberwood and its supporting characters disappeared; I get that Adrian isn’t likely to settle in California long term, but can I please get more resolution to those characters, whether it comes from more focus in IS, or a graduation ceremony or something?

Abe also disappeared which is strange

man, Sydrian have a lot of daddy issues. because their dads are both abusive jerks. but why oh why did Jared end up collaborating with the Warriors for tattoos? was it because of anger over ‘losing’ Sydney or just greed? I’m glad that Zoe and Sydney at least started to heal things, and that Zoe is ok where she is

we still never got answers on who restored Lee... Clarence only showed up for deus ex machina money and shelter and I guess blood (did Marcus ever get to speak to him again?)

minor grievance: Richelle described the Warrior recruits as being almost evenly distributed between men and women, with a slide toward men, before two pages later saying there were 30 potential guys and 13 potential ladies, and remembering that, oh, yeah, the Warriors didn’t really use women on the front line; I don’t want any of that subplot adapted I just... editing?

#DoBetterByOliveAndNinaAndNeil2030 (who gets to name their kid Declan?), #LetSydneyUseHerBeautifulBrain

[turqrambles]

The Five Worst Things About Digimon World

I did it.

It took 20 years but I did it.

I finally beat Digimon World for the Playstation 1, a game that has haunted me for most of my lifetime, and I did it with a Phoenixmon, the reason why I use “Turquoisephoenix” as a handle!

This is who I used to beat the game, named after an obscure Ratchet and Clank character because that’s just how I roll. The final boss battle involved a lot of Prominence Beam spamming and med recovery floppy spamming but I did it fair and square. 

Before I get into what I thought about this game as a whole - and I do have a lot of good things to say about this game since I obviously enjoyed it enough to get to the end - I gotta talk about my least favorite things about this game. In a concise, Buzzfeed-esque list because I like writing things in easy to digest chunks.

Because, like most charming yet difficult games of the late 90′s, this game is very flawed and the flaws are pretty annoying!

1. Care Mistakes

The three emojis - Smile, Cool, and Poop.

Okay. This one - my least favorite part in the game - is going to take a bit of explanation.

First off, I don’t actually hate care mistakes existing as a mechanic. I think it’s a cute, virtual pet-y way to add a different wrinkle to evolution requirements, even if I think it’s a bit counter-intuitive to have to suddenly abuse my little companion once they reach Champion just because I want them to evolve into a floating metallic ball with a chainsaw.

My problem with care mistakes is that there’s literally no way of telling many care mistakes you have on your given Digimon. 

Literally everything else in this game is concisely recorded and easily displayed on your Digimon’s stats screen. You can see how much your Digimon weighs. You can see their Happiness, their Discipline. How much Life they have left. Their Age. Even how many poops they need to make before they digivolve into a sentient pile of feces.

But Care Mistakes? Naaaaw, you just gotta remember every single thing that you did to your Digimon from the moment it evolves in your fallible human brain. What’s that? A good portion of this game involves grinding in the Green Gym and it’s really easy to make a Care Mistake there without knowing you did so because you mashed A too fast like the stat-grinding numskull that you are? Well, that’s just too fucking bad for you, then! Enjoy not getting some of the best evolutions, you piece of shit. You stooge. You moron!

This game, multiple times: You know who I hate? The player.

Care Mistakes are such an invisible mechanic that, to this day, there are many guides with misleading info about what counts as a Care Mistake and what doesn’t, which...really stinks for a game such as this where you will be using a guide pretty extensively to get the Digimon you deserve. And you know why that is? Because we don’t get any indication as to whether or not some random event counts against you when raising your Digimon.

And honestly, having one of your main mechanics of the game being entirely invisible to the player is a terrible idea. Just put a little number in my profile that says “Care Mistakes: 0″ in there. Let me know this information without guessing.

2. The Glitches

Pictured: Something that will CRASH YOUR GAME if you try it on a physical copy.

Let me start with a disclaimer that most of the glitches I’m going to complain about were added into the game when Digimon World was localized and therefore aren’t the original intent of the developers. There are certain versions of Digimon World that are more stable than others (The English PAL version is the best version to play because of this) and, if you play this game via “certain methods”, there are patches to circumvent some of the bigger problems.

That being said! Boy! Isn’t it ironic that a game where I’m exploring the digital world is plagued with so many annoying, game-ruining glitches? Especially if I’m playing this game on a physical 20-year old copy like a dunce?

“Ohhhh...so Agumon thinks that they can block the Digimon game with their big fat Digimon-blocking head, do they?!”

The NTSC version of this game has a jukebox that will crash the game if you try to use it, keeping you from ever using a bonus feature meant to be a fun little reward for completing a certain dungeon, but that’s not as heinous as the Spanish, French, German, and Italian PAL versions of this game locking a good portion of the game to players because they forgot to make the Agumon in front of Ogremon’s Fortress an object you can interact with.

So that means, if you happened to get this game in one of four lucky countries, you can’t complete the Ogremon mission, you can’t recruit Whamon, you can’t recruit Shellmon, you can’t recruit anything tied to Shellmon’s bulletin board (which means no Vademon or Skullgreymon), and you can’t go to Factorial Town and recruit Giromon, Andromon, or Numemon. Ogremon is a key part of the Digimon World storyline and causes so many different things in the game to change, meaning that it should’ve been imperative to make sure this part of the game works!

But no. Instead this one little bastard Agumon keeps most players from finishing the game, because it starves players of those PAL regions of a bunch of Prosperity points, the main source of progression in this game. That means that Mt. Infinity and the final boss is just that much harder to unlock. It’s doable, but it’s more grueling process.

This really is a problem with the translators and really highlights a lack of general care with testing this game. Why this game was allowed to be shipped with such glaring bugs is anyone’s guess, especially in an era where you couldn’t release any patches over the Internet to fix retail versions.

3. The Monochromon’s Shop Minigame

Ohhhh....this one was so close to getting the top spot. When I first wrote this draft, this was the top spot.

Monochromon was only spared of my true ire on account of the fact that it really only exists for one part of the game (rather than being a constant problem like the Care Mistakes and the Glitches are) and you can easily cheese it by sleeping in front of the store so that you can save scum your way to victory. Like a true Digital Champion!

At one point in the game, you gotta help a entrepreneur dinosaur rhino man make a profit, because he was stupid and put his convenience store in the middle of a giant canyon next to a gaping chasm. So you play a little game of haggling, where you try to ruthlessly oversell a bunch of random items to customers until you make enough of a profit that this talking dinosaur tells you that you passed his secret test of character, abandons his store, and moves into File City.

There’s just one problem with this minigame - everything is decided by RNG.

“Get the hell out of my shop”

This minigame hates you. It wants nothing but to see you fail and to waste your time. The difference in profit margins of the three items (Meat sells for 50g, Portable Potties sell for 300g, and Medicine sells for 1000g) are so stark that, if you get too many customers asking for Meat, you might as well just reset the game and start over because it will be literally impossible to meet the requirement even if you busted the customer’s proverbial balls and squeezed every last bit out of their cutesy penguin faces.

Oh! It’s also RNG as to whether or not your customers will take your asking price or storm out of the store without buying anything!

It’s all the fun of working at retail! In a video game!

4. Three on One Battles

What you see before you is a battle system that is really fun when it’s one vs. one, manageable at two vs. one, and downright unbearable at three vs. one.

The battle system works for the most part. You don’t have full control of your Digimon (and yes, you only have one Digimon with you at one time, so you can never stack the numbers in your favor) so you shout commands at it, commands that the Digimon’s AI are pretty good at following, and hope for the best as you chuck healing items at it.

It’s not the best battle system, but it’s fun. And it definitely reinforces the whole “this is a pet you’re taking care of with its own thoughts and feelings” atmosphere that this game is going for.

However, nothing can protect your Digimon from enemy fire concentrated on them, especially if you did the thing that most players do and equipped your Digimon with the most powerful attacks that also happen to have slower cast times than the faster, weaker attacks.

What then happens is your Digimon’s Health is slowly whittled away as you are powerless to stop it, watching as your digital friend is straight up bullied by enemy Digimon as they keep falling to the ground over and over and over and over again.

The one saving grace is that Friendly Fire exists in this game so that oftentimes the enemy Digimon will damage each other in their mad dash to ruin your day, but that seems more like a band-aid than an actual fix to this system.

5. Fishing Seadramon

“Hi, kid. Let me guess - you also thought you had to talk to the Tankmon in Factorial Town in order to unlock me, huh.”

This one is a lot less of a pain than the other four and it’s only a little annoying but boy...getting Seadramon kinda sucks in this game.

It took me almost a goddamn hour to catch Seadramon. One hour of gameplay devoted to catching one fish. Just like real fishing!

I will say, besides Seadramon, the fishing minigame in this game is pretty competent. It’s just that Seadramon is very elusive, showing up at only two hours in a 24 hour day, and is a very finicky fish that won’t take your bait even if you literally placed it in front of his dumb fish face.

Don’t be fooled by this screenshot. The heart just means you have the right bait. The heart means that you didn’t actually get within range of hooking him.

IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!

Seadramon is also subject to almost as many gaming myths as the Care Mistakes are, due to how elusive he is, but that’s less to do with poor communication (the game does at least explain multiple times in multiple places how to find him) and more to do with the fact that catching him is just such a goddamn chore to do that players of this game always assume they’re doing something wrong.

When in reality, Seadramon is just a picky little bitch.

Next time I discuss Digimon World, I’ll talk about things I liked, don’t worry. I just had to get all of this negativity out before discussing the full game proper.

[spidercakes]

Starker AU in which all Peter’s friends are really confused about what his ‘new job’ is.

*

“I’ve got it,” Peter says, sparing his friends trying to figure out what the pizza bill will be split four ways. They all frown at him but he goes down to the first floor of the library anyway and pays for the pizza before he brings it back up. Mostly he’s just happy that they can study with food because nothing is worse than trying to balance equations on an empty stomach. Ned, Liz, and MJ frown when they see the boxes because they didn’t watch him order it online so they had no idea he just got them all their own pizzas. If nothing else they’ll have left overs for tomorrow.

“Dude, how the hell can you afford that?” Ned asks.

He can’t, technically, but Tony gave him access to all his accounts and Peter figures if he’s got access he might as well treat his friends. But he can’t tell them that because their relationship isn’t public and there’s like a million reasons why Tony might want to keep it that way and Peter likes the anonymity also so he hasn’t said anything. “Um. I got a new job,” he lies. Actually he quit his job because if he never has to work at McDonald’s again it’ll be too soon. And he’d been so frustrated with shitty customers and his asshole boss that he accidentally told him to mcfuck himself before just walking out. He’d felt instantly bad but also he’s never going back there. Like ever. And thanks to Tony he doesn’t need to.

“Where and are they hiring?” Liz asks, digging through the pizzas to find hers and snatching it. Ned and MJ take that as an invitation to do the same, leaving Peter’s in front of him.

“Oh um. Probably no where you want to work,” he says and changes the subject to their upcoming sociology quiz and they all groan. It’d been the only elective that they could all take together and they all hated it with a passion.

*

Ned watches as Peter all but flees the table at top speeds and yeah, none of them want to study but its still weird behavior. MJ squints as they all look at him, half turned towards the stacks blushing of all things as he talks to whoever on the phone. “Does he even answer the phone for May?” Liz asks and Ned shakes his head.

“Nope. He declines her calls and tells her to text.”

“So who the hell is that?” MJ asks and Ned’s thoughts exactly.

Liz slams her hand on the table, earning a bunch of looks from the people around them and wincing. “Sorry,” she says to no one in particular. “Guys!” she hisses at him and MJ. “He got a new job, suddenly seems flush with cash, is on the phone despite the fact that no one our age talks on the phone, works somewhere I wouldn’t want to. He’s totally a sugar baby!”

Ned and MJ look over at him giggling softly into the phone, cheeks still red and oh my god. “Oh my god he’s a fucking sugar baby. Do you think he sucks old man balls?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, he’s on the phone and this dude must have a ton of cash because he’s paid for us to go out for like, the last two months. Boomer for sure,” MJ says.

Liz wrinkles her nose too. “You know what, better him than us,” she says, pulling a slice of pizza from the box and taking a bite. They nod in agreement as Peter comes back over looking weirdly happy considering being a sugar baby has to suck.

“I’ve got to go soon,” he says. “So we should probably make this quick.”

Ned gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder because he appreciates Peter taking one for the team. Peter looks confused, but they’ll let him tell them about being a sugar baby on his own terms.

*

Peter walks in the door and he’s so tired but Tony just got back from Malibu and he’s missed him so he agreed to go over anyway. Tony’s on the couch looking as tired as Peter feels but he reaches out for him anyway, pulling Peter into his lap so he’s straddling him. “Missed you,” Peter murmurs, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck.

“Missed you too, baby,” he murmurs, hands settling on Peter’s hips as he leans in to kiss Peter. They stay there like that for a few minutes, kissing softly as Peter curls his fingers through Tony’s hair.

Tony pulls back after a moment, grinning. “By the way you’re such a college student. Do you actually spend money on things that aren’t pizza and clubbing?” he asks, dark eyes glittering in amusement.

“Ok first of all we go to pubs because we have taste, okay? And pizza is good. And filling. And its like a nice treat after a long day of studying or classes, leave me be. What’d you expect me to get, a sports car?” he asks and he’s joking but Tony shrugs.

“Kind of, yeah. But I guess with access to more money than you can fathom you end up addicted to Starbucks,” he says like Starbucks isn’t really expensive and a total treat to him normally.

“I like Starbucks,” he says in his own defense. “And the planet is dying, I’m not going to get a car when public transportation is fine,” he says.

“There are environmentally friendly options,” Tony points out and Peter wrinkles his nose.

“I swear to god if you mention Tesla like Elon Musk isn’t like that I will have to go through his Twitter feed to pull receipts on why he’s a shit bag who shouldn’t be supported,” he says and Tony laughs.

“Can’t say I care for Musk. Frankly I’m a little annoyed with people comparing us because first of all my name isn’t you know... fucking heinous. And also if I’m going to be compared to celebrities I always thought I was a bit more like Paris Hilton,” he says and Peter snorts.

“Totally misread but actually pretty nice and surprisingly passionate about the things you care about? Yeah, you guys are comparable,” he says.

“I meant that we’re hot but you know, that too,” Tony says. “But since you insist on mostly gorging yourself on pizza I took the liberty of making sure you’re taken care of and got you an apartment. Something closer to here and school so its less of a travel,” he murmurs.

Peter is grateful, really, but MJ, Liz, and Ned are about to be fucked for rent. “Um,” he says, unsure how to bring that up but Tony’s got a knowing look on his face.

“Want to go see it?” he asks and Peter doesn’t know how to back out so he just nods.

*

Peter almost shits when he sees the place because its fucking gorgeous but that’s more surprising is Liz, Ned, and MJ fighting over who gets the lemon chicken in the fridge. They all turn to face him and their eyes go wide, presumably, because Tony is standing there with his arm around Peter’s waist. “Um,” he says intelligently.

MJ drops the lemon chicken and Liz immediately snatches it off the ground, still safe in its container. Ned just looks stunned. “Your sugar daddy is Tony Stark?” he asks, voice going up.

He swears he can feel Tony’s anger even if he knows Tony isn’t showing it. “I didn’t tell them you were my sugar daddy! I don’t even know where they got that impression!” he says honestly.

Liz squints, “dude, you went from dirt poor and crying about money every other day to funding all our outings, buying us food all the time, and after like two months of avoiding giving us answers you told us you got a new job. It seemed pretty obvious that you’re a sugar baby. No judgement,” she throws out there.

“A job?” Tony asks and Peter lets out a squeak.

“You make money at jobs, I panicked!” he says in his defense.

“Why not just tell them the truth?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you wanted to deal with the press and stuff and I get that so I kept it to myself,” Peter says and Tony frowns.

“So... you haven’t said anything because you thought I didn’t want people to know?” he asks.

Peter shrugs, “more or less and I get it, its okay. People will probably say some really nasty things and I can see why you wouldn’t want to-” his words are cut off as Tony draws him in for a kiss. He goes, making a surprised noise but happily leaning into it.

“Baby I thought you didn’t want people to know and I couldn’t figure out why. God, we’re dumb,” he mumbles.

“Does this mean we get to live here now? Because now that I have seen how rich people live I don’t want to go back,” Ned says, earning a snort from Liz. She’s the only one of them that grew up not dirt poor so this probably isn’t that big of a step up for her.

“Obviously. If Peter wasn’t paying his portion of the rent something tells me you wouldn’t be able to afford the place you had,” Tony says and Peter relaxes.

“Oh thank god! I didn’t want to be rude and say no to this place but I wasn’t about to screw my friends over either,” he says, realizing too late that there must have been a reason for them being here. Then he frowns, “wait, how did you guys get here?” he asks.

“Subway,” Ned tells him and MJ rolls her eyes.

“There was a note on the table from a T.S with this address and we assumed it was for you and we all wanted to see what being a sugar baby would get us so we decided to snoop and hope we didn’t find you fucking some old as tits boomer,” MJ says bluntly.

“Also if this was a job its a damn lie that I wouldn’t want a job where I get to sleep with Tony Stark,” Liz tells him.

“I’m so glad I don’t need to feel guilty for the free stuff,” Ned says, hand pressed to his chest. “I was wondering if maybe you decided fuck it and were maxing out a line of credit or something.”

Peter nods. “Hm. Makes sense. So now I’m sexiling all of you because I don’t want to have to worry about being quiet. Get you lemon chicken and go,” Peter tells them.

Ned wrinkles his nose. “Gross, dude.”

MJ snorts, “like you wouldn’t sleep with Tony Stark. Not like that’s a hardship. We might as well pack our shit at home,” she points out.

“Uh huh, whatever you guys need to do. Now out so I can get fucked through my mattress,” he says, grabbing Tony’s hand and dragging him off through the kitchen before he pauses. “Wait, where’s my room?” he asks and Tony laughs.

“Follow me, baby. Glad you liked it,” he murmurs as he pulls Peter along.

[suchalilyofthevalley]

wanted to ask a pr question cause celebs like this always confuse me. not really pop stars cause they always do pr but more about actors. a lot of actors are notoriously private obviously they call the paps when they have releases coming out but we see them less than pop stars. but how come actors like leonardo dicaprio are always papped like does he call the paps or is he just too recognizable for his own good, cause everytime i see pap photos of him he always has a hood, cap, sunglasses on [1]

and never wears flashy clothes and tries to just blend in i guess but you can't really when you're LEO. he doesn't even do late night interviews! and he always looks annoyed when he spots paps taking pics of him eating alone, catching him leaving a restaurant, during vacations, on yachts, in aspen, at coachella, etc. and he doesn't really need to call him cause he is the type of celeb you don't forget. so does he call the paps or is he so recognizable that people see him and call the paps? [2]

last question: those pics that came out where zendaya and jacob looked like #couplegoals and so in love. i believe their relationship is legit, but it was so obviously staged for euphoria cause it was going to start shooting again. also timothee and lily rose depp were only together during a movie they did - the king and then after that broke up! like pop stars want all the attention but actors give this image of being so lowkey and private, but still call the paps? [3]

sorry for the super long 3 part ask, i'm just so curious about pr and how this all works. i wanted to ask the right source lol

There *are* paps that are just out there working for a living aside from the ones that get called, especially in hot spots like New York and LA. They are like freelancers who will shoot wherever, however, whatever then try to sell the photos to agencies or specific outlets. Think about the paparazzi ala what chased after Princess Diana. 

There ARE those types here in the states, granted because of what happened to her laws have changed a lot, but still - there are creepy dudes in hunting vests and cargo shorts with cameras in hand trying to get a money shot to sell-off. They’re the ones that will stalk out celeb known hangouts or hot spots or find out where celebs are living and hang outside their residences. It’s also based on, with this type of paparazzi, what photos will sell and how much they can make off photos. Leo, Ben and Jen, Brad, etc. - they’ll make $$ off those. If it’s some like MTV reality star like Snooki, no not so much. 

There are also paps from agencies, a step above that but not so much, that get the calls, that have contracts with publicists and tipped off. They’ll shoot celebrities opening a car door if they’re called/contracted - why you’ll see so many Q list celebrities that you’ll think WTF how did they get papped and their photos end up on Just Jared, Perez or HollywoodLife. 

Like random Joe Smith walking down Rodeo Drive in LA and spots Jennifer Aniston shopping or if like you��re flying into LAX for vacation and spot Chris Rock and Channing Tatum, you can’t pick up the phone ‘and call the paps’ it’s not like 800-TIP-A-PAP hotline. Like they could email or tip-off a TMZ or Page Six, which is just as heinous and awful, but those folks are always ASKING for people to send shit in. 

Also - a fun fact that I think needs to be cleared up. Getty Images, WireImage, FilmMagic, Shutterstock, AP Images, Reuters Imaging. These are legit photo agencies, some of which tied to legit press outlets. THEY ARE NOT PAPARAZZI. Example: I would call to either invite Getty to shoot a red carpet as editorial content ala media OR I could hire Getty for a bespoke event, have rights to the photos for my own use AND then have them hit the wires for editorial purposes. 

BFA is borderline, they can get trashy but they try to consider themselves as the others. However, they’ll do some good work like the NYT portrait series for TimesTalk.

WENN, Backgrid, Splash News - those are all legitimate paparazzi agencies. Either they go out for hire, they’ll send their own staff folks out for stuff or they’ll buy from those freelancers. 

There are also databases out there that can give you access to calendars of what’s going on in a city in regards to press events, premieres, even who is booked on a Kimmel or a Fallon. I had access to it at my last full-time gig, I’ve used it before for clients. It’s helpful from a PR perspective so you can see who would/could be in town to book press ops or see about getting a client into an event. But at the same time, paps and their agencies, or the freelancers, can easily buy a subscription (it’s like 15-20K a year so not super cheap) and keep tabs on that to know when celebs would be in and around town.

You see all this paparazzi nonsense happening more in the hotbeds: New York, Los Angeles, London on the reg than like a Chicago or dare I say Miami. Other cities will get an influx of them when things are going on ex: in Palm Springs/Indio for Coachella, Toronto during TIFF, Chicago during Lollapalooza, Austin during ACL, Miami during Art Basel, etc. Like there were paps in MINNEAPOLIS during the Super Bowl in 2018. They would not be there otherwise. 

Hope this helps clear up some of the questions on paparazzi and give a little clarity as to how they work/operate. 

[witchsheartbooks]

Dealings with a Serpent

So I found this rather old WIP in one of my folders, and I felt I should complete it and share it with the lot of you. If you cannot handle mentions of alcohol, drugging or being injured than I suggest skipping the piece. If you have no issue with these topics then enjoy I suppose. 

~Mod Sirius

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 Footsteps echo through the hallway as I ascend the stairs upon leaving the dining hall. Being trapped in this mansion in the others wasn’t so bad. In fact I found them quite lovely, Sirius while more reserved was one I considered interesting. Then of course there was Wilardo, a mysterious type with both a welcome and intimidating air about him. Claire of course was your typical happy girl, fond of life. Though there was one I couldn’t quite grasp, and that, was Ashe Bradley.

I don’t have a whole lot of time so I need to work quickly. Removing bobby pins from their place on my coat-sleeve, I make quick work of the lock to the green room. I make my footsteps light and pace my breathing as I begin to scope the area. Now lets see…what secrets could this one have? One thing is for sure, with the years I’ve spent reading into people, he’s exceptionally talented at faking a friendly demeanor. 

As I rummaged through his many notes I managed to skim over them quickly, though something peeking out of his bag caught my eye. My gaze narrowed on the brown leather-bound journal and I easily retrieved it. Though as I stood back up a slender hand gripped my wrist, spinning me around so my back is then pressed to a bookshelf. “And what have we here?~ You know [Y/N], it’s not very polite to go through someone’s things without permission.” He then flashed a darker smug grin, “Let alone break into their room. So, tell me, [Y/N], for what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I feel you may find the answers you seek if you merely just ask.”

I stared at him with pupils nearly the size of saucers, The Hell? How did he- No there’s no way, he didn’t make a sound at all! I would have heard him! I should have! Nerves clutched my chest and I averted his eyes the best I could. “How am I to be sure that you’ll answer me with honesty. The conversations we’ve shared earlier were more than enough proof that you’re a compulsive liar.” I wasn’t going to be fooled by his silver-tongue, in fact I downright refused to fall into such an easy sense of false security.

This is when his expression shifted to something nearly emotionless and intimidating which nearly caused my heart to stop. “Oh, is that right? Quite the intelligent one, aren’t you? Though this doesn’t change one thing.” He leered over me, drawing in uncomfortably close. “Just how will you buy my silence? What were to happen should they learn of you breaking into someone’s room, hm?~”

The snake had wrapped me in his clutches, how could such an excruciating detail had slipped my mind? Like it or not, I had to play along, regardless of how much I really didn’t like him. “Fine. What do you want?”

His lips curved into a coy smile and his gaze rested on me, “Oh little [Y/N], I ask for something so very simple. Just keep me company!” He swayed abit and this caused his braid to sway as well. “Why not have a drink with me and we can continue our conversation, hm?”

The offer caused my spine to crawl, this was absolutely a horrible idea but there wasn’t a thing I could do otherwise, so I simply nodded.

This was when he let go and I noticed the journal I was holding found its way back into his hand. “Excellent! I knew you were smart!” He briskly walked to the other side of the room to retrieve two glasses and some wine that he had procured earlier. The way his cheery mask had so readily been re-instated was more than unnerving.

It wasn’t wise to trust the serpent but what more could I do? He was essentially blackmailing me. With a sigh I made my way over to the table near the center of the room and took a seat to wait for him.

He bounded over, setting the glasses down in front of the two of us. Pouring mine first and then his own. Setting the bottle down, he then plopped into his seat, leaning close to me. “There. See? Go ahead and drink!”

The liquid in his glass swirled as he moved his wrist, allowing it to aerate. I tsked and rolled my eyes, “I’m not a moron. You think I’m going to just down a glass before it’s ready?”

Ashe giggled, “Oh my, you’re cultured too! I knew you were interesting, [Y/N]. You see, I had been wanting to pick your brain on a few matters. Will you indulge me?”

I scowled at him, “Hey. I came up here to get information on you. Not the other way arou-“

A grin graced his lips, “You may have a point. Though considering what I caught you doing, that information in itself is pretty damning isn’t it?”

Ashe took a slow sip, “So how about this. You answer a few things and I’ll tell you anything you wish to know.”

Squinting harshly at him for a moment, my eyes glaze over the glass before me. I lift it with a sigh, aerate it slightly before my gaze rests on him again. “Kay, but you better keep your mouth shut.”

Ashe simply smiled, “But of course! I expect you to do the same, [Y/N]. It’s rather rude to spread information that isn’t yours to give after all.”

My eye twitches and I heave a heavy sigh before taking a drink from the glass. “Fine. What do ya wanna even know?”

Ashe grins widely over at me, “How about we start with why you came to the mansion in the first place, [Y/N]?”

My shoulders tense and I visibly grimace. “It isn’t that exciting of a reason.”

“Less exciting then just some guy hiking all the way out into the mountains for some research on a heinous witch?” He blinked curiously as he stated this casually.

I could only grimace, being in his company was unnerving enough but sharing a conversation? It was dangerous just how easy it was for him to slip between masks. So, this was how you lured people in-

“Those tabloids you study? Learned from one of my sources that the Mayor’s funds bought out the printing press after the incident to cover up some serious scandals.” I kept a level tone as I gave a vague explanation of my reasoning.

His eyes narrowed on me over his glass, setting it aside again. “Oh, is that a fact? Do you happen to have proof of this?”

I lean back, still ignoring the wine glass, “With me? No, what investigator carries all their proof on their person? No that’s a good way to get your sources damaged and any proof in your possession completely compromised.”

He hummed, taking yet another sip, “A shame, I would have liked to see it for myself. Perhaps you could give me the cliff notes of what you found? I’m naturally curious you see.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “So, you’d hear me out? Guess there’s no harm in that but just don’t interrupt-“

Ashe made a zipping motion along his lips, flicking away the invisible zipper after, only to then lean his chin in his hands to listen intently.

I rambled for a while, loosing track of time, eventually even caving to sip at the wine I’d been given.

Nearly four hours pass and I glance at the clock, “Christ- I didn’t mean to stay this long-“

Ashe smiled, “Oh nonsense, it was quite refreshing to hear someone else ramble away for once. As much as I enjoy teaching others about my findings I enjoy learning new things as well.”

I stood, or tried too, my legs locked up and my vision blurred. “Nh-? The hell-“

Ashe was at my side in moments, “Goodness, [Y/N] are you perhaps alcohol intolerant? Perhaps you should rest for a while.”

His voice began to muffle as my vision fixated on the table, shapes blurring to colors and I was out in moments.

I later awoke in a stupor, sluggish with cotton mouth. The hell is going on.

I still couldn’t move, but I felt a light touch across my cheek.

“You see, [Y/N] you’re too well informed for me to let you wander. Which is a shame, really. I was quite fond of your company for what little time we had.” Something sharp, pushes into the side of my neck.

I writhe onto my side, hacking up blood in order to avoid choking on it, I shouldn’t have trusted him.

Clack, Clack, Clack, his shoes drum on the floor as he paces away from me and the door swings shut.

[bastogne-boys-blog]

NyQuil

Pairing: George Luz x Reader

Warnings: none just fluff. not really edited

Word Count: 1503

Taglist: @gottapenny

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

George knew that the prospect of sleep was far from guaranteed but that did not stop him from tossing and turning all throughout the night. He felt all drowsiness (along with most of his hope) leave his tightly closed eyes. George attempted laying on his stomach, back, and side but to no avail. There was no use. George Luz could not fall asleep.

Distressed, George's hand absentmindedly gravitated towards his wife sleeping soundly next to him. He slowly intertwined the locks of her hair in between his fingers like he was plucking a nylon stringed instrument. His hand grazed the surface of the goosebumps that were scattered like constellations across her skin and his chapped lips softly whispered in her ear. "Y/N, you awake?"

Y/N could feel the fragments of her dream fizzle and the reality of her bed sheets and George's voice set in. She sighed. The good night's sleep she seldom had was starting to circle the drain. "George, it's after midnight. Go to bed." Sealing the deal, Y/N turned her back to her husband and used the pillows to block out an impending retort.

"I've been trying to this whole time but no matter what I do, I just can't fall asleep. I've tried literally everything but nothing seems to be working."

Silence was the best, worst, and only reply he got, for Y/N was avid in the quest of regaining her dream. "Y/N? Y/N? Y/NNNNN?"

George exhaled. He didn't want to do it but the circumstances left him with no other option.

“Y/N, I don't know if you know this but you swallow an average of eight spiders a year and I just wanted you to know because I see a big one on your shoulder."

Y/N awoke with a start and hastily thrashed trying to swat the pretend insect so that her heart would stop beating a mile a minute. Her hands flew about wildly as she exclaimed "Get it off! Get it off!"

However, her efforts were abruptly halted as the shrill laughter of her lover cut through to her ears. George clutched his stomach, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was the perpetrator of this heinous prank and found it absolutely priceless.

"George Luz, you are a national dipshit." She declared with a snit as her cheeks were covered in a sheen of color.

"Well, Ms. George Luz, I do try." He chuckled heartily and in asking for forgiveness, kissed the very same shoulder that fell victim to one of his usual pranks. "I had to get you up somehow."

Exasperated, Y/N rubbed her temples, for her patience was dwindling. "But why? Why did you have to wake me up?"

George's expression took an unexpected softening. "I already told you, Y/N. I can't sleep at all and it's making me frustrated. I'm sorry I woke you up but I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't this desperate."

Y/N sighed. There was those nights with nothing pleasant to offer that often haunted her poor husband. Nights that were unwavering with relentless nightmares or in this case, insomnia. "Have you tried reading? Or your breathing exercises?"

George solemnly nodded and rested his head on her chest, where it had layed many times before. "Yeah." he muttered.

"What about drinking some milk? That always seems to knock you out cold."

"I already looked but we ran out. Same with the NyQuil. "

Y/N felt ashamed of her earlier outburst because it seemed all of the misfortunes were happening all at once for George. He felt disheartened and in his time of need, she raised her voice at him. The guilt loomed over her shoulder like a watchful shadow, critical of the next move she was about to make.

"George... how about I go to the 7-11 that's down the road and get you some NyQuil?"

Her husband lifted his head, allowing the light that was departing from the moon to illuminate his affable features. In agreement with his emotions, his brows rose and his eyes widened in shock. "Y/N, are you nuts?"

Y/N shrugged. "Well, I have to be since I'm married to you."

"Touchè. But seriously, it's two in the morning. My love, I can't have you do that for me."

Y/N could admit that her actions were instantaneous and lacked careful thought but her generosity outweighed the left side of her brain. "Sweetheart, I want to do this. I feel a little bad for how I ignored you earlier and I want to make it up to you." Reaffirming her decision, Y/N kissed his lips and her fingertips delicately brushed the surface of his cheeks.

"Y/N, you didn't make me upset. I'm not angry at all. I understand why you ignored me; I can be a bit annoying especially at two am. Just, please don't go to the store for me. I'll be fine."

Y/N smirked. "It appears we have reached a stalemate. But y'know what helps when that happens?"

"What?"

"NyQuil."

"There's really no talking you out of this, huh?"

"Nope." Y/N slid out from under the duvet and pulled her robe on her shoulders. George followed suit with an unnerved expression. "Wait, it's really late, sweetheart. It's dark and you don't know the kind of people that are out there."

"If you're so nervous just come with me."

George Luz could only scoff.

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"George, we came here for one thing and one thing only. And that thing is NyQuil so put the hershy bar down."

"Alright. Alright. I'm putting it back."

Dressed in nothing but a robe to cover their pajamas, George Luz had dutifully followed his wife out into a nearby 7-11. The journey was less than ideal. It was cold and the street lamps were their only source of light. But regardless, they reached the convenience store and were greeted with an incredulous look from the clerk, believing he had taken too many night shifts to actually convince himself that he was seeing a couple at this time of night. The speakers played cheesy 80s love songs and the overhead, artificial lights were nearing the end of their spell as they flickered on and off.

Y/N searched every aisle, every shelf and rack but unfortunately came up short. It also didn't help that her husband decided now was a good time more than ever to try out all the pick up lines and puns under his belt.

"Are you from Japan? Because I'm trying to get in Japanties."

"You're name must be Coca-Cola because you're so-da-licious."

"If I had a garden, I'd put your tulips and my tulips together."

George's pleasantries were all but pleasing to the impatient girl. Each minute that passed subsequently became minutes that ticked away at the growing time bomb in her chest. Becoming dissatisfied with the lack of over-the-counter drugs the 7-11 had in their stock, Y/N dragged her husband by the collar of his robe to the next convenience store. However, at this store (and the third and fourth) they were faced with the same result. The hands of her watch traveled so quickly she couldn't keep up. The hours grew long and her forbearance shortened.

Y/N accepted defeat. She didn't want to but she did. Y/N and George returned home just in time to see the sun peak through from the ground. "I guess I really fucked up our sleeping schedule." George chuckled as he set the house keys on the counter.

Y/N found no amusement in their failed pursuit. She collapsed on the sofa with a fed up attitude as the situation still vexed her. "Is NyQuil the holy grail or am I missing something? You would think after searching for hours and hours we would be rewarded. But no. Nothing ever goes right for us."

George sighed as he delicately took the hand of his wife and kissed her left ring finer. "Y'know... despite the mishaps, I actually had a fun time."

"Really?" He nodded.

"I'm still fucking tired." George let out a breathy laugh. "But I got to spend time with my love."

Y/N fell into the warm embrace of her lover. His arms locked in place around her waist. "You're too good to me, Luz." said Y/N as he massaged her back, trying to ease the tension.

"You joking? That's all you my love. You're the one willing to buy me drugs at two in the morning. What more could I ask for?"

"Oh hush."

"Ok how about this?" George placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You and me will call in sick for work today and spend the rest of the day napping and watching movies?"

The corner of Y/N's lips turned upward and with it, lifted all of her stress and anxieties. "You really are too good to me, Luz."

[klymilark]

Sore: Chapter 2

First Chapter

CW: Swearing, mentions of sexual assault

Word count: 1872

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Kaye woke up from her slumber in a sweat.  She’s always had nightmares when moving, but it seems like a new method of torture has been introduced into her brain.  One specifically related to this move. She calms herself down, and heads to the kitchen to put coffee on. Once the coffee’s done, she goes out to the back patio to have a cigarette.  She’s been trying to quit, and has been mostly successful.  Dreams like that, however, just fuck with her in quite a few ways, so she keeps a pack around.  After her cigarette is done, Amie walks outside, and sits near her.

“Bad night?” Amie asks

“Yeah.  Wasn’t worse than anything you’ve heard, but definitely a new one.” Kaye responds.

“Ahh, that’s not good.” Amie says.

“You’re telling me. Although, I do still feel like I’ve slept, so that’s a plus.” Kaye says with a moderate tone of sarcasm.

“You always do.  Excited to see the condo?” Amie asks, switching the subject.

“Yes!  The fact that I can afford to buy is wonderful, too.  Gonna be nice to be able to rip the carpet up instead of just having to deal with it.”  Kaye says, bouncing up and down lightly.

“Woah.  Did you just act excited?!  Who are you, and what have you done with my Kaye?”  Amie asks, genuinely shocked at the display of excitement.  In all of the years they’ve known each other, Amie has not once known Kaye to show any kind of emotion beyond neutral.

“Huh.  I guess so?  This is weird.” Kaye responds, also genuinely confused at her willingness to show the emotions.  That’s something she’s always struggled with.

Amie giggles and says, “Maybe it’s the dress.”

Kaye looks down, and realizes that she is still wearing the dress she went to bed with last night.  Her face then proceeds to turn several shades of red, and you could swear a few shades of purple mixed in at some points. Amie points this out through a very poorly hidden laugh, which only serves to make the problem worse.  After another 20 minutes or so of Amie poking fun at Kaye for showing emotion for the first time, Don steps out.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Don asks Kaye.

“Oh, yeah.  Let me change into something more appropriate for heavy lifting.  I’ll be ready in ten minutes tops.”  Kaye responds, downing her coffee.

“No need to rush, I was just asking.” Don says.

Kaye runs out to the truck, and grabs a pair of canvas pants, and a flannel shirt.  For some reason, they don’t seem to fit quite as well today as they did a few days ago.  Must just be the trip.  Kaye then runs up to the box truck, and gets in.  As she waits for Don to get in his car, Amie starts knocking on her driver side window.  Kaye opens the door.

“I think you forgot something” Amie says, holding the dress out.

“No, it’s yo-” Kaye starts.

“Take it.  It’s yours. You love it, and you definitely need it more than I do.” Amie says, cutting her off.

“But-” Kaye starts.

“No.  Buts.  It’s yours.” Amie says.

Kaye grabs the dress through the window, and puts it in the passenger seat.  She then jumps down from her seat, and hugs Amie as tight as she can.  This girl has been nothing but wonderful to her, and it’s about time she starts showing some appreciation for it.  As the hug stops, Amie smiles.  Don comes out, they get in their cars, and leave.  Amie stayed behind, because she had some cleaning to do.

They pulled up to Kaye’s condo.  It was a first floor unit, which she picked out primarily for the fairly easy sound proofing she could do.  She didn’t plan to get very loud, but you never know where life will take you.  Doubly so when everything is about to change.

Before they start moving anything, they decide to walk in to tour the place.  Kaye hadn’t seen the place, and she’d been trusting Amie’s word about how well it would fit.  From what Amie said, it would be darn near perfect.  The living room was large enough that her computer could fit in the corner without obstructing too much of the room, and it had a connected half bathroom.  The master bedroom was large enough to fit a four poster bed, which wasn’t there yet, but would be one day.  The master bathroom had a corner tub that could definitely fit Kaye’s height, as well as a separate stall shower.  Finally, the spare bedroom would definitely fit all of the various implements and furniture Kaye planned.  It was perfect!

Kaye and Don began unpacking.  She didn’t have much, so it only took a solid hour. Kaye moved most of the boxes to the rooms the contents had belonged in, as did Don.

“Hey, Kaye, where do the boxes that just have a D on them go?” Don asked

“Oh, just throw them in the spare bedroom.  I’ll have to unpack everything there, since I’m gonna be kind of particular about where everything goes.” Kaye responded.

“Alright!” Don said.

As Don said that, though, the box he was carrying burst through the bottom.  What looked like a set of mountain climbing gear, plus a few other odds and ends came crashing to the floor.  Don’s focus shifted to one item in particular, though.  Settled near the top of the pile were a pair of very fuzzy white cat ears.  They had barrettes on them for attaching to the head, bells, and ribbons on them.  Don giggled a bit to himself, which drew Kaye’s attention to the mess.

“Whatcha doin’?” Kaye asks, leaning into the bedroom from the hallway.

As she stood there, her mind started racing.  Don didn’t know what she liked to do in her spare time, and this wasn’t the way she was hoping he’d find out. It’d be one thing if Amie told him, but this?!  Almost 500 feet of rope falling on the floor with cat ears smack on top.  Right in plain view.  How is she going to cover this up?  She really doesn’t feel up to the conversation right now, and she’d rather not have to go through with it until way later.  Shit shit shit!  Shit!

“What’s all of this for?” Don said.

Kaye, trying her best to maintain her composure externally, and doing a remarkable job given the night she had, and the amount of heavy shit was just moved.

“I… was in theater in college.”  Kaye said.

“I didn’t know your college had a theater program.” Don responds, puzzled.

“They don’t!  It was a local thing for college-aged kids.” Kaye says, grasping for straws

“Interesting,“ Don says, contemplating whether to believe this story or not, “You’ll have to show me a video at some point.”

“They didn’t really allow video recording a lot of the time, and I wasn’t in it for that long.” Kaye says, realizing that her story sounds less and less plausible, “Plus I mostly did lighting work.  I only had one on-stage performance.”

Really?  That’s the best she could come up with?  He’s gonna know.

“That’s too bad, but not too surprising.  You were always better with technical stuff than the arts.” Don says.

How the hell did he buy that?  That was the single stupidest excuse Kaye had ever heard from anyone, much less said.  She guesses that her friend just trusts her, or at least understands that this is a part of herself she isn’t quite ready to share yet.  

“So, that looks like all of it’s sorted.  Want to grab a few chairs?” Don asks.

“S-sure.  I’ll grab the mead.” Kaye responds.

She goes into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of the mead she brought with her.  It was a dry one that had been aged for about a year before being shipped across the country in the back of a box truck in a fairly big hurry.  While she was doing that, Don texted Amie and asked if she wanted to join them.  She didn’t, as she was just settling in for the afternoon. That was code for the bra came off, it’s not going back on, and I’m not leaving the house without it.

“Oh well, looks like it’s just us.” Don says, not too upset.

“From what she said, it seems that you two have been seeing a lot of each other lately.” Kaye says.

“Yeah.  She just quit her job, but she’s looking for another.  Last one got a bit too crazy for her to want to deal with anymore.  Thankfully she should have one soon, since she’s a damn good worker, and she has a good reference with her previous company.” Don says

“Does she?” Kaye asks.

“Yeah.  Her direct manager was awesome, it was everyone above him that was bad.” Don responds.

“I definitely know how that feels.” Kaye says, looking down slightly.

“Yeah.  Sorry for that, but it’ll hopefully get at least a little better here.” Don responds, rubbing her back.

“Thanks.” Kaye says.

“So, how’d you afford this place, anyway?  Seems like it’d be out of your pay range.” Don says, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“One of my previous employers.  They did some particularly heinous shit, and I managed to find a lawyer willing to represent it.  I didn’t win all that much, comparatively, but it was enough to afford this place.  Should be able to get a scrap car while I’m here, too.  Outside of that, since the place is paid off, I don’t have to worry about that much. Should be able to afford it working part time, honestly.” Kaye says.

“Ahh, wish I could say the same.” Don says.

“Yeah, I wish I couldn’t, given what I went through with that place.  It’s gonna take a while to get over that.” Kaye responds.

“That’s fair.  I remember how hard it got for you.” Don responds, “I don’t see why places can’t get over that, it’s not even that b-”

“Everyone thinks I’m a rapist is why they can’t get over it.  When someone looks at you and sees nothing but an absolute degenerate, nobody wants to keep you around.  I’m honestly shocked you and Amie did, all things considered.” Kaye responds, a little annoyed.

“Honestly, things would be weird without you texting one of us at random times to vent about something.  It’s been weird to not have you randomly knock on our doors to hang out and calm down.” Don says with a chuckle.

“Hopefully that’ll start again.  I was happiest in those moments.  I felt like I was home for the first time.” Kaye responds with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well, welcome home.” Don says, arms outstretched.

Kaye hugs him as tightly as she can, and they stay like that for a few minutes.  She cries quite a bit, but he just stands there, just like he always has.  He’s been one of the few constants to her life, and she’s very thankful for that.

“So,” Kaye says, breaking off from him, “did you want to grab a game out?”

“Sure.” Don replies.

Chapter 3

Search sbbl on my blog to find the rest of the chapters, as well!

[ethereousdelirious]

I wrote another thing for some OCs of mine! I’ll put context under the cut.

I will say this: it’s a long read for what turned out to be not a lot of sick content. Just so you know that going in, haha

Content Warnings: oblique mentions of sex, brief references to emotionally abusive parents, semi-realistic depiction of urgent care/hospitalization and panic attacks

Please don’t bother correcting me on details i may have gotten wrong regarding flu symptoms/the hospitalization process :) I’m not shooting for absolute realism here and likely never will be. Thanks!

Oh, one more thing! This was based off a prompt that I will try to find so I can properly credit OP. It was basically about Character A getting hospitalized on Christmas and Character B decorating their room for them as a surprise.

This is based off a WIP of mine about 2 college roommates who go on a road trip after graduating and fall in love :) This story takes place in their Junior year and isn’t actually part of the WIP. Canon fanfiction? Is that a thing? Anyway.

The 2 characters that matter are:

Gaël Moreno

(Face claim: Reece King)

Santiago “Santi” Velez

(Face claim: Diego Boneta)

That’s p much all you need to know in terms of context!

--

Gaël swirled the last of his cider around the bottom of his plastic cup and sighed. As far as parties went, this one was rather small. Most of the attendees were playing Jenga Truth or Dare in the kitchen and the rest had broken off into small groups and were talking on their own.

With another sigh, Gaël tossed back the last of his cider. He glanced longingly into the kitchen, wondering if Santi would be upset if he slipped out.

"Hey."

Gaël jumped at a sudden voice behind him. He turned and came face to face with one of the GSA regulars. "Hey, Keith."

"I'll get to the point." Keith's strawberry blond hair was styled into spikes that quivered slightly as he talked. "This party blows and you look miserable. Do you wanna," he gestured at the hallway and made a suggestive hand motion. "I have condoms."

Gaël glanced back at the kitchen. Santi was pounding the table and chanting with the rest of the group while one of them clumsily attempted to shotgun a beer. "Yeah."

"Thank God, this night isn't gonna be a total waste of time." Keith took Gaël by the hand and led him farther into the house.

When they emerged, Keith said goodbye and left for the night, leaving Gaël to gloomily resume his spot on the couch. The game in the kitchen had gotten quieter. Santi was talking to the host, gesturing wildly with a half-empty beer bottle.

His eyes lit up when he noticed Gaël on the couch.

"Hey!" he called, a little too loudly than was appropriate for the close quarters. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Gaël stood up and pulled his coat back on. "Are you?"

"Yeah, we're winding down here." Santi turned back to the party host, someone with whom Gaël was unfamiliar. "Hit me up tomorrow, I'll totally help you clean up."

"Thanks, bro. Appreciate it "

"You bet." Santi saluted with his bottle, finished the contents, and deposited it in a cardboard box labeled 'recycling.' "Alright, later. Seriously, text me."

"Night," Gaël said stiffly. He took Santi by the arm and led him toward the door.

They walked along side by side, Santi chattering aimlessly about the party and what they were going to do with themselves now that it was winter break.

Finally, he seemed to notice that Gaël didn't want to talk and fell silent. 

The clock on the microwave, only just visible from the front door, read 2:58.

"Shit," Gaël groaned. "Tomorrow is gonna suck."

Santi shut the door behind them and locked it with a clumsy hand. "Least you don't have anywhere to be. Unless you wanna come with me to help clean up tomorrow?"

"You're really doing that?" Gaël kicked off his shoes and lined them up by the door. "You're crazy."

Santi waved a hand. "Nah. I mean. I'd appreciate the help if I were in their shoes."

"Fair enough. I'm going to bed."

"Think I'm gonna wait 'til the room stops spinning." Santi sat heavily on the couch. "G'night."

"Night."

Gaël woke to the sound of the front door opening, meaning Santi was either just leaving or just getting back. That, or they were being robbed by the world's most polite burglar.

Yawning, Gaël rolled out of bed and shuffled into the living room. Thankfully, he hadn't drunk enough to earn himself a hangover.

"Hey," Santi greeted him from the couch.

"Hey." Gaël paused on the way to the kitchen. "How did cleanup go?"

"Uhh. I cleaned. I came back. I think I died somewhere on the way home."

"You take any painkillers?"

"Yeah. Like 2 hours ago."

Gaël sighed fondly and rolled his eyes. "I'll get you some painkillers and water."

"Coffee?" Santi pleaded.

"I haven't made any yet." Gaël went to the kitchen to rectify this before bringing Santi a glass of water and some aspirin.

"Thaaaanks." Santi hauled himself into an upright position and took the pills.

Gaël took a seat in one of the armchairs across from the couch and assessed Santi. He looked as bad as Gaël guessed he felt. He was still wearing last night's clothes and his tanned skin was sallow in the late morning sun. His hair was down, which was unusual, and from the way he was squinting, he hadn't bothered putting his contacts in.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the coffee maker percolating.

"Did you ever end up getting a job or anything?" Santi asked suddenly.

"Oh. No." Gaël shrugged. "I made enough from tutoring that I felt okay not subjecting myself to some heinous seasonal retail job."

"Hell yeah, dude. Enjoy that time off."

"What about you?"

"You know me. Got my busking permit all signed and up to date. One of the choir guys got a hand pan and wants to team up."

"Sexy. Is he going with you to play at the old folks' home?"

"Nah, that's all me. Well, and the rest of the choir but you know." Santi waved his hands aimlessly. "I'm the master musician." He swept his hair back like he was going to tie it up, then noticed he didn't have a hair tie on his wrist. He let his hands drop. His hair fanned back out in unruly waves. "You wanna come?"

"I don't sing," Gaël answered. They had this conversation every year. 

"Come on, everyone can sing."

"I can open my mouth and make noises." Gaël couldn't help but blush. Whether he was good at singing was beside the point. He was no good in front of crowds and Santi well knew it. "I'll stay here and hold the fort."

"Alright, alright." Santi leaned back and closed his eyes.

--

Despite the lack of school or work, Gaël actually saw very little of Santi in the following days.

Between busking, practicing for the Christmas concert, and attending house parties, Santi was absent for most of the weekend.

Not that Gaël was sitting around at home waiting for him. Most of his friends had gone home for the holidays, but several members of the GSA had not. Gaël spent much of the weekend with Keith and a few other GSA regulars at various coffee shops and bars in the area.

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that Gaël and Santi had the opportunity for another real conversation.

Gaël came in from a late lunch and found Santi halfway to horizontal on the couch, awkwardly balancing a glass of red wine on his chest.

"I'm not buying us a new couch if you spill that," Gaël said. He locked the front door behind him and came inside properly. There was already an empty glass waiting for him on the coffee table.

"I won't spill," Santi insisted. He sat up a little straighter. Wine sloshed perilously in his glass, a few drops escaping over the side and running onto his hand. "That didn't count."

"You look tired." Gaël sat in the space previously occupied by Santi's legs.

Santi heaved himself properly upright and poured out a glass of wine for Gaël.

"I've never had a Winter Break this hectic before, and that includes the time I was in high school and my parents tried to drag me to Hawaii at the last minute and the airline lost our luggage and my mother threatened to sue them for emotional damages because her favorite Chanel dress was in her suitcase," Santi said all in one breath. He downed half his glass and ran a hand down his face. His hair was down again, which was unusual. In the low light it almost framed his head like a halo. "So it turns out Avi, the guy with the hand pan, has stage fright or something so he wanted to practice until everything was perfect and he kept freaking out every time I tried to improvise. Then we finally get out to our spot and he doesn't want to leave even though I have an agreement with the knife-juggling guy." He paused. "Choir's going fine, though. Except they keep inviting me out to Denny's after every practice and it feels weird saying no. Gaël, I am so sick of pancakes."

"I wondered what all the to-go boxes in the fridge were about." Gaël took a sip from his glass. "Where did this come from, by the way?"

"Oh." Santi sighed. "The choir did a Secret Santa thing which I didn't know about because I'm not technically in the choir and this was the 'backup gift'."

"Not a bad gift," Gaël said with a shrug.

"I agree, especially considering some of the other gifts that were given out."

"Let me guess, candles and hand lotion?"

"You nailed it." Santi drained his glass and leaned over like he was going to refill it before evidently changing his mind and setting the empty glass on the coffee table. "Luckily I have tomorrow off. The concert is on Christmas Eve and then I have the rest of the break to myself. More or less."

"Is there anything you want to do?" Gaël asked. "We could go out for lunch or something. To a real restaurant."

"No pancakes?"

"No pancakes."

"Excellent."

They slipped into silence.

Gaël sighed through his nose. Although he told himself he was over his juvenile crush on Santi, sometimes it came creeping back into his thoughts. This was one of those times. Gaël wanted to run his fingers through Santi's dark blond hair and feel him relax, wanted to run his hands down Santi's neck, his chest--

Blushing furiously, Gaël cut off that train of thought before it could travel any farther south. He just wanted to make Santi feel better, that was all. Because they were friends.

"What is a hand pan?" Gaël asked, mostly to distract himself.

"Oh, it's like…" Santi made a vague hand gesture over his lap. "Like a faceted dome made of metal, and when you hit certain parts of it in a certain way, it makes noise. Kinda like a steel drum."

"Oh. Is Avi any good?"

"He's not bad," Santi said. "Better than I would be anyway. Hang on, let me see if I can find his Instagram."

They spent the rest of the day lounging in the living room, alternating between silence and light conversation. The bottle of wine remained on the coffee table, untouched since Gaël's arrival.

The sun sank below the horizon.

Gaël stretched and shifted positions. "No parties tonight?" he asked, looking sideways at Santi.

"Why, d'you wanna go to one? I think some of the Drama kids are having some sort of get together."

"No." Gaël stuck out his tongue. "I was just wondering."

"You sure? I know some of them. I could introduce you. Or we could have some of your friends over." Santi seemed poised to go on, but instead was overtaken by a yawn. He shook his head.

"Yeah, you look ready to party." Gaël raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should get to bed."

"Hm, yeah," Santi agreed. He didn't move. "Later."

"Alright, but don't expect me to make you coffee tomorrow."

"Of course." Santi smiled brightly.

Gaël refused to meet his eyes.

--

Ever the early riser, Gaël woke up the next day shortly after the sunrise. Unlike Santi, whose morning routine seemed to involve a lot of squinting and spilling water all over the kitchen in the process of making coffee or tea, Gaël's first act of the day was always to brush his teeth.

Half-awake, he staggered to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and lazily dragged some product through his dark brown curls. He took his time getting ready, knowing that Santi often preferred to sleep in.

To Gaël's surprise, Santi was waiting for him on the couch. He had wrapped himself up in his duvet and sheet and bundled up against one of the armrests. He appeared to be sleeping, but his hazel eyes cracked open upon hearing Gaël approach. 

"Morning," Gaël said with a little wave. He poked his head into the kitchen to double check the time. "You're up early. Or did you stay up all night?"

"I was having trouble sleeping so I came out here."

"Did it help?"

"Not really." Santi sniffled and ducked his head under the duvet. After a moment, he sneezed sharply and then emerged. "If you want, you can have my leftover pancakes for breakfast."

"Thanks." Gaël went back into the kitchen to retrieve the to go box. While he was microwaving it, he heard Santi sneeze a few more times. "Bless you," he called over the hum of the microwave.

"Thanks," Santi called back.

He sounded a bit congested, Gaël thought. A familiar wave of anxiety began to rise in his chest. He abandoned his post at the microwave and stuck his head through the doorway into the living room. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Sanri frowned, confused. "Do I seem not okay?"

Gaël made a face and gestured at the scene before him. Santi was wrapped head to toe in his bedding. Only his face was visible from beneath the pile of blankets. "You seem like you're trying to become one with your duvet."

The microwave beeped. Santi sneezed into his sleeve.

Gaël frowned, but went to go get his pancakes. When he got back to the living room, Santi was attempting to extricate himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets. 

"Is the milk still good?" he asked Gaël when he was finally free.

Gaël shrugged. "Go check."

"Just figured I'd ask."

Santi was shivering when he came back into the living room, a bowl of cereal in hand.

Gaël couldn't help but notice. Winters in San Diego weren't exactly harsh, and Gaël was comfortable enough in his boxers and T-shirt. Yet Santi was shivering noticeably.

"Hey," Gaël said. "I think you're sick."

Santi paused in the act of arranging his duvet around himself. "So it's not weirdly cold in here?"

Gaël rolled his eyes. "Go take your temperature."

"But my cereal will get all soggy," Santi whined.

"Alright, whatever. I'm not your mom."

"Thank god for that."

Santi finished eating before Gaël and wandered off. He came back wearing an undersized Grateful Dead hoodie that kept trying to ride up.

"I'm doing it," he said.

"Huh?" Gaël was staring at the little bit of skin that was showing just above the waistband of Santi's sweatpants. He shook his head and looked up. Santi was brandishing a thermometer. "Oh. Good. I mean--" he stuttered. Santi sat down and stuck the thermometer under his tongue. "I hope you're not sick."

"Mm'" Santi hummed in agreement.

They waited a few seconds and the thermometer beeped. Santi made a face. "101.1."

"Huh." Gaël leaned forward. For the most part, Santi looked fine. He was a little pale and he did look tired, but not unusually so. "And you feel okay?"

Santi shrugged. "Yeah, aside from the fact that I'm freezing."

"Huh. Well." Gaël frowned. "I guess let's keep an eye on you."

For a moment, it was quiet.  Then Santi shifted under the pile of blankets.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Go brush your teeth," Gaël said, not looking up from his phone.

"Yeah." Santi got up and left.

The day was, by and large, anticlimactic. Gaël spent most of it on his phone, switching between the couch, an armchair, and his bed whenever he felt the need to move. It went without saying that their lunch plans were cancelled, and Santi went back to bed around noon, leaving Gaël to his own devices.

It would have been a lovely day for a hike, he thought as he looked wistfully out the window, but it wouldn't feel right leaving Santi behind.

So Gaël resigned himself to a boring, lonely day. He did receive a few texts from his friends, but everyone was mostly too busy to have a proper conversation.

At around 6:00, Santi emerged from his bedroom looking noticeably worse, downed a handful of painkillers, and retreated back into the darkness of his room.

"You okay?" Gaël asked as he passed.

"Sleepy," Santi answered, and shut his door.

--

They both woke early the next morning. 

"Feeling any better?" Gaël asked upon emerging from the bathroom to see Santi sprawled out on the couch.

Santi said something akin to "not really." The words came out muffled with half his face pressed into the faux suede couch cushion.

Deciding to forgo breakfast for the moment, Gaël came out to the living room to take a better look at his roommate. "Oh. Shit."

Santi was a mess. His dark blond hair was hopelessly tangled around the dangling cross earring he had evidently neglected to take out, and matted to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks were an angry, feverish red and his eyes were blank, not seeming to focus on Gaël or anything at all.

He didn't say anything, just lay there motionless but for the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and let himself be examined.

"Shit," Gaël repeated. Then, "um."

The thermometer was still on the coffee table where Santi had left it last night.

"Can you sit up for me?"

Santi hummed a dissent. "Dizzy."

"Just… Roll over onto your side, then. I need to take your temperature."

"'Kay." Santi rolled over and allowed Gaël to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

For a few tense seconds, Gaël waited and tried desperately not to freak out. They both got sick all the time. This was nothing. Everything was fine.

Then the thermometer beeped and the panic roared again, loud in Gaël's ears. "104.2. How long--"

"I don't know." Santi closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face. "I woke up feeling really bad."

"What time?"

"Night?"

"And you said you were dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Gaël bit his lip, thinking. "I think you should go to urgent care."

"Mm." Santi didn't open his eyes or attempt to move. "I don't know if I can--" He shuddered and pulled his knees up to his chest with a quiet moan. "I feel really bad."

"Just try to sit up. I need to grab some things and I'll help get you to the car."

"My wallet's, um… In my backpack. I'm still on my parents' insurance."

This made Gaël pause. "Really?" Then he shook himself. "Sorry, not the time. Just try to sit up."

He darted off. Keeping his wits about him was a constant battle. His body wanted so badly to panic. It was all he could do to not hyperventilate as he packed a few essentials into his school bag and started the car.

Santi was sitting up with his head in his hands and his knees braced against his elbows.

"Hey," Gaël said, kneeling beside him. "I'm gonna help you stand, okay?"

"I'm tired," Santi said, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

"I know. You can rest in the car, okay? Put your arm around me."

Santi's body was frightfully hot. It was hard to walk with him leaning so heavily on Gaël's shoulder, but they managed.

After a short drive, they had to repeat the maneuver to get into the urgent care.

"'I'll check you in," Gaël said. "Are you okay to go sit?"

"No," Santi said, clinging on harder. He leaned heavily to the side and Gaël staggered to try and keep them both upright.

One of the receptionists seemed to take notice of their plight. "I'm sending someone out to help, okay?"

Gaël said nothing. He couldn't. All he could do was try to breathe and to lower Santi to the floor as gently as possible.

Breath, he reminded himself. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It wouldn't do any good if he passed out too.

So he knelt on the carpeted floor of the urgent care, sinking into a strange feeling of numbness. Santi was attended to by a doctor and a team of medical assistants and Gaël had to answer questions for them but the answers seemed far away in his mind.

His hands fumbled over Santi's wallet, words clumsy and faltering on his lips until every other sentence was "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."

The carpeting was blue-gray, patterned with rosettes. Gaël watched his cream-colored skate shoes obscure it until it disappeared, replaced by pale orange linoleum.

One of the medical assistants was talking to him. Gaël looked around at the walls of the exam room. The words bounced around in his head without really sinking in.

His body seemed to catch on before his brain did, his shoulders beginning to shake with sobs. He was crying without really feeling it. Tears made dark stains on his pants. Gaël stared blankly down at the orange linoleum and let them fall.

--

"Gaël, I'm going to be fine," Santi said for what must have been the 50th time.

He didn't look fine. It was impossible to look fine laid up in a hospital bed. Gaël would have said so, but he was too busy crying. He hadn't really stopped since he'd started sobbing in the exam room and his head was starting to ache.

"Come on, Gaël, look at me. It's just the flu."

There was a whole list of things Gaël wanted to say to that, but all he could manage was "But I— And you…"

"You need to calm down or you're going to get admitted too," Santi joked. "Can I tell you a secret?"

This caught Gaël off guard. He looked up and wiped his eyes. "Y-yes."

"I'm not actually sick," Santi said in a stage whisper. "I just faked it to get out of the concert."

"Oh, shit," Gaël said as Santi's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit!" Santi echoed, flailing around aimlessly in the hospital bed. "My phone, I need— Ah, shit, shit, shit. What time is it?"

Gaël dived for his backpack, digging around for Santi's phone. He found it and tossed it over to Santi, who unlocked it and began typing furiously.

"Did you miss it?" Gaël asked, watching Santi's awkward attempt at typing without bending his left arm and messing up his IV.

"No, it starts in 2 hours." Santi sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Ugh." The brief moment of panic had robbed him of breath. He was silent for a moment while he breathed. "Gaël," he said, opening his eyes. "I need you to bust me out of here. Steal a wheelchair while I distract the nurses, and we'll go from there."

"Wh--" Gaël squinted, his eyes darting over the medical equipment in the room. "You— No!"

"I'm kidding," Santi said, but his smile faded too quickly. "I just…" He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I've been looking forward to this, you know? It's kinda the only thing I get to do for Christmas now that my family's all--" He waved his hand dismissively. He sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes even though there were no tears to wipe away. "Sorry, I know it's stupid to freak out like this."

"You just saw me have a panic attack for like three hours and you want to call that a freakout?" Gaël laughed. He wanted to put a hand on Santi's shoulder to hug him, to brush his hair, anything to make him feel even slightly better. As it was, self-deprecation was all he could muster. "I think you're entitled to cry a little bit considering where you are."

"Yeah." Santi gave a heavy sigh. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Your present is in my sock drawer. You can't miss it. It's the only thing in there that isn't socks."

"We can open presents tomorrow. Did they say when they were releasing you?"

"Yeah, hopefully tomorrow. Christmas Day." Santi wiggled his fingers. "They just want to keep me overnight to make sure I don't keel over again. Apparently I'm 'severely dehydrated' and 'drink too much alcohol'."

Gaël scoffed. "They know you're in college, right?"

"That's what I said. Well. Would have said if I could've felt my face at the time."

They fell into silence for a moment.

"I didn't know you liked Christmas so much," Gaël said. "You're always so enthusiastic about everything it's hard to tell sometimes."

Santi raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the character analysis. "Yeah, I've always liked it. I'm not going to go into a Hallmark movie spiel or anything, but it's just nice. Although out of everything, I think the lights are my favorite." He sighed wistfully. "Quiet Harbor, the old folks' home we always perform for, always has the prettiest decorations in the lobby. Speaking of." He picked his phone up off the sheets. "The group chat is blowing up."

"They're not going to cancel, are they?" Gaël asked anxiously, knowing it would upset Santi.

"No, no. I'm not that important. They're just gonna do it without me."

"Ah."

"Can you do me a huge favor, by the way?"

"Of course."

"Can you swing by home and grab my phone charger? And toothbrush? Mm, and regular brush?" Santi attempted to run a hand through his hair and was instantly stopped by tangled up knots.

"Oh, yeah." Gaël blushed. "I'm sorry, I should have thought of that sooner. I'll go right now."

"Thanks," Santi said. He pulled the covers further up around his shoulders. "I'm going to sleep. Possibly for several thousand years."

Gaël drove home in contemplative silence. He gathered up Santi's things and put them all in his trusty backpack, but did not immediately head back to the hospital.

Instead, he drove.

Surely there were stores open on Christmas Eve. Not everything could be closed.

Sure enough, a dollar store was open. Gaël rushed in and surveyed their selection of holiday decor with a discerning eye. He grabbed a few things, even finding a few cheap strings of battery-operated lights.

Once he'd paid, he hopped back into the car and rearranged his backpack, sticking his new purchases at the bottom and Santi's belongings at the top. The backpack' zipper just barely managed to close, straining the seams. Gaël set it in the passenger seat and, after a moment's thought, strapped it in.

Then he headed back to the hospital.

--

Gaël's plan was not going quite as smoothly as he'd hoped. After an uneventful evening, he'd made the decision to stay the night in Santi's room.

It wasn't, as he'd feared, against hospital policy and Santi didn't protest beyond a few token attempts to get Gaël to leave and spend Christmas Eve with his other friends.

However, Santi was not as heavy a sleeper as Gaël had been hoping and he woke up almost every time a nurse came in to record his vitals.

After one such visit from a nurse, when the sky was just beginning to lighten, Gaël sat up. Tooth by tooth, he unzipped his backpack and set about decorating Santi's hospital room as lavishly as he could without obstructing anything too important.

This might've been against hospital policy, but it wouldn't have to be up for very long.

Since much of the room was taken up by the IV pole, hospital bed, and guest seating, Gaël tried to focus on the windowsill and tables. He set up the lights in careful loops and hung up paper ornaments everywhere he could think of.

When he was done, the room wasn't exactly covered in Christmas decorations, but it was certainly cheerier than before.

Satisfied that Santi was still fast asleep, Gaël set off to get himself a coffee.

"That's lovely," said the nurse, coming in. Her name was Permata. Gaël had met her earlier when she had come in to check Santi's vital signs.

"What's lovely?" Santi asked blearily.

"You'll see."

Santi must have been too tired to argue, because he didn't press the point any further.

From his position by the window, all Gaël could see was Permata's back. She finished what she was doing and left again.

"You awake?" Gaël asked.

"I guess so." Santi yawned. "What did she mean when— Oh." He looked around at all the Christmas decorations: the paper ornaments hung from the edge of the table, the streamers hanging from the message board on the wall, the lights on the windowsill. "Gaël, did you…?"

"You seemed really upset yesterday, and I wanted…" Gaël hesitated. "I didn't want you to be sad on Christmas."

"Gaël." Santi's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Thank you." He held out his arm for a hug. "Seriously, thank you."

"Of course." Gaël leaned over the bed and embraced Santi. It was an awkward and slightly painful position, with his knees jammed into the plastic safety rail and his body twisted to an odd degree. But it didn't matter. Santi was safe.

That was all that was important. 

[afriendtokilltime]

Okay, fine. Let’s talk about parasocial relationships.

The term “parasocial” has been making the rounds as a very very smart sounding thing to say. It not only establishes that you know an unusual and complex word, but also that you are too smart to fall for marketing tactics, and that you are much too cool to show enthusiasm for anything!

So, what’s a parasocial relationship? It’s a one-sided relationship with a celebrity or fictional character--the entire relationship takes place in your head. You’re reading this on tumblr, which means you have lots of parasocial relationships. You’re very parasocially popular! Maybe you even have one with me. (Probably not, I stopped posting for a long time, so we probably don’t parasocially know one another at all.)

I first encountered this term being used as an inherently bad thing, something to avoid, as though the term referred to the negative version of itself. What I saw was not people explaining why it can be harmful, but speaking as if we all know it is (the way you’d use “alcoholism”).

I see people carefully watching themselves to make sure they aren’t engaging in a “parasocial relationship,” or referring to a behavior they don’t like as “borderline parasocial relationship behavior.” But, there is no such thing as “relationship behavior” other than closing the psychological distance between yourself and another person. “Parasocial relationship behavior” is doing this, but it’s one-sided. You get closer, and they do not. That’s it. That’s the only thing. Does that mean building a shrine to Kristen Stewart? Does it mean crying with joy at Hbomberguy’s Mermaids/Donkey Kong stream? Does it mean writing a 100k fanfiction about Hermione Granger, Vampire Slayer? Does it mean buying a David Bowie CD? Does it mean begging the show writers to finally make that queerbaity relationship canon? Does it mean killing the president? You decide! 

Becoming psychologically closer to people and characters is not inherently unhealthy, whether they know who you are or not. How you treat them and respond to that closeness, and how they choose to cultivate closeness, can of course be unhealthy...but so can reciprocal relationships.

What’s weird to me is that we generally seem to be aware that there are bad and good (healthy and unhealthy) relationships. I have a good relationship with @randomshoes because we support each other, are interested in each others’ success, spend quality time together, and communicate well. If I was to stalk her or kill a president for her, or if she was to abuse my trust and take all my money while falsely assuring me she loved me, our relationship would be somewhat less healthy. 

So, what’s so bad about parasocial relationships?

They don’t actually care about you and they are taking your money.

If a marketing team/a celebrity uses these relationships to prey on vulnerable people, that might be an abusive relationship...in the other direction. If I manipulate a friend I know out of her money, I’m the bad guy, right? But if I’m famous, and she’s 16, and I knowingly manipulate her out of her money, then she’s the bad guy, because teenage girls are dumb and they should feel bad for ever liking anything, forming identities, feeling attraction, or basically being uncool and childish in any way.

It is definitely a good idea to remember that transactions are a part of how art is usually consumed, and not to express your affection or deep identification with an art/artist by spending lots of money on tee shirts that depict them. However, even this type of interaction can be encouraged in a healthy, positive way.  Patreon seems to really make people mad, but it’s not the worst system for artists who Live in A Society and don’t happen to have any lembas laying around. “I’ll pretend to love you so you can make me a millionaire” seems kinda gross but “I appreciate that your support helps me continue making the art you love” kinda sorta does not.

Some people go too far and commit heinous crimes because they expect their parasocial affections to be reciprocated.

Those crimes would be heinous even in an already reciprocal relationship. (I  already mentioned this, but if I committed terrorism for my very real girlfriend who knows exactly who I am, that would probably make me no better or worse than Hinkley.)

You’re an isolated loser and need real friends.

Okay. Anybody pouring all their energy into one relationship is probably not doing life correctly, regardless of how parasocial that relationship is. But this is a point on which I simply do not agree. People engage in these behaviors regardless of how wide their friend circle is. If not with celebrities, then with fictional characters, or even historical or political figures (think more “little father” than “senator” though what you do with that Bernie Sanders picture in your room is between you and God). Oh speaking of God, relationships with religious figures might arguably have some similarities and speak to the same human tendency, but there is of course the difference that Justin Bieber doesn’t know who TF you are, but God does.

Uh, sorry, you didn’t address my point. Forming parasocial relationships stops you developing real relationships.

I actually think it encourages reciprocal socialization. I didn’t have many friends growing up. When I met two other kids who were obsessed with Harry Potter, we bonded over that, making up our own characters (next generation type of BS...still better than the book 7 epilogue), and this formed the basis of a friendship that lasted basically my entire pubescence. These parasocial relationships are generally part of a broader interest, and interests and hobbies help you meet people, break the ice, and uhm...form real relationships.

It’s not just interests, though. I was hardcore into dinosaurs as a kid. Literally every child likes dinosaurs, but that didn’t help me form any new friendships. The other reason I think parasocial relationships lead to better real relationships is...practice. You are engaging in social behaviors, whether or not you’re any good at them, whether or not you succeed. This is what’s required to learn any new skill, but it’s generally discouraged.

You don’t just learn about how to socialize, you also learn about yourself. You develop a sense of identity and learn what you like and dislike by associating yourself with favorite characters.

Children and teens often imitate their behaviors, and though that can be a bit annoying (why yes I do have the Spanish Inquisition sketch memorized but thanks for repeating it to make sure I got it), it also helps them figure out what kind of people they want to be (maybe you want to be funny, so you over time learn that what made Monty Python so funny was surprise, surprise and fear, and you develop comedic timing). Knowing what kind of person you want to be is important.

Right, but it’s selfish. You keep calling it “one sided” which it literally is. There’s no checks on your behavior.

Right. I think that’s good, though? I think it’s good for people to sometimes do selfish things. I think it’s good to cultivate parasocial relationships because they are a way to self-soothe, and get your own needs met, without burdening others. We are social creatures, and we absolutely need relationships, but nobody owes you a relationship. Nobody owes you affection or love. Having a way to cultivate that for yourself is actually incredibly valuable.

It’s worth commenting here that I think my strongest parasocial relationships are probably with characters I’ve made up myself. They are “a part of me” in that they are always there in my life, but unlike some writers, I do not base characters on myself or see them as reflecting specific parts of me. I relate to them in the same way I relate to Harry Potter, except that I was the one who made them up initially, and books I write about them can be published and I can make money off them. (On some theoretical plane of existence.) It’s pretty clear that I am the one doing all the work on both sides of this particular parasocial relationship, but it doesn’t feel super different to me than the fact I very intensely relate to certain characters not made up by me. I don’t conceive myself dating one of them, like I don’t have a Dorothy L. Sayers thing going on, but I don’t really think it would be wrong if I did.

What do you mean not being a burden on others? What about toxic fans putting pressure on creators?

Yeah...that’ll be in the “unhealthy relationship” category. But, okay, I guess where I am ending up here is I do think it’s good to recognize parasocial relationships exist and talk about them, because it reminds you that even if a relationship is not reciprocal, you do have responsibilities. If the other person is real, that means they are only human, and even if you have no choice but to stan, you should give them some breathing space. The Shinji Ikari ContraPoints in my head can be my super close friend, but if I expect the real Natalie Wynn to give me any more energy than she already does to her entire audience by making the awesome videos I enjoy so much, I’d be really rude, demanding, and honestly not worthy of her friendship if it was “real.”

Parasocial relationships are relationships which means, just like with reciprocal ones, you have to not be a dick. You have to respect the other person and recognize they are a human being separate from you. Even with characters, Harry Potter can’t be hurt by anything weird and demanding you do, but Rowling could, and so could other HP fans, so respect is still important. If it’s not already clear, I strongly disagree with people who suggest fanfiction is disrespectful, so.

If you understand that your relationship is abstracted, and that you do not deserve any kind of reward for all the energy and love that you pour into it...then enjoy your parasocial relationship, because it is absolutely normative, human, and can bring great joy and meaning into your life. In fact, almost all of what I just said applies to reciprocal relationships, too.

[naromoreau]

Blind Date

Thank you so much to my amazing friend @outranks for betaing this and encourage me in every step to write this. Also a big thanks to the lovely @starsandskies for giving me her insight of John which I greatly appreciate.  _________________________ Pairing: Rook (Not a Deputy yet) x John Seed Rating: SFW, no warnings.  Pre-Game events

To abandon her old life was the hardest decision she'd taken knowing fully well it was the only way to get out of that shroud of toxicity. David had sworn with words that had punched her in the gut, not to leave her alone until she'd finally forgive him, something Rook knew was not gonna happen in the next month. Year. Hell, probably never. It wasn't as much the act as the treason, the lies and deceit that now felt like venom sluicing down her throat. It was wrath and it was consuming. It shouldn't hurt like this, she was better off, yet head tripped over heart 99 times out of 100. 

Not knowing where to go, calling Kim had seemed a brilliant idea. Much to her chagrin they hadn't seen each other in a long time, despite have been partners in crime in school, and pretty much sharing the tiniest detail about each other’s life once they were away. Those phone bills had been sky up high. Even after she married Nick, who was everything Rook could’ve asked for Kim, they were still as thick as thieves. 

So, in seconds Mrs. Rye had had everything decided, coaxing Rook to move back to Montana where they’d be waiting for her. It sounded like the perfect set up. Away from the constant hubbub and chaos New Jersey was. 

Her old Chevy roared up the highway, as the corn fields passed in a blur. It’d been a hell of a long trip but somewhere between the sight of the far away mountains and the mauve streaks of the sky, Rook felt a bit more at ease. She spotted the sign of Fall’s End at the distance and decided to drop by the closest grocery shop to buy the stuff she needed to prepare her killer spaghetti bolognesa to thank Kim and Nick to allow her to stay with them. Her mouth watered at the thought. 

The car skid to stop just outside the only visible store Rook could find. The place was small, crammed with supplies and the man in charge was attentive and polite. She glanced around. There was just another person aside her, who now fidgeted with something standing next to a pile of toilet paper. Rook looked at him as she passed by and her brows arched. He was definitely the most handsome man she'd seen. Just a little taller than her, trim and lush beard and brown hair slicked back. When he tipped his head up, a breath caught in her throat. Blue eyes clear as country sky stared back at her, icy hue making her words stutter in her mind. 

The corner of his lip quirked slightly in a smile that she decoded as a form of remote acknowledgement of her presence, so she nodded and made an stately retreat. 

Right. Pasta. 

It was ridiculous. The way her knees trembled a little when she finally seized the pasta and the tomatoes. She didn't know the man. For all Rook knew he could be married, engaged, or plainly not into her. And really. She was just tangling her thoughts when the reality was they were nobodies to each other. 

Rook sighed.

The only thing left to pick was the parmesan. Memories of her mom's recipe huddled in her mind once she stood in front of the cheeses and picked the one she remembered. 

"You don't want that, darling, it's nearly… inedible." 

It was that man. His voice was sinfully sweet, a tinge of pleased satisfaction falling thick from his tongue. 

"Excuse me?" 

The fact that he just called her 'darling' before insulting her childhood memories, kicked her sudden infatuation to the back of her mind. 

"That… cheese you just picked-- it's definitely heinous, a crime to use it in a good bolognese," he said, looking inquisitively at the ingredients she carried clutched to her chest. "This one on the other hand…" A tattooed hand offered her a different one, as she watched a smug grin come alive on his face. 

"Thanks. But I think I'll go with this one."

A wave of annoyance was starting to shatter her polite smile, as she sidestepped him, walking to the check out. 

"Suit yourself, dear."

Rook knew it was far better to ignore the taunt, but again, she wasn’t known for being the smart type. “Are you a professional cheff perhaps?”

The man just laughed. A short, sharp sound that made a shudder wrack her spine despite her best efforts. “I’m a lawyer.”

Huh. “Ah, well, yeah-- thanks.”

“I’m not wrong, dear.”

She clenched her jaw, waving a goodbye as his final words brushed her on her way to the register. 

She was about to leave the store, when the same honeyed voice greeted her from the store’s TV. 

"The salvation is within your reach, join us at Eden’s Gate--" 

‘Lawyer my ass’. The man was a fucking preacher. 

“Fucking televangelist.”

Apparently you couldn’t trust people in this town. 

___________________

Hope County was as idyllic as a bucolic painting but far more interesting. Her life in Rye's household was proving to be oddly cheerful even if half the time Rook was forced into the pleasant inaction of a well-tended guest. The grey dawns creeped one after the other and slowly, slowly, she started regaining a little of her previous balance. Thick amounts of anger, heavy as tar, fizzled out with every day she spent trudging across golden barley fields. 

That was, whenever Kim and Nick had to go to business in town, leaving her on her own. Otherwise, Rook was always hedged by activities ranging from helping Kim to administer the property, to assist Nick with never ending tuning and 'reparations' of his plane. Which Rook suspected had a bit more mileage than was safe, not that she would’ve voiced that thought in front of its owner. The man was head over heels for Carmina, the seaplane. 

"Pass me the torque wrench, Rookie.” 

Rook heard Nick’s huff from beneath one side of the plane, where he was bent trying to determine the source of the jarring sound of metal scratching metal everytime he turned on the engine. 

She fumbled in the tool box until it produced what she was looking for. "Here."

"It was just routine crop-dusting," he mumbled more to himself than Rook, "dunno what coulda got wrong."

"Bet you'll figure it out soon enough."

"I'm fuckin' counting on it, tell you that-- A friend and I go on testing flies on the weekends, y'know?" 

"More like dick measurement contests, but with planes, you mean." Kim chided in carrying a tray of sandwiches and three beers. 

Nick almost jumped on the spot, hitting his head with the open door of the plane. "It ain't like that, Kimmie, you know that."

"Yeah, right." Kim rolled her eyes an sipped her beer, an amused smile tugging her lips. 

"John's a good guy," Nick said. 

"Who’s John?" Truth was that Rook wasn't as interested as to actually want to know, but she didn't want to seem rude, after how amazing they'd been with her. Asking didn't cost anything. 

"A guy who moved here 'bout couple years ago," Nick said, "nice guy but keeps pretty much to himself except for--" 

"The dick measurement contests," Rook and Kim offered in unison with devilish twin grins, the words a slap on Nick's face. 

"Very funny you two," Nick groused. 

Kim sauntered to Nick and kissed him, softly, nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips. The way Nick clung to her waist, receiving every bit of what she was giving with complete rapture, as if they hadn't  kissed almost a hundred times already that day, struck Rook right in the middle of her current train of thoughts. Even in their best moments, David had never been like that, had never shown an ounce of the joy that reeked from Nick every time he held Kim. 

He'd never loved her and now she knew it. Suddenly Rook felt ill. 

"C'mon," Kim said with a dreamy smile, holding Nick's hand, "let's have some lunch."

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

A month went by in a heartbeat and Rook started thinking about getting a job and settling there. Coming back to her roots, in a sense. 

“I’m glad to see you smiling again, honey,” Kim said after putting in the oven the result of their hard work.  

She had been trying for the last half hour to teach Rook how to make the perfect crust for an apple pie, after she ate six slices and demanded to know the magic behind it. Now they both sat at the isle, sipping two cold ones. 

“Yeah, kinda hard not to in a place like this-- I mean it’s… breathtaking.” 

Kim smirked. “It has its ups and downs, like every place I guess. You never meet too many new people.”

“But I mean that’s good in a way, right? You get to deepen your relationship with the ones you already know?” 

It was so different from the rhythm of living in New Jersey. Always fast. A ceaseless flow of new things that after a while were always not enough. Like David. And maybe that’d been the problem. 

“You thinking about that asshole, huh?”

Rook just sighed. “I mean-- maybe that was the problem, we moved in together too fast, I don’t know--”

Kim set her beer down, and placed one hand over one of her own. “No, sweetie. The guy was always an asshole, trying to pretend he wasn’t one. Knowing him more-- less, it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Rook let out a soft, dry chuckle. She knew that, but trying to understand how all went to hell in a handbasket was helping her to realize this time, she wasn’t the failure. 

“I should’ve listened to you, Kimmie.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not your signature move,” Kim said, voice tinged with amusement.

Rook laughed, the joke unspooling the frayed, worn out tension curling up inside her. 

“How do you meet good people?” Rook asked, not really expecting an answer. 

“I guess-- I guess it’s a matter of you know-- just knowing people.” Kim arched a brow. “Do you wanna start dating again?”

“See, I don’t know. Yes? No? I don’t--” Rook sighed. “I just wanna know people, like you said, and maybe then-- who knows.”

Kim nodded along her stuttered monologue, her eyes glinting with what Rook identified as a sudden idea. She knew Kim’s ideas were to be feared or celebrated. “What about John?”

“Who’s John?” It took Rook point-three seconds to realize who Kim was talking about. “Nick’s weird plane friend?”

“He’s not weird and he’s a good man.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I mean--”

“He’s really good looking,” Kim said, pointedly.

“So you think I can be convinced with the promise of a pretty face, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Kimmie, you think so little of me,” Rook said with faux offense, sporting a half-grin. She wasn’t totally opposed to the idea and she trusted Kim above all. Maybe this could be a good onset, and it didn't matter if things went sideways or if the guy ended up being a self absorbed prick that just took a swim in a barrel of cologne: it was a step in the right direction. “Fine, but make sure he’s into this too. I don’t wanna spend time with a guy who feels I ambushed him.”

“No worries, honey. I’ll take care of everything.”

__________________________________

 She admired the view in the mirror for a few long seconds, trying to convince herself it was not such a bad idea. Rook had never considered herself beautiful, but she was pleased by her reflection. The plain navy blue dress she'd packed almost without thinking, seemed fitting yet comfortable which was exactly what Rook wanted. She didn't want him to think she was trying too hard, especially if he wasn't going to return the favor. The silky fabric caressed her fingers as she glided them over the skirt, trying to fix any visible creasings. The nervous squirming in her stomach intensified as she went down the stairs, to meet the Ryes. 

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, honey," Kim chirped, with a big grin on her face. 

Rook tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear, painfully conscious of her own blushing. "You think so?" 

"Bet your money on it." Kim gave her a reassuring smile, before holding her hands. "Nick's gonna take you there-- John insisted you two should have dinner at his ranch which I think is nice, 'cause the Spread Eagle is good and Old Gary is a nice guy but the place isn't suited for a proper date."

Rook quirked a brow. "He has a ranch?" 

"Yeah, I think you'll like it."

This was it. The physical display showing she was kicking her past to the curb, ready to start anew. Rook blew air hard, shaking her head and her carefully combed curls.

"It'll be fine, honey, and you can always call either me or Nick if you want an early pick up for whatever reason, m'kay?" 

Rook nodded before hugging Kim. 

"Thanks, Kimmie-- for everything."

Kim's eyes glinted, smiling warmly. "Go have fun."

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

Rook shivered when a current of wind blew up, her dress whipped around her body by it. The night sizzled with warmth, suiting for the end of July, yet Rook clutched her arms as if it was freezing before stepping through the threshold of the house. 

The door had been left open, a clear statement of how peaceful and quiet this side of the County was or of how much John trusted his neighbours. She could feel her heart drumming under every inch of skin, from her toes up to her temples. Her eyes swiveled down to the perfectly set table at the side of the great living room, and she let out a small gasp of surprise. It was definitely far more intimate than any scenario she'd expected. 

The room was dimly lit and she almost missed the man standing next to the fireplace with his back turned. 

When she took a step forward, the click of her heels against the floor seemed to snap him out of his silence and he swirled to face her. 

Oh. Oh no. 

"Ah, Rook, it's such a pleasure--" 

The words were cut in a dry halt, while a glaze of confusion set on his face. Apparently he was as dumbstruck as she was. 

Rook was trying her best to not let her jaw hit the floor, because "plane John" was the "parmesan guy", as she referred to him in the abridged version she'd given to Kim. In Rook's book the guy was a total jerk and a liar. Definitely not someone she wanted to spend the evening with. 

He recovered quicker than her. "I didn’t know you were staying with the Ryes," he said with a saccharine voice. 

"There was no reason for you to know it,” she said with her chin held high. "I'm sorry-- this was a mistake--" 

"On the contrary, my dear," he said, taking a few steps in her direction, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, "I believe this is a very right encounter." 

Rook gulped despite herself. He had no damn right to be this handsome: perfectly tailored black trousers and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he could've passed for a model if he wanted to. She bit her lip to cut the spell. 

"You lied to me," Rook blurted out. 'And insulted my choice of cheese,' she wanted to add but it didn't seem like a proper claim. 

His brow creased. "I beg your pardon?" 

"You told me you were a lawyer but I saw you on that televangelical infomercial." 

She didn’t know what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't him huffing a laugh. "So you jumped to the conclusion I should've been lying because lawyers aren't men of God?" 

Rook wasn't feeling as confident in her assertion as a minute ago, nevertheless, she retaliated. "Actually the opposite, I think."

John finally broke in an honest, clear, ringing laugh that was as annoying as it was enticing. What a contradiction this man was. 

"Well, normally you'd be right, but it does happen that I am both," he said, walking to the table and reaching a hand in her direction. "I can tell you all about it if you stay with me for dinner."

Rook weighed the options in speed mode and agreed. After all saying no over the parmesan, would've been a whole new level of petty even for her. 

She took the hand drawn in her direction and her cheeks flushed when he closed his fingers around it. It felt warm, and a little rough, and something wild fluttered in her stomach at the contact. It'd been ages since she'd felt like that, like the central focus of attention, like he was the lucky one having her there. 

Her heart tumbled again when he reluctantly let go of her hand to pull the chair for her. A small gesture done with the ease of something that came natural, not just for show. 

"Thank you," she said. 

He nodded and flashed another dashing smirk in her direction. Thank God she was sitting because by now her knees were jello, courtesy of those striking blue eyes. 

"I have to say I wasn't expecting my date to be the beautiful stranger I met a month ago," he said in a frank tone, sitting at her side. "I often wondered if you were still around."

Rook almost let out a goofy giggle. She shouldn't have let it rattle her that much but the fact that he called her beautiful, aside from making wonders for her ego still hurt by the betrayal, in that matter of factly tone, just brushed aside some of her doubts about him. 

"Do you say the same to all your dates?" She quipped. 

By some magic trick her question made his composed manners crack a little. A light blush spread over his nose and cheeks. "I haven't had a date in years if I have to be honest." 

For the first time that night, she smiled at him. "Then we're in the same boat."

"Better to say, the same plane," he said serving her a slice of a handmade lasagna, the smell making her stomach rumble of hunger. 

"I bet you are as head over heels with your plane as Nick is with his," she scoffed. 

"Not true, darling," he said, "as much as I like Affirmation, my plane that is, things are just meanings to an end." He leveled his gaze with hers, almost breathtaking under the candlelights. "I reserve love just for people."

Rook shuddered under his veiled words and for a moment found herself wondering how would it be to be loved by him. It was silly, and utterly naïve. She was floundering in spirals of ifs when the truth was he was only being polite and she was being delusional. 

"Shall we?" She asked gesturing to her plate, swallowing her inconvenient thoughts. 

John's eyes lingered for a few seconds on her, his mouth quirked in a smirk. "Of course."

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

By the end of the meal Rook had learned everything there was to know about John Seed the lawyer and PR of Eden's Gate Project. 

She wasn't a woman of faith, considering herself mostly a respectful audience rather than willing participant but John had been so convincing she'd agreed to join him for the Sunday service next week. 

A pang of regret assaulted her for thinking bad of him for so long when in all honesty he seemed a good person, if well, a bit overeager about his beliefs, culinary and religious alike. The whole night had left her under the impression than despite his candor on the questions she asked, there were a lot of things unsaid especially surrounding his upbringing. 

She knew he had siblings, part of Eden’s Gate as well, and that his whole life now revolted around it. He seemed too perfect to be truth and when the night was over, she found herself wanting this wasn't just a one time thing. 

"I had a really great time," she said taking her phone out of her purse to check the time and dial for Kim. 

"It was a pleasure-- no, a delight, to have you with me tonight and I hope is not a bold assumption to think this was not a one time only thing-- or am I wrong?"

Rook's heart pounded heavily in her chest. "No, you’re not," she said with a soft smile. 

This man was certainly in his own league.  When her eyes finally fell to her lockscreen, she bit back a scream. It was 2:00 a.m. 

Probably seeing the distress on her face, John leaned forward, a hand placed over hers. "Is something wrong? "

"It's-- it's 2:00 in the morning!" she yelped, "I can't -- damn, I can't call Kim right now, it'd be so rude."

He huffed a short laugh. "Don't worry, darling. I'll take you there."

He stood up, offering her a hand that she took quickly, thinking about how inconsiderate she'd been with the Ryes. At least she had her own key. 

"Thank you, so much, I don't -- I don't wanna bother you though, it's quite far."

"Nonsenses, my dear. It's my pleasure."

She hadn't realized he was still holding her hand, when he stopped right at the threshold of the house. 

"I know--" He chuckled, and cleared his throat, clearly nervous, and Rook's knees bucked at his proximity, "I know I have no right asking this of you, but-- may I kiss you, Rook?" 

There was a slight waver in his otherwise confident request, Rook found endearing. She would've been lying if she said she hadn't toyed with the idea more and more as the night progressed, imagining the scrape of his beard over her chin, the hard press of his mouth over hers-- 

"I'd very much like that," Rook answered, thanking her stars she wasn't croaking out of pure nervousness. 

She felt her cheeks burning as he closed the distance between them, painfully slow, blue eyes delving into hers as if to pry into her soul. 

His hand slid up, thumbing at her jaw, fingers resting against her neck, warm and gentle. Rook's heart galloped when he leaned in, not diverting her eyes from those magnetizing blues. Her breath came in shallow exhales when finally his lips brushed hers, soft and slightly damp. Tentatively first, shy eagerness that untethered with every second passed. 

Rook closed her eyes, taking in the sensations, flitting and stark, careening through her. Kissing someone hadn't felt like this in a long time if not ever. A kiss capable of send jolts of pure exhilaration and new-formed vertigo to the farest corner of her being. She could feel every inch of his chest pressed to hers, warm and solid, his tongue sliding along the seams of her mouth, and every movement drove her further away from heartache, further away from the feeling of hollowness. So quickly, so effectively. It felt so right. And it was scary. 

She broke the kiss, gauging the impact of how screwed up she was. 

"Is everything alright?" John asked, lips swollen, breathing coming out in small puffs. The whole sight and the pitch of his rough voice wreaking havoc on Rook's gut. 

"Perfectly." She allowed herself a genuine smile that he promptly returned, holding her hand and finally guiding her to the black SUV parked at the garage. 

"Thank you for that, my dear," he said with a pitch that made her half-formed hopes, gain reality. "Now, let's take you home."

Hope County looked beautiful and daunting at night. Dark blue scattered with silver glimmer of distant stars.

Sitting at John's side Rook felt alive. She could even say she forgave David. She didn't care at all about it anymore, because if it meant coming here, and coming here meant meeting John, then it wasn't all tragedy. 

Living here was going to be perfect, and she was going to seize every second of it. In that moment John turned his head to look at her and she was struck by the sheer glee waving back at her from those clear blue pools. A light squeeze of her hand as a silent reassurance. 

Of what? Rook wasn't sure yet, but she was determined to find out.

[thetypedwriter]

The Wicked King Book Review

The Wicked King book Review

By Holly Black

I know what you're thinking. Oh no. Not again.

Why yes. Yes, again. In fact, there is planned to be one more before the series is finished. The Wicked King is the second book in the trilogy by Holly Black, who is often heralded as the Queen of Faerie, and rightly so, seeing as she surgically altered her own ears to make her look like one of the fey.

Which, you know, personal choices.

Regardless, the second book in the trilogy was released January of 2019. If you recall my previous review for The Cruel Prince, this book was utterly polarizing with it’s horrible protagonist, its awful world building, and its addicting quality to want to see what happens to these heinous people in this vile world.

In my humble opinion, The Wicked King is far superior to The Cruel Prince in many ways. Number one: Jude Daurte. In the first novel, I was honestly horrified by the main protagonist. To me, she had no moral compass to speak of, next to no redeeming qualities in the ways of personality, and was an awful representation for young readers picking up YA.

However, in this second book, I feel like Jude really grows into herself as a character. Don’t get me wrong. She’s still god awful. But in book two, I feel like she truly embraces this awfulness inside of her which is in direct opposition to book one where she often seemed to fight the internal monster and constantly loses.

But in Book two, she knows she’s horrible and yet she begins to feel remorse for the way she is. Or at the very least, she wishes that she was a better human being. In a particularly candid moment (spoilers ahead), Jude kills Cardan’s asinine brother in a duel (how she managed to beat a trained, magical prince of Faerie is anyone’s guess) and then honestly wishes she was better and felt sympathy and pity as she stands in the courtyard dripping in his blood.

This, believe it or not, is progress for Jude.

There are other little moments in the novel where Jude shows improvement in terms of not being a complete psychopath which is good. It’s very difficult to relate to a character with no emotions, zero compassion, and ambitions that make absolutely no sense.

In addition, I really enjoyed Jude’s and Cardan’s relationship. I think the power struggle, the inherent differences founded on the fact that Jude is a human and Cardan is a faerie, and the fact that Cardan is on the throne due to Jude was super fascinating to read about. I enjoyed their back and forth, their attraction, and especially the twist at the ending. If I can give Holly Black any credit, it would be her shock endings. This one blew me away and I loved it.

Okay, now that we’re done with the positives, let us move on to the negatives.

Thankfully, there are less this time than there was in the previous novel.

The major issues I had with this book were brought over from book one. Mainly, I still don’t understand the appeal of this world at all. Jude fights tooth and nail day and night to be a part of this world that fucking hates her. It makes absolutely no sense that she wants to stay in play that despises the very core of her being, thinks less of her, mocks her, and doesn’t take her seriously.

In addition, while Jude and Cardan have some good plot development and characterization, the rest of the characters are nameless faces that are hard to remember and easier to blend together. It’s very difficult to retain why the King of Termites is important, who Nicasia is, and why we should care about literally anyone other than the main characters.

Lastly, Jude running an entire kingdom is surreal. Not only because she’s a sixteen? Seventeen year old girl? But also because we’re supposed to buy that she can run an entire kingdom, manipulate the prince, manipulate the general and control everything that a kingdom entails all the while dicking around almost every chapter doing other things.

I understand that this is fantasy but come on.

Setting all of that aside however, this was a really enjoyable read. The characters are intriguing, the romance is hot and unpredictable, and the novel is unique enough to capture your interest and draw you in. I can honestly say that I can’t wait until the last and final installment to see how the world of Faerie all works out.

Score: 7/10

Recommendation: Much better than book one. It’s comparable to watching the first season of a TV show and recognizing that the characters and the plot still haven’t been fully developed. This book is season three. The characters are getting more realistic and more interesting, the plot is in full swing, and at this point, you're ready to fully commit.

[boymeetsweevil]

blue, not blanc - nsfw

Grouping: Reader x Jimin, SMUT wow

Word Count: ~4.5k 

Warnings: straight up sex, fingering, panty fetish perhaps? breathplay if you squint?? DEFINITELY NSFW

Based off the following prompt :) 

1.5 months before

Jimin was cooking dinner, like the good fiancé he was. You slid into a seat at the breakfast bar and sighed, hoping he would turn around to see what you needed. When he merely hummed in greeting you were forced to cut to the chase.

“I have a favor to ask you,” your sheepish tone finally made him to look up from the red sauce he had been painstakingly simmering, “I need you to be my date for the black and white investment dinner. I’m letting you know now so you can’t say you already made plans.”


“How do you know I don’t already have plans?”


“Jimin, please. Its a month and a half from now and we know you don’t plan that far ahead.”


“Maybe I should start.” He stuck his tongue out at you before turning back to his precious marinara.


“You can start by making sure you have a suit. And it has to be white.”

“Why does it have to be white? Isn’t that too...Las Vegas or something?”


“Its white because the firm chooses the color scheme. This year the investors wear black and the firm employees wear white. It’s an annual thing. Please.”


Jimin sighed, but didn’t argue further. You came as his date to all the horrible holiday parties they hosted every year at the newspaper. You even bought an ugly sweater the year he had been trying to suck up to his boss for a promotion. To this day he’s convinced that heinous wool article is what got him his current position of junior editor.

“What color should the tie be?” He walked over to your spot at the kitchen table, one hand cupped beneath the wooden spoon he held in the other. You leaned in to try it before flashing a thumbs up when it didn’t seem to be lacking any specific ingredient.


“The tie doesn’t have to be a specific color as long as it goes with your suit and my dress,” you froze mid sentence, “Shit. I need a dress.” You were quiet for a few beats as you watched him hunt around for the chili pepper flakes before calling his name sweetly. Too sweetly.


“What is it now?”


“I have such a bad migraine that if I so much as look at another screen tonight, I’ll cry. Do you think maybe you could possibly buy the dress for me after dinner? From that French store where you bought that scarf you got me?”


“Sure.”


“Great. I’ll send you the links. Oh, I need their no-show underwear too. It’s better than going commando, I swear,” you said cheerfully as you pulled out your phone.


“I thought your head was going to explode if you looked at another screen.”


“How else am I going to send you the links, Minnie?”


He raised an incredulous eyebrow and put a steaming plate in front of you.

“So, do I have to buy them tonight or can it wait a little. I’m waiting on a call from Taehyung about the parts for that vintage coffee maker I’ve been working on.”


“Well,” you chewed your noodles thoughtfully, “I guess as long as you don’t wait longer than 2 weeks. Everything always sells out of that shop really fast so you have to be quick about it, especially the underwear. I would buy it myself but my boss has been working me to the bone with reviewing these new manuscripts.”


“Leave it to me.”


24 days following

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself.

Jimin felt anxious sweat begin to prick at his hairline as he read your messages over and over again. He checked his calendar and grimaced when he saw that there were less than 3 weeks until the dinner and he still hadn’t ordered your clothes like you’d asked him to.

Once his order was called, he took his drink and sprinted out of the coffee shop he had been working in to drive back to his apartment where he’d left his laptop.

Your warning about items selling out and customs holding packages for an extra long time haunted him as he scoured his texts for the links you’d sent a little less than a month ago.

Jackpot.

He opened your laptop and carefully typed in the name of the dress you had bookmarked and sent to him. It was a nice dress, he noted, as he clicked on the drop-down menu and scrolled through the color available color options. When his cursor landed on the color IV (for ivory, as detailed in your text) he said a small thank you to the forces of the universe above. He added the dress to the cart and went to the search bar again to find the underwear. He blew out another breath of relief when he saw that the famous no-show panties weren’t all sold out. 

He searched for ivory again but he couldn’t find it. Is it sold out? How could it be sold out? All that’s left is BL. What’s BL. BL...for blanc because its french for white and ivory is white. I’m a genius. he pat himself on the back as he put the underwear in his cart and entered his card number. He had to grit his teeth when he saw the large chunk of change it would cost him to expedite shipping, but he supposed it was a meager price to pay for almost missing out on buying your dress after you’d asked so far in advance. 10 days later, Jimin received the package and called you to let you know that as soon as you finished your last manuscript you should hurry over and try on the dress to see if it needed any alterations. You swung by one morning later in the week to try on the dress in his en suite on your way to work. 

“Does it fit,” he asked in a half yawn as he leaned against the bathroom door. He nearly fell on his face when you swung the door open and handed him the haphazardly folded dress because you were running late.


“Yep. See you back here Friday! Make sure your suit is ready,” you shouted before swinging his door closed.


The day

Friday rolled around too quickly for comfort. You had barely gotten 2 days to rest from non-stop reading and editing before you had to commute to Jimin’s immediately after work. 

“Who the fuck schedules a gala at 7:30 on a Friday”, you had fumed to yourself earlier during rush hour.

Currently, Jimin was brushing his teeth in the bathroom frantically, dress shirt still half open, only briefs, and tube socks adorning his lower half. He was thinking about whether he would need to waste time styling his hair, seeing as the humidity from his shower was causing it to wave gently, when he heard a shout from the bedroom.

“Wha happeth? Ah you hut?” He panted around his toothbrush.


Nothing seemed to be wrong. Half your hair was in curlers and you still had your towel on as you stared down into the box where the dress and underwear were stashed away.

“I told you to order white underwear. Look at this,” you pulled the panties from their wrapping to reveal that they were in fact slightly lighter than Tiffany blue. “Minnie, didn’t you check the color before you selected it?”


“I dih--” he ran to rinse out his mouth and replace his toothbrush before coming back. “I did. It said it was white, it had a little BL and everything. For blanc. Because its French,” he trailed off. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“The site settings were in English, Jimin. I can’t read French. BL is blue,” you said quietly.


You picked up the receipt and handed the slip to the confused man.

“It says BL for---for blue.”


“Yeah,” you said lowly as you began to pull on the delicate underwear.


“I-I’m sorry. I really thought I picked the right color.”


“It’s alright, Minnie. It was a simple mistake, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up in the first place. You were only helping me.”


“At least it’ll be covered up by your dress, right?” 


“At least there’s that,” you gave him a shaky smile, “Are you done with the bathroom? I’ll just go finish up in there and meet you by the door.”


“Alright.” He ran a head through his hair nervously, mussing up his bangs slightly. 

As he spun his car keys around, Jimin wondered whether the clothing would put a damper on the rest of the night when the sound of your shoes approaching shook him out of his musings.

The ivory of the dress looked against your skin was amazing and the way it molded itself to your figure took his breath away. But he could tell by the way your lips were drawn that you were still upset.

“What’s the matter?”


“The dress its...see-through. You can see the blue. I’m going to be the laughing stock of the whole company.” Jimin’s eyes dipped down and he saw that the blue stood out through the sheer, satiny material of the dress. 


“How about you call in sick and skip it. There’s no use in being uncomfortable all night for no reason.”


“I can’t. I volunteered to handle the jewelry auction. And my promotion is practically contingent on my being there. I have to go.” Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes.


“Well, you look beautiful. I almost don’t regret picking the wrong color,” he said while shrugging off his white suit jacket, “You can use this as a cover. It was making me feel too Vegas anyway.”

The joke fell flat when you simply spread your hands over the skirt one final time and took the jacket. You mumbled a quiet “Thank you.”

Much to his chagrin, the dress did put a damper on the whole evening. More specifically, on your evening. Jimin had a relatively good time. He had 3 free Shirley Temples and a shameful amount of gluten-free mini quiches. But even on the car ride home, your disappointment towards having to wear a jacket over such a beautiful dress all evening was palpable. When you arrived home, both of you seemed to release breaths you didn’t realize you were holding.

Immediately you began to strip out of your attire, exhausted from the gala. Jimin couldn’t help but watch you peel off the dress in your haste to get ready for bed. Because you were wearing a towel earlier, he hadn’t gotten a look at the delicate garments you had on underneath.

“Those are pretty on you,” he ventured quietly, ”The color is good.”


“Thanks. I can’t wait to go straight to sleep.”

 You removed your bra, threw on a sleep shirt, and hiked some sweatpants over the blue underwear.


He nodded and got ready for bed as well, all the while the image of you in blue burned bright on the backs of his eyelids while he waited for you to finish cleaning your teeth and washing your face. 

When Jimin felt the mattress dip with your weight, he waited a bit to gauge your mood. With your back to him and the way you lay close to the far edge of your side, it seemed you were still upset. But you weren’t the type to hold grudges and if you did linger on anything, you tended to internalize it, even if it was someone else’s fault. He reached a tentative hand out pat the curve of your hip.

“Not tonight, Jimin. I’m not in the mood right now.” You shifted to shrug his hand off.


“I really wasn’t trying anything. How do you know I’m not in the mood either?”


You turned to look at him over your shoulder and give a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re always in the mood, Minnie.”

“Hey, now,” he shuffled closer, sensing a lightening of the atmosphere, “I’m not always in the mood. You just looked especially good tonight.”


“How could I have looked good with your stupid jacket on. No one even got to see my dress.” 

Your voice was small, but it didn’t quite sound sad and he took a leap of faith by sliding the hand that was resting near your hip to snake underneath your sleep shirt and press to your stomach, pulling you in flush to him.


“That’s everyone else’s loss. But it doesn’t mean you didn’t look good”. He nuzzled his nose against the curve of your neck and let his hand knead lightly at the skin of your side. “Plus, I feel like we have a little secret since I was the only one who got to see you in that dress.”


“Well, I didn’t do that on purpose. Better you be the one to see those horrible underwear ruin the dress than my boss.” You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Jimin’s fingers gliding underneath the waistband of your sweats soothe you before you realized what he was doing. “Jimin!”

“What? I’m just touching you. Is that no longer allowed? Am I on probation?” He pulled the sagging collar of your shirt down and peppered soft, wet kisses across the parts of your neck the he could reach. It tickled and you barely held in a laugh.


“Yes, that’s exactly what this is. You’re on probation.”


“Okay, so let me probe a little bit,” he said with a mischievous lilt in his voice before yanking your sweatpants down unceremoniously. 


“Park Jimin,” you shouted when the colder air of the bedroom hit your skin, “That’s not even what probation means, you’re so--what is it?”


You peered at his face only to follow his fixed gaze down to the vibrant blue cloth covering your pelvis.

“Nothing, it’s just pretty,” he said almost to himself, his tone distracted and light. He smoothed a hand over the material, marveling at how smooth the fabric was. “You know my favorite color is blue.”


“Are you saying you did this on purpose?” You tried to scoot away experimentally but his hold remained firm. 


“I already told you it was an accident. But I’m realizing now it was a happy one.” 

“Yeah?” Your own voice sounded dreamy and far away as you basked in all the attention. He only hummed in response before making his move.

Now that you were somewhat pliant, Jimin wedged his other arm under you so he could further envelope you. One hand remained where it was, caressing the silken fabric without doing anything too risky. The other hand, however, quickly made its way over to your breasts. He massaged them gently, at first, until your nipples began to brush more firmly against his palms. He began to tweak them and pull, knowing it was the fastest way to get you squirming.


You arched your back in response and ended up pushing your hips back against his, accidentally grinding on him. You could feel his hardness through the double layer of the barely-there material of your panties and his boxers. Coupling this with the feeling of his hand traveling under your shirt to continue its ministrations on your nipples and the creeping sensation of his other hand as he fingered the intricate laser-cut designs above your mound. It was almost too much and you felt like you were being bombarded. You tried to sneakily tug the waistband of your sweats up as you distracted him as best you could by rubbing up against his front, but he caught onto your plan. His hand left the confines of your shirt quickly to grip at your throat and force you to lengthen your neck obediently.

“Just let me see, baby. I just wanna see.” His voice was lower than his normal speaking tone, and noticeably rougher. He turned his mouth to suck at the spot on your neck where your skin felt the softest and placed a warm hand over yours. 

He guided the hand you had holding the sweatpants down teasingly slow. There was something erotic about the movement that made you whimper quietly. He must have heard the sound because soon he was shushing you softly and finished pulling down the sweatpants as far as he could. You kicked them off the rest of the way before realizing your hands felt awfully empty. You tried to turn to face him, but he wrapped a tight arm around and simply plucked at your nipples a little rougher, nipped at the skin of your shoulder a little more harshly. 

“Jimin.” You felt too warm with the heat he was radiating at your back and even with the sleep shirt you had on bunched up at your underarms.

“I know what you need,” he said in a voice that pretended to be thoughtful and selfless. 

His free hand finally passed your mound to press between the apex of your thighs. The angle was a bit awkward with his arm winding around your torso, but with coordination he was able to circle his fingertips around your clit. At this point, you still had too much lucidity and were worried that he would ruin the expensive underwear and stain it irrevocably with your arousal.


You started to protest but he seemed to read your mind and give your throat a warning squeeze with his free hand. With the other, he shifted to swipe a few fingers near your clothed entrance. He made a pleased sound when he brought his hand back up and the tips of his fingers caught the low lamp light and glistened.

“Open.” He held his fingers up before your lips, his grip on your neck loosening so you could move to suck them into your mouth. 

You made sure to graze his fingertips with kitten licks before popping them out your mouth when you knew they were clean. Jimin nudged at your cheek with a slightly damp hand until you turned enough for him to kiss you, wanting to chase whatever was left of your taste. He groaned at the feeling of you licking into his mouth and you felt him throb where his groin was pressed against your ass. You kissed slowly for a long moment, all the while his other hand continued to rub figure eights around your clit before circling back down to the now sopping material covering your entrance. 


The onslaught of sensation was enough to have you gasping and breaking the kiss. You let out a long, broken moan as he hooked his fingers underneath the material to feel the wetness without a barrier, although it left little to the imagination at this point.

“I wanna be inside you badly right now,” he mumbled shakily. The tremors in his voice sent another wave of excitement through you. You loved when he got overwhelmed.


“Please, oh my god. I need it.” 

You breathed heavily out your nose to keep quiet while he shoved his boxers off. He pressed against you with renewed vigor and you both groaned at the feeling of his overheated skin pressing against yours. You moved to pull your panties off but he stopped you.


“Keep them on. I want you to slide them to the side and hold them like that while I fuck you.”


“How do you want it,” you asked as you stretched your hand out to reach for the condoms that lived in a bowl under the bed. You nearly threw the condom in his face when you finally grasped at a foil packet. He rolled it on and inspected it briefly before grabbing at the meat of your thigh to lift your leg and bring it to rest over one of his own.

“Like this. On your side, from the back. I want to be able to see you in these panties.”

Pressing a hand over your lower belly, he pulled you flush against him once more to line up his swollen head with your entrance. He bumped against you a few times to coat himself with your slickness. At the feel of the initial stretch you grit your teeth.

“You feel so good,” you sputtered when he finally bottomed out. His girth was one of the things you gave thanks for most. You felt perfectly full and the slick smoothness of his entry had your head spinning. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and began to rock into you, shallowly at first.


“So do you. God,” he let out a whine when you clenched around him as he went deeper, “You’re so fucking wet.”


He shifted to plant a foot on the bed for leverage and so he could maneuver his hand back in between your now more open thighs. His fingertips bumped yours where they pulled the crotch of the panties up and to the side. You felt him grab your hand and move it slightly higher and more inward. It became clear what his motives were when the fabric caught on your clit with the force of every thrust. You grip on the fabric tightened as your back bowed, pressing yourself more firmly against him. Jimin moaned at the fresh wave of arousal you coated him with.

“Jimin,” your voice was tight with need and nearly drowned out but the slick sounds his thrusts made. 


“Harder?”


“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling your orgasm start to build. 

He cursed when you tightened up on him once more and rewarded you with a sharp smack to the globe of your ass. He began to fuck you in earnest.

“Arch your back, baby” he grunted. 

But before you could blink through the fog of your impending orgasm to comply, he brought his free hand up to cup your throat and pull you back how he wanted you. He squeezed a little for good measure and you felt an almost electric shock in your groin. You let go of the underwear in favor of tending to your clit with your own fingers at the same moment that he began to truly plow into you. Your toes started to curl and you marveled through your hazy consciousness at how your orgasms started the same way.


It started tonight, like it always did--with a pin-prick of pleasure that had you squirming. Then it turned into white hot waves building from the soles of your feet upwards. As the feeling reached your belly, the pleasure became molten and pulled every muscle in your body taut. You could feel your limbs shaking but you were too far gone to signal to Jimin that you were about to come, your breath leaving your mouth in increasingly small choked gasps. The pressure that had been building steadily in your abdomen snapped and you fell off your precipice screaming.

Watching you fall apart was always one of Jimin’s favorite pass-times. As you trembled before him, he tried his best to keep his eyes open so he could see you. But the way your walls gripped him tore his attention away. He squeezed his eyes shut and rutted up into you to chase his own high. It rippled through him faster than he was expecting, forcing him to tighten his grip on you to ground himself.

You calmed down first and listened to the sounds of his labored breaths in your ear. Luckily, you were on your side, so you didn’t have to worry about him collapsing on top of you or having to balance from on top of him to your side of the bed. Your back felt too sweaty though and you frowned at the thought of getting up again to take another shower before being able to sleep. When he eventually got out of bed to dispose of the condom and start the shower you grimaced at the feeling of cooling perspiration and tugged off your sleep shirt in hopes of dabbing at the moisture. 

“You coming,” Jimin asked when he came to lean on the doorframe of the bathroom.


You nodded and got up carefully, not wanting to overestimate the leftover strength in your knees and fall. You discarded your panties and he watched you hobble past him to the toilet with a smug expression. 

“I bet you’re not still upset about the underwear now,” he smirked at you while sliding open the door to the shower and stepping in.


“I bet you were never really sorry about buying my underwear late,” you countered over the sound of the water. You flushed the toilet and smiled softly to yourself while your washed your hands and he screamed at the momentary change in water temperature. 

He stuck his head out of the door as he waited for the warm water to return. “How did you know I bought it late?”


“You bought them on my account. I got the order confirmation and the email, it just got buried because I was swamped with work. But I saw while I was checking my phone in line for the women’s room at the gala.”


He had enough sense to give you smile that was 40% apology and 60% cheekiness.

“These are nicer than ivory,” he said with an exaggerated snobby accent.


“How? Because you got to play the white knight and lend me your suit jacket?”


“No,” Jimin trailed off. He stuck a hand out to pull you into the shower with him. “They’re nicer because they’re the underwear I fucked you in.”


“How charming. You know, the ivory could have been that pair too.”


“I don’t know. Nothing gets me in the mood faster than a nice blue. Why do you think its my favorite color?”


“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Maybe so,” he stepped aside to let you have a turn with the water.

“Wash my hair? Its the least you can do.”


When you both finished showering, you could tell that it was way past your bedtime but you had to wait until Jimin changed the sheets. You were so tired you would have gladly slept on them, but he had a thing about post-sex sheets.

You blotted the ends of your hair with an old t-shirt and watched him make the bed with a neatness you’d only seen in hospitals. A spot of blue caught your attention and you realized you left your panties on the floor. You pinched them by the corner daintily and moved to put the garment in his laundry basket.

“Wait,” he said and plucked the panties out of your hands before shoving them in the back pocket of his sweats.


“What are you gonna do with those?”


“I don’t know. Save them for a rainy day, probably.” He gave you a wink before returning to fluff the pillows one last time.