#although firmly in his teenage phase

[dogtiber]

Tiber had some really nice dog interactions this morning!

we met another whippet and I let him off lead in the public park for the first time!

Tiber was going absolutely berserk about having a friendly sighthound running circles around him and play bowing. I didn’t have his harness on him this morning, only his collar, and I couldn’t get him to calm down all the way and was worried he’d choke himself. he’s been getting to a good place with his recall lately and we’ve been discussing trying him off lead in the smaller quieter park anyway, and the other whippet seemed really well trained and responsive to her owner so I figured if I let him off he’d want to stick close to play with her.

he did really well! got some nice zoomies out and was really good about coming back to me. I usually ask him to tap his nose on my hand for recall and he was a little too distracted to follow through completely with that, but he was very very good about running by me to check in and reorienting towards me when called. I think we have a little more work to do, but I’m very proud of him!

I kept it short and got him back on leash once they were done running their circles.

a little later on our walk we ran into a very old lurcher. they both wanted to greet each other very badly, and Tiber was being very polite about it, so I walked him over. she was 14! he was very gentle with her, but was also play bouncing a lot lol just giving her some extra space when he did so. she bounced around back at him a little, but I think she was too old and wobbly to really go for it. but it was very cute watching them bounce at each other. her owners were very sweet and we chatted a bit and that was very nice.

and then we had a nice passing by greeting with a little daschund on the way home. as always with daschunds he was entirely enamored with her. they had a little cute happy sniff session.

those were the big exciting ones today, but he’s been doing better about dogs on our walks in general lately too! I’m very proud of him. I am thinking tho that I want to try to find some more opportunities to give him outlets for his dog friend excitement.

the other day, he was very good about waiting for the ok to go greet a little terrier-thing while we asked his owner if they could say hi. and he was being so self-disciplined but ALSO soooo excited. he literally plonked his ass down and just sat there vibrating in place until he could go up.

it was very funny and cute to witness and he’s being so good and trying so hard. but I’m worried he’s getting amped up too much trying to hold back and worried about him going over threshold? Idk I gotta see if I can find any info on excited reactivity I guess.

here he is passed out on the couch after exciting walk^^

[lizarddiary]

OC Presentation Post

The most up-to-date version! (No pictures yet)

Name: Nara Wright

Job(s): WHM, SCH, RDM, DRK.

Age: 23 at the beginning of ARR.

Birthday: Her real birthday is unknown, but she celebrates it alongside her sister on 28th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon (July 28th).

Birthplace: She was born in the Azim Steppe, in a clan that does no longer exist. She was raised in Gridania.

Gender: Cis woman.

Race: Au ra Xaela.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Temperament: Has her feet firmly in the ground. Always thinks about the practicalities of the situations she finds herself in before anything else. Cautious, perhaps overly cautious. She’s usually the voice of reason. A little bit cynical at times. Has a sweet side to her only her loved ones and patients usually get to see.

Build: Plump, with ample hips and rather big breasts. She has a little bit of a tummy.

Height: 162 cm (5'3")

Hair colour: Black.

Eye colour: Light grey.

Piercings: Two holes in her horns to put earrings through them.

Tattoos: None at the moment.

Scars/Birthmarks: A scar across her right cheek scales, from when she tried to remove them as a teenager.

Relationships: She’s Haurchefant’s widow. 

Family: Tahla Wright is her adoptive sister, both adopted children of Vincent Wright. They were raised by him and Meehna and Aurora, sister and sister-in-law of Vincent.

Fun facts:

She and Sidurgu belong to the same extinct xaela clan.

She has an older brother still in the steppe, his name is Baatu and now belongs to the Buduga clan.

They are not in contact, and she does not remember him. He thinks she’s dead.

Her tail body language closely imitates that of a miqo’te, since she was raised surrounded by them.

Had a promiscuous phase during her years studying in the Arcanist Guild in Limsa Lominsa.

She’s quite the talented artist, but cannot practise as much as she’d like to. She mostly works with charcoal and makes beautiful black and white pieces.

She has an angelic voice.

RP Relevant Info:

I have a WOL and a non-WOL version of her. I do not consider either of them canon, they both have the same weight to me.

She and her sister are both WOLs.

She can engage in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships.

Unless stated otherwise, I treat every RP with every individual person as a separate AU. 

I only do ERP if I feel comfortable with the other mun. Nara is dominant.

Name: Tahla Wright

Job(s): DRG, MCH, GNB

Age: 23 at the beginning of ARR.

Birthday: Her real birthday is unknown, but she celebrates it alongside her sister on 28th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon (July 28th).

Birthplace: She comes from the now extinct T tribe, in Gyr Abania. She was raised in Gridania.

Gender: Cis woman. Very masculine. Identifies more with the word “butch”.

Race: Miqo’te Seeker of the Sun.

Sexuality: Biromantic demisexual.

Temperament: Punch first, ask questions later type of person. She’s very action driven, to the point where she can forget her own safety. Quite reckless, although can be talked into having some sense. She comes out as rather cold and aggressive because she always has her guards up. Once she relaxes, she is mostly a goof who enjoys making her loved ones' lives happier. Very protective of those who love.

Build: Muscular. She’s had some fluctuations, but she’s always had more lean muscle. 

Height: 168 cm (5’5”)

Hair colour: Black.

Eye colour: Light grey.

Piercings: One earring in her right ear, two on her left. 

Tattoos: None for now.

Scars/Birthmarks: Two scars on her face, one across her nose and one across her right eye. 

Relationships: Currently still single.

Family: Nara Wright is her adoptive sister, both adopted children of Vincent Wright. They were raised by him and Meehna and Aurora, sister and sister-in-law of Vincent.

Fun facts:

Her birth name is actually “T’ahla”. Her father eliminated the apostrophe when he adopted her.

She was quite a famous gladiator in the Coliseum for many years, under the pseudonym of “The Hunter”. She covered most of her face and kept her identity secret.

She wishes her muscles were bulkier, but no matter how much she trains or eats, she never gets as big as she wants.

She trains constantly, even if she has no equipment. 

She loves dancing and she’s actually quite good at it, she’s just too shy to admit so.

She loves hiking and being in nature. Stargazing is one of her favourite activities. 

RP Relevant Info:

I have a WOL and a non-WOL version of her. I do not consider either of them canon, they both have the same weight to me.

She and her sister are both WOLs.

She can engage in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships.

Unless stated otherwise, I treat every RP with every individual person as a separate AU. 

I only do ERP if I feel comfortable with the other mun, but in Tahla’s case, there also needs to be an established relationship between her and the other character(s) involved. She is a switch.

[notyourbarney]

Growing Up With the Dandelions

Barney Redowan | Feb 23, '21

.

The hairs are poking him in the eyes. It’s not annoying him, but he’s just feeling restless knowing that, he has never felt it this way. It’s maybe because he never kept his hair this long before. He hasn’t cut his hair since May. And now it’s already December. The end of a hectic year already! Although he isn’t that happy even after witnessing the end of this nightmare named 2020. He keeps wondering why hasn’t he kept his hair this long ever. He can blame it on school and its discipline committee though. But he knows clearly that school restrictions aren’t actually the reason he isn’t cutting his hair. He knows that the reason is something else. And it… makes him sad, really sad.

Raihan’s dad was a preserved person. All he did throughout his short lifespan was keeping to himself and loving his small little family more than anything. He also had this weird set of rules he used to apply for the boys of the family, his sons. Amongst the rules, he also had this rule that the boys won’t be allowed to keep long hairs. According to Mr. Sheikh, Raihan’s deceased father, this short hairstyle will keep the boys of Sheikh family apart from other male teenagers in the society, because usually the teenagers tend to keep their hair long in this society. It’s a thing, a rebellious phase, among these teenagers, which seems so stereotypical to Mr. Sheikh. He really had high hopes for his sons, that they’ll become something unique. Even though, Raihan didn’t believe all these, Raihan always knew the real reason behind he and his brothers had to keep their hairs short. Raihan’s father was a former army general. He had to retire early due to peer pressures of losing his hand from the United Nation’s peacekeeping mission at Sierra Leone. He leaded a taskforce into the war and his taskforce won impressively… but without him. He had to leave the army early for his “Heroic Service” for the United Nations… but without his hand. He still was sad about not being able to see his boys accomplish what he wanted a lot even after returning to the country. That’s the reason why Mr. Sheikh wanted his sons to keep short hairs, like in the army, and live by small sets of rules set by him. After Raihan’s Father died of The Covid-19 this year, Raihan felt kind of free. Like Florets dropping away from the Dandelion and head into the unknown.

Not only the hairs poking him firmly in the eyes made him realize all these, but he also noticed a big change in himself. First of all, he is travelling alone, like completely alone, calling Uber Moto all by himself by his own phone and number, paying from his own wallet by his own hardworking earned money. He is feeling new, and all grown up. He feels like this might be it, the taste of actually growing up. No restrictions over anything whatsoever. He suddenly remembers the reason where he is going and why.

He cannot believe it’s already 6 months since his father passed. His mother is still struggling coping up with the trauma of losing her companion for 25 years in such an early age. Now Raihan is the bread earner of the family, but it’s only because he’s the only earner of his family. He only earns enough for his own travelling and pocket money and goofing here and there occasionally by tutoring 3 kids in his local area. He gets decent enough to pay for his daily smoking expenses, and Chicken Milanese in his favorite café every week. He remembers he used to hate smoking even almost a year ago, he left his one of the closest friends for smoking cigarette around him even though he clearly indicated he is not comfortable with it. Now he smokes almost 4 to 5 cigarettes a day. He doesn’t have any specific reason behind it, he just smokes, because… he can!

He reached the office from where he will collect his father’s pension. Raihan doesn’t feel like entering the office. He got to a vendor nearby and ignited a cigarette. He saw people entering an art exhibition nearby. He saw Sonia standing beside the gate and maybe… waiting for someone? His heartbeat stopped for a while, he could feel sparkles moving throughout his whole body when he saw Sonia noticed him, and started to walk towards him. The girl he used to envy so much and she ghosted him from everywhere just right after gifting him a sweet cold rejection, is walking toward him with a very sad and heavy face.

The day went unexpectedly well, totally not as how he planned it to be… at all! Raihan and Sonia spent the day together at the exhibition, later they got bored and got out to a café nearby to get coffee, and his most favorite Chicken Milanese! He really didn’t expected Sonia to suddenly feel so sorry for him after hearing the news of his father’s departing. Well… the old man actually did a favor by dying, he thought to himself. He is finally hanging out and spending quality time with Sonia, like he always wanted. This is what actually growing up may feel like. Totally forgetting about all the other cause of the world, OH NO! OH SHIT! The actual reason why he had to travel this far, for collecting the pension for his father. The source of the breads in the family actually. The old man is still the bread earner of the family, even after dying.

Raihan rushed to Pension Office as soon as possible, but the time was over, he tried contacting authority and all, but there’s no way they can help with it. The most they can help is they can give the due pension of this month with next month’s one altogether. The look on Raihan’s mother’s face was devastating. It was unreal, Raihan never saw this expression on his mother’s face. She did not seem disappointed, in fact she seemed very tired… tired of being disappointed. Raihan knows this is the actual taste of growing up, never being able to fulfil other’s expectations, constantly failing others, and thus being unable to satisfy himself the most. Living with that guilt of never being enough, living with the responsibility of fulfilling needs before wishes and desires, putting others lives before me… that’s growing up. Raihan feels the urge of going back to its mother dandelion, instead of wandering aimlessly and disorganized like the lost florets. But it has grown up now, earning it’s freedom, no matter how it tastes, no matter how it feels.

[kiiboslostahoge]

Light

I think Killua deserves all the laughter, idc how, tickles, jokes, exposure to one(1) Gon Freecs he just deserves happiness so today we're going to write some tooth-rotting fluff. Yes Ik my brain has such a coherent thought process :)

'Gon, you are light.'

Killua Zoldyck firmly believed these words to be true, a statement with the solidity of the testing gates that kept his childhood self from the world outside.

'But sometimes you burn so brightly that I must look away.'

Killua had been scared, scared of the inevitable. That one day, the bright light would be set ablaze and a mess would be made, leaving the boy to pick up the shattered pieces from the bottoms of the Earth.

'Still, please allow me to stay by your side.'

He just didn't care. He let the mess be made and scoured the ends of the Earth for pieces, coming out of it sith a family member he could stand and a best friend who was alive.

Killua rightfully thought nothing could phase him anymore. So why was it that Gon Freecs managed to make him care?

The silver-haired boy thought about it during his separation from his aforementioned best friend, coming to an unfortunately undisputable conclusion.

He was in love. With his best friend. With his male best friend. His family expected him to love a woman and make an heir, yet he was in love with his male best friend who hated them with a burning passion.

Honestly, that was the best part for him. Screw those old farts, the bloodline could end with him. Alluka was uncomfortable with intimacy(All thanks to them), Ilumi was madly in love with Hisoka, Kalluto didn't give two shits about them anymore and Milluki was well... Women didn't really like men who hugged their anime body-pillows all day.

Gon, on the other hand, was dense as rocks and seemed to think of him as nothing more than a friend, making Killua feel too much like every shoujo anime heroine(Milluki rambled his ass off about shoujo anime, something about how hot the girls looked in superhero costumes) for comfort. Eh, he'd just deny his crush on Gon. That always went well in the animes, right?

Wrong. It did not go well. His masterfully crafted plans of the past were weak in the face of his teenage hormones, resulting in his current plan being the dumbest plan ever.

Gon asked him one question, one question, that made it all fall apart. It was an incredibly stupid question for an incredibly stupid light of his life, yet it still tripped him up.

"So, Killua, I already told you about how I kindaaa liked Palm. How about you? Got any crushes?"

Goddammit.

"N-No, I don't like anyone. What even made you think that, huh?" Okay, so maybe Killua got a bit defensive about the topic for someone with "Crazy anti-lie detector skills"(Leorio's words, not his) but in his defense, it was the hormones fault. He blamed the stupid hormones for everything, including that one time the chocolate in his choco-robos fell down the drain.

"Hehe, you're lying~" Gon sing-songed, the poor boy oblivious to the incredibly obvious truth that his friend was trying to cover.

"No I'm not, what's your proof, huh?" The ex-assassin screeched, shaking Gon by the shirt.

"Your face gets all red when you lie, Killua. Although, for some reason that only happens when you lie to me," the Green-haired boy remarked confusedly. The slight pout on his face did not help Killua's blush.

Dammit, he's an idiot, but he's a cute idiot!

"Whatever, since you don't wanna tell me why," Gon hmph-ed, making the young Zoldyck wish he could take a picture and save it in one of those photo albums most moms had for their kids, "Don't think I'll give your little crush the same treatment though. You made me confess, so I'm gonna make you confess!"

Killua takes on a cat-like grin at that, "Oh yeah," he says with mock-innocence, "I remember that. Let me see, I think..."

"Oh yeah! I think I tickled it out of you! And you broke after, I'd say, around 2 minutes?"

"Don't change the subject! And it isn't that funny, you know!" Gon says embarrassedly.

"Really? Nahame one thing that's funnier," the transmuter grins like a cheshire, distracted from his embarrassment at the prospect of Gon's suffering.

"Hmm," Gon thinks for a while, finally coming up with an answer, "I think it's funnier when you're on the receiving end."

Silence for around three seconds. Then, Killua bursts out laughing.

"Ihit- Ihit tohohok yohou thahat lohong toho cohome uhup wihith thahat ahanswer?"

"Hey, not all of us are super smart, you know! Besides, you won't be laughing when I get to make you fess up! Well, you'll probably laugh, but you'll try not to!"

The blue-eyed boy narrows his eyes. Tickle fights are incredibly serious, after all, winning them is a matter of pride.

"And what makes you think you can beat me?" He asks, activating Gyo in case Gon's learned a thing or two from Hisoka's constant rambling about bungee gum.

"Simple, I'm wayyy stronger. Using your Godspeed to beat me would be a violation of the unspoken rules," the hazel-eyed hunter says sagely, as if he is talking about an actual duel.

"Psh, Yeah right- Hey! What the heck was that for?" Gon suddenly tackles Killua, sitting on his knees without a care in the world.

"I just wanted to prove I could do it, that's all. But hey, we're this far, so..." He pokes his best friend in the stomach, eliciting a squeal.

"Confess, Killua Zoldyck, or be subjected to torture that your asshole parents could never dream of, the one weakness of the experienced hunter, the-"

"Cut the crap and say the stupid word so I don't have to already, Moron!"

"Sorry, I'm too stupid to say it, Killua! I guess you're gonna have to say it," The green-haired boy swipes a finger across his friends digits in a move of pure pettiness.

"G-Gon!"

"Looks like I can finish my speech now, huh? What was I about to say? Hmm," he frowns, "Dang it, I forgot. The speech was really cool, Killua, and you wasted it!"

"Of course I did! Do you even know how stupid you sound? Forget about mock-seriousness, you couldn't even impress a bunch of kindergarteners with a box of chocolates in your ha- Ahck!" Gon stopped his tirade by poking at his left armpit.

"You never let me have any fun, you know. I know I sound stupid, but at least I won't sound half as stupid as you do trying to hold in! Why do you even do that in the first place? Your laugh's really cute! And before you call me a moron, know that I'm quite literally holding you hostage, " the Porcupine-head nods smugly, reeking of self-satisfaction.

"A h-hostage situation won't stop me from being hon-" The young Zoldyck let out an honest to God squeal as Gon poked at his bottom rib.

"But I don't know that, cause I'm stupid!" Gon hmphed, "Anyways, enough being nice. Fess up, Killua, or I'll be forced to play dirty."

"Yohou wihish, lohose- AHCK! GOHOHON!" Gon once again cuts off his best friend, this time by scribbling the ribs instead of poking them.

"I warned you, you know. I didn't want it to come to this," That was a lie. They both knew Gon greatly enjoyed these things because tickling was one of the few pranks Gon could pull off better than Kilua. This was because tickling itself was deemed irrelevant by the latter's family, leading to a twelve-year experience gap.

"N-NOHOT THEHERE!"

"Not where?" Gon asks smugly.

"YOHOU KNOHOW WHEHERE!"

"No I don't, because I'm stupid!" Gon humphs, blowing a nice, big, raspberry on Killua's bottom rib.

"AHCK!- I-IHIHI G- *snort* GIHIHIVE!"

"Really? Already? Did you grow more ticklish or did I just get better?" Gon ponders, staring down at his own hands.

After a while, Killua grows impatient and manipulates his hands into a more muscular form, shoving Gon off.

"You could've done that all along?" Gon inquires, eyes filled with awe rather than fear. Killua, on the other hand, realizes exactly how prone he truly was to underestimating himself. He'd started learning that technique since he was 2, dammit!

"I could've done that all along," his voice is distinctly unimpressed, for he himself is having some regrets.

"You've gotta teach me someday, Killua! Anyways, who's the lucky person?"

The electromancer hesitates, ultimately deciding to answer.

Gon deserves to know the truth.

"You are, Gon." It's almost completely inaudible to the ordinary ear, yet Gon can hear it just fine.

"You're not just joking?" The hunter's expression is three parts awe, one part suspicion.

Killua is too embarrassed to do anything but shake his head. Gon, on the other hand, seems unaffected.

"Nice! I love you too, like in the romantic way. I thought you were the type to like emo kids or something like that though, so I never told you!"

"Idiot!" Killua punches Gon square on the head, "You can't just say stuff like that, it's embarrassing!"

"Oww," Gon complains, "Sorry. I didn't know people like you existed who get embarrassed at everything. So, what do we do now?"

The silver-haired boy has no clue,he didn't even think he'd get this far.

"In the shit that Piggy watches, they usually kiss, meaning that we shouldn't do that. I think the best way to go from here would be eating choco-robos and trying to tell Alluka and Nanika," he says, grabbing a choco-robo from his front pocket.

"Oh, and of course-"

"Yeah yeah, you'll get vengeance later, " Gon grumbles.

"Correction, " Killua grins in his usual smug manner, "ill be getting my vengeance now."

"W-wait, Killua, can't we talk about thihi-ACK!"

Gon's following ticklish shrieks could not even be ignored by his father.

[oumaheroes]

France chuckled, ‘What a jolly little way of saying it. You make it sound so gentle.’

‘It can be! You’re just hideously bad at dying with any form of dignity. Being shot in your own government building? Really…’

‘Oh!’ France sat up straighter, ‘You wish us to discuss death without dignity? Might I remind you which one of us tripped and fell down some stairs and broke his neck whilst blind drunk?’

‘Which of us,’ England ground out, leaning forward, ‘shot himself with the wrong end of a hand cannon?’

France coloured, ‘It was my first time seeing one! They made the triggers far too sensitive and I didn’t know it was loaded!’

England’s mouth curled into a sly grin, ‘Of course. That’s what you’ve been saying for the last 600 years. I distinctly remember, however, overhearing someone very firmly telling you not to hold it as you were, and you said-‘

‘Says the one-‘ France spoke over him loudly, ‘who died from food poisoning from his own cooking.’

‘It was rancid.’ England hissed, leaning almost to the centre of the table.

‘Then why did you eat it.’

🤌🏼🤌🏼 i love this whole scene right here

I have a question, i am a huge Punk!England fan, i adore it, and his Pirate era, my question, in your story (Reset) do you think these are Two lives that England got to live during his resets, if so how would you imagine the other Nations made him remember he was England, is it always France?

Ahh, i just loved the whole bittersweetness of. I'll read it properly later when i have time since i had to pause several times and lost my spot each time

Your writing truly is a gift, and I'm so glad you shared your story with us 😭 thank you for all the time you put into it my dearest

Haha, that's one of my favourite scenes too! It's definitely one of my favourite arguments I've written for them

I'm glad you're enjoying Reset! It's a big chunky boi and still needs a good edit and clean up, but my son is trying his best. As for your questions:

England hasn't Reset for a few centuries, so didn't get the chance to fully live his punk life. He probably had a phase as a teenager in his most recent mortal adventure but it would have only been an imitation of the true, real movement. Probably dyed his hair all sorts of stupid colours and most likely joined a band and a protest march or six in uni but that's as far as it went

As for a pirate, I think he missed out entirely on that one. The Age of Sail was one of England's maritime highlights, as was Elizabethan age- England was a privateer but England was, not a pale human version of him.

England the nation was also in all sorts of political chaos around this time (the ages piracy was A Thing) but life for the everyday man didn't change much. The day to day continued mostly unchanged from Elizabeth until the English Civil War (generally, anyway. No massive royal dynasty changes or religious shifts). Their nation was more use to them as himself, dipping his toes and then his entire body into life at sea and expanding his borders, so although he died a hell of a lot during this time England the person didn't Reset at all

As for the Reset thing that England has going on with his case: yes, it's just France. Something that developed naturally when they were very very young and persists between them, despite whatever war or personal mess they have going on at the time.

England's brothers know most of what goes on (before the story of Reset takes place, at least) but they don't get involved. They all missed England's first Reset and so missed the chance to get involved- England as a person is too guarded and stubborn to ask for their help or seek them out for what he perceives as his most vulnerable, and Resets themselves are personal, potentially dangerous things

To be human is to be weak and malleable, and this isn't information any of them would usually share

Thank you so much for your lovely kind words 😭❤❤❤

[allygodot]

Taking Accountability

My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee. I’m a 27 years old graduate of Chicago Law School living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am a heterosexual Christian, but am an ally to the LGBT community. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. These are all things my followers should know about me, so why am I telling you this? Well... what if I told you it was all a lie? I’m sure this is coming as a shock to a lot of you, and I sincerely apologize to everyone I’ve hurt with my deception. It is my hope that this post will clear up any misconceptions that have been spread about me, whether I spread them myself or otherwise, and that in the future there will be no animosity between us. I don’t expect to be forgiven nor do I deserve it, but if there is one thing I learned from my time in the church it is that all I can do is ask for mercy and hope for the best. But first... I think an explanation is in order. If all that isn’t the truth, then what is? It all starts in college, that nebulous period of my life that everyone keeps asking about and I keep bringing up. Before I went to university, I had always been completely unremarkable. I had always had the kind of fair weather friends who enjoyed my company, but never felt to invested in me. Combined with my status as a middle child, I always felt like I had something to prove to get people to like me. I would say and think whatever I needed to for them to stick around another day, and I’m sure you are familiar with what that means for teenage boys. I acted immaturely because it was what was expected... and anything outside of that was looked down upon it even forbidden. I never thought much of it at the time, but I realize now that I wasn’t allowed much self-expression when I was always trying to conform to their standards. Everything changed when I met him. My assigned college roommate, Anton, was everything my years of conditioning had taught me to distrust. Despite his tall stature, he was emotional and sensitive... even vulnerable. Even so, he wasn’t afraid to be unabashedly himself. The first thing that struck me as unusual about him was his clothing... he almost always wore pastel pink or yellow and I hardly ever saw him without his long, checkered scarf. His nails were always painted with a clear, glittery polish, and I don’t think he ever skipped a shower in his life. His hair was always soft and smelled like strawberry even at a distance... all this to say he immediately struck me as fruity so I wanted nothing to do with him, at least initially. Despite his kindness to me, I would always respond with either the cold shoulder or open scorn, which only amplified the more I learned about him. I discovered pretty quickly that he was a furry, since one day I came home from a day of classes to find a decapitated pink cat head on our couch. He patiently explained the whole culture to me while I glared at him skeptically, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He even brought out his paws and tail and told me he was saving up for a full suit despite my open disgust. Looking back, I still have no clue why he put up with me during that time. Another curious aspect of Anton’s life was his addiction to a certain television series called “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.” His room was filled with merchandise from stuffed animals to figurines, and I had nothing but disdain for the tacky and embarrassing decoration. I was afraid that if I ever brought a girl over to our apartment she would notice and make all sorts of incorrect assumptions... I couldn’t handle the embarrassment. I tried on multiple occasions to convince him to hide them in a secret box or something, but he always just smiled and shook his head. I even tried to sneak into his room and collect all the ponies for donation once, but he had anticipated this and hid a playful trap for me... I reached forward to grab one of his overpriced statues and immediately got a face full of multi-colored snakes. I was livid of course, despite it being my own fault for trying to pawn of his collection in the first place, but he wasn’t even phased by my tirade. I suppose he was 6’5” and I was (and still am) only 5′7″... but still, I had at least expected him to be somewhat apologetic if not fearful. Instead, he just laughed and told me I should watch the show with him sometime. I obviously had no intentions of taking him up on his ludicrous offer... until he promised that if I didn’t enjoy the show, he would move all of his ponies into a case that he would throw a big curtain on whenever I said the word. I reluctantly agreed on those conditions, positive that this was a bet I couldn’t lose. I still remember that night like it was yesterday. He lead me into the pony chamber and sat down on his bed, taking out his laptop to pull up his favorite episode. It was “The Canterlot Wedding” two part season finale, and although I initially protested that I only agreed to watch one episode, I eventually relented once he reminded me what the prize was. I was hesitant to sit beside him on his bed and lean over his shoulder to look at the small screen, but he assured me that it didn’t bother him at all. I wasn’t particularly concerned with how he felt about it... it was more so my own pride I was worried about. Nevertheless, I sat through the whole episode with him despite myself. Although I was disturbed by the tendency for his long and curly hair to gravitate into my mouth while I rested my cheek against his shoulder, I found the episode to be surprisingly enjoyable. The song in particular surprised me with it’s musicality... by the end of it I didn’t want to leave, but I was far too embarrassed to admit that to him earnestly. I told him I was interested in the show purely for the songs and that it could benefit my studies as a music major, but that he still had to uphold his end of the bargain since I was by no means enjoying it. He just smiled and put on another episode, and before I knew it the sun was rising outside his window. I realized just how tired I was and turned to tell him I would be going to bed only to discover he had fallen asleep. I began to suspect that he must have been asleep for several hours, letting the auto-play functionality do his job for him while he rested up for his exams. Although I was scandalized, I was impressed by his tactical prowess... he had managed to trap me in his room, since I couldn’t move from my spot without disturbing his slumber, and he didn’t even have to be awake to do it. Begrudgingly, I spent the rest of his room, until eventually the faint aroma of strawberries lured me into the world of dreams... This arrangement continued for quite some time. When I got home from my classes, Anton would ask me if I wanted to watch some My Little Pony with him and I only agreed so long as he put the curtain over the cabinet next time I asked. He always obliged whenever I asked him to conceal his collection, but eventually I stopped asking for him to do so and only reminded him not to break our contract before every episode out of habit. It became a ritual for the two of us to do this every night, and even once we had finished all of the episodes we would just watch them again. I found that I was becoming endeared to this eccentric man... and as much as I tried to resist it, I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell a bit in my chest whenever he would run his fingers through his hair or tighten his scarf around his neck. I told myself it was nothing... but it wouldn’t remain that way for long. I don’t know what possessed me, but one night I thought I would get to know Anton a little better. I started by asking if he was single, which to me seemed like an innocuous question, but the very fact I was asking seemed to amuse him. He told me that he was having trouble finding a guy who wasn’t immediately turned off by all the ponies, and I made sure to snidely comment that he shouldn’t be going out with guys anyway even though it made my heart skip a beat when he said that, as well as mention that if he would just give up his collection there wouldn’t be an issue in the first place. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he asked me the same thing: how was my love life going, especially considering my new hobby? I couldn’t help but get flustered and start making excuses. I told him that there was no shortage of girls lined up to date me, but that I just wasn’t ready to make a commitment yet. I spun a whole story about how a girlfriend would only hold me back... I almost forgot that the standard that Anton accepted was completely different from my old teenage friends. He wasn’t impressed that girls were apparently lining up to get a piece of me... he just seemed amused that I thought such a thing was realistic, much less desirable. He didn’t understand that compulsive need to lie at all... he thought it would be better if more guys admitted that they were vulnerable. That was the first time I’d ever heard someone say something like that... I suddenly felt extremely exposed, and before I knew it my eyes were full of tears. My first instinct was to cover my face with my sleeve and hide my shame, but he was already firmly gripping my arm and holding it in place. He told me that I didn’t need to hide anything from him. He asked me if there was anything he could do to help me... and so for what felt like the first time in my life, I told the truth. It was supposed to be just to try it. I wasn’t expecting to actually enjoy it, I just thought that if I got it out of my system all of the unnecessary feelings would finally stop tormenting me... but all they did was grow stronger. I kept telling him that I was still looking for a girlfriend and that once I got one this whole arrangement would end, but eventually I realized that there was no point in lying to myself anymore. I wasn’t ever even sleeping in my own room anymore. I hadn’t so much as glanced at any dating websites in weeks. I was committed, whether I wanted to admit it or not... and I didn’t want to admit it. I only wish that I had told him how I really felt when I had the chance... One of the many things we started to share, which seemed the most inconsequential to me at the time, was a webpage. Anton was the owner of a small subreddit dedicated to My Little Pony fursuits, and he asked me if I would be willing to help him moderate. It wasn’t something I felt qualified to speak as an authority on, since even as I became more open about my love for ponies I still didn’t really feel connected to furry culture despite accompanying him to several conventions, but I was willing to do basically anything just to please him. My job was mostly to stop people from publicly “yiffing,” and although it was a grueling line of work it wasn’t thankless. Anton was a poet with words of affirmation. Many of the compliments he paid me were certainly undeserved, but they motivated me more than anything else ever had... but I got too zealous. There was a certain user on the server who for the sake of protecting privacy, we shall call XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX. As a member of the subreddit they were of course a brony and a furry, but what made them stand out was their dedication to the Flutterdash ship. They were constantly posting couple’s cosplays of themselves dressed as Rainbow Dash, but the Fluttershy in each picture was always different. They were also exceptionally sociable and aggressively tried to make friends with everyone on the tiny subreddit... Anton and I included. I wasn’t so keen on pursuing another friendship that could very well ruin my reputation, but of course Anton was immediately taken with the idea. The two of them exchanged contacts and hit it off instantly, and I started having trouble sleeping at night because he was awake in the early hours of the morning texting his friend in another timezone. He always paid me just as much attention as always during the daytime, but once he saw that his new friend was online he would crawl out of bed to go converse with them in another room. He was trying so hard to be considerate of me, and perhaps it was selfish for me to expect that I would always be able to sense his warmth and scent beside me while I slept... but at the time I was blinded by jealousy. One fateful morning, he excitedly woke me up to tell me that XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX had gifted him tickets to a major convention, and that the two of them were planning to cosplay Flutterdash together. He apologetically explained that he would be gone for a few days since the convention was halfway across the country, but sensing the disturbance within me he assured me that he could probably convince his friend to let me tag along as Applejack... she was always my least favorite. It didn’t matter what Anton said to encourage me, because I was never going to accept any consolation until this threat to our sacred relationship was eliminated. I had to find a way to get rid of XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX by any means necessary... In a fit of rage, I whipped out the ban hammer and beat my rival to death with it, metaphorically speaking. It was a blatant abuse of my privilege as a moderator and I am ashamed to admit it now... but at the time all that mattered was covering up the evidence. I knew I had to come up with an excuse for why I had banned them, so I added a new rule to the subreddit: Flutterdash was prohibited. The news was not met with acceptance from the other members of the community. To some more in the loop with the situation, it was obvious that I had only banned XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX because of a petty personal dispute, but others saw it as nothing but an unfair rule. I was accused of being biased towards other ships like Flutterchord or Appledash and that I needed to accept other people’s ship preferences, or even that I was homophobic and couldn’t handle the thought of lesbian characters in my favorite show. Chants of “mods are gay” could be heard across the subreddit from all sides of the debate, and everyone was rallying for Anton to remove me as a tyrannical moderator. Sound familiar? I can’t help but notice some similarities between my situation and Mo the one over at Kristahlia Week... maybe that is why the drama captivated me so.  Anton tried to reason with me, bless his heart, but at this point I had completely devolved back into my screaming teenager mentality to cope with all the rejection. He was obviously disappointed in me for what I had done but he had no reason to believe it would ruin us... he couldn’t have handled it better. It really was my fault that things happened the way they did, but I refused to take accountability. What I told him still haunts my conscience to this day, even six years later. I told him that I never loved him, and that I was only using his companionship to fulfill my carnal desires. I told him that I didn’t care about what he did with his life as long as he didn’t do anything that kept him away from me. I even told him that I still thought he was disgusting and embarrassing. And the worst thing is... in that moment I meant every word. I was so selfish... I genuinely forgot that I loved him and treated him like he only existed to serve me. My actions were truly despicable and I deserved to suffer for it... and I did. For the first time, I saw Anton cry. I should have been there to comfort him like he did for me on that fateful night, but instead I let him run out of the house to go suffer by himself. By the time I realized how horrible I was acting, it was too late. He had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. I came home the next day to discover all the ponies in the apartment finally gone... isn’t that what I had wanted? My moderator status on the subreddit had been stripped away, and I had been banned by all of the members of the group on nearly every social media platform. Another classmate later informed me that Anton had transferred to a different college... and that was the end. I have no idea what happened to him after that, but I can only hope he is doing well. Instead of taking this as an omen that I should improve my behavior, I began to become even more bitter than I was before I met Anton. I acted like my relationship with him was just an experimental phase that was doomed to fail from the start, and soon I was denying that it ever even happened at all. I convinced myself that the problem in our relationship was that I wasn’t supposed to be with men, and so I began to insist that I was straight and aggressively seek out relationships with women just to prove it to myself. I also started searching for strict moral codes that could give direction to my life... which is when I found the Church. I was attracted to their beliefs because they gave a very clear outline for how someone’s life should go and promised ultimate happiness to anyone who could fulfill the requirements, so I began to obsess over meeting those requirements. I wanted a Christian wife that could bear me many children not because that is how I wanted to live my life, but because that is how other people wanted me to live my life... and all I wanted was for others to tell me I was doing something right. The congregation was distrusting if me at first, and although they never said it to my face I know it was because they were aware of my past. Hardly a woman would come near me, and looking back on it I can’t say I blame them. The ones who were desperate enough for a husband to give me a shot were quirky repulsed by my egotistical behavior, which certainly didn’t help my reputation. Throughout all this, I still somehow told myself I was the victim because I didn’t want to admit that I had become the villain again. For a long time, the only person in the parish who would willingly hold a conversation with me was Lana. She was a fellow member of the choir and a devout believer in God, but she was often judged by the rest of the congregation for being an open lesbian despite her faith. She tried to convince me on several occasions that I didn’t have to perform any sort of identity to impress anyone and that I should “just be myself,” but I insisted that I knew what I was talking about. Eventually, she decided my well-being wasn’t her responsibility and gave up on trying to reason with me, but nonetheless she still treated me more kindly then many of the other churchgoers. I believe that my “dark past” is what drew Gabriella to me in the first place. She likely hoped that we could act as covers for each other until she figured some way out of her situation, but unfortunately I was too far gone to be of any help. I convinced myself that she was really in love with me and that she would be walking down the aisle soon enough. Whether or not I was really interested in her or just interested in what she represented I’m still not sure... but she truly was a wonderful person who didn’t deserve to have to suffer through my baggage. When she left me I was truly devastated... so much so that I even began to go through another crisis of belief that I recorded on this very blog. All I have to add is that I no longer bear any resentment towards Lana or Gabriella, and only wish them the best of luck. My relationship with Krissy began almost immediately after my breakup with Gabriella. I was desperate to regain the status I supposed that I had lost along with my girlfriend, so I latched onto the first woman who showed me any sort of positive attention. Her death and my downward spiral are all well-documented on this blog. I didn’t want to blame myself for her passing as well, so I developed a conspiracy to rationalize the whole ordeal. I even tried to act like a completely different person to try to keep the blame as mentally distant from myself as possible, but that didn’t work either. In the end, this is my cross to bear alone. So that brings us to now. What will become of allygodot? The truth is, I don’t know and quite frankly I don’t think that is the most important thing right now. I realized last night when I was looking at that art of Diego and Godot as Happy Tree Friends characters that I desperately wanted to be anyone other than myself... it really opened my eyes to the level of repression that had been burdening me since the incident six years ago. I realized that if I wanted to change, sitting around and thinking about how things could hypothetically be different isn’t going to do anything. If I want to make progress and truly become a better person, I’m going to have to act better, not just tell myself that I am. From now on, I will be defining myself on my actions and not my beliefs, as wise man once said. I hope that soon, I will have become a good enough person to meet Anton face to face again... I still love him after all these years, and even though I expect that he justifiably won’t want anything to do with me anymore, I still think that it is a guilt that needs to be resolved. If I ever come back to this blog, it’ll be as a different Adam to the one you thought that you knew. It’ll be as the Adam I’m trying to become... the true Adam that I know exists deep within me... Not allygodot, but as proudgodot. My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee or Godot. I’m a 27 years old former music student living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am bisexual. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 07

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was excited, too excited even. If she had to choose a place to live for the rest of her live it had to be Paris. As a child, she used to read about it constantly, learning French when Gwen went through a phase of wanting to go to boarding school in France after watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, a decision which quickly went downhill as she lost interest which Y/N remembered being very sad about. However, now, she finally got to go to Paris in her own terms, or at least Sebastian’s terms which were slightly more freeing than those normally put out by Gwen and her need to stay inside whatever resort or hotel she was staying in, drinking and eating everything on the room service menu along with some flirting on the side. No, this time if Y/N wanted to go out, maybe she could as the bodyguards probably did a better job at defending Gwen from danger than she could ever do. In all honesty, if someone had them both at gunpoint, Y/N wouldn’t know exactly what to do. Her role was always mostly to be a company to Gwen, a company approved by Mr. Forrest and one that wouldn’t falter. 

After warning Gwen about the plans to go to Paris, the heiress, still very much suffering from a headache caused by the hangover, simply ordered one of the maids to prepare her suitcase before returning to drinking yet another cup of coffee. Y/N clapped her hands like an excited child, returning to her room and going through her clothing to put in a suitcase. You’d think that living with an heiress who travelled more than once a year would’ve lost interest, but not Y/N. Y/N loved travelling, loved packing and going to the airport, awaiting her flight in the lounge area drinking a very fancy mocktail and guessing where other people were flying too.

She was sat down on her bed, French travel guide she had gotten as a teenager in hand as she brushed up on her unused French, thinking about the things she could do once she landed. What she didn’t know was that Sebastian was observing her from her bedroom door. He had passed by to ensure she was alright and to warn her about the time they were leaving and had stayed once he noticed her mumble to herself in French, sentences normally used by tourists. Sebastian had to admit he found her rather intriguing, mostly her unwavering positivity and curiosity about the world she had been in since she was younger. It was refreshing to see someone like her not trying to climb up to the top of the chart by betraying, lying, and cheating. She was just there, living life as it came to her.

    - Y/N. - he called out for her attention before she could catch him stare at her from outside her bedroom. She raised her head from her book, hair messily wrapped around a periwinkle scrunchy. - We’re leaving at 6 PM, ensure Genevieve is ready for it. 

    - She is. She got the maids to pack her bag and is probably recovering from last night at this moment. - she put her book on top of her suitcase which was neatly placed on top of her white cotton duvet. - We shan’t be late, don’t worry. 

    - Hope you’re not afraid of heights, angel. 

    - Why do you call me angel? - she furrowed her brows, noticing how frequently he addressed her by the nickname. Was it coming from any other man she probably would have some sort of hatred toward it but coming from him ... she didn’t know, it just felt absolutely perfect, meant to be even. Even so, if Y/N had to describe herself it wouldn’t be as an angel, god never one, if she had to describe herself she would describe herself the way Mr. Forrest second wife had described her to one of her friends one late afternoon when Y/N was 5, a gullible little fool. In all honesty, everything but an angel. 

   - It’s a rather good fit, don’t you agree? - he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame. She shifted glances all around the room, staring at every single thing near her while shifting her weight from side to side. Sebastian merely stared at that behaviour, smirking at the effect he had caused on her and in little to no time, the lip biting was back. He cleared his throat, hands going back into his trousers’ pockets. - If you want you can grab any book from the library. 

   - No, I ... They’re really priceless copies, I might damage them. - she stuttered through her words, almost unable to accept another one of Sebastian’s offers. 

   - Pick whatever you want, angel. I’ll see you in a few hours. 

God, that man. She sighed once he left her room as if she had been holding her breathe. Had she? She did not know, all she knew is that being around him made her forget all the politeness and all her etiquette she had learned during her early childhood. He was just a magnetic, a sort of magnetism that Y/N herself couldn’t explain despite him belonging to a group  she had grown up within. No, there was absolutely something that differed Sebastian from Mr. Forrest. What it was? She didn’t exactly know and something told her not to protrude too much into that question.

Y/N just shook her head, deviating from those treacherous questions and took to pick one of Sebastian’s library’s thousands of books. She had to admit, he had quite the collection, just entering the library itself you could see piles and piles of shelfs stocked full with various book and as you ventured further into the room more would show up. However, it wasn’t the amount of books that made Y/N happy and warm inside. Although the amount helped, it was the smell. Old books in libraries had that sort of smell that was sweet and musky, warm like a blanket on a winter night. However, Y/N knew she had limited time to discover which books she would bring on her journey so with great sorrow she stopped her basking in the atmosphere of the library to pick two old favourites of her - Jane Eyre and Dangerous Liaisons.

With the two books on her hands, she paced down the halls onto Gwen’s bedroom, slowly and gently pushing the door open. To no surprise, the heiress was already dressed however she was sleeping, sprawled on her bed, head buried in her mountain of pillows. Y/N smiled amiably, edging over to her friend’s bedside and placing a soft hand over her arm, lightly shaking her awake. 

    - We have to leave for the airport, Gwen. - Y/N spoke in a silvery tone, returning to her standing position. Gwen rubbed the sleep off her eyes, not moving any other part of her body. - I’ll take your bags outside, please don’t go back to sleep.

    - Yeah, okay. - she moved her hand, gesturing for Y/N to exit her room which she did after ensuring the bodyguard who was constantly outside her door would make sure Gwen did not return to sleep. After placing both their suitcases at the top of the staircase, she returned to her room to grab her jacket and phone alone, ensuring everything was sin good condition.

As she closed the door of her bedroom, her head swivel vaguely to the right side of the hall and to the slightly open office door. She could see Sebastian walking from side to side, left hand griping his phone as he spat some very passive aggressive French to whomever poor soul was on the other side of the line. He wasn’t wearing his typical blazer, instead his perfect polished white dress shirt was slightly opened, sleeves pulled up to his elbows showing the definition of his forearms and a lee way into his chest. 

Y/N bite her lip, eyes slowly blinking as she took in the sight of him. Of course she was not gonna deny that he was an handsome man, he was, probably the most handsome man she had ever met despite everything. Her mind, however, scolded her for this behaviour, telling her not to go and play Acteon. She knew exactly how untrustworthy people were dealt with in the mob. 

   - I better return with two more suitcases for this to be worth it. - Y/N was removed off her “teenage dream” like thoughts by Gwen who had a pair of sunglasses firmly pressed against the bridge of her nose. - You must be excited, you’ve always liked Paris. 

   - Well, you did never leave the resort last time we went. - Y/N followed one of the employees who was holding their bags,  and the bodyguards down the stairs, the laid back image of Sebastian still tattooed on her mind.

The two women were accompanied into one of the cars by by driver and the bodyguards. Y/N had quickly learned that, almost as if they were some deviant version of the royal family, Gwen and Sebastian barely travelled together in cars, unless strictly necessary. She would guess it meant someone would survive and carry on the legacy if an accident was lethal, however, it still felt very much wrong. 

After quite a few minutes in the car, she could make out the airport yet instead of seeing it drive through departures, the car instead took onto a very controlled track on the landing area of the airport which made her eyes widen with enthusiasm. The young woman couldn’t help but remove her sunglasses, placing them on top of her head, as she saw the planes up close from the car’s.

The car came to a halt and like a child on Christmas’ morning, she was the first one out of the car, observing the rather smaller plane in front of her when in comparison to commercial planes. Sebastian was still on the phone as he climbed the stairs inside the plane which made a switch turn on into Y/N’s head, this was his jet. He had his own personal jet and the idea of being able to travel everywhere and anywhere at any personal time. 

Gwen, unlike her friend, didn’t seem that bothered with the fact he had his own plane, despite the fact her family did not own one. Tired, the heiress was the second one inside the plane while Y/N still stood outside, watching the light hit the material of the plane’s outside. Her mind could not wrap around both of them not being totally stunned.

   - Miss Y/N? - one of the bodyguards by the staircase extended his hand to her, wondering if she were scared. Y/N merely joyously smiled, taking his hand as she climbed up the stairs inside the jet. 

Once again she was wondered by the sheer luxury of the planes’ inside. It was painted a soothingly beige with accents of a dark coloured wood, possibly rosewood. The chairs were in a white leather material and unlike commercial airlines, there was plenty space for her to sprawl her legs. 

Gwen was already sleeping on one of the chairs and Sebastian was still on the phone, speaking in very menacing French. Y/N decided not to interrupt either of them and took a sit on a window side seat, putting her earbuds on and opening Dangerous Liasons. The flight attendants had placed some appetisers by her side and as the plane was about to take off, a very annoyed Sebastian took a place near Y/N. 

Y/N closed her book as she noticed his lips mashed into a fine line, forehead tense. Removing her earbuds, she slightly moved her body so it could face him and lifted the arm rest.

  - You seem awfully sad. - she commented, earning his attention. 

  - I’m not sad, angel. I’m just surrounded by a bunch of fucking idiots. - he rubbed his hand against his face, stopping at his temples to massage that spot.

  - You can’t control everyone, Sebastian. - she pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. - It’s not worth worrying about it. 

  - Everyone is controllable, angel, you just need to know their price. You, of all people, should know that. 

  - You did say I’m incredibly sheltered from this sort of lifestyle. Maybe I’ll learn it someday, but until I don’t, I’ll stick with my opinion. - she opened her book again, leaning against the comfortable leather. Sebastian, however, was not done with their conversation.

   - Dangerous Liasons, loving Paris ... One would think you have a lover there awaiting you. - it was mostly a detective-like question, the type of question his father had taught him to ask. This was the sort of common talk, innocent question that most of the times gave him the information he so preciously kept for his own personal and professional use. Y/N felt a flush of heat travelling up to her cheeks, she really was not one for lovers, or at least did not have the time. She had had fun with a boy back in university whom she had kissed and felt none of that special thing they spoke about in books but other than that she just stood on the shade of the much more appealing Gwen. 

   - It’s not a lover. 

   - What is it then? It cannot simply be because you’re an English student that you hold Paris in such high regard. It’s just a city. 

   - When I was younger, Mr. Forrest was in France for almost a full year. Me and Gwen stood with her first step-mother, Eliza ... She was a horrid woman and I think I wrote postcards to Mr. Forrest every single day writing him to come back. - she smiled in recollection of her childhood self, the bad almost unreadable calligraphy of the postcards and how she and Gwen would hide in the kitchen from Eliza until she screamed her head off in frustration. - He couldn’t come back, that was business, but when he did he brought me this stunning music box. I still remember it, it was white with golden accents and when you opened it, it had a little crystal dove in the background of a hand painted Paris scenery. It used to play ‘La Vie en Rose’. I always promised myself that one day, I would sit down in a balcony looking at the same scenery listening to it.  

  - You’ll probably only hear the sounds of loud shops and cars. You would be better with your little music box.

  - It broke during my teens. I tried glueing it back with stick glue ... - she giggled at her own childish mistakes. - But that’s the thing of dreams, isn’t it? You can’t always make them come true. 

tag list: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea​

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 2: Being Vulnerable

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Step 2: Being Vulnerable

At this point, you've likely put some serious effort into getting to know the witch in question. If she's opened up to you, and allowed you to see her true self, you must grant her the same privilege. Let her get to know you too, so she can make an informed decision as to whether or not she wants to be charmed by you.

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

Hermione was still fast asleep next to him, snoring adorably. He would make fun of her for it tomorrow, and like she always did, she would deny she snored. He remembered how surprised she was the first time he told her she snored. He had mentioned it so casually because he thought she already knew.

Later, she admitted that it had embarrassed her. She had no idea that she snored every night, and was mortified to think he'd heard it every time they'd shared a bed. He took immense pleasure in knowing something about her that she didn't. He wondered if she harbored any secrets about him that he had yet to learn. He smiled at the thought- that she knew more about him than he did. Years ago, that thought would have terrified him.

He looked down at his book and ran his fingers over the first words of the second chapter, Being Vulnerable. He didn't fully understand it's true meaning when he first read it, but now it made perfect sense.

Ron was quite proud of how he and Hermione had let go of their inhibitions and could just be themselves around each other. He no longer felt the need to impress her- she loved him, and it would take a lot to change that.

Just a few days ago, they were curled up on the sofa, watching one of Hermione's favorite muggle movies. He loved muggle movies, and this particular one deeply moved him. At one point, he had tears falling from his eyes, unable to hold them in, and Hermione simply handed him a tissue box without breaking eye contact with the telly.

Last year, when Hermione bought him a pensieve for Christmas, he immediately poured some of his early memories into it, and took her on a tour. It didn't even cross his mind to tamper with them, filtering out the most embarrassing parts to save his pride. He could have avoided her seeing him panic the first time he found a spider in their flat, or learning exactly how she appeared in his late night dreams as a teenager, but he didn't even think about it.

A few weeks after they moved in together, Hermione had come home early to find Ron singing in the shower. He did it everyday, but this time he had forgotten to cast a muffliato charm. Later that night, she encouraged him to serenade her with his very own rendition of Celestina Warbeck's A Cauldron Full Of Hot Strong Love- he'd done it in the shower, why not now? He could have been mortified, but it didn't phase him at all. He tried to make it as enticing for her as possible, dancing, and slipping off his clothing as he sang to her. He wasn't sure how attractive his strip tease was, but it was successful, so what did he have to be embarrassed about?

He smiled at the memories. It all demonstrated an ease of vulnerability that he'd begun to take for granted. It hadn't always been like that.

******

Once Ron realized that there was a wealth of information that he didn't know about Hermione, it turned out to be quite easy to fill the gaps. Anytime they found themselves alone together, any looming silences in their conversation were quickly mitigated by an inquiry about her favorite childhood vacation spot (Paris), her favorite novel (Pride and Prejudice), or any hidden talents or skills (Playing the piano and speaking French).

Like he almost did with step one, he nearly glossed over step number two. Be vulnerable? Let her get to know you? She knew him. Didn't she? He wasn't exactly hiding anything. At least, that's what he thought.

He let the question of how well she knew him linger on his mind, and soon enough those opportunities to be a little bit more vulnerable started to surface.

The first instance was at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He was a few butterbeers deep, and had just watched his eldest brother profess his love in front of their entire family and friends. If Bill could do that without breaking a sweat, how hard could it be to ask Hermione to dance?

There were many opportunities to ask, but Ron wanted to wait until the right moment. Unfortunately, that plan went out the window when Viktor Krum landed in the seat next to Hermione, and turned to her, ready to ask her himself. Ron forgot all notions of timing when he felt his fists clench, and his ears turn crimson red.

"Come and dance," he spluttered.

He winced when he heard himself say it. It didn't even sound like a question, but a command. Although it was not how he planned it, and sounded nothing like "Hermione Granger, will you please dance with me?" he was still pleasantly surprised, giddy even, when she accepted his invitation.

As they danced, he continued to gather information, asking her details about the last wedding she'd been to- cousin Ellie's wedding, if he remembered correctly. He learned that she wore a mint colored bridesmaid dress, she had nearly tripped over her heels while walking down the aisle, and Ellie's dad had too many whiskeys before his speech, and no one could understand it.

They continued to dance and engage in lighthearted conversation until she asked him a question that he wasn't prepared for. "Are you still jealous of Viktor?"

Ron narrowed his eyes across the dance floor where Krum was talking animatedly with a disguised Harry. He felt heat rising up his neck, and that familiar pit of envy settled heavily in his stomach. "No," he lied. "I was never jealous of him."

Hermione stiffened in his arms, and he grimaced at himself. Why did he have to deepen the lie? "Well I was way back in fourth year," he clarified, "but not anymore."

It was still a lie, and he knew that. He was pretty sure she did too.

"So that's not why you invited me to dance?" asked Hermione.

Ron cleared his throat. "I was going to ask you either way." He gulped before he continued. "And I wanted to ask you before he did."

"Why is that?" she asked. She wasn't going easy on him.

He knew his face now resembled an overripe tomato, and if he didn't think about his words carefully, he'd stutter though his answer, so he started slowly. "Because, I was worried you'd prefer to dance with him." He exhaled relief when he felt Hermione squeeze his shoulder affectionately.

"You have nothing to worry about," she assured him, settling more comfortably in his arms.

Ron felt his face slowly returning to it's normal pale and freckly shade. He knew how he felt. Why was it so difficult to tell her?

There were more moments like that, when Ron found himself resisting the growing intimacy between them. Even though he craved more closeness with her, it also left him feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. He knew he should lean into it, but too often he felt himself putting up his guards, even though he didn't really want them to be there.

He was bedridden for a few weeks when he nearly lost his arm in a splinching accident disapparating from the Ministry. He felt helpless. He couldn't even take his own shirt off. In an effort to assess the damage, Hermione levitated him to a bed in the tent, and started gently tugging at the hem of his shirt.

It wasn't how he'd imagined her undressing him for the first time- his fantasies typically involved less blood and more dignity. He responded by squirming away from her hand, and using his good arm to jerk the hem of his shirt out of her grasp.

"Hermione, stop," he said through gritted teeth, wincing at the sharp pain in his shoulder.

"Ron, please, I need to see how bad it is." Her voice was panicked, her expression harried and pleading. "Please let me."

Ron grimaced as she reached a second time for his shirt, but again, he shouldered her away. "I'll do it," he told her firmly.

"Ok, ok," said Hermione, pulling her hands away defeatedly.

Ron tried to wiggle out of his shirt, but gasped in pain the moment he tried to lift his splinched arm. The blood from his shoulder soaked through the fabric, which adhered to his skin, and he knew he needed a second hand to get out of it. It made complete sense to let her help him, yet something in the back of mind told him that it would change things.

He feared that she would find him unattractive, or even worse, helpless and weak. Yet he knew he needed assistance, and she was willing, so he swallowed his dignity and nodded his permission. She gently pulled his shirt over his head, holding his injured arm steady as he closed his eyes which burned with painful tears. He tried to control his breath, willing himself not to cry in front of her, because that would only make him look more pathetic.

The feeling of helplessness from that night didn't go away. Instead it continued to build, growing stronger every day Hermione had to help him change his bandages, or they had to delay their plans because he wasn't strong enough yet. He was beginning to feel like a deadweight, holding his friends back from what they really wanted to do.

He knew somewhere deep down that their concern simply meant that they cared, but he managed to convince himself that was a burden, and that they would be better off without him. He bottled up those feelings for weeks until he couldn't anymore. Then he was left with two choices- tell them how he felt, or leave them alone.

After weeks of being tended to by an increasingly stressed-out Hermione, who was now privy to this helpless side of him, and countless nights overhearing her and Harry whispering behind closed doors, wondering how much longer it would take him to recover, he felt he didn't have enough dignity left to tell them anything. He'd asked enough from them already, and didn't need to burden them further with his petty fears and insecurities. So he decided to leave.

His argument with Harry confirmed his suspicions- that he wasn't wanted or needed. But a flickering of doubt came from his final words with Hermione before he disapparated beyond the wards.

"Ron, why are you doing this?" She had followed him outside into the pouring rain, the water weighing down her bushy hair, making it appear almost too heavy for her head to carry. "After all we've been doing for you?"

Ron clenched his jaw, and felt his face turn red, this time in anger. "After all you've done for me?" He spun around to face her, looking her directly in the eyes. "You didn't need to do any of that."

She took a step back, narrowing her eyes skeptically. "Yes, we did Ron. You would have died. You needed our help to recover."

"I can take care of myself," he said through clenched teeth, his hands forming fists. "I never needed you."

Her eyes widened in shock, before her gaze softened and glistened with tears. "I was happy to do it," she said softly. "Always."

For a brief moment he wanted to stop everything and run to her, to hug her and tell her it was ok, and that he was thankful for her help. But something stopped him, and told him that Hermione respected a man who could take care of himself, someone who didn't burden her with his problems, someone like Harry.

"Well now you don't have to," he said.

And then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

[intoanothermind]

The Glue - Part Five

T H E   G L U E

Word Count: 3.2k words

Synopsis: Glue or Variable? This is the big question about Frankie’s existence. Assigned to the same role as Newt in WCKD’s Lethal Experiments, Frankie suddenly realizes that she will become just a variable to activate brain reactions in her former Group A friends. Without memories and being the only girl among several boys, she has the feeling of already knowing some of them. The new question that matters to WCKD is: will Frankie play her role as a variable correctly?

- Newt x OC (Frankie)

Masterlist

<Part 4 | Part 6>

(Warnings: attempt of sexual abuse. DO NOT read it if it’s a major trigger for you. You can read the first part in italic, skip the first part after the “~*~” and read from the first line in the normal text.I will put it in bold so you can know where. After that there’s a lot of confusing and shocked feelings, so be warned as well. I’ll put a summary at the end of the chapter about what happend if you want to skip it altogether after the italics.)

—

P A R T   F I V E

The girl could do nothing but cry. Cry and mourn for the bad luck she has had since she was pulled out of her parents' arms more than a decade ago. She was a fifteen year old teenager and, as such, had her hormones, feelings and dreams like any other, it didn’t matter if she was part of WICKED or not. And they should understand. She loved Newt as she never thought she would ever love someone and now the Creators have only thought of separating them. That wasn’t fair!

“Frankie?” She heard a familiar voice seconds before bumping into someone and going straight to the floor.

The girl looked up, meeting the small eyes of her friend Minho, looking at her with concern.

“Frankie, what happened? Are you alright?” He asked, crouching beside her to help her up.

“Doesn't matter, where's Newt?” Asked the girl, a little hurried as he wiped a few tears.

Minho frowned, confused. “He's on his way, he was finishing some last minute challenges.”

“Thank you, Minho, see you later!” She said in a hurry, giving a kiss on the friend's cheek before running away in the direction where he came from.

After a few corridors turned, she finally saw the blonde she was looking for further ahead. She was in a hurry, so she didn't stop as she pulled Newt toward a side door. The space they entered was tiny, but the girl didn't care. She just hugged the boy's waist and allowed herself to shed a few more tears.

“Frankie? What is it?” Newt asked, concerned, as he hugged her with one arm and stretched the other to find the switch.

The girl closed her eyes tightly when the light was turned on and buried her face in Newt's chest. With some difficulty, he managed to push the girl away and watch her face, reddened by crying. She held it in her hands and the girl finally opened her eyes, finding the brownish orbs watching her closely.

“What happened, love?” He asked, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“T-they ...” She started, but paused to take a deep breath and say something coherent. “The Creators changed my role in the Experiment.”

Newt frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Frankie, I don't understand.”

The girl took another deep breath, building up the courage to pass on the information she had heard Thomas exchange with the Chancellor.

“They found out about us dating, Newt.” She said, and Newt could see the desperation in her eyes. “They found out and instead of punishing us, they decided to change my role. Thomas had tried to negotiate with Chancellor Paige, but all he managed was for me to become a variable.” She continued, already feeling a new wave of crying wanting to explode through her chest. “I will not be more to ‘keep the girls together’ in Group B. I'll go to your Glade.”

Newt looked astonished. He looked around at the broom closet - strange and cliché in the girl's opinion - before turning to her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Why would that be bad?” He asked, finally speaking.

“Because it is!” Exclaimed the girl, moving away from Newt and placing her hands on her head. “I will be a variable! I will be there just to induce brain reactions, I will be even more disposable than I already am!” She ended almost screaming.

“Hey Hey hey!” Murmured Newt, taking the girl's hands and pushing them away from her face. “We can try to see the bright side of it.” He waited until she looked him in the eye. “We were afraid when they split up to Phase 2 in the Desert. Now they won't.”

“B-but...” The girl tried to argue, seeking answers to her doubts and despairs.

“But nothing, Frankie.” Said Newt firmly, holding her face in his hands and making her look into his eyes. When she did, he opened the crooked smile that made her heart so fast. “You may not remember anything that happened to us so far, but at least we'll be together. And that is what matters.”

The girl smiled, delighted. “That's what matters.”

Newt's smile widened even more, and he leaned over to kiss her. The kiss that always made the girl forget that the reality she faced was not the best.

~ * ~

The first thing I felt when I woke up was despair taking over my body control. I couldn't breathe and my eyes were already blurred by tears that I didn't even notice were streaming. My sleeping bag was pulled out of me and I finally realized what was happening when a weight pinned me to the floor covered with dry leaves: Greg, the Builder who had been teasing me the day before, was onto me, immobilizing me and using one of the hands to explore my body.

I breathed heavily against the boy's warm skin, and tried at all costs to free myself from his grip. Greg murmured indecipherable words that I sometimes understood as “be quiet” or “shut up before they find out”. But I would never be quiet, at least not now and not at that moment. I struggled as hard as I could while I was trapped under his body, but nothing I did seemed to bring me freedom. The feeling of despair, failure and disgust was beginning to suffocate me more than ever. Greg slid his hand down the men's shirt I wore, leaving my breast exposed. My eyes widened automatically and my heart increased its pace almost sickly.

And in that instant, I wanted my heart to really stop.

When Greg left my breasts reddish, purple and sore, I no longer knew how to decide between uselessly screaming for help and whining about my bad luck. I was already about to hit my head hard on the floor in order not to witness what I knew would be the worst moment of my life as Greg lowered his hand towards my pants when his weight abruptly left me.

I opened my eyes, taking the opportunity to get away and crawled on my back until I felt my body hitting a tree. I lifted my torn shirt and hid my chest again. Not far from me, I saw Minho over Greg, beating him audibly and angrily.

“Go after Newt, now!” Minho shouted at me, before returning to his fight with Greg, who started to fight back.

I still remained paralysed for a few seconds, trying to absorb everything that had happened to me. When I finally seemed to recover at least enough to run, I did. I got up suddenly and didn't look at the boys fighting on the ground before running through the trees back to Homestead. And I kept crying. Holding the torn fabric of what is left of my shirt in front of my chest, I ran, stumbled, got up and continued running even barely seeing where I was going with the tears running down my cheeks. I got out of the Deadheads, under various confused and curious eyes, but I didn't care. Just one pair of eyes mattered, and as soon as I found them, I threw myself into Newt's arms without caring about anything else but the inexplicable security his embrace gave me.

“Frankie?” Newt asked, a little surprised and frightened, as he hugged me tightly in order to ward off sobs. “What happened?”

I pulled away from Newt a little, still holding the cloth loose in front of my chest, breathing deeply and heavily as I tried to regain my composure to say anything. But, before any words left my mouth, Newt had his reaction. He looked me up and down, making me ashamed and his eyes widened when he realized my miserable situation. In a quick movement, Newt tore the scabbard from his machete, throwing it anyway on the floor at his feet. I was confused, until he took off the long-sleeved blouse he wears on a daily basis, showing a brownish T-shirt and slightly hidden muscles.

In the next instant, I found myself raising my arms by force and Newt's shirt was running over my head. When she settled herself largely on my body, the smell of sweat, earth and cologne calmed my heart by the simple fact that it was Newt's scent.

“Frankie, tell me what happened!” Newt pleaded, holding my shoulders and shaking them slightly.

“G-Greg, he...” I tried to say, indicating the Deadheads behind me, before my voice disappeared.

But it hadn't been necessary. A howl came from the woods, and I knew it came from Greg. I was startled by the noise, pressing against Newt in an impulsive movement. I hugged him tightly, relaxing a little when he, although confused, hugged me back. A movement on the edge of Deadheads caught our attention and Newt hugged me tighter in a reflexive and protective act, while I cowered in his comfort.

Among the skeletal trees, Minho appeared with a fierce expression on his face and Greg in front of him, trying to free himself from the improvised handcuffs with ropes. While being dragged by Minho and Alby - who had come to find out what was going on and had finally helped - towards the Slammer, Greg looked in my direction despite his face swollen by the beating. A sadistic, impure look that gave me such a high level of disgust that I wanted to pluck my reddened skin from his stabbing touch. I avoided looking while he was arrested, so I buried my face in Newt's chest again.

“What happened, Minho?” I heard him ask, and I looked up to see Minho and Alby already beside us.

I wanted to open my mouth to thank him for saving me, but when nothing came out I realized I was still crying. Alby indicated that we followed him to the Homestead, so we didn’t attract more attention to me and for the first time, I agreed to something he said. We entered the Homestead, with Newt still holding me, and I realized that the council was there too. They settled on the floor in a half-moon shape and, although I thought they would do it upstairs, I realized that a Conclave would start.

“We gather here in a emergency to decide Greg's situation.” Began Alby. “Although I still don’t trust the newbie, she is now a Glader and, as the rules say, it is forbidden to hurt another Glader. Each of you will be entitled to your turn. We will respect all opinions and consider everything that each one says and we will reach a conclusion. Minho, tell us what you saw.”

Minho threw a sympathetic look at me quickly before beginning his narrative.

“Frankie had promised to say goodbye to me and Ben every time we went to the Maze, but I thought it was a little strange when I didn't see her on the edge of Deadheads. I went looking for her and when I found her near the cemetery, Greg was on top of her trying to...” He swallowed hard. “Abusing her...”

A sob was heard and I realized it was mine. My eyes hazed up and my fingers were shaking. Winston, Gally and most of the other Keepers looked at me with pity, which made me cringe more towards Newt.

“Newt, take her upstairs to calm down.” Said Alby, possibly in the best act of compassion for me.

I felt Newt nodding and then he lifted me up next to him. He guided me up the stairs to the top floor, looking like he already had a destination in mind. When he passed me through one of the doors where I thought he was his room, I finally got out of my trance state and had a concrete reaction that wasn't just crying. I took off the shirt Newt had put on me and, in a fit of pure fury, I started to scratch my skin. I felt hatred and disgust with myself. I hated feeling weak and Greg had made me feel worthless and helpless. I hated him for doing this to me and I hate myself for allowing it. I looked at my skin and purple hickeys on my breast and howled with pure hatred as I scratched myself, hoping to rip off the desecrated skin with my nails. My psychological state was already seriously compromised and I was afraid that the images I had seen would never release me from this trauma. I started to scratch my arms too, not caring that red lines started to appear and my nails were dyed. I cared even less if I stayed raw. Maybe it was even better than feeling invaded and violated.

I felt strong hands holding me, preventing me from continuing with my self-destruction. With adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I tried to break free from Newt, screaming for freedom. I struggled as much as I did with Greg. But, unlike him, Newt didn't move, just held me, his breath hitting the back of my neck and making me shiver.

“Let me go, please.” I asked, my voice hoarse from crying.

“I won't let you go, Frankie.” Said Newt, and his carefully calm voice had an almost instantaneous effect on me. “I will always want your good, I will not give up.”

Gradually, I managed to calm down and Newt guided me to the bed. He left me leaning against the headboard and went back to pick up the shirt on the floor. When he handed it to me, I dressed it without question, while he sat across from me. I pulled my legs up and hugged them, resting my chin on my knees. I closed my eyes, trying to block the images that came to my mind. I felt Newt's breath coming closer and for a moment mine became uneven until I felt his lips on my forehead. Newt moved away from me, and I opened my eyes, seeing him still close.

“I'll take care of you, Frankie, I promise.” he whispered, his brown eyes staring at me intently.

I smiled, unable to find my voice to thank him, and leaned over to hug him. Not that hug of despair that begged for comfort. It was a hug of thanks, and Newt didn’t hesitate to respond. He didn't move away from me and I didn't insist until we heard a knock on the door. Newt stepped away minimally, just enough to shout an “come in”. Minho came through the door, looking a little upset, but trying to disguise that fact.

“Have you finished the Conclave already?” Asked Newt, looking a little surprised. “I didn't even hear screams from those klunks!”

“Because they didn't.” Minho replied, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I never thought anything like this would happen.”

“What? Minho, what happened?” I asked, sitting up straighter, looking forward to his reply.

“The decision was almost unanimous.” Minho finally said. “Greg will be banned at dusk.

~ * ~

The moment Alby untied the leash, I knew I couldn't stand watching it. But my feet were planted on the ground, and I couldn't get out of the crowd of boys watching Greg's banishment. The collar was tied around Greg's neck the moment he looked through the boys around me and looked at me with a look of pure insanity and desire. I didn't even know if I could cry anymore that day. No one said a word, and although I knew that Greg would be killed by the Griviers since no one had survived a night in the Maze, I was afraid I was still in danger.

Greg kept his gaze on me and Chuck, beside me, took my hand. Alby pulled on his collar to make sure he was well attached to the long pole in his hand. He ran his fingers along its length and when he reached its base, he waved back with his hands. The post seemed to be about six meters and the aluminum tip was curved in the middle, but only a little.

“Greg of the Builders.” Said Alby aloud, finally breaking the silence that had been installed by the tension of the situation. “You were sentenced to Banishment for attempting to rape Frankie the Newbie. The Keepers spoke, and their word does not change. Unanimous decision and you will never return. In charge, take your place on the Bane Pole.”

I shuddered when his words reached my ear, saying for the first time the clarity of what had happened to me as the worst experience I have ever had in my life, including the one before Box. One by one, boys came out of the crowd and among them I recognized Newt, Minho, Winston and Gally. As soon as the ten Keepers were evenly spaced on the post, all I wanted was for it to end at once. The tension in the air and the weight on my chest felt too much for me to take. The East Door began to close, with a loud noise and sparks coming out of the stone. The ground shook and I squeezed Chuck's hand tighter. The post was pushed by the Keepers and the crowd of boys looked surprised when Greg offered no resistance. Soon he was more than a meter out of the Glade. At the last second, the Keeper at the front loosened the wider bar, detaching it from the part attached to Greg and, pulling it back to the Glade, left it to the Banishment.

Before the Doors closed completely, Greg was able to say a single sentence while looking directly at me.

“I just regret not having finished.”

I was horrified even after the Doors closed completely between me and Greg. The crowd dispersed and all I could do was to stay there like a dead weight. I didn’t disagree with that point of view, but my muscles couldn’t move. When I found my will again, Newt was already in front of me, looking at me with concern. I looked at him, feeling my irregular breathing and a lonely tear running down my right cheek.

“Newt.” Alby approached after dispersing the crowd. “Your responsibility.” He said to Newt, looking just like wanting to reinforce something that had already been said.

Newt nodded and Alby waved at me before walking away.

“Come on, Frankie.” Called Newt, his voice sweet. “You sleep in my room from now on.”

(CHAPTER SUMMARY: Greg The Bilder tried to abuse Frankie while she slept in the Deadheads, but Minho came in time to save her. He told her to go look for Newt and she did. The was a Conclave to decide Greg destiny, but while Minho as telling the Keepers what happened, Frankie was still in shock and Newt took her to a room so she didn’t have to relive it. She freaked out in there and Newt told her he would take care of her. Minho came after them a while after, telling that the decision was unanimous and Greg would be banished. The final part was the banishment and Newt saying that Frankie would sleep in his room from now on instead of in the open.)

[mendesficsxbombay]

just let me adore you | s.m

my third fic this month! this is absolutely NOT like me!! 

Requested ‘fluff’ from this prompt list:

34: you look so comfy and cuddleable

40: I’m not going to get sick you baby. Just let me hold you, can we just stay in bed

The call cuts off and she lets out her longest sigh of the day. It’s her fourth time calling him in a row, when otherwise, it’s him doing the calling. 

She let off the calls and texts the last few days, their relationship was still so fresh how dare she appear clingy to this beautiful boy she’s liked for as long as she can remember? As soon as they put a tag on it, the years of knowing each other, and the knowledge of each of their tricks and tactics went out the window. Three months in and they still act like teenagers with their first crush. Not that there is anything wrong with teenagers and crushes, but they’ve both already lived through that phase of life, why are they back here again? 

She racks her brain for alternatives, then furiously rubs at her temples as if that would make her thoughts come through easier. She could call up their friends, see if they’ve heard something from him in the last week. She hadn’t seen him for 7 days, his last message was 4 days ago. She could march over to his house but again … they’ve only been together together for three months. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to go knocking on his door without notice. Then again what if he’s in danger and she is the only one who thought about saving him? What if she is his only hope? He is the current Prince of Pop, the people wanting to cause harm to him must be endless. 

She scoffs at her usual downward spiral. Everyone in the world is not out to get him. He’s worked with her through her panic multiple times, so if he knew how much she worried about him why not just give her a heads up that he’s alive and safe? 

His apartment is really just twenty minutes away from hers after all, she could go over - she should go over. She purses her lips while looking at her black phone screen, as if staring at it hard enough will just, you know, make him call. But that’s not how the world works. And so she marches to her room to collect her bags, picks up her keys on the way, and sets off to his house. 

She used to do this all time, earlier - showing up unannounced. They’d spent a better part of three years being strictly friends. Nothing more. Except the times she would catch him staring at her a bit longer than what seemed normal, or when she would put in extra efforts to dress up when she knew she would be seeing him. They had been introduced through friends, an effort to club their friend groups into one large social circle, and they didn’t have a lot in common, but that’s what worked for them. They lived each other’s lives through the other’s eyes, and sometimes, that’s all you need in a friend. 

Unfortunately, most times they saw each other outside of their respective flats, there was alcohol involved. And bottled feelings and bottles of alcohol never really mix well. They used to play this game, they used to order drinks for each other, with the promise that the other would have to finish the drink, and the swear was on their friendship. A year and a half or so of knowing each other later, they found themselves exchanging kisses in dark corners of clubs and pubs, a glass of whatever they bought each other in hand. 

Soon enough, they didn’t need the liquid courage. Although it was the sort of thing that everyone knew of and no one said aloud, they kept their distance in front of their friends and the sneaking around never really ceased. And what their friends don’t know, didn’t hurt them. As if their friends didn’t know why or how they always arrived and left together. As if they didn’t notice that after a while she had chosen to stop bringing her car to these parties altogether because she knew she would ride back with him anyway. 

At some point, a boy she knew from university, a far off member of said social circle asked her out. And quite boldly so. In front of all their friends and at their favourite bar. She brushed it off, said she wasn’t interested. But he persisted. And that’s where Shawn stepped in. Gently, yet firmly, pushed the guy back from closing in on her so publicly. He said she wasn’t interested and he should have listened the first time. He asked him to learn. To do better. Then took her hand and left the place. 

The car was silent for the first time in all the rides they’d taken together. She didn’t like it. But she also didn’t have the guts to ask what all of that was about until she realised that he wasn’t driving to her place, he was straight on his way to his. 

She softy asked about why they were going to his, and his eyes widened as if he hadn’t realised that himself. He spluttered for a second, and then ‘fessed up. He felt she was the safest if she stayed over at his that night - if she was okay with it. He knew he sounded like a hypocrite, making her decisions for her and all, but just this one time, he couldn’t reign it in. 

She didn’t say anything back then, just linked her fingers through his on the centre console and leaned back against the headrest. He took it as a sign and brought her home. That night, they slept the best either of them ever had. 

The next morning, she asked him to be hers, and that was that. 

Three months in, though, she’s pulling up to his apartment and she’s more nervous than she was the first time she met him. It’s the fear of the unknown, really. What if he had another girlfriend on the side this whole time and he didn’t tell her so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings. She’s been cheated on before, she knows how gullible she is. It was really not hard for her past boyfriends to sneak around. But Shawn’s not like that. Or is he?

Riding up the elevator she send up a quiet prayer to anyone who was willing to listen. Please let me still be with him at the end of the night, I can’t lose him. 

She walks out of the lift as if she’s headed for war. Her head is spinning already but really, what was she expecting if she so suddenly decided to confront the panic she had been wallowing in for days now?

She took in a deep breath, and knocked on his door, patiently waiting for whatever was on the other side. She could take it (could she?). She would put on a brave face and confront - his mom?

“Babe! It’s so nice to see you here!” The older woman exclaimed, gently pulling her into a hug and rubbing her back, like she did with her son. “Shawn didn’t tell me you were coming over, I would’ve made some food for you as well!”

“Oh I - didn’t actually tell him I was coming over, Miss Rayment, he-“ it is okay, you can talk to her, she knows you are together and she loves you through it all, just keep talking, “He hasn’t really answered my calls or texts these last few days, I didn’t know what was wrong so I came over.” She winced finally, somewhat ashamed for showing up. 

“Is that so?” Karen frowned a little, letting go of her and finding her way into the kitchen. “Babe, he’s been sick for a week, it was the stomach bug, but then his body was heating up, too, and I called him on the second day of it - he didn’t sound too good and you know what mums are like, I packed a bag and drove right over. We had him speak to a doctor over the phone, thank god he doesn’t have any events lined up anytime soon, because the meds keep him knocked out for most of the day. I did expect him to call you, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” she whispers, her face growing hot with embarrassment, and she didn’t know why. “May I go up and see him? Is he awake?”

His mom smiles and nods, saying she’ll be down here if they need her. 

She silently pads her way up the stairs of his penthouse, cursing herself for thinking the worst of him while he just lay here drugged up and sick. She felt sorry for him and for herself, too. Why couldn’t she have figured this out sooner?

Before she knows it she’s standing outside his room, and there’s no turning back. She softly knocks twice, and waits for a response she isn’t sure she would receive. She turns the doorknob gently, aware of the slight creak it usually lets out. 

The room was darker then usual, the curtains to his floor to ceiling windows were drawn shut, and there was one nightlight glowing softly in the corner of the room. It took her a second to make out his figure under the lumps of the duvet pulled over him. She felt sadder than she did a second ago, thinking of how uncomfortable he must’ve been these last few days and how she wished she could just take it all away. 

There was a tiny empty spot on the bed next to his torso, she found a place for herself there. The covers were pulled up to his chin, his hair looked messier than it did usually and he looked so much younger, as if he was at peace even when his body wasn’t. 

She snaked her pinky through his, through the hand that was peaking out from under the layers of warmth. His lips parted slightly, hand curling around hers even when he continued to sleep. This was their secret move every time they were in public. Like a silent hi, I’m here when they couldn’t say it aloud. 

She peppered a few kisses to his forehead, light enough to not awake him, but dusty enough so he knew they were there. She saw his face scrunch just for a second, smiling to herself because of how much of a baby her big, strong boyfriend really was. It was adorable. 

She wanted to test how far she could go before he woke up. She smirked a little at the thought, remembering the last time she had stayed over at his, just last week, on this same bed. There wasn’t a lot of sleeping that happened that night. 

She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and she got the exact reaction she got every time. His lips puckered against hers for a second before falling into a deeper sleep, lips parting again. Her heart warmed and she almost awww ed for real, but he was still sick, and still needed rest, so with one last long look at her love, she left the room again. 

Downstairs she found his mom on the phone on the pretty white couch everyone loved so much, patiently waiting for her to hang up. 

“What’s up, he still sleeping?”

“Yes… I was thinking I could make something for dinner since you’ve cooked this whole time?”

“Oh, you really don’t have to I could just -“

“No, please, I want to. Is soup and garlic rice okay with you?”

It was the first real meal she had learned when she was 16, and it was her signature. Everyone loved it. You couldn’t possibly go wrong with it. When his mum smiled and nodded as a reply, she knew they loved it too after she brought it home to them when they visited for Christmas. 

She went into the kitchen, happy to see most of the ingredients she would need. This would be a different case if his mum hadn’t come over, she would’ve only found fruits and frozen meat and some form of soda or beer in his fridge. 

She could cook this one with her eyes closed, so she was done relatively quicker. Just an hour later she was eating dinner with his mum, catching up on lost time. 

After the dishes were dried and put up, his mum asked if she was going to spend the night. She wanted to, but she also didn’t wish to overstep. She said she would wait till Shawn was up and had dinner and then leave. Karen understood and gave her a warm hug, a kiss to her head and found her way to the guest room. 

In the meantime she found the few books she had left at his house for him to read - as he had specifically asked, and she knew he hadn’t even touched the covers - and cuddled into the throw he usually had by the couch. 

When he come down the stairs an hour and 7 chapters later, he looked like the most beautiful train wreck. His cheeks were flushed red from the sleep and his body heat that she hoped had stabilised, and wasn’t increasing anymore. He wore a black muscle tee and gym shorts, yawning and making his way into the kitchen slowly, and it hurt to see her otherwise tough guy be this fragile. 

She waited for him to notice her. It was another challenge they had between them, he prided himself in how attuned he was to her, he could walk into a room and sense if she was there, too. Usually she would hide and try to throw him off but he found her, always. Which is why when he froze in front of the stove and let out a choked breath (it was probably a gasp but, you know, he is sick right now) and turned around, she couldn’t help but grin like a lovesick fool. 

“What.. are you?” He stuttered, his voice down several decibels, a throaty rasp which, in any other condition would’ve sent chills down her spine. 

“Heard someone was sick,” she sighed, putting her book down and joining him in the kitchen. “You hungry? I made dinner. The garlic will do good for your throat and tummy.”

“And mom?” She turned around to reheat the soup and toss around the rice a bit more. 

“We ate and she went to bed.”

“Are you mad at me?”

She finally looked at him, looking like a wounded puppy sitting by the breakfast bar. It was hard to stay mad at him, but she would hold her ground this time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Shawn?” He only ducked his head down, looking anywhere but her. So great, now he’s sick AND guilty. 

Shawn liked being taken care of - but he hated people having to worry about him. He hated being the subject of someone’s concern - especially those closest to him. He liked knowing that there were people who had his back but he hated having to use that support for anything. It made him feel guilty and incapable - a habit she was trying to rid him of since their first year of knowing each other. 

“Didn’t want you to worry.”

“So you worried your mum who lives an hour away?”

“No she was… going to come over anyway.”

“No she wasn’t. Just last week you said she probably wouldn’t come over for a bit because she had things to finish back at home. She told me during dinner, too. So what’s the real reason?”

She plated three scoops of rice and a bowl of soup and passed it over the counter to him, then sat down right where she was. He felt like that was a kick to his lungs. He would say guts but his lungs were weaker at the moment. She never, ever passed up an opportunity to sit next to him, to be pressed up to him, and looking at her settle herself so far away from him (four feet away is quite far when you’re in love) let him know he really messed up this time. 

“Didn’t want you to think I’m weak,” he mumbled around a spoonful of rice to make sure he didn’t hear him correctly. She did, though. 

“You falling sick would make me think you’re weak? Are you out of your mind or are the meds that heavy in dosage?”

“Look it’s just - you’re so strong? You’re immune system is made of fucking metal. And then there’s me. I get a cold every few months even though it can seriously harm my singing. And then I get a fever or stomach bug or just - something - every few months and like - You deserve someone stronger. I didn’t want you to be bothered by this.”

“Okay so the meds are definitely still working their magic,” she muttered as he rolled his eyes. “You have got to be joking, Shawn, look at you! How on earth could I possibly find someone stronger than you? You picked the worst time to be insecure honestly.”

She glared at him but stayed silent to let him have a bit of the soup, pushing back the urge to smile as his face almost unclenched at the taste and his shoulders sank in relief. She was a good cook and she knew it. 

“You do realise that I would’ve been more than happy to come over and help you out? I came up to your room and you looked so comfy and cuddleable I would’ve jumped right in to sleep too had you not looked so sick. What even happened anyway?”

“The doctor said it was because of a weather change, it’s a common cold but the stomach bug might be the real problem. You know how you came over on Saturday and then I dropped you home and went out with the boys? I think the meat I had wasn’t so good. So he advised vocal rest and then said I should eat home as much as possible for the coming few days or weeks. That’s all.”

“And you called you mum? Why, doesn’t she also think you’re weak? Now that she still has to look after you?” She hit back in frustration, “Look, if you didn’t want me to come over, you could’ve just said so, but dropping off the face of the earth was not it and I was really fucking worried, so thank you.”

“But, baaaabe I said I’m sorry,” he whined, his face scrunching up again as if he was in physical pain. 

“I’m only mad because - Shawn, wouldn’t you have done the same for me? Why are the rules different for you?”

He pursed his lips as it fully sank in, she wasn’t mad, she was upset. And all that could’ve been avoided very easily but he did nothing to solve it. 

“I understand, and the next time something happens, you’ll be the first to know so you can come over and make me all this yummy soup and then you can yell at me a bit more for being so careless. But until then, please don’t be mad at me again?”

She glared at him for a bit longer until her resolve finally broke. There wasn’t really a way for her to stay mad at him still looking like so soft. She cleaned up after he was done eating some more, handing him his medicines like Karen had asked her to. 

She linked her pinky through his as they climbed up the stairs, suppressing a smile again as she saw him turn his head towards her with a look of wonder evident. He asked her if she was going to spend the night, she said she would only stay until he fell asleep because she still had work tomorrow, but she would drop in before and after. 

She got him into bed first, nicely tucking his head in in the many pillows he had, curls fluffing out at the top as he looked at her dreamily. She pulled the covers up to tuck herself in next to him as she usually did, only to have him slap his hand down on the covers, snatching them out of her hands. 

“What are you doing?!” His eyes grew wide as if what she did actually offended him. 

“uh, getting in with you?”

“I’m sick and you shouldn’t be getting in anywhere with me. I’ll get you a chair or something to sit in-” and he was already struggling to get up and out of bed when she calmly put her hands on his shoulders to push him down again. 

“Stop moving around so much, you don’t have the energy. I’m not going to get sick you baby and you’re not contagious. I already have sinusitis, you couldn’t possibly give me more of a cold than I’ve lived with my whole life. And your stomach bug won’t magically transfer to me. Just let me hold you, okay?”

He gulped nervously as she slipped in next to him, worry flashed across his features. But it melted away slowly as she tucked herself around him, her head coming to rest under his chin, over his heart as it always did. He hadn’t held his girl in a week. It felt good. 

“Can we just stay in bed, forever?” He mumbled sleepily. 

She snickered lightly, “I’m sure we can arrange that. Until then do you wanna watch something? Harry Potter, maybe?” She found his television remote by the bed, and pulled up his queue of movies on the screen. 

His eyes narrowed at her - “You don’t even like Harry Potter?”

She finally smiled at him, patting his cheek and settling down again. 

“It’s okay, I like you.”

taglist: @shawnwyr​ @mendesstories​ @lanallaa​ @sleepybesson​ @rulerofnocountry​ @luvluvxx​ @wholesomemendes​ @c25905​ @angl-phile

dm to be added or removed ♥️

[raisingstarks]

Peter told me that I’m supposed to introduce myself, which does feel mildly absurd, considering that you really ought to know who I am. And, well, if you don’t know who I am, Google exists. But, as the kid points out, can Google tell you that York Peppermint Patties are my second favorite candy? No, it cannot.

Pepper thinks that this whole blog is ridiculous. When she told me to make it, I don’t think she actually expected me to do it. Peter is torn between being wildly amused and terrified of how many doors of future embarrassment this opens for him. Morgan thinks that it’s all very, very exciting. Then again, most things seem very, very exciting at her age. Oh, the joys of being four.

Pepper is the alpha of the household. No doubt, no competition. If either of us wear the pants in our relationship, it’s her. You will never see a sixteen-year-old boy yield to authority as quickly as Peter does to Pepper when she really means business. She’s also the only one who can actually get Morgan to bed before 8:00. How she does it, I know not, although I suspect that dark magic is involved.

Besides being the mother of the year, she’s also a goddamn powerhouse. She’s always been one, ever since the first time I saw her, and not a day goes by that I don’t stop being in awe of her. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s anything that she can’t do. She runs my company seamlessly, all while nurturing Morgan, supporting Peter as if he were her own, and being my mental and, after Thanos, sometimes even my physical, backbone. PTSD sort of comes with the territory of being a superhero. It’s an unfortunate package deal. And yet, Pepper handles the effects it has on me, and even Peter, with a grace that I just don’t understand. She cooks better than me, too, but listen. I’m working on it. I can now reliably make mac n cheese and asparagus. And other things.

Peter is sixteen, although he’ll turn seventeen in August, which is a fact he reminds us of constantly. Less than two years shy of adulthood. Right now, he’s fascinated by biochemistry, but I’m hoping to sway him towards electrical engineering before he gets around to college applications. He still says that his favorite color is Iron Man Red, which I both tease him about and secretly adore. He’s afraid of thunderstorms, and so is Morgan, but while they’ve frightened Morgan for her whole life, I can still remember a time when Peter loved them. Now, he jolts awake at the first crack of thunder, though it always takes Peter double the time that Morgan does to show up in my room during storms. Sometimes, I think he’s stuck between the adulthood he’s determined to earn and the childhood that he’s still in. I know he wants to be protected just as much as his sister does, but he doesn’t want to ask for it.

To clarify, because I seem to get this question non-stop, I didn’t play any role in the composition of Peter’s DNA. He’s not my biological child, but at this point, he might as well be. I can’t take all of the credit, though. His aunt did all of the heavy lifting. I appreciate that now even more than I did before I had Morgan.

I think it’s every parent’s curse to think that their child is special, but with Peter, I feel pretty confident in that assessment. After all, most teenagers have after school activities like debate team, or sports, or tutoring. My kid, though, likes to dress up like a glorified spider and swing through New York until 3:00 am. That isn’t exactly the most standard extracurricular activity. Although he is on his high school’s Academic Decathlon team, so I guess that counts for something. A slice of normal inside every part of his life that definitely isn’t.

Random, non-Googlable facts about Peter include: he thinks that Banquet frozen meals are the height of luxury, I’ve yet to find a movie that he can’t sleep straight through, and while he’s brilliant at math, if I don’t proofread his essays then there isn’t a single chance of the end result being comprehensible. He can quote every single line from every single Star Wars movie, including the Clone Wars. He talks in his sleep.

Morgan is four. In my opinion, it’s the best of her years yet, although I guess my sample size is pretty small, considering that I only have three others to compare it too, and that a majority of that time was spent with 50% of the universe gone. But, anyway: best year so far. No diapers, totally potty trained, lots of sass but not too much sass (although that can still be pretty debatable at times). She’s old enough to start taking her first wobbly steps towards independence, but still small enough to hold. And she’s still young enough to be absolutely fascinated by, like, the veins in a leaf. I think that’s one of the things I love most about Morgan: her endless curiosity. She’s enthralled by the simplest things, and I dread the day that she stops asking me questions about anything and everything.

“Daddy, what’s the biggest word? What does it mean? How do you spell it? When is something big instead of small? How big is big? What sound does a giraffe make?” 

I swear, my kid is a genius. Watching her grow up is simultaneously the most exciting and most terrifying experience of my life. In so many ways, I can’t wait to see where her brain takes her, but I also know that not everywhere she goes will be kind. I think, sometimes, of the places that my brain has taken me, and how few of them have been truly good. I never want to see that to happen to her. I just want her to be happy.

Random, non-Googlable facts about Morgan include: she hates vanilla ice cream because it’s “boring,” she wants to have as many different careers as Barbie, and I think she might be headed into a horse girl phase after watching the movie Spirit. One time, she actually tried to ride our alpaca, Gerald, which... I mean, no one was hurt, and when you’ve got kids like mine, that’s considered a win. Her favorite food is mac n cheese and asparagus (on the side, not in the mac), and she knows every single word of the Frozen soundtrack. Which means that I do too, since I’ve had to hear it so much.

This got much longer than I expected. But, really, you can’t be surprised. If there’s one thing that everyone should know about me, it’s that I love to talk. And of the things I love the talk about, my family sits pretty firmly at the top. And Peter’s had no problem telling me that my blog title is corny, but I’m not wrong. Parenting really is an adventure when you have kids like mine.

[innenofutari]

An Analysis of Vanitas’s Personality (meta)

I’ve always wanted to write some little meta for Vanitas no Carte, more specifically Vanitas, who probably is one of my favorite characters overall. I can’t help but find his entire character so well-built and intriguing! Most notably how he is written to be the center of the story- he’s like a “key” to the “catbox”; once you understand him, you can understand the themes and mysteries of the story (or at least that’s what I believe Mochijun is going for currently).

Diving into his mindset is, let me tell you, one hell of a confusing ride. But, at the end of it, I think I managed to form my own interpretations pretty well. Also, considering that he’s the type of character meant to be a mystery, feel free to agree or disagree with this meta, after all this is only the way I view things, and your interpretations aren’t any less valid than mine. With that being said, you better sit down because I’m one motherfucker who talks your ears off I’m so sorry.

1. Vanitas’s “change of mood” in the manga:

I think I want to start by talking about one of the things about Vanitas that caught my attention while reading the manga for the first time, and this is Vanitas’s “attitude change”. While I was reading, it was so subtle and gradual that I didn’t even properly realize until halfway through the catacombs arc. That instantly piqued my attention and I, a moron as I am, went “Wait didn’t this idiot act completely differently ten chapters ago?”. So why, exactly, did this dumbass change his demeanor so drastically? Well, he kind of didn’t, really.

At the start of the series, we all know Vanitas looked to be in “a good mood”; he laughed all the time, constantly wore a smile on his face and seemed like he was having fun with everything around him, yet suddenly, he got grumpier, angrier, snapping at the smallest things and so on. This never had anything with his temper and feelings, but everything to do with trust.

Now, what exactly do I mean by “trust”? I’m sure everyone reading this already knows, but I’ll talk about it anyway because it’s almost three in the unholy morning and I’m running solely on cans of soda. 

I’ll start by saying that there is no more effective way to conceal your feelings than by wearing a grin on your face; one smile can mean a multitude of things, and it’s very hard to tell anything about a person based on that. The “smiling tactic” is an extremely effective way of obtaining information without unintentionally giving any to the person you’re trying to take information from.

Even when August is literally choking him, and Vanitas is clearly in pain, his smile stays on, unwavering, from the beginning to the very end of his interrogation. Later, August himself even acknowledges that he himself couldn’t discover shit about Vanitas after all, since Vanitas is so well guarded.

His smile also serves another purpose other than to omit, and it’s exactly to extract information from other people.

Vanitas relies a lot on charm and charisma to gather information. He knows people are more willing to talk to someone friendlier, who wears a smile on their faces all the time and to who they can feel a sense of security and trust towards.

Based on this, it’s pretty safe to assume that with Noé at first was the same, wasn’t it? His enthusiasm at the beginning never really existed (although I still believe his instant interest towards Noé is pretty real, like he gravitated towards him). He uses his smiles to conceal, to gather information and also to taunt people (e.g. Astolfo), but it’s not truthful.

For me, Vanitas’s sudden “change” was one of the biggest proofs of his trust on Noé, and marks the beginning of when he truly started to see him as someone he could (kind of) confide in. You could argue that Vanitas jumping in the Altus portal was also a sign of trust, but I disagree. That still felt weirdly “calculated”, he knows someone with a personality like Noé’s would never let someone die in front of their eyes, so he gambled on this possibility. Vanitas trusted his own understanding of Noé’s personality, not Noé himself. However, what would he even gain by acting grumpy next to Noé? Nothing, right? He’s just exposing himself needlessly.

Now the question, what exactly sparked this sudden change in the way Vanitas felt about Noé? For the when, I think it’s pretty obvious what scene it was.

This scene is very important for many reasons. Each of Vanitas’s expressions here tell their own story and capture the nature of his contradicting feelings so well. But, I’ll get to these “contradictions” in a second, now I wanted to talk about something else: “hope”.

It’s no news to anyone that Vanitas is like, depressed as shit and is pretty much passively suicidal and, of course,  entirely disillusioned with the world and society as a whole. He believes people and vampires alike are inherently selfish, twisted beings. Creatures so wicked that there is no point to even reason with them. Vanitas doesn’t have any hope whatsoever, both in himself and others. For him, the person is already drowning before even stepping into the lake.

Even so, I firmly believe that there is a side of Vanitas that wished so fervently to be proven wrong. Even though he was dead set on his beliefs, he wanted someone to come and crush them. To prove him that there is good in this world, that he was being a damn fool this entire time. But no one ever stuck around enough to do that. They were all unable to truly reach out to him.

Noé gave him the hope that there was a person who could convince him. That there was a person who could understand him, reach out to the depths of his heart and get past his lies. He willingly sets up this façade of this cold, unfeeling jerk who has no care for others and always does as he pleases, but he’s always wanted someone to look past this. Yet, at the same time, he’s deathly afraid of this possibility. 

In the first picture, his face is in awe, as if he was looking at salvation itself. However, that all crumbles down when Noé says he is staying with Vanitas and the implications this has. That’s what he is terrified of. Aaaand with this we move to the second section of this analysis! (Damn this is getting so lengthy I truly became that one freak who writes a thesis worth of analysis of a drawing).

2. Vanitas’s fears and contradictions:

I think it’s really obvious to everyone that damn this dude got some issues regarding forming relationships with other people. It’s pretty safe to say the only friend he has is Noé, and that’s such an easy thing to overlook, mainly because of how he acts around others. You could argue that he’s friends with Dante but… that’s not quite so. Dante is, in fact, fairly good at reading Vanitas (which, unpopular opinion, is not a hard thing to do given how emotional he is, but let’s get to that later) but between them there is an emotional barrier neither is willing to cross. They’re more like close acquaintances than anything.

Well, this isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s pretty obvious Vanitas is terrified of forming any meaningful bonds with others. Thing most obviously showcased in the notorious chapter 12:

This panel… is a tricky one. It’s totally up to the reader’s interpretation and it could mean a myriad of different things, especially since very little was revealed about his past as of chapter 39.

I personally see this scene as showing Vanitas’s fear of attachment, laced with a tinge of self hatred. There is nothing Vanitas fears more than getting close to people and caring about them, he himself sees this as a weakness and something he absolutely must not have. On a side note, it is also possible that Vanitas thinks so lowly of himself that he thinks anyone that would seriously love him was completely out of their minds. Or both, who knows?

But what is so interesting is that… he can’t. Vanitas knows he should be cold, calculating, use people as pieces and discard them, knows he shouldn’t be emotional or act on impulse, knows he shouldn’t express any kind of feeling whatsoever and keep the concealing smile. Yet, he just fails so miserably in every single one of those. Vanitas cares a lot, more than he’d ever want to admit, he does completely reckless and uncalled for things for no reason other than it pissed him off, so of course he gotta get the last say because he has the mind of a teenager on their rebellious phase. 

Say, can you think of any, any at all, conceivable explanation of what Vanitas could possibly gain by making that speech for all vampires to hear during the ball? There is none. If you think from his perspective, the only thing that little spectacle of his brought were disadvantages for himself. So why? Because he felt belittled, humiliated, and he’s prideful as all hell, so of course he had to prove how none of that was even remotely true. He wanted to affirm himself. In the thinking process of a cunning, one hundred percent unemotional man, that was a completely unnecessary move.

It’s almost like Vanitas wants to become someone he’s not. He wants to act a certain way (to prevent even more pain?), but, ultimately, he cannot. It’s even funny how he fails spectacularly on keeping his expression “blank, without information” because even when he tries, his emotions all show on his face. It’s amusing how quick he is to try and cover said blunder with a laugh and a smile.

These contradictions are very deeply linked to his trauma, even if we don’t know the full extent of it it’s fairly obvious. What drives his wish to act so differently and thus his contradictions is, most of all, fear.

This part is pretty straightforward, in fact. In the end, Vanitas is afraid of forming bonds with others in fear of losing them, he knows firsthand how much it hurts (of course, he also doesn’t want anyone to discover his past). But that’s not all, remember how I mentioned that Vanitas’s expression only darkened in the clock tower (chapter 11) scene when Noé said he had decided to stay with him…? Well… I think Vanitas might think he brings misfortune to whoever gets involved with him. Like he is some symbol of disaster and doom that does nothing but kill those around him. If people care for him, they will suffer, but if they hate him, they will be completely fine. 

Despite his insistence of being detached to all people and being a cold asshole because that’s what he must do, to avoid getting hurt, to avoid having weak points, he also craves so very badly for intimacy. He wants to be close to someone, to make an impression on someone. After all, during his whole life I doubt he truly had any meaningful relationships with others. But love only results in pain in the end, so what other strong emotion is left? Of course, it’s hatred. 

Aaand this brings us to the last section of this analysis! May be a tad biased and controversial, but as I said, this is merely my opinion and I’m just as much of a random person on the internet as you! My opinion is no better than yours.

3. Vanitas’s relationships: Mainly Noé and Jeanne

As I said above, Vanitas wishes fervently to have some kind of relationship with someone, no matter which type. Since love is a no-go, he opted towards having someone feel intense hatred towards him. Because a strong emotion is a strong emotion, isn’t it? After all, hatred must be better than indifference.

Getting this out of the way, I do not think Vanitas truly loves Jeanne as of chapter 39. It’s glaringly obvious he does not, his way of showing true affection is not the way he does with Jeanne. The way he acts around her is much closer to the façade he tries to be. As I see it, this ties into Vanitas’s wish to explore intimacy and affection, even if a broken, twisted kind of. Another proof of this is that he doesn’t push her away like he does with people he knows he’s starting to grow fond of, but instead keeps her closer.

That is exactly due to the belief that she will always, always hate him, and so, there is absolutely nothing to fear. He can explore all these things and experience being the brunt of a person’s intense feelings without any consequences.

This is a very harsh thing to say, but I think Vanitas is using Jeanne as a “convenient female” he accused Dominique of being to Noé.

It’s also worth noting that in the one chapter he truly got somehow intimate with Jeanne he tried to avoid it in many ways, even trying the usual “flirting” to purposefully gross her out. By the way, can I just point out that this scene truly shows just how estranged from affection he is? He has none of the suave façade, he’s a blundering mess.

About the topic of whether Jeanne likes Vanitas or not, my answer is, too, a clear no as of chapter 39. Vanitas and Jeanne together are a combination that spawns all the disaster on earth, considering how manipulative and emotionally stunted Vanitas is, and how gullible and affection starved Jeanne is. It’s a recipe for disaster. Jeanne is not used to affection, she was mistreated during most of her life, treated as something below humans and vampires due to a thing that was completely out of her control, and then, melting at any sort of affection, no matter how twisted the person may be.

To be fair, I think overall Vanijeanne will develop immensely, and their relationship will grow into something else, more healthy? Who knows! I just think it’s undeniable that in the future Jeanne will have a big, big impact on Vanitas and vice versa. (Disclaimer: I will not tolerate any ship hate whatsoever and everyone is allowed to ship whatever they want regardless of the nature of said ship).

Shifting the focus away to Noé and Vanitas for now, there are some little things I would like to talk about and juxtapose with Vanijeanne, since parallels are my thing.

Parallels between Vanoé and Vanijeanne may not even exist and are just my mind overthinking (hell if this whole post isn’t just a big overthinking) but I would like to talk about what my sleep deprived mind came up with. First off, I think it’s safe to say that Vanoé’s relationship is depicted as complete opposites, opposite worldviews, personalities, fuck even color palettes! And the story as it is shows that they bring the absolute best out of each other and learn by staying by the other’s side. The whole narrative pushes the two halves of a whole idiot a lot.

Noé is naive, pure, idealistic but still possesses certain “selfishness” (like how he felt he was selfish when Louis died but he lived), while Vanitas is cunning, wicked, cynical and would throw his own life away for one corn chip. It’s like they were two people fated to meet.

Vanitas and Jeanne, on the other hand… are kind of similar, but only in certain ways, mostly due to trauma. Jeanne, too, only lives for a sole objective, the same way Vanitas clings to life using his self assigned duty to cure curse bearers. Jeanne and Vanitas both, are people who have essentially gave up on life, on the world, and on themselves. People who purposefully push themselves away from happiness, in fear of the consequences.

I think, at least right now, this is the main reason why they cannot see eye to eye (aside from Vanitas being an asshole). To understand Vanitas and reach out to him, one must see him with “love”. Without love, Vanitas’s struggles, trauma and suffering cannot be seen. If you look at him with eyes full of hatred, he’ll be exactly who he wants to be seen as; a cold, heartless bastard who toys with people and cares for no one other than himself. Jeanne doesn’t have the ability to see the world as purely as Noé does. She cannot find love even in seemingly irredeemable people such as Vanitas. Yet, at least.

That’s the main reason why I think Vanitas isn’t afraid of being near Jeanne, and that’s the main reason why Noé is probably such an… illogical existence to Vanitas. Vanitas, too, cannot see love in the world, and yet, Noé does. Noé catches every single small detail about him:

Whew! That was… one big fucking post! If you’ve reached this point, thank you! I write meta for fun only and to share my interpretations for you guys! Also, the last bit probably sounded very ship hate-y but I swear this was absolutely not my intention.

Actually, the true meaning of this whole post was that I wanted to make an Umineko reference with Vanitas no Carte and I have succeeded. Play Umineko, you guys.

[marinaaniseed]

Rainfall

Song: Rainfall from the album Winning days by The Vines.

Summary: A thunderstorm provides perfect cover for making love with Loki.

Pairing: Loki x Female reader

Length: 1,225 words

A/N: Here be sexy times, but I think it’s kinda fluffy too. See here for what this is all about.

***

You were hiding from the rain and the thunder. Just you and Loki, huddled together under the duvet while Thor raged elsewhere in the castle about something, causing the deluge outside.

He was going through a wilful, rebellious phase. He’d hit his Millennial years. Something about that time in an Asgardian’s life just made them more difficult, more unreasonable. Luckily, it hadn’t hit Loki yet.

Centuries later, you’d learn that on Midgard a similar thing happened when people hit their ‘teenage’ years.

The cause of the problem was almost certainly a woman. It always was with Thor. He wanted to have his fun; Odin wanted him to marry respectably.

For the good of the kingdom, and all the Nine Realms.

Whatever that meant.

A rare upside to not being the golden child, was that Odin tended to overlook who ended up in Loki’s bed. Truth be told, Loki could disappear without a trace, and Odin would be none the wiser for several decades, if it weren’t for Frigga and Heimdall.

That’s how overlooked Loki was.

And it broke your heart.

Loki was not a bad man, son, or Prince. He was shy, courteous, eager to please, and desperate to be loved.

It had almost driven you away at first.

But the longer you looked, the more you realised. He was anxious and needy, acting out with his tricks and mischief because he wanted someone to look at him the way everyone looked at Thor.

Frigga herself had mentioned what a calming influence you were on Loki. Perhaps that was why your presence was tolerated by the All-father, despite your low station.

Loki thought, while his brother fought. You loved that about him, his quick wit, quiet intellect, and ability to hold engaging conversations on various topics. While Thor was loud and loutish with his friends, all of Loki’s friends existed between the pages of leather bound books.

It was no coincidence that you had met in the library.

You’d just selected a book, when Loki came around the corner of a shelf. His eyes looked downcast when he saw what you were holding. Realising he was looking for the same book as you, you offered it without hesitation. He was a Prince, after all.

Instead, he’d told you to keep it, on the proviso that you brought it to his chambers as soon as you were done.

Many books exchanged hands between the two of you. It took some time for Loki to realise that the way you looked at him wasn’t in awe or fear of who he was, it was something different. Something deeper.

That’s when the first letter appeared, hidden in the pages of a book he passed onto you. Although his nickname was ‘silver tongue’, he found it much easier to articulate himself when he wrote his words down.

Hundreds of books and letters had been swapped between you since then. Even as you lay together now, your head on Loki’s chest, he’s reading.

It’s comforting, the quiet companionship between the two of you.

“It must be quite something this time,” Loki muses, finishing his chapter and setting the book down so that he can stroke your hair. “Thor’s been raging for hours.”

“Hmm,” you nod in agreement. Normally it was all over in a flash of lightning.

“I thought perhaps we could discuss that last chapter,” Loki says. “But then I thought, since Thor insists on being so noisy, perhaps we could use it as cover for something a little more interesting.”

It’s not that the two of you don’t make love, on the contrary. But the first time Loki heard you climax, he’d been terrified. He’d no idea that he could make you make those kinds of noises, let alone make any noise that loud.

He hadn’t touched you for weeks after that.

And while in all honesty everyone probably knows in part what the two of you get up to in his chambers, Loki prefers to maintain some discretion, for both your sakes.

Not that anything the two of you could do would be worse than the time Odin caught Thor pleasuring twin sisters on his throne.

You gasp softly as Loki’s fingers - always so cold - dip between your thighs and begin dancing deftly around your sex. So arousing, but never quite where you want them to be.

“Stop teasing me,” you say, but both of you know that you love it. Love how Loki teases you endlessly until you’re almost sobbing for him to enter you.

He takes his time, as ever. First exploring with his fingers as he presses delicate kisses to the delicate skin behind your ear, on the side of your neck, and down to your breasts. Having trailed kisses all the way down your body, his tongue starts what his fingers started, expertly leading you to within touching distance of your release, then retreating again.

Loki doesn’t let you touch him, not yet. He likes to get you into a heightened state of arousal first, content to just rub himself against the silky sheets while he swipes his tongue teasingly, back and forth across your clit.

You’re groaning and writhing under him, strong hands holding your hips firmly in place. So close, and yet so far. The slightest spark could make you combust at this point, you’re so on edge.

Only when he’s absolutely sure you can’t take any more, only then does Loki sit up, pulling you up with him and flipping you over.

The pillow you bite down onto, and the thunder still raging overhead will help drown out the howls of pleasure, but not enough that Loki can’t hear them. Now that he’s used to them, he makes it his mission to get you to make them as often as he can, when the circumstances allow.

And this position makes you louder than any of the others.

Holding your hips, Loki slides languidly into, relishing in the noises you make as he stretches you. You’re always so snug, fitting him like a glove, like you were made for him, and only him. He runs a hand along your bare back, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull as he thrusts into you.

Loki hopes Thor will have more tantrums so that you can do this more often. The sounds of your muffled shouts, the warmth of you enveloping him, the sight of you bent over in front of him, presenting yourself to him like the greatest gift the Norns could ever give him - it’s intoxicating. No liquor on Asgard, or any of the Nine Realms, could ever be it’s equal.

When you’re done, thoroughly exhausted after Loki fucks you through orgasm after orgasm until he’s finally ready to let go, he scoops you up and carries you to the bath. It’s a small gesture, he knows, but he wants you to feel comfortable and clean.

His brother is less considerate, and it constantly makes you wonder why Loki is also overlooked as a lover.

Perhaps a finer eye is needed to spot the treasure hidden in plain sight. Those blinded by Asgard’s golden boy, would not notice his less ostentatious brother. But gold is gaudy, gold is cheap, and all that glitters is not gold.

If Thor is gold, then Loki is platinum. Far more precious and beautiful, indeed.

[papermoonloveslucy]

DICK MARTIN

January 30, 1922

Dick Martin was born in Battle Creek Michigan as Thomas Richard Martin. He was best known for his role as the co-host of the sketch comedy program “Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In” from 1968 to 1973. The series won him a 1969 Emmy Award. 

His screen debut came as a background performer in the MGM film Father’s Little Dividend starring Spencer Tracy and Elizabeth Taylor.  He wouldn’t make another film until 1958. 

“I think the most fun I ever had was nightclubs. I loved nightclubs.” ~ Dick Martin

Martin and Dan Rowan formed a comedy team in 1952 and played in nightclubs throughout the United States and overseas. 

His first TV appearance came in November 1956 appearing as with Dan Rowan on “The Walter Winchell Show”.   

In February 1961, Lucille Ball appeared on “The Ed Sullivan Show” promoting Wildcat by doing songs from the show in character.  Rowan and Martin were on the show that evening, so it is possible that it is here that Lucille Ball first met the pair and cast them on her show. 

In Fall 1962, Dick Martin made his TV acting debut as Harry Connor, Lucy Carmichael’s next-door neighbor and sometimes boyfriend on “The Lucy Show.”  He made ten appearances on the series before his character was written out. His schedule touring with Dan Rowan was difficult for Desilu and Ball did not want her character to have a serious relationship. 

In “Lucy Digs Up a Date” (TLS S1;E2) first aired on October 8, 1962, it is established that Harry is an airline pilot and that he and Lucy have been dating, although their relationship is not serious. The character is referred to in the first act, but only enters during the episode’s final moments. This is the first of his ten appearances on the series - all in season one. He is mentioned but not seen in the series premiere “Lucy Waits Up for Chris“ (TLS S1;E1), where we meet his dog, Tiger.

In “Lucy is a Referee” (TLS S1;E3) aired  on October 15, 1962, Harry coaches Lucy in hand signals when she volunteers to referee her son’s football game. 

When “Lucy Misplaces $2,000″ (TLS S1;E4) on October 22, 1962, Harry tempts Lucy and Viv off their diets by bringing them fresh-baked donuts! 

When “Lucy Becomes an Astronaut” (TLS S1;E6) aired on November 5, 1962, Harry is around to quell Lucy’s nerves about going into a NASA test capsule. 

Episode #11 was originally intended to be a show titled “Lucy and Viv Fight Over Harry,” but it was shut down during rehearsal. The main reason is that it would have firmly established Lucy and Harry as having deep feelings for one another. Dick Martin was not available every week and Lucille Ball did not want her character to have a steady boyfriend. It had already been decided to phase out Harry, so this storyline would have been at cross-purposes with Lucille Ball’s long-range plans for the show and her character. This was the only episode of the series to be shut down while already in production.

Instead, episode #11 became “Lucy Builds a Rumpus Room” (TLS S1;E11) and aired on December 10, 1962. Harry was the intermediary in a serious argument between Lucy and Viv. 

At “Chris’s New Year’s Eve Party” (TLS S1;E14) on December 31, 1962, Harry took a role in Lucy’s silent movie sketch, portraying the waiter to Lucy’s Charlie Chaplin. 

When “Lucy’s Sister Pays a Visit” (TLS S1;E15) on January 7, 1963, Harry was in the wedding party, but does not have any lines in this episode. This is the second episode in a row that the actor hasn’t spoken. Martin was often away on the road with his comedy partner Dan Rowan during filming, so not having to memorize lines suited him fine.  

When “Lucy and Viv Put in a Shower” (TLS S1;E18) on  January 28, 1963, we learn that Harry’s favorite breakfast is Eggs Benedict. 

HARRY: “If you’re going to ask me to elope again, it’s a bad night for it. My ladder’s broken.” 

In “No More Double Dates” (TLS S1;E21) aired on February 18, 1963, it becomes apparent that the magic has gone out of their relationships when Lucy and Harry and Viv and Eddie can’t agree on where to go to dinner or what film to see! 

“Lucy and Viv Learn Judo” (TLS S1;E22) on February 25, 1963, was the final appearance of Dick Martin as Harry Connors. Lucy practices what she has learned on Harry!  Although Martin would not return to the series, his comedy partner Dan Rowan made two appearances in future episodes. 

Dan and Rowan returned to the nightclub circuit until 1966, when they were asked to host the summer replacement series for “The Dean Martin Show.”  They were groomed for the new show when they appeared on a February 1966 “Dean Martin Show” with Lucille Ball as guest.  Martin and Ball were also both part of Martin’s 1968 Christmas show, doing quick cameos announcing the distribution of toys to needy organizations. 

Despite the end to their acting together, Lucille Ball and Dick Martin appeared on many TV game shows, awards shows, specials, and variety shows together over the next 25 years. D

On Dinah Shore’s “Like Hep” (1969) Lucy and Martin recreate a robot version of the famous bench characters made famous on “Laugh-In” by Arte Johnson and Ruth Buzzi.  Meanwhile both Johnson and Buzzi were also guest stars on “Here’s Lucy,” which was programmed against the second half hour of “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In”.  Lucy was now competing with her former ‘boyfriend’ for viewers! 

Later in the ‘hep’ show, Martin helped Lucy at the barre, in moments instantly reminiscent of “I Love Lucy.” 

Dick Martin was on the dais for “The Dean Martin Celebrity Roast: Lucille Ball” on February 7, 1975. 

Rowan and Martin played the Wright Brothers and Lucy voiced the Statue of Liberty in “Swing Out Sweet Land,” a November 1970 TV special celebrating American history.  

When Lucille Ball co-hosted “The Mike Douglas Show” in November 1978, Dick Martin was a guest on the final of her five days along with Bob Hope, Joe Namath, and Susan Anton.

In August 1980, Martin and Ball were panelists on “Password Plus.”  

The pair returned for “Password Plus: All-Celebrity Week” in March 1981. 

Martin and Ball were present at “All-Star Parties” for Carol Burnett (1982) and Clint Eastwood (1986). 

The second week in November 1988, Lucille Ball made her last game show appearance on “Super Password” before her passing in 1989. Dick Martin was also a panelist. 

Dick Martin got married to singer Peggy Connelly in 1957 and they had 2 sons before divorcing. In 1971 he married English actress and model Dolly Read. Although they divorced in 1975, they re-married in in 1978 and were together until his death.  

Martin died on May 24, 2008, age 86, of breathing complications. He had lost the use of a lung due to tuberculosis as a teenager and suffered respiratory problems late in life.

[madamebaggio]

FATE CAN SUCK IT - Kingsman Fanfiction

Summary: Agatha didn't have an easy life: ran away from home at 15, became a prostitute, met her soulmate at 17...

Harry Hart was everything she had dreamed as little girl, but life destroyed that little girl. She had no use for him and she knew he would never want her, so she left.

10 years later she works for an agency that loves trouble and Harry is back.

Fate is such a pain in the ass.

***

Notes: This work is unfinished, but can be found here. Also, this is a Kingsman soulmate AU with a whole cast of OC.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

***

Chapter 1

Nikki was not a complaining person. Well, teenager, to be more honest. She’d had her rebel phase, thinking that she was smarter than everyone else around her and that her parents were stupid tyrants.

Running away with her good-for-nothing boyfriend of the time seemed like a great idea. She had been a very stupid 15-year-old.

Nikki was now 17 and the street had made her cold and cynical. Most days, she felt like she was 90. That’s what being a teenager prostitute did to you. She should not have been surprised.

Good-for-nothing boyfriend left her alone in the middle of London with no money, a fondness for LSD and too scared – and ashamed – to call her parents.

Nikki had always been too pretty and looked older than she actually was. The street was cruel to stupid young girls and turning tricks had been the only answer for her, even if it ate at her faster than the drugs. She was way too skinny now, but at least she was alive and had a roof over her head.

She had been lucky, honestly. Some of the girls had felt sorry for the lost 15-year-old and took her in. She had cried on her first night, until Foxy – one of the older girls – slapped her and told her to grow up and deal with it.

Six months after that, Nikki didn’t give a shit anymore. She felt dead inside and was just waiting for her body to catch up on that.

She wished now that she could look into the eyes of her 15-year-old self and tell her she was a stupid little bitch. She wished for a lot of things.

Right now, she wished she had a jacket.

The asshole of the night had put her in a car and drove her to some fancy neighborhood, then stopped in front of a house and demanded a blow job. Apparently it was his ex-wife’s house. Everybody had weird kinks and ideas; she could not care less about his.

What she did care a lot about was the fact that the bloody bastard refused to pay her for it, then slapped her – hard – in the face, before throwing her out of the car. So now she was in the middle of a posh neighborhood with no idea how to get back home.

It was after one, so there was no living soul on the street and even if there was, she could hardly see one of those blokes wanting to help a hooker. She would be lucky if she didn’t get into even more trouble.

Nikki hugged herself, hoping for a bit more of warmth. She had split lip, her shoulder hurt from where the arsehole had pushed her against the door, before he managed to open it and throw her out of the car. That lovely action left her with skinned hands and knees. The worst part was that she ripped her damn stockings, and they were bloody new!

She sighed and saw her breath in the air. Well, great. Just fucking peachy. She would freeze to death out here. Although… If she thought about the headlines of the next day (“Young hooker found frozen in a respectable neighborhood!”) she could even smile a bit.

She had to get fun from the very few places where she could.

She turned into another street – they all looked the same – and saw a man walking in her direction. He was wearing an honest-to-God suit at this time of night and carrying an umbrella on his arm. He looked like a fucking lord coming down the street.

When he saw her, he stopped for a second to access her – there was no other word for it – before coming in her direction.

“Are you alright, miss?” He asked, a small frown on his too pretty face.

He was older, she could see it now. His hair was perfectly styled, his glasses probably were of some fancy brand and his accent was as posh as it got. But he called her “miss” and Nikki had to laugh at that.

“Miss, darling?” She huffed in a laugh. “Need stronger glasses?”

He arched a brow. “Are you lost?” He insisted.

“That obvious, huh?” She scoffed. “Just need some directions.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Very observant of you.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, darling, either you point me to a direction or…” She looked him up and down. “Ask me the price.”

His lips thinned in obvious reprove. Then it was like he had thought of something. “Alright. What is your price?” He asked politely, like he was asking her what time it was.

Well, she was not expecting that. At all. But she did not trust this guy for a second. He was way too good looking and proper to want a hooker like her. If he wanted one, he could get way better, but she could play the game.

“Depends on what you want, sugar.” She put her hand on her hip and cocked it.

“I want you to come home with me so I can take a look at your bruises, then ask a taxi to take you home.” He said with a simplicity that left Nikki feeling actually shocked.

“You wanna play doctor?” She asked flatly.

This time he rolled his eyes. “Yes.” It was amazing how much sarcasm a person could inflict on one single word. “So?”

“Why not?” She shrugged. What was the worst he could do to her? Kill her?

She walked a bit behind him, but they didn’t have a long way to go before he walked into a street that had a very charming house. It figured.

He opened the door and made a gesture for her to walk in first. She chuckled again at that, being treated as a lady by one of those guys.

He told her to sit on the couch and went to get something. Nikki started regretting a bit not having a knife hidden in her boots like some of the girls did. Maybe she had been a bit too harsh.

She was considering getting up and leaving when the man came back, carrying a small first aid kit.

“Let me see this lip.” He said, sitting by her.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” She was looking at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because there was no way this man was this nice for absolutely no reason. “I’m not letting you fuck me for free, just cuz you’re being nice.” She warned him deadly serious.

The man looked at her like she had just said the stupidest thing ever. He had this curious look about him, a cross between outrage –at what she said -and disappointment –that she really thought that.

“This is not why I helped you.” He said firmly.

“Why was that again, sugar?”

“I do have a name.” He told her with exaggerated patience.

“OK. Do you want me to ask you what it is?” She made a face of such extreme innocence, that she knew he would see right through it. “I can even pretend to care about the answer.”

The man sighed – once more – and fixed his eyes on her. “Why so hard on the world?” He asked gently. “Why such tall walls?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” She snapped. “I’m a junkie and a whore, you don’t even know me. Why do you care?” She demanded of him. Yes, she was pushing, because she wasn’t exactly a junkie, but she wanted to make him cringe.

She was so pissed at him! Angry that he dared to make her care, that he scared and pressured her. Mad that he made her feel anything at all.

“Because we already live too harsh lives to be unkind to other people for no reason.” He replied honestly, his eyes looking at her like he could actually see her, the real her, not just this empty shell. “Because someone – anyone – ought to care about another human life.”

Oh Lord, this man couldn’t possibly be serious. How could anyone believe in something so cliché and naïve? How could a man at his age – she was guessing late 30’s to early 40’s – even think that the world was anything but a terrible place?

“You’re delusional.” She informed him, her voice shaking a bit.

“Maybe a little bit.” He had this grin on his face. “I’m also Harry Hart. Nice to meet you.”

He offered her his hand, but Nikki was not seeing it. The name kept playing over and over in her head.

“Harry Galahad Hart?” She asked, her voice now really trembling.

His face became shocked, then suspicious in a second. His eyes fell to her chest, not to ogle, but she knew what he was looking for.

Nikki had been born with the name “Harry Galahad Hart” on her chest, right over her heart, in the curve of her breast, the name of her soulmate, the one person in the world that was meant for her. She spent years trying to figure out who that person was, imagining thousand ways in which they could meet.

Then good-for-nothing- boyfriend came along and reminded her that Harry had her name too and was probably older – since she was already born with his name – and he had not come looking for her. Harry might not want her.

Maybe, if she hadn’t been in such a bad place back then, she wouldn't have listened to him so easily, but she was desperate to leave, so she pretended she didn’t care about Harry Hart anymore.

Nowadays, she just knew she had nothing to offer and with her luck Harry would either be a drug dealer or a pimp.

She never thought, in a million years, that she would really meet him, or that he would be so… This.

Harry was frowning now, because there was nothing on her chest. Clients didn’t appreciate seeing soulmates names on their hookers – maybe it reminded them that they were likely cheating – so most girls covered theirs.

Nikki licked her index finger and passed over her chest, revealing some of the letters, enough to read “Galah”.

“So…” He cleared his throat. “You are Aga…”

“I go by Nikki, it’s more whorish.” She had no illusions that this man would want her, so she might as well destroy this now.

“God, you’re 17!” He seemed beyond shocked now. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then his eyes started going from one direction to another, never looking at her.

“I’m also not interested.” She declared getting up; she had to leave this place. This was all she could never have, not now, not ever. Harry might even be a decent man, but he would never be able to handle this.

Even if he thought he was, one day they would fight and what would he say to her? She could hear him calling her a whore already.

“Look.” He got up too, “It’s not that you…”

“Spare me.” She threw her hair back, the picture of nonchalant. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

“Nikki, my life is complicated…” He tried again, but she had enough.

“I don’t care.” She told him with finality. “Because I know where this is heading and I lived 17 years of my life without you in it. I can sure as fuck live the rest of it.”

She walked to the door. “Let me call you a cab.” He asked politely, but also nervous.

“I can walk, darling.” She called over her shoulder before stepping once again into the cold night.

She started walking fast, but Nikki only realized she was crying when the first drop hit her arm. Yes, it still hurt, even knowing she could not have it. It would get better, then again, it was not like it could get any worse.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for Passion Sunday (Dominican rite)

Heb 9:11-15; John 8:46-59

From Septuagesimatide, to Lent, and now to Passiontide: we have entered the third and final phase of our preparation for the Easter festival. The Crosses and sacred images have now been veiled in church, a further deprivation of the senses in this holy time of fasting and abstinence. But this year, Passiontide is truly, for all of us, as the name indicates, the time of suffering, and deprivations and the strangest of abstinences have been forced upon us: we have been deprived of access to our churches, deprived of the sacraments in some cases, and a prolonged Eucharistic fast, an abstinence from sacramental communion is the yoke placed upon us. This is the passion, the spiritual suffering, that many Catholics now undergo. And, moreover, there are the temporal sufferings of the whole world from sickness and death and the far-reaching effects of this pandemic that strike at us physically, socially, materially, and psychologically. Truly, this is a Passiontide, a time of suffering for all of humanity, that will extend beyond this fortnight of liturgical veiling. 

How shall we respond, as Christians? “Stat crux dum volvitur orbis” say the Carthusians. “The Cross stands steady while the world spins”. Hence this liturgical time of Passiontide directs our attention to the Cross. The readings of this Passion Sunday Mass focusses us on the suffering and perfect sacrifice of Jesus Christ. The Liturgy today points us to the Sacrifice of the Mass itself, whereby Christ’s Cross is once again exalted in triumph over a world broken by sin and sickness and selfishness. As the preface says: “you placed the salvation of the human race on the wood of the Cross, so that, where death arose, life might again spring forth”. 

Therefore, throughout this extended passiontide of the pandemic season, the Sacrifice of the Mass continues to be offered every single day in countless churches throughout the world by Christ’s priests. This is most necessary because the Mass proclaims the victory of Christ over sin and all its effects such as sickness. The Cross, that is to say, the Mass, stands steady while the world is in tailspin. And at the same time, the Mass objectively calls down upon the world, and upon the Church, the blessings that flow from Christ Crucified,  namely, life and health, and, above all, the graces of salvation, eternal life. 

Our forebears knew this well, and they would often go to church to “hear Mass”, even though they seldom partook of Holy Communion itself. This practice, at least since the time of Pope St Pius X, is now rather alien to our Ecclesial experience. But in the current circumstances, you now find yourself, in an odd way, through the medium of audio-visual technology, able to see and hear Mass but not partaking in sacramental Communion. You find yourselves, in a certain sense, united to this part of our liturgical tradition whereby Holy Communion was infrequent, and maybe even just an annual event. Hence, the current canon law of the Church still only obliges us to receive Communion once a year, a remnant of this (often pious) approach to infrequent Communion. But nobody doubted, thereby, that the blessings of the Mass did not continue to benefit the world and its inhabitants for their salvation and for their true good. For while the world continues to revolve, so the Cross must stand steady – the Mass, therefore is necessary for the very life and health of the world. This is the sense in which Saint Padre Pio said: “It is easier for the earth to exist without the sun than without the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass!”

But what about you as an individual? How are these blessings of the Sacrifice of Christ – his redemption and new life of grace – to be received then by you? My favourite Catechism, the St Joseph Baltimore Catechism, which was prepared for teenagers in school, puts it simply: “Those who cannot go to daily Communion, but would if they could, can make a spiritual communion. This means a real desire to go to Communion when it is impossible to receive sacramentally. This desire obtains for us from Our Lord the graces of Communion in proportion to the strength of the desire.” 

There is something mysterious and providential, then, in this current situation. For when we receive Communion every day, as a matter of course, is it not possible for our desire to become less focussed on an intimate union with God through love, and more focussed on myself, my needs, and my desire to have an unbroken track record of daily Communions? Sometimes self-will and pride can be disguised by objectively good external routines. But in this period, when we cannot receive Communion – which, incidentally, has put an end to the scandal of sacrilegious and unworthy Communions – behold the wonderful work of God’s grace in this time of suffering. For to those souls who love him and know what the Mass is, is it not true that their desire for union with God has also increased? Therefore, in proportion to the strength of this desire, as the Baltimore Catechism says, know that the graces of Holy Communion are being given to you today by the good and loving and merciful Lord Jesus. In other words, nobody should despair of receiving the graces that are necessary for our salvation because God, who is not restricted by the Sacraments, can and does act without them, in an extraordinary manner, to confer graces on those souls who truly love him.   

However, because you cannot see, touch, and taste the Eucharistic Lord with your own bodies, something greater is now demanded of you, namely Faith. In his hymn, Adoro Te devote, St Thomas Aquinas thus says: “Sight, touch, taste are all deceived in their judgment of you, but hearing suffices firmly to believe. I believe all that the Son of God has spoken; there is nothing truer than this word of Truth.” Therefore, in this time, as Cardinal Nichols put it, “dig deep” and believe that which the Word of God has promised. Jesus says in John 14: “I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you. Yet a little while, and the world will see me no more, but you will see me; because I live, you will live also. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you… If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.” (John 14:18-20, 23) Or, again, as the Lord says in today’s Gospel: “If any one keeps my word, he will never see death.” (Jn 8:51)

So, the Lord, right now and throughout this time of our sufferings is present and alive in your life, and he comes to you where you are, and he gives himself to you if you open yourself to him in love, and prepare a home for him in your heart, if you treasure his Word and keep his commandment of charity. Indeed the Rededication of England to Our Lady today is precisely about this kind of faith. For just as the Lord sought out Mary in her humble abode in Nazareth, and the Word became flesh in her life, and dwelt within her, so the Lord shall also come to our homes, and, if we keep his Word because we love him, he wills to give us himself through grace and so to remain with us, dwelling within us. 

Likewise, during this liturgical time of Passiontide, the sight of the crosses and saints in our churches is removed from us. Why? Because we are called to rely not on what we see and touch, but on what we know by faith. Firstly, we know that the Cross stands steady no matter how shaken the world becomes. It is our anchor and our one hope. And secondly, we recall that the Cross, although removed from our sight, is not removed from our lives. Rather, the Cross is to become part of our lives, through the different kinds of sufferings that we each carry day after day, and because we are united to Christ by grace, so the Lord is with us to carry that Cross with us, and to suffer alongside us, and therefore to sanctify us and give us a greater share in his final victory. 

This time of Passiontide, therefore, although it is focussed on the sufferings of Our Lord, and the bitter pains he endured because of our sins, is not principally a time to wallow in self-reproach and shame. The Benedictine monk, Dom Pius Parsch, in his classic commentary on the traditional Liturgy, states that the Liturgy does not focus attention upon the human side of the passion as much as upon its goal, our salvation.” So, too, in this time of suffering that is the pandemic, let us remain focussed on the goal of salvation, and, with a living faith, know that in this time of suffering and death, God’s grace is poured out with even greater intensity to sanctify us. Therefore, look steadily ahead at the Cross. As our Holy Father Pope Francis said last Friday: “We have an anchor: by his cross we have been saved. We have a rudder: by his cross we have been redeemed. We have a hope: by his cross we have been healed and embraced so that nothing and no one can separate us from his redeeming love.”